Shoto Todoroki
- Month 1, Week 1 -
"So..." whispers Bakugou after I've finished expelling plant matter and blood from my system and have prepared myself for bed. "How do you wanna go about sleeping? Really, I'm perfectly fuckin' fine with the floor. You have my word that I won't do anything to you without your consent. Tch. Well, don't think dirty thoughts..." He firmly nods his head with a steady gaze of vermillion.
I know that I can trust you, but this skepticism biting into my thoughts says otherwise. What if you forget? What if...this is some sort of devious machination? Am I simply a fool? No. I feel ashamed that I would deign to think of him like that. Yet, I cannot truly know his thoughts. That dubiety is such a suffocating flaw. In this world, is it feasible to trust others? A villain donning a heroic, jubilant mask is all we could be. We? Can I trust myself?
I shake my head. "It's fine. Don't sleep on the floor," I murmur as a desiccated undertone.
"Todoroki." He drums his fingers along his arm. "Is it so damn much to ask that you're comfortable? Don't give me the convenient answer. Give me the honest answer. I value honesty a lot. If you're not comfortable, I'll feel like shit. I know you're not gonna feel completely comfortable after what happened, but as much as we can muster, right? Oi. Listen to me." I lift my head up to face him. "Does it feel good to make yourself suffer?"
I surreptitiously snap my teeth down onto my lower lip. "Why?" I question with monochrome words.
I hate it, but I know I deserve it. Say what they want to hear, even if it hurts. No one said both truth and lies are not both beautiful and repulsive. If I endure the hit, then the others are shielded. Yet when they realize, they become rather flippant and precipitous, charging headlong into the line of fire.
He exhales slowly through his nostrils. "Answer the question."
He speaks with such calmness. "Sometimes?" I hesitantly reply.
"Sometimes? Like when?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry." I lightly feather my right thumb across the bandages of my left hand. "I suppose...it feels good when something sharp is cutting into my skin." My tapering words drench the two of us with sandy silence for a moment.
While I scratch at my arm, Bakugou releases a doleful sigh. "I really do appreciate the fuck out of the times you tell me the truth. Get that into your thick skull. Not trying to extenuate this, so... We've got to think of something to ease you off of it." He pauses, glancing over to me with eyes that immediately apprehend my hand from my arm. "I know you can't just put away the blade and everything will be better. But you can't not try to get better. Not under my watch. Your skin is scarred enough, Todoroki. Now, c'mon. What are we gonna do about the sleep situation?"
I shrug. Vanity is what I am. "I said that I'm fine sleeping with you. O-Only if it's you." My eyes falter from his gaze as a subtle warmth sighs along my cheeks. "I trust you..." I think I do, at least.
Bakugou, whose cheeks have been flushed with the coruscating pink of spring cherry blossoms, now veers away his gaze from me. "O-Okay. Fuck. You..." He trails off, cupping his hand over his mouth.
"Are you feeling all right?" I gingerly inquire while the sweet warmth flooding through my body lingers.
He nods rapidly. "Yeah, I'm all right. I'm feeling pretty ga... Great, actually." He removes his hand from his mouth to reveal an enticing smirk.
Suffusing the room is a saccharine sap of endearment that transiently inveigles my mind into soft repose. Mellow yet vigorous, the air cradles the two of us as if we're snuggling supine in a hammock woven by tender, authentic intimacy and trust.
What a beautiful smirk. "Really?" I say almost teasingly, amused by his ebullient mien.
His smirk melts into a smile. "Maybe you really do make me soft, Todoroki. How the hell do you do it?"
"So...you aren't denying it?" I now wholeheartedly tease him as he rolls his eyes at me. "Ah... I don't know, honestly. I know you've gotten me to open up more, though. An eye for an eye, I suppose. You're softer and I'm more talkative."
Now evidently blushing, Bakugou hisses, "You sound... Nah. I'll shut the fuck up. C'mon. Get in the damn bed, Icyhot." Still with a jubilant smirk tugging at the peripheries of his lips, he gently points at the bed.
A slim, poignant smile beseeches my lips to follow the curve of Bakugou's, but the grimy weight of my heart pushes the tips down. "Thank you, Bakugou," I whisper, carrying my smile through my words before it withers away into cool, dim embers.
You were going to tell me I sound way too fucking happy for what just happened, weren't you? You looked...so elated to see me a bit brighter than usual. So, I tried to smile. But I couldn't hold it up. Even for you, I failed to stay my bent emotions—the elastic curves snapped back up into a fell, straight line. Even when I struggle towards the hand reaching for me, I simply sink back twice my efforts. He is so kind to me. He never had to be. What in me does he see? Even so... Please, I ask that you cease these ample offerings of kindness. You never...had to do this all for me. It hurts, but you hold me close and remind me again of a tomorrow where I will see you again. Again, again. Lest a day arise when even that cannot quell the quarreling flames that asphyxiate my soul...
Bakugou's brilliant smirk diminishes as I nestle myself into his bed that smells faintly of what I would describe as ash-rose; smokey and bitter with a sweet appearance and aftertaste. He remains silent as he soon follows suit with his short-sleeved shirt clinging to his admirable, husky build. Flicking off the light beside his bed, the soft shuffling of his limbs echoes through the room.
Staring into the void of black before me as my eyes unhurriedly adjust to the inkiness of the room, I eject a sigh. Splaying my fingers through the darkness, the cool air wraps around the seemingly webbed flesh between my digits.
Even though I have so many reasons to live, fight, and acquire invaluable memories, I still think of all the ways I could take my own life. I hear his words. I feel their sincerity. I understand them. Despite that, they simply seem to aggregate into rancorous packs of wolves circling me from the shadows. They howl to remind me of my ignorance. They growl to remind me of my callous recalcitrance. They snap their jaws at my heels to remind me of my own vanity. I fear them. Try as I might to accept them, I've only so many fingers to feed to the voracious beasts.
"Bakugou?" I ask softly, continuing to stare vacantly at the wall in front of me.
He briefly drones, "Hm?" I can hear his head lifting up and tilting towards me from the silky, grainy smoothness of his body brushing against the bed.
Perhaps I can distract myself from these pernicious thoughts of mine. "Do you remember when... Ah. I suppose you were asleep. You wrapped your arm around me and—"
"Like this?" Bakugou's robust arm spills cautiously over my neck, his hand dangling over my chest.
"Yes," I reply, "like this. How did you know?" I lift my gaze a bit before returning it to Bakugou's darkened hand.
"You're as oblivious as ever," he snickers with his voice pressed up against my ear. "But...I was awake. You held—"
"Like this?" Our warm fingers slip between the gaps of the other's fingers.
He snorts lightly, his breath tickling the back of my neck. "Yup, asshat."
"I feel safe like this. Your hands are clean. They aren't...groping for something like his." I gently push his knuckles into my chest. "I forgot how much I once enjoyed physical touch. My mom would stroke her hand through my hair. I miss it." Closing my eyes, I soon feel a familiar hand snaking across my hair.
As the hand caressing my head deftly weaves through my white and red tendrils of hair, Bakugou murmurs, "If you miss it, I'll give it to you. This feel good? Or bad?" His massaging fingers slow to a halt.
