“Oi–” He gently shook you, “food's ready.”

As if you could even respond to him.

Bakugo was careful with you, more gentle than he ever thought he could be. Ever since the accident, it's all he ever has been with you.

As months carried on, there you laid, helpless and practically comatose on the bed. The only indication of you still being amongst the living was the subtle rise and fall of your chest with every small breath you were forced to take to remain alive.

Otherwise, he would've thought you were dead a long time ago.

He still blames himself.

I should've been faster. He clutches the metal spoon, Why didn't you say you call for backup, idiot..?

Sometimes he blames you for it. But truth be told, it was neither of your faults. But you didn't have the voice or strength to tell him, and he couldn't think of it any other way.

With the strength you would hold an antique doll, he began to help you up into his arms as he hoisted himself onto the hospital bed. Remembering your certain distaste for the distinct smell of death that lingered within hospital walls. That's how you used to describe it.

You hated hospitals.

His head fell forward. His teeth grit and eyes unwavering as they stared at your motionless arm.

“Damn it.. Why'd you have to go off on your own?”