i hate you. (Bakugou Katsuki x OC)

0 | Prologue

Death is a funny thing.

Not in a way that makes you laugh, of course. Funny in the way that it manages to catch you utterly off-guard, even if you see it coming. And I did see it coming, my mother's death. It was one of those things that seemed to be moments away at any given time.

I had always imagined she would slip away softly, gracefully. Whenever her radiant eyes dimmed and her smiles lost their warmth, I could picture it. The way she would forget to say goodnight to me and how I'd wait all night for her to remember. When dawn broke, I would anxiously rush to her bed. And she'd just be gone. As though the world had blinked and she vanished into its silence.

The way it actually happened, three years ago, wasn't as poetic. Mom had been doing well that day. Exceptionally well, actually. She rose from her bed without having to be begged, dancing through the house with a music. It was such a rare sight that Father abandoned his work and took us to the New Year's festival. We stuffed ourselves with food, savoring every moment, every echo of Mom's laughter.

Just before the fireworks erupted, Father sent us to secure coffee jelly while he found a spot for our blanket. Mom led us through a dark alley to avoid the bustle of the street.

There, amidst the darkness, were three villains. Of course, I didn't know they were villains at the time, but there was something about them that made me uncomfortable. They were whispering something about a "League".

I knew we should have turned around right then. I knew. But, apparently, Mom didn't. As soon as she saw the three men, she dropped my hand and took a hesitant step forward. When one of the men looked up, she took another step. I didn't follow her. I waited patiently for her to turn back around, grab me, and bring us to safety.

She never turned around.

This part of the memory always gets blurry.

All of the doctors I saw after told me it was a defense mechanism. When our brains recognize that something might be too much for us, it just blocks it out. Every time I recall that alleyway, my mind blurs like I was staring into a black curtain.

By the time my memory picked back up, Mom was already gone. I was wedged between a dumpster and a wall, covering my ears while a steady pool of tears leaked from my eyes. A man with messy, black hair and terrible eye bags knelt before me.

"Are you lost?" He had asked, peeling a pair of yellow goggles from his forehead.

"Did you save my Mom?" I managed between my sobs.

Confusion clouded his face as he glanced around the perfectly empty alleyway. "Save?"

"From the bad guys?"

The man, a hero I realized, didn't have an answer for that. Instead, he picked me up and wrapped a long scarf around me. I didn't realize we were moving until we were already at the closest police station, him surrendering me to blue-uniformed men.

I listened as the hero told the officers that he found me alone, assuming I was lost, but realized it might have been a mugging. They told him that they would put an alert out for my father and he could keep an eye out for any suspicious characters. He agreed, remarking about having nothing better to do on the holiday.

Right before he could escape the station, I called after him. "Will you find my mom?"

He turned back, his face pinched like something was making him uncomfortable. He put his goggles back on, obscuring his eyes, and nodded.

"Promise?" I demanded, once again stopping him from leaving.

Silently, the hero turned back around, crouching right in front of me. He raised a single pinky finger, an invitation. Hesitantly, I placed my own pinky into his.

"Promise."

He kept true to his promise. Though, it wasn't necessarily in the sense I was expecting. A few weeks after the attack, the police found a severed finger with Mom's fingerprint. I'll never know if she went gentle or if she fought. All I knew was that she was dead.

The hero took time out of whatever other responsibilities he might have had to personally deliver the news. I don't remember how many times he apologized for not saving her in time. But, by the time he had exhausted himself, Father was crying. When he left, he disappeared from my life forever. His face never showed up in the news.

I never stopped looking, though. Just in case I got the chance to thank him for caring.

Somewhere along the way of my eyes being glued to the hero world, I found myself falling in love with it. In the face of Mom's death, it felt impossible to believe any good existed in the world. Heroes were a constant reminder that there was always hope and somebody devoting their lives to protecting it.

Since then, it became my mission to get my hands in that world in any way I could. Whether it be managing them or funding them or dressing them. I wanted to help the people that helped everybody.