#tw:weapons

the taste of katsuki on your tongue would be one you remembered, one you took to the grave. he tasted like the juices of fresh fruit, syrupy— precious, refreshing like one kiss from him could make you feel alive. his lips were always soft, slightly chapped in the winter but glazed by cherry karmex, and god, did you love to kiss him.

“i don’t fuckin’ wanna be happy.”

you know he’s holding back but… katsuki still growls, slur thick like he’s holding back on what he wants to say— pushing the words down until they’re a thick lump caught in the ridges of his throat. it feels like you’re trying to say goodbye, each of your ragged breaths are one i love you, one see you later, one stay alive for me. we don’t do that shit, katsuki snarls the words in his mind but they don’t make it out, nor escape from between his quivering lips. we don’t say goodbye.

your katsuki hated goodbyes, you’d always said see you soon instead. he’d always been scared that a goodbye was too final— that you would never see each other again or something too frightful and bad would happen and that would be that. goodbyes weren’t for you, see you soon was a promise. it meant you would come back to one another at the end of the day, even if your bones were tired and you were sluggish. you would come back to one another and the open arms that waited for you.

yet, there was no coming back from this.

“y-you shouldn’t say things you don’t mean, you don’t want everyday to be sad do you? that's not what you want.” he wants to tell you to stop talking, wasting precious air as if clinging onto the oxygen rattling around in your lungs will keep you here for just a little longer. fuck, he wants to tell you to shut up, to stop wasting your breath on precious words that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life in this hell hole.

but here you are, limp in his arms, skin growing pale and milky from how quickly it’s all coming out... telling him to be fucking happy. there’s so much, blooming from your neck, your sides and bakugou blinks as if it’s all going to go away. as if you’ll stop your bleeding from where they ravaged you. bit you. “i don’t wanna be fuckin’ happy if it means i can’t have you. you don’t know what i want, what’s best for me!” katsuki, let’s go. someone says behind him, probably sero or kirishima, not that he cares. we have to leave her alone, we have to go! or else we all die.

your bones crack and your body convulses and you’re trying to fight whatever virus is slowly infecting your cells to change the DNA that makes you you, that makes you katsuki’s. the one that he’s loved since before your world fell apart at the skies were inked with blood and blood thirsty animals...humans you once knew and adored you, that you fight and kill just to survive. you fight what they’ve done to you and the bloody bite on your arm just to make sure you remember him— make sure you picture his perfect face above yours, the one you’ve loved for so long.

if you try hard enough, you could take bakugou with you, carry the sound of his heartbeat with you to whatever sick afterlife might be waiting for you after you close your eyes to sleep. you’re so tired, is all you can think, so tired and all you want to do is rest with bakugou by your side— but you can’t, not when the virus eats the RNA in your cells and switches every fibre of your being into something of the undead. you can heart everything, hear your own heartbeat rise until you feel like it’s about to burst out of your chest and you might fucking die.

but you will die and katsuki’s pretty face, in the world of the walking dead, will be the last thing you ever see.

your blood smeared on his cheek, your life crumbling away like chalk in his hands.

it’s only a matter of time before you turn and he has to go before it’s his life too and you know that it’s selfish— to ask someone else to keep living for you even after you’ve gone on, but katsuki can’t die for you either. you won’t let him. “i’d say…” you desperately gulp down air, thumbing his skin and spreading the poppy shaded liquid over his faint freckles. “i-i know you better than anyone else. i need you to go, katsuki, leave me please. live and be happy.”

your nose drips with the liquid coloured like his eyes, your own veiny and bleeding— your life line is hanging by a thread and you won’t let bakugou hold on. “i can’t…” bakugou changes tactics, whining— tears lining his waterline as you spasm and change right in his line of view. “you...you want me to be fucking happy? then stay a little while longer. hold on f’me. just for tonight.”

chapped lips and saltine streaked cheeks is not how you’ll remember your katsuki bakugou when you finally turn into the blood thirsty, flesh hungry creature currently ruling your planet. you wonder if zombies, the undead, the walking dead have memories— or if, even the little visions and lightbulb flashes of their lives are infected with the evil parasite crawling around inside of them.

you’ll see him for the golden angel he was in your life, a perfect halo crowned above his head, framing his soft blonde hair and all the rest— not the tears in his eyes or the dirt dusted along his skin, sinking into his pores. not the blood print of your hand.

you’ll remember the first time you met, the first time you spoke, your first date, your first kiss, your first ‘i love you’. all of the memories, you swear you’ll carry them with you to the grave— when your brain is no longer yours...even when katsuki or eiji or hanta are forced to put a bullet between your eyes so no one else gets turned like you.

“i-i can’t,” you try to say with a blood frothing mouth and eyes rolling back into your skull. “katsuki, i-i love you.” you want the last words he remembers from you to be those, nothing else.

you want the last words he says to you to be the very same.

but your gut wrenches, bakugou’s too when he mutters the word “stay.” with a pleading tone and a gun cocks from your left, your right— you don’t know, you can only feel the throbbing in the back of your mind, the urge to taste and feel slick blood over your tongue, the violence and need to kill.

“i c-can’t…” you slur back, your voice your longer your own— katsuki ripped from your grip, kicking and screaming until the last thing you see is an orange tinted sky, weaved with a signature that signs the end of the world, and the soundtrack of bakugou’s sobs as your funeral march. “otherwise… all of us are dead.”

and then, the gun goes off.