Poster Boy

by CitrusVeins

Summary:

Nothing changed and everything remained the same; mundane, routine, suffocating. So when the news broke that a student went missing, it was hard for Bakugou not to take notice. For as long as he could remember, he'd been empty. Everything he did was under a haze of apathy and it was rare for something other than anger to shatter the wall that dulled his senses. Kirishima's disappearance became something to distract him from the hollowness, whether he wanted it to or not.

Notes:

This fic talks a lot about mental health, depression, suicide, and other heavy, potentially triggering topics. Read with caution if you choose to proceed. Take care of yourself because you deserve to feel safe and happy!

I

He woke up.

Maybe.

One second nothing existed and the next everything did. Gulls cried overhead, calls piercing over the roar of waves, and the sun was bright and blinding. He didn't know anything, his mind a blank slate sluggishly trying to pull itself together. How he got there, who he was, where he was, what had happened - he didn't know. The only thing he knew was that he was staring down at his broken and mangled body. He was staring at his body that was bent at horrible angles over the jagged rocks beneath the cliff, seawater seeping into his clothes and his hair with each crash of the waves below.

He was staring at his body and, despite not knowing anything, he knew he shouldn't be able to.

The eyes - his eyes - were partially opened still, hemorrhaging taking over his left sclera and swallowing up the crimson iris until it was hardly visible. His mouth was slightly agape and his jaw was slack, most likely shattered from the fall.

Did he fall?

He looked up the slope of the cliff to the grassy overhang at the very top, standing proud against the blue sky. It was certainly high enough to cause the damage he was seeing. How long had he been there, then? Blood was still leaking freely from various parts of his body, but predominantly his nose. He watched as it trickled down the side of his face, melding with the red of his hair, and joining the even larger stream that seemed to be coming from the back of his skull. He stood there for what felt like forever, watching the blood stain the damp stone, flowing over the once white barnacles, before being partially washed away by the mist of the waves splashing against the rocks.

Other than the blood and the admittedly disconcerting pose, he didn't look dead. His skin lacked a healthy glow and looked more pallid and ashen, but not concerningly so.

He didn't look dead, but he was, wasn't he?

He had nowhere to go, so he took up to sitting on a small rock pretty close to his corpse and watching the ocean. After a day, his body started to look a little more like he expected. His skin made way for shades of purples and blues and greens, the parts of his body that were visible and resting against the rocks staining a dark reddish-purple from the settled blood. The blood that the ocean couldn't reach, even with the tide, was baking onto the rocks from the sun which was also turning his exposed, decaying skin an impressive shade of red. He opted not to look at himself much more after that. It was becoming obvious that while his outside was still relatively "normal," his insides were rotting away.

The ocean was a much better view anyway.

For the most part, it was quiet and uneventful. Sometimes boats would go by along the horizon and sometimes he could hear the voices of people over the sound of the waves, obviously at a beach further down the rocky coastline. Seagulls were always circling above but tended to avoid landing due to the constant spray from the water. It was a small blessing, not having to watch his body be scavenged. The tiny crabs made a few attempts on his body as well, thankfully to no avail. He'd watch their little claws clamp onto his rotting skin, giving up after a few tugs when the flesh didn't yet pull away easily.

Four days passed and the body beside him no longer felt like his own. It was sunken in and clammy from being close to the ocean, the humidity doing nothing but speeding up the decomposition. The skin was shifting colours, looking mottled and rotten, and fluid from inside the body was finding its way out of every orifice. He was actually revolting to look at and that fact alone gave him a little pang of guilt for whoever would find him. Every day, when the tide reached the one soaked shoe that was remaining, he hoped the water would rise just a little higher on their behalf. Just enough to sweep him out to sea.

It never did and he was found on the fifth day.

II

"Ah, shit. It's a fucking body." A small fishing boat pulled as close as it could to the rocky cliffside, two men staring at his corpse. "It's that fucking kid. It's that fucking kid." The words were like a mantra as the men spoke among themselves, cursing because they found him. Cursing because they didn't expect to find him. "It's that Kirishima kid."

It felt like his chest caved in on itself at the mention of the name. He felt dizzy and sick and confused - waves of shock washing over him as the realization hit him again and again and again.

He was Eijirou Kirishima.

It didn't take long before his resting place was swarming with authoritative figures. They had to come by boat and crowd onto the rocks a couple at a time. Photos upon photos were taken of his body and Kirishima couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious at how close some of these people were getting. It was hard to pick out what they were saying, the people flickering in and out of sight before his very eyes like a computer trying to process too much information at once and ultimately lagging. He immediately looked away when they began moving him into a body bag. Kirishima had hung out with his body for nearly a week - he knew moving his body wasn't going to be a clean procedure.

"We need to contact his parents."

Shit. Warm eyes flashed in his mind. Love flooded whatever body he had - memories of tight hugs, long talks, and tea.

He had parents, didn't he? Shit. Shit, shit, shit. A table was in front of him suddenly when he looked down, a white cloth covering what was obviously a body. What was obviously his body. He was no longer on the rock, the sounds of the ocean being replaced with the hum of electronics and the murmur of voices. He was in a morgue. Kirishima was breathing rapidly now. Or was he? He could feel his chest heaving, he could hear his heavy inhales and exhales, he could feel himself trembling and growing light-headed, but was he breathing?

His moms were escorted in by an officer. They were already crying. He wanted to hug them and shield them from what they all knew was coming, but he stood frozen as the coroner pulled back the sheet. The agonized wail that tore itself through the room upon having their fears confirmed gutted him. He could do nothing but watch his parents crumple to the floor together, clinging to each other, and sobbing at the sight of their son dead on the table.

III

Nothing happened in the small, seaside town. It was a quiet community, really only coming to life during the summer when tourists would pass through along their coastal drives. Even then, even with the constant rotation of new faces, nothing happened. Nothing changed and everything remained the same; mundane, routine, suffocating. So when the news broke that a student went missing, it was hard for Bakugou not to take notice. For as long as he could remember, he'd been empty. Everything he did was under a haze of apathy and it was rare for something other than anger to shatter the wall that dulled his senses. Kirishima's disappearance became something to distract him from the hollowness, whether he wanted it to or not.

The small-town gossip spread the information like wildfire, fanning the flames before even the local paper caught wind of the story. Damn near everyone knew and was talking about the missing kid. He wasn't the type to run away, his family assured repeatedly, concerned that the already small investigation would be pushed back due to 'teen rebellion.' It wasn't uncommon for the local teens to talk about leaving, to abandon the town without looking back, but that talk never came from their son. He was happy. He had loving friends and a loving family. He didn't want to run away. In a matter of days, posters littered the streets, shoving a sunny face with obnoxious red hair into Bakugou's eyes at every turn.

He hated it. How could someone so happy, someone so fucking happy and bright and noticeable, just vanish? Get snuffed out entirely. Gone without a trace. Nothing left behind.

When the third day rolled around with no leads, panic set in. Crime just wasn't a thing. Not serious crime, anyway. The steady traffic of people during the summer months did bring stuff like petty theft, but it hardly raised the crime rates at all. Children were allowed to walk around alone and houses were often left unlocked. But now the word 'kidnapped' was being thrown around. The word 'murdered' was being thrown around too but in hushed whispers. Nothing felt safe anymore and it shook the town to its core.

If Bakugou were a better person, he might have felt guilty finding some form of entertainment in the situation. It was more morbid curiosity than anything else and it wasn't like he was off gossiping with the rest of the town or badgering the parents for information. Instead, he just listened. He didn't know the guy. He knew his name, he knew he went to his school, and he knew he was in a few of his classes, but he didn't actually know him. There was no real connection so he wasn't exactly saddened by the whole ordeal. It was just a vibrant red splash against the grey backdrop of his life. Fascinatingly horrible and something to shake up the monotony. It was a new experience and something Bakugou never felt, so he latched on before it could slip away.

 

And then the body was found. Details weren't released, but people talk. He was found at the bottom of a cliff not too far out of town, just off a dirt path that was sometimes used as a walking trail. No foul play was suspected and it was being ruled as an accident. An unfortunate slip, lost his balance. It wasn't suicide, they said aloud, but whispered the opposite when backs were turned. A scandal had taken over the town. A collective sigh of relief was let out, people no longer worried about the safety of their children, but a heaviness easily took its place.

With the mystery solved, Bakugou figured things would go back to normal, for him at least. He could continue existing and go through the motions of day-to-day life. He wasn't sure if he wanted that to be true or if he just told himself a lie, but he did find himself staring at the empty seat in his classes on a daily basis.

IV

Bakugou wasn't obsessed. He didn't care that Kirishima had died and it was only objectively sad. In fact, he felt indifferent to the whole situation in actuality. When Kirishima's disappearance became 'a thing' around town, Bakugou's parents made sure to check in with him. They didn't know Kirishima either and they knew their son had a whopping total of zero friends, but they still asked him. They asked how he was feeling, if he knew anything. The responses were short, "Fine" and "No" respectively because he was fine even though his mind couldn't stop the incessant chatter of wondering where Kirishima had disappeared to. Sick thoughts of white vans or dark cars with even darker windows swirled in his mind, of predators prowling the streets waiting for someone to be alone. Was he walking home from a friend's place? Was he walking home from school? Was he dragged off kicking and screaming or bludgeoned in the back of his head? Did it happen so fast that he couldn't even process it?

Or was he alone and scared?

When Bakugou first heard that Kirishima's body had been found, he was helping his mother prepare dinner. His father had mentioned it when he came home from work and a lump inexplicably rose in Bakugou's throat and a cold sweat washed over his body. He stopped chopping the carrots, hand stilled but unmistakably trembling from where he had been white-knuckling the handle, and suddenly it felt like he couldn't hear properly. "Oh, that's horrible," his mother said. "His poor parents," his father said. Tsks of sympathy and mournful sighs.

"Katsuki, are you okay?" Bakugou tried to nod, but he was frozen. Bakugou tried to speak, but nothing came out. It was always a possibility. It was actually the most logical outcome Bakugou had entertained after there had been no trace of Kirishima. He was either going to be a cold case or his body was going to be found dumped somewhere. Apparently, though he had been expecting the end result, getting the confirmation was a little more surprising. "Katsuki?"

He cleared his throat, pressing the blade down into a carrot over and over in a rhythmic chop. "I'm fine. It's just weird to hear." They assured him that they were there for him if he ever needed to talk.

Everyone seemed to want to talk. Every classroom he walked into the next day back at school, the teachers wanted to talk. The announcements said they'd provide counselling for any students who wanted to talk. An assembly was held to discuss briefly what happened and to let everyone know, students and faculty, that there was always someone available if someone needed to talk. Bakugou didn't want to talk. He and Kirishima had hardly exchanged more than three words to each other when he was alive, how many words could Bakugou have now that he was dead? He didn't have anything to say. He didn't miss Kirishima and he wasn't mourning him. It made him angry, instead, and anger was something he did know. It burned white-hot inside of him and when it raised its ugly head, Bakugou held onto it for as long as he could. He was angry to see that empty desk, angry to see the weepy students, and angry that no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to force his thoughts down, Kirishima was always on his mind.

It didn't matter what he was doing; he could be doing homework, helping his parents, going to bed. That wide, toothy grin from the posters would be a permanent fixture in the back of his mind, pestering him to acknowledge the emotions he didn't understand and twisting his stomach until he felt too sick to get out of bed. It made no sense to him, no matter how many times he tried to actually sit down and analyze why everything from the disappearance to the death to the aftermath plagued him so much. He wasn't focused on one thing more than the other; he didn't need to know why, not that that was any of his business. He didn't wonder about what happened, he didn't wonder what Kirishima thought, he didn't wonder if it hurt, if he knew, how he felt leading up to it. He swore he felt nothing of the sort, but his mind was screaming at him. All he knew was that Kirishima had infected his thoughts without rhyme or reason and, at three weeks in, it felt as though he was there to stay. The apathy he carried day in and day out made way for redheaded torment.

V

A disturbing thought - a morbid realization - crept into Bakugou's mind one day, sometime during the last week of school, about a month since the body had been found. A thought so disgusting that it made Bakugou's body coil with shame and embarrassment for even thinking it. A thought so utterly fucked that he didn't even want to admit it to himself in the quiet of his room after stewing on it all day. He screamed into his pillow that night, throat raw and tight, and pressed his palms into his eyes to force the tears back.

He was jealous of Kirishima; positively sick with envy.

Bakugou often went to that very same cliff to stand on that very same edge, air soaked in saltwater whipping at his face and the call of the sea below beckoning him down, only to turn back around. The aching emptiness in his chest pulled him to the cliffside every so often and he was stuck with a painful decision. A decision that he always decided against, yelling into the wind until his lungs burned for oxygen and his face was damp with tears. If Kirishima jumped, he at least had the balls to do it. And if he didn't? He at least had the luxury of not being able to change his mind.

Bakugou didn't know which thought was worse.

VI

During the first week of August Bakugou punched a kid around his age on the boardwalk. Maybe it wasn't completely deserving, but he had been shoved aside for no real reason. Without pausing to think about his actions, he stalked up behind the other blonde, spun him around by the shoulder, and clocked him so hard that he fell backward.

His parents found out. Of course, they found out. They just wanted to talk. Everyone just wanted to talk.

"What happened?" his dad asked.

"I punched him."

"Yes, but why?" Bakugou shrugged his shoulders and that had apparently been the wrong answer. His father sat down beside him on the couch, but his mother still stood, a looming figure of parental authority. "Why, Katsuki?"

"I don't know."

"So you just punched him because you felt like it?" Bakugou's throat went dry when his mother spoke. It wasn't the accusatory wording of the question that caught him off guard, but rather her tone. He was always compared to his mother; fiery and aggressive. She was a demanding woman, always quick to point out his wrongdoings or reprimand him when needed. While she wasn't speaking as gently as his father was, her voice was softer than how she typically scolded him. She was calm, keeping her voice warm and even with a hint of worry. His parents were feeling things out without directly asking.

He shook his head. "No."

"Then why?"

"He shoved me," Bakugou stated in a weak defense and his dad took in a deep inhale, his expression making way for furrowed brows and confusion.

"It's a very busy boardwalk, son," he explained gently, as though Bakugou hadn't lived in the same shitty town for his whole shitty life. "Do you think he did it on purpose?"

