Archive of Our Own

Izuku unconsciously followed a routine in his day to day life. The morning always began with the same repetitive sound of an alarm going off, quickly followed by an immediate feeling of dread. His anxiety rolls in in waves, starting at his chest and spreading throughout his body like a wildfire. Appearing every morning and driving him insane.

After shutting off the beeping machine, he forces himself to get up and walk to the bathroom even as he keeps his eyes closed. He sidesteps all the clothing and clutter on the floor, because despite his room being a mess he knows where everything is without having to bat an eye.

Afterwards, he tries his hardest to eat breakfast first thing in the morning when no one is down from their rooms yet. He doesn’t want to hide the trouble of eating through the nausea he always feels. The stomach ache is always there, making its appearance alongside the anxiety, and there have been countless mornings that he considers not eating at all.

But the memories of an unhealthy relationship with his body in the past keep him motivated. Still, even now that he has a nice muscular build that he works hard to maintain, he can’t help but sometimes miss the dramatically thin figure he used to have.

Later he catches himself spacing out as he stands in front of his closet, suddenly snapping back into reality and realizing he’s supposed to be getting dressed. He berates himself for losing awareness, and again for failing at putting on his uniform tie.

He brushes his teeth, disgusted in knowing that his morning routine is the only time it ever gets done. There’s an attempt to tame his hair by running his fingers through it a few times, but he gives up quickly since he never cares to start a routine to maintain his curly hair.

He always looks in the mirror and despises the tired image he always sees. He wishes desperately that just once, he could see the happy boy everyone boasts about staring back at him in the reflection, but he merely forces a fake smile and walks down to the common area again to greet his classmates and friends that are now awake. He attends his classes, works hard in his training, and maintains his image as one of UAs strongest and most friendly.

When he finally gets back to his room, he knows that he needs to do his homework. But for too long now he’s been putting it aside. His grades continue to slip, and he’s been warned on multiple occasions that this recent behavior is “unfit for a future hero”. Being close friends with Iida means he’s constantly getting chastised and scolded. Being rivals with Bakugo means he was getting yelled at for “not taking shit seriously”.

Being a UA student meant hearing from all of his teachers that, even though he was so close to graduation, he can’t get away with his grades going down. Their disappointed stares humiliate him, and every time he’s on the receiving end of yet another one, he tells himself he’ll do better.

But it never happens.

When Izuku thinks about his current life, he only comes up with feelings of hatred. Mostly with himself, because he hates the way he feels. But even more, he hates how selfish those feelings are. The constant tight feeling in his chest, the constant nausea and migraines.

Panic. Paranoia. Fear.

Just like in those dark moments years before, he has started feeling dread from just waking up. He's in a constant state of exhaustion, and he can’t remember the last time he woke up in a calm manner. It’s frustrating and maddening. The very first thing registered when waking up is panicked thoughts and feelings.

‘What day is it?’

‘What does he have going on today?’

‘What does he need to do now?’

It’s the same routine. Every. Single. Day. Nothing changes, it only becomes harder and harder. More work, and more failures. He wakes up feeling as if the weight of the world is resting in his hands. A constant cycle of distress and pressure that only becomes more and more difficult to accept and deal with.

But isn’t this is everything he’s ever wanted? His current life is nothing but a dream come true, so obviously any negative emotions are his own fault. He wants it to stop, wants to be able to walk around with a clear mind again. He’s desperate for any kind of solution.

He’s only ever heard of the different methods, and how ”unacceptable” they all are. People always try to say that drinking, smoking, drugs, self harm, etc. are all awful ways to get away from your problems. Everyone always hears how it’s only a quick solution that’ll just end in more regret and sorrow.

Sure, Izuku can agree with the sentiment. As an aspiring hero, he’s always been too afraid of the possibility of addiction. Other than a small handful of experiences with alcohol, he’s been good with never trying anything that would taint his image.

However, he’d be lying if he said he’s never considered it. When he was still quirkless, when he was at his lowest, when he thought it would never even matter. However, he always refrained.

Self harm has always been a topic that is somewhat intriguing to him. He’s heard a multitude of different perspectives. Those who take pity on the victims, and don’t even have the slightest clue as to “why anyone would do such a thing”. Then there are the kind of people who are so oblivious to the pain others feel, they’ll look a person in the eyes and say that self-harm is stupid and selfish. Those people will say that a person who wants to harm themselves is only doing it for attention. Those kinds of people will never understand why a person might choose to cut themselves.

Panic attacks are a constant, almost regular enough to be a part of the everyday routine. They’re always there. Sometimes they’re justified by overwhelming emotions and thoughts, but most times there’s no reason at all. Which only makes them more difficult to deal with.

Attempting to calm himself down never results in any progress. Even knowing that he’s safe - that he isn’t in danger - is never comforting enough to help. The reality is, he knows he‘s okay, understands that there’s no reason to be so scared, and that’s what's even more terrifying. Trying to find sanity in an environment where every direction he turns is calm.

He doesn’t know why he panics, and that revelation makes him panic more. A vicious cycle, nonstop pain that he would do anything to stop. So he did. He made it all stop.

-

Izuku isn’t depressed. He’s moved past the point in his life in which he believes his symptoms could possibly mean something. Even when it was “believable” or “acceptable” for him to be depressed, he just knew that he shouldn’t be. So especially now, when everything in his life has gotten better and he’s so close to reaching his goals, he can’t be depressed.

It’s not like he feels awful all the time. Of course he’s going to have bad moments, he’s an overworked hero student! Feeling overwhelmed is completely normal. Besides, now is one of those moments he actually feels fine. Not good, but fine.

Finally working on homework on his bed, both upcoming and overdue, while listening to music. It feels good to be productive, even if his work isn’t making much of a dent.

A message chimes, interrupting his thought process as he subconsciously looks over at his phone. He doesn’t expect much, maybe a group chat message he can respond to later.

It isn’t.

It’s another paragraph. A long explanation of why he’s fucked up, why he’s not good enough, why people are better off without him. He tries to read the words on the screen but nothing processes past the fact that he’s made his girlfriend upset again.

His weaknesses harm others.

He’s not trying hard enough.

He’s trying his hardest.

