Bakugou Angst Stories

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚In the following time he took his life - 1.3

A/N: I've decided not to write all the classmates, I'll do Bakugou's parents, Midoriya, and a bunch of lumped in emotions that represents the remainder of Class 1-A. Then finish off the book. <3

Eijirou Kirishima has never felt so numb before, the words sink in to his soul like shrapnel, and he looks at Kaminari as though he's the hot flaring front of the car, the way road-kill-to-be might. His face scrunches up, and tears swell out of his eyes. Hot and fast, his body aches for what feels like hours in the span of a second, and he can't even breathe.

When he first heard of Bakugou's death, the disbelief he felt was as thick as wax. But the strict, harrowing figures and talks did not feel like a light hearted joke in the slightest. Numb to the point of discomfort, Kirishima had been catatonic when the news first hit him. He joined his friends to cry his heart out, but after that he had been quite elusive.

His hair limped, and his roots turned back to their weedy black, more and more, the reflection was not the bright hero in training that he had gotten used to seeing. More and more, there were the digging bags of middle school Kirishima tugging at his face, the dark, downwards hairstyle returning. Everything evincing the ghost of his former self, as if resurrected. He never thought this would be back.

The air was disturbingly empty. Spaces were more silent in this sickish manner. Everything had died down, because the living firework in their class had ceased to work anymore. Eyes were downcast and gazes remained away from him.

Kirishima knew he was a mess. And with the dreaded, surreal funeral closing in, he knew he had to prepare. Mentally. He needed to get himself together. He's not fairing well.

At times he likes to pretend Bakugou's right beside him, chiding or berating him for being such a letdown. For letting the class stay so sullen, but he can only imagine that for periods at a time. Or else he feels the need to empty out his stomach and tear sacs. That's never a good feeling, and he knows if he lets the strings of the powerful emotion hook him in, he'll drown in its murky depths.

He's been avoiding the latching feelings of it by a hairbreadth. 

And now he's brooding about how pathetic he must be.

To never notice Bakugou's suffering and play right into the boy's skillful hand. 

Did he really think that leaving Kirishima like this would make things better? In the end, there was just pain. The evidence was splattered all over in the suicide letters. And Kaminari had chilled out noticeably, mellowed down in this indescribable manner. The way the people who had a newly open envelope in their room did. 

He read the letter. And Kirishima couldn't even pull up that amount of strength.

So he waited it out, tried his best to avoid everyone, dwindled and frittered away his time reliving literally dead memories.

Five days before.

There's a pounding on his door, and it causes him to flop over on his bed. He shouldn't have gone downstairs yesterday. Everybody must blame him for Bakugou's death, the way he knew it was his fault the very morning the boy was announced dead, must be the same way everybody knew he was behind it. The same way everybody pinpointed the blame on Iida, they also saw Kirishima behind it. It's all because of him.