Yes. No. Maybe. Bakugou bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste the tang of blood, and stared at his bruised knuckles in his lap. Maybe it was an accident. Thinking back with the new perspective clouded the event in his mind and frustration bubbled up into his throat. He had been shoved out of the way on purpose, so he punched the kid. He had been shoved out of the way because the kid was trying to squeeze between him and another person. He had been pushed out of the way… He had been lightly jostled out of the way… His shoulder had merely been nudged, maybe, just enough for the other to get by. Bakugou felt his breath hitch and he clenched his fist. Maybe there was a rushed "sorry." Maybe there was a quick "excuse me."

"Katsuki."

"He was an asshole," Bakugou ground out.

"Did he say anything to you?" Maybe. Maybe he did. He didn't know now.

"No." It was his mom's turn to sigh. She sat down on the coffee table across from him, tilting her head to try and catch his eyes.

"You can't just attack someone like that, kiddo."

"I didn't attack him." He fought back a cringe when he heard his voice. It wavered on the word 'attack' and he could feel his parents exchanging sympathetic looks.

"He lost a tooth." Bakugou swallowed around the lump in his throat and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the disgusting stain of purple smeared across his knuckles, the ugly smattering of reds from skinned flesh on the tips of each bump.

"It wasn't like last time," he whispered, struggling to even get the sentence out. It didn't matter that he tried to assure them that, although seemingly unprovoked, it wasn't like last time. Last time was bad. Last time he had been going through shit he didn't understand. Last time he just needed to fucking feel something. Last time he beat his classmate until he was unconscious. It wasn't like last time. But when they stared at him, all worried eyes and stern faces, it became clear that it didn't matter if what happened was like last time or not.

"Your mother and I think," his dad began cautiously and Bakugou could feel the tell-tale prickle of tears beginning to form behind his closed eyes. He shook his head and tried to muffle the tiny, broken sound that slipped out from his mouth. "We think that maybe you should talk to someone again."

Everyone wanted to talk.

VII

He left. He ran until his legs were unsteady and then he ran some more. Bakugou found himself sprinting madly along the dirt path that he took for his morning jogs since school had been out, the dirt path that snaked along the edge of the cliffs just beyond the town's limits, the dirt path that Kirishima took one final time.

Bakugou skidded to a halt when he saw the small marker, a simple white cross, softly illuminated by dying battery-operated candles. He ran by that marker almost daily. He saw it when it was practically swallowed up by mementos, flowers, and candles; condolences from nearly everyone in town, including his own family. He had once bitterly given it a year until the cross was left barren but, while it had dwindled into something much more modest now, it was still visited.

Bakugou struggled to take in breaths as he glared at the cross, his chest heaving not only from the run but the choked sobbing he was no longer trying to hold back. He was mad. He was mad at his parents. He was mad at the kid on the boardwalk. He was mad at himself. He was mad at Kirishima and, right then, he was mad at the cross. Maybe he wanted to end up at the marker, maybe there was a subconscious pull to go there, or maybe it was just the route Bakugou had ingrained into himself. Either way, he stood sneering at the white cross and he stormed over to it.

There were still flowers. The real ones had wilted and died under the heat of the summer sun, but the fake ones were still vibrant and clean. Bakugou felt something disgusting lick across his heart, knowing that only two people would visit his marker if he had one. Not Kirishima, though. People still came to his cross. People still came to visit Kirishima, to mourn him, to care about him, and miss him, and—

Bakugou let out a scream, ripping the cross from the ground and throwing it over the cliff with as much force as he could. He dropped to his knees and threaded his fingers into his hair, pulling until his roots stung, and continued to scream until his voice was hoarse and his body was numb again. He sat there for what felt like hours, basking in the quietness that sunk into his bones. He realized that he was scared to look up and see the cross gone, and an unmistakable pang of guilt gnawed at him because of his reckless desecration. Watery red eyes looked up just enough to see a few scattered flowers and one of the candles knocked over, flickering dimly on the cliff's edge like a beacon.

The marker, which had become a begrudging staple in his life now, left a noticeable gap in its absence on the horizon.

Bakugou scrubbed at his face and forced himself to stand on shaking legs. He took a step closer to the ledge and peered over it, trying in vain to see anything on the rocks below but it was too dark even with the moon shining proudly. He wondered what it would be like to plunge down. He wondered if Kirishima had been hoping to hit the water. He really did wonder if it was an accident. It'd be easy, he mused. The thought of it made his heart skitter into his throat out of fear, and he knew he shouldn't be jealous of Kirishima, but it'd be easy. Bakugou shuffled forward, just enough that the toes of his shoes were flush with the edge. One step and he'd be gone. One step and he'd be out of this town. One step and the clawing numbness, that burning helplessness, would be killed off entirely.

He swallowed despite the tightness in his throat and looked out straight to the horizon. One step. Just one step.

"Please don't."

The voice was entirely too familiar and yet not familiar at all. It made the blood in Bakugou's veins freeze and his legs lock, forcing him to remain firmly rooted in his spot on the cliff's edge.

"Please, just… Just come back to me, okay?" Bakugou let his eyes close and a lone tear slipped out through his lashes. He let out an airy laugh bordering on delirious. He knew the voice and he knew he had utterly lost it.

"You're dead."

"And you don't have to be." Bakugou raised a trembling hand to run his fingers through his hair and eyed the moon skeptically. Maybe he already jumped. Maybe this was his body dying, trying to process the trauma. He looked down at the darkness, expecting to see himself on the rocks where Kirishima was found. "Bakugou." It was a plea and Bakugou turned around.

It was like the posters that had been haunting him for weeks were staring back, only his smile was soft and weak, his short brows bunched together in concern. "Am I dead?" Bakugou asked before he could stop himself, and Kirishima laughed, light and sad, but shook his head.

"No. You should go home." A breath tumbled out of Bakugou's mouth, one he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He gave a short nod to Kirishima and left.

VIII

When he got home it was nearing midnight and his parents were still awake, the two of them worriedly looking up at him when he passed the kitchen. Their scolding words for leaving so suddenly, for not answering his phone, fell on deaf ears as he took the stairs two at a time to reach his room. With the door closed behind him, successfully blocking out his parents' voices, Bakugou slid to the ground.

He didn't really know if he had actually seen Kirishima, but now, in the sanctuary of his room and with the adrenaline of standing on the cliff's edge fading, Bakugou's mind was frantically trying to piece together what had just happened. There had been an onslaught of emotions. Could he really be all that surprised that his brain manifested the very person he had more or less been thinking about constantly? Bakugou took in a sharp inhale, his brain loudly recalling Kirishima's worried smile - sympathetic, pained, filled with pity - and he slammed his fist into the ground with a muffled yell.

He felt drained and defeated. He may have stepped back from the edge due to some delusional hallucination, but the thoughts were still there. It was only a matter of time before Bakugou did take that step and next time he doubted that his budding psychosis would stop him.

IX

Bakugou returned to the cliffside the following evening, just as the sun was setting and painting the world in a golden light. Enough time had passed to pull the anger out of his system, filling him yet again with a numbness that left him too empty to do anything about it. He wasn't planning to jump this time. He wasn't planning to jump the previous night either, but at least his mind was no longer drowning with spiralling thoughts and turbulent emotions. Bakugou had instead returned for two reasons, one of which being a white cross gripped firmly in his hand.

The second, to confirm that what he saw last night was the result of a psychotic break.

Part of Bakugou wasn't expecting to see Kirishima again. The logical answer, the one with the most scientific backing at least, was that whatever he thought he saw wasn't real. He was willing to accept that. Though, with his somewhat clearer head, the notion of his sanity slipping even more than he once mused was a thought that caused fear to writhe inside of him. The kind of fear a person didn't acknowledge to avoid a gruesome confirmation. However, when Bakugou took a step off of the path and onto the grass leading towards the edge, something flickered in his line of sight. He took in a shaking breath, pulling the humid, summer air into his lungs, and took another step. There was another flicker, this time remaining and distorting the world around it.

With curiosity getting the better of him, Bakugou pressed forward. He already knew what - who - it was even before the unmistakable pop of red hair began fading into existence amongst the distortion. By the time he was close enough to place the cross he brought into the hole left by the other one, Kirishima had completely formed. He sat cross-legged on the ground beside where his cross once stood and stared out at the sunset with his back facing Bakugou. He didn't acknowledge his presence until Bakugou stood slightly behind him, willing his trembling breaths to even out.

"Is that for me?" The sudden question broke the silence and sent a shiver racing over Bakugou's skin despite the heat of the setting sun. Kirishima had tilted his head just a little, just enough to beam up at Bakugou with the poster-smile. Bakugou nodded stiffly, his throat suddenly dry and all of the questions he had dropping from his mind. He stabbed the cross into the ground and mechanically sunk down in front of it when his legs began to feel too weak to support him. Kirishima hummed his appreciation and turned back to the sunset. Bakugou didn't look at him.

He busied himself with gathering a few of the remaining flowers and candles left scattered in the grass, trying and failing to ignore the way his outstretched fingers shook. Forcing normalcy into his thoughts, he let his mind wander to the task at hand. Bakugou was an asshole, he knew this, but he had hoped that if anyone had visited the spot since his tantrum the night prior, they would've thought the cross had just been taken away by the wind. His stomach spun, imagining Kirishima's parents coming to pay their respects despite Kirishima's designated plot at the cemetery, and finding their son's memorial obliterated. It was by no means a perfect replica, he had made it from wood scraps from a recent renovation, and the gesture itself wasn't one that could fix the emotional torment he may or may not have caused two grieving parents due to his selfish fit of rage, but it was hopefully a suitable replacement.

Finally, after fumbling with one of the candles, Bakugou spoke. "Are you real?" Kirishima twisted in his spot to look at him properly and Bakugou found his eyes still downcast at the candle in his hand.

"I think so." A quick breath escaped Bakugou's mouth and he looked up, their eyes meeting. His heart immediately slammed into his ribs and every inhale became weak and shallow. The sad smile Kirishima had from before was back and his brows furrowed together before relaxing completely. He let his eyes move over Bakugou's face for a moment and then looked back to the ocean. Bakugou dropped his back to the candle. "I feel real."

It felt real, but wasn't that the scariest part of hallucinations?

"Like a ghost?" Bakugou hated the way his voice came out, a rasping whisper that was nearly swept away in the breeze.

Kirishima paused, mulling over the answer. He raised one shoulder in a half-shrug and sighed. "Maybe."

"Okay."

X

It really should've bothered him, and it did to a degree. Bakugou didn't return to the cliff for four days. He almost didn't return at all, but the fact that he didn't see Kirishima anywhere else struck him as odd. Why did his hallucination, if Kirishima truly was a hallucination, only manifest at the cliff? The concept of some otherworldly spectre wasn't an overly comforting one, but compared to feeling like he was losing his sanity, a ghost was relieving.

He returned to the cliff as a test, he told himself. He wanted to see if Kirishima would appear again. Sure enough, even in the bright and sunny afternoon, the same flickering appeared beside the cross, this time on the opposite side. Every step closer revealed more and more of Kirishima, who eventually became a solid form as though he were still a living and breathing person as soon as Bakugou sat down beside him. Kirishima didn't look at him, but he smiled regardless. Much like last time, he wasn't surprised by Bakugou's presence. He seemed to be expecting him.

"Are you always here?" Kirishima shook his head once and tilted it so he could look at Bakugou.

"No," he said simply. Bakugou nodded slowly and averted his gaze down to the base of the cross. A few new flowers had been placed there - trimmed sunflowers and vibrant, orange lilies - and the older ones were cleared away.

"Where do you go?" Bakugou asked. He chanced a glance upwards and Kirishima made a face like he was thinking. He was staring down at the flowers as well now.

"Sometimes I'm at my home. Sometimes I'm with my friends," Kirishima began slowly, reaching forward to one of the lilies. He plucked it from the ground and twirled it between his thumb and finger, pausing like he had to gather his thoughts. "Sometimes I'm nowhere." Bakugou blinked.

"Nowhere?"

"Yeah, sometimes I just…" Kirishima trailed off and frowned. A crease appeared between his eyebrows and he gnawed on his bottom lip as he tried to find the word he was looking for. "I just stop?"

Bakugou squinted at Kirishima and then at the lily still being twirled in his hand. "Existing?" Kirishima blew out a sigh, placing the flower back in front of the cross, and clasped his hands in his lap. He shrugged.

"I guess. Then all of a sudden, I'm back. Here. At home. Wherever." Bakugou nodded in understanding though he didn't understand at all. It sounded like Kirishima didn't really understand either. They fell into a silence that Kirishima didn't seem to mind. He seemed at ease, all things considered. It left Bakugou feeling weird and an uncomfortable feeling dropped into the pit of his gut because of Kirishima's relaxed demeanor. They were not friends when Kirishima was alive. Bakugou hardly had any interaction with him at all, but from what he saw, Kirishima was about as social as they come. He was always talking with his friends; loud conversations and even louder laughter. The silence was wrong on him.

"I've been reading about ghosts," Bakugou blurted a little too loudly, desperate to break the silence. He could feel the unmistakable heat of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks and quickly looked ahead at the ocean. Kirishima laughed lightly. It was still wrong sounding, too reserved, but it was better than the silence.

"Spooky," he teased.

"Ghosts and shit like hallucinations," Bakugou elaborated. He felt Kirishima's eyes on him and, with the heat in his cheeks subsiding, Bakugou faced him again. Kirishima had tipped his head to the side, his expression questioning.

"Do you think you're hallucinating?" Bakugou opened his mouth to answer but found that he lacked the ability to respond to that particular question. He wanted to say that he had to be, that it was really the only explanation, but something was sitting inside him that he couldn't explain telling him that it wasn't.

"You seem really calm for being dead," Bakugou said instead, clearing his throat when his voice very nearly got stuck. Kirishima huffed out another soft laugh and leaned back onto his palms so he could recline his position.

