What if I'm him?

Chapter Two

Song : Ghost 

Artist : Confetti 

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Bakugo stood in front of the door to his dorm. He dug his hand in his right pants pocket. He felt around, cursed, and switched to his left pocket with his left hand. Cursing some more, he swung off his bag and dropped it to the floor. Kneeling, he unzipped his bag and rummaged his hands through it.

"Mother fucker," he cursed, agitated. He pulled out folders, placing them on the floor beside him and carried on his search. "Where is it?" He opened a small pocket, "My god," he whispered, pulling out a set of keys. He picked up the folders by his side and returned them back to the bag rather roughly. Not bothering to close his bag, he stands, inserting the key and unlocking the door to his room. He turned the key, removing it from the lock and slipping it in his pocket.

He stepped inside, taking off his shoes and dropping his bag next to them. He placed the tips of his fingers on the door, leaning and gently closing the door. Slowly, he made his way to the bed, swaying side by side with each step. He sat on the bed, adjusting his position constantly until he was finally comfortably laying down. With only a bland, off-white ceiling to look at, Bakugo closed his eyes.

A minute later his phone vibrated. Bakugo normally couldn't be bothered with things such as his phone. He never spends long on it but he was alone. He was bored. He wasn't bored enough to sleep but he was bored enough to go on his phone. He reached in his pocket, his blazer restricting movement. Annoyed, Bakugo sat up, taking off his blazer and chucking it to the floor. He lifted his dress shirt, untucking it from his pants. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He reached back into his pocket and finally pulled out his phone. He layed back down, turning to his side with the phone just inches away from his face. Looking through his notifications he saw the most recent one. A text message. Bakugo furrowed his brows. He clicked on the notification, and it opened an app. It was for texting. Not through the standard contact list, Bakugo had to download it. He never used it. He didn't have many friends. Who would he need to contact through a separate communication system?

Immediately after it opened the app, the chat was also entered. It was a random contact that Bakugo never put in. Spam is likely to occur with this app, Bakugo wasn't entirely alarmed. He was slightly confused, though.

From the sender was a single link. It had a picture that hadn't been loaded and connecting underneath it were a series of letters and numbers and symbols that make up a link. Normally, Bakugo wouldn't open these notifications. Normally, Bakugo wouldn't click random links that strangers would send him. It was normal for strangers to text, trying every scam that the receiver would believe. It was normal. It was so normal that Bakugo turned off the notification to the app. Quite normal that he even deleted the app two years ago.

It was normal.

Bakugo turned over on his stomach, more confused and alert. "Didn't I delete you?" He asked his phone. The picture of the link finally loaded. "What the fuck?" Bakugo looked at himself, strapped to the first place podium. Thick shackles that weighed heavy on the arms that they fell limp. His legs were strained as the small photo of him leaned forward, struggling to escape. His head was forward and furthest from the podium. His eyes wide and glowing red with rage, clearly photoshopped.

Bakugo scowled at the photo of him. He hated that photo. He pondered for a moment, staring at the screen. He pursed his lip, clicking on the link. The link took him to a different app, a search engine. It took a while to load.

When it finally did load, Bakugo looked at the title.

There were multiple pictures of lined notebook paper that had turned yellow and written with sloppy handwriting. Bakugo looked at the first piece of paper. Written it big letters, Bakugo read: