Running system check 238. Vitals – normal, breathing – normal, stomach – famished. Status: regenerating, regenerating, regenerating… Body has finished regenerating. Overall condition – unremarkable.

Sleep is frightening.

The darkness envelops you, fills every chasm with silence and cradles you as though you were dead. The dreamless escape. Memories, values and dreams have no reigns in this realm of sleep. Nightly, naturally, his existence begins to fade. He is nothingness, not even a speck floating aimlessly throughout the universe. There is not an ounce of fear which twinkles his neurons. It is only when he wakes up, opens his eyes and gains his bearings that the fear spills into him, clashing and imploding inwards. But he is not awake, not even asleep. Words don’t exist. They fade and reappear, intertwine and tear apart, melt and reform. Anxieties and regrets don’t exist within this world, yet neither does happiness or contentment. There is only indifference, as if the world had hit reset. In that so-called reset, that symbolic beginning which breathed along his sleeping lungs, there was nothing but energy, buzzing and spinning, all concentrated. All it needed was a push, all he needed was a push. Then he would awaken, open his eyes and feel the dirt shy away from the cracks of his face, seep and return to the embrace of the earth. But would Bakugou ever wish for himself to awaken?

It was like those mornings where he woke up, still tired that no will-power could overcome his desire for more sleep. There was something comforting in the idea of not existing, becoming fixated in this vegetative state where he no longer had to think, no longer had to feel. It was only when he slept that he no longer felt that constant grasp around his throat, the raking of the membranes of his lungs, the anger that resided within him. There was only the sweet sensation of protection, wrapping her arms about him and beckoning him to sleep. Within that realm, he can’t even know he is asleep. It all sweeps over him, the serenity that kisses his head, shelters him away from the monstrosities of a war-bound heart. Perhaps if he opens his eyes this time, he will be someone else. Or maybe, just maybe, it had all been a bad dream. He’ll awaken in bed, covered in thin blankets, head against the softness of his pillow. The familiar scent of home. His mother yelling his name, father trying to passively calm her down. He’d raise himself in a cold sweat, think it were all a bad dream that he had died and awoken in some strange world, fingers trembling when he checks for his old combustion quirks.

No. It would be a nightmare. What has happened in the past stays in the past. He wouldn’t want it all to change…would he? An uneasiness begins to surge up his oesophagus, burning his heavy chest. He used to always tell himself he would rather be back home, but where was home now: over there or in this other world? The earth encasing the Reaver begins to tremor unsteadily. There is no one around looking after him but if anyone’s feet were sensitive enough, they would hear the gentle vibrations of the stony ground. Vines begin to pull away, some catch on fire and shrivel into a pulp. There is once again a stress that begins to grapple him, pull against his bones and scream for attention – a pain that can’t be ignored. The Typhoon. He can’t have grown to like this place. And yet it slowly all comes back to him, roaring within his recently inactive mind, plundering him with emotions. He had lost, he had been the loser.

That was right.

It was fact and that had made Bakugou very, very angry. It was the kind of anger that made the ground stop shaking, an uncomfortable and dreadful silence filling the atmosphere about him. He wobbles to his paws, slowly allowing his body to recoil and raise his head, eyes closed but brows furrowed intensely. This anger was the worst kind of anger. It was the one filled with anticipation, watching in horror before they finally explode.

There was silence and now there was noise. The Reaver, infuriated with agony – not realizing how long he had been knocked out cold, unaware of the fact that his limbs had been torn apart and his body had forcibly left to allow his body to regenerate in safety, howls in agony of the anger that subjects him. Fire emerges from the pit in the shape of a column, rocks explode outward and crash into trees and anyone else passing by. His eyes, now open, are pouring with melting flames.

Ah yes, the angry boy was back and he is hangry.

[ ooc ] so i'm back for three weeks before i have to do finals (i just completed my second-to-last round of exams ever so that's exciting) and it's exciting. also, someone please get this boy a snickers, he hasn't eaten in two weeks : ^)

© LEXASPERATED