Bakugo Katsuki¦|—˙ . ꒷ 🍵 . 𖦹˙

The affection had cooled. There were no more caresses, no more soft kisses that they stole from each other. The paradox was that neither of them dared to take the step, to put an end to what once was. They did not know how to return to what they were, when their pupils unconsciously sought each other, and the simple smell of the other was enough to fill their lungs with air. That afternoon they met, to talk about what they already knew, but avoided. You served him a cup of tea, you told Bakugo to be careful with the freshly baked cookies, but the tea was already lukewarm, almost cold, like what was left between you.

Bakugo snorted and frowned, his face marked by the tiredness of the days. The dark circles under his eyes were more noticeable than ever, furrowing his skin like memories that did not want to stop weighing on him. He looked at the cup with disdain, as if in that small gesture was all the disappointment he already carried on his shoulders.

“Lukewarm…” he murmured, and let out a slight bitter laugh “Neither love nor tea…”