⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

IT TOOK Y/N A FEW moments to realise what had changed.

The nothing was gone. She could breathe and see, and she was Y/N again.

A tear fell down her cheek before she could stop it, running sideways, telling her she was lying down.

Weakness chained her to the horizontal position, unable to move, but she was alive. Even though she had almost died.

Almost.

The bitter taste of the word sickened her, but she focused on moving slowly - tilting her head to the side, twitching her fingers.

Reading the card left on the bedside table in an unfamiliar room.

get better soon, Y/L/N! 
xxx - kirishima + kaminari

"Bakugo."

The one word took far too much effort to push out, her throat aching painfully even after speaking just once.

But ... she was alive. She could worry about other things later.

The relief faded with another stab of pain, and another,  and another, until there was nothing but red and tears and pain.

Y/N screamed. 

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

"What the fuck?" Kaminari replied to Bakugo's comment immediately. "What do you mean I don't care? You've been nothing but a dick to Y/L/N and for what? She could literally be dead right now-"

All three of them flinched, but the blond boy continued, his normally laidback manner transforming to anger. 

"-and you're acting like this? For a moment, I thought you actually cared about Y/L/N."

Bakugo didn't respond, folding his arms and staring at the roof. 

"At least go and apologise to her," Kirishima suggested, ever the peacekeeper. "Think about it. She might need to talk to you."

"What if she doesn't want to talk to me?"

No one had expected this response of Bakugo, not really even himself. He'd tried to contain the tiny voice inside him, the question that made him feel so upset, angry, sad, conflicted, torn in a million different directions at once.

This was what it felt like to be Bakugo Katsuki. Never knowing what people wanted, always trying to be what people expected, stretched so thin he didn't even know who he was.

The sick feeling in his stomach every time he yelled, he hurt people, he showed anger. He didn't know if that was even who he was anymore, or it was just what people had told him to be.

"What if she doesn't want to talk to me?" He repeated the question, curling his fingers into fists and slowly releasing them, trying to be calm, trying to be whatever shadow of himself that was left.

"You don't know if she does or doesn't," Kirishima admitted. "But wouldn't you rather be hurt once than regretful for the rest of your life."

It could be a very short life, Bakugo wanted to say. But this was what people expected.

He fought against it, instead, nodding and tilting his head for the two boys to come with him as he walked back to the front desk.

They stayed seated. "This is something you need to do yourself."

Bakugo's first instinct was to argue or fight back, but again, he suppressed the urge telling him to, allowing himself a brief moment of pride when he calmly nodded and returned to the front desk.

"Hello. I'd like to see Y/L/N Y/N, please."

The receptionist led him with a reluctance and apprehension Bakugo didn't understand, until they turned away from the pediatric area into a ward of closed doors. The second on the left was ajar, and he could hear the rushed voices of medical professionals and occasional whimpers of pain.

Y/L/N.

He rushed in, not waiting to be cleared, and was greeted with an incredibly difficult sight to stomach.

It was Y/N, almost lifeless with tubes hanging from her body monitoring a thousand different things.

"I don't understand!" one of the doctors yelled. "Surgery was successful, and the patient was stable!"

Her name is Y/N! Bakugo almost screamed.

"It's something with her blood pressure," another responded, over the wailing of three different readers hooked up to Y/N. "Didn't respond well to anaesthesia, or something."

Bakugo's eyes widened, remembering something Katsumi had said to him, years and years ago, way before any of the Quirk Poisoning notions.

Our Quirks are useful, Katsuki. Not only can we be used for combat, rescue and other Pro Hero jobs, but we sweat nitroglycerin! It's a volatile explosive, but also a vital medicine used to stabilise heart and blood pressure issues. That's why I donate some of it every few months ... 

your first job is always to look after people, before you fight.

"Excuse me," Bakugo tried to say, but he was drowned out in the commotion. He inhaled deeply. "OI! HEY!"

Y/N would've recognised the voice anywhere, and she smiled even as another spike of pain hit her.

"Out, out, get the boy out," the doctors began to say, before he held up his hands.

"WAIT! You need nitroglycerin, right?"

"... how did he ...?"

"I have more than you know what to do with," he announced, a touch of confidence slipping back into his voice. "So, save her."

As an afterthought, a last resort, he begged, "... please."

Soon, it was Bakugo who was swarmed by officials, asking to take some of his blood and to swab his hands. He obliged, letting them do whatever they needed as he stared at Y/N.

So much for talking to her.

The doctors finally shoved him out when the biggest of Y/N's machines began to beep rapidly, slamming the door behind them.

Bakugo didn't mind, mostly. They were doing their job, and he hadn't even been meant to be in there.

He glanced at his watch through bleary eyes, staggering to the wall opposite Y/N's room and falling to the ground, taking in the blinking numbers: 2:45am.

"Shit," he remarked to himself through a yawn. 

Sleep was irresistible, and Y/N danced through his dreams, laughing, smiling, frowning, yelling.

Being herself. Maybe she could teach him.

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

thank you for reading this
book and i hope you enjoy it!
~ jazzi