MAY 28TH, 2020 / OSAKA, JAPAN
Bakugo Katsuki thought he had been doing pretty good until the vomiting started.
He had listened to everything Kaminari Denki had said, answered all his questions in his usual short tone (which had ended up sounding even shorter and more hostile than usual as he pushed down the ever-growing sense of dread that had slowly begun creeping up on him since Kaminari had told him his name) and even asked some of his own- becoming more and more aware that his tone was getting angrier and angrier while his grip tightened more and more on his phone.
"How much do you remember, Kats?" Kaminari asked- and Bakugo noted somewhere in the back of his mind that he sounded tired.
"Very little." Bakugo paused, a dull, yet piercing, pain suddenly stabbing him through the eyes. He grit his teeth hard, biting back a hiss- reaching for his face to cover his burning eyes instinctively, but faltered when he realized it had passed almost as quickly as it had come.
"Kats? You haven't died on me have you?" Kaminari had sounded nervous, uncertain laughter bubbling up towards the end of his question- Bakugo was surprised that he found the sound to be strangely nostalgic- but he couldn't for the life of him associate the anxious sound with a clear memory.
"I remember enough." He had finally answered, leaning back against his kitchen counter and sighing loudly.
"Will you come?"
"I'll come." He had hung up after that.
Now, he lets out a shaky breath, smiling grimly to himself as he watches a boat drift slowly down the Okawa River through his kitchen window- heart pumping loudly in his ears.
The clock on his phone reads 7:13 pm, on May 28th, 2020- it's pretty much dark now, the sun only just visible over the horizon. It'd be completely dark in Irusu, however- the place where Kaminari was calling him from- the mountains that dotted the western sky blocking out the little light that was left. The thought sends a shiver up Bakugo's spine.
He began to move now, feeling agitated (and somewhat anxious, though he wouldn't admit that just yet) at the thought of just- standing around and doing nothing. He makes his way towards his bedroom, harshly pushing the "play" button on his stereo as he walks past it- not caring what plays, (Bakugo eventually recognizes it as "Tears" by X JAPAN) just wanting to have some sort of background noise to fill the sudden suffocating silence.
This was bad, Bakugo could feel it in his bones. That call had, admittedly, knocked him for a loop- something that didn't happen often- not at all, really. It's one of the many things Bakugo Katsuki prided himself on.
But this...
Bakugo ripped open his closet door with an unneeded amount of aggression. He blindly grabs an assortment of clothes, shoving them into a duffle bag (a gift from the radio station he worked at) he finds crumpled and looking sad on the top shelf of his closet- getting ready to go back home. at some point during the next hour, it would occur to him that it was as if he had died and been allowed to make all of his own final business dispositions...as well as his own funeral arrangements.
He called his usual travel agent, Tanaka Aiko, sure that she would be on the train home by now and unavailable to answer- hoping, even- however, she had answered scolding him good-naturedly about how she was just about to clock out for the night and even would have proceeded to do so if she hadn't seen that it was him that was calling. Bakugo hisses a quiet curse under his breath.
He told her what he needed, Tanaka asked him to give her 15 minutes.
"I guess I owe you one then, Aiko." They'd long since passed the formalities of "Mr. Bakugo" and "Ms. Tanaka"- despite having never actually met in person.
"Mhm, just give me a shout out during your next show and we'll call it even."
Bakugo cracked a small smile, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair. "If I have too- probably won't do you any good though."
"Haha." She replied sarcastically, but the smile in her voice was evident. "You're as snarky as ever, I see"
"Of course." He replied, forcing through a cocky tone "it's what I'm known for, isn't it? Ripping celebrities and politicians to shreds right to their fucking faces- live. I'm just so stuffed full with insults and snappy comebacks that I'd have to plug up all my orifices to keep all this natural talent from running out and touching the lives of everyone who crosses my path."
She laughed for real this time, Bakugo could sense her shaking her head. He closes his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache.
"Just- see what you can do, alright?" He finally spoke, hanging up on her as she continued to laugh, and slumps exhaustedly against his bedroom wall, feeling as if all the life has been sucked out of him.
Now, he has time to think- which was hard- it was hard because he didn't even know where to begin- his head was really beginning to pound now.
