Before my heart gives out (My hero academia)

Shattered

The air felt so brittle with tension, it could snap, and if It doesn't, he would. His hands clench and unclench in his lap, fingers rubbing at his wrist in an anxious habit he has yet to break.

Sweat was gathering in his palms, the smell of caramel and nitroglycerine probably surrounded him like a thick cloud. He couldn't get himself to care.

He wanted to let go, let fire ignite on his skin, explode the world all to hell. Maybe then, he would feel something. Maybe then, he would feel like himself again.

Bakugou always hated funerals, hated the platitudes and well wishes. He looks around him and all he sees are strangers. Civilians from all over the country had come, intent on showing respect to the fallen vigilante. A hero in all but legality. There's a sole candle, held tightly in their individual grasp, lit in silent vigil and respect.

He could recognize a few faces, the detective form the USJ and the mall incident. The owner of the store he kept visiting for a while, if only to get a glimpse of the boy he had lost all those years ago, and lost again now. Ingenium's expression stands out to him, his features are contorted with something painfully familiar. He's seen it many times, in the mirror, after all. The grief, the guilt, the pain.

The hero is huddled next to the detective and another man. The stranger is wearing a white coat. He doesn't look like any hero Katsuki has seen before.

The trio stand there, solemn and silent as they watch the service unfold.

A lot of pro heroes were amongst the present too, all gathering to witness the award ceremony. The nerd would've loved it, he was sure. Would've probably demanded autographs from each and every one of them.

Bakugou wanted to take the award and destroy it. Because that medal of honor and valor, a hero's award of the highest caliber, shouldn't be buried within the earth. It shouldn't be lost to the ground. It should've been given to the owner in life. The boy should've been here to accept it. Would've worn it proudly as he proved to the world that he could be a hero. That he was a hero.

Yet, here he stood, watching through red-rimmed eyes and clenched teeth as the captain of the police department presented the medal to a ghost. A boy who was no longer among them. Lost to the world, a sacrifice. A hero.

The man spoke of the teen's accomplishments, the lives he's saved and changed and moved in the short life he lead. He spoke of his death, expressing the country's pride and their eternal gratitude. Of his sacrifice and his courage.

It made him want to scream, rage at the man, at the world in its entirety. Because how dare they do this now? Why couldn't they realize all that when there was a hero to celebrate? When there was a person to appreciate the glory, the honor.

Was he allowed to imagine this? Imagine all the things the teen would've done and lived through if he was still here. Still alive.

He wonders how many dreams were washed away that night, under the rain. Wonders if the boy ever imagined a future for himself when it was always destined to expire early. How many things had he imagined and dreamed? Things that would never see the light of day.

Tears welled in his eyes, anger, and frustration only just overshadowed by the devastating sense of grief that threatened to bury him along with the casket before him.

The Captain continued his speech, unaware of the storm that threatened to rip him at the seams. Tearing him apart from the inside out. Because what right did they have to be here, when he wasn't. When he would never get to be.

Kirishima, who was silently crying next to him, snaked a hand into his own. Fingers warm against his calloused palm.

The gesture didn't make the anger go away, didn't make him feel any less of a useless bastard.