╰┈➤ 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ━━ ❝All these worries about villains and heroes... about quirks and the quirkless... when they should be worried about something far worse... me.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you, the once powerful and feared Control Devil, find your...
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━ ⭒─⭑━
The forest at night was a world of its own. Towering trees swallowed most of the moonlight, their branches stretching overhead like dark silhouettes against the sky. Every step was softened by fallen leaves and loose soil, the distant chirping of crickets the only company to your slow movements.
A lone owl hooted somewhere above, its call cutting through the silence.
You should have been in bed sleeping, but instead, you were out here, walking through the dark woods at two in the goddamn morning.
Because he asked you to.
Your lips pressed together at the thought, but you didn't stop.
West. That's what he had said.
"Walk west until you hear water."
His voice lingered in your mind, missing its usual bite. It had been the last thing he said before turning and disappearing into the night, leaving you to decide whether to follow.
And here you were.
The deeper you walked, the heavier the air became, thick with the cool moisture of running water. The soft gurgle of a creek whispered through the trees, faint at first, then clearer as you got closer—the slow bubbling over smooth stones, the occasional ripple breaking its glassy surface.
Pushing through the underbrush, you stepped into a small clearing. Silver light bathed the sight before you.
The creek wound gently through the forest, its surface catching the moon's reflection like liquid glass. Mist curled over the water, rolling lazily before dissipating into the night. The sound of the current filled the silence, calm and steady.
And at the creek's edge, his back turned to you, stood Bakugo.
His presence was almost eerie in the quiet. His arms hung loosely at his sides, shoulders relaxed. That restless energy of his was missing, drained from him. He wasn't looking at the water so much as facing it, like he'd been standing there for a while, waiting.
Waiting for you.
For a moment, you only watched.
The moonlight traced the sharp angles of his frame, highlighting the tension in his stance despite his stillness. His hair was still damp from the bathhouse, strands clinging to the sides of his face. The cool air had likely dried the rest, but even in the dim light, you caught the faint sheen of lingering moisture on his skin.
His breathing was slow, measured. Not tense, not irritated—just deep.
It was rare to see him like this, stripped of his fire, his scowl, his sharp remarks.
