My never ending quest to write about nitroglycerin continues.
Katsuki Bakugou has no scars.
Everything about him, from his punk appearance, to his explosive quirk, to his harsh personality, to his line of work, all suggest that he should have scars, but he has none. No harsh pale lines, no canyons in his flesh, no discolorations or even outlines of past wounds mar his skin.
When people think of his quirk, they think of the explosions. Bright lights, loud noises, fast movement, and heat. Most people think of it as a slightly altered pyromancy quirk. Sure looks like one.
Only itās not. Itās not even related to pyromancy. Katsuki doesnāt summon heat, he sweats nitroglycerin which he can ignite. The differences are subtle to an outside observer, but to him itās like night and day.
The nitroglycerin runs in his blood. Varieties of it anyways. His very cells are altered to handle the chemical. Day to day, it doesnāt change much. Not that others notice at any rate.
He has to be careful with bleeding wounds since his blood pressure runs low. Touching other people can be dangerous if heās sweating, this stuff is toxic as shit. Gotta be careful around heat obviously. Itās little things that set his quirk apart from simple pyromancy .
One of many side effects is Katsuki heals quickly. Itās not much to anyone else, not like he can regenerate limbs or anything impressive. He just heals 20-30% more quickly than an average person. That, and he doesnāt scar. His skin heals back flawlessly and smooth as it was before. Nothing lingers more than a month.
Youād think this is good thing. Maybe it is. Scar tissue isnāt ideal, particularly for internal damage. Katsuki certainly thinks of it as a good thing most of the time. It means thereās no reminders left on his skin of the times heās fucked up. Nothing to break the untouchable image of a flawless warrior. People look at him and they only see unbroken flesh, allowing him the illusion of someone who has suffered no harm.Ā Ā
For as long as he can remember, Katsuki has been called talented, a natural born warrior, good at things from birth. At some point, it stop being a compliment and started being something that was required of him. Required to not let any pain or struggles show, to pretend everything comes easily to him, because if he falters theyāll be on him like vultures.
Katsuki Bakugou is gifted, heās got a naturally powerful quirk, heās naturally smart, heās naturally good at fighting. He canāt make mistakes and learn from them, because heās talented.Ā
Classmates comment on it in the locker room every so often. How heās lucky to not have any scars. How impressive it is he made it this far without getting hurt.
Recovery Girl has commented on it once or twice, itās so nice to see at least one young hero who knows to take care of themselves. So many of the students she sees are covered up and down in scars from their childhood, but Katsuki bares none. He must have been a careful child.
Katsuki stays quiet and says nothing, because thatās exactly what he wants them to see. Thatās what he needs them to see. Thatās what heās required to let them see.
Sometimes he can almost convince himself itās true, if he tries hard enough. Thereās no scars left behind on his skin, so maybe the injuries never really happened.
Obviously, they couldnāt have been that bad. If his past injuries had actually been bad, it wouldāve left a mark. The pain he remembers was his own weakness. For all he knows, he imagined the pain. Itās not real anymore, maybe it never was.
After all, what proof does he have of being young and smashing his arm on rocks; when nobody came and he was forced to drag himself back home? What proof does he have of the older kid who slashed his shoulder with a knife; a knife which struck at his throat only to miss by a breathe? What proof does he have, of the burns Dabiās fingertips left on his neck as he was pulled through the portal; burns that healed after a day or two but he felt for weeks afterwards? Sure, he can feel the memories replayed again and again as he tries to sleep, but thereās no marks left behind on his skin. No real proof.
Who knows if any of that really happened, or maybe he made the whole thing up. Maybe the images that haunt his nightmares are his imagination. His traitorous mind is playing tricks on him. Trying to justify his weakness, trying to get otherās pity. Right?
At some point, Class 1-A is gathered in the common room, swapping the stories behind their scars. Izuku scars easily, so beyond his hands, heās got a bunch of scars from silly childhood stories. Shouto only shares one or two stories, little pink scars from mishaps with his siblings. The obvious one is left alone. Itās easy for them, to point to a mark and talk about the mistake behind it. Marks telling the tale of the battles theyāve survived. Everyone shares their stories of pain, of how theyāve fought, how theyāve suffered, and they find a comfort in knowing they arenāt alone. Nobody says theyāre making the story up for attention. Everyone has the scars right there to prove it. Everyone but Katsuki.
When one of the girls, Uraraka, calls on Katsuki to share a scar, he responds he doesnāt have any. She tries to call bullshit, thereās no way he doesnāt have any scars. Not with how many battle sheās seen him fight. To her surprise, several of the guys back him up.