"I'm trying to roll with it." He flexed his fingers into the grass and Bakugou waited for him to continue; there was more to the sentence than that. After a few moments of that tense silence again, Kirishima spoke up. "When I first woke up, I was actually really scared. I'm still scared." Bakugou didn't like that decidedly human answer. He felt ashamed that his stomach selfishly lurched at those words. He didn't want to hear that Kirishima was scared. He didn't know how to help someone who was scared, and the monster that flooded his veins more often than not was screaming that Kirishima being scared wasn't his problem. But that same thing from earlier that was telling him that Kirishima wasn't a hallucination was saying that they were now intrinsically entwined. Kirishima was now, somehow, very much his problem whether he liked it or not.

Sensing Bakugou's discomfort, or maybe just having a knack for impeccable timing, Kirishima flipped the conversation. "You seem really calm for seeing a ghost," he mused, smiling his toothy smile when Bakugou's eyes shot back up to his face in slight shock. He snorted and rolled his eyes, trying his best to recover from the moment before and play it off.

"Potential ghost." Kirishima lightly smacked the palm of his hand to his forehead.

"Right, sorry. Potential ghost," he corrected, the grin never wavering. He stared at Bakugou expectantly, eyes focused and intent, genuinely interested in his answer. Bakugou swallowed down the nerves and scratched the side of his neck awkwardly, unsure how to approach the topic.

"Yeah, uh…" Their eyes were locked and suddenly it became too hard to look at the intense crimson and talk at the same time. Bakugou instead looked at his hands, lightly picking at the scabs and peeled skin around his nail beds, welcoming the sting as a distraction. "You've been haunting me since you disappeared, I guess. I think that's why this wasn't much of an adjustment."

"Sorry." The word sent a jolt through him - a painful stab right into his chest. "I didn't want to hurt anyone..." Bakugou stood up quickly and brushed off his pants, still purposely avoiding eye contact, but he could see Kirishima making a move to stand up as well.

"I should go," Bakugou said before Kirishima could finish standing, before he could even get another word out. "I need… I have to do…" he fumbled with his words, narrowing his eyes at the sunflowers to keep them from seeing Kirishima's expression. "I just have to go."

"Oh… Okay." Fuck. Fuck, he sounded sad. Fuck. "Will you be back?" No. His head hurt. This was too real.

"Sure," he muttered, sounding a little out of breath as he turned away.

When he was far enough, his vision began to blur. He scrubbed at his eyes stubbornly and clenched his jaw so tightly that the pain slowly developing in his skull throbbed in protest. Bakugou tried to take in a breath that wasn't harsh, a weak effort to calm whatever was happening, but the air felt too thin to appease the desperation in his aching lungs. Kirishima felt bad. Kirishima felt apologetic. Kirishima apologized to him for hurting him when they didn't even know each other. Bakugou felt dirty like he had to wash the 'sorry' from his body.

He didn't deserve the apology, not when he used Kirishima's personal tragedy as a distraction. Not when he had every intention of leaving him on that cliff.

XI

Guilt was a difficult emotion for Bakugou to process. Most emotions were, but guilt was different. He had a unique relationship with guilt. He had done many things over the years that he should've felt guilty for and didn't. At least, he said he didn't and forced down any thoughts that said otherwise. Beating someone unconscious was one such situation. When his therapist had pried and pried and pried to dig up any ounce of remorse, he came up empty. Bakugou agreed that what he did was bad, he knew he had seriously hurt someone, but he didn't feel guilty. Some nights he couldn't sleep though; a phantom ache in his knuckles and the splatter of red and purple against a canvas of freckles kept him awake. But he didn't feel guilty.

It wasn't that he didn't know what guilt felt like. He knew. He had felt it before - he felt it when he ripped Kirishima's cross from the ground. He just didn't like it, so he squashed it down as far as it could go, refusing to acknowledge it. There's only so much room in a person's body, however, and when the unwanted, complicated emotions began to pile up, Bakugou felt it.

And all Bakugou felt for the past month and a bit had been unwanted, complicated emotions.

He had tried not to go back to the cross. Bakugou argued with himself every night for a week, as he stayed awake staring at the ceiling, that he didn't need to go back. Yes, he had been fixated on what happened to Kirishima. Yes, he had willingly inserted himself into a story he didn't belong in. But what Kirishima did wasn't his problem and certainly wasn't his fault. Even though he seemed to be the only one who could see Kirishima, it didn't change those two facts. It didn't matter how lonely or scared or helpless Kirishima was, it wasn't Bakugou's responsibility to comfort him when he could hardly comfort himself. Kirishima chose to jump, why should Bakugou help pick up those pieces?

Unless, of course, he didn't choose to jump. Unless, of course, he fell. Bakugou rolled over to force his face into his pillow most nights, muffling yells until he was too tired to stay awake.

On the eighth day since he had last seen Kirishima, on the eighth day of barely any sleep, Bakugou pulled himself out of bed at 4:00 am and made his way to the cliff. Kirishima was there under the dim light of the moon, sprawled out onto his back and staring at the stars. "Isn't it crazy how many stars there are?" Bakugou stopped short of the cross, his hands jammed into his pockets and craned his head back to look at the sky.

"Not really," he said. Stars were stars. There was always a lot of them. There was always going to be a lot of them. Kirishima scoffed lightheartedly and arched his neck so he could stare up at Bakugou upside down.

"You're telling me that you're not amazed by how mind-blowingly big space is?" Bakugou rolled his eyes and sat beside Kirishima.

"You ask a lot of fucking questions." Kirishima chuckled from beside him. He sat up suddenly with an exclamation, snapping his fingers, causing Bakugou to jump at his sudden outburst.

"That reminds me! 21 Questions." Bakugou felt his lip curl up in a sneer and he shot Kirishima an unimpressed look. The other wasn't fazed. "What is your favourite colour?"

"I'm not going to sit here and play a childish fuckin' gam—"

"It's not childish!" Kirishima argued, forcing back the pout when Bakugou fixed him with a look as though his point had just been proven. "Look, we don't know anything about each other. Can you please just humour me? You're literally the only person I've got right now." That twist Bakugou felt inside of him definitely wasn't guilt.

With another roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Bakugou answered. "Black." A grin threatened to split Kirishima's face in half and Bakugou hated how that smile bordered on smug. "Yours is red."

"You have to ask!"

"I'm not going to ask a question I already know the answer to, dumbass!" The loud laugh that left Kirishima brought Bakugou back to school, when Kirishima would be with his friends and his loud laugh cut across the clamour of the halls. "What was your favourite subject in school?"

"Phys ed!" Kirishima announced without missing a beat. Of course, it was. "Do you have any pets?" Bakugou shook his head. "I had a cat," Kirishima continued on, ignoring his own rule that Bakugou had to ask. "Her name was Ruby. She was a bitch." A sound that vaguely sounded like a short laugh was startled out of Bakugou.

"How was she a bitch?" Kirishima shrugged, outstretching his arms in front of Bakugou. He pointed at a few white scars that were barely visible in the night but stood out enough in contrast to Kirishima's tanned skin that Bakugou could see them.

"She hated me. She still does. Whenever I'm at home, I think she can see me. She'll just stare at me and hiss. What's your favourite food?" Bakugou nearly missed how Kirishima's expression dropped at the mention of being home.

"Isn't it my turn?" Kirishima shook his head, smiling widely again.

"You asked me how Ruby was a bitch. That totally counts as your question."

"You're an idiot. Curry. Like, really spicy curry. Melt your face off spicy." Kirishima made a face of horror and muttered something about how he'd rather die than lose his tongue to something that spicy, completely missing the situation he was currently in in his un-life. Trying to move past that, before either of them could dwell on implication, Bakugou asked the same question in return.

"Oh, man. Easily tonkatsu. My mom makes the best. It's so crispy and light and, oh my god, dude. It's amazing ." Kirishima sighed at the memory, a sound that was a little wistful and a little sad. Bakugou briefly wondered if Kirishima could eat in his current state. He was sure that he didn't need to, but could he? Before he had a chance to ask, or even think if it was appropriate to ask, Kirishima switched topics. "Anyway. What is the worst injury you've ever had?"

Bakugou squinted at the sky as he thought, physically wincing as a memory came rushing back. "When I was a kid I broke my arm so fucking bad that the bone was almost poking through my skin. I was climbing a tree and when I fell, my arm got stuck in some branches and then I landed on it when I hit the ground." Kirishima sucked in a hiss through clenched teeth, cringing as Bakugou told the story. "I think I blacked out from the pain."

"Holy shit, that's rough." Bakugou hummed in agreeance.

"Okay, so you would always hang out with these three kids at our school. Which one was your favourite?" Bakugou's mouth quirked up just a little at the corners when Kirishima balked at the question, leaning into Bakugou's space in his state of shock.

"You can't ask me that, dude! You can't ask me to pick!" Bakugou made a dismissive sound and waved his hand, urging Kirishima to continue.

"What am I going to do? Tell on you?" Kirishima clicked his tongue against his teeth and frowned deeply, annoyed with the question but still wanting to play the game he initiated.

"Probably Mina," he said finally, pointing his finger at Bakugou before he could reply. Bakugou wracked his brain, trying to put the name to a face, and settled on the girl with startlingly pink hair. "Only because we went to middle school together. So it's only her because I've known her the longest." Kirishima seemed to relax when he realized that Bakugou wasn't going to, what? Run off with the lucrative information? He smiled softly, reaching forward and grabbing one of the now wilting sunflowers by his cross. "She brought me the sunflowers. She doesn't stay long when she comes and she's always crying, but she visits me. She tells me how the others are doing and tells me about her day - how her life is going and how much she misses me." Kirishima inhaled sharply and Bakugou couldn't ignore the way the breath hitched. "She's in a lot of pain, Bakugou…"

"Did you jump?" Kirishima's fingers flexed around the yellow petals, threatening to crush the sunflower, and Bakugou immediately wanted to pull that question back. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words refused to come out. Kirishima spoke instead, placing the sunflower down again.

"It's my turn to ask a question," he whispered. His voice had changed, but he tried to keep a teasing tone to it. Bakugou was more than grateful to have his turn taken away. "Who is your best friend? I didn't ever see you with anyone." Bakugou dipped his head once in a nod, and then decided to shrug his shoulders.

"That's because there isn't anyone." It was true. Bakugou didn't have any friends, he hardly even had any acquaintances, but it didn't bother him. It bothered his old therapist when he mentioned it to him, and it bothered his parents when they inquired. Concerns were expressed and there were attempts to make him more social, all of which failed. He knew he wasn't pleasant to be around and he didn't expect anyone to suffer through his shit with him.

"Do you get lonely…?"

"Fuck no. You hang out with these people for a few years, graduate, and then never see them again. That was two questions, by the way." Kirishima was looking at him again, his eyes saddened, and Bakugou immediately felt self-conscious. He felt his back stiffen at unsaid accusations, mind beginning to race as he tried to imagine what Kirishima was thinking. Here the idiot was, lamenting about the pain his friend was in and then there was Bakugou, bitching about how friendships were a waste of time. Kirishima began to speak and Bakugou tensed his shoulders, bracing himself for the words that he was taking his life for granted.

"Can I ask another question?" Bakugou bit at his lip. He nodded.

"You just did." 

If Kirishima found humour in the sarcasm he didn't show it. Instead, he turned away from Bakugou, looking at the few remaining stars dangling above the ocean. "How long has it been since I last saw you?"

Bakugou let his eyes slide shut, blocking out the streaks of reds and pinks, oranges and yellows, that were swallowing up the twinkling dots and chasing away the black of the night. "About a week." Kirishima made a strange sound, like a noise left him without his permission and he tried to cover it up. He sounded surprised and not surprised at all.

Silence ate at the space around them and it grew to a point where Bakugou wasn't sure how or if he should break it. Any noise felt too loud for the delicate air. Kirishima was hurt. Maybe not hurt explicitly by Bakugou, but rather hurt by his whole situation; from being alone and cut off from everything and everyone that was once his life. Bakugou still didn't know whether or not Kirishima was at fault for his predicament, and he wasn't even sure if it really mattered all that much now. He couldn't save Kirishima and he sure as shit didn't know how to help him, and that frustrated him in ways he didn't want to explore. He didn't like feeling powerless, even in situations that didn't concern him, and that was exactly how he felt.

Bakugou reminded himself that Kirishima wasn't his problem, but he had the ability to impact the other's life, or rather lack thereof. He may have been the only person alive who had that ability. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run away and not deal with the complex feelings he was having towards Kirishima.

"I know you don't like friends—"

"I'll come back," Bakugou cut off before Kirishima could finish his sentence. He flopped onto his back so he didn't risk catching Kirishima's eyes, and for good measure, he dropped his forearms over his face. He wanted to leave, but he couldn't. "I'll come back and see you."

XII

It was October. School had been back in session for about a month, and Bakugou had been true to his word. For the remainder of the summer, he wandered up to the cliff when the sun was setting, the sun rising, or even in the dead of the night. He did that multiple times a week, sometimes consecutive days, and Kirishima was always there waiting. When school came around, the schedule was much more sporadic but still frequent. Bakugou had found himself wanting to go see Kirishima opposed to feeling like it was an obligation. They had fallen into an easy routine that left Bakugou wondering if that's what it actually felt like to have friends.

The first few weeks were rough and consisted of Kirishima rambling aimlessly about whatever popped into his head; happy things, sad things, funny things. He filled the air between them effortlessly with conversation and, when he had nothing to say, they just sat in silence and watched the ocean. 

Gradually, Bakugou opened up as well. He didn't talk as much as Kirishima did, often just breaking up the one-sided conversation to make a comment or ask a question. When he did speak, he kept it vague, trying not to make things too personal. They pointedly skirted around the questions they had about each other, both completely ignoring the fact that they were doing so, but also thankful that they didn't have to dig up any unpleasantries. Kirishima aimed to keep it light. He smiled and laughed like he always had and managed to drag a smirk or two from Bakugou.

It was… nice, Bakugou decided. He had felt much more relaxed and nowhere near as angry. He was still hollow, though, but Kirishima did turn out to be a decent distraction. It made Bakugou wonder what they could have been had they met properly when he was alive.

Thoughts like that left him breathless and confused. Thoughts like that made the anger come back. Thoughts like that stayed down.