It’s not enough.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

He’s so tired. He-

He can’t breathe. His mind is screaming profanities at him, and his clothes feel as if they’re too heavy against his skin. He feels the urge to pull out his hair as he feels it vibrate against his head. He claws at his chest because his skin is itching and irritated. He feels suffocated.

He’s shaking, he needs to stop. He can’t move, he knows he needs to do something. He wants to do something. But the first solution that comes to mind is the one thing he’s been trying his hardest not to think about, the thing he’s wanted to try for as long as he could remember. Something he’s wanted to do since these pointless panic attacks started all those years ago.

He needs it. He can’t explain the feeling, his mind and body crave something he’s never done before. His mind is yelling at him to do it. Do it. Do it.

Cut yourself.

He wants it. He’s tried to ignore the curiosity and temptation, but now he wants it more than anything. So as he finally forces his body to move, it’s only to get up desperately to look around his room. Searching the floors, desk, and drawers for anything he can use to make it all stop. He needs the screaming to stop.

A pencil sharpener? He can’t get it open, he’s too frantic to work open the small screw and reach the blade. He drops it furiously and looks for something else, needs to find something else. A loose staple? He tries it, again and again, but it isn’t enough. It’s barely breaking his skin. It’s not good enough. He needs more.

A safety pin? Ironic considering the first word of the name. He tries to scoff, but it comes out as more of a broken sob, not believing how pathetic he was acting. Nonetheless, he picks up the small school supply and restlessly drags the small pointed end across the back of his hand… and everything stops.

Again. Again. It stings. It hurts. Again. He tries different methods. Stabbing his hand and dragging it across his skin. Quickly slashing it over the same area. Carefully carving out a deeper line.

There isn’t anymore screaming.

The music is still playing in the background, and he suddenly realizes it probably never stopped. Everything feels like static. He’s hyper aware of everything happening, and also somehow feels as if he’s not in his own body. Distant, but here. Like a ghost floating right above the body he’s been disconnected from.

He feels tears finally fall down his face, but it’s no longer tears of fear. He feels… joyful. Ecstatic and euphoric.

He bursts into laughter as he crumbles to the floor of his room, clutching at his stomach. He laughs at the tears falling down his face, at the pain in his hand. He laughs at how ridiculous this all is. It’s all just a joke.

While still laughing maniacally, he attempts to get up but his whole body feels sore. He almost falls over, but he just laughs at that too as he stumbles into his bathroom.

He washes the blood away from his hand and marvels at the flesh of his skin. His hand is red and puffy, scattered lines marking where he just washed away the blood. New marks that only fit in perfectly with the scars he already has due to his quirk.

He had come into the bathroom with the intention of grabbing gauze and properly cleaning himself up, but he leaves without any of it. He weirdly likes these new marks. They’re making him strangely giddy. They show that he was finally capable of doing something.

He grabs his phone to shut off the music, but is met with the same message as before. This time, he feels nothing. He can no longer bring himself to care about the very thing that caused this whole fiasco in the first place. He doesn't think of a well written response like he usually would. He doesn’t take every word into account to try and find a calculated reply that’ll address every point made.

He types something out, changes the playlist he was listening to and turns up the volume. As he dances around his room, kicking loose items out of the way, his phone is still shining harmlessly from the desk.

-

Ochako <3 - 2:23 am

“Izuku, I want to preface this by saying I’m not mad at you at all. I know I should’ve waited to talk to you about this in person but I’m not sure if you’re still awake, and I really need to get this off my chest. I know that what I said yesterday might have seemed random and out of the blue, but I really did not like the way you responded regardless.

It felt like you were judging me the whole time. Or as if you were angry and disappointed in me for simply talking about something hypothetical. In the moment, it felt like you were telling me what to do and how I should feel. It felt like you were taking everything I was saying so seriously and I don’t know how else to iterate that it wasn’t that serious.

At the end of the day I’m going to make my own decisions, you don’t have to like them, you don’t have to support them. Your opinion is important to me, and I can listen if you want to talk to me about it in a way that is respectful and comes from a place of concern.

But when we were talking it felt like you were only judging me and that you were speaking to me condescendingly, which didn’t feel good in the slightest. In that moment I was willing to confide in you about something, but after what was said I didn’t feel comfortable or safe to do so without you disapproving.

I just want your support, and in that moment I felt I had anything but. I just want to be happy and I want to prioritize that, so please understand me in that I don’t live to please you. You may be my boyfriend, but I am my own person and I don’t need you trying to tell me what’s wrong and what’s right.

Yesterday was a joke. It was just make believe scenarios, but I can make it a reality if I really wanted to. This relationship can end at any time.”

Izuku - 2:42 am

“okay.”

-

The morning after the first cut passes by in a blur. He doesn’t really feel in touch with his own body, disassociating throughout the entirety of his monotonous morning routine. He’s pretty used to the feeling of disassociation, but it’s definitely not something he particularly enjoys. It can be frightening at times, suddenly realizing he can’t remember the past few hours of his life. Still, he’d prefer that over having to actually feel the anxiety always crawling under his skin.

He’s quickly brought back to reality as he first starts to fear the fact that he might’ve made a rookie mistake. After getting dressed, he can only look down at his hand dazedly. The violently scattered cuts are in one of the few places he can’t easily hide. The fresh wounds are bright and ugly, and incredibly hard to miss. It appears as if he had spent his day being attacked by some wild animal.

He retrieves bandages from his first aid kit and wraps his hand while mentally preparing a vague lie. As he leaves his room, he catches his reflection in the mirror. He puts on a smile, one that wasn’t so forced for once, and realizes he doesn’t feel regretful.

As the day passes by, not many people question him. Bakugo makes a comment about how Izuku is “pathetic, bruising like a goddamn banana” when he first walks into class.

Ochako seems a bit troubled as she questions what had happened during lunch. Izuku only shrugs and tells her his hand was just sore after some training he had done on his own last night.

She frowns and tells him he should be more careful, then quiets down, visibly hesitant to start a real conversation with him. Luckily Iida begins to loudly declare that Ochako is right and continues to perform one of his usual lectures about the importance of preserving one's body, and lunch proceeds like normal.

During training, Aizawa notices Izuku favoring his unwrapped hand, but is told the same story Ochako had received. Aizawa is visibly skeptical of his student, but lets him proceed with the exercise.

