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Routine

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Fuck, fuck, fuck, god fucking dammit! I said I wouldn't do this shit again, I promised. I fucking promised Izuku I'd be better, that I'd at least tell him before I let myself turn to shit again just because I got a little fucking emo about something dumb. Something so fucking inconsequential and immature. Fuck, I'm an asshole.

That was the continuous ramble going through Bakugou's mind as he stared down at his forearms, which are currently riddled with fresh red wounds, as well as new burn marks shaped like fingers and palms. It was a mess to look at, skin wrinkled and damaged as well as clean openings over some burns. Bakugou liked to mix it up a little, with his self-injury. He gazed on the new fuck-ups he didn’t want to think about dealing with, and after a few seconds of peace and thought, Bakugou became conflicted, which really wasn’t that uncommon.

He knew, deep down, that he should hate this. He should feel shame, guilt, and regret; he should desire change and mental stability, feel regret that he relapsed after months of being clean. And yes, he felt all of this to some extent, but mixed into the emotional stew that he was at the moment was a hefty serving of pride.

It's so fucking beautiful, Bakugou thought. He was responsible for all of this, all the skin hanging jaggedly and the blood splatters on the floor. He would be responsible for the disappointment on Izuku's face and his parents irritation at finding out he needed therapy again. It made him feel like shit and he loved it. His skin burned, and he burned inside too, with shame and dread. But he was in control, he'd brought control back into his own hands. It was fucking sick to think of it that way but it was the truth, Bakugou lashed out not only to hurt himself and relieve stress, but simultaneously to regain control over himself and his situation.

Whatever, he wouldn't fucking die, and it wasn't like his arms didn't look like a craggy mess before. He'd be weak in combat for a day or two but it wasn't like any of this shit would actually affect his performance in the future. He didn't get why he was supposed to be against self harm anyway, what did it fucking matter? He felt better now, even if he didn't feel great. He was empty, guilty, and felt fucking exhausted, but at least now he was stable.

Bakugou sat on his bed, blood still spilling from his arms, and looked out the window at the street lamp outside, surrounded by hundreds of swarming bugs looking for sun, and then he thought about how when morning came he'd be in such deep shit. But as long as the street lamp was on, Bakugou was safe. The lamps were only on at night, he thought, so if the lamp never turned on he'd be safe, safe from the shame. He was slowly starting to wrap his brain around the reality of the situation, but he pushed it away again in favor of the innocent, incandescent street lamp.

"Too many fucking metaphors, Jesus." he mumbled, then immediately thought 'Stop talking to yourself, that's even more embarrassing than the shit you just pulled.' He realized he could probably never stop being critical of himself, even if he tried. His jaded attitude towards the situation made this whole thing almost funny to Bakugou. Comparing the deadpan face he wore now to the face he had ten minutes ago, twisted with rage and pain, was almost fucking laughable in a pretty dark way.

Bakugou decided then that since his freedom would be ripped from him in a few short hours, he would go work out one last time before the endless supervision started. He stumbled to the bathroom, grabbing a red bull on the way, and sat on the toilet to begin a morbidly nostalgic routine of bandaging himself. Rubbing alcohol, burn cream, neosporin, gauze, rubbing alcohol, burn cream, neosporin, gauze, rubbing alcohol, burn cream, neosporin, gauze. Almost felt nice to do this shit again, reminded him of when shit was really bad. How free it felt to be so deep in the mental bullshit that he wasn't criticizing himself anymore, wasn't even worried about the future since suicide seemed more realistic than a tomorrow. He chugged the red bull between each burn dressing and felt awake enough by the end throw on some gym clothes and get the fuck out of his blood-soaked room.

He checked his phone, 1 am. The earliest people in the gym were usually him and Izu at 5. They'd work out in silence as the sun rose and start the day in each others presence, in peace. Bakugou didn't want to ruin that, something so special to them both, so he set an alarm for 4:30 so he could get the fuck out before having to face Izuku with his fuck ups in their morning sanctum. He didn't plan on hiding his episode, but he'd wait until his boyfriend had settled into the day with some exercise before springing this shit on him.

