|| Love Can Kill || BakuKami

Bleeding Hearts

✵♥⚘

For the past two weeks Bakugo had holed himself up inside his room. The door was locked, preventing anyone from entering his smelly fortress of solitude. He hadn't washed his clothes or his body in more then a few days and it stunk. His favorite black shirt with the skull on it was thrown to the side in a rumpled mess. His bed sheets and pillows were strewn about and his curtains were hanging lopsided. So many tantrums had been thrown in the span of fourteen days that the room didn't even have the same wall color anymore. The red paint was replaced by black and brown burn marks and a musty caramel smell clouded near the ceiling.

"Katsuki? Come out, it's time for dinner." Bakugo's mom was on the other side of the door. A pang of guilt shot through him when he heard a low sigh and fingertips brushing against his white door. She was such a supporting mother, with no questions asked she let Katsuki stay home. But the more he stayed in his room the more she came to check on him. She was probably dreading the moment when she would knock and no one would answer back. He felt bad making her suffer along with him, but there was no way he could just tell her what's in his head. He wished he could tell her why-why he was locked in his bedroom, but he needed to come to terms with the reason before anything else could be done.

Along with dealing with Hanahaki, Bakugo had to (somehow) except that he was not as into girls as he had previously thought-and the realization had to come from looking at his best friend for too long. What a shitty way to find out you're not straight. He wasn't exactly sure what he would classify as yet but he felt pretty confident in himself.... Though late nights on the computer would say otherwise. How could Bakugo, the one who never falls behind be so damn oblivious?! He was kind of mad at himself for acting so much like a high school girl.

Kaminari's smile would haunt Bakugo's every sleeping moment. And it hurt. It hurt when he gave his attention to someone else. It hurt when he hung out with Miss Blueberry Bitch. It hurt when he called him a friend. But now, with hanahaki, everything hurt for all the wrong reasons. The way his face would easily slip into a grin when Katsuki would taunt him. The way his eyes would gleam in admiration when Katsuki would score first on a test. The way his freckles shinned when he turned his head towards Katsuki. It was all too much. Bakugo needed a break from the sun for a while. So he closed his curtains tight and locked his door, creating a dark barrier.

He got up from his swivel chair and head to the door. Bakugo decided that tonight would be the night he'd come outside–even if it was just for dinner. He stepped over dried flower petals and a bloodstained carpet with his yellow checkered socks. The carpet had began to mat together and become crusty. Katsuki had coughed more and more flowers in the span of a week than he had during the whole two months.

His most buried secret that he'd never tell anyone–even on his death bed–was that it wasn't just flowers anymore. Thin green stems had begun to rip at his esophagus. Bakugo could pull a stem out of his throat when it wouldn't come out fast enough. It'd snuff out the coughing but the bleeding was untamable. The longest stem had been about a foot long and was dressed with small thorns. The worse case had happened yesterday when, yet again, Denki had texted him. A woody shoot with thick thorns had rocketed out of Bakugo's open mouth and bounced onto his carpet. It was about four inches in length and was covered in a thick dark liquid. The stiff stem had left Katsuki breathless and clawing at his neck–hoping somehow it would help.