Chapter Text
UA had decided to implement new rules regarding its students; living on campus was now mandatory for every student. It had been a safety measure as recent events deemed the security of the school as lacking.
Threatened by the League of Villains during a summer camp with potential spies among its staff had the school take extra precautions. No one was to leave the school grounds during the weekdays, and for weekends, they had to be granted absence from their homeroom teacher. Parents could visit once their identities had been confirmed, and to avoid infiltration of a villain with a cloning quirk, they had a maximum of three on-campus visits every month.
Every student on each floor had been carefully chosen according to their quirks in case of an attack by villains, and the buildings were sorted by class. Heights Alliance was the one he was going to be staying at.
The leaflet Katsuki was holding in his hands was a bitter reminder of his shortcomings. He had been too weak. An easy target for the League of Villains. And now everyone around him had to adapt because of it.
“We will take good care of Katsuki, Mrs. Bakugou. Security around campus has been updated, and each building will room at least one teacher to ensure the safety of all students.” A monotonous voice stated.
The sound of a mug being set on the surface of the glass table was the only noise amongst the silence that followed the statement.
He kept his attention on the leaflet, eyes never leaving to glance at the two men sitting in front of him. He couldn’t bear to look at them — especially All Might. Not after Kamino.
“Of course, Mr. Aizawa. I believe UA will take care of my brat,” a hand was put on his head to ruffle his hair, “and I hope the brat’s shortcomings will not burden you any further. You’re going to behave, right brat?”
The hand on his head slipped down to his back, pinching him right in front of the oblivious Pro Heroes, making him nod shortly.
He pursed his lips when her grip tightened as a warning to not start arguing while guests were in the house.
Once he moved to the dorms, he would be free. Free from Mitsuki’s stares, free from… everything. He had to hang on. He couldn’t let her break him. Couldn’t let her win.
He had known.
Known that he was correct with his assumption; All Might had chosen fucking Deku to be his successor. The nerd let it slip that he had gotten his quirk handed over from someone at the start of the school year, and after seeing All Might’s deflated form pointing right at the camera, announcing, “it’s your turn now.”, he had pieced it together.
Why did he pick the nerd of all people? The one who had never trained or done anything to reach his dreams, and instead, relished in empty beliefs, spouting nonsense, exclaiming he were to attend UA? UA’s entrance exams were known for its difficulty, and no matter what, no quirkless person would ever succeed without training more than someone who had a quirk.
(He now understood why the nerd had seemed like he was training in their last year of middle school.)
All Might choosing Deku had been a bitter slap to his face. After all, he had been the one to stalk him, ask him question after question, and didn’t take no as an answer.
When they were younger, playing games in the woods, he recalled the questions to be innocent — “Kacchan, what’s your favorite food?”, “Do you also like All Might, Kacchan?”.
Once he had gotten his quirk, and Deku hadn’t, he was bombarded with an onslaught of questions — “Can I see your quirk up close, Kacchan?”, “Do you think the nitroglycerin you secrete is useful for other things, Kacchan?”, “How much do you weigh, Kacchan?”.
One day in class, as everyone was yet to return from lunch, he had found out where all the information Deku had pressed out of him went — a notebook. Since that day, he had pushed him away more fiercely.
Tried to push him away. But no matter what he did, Deku just stuck to him even more.
The mere thought of the questions Deku had asked sent shivers down his spine.
Why did nobody ever listen to what he had to say? Didn’t he have a choice? Wasn’t he allowed to say no?
The phantom touch of a hand around his neck made him jerk up in his bed.
He was surrounded by darkness.
Involuntary explosions crackled from his hands, illuminating the room in a faint orange hue for a few seconds.
Nobody is here.
He tried to calm down his racing heart, breathing in and out in the familiar pattern he had learnt in class.
Nobody is grabbing you by the neck.
He set off small explosions from his hands to check his surroundings one last time. The door was closed, a faint light from below made its way into the room. The dresser and nightstand had nobody seeking cover behind. The window was shut, no one was hiding behind the curtains.
He let out a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging. Once he stopped the small pops, Katsuki moved his comforter up to cover half his face as he lay down on his bed once more, cocooning himself in his bedsheets. The familiar scent of burned caramel enveloping him safely in the darkness, Katsuki squeezed his eyes shut.
The anxious feeling since his kidnapping had gotten worse to the point where he had to double check his surroundings frequently. What a pathetic hero-to-be he was. He wasn’t weak, damnit!
The Villains don’t need to sneak into the room. They have a warping quirk.