Izuku is starting to learn something important. People don’t pay attention for shit. He had always assumed that maybe he was just good at hiding when things are wrong. He’s always been great at faking a smile, people compliment his bubbly personality all of the time. Now he knows that all along, no one cared to pay close enough attention.

Whatever. It’ll make hiding scars and fresh cuts easy.

More panic attacks means more cutting to make it stop, and he continued with his same “mistake” as before. He simply puts his cuts in the most scattered and visible places. If someone notices a cut, he plays it off as a training accident, something he doesn’t “want to bother Recovery Girl with.”

It’s genius, really. No one is ever going to question a story he willingly shares and laughs off. It becomes a game to him. How deep can he make the cut before someone questions it? How stupid can he make the location and still have people turn a blind eye? How outlandish and intricate can he make his stories? Will people notice if he changes excuses?

No one ever beats him at his own game.

Not even any of the teachers ever notice the mysterious cuts that never really align with their excuse. Only when the scars start piling up does Mr. Aizawa pull him aside after class one day.

“You haven’t had this many new scars since your first year, and these all look different. What have you been doing?” Aizawa asked, getting straight to the point.

“Nothing different really,” Izuku looked down at himself, despite the uniform covering all his skin. “Is it really a concerning amount?” He asks curiously, feigning innocence with a tilt of his head.

Mr. Aizawa only stares at him for a few beats, then sighs deeply. ”I must have been worrying for nothing. You may leave, but please be more careful. I don’t need you getting unnecessarily hurt.”

“Of course, Sensei.” Izuku answered with a small smile, bowing slightly before leaving to catch up with his friends.

No one has questioned him since then. No one ever suspects a boy’s cuts and bruises to be from something more than just roughhousing and overachieving. No one’s first assumption is a hero student struggling to get through the day. It’s just the unfortunate way things are, but it works out. So Izuku will strive on the fact that the world is a shitty place, full of equally shitty people.

No one knows what it’s like to cut themselves unless they experience it firsthand. Izuku has always heard that there’s a feeling of shame and regret after every cut. But so far, he’s felt no such thing.

Why would he regret the very thing that finally makes him feel good? Why would he feel shameful towards something as simple as a few cuts? Who cares, really? He still doesn’t condone people cutting themselves, he would never encourage that kind of bad behavior. But it’s different when it’s him. He deserves it. It doesn’t affect anyone when he cuts himself. No one notices, no one is concerned. And he’s fine anyways. It helps him feel good.

Unfortunately, he can’t always cut himself when he wants to. He’s anxious 24/7, but doesn't have access to sharp objects for that same amount of time. It’s fine. He doesn’t need it. He isn’t going to rely on it. He isn’t stupid enough to become addicted to something like that.

Besides, he can’t let it get too out of hand, in case someone sees the scars and figures him out. People won’t get it. They won’t be able to understand that it’s necessary. They’ll only see some broken, attention seeking kid. They’ll see how pathetic he really is.

-

Pathetic. Worthless. Stupid. People always expect so much from him, but he always seems to let them down. They all say he’s set up for success, but none of them get it.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on. He may have a quirk now, but it’ll always feel borrowed. It’ll always make him wonder if he could’ve made it without the extra help.

He may be one of UA’s big three, but all the hard work means nothing now that he’s on the brink of failure from a few missing assignments he was too lazy to complete.

He may be popular, and conventionally attractive if all the confessions he’s gotten have any say, but he can’t help but feel insecure about his relationships. He’s still paranoid that nobody actually tolerates him, still worries that no one truly cares.

Even Ochako only seems to hang around him due to necessity. Everyone around him seems to be an admirer, but it isn’t enough. He feels so alone. He doesn’t feel loved. He loves so much, he cares so deeply for those around him. But he doubts anyone feels even half of what he feels for them. What the hell is he even doing here?

In what feels like a blink of the eye, it’s already January. There’s only two months until graduation and he still has nothing to show for it. His training exercises, simulations, and practical exams have only worsened over the months. Even his first year showed more potential and improvement. He let everyone, himself included, down during his third year.

There are no more redos. This is it.

His grades aren’t any better. He can’t even explain what it is about this year that has been so difficult. There was a point in time he even enjoyed his school work. He would put in the effort to be towards the top of the class, and spent hours per week studying the topics that made him feel less than intelligent.

Core classes he still needed to take despite being in the hero course, specifically science, have always been his weak point. Preppy teachers always try to tell their students that as long as they’re trying they’ll be fine. Except, he’s been trying. He tries so hard, but no matter how long he stares at the book, no matter how many after school sessions he attends, no matter how many tutors try to explain it to him he just can’t seem to comprehend it.

What is that supposed to say about him? How many people have gone to the lengths he does, only to still come out of it all absolutely clueless.

People will play it off. Tell him that it’s alright to have one class he’s not as strong in. They try to lighten the mood by saying that he won’t need science when he becomes the number one hero, but that never helps. He doesn’t want to sit there and just accept the fact that it’s all been pointless, he wants to exceed people's expectations. He wants to be the perfect guy everyone says he is. He wants more out of this life. Otherwise what’s the point? Why is he trying so hard for something he’ll never achieve? What’s stopping him from just giving up?

-

It’s no use. His motivation has dropped. Not only is he now failing science, but he’s only barely passing all of his other classes. Even his grades in heroics are hardly acceptable since he’s started faking sickness to skip class.

Some of his peers might have noticed how the bags under his eyes have deepened, but no suspicion has been raised as he starts to brag about the all nighters he’s spent experiencing with weed and some different kinds of alcohol.

It’s not entirely a lie. Kaminari, Sero, and Mina have been trying to get him to hang with them during their smoke sessions since second year. He’s only just started agreeing to go, and hasn’t been getting plastered in the way he tells in his stories. As far as everyone knows, he’s just a lightweight.

Except he’s realized he doesn't actually like the feeling of being drunk or high. He’s been trying to become more intoxicated recently, but it’s not really the same as the relief he feels from splitting his skin open. It almost reaches that same feeling, but the crash he feels the next day doesn’t ever feel worth it.

With the cutting, he doesn’t feel much of anything the day that follows. He’s always left feeling like nothing more than just a shell of himself. It’s not exactly ideal, but it satisfies him.

He broke up with Ochako last month. They had been together for nine months, but he didn’t have much to show for it. He didn’t feel loved, and from what he’s seen she hasn’t been affected by the breakup either.

