interlinked

three

The weekend was supposed to be quiet.

Bakugou liked quiet.

Not the kind where the world was still—it never was since it just kept spinning. But quiet meant space. Enough space to train, space to think, space to ignore that damn string wrapped around his finger like it was always mocking him.

It wasn't working.

Everything he tried to do to ignore it, wasn't working.

Even as he lay sprawled across his bed in his childhood home, sweating from a morning drill, some training routine he didn't even remember starting, the thread throbbed faintly at his pinky. A dull, steady hum that he couldn't scrape off his consciousness.

Tch.

He lifted his hand, watching the string appear around his pinky. It wasn't tugging very hard, but it knew there was something close. The color faded when it hit his wall, as if it was just through it.

It had been doing this for weeks now. Always faint, always just... there. Persistent. A reminder that someone was somewhere in this city.

Close enough that the universe could feel it, yet far enough that he couldn't figure out who it was. He didn't want to figure it out, but it was closer now. Whoever the other end belonged to.

There were times he thought it was going to be stupid Deku.

Or times he thought it would be Shitty Hair, but they would've already caught his attention. Their strings led somewhere else. Deku didn't have Round Cheeks for once and her string led somewhere else. Shitty hair didn't have Racoon Eyes either, she had someone else.

He looked at his hand, palm raised toward the ceiling of his room instead. He clenched his fist and flexed his fingers. The glow dimmed a little, like it was pissed at his defiance. Good. Let it be pissed.

Bakugou hated the thing.

He hated the way it lingered like an aftertaste he couldn't wash away. He hated the way it reminded him he wasn't completely alone. He hated the way the faint warmth that pulsed along it sometimes felt... comforting.

That last one was the worst.

He shoved himself up and yawned, throwing a glance at the clock. Saturday. A weekend. For once, he didn't have to go back to school, fall asleep in the dorms, or wake up early.

No training sessions with Shitty Hair, no errands with Deku, no lectures or tests. Just a few hours to himself before his parents came home and cooked dinner.

It should've been peaceful.

Instead, his hand tingled.

The thread pulsed faintly at his pinky, steady and insistent, like it was breathing along with him.

He stared at it. Again.

Every day, he told himself it didn't matter. Every day, he shoved the thought down. But even now, lying in his own room with the window cracked open and sunlight spilling across the floor, he couldn't shake it.

Whatever this was, this person, this "fate" bullshit, was close.

That bothered him more than it should.

He gritted his teeth.

It wasn't just anyone. It had to be someone. Someone who hadn't even met him yet. Couldn't have. He hadn't talked to anyone besides Aizawa about leaving for the weekend; hell, he hadn't even interacted with them. And yet—

The thread pulsed again, faint, almost impatient.

Bakugou growled under his breath and shoved the blanket off. Time to get up. At least moving around might distract him. He threw on a T-shirt and jogged to the nearest park. The old park he and Deku used to go to.