Rev it Up

The Letter

Kirishima,
If you're reading this, I'm gone. Like, GONE gone. Dead. Deceased.
I didn't want to tell you this, in case it got you in trouble, but I'm in a gang. It's not an aggressive one, I didn't even have to do a torturous initiation or anything, but we're definitely under attack.
The person who wrecked my bike was probably from the rival gang we're dealing with right now, and they've challenged me to a duel. I don't know what the outcome will be, which is why I'm writing you this letter. Hopefully, you'll never get a chance to read this, but who knows.
The reason I've been pushing you away so much over this past week was because they were threatening you. I didn't want you hurt because of me. But if I survive this duel (which I haven't if you're reading this) then they'll leave you alone.
I really planned on talking to you after this, on making this work between us. Whether "this" means friendship or Romance, I don't really care. I just like having you around. You're a really great guy, you know? You always have the right words and you're so god damn passionate about what you do. It's...manly.
I'm sorry that I couldn't be a better friend to you, but I hope you can make new friends, friends that will make you feel as happy as you deserve to be.
Goodbye.
-Katsuki

Kirishima hadn't gotten to the note until his morning break. He had been so busy with the morning routine that he barely even remembered to pick it up.
But now that he'd read it, it didn't feel real. There was no way Bakugou could be dead. There was no pang in Kirishima's chest, not lost feeling in his stomach. He KNEW that he would have felt something if this were true. Maybe he should stop by after work, make sure everything was as okay as he felt it was.
As he folded the letter back up, he heard the scuffing of feet behind him.
He turned, but he didn't see who it was, only the shine of a metal pipe flying toward his head.
Kirishima tried to duck, but the pipe grazed his cranium, knocking him to the ground.
"What the hell, man?" Kirishima's hand reached to the place where he was hit, rubbing it, as if that would cool the throbbing.
A foot crashed into his chest, holding him onto the pavement.
"Why are you doing this?" Kirishima asked his attacker. His question was heartlessly answered with that same metal pipe to the arm. Everything after that was a blur to Kirishima, the hits to his arms and legs, the kicks to his stomach. He had wanted to keep track of the number of hits he had taken, but that number got so high that he couldn't manage, especially not with the pain he was in.
He didn't know how long he dealt with the blows, and he wasn't even sure if it was only one person or if it was many.
He remembered hearing Taishiro's voice, full of concern and anger as he chased the attackers away.
But then, everything else was blank, black like his hair used to be before he dyed it.
He had gone unconscious.
Everything was a dream now.