She was never his to begin with.
He kept on telling himself, over and over again, like a broken playback collapsed on his mind, but it never stopped. It continued to make unwanted noises, buzzing, and the more that he tried to forcibly distract himself out of those thoughts, somehow it just… aches.
The TV in front of him was on, but he wasn't paying attention to it. Loud and huge it might be, but it wasn't doing its job. Bakugou only wanted to escape from the clouds of regret and pain all reeled up inside of him right now, taking shape with how his chest swells and his throat begins to dry.
His apartment sat eerily quiet, as if it was trying to tell him something, but the silence heavily contrasted what was running madly on his head. He was loosely holding the remote with one hand, sweaty palm wrapped around and his pair of eyes stood in a still place. Red-rimmed they might be, but they were hollow at the moment. It was very much unlike him, wherein his gaze visibly portrayed aggressiveness and pride, above all those long term insecurities he once dealt with.
But there was definitely a reason why he was feeling all of these, why the pining resurfaces when he tried so hard to bury it along the ground and why it arises once again wildly, making his breathing hitch followed by a pound on his ribcage.
Because – because she was just there.
Uraraka was on his room, in her sleeping state after a full day of hero work, and it happened that he was assigned on that particular area as well. Bakugou wouldn't admit that her being there, that her presence alone was only nothing for him. In fact, it was like his heart was ripped open and he almost crumbled, because God had it been so long, he can't remember when was the last time he saw her, and how strong she'd become as her own hero. Surely it was just months, but for him it seemed like a good chunk of years, and a small part of him wanted to ask her, "how are you?" as stupid sounding it may be, and he smiled – though it disappeared as soon as it came.
There was nothing different on the mission, they fought off a villain which they both handled with ease, and saved a lot of the civilians' lives on the line. Their dynamic was there, the energy that radiated between them shared with a single goal in mind, as explosions in zero gravity rummaged through the skies in one bittersweet glance.
It sure did brought back memories that flashed bizarrely on his head, and for a minute he thought he was 15 all over again – but life was never easy for him even since. Who he is now, and everything that he has now, he once aspired to be and have – and that he almost tear himself apart in the process, just to be where the stars were aligned and properly call himself a hero.
And before, she would have adorned her arms around him, and tell him, "You were so cool! We did great!" in his ear, her stray hair somehow tickling his neck, and he'd shut up and place a hand on her back, feigning the blush about to expose the tender spot he has for her, when it was still a foreign feeling that he can't understand whenever she's around.
Then she smiles at him, a damn beat passes and it's taking his breath away.
But that was before, and today was completely different.
That was before, when he didn't fucked it all up and pushed her away.
And today she didn't call him by his name, but by his hero name, and the spark in her huge, brown irises wasn't there greeting him with admiration, unlike before –
–Instead there was sadness.
Bakugou tried to ignore the sudden pang on his chest, throbbing, stinging, and it feels heavy – it feels so heavy to the point that it's beginning to suffocate him, prolonged in a way as if he was drowning in the middle of the ocean, and there was no one there to save him.
It fucking hurts.
So he finally decided to face what he feared the most right now, and he wouldn't fight it off this time. Picking up his pace, Bakugou stood up with practiced comfort only to lie to himself that his knees weren't even shaky, besides the fact that he was also drained from all the hero work earlier.
Funny enough, he almost knocked on his own door, on his own fucking door.
He still did, anyway. Once, twice – there was no response. So he took the doorknob and held his breath.
There, she slept on his bed with the sheerness of an angel, in harmony and in peace. Like there wasn't a burden that she had to carry in her shoulders, and that life in general was just too good for her.
It had always been like that. Uraraka still napped the same, like not a thing has changed between her and the person she once thought of the world – her coziness on his personal space puts a smile on his face, and how she had her mouth half open and these light snores that sounded way too cute for his liking, made him feel relieved even for a short amount of time.
She had slept there before, not for once, but for times he couldn't even count with all his fingers on. There were times, back then, he would catch her on the ceiling and he'd laugh because he finds it oddly adorable. So one day, Bakugou decided to give her mittens so she didn't have to worry about waking up floating away again. It was one of those beautiful chances he would fight for to bring back on his arms; one of those missed traditions that he was longing for, yearning to feel again… but he knows well enough that at this point, all of it remains for just one yesterday.
And though he might be strong, powerful, and widely recognized – he can also be such a coward.