XIII

With December fast approaching and the biting air being a lot harsher on the cliff, Bakugou began making his visits earlier in the day when possible. The weather meant less people were around and as a result, it also meant that Bakugou didn't have to spend the evenings freezing his ass off. He had tried visiting Kirishima once when the temperature began to drop, bundled up in a hoodie that did little to protect him against the wind that rolled off of the ocean. Kirishima remained in the short-sleeved shirt he had on when he died, completely oblivious to the cold if it weren't for Bakugou's chattering teeth. Horrified that the other was freezing, he had begged and scolded Bakugou who stubbornly refused to leave, only doing so when Kirishima blatantly ignored him in a last-ditch effort to force him to go home. Bakugou tried to remain, giving the silent treatment to Kirishima in return, but ultimately gave up after throwing a candle at Kirishima's head. He heard the redhead laughing as he walked away.

There was more risk having Bakugou meet up with Kirishima during the day time and they had been lucky so far that no one stumbled upon them mid-conversation. The last thing Kirishima wanted was for his moms to arrive only to find Bakugou, a boy they didn't even know, talking to himself at their son's marker.

Like with most things, luck eventually runs out, but it wasn't Kirishima's parents who happened upon them.

 

"What are you doing here?"

The two boys flinched at the voice like they had been caught red-handed, though there had been a lull in the conversation. Kirishima was the one to turn first and Bakugou soon copied him.

"Uh…"

"Did you know him?" It was Mina. She stood a few feet away, a bundle of daffodils clutched into her gloved hand. Her eyes were on Bakugou's, not angry, but stern, like she didn't trust his presence. He didn't have the best reputation around school, of course, he knew that, but he kept mostly to himself. Despite that, he supposed he understood her hesitancy even though it offended him a bit.

"Yeah," Bakugou said cautiously, "A little."

Mina relaxed her shoulders and her face softened. She smiled thinly and stepped forward, kneeling in front of the cross to remove some of the old flowers and lay out the new ones. It was a task that served a purpose, but also no purpose at all. "I'm not surprised," her voice shook and Bakugou took a moment to look at Kirishima while she was distracted. He looked pale and in pain, his mouth set in a tight line as his eyes roamed over Mina's form like he was assessing her state. "Eiji was friends with everyone," Mina continued, quickly swiping her hand under her eye to catch a tear. "Are you the one who changes the candle batteries, then? They always seem to be working when I come and I know his parents don't make it up here much anymore. Too painful for them." She didn't wait for an answer and it was obvious that she was just filling the silence, much as Kirishima did. "I think it's beautiful here, though, don't you?" She looked up at him this time.

"Sure." Kirishima let out a weak chuckle at Bakugou's discomfort, his eyes never leaving Mina. She smiled more brightly at Bakugou all the same, despite the tears still resting on the edges of her eyes.

"I miss him," she admitted, for the lack of anything else to say. Suddenly Bakugou really did feel uncomfortable. He wasn't Kirishima's friend, at least not like she was and definitely not like how she was thinking. Her words felt like they weren't for him at all, and he felt as though he were intruding on a conversation that should've been for Kirishima's ears only. Her smile faltered and she looked back down at the daffodils she had just placed, absentmindedly shuffling them around into a better position. "Do you ever think maybe you could've done something?"

Bakugou didn't respond. He was unsure how to, unsure if he wanted to. Kirishima took in a sharp inhale and his eyes darted between Bakugou and Mina quickly. "Say something to her," he urged, voice insistent and a little frantic, and Bakugou looked back at him with equally wide eyes. He wanted to argue with Kirishima but bit his tongue instead.

"You can't really… stop… someone from falling if you weren't there…" God, he hated himself. That wasn't even remotely comforting or even articulate. This is why he didn't talk to people.

"If he didn't fall, though," Mina whispered, her words gripping onto Bakugou's heart. He felt like bile was rising in the back of his throat because he definitely didn't deserve to be privy to this conversation. Wide red eyes flicked back to Kirishima's face, desperate for an out, but the other wasn't focused on him now. "If he…" she trailed off, dropping that sentence. "I keep thinking that maybe I missed some sign or that maybe I didn't do enough to show how much I loved him, you know?"

"Tell her I knew," Kirishima said quickly, "Tell her this wasn't her fault." Bakugou hesitated, looking over at the redhead again and then back to Mina. Kirishima reached across the grass to seek out his hand, grasping the clenched fist with his own cold fingers. Bakugou pried his eyes away from Mina again to see Kirishima staring at him now. "Katsuki," the air was punched from Bakugou's lungs, "Please. "

"He knew," he said without processing. Bakugou cleared his throat, stalling, and Kirishima smiled, relieved. He squeezed Bakugou's hand once and the blonde uncurled his fist, feeling fingers thread between his own. Mina looked up at him, another tear finding its way down her cheek. She let that one fall. "He, uh, talked about you all the time."

"She was always there for me," Kirishima supplied, successfully linking their fingers, and looking back at Mina.

"How you were always there for him…"

"It's not her fault. She couldn't have stopped it," Kirishima said, his voice lowering to a whisper. Bakugou didn't want him to continue; he squeezed the fingers back in warning. "I already made up my mind. There was no saving me."

"You were his best friend," Bakugou said instead, fighting through the tightness in his chest. "It's just… It's just one of those things that you couldn't have stopped…" Mina sniffled and for a moment panic bloomed under Bakugou's skin, fearing that he made it worse.

And then she laughed, palming away the tears while nodding her head.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say." Kirishima laughed along with her, wiping away his own tears, and Bakugou instantly understood why the two clicked so well. She fished around in her purse and pulled out her phone to check the time, standing up and dusting off her knees with her free hand. "Anyway, I need to go. Thanks for looking after Eiji, Bakugou… And thanks for… Yeah." She turned to leave and then stopped abruptly, spinning back around and shoving her phone in Bakugou's direction. "Sometimes the guys and I hang out and watch movies and shit." Bakugou unlinked his fingers with Kirishima's and fumbled with the phone when it was more or less unceremoniously shoved into his hands. "Put your number in and I can text you the plan when we hang out next."

"Do it!' Kirishima blurted excitedly, a giant grin plastered onto his face contrasting with the tears still in his eyes. "Dude, do it! Mina does the best movie nights!" Bakugou knew Kirishima wouldn't have let it go if he didn't. He punched the number in and handed it back to Mina. She finished adding him to her contacts, flipping her phone around to show him the bomb emoji she had entered beside his name causing Kirishima to let out a pleased laugh.

"Absolutely no pressure, okay? But any friend of Ei's is a friend of ours. We'd love to have you join us."

XIV

"I thought Mina was only going to text me when they were hanging out," Bakugou mumbled, tilting his phone so Kirishima could see the meme on his screen. Kirishima didn't look over. Bakugou frowned, ignoring the concern that nipped at his insides, and waved a hand in front of Kirishima's face. "Hey." 

Kirishima blinked a few times in surprise, rubbing his eyes stressfully when he was thrown back into reality. "I don't know, man. She's persistent. If you just hang with them, she'll leave you alone." He was usually excited to hear about Mina. It had been about a month since their encounter and, while Bakugou turned down all of her offers to hang out, she wasn't discouraged. Kirishima often found her antics entertaining, eager to see what method she'd try next to get Bakugou to open up. Today he didn't seem to care at all. He seemed even a little annoyed in fact. Bakugou put his phone away, burying his hands into his coat pockets and tucking his chin down into his scarf.

"Talk." Kirishima looked at him in confusion and Bakugou heaved out a sigh. "Something's wrong so talk or whatever. Or don't. Just quit moping."

"My parents are moving." Oh. Now Bakugou felt like a dick. He selfishly felt his heart drop, unsure what it all meant. Would Kirishima be leaving to? "I saw them packing the house."

"Are you going with them?" Kirishima tried to smile, Bakugou watched his lips twitch in an effort, but he couldn't.

"I don't think it works like that." Bakugou didn't want Kirishima to go, but he also didn't want the other to sound so broken.

"But you don't know," Bakugou countered, knowing that he was trying and failing to make Kirishima feel better.

"Every time I'm pulled somewhere, I get this feeling. Like a feeling about why I'm at that particular moment," Kirishima stopped to drag his hands down his face, clasping one over his mouth in thought. He pulled it away, defeated. "It's hard to explain. I've never felt anything like it when I was alive." Bakugou didn't want to ask, but he did.

"What did you feel when you went home?"

"Like," his voice wobbled and Bakugou immediately regretted asking the question. Kirishima's bottom lip trembled just barely before he clamped down on it hard, seemingly unfazed by the pain Bakugou imagined it would've caused. He closed his eyes and took in a steadying inhale, slowly letting the air back out. When he opened them again, Bakugou could see the unmistakable shine. "Like that was the last time I would ever see them." He chuckled bitterly and shook his head, "Just over six months and they're already leaving me. How fucked up is that?"

Bakugou didn't answer, but the silence between them didn't last. Kirishima took in another calming breath and turned to face Bakugou. "Do you remember when you said that I seem calm about being dead? About being… whatever I am?" Bakugou squeezed his eyes shut, but nodded, twisting in his position now so he could face Kirishima as well. "I said I was scared, but I'm terrified. I don't want to be stuck like this forever, Kats. It's lonely and heartbreaking…"

"So pass on." Bakugou was hardly able to get the words out and Kirishima laughed humourlessly, scrubbing at the tears in his eyes as though he could keep them in.

"I can't. I don't know how." Bakugou didn't want this conversation. Realistically, he didn't want Kirishima to be stuck like this forever either, but it felt too soon. It felt like Kirishima was slipping away from him just as they formed something, just as Bakugou began to feel something.

"Can't you just go into the light or what the fuck ever?"

"There is no light, Katsuki. There's no light."

Silence settled between them for a long while, seconds shifting into minutes. They had turned away from each other again, each mulling over their own respective thoughts, each mourning different things. Bakugou clenched his fists inside of his pockets, hard enough that his joints ached with tension. He had to ask.

"Eijirou," he breathed out, his own voice weak and pathetic and grating to his ears. He tilted his head to look at the other boy, thoughts floundering when their eyes met. "Why are you here?" Kirishima didn't need time to think. He knew the answer. He knew the answer this whole time, for months, and he had kept it from Bakugou.

"Because of you."

With his fears confirmed, Bakugou felt the ice flow into his veins; the cold, winter air surrounding him was no match for the chilling sensation biting at his insides. "Is that that feeling thing you were talking about?" he asked weakly, trying to pull a lesson from Kirishima's book and lighten the mood with some humour. He didn't do it right, but the solemn expression on Kirishima's face gave way to a sympathetic smile.

"You know when we first met? Like, met like this? I saw you standing right here," he pointed forward, just a couple feet away from him, "Standing so close to the edge, and I just knew what you were going to do. So I said something. I didn't think you'd hear me, no one else had heard me, but you did. You did and I was so excited that someone finally knew that I still existed. That I was still around." Kirishima looked at Bakugou and reached out, pressing his cold hand to his face to cup his cheek. "When you looked at me, I knew you saw me and I saw you, too." Bakugou could feel his breathing pick up, his lungs expanding rapidly in his chest, and Kirishima smoothed his thumb across his skin comfortingly. "I think there was a reason why you were so drawn to my disappearance and I think there's a reason why only you know I'm still here."

"So, what?" Bakugou croaked out, blinking back the tears. "You need to make sure that I'm okay or something? That I'll be fine?" Kirishima let his hand drop from his face and Bakugou tried to ignore the fact that he missed the touch. The redhead shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know. Maybe? Maybe I'm supposed to stop you from jumping." Bakugou gritted his teeth together and narrowed his eyes at the ground away from Kirishima, focusing on the frosty flowers clustered together at the base of the cross.

"You already did." Mina had been by at some point with red carnations.

"Did I?"

Yes, Bakugou wanted to say. Yes, you did. "That's not fair," is what came out instead. He knew Kirishima had his eyes on him and he knew he looked confused, but Bakugou couldn't look up.

"What—" The chill he had felt prior was melting and a burning heat started to take its place. He knew where it was going. He knew the scorching feeling infesting his insides all too well and no matter how much of the winter air he sucked in, nothing calmed the fire.

Just calm down. Just breathe. "That's not fucking fair!" Just shut up. He glared at the carnations and focused on the red, but the more he stared at the red, the more he felt the red building up inside of him.

"Katsuki…" Part of Bakugou wished Kirishima remained silent and let his anger fizzle out on its own. Another part of him, the rotted part he tried to cut out of himself for years, rejoiced. His eyes snapped up to Kirishima's face, locking their gaze together, and he scowled darkly.

"You can't," he could feel his hands shaking, but not from the cold, "You can't just tell me that your eternal fucking happiness relies on me." Kirishima began to reply and snapped his mouth shut immediately when Bakugou growled through clenched teeth. "I can't get better! I can't be happy! I can't fucking do it!" Kirishima's confusion left his face and a compassionate look took over. It did little to calm Bakugou and in fact did the opposite, pouring gasoline on the flames instead of water.

He didn't need sympathy. Not from Kirishima of all people. Not from a dead person who actually had a chance to escape, be it intentional or not.

"That's…" Kirishima fumbled with his words and shook his head, trying to get them straight. "Hey, that's not true. At all. You can." He said it firmly with conviction and looked determined. He looked like he actually believed his words, but all Bakugou could hear were lies. It was the same drivel he had heard his whole life. Just smile. Just make friends. Just let it go. Just don't be mad. Over and over and over again the words dug into him, peeling at his skin and tugging on already frayed nerves.

He had finally found someone who got it, someone who just left it alone, and that false sense of security he had so stupidly let himself get comfortable with was ripped out from underneath him. The feeling was dizzying and he was left free-falling through his mind, scrambling to gain traction but unable to find footing.

He stood up, eyes flashing dangerously when Kirishima did the same - warning to back off or inviting to a challenge. "No, I fucking can't! Fuck, Kirishima! You're going to be here a long fucking time if that's what you're waiting on!"

"I'm not waiting on anything."

"Whatever the fuck happened with you, is not my shit to deal with!" Oh, he wanted to take that back. Kirishima visibly flinched when the words came spitting out. There was that definite not-guilt swirling beside the rage now, a stabbing reminder that he should've shut up ages ago. The conflicting emotions fought each other, but anger always won out.

"I know! I know, Katsuki," Kirishima insisted once he recovered. And then he said it. Two simple words that tipped Bakugou over the edge. "It's okay."