"I like it...a lot." My cheeks feel warm again.
"Tell me if you don't like it, 'kay? Long as you're comfortable, I'll keep going. Maybe it'll help you get some damn sleep."
A voiceless chuckle falls from my lips. "Perhaps," I say with frost peppering my breaths. "Thank you, Bakugou. You don't have to be so kind to me." Still cradling his hand in mine, I lightly exhale.
"You know what, Todoroki? I want to be kind to you. I wanna be the kindest person I can to you—I'll push my own limits to get there. It'll be a good mutual experience, yeah?" He slowly shifts our entwined hands so that the back of his hand can feel the full wrath of my effervescent heart. "Your hand's pretty shaky. You've got a damn good heart, Todoroki. We're gonna mend the damage. It'll take time, and it's never really gonna go away, but we'll do what we can. Yes, we, Todoroki. Now, stop talking to me and start trying to fall asleep."
If only...
Once Bakugou's alarm screeches like the shrill shriek of a hawk, I sigh, having no desire to depart from the comfort of the bed. His hand that's interlaced with mine finally splits away as he silences the ear-piercing wailing of the alarm on his phone.
Dragging my leaden body out of bed, I brace myself for the day ahead of me. Now changing into uniform after showering, I force a deluge of bloodied yellow petals from my lungs. After cleaning out my mouth, I manage to stomach the entirety of the breakfast Bakugou prepared for me with the only repercussion being quite the stomachache.
Arriving extraordinarily early at U.A. and entering our classroom, a bleary-eyed Aizawa glances up from his desk and stands up expeditiously when his eyes fall on me. "Did something happen?" he queries, briskly approaching the two of us.
As I nod, Bakugou eyes me before crossing his arms and closing tight his fists. "Yeah. Something sure did fucking happen. The motherfucker going by the shitty name of Endeavor got drunk and...he raped his own son last night." He shakes his head with seething rancor.
Aizawa's eyes widen in stupefaction, yet he remains stolid as he states, "I will report this immediately. Why did you not contact me or another adult the night it occurred?" He pulls out his phone from his pocket.
"I know the bastard isn't going anywhere. All that mattered to me was getting Todoroki the fuck out of there and somewhere safe." His teeth gleam through the pink of his lips.
I am...incredibly burdensome. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my expression grim and despondent.
Aizawa lowers his gaze to meet mine. "Listen here, kid," he gently sighs. "This was not your fault. I'll get this taken care of. While I do, Bakugou, I want you to watch over him and ensure that he feels safe and comfortable." The solace flaking from his words simultaneously stirs my mind with warmth and guilt.
- Month 1, Week 2 -
By the end of the week, both unfortunate and auspicious news—respectively—have arrived for me to hear. The paramount, hapless news is that even Aizawa was unable to present an argument strong and effective enough to so much as entertain the idea that Endeavor was culpable for what he did to me that night. Of course, Bakugou's fuse is both ignited and decimated upon hearing this, leaving him as an irate incendiary waiting for even the faintest speck of a spark to enter his vicinity in order to explode. The felicitous piece of news, however, is that starting next week and spanning out for a duration of two weeks, our class will be venturing out to a relatively small, nice town by the ocean as a celebration for making it to our final term. Aizawa explains that there are ten houses, so there will be two people assigned per house; we are free to select who we'd like to live with for two weeks.
While the class pairs off and convivial conversations arise from the announcement of the two weeks of relaxation and the end of the day, I promptly rise from my seat and exit the classroom, striding desperately towards the bathroom. Once alone in the bathroom, I immediately begin to cough up the flower petals that scratch at my chest. While in the process of this, however, my breaths between coughs shiver from the sight of small green leaves now joining the amalgamation of plant matter.
While drying off my hands after washing them and scrubbing even under my nails, Kirishima enters the restroom. "Bakubro asked me to check on ya," he nonchalantly hums. "Aizawa's talking to him right now. So, what's shakin', Todoroki? You seem kinda pale. You've been coughing more recently. Oh, you're not sick, are you? If you are, I'm sure you'll get through it like a man!" He now smiles jubilantly. "Anyways, you don't look like you're doing so hot."
You speak far too much far too quickly. "What is this 'so hot' that I should be doing?" I ask, exhausted simply by hearing Kirishima's animated comments.
"Man, someone should teach you some humor! Like. Huh. You don't look like you're doing very well," he rephrases.
My shoulders shift upwards ever so slightly before relaxing back into place. "Oh?"
"Well. So, you're pale. You flew out of the classroom. Bakubro wanted me to check on you. Something seems fishy! Oh. Hey... You're not still upset about when I grabbed your arm, are you? It was a while ago, but it wasn't very manly of me." He scratches the back of his head, much like Bakugou would have done.
Your hand on my arm... His hands on me... Him in me... I find myself paralyzed in place as my memories fire through my mind like bullets from a machine gun. Holding me... Rubbing me... In me...
A hand frantically waving in front of my face grasps my attention. "Todoroki? Oh, hey. Welcome back. I'm Kirishima, if you forgot." He grins at me. "What were you thinking about?"
Don't...smile at me like that. "Nothing. I need to go. Sorry." Without another word, I flee from the bathroom and return to the classroom to see Bakugou and Aizawa talking outside. I retrieve my belongings from the classroom and scurry back out to the two, scratching my arm as I do.
Aizawa nods at Bakugou before turning to face me. "Are you comfortable attending the trip?" he asks.
I nod as Bakugou gestures for me to follow him, and before I know it, the two of us have departed from U.A. "Where are we going, Bakugou?" I question, still attempting to bat away the lingering memories grinding into my mind.
"Remember how we were gonna get you out of the house last week? Well, we're doing that today. So, what do you wanna do? If you don't pick, then we'll walk for a while."
I want to do absolutely nothing. The only appealing idea that rings in my head is to cut, but would you not be abashed because of me for that? The rush of adrenaline, the blade cutting into my skin, the swift motions, the scorching of my skin, the blood... Whisked into such a place above the clouds, I forget—I become entranced by the sheer grandeur of the feeling of floating on air and above reality. Is it so much to ask to forget for even a transient moment? Because it hurts. It's a terrible, interminable pain in my heart that I can dull with this euphoric sensation.
With heedful slowness, Bakugou's hand embraces mine. "Don't." As his hand pulls away from mine, I cling tightly to his. "Oi... You okay with people thinkin' we're a couple?"
"A couple of what?" I ask, relishing the reaffirming palpability of his hand in mine.
He shakes his head a bit. "You're as dense as a damn rock. Dense, as in stupid. Don't take that seriously. Tch..." He clicks his tongue.
"You're very confusing."
"That so? Can't help it. Deal with it. Damn. That sounded harsh. Fuck..." He slides the palm of his hand from his forehead and into his forest of ash-blonde hair tendrils.
You seem less composed than usual. "It's fine, Bakugou," I say while releasing his hand; I convince myself that our fastened fingers caused his perturbation. "Don't beat yourself up." I glance at the ground.
Hypocrite, I inwardly snarl.