He is trying to figure out if he should bother bringing a jacket to Irusu- home- when his phone rings again. It was Tanaka Aiko, back in record time. He has the sudden urge to lash out at her for calling back instead of clocking out and going home as she had originally planned- but manages to bite it back by the time the phone is to his ear. She has managed to get him a first-class ticket for a Japan Airlines flight to Hokkaido, the island Irusu was situated on, which would take him to the Hakodate airport. From there he'd take a 90-minute bus ride straight to Irusu. His flight departed from the Osaka Itami airport at 9:15 pm and would land at Hakodate at 11 pm, he'd catch the last bus of the night at 11:05 pm and make it into Irusu by 12:35 am tomorrow morning.
"It's not that bad of a trip, travel time-wise- you've certainly gone a lot farther over the years." Bakugo can hear the sound of her long nails click-clacking against the keyboard and the quiet smack of her lips as she chews something- most likely gum. He frowns.
'Not that long of a trip...' Bakugo thinks to himself, an involuntary shiver going down his spine- his grip tightening on his phone. "Not that long of a trip" she had said- But she didn't have the slightest idea how far it really was to Irusu... he didn't really either, but- god, he had a feeling he was going to find out.
"I didn't try for a room because you didn't tell me how long you'd be there," she said. "do you-"
"-I'll take care of that." He interrupts, his tone taking on the same edge it had had with Kaminari- god, there was that stabbing pain in his eyes again- earlier. "You've done enough, go home."
She paused for a moment, seeming to pick up for the first time that something was off. "Are you-"
He hung up on her before she could finish asking her question, rubbing his eyes angrily, pissed that the pain kept coming and going with no clear indication as to why. After a minute or two of just standing in the middle of his room with his hands over his eyes, he pulls out his phone once more and searches for the number of the only hotel Irusu had possessed when he had been growing up there- the Shijima hotel and sauna. A tiny, rickety, wooden building with only 20 or so rooms, a sauna (as advertised in the name), and a natural hot spring in back.
God, there was a name from the past- he hadn't thought of the Shijima in what- ten, fifteen years? As crazy as it seemed, he guessed it would have had to of been fifteen years- and if Kaminari- there went that pain again, right on cue- hadn't of called him, he guessed he might not have thought of it at all for the rest of his life.
And yet, there had been a time in his life where he had walked past that rickety wooden building every single day- and on one or more occasions he had run past it after having had the police threatened to be called on him and that Tomura kid- and his buddies Jin Bubaigawara (more commonly referred to as Twice due to the fact that he had been thrown in a Juvenile home- you guessed it- twice.) and Kurogiri- after being caught fighting by one of the shop keeps or some other adult. Had they ever caught him? Bakugo couldn't recall.
Suddenly, a voice from the other side of the phone cut through Bakugo's fuzzy memories, causing him to jump a bit- his heart pounding wildly- when had that started? When Kaminari called? When the flight was confirmed? Or later?
"Thank you for calling The Shijima Hotel and Sauna in Irusu-"
Irusu- god, hearing it spoken aloud like that made his mouth go dry.
"-This is Mashiroa speaking, how may I help you?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, a muddled, barely-there memory of a blonde boy dressed in a cheap martial arts uniform pretending to break boards sounded off- but it was gone before Bakugo could process what it even was.
"I- yes-" he coughed, feeling as if the words were caught in his throat. He hadn't actually expected anyone to answer, you see- sure that the hotel that seemed as if it were going to blow over at any moment 15 years ago wouldn't be standing now- but sure enough- "Are there any rooms available?"
The man, god- there was something familiar about him- another quick flash of a blurry memory flew across his mind but he was still unable to grasp it and bring it full clarity. But still- there was something happening- vaults were opening in Bakugo's mind, slowly yes- but they were opening and Bakugo didn't like it one bit- spoke once more. "There are, how long will you be staying?"
Bakugo blinked, not knowing how to answer. Finally, he settled on asking for three days, starting tomorrow, with the option to extend his stay if necessary. The man on the line- Jirou?... no- but that felt familiar too- "I've got- I've got business in Irusu, you see... so I don't really know."
There's a slight pause, and Bakugo wonders briefly if the man is starting to remember him as well- yet, if that is what's happening, he doesn't say anything. "That sounds alright with me, how will you be paying?"
After reading off his viaso's MasterCard's information, and being assaulted with more tethers of forgotten memories he could never seem to hold onto, Bakugo hung up the phone. He was exhausted and stressed and was about to travel across 3/4ths of the country on the whim of a promise he made 15 years ago that he could barely remember.