"No, it's fucking not! How the fuck is this okay!?" He hated the lost look Kirishima had on his face. The other had seen him pissed off before, sure, but never like this. He had never had to deal with the rage that couldn't be contained. The conversation had turned so quickly and so violently that Kirishima was left hopelessly treading water. He was trying to keep his head above the waves and Bakugou wanted to pull him to safety, but also hold him under.

"Just forget I said anything, okay? I didn't mean to pin it on you." Kirishima looked down quickly, unable to hold the heated gaze any longer. "It's not your fault. I didn't mean it like that."

Not your fault… Not your fault… "You're right." He was backpedaling. He had to be backpedaling. Bakugou snarled and Kirishima finally met his eyes again. "It's not my fault. If you would've just let me fucking jump, none of this shit would be happening." Glassy red eyes widened, but Kirishima didn't speak. "If you would've minded your own fucking business, I wouldn't have been your roadblock."

Kirishima's mouth twisted into a frown. He squinted in disbelief at the words he was hearing and glared back at Bakugou even through the tears threatening to fall. "I couldn't watch you fucking die, dude."

"It's so fucking easy for you to say that though, isn't it? Because you didn't get much of a say in your death, you had to make a choice in mine?"

"What? Jesus, Bakugou. No!"

"You don't have to deal with the shithole that is living anymore. You don't have to wake up every fucking day stuck in this waking nightmare. You're fucking dead, Kirishima!" His voice got stuck on the word 'dead' and Bakugou didn't want to stop and assess why saying it aloud hurt way more than just knowing it. "You're dead." He tried to chalk it up to the jealousy he felt so long ago when the word caught in his throat again. "Try being thankful that you at least have a chance of finding peace."

"I sit in purgatory most of the time," Kirishima spat all too quickly, "I don't exist most of the time until I'm ripped back to see shit like my moms fucking leaving because of the pain I left behind! I should try being thankful?"

"That's not my fault!" Kirishima threw his hands up into the air, exasperated by the argument circling back to the same concept.

"I'm not blaming you! Why are you taking this like an attack!? I want you to be happy! I want you to get better! I want that for you!"

"I fucking can't!"

"You haven't tried!"

"You don't know shit about me!" Something hot trailed down his cheeks and he scrubbed it away angrily, but Kirishima had already seen the tears. "There is nothing for people like me so there is nothing for you. This is your life now."

"Katsuki…" The way he said his name set off alarm bells in his head. Just a whisper, just his name, but it was so broken and he sounded sad for Bakugou even though the blonde was the one standing there tearing into him. Kirishima was the one who suffered the tragedy, and yet he reached out a hand to him. The fire inside was dying.

"You are stuck here. That's your problem. Not mine." It was dying and Bakugou didn't want to stick around to see the ashes. "I'm done. This is bullshit."

He had never seen true panic before, at least not on anyone else. He had seen desperation and worry, but panic was new. Panic was strange. Panic destroyed Kirishima's sunny face and made Bakugou's heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

"Hey, wait—"

Panic on Kirishima was terrifying. "No. I can't." He wanted there to be venom in his voice, at least then he could hide behind the wall of hostility, but there wasn't any. It hurt too much to fuel the flames any longer, so he gathered the smoldering coals in his hands, welcoming the self-inflicted burn, and tried to retreat to safety. "I can't keep coming here, talking to a ghost like some lunatic. Figure your shit out and don't involve me."

"Katsuki, please…" Bakugou turned away, halting when a hand snatched his forearm, holding him in place. "Please. You are literally all I have. F-Forget I said anything, okay?" The hand slid down to his wrist, slipping to his hand where Kirishima held on tightly. "Forget it. It's okay. Just don't go. Please, please, come back and see me."

"I can't help you." Bakugou didn't look back, keeping his body angled away. "I can't help you, Kirishima, and me being here isn't helping either of us…"

"Please don't go."

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't go…"

Bakugou's jaw flexed and he scrunched his eyes shut hard enough that he felt them sting. Tears were breaking free at a rapid rate without his permission and the way Kirishima's voice trembled as he begged told Bakugou that the other wasn't fairing much better. "I'm sorry…"

"Katsuki…" Bakugou pulled his hand away. "Katsuki." He turned completely now and began to walk. "Don't leave me here."

Bakugou hated goodbyes. He was always unable to find the correct way to say them - too sentimental, not sentimental enough.

So he left Kirishima there on the cliff and didn't say anything at all.

XV

The dew-covered grass was seeping through his clothes and chilling his skin. When he woke up, his back was stiff from lying on the hard ground for who knows how long and his head throbbed with every pulse of his heart. Bakugou stayed still for as long as he could, willing the pain to subside, and when it didn't he cracked open his eyes. He saw a misty grey staring back at him; no sun, no moon, no stars, no sky. He sat up with a wince and closed his eyes when his vision swam, only opening them when he stopped the spinning.

He twisted around to peer at his surroundings and was met with more grey. It was fog, he realized, watching the hazy tendrils drift over his fingers clenched into the wet grass. When he lifted his arm and outstretched it in front of him, he could hardly see his hand at the end of his wrist.

"Fuck…" he muttered and pushed himself into a standing position. Bakugou strained his ears to hear anything familiar and was relieved to hear the ocean. He was close enough that he could hear the waves clearly, but he couldn't pick out the direction it was coming from. He began to walk randomly, alternating between looking at his feet to ensure he wouldn't stumble over anything and looking ahead in hopes that he'd recognize something. After a few minutes, the ocean not sounding any closer or any farther, his bare foot met something sharp and jagged. A rock. A few rocks. He had walked onto a dirt path and soon everything clicked into place.

The ocean fog, the dirt path, the waves. The cliff.

"Kirishima?" Bakugou called out, brushing the small pebbles embedded into his skin off of the sole of his foot, and continuing forward to where he thought the cliff's edge would be. It should've only been a few feet away, but the walk was much longer. Every step he took away from the path brought more grass, even though the sound of the ocean was now growing closer. It was wrong. He had been coming to the cliff for months; he knew the way there like the back of his hand and yet nothing since waking up had been right. Bakugou stopped walking and he debated on turning around. Just as he began to crane his neck to consider trying to find the path again, something caught his eye in the distance. A faint silhouette, a barely-there outline in the fog, and he immediately knew it was Kirishima even without the distinguishing features. Solace coursed through his veins at the sight and he surged forward, ignoring the nagging reminder that they hadn't left off on good terms.

"Hey!" he called out, quickening his pace. The fog was still dense but seemed to clear the closer he got to the other boy, revealing details that were previously covered. Kirishima was standing behind his cross, much closer to the cliff's edge than he normally stood, with his back to Bakugou. "Hey," Bakugou tried again when he didn't get a response. The lack of acknowledgment frustrated him, but he supposed the silent treatment was fair given their last interaction. "Kiri—" The name was cut off when Bakugou tried to take another step, both of his feet suddenly locking in place and causing his body to lurch from the momentum. His arms wheeled through the air and somehow he regained his balance, but his feet wouldn't move. Kirishima still hadn't turned around.

Anxiety engulfed him suddenly, so quickly that his rapid breathing left him lightheaded, and he could only feel dread. His heart began to hammer before he could even process where the shift in emotions came from and he spoke without thinking. "Please don't," he said, his mouth moving on its own accord. "Please, just… Just come back to me, okay?" His own voice, having heard the words before, caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. Kirishima didn't react. Kirishima didn't do anything except take a step closer to the edge.

Bakugou blinked quickly as though he could clear the scene from his mind. He tried to speak, to apologize, to say something - anything - that would get Kirishima to step back again and look at him. He tried to speak and nothing came out. His mouth remained clamped shut, forcing him to painfully swallow down every sentence, every phrase, every word that came into his head.

Kirishima lifted a foot and Bakugou could move again. Kirishima moved too quickly and Bakugou too slowly. His legs moved like he was running through quicksand, sluggish and heavy, and Kirishima dropped forward just as the tips of Bakugou's fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt. He barely stopped himself from toppling over the cliff as well, collapsing to his hands and knees as Kirishima plummeted below him.

He watched the body fall in what felt like slow-motion, dropping like a stone sinking to the bottom of the sea. Kirishima somehow managed to spin in just the right way so their eyes met, but suddenly Bakugou wasn't staring at the red he had grown accustomed to over the past few months. He was looking at the red that stared out at him from the mirror every morning. He was looking at the blonde hair that matched his own.

He was staring at himself.

"You're dead," Kirishima's voice rang from somewhere behind him when his body finally smashed into the rocks below. He could hear the sickening crack of the impact; bones shattered and limbs bent painfully. Bakugou wanted to look over his shoulder to the owner of the voice, to see Kirishima standing there behind him, but he couldn't. He could only remain hunched over the edge of the cliff, watching a pool of blood bloom out from underneath the crumpled corpse. It poured over the rough rocks and met the ocean below; crimson swirling with inky black. 

The water began to rise, much too quickly to attribute to the tide. He watched in horror as the ocean still streaked with his blood swallowed his body and began creeping up the cliffside in white-tipped swells. The water spilled over the ledge, lapped at his hands and sloshed at his wrists, and he still couldn't pull away. Bakugou still couldn't move even as his clothes grew soaked from the splashing and the water rose steadily to his forearms.

Fingers threaded into the hair at the back of his head, smooth and comforting, and then clutched painfully. Bakugou's head was shoved into the water. He was held under and he could feel himself yelling as the water filled his mouth, but he couldn't hear anything beyond the roaring in his ears if he was saying anything at all.

 

Reality came slamming back when he tumbled out of his bed, yelling incoherently and fighting with the blankets trapping his arms. A light was flicked on and everything was too bright and too much, his voice too loud. A gentle hand was on his cheek and he shoved whoever it was away, managing to shout, "Don't fucking touch me!"

He couldn't breathe. He felt like he was drowning, choking on the water his head had been shoved into, the burn of salt still in his lungs. Through his gasping, he distantly heard his dad's name being yelled repeatedly. There was more yelling, a distraught and aggressive voice mingling with a gentle one; too much of a contrast for Bakugou to focus on anything besides the tones. Two hands clamped down on his shoulders and Bakugou attempted to jerk away from the touch.

"He can't breathe!" A shrill voice.

"He can breathe." A calm voice. "He's having a panic attack." A rational voice. "Get him some water." The hands applied pressure comfortingly to his shoulders in an effort to ground him despite his body recoiling. "You're okay, Katsuki…"

Bakugou shook his head frantically at those words, only hearing Kirishima tell him a similar thing. Everything hurt. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Bakugou shook his head again and peeled away from the hands to curl in on himself. An agonized cry escaped his mouth and he twisted his fist into the front of his shirt, scrabbling nails catching the skin around his collarbone. He tried to gulp air into his tight lungs and failed. There was more shouting, more sobbing, more hysterics and dramatics he didn't know his family was even capable of.

Bakugou couldn't keep track of who was talking or who was saying what until he heard it. "I can't fucking help him!" The words left pinpricks of pain as they clawed their way up his throat. "I can't help him!" His dad was shushing him softly, hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder again.

"It was just a nightmare…" Fuck, he wished it was. He wished it was only a nightmare. Or maybe he didn't. At least then he could've drowned for real, in real water, instead of feeling like he was drowning in his own panic.

"I fucked everything up!" He slammed his fist into the floor, hard enough that pain spread through his hand like tiny explosions. Bakugou repeated the action. "It's not my fault!" He wished he'd just shut up and he knew he was digging his own grave, but he couldn't stop the rambling from spewing forth. "He said he couldn't be saved, so how the fuck can I help him!?" The hand rubbing up and down his shaking spine stilled.

"Who are you talking about? Who can't you help?"

Bakugou choked on his answer, willing it down with all of his might, and screamed instead. A long, continuous yell that wrenched itself from his chest as he thought of red hair and dumb smiles. The yell fell into another sob and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as though it would stop the stream of tears streaking down his face. "Kirishima," he finally managed to gasp out, trying to focus on the feeling of a tear trickling down his wrist. "Kirishima," he whispered again. "Kirishima."

"Oh…" His mother's usual demeanor was abandoned immediately upon hearing the name, a soft and sad voice quickly replacing the harshness. Bakugou felt another hand on his back, lighter and more hesitant than his father's, and she knelt beside him as well. "That's the boy from his school..."

XVI

Bakugou wasn't a stranger to nightmares. There had been many nights throughout his life where he had woken up with a start, disturbing and dark thoughts swirling in his mind posing as a memory. He had stopped needing his parents' comfort at a young age when he woke up like that, and he could usually fall asleep after rationalizing away the nightmare when clarity set in. Most nights since he last saw Kirishima had been plagued with nightmares. Bakugou could handle the nightmares.

Bakugou wanted to say he could handle the ensuing panic, but the sleeping pills on his nightstand and the fact that his parents now took turns each evening to talk him down proved otherwise.

Falling apart on a near-nightly basis took its toll. He stopped attending school regularly. Bakugou had always been a good, hard-working student minus a few behavioral issues, and it was actually his parents' idea at first to have him step back. They were hoping that maybe removing schoolwork temporarily from his mind would help ease some of the stress they were having a hard time trying to understand. It was the next logical step given his sporadic attendance. The days he did attend, he was mentally unavailable, and often went home early anyway. Might as well not go at all.

His state didn't improve and only worsened. He was absent from school for over a week when Mina reached out to him. She offered to bring him some homework but, when he ignored her texts, she wished him well, said that she hoped he would feel better soon, and left him alone.

Bakugou spent most days in a state of semi-consciousness; trying to sleep, but often staring at his wall for hours on end as he stayed huddled under his blankets. He tried to keep his mind blank and, thanks to avoiding sleep, his exhaustion left his mind in a near-empty state. His lack of thoughts was only interrupted by his parents. The frequency of the arguments increased as their concern increased as well. Fights were commonplace already, but what had once been a few times a week occurence turned into multiple times a day. They were worried, Bakugou tried to remember that, but he just didn't care. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

His mother started out with good intentions, coming into his room and trying to get him to open up. She'd sit on the edge of his bed, talk about her day, and ask questions. Bakugou would respond with quiet grunts if he responded at all. He knew her already thin patience was snapping when she tried to put her foot down; tried to demand things with a firm, authoritative voice. Demand that he get out of bed, demand that he talk to them, demand that he do something beyond shutting down. When it didn't work, when it didn't even get a reaction out of Bakugou, it turned into yelling. Her frustration had boiled over. That got a reaction out of Bakugou. That started a screaming match between the two and when she left, slamming his bedroom door so hard that it shook on its hinges, Bakugou was left wondering if she only did it because it meant her son still felt something.

