Snowed In

Part 3

When Bakugou wakes up, he wakes up in a panic.

His entire body jolts violently, sitting up like a shot; his arms raised and his lungs burning from how quickly he's inhaling oxygen. His brain supplies the little fact that he's hyperventilating, he's aware of this, but his body is still drawn tight, unable to fully process this information. His body is overheated, sweating, with the sheets and quilt he was sleeping with tangled tight around his lower half making the panic rise up further as he can't move well enough. Bakugou thrashes, pulling at the bedding until he's able to swing his legs over the bed and have his feet touch the cold wood floor. It shocks his body enough that he gasps, taking in a much needed deep breath.

He breathes.

It's been a while since a nightmare has been that bad.

It takes him a too long minute to recall his former therapist's words, instructing him on how to breathe, on how to focus. It's slow work, but soon enough he's closing his eyes. He used to be much better at this. He used to think he'd be over it all by now too.

Bakugou breathes.

He's in the same place he fell asleep in. The bedroom is small, but comfortable. The bed sat on a sturdy wooden frame that didn't squeeze at all when Bakugou laid down on it, much to his surprise. A small nightstand stained a deep green sat beside the bed, pushed up against the wall with a dusty lamp on it. On the opposite wall is a closet, closed, with Bakugou's luggage in front of it. His snowboard leans against the wall. There's a window on the wall the bed is butted up to, green curtains drawn closed to keep the morning light out, but some still creeps in between the fabric, casting the room in a dim gray light. He can hear the snow still falling outside, the wind whipping against the wall outside.

Bakugou focuses on all of these details, eyes slowly lingering from corner to corner to take them all in, recalling each from before he fell asleep.

He touches every finger to his thumb twice over, counting every single time. He breathes in deep, letting the tension run out of his body from his head down. He relaxes his jaw, his shoulders; lets his ribs fall back and his spine curve. He wiggles his toes and focuses. He is here. Now. In the same room he fell asleep in. The one Kirishima had shown him to the night before. The one he had locked the door in and gone to bed.

He looks. The door is still closed, still locked.

Bakugou breathes.

And gets up.

The night before, Kirishima had shown him to the bedroom, apologizing for how dusty it might be as he didn't use the spare room for much. Bakugou didn't ask what the rest of the house was for with Kirishima being the only one to live there-- he'd noticed at least four other doors down the hallway he was escorted down, though one was indicated to be the bathroom should he need it. His belongings were already there when Kirishima opened the door, his cellphone placed on the nightstand. There were two quilts set at the foot of the bed, one criss-crossed with shades of blue and green plaid while the other had a gaudy floral print that was dull and faded from age, Bakugou could only assume.

Kirishima had done nothing but smiled at him before wishing him a goodnight, reminding him that if he needed anything the house wasn't that big and he's come if called.

Bakugou had grunted, closed the door on him, made sure to lock it before throwing his pants off and falling asleep almost instantly when he landed on the bed. He had woken up maybe two hours later shivering; managed to crawl under the covers of the bed, pulling both quilts over him to fight off the biting cold, and dry swallowed two of the pain pills Dr. Shuzenji had given him before falling back asleep.