His brows shuffle downwards. "You, the king of self-abasement, telling me not to beat myself up? What the fuck?"
Fully cognizant that my nails are scraping at my arm, I mutter through my gritted teeth, "I can't...help it." Dismayed, I hang my head.
I throw the lies I'm fed with back at the people around me. I choke them down, thank the person for the hollow words, and allow them to uncomfortably settle before the time arises to spit them out for someone else. All I am...
His hand grasps mine. "Hey. It's fine, Todoroki. I'm just good at unintentionally lashing out. But, we need to break that, then. What's a part of yourself you like?" He stuffs his free hand into his pocket.
How could I like something as filthy as whatever I am? It's so abominably filthy that...Endeavor wanted to destroy it from the inside. Even the inside of me is filthy. So filthy. No one could truly love something so odious and self-deprecating. I don't want to be loved. I don't want to love. What gives me the right...
"Todor—"
In quite the dither, I rip away my hand from Bakugou's, now breathing heavily from the dismal smog of the memories savaging my mind. "Don't touch me," I precipitously huff before casting awry my gaze from the trepidation dinned into my instincts. "Sorry..."
I long for the clean, immaculate touch he provides, yet it still reminds me so strongly of the filthy hands of Endeavor's that would grope me. It reminds me that he is not simply a figment of my imagination. It reminds me that I truly am awake. It reminds me that...I am real. Still. Why must I be real when I simply hurt the people around me like this?
As the two of us begin to approach a familiar section of land leading to a place I once crossed through every day, Bakugou sighs, "When you apologize all the damn time, it makes me feel like shit. Todoroki, I just want you to be fucking okay. Is there something more—something better, even—that I could be doing to make it any easier?" His morose eyes of garnet twist the strings of my heart, warping them unnaturally and tapering them asunder.
I hate...how much you care about me. "It's fine, Bakugou."
"It isn't fine—"
"Need I remind you that we are in public?" I say in a brisk sigh. "Now is not an appropriate time." Shaking my head, I peer out to the familiar view of suspended bridge overlooking city.
None currently occupy its steel clutches. It has been quite some time. As alluring as the thought of soaring into the sky and rending the translucent, placid ocean of reality is, I would be quite the fool to attempt such a feat with Bakugou at my side.
As we approach the bridge painted in steel-gray and slate-gray with arms of a thick plastic resembling glass, Bakugou grumbles, "Oi. There you go with the silver tongue. Let's go somewhere else." He gestures for me to follow him to a divergent path.
I shake my head. "I won't. I'm not heartless. If you're worried, hold my hand." I offer my hand to him, which he accepts with squinted vacillation encroaching on his resplendent irises.
"What if it awakens some sudden urge? I don't know!" Evidently irked, he releases a soft snort.
"I think—"
Dammit. I think about it frequently enough. Even when I am capable of grasping those thoughts and ascending to the sky, I always pull away.
"—I'll be fine. I visited this bridge a lot in the past." Once the two of us step onto the unwavering, sturdy bridge overlooking the convivial city beneath, I peer over the ledge with my hand restrained firmly by Bakugou's iron grip. "I'd come here to escape from Endeavor. Not many people pass through here. Some take this bridge daily, though."
Bakugou sighs. "Why'd you come here?"
I shrug. "It's a fair distance away. I guess...if he ever followed me, I could've jumped. Weak and selfish, I'm aware." My arms now rest on the guard railing as I inhale deeply.
He averts his eyes from the bustling, fluctuating ground to glance over at me. "Well, I guess your point's true, but that's sickening to think about. Tch. So... What'd you do? How long wouldja stay?"
Questions, questions... "I'd think. My visits were usually an hour at the minimum." I now rest my chin on my curled fingers. "What did I think about? Ah..." I stretch out my toes as a bitter shower of heat licks my limbs. "What my life would be like, had I been responsible and forced Endeavor to put down the alcohol... What I am... My purpose here... Why the hell I'm here..." Fortuitously spewing my last remark, I fail to realize I've uttered it aloud.
I don't want to be here, yet I still plod through with this life of mine. I want to throw it all away—crush it, burn it, shatter it into unidentifiable, irreparable shards. What purpose do I serve? What—
Gently and cautiously does an arm snake over my shoulders. "Something's keeping you here. Something's keeping you from leaving. Whatever that is, find it and beat the hell outta embracing it. Keep going, Todoroki. You'll be glad you did. You ain't weak for wanting this. But, oi. You make me smile, Todoroki..." He looks as though he's preparing himself to continue on, but he closes his eyes and sighs. "You give me another reason to live. You give me something to look forward to. You've given me your friendship, and that alone is one of the best things I've managed to procure. Hear me?
"Your mind's full of shit. You probably think that all you're doing is hurting and worrying everyone, but that isn't true. Sure, we wanna help you, and maybe we do get worried, but that's cuz we're all fucking humans here. With exceptions, it's ingrained in us as the damn humans we are to be sympathetic. I won't say I appreciate it all the time, but it's just what we are—can't change that. Even the exceptions are just as human." He exhales slowly. "The moments I've had with you, I wouldn't trade for anything. Give me the world, and I'll ask for my memories with you. I mean that." His expression is stern, yet dappled with a light peach hue.
A soughing breeze tugs at the tendrils of my evenly divided hair of red and white. Once I gaze at Bakugou's gently swaying mass of ash-blonde, my heart leaps up through my chest.
"How? I-I'm not sure I understand."
His grip on my hand tightens. "I... Because I love...having you at my side. I can't explain my goddamn emotions, but my day automatically brightens when I'm spending it with you. That's something I never felt when I was with Shitty Hair. Sure, I'd be stoked to do some dumb shit with him, but he was never what was always first on my mind. You're always at the top of my thoughts, Todoroki."
You care so much about me... Even though my heart wishes to be glued back together with your words and actions, my mind wants to estrange myself from you. My mind is the fell dictator here.
I remain silent, leaving the two of us to wade in the waters of silence agitated by the wind and buzzing chatter below. Our hands remain interlaced, and Bakugou's arm rests along my shoulders. While I stare vacantly down at the ground, I notice Bakugou glancing over at me a few times.
"You keep looking at me," I comment with pedestrian bluntness.
"Because you're... Look, I'm making sure you're not starting to lean over or anything. That's all." He turns his nose opposite my direction.
I think you're lying. "I see."
Bakugou...whenever I am with you, why does it kill me so softly? So slowly? So inadvertently? I want to be with you, but it hurts both my lungs and my heart. I feel so comfortable and warm, yet so disgusted and cold. Two or three months...is all that remains of our time together. The pain of losing this ethereal feeling around you is ceaseless—it refuses to subside. I do not want the surgery if I am to lose these feelings. I've grown far too attached. Why have I allowed myself to grow so attached?
"You all right?"
The same question and the same lie again and again with no end in sight. "I'm fine," I sigh.
"It'd be nice if you'd stop lying to me," he scoffs while the wind tousles his clothing and pokes at his hair. "I already know the truth, so why do you keep lying to my face?"
"Do you?" I challenge him with my lifeless insouciance. "Am I?"