His father's approach was obviously different. He was understanding and calm, trying to coax Bakugou out a little at a time. He was trying to get to the root of the problem by dancing around the issue, fumbling blindly as he tried to formulate a plan. Bakugou had no doubt that his father was up at night assessing the outcomes of multiple scenarios before he actually put one in play. In the meantime, he tried to find small compromises. "Just eat half of the sandwich." "Just come downstairs for an hour." "Just sit with us at dinner. You don't have to eat, you don't have to talk, just sit with us." It worked sometimes.

It all came to a head one evening when his mother shoved open his door, his father grabbing at her arms gently and trying to pull her back. Bakugou prepared himself for a fight, but when he turned over to look at his mom, all of the heat left his body. She was crying. Not even the angry tears one gets from frustration; genuine tears. Tears of concern and love and agony. His father was trying to placate the situation, to quiet and calm his wife down, promising that everything would be okay, but those same tears were in his eyes as well.

She begged Bakugou to see a doctor. She fell to her knees in the doorway and his dad crouched down with her, and they both begged.

At that moment, Bakugou couldn't argue with them anymore. They both looked so tired and so sick that it'd be cruel to argue with them. He was dragging them down with him as he sunk, so he agreed. The least he could do was go through the motions.

 

Leading up to his first appointment, Bakugou thought about Kirishima more than he had in weeks. He thought about Kirishima and he thought about the cliff a lot.

He was jealous all over again.

XVII

They had tried a new doctor. Bakugou's father had spent days pouring over reviews, researching nearby specialists, and calling medical office after medical office before he was able to present a well-informed decision. They hadn't wanted Bakugou to go to his previous therapist, worried that the history there from when he was first forced into seeking professional help would hinder rather than help his treatment. They all agreed, even Bakugou begrudgingly did, that a blank slate was needed.

Dr. Shuuzenji was who they settled on. A tiny, old lady Bakugou didn't have much faith in when they first met. She was intelligent, but not in the way that felt clinical and cold. She knew what she was doing and was quick to alter her methods to better cater to Bakugou's needs when something wasn't working for him. Despite being kind and welcoming, clearly having a big heart, she was stern when she needed to be. She had a 'no bullshit' outlook when it came to her practice, and that was something Bakugou didn't know he appreciated until his depressive state gradually began to lift.

Just because he appreciated her straightforward approach, didn't mean it was a challenge he met with open arms.

 

"I want to talk about this Kirishima boy you mentioned before." Bakugou knew the question was coming eventually and, even though he tried to prepare himself and spent many nights planning what he wanted to say, Dr. Shuuzenji's statement still made it feel like a hole was punched into the center of his chest.

"Fuck no," was his immediate reply. She fixed him with a look and Bakugou rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He had to use his words; he had to explain things and talk it out as opposed to his default reaction of stopping everything right then and there as soon as he felt uncomfortable. "I'm not ready to talk about that yet…" She hummed quietly in acknowledgment, pleased with his effort.

"There's never going to be a time where you feel ready to talk about something so momentous. It's scary to acknowledge something that causes you pain. It feels easier to keep it locked up inside." Bakugou chewed on his bottom lip as she spoke, focusing on the small fern perched on the edge of her desk. He hated fluffy, empty words and she knew that, so she tapped her pen on her desk to get his attention and tried again. "This situation with Kirishima feels big now, dear, but it's not something we can't whittle down together." Bakugou studied her, hesitated, and reluctantly gave a curt nod. Dr. Shuuzenji clasped her hands on the top of her desk and regarded Bakugou before speaking. "You've been coming to see me twice a week for about two months now. You're making excellent progress, but when you got here you told me everything fell apart because of him."

"Not… Not everything." Blame was another concept they were working on - where to place blame, how to process blame, how to accept things and move past the anger he felt towards those who wronged him. More importantly, how to own up when it was him who wronged others or even himself. "It wasn't his fault." She smiled again, proud, and Bakugou tried to ignore the awkward embarrassment he felt from doing something right.

"But he had an impact on you." He shrugged. Bakugou couldn't tell her about the Kirishima he knew. He couldn't speak of their talks or the long stretches of silence they shared when they watched the sun sink below the horizon. He couldn't pretend they were old friends and he certainly couldn't talk about the ghost of him that he left behind.

"I didn't even know him…"

"Grief and mourning are funny things. They don't discriminate who they latch onto or why. Whether or not you knew him, I think his death affected you and that's okay. I think that's worth exploring." Bakugou stopped looking at her once she started speaking, unsure how to take the words 'grief and mourning,' and focused on his knee bouncing up and down. Can you mourn someone you can visit whenever you want? "Just tell me what you can. That's all I ask."

"He disappeared in June. Everyone thought it was a kidnapping or something like that," Bakugou said. He cleared his throat and scratched at his neck, ashamed to admit the next part. "I didn't know what I thought it was, I just thought it was interesting."

"Interesting?" He laughed dryly before he could stop himself. They drove over an hour to a larger city for his doctor; a city that was much larger, busier, and so different from the home he was used to.

"When I say nothing happens in my town, I mean nothing happens in my town," he explained. Dr. Shuuzenji remained patiently silent when Bakugou stopped talking, waiting for him to find his words at his own pace. He had never spoken about Kirishima's death aloud before, at least like this, not even with Kirishima. "But he wasn't kidnapped. He was just dead. He was just dead at the bottom of some cliff and no one knew. People were looking for him, there were search parties, and he was there the whole time."

"When you found out about his death, how did that make you feel?" Bakugou glared at her and an apologetic smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. She laughed good-naturedly at his scowl and waved her hand around dismissively. "I know you hate that question. Let me rephrase it: I know you didn't know him, but you were following his story. Were you relieved when he was found?"

"I was jealous." The shame was creeping up again and there was a small voice telling him that he needed to save face to avoid the judgment that realistically would never come. At least not in this environment and Bakugou tried to remind himself that he was in a safe space. "At first," he tacked on quickly, "I was jealous at first. They say he fell, but I don't know. I don't know if he did or if everyone just wanted to believe so badly that someone like him couldn't kill himself." Bakugou still never got an answer about Kirishima's death, not a direct one anyway, not a proper confirmation. Even without Kirishima speaking directly about the event, Bakugou knew that he would've had to be standing stupidly close to the edge of the cliff to accidentally slip.

"And now I'm... sad…" The word was foreign on his tongue and Bakugou wasn't even sure if 'sad' was an accurate description. "And I feel shitty for feeling jealous in the first place and I feel shitty for ever thinking his disappearance was something interesting. I mean, he was a real human being and he must've been so..." Bakugou trailed off with a heavy sigh and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, trying to think of a word. "Lost," he decided on, "He must've felt so fucking lost that jumping was his only option, and I was so jealous because every time I went to that cliff, I didn't have the guts to do it."

He hadn't meant for the words to come out and for one horrifying second, he held his breath. Bakugou pulled his eyes away from the ceiling and snapped them to his doctor's face, assessing his need for damage control, an irrational fear of being hauled off in a straightjacket playing in his thoughts. He couldn't read Dr. Shuuzenji's expression and it worried him.

"Do you still go to the cliff?" The breath he had been keeping trapped in his lungs came tumbling out in a rush. He knew what she was indirectly asking, but the question held so much more than she could ever dream of knowing. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes without his permission when he was forced to think back to the cliff; to Kirishima waiting there every time he walked up, to hearing Kirishima's infectious laugh, to listening to Kirishima's rambling stories. To that stupid, wide, blindingly beautiful smile that made Bakugou's heart thrum in ways he didn't know were possible.

"I can't," he breathed out and his voice broke, "I can't."

She didn't pry and Bakugou was more than happy to let that stay inside for a little bit longer. "It sounds like Kirishima's death is something you've latched onto, but in a way that's not..." Bakugou braced himself to hear the word 'normal' when Dr. Shuuzenji pondered her phrasing. "Typical." That wasn't much better and he was sure his face conveyed his opinion on her choice of words. "You're not mourning," she clarified, unbothered by the darkening look. "You're sad over it, definitely. You're a very empathetic person and I don't think you realize that yet, but you're not mourning him."

"I am," Bakugou insisted, voice a little too harsh.

"Why does his death bother you so much?" Bakugou now glared at the doctor, teeth grinding together hard. Why did Kirishima's death bother him? Sure, to her knowledge Bakugou didn't personally know Kirishima, but a human had died and she was asking him why that was upsetting?

"Because," he ground out, "Because it's not… He's not the type of person who jumps. People like him don't jump. The fact that someone like him just woke up one day and decided fuck it, I'm gunna kill myself is a little bothersome."

"If he jumped." At some point Bakugou gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles had turned white from digging his nails into the plush fabric.

"What?"

"If he jumped, dear," she repeated, voice softer than before. "If he didn't jump, if this was a horrible accident, would you be sitting here with me right now?"

He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her that it didn't matter how Kirishima died, it was just the fact that he had died, but he wasn't sure if that was true. If Kirishima's body had been found elsewhere, a ditch perhaps after being struck by a car, would Bakugou have ever felt the connection he did now? If he went to a cross on the side of a road, a place he had no history with to visit the marker of a person he also had no history with, would it have been the same as visiting the cross on the cliff? Bakugou slumped in the chair and his grip loosened on the arms.

"This is just an observation, and you can take it or leave it. Consider it, but what you do with the information is up to you. What I'm hearing is that it's not so much the fact that Kirishima has died that is bothering you, but rather how he died. It seems to me that, if Kirishima did jump, that's the concept you're having a hard time grasping. You don't know if he did, but you're focusing on it as though it's common knowledge. There's a reason why the possibility that Kirishima committed suicide is much larger than his actual death in your mind."

"It's because he didn't deserve it," Bakugou whispered and the tears that had been so politely waiting to fall, finally did. "He's - he was - good. Kind. People liked him and he made everyone happy. There is so much out there for people like him and he just… Why couldn't he see it?"

"Why couldn't you see it?" Defensively, Bakugou's back stiffened and he felt as though he were being blamed for not doing something more for Kirishima.

"I didn't know him."

"For yourself," she elaborated. "You told me you would go to that cliff, too. There is so much out there for people like Kirishima, you're right, but there's also so much out there for people like you." Bakugou knew the reason and he just had to say it - he just had to get the courage to say it. He closed his eyes because he couldn't escape from the words that were in his head anyway, and readied himself to handle existing in the reality where those words were known by someone else.

"I'm scared to try to get better," Bakugou admitted, unprompted.

"Why?" She knew the answer just as much as he knew the reason, but wanted him to say it. Bakugou knew he had to be the one to say it.

"Because what if I don't? What if this doesn't work?" Bakugou took in a shaking inhale, sinking even more into the chair, and opened his eyes again to stare back at the fern. "What if there's not something out there for someone like me? I'm scared that this is it and I'm going to be stuck like this forever."

Dr. Shuuzenji was silent for a long while, letting Bakugou's words linger in the air to be contemplated and absorbed. Eventually, she leaned forward again, tilting her head down to try and catch Bakugou's eyes. "Have you ever been told that recovery isn't linear?" Bakugou didn't meet her gaze and he didn't answer, but she smiled anyway. She straightened back up, satisfied that he was listening, and continued. "Recovery is like trying to climb a mountain because there's an amazing view at the top. It's a constant uphill climb and, I'm not going to lie to you, it's hard. It is the steepest mountain you will ever try to summit. But when you get help - therapy, medication, support networks, coping tools - you start to build stairs. Now, of course, you'll have to walk up all those stairs, and there are a lot of stairs, but it's easier than trying to climb with your bare hands.

"Sometimes something comes along and breaks your stairs and you fall backward. You may only fall a few steps or you may fall the whole way, but you will survive the tumble. You'll feel exhausted from climbing and you probably won't want to stand up and see all of your hard work destroyed. It'll feel easier to stay down. But always stand up, Katsuki." He flicked his eyes away from the plant to look at her now. "Always stand up because even though some stairs may be damaged beyond repair and you'll have to start from scratch, most of what you built will still be intact. You walked the stairs once, your body grew stronger in doing so, walking them a second time will be easier. The more you walk those stairs, the easier they will get." Bakugou used the back of his hand to wipe a tear away and reluctantly grabbed one of the tissues from the box Dr. Shuuzenji held out to him.

"How long are the stairs?" he asked for lack of anything better to say and the doctor just gave one of her trademark kind smiles. He wasn't going to like her answer.

"Sometimes they go on forever." He scoffed, leaning back into the chair heavily and aggressively scrubbed the tissue against his cheeks.

"Then what's the fucking point? If you never get to the top of the mountain?"

Dr. Shuuzenji laughed light-heartedly and shook her head fondly, her smile growing into something much more bright and cheerful despite the loaded question.

"Oh, my dear, the view is still beautiful on the way up."

XVIII

It was at the end of April when Bakugou began getting sick of giving himself pep talks and decided to suck it up and just visit Kirishima's cross already. Roughly a month had gone by since he discussed the redhead with Dr. Shuuzenji and Kirishima had been brought up a few more times in their talks. Bakugou was no idiot; he knew that he had had a 'break-through' with his doctor and she was hellbent on exploring it. Each session since then had left Bakugou feeling raw and vulnerable, a bundle of exposed wounds that bled with every pick and prod, though he didn't miss the unfamiliar feeling of growing lighter.

Visiting Kirishima was, in fact, his doctor's idea in the first place. Bakugou was going to do it anyway, at least he thought he was going to do it anyway, but it was suggested that he pay his respects to get closure. She, of course, was referring to visiting Kirishima's grave - his official grave, at the cemetery - and not going to the cliffside to physically visit him. The cliffside was actually something she adamantly warned against. They had discussed triggers briefly and, even though Bakugou didn't quite understand the logic behind them, they figured that maybe the cliff where all of his suicidal thoughts seemed to lead to was probably not the best place for him to go alone. He had waved her off, saying he wasn't going to bother hauling his ass up there to visit the memorial of a guy he didn't even know. He'd go to the cemetery, he said, and get closure.