Soon after it happened, he heard rumors that she hooked up with a student from the support course. He was openly bragging at school about what a good lay it was, and students from all classes would turn to look at Izuku with pitying eyes when they saw him in the halls.

But everyone quickly gave up and moved on when he only shrugged and congratulated the support student as he was trying to provoke Izuku one day at lunch. Izuku didn’t feel bothered as he realized that not even the physical parts of his relationship were worth it, it didn’t really mean anything.

To further prove his own point, he started sleeping around. Still, that felt worse than cutting.

He honestly was trying to find a replacement. There are only so many random places he can scatter cuts around without raising suspicion. Besides, even the cutting no longer feels the way it first did.

Maybe occasionally it’ll feel good, but most times it just makes everything shut down. It stops the panic attacks and overwhelming feelings from getting worse, but then he just feels nothing at all. Or worse, he’s stuck in that exact mental state. It’s a gross numb feeling, but he keeps searching for that feeling rather than just dealing with his emotions. He’s been powering through for so long, now that he has any kind of solution he doesn't want to go back to the way things were.

Even then, it feels as if nothing is helping anymore. The cuts themselves need to be much deeper than before so they can even work. He needs to cut more at once, needs to experience more pain.

He only ever wears long sleeves and jeans now so that no one notices just how many cuts he’s accumulated, even on the warmer days. He comes up with excuses as to why he never changes in the locker rooms anymore, or why he’ll wait for a moment when he’s alone.

He bought a pocket knife he now uses with the sole purpose of cutting himself, since so many safety pins became rusted and even started to give him infections.

Even so, he’s still not addicted or anything. To be addicted would mean that he has reasons to feel this way, reasons to keep going back to that solution, and refuses to stop because of those difficulties. So there’s no way he can be addicted when his issues are such trivial things.

-

His science final is officially over. He needed to pass this test in order to pass the class, but as his paper is handed back to him he’s greeted with a total score of 46% in violent red ink, and a hushed order from Aizawa to meet with him after class.

Not even 50%, he clearly never stood a chance. The class has a short break before next period, his favorite class, Japanese. In that class, he would willingly raise his hand to answer every question. He’d do the work given to him, since the assignments were usually something that actually intrigued him. He enjoyed discussing the topics he learned with Aizawa in those moments before or after class.

It was usually a relieving class to have after science. This time though, the idea of sitting through another class after his failure felt unbearable.

He stood up from his desk and started to walk out of class without explanation. He vaguely hears the sound of someone calling his name, asking him where he’s going. However, there was a ringing starting up in his ears, getting louder and louder the further away he walked.

He barged into the nearest bathroom with the intention of locking himself into one of the stalls. His plan, however, takes a turn as he trips over his own feet and falls to the floor. He simply stays there.

“I fucking hate myself.” He mumbles to himself. How anyone can put up with him is a mystery. It’s truly pitiful. Here he is, supposedly the school's strongest. All Might’s successor, and yet he’s not living up to anyone's expectations. He’s nothing like what they all make him out to be. He’s a fraud.

A loser. That’s who he really is. He’s down on all fours on the disgusting school bathrooms, crying over a stupid science test. He sits there and just lets himself cry, lets himself have this breakdown, since no one is here to stop him.

And who knows how much time passes before he finally wipes his eyes and gets off the floor. But by the time he does, both his legs are asleep and his head hurts from crying so much.

He looks in the bathroom mirror as he stands, and he sees the same tired boy he was trying so desperately to escape all that time ago. He wonders for the millionth time, what it is he’s doing. Asks himself if it’s even worth it anymore. He can’t keep pretending he likes what he sees.

The person staring back at him in this mirror is just a pathetic excuse. He isn’t worth holding on to anymore. Will anyone miss him, he wonders. What’s his purpose here?

He doesn't feel himself moving, but he watches on as he reaches for the pocketknife in his front pocket. He keeps it there, not because he’s addicted, but because it helps him feel a bit more relaxed. Like now.

He seems at peace. He holds it up to the light, almost devoid of any emotion. A blank face. Bored. The blade snaps open, and suddenly he’s that boy again. Only for a second, but that second seems to stretch on for an eternity as he realizes that he just stabbed himself.

He manages a small grin before hitting the floor, finding it amusing that he can feel himself losing consciousness on this bathroom floor. Not the best way to go out, but that won’t really be his problem to worry about anymore.

-

The morning began with the same repetitive beeping sound. Agony, paranoia. Something is wrong, it's been forever since it’s been this bad. What day is it? What’s going on?

He needs to find his pocket knife, but first he needs to get up to turn off his alarm. He makes an attempt to sit up, but immediately falls back with a choked sound of pain. There’s a splitting ache in his stomach. He can’t move.

The beeping is getting faster, louder. His body feels so heavy, and his mind so clouded. He can’t think clearly. Someone make it stop. What’s going on? There’s yelling now, every sound piercing through his mind and making the world spin. He hasn't even opened his eyes and yet everything seems so bright.

Despite the level of noise, he can’t make out a single word being spoken. There are too many people in the room, he can feel them as they crowd around him. Stealing every last drop of air in the room. None of them feel familiar, and their hands are cold against his skin. He’s scared.

He wants them to get away from him, and he’s trying to yell for help, only to suddenly become aware of something on his face. He reaches for it, but one of the voices holds him back. They’re all holding him down. The beeping sound in the background is louder now, and far more frantic. Please.

Please leave him alone. He needs to be alone. He’s scared.

Everything goes black again.

-

When he wakes up again. His mind is still foggy. His whole body feels like lead, and it’s still entirely too bright even through his closed eyes. The stupid alarm is still somehow going off and he tries to reach out to shut it off.

There’s a tug on his arm that stings a little from the sudden movement. He forces his eyes to blink open in an attempt to investigate and ground himself, only for the exact opposite to happen.

He isn’t in his room.

He’s been here often, but never in a way that’s comforting. Every wall is white and filled with nothing but cabinets and medical posters. It smells of disinfectant and cleaning products, and the only noise is the beeping that first woke him up. He turns his head to the side at an excruciatingly slow pace, not out of fear or laziness but rather to appeal to the pounding headache he’s sporting.

It was never an alarm clock, it was a heart monitor. There’s an IV inserted into his left arm and an oxygen mask wrapped around his face.

