mind ✧ k. bakugo

Prologue

***

I'm not sure when the nightmares got bad.

The shadows under my eyes have become increasingly darker. My grades have gotten lower, my ability to focus in class has gotten weak, and everyday is a battle to stay awake. During the day, I want nothing more to sleep. To close my eyes and finally let my body rest. But as soon as the night comes, I can't find the courage to allow myself to lay in my bed.

I occupy myself with a million things. I read books, though I find myself going over the same chapter over and over again. I attempt to write, but fail to do that too, as I find myself stuck after the first word. I watch useless videos on the media, which I normally wouldn't do, because I find it to be a waste of time, but that's exactly what I need. Something to waste my time so I don't fall asleep.

At some point, sleep inevitably takes me, pulls my eyes shut and takes my mind to that day.

That day, I remember not being able to breathe or move. I was stuck in the grasps of sludge, my Quirk reacting on it's own. A giant crowd of people screamed and stood a great distance in front of me, but they did nothing. A few heroes came to try to save me, but they were unsuccessful. Fortunately, All Might managed to fight off the villain, and I was free. That first, full breath of air was like a drug addict taking a pill. I kept breathing, wanting more and more air to fill my lungs. It was never enough. I kept feeling as though I was being sophicated.

I'd wake up and my handprints would be burned into my mattress. Smoke rose from the prints and reminded me of the fire that came from my bombs. Soon enough, holes were in the walls. Bombs would shake the dorms. Everyone got worried. Everyone thought I was weak.

Aizawa was informed, but he knew already. The signs were so obvious. So, one day, he pulled me away after class.

"Look, Bakugo, you can deny it all you want, but I know somethings wrong," Aizawa said, pulling out a packet. "U.A has multiple programs to help students with mental illness-"

"Mental illness? Fuck this, I'm fine, you don't know what you're talking about," I scoffed. As I'm about to leave, I feel something pull me back, wrapping both my arms and legs together, and forcing me into a chair. A panic rises in my chest. An unsettling feeling swirls in my stomach, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. My palms open and close, but the familiar, hot feeling of my Quirk isn't there. "What's your problem?!"

"You didn't let me finish," Aizawa replied, his hair defying gravity and his eyes a bright, ruby red. "As I was saying, U.A has multiple programs to help student with.. personal issues. You can say whatever you want, but I know something has been on your mind. I'm going to give you this packet and I want you to look at it. If your grades don't improve any time soon, I'll sign you up for something myself, understood?"

I could've sat there and try to fight off Mr. Aizawa, or I could take a look at those programs and bullshit whatever I ended up signing up for. I'd also do anything than admit the fact that I was losing my shit in that chair.

"Fine," I grumbled.

Aizawa's hair fell, his eyes returned to their normal, not freakish red, and pulled his scarf off. I almosted fell from how fast I stood, lighting little fireworks in my hands to feel the comfort and security of my Quirk. I pulled the packet from his hands, snatched my bag from my desk, and left the classroom, unable to look him in the eyes as droplets of sweat fell from my forehead.

Now, in the present, I'm sitting at my desk, watching another useless video on some website I didn't even bother checking the name of. The packet is to my right. Earlier, I almost lit it on fire. It made me angry. The whole world could see I was weak. The whole world was telling me I'm weak.

Begrudgingly, I pick up the packet and skim through the long list of programs U.A has to offer. Therapy sessions with heroes, not heroes, students, even. Classes to release anger, which honestly doesn't sound too bad. I'm at the last page, ready to return the packet and tell Mr. Aizawa I'm not doing anything. Then I see the words Fear Simulator. I read the small paragraph underneath the bold title. Known to be a difficult program to be accepted into, application required, your program can range from five days to two weeks, depending on how severe your fear is. At the bottom of the paragraph is a list of contact information and a website.

I click off the video on my laptop and type it in. It opens to a black and red themed website, obviously self-made by the student running the program. There are different pages. A paragraph, similar to the one in the packet but heavier on the details, and a page of reviews. Three well-known heroes are pinned at the top. Mountain Lady writes how incredible the program is and how much it's helped her. FatGum explains how he felt after going through his trials, explaining "Working on the field has never been easier." The last pinned comment surprised him. Mr. Aizawa, EraserHead, praises L/N on their incredible skill.

As I read through the website, my stubborness slowly fades. It's run by one person. There is also a page of personal information on the student. My age, attending U.A as a hero aid, incredible grades, and, as I'm looking at the yearbook photo, they're pretty.

At the top right of the screen, a red square with white bolded letters read Apply Now!

My cursor hovers over it.

Then;

Click.