Shoulders tensing, he tightened his grip on his comforter.
Fuck.
Feeling as if he wouldn’t get an ounce of sleep tonight, he reluctantly accepted his first defeat against the dark.
Living with the extras had proven to be quite the challenge.
Nobody ever picked up their mess. The sink was always overflowing with dirty dishes, food was getting moldy from where it had been forgotten — Katsuki could have sworn there was leftover fried chicken hidden behind the television in the common room.
Had they not learned to not leave food outside to rot? If it were him in his house, he would have been punished for this behavior.
But luck seemed to be on his side for once, and Mitsuki hadn’t contacted him ever since he moved into the dorms. One week without her breathing down his neck left him feeling as if he were floating in dreamland. Giddy, yet anxious about what was to follow. Mitsuki’s actions were never predictable after all, and this very fact haunted him throughout the day.
Eyes roaming around his room, Katsuki sighed.
He barely had any personal belongings; his dorm room resembled his room at home.
A week ago, the day they moved in, the extras announced a room tour to decide which room was the most shocking, but he quickly had run up to his room to avoid explaining why his room was void of everything.
The only thing he could consider decoration were the half finished drawings he had done yesterday on lined paper. It wasn’t the most beautiful drawing he had ever done, but with the obvious lack of resources, he did damn good.
The drawing itself was a self portrait — the eyes were filled out in black, some of it bleeding down his cheeks like tears. There was duct tape over his mouth forming an “X” shape. The background was dark, blurring the edges of his silhouette once the background met his body. His face and hair weren’t shaded properly yet.
Drawing was the only way he could express himself freely, with no fear of punishment — or kidnapping.
Katsuki closed his eyes.
When had Mitsuki last seen one of his drawings and complimented him?
The only memory he had of her and his drawings were from over a year ago.
“What the fuck do you think you’re fucking doing?!” Mitsuki’s voice echoed in his room, clenching her fists.
Katsuki fought off the involuntary flinch when he registered the tightness in her voice, and slowly pulled his stretched out arm back to put the paper flat against his chest.
“Fucking answer, brat!”
He gulped.
She reeked of alcohol.
Mitsuki and drinking at noon was never a good sign; she must have been stressed and pissed off because of work. And if the last few times with drunk Mitsuki were any indication, he was not to anger her further.
Which was already failing, it seemed.
A faint ringing in his ears, Katsuki clutched the paper like a lifeline, as if it were going to shield him from his looming doom. Gloved fingers twitched. He should have locked the door.
A slap on his cheek pulled him out of his thoughts.
“You’re a fucking disgrace! I should’ve gotten an abortion when I had the fucking chance!” Mitsuki screeched. “I wouldn’t have to put up with a fucking failure like you.”
She grasped the paper, pulling hard. He let go. He knew he had to diffuse the situation the best he could. He couldn’t go to the hospital again. What was he supposed to tell them? That it was an accident again?
“I always knew you were a good-for-nothing waste of space.” She snorted after eyeing the paper, her expression turning impossibly darker.
He stared as she held up his drawing — a self-portrait — and ripped it in half right in front of his eyes, and then into tiny pieces she threw at him.
“Clean up.”
Katsuki blinked, numbly watching as she turned on her heels, and entered the storage room. The ringing in his head was getting louder, he was feeling like he was floating, as if he were the clouds in the sky, as if the tiny pieces laying on the ground were his shattered heart he was desperate to flee from.
He knew this wasn’t over yet — the storage room was a stark reminder of it.
But that didn’t matter to him anymore.
His hard work was destroyed right in front of his eyes. The one thing that was him, and not her. It was something he chose to do, and it had gotten ripped apart. Just like his heart shattering into thousands of pieces, abandoned and never to be patched up again.
And as night turned into crack of dawn, its orange-yellow shade illuminating the new bruises and marks on his body, Katsuki wished she had gotten the abortion for the first time in his life.
Why were the extras staring at him as if he was about to attack them?
Why were they always whispering whenever he passed by?
Just why were they always calling him a fucking villain?
Art with Midnight.
The only thing he treasured, and it was taught by her.
Katsuki didn’t just dislike her, he loathed her. And by the looks of it, the feeling was mutual.
She had been the one to use her stupid quirk — a sleep-inducing aroma — on him, chaining him up like a fucking villain while he was asleep after he had declined to participate in the ceremony.
