Chapter Text
I turned onto my other side for about the seventh time already, eyes fixated on the pencil sharpener sitting innocently on my desk.
I shove the heels of my palms into my eyes when they start to sting with frustration.
The tears break, and I’m silently hiccuping as my suffering becomes visible on my face.
My skin buzzes, preemptively waiting for the sting of a blade to join the fresh ones from last night along my hips and collarbone.
As if sentient, last night’s scratches throb.
The bile in my throat is unbearable and I can’t stop myself as I reach for the little shining piece of metal on the table.
I run my thumb up and down the blunt edge.
What would your mother think..?
The thought of her knowing wrenches my heart from my chest, I have to swallow the bile that spills into my mouth, empty of anything solid apart from half digested mints.
Disgusting. How dare you eat anything.
With one quick, fluid motion, red and white springs from a slash down the inside of my arm, and I blanch.
White.
White.
White.
My head spins, and I know I’m no longer in my right mind.
Deeper than I’ve ever gone, too close to my veins, blood spills from the wound too quickly.
I push with shaking, trembling, legs towards my dresser and grab the first shirt I see.
An old All Might shirt finds itself badly pressed against my shaking arm.
I can’t stop the sob that breaks from my lips as I tumble towards my desk, fumbling for my phone.
Fat tears fill my vision, and I scramble to press my back against the bed, I dial the number, half hoping he picks up. The other half hopes it keeps ringing and ringing and ringing and I’m left to deal with my problem alone.
Of course, my luck has never been that solid, and a tired voice picks up.
Definitely not the voice I expected to answer.
“Hizashi Yamada.”
My tears stop, mostly because of pure shock.
I can just imagine my English teachers half closed eyes and slouched posture as I’ve woken him up at midnight, on a Friday.
“Uh, hello?” Yamada’s voice reminds me that I’m still on the phone.
“O-Oh. Mic-Sensei- I’m s-so so-ory for bothering you.” I croak, tears resuming their path down my face and constricting my throat.
“Midoriya? Wait-” His voice gets further away, and then suddenly closed, “OH SHI-” There’s a loud flurry of noises as Yamada’s voice gets further away from the phone, scurrying and hurried talking follows.
Before eventually, “I am so sorry, little listener. I accidentally picked up Shouta’s phone, I’ll hand you over to him now.”
Followed by the sound of the phone being passed to another set of hands.
“Midoriya? Do I bother asking, why exactly you are calling me at midnight..?” I can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.
I stumble over my words, both spilling verbally and mentally into a pool of a single sentence;
“I think I went too deep.”
The sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
“I’m sorry- I’ll- I’ll hang up now.”
“Midoriya. Do not hang up. I want you to explain what, exactly, you mean by that. While you make your way to the common room.”
“Yes, sensei.” I manage to croak, pulling the shirt, almost soaked through, tighter around my arm and stumble, rather than walk, towards the door.
I almost laugh at the fact, dizzy and fatigued from the blood loss, we were learning how to stop bleeding just the other day at the USJ.
My mouth spews, unwelcome and unmeaning to, my thoughts from the past week, the stinging wounds along my collarbone and hips, the stash of bloodied blades in the drawer and the bathroom.
“Midoriya.” Aizawa breaks me from my rambling, “How much are you bleeding right now?”
My tears have slowed, leaving me wth a sticky face and blurry eyes that may or may not have played a hand in the fact I’m now sitting on the floor just inside the heights alliance doors, knowing the alarms would go off if I were to sit outside, and I have no clue how I got there.
“Uh-” I gracefully choke out, my lessons from the other day missing from my memory when I go groping for them mentally, “I don’t know.”
“Alright.” Missing it’s usual follow-up sigh, but I can hear footsteps outside the glass doors, not bothering to glance behind me as two sets of feet come thundering up the stairs and there’s a click as, I assume, someone has pressed their ID against the scanner.
The door flings open, and my tired eyes wander their way towards both Yamada’s and Aizawa’s borderline frantic eyes.
They calm, slightly, when they spot me, almost cowering in the corner, previously white shirt now red around my arm.
“Oh- listener...” Yamada’s voice is soft and quiet, unlike his hero persona’s.
Aizawa pulls the phone from his ear, hanging up. I mirror the motion, before the dam breaks and the tears come streaming back down my face, chest heaving with sobs.
The bloodied shirt falls into my lap, and the split skin stretches as I try to wrap my arms around myself, choking on apologies.