She was there. She was just there. At least physically, she was.
But does her heart still beat for him?
There was too much thinking running into his mind right now that Bakugou didn't realize that his traitorous hand was already on the side of her cherubic face, cold but her warmth in the form of those ever charming, rosy cheeks somehow dissipates it. He sat on the floor, beside his bed, and it took all the self-control he had for him not to embrace her even for the last time. Even when Uraraka was undeniably the hugger between the two of them, he loved every chance he gets to cuddle her the hell back, just to let her know the words he can't possibly say through his mouth.
He wasn't used to any somatic affection at all, but she was the exception. He didn't know he needed all that warmth not until she hugged him for the very first time, and he was a fucking wreck that day and too open, too vulnerable for her eyes –
Yet Uraraka was already able to see through him, with that genuine and comforting smile tugging in her lips, telling him that "It's going to be okay," in a soothing tone, and the streak of silver hidden behind the chestnut in her expressive irises. Bakugou didn't understood what it was but his chest explodes much like the way how his quirk works, but a lot more fleeting; and his stomach flips back and forth with butterflies he wanted to kill, and that's when he finally concluded on one thing;
He needed her.
"Katsuki…?" she mumbles all of a sudden, abruptly cutting off his mindless stupor, and that her voice was just too soft and it made him weak. It definitely caught him off guard, but instead of withdrawing his hand back, it stayed there. He was somehow glad she wasn't really fully awake though, but more like sleep talking. It was such a very Uraraka thing. Now he can't help but ask…
Why?
And he was even more surprised when Uraraka returned his touch, three light fingers on his wrist and though that didn't make him fly to the wall, but the feeling certainly was.
"Tch." he hissed under his breath. When his senses are finally on the brink of his stupidity, that's when he took the opportunity to eliminate the idealistic part of his brain. He was up to no good. All throughout his life, it was a difficult task for him to balance what was rational and what was ideal. He needed to kill the latter, to make more way for the former. It influenced his overall, but even just this once, he needed to be coherent.
Because the idea that Uraraka was on his place is already so, so wrong in so many levels. She wasn't his anymore, and her smiles were never meant for him anymore. It belongs to someone else now.
He knew it was wrong. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
So he stood up again, and his palm that mustered up all his goddamn courage fell on his sides, balling into a fist as he worked on a muscle on his jaw. Bakugou was so conflicted right now he didn't even know what to do or say, and it was fucking dumb.
This is so stupid, all of it, why would he still care and long for a girl that he already pushed away? That he already pained enough just because he was too selfish and egoistic? And now that he needed her back,
She didn't really know him anymore.
Bakugou hated himself for it. He wasn't even sure what the meaning of love was before because he was oblivious to it, but with Uraraka, he didn't hate her. He never did, actually. Because all he had for was respect, trust and faith.
And she was never frail. Definitely not one to call as such, especially for him – she was unyielding.
When he was about to step out of his room, it seemed like the temperature dropped and reached him in no time, because she spoke lucidly and the way she latches his name wasn't filled with the usual sweetness, but something along the lines of hostility and he gulped because of that.
"Hey," she says, but this time, of course she had to be awake. Her voice was sterner than how it was basically a moment ago, dreamy but wistful, and how presumptuous of him to assume that it was her way of trying to mask what she might truly still feel towards him. Maybe, he knew her too well, and he wasn't Bakugou for nothing if he won't have the balls to face her and hear whatever she has to say.
He turns around and forces a scowl, because it wouldn't come out naturally and easier just like how it was for him. Somehow, the ever present grimace he had going on fades gradually as if the other side of an hourglass was plopped on him, and it was indiscernible in the face of her. Well, shit.
"I don't remember falling asleep here…" Uraraka doesn't wait for him to say anything, but she has this clueless look written all over her face far from surprise, as she quickly looks away at the sharpness of his gaze, something Bakugou was so good at even when he really wasn't trying at all.
"It's because you were already asleep when I brought you here, dumbass." he irritatingly folds his arms on the front of his chest, resting his back on the door behind him.
She yawns, flexing her arms upwards, "Wait, how come?"
"After the mission, you fell asleep on the couch at Ryukyu's office." he rolls his eyes, remembering how she slumped herself back there and in no time, she was already in a slumber. Uraraka can be a modern day Sleeping Beauty sometimes, Bakugou thinks, "You're fucking embarrassing yourself."