His head tilts towards me by what I assume is reactionary impulse. "Don't bullshit me. What's it feel like to be fine, then? Riddle me that with your selective silver tongue." He now abjectly stares at me.
"Oh? I could ask the same of you and our answers would surely differ." My voice remains glacial and detached.
He pulls out his phone. "'Kay. We'll text each other our answers. When we're both done, we'll send them at the same time." He begins to click his fingers away at the screen of his phone.
"Be it so."
'What's it feel like to be fine, then?' All I can deduce is that it wouldn't hurt so damn much every day. Ah. Pain. Does he expect me to say the ameliorated versions of my predicaments? If I am already in that state, then a positive outlook might perhaps be my best option. Such pitifully idyllic thinking, but...
Pointing my eyes skyward to the pastel blue of the sky dappled faintly with wisps of a feathery, watery white, I retrieve my phone from my pocket. Looking down at the glossy black screen reflecting the sky above, I turn it on to see a few missed messages on my lock screen.
Yaoyorozu: Since we didn't have the opportunity to talk today, how are you?
Me: I'm all right. Thank you for asking.
I flinch at the sight of Endeavor's name.
Endeavor: Whete the fuckn are you?
Endeavor: Worthoess disgrace. If you are not here for training in fiev minutes you will not wske up in the korning.
Endeavor: I will fidn you and beat you kyself.
Your messages are a disgrace to my eyes—grammar included. Even so, I should still return home. He must be...lonely. Why do I still allow myself to care? Should the traumatizing impact of what he did not outweigh this undertone of sympathy? If it's okay for me to become what I want to be, and if it's okay for me to become a Hero, it's okay to want to save you, right? I suppose that does not erase how I wish never to be associated with you or the merciless memories that are conjured up solely by your name, but I could never forgive myself if I do not at least endeavor—how foolish of me—to right my wrongs.
Once I finish my message, I look up to Bakugou, and we deliver our messages simultaneously. I now read over Bakugou's description of being fine:
I aim to give each day my best shot—you only live once, so why not go out with a damn good boom in a sense of accomplishment? I look forward to that. Setbacks make me stronger, and hell does it feel good when I overcome them. I'm glad to be alive with the people around me, even if I'm an asshole to almost everyone. Sometimes it's rough, but I won't let anything stop me from being the best, so I give each day my best shot.
Bakugou reads mine out loud. "It's calming. It feels warm. It's why I'm here. It's why I can get out of bed." He pauses, finished with reading my piece. "That... I'll admit it isn't what I expected to see, but you still don't convince me. You don't have to be fine to feel calm and warm—you probably feel that way when you're cutting." Hearing Bakugou utter the word of my fault, guilt sinks my stomach with a boiling, thick fluid. "You don't have to be fine to be alive. You don't have to be fine to get out of bed. You don't have to be fine. It's fine not to be fine. But it isn't fine to treat yourself like you're a worthless sack of shit. You're not. I see you as a human being and as my fucking friend. You're invaluable to me. I can't fucking replace you. If I never get to see you again, I will sob. I will be fucking devastated. You can bet I'd end up lashing out at everyone. So when you act like you don't mean a damn thing, it makes me feel like shit. It makes me wonder if my efforts mean nothing to you."
Hearing all of that... I want you to forget about me. I can't help myself, Bakugou. Even though I know it hurts you, I keep doing it. I don't have long to live. If I weigh you down with guilt and worry—
A hand slips into mine. "Hey. But that doesn't mean you don't make me happy." He flashes me a smile—not a smirk or a devious grin, but a smile. "Now, let's get something to eat. Whaddya say?" I nod slowly.
My cheeks feel warm. My heart feels warm. My fingers are tingling. I feel warm. It feels pleasant. I like this. But...what gives me the right to feel it?
- Month 1, Week 3 -
After shoveling my belongings into a suitcase to last for two weeks, I rendezvous with Bakugou and proceed to U.A. He asks me how I feel about two weeks without school, training, or Endeavor. I explain that I'm both grateful and skeptical regarding the unorthodox reprieve from my daily routines. Arriving at U.A., we're greeted by the majority of our classmates with hands occupied by bags, suitcases, or phones. Aizawa inquires as to how I'm faring with the traveling ordeal, and I answer that I'm fine; he seems quite dubious about my reply.
While Mineta visibly yet silently fantasizes about his lewd scenarios, Midoriya approaches me with his charming grin. "Looking forward to the trip, Todoroki-kun?" I nod. "What are you most looking forward to, then? I can't wait to swim with you guys in the ocean. Huh. Um..." His eyes trace along my body from head to toe. "The only times I've seen you without a long-sleeved shirt were at the Sports Festivals. I'm sure you look great, Todoroki-kun! I-I hope that doesn't sound weird."
I thrust the blame for the scars on my arm onto a villain attack. I suppose that, to myself, I am my own villain, so I was not incorrect. Damn. I will... Damn. Damn! I would seem highly suspicious for refusing to wear appropriate clothing for the weather, and for refusing to join in on their activities. All the scars... What do I do?
I scratch at my arm. "Not at all, but I prefer long-sleeved clothing. I suppose I look forward to the change in atmosphere. What do you most look forward... You already answered that. Sorry." My eyes flick to the floor as a familiar stirring flutters in my chest.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Midoriya's head tilting a bit. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" His compassionate voice soothes my ears, yet it acts as a pin pushing into my chest laden with yellow petals.
I need to leave. "I'm fine, Midoriya," I sigh, inwardly maundering about how often I claim to be fine.
"I-I don't mean to pry or anything, but—"
Please, stop asking. "I'm. Fine. My apologies if that sounded rude." I now dismiss myself from Midoriya, turning on my heel as I stride off to the bathroom.
Once in the bathroom, I sprint to the nearest stall and crouch over the toilet, ejecting petals, leaves, and blood from my lungs. Now gasping for breath after quite the coughing fit, I brace myself on the sharp coolness of the metal wall of the stall. With pulsating vision and burning, taut lungs, I glimpse at the blood diluting with the water filled with medium-sized discs of yellow and green before they all drown beneath the current of a small whirlpool.
"Todoroki-kun?" asks the harrowed voice of Midoriya.
Why must they always follow me? With raspy breaths, I murmur, "Wh-What?" Standing shakily, I unlock the door and step outside, continuing to pant heavily.
"W-Well," he stutters, fiddling with his fingers, "I was really worried when you walked out like that. I thought I'd offended you in some way. And then I-I heard erratic breathing, and I thought you might've been having a panic attack. I didn't mean to seem intrusive." His large, verdant eyes meet mine.
"I'm fine. It's fine. It's all...fine. I apologize for my lack of variance."
"Are you okay, though? I-I thought I also heard you coughing. Are you sick? Um. I'm not a germaphobe or anything, but are you sure you're well enough for—"
That is quite enough from you. "Midoriya..." I sibilate with a jagged placidity likened to polished fangs. "I would prefer not to reiterate myself. I'm all right. Or do you simply not comprehend my words?" I press my middle and forefinger directly above my right eye.
His expression oscillates between solace and worry. "You look tired..." he continues to press. "More tired than before. Have you not been sleeping well? Todoroki-kun, I'm worried about you."
