The Art Of Thorns|| BakuDeku Au

01|| The Art Of Fucking Breathing

01|| THE ART OF FUCKING BREATHING

"I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine."
―William Shakespeare, As You Like It

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Flowers. Fucking flowers. The bane of his existence.

Such beautiful and quixotic plants, meant to appeal to the eye and in often cases the heart. A gesture of romance, an act of comfort, or a tool to capture beauty. The flower had many roles to play in such a vast and cruel world―they were the embodiment of all things pure and innocent. Kind of ironic considering it was that exact manifestation of grandeur beauty that was the cause of Katsuki Bakugou's pain. 

He sat there―slouched in the same position over the toilet like he'd done for years―hurling an onslaught of petals. Mint Julep Roses, to be exact. A groan rakes through him, vibrating off the bathroom walls as the flower petals come to a stop. Katsuki isn't stupid, he knows the worse has yet to come, though there's usually a good three-minute pause in between.

A chance to fucking breathe.

The blond pants heavily, gazing at the petals with awe. Beneath their blood-soaked exterior, they were the perfect shade of green. Light and delicate. He coughed once, twice, a singular petal fell past the slit of his lips.

Quickly, before it fell inside with the others, he caught it between his forefinger and thumb. Softly wiping the smudges of blood away until its true color was revealed. They were beautiful. But also a pain in the ass.

Katsuki heaved a sigh, not bothering to drink the water bottle his mother had placed beside him minutes ago. It'd do nothing for him but spread the metallic taste of blood all throughout his mouth.

His chest burned, so much so that he could feel the expanding flood of tears gathering in his eyes. He hated crying. The irony was nearly laughable, considering he'd been doing a lot of that over the past few days . . . weeks . . . months . . . years.  That doesn't mean he hated it any less, it made him feel weak.

Katsuki breathed in ragged deep breaths, knowing what was coming next, anticipating it with a firm grip on his knees. That's when he felt it. No matter how many times he's done this, he never grows used to it. The pain. It's excruciating, unbearable, fucking soul-crushing. 

A strangled groan rips through him―one-by-one thorns fall from his mouth―ripping through the raw and sensitive skin of his throat. He overdid it today, that's for sure. It was his punishment, for it had been a good few weeks since he's thrown up thorns. For they usually appear if he got too close.

Too close to who, exactly? 

Izuku.

Izuku fucking Midoriya. The other bane of his existence.

They had been doing a training exercise to kick off the start of their second year at UA, randomly drawing a name out of a bowl to choose their partners for said exercise. Unfortunately, Katsuki just so happened to pick Izuku's. He wanted to hate it―fuck, he wanted so badly to hate being partnered up with him. But he couldn't ignore the fluttering of his heart whenever the green-haired male spoke to him, looked at him, with that shy apprehensive expression that made him look so damn vulnerable.

Not only had his heart been behaving erratically in his chest, but it had also been sending shock waves through his system―clambering in like a frenzy to his lungs. As if alerting his Hanahaki Disease of his emotions. In short, his chest had been burning the entirety of the exercise.