"That doesn't really answer my question." Uraraka blinks, rubbing her eyes using the back of her hands.
"She asked that I take charge of you and that I should bring you back on your place, but who am I to know that?" he tries so hard to sound like he couldn't give a single fuck, but the way his voice tinges with uncertainty on the end, and the ambiguity of longing, maybe it wasn't so easy.
"I didn't really change my address, you know. But currently, I'm at home with my parents, so you shouldn't fret." she hesitantly informs him, a half-smile tugging in her lips with hopes of confirming an apprehending reaction.
"Tch. Like I care." he deadpans.
"Didn't you like, tried to wake me up?" slowly shaking her head, Uraraka then shrugs, "I know you could."
"I could, but I didn't want to." Bakugou stares, and them being ten feet apart wasn't entirely an excuse not to when he doesn't want to feel disconnected. Reality can sometimes be wronged for selfless delusions, for passed timelines can no longer be brought back, nor rewinded. He finally lets himself breathe, adding, "Besides, you seemed sick."
"Eh, not really, I was just really tired is all."
Despite her continuous attempts of pulling off a casual demeanor in the face of him, and while Bakugou knows that she can be incredibly bad at it, he still lets his eyes survey her overall physique and ask the question that would give him away, "Were you eating properly?"
"And what makes it seem like I don't? Of course! Work hard, save money; so we can have nice things and nice meals."
"You better make sure, or I'll kill you." he says, voice barely above a whisper, paired with a glare that was supposed to be intense but slithers a shy relief for something he'd like to hear.
"I knew you'd say that." she giggles softly, "Anyway, you haven't changed anything in your room, huh." Uraraka then starts roaming her eyes around his room, not out of intrigue, but because she was trying to overcome the lurching sense of familiarity in itself and not indulge herself on the ambiance.
He raises an eyebrow at her, she's never changed, "Like I have the time for that shit? I'd rather clean every bit of this damn place."
"Yes you do, King Explosion Murder."
"Shut up, round face."
Uraraka laughs, lighthearted and upbeat and for a good moment there, the unresolved tension that there was hanging around in the air between them, dies out. It flew visibly like a tangible object, pacing back and forth, in and out their lungs, screaming for attention.
And his head was a loose screw desperate for a tight grip, for he can't help but bite his lower lip in a seemingly poor attempt to hide the fact that he was already smiling.
He wanted to hold her hand, give her a hug, lay in bed with her all night, mess with her hair, pinch her cheeks, kiss her goodnight… but he can't, and the truth's more painful now than ever.
Then, she taps on the space beside her. He blinks thoughtfully, wary of her notion, and his mind was already debating in this instant whether or not this is going to be a good idea.
Uraraka taps once more, her small eyebrows slightly pushed forward, "Why don't you sit here, dummy. It's your bed, anyway." she puts herself on a sitting position, legs sluggishly falling off on the side of his bed, as she chuckles when she made his pillow float by accident.
Bakugou clears his throat and tries to play it cool. Everything just feels so… painfully nostalgic. Like this exact scenario already happened before, and now he was being given a second chance to do it all over again and make another choice that, for once, isn't bound to end up the same way as it did.
When he fell, and she was there to catch him. When there was an indisputable storm ready to swallow him whole, an ocean running wildly on the seams, and she was the impending calm as it slowly hits on the shores. The waves somehow brought them together, and finally, he wasn't drowning anymore.
And he wanted to make a choice that she won't be catching him, so it wouldn't hurt in the end.
"How's life going for you now?" she began, her hands were on top of her lap, a thumb cautiously rubbing over a scarred palm. Uraraka breathes, waiting for the chance to meet his gaze.
"Busy, and still full of shit." he says, pinching the bridge of his nose so he'd have a reason not to look at her. Bakugou would like to give himself a pat on the back for that, but out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flawed trait of hers that wasn't there before, "Where the hell did you get this?"
His body sure does work on its own without his mind telling him what to do first, for concern and fondness combined immediately took over his cowardice, even just this once. Bakugou inquires, carefully examines that scar on her palm. It wasn't that huge for others to notice at a distance, but it was an unorthodox stroke that left a distasteful mark on her skin, almost as if it was just inflicted recently and with failed stitches that were engraved in blame.
