i hate you. (Bakugou Katsuki x OC)

28 | I'm Fine

Getting back to 'fine' is really fucking hard, as it turns out.

Between the pain medication turning my brain into cotton and spending every spare moment calibrating the new prosthetic with Hatsume, the first week out of the hospital is lost to blurry memories and dreamless sleep. Each day feels like an echo of the one before—wake up groggy, fumble through the haze, collapse into bed, repeat.

The second week isn't much better. The pain subsides enough for me to stop taking my medication most days, but that only makes how 'not fine' I am more obvious. The weight of everything I'm not doing—training, schoolwork, even just keeping up with friends—settles over me like a lead blanket. It's like being aware of the gap between where I should be and where I actually am, but not being able to close it no matter how hard I try.

And I do try.

The mornings start earlier now. I wake up before dawn, before my body can even process the dreams—dear Lord, the dreams. It seems that my subconscious has fused the night Mom disappeared with the night of Stain's attack. The dreams throw me into a moonlit alleyway, red and blue lights licking the rooftops. My mother is there as always, but now there's also Tenya... and Izuku and Shoto. I scream at them to run, to get as far away as possible, but they just stare at me until, one by one, they drop dead. And every time I wake up in a cold sweat, I just know it was my fault.

So I push harder. I refuse to let myself be weak, to ever let the people I care about get hurt because of my failures.

I spend hours in the gym or with Hatsume, forcing my body to adjust to the prosthetic even though it still feels foreign and clumsy. I cram for finals until my vision goes fuzzy because I can't afford to fall behind. I tell myself I'm just tired—that everything will get better once I stop feeling like the ground is slipping out from under me.

By the third week, sleep and food become optional. They take too much time, and I don't have any to waste. Bakugou, of course, doesn't seem to understand that.

"You look like shit," he says, catching me as I'm leaving class, headed to meet Hatsume.

I laugh because it feels like the normal thing to do. My mind is already jumping ahead, planning another run tonight, another way to stay ahead. "Is that how all our conversations are going to start now?"

"You're acting like a damn zombie," Bakugou says, ignoring my joke, his sharp red eyes narrowing as he crosses his arms. "When was the last time you actually slept?"

I wave him off. "I slept last night."

"For how long?"

"I don't know." That's not a lie, either—I really don't. I can't remember when I collapsed onto my bed or when the dreams jolted me awake. "A few hours, maybe?"

Bakugou tilts his head, eyes narrowing even further. His scrutiny is so intense I can practically feel it burning into my skull. "You're about to pass out."

I try to smile, but it feels brittle. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit." He steps closer, his voice lowering to a quiet growl. "You're running yourself into the ground like an idiot. You're not fine."

My chest tightens, the pressure building like a weight I can't shrug off. The word echoes in my mind— fine, fine, fine —and for some reason, it cracks my carefully constructed nonchalance. My smile drips off my face as I level the dirtiest look I can muster at Bakugou.

"Do you think I don't know that?" I snap, taking a step back, trying to stop the anger that's clawing at my throat. "Everyone keeps telling me, 'You're stronger than this, Koyasu. You'll grow from this, Koyasu.' Like I need the reminder that I'm not good enough—that it was my fucking failure that caused everything."

Bakugou's expression hardens, jaw clenched tight as he crosses his arms. "That's not what anyone meant, and you know it."

"No, I don't!" I shake my head, frustration spilling out faster than I can control. "You don't get it, Bakugou. I'm not as strong as you! I'm not as strong as you, or Izuku, or Shoto, okay?"

He opens his mouth to argue, but I don't give him the chance. The words keep tumbling out, too fast to stop.

"I can't afford to be weak! If I slip, even for a second, someone's going to get hurt. Someone I care about. And it'll be my fault. Again."

Bakugou stares at me, his expression unreadable, but I can feel the concern behind it. And that just makes me angrier. I don't want his pity. I don't want anyone's pity.

I turn on my heel, already putting distance between us. I don't have time to break down right now. Hatsume's waiting for me. Bakugou doesn't follow. It's not his style. Instead, just before I round the corner, I hear him mutter, "You're pushing yourself too hard."

"Not hard enough," I counter immediately, the words spilling out like a reflex.

-

-

-

In the final week of June, everything catches up to me like a freight train.

I wake up in a cold sweat, my sheets twisted around my body like a straitjacket. My muscles ache, throbbing in protest as I try to move, but I push through it like I always do. There's too much to do—too many things that need to be fixed, too many weaknesses that need to be erased. My mind buzzes with the day's plan: weekend spar with Shoto, more calibrations with Hatsume, cramming for the last round of finals, and maybe, just maybe, fitting in a late-night run.

By the time I drag myself to Shoto's dojo, the world is already spinning. I shake my head, ignoring the fuzziness creeping at the edges of my vision. Shoto's already waiting for me, his expression calm as ever, though his eyes track me with a quiet concern I've been trying to avoid.

"Ready?" I ask, slipping into my fighting stance with a smile that feels wrong on my face.

"You don't look—"

"I'm fine," I snap, cutting him off. The words come out harsher than I meant, so I soften slightly. "Just a little early, that's all."

"Are you sure? We can wait a little bit."

I shake my head, flexing my fingers. "I can handle this, Shoto, I promise."

Shoto's gaze wavers slightly, and for a second, I think he's going to argue. But then, without another word, he steps into his own stance, and the sparring session begins.

At first, it's fine. I move through the familiar motions, blocking and dodging his attacks, forcing my body to keep up even as my muscles scream in protest. But then the dizziness returns, stronger this time, making my vision swim. Shoto's movements become blurs, his ice and fire attacks blending together into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations I can't fully track.

The stupid prosthetic is slowing down, which only happens when it's sensing my nerves slowing down. I know it, but I can't stop. I can't let myself be weak, not here, not now.

Shoto's next strike comes faster than I'm expecting, a burst of cold that sends me stumbling backward. I catch myself before I hit the ground, but my legs feel like they're made of jelly. My breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps as my vision narrows to a tunnel. For a moment, all I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

"Koyasu!" Shoto's voice cuts through the haze as he moves forward. I feel a hand on my forehead and it feels like ice, despite it coming from his left side. "You're burning up."

I try to respond, to tell him I'm fine, but the words don't come. Instead, my legs give out beneath me, and the last thing I remember is the sensation of wood creeping across my skin as I hit the ground.