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/Weak./
/Useless./
/Pathetic./
The words echoed through his head, ringing, loudly. They claimed his every thought and he couldn’t stop them.
/Weak./
/Pathetic./
/Useless./
/Unloveable./
He choked back a sob, his breathing quickening.
Muffling his face in his hands, Eijirou tried to stop the tears from forming.
/It’s unmanly to cry./
/You’re unmanly./
/Weak./
Stifling a sob, he couldn’t wake his neighbors, couldn’t wake Bakugou or Shouji, couldn’t wake them just because he’s too damn weak.
Eijirou’s shoulders shook, his whole body trembling as he tried to quiet his thoughts, tried to quiet his mind.
He hadn’t had a panic attack in so long or at least hadn’t had thoughts like this in such a long time.
/This isn’t manly, Eijirou./
/Real men don’t cry./
/You’re just useless and weak./
/Don’t even deserve to be a hero./
/How do your classmates even put up with you? You’re weak and insignificant. A mere stepping stone./
/You’ll never be a hero./
/You’ll break./
A sob broke free, the tears flowing freely.
He couldn’t move, his brain racing, his body frozen, tears streaming down his face as the voice in his head spit venomous comments, poison-laced barbs that sliced through his skin.
He hated himself, hated his Quirk, hated it all.
The voice was right, he was weak, he was useless.
He doesn’t deserve to be a hero.
Eijirou gasped for breath, the terrifying feeling of oxygen deprivation gripping his brain, but his overworked body was still breathing too fast.
His thoughts raced faster, pelting him with words that cut and seared.
Truths that cut straight to the bone.
/If only your Quirk was strong, maybe you wouldn’t be so damn weak./
/But it’s not, is it? You have a stupid weak Quirk./
/Can’t even protect Fat or Amajiki-senpai, could you?/
/Rappa could’ve killed you and you wouldn’t have been able to stop it./
/Weak, Eijirou, you’re weak./
He was crying openly, now. Tears cut lines down his face.
He thought he was past this.
Eijirou thought he left this poisonous voice at his childhood home with the small boy with dark hair and a bleeding eyebrow.
But he couldn’t have. This voice was him.
This voice was him, he was thinking this, these hurtful, stinging thoughts.
He’d never truly escape his past, never truly forget that small boy who cries in the corner with black hair.
No matter how much he dyes his hair and paints a bright smile on his face he’ll, he’ll…
/You’ll always be weak and useless, Eijirou./
/You’re a pathetic excuse for a human./
/No one could love you, no one can love someone so unmanly./
Eijirou feels like his throat is closing up, feels like he’s drowning in the venomous words.
He had woken up to a whisper in his mind, a whisper of /weak/, and that was all it took.
He’s hunched in a ball, silence forgotten, a silent prayer sent to the gods that Bakugou or Shouji couldn’t hear him. Or if they did, just ignored it.
It’s weak and unmanly to burden others.
/That’s what you are, though, Eijirou./
/You are a burden./
/A weak, useless, pathetic burden./
/You waste everyone’s time./
/You will never be manly enough, you will never be the hero that Crimson Riot is./
/You don’t even deserve to make a moniker after him, sullying his name with your pathetic thoughts./
His arms feel tight and he knows, subconsciously that his Hardening has spread across them.
Digging his Hardened fingertips into his biceps, he feels the skin indent and split under the pressure.
He feels the pain deep in the back of his mind.
It’s grounding, pulls him from the cloud of painful thoughts.
/Weak, Eijirou./
/You need to hurt yourself to feel something other than loathing?/
/How pathetic./
/Your parents must be so ashamed to have a son like you./
/And your friends, god, can they even be called your friends?/
/You hang onto them, driving them to madness, probably./
/You already know that Bakugou can’t stand you./
/Weak, useless, pathetic./
/Little Eijirou Kirishima./
/He wanted to be a hero but couldn’t cut it./
“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” He’s mumbling, talking to himself, but the words hurt.