āKatsukiās telling the truth, he doesnāt have any scars. Not even a scratch or a little one, nothing! Itās really impressive, even Iāve got one.ā Kirishima responds, his tone bright and awed.Ā
āWait, that canāt be right. Iāve seen him take hits that shouldāve left something.ā
āI donāt get scars, fucker. My skinās tougher than that.ā
Before an argument can break out, Izuku pipes up and explains heās pretty sure itās a side effect of Katsukiās quirk. It makes sense, so everyone moves on to another set of stories, but not before someone makes a comment that sticks in the back of their minds.
āMan, you could mess up a bunch, and nobodyād ever know. Lucky!ā
That night, Katsuki couldnāt sleep. Heād pace his room instead, trying not to let it bother him. Itās hard though, as much as he tries to believe he likes his lack of scars, he likes that others donāt know what heās been through, he likes looking untouchable, itās hard.
Every time he sees Izukuās scarred hands, reminding everyone of how hard Izuku has worked to get where he is, thereās an odd twinge of jealousy in his gut. People like to call Izuku a hard worker, his dedication is on display for the whole world to see. Katsukiās hands are blemish free, as theyāve always been.
Nobody sees the years of burns, of blisters, of heavily injured fingers and so much fucking pain that heās suffered through. They see clear, pretty skin, and they call Katsuki gifted. They call him talented. Then they turn around and call Izuku determined and hard-working and it stings deep down. Makes him wonder if all that pain was real, or if he just made it up.
That night he gives in and does something he hasnāt in a long time. He gets out a set of skin tone markers he got ages ago, and he starts fixing his skin.
Katsukiās careful about his work. It doesnāt need to be photorealistic, but he wants the illusion. To have it look right at a glance. Enough that he can pretend theyāre real for a little bit.
He draws on every scar he doesnāt have, or at least, all the ones he can remember. Every injury heās gotten which shouldāve left a mark on his skin, shouldāve left him with a story to tell, but was stolen from him.
Every struggle nobody else could see, every injury heās suffered through alone, and every battle heās survived people will never know he fought.
Thereās a lot of them, a lot of scars heās been cheated out of over the years.
Katsuki draws each back onto his skin, remembering the story behind it, reminding himself that it was real. It actually happened. He didnāt imagine it. He has been through some shit in his life, and he wasnāt making it up.
Some are harder. The ovals on the back of his neck are particularly shaky, but his chest feels lighter once the ink dries. His hands are stained with the markers, from drawing on all the other scars, and from how many scars he has to add to them. At some point his hands are so messy that you canāt tell where one scar ends and where another starts. That feels right, so he leaves it once the individual marks canāt be made out.
Line by line, Katsuki reclaims his scars. Reclaims his stories, his battles, his pain. It takes him quite awhile, thereās so much thatās been taken from him.
Eventually though, he finishes, and dares looking in his mirror.
Itās not a pretty sight, but it brings a rare smile to his lips. His skin looks flawed, marred, battle worn, and human. It looks like itās his.
Finally, he can sleep, now all his stories are made physical. Now his pain is real again, and he can remind himself his nightmares are not without cause. They haunt him no matter what he does, but itās easier to relive those memories with lines on his skin to prove to he faced each nightmare down and he survived.
First thing in the morning, before anyone else woke up, heāll wash the marker off, scrubbing himself clean of his imperfections. Returning to his flawless skin, to the untouchable ideal people made him out to be. Returning to being gifted and talented.
Katsuki wonders sometimes, what would happen if he didnāt wash the marker off. If he let others see all the scars he should have. If he let them see his mistakes, his hard-work, his battles.
Would he finally get a chance to tell them his stories?
Itās a dumb idea, he knows it is. His scars arenāt real like theirs. His wash away with water, and only his own mind knows where they should be. Nobody would listen to stories told in marker, theyād call him a liar. Attention seeking. Pathetic.
Heās not some weakling that wants their pity. So heās dealt with some pain in his life, boo-fucking-hoo. Itās ridiculous for him to want to talk about his mistakes. What kind of awful hero would admit to fucking up? What kind of stupid hero would willing tell others they arenāt perfect?
What kind of weak hero would want scars?
Katsuki scrubs his skin red and raw, until the water finally runs clear. Red eyes watching the colors swirl away down the drain. Ignoring the clench of his chest, his strange feeling of loss.
When he steps out of the shower, heās clean again. His towel traces over smooth, flawless skin, and he has to remind himself itās really his.
Itās not that cold out, but Katsuki dresses warmly anyways. Itās called being prepared for the weather, and it has nothing to do with not wanting to see his own flesh. His skin is fucking perfect, why wouldnāt he want to see it?
The markers are tucked away, back to a box hidden in the corner of his closet. This wonāt happen again, Katsuki promises himself. He said the same thing last time.
Eventually heāll break this promise too, when it all becomes too much. Heāll reclaim his scars once more, because he needs them.
Needs to draw his stories back onto his skin, to remind himself they happened.
Needs to pretend, for a little bit at least, his pain is as real as everyone elseās.
Needs to be human, even if other people refuse to see him as such.
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