No... Why do you worry? Why do you care? Why? Leave me be. Let me die alone, as I deserve. Please, stop. Stay your tongue and thoughts. Pry further no more. One too many have become aware of what I worked to conceal. I need not another. Stop.
"I've been training," I reply, monotonous as ever. "Fret not over me." My fingers ghost my sleeve. "We should be heading back." While I turn to leave, a hand grasps my left forearm. "Ah!" I submissively sink to the floor, steeling myself for a domineering voice to assault my ears and glass to bite into my shoulders and back.
Don't touch me. Not like that. Not like that. Not like that! My thoughts are muddled with the distorting sounds echoing through my ears. Endeavor. Dirty. Clicking. It doesn't... Where? His hands. Tracing. Feeling. Stroking. Stop. Stop!
Melting my thoughts away is a scorching bullet of sound. "OI!" inveighs a livid Bakugou, who I look up at to see him shoving Midoriya up against the wall. "Don't you fucking touch him, Deku!" Pinning Midoriya back with ghastly knuckles and sharp breaths, he secures both of the greenette's hands in his.
With magnified eyes, Midoriya yelps, "K-Kacchan! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything! I was just w-worried!" He squirms in Bakugou's grasp.
"Bakugou, stop..." I plead, picking myself up from the floor with quaking knees. "You'll hurt him."
Hearing my whispers of desperation, Bakugou's grip loosens until Midoriya finally slips free. "Tch. Get lost, Deku," he snarls, huffing with a lour. "Never fucking touch him again." He eyes Midoriya from the corner of his eye until the student with freckles timorously departs. "I know. I shouldn't have done that. I couldn't control myself." He grinds his fist against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cool surface as well. "I was...scared shitless, okay? Fuck."
Watching as he wrings his rage from his system, I wrap my arms around his torso. Uncertain of what to say in a placating manner, I sigh softly along his shoulders.
This is what he would do for me, right? I've no words to console him as he does to me. It's okay for me to hug him, right? He's warm. I can feel every breath he takes. I can feel his heart. His heartbeat is such a pleasant melody, whereas mine is quite the dolorous symphony of rancor. I understand his desire to lend a hand, but I cannot fathom why he would want to give me his hand. I like this feeling of hugging him from its warmth and comfort, yet when he hugs me, I feel as though I don't deserve it. Hugging him, I suddenly feel guilty and uncomfortable. I don't like the idea of being loved. What gives me the right to be loved? If love is truly what I feel for you, then why does it hurt so much to feel it? I feel so hollow. So empty. So vacant. But I feel warm.
"Hey," he finally whispers, lifting his head from the wall and gradually turning to face me. "Thanks, you ass. We're probably holding up the damn line. Let's go. Move your ass." He motions for me to first leave, so I follow his implicated command.
Once we arrive back at the classroom, sure enough, we are the last two the class is waiting for. Seeing me enter the room, Ashido gasps, "You two were totally making out. You walked in before Bakugou!" She smiles jovially.
"Dream on, Pinky," Bakugou spits, crossing his arms defiantly. "I'd sooner lick the fucking dirt."
"Making out?" I question indifferently.
Uraraka chimes in, chuckling, "You know what she means, Todoroki-kun!" She slaps her hand against Ashido's by their palms connecting.
I lift my brows a bit. "I'm very confused."
"Someone needs to teach this precious child what emotions are," Ashido sighs with a grin. "When was the last time you had a different expression from the one you always have?"
I'm exhausted from feeling emotion. I would prefer not to receive any lessons pertaining to it. My heart aches simply thinking about emotion. I feel sick.
After quite the voyage to our destination that I acted as though I simply slept through, our class files out into the balmy breeze of the town residing by the ocean. The quaint town with a common theme of its buildings being painted in various shades and styles including blue, white, gray, green, and yellow certainly captivates the eye.
"We're here!" Hagakure exclaims, enthralled by the aesthetic scenery.
"It's...very bright," Tokoyami remarks, and Dark Shadow seconds.
Iida now begins to slice the air with the robotic motions of his arms. "Remember to be on your best behavior! We may be on vacation, but we must still remember our manners! Thank you for this trip, Aizawa-Sensei!" He bows rapidly, almost as though his upper half is swinging on a hinge.
"Yes, thank you very much, Aizawa-Sensei!" Yaoyorozu cheers with manifest gratitude.
Once we've all been checked in and receive our maps marked with our house locations, house numbers, and combinations for our houses, Aizawa informs us that we will all meet together this afternoon for a mandatory hour of supervised pool or beach fare—we are apparently required to partake in this activity daily for attendance and safety purposes. Afterwards, we are to all meet for a meal as a class; this meal is not a recurring, mandatory event, however.
So, in an hour, we will meet up at this beach. Right. Then, we are to eat at a place renowned for its handmade pizza. I see. I strongly dislike it when my food is hot. I still feel relatively full from when I ate this morning. I don't want to eat again. I do like eating, but it's become more and more of a chore. I also strongly dislike the feeling of being completely full. I must be quite persnickety when it comes to my eating habits.
"Ready?" Bakugou questions, reeling me back into the ocean of reality. "C'mon." I follow in his lead through the afternoon sun shedding its heat down on the town. "Damn, it's hotter than I anticipated. A damn shame that I can't blow anyone up. But, hey. Sometime, since I know there's no way in hell you're gonna show your scars to anyone, I wanna take a dip with ya in the ocean. Wait. Shit. They'd probably hurt like hell." I place my right hand on his neck and activate my Quirk to a minute degree. "Damn, that feels nice..."
I consciously feel along my arm with my hand, considerably abashed by the inextricable quandary I've racked myself with. "I'll be fine. I'd like that." Digging my fingers through my right pocket, I extract my vibrating phone; the caller ID on the screen is none other than Endeavor. "Yes?" I sigh.
"Why have you not been responding to the texts I've sent you?" he demands, his voice leaden with subdued hostility and simmering curiosity. "Where have you been, Shoto?"
He's sober, but it seems he is unable to recall what transpired that night. "I've been busy. It doesn't matter. You wouldn't remember my location, even if I told you. Quite candidly, you are a thief. Perhaps I am varnishing the event implicated to be in question. I can never retrieve or recover what you defiled." Ending our call, I cup my left hand around my left eye.
I want to save him, yet I am always such a cold, belligerent animal when I speak to him. Is this not what my typical persona entails for my behavior around others? Only around a select few will I allow myself to... I am disgusting.
"Was that who I fucking think it was?" Bakugou queries, his voice a tempestuous storm surging through the amicable air. "The hell did he want?"
Although discountenanced by the mere thought of Endeavor, I retain my phlegmatic aura. "A bagatelle," I mutter.
He sighs softly. "Todoroki, it isn't to me. I know you know that. I've opened you up this much, but I've still got a ways to go. Hey. Thanks...for being alive. Really. Without you now, I just can't fucking imagine it. I... Oi. This is our house. Damn. It looks nice. You wanna open it? Here." He hands me a small slip of paper with our house combination on it.
