forever, your aniki 🪐 oneshots (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ ‼️ Ended ‼️

3. Haunted fatigue, living failure

"Hey, hey, hey, little listener!" A loud banana bent down to screech in his ear over the music, "You enjoyin' the partaayyy?!" Present Mic's enthusiasm was making his eardrums bleed. Wincing slightly, M/n pulled away and gave a downturned smile. Mic and Aizawa were stood before him, their feet tapping to the music that slunk around the air, filtering into their lungs like powdered drugs.

His homeroom teacher was dressed like a mummy, bandaged up from head to toe, only one grumpy eye visible. His costume looked familiar, like it'd once been on him for a purpose, but M/n couldn't put his finger on it. Mic, on the other hand, had an impressive amount of sfx going on. He was in his hero costume, but built into the ribcage was a gaping hole, through which M/n could see the flashing lights.

"That's really cool, sir." The teen complimented, a dazzle in his eye as he gazed up at his teachers, "How'd you make it look so real?"

Tilting his sunglasses down with his index finger, Mic and Aizawa shared a look. "Whaddya mean, little listener?"

"Um? Like, how did-"

"Who're you supposed to be, exactly?" Aizawa's gruff voice cut in, effortlessly making the older Bakugou feel self conscious.

"I'm Hawks, sir." He imitated flapping his arms, hoping the tiny red wings taped to his back did him justice along with his slicked back hair and yellow goggles.

"Coulda fooled us!" Mic laughed, and suddenly hands were grabbing M/n left and right, dragging him away from them as their figures grew blurry. "I don't remember that guy having such patchy skin!" Whilst sinking into the shoal of limbs, M/n's eyes widened as Aizawa's bandages began seeping with a red liquid, blotching his frame like spilled ink. Mic's fake wound began dripping as he smiled and chugged another drink- the liquid spluttering out his exposed oesophagus.

This time M/n managed to keep his head above the crowd, practically fighting his way to the bathroom, and his palm slapped against the door, pushing inward and falling gracefully into the urinals. The music pounded on the door like angry fists as he stumbled to the sinks, grasping the porcelain and taking shaky breaths. He wasn't good at crowds and loud noises, they were too much to compartmentalise- too many sounds, vibrations, pitches of voice, squeaking feet, and the heat. It was immobilising.

He didn't even know why he was at this stupid party. Only because he had too. Kurutta insisted he show his face, prove his ongoing involvement with the association.

Inhaling some shuddering breaths, M/n raised his head to the mirror, the lights above flickering in their glass confinements, as if trembling with fear.

His eyes locked onto the reflection. And what stared back horrified him like poison to the nerves, shutting him down immediately.

Dark hair, blue eyes and patchy skin. Stapled skin, with a cruel smirk.

It was Dabi. Dabi was grinning darkly back at him.

M/n fought the air with his fists and flailed to the ground, crying out a frightened yelp. What was this?! He'd definitely come here dressed as Hawks- he was sure he didn't imagine him and Katsuki up late last night sticking red feathers to a jacket, or his dad sewing the collar, the three boys working in comfortable silence.

Shakily he stood back up, ready to break the illusion, but staring back at him now with wide eyes was himself. Back in his corny get-up, panting and on the verge of collapse.

He patted breathlessly behind him until his hand met the door, and with a whoosh fell backwards into the inferno. He needed to get out of here, no matter how hard Kurutta's invitation had implored he stay there and entertain.