Katsuki Bakugou

White sunlight drowned Bakugou's body in a blinding haze. He could feel the warmth of the rays biting through his skin and seeping into his bones like wet paint. That flood of warmth and light brought back a film roll of memories to him.

"Oi, wanna play some basketball this afternoon?"

"Sure."

I told you to dunk the ball, and your dumb fucking ass managed to dunk your whole face in the hoop, Bakugou reminisced, but his expression remained neutral. It was fun, Shouto. I was happy. I couldn't wait to see you, and that was the first time I'd ever felt like that. He felt a twinge of pain between his ribs. Now, it just hurts. Those fun times and those happy memories feel like a fucking noose around my neck. I don't want to hate them, and I don't hate them, but I'll never have them back. They just remind me of all I've fucked up to lose them.

"Hey, Bakugou?"

"What?"

"I think I like you."

"You're joking."

"I could be wrong. I looked up what I was feeling, and this seems like the most likely answer."

"I'm just gonna ignore how fucking oblivious you are for a sec. Wanna test it out?"

"Sure. How w—mm?"

"Hah… How'd the kiss feel?"

"I think I'd have to feel it again before I can determine that."

"You smooth motherfucker."

Bakugou grit his teeth, breaking into a brisk walk. The more I remember, the more it aches. The Shouto I loved, the days I loved, the plans I loved… I'm tired of feeling like I'll fall apart by remembering. I'm tired of not being able to move on. I'm so fucking tired of hating myself for everything. It feels like everything I love and live for turns into a stab in the back. From a reason to improve to a reason to destroy myself, from love to hate, from enjoyment and self-fulfillment to exhaustion and pain from ridicule. Even the body I'm burdened with having for the rest of my life is something I've grown to abhor.

"Hey, Kat. Every morning and every night, I'm going to tell you something I like about you, or a reason why I love you. Not just generic things anyone can say, but things special to us."

"Shouto…"

"To start, I think it's cute how you can never look me in the eyes when I start complimenting you."

"You sure that ain't bullshit, and you're actually offended by it?"

"Katsuki. Look at me. Look at me in the eyes." Todoroki cupped Bakugou's chin and lifted the latter's head to lock their eyes. "The only bullshit here is what you tell yourself. I'm giving you my genuine thoughts. Otherwise, I'd be wasting my breath, wouldn't I?"

Bakugou's lungs began to burn. He didn't know when he started sprinting for the unmoving goal of the horizon, but as he ripped away the memories besieging his mind like hair follicles from his scalp, he could feel his chest tightening. The sound of his feet smacking the concrete coalesced with the thud of his heartbeat and the gasps of his breaths.

Make it fucking stop! Bakugou wanted to scream. I can't take it. I can't fucking take it! Past, present, future… Everything makes me feel like dying. I run from one just to get caught up in another. It's unbearable wherever I go. I thought the good memories would help me through it, but I feel so fucking guilty and shitty instead. Every good thing starts good and ends horribly. Feels like I don't deserve any good moments, and life is just pitying me. But what the hell am I supposed to do if, no matter what happens to me, I feel like shit?!

A vibration in Bakugou's pocket wormed through his thoughts, and as he reached for his phone, the next thing he saw was a crack in the pavement lurching for his face. The hot rush of missing a stair on the staircase squeezed his stomach, and with a thud, his wrists and palms slammed against the pavement. Hissing through his teeth, the burn of flesh scraping on rough concrete flooded through his arms and knees.

"Fuck," Bakugou snarled in a gravelly whisper while slowly lifting himself to his feet.

Raw skin and smeared webs of blood caked Bakugou's wrists and palms. Thin flaps of pale flesh dangled over the splotches of pink, inflamed skin. Sieving the scarlet tears winding down to his elbows like snakes of infinity, he squinted his eyes.

I try to do something that'll help me, and what do I get for it? Bakugou retrieved his phone from his pocket by the tips of his quaking fingers. Story of my fucking life: I get punished for doing anything that'll benefit me. I try and make healthy changes, and they backfire and make things worse for me. I'm so fucking sick of it—of everything. I finally pluck up the strength to try and fight the things making life a living hell for me, and the world spurns my efforts. There's no point in trying if trying is worse than giving up. He scowled after reading the email Aizawa sent him. Oh, and now I'm just your way of getting information? Fuck you. I'll do it, but I'm sick of my whole life being lived for the sake of fulfilling other peoples' requests. Told myself I'd never become that type of person, and where am I now?

