( growing up the way he did, promises were a thing always made to be broken. never something to believe in, never something to depend on, never something that he deserved, or treated with any kind of respect. better to expect the worst than to be the kind of naive idiot that thinks something good is gonna happen, right? but bakugou didn't grow up like that. doesn't deserve to be punished like that. which is why he has a gift to exchange with him, too, something that he threatens him not to open until he's by himself, completely alone.
there is a large box, wrapped in ugly christmas paper, that feels heavy: once unwrapped, it will reveal itself as a large, japanese-style rice cooker, brand new and in the box, unopened. even if bakugou already has one in his suite, he knows the kid seems to like cooking: and with all the extra buttons on this one, he'll be able to make all kinds of things from home. something simple, really, but something he hopes can at least mean something--that he thinks of him, what he likes to do, who he is beyond being some mouthy kid hero.
of course, there are two other boxes stacked on top of the larger one, also both individually wrapped in ugly paper; one of them, the smaller one, contains two velvet-lined jewelry boxes. one box contains a single, bright pink stud earring, clearly store-bought, and the other contains a black glass earring, clumsily made by his own hand and his own flame, melting rock into obsidian. the shape isn't perfect, and the hook isn't fully on, but a pair of pliers will tighten it up.
the other box contains another box inside of it, which, once opened, will reveal itself to be about twenty-some odd dvds: mostly for horror movies, but there are some odd, seemingly romantic choices mixed in there, along with at least five dvds of anime and anime movies.
the card is inside this box, tucked neatly among the cases. )
i don't know what it feels like to have someone not give up on me.
i don't care if you understand it, or if you don't, or if you think he was a good father, a good fucking hero, or if you look at my brother and think, "well, why didn't you just turn out this way?" instead of hurting people like he hurt me. there is not a day that goes by that i don't wonder if i'm still alive, if this is still really me, inside this body, and i'm so tired of being in it, so tired of the burden of his sins on my shoulders. i'm tired. i want it to be over. and i know you hate it, and i know you'll never see it the same way i do, and that's okay, for me.
you haven't given up on me. even when i pushed, even when i fucking failed, even when everything went to shit, here. you didn't let me lay down and die, and i didn't let you, either.
and it's weird, isn't it? that being in this place makes me wonder what it could have been like. that i can laugh and smile around you like i'm someone else. maybe i am. maybe you're the kind of person that can do that for someone.
i hate what you've done to me, on the inside. i have to say that, even if - even if writing it, i don't actually hate it. it feels good when you look at me, anyway, feels good when we fuck, feels good when you're there in the morning, when you say my name, when you're so fucking blown out that you want to laugh or cry or come but i won't let you do any of it.
i'm no hero, but i wish i could be that kind of good, for you. cause i'm selfish. cause i'm jealous. you know what i mean.
i just saw you, but i want to see you again. stupid, huh? well, whatever. burn this after you read it.
[there are things he deserves, things he would accept as punishment or atonement for his own actions in the past. even if the person wronged would never attempt to rake him across the coals. meeting with touya for their promised trade feels strange, a mixture of comfort washing over his skin and anxiety gnawing under his flesh. neither of them had to show up, and yet, he promised... made the trade, took it back to his room to open it with no prying eyes. amusing touya'd growl at him to open it alone. as if he wants anyone else interfering with their time together.
sheets bunched around his legs and hips, he slots his fingers through mismatched folds and patchwork tape, pops garish wrapping paper free, and splays open the contents. heh, a rice cooker. impressive, sturdy, efficient. fuck, touya's unconsciously psychic. he needed a new one, since his is going on a year and a half now and showing its age. should tease him about this being the villain's way of wanting more meals cooked for him. tch, nothing hero related, nothing taunting. a simple, nice gift showing touya sees him as more than a loud-mouthed hero. all his life, he wanted people to look at him and see an amazing hero... but now he knows how damn important it is, a comfort and relief, to have someone look at him and see nothing more than him. damn, now each time he cooks with this, he'll think of touya. crispy's gonna get meal invites more often.