He’s not immediately alarmed like he probably should be, but they most likely have him looped up on a ton of pain medication. He looks back up at the ceiling and closes his eyes, trying to remember what led him here this time.

He hasn’t lost his memory; he knows he’s Midoriya Izuku. He’s eighteen years old, a student at UA, and on his way to become a hero. It’s… March. There was something he was supposed to do, something he was really nervous about…

Oh. Oh Oh god, no. The test. He failed. The bathroom, another panic attack. He just wanted it to stop. He had finally made it stop, what is he still doing here? He wasn’t supposed to wake up.

The monitor beside him is speeding up again, he’s going to be caught. Caught? He needs to leave. They’re going to know. They already know. He lifts the blankets with urgency, ignoring the pain that sears through his body at the action.

There’s so many bandages, he can’t see any of his stomach. But he knows. He knows how many cuts there are underneath, he knows they saw them as they were treating his stab wound. He’s in a hospital gown. Short sleeved and short in length. Every cut is on display. When did he get so many?

Recovery Girl walks in, and she looks like every other time he’s seen her. But it isn’t the same. She knows now. He grabs a hold of the blankets and tries to hide underneath them. It’s pointless. She already knows. He tries sitting up, moving back, scrambling away. She’s obviously trying to calm him down, approaching him in the way someone would approach an injured animal. She’s pitying him.

He needs to get out of here. He reaches for the IV and suddenly she’s right by his side, telling him he can’t do that. He doesn't care. Clearly he’s never cared. Don’t they get that? Don’t they understand he serves no purpose here? They’re wasting their time.

More people hurry into the room. Aizawa, Present Mic, All Might. All of his beloved teachers he’s been trained under for the past three years. He tries with all his might to thrash against their hold, too exhausted and frantic to even think about using his quirk.

It was a fruitless attempt. He feels a sudden pressure in his arm, and his vision starts to go black again. As he goes back under for a second time, he thinks about just how much of a failure he is.

-

More fucking beeping. Maybe if he keeps his eyes closed forever, he’ll never have to deal with it. He knows. The first thing he knew when he woke up is that he failed.

Failed at bouncing back this time, failed his relationship, failed at feeling proud of entire high school career, failed a stupid science test, and now he’s even failed at an attempt at his own life. He can’t even remove himself from this miserable world.

Maybe only five minutes pass before he begrudgingly opens his eyes. There isn’t really a goal in mind. He just wants to lie here and figure out where he wants to go from here.

“Izuku?” A fragile voice broke the silence in the room.

Shit. Maybe if he lies still enough she’ll think he only randomly opened his eyes in his sleep. Should he pretend to snore? Try running away again? No chance. She’s already up and standing over him, looking him up and down as if she can’t believe he’s real. Tears fill her eyes and immediately she’s too close, clinging on to him and sobbing as she muffles incoherent words into his shoulder.

He still hasn't moved at all. He’s still in the same position he was in when he woke up, not really finding any motivation to move even now with his mother here.

“Izuku, please. Please tell me it’s not true. Tell me who’s been doing this to you. I know you, I know you couldn’t have possibly done this to yourself. You would have talked to me, right? I’m your mother, I would know if there was something wrong with my son. Please please please-” She sobbed, never giving him a chance to answer as she continued to ramble and plead.

Izuku can feel a single tear rolling down the side of his face, but emotionally he still doesn’t feel much. He should feel bad, right? He’s clearly caused some pretty distressed and overwhelming feelings for his poor mother whom he loves so much.

She’s still begging him to give her an explanation, but he doesn't even have one. He wants to die. He still wants this to stop, but can’t bring himself to think of a logical reason why right now. He’s just so incredibly tired.

Recovery Girl walks into the room just like before, and approaches Inko to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Inko walks backwards until she’s falling back against the chair she was sitting on when Izuku first woke up. Recovery Girl looks Izuku over for a second before turning her back and trying to calm down his wailing mother. Why is she even in the room? If he’s fine enough to have visitors, then hopefully he can get out of here soon.

Recovery Girl calls for some help, and Present Mic walks in hesitantly. He offers Izuku a small smile, before walking over to the pair in the corner. When his English teacher and mom leave the room, Recovery Girl turns back to him and begins her usual questions.

“Midoriya, how are you feeling?” A stern, but somehow kinder than usual, voice accompanies the ridiculous question. Izuku only stares at her. Still not feeling his face move an inch, feeling almost incapable of even expressing any kind of emotion right now.

She frowns, as if his silence is incredibly troubling to her. “Midoriya, are you able to speak?”

“Yeah.” He can barely recognize his own broken voice. The response comes out much more quietly than he had intended, and his voice is hoarse from misuse. The latter of the realizations vaguely makes him wonder how long he’s been lying around in this bed.

“Excellent. Can you answer my question then? How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” He replies truthfully. Whether he was referring to physically or mentally, he’s not too sure. But either response would have been the same.

She only offers a small smile that irks Izuku in the wrong way. “I’m sure that’s true, but is there anything specifically that hurts?” She presses.

“Well obviously the stab wound in my stomach is bothering me. My body is heavy, I don’t really wanna move. And my head hurts so badly that if my mom keeps wailing so loudly outside the door, I’m afraid my brain might just explode.” He spits out.

He’s always been the kind that is overly irritable when first waking up, so in a situation like this one, he can not be bothered to play nice as he’s this unbearably tired. However, immediately after he finishes his sentence the wailing only seems to increase, and he can finally feel his face move as he winces with discomfort.

Recovery Girl gives him a sympathetic smile as the crying behind the door finally starts to become quieter, no doubt from Present Mic trying to take Inko further away.

“I’ll make sure to get you a higher dosage of the pain medication I’ve been using. However due to the circumstances I would like to avoid large amounts. I’m sure you can understand why.” When she gets no reaction in return, she sighs and continues. “Do you remember why you’re here, Midoriya?”

“Stabbed myself in the bathroom. You guys are probably gonna make sure I’m physically okay and then ship me off to some mental hospital where they’ll try and convince me that life is too beautiful for me to want to kill myself.” Still nothing. The confession makes him feel absolutely nothing.

