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It was quiet – so quiet that if Katsuki strained his ears, he was almost sure he could hear the ticking of Shitty Hair's hideous clock from the next room over. The image of it would have made him smile, but the effort was too much for him at the moment. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there (in a rolling chair in the middle of his room), but he knew it must have been late.
He stared at the ceiling, his head hanging uncomfortably over the edge of the backrest. He was also too tired to move it into a better position, neck cramps be damned.
It seemed he was too tired for anything these days, aside from training. But that had always been his one exception, hadn't it? And even then there were times when the thought of getting out of bed for it was ludicrous. Besides, what was the point of trying so hard anymore when Deku would just surpass him with half the effort?
Because really, what was there for Katsuki to live for? The only goal he had in life, the one he had for as long as he could remember, was to be Number One. It was the only aspect of his future he ever gave consideration. Sure, he had minor goals that acted as stepping stones for it, like being the first from his middle school to get into UA, or besting Deku – but he'd failed those, hadn't he? Everything he did felt like failures, and his dream seemed to become less attainable by the day, not that he'd ever admit it out loud.
And what did he have to live for if he couldn't be Number One? Who was he, if that dream was taken from the equation?
Pathetic. Weak. Unlovable.
That's who Bakugo Katsuki was once you stripped him down to his bare essentials. Angry too, maybe. Oh, and wired to be a villain – that's what everyone seemed to expect from him, anyway, even if he'd rather die than become one.
Not that he had much of an aversion towards dying nowadays.
He thought back to the sludge villain and the burning of his lungs as he was suffocated in front of a crowd of onlookers. He had been so desperate not to die then, and now he can't recall the memory without wishing he had – to put him out of his misery before it had gotten worse.
How naive of him to think it got better after middle school.
How naive of him to think that moving into the dorms and away from his mother would solve all his problems.
Because the dorm move-in meant Kamino, and Kamino meant the end of All Might's career. If Katsuki hadn't been so weak, hadn't been kidnapped, hadn't needed saving... again...
He flung himself from the chair, his feet taking him out onto his balcony where the chilly air managed to help clear his head. He would not think about Kamino – a sentence that had become a sort of mantra the past few weeks.
Katsuki leaned over the edge of the railing, his hands clasped in front of him. His thoughts immediately drifted back to death and the memory of suffocation. He would say he was only grateful about surviving because it meant he hadn't gone out in such an embarrassing way, but Deku trying to save him had been worse.
Deku.
If he had the energy, he would have laughed. How ironic was it that he had told the nerd to kill himself in an attempt to come back with a Quirk, and now if Katsuki took his own advice, coming back would be the last thing he'd want? He just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.
Katsuki stared at the ground below – or what he could make out through the darkness, at least. He marveled at how simple it would be to just... jump. Thought about what it would be like, or if it would hurt. He recalled the times he'd seen Shitty Hair jump off buildings for his training, and wondered if his own instincts would kick in and activate his Quirk to prevent himself from hitting the ground.
Wouldn't that be fucking fantastic, he thought sarcastically.
He untangled his fingers and looked at his palms, clenching and unclenching his fists. It would be fitting for him to use his own Quirk to finish himself off, wouldn't it? All he'd have to do was hold his head in his hands, which he proceeded to do, and then... boom.
Simple. Quick.
... Loud.
He dropped his arms and glanced at the balcony next to his. He swallowed, his mouth running dry.
The sound would probably wake Shitty Hair, and even if it didn't, or if he decided it was nothing to worry about, he'd still be the one to find Katsuki's body. He was the only moron with the courage and stupidity to invade Katsuki's personal space, and the two tended to walk to their morning classes together. If Katsuki wasn't waiting for him like he always was, he'd come barging in and find Katsuki's brains splattered across the walls.
Yeah. No.
An uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut, twisting relentlessly – Katsuki refused to ruin the favourite colour of the one person he could admit (in his mind) to liking.
I don't want to traumatize him either, a little voice in his head said. He promptly added 'priorities' to his neverending list of things he needed to improve on.
And now that he was thinking about it, how pathetic was he that Shitty Hair was the person he'd probably miss the most? The only person he'd consider maybe sticking around for? A guy he'd known for less than a year, who he refused to even call a friend out loud?
Katsuki briefly entertained the idea of calling him a friend for the first time in his suicide letter of all things. Maybe even address him as Kirishima.
Katsuki snorted.
They'd probably think the thing was forged.
Katsuki realized he was still staring at Kirishima's balcony when the door suddenly slid open and the boy himself stepped through. He had clearly been asleep, or attempting to – his hair was down and mussed in the back, and he was wearing nothing but sweatpants.
He froze as he caught sight of Katsuki, which eased into a sleepy smile once he realized who he was. "Hey man," he said softly, coming over to lean against the part of the railing closest to Katsuki's.
Katsuki grunted in lieu of a proper greeting, suddenly feeling off kilter. Night was when he allowed his thoughts to run wild, and he wasn't accustomed to being around people when they did.
"Can't sleep?" Kirishima asked, stifling a yawn with the back of his arm.
"Something like that," he grumbled, lowering his head so he didn't have to look at him. He felt dirty, like he'd been caught doing something wrong. He supposed planning to blast your head apart was on the lower end of the acceptable scale, but still. It's not like he was plotting crimes.
"Me neither," Kirishima said, as if Katsuki had asked. "Well, getting back to sleep, I guess." Katsuki could tell he was looking at him even if he couldn't see it, and tried not to squirm. "Nightmares," he finished, despite Katsuki still not saying anything.
Regardless, he appreciated any distraction from his current headspace, and relented. "What about?"
Katsuki saw him grin from the corner of his eye and had to hold back an eye roll. Fucking dork.
"Kamino," he said simply, and suddenly Katsuki very much did not want to be there. He involuntarily shuddered and was sure Kirishima could tell it wasn't because of the cold.
But before he could protest, Kirishima was elaborating.
"It's different every time, you know? But tonight was pretty bad. It was like, the same memory over and over, except each time had a different outcome, each worse than the last." Kirishima still spoke softly – able to be heard, but his voice threatened to be swept away by the wind.
Katsuki didn't want to ask, didn't want to know, but something compelled him to speak up anyway. "What was it?"
Kirishima let out a long exhale and Katsuki finally managed to look at him.
"You dying."
It felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped on him, but not completely out of nowhere. For some reason Katsuki had been expecting that answer, yet he still wasn't prepared to hear it. He and Kirishima stared at each other, their eyes locked – he wanted to ask if that would have really been so bad of an outcome, but he didn't, because his tongue stopped responding and his palms itched as sweat began to gather there.
Kirishima was better at reading people though, and whether that was why he answered his unspoken question, or if it was just a coincidence stemming from his constant need to reassure people by telling them how he felt, Katsuki didn't know.
"It was awful," he whispered, still not breaking their eye contact. "I can't imagine a world without you in it, Bakugo. I'm really happy you're safe now."
Katsuki felt his lip quiver and he hung his head, the familiar sting of tears building behind his eyes. It was quiet for several moments before Katsuki finally broke it.
"Me too."
And maybe one day he'd be able to say those words truthfully.