A/N: First of all, I wanted to let you know that I have decided to stop censoring my swearing. I had a reader suggest I do so on one of my other stories. If that bothers you, let me know, as I'm not opposed to changing back.
Warnings: Swearing; a child is hit by their parent; mentions of suicide
Thanks to Kayla Wood and camelcircuit for editing and inspiring my story! Be sure and check out their stories for our challenge
"Katsuki? Is that you?" He had barely crossed the threshold into his home before the old hag was yelling.
"Who else would it be, hag?" he made his displeasure clear.
"And where have you been, brat?" she appeared almost out of nowhere to grab his ear and pull him further into the house. He was released when they reached the living room, and reached up to rub his ear irritatedly.
"I don't have to tell you! I do what I want!" With the two of them, there was never a warm-up. Fights were fought loudly from the start, with both yelling from the get-go.
"I'm your mother! If I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Now, where were you? Huh?"
"Up your ass." Bakugou let a smirk rest on his face. His mother quickly removed it with a sharp slap.
"I have just about had it with you, Katsuki!" she screamed, inches away from his face. "If you don't make yourself scarce in the next few seconds, I'm not responsible for anything I might do!"
"Tch," Katsuki pushed past her to storm up the stairs to his room. Once he had slammed closed his door, he sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't weak. He clenched his fists as pressure built up behind his eyelids. This was stupid. He was on his way to becoming the number one hero, dammit. He wasn't supposed to be this weak.
All-Might never cries.
A lone spiteful tear dripped from his eyelashes and fell to the comforter beneath him. Growling in frustration, he lashed out and punched the wall by his bed, feeling a satisfying pop from one of his knuckles. He threw his fist again, hoping for relief. It wasn't enough, and soon he was punching the wall rapidly, using both fists. He didn't stop until he was out of breath, his knuckles bruised and bleeding.
He was still upset. He was still crying like a wuss. At least now he would have a reasonable explanation for the bruise that would no doubt be very visible on his cheek tomorrow. No one would question him. The bruise on his cheek paired with his injured fists? Just the screw-up delinquent kid with anger issues getting into fights again.
Katsuki didn't leave his room for the rest of the night. He was in no mood to have to deal with his mother again, and on top of that, he had no reason to. He had a few granola bars stashed in his room. One of those would suffice as dinner. It's not as though this hasn't happened before. Katsuki isn't hiding from Mitsuki. He's not afraid of her or anything. It's just that sometimes it's easier to just leave her alone than to deal with her bullshit.
He finished his homework early and then extracted from its careful hiding place between his mattresses, a leather-bound book. The book had been a gift, one that nobody knew about except him, and the giver. Years ago, when he and Deku had just been starting to drift apart, the nerd had given him a journal. He had noticed that they were growing apart, or more appropriately that Katsuki was driving him away, and had wanted to give him something to, as he put it, commemorate their friendship or something equally as shitty. He had hung on to it ever since, keeping it hidden partly because people would wonder where he got it, and partly because if people found out that Katsuki Bakugou owned a journal, they would probably laugh.
He had never written in it, though he had come pretty close a number of times. It always ended with him, pencil in hand, hovering over the first page, then slamming the book closed and shoving it back into its hiding spot. Today, he opened it and started to write for the first time.
I guess writing in one of these things is supposed to be good for you. It's supposed to give you a healthy place to let out all of your feelings and then you feel better or something. I don't know. I mean, if I'm being honest, I don't even really know what I'm feeling. I act like I'm angry all the time, but in reality, I just don't understand the emotions that are constantly changing inside of me. All I know is that I want to be the number one hero. I want it more than I've wanted anything else in my life. I would do anything to reach my goal, but somehow I just keep messing up. I hurt people around me. I mean, I told Deku to go kill himself. What kind of a hero does that make me? Heros are supposed to save lives, not take them prematurely. I'm such an idiot. Honestly, the world would probably be a better place if I just followed my own advice. I could do it. Take the leap, rid the world of at least one of its nuisances. It would probably be better for everyone else that way. I'm too selfish for that though. I'm gonna keep living, if nothing else to spite my mom, that insufferable bitch.
Bakugou closed the journal and absentmindedly brushed his fingers along the cover, reliving the day it was given to him.
"K-Kacchan, wait!" As usual, Bakugou kept walking. Deku caught up despite this. As usual. "W-wait, please. I have something for you!" A rectangular object was thrust into his hands. It was covered in newspaper and looked as though it had been hastily wrapped at the last minute. Katsuki stopped walking and stared at it for a moment.
"It's a gift," Izuku explained unnecessarily. "I got it for you. To commemorate our relationship. O-our friendship, of course. N-not like- Uh I didn't mean like a-a relationship. Y'know like b-boyfriends or something. J-just we've been friends for so long and I wanted to give you something in honor of that. Do you like it? Well, I guess you haven't even opened it yet so you probably can't really answer that question. I guess maybe I'm wondering if you like the idea of it. I mean, I don't even know if you're the kind of person who likes gifts or whatever. I don't know. Maybe I should have asked you before I-"
Bakugou tuned out his mumbling and tore open the paper from his gift. The journal fell into his hands, and he opened it. Inside the front cover was Izuku's scrawling handwriting.
To my best friend, Kacchan. You can use this journal to write down your thoughts and feelings. I know sometimes you feel a lot of things, and I know how hard it is for you to talk to people about it, so I thought maybe you could talk to a journal instead.
He never thanked Izuku for the gift.
Bakugou was pulled from his thoughts when he heard heavy footsteps outside his door. He quickly stashed his journal back in its safe place. It didn't matter much, because the footsteps died down as whoever it was continued down the hallway, not even hesitating at his doorway. He laid back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling listlessly. It was only 4:30, and he had no homework.
It was going to be a long night.