“When you stabbed yourself, we don’t believe it was deep enough to be fatal. You missed all your vital organs. The issue was the way in which you fell. It’s most likely that you hit your head on the way down, and fell on your stomach which kept the knife in place. It also took quite some time for your classmates to find you, which by the way, gave Bakugo quite the scare once he finally did find you.

We estimate that you were unconscious and bleeding for approximately 25 minutes. We also had to treat some older cuts you had that had become infected.” Her voice dropped all the gentleness it was holding before, instead opting to sound much more professional as she realized Izuku wasn’t going to be cooperating with her.

Izuku figures she probably figured out he doesn't care for her fake pity.

“Want to explain to me why you had an unauthorized weapon on campus?”

He scoffs at the exaggeration. “A weapon, really? It was a pocket knife. Who the hell knew you could even use it the way I did. Don’t make me sound like some monster, I would never hurt anyone.”

“But you hurt yourself.” She retorts.

“That’s not the same.” He replies immediately.

“Why is that?” She presses.

“Because it’s different when it’s me!” He finally yells at her, immediately regretting the volume as his head starts to spin, but he doesn't regret the words. They’re the same words he’s been repeating to himself for months. If those words aren’t true, then everything he’s believed in was a lie.

“Goddamn can you turn off the lights? Why is this room so bright?” His eyes are shut tightly and he raises his hands to his face in an attempt to block out the light. He has to decide if the pain from moving his arms is even worth it.

Luckily he hears Recovery Girl sigh in defeat and walk away, grumbling about his profanity as she does so. When he hears the flip of the switch, he brings his hands back down slowly as he adjusts to the newfound darkness of the room.

“Midoriya. You were in a coma for a week due to the exhaustion my quirk inflicted on your body. When you finally woke up, you entered a state of panic and we had to sedate you in order to prevent you from hurting yourself.

The second time you came to it was only slightly better. It has now been 11 days since the accident and you are worrying the people that care about you. Your mother has been visiting the school every day since then and refuses to leave despite not having permission to enter this room until two days ago. Don’t even get me started on those persistent friends of yours.”

He continued to give her nothing but a blank stare. Maybe he should feel like an asshole for not caring, and for worrying so many people. But he’s honestly relieved to feel nothing at all.

Apparently the last two times he woke up he was in a frenzy. He vaguely remembers the actual actions of it all, but it’s more like a hazy memory in which all he can remember is the emotions it evoked. He remembers the familiar panic attacks and frightful thoughts, and then nothing at all.

With one last heavy sigh, Recovery Girl turns around and starts walking out of the room. “I’ll send someone in to give you your pain medication.”

-

He’s been in the school's nurses office for another week. He slept through it all, and talked less with every day that passed. They send in Hound Dog twice a day as his therapist. Like clockwork he comes in at 10am and then at 4pm. He always attempts to start up a conversation with Izuku, and when he receives no response he simply gives up and they sit in silence for an hour. At the end of the hour he gets up and leaves with the same promise to come back.

They only feed him liquids and soft/blended foods. Apparently stabbing himself in the stomach means chewing and digesting things becomes an issue. It doesn’t bother him much considering he hasn’t had much of an appetite since he’s been here.

Inko keeps coming back to check on him, and there still hasn’t been a single visit in which she isn’t crying. One time she came in looking determined and even mildly composed, but after holding Izuku’s stare for only a few minutes she burst into tears like usual. She keeps demanding answers, she wants to figure out where she went wrong. He can’t bear to talk to her, so he hasn’t said a single word to her.

Other visits haven’t been any better. No one has quite managed to make him talk. His classmates from 3-A all come in and try to have a positive attitude. Even if it’s clear that they feel awkward, they talk with one another on subjects they think Izuku might want to join in on. They catch him up on what’s been going on in class, both academically and drama related.

Izuku knows they’re trying their hardest to help him, but when no one comes back for a second or third visit, it becomes clear that it’s too much of a burden for them. He understands. For his classmates, this came out of nowhere. They all thought he was happy, that he was fine. From one moment to another, their entire perception of him had been warped. He understands that this can’t possibly be easy for them.

When All Might came in to visit him, the man was fidgeting the entire time. He tried everything to get Izuku to talk just like every other visitor. Everyone was sure that he was the one who would finally achieve their goal, Izuku’s favorite hero and mentor would be the one to make progress.

So when he received the same treatment as anyone else, he was heartbroken. All Might was as clueless to the signs as everyone else. He felt he had failed his student, and told Izuku as much. The silence that was returned only hurt him more, and he excused himself shortly after.

He never came back.

The first person to get him to speak was Bakugo. Izuku hadn’t actually been hurt by the boy's absence, hadn’t really noticed it. When he finally did show up, it was with obvious resignation.

He stood at the door for a few moments, only staring. Everyone always stares. He’s starting to feel like some zoo animal. Or maybe a prisoner, constantly being surveillanced to avoid an accident.

Eventually though, Bakugo stepped forward. “How long?” He asked. Demanded, really, with how stern his voice sounded. Still, there was no response.

“How long have you been hurting yourself? How long have you been keeping up this facade?” More silence only seemed to spur him on further.

“How long have you been hiding this from me? From the people who care about you? Auntie Inko keeps coming up to me. Asking me for answers, that I don’t fucking have Deku! Stop being so goddamn selfish and let the people who love you help.

Every last extra in our class has been worried sick over your ass. You’ve always been the kindest motherfucker out there. They all care about you because they know you care about them. They know that you would do anything to help them if they were in this same situation, so why can’t you just let someone help you?

Whatever happened to your dreams, huh? How do you expect to beat me for the number one spot if you keep refusing help?” At that point, Bakugo’s voice had begun to crack. His hands were in tight fists, and he was shaking with anger and disappointment.

Izuku still didn’t have much to say, nothing Bakugo said to him was particularly surprising. Although, he did have something he needed to do.

He reached up to his head, and pulled out a strand of his hair. Before he even finished extending his arm towards Bakugo, the boy’s eyes had already blown wide in recognition.

“No. Fuck no, Deku. I won’t do it. That’s yours. Your power! It’s yours to keep. Yours to use, yours to rely on. What the fuck do you think this looks like? Are you really giving up? Just like that?” Bakugo screamed, the first tear finally falling down his face.