“Shut up, shut up.”
He’s still panting, oxygen not quite reaching.
His cheeks feel wet and he wishes he could just shut it off, like how Aizawa-sensei can shut off Quirks.
If he could shut off his thoughts, that would be perfect.
/How’d you even make it into Yuuei?/
/A pathetic Quirk like that?/
/It must have been out of pity, it’s not like your Quirk is actually useful./
“Shut up! Shut up! Be quiet!”
His thoughts are getting out of hand.
Eijirou digs his Hardened nails into his arms, bracing against the dull wave of pain.
Everything hurts, he doesn’t know how to make it stop.
Releasing his arms, he clutches his head, murmuring to himself.
He almost doesn’t hear Bakugou.
“Oi, Shitty Hair, why the fuck are you making so much noise,” He pauses, for a moment, giving Eijirou a moment of panic, trying to calm his breathing, calm his thoughts. “It’s fuckin’ two in the mornin’.”
Eijirou coughs. “S-sorry, Bakugou, I’ll try to be quiet.” He tries to keep his voice steady.
Bakugou is quiet and for a brief moment, Eijirou thinks he bought the story and is going back to his dorm.
“Fuckin’,” he sounds shocked, “Are you cryin’, Shitty Hair?”
“N-no,” Eijirou says, hiccuping, slightly. “I’m not crying.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, dammit.” He hears Bakugou mumble on the other side of the door. “Shitty Hair, I’m comin’ in.”
Eijirou panics. He can’t let Bakugou, one of the manliest people that Eijirou knows see him like this.
“Baku- bro, you can’t come in-”
“Like fuckin’ hell, I’m comin’ in.”
He throws the door in, barely illuminated from the dim hallway light.
The boys are frozen for a moment, eyes caught on each other, waiting for the other to move first.
Bakugou seems shocked, his gaze caught on the boy with red hair hanging around his shoulders, tear stains on his cheeks, lower lip caught between his sharp teeth.
“Fuck,” Bakugou muttered, sweeping into the room, eyes caught on Eijirou’s bloody arms.
“Fuckin’ Shitty Hair, what the fuck were you thinkin’?” Gently prying Eijirou’s arms free, Bakugou sinks onto the bed next to Eijirou, holding his hands in his, rubbing gently at the skin, trying to get melt the hardening away, melt it back to smooth tan skin.
Eijirou hiccups, his gaze caught on Bakugou’s hands rubbing small circles on his wrist. The hardening starts to melt, sinking back into his body, and a wave of exhaustion seems to sweep over him.
His arms ache and he feels bone tired. He feels boneless and he sways slightly, barely hearing Bakugou’s muttered, “Fuckin’- what the hell, Jesus, Ei,” before he lowers Eijirou somewhat, balancing him against his chest, and Eijirou can feel, can hear Bakugou’s steady heartbeat.
He breathes in deeply, his cheek pressed against the other boy’s soft black shirt, the smell clinging to the fabric so distinctly Bakugou. The faint sugary smell of nitroglycerin, the hint of gunpowder from his explosions, and a deeper smell, earthy almost.
He feels Bakugou rubbing small circles into his back, easing the tense muscle.
“Stay here, Shitty Hair, I’ll be right back, I gotta do something for your fuckin’ arms.”
Nodding bonelessly, he allows himself to slide to the bed while Bakugou walks to his bathroom, fumbling in the drawers until he finds the first aid box.
Nudging Eijirou over with a mumbled, “Scoot, Kirishima,” Bakugou moves back to the bed, not resisting when Eijirou slumps against his side.
“Gimme your arm, you dumb idiot.” Popping the tab off of some antibiotic cream, Bakugou rests the container on his knee, pausing to rip open a wet wipe, before wiping away the blood and gore that dripped down Kirishima’s bicep. The other boy was quiet, not making a noise in complaint when the alcohol touched the raw skin.