I told myself I'd only shave off a few pounds, and yet… I told myself I'd be happy if I just got through the initial pain of the breakup, and now, I just want to fucking die. I'm so goddamn sick of waking up, feeling like breaking down because I don't even want to leave my bed, getting intimidated and compared, seeing my reflection and hating it because it's not what everyone wants it to be, restricting what I eat and feeling so guilty about whatever I eat, seeing his face and being reminded that I'm always inferior to him, constantly comparing myself to everyone around me, just always feeling guilty, shitty, angry, sad, inferior, never enough… Why can't I just do one thing I enjoy without regretting it? Why am I punished for having things I love, and then kicked when I'm already down? I can't be myself anymore, and even if I tried, I don't fucking know who the hell that is anymore…

Bakugou stared at his reflection from the black screen of his phone. When I got those death threats, I kept dragging myself along, refusing to die. Everyone tells me to live now. Shut the fuck up. I don't know the vast majority of you, and you're acting like you know my situation, and you know I can get through it because I'm me, and I'm strong? You don't even know me! Shut the fuck up! He shuffled towards the nearest pharmacy. Should I be grateful I have the support of so many people I don't even know? Yeah, but I can't help but feel worse. It feels like another set of eyes watching me and judging me, pretending to care and pretending to be 'good people.' I hate it. I don't want to live, but after telling me to die, the world tells me to live. Now, when all that's going through my head is the urge to end it all, I'm back to living on as the pathetic, weak piece of shit I am.

After disinfecting and bandaging his wounds from the supplies he'd purchased at the pharmacy, Bakugou began his trek back to the apartment complex. His vision was stained with the white smog of hunger, and his veins convulsed with each familiar urge zigzagging through his psyche like a knife. Despite that, Bakugou continued to swing one foot in front of the other.

I thought taking a walk might make this fucking urge to kill myself go away, but it's even stronger than before, Bakugou inwardly maundered while his wounds continued to scream through his skin. God, I hate this. They talk about voices in your head telling you to kill yourself, but this isn't like that at all. It's physical. What the hell? Why can I feel something that doesn't have any tangible form? Is this what Shouto deals with? He espied the convenience store that was a few blocks away from the apartment complex. I want to eat, but there's no point anymore. If Shouto's able to tough it out, I can as well. Everything really is just a comparison, huh?

Once Bakugou entered the apartment he shared with his ex, he closed the door behind him. For a moment, he stood idly, and he listened for any indication that Todoroki was present. Then, after hearing a door unlock, he removed his shoes and glanced up to see Todoroki standing before him.

"Bakugou, what happened?" queried Todoroki, but he maintained his distance from Bakugou.

Shut up.

Bakugou offered Todoroki a frigid glare. "Like you care. Just show me your true face already, you lying sack of shit." His charcoal gaze did not waver. "Drop the fake sympathy. Drop the disgustingly superficial empathy. You drop the mask already."

Todoroki's curved brows and slightly raised lips sank into the neutral expression dinned into Bakugou's mind. "Are you sure you want me to do that?" His eyes were bullets of blue and gray.

I hate it, but you're the only one who might understand me, Bakugou thought. And if you say no, whatever. If you're gonna fuck me over with some mind games, I'll fuck you over as well. I'll toy with you and fake my own empathy.

"Did I stutter?" spat Bakugou. "I know you don't give a shit about anything, so why are you even alive?" He cocked his head.

Todoroki shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I thought I'd find a reason to live. Maybe I wanted to do it for you. I couldn't tell you. Really." Gunpowder laced his words.

"Always finding a way out of saying 'I want to die.' Just say it. If you don't care, you shouldn't be embarrassed to cough it up already."

I hate pieces of shit like you who go out of your way to give other people reasons to live when you're the same as them. Always playing the hero when you're just empty inside. Telling people you don't know and don't care about that you care about them. Living a lie and telling everyone else advice you won't follow. Disguising yourself to blend in with everyone else to hide how fucked up you've gotten. What perfect destruction it is. It's all so—

"Maybe I do want to die," Todoroki sighed.

Shut up.

"No, just say it as it is. You don't 'maybe' wanna die. You do wanna die, don't you?"

"I do want to die, Katsuki. Was that good enough?"

"Y'know, people like you are the people I hate the most. But if you wanna die, I'll gladly kill you…if you kill me."