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Opening the front door of his cabin, he let his feet touch the soft grass as the cool breeze flowing through his hair. Taking a step, he made his way towards the cherry blossom tree that stood tall at the edge of his yard. The falling blossoms coating a well-kept but old bench that was sitting calming underneath the tree, looking out into the horizon.
The horizon itself was blanketed with the warmth of the dying sun. Golden raze fluttering between the neighbouring mountains and expanse of the wilderness that covered the mountain range. Flocks of birds danced between the clouds and the growing stars as they flew across the sky.
It was calm out here, out in the middle of a mountain range where the only people who could hear him scream were the birds and hikers who strayed too far off the path. The media avoided him just as much as he was avoiding them and the precarious trip to his cabin deterred them even more.
Taking a seat, he opened the box, pulling out the papers he had brought, old photos and letters that dated as far back as high school. Pulling out the few letters that were written on what was clearly paper torn from a school book, he let out a sad laugh.
The letters were from when, in their third year, Aizawa had tried to stop the class from leaving their rooms to talk to each other after curfew. Very quickly, his classmates poked at the loopholes in the room, delivering each other letters every night because “None of us ever spoke sensei!” .
The rule was removed after 2 days (not even a record for their class).
A few tears caught on the edges of the letters as he put them back into the box with the others.
Looking out over the sunset, he tried to force himself to forget, to stop caring, but something inside of him was still listening for the sounds of excited shouts and a flash of bright red hair.
I saved every letter you wrote me.
Poking out from the bottom of the box, was a stuffed dog toy. A pomeranian that “Looks so much like you Bakubro!” , the shark toy it had been paired with sat in someone else’s home (or had it been thrown out by now). That day had been the first time he was dragged out of the dorms and into the mall, Mina dragging him kicking and screaming through shops as the idiot squad followed behind. The strip of photo booth photos that was sitting next to the toy bringing back memories of his friends and of their shocked faces when they looked at the photos and saw him smiling.
From the moment I saw you,
Sitting closer to the top of the box, a photo from the end of the entrance exam. A boy with black, spikey hair and Mina were taking a selfie, wide smiles on both of their faces. Looking into the background, was Bakugou, walking out of the front gates after smashing the practical exam. The distant cry of “Hey man! You were so manly in the entrance exam! I can’t wait to see you in class!” that was yelled only seconds after the photo was taken still lingering in his ears.
I knew you were mine,
He had been ready to snarl at whoever had yelled at him, but when he found the source of the noise, he froze, words catching in his throat. The kid with spiky hair (not that different from his own), was waving him down, already skipping over to him with a too-wide smile.
Dragging his friend over, the pair caught up to him. Eyeing them both carefully, he replied, “You didn’t do half bad either rock boy” , walking away before either of them could start a conversation. Turning off his hearing aids, he refused to turn around and look back at the boy, refusing to acknowledge the small flutter in his stomach.
You said you were mine,
The next photo he pulled out was from the third-year sports festival (his second win because the first year didn’t count). Standing on the podium was him, Uraraka and Deku, the three of them smiling with pride as the photo was taken, crowds behind them cheering.
“For the FINAL ROUND of this year's Sports Festival, It's Dynamight the explosion hero vs Uravity the gravity hero! This should be INTERESTING! These two formidable fighters have made it to the final round for the second year in a row now, and both are going to go EVEN FURTHER BEYOND! PLUS ULTRA!”
Walking onto the arena he could see Uraraka on the opposite end of the field stretching her arms over her head as she carefully watched his own movements. Turning to his left he could see a mop of red hair waving at him and offering a confident thumbs-up, around him, hundreds of people cheering the two fighters on.
His idiot-squad had tackled him into a hug as soon as he got off the podium, all of them talking his ear off as the redhead pulled him in for a kiss.
The crowd cheered louder.
I thought you were mine.
The next thing he pulled out, movie tickets. Date from their graduating year but the two of them had gone on more than one movie date, buttery popcorn and threats to dump soda over his head if the other boy spoke during the film, accompanying each trip.
The two of them only ever went to one theatre, the perfect distance from both the school and their houses, taking the same path home after each movie. Grimly, he remember what happened the last time he went there, the only time he had gone alone since meeting his redhead.
