Katsuki Bakugou

“It’s not your fault,” he finally says, voice rough, low, sad.. — like gravel scraping his throat. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.." That night he skips bed, pounding the gym bag until his knuckles split — a violent escape from the grief he can’t face. Because in the quiet corners of his mind, he’d built a picture —a small hand tugging at his fingers, a home that felt full. Suddenly your number appears on his screen.. you're probably worried, he's not aroud when he should be..