He had woken up just as the platform he was chained on lifted upwards, revealing him to the entire world. Displaying him like a villain. During the ceremony, nobody had batted an eye as he struggled for his life. The muzzle barely allowed him to breathe, its lashes cutting into his cheeks, and when All Might stood before him, medal in hand, he had been so sure he was going to free him. He knew Katsuki wouldn’t be able to breathe — All Might had been there for the sludge villain accident.
Minutes passed by, and All Might only had taken off the muzzle to force the medal to his mouth, essentially cutting off his airways once again.
As traitorous tears escaped his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks, the bitter taste of his hollow victory in his mouth making him gag while he was being publicly humiliated, he realised for the first time that heroes would never save him. Not during the sludge villain accident, not from home, not now, not ever. After all, they had chained him up, as if he were an animal — a catch they were about to feast on. They had with words.
The sound of cameras, and people yelling at him, mirth evident in their face, still haunted him in his dreams.
The quirk restraints she had put on him resulted in 2nd degree burns, his hands and arms were bleeding, some parts blistered and angry red. Recovery Girl had told him he was lucky to not be in a more severe condition — to not blown up his own arms.
(The quirk restraints were too tight , he panicked, and nitroglycerin-like sweat drenching his hands, lost control of the size of his explosions. Had no one noticed? Did nobody care?)
And by the end, that bitch had received no repercussions, only words of encouragement, “You did well, Nemuri!”, “You were always a quick thinker.”, “I’m glad you were here, Midnight. I couldn’t have tamed him.”
While he had gotten detention for a whole week, several scoldings, and Mitsuki slamming him against the wall, screaming, “You fucking had it coming, villain!” , and then proceeded to lock him in the cupboard, leaving him to starve for two days with fractured ribs. Masaru, still the coward he was, never checked on him either except for the fleeting backhanded insults he slipped in whenever he passed the door; he was trapped in a dark room with his thoughts, the gold medal’s presence feeling heavy, and angry tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.
“Anyone who knows the answer to question 7?” Midnight asked, her eyes roaming around the room.
Katsuki raised his hand, only to note that she was focusing on the nineteen other students.
And during class, Midnight never acknowledged him whenever he raised his hand. He was treated like he was a ghost, as if he were a waste of space.
Katsuki clenched his teeth.
He was punished; she had punished him — why had she punished him?
Was he the villain all along?
“Please refrain from putting your legs up on the table, Bakugou.”
Katsuki glanced up to see Four Eyes standing right in front of him, his arm chopping the air.
“Tch.” He rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, Four Eyes.”
He ignored the extra’s further complaints, opting to continue the book he was reading.
“You don’t have to be so rude, Bakugou!” Round Face piped up, walking over to where he was sitting at the corner of the common room.
His grip on the book tightened. Was it annoy Katsuki day today? Or had he been lucky for far too long?
“You can fuck off too, Round Face!”
Katsuki should have known better. The common room was always packed with extras talking to each other while they sat on the dark green couches in the center of the room, several unhealthy snacks haphazardly laying on top of the coffee table.
He had been wanting a change of scenery. His room was too suffocating; he had yet another panic attack, and if he didn’t escape the four walls he was confined in, he would have given in to the glistening metal blade he kept hidden in a box by his bedside. Fucking pathetic.
He had already noticed their distaste for him at the very beginning of the school year. Who was he compared to Deku? A fucking villain through and through, apparently. An animal lashing out at everyone. Someone who had to be restrained all the time for the sake of public safety.
“You shouldn’t talk to your classmates like that! My name is Uraraka — We’ve been classmates for months now, and you still can’t remember our names?” She took Four Eyes by his arm, her cheeks puffing out in annoyance, and pulled him to the kitchen, where Deku and the other nerds were idly chatting.
He did in fact remember all of their names; he just never bothered to call anyone by their name. Why should he bother when they never cared about him, anyway?
“He’s being an asshole again.” he heard someone sigh dramatically. “But what’s new, right?”
Several laughs echoed in the room. Pausing, Katsuki stared dumbly, eyebrows furrowed, as the words slightly blurred.
Misty-eyed, he blinked several times to force the tears away before he side-eyed the extras with the most menacing and threatening glare he could muster.
Pikachu snorted, leaning towards two classmates. “Maybe we should’ve asked Aizawa-sensei for some restraints, dude.”
“Or we can ask Yaomomo-kun to make us some — Quirk restraints included!” Grape Fucker sprung up from his seat, his eyes glistening with mischief. “Then I’ll be able to see her quirk up close — If you know what I mean.”
Katsuki was one second away from hauling the grape wannabe into the sky to never to be seen again.
