Chapter Text
A buzzer sound loud enough, resonating deep in his stomach, vibrated the air. His small exhale sounded unusually loud in the silence. The cyclorama lights dimly illuminated the area, casting a pale pink hue over the stage.
Looking around, the space felt eerily quiet, as if he were the only one there. Of course. The only performer on this stage was Katsuki Bakugou. In other words, this was a one-man show. If he simply followed the script he'd written in his head, the story would end without a hitch.
Beyond the heavy red curtain before him, everything was eerily silent. There was no applause or murmur. What awaited him in the darkness that would unfold once the curtain rose? Even Katsuki didn't know. Yet, he had to continue the story. That was his only atonement. Even if his throat grew hoarse, even if his bare feet, running under the lights, became raw and bloodied, he couldn't let this performance end. Even the throbbing pain in his neck is probably just in his head.
He shook his head slightly and a bead of sweat run down his temple and drip down his chin. He clenched his trembling hands tightly into a fist, even though it wasn't cold. He placed his hand on his chest to try and calm his rapidly beating heart, feeling it through his thin shirt. At that moment, Katsuki noticed something rustling softly inside the pocket over his heart
He carefully pulled it out with his sweaty hand, revealing an awkwardly folded origami shuriken. One side was made from crisp white paper folded neatly edge-to-edge, while the other was red paper wrinkled and uneven in places. Together they formed a misshapen little star that was honestly far from praiseworthy. Yet, to Katsuki, that shuriken felt incredibly precious.
He traced the edge with his fingers, gently pinched one of the points, and carefully placed it back in his breast pocket. So as not to break it, so as not to let it crumble. He knew he would never get another one like it.
Strangely, the trembling in his hands had stopped. A warmth spreading from his chest, stirring resolve within him. There was nothing to be afraid of.
He looked up at the sound of the buzzer ringing again, and chuckled softly at the "Beware of Fire" signs lined up behind the curtain. There's no way a fire could break out in a place like this, with no potential ignition sources. It's strange.
A lukewarm breeze slipped through the gap in the curtains, making him catch his breath. Squinting at the light spreading through the slowly rising curtain, he thought he could faintly see the audience seats.
Someone was sitting alone in the middle of the empty seats. Before Katsuki could speak at the familiar two-tone hair, something warm wet his pale, round cheeks.
♦︎
Beep beep beep beep beep beep
The steady, rhythmic beeping of a machine forcibly dragged his consciousness back to reality. The outline of the ceiling before him blurred, and his lungs, inflated to take in oxygen, cried out in protest. He reached for the clock that wouldn't stop beeping, but his feverish body felt unbearably heavy and wouldn't move.
It's happening again. This dream again. He doesn't know how many times he had it. How many times has it happened now that the striking red and white colors, etched in his memory, have made him wake up, his heart aching? He has given up even counting.
Deep within his abdomen, something thick and molten writhed greedily, desperately craving more. His limbs struggled desperately to escape the signals shooting through him like electric shocks, only to sink deeper into the damp sheets beneath him. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, and he doesn't care if his nails dig into his own body and draw blood as he try to resist the overwhelming instinct.
To hell with mating season, mating, sex.