A shudder works its way through him again, and he has to angrily yell at himself that he was fine- Bakugo Katsuki doesn't get scared or panicky- he was better than that.
Was he?
"Dammit, you are-" he growls at himself, pushing off his wall and heading back towards the living room with his duffle bag over his shoulder. (Someplace in the back of his mind he noted that he's already done a lot of back and forth) Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, wanting a cigarette.
He had never been much of a smoker per se, only having smoked occasionally when he was a kid -in Irusu- and even then he had only done it in times of extreme stress or to not be shown up by the actual nicotine addicts in their group-
He paused, full stop in the middle of the narrow hallway that led from his bedroom to the rest of his apartment. Shouto and Hanta.
Todoroki Shouto and Sero Hanta- the two of them had been then smokers- Bakugo could suddenly see a clear image of the two of them- Sero sitting on the ground with an easy-going smile on his face and a lit cigarette in his hand, and Todoroki leaning against a tree, cigarette between his lips and a bored expression on his face.
God... how long had it been since he thought about the two of them?
He shakes his head, regaining his composure and dialing the last number of the night as he heads to his living room, dumping the duffle bag onto the couch and beginning to pace, agitatedly, around the room as the phone continues to ring- seemingly never intending to end, almost as if it were mocking him.
He has to hold back an annoyed groan when the phone finally is picked up. It has been answered by Co-director Watanabe instead of who Bakugo was actually hoping to talk to- Program Director Yamada.
"What is it, Katsuki?" The older man grunts out, his annoyance obvious- causing Bakugo to grit his teeth and prepare for the fight that he was sure was about to break out.
"I'm taking a trip." He answered, putting on the politest tone he could muster (admittedly, it still wasn't that polite- but it was the thought that counts, right?)
Watanabe sighs, and Bakugo could see him in his minds eyes pinching the bridge of his nose as he leans slowly back in his chair. "When?"
"I'm leaving for the airport in about an hour or so."
Silence.
Bakugo waits patiently as Watanabe works out what he was saying.
"What do you mean you're leaving in "about an hour"?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
Watanabe let out a bark of exasperated laughter. "God- I don't- the schedule I have sitting right in front of me says that you're supposed to be ripping some J-Pop heart-throb a new one at 3 pm tomorrow!- not to mention you're supposed to be on air from 2-6 pm like always-"
"Get Yamada to do it instead," Bakugo replies curtly, his headache now here in full force. He doesn't have time for this.
"Get Yamada to- Katsuki, this guy is PAYING FOR YOU- he doesn't want to talk to me, Yamada, or anyone else- he wants YOU!" Watanabe exclaims, loud enough that Bakugo has to hold the phone a little way away from his ear. He could practically hear the middle-aged man's blood pressure rising.
"That sounds like a you problem, I'm taking this trip."
Another bout of laughter from Watanabe. "Good god- you- you- if it were up to me you would have been fired a long time ago-"
"Well, it's a good thing it isn't up to you." Bakugo shot back hotly, and then before he could stop himself "especially because it would result in the entire goddamn station going bankrupt."
There was silence for a very long time. Bakugo is almost ready to hang up when he hears Watanabe as sigh long and deep. "You aren't serious, are you?- like, you're fucking with me like usual, right? Just to work me up?"
Oh, how I wish that were the case. "I have to go, Watanabe."
Another sigh. "Is your mother sick? Did she- god-forbid- die?"
"No." He replies, thinking about his last visit with her only a mere two weeks before.
"Your father then?"
"Nope."
"Have you got a brain tumor or something?"
"I haven't even had a cold in what- three years? C'mon Watanabe you should know that at least."
"This isn't funny, Katsuki."
"No."
"You're acting like a fucking brat, and I don't like it."
"I have to go."
"Where? Why? What is this? Talk to me, Katsuki!"
"Someone called me. Someone I used to know a long time ago. In another place. Back then something happened. Something really shitty- I made a promise. We all did, that we would go back if the something started happening again. And I guess it has."
"What something are we talking about, Katsuki?"
"I rather not say." You'll think I'm crazy if I do. Also: I don't exactly remember.
"When did you make this famous promise?"
"A long time ago, in the summer of 2005."
Another long pause. Bakugo could tell that Watanabe Ren was trying to puzzle out if he was just having him on or was having a nervous breakdown.
"You would have just been a kid." He finally spoke his tone flat and laced with disbelief.