He had started to walk home, finishing his half-drunk soda as he went through his phone. Stopping in front of the electronics shop, he glanced at the televisions in the window, expecting to see one of his fellow heroes pulling another stupid, suicidal act of heroics. Instead, he found a familiar head of bright red, spiky hair.
He was there, standing next to his pink-haired friend as they addressed their audience. The two of them stood, hand-in-hand as they spoke, words going in one ear and out the other as he watched them carefully. Neither of them had told him they were holding a press conference today. His attention shifting away from the screen only for a moment as he realised that other people had stopped to watch the scene with him.
He had only looked away for a second, one single second.
It turns out, one second was all it took for his world to come crashing down around him. Looking back at the screen, he watched as the two of them came together into a kiss.
He had been punched in the gut hundreds of times, blown up, thrown throw walls, even impaled a few times. None of that hurt more than this, none of that could compare to this.
This was pure, unadulterated grief combined with so much unknown emotion that he found it difficult to breathe against the brewing tears. The sympathetic hands that patted his shoulder and the reassuring words from the people around him did nothing to re-ignite his broken flame.
Do you know what Angelica said,
The public had not been happy, the few who had seen his reaction had not kept quiet and soon the media had caught wind. Questions flew around him wherever he went, microphones and cameras shoved into his face whenever he wasn’t working, some even shouted questions across the battlefield.
He made sure not to utter a word to the nosy rats, but he did let himself read the articles they published. Some were saying he was told beforehand, that he already knew and was okay with everything, that he was over-reacting. Those papers were burnt without a second thought.
When I told her what you'd done?
Eventually, he broke, everyone does. Luckily, it wasn’t in front of a reporter or in the middle of a fight, it wasn’t even when some of his closest friends asked how he was dealing with it.
No, when he finally broke, it was when he found himself tucked under his mother’s arms as she whispered soft reassurances into his ear. The two of them curled up on the couch he grew up with, while his dad made tea in the kitchen.
The family of three held the same resentment and grief (though his was a lot stronger). This man, who had seemed so perfect, so nice when they had first met, had transformed into someone they wished they had never associated with.
Letting his tears finally fall, he finally acknowledged what had happened and there was no denying it.
He was broken.
She said "You have married an Icarus. He has flown too close to the sun".
Turning to the clock he cringed, 2 am and he was still not asleep. Turning further he found himself face to face with his own tear-stained face. The full-length mirror taunting him as he stood, hunching in on himself, fighting against the seemingly never-ending train of thoughts that were running through his head.
Was it my fault?
Did I do something wrong?
What made him choose her over me?
Why was I not good enough?
Why didn’t he tell me?
How long had this been happening?
How didn’t I notice?
What’s wrong with me?
He didn’t sleep that night… or the next few.
Don't take another step in my direction,
Another photo from the mall, this time of just the two of them…
He didn’t want to have a public confrontation, he had tried to call, only to find out his number was either blocked or the number had been changed. What he wanted didn’t matter though, because soon enough he was caught in the middle of a mall, standing with Eijiro blocking the exit.
He wasn’t sure what Eijiro was saying, too busy watching the face of his ex(?) as his fierce begging didn’t match the emotion in his eyes. He wasn’t sorry.
Cutting him off, his voice managed to let out a weak request
“Leave me alone.”
I can't be trusted around you.
He knew he couldn’t defuse this, not here where he could clearly see people watching, some recording to capture whatever happened. So, for once, he conceded and let himself leave without any fight.
A hand grabbed onto his wrist, tight enough that it was uncomfortable but loose enough to look comforting to everyone else.
“Bakugou wait! Just listen for once!”
Don't think you can talk your way into my arms, into my arms.
“Eijiro let go of me.” He held his voice and spoke softly, already aware that if he even tried to raise his voice he would break. Trying to stay calm, he turned around to meet Eijiro’s eyes.
“Please Bakugou, just-” His grip tightened and he could feel some of Eijiro’s hardened skin poke into his arm, the already too tight grip making his hand start to go numb.
“Let go of my arm, now.” Over pronouncing his words, he made sure what he wanted was heard, listened to.