Izuku shook his head, and for the first time in a week, opened his mouth to speak. “It hurts, Kacchan.” His voice cracked. “I can feel One For All hurting me. I’ve lost too much weight, and if I stay here any longer I’m worried my body will start rejecting it. I need it to be you Kacchan. You can give it back when I’m ready, but I need you to do this.”

Bakugo looked down at him with too many emotions for Izuku to pick up on. However, the frown on his face looked far too sad as he took the strand of hair from Izuku’s hair. “I hate you. I hate how much you make me care.” Bakugo said, lifting the hair to his lips. “You better keep this promise, shitty Deku. I better not have this power for more than a month.”

When he swallowed, with a face of disgust, he opened his mouth to say something more. But whatever it was, it wasn't worth it. He shut his mouth and scrunched his brows, before walking out of the room without another word.

-

With every passing day, visits became more scarce. For two days after Bakugo’s visit, Izuku only saw Recovery Girl and Hound Dog. So he believed it was the former who was walking in now. Instead, it was Aizawa who walked in.

If he noticed the difference in Izuku’s heart monitor speeding up, he didn’t mention it. Instead he strolled in casually and pulled up the only chair in the room to sit beside Izuku’s bed.

“I’ve missed you in class, Midoriya.” He says nonchalantly. Speaking as if Izuku had only been away on some vacation and not because of a failed attempt on his life.

He received the same response everyone else has, which is none at all. However, with Mr. Aizawa, it wasn’t because he had nothing to say. It’s not that he didn’t want to talk to him, or because he was too lazy to do so. He simply couldn’t bring himself to speak to the one of the only people who made him feel like he was worth anything.

“You know, as a teacher, there’s only a few hours in a day in which I interact with my students. Each week, I get to know each individual a little better. It’s an incredibly slow process, let me tell you.

The first month of school consists of just learning names and faces of the students I’ll be seeing for the next three years. Then I get to start picking apart their own unique characteristics.

Who chooses to volunteer, who asks the most questions, who disrupts class, who always ‘goes to the bathroom’, etcetera etcetera.

Adults always claim they don’t have favorites, but really, that’s all for the sake of professionalism. Personally, I have favorites every year.

My favorite is always the student who chooses to speak with me after class despite my demeanor. Who walks into class with a smile on their face and makes sure that the first thing they do is greet me and their peers. They always ask questions when they need help and prove their worth by always improving.

This student isn’t always at the top of the class. In fact, sometimes they barely scrape by with a C in my class. But they’re my favorite because I know that they’re in my class to learn and to try. To become a hero.” Why is he telling Izuku all of this? What is this going to change?

“Every year,” he continues, “there’s something I do wrong. I believe that there’s always room for improvement within every person. As a teacher especially, I need to learn from every year's mistakes.

You were my mistake this year. I’m sorry I failed my favorite student this year, Midoriya. I shouldn’t have ignored all the signs. Because I did notice them. I knew something was wrong, but I was naive in thinking you can handle this burden alone. You needed help and I couldn’t provide it, and for that, I’m so sorry.”

He thinks he failed? Why…? It’s Izuku’s fault. He should have been better. He should have been stronger. None of this is Aizawas fault. He was one of the only ones in Izuku’s life who didn’t fail him. Why is he saying things like this? It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair for him to be so good, in a world so bad.

Neither one of us said a word afterwards. Still, Mr. Aizawa stays. He stays, whereas everyone else always leaves, and he doesn’t leave until 4pm rolls around and Hound Dog walks in just on time as usual. Aizawa doesn’t leave with a broken promise of coming back like everyone else had. Instead, he tells Izuku to get better soon.

“You borrowed that book on pre-quirk technology from me a month ago. Get back to class so you can give it back to me, okay?” Aizawa says, finally leaving.

As Hound Dog starts the same routined attempt to get Izuku talking, he plays along for the first time. His voice was heard for the first time by this man, but what is said probably was never worth the wait.

He told him everything. He told him he still wanted to die.

-

After only one successful conversation with Hound Dog last week, Izuku had been diagnosed with anxiety, chronic depression, and a personality disorder.

The anxiety makes sense to Izuku, since it isn’t something he can control. But depression? He still doesn't really understand. There’s no reason for him to be depressed, that’s what he always thought. Sure, he wants to die, but he lives a great life otherwise.

At least that’s what he’s always been told. There’s no reason for him not to believe it. So then what is it that would possibly make him depressed? His personality disorder? Is that all it ever was? Was he simply doomed from the start? Was it really all in his head?

He’s finally leaving Recovery’s Girl care today, but by no means is he finally free. Of course, he’s not allowed to just roam around from here on out. He’s being escorted to his dorm room by Recovery Girl where he’ll be allowed 15 minutes to pack a bag.

He sees Inko waiting outside the dorms, crying once again as she is saying goodbye. He doesn't really think he’s worth her tears, but he guesses that it has to do with the whole “mother’s love” thing. No matter how much of a nuisance he is to her, she’ll always feel some strange need to love him.

He’s grateful for her. She’s never been a bad mother. She did everything she could to raise him on her own. He simply doesn't feel deserving of those actions.

Luckily, no one was in the common rooms as he passed by, since everyone was in class. When he does reach his door, Izuku turns to the person who is supposed to be watching him. Recovery Girl sighs and informs him that, for privacy reasons, he’s allowed to go inside on his own. But any silence that exceeds a minute long will result in her interception.

Izuku nods and walks into his room, softly closing the door behind him. He pauses in the middle of the room and takes the time to look around the room. Hero posters, picture frames holding memories of friends and family, his backpack someone must have dropped off after the incident, and the book he borrowed from Aizawa.

His room is a reminder that he’s ungrateful. There still isn’t any regret or remorse. Even knowing that he’s hurting people isn’t enough.

He picks up his backpack and dumps its contents onto his bed. He opens his closet to grab a few changes of clothing. They didn’t tell Izuku where he was going. But with the instruction to pack necessities and comfortable clothing, he’d be stupid not to figure out they’re taking him to a mental hospital.

He knows that they expect him to get better in a place like that, but since he found out he’s only been thinking of how to get out of going. Even now, he’s thinking of any possible solution as he absentmindedly packs away sweats, hoodies, undergarments, and a blank notebook along with a pen.

He leaves his room without looking back, not wanting to spend more time than necessary in there. Recovery Girl asks to see his bag, and he can’t help but roll his eyes as he hands it over. She looks through every pocket, rummaging around through all his clothing and unfolding everything he had just carefully put away.