Pinching the paper between my thumb and index finger, I glance down at it and mentally read: #0120. Simple enough, I think while punching in the code into the door. It seems vaguely reminiscent of something. It's familiar, yet I've no recollection of it. How peculiar. A series of swift mechanical whirs and groans ring out softly before a click instinctively alerts me that the door is unlocked. Pulling the cool, metal handle, I step into quite the luxurious, beach-themed house.
"Damn. Whole place is ours, too," Bakugou remarks with a gratified smirk. "Just you and me here." His eyes dart from the ceiling to the floor, from wall to wall, and decoration to essential furniture piece.
The large white tiles on the floor distort the reflected light from the ceiling lights into wavy, glowing frills. Strung across the walls are seashells of varying sizes and shapes that I assume to be real. Past the entryway and into the kitchen and living room area is a glass back door allowing throngs of straw-colored sunlight to drown the floor and tickle the air with its fickle, translucent ribbons. Facing towards the entryway from the back door are two doors; one is on the side of the house with the living room and the other is on the side with the kitchen.
After setting down our belongings and somewhat settling in, Bakugou claims the room nearest the kitchen, and I claim the room nearest the living room. In each of our rooms is a separate bathroom, and for that, I am extraordinarily grateful.
Now changing into swimming trunks and swapping my shirt with a thin, white sweatshirt with sections of pale blue at the sleeves, hood, and hem that rides at my hips. I walk out of my room to see Bakugou with only swimming trunks on. Seeing him as free and natural as he currently is causes my heart to heighten its drumming.
He smirks at me, playfully rolling his eyes. "You look ridiculous. Kidding. Maybe not... Hey, since you never show your legs, I forgot you had them." His smirk sunders into grim neutrality. "Oi. How do you plan to explain those?"
"Shit," I murmur under my breath, having forgotten about the old scars on my legs.
His brows raise. "Hah! Did you just fuckin' say 'shit,' you levelheaded ass?" He clears his throat. "Damn. Those are some nasty scars. They don't take away from your natural charm at all, though. You sure you're comfortable showing those?" Scrupulously moving from scar to scar on my legs, his head tilts with his eyes.
The pungent bitterness of guilt benumbs my taste. I feel sick every single time I taste it. It's such a thick, viscous fluid that coats my insides with its noxious contaminants.
Without a word, I return to my room and slip on a pair of jeans before returning to Bakugou. "I do look ridiculous. My Quirk must be serendipitous—I can endure extreme heat and extreme cold." Closing my left hand into a fist, I shake my head. "I'm ready." I follow behind Bakugou out the door.
"If they pester you about how you look, I'll beat their asses. They don't know the shit you've been through. No good's gonna come if they press for an answer that I'm damn sure you don't wanna say."
Bakugou...
As expected, the two of us are some of the later arrivals at the beach Aizawa instructed us to gather at. Aizawa eyes my clothing—with good reasoning—and offers me a reaffirming nod.
"Kid, if anyone attempts to pressure you into anything, I want you to tell me. All right?" I present a saturnine nod. "If you feel uncomfortable at any time, I'm here for you to talk to. As long as someone accompanies you, you're allowed to leave before the hour is up."
I feel acute discomfort as it is, I cogitate while sitting down at a wooden picnic table. Midoriya seems to be progressively working towards unsnarling the enigma that is me. He commented on how I always wear long-sleeved clothing. When Bakugou tore Midoriya from grasping my arm, my chest was pounding fervently. Taking him into an embrace felt so right but so wrong. I feel as though I'll shudder if I am to be hugged again. It once felt so nice. Now, however, I feel sticky and oily, and overall, I simply feel filthy.
I stare down at the wavy strings running through the thick wood of the table, jolted back into reality when Kirishima saunters up to me, who's sitting across from Bakugou. "Hey, Bakubro! Hey, Todoroki!" he greets us, overzealous as always.
"Yeah, Shitty Hair? What do you need?" Bakugou scoffs, leaning onto his arm atop the table.
"Not a beach kind of guy, Todoroki?" Glancing up to Kirishima's voice, his refulgent red hair swaying above his bare shoulders captures my attention as I shake my head. "Aww, that's a bummer. You're not hot in all that?" I shake my head again. "You're pretty manly for wearing all that! Anyways, you guys wanna join me and a few others for some volleyball?" I nod again. "You're really not much of a talker, but that's also manly! You're awesome, Todoroki."
You would praise me for such paltry matters? Even if it feels nice, somewhere in my heart, it feels like an incendiary bullet transfixing and searing a place where none can truly reach. I would prefer to be hated than loved.
Disregarding the ineluctable comments pertinent to my unusual attire for the beach, the volleyball game somewhat suppresses my maelstrom of thoughts. Likely due to Bakugou being the "hardcore alpha male" that he is, as referenced from Kaminari, our team meets an indubitable victory. Once the game has ended and the majority slinks off to rest and rehydrate, Yaoyorozu walks up to me.
"You're an exceptional volleyball player," she chuckles, sitting beside me at the table I'd settled myself at previously.
Although internally nettled by the compliment, I plaster on an amiable facade. "Thanks. Ah. I would practice with my siblings when I was younger." Meeting her jet-black eyes, I find myself reminiscing over my childhood days prior to being locked away in solitude and interminable hours of training.
With a smile, she turns to face the ebbing waves of the ocean. Like a yawning gale of frost, the waves lapping up at the shore slather across a vast sea of yellow minerals and soak them down to a grayish-brown. Glittering blindingly with stars of white from the afternoon sun kissing its surface and choppy peripheries, the silver-blue waves of the ocean twirl and curl in translucent arcs adorned with whirling white ribbons of seafoam.
"This is my first time at the beach," I sigh, observing as seagulls scour the sand for any critters they might find. "It's pleasant, yet it reminds me of how much time I have left." My eyes flick down to my right hand.
Once I expire, I will be unable to share these pleasant memories with Bakugou. When my consciousness remains no longer, my eyes will fail to see the colors you gave to me. After I've fallen through the clouds to reach a realm beyond this world, I wonder... Will I remember you?
Yaoyorozu's smile becomes quite rueful. "I'm glad you're able to experience this, then. Todoroki-kun, you say that as though you don't intend to receive the surgery if... What do you plan to do? I apologize if I've asked before."
I detest the fact that the world truly can be quite beautiful. "I don't know, but I would like the surgery to be a last resort." My eyes drift to Bakugou, who is currently drinking a bottled beverage that I assume is water.
After a few minutes, our class sits down at a few tables strung up together at the restaurant Aizawa detailed us on. While Bakugou reserves a seat for me, I proceed to the bathroom to disgorge the plant matter and blood from my system again. Once I return to the table and sit at the corner seat Bakugou saved for me, I thank him.
"Man, I'm starving!" Kaminari announces while we receive our menus.
"Same here," Kirishima chimes in.
The majority of the class agrees with Kaminari, so when we finally receive our orders, that same majority seems to be the first to indulge in devouring their meals. Kirishima and Kaminari practically wolf down their meals with audible satisfaction. I stare down at my plain cheese pizza, uncertain of what to make of the odd-looking, foreign food.
White cheese and red sauce... How familiar. The oily residue. The red oozing forth. Endeavor... Endeavor holding me, touching me, in me...