Uraraka didn't flinch at the sudden contact, but Bakugou can feel how that made her feel a little awkward, "Oh – that was nothing. I got it from my training the past month. It's just a wound, don't mind that." she resists, talking way faster than she usually does. Retrieving her hand back away from his, she curls it into a fist, lowering down her head with apologetic eyes.
He sighs tirelessly, and a part of him on the inside somehow felt like he was the one responsible for it. Though he chose not to dwell on it, he can't help but think if Uraraka was ashamed, and for whatever the real reason was behind that, he woulnd't pry on anymore.
It will heal over time, he wanted to say, but a heart doesn't.
"Are you with that damn nerd now?" Bakugou questions suddenly, but he wasn't mad. He doesn't have the right to be mad. Yet to his defense, he only wanted some kind of confirmation, and that way – maybe, just maybe, it would lessen a weight off his chest.
"What?"
"Deku."
It was absolutely bold of him to assume such a dumb, ridiculous thing. He knew Uraraka will never do that, even if he was the one being an asshole here. But if they were indeed going out now, who was he to question that? Then he realizes, how that came from him, sounded offensive when he didn't intend to in the first place. He wishes she wouldn't take it the wrong way, though.
"No," her immediate answer puts him at edge, "Who told you that?"
A mere assumption was what told him that, and no other sanction would gravitate him towards the end of the pull, but it was very dumb and self-seeking.
"I'm not seeing anyone at the moment." she clarifies, while her scrutiny remains with how unmoved but tensed he was. Uraraka could feel it the way Bakugou does, both of them at fault for doing nothing but only trying to feel one another's actions rather than speaking up first and front, a gutless passiveness that would result in a pure act of futile disclosure.
They both fall into silence for what it felt like an eternity, a dissonance begging for devotion. Bakugou rests his elbows on top of his knees, stopping the tremor of his already sweaty hands and so does the quiver on his lips.
"Uraraka." he calls out her name, gulping a chunk of saliva caught on his throat.
She turns to him, but hums absentmindedly.
I still fucking love you, I really do.
And I need you back, but I'm nothing but a coward.
Tell me, what should I do?
"I'm– I'm sorry." Bakugou stammers, and he can't fathom how the sound of his own voice seemed so feeble, like there was a serpent constricting his lungs – dissociating himself from his senses.
He hates it.
Coward.
"For what?" she smiles bitterly, but the beam didn't even reached her eyes. She had to know what he was going to say, but was stuck in her own version of abridged denial.
Coward.
"You know the shit I'm talking about… for ending things–"
She nods her head, biting her lower lip before taking a deep breath, "Yeah, I know. Don't be sorry, that's your decision."
And it all comes down on the ill-fated night he's had reserved breaths, and she's engulfed herself in ceaseless tears.
"Fuck you, Bakugou."
When it came from her, every bit and shard of those two words gave a thousand meanings. One of them will continue to haunt him, cold and bitter as it spits out his name like poison, of blood and misery, of sadness and pain. Suddenly, there was an anchor of guilt and remorse that sank deep from his already swelling heart, to the pit of his stomach as it hit rock bottom.
When it came from her, it stung, because he knew she meant it. Uraraka spilled nothing but the truth, and that either makes or breaks him. It twinges, like there was a dull knife ripping through his soft skin, repeatedly sawing until there was nothing to feel anymore but numbness.
"I mean if you want me out of your life, that's fine. Who am I to stay, right?" Uraraka forces a smile, but her eyes tell otherwise. They were empty, almost colourless when it used to be one, if not the most delicate he's seen, perky and gleaming ever since he's known her; but now it was only a pair of blank and unearthed sketches, and Bakugou's struggling to see something through it.
Anguish instantly simmers down his throat, and he's already gritting his teeth, "You're wrong, it was never that way."
"Then why?"
He could ask the same, Bakugou supposes. He doesn't know why either, and he's asked himself a lot of times, to the point where he began accepting the dire fact that not every whys has to have an answer – maybe, some things were just really bound to happen.
Some bad, bad things – or maybe, they weren't meant to be together… at all.
Instead, he never dared meet her judgement. Bakugou awaits, her silence was too deafening and the beat of his own damn heart too resounding. Both are too loud, too destructive. It wouldn't hurt if he tries, no, fucking scratch that, it would hurt if he tries and now she's going to find him the most apathetic person in the world, "This is going to sound so fucking stupid, but I was hoping, maybe…"
"Maybe, what?"
