[ right— it's not actual blood, and there is a very brief second of relief there, one that didn't linger for too long. as the hand reached up to feel his cheek, denji's stare didn't waver, anxiously focused on that arm of his, aware those little doubts were becoming a reality with every beat. it was hard not to be bitter about those classmates of his because why the fuck is bakugou like this? why is he this injured? and his arm - it's not moving. he's not moving it. considering the nature of his quirk, did that mean the end of his career as a hero? the end of his dream? everything bakugou worked hard for is stripped away from him? even when the war is over, and all those civilians are saved, victory to hero society and all that ... it didn't need to be at the expense of that boy. it's senseless, if not borderline cruel, of denji to be thinking this way, seething with animosity on how it all turned out, selfish enough that he wished this upon someone else and not his bakugou. those reflections are something he's not proud of— it made him feel gross, breeding his self-hate, but he also didn't care enough to wear the righteous attitude and be 'the bigger person' here. he's mad. he's fucking mad. why bakugou?
why him? ]
... You're not okay. [ despite his feelings, his tone came out a lot softer, calmer, and undoubtedly loving. if there are changes within him, whether they will alter his perspective about certain matters or not, one thing is for sure— he will always love that boy. he's more important than all the growing conflicts inside of him, and even if he was fuming from within, none of it would reach the surface when he speaks to the other. ] You probably won't be okay for a while, too. But ... I'll take care of you.
[ it's his turn to care for the other, and he won't start it by spitting fire in his boyfriend's direction. he wouldn't scream 'Why?!!' and demand how that all happened when his tantrum wouldn't change the outcome. if anything— it would probably upset bakugou instead. again, breathe. shifting closer, he carefully unbuttoned the other's top, just enough to check on the wounds underneath. the old bandages, once white, were now stained with dried blood, clinging stubbornly to the somewhat healing yet wounded flesh beneath. no, bakugou didn't appear to be neglected; they were wrapped professionally, but perhaps ... he got dragged back in here before someone could change them. even behind the covering, denji can see the scars carved into his skin too deep, fated to shadow bakugou for the rest of his life.
denji looked sick, not out of disgust, but just sheer sorrow. he's quiet, slowly tilting his head as he inspects the other dark bruises and markings around his lover's body. ] ... and your arm? [ had to let that one out, preparing himself for the worse. he can't predict his own reaction to this one, which is a dangerous gamble. ]
at least he will know you're still here 😔
why him? ]
... You're not okay. [ despite his feelings, his tone came out a lot softer, calmer, and undoubtedly loving. if there are changes within him, whether they will alter his perspective about certain matters or not, one thing is for sure— he will always love that boy. he's more important than all the growing conflicts inside of him, and even if he was fuming from within, none of it would reach the surface when he speaks to the other. ] You probably won't be okay for a while, too. But ... I'll take care of you.
[ it's his turn to care for the other, and he won't start it by spitting fire in his boyfriend's direction. he wouldn't scream 'Why?!!' and demand how that all happened when his tantrum wouldn't change the outcome. if anything— it would probably upset bakugou instead. again, breathe. shifting closer, he carefully unbuttoned the other's top, just enough to check on the wounds underneath. the old bandages, once white, were now stained with dried blood, clinging stubbornly to the somewhat healing yet wounded flesh beneath. no, bakugou didn't appear to be neglected; they were wrapped professionally, but perhaps ... he got dragged back in here before someone could change them. even behind the covering, denji can see the scars carved into his skin too deep, fated to shadow bakugou for the rest of his life.
denji looked sick, not out of disgust, but just sheer sorrow. he's quiet, slowly tilting his head as he inspects the other dark bruises and markings around his lover's body. ] ... and your arm? [ had to let that one out, preparing himself for the worse. he can't predict his own reaction to this one, which is a dangerous gamble. ]