jewelry boxes? paper shed and lids cracked, he turns one about in his hand, quirking a brow as light gleams across its faceted rosy surface. pink. would it serve his ass right if he showed up wearing this in his tongue?! not gonna do that. it's undeniably pretty. the second one pauses him, fingers hovering over its obsidian shine. nothing from the store. no, this was handmade... touya's own flame and hands. imperfect, flawed, worked on... fucking outshines any piece of jewelry he's ever seen in the damn resort. yeah, a simple pliers grip tightens the hook and he trades out the cuff-like piece on his shell for this one. each little twitch of his head makes the dangling spire tap his skin, reminding him it's there. might take a bit to get used to its presence...
holy shit, did touya drop off his dvd library? he rummages across their spines like he's checking his letters, noting horror movie after horror, pulls a face at the potential romance (he's gonna make him watch one with him so they can both roll their eyes and squirm!), and smirks over those final anime boxes. dork. damn right he'll be kicking back and popcorning with them.
with everything set aside, he leans back in bed, hand cupped around one side of touya's card. giving his words his full attention as they drop into his chest. things they can't say to each other verbally. face to face, too many shields and expectations blocking their lips. somehow, texting and handwriting make it easier. was it the same for touyas it was for him? being able to write this instead of saying it? he curls his free fingers into the sheets, refusing to let himself jump online and respond these surged emotions. so much he wants to say, so much he bites back as his chest clenches and his throat dips despite himself. how can one man make him want to smirk and scream at the same time? to grab him by the collar and shake his shitty head off for being a fucking moron, yet simultaneously pull him in and kiss him until his lungs protest and there's no doubt between them he's accepted despite everything.
he's wondered what it could have been like as well... this all could've been the other way around. yet they laugh and smile together, he growls under touya's teasing, glows smug when he manages to needle the man in return. "what if" and "if only" swim across his mind as he rests his head on the pillow, free arm flopped overhead as the letter settles between his other hand and his beating chest. hate. don't hate. weird. wanted. good. bad. selfish. jealous.
aa. it's stupid. and yet, he refuses to give it up. refuses to give up on him. sorry, touya, but i can't burn your heart.he'll be putting the card in his safe.]
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christmas delivery —
Date: 12/27/25 00:31 (UTC)there is a large box, wrapped in ugly christmas paper, that feels heavy: once unwrapped, it will reveal itself as a large, japanese-style rice cooker, brand new and in the box, unopened. even if bakugou already has one in his suite, he knows the kid seems to like cooking: and with all the extra buttons on this one, he'll be able to make all kinds of things from home. something simple, really, but something he hopes can at least mean something--that he thinks of him, what he likes to do, who he is beyond being some mouthy kid hero.
of course, there are two other boxes stacked on top of the larger one, also both individually wrapped in ugly paper; one of them, the smaller one, contains two velvet-lined jewelry boxes. one box contains a single, bright pink stud earring, clearly store-bought, and the other contains a black glass earring, clumsily made by his own hand and his own flame, melting rock into obsidian. the shape isn't perfect, and the hook isn't fully on, but a pair of pliers will tighten it up.
the other box contains another box inside of it, which, once opened, will reveal itself to be about twenty-some odd dvds: mostly for horror movies, but there are some odd, seemingly romantic choices mixed in there, along with at least five dvds of anime and anime movies.
the card is inside this box, tucked neatly among the cases. )
i don't know what it feels like to have someone not give up on me.
i don't care if you understand it, or if you don't, or if you think he was a good father, a good fucking hero, or if you look at my brother and think, "well, why didn't you just turn out this way?" instead of hurting people like he hurt me. there is not a day that goes by that i don't wonder if i'm still alive, if this is still really me, inside this body, and i'm so tired of being in it, so tired of the burden of his sins on my shoulders. i'm tired. i want it to be over. and i know you hate it, and i know you'll never see it the same way i do, and that's okay, for me.