As pictorial images of perfectly revolting scenes form and eventually culminate in my mind, I flinch at the hand gently gripping onto my shoulder. With vision stained by splotches of white, I snap my head around to face Bakugou. Upon seeing the familiar, placid features of the ash-blonde, I begin to compose myself again.
With patient, imperial ruby eyes, he sighs, "You were dead-ass zoned out." He removes his hand from my shoulder and glances down at my untouched food. "I doubt it's still hot." I shake my head with my left eye twitching lightly. "Shit... Hey." Beneath the table, he insinuates his hand into mine. "It's gonna be okay," he whispers, "but I want you to take a few bites."
Repulsive. Filthy. Filthy. Filthy. So filthy.
Contaminating my relatively clean hands with the adhesive oils and grease from the pizza, that alone feels like a punch to the stomach.
His... He... In...
The appetizing taste of the food in my mouth is mired by the filthy mud of my nauseating memories and their connotations. Forcing myself to swallow down a single slice, I hang my head and face my lap in an attempt to still the odious churning of my stomach. Internally reminding myself to hold it down to preserve my strength before my condition deteriorates further, I still cannot erase the thoughts of Endeavor entering my body.
"The only reason someone would fuck trash as worthless as you would be to beat you from the inside."
I can't. I can't.
Rushing with a wide gait into the bathroom, I can foretell that my body will flush itself out, but I find myself augmenting this process by once again jamming my fingers down my throat until I've vomited everything up. Panting heavily as a residual burn seizes my throat, I inwardly rebuke myself for succumbing to this again. Thoroughly scrubbing my hands and scraping my nails from one hand under the other to loosen and wash away the grease beneath, I repeat the process again to ensure I've eliminated the filthy residue. Staring at myself in the mirror, I notice the tears forming in my eyes; I wipe them away and blink perfervidly.
In a daze, I stumble back out to our table and take my seat with my gaze lowered to evade any eyes staring at me.
"Doin' all right?" Bakugou whispers, and I respond by nodding. "Did it taste bad?" I shake my head. "We'll talk about this later."
While we stand up to leave and return to our houses, I cling closely to Bakugou as we depart. For the first half of the fifteen-minute walk, we continue on in the silence of the faded melody of nature. This silence is splintered, however, once my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Midoriya: Can I ask you something? It's a personal question, so you don't have to answer, but I still want to ask. I was going to when we were all leaving, but I didn't want to pull you away from Kacchan.
"That ass ain't texting you, is he?" Bakugou growls, his sonorous voice crackling in my ears.
"No. It's Midoriya," I utter without a vestige of emotion poking at my words.
Me: Go ahead.
Bakugou clicks his tongue. "Deku, huh? The hell did he want with you when I found the two of you like that? What, you like him or something?" His head tilts away from me.
While awaiting Midoriya's question, I reply, "I'm very fond of him. I can use my left half as I do now." My phone buzzes in my hand.
Midoriya: Are you starving yourself?
No, but it certainly seems that way. Additionally, I am noticeably thinner. I would like to gain that back, yet it sounds incredibly tedious to do so.
Me: No.
"That so? Well, I'm very fond of you," he utters in a whisper. "I fucking hate to admit it, but you've changed me one helluva lot—for the better. I love...being around you, 'kay? I admit that." His bottom lip curls up a bit to form a scowl.
You love...being around me? I feel warm. My cheeks feel warm. I feel so warm. Despite that, I feel empty. I feel as though an insatiable void fills my chest.
Midoriya: I don't know if I believe that.
Me: What would you like me to say, then?
As we open the door to our house, I force an emotionless chuckle from my lips. "I made you soft?"
"No!" he snarls innocuously. "You asshat!" He roughly tousles my hair.
Midoriya: I don't know? But you left in a hurry for the bathroom and didn't even eat much.
I don't want to talk about that. "I love being around you as well," I state gingerly, raising my hand a bit as he opens his mouth to speak. "Fuck you, too."
"Don't just fucking predict what I'm gonna say and... Tch. Don't just say that shit with your blank-ass, unamused face."
Me: I was reminded far too strongly of an event I wish not to recall. I can understand why the restaurant is renowned for its handmade cookery, but all I will say is that I cannot forget. If you truly do not believe me, ask Bakugou. Midoriya, I assure you that I eat.
Midoriya: Okay, I will. Thank you. I just don't want you doing that to yourself.
After perhaps an hour of our continued unpacking and relaxation, Bakugou asks if I'm ready to haul my ass out to the ocean. I shake my head vertically, and with that, the two of us stroll into the brilliant gold of the late-afternoon sky. Filaments of gold and cerulean weld together with a hard orange to paint the lucent canvas overhead.
Stepping onto the warm sand slathered before the gray waves steeped in tangerine, I survey my surroundings to ensure that the two of us are alone. Confirming our solitude, I timorously step free from my jeans pooled at my feet and pull my sweatshirt up over my head. Now with my clothes clumped together in my arms, I set them on the grass outside of the reach of the sand.
Scrutinizing my body, Bakugou grins as a light dust of pink mantles his cheeks. "Hot damn. Oi, look at me. Stay your eyes on mine this time. Lemme tell you something, Todoroki... You're fucking beautiful, okay? Handsome as fuck, okay? Your scars are a permanent part of you. You wouldn't be you without those scars, and you're fucking perfect. Yeah, I'm serious... Don't tell me I'm soft again. I mean it. I mean all of it, dammit." His toes dig into the sand.
I feel so warm. I feel as though I'm seated next to a bonfire. Your words make my skin tingle with warmth. Despite that, they feel so hollow and sharp. It hurts, but it feels good. It feels good, but it hurts. How exhausting. Thinking and traveling in transparent circles is also exhausting.
Internally perturbed by the fact that Bakugou expatiated his intimate thoughts pertaining to me, I retain my superficial equanimity. "You're...very sweet. Surely you jest." I lightly scratch at my arm, glancing at the multiplicity of scars littering it.
His breaths deftly stroke my ear. "I meant every word." He now pulls back from me, running his hand along his neck. "Now, c'mon. Get in there before I chuck you in myself." He eyes the curling waves sliding up to the shore and shattering across the sand.
My feet sink into the cool, somewhat sticky sand licked by the ocean water. Leaving footprints as a tapering wave encapsulates my ankles, I flinch at the new sensation of the cool water filled with tumbling grains of sand rushing past my feet and receding back. Before long, my knees are resting beneath the surface of the swaying sea. Glancing at the movement I detect on my left, Bakugou motions for me to follow him. I continue to wade into the ocean lightly jerking my body back and forth to reach Bakugou, and by the time I do, I realize now that my feet no longer touch the sand and kelp below. My body bobs and drifts beside Bakugou from the tide.
"Now I know you can swim," he cackles, gently flicking a splattering stream of salty water at my chest. "What did you think?" He now flicks his fingers at the surface of the water weaving up and down in rhythmic arcs.
I scratch at my scars and recent wounds. "With you here with me, I like it." I return a flick of water at him, and in the kingdom of thought Bakugou rules over, this seems to be a declaration of war.
