#crystace

            ‘  you. are you not a student of u.a.? so long as you bear that uniform, you should hold yourself up straight and dignified.  ’

his given name has no right to fall out of touma’s mouth with such ease and familiarity— bakugou always seems to miss the moment that shifts them over from formality to close enough. regardless, it pulls his attention and skips one of the beats in his heart’s regular rhythm. if only that had been the end of it.

faux innocence makes way for a wary gaze— bakugou forgets what he’s wary of the second his eyes dip low enough to notice the new, on brand addition to touma’s lips. crimson eyes stick to the glossy sheen for a beat too long ; his heart sputtering to a whole new rhythm at a much faster pace. it hadn’t seemed possible for touma to be prettier than they already were but somehow they’d found a way. bakugou should know better by now than to expect anything but the extraordinary. 

he almost misses the words but when they register, bakugou is certain he’ll never get the echo of them in his head to quiet down.   “ oh. ” katsuki was the least of his problems.   “ oh? ”  uncertainty lingers in the ridged set of his shoulders for the breadth of a second before bakugou sorts through the meaning of it. he’s not entirely certain this isn’t a dream— and thus, that it won’t end badly.

but he also wonders if the colour will transfer ; finds that the curiosity to find out is overwhelmingly enough to propel him forward. warm palms rest on cool cheeks, an assist to an upward tilt as he leans down to press a kiss to painted lips.

            ‘  ...“Yuyu”? Touma, that says Yuyu!  ’

light hearted suggestions   /   ac   /   @crystace

again anger edges its way to the surface of their conversation, plucked from the quiet as if touma can unearth the newly minted fear of it inside bakugou as easily as they can glittery red crystals. 

everything about their face says believe me. bakugou wants to. he wants to. fists clench at his sides only to uncurl again, pleased at their state of freedom. it’s not the anger that gets the better of him, it’s the fear disguised as such that does. 

“ easy for you to say — the people training you to be a hero don’t bind your hands and muzzle your mouth like a criminal because of it. ”  his voice is constructed to be cold and void of anger purposefully because he can control himself ; he isn’t the loose canon he’s made out to be. he just has limits. oh, baby, does he have limits. he sprawls out on the ground, starfish, curling hands into tufts of grass. 

“ you know the league did the same thing... bound my hands because i was threat. except they didn’t muzzle me. funny how that works. funny, really, that because of my anger they thought i was more cut out to be on their side. ” 

he’s rambling now, the thoughts tumbling out of his mouth like secrets— things he’s never had the opportunity to talk about. 

“ guess they got what they wanted because it was the reason all might retired, that fight. if i hadn’t been angry, if they hadn’t taken me - everything would be different. maybe that doesn’t make me a bad person but... fuck if if doesn’t make me feel like i should have been a better one. ” 

edges sharpen. shoulders straighten themselves in line with the small pop of a clenching jaw releasing its pressure. of all things he could have expected ( namely to be chastised again for the harshness of his tongue ; the quickness of his rise to rage ; the prefix of not very to the word heroic ) bakugou had not seen this coming. honestly he’s getting a bit sick of all the surprises life has tossed his way. a bit dizzy. though it might be the fact that for lack of a better place to focus, he’d let his gaze stray to touma’s glittering eyes. to the sincerity of the remark reflected in them, prettier than the crystals they resemble. that was a mistake. his gaze flits away again but the damage is done.

the fight leaves his body as if he had been chastised— but softer. almost like the unexpected kindness was a stronger blow to his mountainous walls than any defeat by them had been yet.

bakugou, for once has nothing to combat with. gratitude was never easy off his tongue like the rest of his honesty ; the simple, “ oh, fuck you, ” is what he gives back, blunted by the new lack of heat in his voice. 

make no mistake in his attempt to brush off the moment. it does not fall on ignorant ears. bakugou only shrugs harder against the sentiment it matters to him. 

“ ... has died ”  /  ac  /  @crystace

fingers instantly curl around a crystalline shape, cool against his chest where it rests between two metal tags. a ruby coloured keepsake - the promise of there’s always next time.

it all happens in a second: bakugou stumbles through stages faster than a mind should ever have to accept anything and then resists again, stubbornly. the thing about heroes is that they’re human. he’s seen first hand that the greatest can fall apart. it is not the concept nor the actuality he has difficulty with. it’s the defeat. the closest thing his body knows to grief.

it comes in bitter furious-ness, tying knots in the back of his throat. bile threatens to clear the path upward and out but doesn’t. lungs stay empty, breathes to busy fueling the heat behind his eyes to find the way into his chest. gasping, bakugou unfurls an unfair betrayal in his chest. he was supposed to be stronger than him. you weren’t supposed to lose — not like this. that victory was supposed to be temporary; was supposed to be his.

loss returns, reverberating. a new, permanent feature; a consuming creature born inside of him: here to stay. at once, he is filled to the brim and entirely empty. loss and grief battling for first place.

absurd, the things a mind will do: he grapples with the stark reality of the situation again. even after acceptance, he stumbles through bargaining again: no, please, please! not them, not this! i’ll do anything - could i have done anything…?

anger wanes in and out, a tremble in red dusted hands; a body curled in on itself. knees press into the bite of hard ground. white knuckles against the pearl of teeth, ivory moons making indents. if sound escapes, it is tortured; lost to the dull ringing in his ears.

crimson, prettier than anything akin to blood has a right to be, crumbles a sense of comfort into deafening fear. fine powder turns his hand red. disbelief muddles all of his certainty. denial, he knows. immediately, he knows. denial is the first stage of grief. still — doubt fills all ventricles; battles tirelessly against what he knows is happening. no — what has already happened. crystals don’t come with warning but with post-haste notification. something that was is no longer. harrowing, the emptiness of his palm as it opens again: how could it be so cruel to not leave at least this to hold on to?

              ❛     like  i  said  --  trying  to  help  me  study  is  USELESS.  i’m  gonna  fail  --  tests  aren’t  even  my  thing.  maybe  i’ll  just  skip  the  day  of  the  test  or  somethin’.     ❜

why  was  he  so  persistent  ?  she  knew  she  was  going  to  fail  --  he  should  just  give  up.  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  a  sigh.  it  was  sweet  he  was  trying...  even  if  she  was  a  lost  cause.

              ❛     yer  really  somethin’  else  aren’t  ya’  ?     ❜