you haven't given up on me. even when i pushed, even when i fucking failed, even when everything went to shit, here. you didn't let me lay down and die, and i didn't let you, either.
and it's weird, isn't it? that being in this place makes me wonder what it could have been like. that i can laugh and smile around you like i'm someone else. maybe i am. maybe you're the kind of person that can do that for someone.
i hate what you've done to me, on the inside. i have to say that, even if - even if writing it, i don't actually hate it. it feels good when you look at me, anyway, feels good when we fuck, feels good when you're there in the morning, when you say my name, when you're so fucking blown out that you want to laugh or cry or come but i won't let you do any of it.
i'm no hero, but i wish i could be that kind of good, for you. cause i'm selfish. cause i'm jealous. you know what i mean.
i just saw you, but i want to see you again. stupid, huh? well, whatever. burn this after you read it.
merry christmas, katsuki.
xx 燈矢
no subject
Date: 12/29/25 21:07 (UTC)sheets bunched around his legs and hips, he slots his fingers through mismatched folds and patchwork tape, pops garish wrapping paper free, and splays open the contents. heh, a rice cooker. impressive, sturdy, efficient. fuck, touya's unconsciously psychic. he needed a new one, since his is going on a year and a half now and showing its age. should tease him about this being the villain's way of wanting more meals cooked for him. tch, nothing hero related, nothing taunting. a simple, nice gift showing touya sees him as more than a loud-mouthed hero. all his life, he wanted people to look at him and see an amazing hero... but now he knows how damn important it is, a comfort and relief, to have someone look at him and see nothing more than him. damn, now each time he cooks with this, he'll think of touya. crispy's gonna get meal invites more often.
jewelry boxes? paper shed and lids cracked, he turns one about in his hand, quirking a brow as light gleams across its faceted rosy surface. pink. would it serve his ass right if he showed up wearing this in his tongue?! not gonna do that. it's undeniably pretty. the second one pauses him, fingers hovering over its obsidian shine. nothing from the store. no, this was handmade... touya's own flame and hands. imperfect, flawed, worked on... fucking outshines any piece of jewelry he's ever seen in the damn resort. yeah, a simple pliers grip tightens the hook and he trades out the cuff-like piece on his shell for this one. each little twitch of his head makes the dangling spire tap his skin, reminding him it's there. might take a bit to get used to its presence...
holy shit, did touya drop off his dvd library? he rummages across their spines like he's checking his letters, noting horror movie after horror, pulls a face at the potential romance (he's gonna make him watch one with him so they can both roll their eyes and squirm!), and smirks over those final anime boxes. dork. damn right he'll be kicking back and popcorning with them.
with everything set aside, he leans back in bed, hand cupped around one side of touya's card. giving his words his full attention as they drop into his chest. things they can't say to each other verbally. face to face, too many shields and expectations blocking their lips. somehow, texting and handwriting make it easier. was it the same for touyas it was for him? being able to write this instead of saying it? he curls his free fingers into the sheets, refusing to let himself jump online and respond these surged emotions. so much he wants to say, so much he bites back as his chest clenches and his throat dips despite himself. how can one man make him want to smirk and scream at the same time? to grab him by the collar and shake his shitty head off for being a fucking moron, yet simultaneously pull him in and kiss him until his lungs protest and there's no doubt between them he's accepted despite everything.
he's wondered what it could have been like as well... this all could've been the other way around. yet they laugh and smile together, he growls under touya's teasing, glows smug when he manages to needle the man in return. "what if" and "if only" swim across his mind as he rests his head on the pillow, free arm flopped overhead as the letter settles between his other hand and his beating chest. hate. don't hate. weird. wanted. good. bad. selfish. jealous.
aa. it's stupid. and yet, he refuses to give it up. refuses to give up on him. sorry, touya, but i can't burn your heart.
he'll be putting the card in his safe.]