“Guys, she’s our classmate, don’t speak of her like this!” Shitty Hair started. “And you shouldn’t speak ill of Bakugou either. He’s also one of our classmates.”
Katsuki lifted his head, fully staring at the redhead. He was the first person to talk to him during the USJ accident — to see more than just his anger.
His stupid smile lit up the entire room, and even though he might have been sad about his quirk not being ‘flashy enough’, his quirk was really powerful. Hell, he could be hit by a fucking Howitzer and still come out unseared if he trained well enough.
Katsuki also noticed Shitty Hair following him around like a lost puppy — “Let’s be friends! I’m Kirishima Eijirou.” he had exclaimed the following week after the USJ accident. Katsuki had threatened him to fuck off, which he essentially complied to, but he was persistent with becoming friends — not the Deku kind of persistent; Shitty Hair respected his boundaries.
(And Katsuki was convinced Shitty Hair was the first person to actually listen to him instead of forcing something on him… He wouldn’t admit it, but he might trust him.)
“You’re defending Bakugou, Kiri? Are you okay? Did you get too many explosions to your head?” Pikachu imitated explosions with his hands, making Shitty Hair frown.
Shitty Hair suddenly locked eyes with Katsuki, sending a reassuring smile to him. Stupid fucking smile.
“He’s my friend, dude.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. He hadn’t agreed to being friends with him, he didn’t need friends.
Pikachu and Grape Fucker chuckled. “BAKUGOU AND FRIENDS?” A few of the other extras focused on the conversation. “Are you sure you aren’t just his punching bag?”
Katsuki tuned out the rest of the conversation, taking one last look at the redhead’s kicked puppy expression, and left for his room.
He wasn’t going to listen to them talking about him. They thought he couldn’t have friends, that he would fucking blow them up, fucking turn them into a villain too.
What they didn’t realise was that Katsuki had bigger problems to care about than playing friends with anyone. His demons were always present, keeping him occupied, and if they weren’t, Mitsuki was there.
It was her words persuading him that people viewed him as an abrasive devil kid; “They’re fucking with you. Nobody wants to be friends with someone as fucking pathetic as you.”
No, he didn’t need friends. Katsuki didn’t want anyone to get close to him.
(But if it had to be someone, then Kirishima wouldn’t be quite as bad.)
Once Katsuki was inside his room, he locked the door, and with fast steps, approached his bed to sit down. He put the book in his hands on his nightstand.
The room was filled with warm and golden sunlight, its warmth reaching Katsuki’s face as he sat still, staring at the blank wall on the opposite side.
His thoughts were overwhelming him, desperately trying to escape, telling him to do something. He needed to do something. He didn’t want to give in to them.
Hesitantly, Katsuki leaned over to his nightstand, and opened the drawer filled with papers, a small black box, and a black journal hidden under many sheets of paper. He reached out to grab the journal, and pulled it out. The black journal was well used, its edges slightly frayed, the front reading, “Diary” .
Katsuki had begun to write last year after the sludge villain; it was some sort of coping mechanism. He needed some place to pour out his thoughts, and after drawing was out of question, he had started to write. Writing out his thoughts was something he didn’t revel at, like at drawing, but as long as he was able to pour out his heart without Mitsuki finding out, it was okay.
And now with him living away from her in the dorms, he was free to do what he wanted without her constant nagging, “Writing stupid poetry and drawing won’t fucking improve your scores, brat! Fucking change the 98 into a 100 by the end of the month or you won’t fucking get anything to eat for a week!”.
He kept all his hobbies stored in a box at home, hidden away somewhere safe from the hag‘s eyes, from her sharp words and hands. And with him moving here, the wooden box was now under his bed — inside of it were some of his art supplies, notebooks, and blank papers. He had to save up his pocket money for a long time, and after Mitsuki had destroyed them the first time, he was forced to save up on an even more tight budget — it had taken over a year to replace almost everything after purchasing most of his supplies from the ¥100 store.
¥1500 wasn’t enough to buy a week’s worth of groceries, lunch, and other miscellaneous things. The hag and the old man would go grocery shopping once a month to buy the bare necessities like rice, meat, some ramen packets and two packs of mixed frozen vegetables. Fresh vegetables and fruits were never available at home. If Katsuki craved some, he had to buy them with his weekly budget. For all they cared, he could starve, and they still wouldn’t bat an eye.
Opening the journal to a blank page, Katsuki took the pen squished into it, and poured out his thoughts.
