Bakugou Angst Stories

≡;- ꒰ °Pulverized → E.

🔉 dis·sat·is·fied

/di(s)ˈsadəsˌfīd/

1. Not satisfied (adjective).

Example: He was greatly dissatisfied with her.

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A cool pressure on his hand, slithering between his fingers and enclosing tightly. The other hand is terribly dry, he roams a thumb across its palm, staring up to find a disembodied arm. There's nothing  but the forearm, it cuts short at the shoulder, fading off like a ghostly mist. But for some reason, he had been expecting that.

He holds the hand tightly, even as it feels no different from prickly pavement. As though somebody let the skin on the hand ferment. It's not a problem, until it crumples in his grasp, tying to a powerful fist, and he tries to grip it even with its slithery movement. It stays of course, it won't escape him! A hand as dry as the Sahara desert and as cold as a corpse, still he holds onto it.

Until he feels dust trickle down his palm, the arm falling away disproportionately. He's frozen long enough to realize it's sand! Was the hand always sand? He had held it this whole time, surely it was solid. He can't make any sense of it, urging his hands to grip the sand in place, but no matter what it does it trickles from everywhere it can. When he thinks he has it secured nice in the dip of his palm, it drips through the corners of his cupped hand, pushing down the tight gaps between his fingers.

He can't stop it. He gets the strange feeling like maybe, he's an hourglass. Tying tight in the middle in the futile chase to catch time, the dripping sand, although slow, always moves past its attempting waist. This close to touching together, but it still passes! The only thing left of the hand are dusty remnants coating his hands, and he wants to scream but he finds he can't speak.

Is he turning to sand too? Lost to the wind, slipping away in another hourglass until there's nothing left? Until he's dripped so far down too much time has passed?

When Katsuki stirs from the strange dream, there's an agitation tugging at his heart like a brute to a weak rope. Weird ass dream. It doesn't matter, he crawls to the side of his bed and steadily gets up. Moving to the wide Venetian blinds ahead, and pulling it up in a swift tug.

The sky is a waking blue, not in the sense of enlightenment, but in the sense the day is really starting. Pre-dawn light sheds weakly on the furniture of his room, Katsuki takes a step back. The sky would look a boring, acrylic blue in disinterested eyes, but he manages to study it long enough to catch the faintest gradient. Turning on his heel towards the door, he supposes his day starts now.

Middle school's over, those entrance exams are coming up. Katsuki needs to be perfect for it, he doesn't expect any less of himself. What would he be worth if he managed to fuck that up?

 Quiet steps out the room does it, the carpet muffles all sounds of his steps. Then to the bathroom, he eyes his parents' room, before the stairs. Katsuki makes it to the bathroom.

He brushes his mouth and deals with all his daily morning ordeals without pause, he's already finished showering, brushing, and changing by the time the sky's paled to jean blue. Then he's downstairs, out for early jogging before breakfast. Katsuki has no time to eat, nor the intention to. He'll have something after jogging, but he knows it's not just jogging he's going out for.

 Mitsuki'll give him an earful if he returns late, shrieking about him going off to nowhere once more. At the same time, she'd be right. Katsuki goes out whenever he wants and doesn't inform his parents, but then again why should he? It's none of their business.