STRINGS // KATSUKI BAKUGO [2]

Chapter 53 // Change

If you haven't already, please go and share your opinion about future stories in the authors note in between chapter 45 and 46! The help would be greatly appreciated :) Happy reading!!
——————————————————————

You and Bakugo sparred until the sun set, which was your silent signal that it was time to head home and see what surprise your boyfriend and classmates were planning behind your back.

"It's not a holiday," you began as you and Bakugo, sweaty, exhausted, and panting stepped out of Ground Beta. "It's not my birthday."

"It's not jeopardy," Bakugo stated, licking the line of sweat off from above his top lip. "You'll see when we get there."

"But I'm impatient," you said, smiling as you reminisced of a similar scenario from back in America.

"You're not gettin' anythin' outta me this time," he said, shaking his head with a small hum. "You can talk all ya want, but you ain't findin' anythin' out until we walk through that door."

"M'kay," you exhaled, trying to think of something else to entertain yourself rather than pestering your boyfriend.

Your hand trailed down his arm where your fingers intertwined with his, your thumb and pointer finger fiddling with his ring, spinning it around it his finger.

You wished every night could end like this. Sooner rather than later, you were going to run out of nights...and mornings.

You were going to run out of sleepless sleepovers with Shinso.

You were going to run out of girls nights with your female classmates.

You were going to run out of abrupt but meaningful conversations with Todoroki.

You were going to run out of comforting hugs from Aizawa.

You were going to run out of precious smiles from Eri.

You were going to run out of it all, and you were going to run out of it soon.

"Kat?"

"Hm?"

"I have...something I want you to do," is what you settled on, and your wording made Bakugo glance over at you, confused. "When I die," he cringed, and you resisted the urge to frown, "and it's a "when", not an "if", okay?" you paused, inhaling deeply. "When I die," you started once more, "go into my room and reach beneath the nightstand. There's something taped underneath I want you and everyone to have but only after I'm gone, 'kay?"

Bakugo stared at you as the two of you continued to walk, his eyes partially wandering over you as he frowned with reluctant acceptance.

"Okay..." he eventually muttered, looking ahead at the empty, endless sidewalk. "Can we jus'....stop talkin' about it for now?"

You hummed in agreement, figuring it be better to uplift his mood rather than tear it down considering the circumstances.

You tilted your head back slightly to look at the dim sky, mindlessly connecting various stars to make different shapes as you reminisced...

...nothing.

You drew a blank. You knew broad things, remembered general events such as moving to America and joining the hero course, but, suddenly, you found yourself having a hard time identifying simple things about yourself.

"Kat?"

"Hm?"

"What's my favorite color?" you asked, continuing to admire the night sky.

You heard him inhale sharply, painful realization settling in. However, he didn't question your wonder but instead answered.

"It depends," he began gruffly, matching your stimming by playing with your ring. "You're always changin' your damn mind. When you're sad and shit, it's blue. The sky calms you, same with the rain. When you're angry, it's red."

"Does red calm me when I'm angry?" you asked, looking over at your boyfriend, awaiting a response.

He lifted his head to look at you, and, as his crimson iris' settled upon your own eyes, you knew the answer before he said it.

"Yeah," he exhaled, unblinking as he admired your form, which he still found beauty in despite your condition. "You say my eyes make it better when you're mad, and they're red, so...yeah, I guess that's why."

He looked ahead once more, eyes narrowed in deep thought as he licked his lips. His hands tightened around yours, a silent signal of growing distress.

You huffed through your nose, your gaze falling to the ground as you came to a sudden realization.

You couldn't make him happy anymore.

No matter how hard you tried to change the topic, to lighten the mood, he was always reminded of the inevitable fact lingering in the background, the fact that you were dying.

He was never going to be happy with you around anymore, and he sure wasn't going to be any more pleased when you were finally gone. He wasn't going to be happy for a very long time. You knew this. He knew this.

If you were around, he wasn't happy.

If you were gone, we wasn't happy.

What's the point?

You stopped, keep as strong of a grasp on Bakugo's hand as you could, and, as soon as he felt the restraint, he came to a halt, turning around to face you.

"What?" he questioned, squeezing your hand as an expression of concern etched its way onto his face.

"I..." you began, reluctant to make the confession as you knew it would only bring about more sorrow. "I can't make you happy anymore."

No matter who, when, or how someone looked at you, it was like staring at a bad omen, an incoming storm.

You were a liability.

"Don't do that," Bakugo stated, voice resting in the softest tone you had ever heard him speak in. Then again, you wouldn't remember if he ever did use such a tone if it was any longer than a couple weeks ago. No, a couple days.

"It's tru—"

"It's not," he interrupted, shaking his head. He stepped closer to you, looping his free arm around your waist as his other hand stayed interlocked with yours. "Yeah, it hurts. It's fucking hurts at the thought that any day could be the last that I see you or that any day you could see me and see nothing more than a face. It's tormenting, but that' doesn't mean that your face, and your banter, and your eyes, and your determination, and your touch, and everything else I love about you doesn't make me happy. You may not remember everything all the time, but that doesn't mean that all the things that make you who you are have just vanished. You're still you. It might just take you longer to realize it sometimes."

You exhaled deeply, leaning forward as you wrapped your free arm around his neck and rested your chin on his shoulder, your other hand still clutching his.

"Have you always been this good of a talker?" you wondered, having trouble remembering if he had ever served such a heartwarming response to anything.

"No," he answered, arm tightening around your waist, "but you changed that."

[EDITED]