That had been a lie.

The walk to Kirishima's cross had never been a gruelling one. It was an easy path to take, mostly flat with only a few hills with inclines so gradual that it was far from strenuous. Bakugou walked, jogged, and ran the path with ease for months, but it suddenly became a treacherous trail. Nothing was holding him back - no wind shoving against him, no mud to slog through - and yet his feet felt like they were weighted down with concrete. Every aching step he took was met with an intrusive thought. Turn back around. Step. He doesn't want to see you. Step. He won't even be there.

The last thought was the one that tormented Bakugou's mind for days as he tried to muster the strength he needed. There was no guarantee that Kirishima would even be there and, quite frankly, Bakugou didn't have a backup plan. If he got to the marker and there was no one waiting for him, as there had been every time he showed up, Bakugou didn't know what he'd do. You'd move on, he'd remind himself. Would you? he'd taunt in return. It was a vicious cycle of trying to set his coping mechanisms in place only to be the one to run through them again like a rogue toddler. The back and forth with his own thoughts left him stalling and he said fuck it to the whole situation. If Kirishima wasn't waiting for him, Bakugou would decide how he would proceed at that moment. It wasn't one of his doctor's tips and he was sure she'd be scolding him for not creating a safety net, but if he didn't go in blindly, he wouldn't go at all. 

As the location of the cross drew nearer, the warm glow of the candles standing out in the twilight haze, Bakugou suddenly found it comforting to walk with his head down. Tightly coiled knots began filling his stomach at the mere thought of seeing the cross without its familiar counterpart. He had to get pretty close to the marker for the air to start bending and shifting to reveal Kirishima, and Bakugou wasn't prepared yet for the possibility of that not happening. The gravel was easier to look at; the soft crunching of pebbles under his shoes gave his mind a much-needed distraction as he got closer and closer to the source of his dread. The distraction only lasted so long and the toes of his shoes brushed the green-tipped yellow grass at the edge of the path.

His steps grew slower, deliberately so, and his breathing grew quicker. Taking the first step off of the path felt like a mistake, and he hesitated; one foot on the gravel, the other on the grass. He could turn back. He could leave. He could try again tomorrow or the next day. Next week. He could try again, sure, but the avoidance had become suffocating. With both feet on the grass, Bakugou trudged forward.

He approached the cross with the same timidness he had when he walked off of the path and stopped a good distance away. He didn't stop because he didn't want to get too close, he stopped because he felt eyes on him. Bakugou felt his skin prickle in the way it always did when Kirishima was around, the air charged with too much energy, and it was both relieving and terrifying. His already quick breathing stuttered and his heart jumped high into his throat, the combination of the two making it difficult to take in a proper breath. He blinked once, allowing his eyes to inch across the ground. He blinked again, noting shoes in the grass pointed towards him, and the base of the cross just beyond the figure not kept as neatly as it had been before. He blinked once more, long and drawn out, to the point where he was just keeping his eyes closed, and tilted his head up.

When he opened them, red locked with red. 

In the past when Bakugou came to visit, Kirishima had always been preoccupied. It was as though he had a predetermined action when he was pulled back into existence. Sometimes he was watching the seagulls over the ocean, sometimes he was lounging in front of his cross mindlessly picking at the flowers, and sometimes he was outstretched on his back, watching the stars. He always knew when Bakugou approached but had never been actually waiting for him. 

Not like this time. This time Kirishima was standing between him and the cross, waiting, and he was livid. It was the type of anger that made a person's blood boil so hot that they felt nothing at all. His face was cold and blank, but the rage rolled off of him in waves that Bakugou couldn't ignore even if he wanted to.

"Hey." Bakugou immediately wanted to punch himself in the face for such a casual greeting and Kirishima looked as though he were feeling the same way, his eyebrows twitching downwards. Nervous, Bakugou picked at the skin around his nails and looked to his shoes, forcing himself to bring his eyes back to Kirishima's when he realized he looked away. "I'm sorry," Bakugou said instead, the words spilling out in a blur, "I am so sorry."

"How long has it been?" Kirishima's voice was monotone, devoid of the warmth Bakugou had grown used to hearing whenever they spoke. He wanted to leave again. His brain was screaming at him that coming to the cliff had been a huge, catastrophic mistake and he needed to leave before it hurt even worse.

But Bakugou was only there because of a huge, catastrophic mistake that he had made.

He inhaled, counted to ten in his head, and breathed out. "Five months…" Kirishima tried to keep his expression the same, but the resolve broke just a fraction. His jaw tensed and his lower lip trembled, the action stabbing a knife right into Bakugou's heart and he was the one holding the blade.

"For fuck's sake, Bakugou…" Though he had done a decent job of keeping the mask up, Kirishima's eyes exposed him. The hurt was unimaginable - the betrayal and anger and sorrow all swirling into a wet mess. He began to turn away and Bakugou began to panic just like how Kirishima did when he left months ago.

"Wait, listen, I— " Kirishima whipped himself back around and now - now - he was pissed. He was glaring at Bakugou with an anger that rivaled his own and the tears welling in his eyes did little to make his look less threatening.

"Why?" he hissed, "Do you honestly think I want to see you right now?" Bakugou felt his throat constrict and he stumbled over the counting he had been doing in his head to keep his breathing somewhat normal. 1, 2, 3… Maybe 6. Maybe 5? Funny, Kirishima had been the only person Bakugou actually wanted to see.

"No, but—"

"Then why should I listen to anything you have to say? What could you possibly have to say to me?" Kirishima's voice broke with emotion and, while the anger was still very much in his eyes, the sheer, unbridled hurt came rushing back. "What could you say to me right now that would make any of this alright?"

"Nothing," Bakugou admitted. God, he hated staring into those eyes now. "There's nothing I can say to you that would fix what I did, but can I just talk? Can you just hear what I have to say and we can go from there?" Kirishima started to say something else and, fearing he was going to be turned away, Bakugou took a risk and raised his hand to cut him off, upsetting the redhead even more in the process. "You don't have to say anything and if you want me to leave after, I will. If you want me to stay, I will. I'll come back in a week, in a month, in a year, never, if that's what you want. I will do whatever you need me to do, but please listen to me first."

This time he waited for a reply and Kirishima seemed to be waiting for something, too. Eventually his shoulders slumped in defeat and he pulled his fingers through his hair. "Fine."

Good. Good start? Bakugou nodded quickly, wracking his brain on what to say even though he had planned everything out for days. He had written the words out, said them into his mirror, whispered them before he went to bed; he knew what he wanted to say before, but in the moment his mind was blank. Bakugou rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs and closed his eyes, silently praying that Kirishima wouldn't take offense that it was easier for him to think if he didn't have to look at the damage he caused. "I should've come back sooner. I shouldn't have stopped coming at all. And I know nothing I say can fix—" Shit, he said that already. This was bad. Everything was crumbling before his eyes and he desperately tried to pick up the pieces as fast as they fell. It felt damn near impossible and he couldn't keep up. "Ei—'' No, too personal now. He couldn't say his name anymore, not like that. Why was Kirishima so patient? So quiet? Was he even still there? Bakugou would've left ages ago. He chanced peeking open his eyes and met Kirishima's once more. He kept them there.

"Kirishima, I left you knowing that you sit in some purgatory, waiting. Just waiting. I wish I could take it back, but I can't. I want to help you." Something changed in Kirishima's expression at those words, but Bakugou didn't have time to sit and analyze it. "I wanted to help you back then, too, but when it fell on me to figure my shit out…" The sentence died off and Bakugou was struggling all over again. Back then he knew that there was something wrong with him, something that made his life seem like a daunting chore while everyone else continued on with ease. But that was how it always had been. That was his life and that was how his life was always going to be. He didn't want to fix it or look at it or pick it apart because it was easier to lie down and take it. It was easier to imagine jumping off that cliff until one day he would just do it.

"I didn't want to face it. I didn't want to accept that I had shit I needed to work through because it… hurt. A lot. But I'm trying. I'm trying to help myself so I can try to help you. I don't know what I can do, but I want to… try," he finished lamely, groaning into his hands as he pulled them down his face. "Only if you want me to. I fucked up and I recognize that, so if you want me to go, I understand. I just wanted you to know that I am sorry. I'm sorry."

Kirishima stared at him impassively when he peeled his hands away from his face, and the silence became so deafeningly painful that Bakugou wanted to scream just to break the tension. Then Kirishima turned away, wordlessly. He stepped back over to the cross and sat beside it, mirroring the position he was in when Bakugou saw him that second day. He knew it was a possibility, but having Kirishima turn away from him and shut him out created an unimaginable pain. His heart squeezed and for a moment all Bakugou could do was stand and stare at Kirishima's back. His nails dug painfully into the palms of his hands, the physical pain actually tangible compared to the emotional distress he was rightfully thrown into, and Bakugou wanted the hollowness he felt his whole life to return. He fought the urge to beg, wanting to respect Kirishima's wishes, but just because he was trying to leave with some dignity, didn't mean the cliff wasn't tempting. Kirishima had made his choice and Bakugou had to make his. With stiff legs, he turned around and headed back to the path.

"What have you been doing for five months?" Bakugou stopped. He turned back around and, with Kirishima still facing away, Bakugou wasn't sure if his mind made up the question because he just couldn't cope. Then Kirishima looked at him expectantly over his shoulder - annoyed, but genuinely curious - and gestured to the spot of grass next to him. He didn't need to be asked twice. Bakugou nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to sit down, clumsily depositing himself on the grass. He seized the opportunity he was so graciously given though at a loss and a little dazed. "I'd talk about myself," Kirishima added dryly, turning his attention to the ocean as he always did, "But, you know, other than small blips here and there, I've been floating in a void." Bakugou winced. He deserved that.

"I know…" It took a few moments of awkward silence and a look from Kirishima for Bakugou to remember that he had been asked a question that wasn't rhetorical. "I started therapy again." The red eyes on him widened slightly, surprised, and were schooled quickly back into a cool look. It would've been funny, how bad Kirishima was at taming his expressive face, had it not been for the situation at hand.

"Is it helping?"

"I want to say that I came back here because I stopped being a coward on my own, but I don't think I ever would've seen you again if it wasn't helping." The words stung to say, so Bakugou could only imagine how much they stung Kirishima, but he deserved to know the truth. He deserved to know that Bakugou would've left him forever. He tried to keep the selfish, self-loathing thoughts at bay, tried to practice the forgiveness he was told he should give himself, but he wasn't there yet. Maybe he'd get there one day, but not right now when he was at the epicenter of the mess Kirishima was left with.

"What do you talk about?" Bakugou blew out a long sigh, trying to rid his body of the anxious jitters still rumbling under his skin, and tipped his shoulders upwards.

"The kid I beat up, my anger, my parents…" It was a vague answer. "Everything, I guess." He watched Kirishima's fingers twist in the grass, selecting a blade and pulling up slowly to free it at the root, then repeating the process with another.

"The cliff?" The piece of grass he was pulling up broke, tugged too harshly.

"Yeah." Bakugou looked away from the hand and to the grass in front of him. "Yeah... I mentioned the cliff and it became… Well, it was pretty much all she'd fuckin' focus on for a while." From the corner of his eye, Bakugou could see Kirishima nod. Before when they spoke, it was simple - a natural back and forth even when the other was dominating the conversation. Bakugou felt guilty only talking about himself, torn between wanting to answer the questions Kirishima was readily asking and just shutting up to turn the focus away from him. Kirishima most likely knew this, enjoying making him squirm, and maybe he really didn't have anything to say.

"We talk about you. Not you like now, but…" He couldn't shut up, he needed him to know. "We didn't talk about you at first. Like, at all. I refused. After I last saw you things were not… good. Everything just kind of cracked open, which I deserved, but yeah. We talk about you. How I don't like that you died, how I don't think it's fair… How it makes me pissed that I couldn't have done anything about it anyway."

"I'm sorry." A chill swept down Bakugou's spine and it wasn't from the crisp, evening air.

"Don't. Do not." The words came out rough, teetering on the edge of aggressive, and when the tone echoed back to Bakugou, he realized he was scowling at Kirishima. He tried to reign the emotions back. "Don't ever be sorry, Eijirou. You do not owe an apology to me."

Kirishima still wasn't looking at him, but he was listening. "She got me on some pills that make me feel like shit, but apparently that will stop once they even out in my system and we stop upping them. She also told me that I have depression. I told her that I didn't need a fucking PhD to figure that one out." A sound burst out suddenly, the startled laugh coming from Kirishima seemingly shocking them both. Bakugou grinned.

"Wow, Bakugou," Kirishima said between restrained chuckles, and it was probably the most beautiful sound Bakugou had ever heard. With the laughter subsiding, the mood felt substantially lighter; still broken and too fragile to touch, but rebuilding.

"It's forcing me to process things I don't want to process and holding me accountable for things I don't want to be accountable for. I guess that's part of the progress I'm making. I know meds and therapy aren't a cure-all, and I got told this weird analogy about how what I'm going through isn't linear and something about a mountain, but I'm trying and it's working."

"I'm happy for you." Bakugou studied Kirishima's face, eyes lingering on the ghost of a smile that still hadn't vanished completely.

"And… is this working?" The smile did disappear now and Kirishima reached up to rub at the back of his neck, an awkward gesture for an awkward situation. His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration, and Bakugou held his breath as he waited for the answer.

"I don't know yet…" It was honest. Bakugou didn't expect anything less and Bakugou didn't want anything less, but it didn't mean it was easy to hear. The truth was often a jagged pill to swallow and this one was no different. Bakugou nodded once, conveying to Kirishima that he accepted how he felt and looked away. "It's not going to be fixed in one day, anyway," Kirishima added, quieter. When Bakugou heard the words, he returned his gaze to Kirishima's face, mildly surprised to see the other finally looking back at him. They stared for about a second before Kirishima's nose scrunched up, forcing down a smile as he tossed a pitiful handful of grass in Bakugou's direction. "It's not not working."

 

Falling back into their old routine happened a lot quicker than Bakugou imagined it would. It was obvious that he had fucked up and their usual back and forth wasn't up to par, but talking to Kirishima, even with the tension in the air, still felt second-nature. The roles were reversed, however, with Bakugou being the one to chat aimlessly and Kirishima filling in spots of silence. 

