The Price of Love
The funeral unfolded beneath a leaden sky, its somber gray mirroring the collective grief of those gathered. Heroes and civilians alike formed a sea of black, their presence a testament to the impact of the fallen. At the forefront stood Izuku Midoriya, his posture a study in forced composure, betrayed only by the trembling of his hands.
Looming over the assembly, a portrait of Katsuki Bakugo commanded attention. It captured his essence - fierce, defiant, seemingly invincible. The irony was palpable; a soul so incandescent, now extinguished.
As eulogies blended into a tapestry of praise, words like "courageous," "brilliant," and "unrelenting" echoed. Yet, to Izuku, these descriptors fell short. Katsuki wasn't merely brave; he was a tempest of recklessness, driven by an insatiable need to prove his worth. His brilliance was matched only by his obstinacy, a refusal to accept anything less than absolute perfection. And unrelenting? That was an understatement. Katsuki Bakugo was a force of nature, a hurricane with a heart that burned hotter than the sun.
When Izuku's turn came to speak, the weight of countless eyes bore down upon him. "Kacchan," he began, his voice fracturing on the familiar nickname, "was more than a hero. He was my rival, my inspiration, and my friend. He pushed me to be better, even when I doubted myself. He believed in me in his own way, even if he never voiced it. And now, without him, the world feels... quieter."
As the casket, adorned with crimson blooms, descended into the earth, Izuku remained stoic. But as the crowd dispersed, he lingered, kneeling before the freshly etched gravestone1.
In solitude, he allowed memories to wash over him - the scent of ash and sweat that had always clung to Katsuki, a fragrance as familiar as home. But on that fateful day, when he'd cradled Katsuki's lifeless form, the scent had changed. Katsuki no longer smelled like home, He smelled like death.
The final moments replayed in his mind - Bakugo's fiery explosions, his indomitable spirit, and ultimately, his still, lifeless face. Those eyes that once blazed with life now held nothing.
In the days that followed, Izuku found himself adrift in a world that had lost its anchor. The absence of Bakugo's explosive presence left a void that seemed to echo with every step. The halls of U.A. High School, once filled with their heated rivalry, now felt hollow and cold.Izuku's classmates watched him with worried eyes, their own grief compounded by concern for their friend. Ochaco Uraraka and Tenya Iida hovered nearby, offering silent support, but even they couldn't breach the walls Izuku had built around his pain.
At night, sleep eluded him. In the quiet darkness of his room, Izuku would stare at the ceiling, his mind replaying every moment, every interaction with Bakugo. He found himself analyzing their shared history, searching for clues, for some sign that might have predicted this outcome.
Izuku knew that Bakugo would die. Maybe if Bakugo hadn't been a careless and relentless person he wouldn't have died. Izuku really did care about Bakugo, more than himself. Izukus mind started to fill with possibilities. He blamed himself for Bakugos death. Maybe if he tried harder and was more nice and affectionate towards him and convinced him not to fight in the final war- Izuku felt tears coming out of his eyes. He knew that if he continued to think the tears wouldn't stop. He tried to clear his mind, but no matter what his mind was consumed on the thought of Bakugo.
Izuku slowly calmed himself down, listening to music. He hasn't been able to sleep on eat properly ever since the funeral. He hated the funeral.
The funeral meant that things we're official - Bakugo really was dead. He was never coming back, he was never screaming or yelling at another classmate, Bakugo wouldn't come back. Ever. Thats the thing that bothered him the most. He wanted someone to just wake him up from this never-ending nightmare and tell him its all a joke. That Bakugo really was alive.
As dawn broke on another sleepless night, Izuku was thinking. Izuku's thoughts drifted back to their childhood, to the playground where Bakugo had first declared his superiority. Even then, his quirk had been impressive, small explosions dancing at his fingertips. Izuku remembered watching in awe, his quirkless status already setting him apart. Izuku has always admired Bakugo. To Izuku, Bakugo was this superhero. Bakugo had saved Izuku over and over again so he thought of Bakugo as a savior.
As they grew, so did the distance between them. Bakugo's talent blossomed, his confidence bordering on arrogance. Yet, even as he pushed Izuku away, there was always a connection - a thread of destiny that seemed to bind them together.
Izuku recalled the day he had received One For All, the day everything changed. He had kept it a secret from everyone, but while fighting Bakugo he just couldn't keep it from him. He felt like he was entitled to tell Bakugo. His suspicion had turned to fury, then to a grudging respect as Izuku proved himself time and again. Bakugo never admitted it, but he was proud and envious of Izuku.
Now, standing in the wake of Bakugo's sacrifice, Izuku felt the full weight of their shared legacy. They had been more than rivals; they were two sides of the same coin, both striving to become the greatest hero.Izuku's fingers traced the outline of Bakugo's gauntlets, now resting on his desk.
He had kept them, a tangible reminder of the friend he had lost and the promise they had made to each other - spoken or not - to push each other to the very limits of their potential.
Izuku was just so mad at everyone and everything. He didn't want to accept the fact that his bestfriend, his first everything, his friend was gone. Izuku then grabbed Katsukis gauntlets, holding them like if they we're a sacred artifact. His hands we're trembling, hoping his touch wouldn't break or scratch the gauntlets. The Gauntlets smelled just like Bakugo, Izuku brought the Gauntlets to his chest.
Izuku yearned for Bakugo. Izuku missed how he would always yell and scream at somebody even for the silliest mistakes, he missed how his red crimson eyes reflected on the sunlight, he missed how his soft yellow hair felt on izukus fingers whenever he would play with them, Izuku missed Bakugu. Izuku was going to have to remember Bakugo longer than he ever knew him.
Grief is the price we pay for love.