Leave Your Mark | Various!BNHA x Reader

01: No More Regrets

Death has a tendency to sneak up on people when they least expect it.

In your case, it happens when you are only sixteen years old, riding the bus on the way back from school. You're scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, earbuds pushed in so deep that they block out all the noise in the background. The music on your playlist is blasting at full-force, perhaps too loudly, but you prefer it this way. You prefer to be able to focus on your own thoughts.

Your eyes close, and you allow your mind to drift off. You pretend that you're inside your room, protected by the four walls you've come to cherish and rely on. It's easier to be alone. It's what you're used to, what comes naturally to you, and in all your years of living, you've never once thought to venture outside of your comfort zone.

When a car suddenly skids from the oncoming traffic lane and crashes into the bus, you are forced to rethink your life choices.

The bus lurches from the impact. You can feel your body being flung out of the seat, and you swear it doesn't make sense, because everything is happening too fast. Your body doesn't feel as if it's your own. It's as if it's weightless, and there's a pit in your stomach that wasn't there just a moment ago.

You can't really make sense of how everything unfolds. All you know is that you're lying on the floor of the bus, and your earbuds have fallen out, despite your best efforts to bury them snug. Your eyes are wide, disbelieving, as you stare ahead at the countless other civilians that have been caught up in the crash. From what you can tell, some of them are gravely injured. Others are lucky enough to have gotten away with some bruising and a bump on their head.

That's the most you can piece together, because your vision is slowly fading. The side of your head feels awfully slick for some reason. You don't really understand why, not until one of the injured kids on the bus points to you and starts wailing.

Ah.

Your skull has been cracked open, and you're about to die.

Someone rushes towards you. They look like they've sprained their wrist, but otherwise, they're in relatively good shape. You can only watch, unable to move or muster up a sound, as they pull out a napkin and use it to try and put pressure on your wound.

Based on how quickly everything is turning dark, you can tell that it's a futile effort.

I'm dying. I'm really dying.

You're afraid. Of course you are. Is there anyone who doesn't fear death? Not that it makes any difference. Once death has set its sights on someone, it's impossible to escape.

There's another emotion weighing you down though, and compared to fear, you would argue that it's much more overwhelming.

Regret. More than anything else, you feel regret. What did you spend these last sixteen years doing? You hardly have anyone you can call a friend, you put little effort into maintaining a good relationship with your family, and you've never accomplished or done anything that you can feel genuinely proud of.

You've wasted your entire life, and it's too late to do a damn thing about it.

"It's going to be okay," the person tending to you mumbles. They press down on your head, trying to staunch the wound, but you know it's a lost cause.

You are going to die here, and no matter how desperately you try to make peace with that fact, you just can't.

If only you could get another chance at life. You wouldn't make the same mistakes twice. You promise yourself that you'll appreciate every moment, reach out to others and share whatever emotions they're feeling. Anger, joy, apprehension—it doesn't matter. The point is that you'll do better. You'll be better. You won't isolate yourself or waste away the precious moments of your life.