[ "I'm not dead". denji closed his eyes for a moment as if trying to compose himself and not allow the emotions to run as high as they desired. it's not something he wanted to hear; such words are not reassuring when he's in this mindset, especially when he can see, even behind the bandages, the wounds are far too deep. almost fatal. they looked like it. denji was sure they'd feel like it, too. the flesh is probably too soft, skin hasn't healed or closed up yet, raw and vulnerable. subconsciously, his gaze settled on those injuries over anything else, finally picking up on the missing scar — the one his chainsaws engraved during the infamous vegas mission. for some reason, one he couldn't understand, it made him feel a certain way. the touch on his cheek is kind, but faint. bakugou's tone was too low, nothing but a whisper— in contrast to bruises blooming in violent hues across his skin, bandages obscuring injuries that probably gave the hero a small taste of what death feels like. those visuals were loud in his mind, heart, and soul. denji was lost in it, staring, watching, and if he was quiet enough ... he could almost hear bakugou's heart strain to match a steady beat. he allowed the fabric to slide down each shoulder and let go. denji was still crouched before the other boy; shoulders slumped, head tilted. his hands dangled between his knees, fingers half-curled, motionless. it was the kind of stillness that came from a realization that he is, once again, helpless.

he then picked up on a shift, the urge to lift his chin upward, unwilling to break off his stare until the view was completely blocked as bakugou leaned in. then warmth wrapped around him, one that felt more real. a kiss that lingers long enough to fade away any doubts; bakugou is still alive and breathing. he's back here, not in the best state, but it's his boyfriend. he went back to the moment when he noticed his side of the bed was empty, thinking of the way he desperately searched for him around the base, knocking on doors and demanding answers. and in that shared kiss, in that unshaken presence, denji reminded himself this was not the time to break apart. mourn, that's fine, no one is expecting him to act like it's another day. they had to ... find a way to get through it. together. so he kissed him back, matching his intensity, keeping it soft with its slow intimacy. a much-needed breather before they returned to their reality. his arm ... that's the hard part of it all. there is a chance he will never be able to use it again, and bakugou might not be the hero he always dreamed of being. he knew this was everything to him. there is no way ... he's okay with it.

was he scared when he found out? when he woke up with a mutilated arm? ah, surely he wasn't alone during that hard time? his parents were with him, right? his friends? his teachers? - yeah, bakugou isn't like him. he had a support group. ahhhh, why did that hurt a bit? maybe because denji realized he didn't need him there. fuck, this isn't about him. why is he thinking like this? ] I, uh ... don't know much about physical therapy. But I'd like to be there with you. To help.

[ there's a pause, gaze low, he then pulled himself from settling on the floor and joined his lover on the bed. gently, he placed a hand on his knee, meeting his eyes. ] We'll find a way to fix this. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll do anything for you ...