M u t e L o v e // KiriBaku

•My Love, My Hope, and My Loving Reality Check•

        Ice.
Albeit sluggishly, it creeps through his veins. The proposition made reverberates in what now feels like the driest air to breathe imaginable, solidifying the immobility spell cast on Bakugo— And still, his eyes keep their challenge despite it being a pure act.

From his shoulders to his fingertips, numbing tingles begin to eat away at his flesh. It's like magma– something nasty and corrosive that somehow reaches his chest, his throat, and mind.

"You're fucking on." The words crack, but they found their way out intimidatingly enough.
Comforting words aimed at his change in expression simmer on his tongue, but Bakugo initiates the fight with a bang. He sets aside his worries with a grain of salt.

Bakugo's explosions have always been a challenge to dodge. His immense control over every single ounce of his movements build his constant attacks to be something extraordinarily difficult to counter. He had never considered going up against a mentally-disheveled Bakugo's attacks— though it certainly would have never come near how it truly is.

He would have guessed it to be easier; sporadic explosions shot before a proper aim was taken, or perhaps even a slightly clumsier pattern of footwork. It isn't the case. He's merciless.
Bakugo is no longer himself. Instead, he's the embodiment of what Kirishima saw, during his last few fighting moments on that battle field, that cruel night.

Each explosion strays further from any line of control. His usage of strength is off the rails— and still, the biggest five-headed-beast taking the title of fright about Bakugo is his eyes; enlarged, overflowing with terror, and hazed over with something harmful they see that isn't there.

Bakugo Katsuki's mind and body have suddenly switched into survival mode.

With the tenth explosion blown out of scale shot towards Kirishima, he shouts for him. "Katsuki! Not too hard, dude-!"

He gives him a shove and restrains his own attacks. To his absolute agony, an attempt to fight back isn't given by the other. He takes a quick approach.

"What's wrong...?"

Bakugo's gaze falls onto his own body; his hands, his chest, his legs. He swallows hard, the bitter taste of blood now staining the back of his suddenly scratchy throat. Blood. Blood, buckets of it. It's all he can think of now. He presses his hands to his ears and lets them fall back into view, when a breathless cry leaves him. Blood, his body feels like it's covered in pools of it.

"Katsuki?"

He's unresponsive to his surroundings.
His own body seems to be freaking him out, and Kirishima is left to stand on a completely different stage than the one who slowly lowers himself to the floor.

"Kats, talk to me... you're freaking me out..."

Tears drop to the grass he kneels on. The crying is silent, choked up, confused— but not nearly as confused as Kirishima feels. He begins to examine him for injuries, leading himself on pure theory that perhaps he had seriously injured him. One hand to the shoulder leads to a sharp cry, and another explosion. He falls back, stunned.

There's no room for frustration.
His sparring opponent, his classmate, his boyfriend has suddenly lost control and shattered into true fear itself. This isn't the time for frustration.

"What do I do? What the hell do I do!? I need to do something... I need to help!"

"Katsuki..." He goes by unheard. Instead, his breathing falls irregular. He's closing in on himself. He's shielding his body off from the world that's hurt him.

Kirishima tries to touch him again.
His hand breaches his toxic bubble and leaves from the real world. Bakugo's eyes shoot up at the one whose hand it belongs to, jolting in place and bracing for any impact that could come.