“Midoriya, I’m going to move your arms, alright?” Aizawa’s gravely tone is closer now, on my crouched level.
I weakly nod, and gentle hands pull my right, injured, arm away from my chest, and a breath of relief is released.
I peer between my knees, vision blurry with tears.
Yamada, who is now also crouched and looking a little pale, catches my eye, “Can I sit next to you, little listener?”
Another nod.
He shuffles sideways to sit next to me, and I cannot restraint myself from sagging against his shoulder, trust rolling from me in waves.
Aizawa has let go of my arm now, resting it on my leg.
The teachers share a look, which I am unable to decipher, and Aizawa stands back up.
My panic must be poorly concealed on my features, because Yamada takes my left hand and squeezes it gently, despite being a little pale-green.
“Shou’ is just going to grab the first aid kit, nowhere else.”
Aizawa nods before disappearing off into the kitchen.
We sit in silence as the cold winter air seeps into my bones and the gash along my arm, making me feel sick.
I can feel the edges of the canyon pulling with every shiver, every twitch. I do nothing but stare at it, bile rising in my throat.
Guilt eats at my stomach, making me green at the gills.
I have to press my free hand to my mouth to stop my mouth from spilling the empty contents of my stomach onto the floor.
“Kid?” Yamada eyes me cautiously, glasses fallen to the tip of his nose and hair pulled into a half-fallen out ponytail.
“I’m so sorry, Mic-sensei.” I choke around my hand, almost actually choking on the stomach acid in my mouth.
Before he can respond, or react, Aizawa comes back out of the kitchen, “Problem child, where has the rest of first aid kit gone?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, like he knows - and doesn’t like - the answer.
The other hand has a white cloth clenched in its fist.
A gauze-like fabric of some sort.
I assume it fell out of the first aid kit in the rush that could be explained as Class 1A running late.
Still behind my hand, because I don’t trust my stomach, “Kaminari was in charge of bringing it back from the USJ.”
Aizawa raises a questioning eyebrow before crouching down to our level.
He straightens out the ‘gauze’ and gestures for my arm. I glance away, away from my arm and away from Aizawa and Yamada’s gaze.
It’s still bleeding a steady trickle.
I offer it to him and the red is quickly covered by the white cloth. He secures it before standing up.
His knees crack and he wipes his hands on his pants before offering a hand up to the both of us.
“A-Aizawa-sensei?” I croak, hand finally away from my mouth.
“Come on. The teachers complex has a medical kit, that’s probably better than the student one anyway.” He huffs, “That cloth should keep the air from it.”
Yamada takes his hand, in turn gently pulling me to my feet.
“I should be taking you to Recovery Girl. But considering she’s out at a conference on I-Island, that’s out of the question.” He explains, pressing the ID around his neck against the scanner and pushing open the door, “You can come to ours.”
“A-Are you.. sure? It wouldn’t be an inconvenience- or-or a bother?”
“Definitely not, listener. Plus! This way, we know where all the sharps are, to keep you safe, yeah?” Yamada offers me an uncertain grin, paired with a glance towards Aizawa, who nods in return.
“Let’s go. If this door is left open any longer, the alarms will go off.” Aizawa gestures towards the door, and Yamada gently pulls me through it.
The walk along the paths back to the teachers apartment is quiet, and cold, and slow. My legs are still shaking, a combination of things starting to get to me.
There are more silent look shared between my two teachers, over the top of my head.
I’m pretty much sandwiched the between the two, maybe for fear of me booking it across campus and out the gates, but Aizawa gives me space on my right.
Yamada still has a gentle grip on my left hand, and he hums as we walk.
It’s the only noise in the silence, along with the faint sound of Musutafu bustling at night in the distance.
Guilt returns, eating away at the empty walls of my stomach, and I’m forced to spit out a quiet, “I do want to get better.”
A dialogue-less moment, the gravel beneath three sets of shoes.
“Good. That’s good, problem child.” Aizawa nods, eyes ever fixated on the gravel in front of him.
His hand comes up and gently ruffles the mess that would be considered my hair.
Yamada’s face splits into a cautious smile.
“I’m going to leave it up to you on whether or not Midoriya Inko will be told about this.. incident.” Aizawa glances at me, measuring my reaction.
I swallow down the guilt and nod sternly.
My mother would not be hearing about this.
It would worry her sick.
And I couldn’t bear to do that, after all that’s happened already.