Chaos: Bakugou Katsuki x OC x Dabi story

For the rest of my life

Hotaru's POV

It had been over four weeks since finally coming home from the hospital and trying to fall into a simple routine, but I just wasn't very good at this whole playing housewife thing. Katsuki had gone back to work finally a few days ago, and much to my own disappointment I had developed the smallest bit of separation anxiety. Luckily, we were still staying in the Penthouse above his agency, so I was usually able to calm myself down with the idea that I was actually in a building filled with heroes. I sighed heavily as I scoured through the endless mounds of emails, pdfs, and paperwork on my laptop from both Shield Industries and the university.

Apparently, kidnapping didn't automatically excuse my lack of attention to keeping up with deadlines and I was trying my damnedest to rectify and cover damage control where I could. Thankfully, Dave was not only understanding, but had stepped in with Lydia's help to keep all my ongoing projects afloat.

The university, however...

Well, let's just say I'm no longer a candidate for tenure.

I took off my glasses, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I tried to center myself. Maybe Katsuki had been right and a month wasn't long enough, but at this rate we were slowly creeping up to it being a year since everything had started. A year since I was ripped from my life, my home, my research. Everything. In the grand scheme of things, I was oddly starting to believe it may have been for the best. I looked over at the small box that sat motionless on the table beside the door. The police had wanted to give me the cremated remains of Uncle to give him a proper send off, and as much I wanted nothing more than to tell them to keep his ashes, Katsuki insisted that I needed it for closure.

So, I did what I always have... I ignored it.

And there his remains sat, untouched, in a box, slowly collecting dust. Was it rude of me? Oh, absolutely, but I couldn't fathom being in the right state of mind to give this man a tasteful, respectable send off. As far as I was concerned, he could sit in that fucking box until the day I died. Yet, as I sat there, the glaring screen of countless emails and forms, I kept catching myself glancing over at the box. Uncle and I had the definition of a toxic, unconventional relationship; I knew this. I closed my laptop, turning on the bar stool to hop down and padded over to the table. What still needed to be recognized, however, was that he had taken me in. Even if it was all for nothing, if everything was his own doing from my mother's death to my father's imprisonment, he still did what no one else in my family was willing to do... he had raised me. Even if his definition of raising me was emotionally damaging and devious in every sense of the word, he did have one or two redeeming qualities as a caregiver while I was growing up. I never wanted for anything be it clothes, books, the latest phones and gadgets, all I ever had to do was ask. He had always seemed so elated when my natural curiosity in science bloomed, he pushed me to set my sights on the academy, and he paid for my education all the way up to my Ph.D. Not many could say that about their parents, let alone guardians.

I ran my fingers over the top of the box, still taped shut snugly. What were his wishes? Did he have a living will? Was there some place he would have wanted to go? Would I even be willing to go that far out of my way for him, because for all the good memories I had of Uncle, there seemed to be twice as many shitty ones.

"Did you have to be such a prick, Old Man?" I muttered softly, pulling my hand away to slip off the house shoes and shove my feet into a pair of worn out chucks. I tugged on my coat, preparing myself for the still chilly winds of spring, and tucked the box under my arm before letting my feet take me where I needed to go. I punched the button of the floor I needed on the elevator, losing myself in the spiraling thoughts as the doors opened up to a rather busy floor of the building. Desks were scattered in an orderly fashion across the layout, the sound of phones ringing, people talking, some laughing as I walked swiftly toward the far end of the room. I nodded, smiled, even waved to a few familiar faces as I walked by, nearly all of them still wearing their hero costumes, only a handful in civilian clothes. I stopped before a massive, oak door with a matte black name plate: