Just You and I || (Bakugo x Reader)

11

You run through the forest of grass, barefoot, trudging through as fast as you can. You feel blue with cold, but you ignore it and carry on sprinting to the location you've been given. Faster. Faster! The sky is pitch black, the only source of light being the stars in the sky, since the moon is covered with clouds and the mist of the night rising from the floor. Whistles and whispers echo in your ear, the cacophony of the field at midnight filling the silent atmosphere. And then, hush.

You come out to an opening with a small pond, a clearing in the field that goes on for miles. All you can see around you is grass, long, dry grass. And then, here, in the centre of it all, is a murky pool. And no crime scene which there was supposed to be by request. Nothing. In other words, it's a trap.

Suddenly, you feel cool, rough hands push on your back, but before you fall forwards, someone grabs you by the hands and covers your mouth and your eyes, and quickly ties your wrists together in a messy knot. Each breath you take is more shallow and each sound you hear feels loud, as if someone were shouting right in your ear.

You are pushed into the pond with no hesitation, and the hands which were over your mouth and eyes are gone. You can breathe again. But it's only a second before you begin inhaling water instead of air, the dirty liquid filling your lungs. You open your eyes in the midst of the murk, begging to see the pricks of stars in the sky, forcing to see light again before the end.

All you are met with is darkness.

You sit up in your sheets, your hair sticking to your forehead and your cheeks hot and flushed. There is blood dripping from your nose, and so you go into your dorm bathroom to wash your face, tying your hair back in a messy ponytail and splashing water on your cheeks to cool them down. You stare at yourself in the mirror. The t-shirt you wear to bed is long and goes down past your thighs, the graphic Scooby Doo picture on the front faded away over time. Although they're hidden beneath your shirt, you also wear pair of baggy grey shorts which are soft on your skin. There are bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep you've been getting recently, and the freckle on your forehead you always cover up because you think it looks odd.

You grab your phone to check the time. 2 am. You open your door and shut it quietly behind you, and wonder down the dorm hallways looking for something to do. You end up sitting on the main balcony, looking up at the stars, the stars that looked identical to the ones in your dream, and overlooking the city which glows in the night, the scene lit up by the never-resting people of society and the pointless lights of each persons spirit, set aflame by the stories of each persons sane life. The ones who don't have a sane life, the villains, that is, are not lit up by the same drive. The ones who don't have that sane life are driven beyond sanity, to the point in which they can't go back and they lose the will to live.

You find a few displaced bricks on the wall next to the balcony, sturdy enough to stand on, so you climb your way onto the roof of Heights Alliance. The view stuns you. Even if it's just higher from the balcony by three, maybe four, meters or so, there's a big difference. You can see every single sky scraper, every single window belonging to someone who's awake, someone who's still got their lights on, anyway. You can see a 'V' of birds trailing across the sky, weaving in and out of the clouds, and every constellation you can remember from memorizing them all when you were twelve. Even with all the people and cars, the city at night still looks beautiful. The cool air has the same feel to it as that night on patrol with Keigo. It feels alive.

The trees blow in the regular gusts of wind, and the leaves, some of them already gone orange despite the week left of summer, drift in the sky like snowflakes. You lie back on the roof tiles, facing yourself with the midnight blue. Clear nights are always good. Because now, you can see clearly every pattern of stars, every planet in the Milky Way, even, perhaps maybe further. A splash of purple colours the blue, like a streak of paint against a blank canvas, portraying the galaxy, as if the sky had been stroked by the universe. It was something you would see in a movie, something you would find in an art gallery, something you would read in a book. But it was real. It was beautiful.