A Lucky One

26

When Aizawa was walking towards where Bakugo was sitting, he saw that in the boy's hands, he was reading from an old, burnt, Compos notebook. There was some sort of writing on it, but it was smudged or burnt enough to deem unreadable. The only part that Aizawa could clear out was the double-underlined words scribbled in pen, 'No.13'.

The boy looked so intently at it, as if nothing in this world could distract the level of focus his eyes held.

But he wasn't reading.

Aizawa could tell because his eyes hadn't moved from side-to-side, and he had been looking at the page for more than ten minutes. Unmoving. His hair blown in the silence of all the destruction around them.

Aizawa walked forward, finally deciding to talk to him after a while. "What are you thinking about...?"

A part of Aizawa wanted to add 'so intently' at the end of that sentence, but a part of him already knew what it probably was about.

Bakugo took a moment to glance at him. Then he closed the notebook, which he now held with one hand, and drooped it in between his legs. As if to say, 'this doesn't matter much', but also, 'mind your own business'.

On the first day they met, the same day they headed towards Shiketsu, he had watched Bakugo pack the few things he needed to bring. Among the few clothes he got, utensils, and other necessities, the notebook was probably the only thing among his items that seemed to have no particular use.

At the time, he had not minded it. The boy could pack whatever he wanted. But now that he knew the lad much better, he had realized that it was probably the most valuable item that he's been carrying. Especially considering that all his other items-clothes, items, and all-had been replaced, and yet this one was the last preserved thing he had.

Bakugo was sitting at the edge of the building, his feet hanging still, his eyes lost in the distance of a scene that only he could witness. "Just... stuff."

Bakugo did not care if he was caught, or if any enemies spotted him. It did not matter anyway if they did not have the power to do anything to him. He hunched, and his eyes went back to that unseen distance with a pause.

Aizawa paused too, "That's some heavy stuff you have."

He wanted to sit down, but doubted for a moment if it was what this boy needed.

Boy? he asked himself. This person wasn't a boy. Not anymore. He had long grown out of his boyness for his own safety. Or, maybe he was a boy? Still a boy? he thought, A boy that had to mask with the face of an adult. It wasn't a choice, but a necessity to do so in a world that would blame him for his own death if he were ever too soft.

Aizawa understood that Bakugo had long accepted that words were unnecessary. This was a different kind of war. Not like this big, physical one, where it can be solved by wit, skill, and power alone. This was a lonely kind of war where talking about it isn't enough, the option of doing something about it isn't anywhere near to be seen, and one where you had to fight alone.

It was a small war, for sure, but definitely a more difficult one.

And Aizawa himself understood it all too well for him to ignore its existence.

But before he could utter another word, Bakugo beat him with a question. "How is she?"

That was Aizawa's cue to sit and sigh, adjusting his eye patch as he answered, "Missing." and saw that Bakugo was not surprised.

"I see." He had not looked at him for validity.

"You don't happen to know anything about it, do you?" Aizawa asked despite knowing a bit of what the answer is going to be.

There was a moment of silence as they stared off at the distance. Whatever Aizawa saw at that moment - A sea of fallen buildings blanketed by the orange glow of the dying sun - was not the scene that Bakugo had in mind.

He waited for an answer.

But Bakugo only asked, "What... do I do now?"

I.

He had always used that word since the moment they met. At first, Aizawa thought it had been a symbol of strength for Bakugo. Something that allowed him to keep going above and over beyonds.

But now he realized he had thought wrong. Those words were not a symbol of this boy's strength, but a symbol of his fear. How dare he, his instructor, take so long to realize that.

This boy had learned to use the word 'we' only for a moment. Now, he has gone back to wearing that mask, and Aizawa could not blame him for that.

There were only the two of them left, and the boy was already preparing for the inevitability of him leaving next.

And so he popped up a question he thought this boy needed to hear, "Do you know how old you are?"

Finally, Bakugo looked, as if to say, 'The hell? what kind of answer is that?'

Aizawa oblighed. "You are very young. And if there is anything to know about being young, it's that young people are cursed with the misfortune of realizing that they've known nothing."

Aizawa wished that this boy will retort with a scream. He wished at least that this boy will look at him with anger in his eyes for saying that he was clueless. That maybe, he would hear the familiar click of his irritated tongue, or see the strength of his clenched fist. Because at least, in that way, he'll know that there was fire, and where there is fire, there is hope.

But that did not happen.

Instead, Bakugo turned fully. Then with empty eyes and a mellowed voice, asked, "What are you trying to say here?"

Right then, Aizawa's heart had broken in silence.

He could not answer immediately. Instead, not bearing to look at what the world has done to him, turned away.

"You are a person who dreamed of flying, but was given melting wax for wings instead of feathers, and handed the sun for a home... But, Bakugo, you are young. There is so much to know. Whether you need to or not..." He stood. To him, seeing Bakugo's damage was too much. But he had to do something before he left. "Know them."

Bakugo understood only a portion of what he meant at that moment. But something he did fully understand was that once Aizawa left there now, he would neither question nor wonder why, they would never see each other again.