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Punch after punch flies at the punching bag, sand beginning to leak from a fresh tear on the left side. The sting of the worn fabric against Bakugou’s scraped-up knuckles is more than welcome. It’s a better way to fight against the hurricane of failure and self-destruction wreaking havoc on his brain, rather than going out and picking fights with random extras who would certainly kick his ass. Or snapping at his friends who didn’t do anything besides invite him to hangout after an exam.
A simple exam Bakugou was stupid enough to bomb. Simple equations swirling around him, beating his brain to a pulp. Simple, simple, simple–
It’s easier to just work himself exhausted and not bother dealing with the scrapes and cuts he gets from the exercise. If it gets infected, that’s his own damn fault. He probably deserves it anyway. That’s what he gets for losing his shit on his dad when he called to ask about a “lower than Bakugou average score” on the simple exam. His father had called out of concern, out of worry for his son’s mental health. And Bakugou returned the care with shouts and insults. So typical of him, because God forbid he opens up about how his mind has been chasing him relentlessly for the past month. It’s just impossible for him to talk about how it’s gotten so bad that it keeps him from studying, just leaving him to stare at a textbook begging himself to actually read something.
His wrists started throbbing five songs ago, but the last thing he can handle is stopping and proving his shitty thoughts right about his weakness. So what if they ache like hell in the morning, making him suffer through his classes and training? Serves him right for not listening to his body’s warning signs. He should’ve stopped when his hands started going numb from swinging fists for an hour without a proper break. He should’ve stopped when his shins started shaking from the blows and blew out the first bag. He should’ve stopped when his headache brought fog into his peripheral vision. He should’ve stopped a dozen times, but he didn’t. This is all his fault.
Everything finally boils over when one last furious swing makes the bag give way and tear a huge hole. A raw scream shreds Bakugou’s throat. It echoes off the walls. It brings him to his knees and doubles him over. The concrete floor is unforgiving and he just keeps screaming. Pain rips through his throat and he just keeps screaming. Everything is just too much and the world is just too loud and his brain is just too cruel and he has had enough.
If he screams, maybe he can drown it out.
His headphones find their way off his head and across the room. His nails find their way into his chest. When the screams give way to raspy coughs and empty gagging, he finally gives up on drowning everything out.
The hurricane is still there. It pesters him about how ridiculous and childish he must look. He just wants attention. That’s why he keeps getting pictures of his friends coming in and holding him, telling him everything is going to be okay and the hurricane will fade. He doesn’t deserve happiness, not with how he treats everyone.
They must hate him by now. They’re only around his volatility because they admire his quirk, they want the status that came with the proximity to power. They think he’s perfect and amazing and already a pro hero that doesn’t have dark thoughts and sinking feelings that threaten to drown him if he doesn’t lash out at everyone he cares about. He doesn’t deserve the love of his parents or the tolerance of his teachers. They all know how weak he really is. They’ve seen him shove down panic attacks during training and just keep fighting until he either wins or gets beaten unconscious. They’ve seen him sneak out of the dorms in tears after waking up from yet another nightmare that he doesn’t know how to handle.
Bakugou Katsuki is pathetic and he just needs to accept it instead of trying so damn hard to live up to the terrifying expectations put on his head. He’s stuck on a pedestal 100 feet off the ground and if he tries to get off, the fall will most certainly kill him. He has to pass this course and become a hero and be number one and save everyone. If he doesn’t, he’s worthless and a waste of time and money. It has to be absolute and unanimous or it won’t mean shit.
Warm hands run through his hair, jarring another chest-rattling sob out of him. They smooth down his ruddy cheeks, carefully guiding his face up. Warmer brown eyes watch him, pulled back with worry. And it makes him furious without the strength to scream for her to get away from him. Instead, he just leans into her hands, succumbing to weakness and raw vulnerability. A quiet coo makes it past the flurry of static in his ears as the girl pulls him up to sit in her lap.
“Mina,” he croaks, hands fisting her hoodie as he hides his shame and relief in her neck. Gentle, undeserved hands run over his legs and back.
“I’ve got you, Bakugou. You’re safe with me.” Her voice is soft and soothing in his ear. Fluffy pink hair brushes against his cheek as she twists her head to kiss his shoulder. “Everything’s going to be okay someday. For now, we’re just going to sit and breathe and wait for this to pass. Because this will pass, I promise.” She takes his trembling hand and places it over her heart, letting her feel the steady beat alongside her slow, even breathing.
The thoughts don’t go away, not completely, but his body relaxes for the first time in a week as he just cries himself dry against her. There’s no rush for him to suck it up, only patience for his pain to be let out.