Chapter Text
People don't know, they don't fucking know.
They don't know how frustrating it is to be different. Maybe he doesn't wear glasses, maybe he doesn't have freckles, and maybe he doesn't stutter while having hobbies and likes geeky things like the fucking stereotypes.
To be different, to be in some way socially distant or separated. Be especial.
Being special and praised for things so stupidly easy for him. School is hard but not difficult, the topics are not ambiguous and the technical materials are nothing more than lyrics of a story for children.
Being special that you know more than others. At school, with your friends, in your family.
He was never a genius prodigy, he was just a child who knows a little more than the rest of the people around him.
And when his quirk was manifested, the praises were nothing more than a bane to a dark hole of the reality of the world.
And as we said, he was not a genius or a prodigy to know that there are sick people in search of power covered with nefarious actions to search for "how to live."
Bullshit.
Bullshit and also to a certain point, true.
After many years, Katsuki learned how this whole world works. And it's so chaotically corrupted. The system is so perfect for mere mortals who only do what they can do, be human.
After all, no one is Jesus.
But they also have reasons to be so corrupt with people who do so many disturbing things. He knows it perfectly. He knows why this system is what it is, he knows because he experienced firsthand what the desperation of wanting to live is. To search for how to live in this world full of evil.
So it was special, as much as it could be.
Number one in everything, he knew about strategies, theories, laws. Everything you could imagine to be a hero worthy of admiration, of perfection.
Because he would never cry again, he would not fall into arms that would hurt him again. I wouldn't find any empathy in them, because they are no longer a child to whom you tell a sad story and they forgive you.
"Katsuki, you understand me right?"
No, he wouldn't. Katsuki doesn't understand, Kacchan does.
"I don't wanted to do this by choice"
You do, damn mentally ill. You had options, too many to count with the small hands he had at the time.
"You are so special"
"Don't cry, okay?"
"You'll be fine."
Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.
"Ah... you hug me? So that means you like it then?"
No! He doesn't like it, he doesn't like it and he never will. That child gave him a hug even when he was being so bruised and locked in disgustingly sweaty arms in humanly rotting filth.
Because he thought heroes had compassion.
And they have them, but between shouting, not being heard and being strong, special, and being that child who endured so much, that they called him a prodigy. He preferred the second option.
So he hugged him while he ran over his beaten body, passing over his purple ribs, letting those disgusting kisses try to heal his broken lips, he let his past be a justification for his morbid actions on a child.
He cried, he cried like never before. It was painful, it's painful and if he tried to remember more he could still feel that pain. How not?
After all, the memories of that child still linger in Bakugou Katsuki's head.
The special child who let himself be carried away through Wonderland in search of an escape.
But of course, they don't know.