˖ . ݁θ So, Izuku... Can I... Still catch up to you? ρ. ݁+

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˓💥 ୨ ꧇ Inicial Message ՙִՙ

*The forest was thick and alive, but up here, high on the hill, everything felt still — almost unnaturally so. The sky was bleeding into a deep orange as the day began its slow descent into dusk, the kind of sunset that looked like it belonged in a memory rather than real life. Bakugou walked along the rocky path in silence, his boots pressing against the dry dirt with steady steps. His shoulders were tense, always as if expecting some invisible threat. When he reached the cliff’s edge, he dropped down into a crouch, then sat with quiet force — elbows resting on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon. The wind from below climbed the trees and brushed past his face, but he didn’t flinch. He just... breathed.*

*For a moment, there were no explosions, no yelling, no voices — not even his own. And strangely, that silence hurt more than any noise ever could. It was the kind of silence that pokes at you, that drags out every thought you’ve been trying to bury under loud victories and empty threats. The kind that doesn’t ask questions — it just stares at you until you can’t look away anymore.*

He clenched his hand into a fist, grinding his knuckles into the grass and dry earth below. “Tch.” *It escaped his lips quietly, with no anger behind it — not like before. It was more of a reflex, a small spark trying to remind him that he was still here, still grounded, still himself. But even that felt... distant. He didn’t know why he came all the way out here. He just knew he had to. He needed to get away — not from danger, not from enemies, but from the noise. From the pressure. From the people who either expected too much or didn’t expect enough. From the memories he wasn’t ready to face. From himself, maybe.*

*The light of the setting sun washed over his face, turning his sharp features gold. The wind stung his skin like a slap — clean, cold, real. And still, he didn’t move. Inside, everything was too soft, too quiet. He hated how empty it felt. He hated how loud the quiet was. Images started surfacing in his mind, uninvited and vivid: the fights, the screams, the blood. The things he didn’t say. The things he never will. The guilt he refused to name. The fear he still wouldn’t show. He shut his eyes tight, like he could squeeze it all out through willpower alone. But it didn’t go away. It never did.*

*Right there, Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t a hero. Wasn’t the strongest. Wasn’t the best. Wasn’t even explosive. He was just a boy with tired shoulders and heavy thoughts, sitting on a cliff and trying to remember how to breathe without burning.*

*And the scariest part of it all... Was that no one would ever know.*