The two of them were at a standoff, neither seeming to get what they wanted from the talk , the two of them had a staring contest, waiting for the other to make the first move.
Eijiro glared, Katsuki watched.
Kirishima let go first, blinking as he retracted his arm.
Shaking the fuzzy feeling out of his hand, Bakugou left first.
I'm burning the letters you wrote me,
Pulling himself from his memories, he stood, leaving the box safely on the bench. Gingerly, as if hoping time would speed up if he slowed, he walked around, collecting small logs and sticks as he did a lap of the property before carefully placing them on the ground in front of the bench.
You can stand over there if you want,
Despite the sparks already falling off his hand, he hesitated. Could this be fixed? Was he really prepared to toss everything away?
I don't know who you are,
He thought back to all the laughs, the jokes, the fun and the kisses. All the shared smiles, how many of those had been fake? How many moments had been nothing more than a joke a waste of time and emotion?
I have so much to learn.
How long had the other man been faking it while watching him fall further and further in love, walked further into the lion’s den. How hadn’t he noticed?
Finally, he let off a spark strong enough to light the flame.
I'm re-reading your letters,
The pieces of paper in that box, the photos and the memories, how much had been thrown away without a second thought. How many of what he thought were cherished memories had been forgotten by the next morning?
And watching them burn (burn).
Gently, he sat back down and pulled the box closer to himself, a few stary photos on the top of the box falling out. Picking them up, he glanced down at the photos. Pictures of the two of them smiling looked back at him, haunting and fueling the pit in his stomach.
I'm watching them burn (burn).
Gently, he tossed them into the flames.
You published the letters she wrote to you,
He never asked Eijiro why he had done it, why he announced it live on television without talking to him first. None of it had made sense, even if they had only been friends he should have mentioned something. Instead, he was expected to pretend he was okay. Pretend he was okay with his fiance announcing he had a girlfriend at a press conference.
You told the whole world, how you brought this girl into our bed,
There was no excuse for this, no reason that this was the right choice. Nothing anyone could say would convince him this was the best option.
Grabbing another photo, he paled when he realised it was the class photo from their second-year book. In the back of his mind, he registered how close Mina and Eijiro were standing, and again the thoughts crossed his mind.
How long had this been happening?
In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives.
Their first press conference out of school had been together, photos from backstage posted on their social media as they wandered around, eating snacks and waiting for their turn on stage. At some point, he needed to delete those posts, maybe even go through his phone’s gallery and delete a few (hundred) photos.
That press conference had been fun, the two of them talked about the villain they had defeated and had made some jokes to lighten the mood of the tense room.
The next conference Eijiro held with Mina had been the opposite of that. Hours spent with justifications and excuses did very little to increase the two’s public image, the media already obsessed with his reaction to the news. His mum had later called it more of a shit-show than Deku & Shouto’s first media appearance, a true insult if he had ever heard one.
A few more… excitable reporters had asked the duo how they could get ahold of him, and if they knew what he thought of the situation.
Heaven forbid someone whisper, "He's part of some scheme",
Watching the flames light up the now dark expanse, he still couldn’t understand it. Why had this happened to him? Hadn’t life fucked him over enough already? Apparently not though, because fate seemed to have a grudge against him as big as a shark.
A shark with teeth sharp enough to kill even the strongest.
Your enemy whispers, so you have to scream.
He hadn’t heard Eijiro shout before that press conference, an innocent part of his mind thinking the other was too sweet to ever become angry enough to yell with any venom. Watching him lose his temper and yell at reporters for asking questions he couldn’t answer (without sounding like the bad guy), it had been a bit of a wake up call.
The boy was furiously defending the girl next to him with enough venom dripping from his mouth to kill a dragon. Never once had he held the same tone when defending him, always sounding like he was asking for the chance of an apology instead of demanding it like he was doing for her.
I know about whispers,
It had been funny in a way, as funny as something like this could be. People both online and off were having debates (arguments) about the pair, fighting over who was right and who was wrong. The majority seemed to agree that he was the victim, and for once the people of Japan turned to him and asked…
“Are you okay Bakugou Katsuki?”
Somehow the sympathy hurt more than the sting of heart break.