But then, Izu would probably be just as freaked out when he realized Bakugou wasn’t there in the morning to work out and would probably go look for him too. Whatever, he thought, I’ll cross that goddamn bridge when I need to, right now I just wanna lift weights and forget this even fucking happened.

He crossed his bedroom with his gym gear and exited to the hallway, trying to walk and close doors silently as to not alert his irritating and prying classmates. Bakugou had earbuds in as he made his trek, and the music from his phone became background noise as he began churning things over in his mind involuntarily.

“So fucking stupid,” he thought, remembering what set him off in the first place.

He’d been having a shitty week already, fucking up some school assignments and performing below his personal expectations in training, not to mention Deku’s continued absence due to studying. “Bakugou, baby, I love you, but you’re a distraction. I really need to learn this material, and as soon as this exam is over we’ll have a lot more time together, I promise.” If only that nerd was an actual nerd, instead of just a research junkie. Deku wasn’t stupid by any means, he just had to learn shit on his own terms, where Bakugou could pretty much hear it and class and be done with whatever they were learning. And when they tried to study together, Bakugou just got bored and normally tried to get Deku’s attention, so him being kicked out of the nerd’s room was pretty fair. Didn’t make him feel better though.

What finally put him over the edge, though, was a dumb duo fight; him and Aoyama against Mineta and Shinsou. The idea behind the fight was to pair you with someone you wouldn’t normally work with to test your abilities in cooperation, something Bakugou even knew he was fucking garbage at. He didn’t have a problem with Aoyama or anything, and honestly wasn’t even arguing with him, but Bakugou was pretty radio silent on trying to form an actual plan with Aoyama, and whenever he pushed Bakugou hard enough for an answer he would just say “I’ll blow shit up until I figure it out. Just tag along or something,” which would leave twinkle-toes in a pretty pissed state. Bakugou knew they were fucked, and he didn’t care since he was already so raw from the rest of the week.

But he hadn’t expected just how coordinated his opponents would really be, and the lack of preparation made what happened even more of a shit show. Bakugou couldn’t even remember the rest of the fight now, just the situation he ended up in; somehow Bakugou had fallen to Shinsou’s mind control, and had been instructed not to use his quirk or move. At some point after that, five seconds or five minutes, Bakugou didn’t know, he’d suddenly been surrounded by Mineta’s fucking grape hairballs and his mind went into a fucking panic.

Suddenly, Bakugou was 14, in the street, and all he could remember was being swallowed by a disgusting fucking sludge thing and everyone was staring at him, everyone was looking and staring, and he couldn’t move He couldn’t do anything. His hands didn’t work and his quirk didn’t work and he couldn’t even scream, all he could do was stare and beg and hope that somehow it would stop. He remembered being invaded... everywhere. He wasn’t safe, his body wasn’t safe, his head wasn’t safe, he couldn’t even tell what was his and what was the thing invading and consuming him. The thing making his mouth full and his asshole burn, making everyone in the street watch him get raped and they didn’t even know it.

During the fight, no one could tell what was going on because Bakugou was underneath a pile of those stupid fucking purple sticky balls and people were either paying attention to Aoyama trying to hold his ground against the two, or laughing at how funny Bakugou looked right now, what an idiot!

In retrospect, Bakugou knows not to take it personally, but in the moment the laughter was just an added backdrop to the humiliating and nausea-inducing scenes replaying in his mind. Sometimes the traumatic fever dream would shift into the villain kidnapping, or the other time he freaked out in front of hundreds of people and couldn’t even move, getting his medal during the tournament. Every memory was punching Bakugou in the jaw and there was no improvement, since Aoyama and team grape soda seemed to have reached a stalemate.

Mineta and Shinsou were given the win eventually because they showed actual teamwork, and then they came to remove Bakugou from his pseudo-coffin. He’d passed out by that point, too much shit to handle at once, and everyone chalked it up to the extended mind-control and Aoyama put Bakugou back in his room. And that’s where he woke up, alone and confused.

Finally, he got to the fucking gym. Time to pump iron and forget all this shit.