“So much for respecting my privacy..” Izuku grumbles quietly despite his not talking streak. Recovery Girl eyes him at that, but doesn’t comment as she continues onto the next pocket.

“They’re most likely going to dispose of this, you know?” She warns, holding up his pen.

“Who's going to dispose of it?” He asks, feigning innocence. She shakes her head and mumbles a retort of her own, something he doesn’t catch, before just throwing the pen back into his bag and handing it back to him. Their usual silence continues afterwards as they leave the dorms and walk off campus towards a car that is waiting for them.

“Man, what special treatment. I’ve been provided with a driver all for myself and my babysitter.” Izuku says, reaching out for the door handle. Just as he’s about to get inside, Recovery Girl grabs his arm, forcing his attention onto her.

“Listen, boy. We’re doing this because we want to see you get better. We’re all trying to make up for our failures.” She says seriously. Something in Izuku’s mind begins to scream, and he can feel tears come to his eyes as the numbness he’s felt for weeks finally starts to fade. The hand on his own means no harm, but it still makes his skin feel like fire.

“Have you people ever thought about the fact that maybe this isn’t about you? That maybe I’m the one who’s failed?” He spits out. Recovery Girl quickly starts to respond, but Izuku pulls his arm away and gets into the car without hesitation. After a moment, Recovery Girl closes his door, and walks to the other side to get into the front seat.

No one speaks, but there is no longer silence. Izuku’s mind has begun to talk. Multiple voices of varying volume levels, all of them saying his name. Telling him to stop, to keep going, to go back to the addiction he doesn’t have. He digs his fingernails into his palm in an attempt to shut them up, but the attempt is fruitless.

He simply looks out the window in hopes that the two adults up front don’t notice his anxiety. He’s sure that there's a childproof lock on the door, and he doesn’t want to test his theory in fear that he’s right and gets in trouble for trying it.

About twenty minutes of listening to the screaming in his mind and holding back nausea that the motion and panic caused. But finally, they’ve reached their destination. The driver immediately shuts off the car and leaves to get Izuku’s bag out of the trunk, and Recovery Girl follows shortly after to open Izuku’s door for him.

The moment he steps out, he waits for Recovery Girl to reach for his bag from the driver. In the split second her back is turned, he runs.

In the back of his mind, he knows that his body is screaming in protest. He knew that the pain would be unbearable if he put even a slight amount of thought into it. Yet all he can focus on is the pounding in his heart. The strain that feels so good. The wind hitting his face and keeping his tears from falling.

Right now, he feels that same psychotic and elated feeling that he experienced during his first cut. He remembers what training used to feel like, when this kind of adrenaline was rewarding. He remembers what it felt like to make stupid and childish decisions that would leave him breathlessly happy.

Recovery Girl yells at him to stop and tries running for maybe a few minutes before giving up and quickly pulling out her phone, not standing a chance against Izuku who was bedridden all but two hours ago. Still, Izuku keeps running. He thinks this is the closest thing to happiness he’s felt in forever. The feeling is foriegn and disorienting in the best way possible. He doesn't want it to stop, so he keeps going.

He runs with no destination in mind. At least, that’s what it was like at first.

-

“I love you. Nothing you did could have prevented this outcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger.”

“I don’t blame you, but I do resent the way things had to work out. What you did wasn’t wrong, the way it made me second guess myself daily was only part of what drove me to this point.

You were a great mentor, and my greatest hero.”

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find me in the bathroom like that, I didn’t mean to inflict that kind of trauma on anyone. I can’t say I appreciated it, but you did what you felt was right.

Mostly, I’m sorry I won’t be keeping my promise. I lied to you. It would take much more weight loss for OFA to reject me at this point, but I knew I couldn’t let it go to waste. Keep it. Or find a vessel. No matter what you choose, I trust you’ll take care of it.

I’m glad we became friends again.”

“You aren’t a failure. You almost made life worth it. But no matter what you did, one class wasn’t enough.

None of it is your fault. So don’t say you failed your favorite student. The reality is, I failed my favorite teacher.

Your book is in my bedroom, I’m sorry I couldn’t give it back to you myself.”

Only four letters. Addressed to Inko, All Might, Bakugo, and Aizawa. The fifth letter wasn't addressed to anyone in particular.

-

Now that Izuku is truly free, he can be honest. He may not walk around showing off his scars, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he dislikes them. On the contrary, he feels very fond of every mark on his body. He enjoys looking at the imperfections marring his skin, they feel very fitting.

He doesn't hide them because he’s ashamed of them, but instead because he understands that no one will appreciate them in the way that he does. No one will be able to see them in the way he does. They’ll see weakness. They’ll know why they’re there, and ignore the purpose they serve.

Selfishly, he stands over the edge of the building. The same building from all those years ago when he first discovered a power that is no longer with him. Brandishing a brand new pocket knife, he creates the first stroke of his last time cutting himself.

Horizontal lines all the way up his arm, and down both his thighs. He only stops his actions as he begins to sway back and forth. His vision is flooded with nothing but the color red. But just before his vision fades out completely, he finishes his task.

As he feels himself finally fall forward, he thinks about how he’s kind of relieved he was diagnosed with a personality disorder. Now he knows that these conflicting thoughts aren’t really his fault. It’s all so stupid. Falling. Wind pushing up against him. The last thought he acknowledges is how he finally feels proud of himself.

-

“My name is Midoriya Izuku, hero name Deku. I feel guilty for the trouble this is going to cause. For whoever finds me, and for everyone who finds out afterwards. However, I’m doing this without regrets. I’ve tried my whole life to be selfless. To put others before myself. This is something I want, something I need. I’m doing this because I’m tired. I’m not strong enough to keep living, and I definitely wouldn’t have been strong enough to continue down the path I had chosen.

I wish I were strong enough, I do. For my friends, who I truly did love and care for. For my mother, who always gave everything. For my teachers and mentors, who have taught me and cultivated me into the person I always wanted to be. For the people I could’ve saved. I die with no regrets because, despite these people in my life that I love, I am not worthy of the love they gave in return.

Do not spend time mourning my death. I assure you, no matter how much it might hurt now, this will become insignificant in no time at all. Wherever I end up now, I am better. I am in a better place. Know that this was for the best.”