The Child Soldier Summer Tour

the child soldier summer tour

13k | bnha | bakugou & class 1-a, bakugou & midoriya, bakugou/kirishima

The scheduling gods – AKA Yaoyorozu Momo and Iida Tenya – slapped down the papers on the kitchen table. There were way too many people in Jirou’s apartment, but Bakugou was just thankful that they’d decided not to cram his living room for this. Usually, they liked to, because he had the biggest living space seeing as his place came with three obnoxious roommates, but today they’d all met at Jirou’s and Jirou had only acted totally fine with twenty people shoved into her little two-bed box that she shared with Ashido, and now they were all climbing over each other to see the meticulous schedule their ex-class presidents had put together for the summer.

“This is insane—when are we supposed to pee?” Kaminari yelped, as Kirishima complained, “Three back-to-back – are you forgetting we’re heroes too?”

“Bathroom breaks will be scheduled on a day-to-day basis,” Yaomomo said, Iida chopping the air behind her.

“The schedule has been designed with heroics in mind!” he cried. “This way, everyone can attend an equal number of events, while also maintaining their agency contracts. We will have handouts for everyone to take back to their agencies!”

“This is amazing, guys,” Deku gushed. Bakugou shoved himself past Sero to get a look. True to form, the schedule was a colour-coded nightmare of thirty-six tour dates across twenty-nine locations in Japan over only the two months of summer. The system was divided equally between the five members of the band who had to appear at every concert (for obvious reasons) and the fifteen remaining ex-classmates who insisted that they, too, were also part of the band and would be coming along to roadie, dance, or just take selfies backstage and get in the way.

Bakugou’s opinion on the whole tour had originally been fuck that, if I’m gonna be a hero, I can’t waste an entire summer playing music, followed by three days of yelling and the eventual decision that if he didn’t spend a summer playing music now, when the hell would he ever get the chance to do it again?

They were freshly twenty, some of them still holding onto the reins of nineteen, and they’d only been out of Yuuei for a year. Only experienced the world of being rookie heroes for twelve short months and already it was more than they’d bargained for. Their second and third years in school had been downright peaceful compared to that hellish first, and maybe Bakugou would’ve preferred it if they had been just as dangerous – they’d gone soft, almost, in that time. Memories of the war had finally started to fade, and peacetime was a good look on them all. They were well-rested, therapized, on top of their studies and throwing late night parties in their dorms – when they’d been kicked out onto the streets of Japan, expected to rent an apartment and go to a job and be famous fucking heroes, the culture shock had damn near knocked half of them on their asses.

Bakugou didn’t want or need a break – but they were a damn good band, and there was no time he saw for himself in the next twenty years that would allow them to do a tour like this again.

When he’d consented to the band at one of their jam nights, they’d all fucking cheered. Then they’d added him into the groupchat with the rest of the class that they’d made three days before, fully knowing he would change his mind.

“Alright, everyone take a copy,” Yaomomo continued. “Then check it over – you have one calendar week to return with any necessary changes before we confirm bookings with the venues. It’s alright if you need to switch, just let us know by the deadline.”

-

Bakugou slumped into the chair opposite Best Jeanist. He’d signed on for eighteen months at the agency, his last months falling at the end of summer. He watched Jeanist’s eyebrows vanish under his hair as he read over the schedule.

“Well, this is organised – who put this together?”

“Creati and Ingenium,” he replied, tipping his head back. Even the ceiling was obnoxiously bedazzled. A disco ball hung from the centre; somewhere around the building, Aoyama was interning – a common appreciation for Best Jeanist (albeit for entirely different reasons) was the only thing the two had in common. Aoyama was a year behind everyone else since the whole, you know, All For One traitor shit, but he was pulling it back, and Bakugou respected the drive if nothing else.

“I would expect nothing less from them,” Jeanist mused. “I can’t say I’m surprised, as you warned me just how much time you would be spending on this during the summer, but I’m happy to sign it all off.”

Bakugou tilted his head forward. He’d expected even the slightest negotiation. “You are.”

“Of course. Bakugou, your work has been admirable and impressive this past year, but you haven’t taken a single day of holiday and there comes a point when that becomes a work violation as an employer. So I’m thrilled to roll over your unused holiday days into this calendar year so you can go on this tour.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow. Jeanist had a way of speaking like he was always on camera, but there were none in here and he wasn’t about to be bullshitted by his own boss. “Alright, now tell me what you really think.”

He could see Jeanist’s smile beyond the high collar. “I think…” he hummed. “Approximately three years ago, when you were barely sixteen, you died, Katsuki.” Bakugou swallowed, tensing at the given name. “You then got up and kept going. You took down All For One, you ploughed through months of gruelling rehabilitation and graduated third in your class two years later without so much as a single break.”

“I went home for Christmas,” Bakugou muttered.

Jeanist continued anyway, “You haven’t done anything for yourself in all the time I’ve known you. No—that’s a lie. You joined a band. But even that, initially, was to cheer up your fellow students who had been put out by your class’ misfortune. So, if this band is the one thing you let yourself enjoy, away from being a hero, I would be a terrible employer, and a terrible friend, to not allow you time to take part in it. And I hope that in return – although, really, it would be tacky to get any sort of thanks for this – I would appreciate a single ticket to see your finale show in Musutafu.”

Bakugou blinked. Jeanist stared. Bakugou’s mouth curled into the sharp kind of smile.

“I think I can swing a ticket.”

“Then I wish you all the best of luck on your tour,” Jeanist said. “Let me know what dates you can work, and if you need any help choosing what to do after your contract runs out.”

-

COMING TO A CITY/TOWN/NONDESCRIPT WAREHOUSE NEAR YOU

THIS SUMMER

A BAND: THE CHILD SOLDIER SUMMER TOUR

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