“Are you ever angry?” You ask quietly, head resting in Bakugou’s lap. His thumb pauses where it strokes your cheeks, the far away gaze in his eyes suddenly snapping into focus as he looks down at you. He looks…different than you remembered, before you both were cast out of the pearly gates.
His hair doesn’t shine as bright as it used to, and it falls a little flatter without the halo pulling it up, soft. His eyes still hold that hardened gaze as a battle angel, but they’re deeper now. More sunken in and hollow, the flickering ichor now a stained crimson. His face is scarred and his hands are rough after the fall but he’s just—different.
“About what?” He asks, his lips pursed in confusion. You reach a hand up, stroking over his bottom lip, smooth a hand through his hair. You can almost feel the throbbing light radiating from him, can almost see how broad and ivory his wings would spread and hold you tight to him.
“It all. Everything. The fall.” You whisper, try not to shrink into yourself with the way Bakugou’s lip curls back in disgust. He pulls away from you and you sit up, resting on your knees, looking at him in such a way that his heart pangs in his chest.
His heart, something he’s never had a reason for when he still had his fists bathed in heavenly fire and no ounce of rebellion hidden under sinless skin. It aches in his chest at the mention of life after being kicked out with the only thing he could hold onto—you.
“Why would I miss my thoughtlessness? My inability to make a decision for myself? Why would I miss being a pawn?” Bakugou is all snarls, all snapping teeth and jowls, but it doesn’t scare you. He’s never scared you, even when his gait was limp from the impact of hard soil, and his hands grew rough, and his back grew jagged from ripped feathers.
“I miss it.” You whisper so carefully into the humid night, hands reaching for his own trembling ones. “I want to be holy again, Katsuki.”
He hisses at you, snatching away like you’ve burned him, like you’ve seized his halo and ripped it into two until it split into horns. Looks at you with such heavenly fire burning in his gaze that you want to shrink beneath him.
“Well—well I don’t. Find someone else who will, cause it sure as hell ain’t me.” You wonder who he’s trying to convince here, with his shaky voice and fluttering eyes and trembling mouth. You stare at him for a long while, lips wobbling at the gravity of it all. Your head hangs low, gathering yourself in your arms, head bowed to him—it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.
“Just hold me for now.” You murmur, eyes low as you settle yourself in his arms, forcing your way into his hold. “Please?” You tack on, unafraid of his bite, his snarl, his growl. Bakugou sits there stiffly for what feels like a century, but you’re used to waiting.
He gathers you in his arms slowly, pulling you into his chest, his body covering yours completely. And if you let yourself relax enough, you can almost feel the warmth of his wings surrounding you again.
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ANNETTE — “Hi, ace detective.” The young girl stifles a yawn. “We’ll be closing up soon, I’m afraid. Is there anything I can help you find?”
EMPATHY — She’s hoping the answer is yes. Any excuse to take a break from the dreaded *math homework.*
“No thanks, I was just on my way out.” [Leave]
“It’s okay, I don’t want to distract you from your studies.”
“Yeah, actually. I’m looking for a book.”
ANNETTE — She tries and fails to hide her relief as she sets her textbook under her chair. “Of course! What are you looking for, sir?”
“A happy story.”
“A sad story.”
“Something that will make me a better detective.”
“Something that will make me a better person.”
“Something about how to mend a broken heart.”
ANNETTE — “Oh…” She frowns, staring up at the shelves as if hoping that the perfect book will miraculously catch her eye. “Umm… Let me think…”
EMPATHY — She’s genuinely trying to think of one. She wants to help you.
ANNETTE — After a long, long pause, Annette finally lets out a sigh of defeat. “…I’m not sure,” she admits sadly. “I’m sorry, sir.”
YOU — “You can’t think of anything at all?”
ANNETTE — “Well… We do carry some self help books, sir, but…” She casts a quick glance around the store.
REACTION SPEED — Making sure Plaisance is out of earshot.
ANNETTE — The girl leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “Mother says those books are all snake oil. ‘If all it took to change somebody’s life was a book, *we* would be sitting quite prettily.’”
DRAMA — Her Plaisance impression is uncanny! What talent!
YOU — “Why do you sell them, then?”
ANNETTE — “Well,” she coughs, “not everyone agrees with my mother.”
RHETORIC — Translation: because people buy them. It’s as simple as that.
ANNETTE — “But I don’t think that’s quite what you’re looking for, is it, sir…?” She looks up at you with that seemingly impossible mixture of innocence and knowing that is unique to children.
“Yeah, you’re right. It isn’t.”
“No, I think I’ll give the self help books a try.”
“I’m not really sure what I’m looking for, to be honest.”
ANNETTE — She nods slowly, looking down at her frayed nails. “Lots of people come into the shop not quite knowing what they’re looking for. But that’s what’s so nice about bookshops, don’t you think? No matter where you look, you can find *something* interesting.” She smiles bright enough to light up every dark corner of the bookstore and the doomed commercial area below it. “I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for, ace detective. Maybe you just have to let it find *you.*”
+1 MORALE
VOLITION — Here in this bookshop. In Martinaise. Revachol. The world. This seemingly wretched lifetime. In the midst of it all, there is always something for you. Uncurl your fist. Let it find your palms upturned.
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