#blerlkj

[prettyboykatsuki]

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forgive me | k. bakugou 

➳ tags ;; mentions of injury, hospital rooms, relationship troubles, very mild angst, fluff 

➳ wc ;; 968

➳ a/n ;; part of a warm-up series/practice series im doing. i’ll link the prompt list here. i use a little generator to pick fandom and character and surprsingly i got bakugou first lol. 

➳ prompt ;; “you don’t have to do this alone” 

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Hospital rooms have a remarkably sterile smell. Like chlorine and hopelessness - the air is clean but sharp. Each inhale presses against his ribs and makes him wince - doubling over the edge of the hospital bed with a deep sigh. The white-lights hurt his already bloodshot eyes. Everything in the room is white, or pale blue, or grey.. 

It’s not the kind of room you deserve. If you were awake, he likes to think you’d complain about the dreariness - scrunch your nose up because the kids play area has no brightness at all. You’d say something about how the world should be colorful even if your wardrobe isn’t. Something about how you hate hospitals so much because they bring you so many bad memories, but you’d endure it because it’s what you’re good at it.

He curls over the side of your hospital bed - balancing the weight of his sin on his shoulders. You’ll be fine  - they’ve told him this so many times over. The doctors who watch him sleep in the same huddled position, his friends and family, everyone has told him that you’ll be fine. Deep down - he knows it too. That probably in a few days, you’ll be good enough to go home. You’ll give him the same dorky smile - the one that shows your teeth and hold his hand so tight for the world to see. 

And you won’t say a word about unless he does - because you’re not the type of person to pay attention to his many mistakes. Bakugou Katsuki is no good at being tender. Seeing you asleep in a hospital bed only makes him feel like he isn’t even good at the one thing he should be good at - protecting. The tightness in his chest will not leave. Rationally, he knows it wasn’t his fault. Knows it couldn’t be helped.

But he thinks back on the way your bed must’ve been cold - he hadn’t been home in time for a full week. He thinks about the fact he’s missed 3 date nights in a row. He thinks about the fact he has left-overs for him that he didn’t have the time to eat. He thinks about how his laundry is always done when he stops by the house but he’s never the one to do it. 

And Bakugou feels the weight of your loneliness in his mouth, it feels like a sigh. You’re not angry with him because you rarely are. You’re the proprietor of all of his affection - the love he tries so desperately to give. Anger? When he asks you about it, your lips quirk into a smile and you pinch at his sides. Make a silly joke about how angry you are that he ate the last slice of cake in the fridge. 

And after that, because you are a lover by nature, you kiss the corners of his mouth and say “I’m really not mad by the way. You’re a hero and you’re busy - I knew that before we started dating. If you’re worried about me being lonely, let me have a cat” and lean into his side so he can feel the weight of his body. You always dismantle all of his worries - piece by piece - bit by bit. You never let him feel his own anger for too long - that’s what your hands are for. 

No matter how much he tries. Tries to tell himself that he’s good enough for you, moments just like this one chain him to his own misery. He couldn’t save you from the accident. Now you’re hurt. He couldn’t be there. He wasn’t enough - this time with evidence so concrete it leaves a scar on your skin. And you’ll live he’s certain, but a part of him will always be dead knowing he wasn’t there. 

Because he was busy being a hero in someone else's story. The anger makes bile rise in his throat, a hiccupping sob tearing through his ribs. 

He thinks it’s a ghost when cold fingers brush through his hairs.

“Why’re you cryin’ like that, Kat? See something funny?” 

His eyes snap open to you. It’s the first time you’ve been awake in days and the first things out of your mouth are jokes. He sniffles at you, scowling. Your smile is tired but still bright enough to make these white lights look gold. 

Your hand reaches over to cradle his cheek, brushing tears off with your thumb. 

“Such a crybaby, Dynamight,” 

“Fuck off,” 

You giggle. His lips are upturned in the ghost of a smile. You are lovely. So, so lovely. 

“I’m okay, Katsuki,” ― and it’s a reminder, as you lean forward enough to kiss him. What does it say about love that your lips touch his before they touch a glass of water, he wonders. Still, he leans into the warmness of your mouth, chapped lips and all―  “It wasn’t your fault - and I’m okay now. Don’t cry, okay?” 

‘Aren’t you the one who always says I’m pretty when I cry?” 

You fluster. 

“Th-that doesn’t apply here,” 

He chuckles. In all these days, it’s the first time he’s laughed at all. He leans into your touch, swallowing his anger and emotion. Trying his best to calm down.

“You don’t have to do this alone, okay? Your feelings and how to make this work - we figure it out together, like usual. Stop stressin’ so much, yeah” 

“Stop fucking worrying about me when you just woke up, dumbass” 

And that’s how he says thank you, and im sorry, and i love you - and everything else he can’t fit between the lines of subtext. You smile at him, kiss him one more time before you grin wickedly. 

“Never,”

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