"Eleven going on twelve."
Another long pause. Bakugo was getting tired of him doing that.
"All right." Watanabe suddenly spoke, "I'll put Yamada on the rotation instead of you- and I'll make a few calls to shift schedules around- but I'm only doing this because sadly, you were right about this place going bankrupt without your show on air- but Katsuki? I'll never forgive you for flaking out on me- you hear me? Never."
"Oh fuck off." Bakugo replies, closing his eyes as his head gave a particularly painful throb: he knew what he was doing; did Watanabe really think that he didn't? "I need a few days off, is all. You're acting like I took a shit on our FCC charter."
"A few days off for what? Some sort of reunion with your boy scouts group in the middle of whatever nowhere town you grew up in?- and for what? Some promise you all made when you were eleven? Kids don't make serious promises when they're eleven, for Christ's sake! And it's not even that, Katsuki, and you know it. This is not an insurance company; this is not a law office. This is show-business, be it ever so humble, and you fucking well know it. If you had given me a week's notice, I wouldn't be holding this phone in one hand and a bottle of Mylanta in the other. You are putting my balls to the wall, and you know it, so don't you insult my intelligence!"
Watanabe was screaming now, and it was making Bakugo's headache a lot worst. He'd never forget it, huh? Bakugo supposes that it was likely true, however Watanabe had also said that eleven-year-olds don't make serious promises- something Bakugo knew for a fact wasn't.
"Watanabe, I have to."
"Yeah, and I told you I could handle it. Fucking Flaker."
Bakugo felt his eye twitch in time with his persistent head throb "Watanabe, you're acting like a fucking child-"
But Watanabe had hung up before he could finish. Bakugo put his phone down on the kitchen table, and had only just begun to walk away from it when it began ringing again- the caller ID identified it as Watanabe again, probably wanting to go in for round two- but Bakugo didn't feel like entertaining him anymore. For the first time in his life, the thought of arguing with someone didn't thrill him- a revelation which causes him to snort a little- so he denies the call mid-ring.
In the kitchen drawer, right beside the kitchen utensils -strangely in the exact same spot the Iida's kept their master key- Bakugo produces a small, silver key of his own. Rolling it around in his hand, he walks to the corner of his living room that he had dedicated as office space some years ago when he had first moved in and shoves the small key into the hole of the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet.
He sorted through the documents quickly- proof of rent payments, tax stuff, birth certificate, a bunch of stocks. He had bought the stocks seemingly at random- his parents had been against the idea, wanting him to wait until he had a more secure flow of income before he started investing in random stocks- but the stocks had all risen steadily over the years. Coupled with his radio show, Bakugo would be considered to be a pretty well off guy- not quite in the wealthy category- but close enough.
Rent, taxes, birth certificate, stock, and even a copy of his last will and testament, all the things that bind you and life together.
It was then that he suddenly had the impulse to light it all up- to go and grab the book of matches he kept in the cabinet in case of a power outage and light it all on fire, as it all abruptly hit him at once that none of it- none of these supposedly important documents- really meant anything- not truly, anyways.
That was when the panic had truly set in for the first time- no longer having anyone to be snarky and rude to meant he now had time to think- and if could think that means he could begin to remember-
Almost as if it had been waiting for its cue, a new, clear memory flashed through Bakugo's mind- Midoriya Izuku, better known as Deku back then- a nickname Bakugo himself had given to him years before the summer of 2005- stood scraped up and covered in soot with a look of pure determination on his freckled face. His chest heaving, tears threatening at the corner of his emerald green eyes.
Then, something else burned though his memory- A name- Iida Tenya. The older kids had often called him "four-eyes"- Bakugo himself had been guilty of this as well, but somehow he felt as if it were different when he had done it- though that was yet another detail he couldn't quite remember.
Seriously though, when had he last thought of Iida Tenya or Deku? He figured it must have been around the last time he thought about Todoroki Shouto, Sero Hanta, and Kaminari Denki- around 10 or 15 years ago. He and his parents had moved out of Irusu sometime in 2006, and their faces seem to have had faded from his memory alarmingly fast.
Behind the files that he had gotten the urge to burn, was what he was really looking for in that drawer. Cash. And Lots of it.
Now, as he zips it all up in his duffle bag, he wonders if he hadn't somehow known what he was doing when he put the money in here- ¥5000 one month- ¥12000 the next, maybe only ¥1000 the month after that. Rathole money. Taking-a-trip money.
