He lets the energy pump through his veins. Bakugou knows it takes 1.5 reps of breathing for every step he takes. One measly second that boosts him to a start. He is no rush, no sudden emergency that could interrupt the only time he gets to have to himself. The only way he could ever describe it, was peaceful.
But his life has been far from peaceful. There is no word to articulate at the matter what would happen in time and space. His world would revolve two things: his job and a certain someone. Or so he told himself years ago. Where the stake of denial was at its highest. He could breathe at his fullest.
Bakugou was mad. No, he lost his passion of aggression years ago, his head was spinning in a millions different ways. He would scream and shout, yell to be saved. From his misery. He wasn't crazy. His whole brain was falling apart. Some days his migraines felt like someone was peeling apart his skin. He could be insane. Or it might just be a game.
The same game he's been playing for the past 5 years. The same madness that he's been chasing endlessly. No one could believe. No adults would sympathize with his struggle. He was alone.
He sped faster. The air was breezy, and he shudders at the chill that sends horrible vibes surrounding him.
Bakugou was in it deep. He had no virtue, no hope upon the twinkling Stars that he used to stare at night. He was good as dead. Guilt had drowned him like a swamp.
Green eyes.
They haunted him in those dreams, they would loom over him. If he was lucky it might speak once or twice. Punctual spoken verbs that tore him apart. They were so beautiful, the mystery that wasn't so much of a stranger to him anymore. It never was. This nightmare. He couldn't wake up, probably because it wasn't a dream. No illusion fogged his brain, he felt delusional.
Insane.
But his therapist told him it wasn't usual, death and grief does that to people. Guilty people like him. He was bad, sinned. No reason to live. To dwell on the past that came to kiss him back in the ass. He could agree that he damn well deserved it.
He was a murder.
He remembered the day that he received the message. It was bright, sunny, full of his classmates laughing, mich to his chagrin he too was smiling. But then, all the sudden the laughter was disrupted, when the principal came storming in. Hushed whispered to his teacher, his stoic face peeling as he followed him. Curiosity filled the air, as they too followed him out to the back of the building. A crowd surrounded the building.
He didn't see it at first, but there stood a smaller figure, standing at the tip of the roof.
Green hair.
He paled, pushing his way through people, yelling. What the hell did he was doing? Was he stupid?
"What the hell!" He yelled. Midoriya looks up, giving him a gentle smile. The wind mussing his hair. So soft looking and angelic.
"Isn't this what you wanted Bakugou?" His voice cracks in between the large noises.
Bakugou, not Kacchan.
He stood there frozen, rigid. As he learned over, dropping. Screams were heard around him, falling and falling. As if no one could reach him, he plants to the floor, a silent crack rings in the air. Blood spreads like a stain. His hair matted with the wet texture.
He's pushed back, teachers hold him as he scrambles to near him.
"Get up you shithead!" He yells at his still body. No response. No halt of a breathe to relief of the horror he felt.
Strong arms hold him in place. He bits, snaps, does everything he could to reach him.
But he's powerless. Whimpers from his classmates echo into his ears.
He's dead.
He remembered the funeral, he was forced to dress into a stiff suit that choked him. His mother and father sat by him, not meeting his gaze. He could see Midoriya's mother crying nearby. The dark place, the black casket. It shrank and swirled out of focus.
It was Cries that wailed in the room, his classmates all hugged rocketed, red dried eyes and stiff movements.
He thought why was he here?
Midoriya's mother later approached him, and he flinched, the burn of the slap. If hung in the air. He hung his head low. Arms enveloped him into a tight hug.
No words. But he understand.
It was a creed to the one that killed her son.
But that was years ago. Aging years behind him. He could move on. He did, after he graduated he lost all contact with his classmates until two years ago where they all came together st the hero agency. The only thing that kept them together.
He still got unwary glances every so often, but he guessed that he deserved it.
His phone ringed, alerting him that there was an emergency in the city. He runs faster, not bothering to change. As he nears the city, it starts to pour soaking his jacket. Then he sees it, the smoke rises the air, screams. It's all so familiar. Children scream, cry. Yearn for their mothers. Hero's crawl all over the city. And he pushes towards the sight. In the distance of the catastrophe, he sees a lean figure, submerged in the darkness, it rises.
Bakugou starts to back away. It wasn't real. It wore a dark suit, more dressed up for a party then destruction white dress shirt collared to their elbows. Black hugged slacks, paired with a lapel jacket and a jacket thrown over his shoulder. It shrugs towards him.
Dark green eyes. They were so dark, like staring into pools of green blood. So muddy and unclear.
But that smile. It was the same. Memories flood into his mind, it makes him dizzy.
It was a dream. He trips, falling back on his behind. Water drip from the sky. Black sky staring down at him.
The image comes clear, and he has the urge to throw up. This was sickening, a mind game. Damn karma.
"But your dead...." Bakugou stutters, finding himself speechless. He laughs, tilting his head back, revealing thick pale scars. He spreads his arms in a welcoming manner, like nothing was wrong.
"Is that any way to greet an old friend Kacchan?"
