KiriBaku | Just Another Camp

Chapter 18

Kirishima

"How's your mom doing?"

I glanced over at the ash-blond boy walking next to me. He had been quiet ever since we left his hospital room, so I was mildly surprised when he started talking.

"She's doing good," I responded. "She still hasn't woken up, and the doctors said that she won't be awake for a while, but she's in good hands. They said she'll be okay."

He just nodded and kept staring at the ground as we neared the exit for the hospital. I knew he was trying to avoid me bringing up eating again, but he literally looked like he was going to pass out. He needed to eat something.

We left the hospital and we began walking down the street to a McDonalds. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bakugo fidgeting with his hands in his hoodie pockets, almost like he was nervous. But then I noticed he wasn't just fidgeting. He was rubbing his hips.

I took a breath to calm myself and decided to ask him later. I didn't want to pressure him too much.

We walked into the McDonald's and ordered him some food. I made sure he ate it all before I called an Uber to bring us to my house.

The car ride was silent except for the quiet background noise of the driver's music playing. Bakugo stared out the window with a blank expression, looking almost... sad? Depressed? Emotionless?

We got to my house and I paid the Uber before following Bakugo inside. As soon as the front door closed I decided to pop the bubble of silence.

"Bakugo, again...?" I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "We talked about this... you gotta stop doing this..."

He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, soundless. I dragged my hands down my face, being almost equally as exhausted as Bakugo looked. I had been staying up by my mom's bedside every night, and now I was ready to just lay down and go to sleep.

"...Sorry..."

My gaze snapped to the pale ash-blond boy standing in front of me.

His head was hung in an ashamed way and his hands were shoved deeply into his hoodie pockets. I couldn't see his face; I could only see the soft spikes of his hair. 

"Sorry?" I repeated.

He hung his head even more and flinched inwards on himself. "I-I just don't get it," he whispered. "How can you be so happy all the time?"

I thought about it. "I dunno. I'm just thankful for the things and people in my life. I love being around people and making them happy. When others are happy, I'm happy."

He didn't respond. Getting slightly concerned, I took a step towards him and lifted his chin.

His crimson eyes avoided eye contact with mine, but faint tears gleamed on his cheeks. I felt bad; was it my fault that he was crying?

"I mean, I'm thankful for things," he said. "But I don't feel happy."

He took a step away from me and wiped his eyes. "Never mind, this is stupid..."

"It's not stupid," I assured him quickly. "It's good to let people know how you feel. I can help you!"

He didn't say anything again. He was a stubborn little bas****, wasn't he?

"Listen," I said, taking a step towards him. "It's manly to express you're feelings, okay? Just because they're not happy feelings doesn't mean that they're any less important. Telling people how you feel is the key to social interaction. The more you tell people, the more they understand you, and the more they can help you. You can trust me!"