@pridebuilt
@scintillaz / x
How often he would greet his brother like this, a lean, a silent nudge, something that drastically opposed his otherwise loud and opinionated persona. He couldn’t pretend that Katsuo wasn’t a calming presence for him, he couldn’t pretend that his brother wasn’t an anchor in the tumultuous riptides that swallowed him whole day in and day out. The one thing he missed when away at school was perhaps the ability to diffuse with this moron, because without him it was only him and his own head – Which was never a good thing. It was what broke him down into this moment, this silent lay across the other’s shoulders as he worked. He was in pain, he was pissed off, he was depressed, he was sleepless , he was falling apart at the seams and it was his own fault. He had no response for the words he was given, no quip, no snark, just silence and a further tensing in his stance as he shifted – Just enough movement to speak without a muffle. “I stopped taking them again…” The medication – He wasn’t looking for pity, or sympathy, but maybe he was – He didn’t know. He didn’t want it, but something in him needed it because he was in pain and he was frustrated and as usual, he questioned why he was the one who was so god damn weak in the end…
“I fucked it all up again...”
As per usual— Katsuki Bakugou’s timing was the philosophical equivalent to a STEAMING PILE OF HORSESHIT. But he guesses that there wasn’t a better time for Katsuki to actually visit home for ONCE every 10 years than finals week. Crisp and fit-to-bursting with family bonding opportunities. Belayed and no doubt uninvited visits like these were met & addressed with TWO things: Katsuo’s beratement, and fighting for the best seat at the dinner table, next to Dad. A huge dinner, too. Fresh out of the oven; Katsuki’s lucky. Until he isn’t.
“Katsuki.”
The truth’s all over him. And of course, it is. Katsuki’s body language was a picture-book, a preschooler could’ve been able to tell that something was off. WRONG. Sniff out the stillness conjoining with visible trembles wracking up and down once sure, confident arms. Sniff out the prowl that the medication was supposed to prevent, proficient like a bloodhound. But preschoolers weren’t Katsuki’s brother. His blood.
Preschoolers weren’t Katsuo Bakugou.
Katsuo learned long ago how not to lose his head in regards to his brother. Or, rather, he kind of fucking had to. Wanted to. Anyone in their right mind would be SCARED by this display. Mortified. Ruined by WORRY for their one and only brother— but if Katsuo lost it, somehow let the ice-cold blood in his veins heat up rapidly with concern, allow his heart to race out of his chest at a million miles per hour… Who’d be there for Katsuki?
“oi. Shut up for a second, idiot. When was the last time you took them? Have you taken them today?”
His hand’s extending before Katsuo even gets the first word hushed out, strict and militant and almost CARING. It’s not tough and rigid like one might raise for a handshake. But it was easy and relaxed, soft in its quiet question of come or don’t. A bridge of the distance between them that he gave Katsuki the decision to cross every time. Sometimes his brother needed the closeness. To be held. Made to feel safe. But not always.
Not always. For some reason, the first memory of him trying to hug Katsuki in his state wires back in his head— his expression stiffens.
It wasn’t pretty.