"Fuck, that's scary," he says, barely aware he has spoken audibly. He was looking blankly out the big window at the Okawa River. It was deserted now, all boats most likely docked as the workday officially came to an end.
He slams the filing cabinets door shut with his foot, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and makes his way towards the kitchen to return the key to its rightful place, bits and pieces of his life in Irusu starting to come back to him in full now.
They had called themselves the losers club- Bakugo hadn't been particularly fond of the name, he wasn't a loser after all- but the others had practically made it official at that point and there wasn't really any hope of changing it. The seven of them had spent the summer in the barrens- such a strange name for an area so lush with growth as it had been- in their crumby little clubhouse. Kidding themselves into thinking that they were jungle explorers, or superhero's, or who knows what else. but whatever it was that they were doing, it was hard not to forget what it really was: it was hiding. Hiding from the big kids. Bakugo would have never admitted it then, but that's exactly what it was. Hiding from Tomura and his gang- they really had been a bunch of losers back then. Bakugo, more mature in his older age of 27 years, throws his eyebrows up at the thought- who had he been kidding? No one but himself he guessed- He had been just as much of a loser as the others were back then.
Tenya with his glasses and over-exaggerating hand gestures, Deku with his face full of freckles and a stutter so bad it'd cause him to go red in the face from the effort of trying to get a word out, Shouto with his burn scar and the pack of cigarettes he kept hidden in his sleeves, Hanta who had been so skinny it looked as if a lazy summer breeze would have been enough to blow him away, Denki who had been so short that he was often mistaken as being in grade three, Ejirou- Bakugo pauses at the new name, cursing at himself when he feels the tiniest bits of a flush begin to dust his cheeks- who had asthma so bad he was constantly using his pump, and finally himself- a kid with a smart mouth and fiery temper that he practically begged the older kids to punch out of him.
How it came back, how all of it came back... and now he stood here in his living room shivering as helplessly as a homeless mutt caught in a thunderstorm, shivering because the guys he had run with weren't all he remembered. There were other things, things he hadn't thought of in years, floating- you'll float too- just below the surface.
Bloody things.
A darkness. Some darkness.
The house on Neibolt Street, Deku (Bakugo realizes this is the same image of Deku that he had seen earlier- all scraped up and covered in soot and staring determinedly at something Bakugo couldn't quite see in his mind's eye) screaming "You K-Killed by sister you fuh-fuh-fucker!"
Ah yes, he had been so shocked then, having never heard the freckled boy cuss like that before.
Did he remember? Just enough not to want to remember anymore, and you could bet your shit on that.
A smell of garbage, a smell of shit, and a smell of something else. Something worse than either. He remembered that much, the smell- coming from underneath Irusu- and he remembered Eri-
But that was too much and he thundered quickly towards the bathroom, ridding the dinner he had had earlier from his stomach. He made it... but just barely, and even when his stomach was empty- no longer even vomiting up stomach bile- he continued to heave. Suddenly he could see her, Eri, as if he had last seen her yesterday- Eri, who had been the start of it all, Eri who been murdered in the winter of 2004. Eri had died right after the great flood, her arm had been ripped from the socket, and Bakugo had blocked all of it out. But it was all coming back now- these things sometimes did, yes, sometimes these things came back.
The episode passes and Bakugo reaches blindly for the flush, his head pounding worst then ever at this point. Water roars as the evidence of this brief moment of weakness disappear down the drain.
Into the sewers.
Into the stink and darkness of the sewers.
He closes the lid and lays his head against it, and despite his resistance, begins to cry. It was the first time he has cried since... well, since that summer now that he thinks about it. That just made the tears come faster, an ashamed and embarrassed flush settling itself on his face as he harshly wipes at his cheeks.
Finally, after an embarrassingly long 40 minutes full of tears, he's able to gather himself. He marches himself hotly down the stairs, giving off a very strong "don't you dare even look in my direction" vibe as he throws his duffle bag covered in his radio stations brand into the back of his black Toyota Supra. He takes one last look around, taking in the front entrance of his apartment, the Okawa River, and even the dimly lit parking lot his car was parked in one last time before getting into his car and shoving his keys into the ignition.
"Going home now." He says out loud to himself, anxiously tapping his fingers on his steering wheel, before pulling out of the parking lot and into the unnaturally light traffic- a pit forming in his stomach. "God fucking help me, I'm going home."