Splashing my entire front half with a skyward chop to the water, he soon drenches my upper half as I gradually follow suit. While gazing off into the distance for a moment, my face is slapped with something slimy and thin, yet rough. A torrent of laughter erupts from Bakugou as I nonchalantly peel off a clump of seaweed strands from my face. The salty taste of the ocean that's smeared across my lips causes me to lick away the cool saltiness from them.
"Your laugh is quite the charm to listen to," I casually remark, unintentionally severing his geyser of abrupt emotion. "I don't think I've heard you laugh like this before."
"Oh, shut it. You looked absolutely ridiculous like that. Couldn't help myself. Seeing your calm-ass reaction was priceless."
Once the two of us return to the shore, Bakugou takes my hand in his and guides me along a dirt pathway to a minor precipice overlooking the sloshing waves of the ocean. With features gleaming in a rich, radiant gold in the twilight, he comes to a halt at the peak of the relatively small cliff. Peering out into the ocean gilded by the ribbons of light seeping faintly into it and being reflected back among the shattered shards of the darkening sky, the crescent blade of the blazing sun captivates my attention. Now sitting down beside Bakugou, we watch the gradual descent of the scintillating sun into the vast stretches of shadow below the twilight-stained bend of the horizon. Vacantly staring off into the trickling curves of orange and tangerine, the song of the imposing ocean hums in our ears. I lean my head on Bakugou's shoulder, inhaling deeply at the resplendent grandeur illuminating my eyes with vivid, autumnal hues.
Staring silently atop the warm precipice, the clouds are soon dyed with a deepening lavender and stroked with saffron. Around those jovial clouds, the gradient sky hugs them close.
As the sun thins into a searing smile, Bakugou's voice enamors my ears. "Hey... Can I tell you something?" I can feel his chest inflating and deflating as I give him a perfunctory nod. "Right. 'Kay... Look. I..." His fist clamps shut and squirms around a bit, so I place my hand on his; his fist relaxes and his fingers intertwine with mine. "Todoroki, I...I love you." My eyes wrench open at his statement as a serrated blade of guilt presses into my chest. "Fuck, uh. I fucking love you. Not...as just a friend. Look. I-I guess what I'm asking is if you feel the same." His eyes are glued to the ground sprinkled with flecks of orange.
A twilight truth you present to me that is destined to set me free. Why, then, does it feel as though I've been revoked of the ability to breathe? It burns. It hurts. My chest feels so heavy. I feel so warm. But it hurts. It hurts... Why does it hurt so much? The more affection you offer to me, the more pain I feel. Your love is what's killing me, Bakugou. Even so...should I not be condoned to leave behind me this disease?
Suffocating in my vacillation, I wrap my arms around Bakugou. I would hurt him if I declined. "I do, Ba—"
My words are swallowed up by the warm, tender lips enveloping mine. Lifted up into Bakugou's embrace, he cradles me fast in his arms while avoiding my waist. Our lips gently mingle as our saliva is exchanged. His hand lightly grips my hair and fondles through it as his other hand firmly clutches my cheek. He tilts his head, deepening our kiss as a lusciously sweet sigh soughs through his nostrils.
If this is love, why do I feel so empty?
We simultaneously pull back for a transient moment before our lips reunite and fervently press together.
If this is love, why does my heart wail in agony?
With warm, effervescent friction buzzing between our dampened, slightly salty lips, Bakugou silently requests ingress into my mouth with his tongue.
If this is love...why can I feel a barrage of petals swelling in my lungs?
Meekly allowing Bakugou to do as he pleases with me, our tongues twist together in a warm, wet embrace of "love."
It hurts, Bakugou.
Enfolding his lips over mine once more, he twirls my hair through his fingers.
I feel as though I'll break down, Bakugou.
Hesitantly reciprocating his hand motions through my hair, my fingers weave through a damp deluge of warm filaments of ash-blonde.
I don't love you like you love me, K-Katsuki...
Despite his passionate, ethereal kisses and invigorating touch, I still feel a pang of obtrusive, rotting guilt jabbing at my heart.
...but that's all right.
As we both dither while slowly pulling back, the streaks of our hot breaths brush against our skin.
Because it's you...
He offers me a doting smile.
...it's all right.
I muster up an empty smile that swiftly falters.
I want you to be happy.
"What's wrong?"
As long as you're happy, that's enough for me.
"Nothing."
As long as you're happy, I don't mean a thing.
"Todoroki."
As long as you're happy, I'll be whatever you want me to be.
"Sorry. I'm not used to this." I rest my right hand on my left shoulder, faintly tracing my fingers down my arm. "I love you, Bakugou." Desiccated and saturnine, my words seem only to tear us both apart as tears prick my eyes again.
What gives me the right to love you?
As the embers of the sunset flicker and ebb away into the veil of the night, Bakugou presses me to his chest and rests my head over his shoulder. "I love you more, you asshat," he whispers, his voice a tender hum as his fingers cautiously massage my back. "If I'm going too quickly, tell me so I can take a step back. Don't be shy to voice how you really feel, 'kay? I fucking love you, and I want you to be okay. I'll do whatever it fucking takes to show you that."
Weeping silent, subliminal tears that fall not from my eyes, I tighten my grip around him. Bakugou, I can't allow myself to love you like you love me. My knuckles press into his skin as my hands curl into fists. I don't deserve to love you. If your love kills me on the inside like this, certainly mine would be beyond torturous for you. I want to share this warmth with you, but the love I show is one lie I wish never to become true.
Like hell I'm letting him walk towards the bridge. Ugh. Fuck it. I mean, I'll get to hold his hand. Christ, I'm going to be driven to insanity by my emotions. I'm just glad that I can hold his hand. I'm glad he's here. Even if he hurts inside, I'm glad he's alive. Now, why did you always come here? Why the hell you're here... Why the hell you're here... You're gonna break me with the things you say, Todoroki. That's something you'll have to figure out and discover. It's not something I can tell you. You have to decide for yourself why you're here. Damn. That hurt to think about. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd love to be able to tell you, but I can't. I can't decide who you are. Whatever your reason is for continuing to live, though...you better embrace that.
I want to finally confess. Even if you're with Ponytail or Deku, I still want you to know how I feel. Calm yourself, Katsuki. Get it together. Goddamn... He's so fucking perfect. Look at him, just standing here in the twilight like an angel with a heart of glass. My heart's pounding. C'mon, Katsuki. Say it. Shit. Here goes nothing... I'm so fucking nervous. Me? Nervous? Damn you. Your eyes are so beautiful. I'm fucking head over heels. Say something. HOLY SHIT?! HOLY SHIT! Holy shit, holy shit. Holy shit, his lips are melting my mind. Is this a dream? This better not be a fucking dream. I love you so damn much. If this isn't what love feels like, then... He's not too feisty or sloppy with his kisses. It feels like I'm dreaming. I'm kissing Shoto Todoroki. I'm kissing the ass that wouldn't show me his full power, yes, but he's my ass. Then what's with his frail, blatantly fake smile? Dammit, I hope I didn't make him uncomfortable. Take it slow, Katsuki. It'll take time for his mental scars to heal.