#i was so scared this draft would be deleted cuz i hv no saved copy this was written on a whim

[catsoupki]

你留下的遺憾 / destruction in your wake (bakugou x reader)

Summary: you wonder whether bakugou remembers you: a girl from his distant past; something he’s left behind. you think he’s forgotten all of your touch and the smell of your hair, but to him, you’re still leaving traces on him, and he’ll never escape

Warnings: just kinda angsty actually, the reader is said to have a chronic illness, didn’t specify what tho, wasn’t expecting to post this so sorry for the lack of capitalisation!

wc: 700

now, at twenty five, you see the ghost of your past haunting you. when you pass by the sandbox, you hear the blooming noises of explosions. you hear the stifling tears from fighting bullies and you smell the stench of nitroglycerin. the last time you had seen katsuki bakugou was this morning, when you were making breakfast in your kitchenette with the television turned on. the bleed of morning sun flutters into your studio apartment, inundating your belongings with warmth. the news channel broadcasted an accident from a previous night, in which pro hero dynamight was able to catch and arrest two villains by himself during his night patrol, but still left destruction in his wake.

it’s the collapse of scaffolding, the uprooting of walkways, with soot and burn scars scalded into the walls of concrete. it’s the name of your childhood love plastered over every single surface that exists.

the last time you had seen katsuki bakugou, you were fifteen. wearing a graduation cap too heavy for your dipped head, donning a robe too large for your then small and sickly thin body.

katsuki bakugou had looked at you with something in the guise of disgust. head held high with a kind of dignity you’re unfamiliar with, the dignity that comes with being the best at what you do, the dignity that encompasses his self-assurance. or perhaps it was betrayal, a shattering unbeknownst to you.

a dream too good to be true— two tickets that would allow you to step foot into the heroes’ world, only to have one fall short, in the name of illness.

he had never visited you during your chronic stay at the hospital. but at twenty five, perhaps now you recall the nameless cards that were littered onto your bed-side table before you had even awoken, at the glimpse of dawn.

a promise broken by betrayal— he looks at you, from a pedestal unto the commoners, he looks at you with his head tilted high and leaned back, as if he’s too afraid to get too close. maybe he is. he was never good at deceiving you.

since the day of your graduation, you see the ghost of your past everywhere. when you walk past the convenience store on the way to work, only to be greeted by the face of dynamight on the package of onigiris. and when you go shopping with friends, you'll be reminded of his face on the commercial district billboard for calvin klein.

he is everything you’re not, and likewise, vice versa. you’re everything he’s not. your contact is left to collect dust in his phone but he’s sure you would’ve forgotten him by now. it’s the doing of his teenage self, to push you and your illness away until you recover, until you move on with life, onto normalcy. you won’t ever realise the years that he had used his birthday wishes and new years fortune to pray for your recovery. for you to make it out of the hospital, alive and well, because what is there to being a hero if not for you? what is there to protect when you’re not even there?

but he also won’t ever know the times you’ve knelt in front of the television in your childhood home, when you were sixteen, bowing your head and praying to god that even if he doesn’t show you mercy, he should at least use that to keep bakugou safe, alive and well.

it’s been over a decade. the last time he saw you, you had pale cheeks and barely made it to the graduation ceremony without fainting. your body was sticks and bones, remnants of an unhealed sickness that stole your dreams away.

he sees you now in the flowers he receives. he sees you in the eyes of students in the schools that he gives talks at. a childlike wonder that never got to grow up, a kindness that was killed over and over again until you became a tinder without a fire.

he tells himself: he’s moved on. and perhaps except for izuku, no one will ever notice just how ugly the scar on his heart is. you’re no hero, you’re no villain, you’re something of the in-between, but still, you leave destruction in your wake.