When he did speak, Bakugou was sure to listen and listen intently. True to Kirishima's 'feeling' from before, he hadn't seen his parents again. He was disappointed and, when he off-handedly brought up the topic, Bakugou could tell that he had mixed feelings. Part of him had made peace with the idea simply because he had no other choice and another part of him found the notion gut-wrenching, regardless of how much time had passed. While he hadn't seen his parents, Kirishima had seen his friends a handful of times since he and Bakugou had last seen each other, though the visits were dwindling more and more as time moved on. They were healing, he guessed, and mentioned that he mustn't be on their minds as much. Bakugou tried to protest but clamped his mouth shut. Kirishima assured him it was a good thing. It didn't mean they were forgetting him, it just meant that they weren't hurting as much anymore.

 

"Can I ask you something I have no right to ask?" Bakugou asked, long after the sun had disappeared and a sliver of the moon took its place. The conversation had been dead for a while and Bakugou was overcome with a gut-feeling. Maybe the same feelings Kirishima got, maybe not, but there was something inside of him saying that now was the time to ask.

Kirishima must've felt the same thing because, even though he looked anxious when Bakugou looked at him, he replied with a soft, "Sure."

"Did you ever talk to anyone? Like how I do now?" It wasn't the question Kirishima was expecting. It wasn't even the question Bakugou was expecting, but it was the question that needed to be asked. It danced around the obvious because the obvious didn't need to be said anymore.

Kirishima sucked in a breath and let it back out, steeling his own nerves and scrambling to gather the courage much like Bakugou had done earlier. Seconds ticked by and Bakugou was ready to back out of the question, cursing gut-feelings and the desire to follow them. "I don't think I was sad," Kirishima whispered, almost too quiet for Bakugou to hear, "I don't remember being sad. I remember being happy. I remember smiling a lot." As if the word had been a request, Kirishima's mouth tipped up into a small, lopsided smile. "I remember thinking that if I could just get through today, tomorrow could be better. And when tomorrow wasn't better, if I could just hang on until the next day. And the next. Then maybe one day, if I held on long enough, there would be a good day. One day I wouldn't be waiting for the next day." The inhale he took in was ragged, shuddering in his chest, and the smile slowly sunk from his face. He turned to Bakugou, looking lost and scared, seeking comfort perhaps without even knowing it. "I don't think I was sad, but maybe I was? Does that make sense? I just felt…"

"Empty," Bakugou finished for him. It made sense.

"Yeah," Kirishima agreed, sniffling, "And tired. God, Katsuki, I remember being so tired. It didn't matter how much sleep I got because that wasn't the problem. I felt it in my bones, it lived in my body and consumed me, and nothing I did fixed it. I was so tired waiting for the good days, but I didn't want people to worry and if I didn't talk about it, if I just kept smiling, if I was just happy, people didn't worry."

"Ei… I…"

"It's weird. I don't remember how I got here. I remember a lot of things - things come back to me in pieces when I'm reminded of something - but I don't remember how I got here. I don't remember what led up to being like this." Bakugou watched a tear carve a path down Kirishima's cheek. Another followed from the other eye, soon joined by more until a stifled sob bubbled up from Kirishima's chest. At a loss, Bakugou blindly reached forward to grab Kirishima's arm, his hand hesitating. "I don't remember falling…" Fuck it. He pulled the redhead close, probably too roughly, and let the other hide in the crook of his neck. "I'm glad I don't remember falling…" The words were muffled against Bakugou's hoodie, thick with tears, and Bakugou just hugged him tighter. He wanted to say something. He thought back to all of the times his parents had comforted him, to every kind word that was ever thrown in his direction, but nothing seemed to hold up to the insurmountable grief Kirishima finally had a chance to let out. Kirishima's hands gripped at the back of his shirt and twisted into the fabric as though Bakugou was the only thing keeping him anchored. At that moment, Bakugou realized that he didn't need to say anything at all.

 

When Kirishima pulled back a good time later, having cried into Bakugou's shoulder until he was out of breath, he looked pitiful and exhausted. There was also a certain degree of calm coming from him, having just let go of the burden following him around for longer than he probably even knew. The time for silence had left and Bakugou knew what he wanted to say. "I hung out with your friends." He pulled his sleeves over his hands and reached forward, gently pressing the fabric against Kirishima's cheeks. Puffy, quizzical eyes met his own and he made a face of mock annoyance. "They're idiots, but they're alright I guess." Kirishima stared vacantly for longer than he'd care to admit, waiting for the gears in his head to process what Bakugou was saying. When the cogs turned, he huffed out a laugh that got stuck on a delayed sob, gently swatting Bakugou's hands away.

"That sounds about right. I knew you'd like 'em." Bakugou rolled his eyes and Kirishima shoved at him playfully.

"You didn't know shit." He twisted in his spot to avoid another one of Kirishima's attacks, and gradually they settled side by side, arms pressed against each other and their hands clumsily interlocking in a way that neither addressed.

"I'm glad you came back," Kirishima hummed and bumped their shoulders together catching the other's attention. Bakugou saw the poster-smile that used to haunt him for the first time in months and he could scarcely recall why he had ever wanted to avoid it in the first place.

"Fuck, me too."

XIX

"It's your anniversary."

"And you brought me flowers!" Bakugou snorted at the other's enthusiasm and knelt down in front of Kirishima's marker.

"I brought your cross flowers," he said. Bakugou dropped the box he had been carrying under his arm on the grass beside him, placing the vibrant summery bundle of peonies, cornflowers, and dahlias on top of it. Kirishima shuffled closer, pointedly staring at that box and Bakugou pointedly ignoring him staring at the box.

"Probably for the best," Kirishima replied, and Bakugou smirked. "It's a pretty bleak anniversary."

"How was the void?" Kirishima looked away from the box, disappointed and impatient, and leaned back onto his palms instead. Bakugou still didn't acknowledge the other's intrigue, definitely out of cruelty, and began pulling the dead flowers away from the cross. He threw them absentmindedly towards the edge of the cliff, some going over and some not, and began to take the healthier flowers away, too.

"I saw Mina and the boys, actually."

"Yeah?" Bakugou made a neat pile of the still-living flowers off to the side and started to move the other items as well; plastic candles, a small teddy bear, and a few now water damaged photos that had been distressed by the weather. His fingers hesitated around the one that matched the missing posters, Kirishima's giant smile and red hair still astoundingly visible despite being faded by the sun. Bakugou rested that photo onto the pile and gave Kirishima his attention, the other watching him idly with the same smile from the photo and not at all concerned about what Bakugou was doing with his mementos.

"Yeah, they're having a get-together in my honour," he said proudly, the grin growing wider as he said the words.

"They invited me." A loud, dramatic gasp was wrenched from Kirishima and he placed his hand to his chest with a mock-offended look.

"And you didn't want to go?" The theatrics were quickly replaced with curiosity, humorously so, when Bakugou slid the box over in front of them.

"I wanted to see you instead."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to woo me."

"Good thing you know better." Kirishima nudged him with his elbow, straightening up when Bakugou removed the cluster of flowers from the top of the box. "I also wanted to bring you this."

The lid was removed, revealing a cross roughly about the same size as the one situated in front of them. The replacement cross Bakugou had brought before hadn't been shoddy and didn't look pathetic, but it had been thrown together in a haste, lacking the care he now knew Kirishima deserved. The wood of the new cross was smooth and undamaged, with beveled edges, flush joints, and a gloss varnish. It wasn't marked with intricate designs, dates, or even Kirishima's name; the surface remained simple and pristine, stained with a rich, red mahogany.

"Wow…" Kirishima said quietly after a long moment, eyes scanning the cross over again in a loss for words. "Holy shit, it's so cool! You made this? For me?"

"Well, the first one you had was a lot nicer than the piece of shit you have now," Bakugou added flippantly, and he felt the tips of his ears heat up, praying the saturated light of the setting sun would mask any tinges of pink. "And I brought you some new candles, some photos from Mina, and this… thing…" Bakugou reached into the box and pulled out a small toy, holding it out to Kirishima.

"Is that Crimson Riot?" He snatched the small action figure from Bakugou's hand, his eyes lighting up so much that Bakugou was almost worried that he'd start crying.

"Mina mentioned you were a big fucking nerd."

"Crimson Riot is not nerdy!"

They bickered back and forth about what was and wasn't nerdy as they removed the old cross from the ground and replaced it with the new one. Once in place, ensuring that the marker was secure in the ground, they took a moment to admire their work. The red of the stain mingled with the honey-coloured light from the remaining sun in a way that nearly made the cross look golden. Kirishima fawned over it some more, shaking Bakugou's shoulder in his excitement, and Bakugou tried to play off the heat rising into his cheeks.

Satisfied with the new marker, Kirishima leaned back against his hands once more and watched Bakugou return the objects to the base. "You saw your doctor yesterday, right? How'd it go?" A loud, unrestrained groan came from Bakugou's mouth and he momentarily didn't say anything, laying the delicate flowers down with a little bit too much force. Kirishima laughed, wincing in sympathy when a cornflower hadn't passed Bakugou's now heated quality check and was popped from the stem.

"She brought up anger management again," Bakugou muttered, "Said I have a lot of anger that I need to learn how to control."

"No, you?" The glare he shot towards Kirishima was most definitely threatening. "The guy who desecrated my grave in a fit of rage right before we first met? The one who just decapitated a flower in front of my very eyes because it was ugly?"

"Shut the fuck up." With the items back in place and Bakugou content with how the flowers were situated, he threw the remaining greenery left over from the bouquet into Kirishima's face. He sputtered between his chuckles, swatting away the leaves and stems, throwing some back in retaliation. 

"Gunna do it?"

Bakugou didn't answer right away. He twirled one of the stems between his thumb and finger, and a strange heaviness began to settle in his chest. It was the same feeling he got when he had to do something he dreaded, but it was something that needed to be done. He couldn't shy away from the task, as much as he wanted to, and had to press forward because there was nowhere else to go. If he didn't move forward, he wouldn't move at all.

"I think so…" When the words came out, the air was different. It changed. The words would've seemed like nothing to anyone else, but Kirishima understood. He stopped Bakugou's hand from playing with the flower, easily linking their fingers together, and gave him a reassuring nod. "I wish I knew you when you were alive," Bakugou said quickly and his voice was hoarse, "I think about it all the time. Maybe I could've done something or—"

"Stop." Kirishima tightened his grip on Bakugou's hand to cut the sentence off and looked at him with serious eyes. "We weren't supposed to know each other then. We were supposed to know each other now. Don't go mourning 'what ifs,' Kats. This was always how we were supposed to know each other."

"I hate your cosmic wisdom bullshit," he tried to joke and the seriousness in Kirishima's face softened into a weak smile. The next words Bakugou had to say sat stubbornly in his throat, the only sound coming out when he opened his mouth being a sharp breath. Through the salty sting of tears in his eyes, Bakugou could see Kirishima's smile shift into something comforting and reassuring - something pleading and hopeful. Bakugou didn't want to say the words, but Kirishima needed to hear them. He leaned forward into Kirishima's space, and the other boy met him, resting their foreheads together gently. Bakugou closed his eyes and took in a calming breath, feeling cool thumbs brush against his cheekbones when Kirishima brought his hands to his face.

It had been a year and so much had changed. Not everything was perfect and not everything was fixed. Bakugou was maybe only a few flights of stairs up the mountain, but it was a significant improvement from when he first met Kirishima. Back then he was at the base of the mountain, shovel in hand, and digging himself a hole.

"I think I'm going to be okay." 

He opened his eyes and Kirishima pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of his head. He pulled away and looked at Bakugou knowingly, smile still ever-present.

"I think so, too."

 

Neither said anything else. There was a strange mix of peaceful acceptance and aching loss; ease and unease blending together seamlessly. It was the perfect mix that somehow had both boys feeling simultaneously happy and heartbroken. They spent hours in silence, basking in each other's remaining company, and watched the stars appear like grains of salt against a lavender sky. Maybe it was crazy how many stars there were, Bakugou mused.

XX

At some point, Bakugou dozed off, the lazy summer air pulling him into a light slumber. When he woke, the sky had shifted from the vast black to a soft rose, and Kirishima was still beside him, though sitting now. Bakugou sat up slowly beside the other, leaning against Kirishima tiredly and watching the light reflect off of the ocean with bleary eyes. Minutes rolled by and the sun broke the horizon, filling the sky with an impossible array of colours and bathing everything in a silvery yellow light. The red of the sky eventually bled into purple and then into blue, promising a clear day of summer heat and no clouds.

There was no point in prolonging it any longer. Bakugou pressed against Kirishima's side a little firmer, just for a moment, and stood up.

"I should go…" Kirishima nodded. He turned to look at Bakugou over his shoulder and smiled that stupid, intoxicating smile one more time.

"Yeah."

The next words were short and clipped. 

"I'll come back tonight."

"Yeah. I'll see you."

Bakugou knew he wouldn't see him again.

He walked away without saying goodbye because, no matter how much time had passed, Bakugou still hated them. There was also something in him saying that they didn't need it. Maybe refusing to acknowledge this one thing, one time, at that one moment, was okay.

 

Bakugou did return that night, true to his word, and Kirishima wasn't there. At first, he didn't know why he came back at all, the sight of the empty cross had created a wound so large that Bakugou actually felt himself tumble down the stairs he had been constantly climbing. But when he dropped down in front of the cross, heavy sobs breaking free, he realized he came back because he said he would. He cried for what felt like hours, for what possibly was hours, because his heart ached, but a weight was gone.

He was grieving and that was okay.

 

Bakugou returned daily for a while, not because he expected to see Kirishima again, but because the presence was calming. On the hard days, it brought relief and on the good days, he had just wanted Kirishima to know that there were good days. Gradually every day turned to every week, every week to every month, and then every month to every year. When he moved away, he stopped by whenever he was in town.

Often times Bakugou went alone, sometimes he went with his friends, but he was always sure to return to Kirishima.

Notes:

I was going to write some long-winded thing down here, but decided against it. So instead I'll say this: Being an adult with mental illness is hard, but being a teenager with mental illness was the scariest, most confusing time of my life.

You are not alone and people care. I promise you.

Thank you so much for reading this long, strange oneshot. If you made it this far, well done!

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