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Water prattled harshly along the ground. Nothing but the stench of blood coats Bakugou's nose. It’s been years since he’s last seen his classmates? Enemies? He doesn't know. Yokohama is a beautiful city; it is a shame he never visited before it was nothing but rubble. A flash of red blurs in the side of his eye, Nakahara. He hadn’t seen them since they returned to this city at sixteen. Bakugou isn't a sentimental type, he never was. Yet, the familiar name he heard the ginger utter over the gusts of wind stopped him in his tracks. He didn’t think before his footsteps dragged him towards the shadow. Bakugou had come to terms with the tightness in his chest, albeit it took a war for him to realize what it meant. He had convinced himself that it was his inferiority, that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing. Then, at some point, that grew into fondness. Fighting, the way his nose wrinkled when he laughed, even the soft curl of his hair. Nakahara would never let him close enough to touch the locks; he didn’t even know if Dazai himself would.
”Long time no see, Kacchan.”
There it is, that prickly voice that bounces off Bakugou’s brain. Dazai was older, taller too. Both Dazai and Chuuya had been small, a concerning amount; he had overheard Aizawa speaking about it. That stupid clump of bandages looked like a corpse. Bakugou wondered about the mafia; surely these assholes made enough to afford proper meals. If so, why did this bastard always look dead? He knew, of course, he knew. How could he not know after Chuuya dragged the bastard out of that tub?
“…Bandages.”
Bakugou snarled. Suddenly, the smell of blood hit strong.
“Oi…Ba-.. Dazai. You’re bleeding”
Those black eyes blinked. Staring at him with pure hollowness.
“Oh? When did Kacchan grow soft?”
He snickered. Bakugou silently thanked the years being with those classmates of his. They might’ve been the only reason Bakugou didn’t reach over and punch this jerk. Dazai must’ve noticed he wasn’t reacting. The thin bandaged hand raised, a gun gripped tightly between his fingers.
“I’m not here to play house with you; let's get this over with.”
A breath heaved through his lungs. Once, twice-
“Bring it”.
—
Both were heaving; pain clouded Bakugou’s mind. He’s a hero. He’s been burned, beaten, stabbed, and worse. Yet the bullets digging into his muscles hurt more than any wound he’s received. Bakugou didn’t use hand-to-hand combat as much as he should’ve, too caught up in his privilege of being able to dodge using his quirk. Dazai himself looked terrible; blood coated his face. Bakugou’s hand pressed the muzzle of a gun to his forehead. He knew the same thought circled the other’s mind, an unnerving smile creeping onto chapped lips.
”Go on then….. kill me.”
Dazai choked. He must be in pain. Seeing how the other’s side was practically ripped off. Something curled in the blond at the sight. Which hero had done it? A seized cough brought him out of his mind. Blood splattered down Dazai’s chin, no doubt choking on it. Bakugou didn’t know what overcame him to lift the other, turning him over so the blood spilled onto the floor instead.
“What the fuck are you waiting for! It hurts, you know!”
Bandages had finally snapped. It was the first time Bakugou had seen something other than his stupid facade and deep hollowness. It endeared him to see something else on his face. Maybe it's pitiful, but it’s the only reason Bakugou is sitting here practically cradling his enemy.
“You're so fucking noisy.”
Bakugou wanted to hit himself. What else was he supposed to say? That he loves the man he's about to kill? He was cold in his grip; maybe it was the rain or the blood loss. Katsuki hates the rain. Why the hell is he wasting his time sitting under it with a dying man? Glancing down, he was caught off guard. Bakugou may not like others, but he's observant. Dazai’s eyes give him away—the hollowness when he's faking, the slight ruby glint at his amusement. The old hag told him eyes were the window to the soul; he never cared until he met someone who only spoke with them. Bakugou had convinced himself Dazai could love nothing more than death, yet… fear was the only thing swarming in those eyes.
“Crap…”
Dazai muttered through blood. Wheezing over each syllable
“Maybe I don't want this.”
Bakugou cursed.
“They've gotta have a medic here. You'll be fine. Don't close your fucking eyes, Bandages.”
A strained laugh escaped from below, gurgling into a groan at the shift. The bastard is bleeding a river. Bakugou cursed himself at his miscalculation.
“I'm not gonna make it.”
That stopped Bakugou. Standing in the middle of a field. Shouts and screams echoed in the back of his mind. He could be helping his classmates, Pro Heroes, or anyone else. But, Bakugou isn't saving anyone if this fucker dies. He always wins. He won't settle for one mistake.
“Shut the fuck up. Yes, you will.”
He's practically covered in Bandages blood. Hell, Bakugou can't even call him bandages. All that's left is torn fabric from where something dug into his skin—slicing through weak flesh to create a river of blood. Hands reach up and grasp his face, meeting brown eyes. Since when were they brown?
“Stop. J-just stop.”
The words catch his throat: multiple reasons as to “why.” If Bakugou wanted to, he could create a list. Yet, tears definitely weren’t in the top ten. Bakugou lowered them back into the ground, leaning against a thrown slab of concrete. Both were heaving through pain. Bakugou will live. He had so many options. Dazai doesn't. Honestly, Katsuki wonders what even drove him to join.
“Fuck”
Weakly spoken into the silence. Dazais hands grasped the gun, lifting it towards his chest… right on his heart.
“I don't want to die. Not like this. It hurts so much; I can't get out of this one.”
Dazai laughed. Maybe he didn't notice the tears trailing down his chin. Bakugou was inclined to brush them away. He tightened his hand around Dazai's gun instead.
“Pull the trigger.”
Bakugou kissed him.
He heard the surprise out of the other. Even more shocked when a hesitant lean pressed back. Dazai’s hands snaked up towards him, cradling his hand softly and gripping the one holding the gun. Bakugou’s eyes widened. Before he could pull back-
BANG
Dazai's body sulked forward. Bakugou’s heart might have stopped again. Cold metal slipped out of his fingers as blood pooled over the concrete, leaving its owner. Bakugou had about three seconds before he was rolling the other over, searching for any form of a pulse. It was there for three, two, none. There wasn't one. Maybe he's messing with him. Bakugou glanced up at the pale face. A damn smile. That asshole died with a damn smile. He's not sure what happened afterward. He had lifted the corpse and walked. Walked towards the frantic shouts of his friends until he was standing in front of Chuuya. The other must've known he was dead instantly, Chained under the control of Aizawa’s quirk. Bakugou didn't believe those cancelation cuffs would do anything later. Just as he's always right, news later hit that the man had been confined. Bakugou also didn't understand why Dazai didn't have a proper grave: no flowers, photos, anything. Nothing else was left of Dazai Osamu. The last time Bakugou saw his face was at the low-budget funeral, which he only attended because his class did. A cheap orientation made out of respect, the best a villain could get. Bakugou glared down at the grave, mocking him under the fallen cherry blossoms.
“I won.”
Was all he muttered.
When he walked away, a fancy frame holding a delicate photo and a small plushed crab sat in the front. Smoke blew from the candle onto the ashed-stained sky. Dazai Osamu would not return, and Bakugou Katsuki let go.