Ambivalent

Memories

The walk home is uneventful. There was little to no commotion when he trudged out of the U.A. gates, but that was to be expected. After all, most students are eating lunch around this time, chatting with friends and enjoying a break from the their rigorous courses- but Bakugou Katsuki is not most students. That's why he isn't sitting with his peers in the cafeteria, instead the blonde is slouched over, eyes boring holes into the ground as he walks. Furrowed brows, accompanied by a deep and seething scowl on his face keeps the other people on the street at bay; this, he thinks, is how he likes it. His anger a shield between him and others. Between him and Deku. Between him and himself.

His backpack, the one he recalls having kicked against a wall moments after Izuku's figure had turned the corner, is slung around his shoulder. His sleeves are rolled up, and the blazer of his school uniform is wrapped unceremoniously around his waist as he treks through the park near his neighborhood- their neighborhood. The one they've been sharing since they were born.

The asphalt underneath him is hot, the air is stale, and the sky is a vast canvas of blue; an endless expanse of cloudless infinity. Here and there the silhouette of a bird overhead stains the horizon, but other than that it's perfectly clear- well, aside from the stupidly hot, bright as fuck sun. He almost wishes he could blast it the fuck outta the sky, sending the world into pitch darkness; that way he'd never have to look at either Kirishima, Aizawa, or Deku ever again. Alas, there is no such luck, and so the omnipresent star continues its heated assault upon his skin. Sweat beads on his forehead under his bangs, and there's a slight hiss that escapes Katsuki's lips as the perspiration on his hand begins to seep into his raw knuckles. The sting serves as an unpleasant reminder of the self-loathing he'd felt back at school.

Summer is near; only a couple months away, and he can almost taste the approaching heatwave the season brings with it. Taking a sharp right he wanders into a place he knows all too well. For the first time since his journey began he finally looks around, taking in the familiar surroundings. The trees are still in bloom, greens and pinks dashing his vision as he gazes upon them, an uncharacteristic calmness enveloping his once seething form. From the corner of his eye he sees an old and worn bench- the very bench he knows, and as a child, had claimed as his own. He grimaces- not due to the heat, but rather because of the memories flooding his mind. He remembers hunting bugs in this very park with him; recalls their shared ice pops in the wake of the scorching heat. Katsuki feels his heart pang in a way it's never done before when reflecting on the many adventures they'd had as kids. He doesn't know what this feeling is, but the moment he forces the aching in his chest to subside he knows who to blame. Deku. Aka a stupid, insignificant pebble on the side of the road. Picture after picture of his time shared with Izuku explode in front of him, swarming his senses as he's bombarded with the smells, sights, and sounds of the past. It's making the relatively empty park feel cramped, like an airtight cage where his body is doused in gasoline- set aflame when he halts in front of an old, rusted chain-link fence.

'This fucking place...'

--

BOOM-
With one final pop of an explosion the last lock on the fence falls to the ground, and Katsuki couldn't be more proud. That is, until his friends chime in their praises of "Wow!" and "Whoa, that was awesome!" Suddenly, he finds that his capacity for being full of himself is endless. He puffs his chest out, it's filled with pride and self confidence, and Katsuki's certain there's no better feeling in the world than that- than success. A huge grin breaks out across his features, and he's quick to point a thumb back at himself as he turns to face his mediocre group of 'heroes,' though he's more content by thinking of them as his sidekicks. "What did ya expect? My quirk is amazing. Now c'mon, let's go kill the enemy!" He points ahead, the hunger for triumph set ablaze in his eyes as he saunters through the gate he's recently vandalized. He and his friends readily ignore the signs of danger that read "beware" posted all around the fence. Correction: he ignores them. The others can't read, instead following him blindly as they trust his judgment. He can read (of course), he frankly just doesn't care one bit about any possible 'dangers.'