Asphyxiation

Chapter 1: Green

A.N: Hey!!! So, KatsuDeku was the most popular ship amongst you guys, so this is the fic I'll be publishing. This is just the first chapter to give you guys a taste of what this fic is about. Hope you guys are interested! Thank you so much for the support. Let me know in the comments if you guys are intrigued! 😋

Warning: I don't want to give away any spoilers, but expect dark themes, Switch Bakugou, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationship dynamics and triggering content (suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, non-con, abuse, violence, gore, etc.)

Disclaimer: So in the ALBQ comment section, many people have rallied to my cause. We are raising funds and weaponry such as Yaoi Paddles and Body Pillows to fight back against the possibility of *gag* Deku x Uraraka. 😱 (Just a joke, ship who you want.😅)
If we can not buy BNHA and make KatsuDeku canon instead, then we shall go to war for all Fujoshi kind!
Vanillas, Non-Otakus, Anti-Yaoi Society; bow down to our epic power!!!! 😤😂
(Aka, I do not own BNHA, but if I did KatsuDeku would be a thing by now!)

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KATSUKI

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Katsuki's interest in the passing seasons long since fades around late Spring.

It's raining, harsh and thunderous. Thin, sharp droplets that plummet from smokey clouds and cut at his skin. He escapes the downpour on his way home from work by ducking under the closest doorway. He waits for the shower to fade, but it refuses to relent as more and more time passes.
Somehow, he does not want to go home.
The rain falls harshly and the sky rumbles above and Katsuki watches it all, a hand buried in his suit pocket and the other clutching a briefcase.
Clouds blot out the pale sky and shadows stretch from skyscrapers to cover the street.

The world is grey.

Grey shadows upon grey shadows. An expanse of smoke and monochrome. From the bleached stretch of sky above, to the reflection of street lamps in the falling rain drops. Dull. Dreary. Insipid.
As if Katuski numbed his tastebuds on the first sip of a steaming hot coffee and can't taste the rest of the cup. Never will.
Even his charcoal suit blends in with the black and white photograph of Tokyo around him. In the image, he becomes just another faceless figure in the rain - clearly not the subject of the viewfinder.
The world is grey.
Katsuki is colourless.
The sky is blue right? He looks up, rain splattering against his cheek. What does blue look like? And the lights from the advertisements, flickering across buildings and billboards? What colours are they? I can't remember. Squinting his eyes, he attempts to make out the colours that surely surround him. Everyone else can see. Pinks and greens and oranges and every colour in the fucking rainbow. In his eyes, there is just grey.
Endless shades of grey.
He opens his mouth, words swallowed by the rain and noise of the city...

    "---"

The rain falls, people bustle by and the world moves on in sparkling colour. Colour that Katsuki will probably never see again.
He steps out into the rain and trudges through the streets, expressionless. The icy droplets of water drench his hair and weigh down the heavy fabric of his suit. Eyes blur and shoes splash against the hard, wet ground - soundless amongst the crowd's thunderous footsteps.
He blends in seamlessly.
Swallowed by anonymity; a parasite, leeching off his surroundings. He burns away any colour - turpentine tossed over a fresh painting. God's artistic skill is stripped and the heavenly paints melted from the world's canvas, sinking into each other as sickly clumps of grey.
Greys bleeding into greys.
Even the Almighty's paintbrush can not fix the havoc he wreaks upon the world of colour. Umbrellas bump into his shoulders and flick water into his face, as the swarm of people rush past. He walks with the throng of night-workers and businessmen and exhausted interns running errands. He just keeps walking. Walking and walking in a grey rain that chills him to the bone. He walks all the way to The Rainbow Bridge, only coming to a stop at its center.
Cars whizz past and people admire the lights with smiles as they sweep by. He waits until the number of vehicles diminishes and the huge group of tourists vanish.
The sky is pitch black. The sea below grey.
Standing in the middle of one of the most colourful places in Tokyo - a bridge that literally sports every colour of the rainbow - and Katsuki sees nothing but grey. How ironic, he thinks.
It takes exactly five steps forward to come to a stop before the steel railing of the Rainbow Bridge. Lights embellish the barrier, probably flashing beautiful colours to everyone else, but shinning an eerie white in his eyes. It's so fucking ironic. A sigh. Caught by the breeze, almost before it leaves his lips, and carted off to sea.
He wonders why he is here. Not on the Rainbow Bridge in particular, but here. Existing.