After having an argument with the Baku-Squad Bakugou runs to his comfort place, walking through dim, dead streets, filled with bend street lamps, graffiti, and garbage. Walking down these dead streets, he listens to the pin prickled sounds of raindr...
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Bakugou's POV:
Running along the gate of Heights Alliance, crying my eyes out, angry and sad and hurt, all these confusing emotions get the better of me and of course I break down. Crying is for the weak, boys don't cry. At least that's what Moms always said, "boys don't cry" "boys aren't depressed, and they certainly don't want to kill themselves" "Boys aren't weak!" "You're being dramatic!" "Boys don't like boys!" "Get out of this stupid phase!"
Why do I act like this, why do I bully my friends, the people I care about most. Running through the streets, the cold air hitting my face and numb fingertips start to take me out of my trance. I look at the alleyway leading to Fuji and walk along the brick wall, running my fingers in between the concrete separating the bricks and melding them together. I'm tired, oh so tired, of people telling me what to be, expecting me to be perfect, telling me how to fix myself, haven't I done enough, haven't I shown how much I care. I make them food, clean up after them, support them and so much more. I may not be perfect but I'm trying my best. Will I ever be good enough?
Walking through the streets, I finally make it to an abandoned building covered in cheap blankets and fairy lights, with a thin wooden slab with the words DO NOT ENTER written on the doorway. I made this place, it's mine. Covered in orange red and yellow blankets to cover the broken windows, dragged abandoned furniture in, to hold up the place. I even bought out all my gas stations batteries to make sure the ferry lights were always working. In the middle of my small hut is a fireplace, with a small box of matches, and lighter fluid beside the previously placed bricks. Walking in I find myself cozy, still crying and upset, but mesmerized at the sheer detail and effort I placed into making this my very own, a safe place. For me. And me alone. Who woulda thought, someone as fucked up as me, would have such a private special place like this.
Why would I need someplace like this? Why can't I be normal, go home when I'm upset, have a normal family, why do I have to be born some mistake, I wish I had never been born, I would've never been the disappointment I am today. I'm such a dick, I believe I'm so superior to everyone sometimes because I have such a great quirk, but does that make me a good person? Hell no. Having a great quirk is just that, great. But it doesn't matter if you aren't a good person. I'm not a good person. I'M NOT A GOOD PERSON. the realization, that I'm not just saying that to myself, but I genuinely am a terrible person waves over me, I'M SO ANGRY ALL THE TIME, WHY CAN'T I BE LIKE DEKU, HE'S KIND, AND GENEROUS AND HONEST!
I find myself stomping out of the little brick building, grabbing my previously abandoned bat by the entryway and running to find whatever abandoned, broken home to fuck up, running down the streets i can feel the now light drizzle of rain sprinkle along my shoulder and the spikes of my hair. Soon after finding an old house, one that hadn't been vandalized yet, one old, and raggedy but still in good enough condition to enjoy this fuckfest, take out all my frustrations and kill any spirits that roamed the halls in this empty place.
Kicking down the door I book it to the living room, bash in the windows, tear down the rosey curtains and break any coffee tables, vases or dressers alongside any of the furniture, screaming and yelling all the shit on my mind.
"YOU TRY TO FUCKIN HARD!"
"YOUR A FUCKIN DISGRACE!"
"YOUR A SHIT PERSON!"
"A FUCKIN IDIOT!"
"MINA'S RIGHT!!!"
Heaving, I bend over trying to catch my breath sobbing, sobbing at the truths told, the truths I wish weren't true, the ones I know I can't fix. The flaws I've always had, "why can't I be who they want me to be, why am I never enough." Walking slowly to the kitchen, I sit on a stool close to the counter, looking at the mess made behind me. I'm a prick, who does shitty things, to people undeserving of it.
I got up, scooted out of the stool and walked along the ivory counter, such beautiful architecture. It's too bad I had to ruin the living room like some savage, this could have been a place I visit often, a place I could make my new home. As I look at the decor along the walls I can see a picture of a perfect family, a little boy, and a little girl, with two parents beside them of the same genders. I bet they were happy, I bet they had a dog or two. From what I can tell their mom must have been a wonderful cook, I can just imagine the happy memories shared here, I bet they got happy birthdays! And they got to go on family outings! I bet she aloud her son to cry, and feel happy and sad, and wasnt the fuckin devil herself! I bet They GOT TO BE HAPPY, "ONE BIG PERFECT HAPPY FAMILY I GUESS!" I shouted, snatching the photo off the wall and throwing it across the wall, walking across from the kitchen in the dining room area where it had been thrown. Picking up the shattered picture frame, looking at the photo once more, before finally cracking once again tears gushing down my face in waterfall like strands. "One big happy family" I utter barely above a whisper, leaning against the wall, sliding down and folding in on myself staring at the photo, feeling some sort of comfort, knowing that if they weren't happy now, they were at least joyous at some point. After a few minutes of spacing out, staring at the walls I notice a small cupboard poking out of the wall, next to a big clock, on the pale yellow wallpaper. I get up, slide the photo out of the broken picture frame and fold it, putting it in my pant pocket. Before walking towards the small cabnet.
Looking at the cabinet I notice big weirdly shaped bottles of what looked to be whiskey, vodka and tequila. Opening the cabinet I take out a bottle, looking at the design, contemplating whether or not to try such a bitter substance. One swig wouldn't hurt, right?
I open the cap and take a swig. After swallowing the repulsive taste, I decided to take the awful drink with me. For some reason, I like it? Maybe? I don't know, maybe it's just the fact it's an alcohol. I don't know, what I do know is I feel just a little bit lighter, and my head isn't spinning anymore. The dreaded feeling's of sorrow aren't gone, but I feel numb, maybe even euphoric as I walk down the street taking sip after sip, gagging and spitting out the taste on the side of the road, i find myself wandering around these streets, looking at the little details, the small piles of garbage alongside the road, the smell of asphalt, and the gloomy look of dim clouds, looking at the orange sunset i cry for the last time, i wish i could feel like this every second, of everyday, I cry and cry all the way down the road till i get into my little hut, sitting on the brown couch in the middle of my small space. Knowing full well I have to let this be a one time experience, or I could end up abusing such a substance, becoming reliant, and then addicted, even now it feels so sorrowful to let this go, before I finally decide to throw the now empty bottle across the room.
Still sobbing.
As if no one were to hear me, whilst I cried.
In these quiet soft sounded streets, these oh so dead streets.