I am suffocating
I am dying
But nobody notices
They don’t care
They don’t want to see
I am the villain
The villain in their eyes
I don’t deserve saving
They don’t care
They never cared
They don’t want to save me
Not from the sludge
Not from the chains
Not from the villains
Not from her
Because I am the villain
Why save him?
He had it coming they say
He needs a taste of his own medicine they say
He is not a hero
He never was
Why can’t somebody save me?
His luck, as it seemed, went only for so long.
Mitsuki’s name was popping up on his screen every second, calling and texting him. Did he want to answer her? Could he ignore her without her running to the school like a fucking madman, and embarrass him in front of the extras?
Katsuki declined the incoming call, and opened her chat.
Hag
Fucking pick up already
Katsuki Bakugou!
If you don’t pick up the damn phone I will fucking drag you out of that fucking hole you’re hiding in!!
PICK UP
YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT
WHY DID I BUY YOU A FUCKING PHONE IF YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO ANSWER?
Are you thinking I won’t fucking do it?
Katsuki panicked. She wouldn’t fucking dare to pull shit in front of strangers!
Me
Fucking what do you want, hag?
Hag
Come home the following weekend
We need to shoot some pictures for our new line
DON’T EAT TOO MUCH!!!
I don’t want to see you look fucking bloated in the pictures
Me
I’m not fucking allowed to leave school grounds.
Silencing his phone, Katsuki took one last glance at the chat, and threw it on his bed. He couldn’t leave the campus, Aizawa made sure nobody left without his consent. Especially him. He was the one to get kidnapped—they could always decide to take him away again.
Mitsuki couldn’t just demand him to leave everything behind to help her. He had to train for the provisional hero license exam. He couldn’t fall behind! He couldn’t let them be a step ahead of him.
“—GET OUT! Get the fuck out of here—“
He wasn’t leaving; he liked the safety of the four walls surrounding him. He felt safer than ever.
Mitsuki wouldn’t show up to school, she was too prideful to pull shit like that. Public opinion mattered to her more than her own fucking child.
“—fucking get run over for all I care—“
Katsuki eyed the drawer of his nightstand, its content sitting heavily on his heart. He had to get rid of the thoughts; he had to stop the tingling in his blood.
Opening the drawer, he swiftly grasped the black box.
“—don’t even think of returning—“
The constant buzzing of his phone left background noise, Katsuki took off the lid, revealing its contents. Two sharp razor blades. The sharp metal glistened in the subdued artificial lighting, faintly reflecting one of his crimson eyes — dull and void of any emotion.
“—You’re like gum stuck to shoe soles; disgusting, nobody fucking wants them—“
Shaky hands gripping the left blade in a tight hold, his breath coming out shallow, Katsuki placed the sharp object on the skin of his left thigh. His thighs were covered with wounds all over, some were deep cuts and some burns from his quirk.
With a quick, efficient slide of the razor blade, the first angry red drops of blood oozed out of the deep cut. It wasn’t enough, though. His thoughts were leaping at him, trying to grasp him, and pull him into the darkness. They succeeded.
Putting more pressure on the silver blade, he slit a matching line. More blood gushed out, staining his thigh and the floor.
It still wasn’t enough. Why were the voices not shutting the fuck up?
Finally caving into the hot angry tears, a broken sob escaped his lips. He wasn’t even good enough to make it stop.
“—Do us all a fucking favor and jump—“
Katsuki pushed the sharp object deeper, even more blood staining his limbs and the cold floor. The blood painted him red; the puddle of blood staining his briefs, some drops splattering on his white socks.
Why did his chest still burn?
The blade slashed the skin of his right thigh. He reveled in the slight jolt of pain he was greeted with; he sighed contently.
He stared at the fresh cuts, blade grasped tightly in one hand. The sharp edges of the metal were piercing his palm. No blood oozed out. His palms were resistant to sharp objects and his quirk to a certain extent, but the pricking helped him to tear free from the shackles of his brain.
Tears continued to roll down his cheeks, reaching the bottom of his chin, and then dripped onto his fresh cuts. The stinging of salty drops meeting fresh cuts was satisfying.
As several cuts followed right afterwards, leaving slashes in different sizes and depths, he finally felt numb.
Once the last cut was slit, Katsuki shut his eyes, head leaning against the bed. No buzzing sound reached his ears; rain dribbling down his window the only source of noise.
It was okay.
Everything was okay now.
The sky is crying
Her tears pouring down
Beating against my window
As I take the blade
And pierce my skin
The sky is crying
The sky is roaring
As I’m lying in a puddle of blood
I can’t help but wonder
Is she crying for me?