The Art Of Thorns|| BakuDeku Au

02|| The Art Of A Fucked Up Life

02| THE ART OF A FUCKED UP LIFE

"Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so
ordinary that the whippers are in love too."
―William Shakespeare, As You Like It

                                             ╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮

"Oh, c'mon Bakubro you mean to tell me you didn't do anything remotely interesting over summer? I find that hard to believe,"      

Katsuki scoffed, flicking Kirishima's lingering arm from his shoulders. 

Sweat fell slick against his forehead and palms as heaved the last of his redheaded companion's boxes into his room. Unfortunately, he drew the short straw in his friend group―quite literally, it had been Ashido's idea to draw straws―which landed him the hefty task of helping Kirishima. The boy had quite a lot of stuff for his room, more so than last year.

Ever since the students received the exciting email that their dorms would be upgraded to much larger rooms, most of the class had gone shopping for more decorations, furniture, etc.

"But I read this article a month ago that said your parents took a trip to Europe for their latest fashion line," Kirishima pouted, scratching the small scar above his eyebrow.

"Yeah. Doesn't mean I went with them,"

Europe had been unnaturally hot that time of the month, which would do nothing to ease his breathing problems. He volunteered to stay home so his parents wouldn't miss another important business trip, promising to update them on his health every other hour. It had been the best part of his summer vacation. 

"What? You had a chance to go to one of the most beautiful places on earth, and you just stayed home?" Kirishima shook his head, disbelieving. "Dude . . . I say this as your honorary best friend―"

"You're not my best friend,"

The redhead paused mid-sentence, mouth hung agape. He ignored the comment. "―you need to get a life."

"And you need to mind your own fucking business. Guess we both have shit on our to-do lists, huh?" Katsuki replied with ease, collapsing onto the boy's bed with a huff.

The room smelt heavily of fresh paint and polished hardwood, kind of like the smell of moving into a new house. Katsuki enjoyed the smell, breathing it in his lungs while ignoring the unpleasant ache it came with. He'd have to remember to take his pills tonight, he had gone too long without taking them this time.

Kirishima kicked a lone beanbag aside, joining his friend on the bed, lying opposite of him. Their heads next to each other. He turned to look at the boy, an unreadable emotion flickering through his eyes. Katsuki frowned.

"What the fuck are you looking at?"

"Have you been feeling okay?" Kirishima asked gently, disregarding Katsuki's question altogether. "You look a little pale, man."

Katsuki sucked in a breath, holding it for an uncomfortable amount of seconds before averting Kirishima's stern―yet oddly mother-like―gaze of concern. This happened from time to time, on days where Katsuki's health was exceptionally low and his mind was consumed with all things Izuku. He tended to look like shit on those days.

Kind of like now.

"Yeah, I'm pale. I just carried in most of your bullshit for you, Shitty Hair. I'm tired as fuck now," Katsuki offered a laugh, though an unconvincing one. It was scattered and huffy.