Bakugo Katsuki

you were there. you were there the exact moment his heart stopped in the battlefield, and you couldn’t do anything before it happened.

not only you, but the rest of the heroes had witnessed the pallid, lifeless body against the gray concrete — eyes half opened, dark crimson liquid around his mouth and the hole in his chest. dead.

why was it so hard to forget about that scene? sometimes, you felt stuck in that moment. even after edgeshot had sacrificed himself in order to become the young hero’s heart and bring him back to life, even after the war ended, you were still haunted - once you fall between the bridge of unconsciousness and dreamland, his corpse always lays in that dark, empty space. you can’t reach over, something is forcing you to limit yourself to solely feel the desperation, the hurt, the sting you felt that day.

“damnit, stop fuckin' crying already,” there’s actually no venom laced to katsuki’s words. the clock signalled 3 in the morning when you came to his dorm room, crying, searching for a reminder that it was just that grievous routine repeating. In this space right here that you have made for each other, he’s holding you close to his chest as a hand gently presses your head to the accurate spot where you can hear his heart beating. still alive. still with you.

“see? there’s no need to be weeping like a loser, if anything, i should be the one traumatised,” true. “come here.” katsuki cups your face, the rough skin of his fingers brushing at the tears spilling from your lengthy lashes and decorating your cheeks, kissing them away, too.