He thought he and fatigue were well acquainted, or at least the male had thought he had experienced the worse when he first learnt to blacksmith. He remembers the feeling of aching muscles, the soreness that cramped every fiber in his body. It stretches along his joints, pulls along the base of his neck towards his tired shoulders. Then was the residue, the morning after the tiresome trade. It took so much effort not to let his knees wobble when he walked, and it stung like the bitch if he so dared to flinch. His own strides became a more conscious effort. He became aware of the way energy passed down his forearm and femur, sparking towards his lower limbs before rolling off the heel of his paws. He could feel the ball of weight distributing, moving based on his centre of gravity before the toes of his paws finally unleashed, launching the energy against the air. The worst aftereffects sat about his neck. He couldn't so much as lift his head properly and the angle his face was left in due to his lowered gaze always looked much grumpier than usual, it gave him an uglier scowl should he show the slightest distaste for anything.

This time, however, he felt a different restlessness. Bakugou felt he had no time to think of how he was feeling, to recognise the simmer or bubble of his heart. What he does notice about his heart was how it felt as if it wished to be in different places, his organs couldn't seem to keep still. They kept reverberating against different planes of reality, unable to hold their shape, dimension or purpose. If he were to describe the insufferable pain, then he could say that every cell of his body was trying to rip themselves away from each other like two powerful but similarly charged magnets. His own organs were repulsed for what they were and his heart didn't wish to be a heart but anything else. At times it wanted to be his stomach, other times his lungs and his liver. It refused to beat the way it normally did and sometimes, when Bakugou tried to relax, he realised the faintest of thumps along his chest as if his heart were refusing to beat. Even worse was that some days he was convinced he couldn't even hear it. But still, Bakugou tries to reassure himself, he hasn't been in the right head space either. After stealing some painkillers, too embarrassed to have asked otherwise, the remnant of the pain existed in his mind.

He remembers the pain but his body felt numb, unable to feel because he was always recklessly overdosing on them. And now he can't feel the energy or the aches of his muscle. He only tries to remember the movement of energy but he is guessing, sometimes over-judging where his gravity lied, or where his weight was about to launch. It took more manual and conscious thought to remember walking in a way that he didn't feel a strange, unsettling appreciation for anatomy. It at least stopped the uncomfortable tremors which echoed along his body's chasms, rattling him every time he was having an attack. Bakugou breathes softly, a quick breath when he recognises a flash of red pass by. It was likely Kirishima patrolling and he wonders how his friend is. Usually when he remembers the male's injuries, the ragdoll would feel an immense amount of guilt and shame for never being there. It made him angry to know that there were creatures out there who wished to injure the feline because if anyone had thugs after them, it should have been Bakugou and his bad personality. The reaver swallows uncomfortably. Maybe they were attacking Kirishima because of him, maybe it was still his fault.

The ragdoll, unaware of his own body's mind, realises he's begun walking to follow the scent of the striker. Like. It’s difficult to ignore the sound of a voice after it’s mentioned your name, especially difficult when the subject at hand was Bakugou himself. The ragdoll’s stance stiffened, steps morphing into something rigid as he approached. The noises were getting louder. Hide. He could never imagine his own friend to hide something against him, but he’s never felt the need to interrogate Kirishima. He trusts him as a comrade, as a friend. He knows the male well enough that he knows that if Kirishima had anything to tell him, the feline would tell him soon enough. Coward. Bakugou becomes suddenly aware that his body has stopped moving, staring directly at the striker’s angry and defensive stance towards the unnamed crewmate. The ragdoll, choosing not to fixate his mind upon this topic he knows he shouldn’t have stumbled across, growls as well. His lips curl, a rumble escaping his maw as smoke dissipates like the ashes of a dead fire. ”Oi, fuck off before I make you,” the reaver hisses, his tail burning with sanguine flames the colour of his eyes. He hates it when his friend has to deal with nuisances, hates it even more when it seems like Kirishima has to fight on his own.

[ ooc ] rushed because at school </3