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The sky is bleeding red.
The view is fairly pretty from this angle, the rooftop provides a feeling of freedom at these times; The city is calm, and the soft fabric of clothes feel soothing against skin as the fresh early spring breeze fans pleasantly around, playing with fallen leaves and small puddles in its wake. It smells faintly like petrichor.
The sun is setting far away on the horizon, tainting the sky with warm hues. Everything is bathed on a dream-like pink veil; Postcard worthy, people would say. The sky is bleeding red.
Kirishima dislikes it.
What do you mean 'Farewell'?
"Don't," His voice breaks, as he tries to reach for Bakugou's hand. He can't move, he can't think, he can't breathe.
By the time the stars fill the sky again, I'll be gone.
Bakugou's face is soft, tender even. The sun caresses his features; The soft wind fumbles his shirt and messes with his hair ever so slightly. He's looking at Kirishima like he's the thing he treasures the most in the universe.
Kirishima hates it.
I'm not part of this world, Kirishima.
"Bakugou," He hiccups, curse tears for strangling his vocal chords. "Please." I'm begging you, he doesn't say.
He takes a weak step forward before his knees give out. His body is shaking with core-wrecking sobs now, his breathing is labored and he's desperate desperate desperate.
Though, overall...
"GOD!" He howls and his hand flies up to claw desperately at his chest, groping the cotton fabric of his shirt, the pain is unbearable; It feels like his heart is being ripped apart slowly, blood vessel by blood vessel. "It hurts. So, so much Bakugou."
I'm glad I got to be part of yours, Eijirou.
Bakugou takes a step backwards, one more and he'll definitely fall to a sure death. But, isn't that going to happen anyway?
"I'm not dying, Kirishima." He says simply, as if he had just read his mind. "And this is not a goodbye either."
"We'll meet again, sooner than you think."
The sky was bleeding red.
The first stars start adorning the soon to be cold hues of the sky, and Kirishima knows, he knows all too well that this is it, yet he scrambles pathetically trying to reach out to him, to touch him, to know he's real, to make him stay.
"Eijirou."
Kirishima stops, and slowly looks up again. Bakugou is crouching in front of him, so close he could just extend his arm and touch his face. He doesn't.
"Do you love me?" Bakugou inquires like he's asking about the weather, blunt.
Kirishima loathes himself.
"Stay," He wheezes out, barely above a whisper. It takes a lot of energy to breathe by now, let alone speak aloud. His body is still spasming with sobs he can't control. It hurts. "Stay."
Bakugou clicks his tongue and pats his shoulder before standing up. He walks away again, and Kirishima can only watch as he vacillates between death and suffering.
Bakugou's skin is radiant, pale like he's made of glass. His face is relaxed, resting, and innocent. It reminds him of the child he was long time ago. Kirishima is disgusted by it and yet, to his eyes, Bakugou has never looked so beautiful before.
"We'll meet again,"
Kirishima,
"I'll see you, in your dreams."
Eijirou,
In a blink, Bakugou is no longer there. The distant buzz of the turbines of an airplane is the only sound that reverberates against the otherwise dead silence. Kirishima's chest feels numb, devoid of pain, he can't feel his own heartbeat anymore.
"I do." He whispers at nothing. The breeze blows on his face, and the stars shine bright, sprawled like freckles on the sky. "I love you, Katsuki." Kirishima closes his eyes and finally, finally, breathes.
Farewell.
Kirishima wakes up to a bright dawn and the slight shuffle of sheets as Bakugou breathes evenly by his side, safe and rapt on his sweet, ignorant slumber.