Katsuki Bakugou x Marinette Kirishima

Unseen Scars

It was past 10:30 p.m. The house was quiet; everyone was asleep. I needed fresh air, so I grabbed my worn-out sweater and left my room. I closed the door gently and tiptoed downstairs.

Slipping on my battered sneakers, I reached for the doorknob, desperate for a moment outside.

"Where are you going?" a voice whispered behind me, making me tense up.

I sighed, my sad, dull eyes turning to face the source. Bakugou stood there, shirtless, in sweats, his hair messy from sleep.

"Where were you going, Blueberry?" he asked again, walking closer. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at me, concern softening his usual harsh demeanour.

I shook my head, taking off my shoes, feeling the weight of his gaze.

"Mhm... let's get back to bed," he said gently, hesitating only momentarily before taking my hand. His grip was surprisingly gentle as he led me back upstairs.

We reached my room, and he was about to open the door. Panic flared inside me. I couldn't let him see my broken mattress, my tiny corner of misery. I stepped before him, blocking his way, my heart pounding.

Bakugou paused, understanding dawning in his eyes. He nodded, not pushing further.

"Alright," he said softly. "Get some rest, Blueberry."

I nodded, slipping into my room and closing the door quietly behind me. As I leaned against it, I felt a strange mixture of sadness and warmth. For once, someone had seen a part of my broken world and treated it with kindness.

Bakugou's POV:

I yawned, stretching as the early morning light filtered through the window. It was 7 a.m., and the house was still. I shuffled to the bathroom in the hallway, noticing the downstairs light was already on.

"Huh... wonder who's awake," I mumbled, brushing my teeth and washing my face. After freshening up, I returned to my room and pulled on a hoodie.

Last night... was she going to that building again? Was she planning to try again? I think I have an idea who's abusing her, but I can't say anything right now. And how stupid is Shittyhair? Can't he notice? Ugh...

I made my way downstairs, surprised to see the short blue-haired girl in the kitchen.

"Hey," I greeted her, my voice soft. She jumped, accidentally cutting her finger with the knife she was holding. She hissed in pain.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," I said quickly, taking the knife away from her and guiding her to the sink. I gently washed her finger, the water turning pink as it mixed with her blood. "What are you doing up right now anyway?" I asked, checking to see if the cut was still bleeding.

She looked at me but didn't answer. Her eyes were sad, distant.

I sighed and rummaged through the drawers until I found a bandage. After carefully wrapping it around her finger, I took over the cutting she had been doing. She stood beside me, conflicted as if she wanted to continue but didn't know how to ask.

"So... are you mute? I don't think so because I heard you say a word or two to Shittyhair," I said, trying to coax a response from her. She shrugged and played with her fingers, her silence heavy.

I finished cutting the vegetables and glanced at her. "Why are you up making so much food right now?" I asked, looking around the kitchen to see what she was preparing next. There was rice, omelettes, and other dishes spread out on the counter.

She found a piece of paper and wrote down:

*Whenever my brother comes over, I have to make a big breakfast. Our parents tell me to, so yeah...*