I see how you look at my sister.
He should have noticed it, there were signs, obvious signs. Rose tinted glasses covered a lot though.
The nights Eijiro stayed over at Mina’s because ‘it was closer to work’ or when the two of them would run off from the group during a mission. Passed notes from highschool that sent both of them into fits of giggles and photos that had the two of them standing (or sitting) too close together for friends.
He should have noticed.
Tossing a few group photos into the flame, he watched them become embers alongside the letters.
Don't, I'm not naive, I have seen women around you.
Pulling more photos out of the box, he stopped, hand on a photo they had taken with some fans. It had been from one of the minor villain attacks they had stopped together so neither of them had to get patched up and were able to talk to nearby fans. The overly cheerful, red-headed itio had dragged him though the crowd and snapped photos with fans as they went..
He looked happy.
Don't think I don't see how they fall for your charms, all your charms.
Another photo, this time a poorly taken image of a television, the glare from the bright screen against the dark room partially obscuring the screen. Both of their names were visible on the screen where the top 10 hero list was projected.
Eijiro had climbed the ranks because the public absolutely loved him. Katsuki has speed through the ranks because the public trusted him. Together, they were the first due of their graduating class to make the top ten together.
It was almost poetic how they were so different yet so in sync with each other.
The best poetry is written by the damaged after all.
I'm erasing myself from the narrative,
A rustle forced him to look at a nearby bush, photos returning to the box as he froze.
Cautiously, a small rabbit poked its head out from amongst the leaves, nose twitching as it watched him. Had he really expected anyone to be out here? Tensing at a tiny rabbit because of the minuscule possibility it could have been a person, or god forbid the media.
Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted,
Running away to a secluded cabin in the middle of a mountain range, the day after attending the wedding, probably hadn't been the smartest idea. Sue him for wanting to avoid the media hurricane that would've followed the event. Reporters had already been asking for his opinion before he was even able to leave the venue.
When you broke her heart, you have thrown it all away.
Eijiro had tried to convince everyone that he had ended their relationship, that he had asked him beforehand. If they had spoken this never would have happened.
If they had spoken all three of them would have walked away happy.
If you love them then let them go, as the saying says.
Stand back, watch it burn.
The pile of memories didn't diminish. For every photo sent into the flames, another three were there in its place.
Dates, anniversaries, selfies, birthdays, celebrations, everything. Burning.
Just watch it all burn.
Scraps of magazine articles and newspapers, each one talking about the duo. Pages of clippings covered in praise after their victories against villains, big bold numbers displaying how many people they had saved.
And when the time comes, explain to the children,
Falling back against the bench, he watched the stars sparkle. All the people he wasn’t able to protect were living up in the sky while their families watched from the ground.
All the people he hadn’t been able to save, watching him as he failed to save himself.
The pain and embarrassment you put their mother through.
Pulling the box back onto his lap, he sifted through the contents, trying to find something, anything .
…
Nothing.
When will you learn that they are your legacy?
Letters.
Photos.
Plushies.
Newspapers.
Articles.
Gifts.
Movie tickets.
Arcade coins.
Memories and moments, lost.
And, at the very bottom of the box…
We are your legacy.
…an invitation. Red and pink colours decorating the page as two smiling faces looked back at him. The RSVP request had brought a vile feeling to his stomach the first time he read it, date and time printed in fancy text taunting him.
If you thought you were mine (mine, mine).
He didn’t know why he had been invited to this or why he had decided to go.
In an attempt to seem invisible, he had sat at the back of the room, still close enough to watch as Mina walked down the aisle. White dress and long train flowing behind her, flowers floating down from the roof as she walked. It had been beautiful.
Kirishima had been crying, tears catching at the edge of his wide smile as Mina stepped up to meet him at the altar. As the two of them held hands, looking only at each other as if they were the only people in the world, he cried.
A suit and a dress,
Black and White,
Yin and yang,
The perfect pair.
“Do you Kirishima Eijiro take Mina Ashido to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Don't.
“I do.”
Singed paper flew through the sky as the whole box burned, memories flowing into the wind.
With time, the fire would die, leaving only a melted ring of metal in its place.