[ they're back to their room, back to this forgien country, back to their 'normal'. the faint glow from the moon stretched across the bed, catching on the thin sheen of sweat clinging to bakugou’s body. the sheets were a mess— half on the floor and the other twisted under the hero's weight. denji stared the other down, straddling his hips but not putting any weight on him, barely breathing, eyes barely visible behind a mess of untamed curls. slowly, his knees sank into the mattress on either side, toes curled slightly for balance; still holding his fist high, unwavering, as if he wasn't sure if it was truly over. he watched as bakugou lay beneath him, resting back against the mattress— chest heaving, jaw locked, eyes open but staring at something far, far away for a few agonizing seconds. was it over? or, will they get dragged into another shitty memory? can anyone blame denji for not dropping his guard yet? even when the other boy seemed to be acting like himself again.
he looked around, scanning the room for inconsistencies or anything that didn’t belong. he hadn't noticed anything different, turning his head to the other side and staring over their belongings in one corner, more familiar perks. he then brought a trembling hand to his face, touching his skin as if it might peel away like paper. they traced the line of his jaw, the damp hair on his forehead, the warm stickiness of sweat on his neck. real. it's real.
he glanced down, catching bakugou's eyes as he slowly pulled himself out of that dangerous mindset, trying his best to switch off all those sirens, reassuring himself that it was nothing more than an illusion. calm down. soon after, his hand moved toward his lover, hesitant at first, fingers brushing over his chest. the second he could feel the other's breathing under his fingertips, something in denji broke. a soundless, invisible crack. then came the embrace — his arms wrapped around bakugou with a desperation that spoke of panic, not passion. his chest pressed into his, heartbeat pounding hard, face buried to his shoulder, nose against his neck and eyes squeezed shut. ]
... are you okay? [ and no, he's not talking about the punch. ]
no subject
he looked around, scanning the room for inconsistencies or anything that didn’t belong. he hadn't noticed anything different, turning his head to the other side and staring over their belongings in one corner, more familiar perks. he then brought a trembling hand to his face, touching his skin as if it might peel away like paper. they traced the line of his jaw, the damp hair on his forehead, the warm stickiness of sweat on his neck. real. it's real.
he glanced down, catching bakugou's eyes as he slowly pulled himself out of that dangerous mindset, trying his best to switch off all those sirens, reassuring himself that it was nothing more than an illusion. calm down. soon after, his hand moved toward his lover, hesitant at first, fingers brushing over his chest. the second he could feel the other's breathing under his fingertips, something in denji broke. a soundless, invisible crack. then came the embrace — his arms wrapped around bakugou with a desperation that spoke of panic, not passion. his chest pressed into his, heartbeat pounding hard, face buried to his shoulder, nose against his neck and eyes squeezed shut. ]
... are you okay? [ and no, he's not talking about the punch. ]