He swallows a prideful of his own skin, tasting all kinds of bitterness he never knew he would have. The bed sheets on his sides were grasped with controlled desperation, and so Bakugou finally mutters:
"We could start things again."
Uraraka looked at him as if he had grown another head. Her mouth was slightly parted, hazel orbs deeper than they were already, twinkling with nothing but questions desperate for answers. They dance around with flames that used to be there, transparent embers piercing the crimson of his own.
"We? That's…stupid," she fakes a laugh, "I asked you that time if you really wanted us to be over, you said yes, and now you're pretending like it didn't happen?" Uraraka was calm, but it was definitely not the type she makes it seem to be. It was indignant calm, Bakugou was sure.
And the anchor was back, bigger and wider, now filling up the void and it starts to suffocate his lungs. She was right. It was beyond horrendous and stupid. He was stupid.
"I wasn't pretending like it didn't happen, for Christ's sake, Uraraka, can you hear me out?"
She shakes her head, palms balling into tight fists, clawing at the fabric of her jeans, "Didn't you think it wasn't hard for me as it was hard for you?"
"I wasn't invalidating what you felt, I was just trying to–"
"Just… shut up, Bakugou." her voice almost cracks, and an embrace would have calmed her down. But if he did that now, she'll be more petrified because he was the one causing her such reminiscent pain, "We wouldn't be this way if you weren't such a coward that night."
She can be as gentle and sweet like honey, a flower blooming charmingly even when the darkest hours comes, but even a rose has its thorns – and these thorns are here to grow on his heart, each pinpricking every nerve, until it reaches his flesh.
"I know, fucking shit, I'm sorry." was all he managed to say, and he couldn't look at her, because her voice was already proof enough that she was no longer his. He couldn't afford seeing the expression on her face, because he was afraid. He was afraid that the tables have turned.
She was hurting him.
Uraraka briefly looks up, at the patently white ceiling she was once so familiar of, preventing yet again inane tears about to stream down her cheeks. Pointless, everything was pointless. She chews on her bottom lip, hard, until she could taste the tang of her own blood that continues to remind her the more time she stays here, the more it's going to ache again and again. Even so, she had to at least say something, and say it so he would understand:
"I still love you, I always will, but don't expect me to come back. It's not going to be the same anymore. I'm fine by myself now."
Her lips used to be warm and soft, and each time they were pressed together against his, he had always found himself on a safe haven; for in her arms there was only a promise written on an invisible ink, embedded in their minds – a love never felt before that they succumb into nobody but one another.
He wouldn't want to let go, because in a million what-ifs, there was always going to be one possible scenario wherein he loses her, and that he doesn't want.
But now, her lips were cold and brutal, like that of a gun, and indeed they were a loaded one – filled with words enough to kill him on the inside and shatter him. Break him, pain him, and mold him.
Uraraka stands up slowly, as if waiting for him to say another word, but he didn't. Fetching her jacket and sneakers that he generously placed at the edge of his bed, she takes one last glance on him, holding her breath, but he didn't.
And then she left.
The door clicks and she was gone. The thick air loosens, supposedly, but something non-palpable inside of him feels heavier than it was before. The buoyant wildfire it seems, were desiccated by the unrelenting rain that gave him false hopes. A striking noise almost penetrated his irrefutable sense of hearing, and that is none other than the excruciating silence done by her absence. Bakugou exhales loud through his mouth, feeling the heat behind his eyes, threatening to show his vulnerable side once more.
Letting his body fall on the bed, he recollects every waking moment that he smiles at her, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, when he very much knew they'd all became broken dreams and promises in one wrong snap of the finger.
It was fucking agonizing to witness her leave again, this time on her own accord without him telling her that she should just go.
And maybe it's just another case of how badly the universe conspires in letting two people meet, fall in love, but never giving them the chance to be together until the end. Maybe he wasn't so incapable of being humane at all, for he's always learned it the hard way and just…deserves to be happy.
Resting his forearm atop his eyelids, he closes them in tranquil and began steadying his breath. It must be the first step to this so-called acceptance. Pitch black then eventually clouded his vision, but there was a tiny, tiny voice inside his head, saying;
But I still see it.
She was never his to begin with.
Thank you so much for reading! Leave reviews if you please, they fuel me! (big uwu energy)