Bakugou dabbed some cream on the five crescent moon shaped cuts, before grabbing some of the soft gauze, wrapping it around the bicep.
“Turn, so I can get your other, Ei.” His voice is soft like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal.
Eijirou shifts, allowing Bakugou to clean and bandage his other side.
Tossing the kit on the floor when he’s done, Bakugou wraps an arm around Eijirou, tucking him against him, allowing the other boy to rest his head against the blond's shoulder.
“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” Bakugou’s voice is soft, quiet.
Eijirou shakes his head, pressing his head into the other’s shoulder.
“Eijirou,” Bakugou’s voice is slightly sharper, he’s worried.
Voice muffled by the flesh, “I was just thinking too much, and I couldn’t get it to stop.”
“What were you thinking too much of?”
“Just my brain thinking mean things.”
“Like..?” Quiet prompting from Bakugou, his hand rubbing distracting circles on Eijirou’s shoulder blade.
“Don’t wanna say. ‘S unmanly,” He mutters, cheeks feeling hot.
“Eijirou,” Bakugou pauses. “Eijirou, look at me real quick.”
The redhead raises his eye, catching the blond's gaze. His cheeks are red, but his gaze is firm. “You are one of the bravest and one of the manliest people I’ve ever fuckin’ met. I will never think less of you for any reason.”
Eijirou dips his gaze, unable to meet the blond’s eyes, ashamed for his kind words in response to Eijirou’s thoughts.
Sitting up, moving away from Katsuki’s grip, he looks at his hands, unable and unwilling to look the other in the eye.
“Useless, pathetic, weak,” he takes a deep breath. “No good hero, worthless, a burden-” he pauses when he feels the hot rush of tears, the painful tightening of his throat, a sign he’s about to cry.
He hears Katsuki's whispered, “Fuck Eijirou,” before the blond is leaning forward, wrapping his arms around the other, easing them to the bed, holding the other boy close.
He tilts Eijirou’s face towards him, forcing the redhead to look in his eyes.
“Fuckin’, Ei, you know I’m not good with words. I can’t always fuckin’ say what I mean, and shit. But… You’re stupid if you believe that.” He pauses, breathing deeply through his nose. “You’re strong as hell, stubborn as fuck. You’re the manliest person I know. And, well, you’re brave and caring. You put up with my shit when god knows I don’t deserve to be treated so nicely.”
He moves one hand, lightly brushing Kirishima’s hair from his face. “You’re an amazing fuckin’ person Kirishima and I wish you could see yourself the way we all see you. You’re worth so damn much and you’re fuckin’ stupid is you believe that the fuckin’ voice in your head is right.”
“You’re not a burden, you’re already a great hero; hell, you saved fuckin’ Fat and Suneater’s asses. You held off a fuckin’ psychotic killer. You’re not a burden.”
Katsuki breathes in deeply, looking in Eijirou’s wide eyes. “You’re not any of those things. You’re strong, brave, and one of the best fucking people I know. You deserve the fuckin’ world, Kirishima. And, if you think any of those things are true, they aren’t. Cause, I wouldn’t waste my time on someone who wasn’t worth it. You’re worth so much.”
Sniffling, Eijirou looks at Katsuki, looking past the boy with blushing cheeks, baring his soul, just to help Eijirou see that he’s worth it, worth fighting for.
“Thank you, Katsuki.”
Huffing out a heavy breath, Katsuki nudged the redhead over some, so he could tuck the cover over the two of them. Pulling the boy back to his chest, he mutters, “Just fuckin’ sleep already, Shitty Hair. It’s late.”
Looking at Katuski’s face, his eyes closed, his eyelashes casting shadows across his cheekbones, his mouth relaxed, not pulled into the tight scowl, his brow relaxed, Eijirou feels his chest loosen.
Resting his forehead against the other boys, his own eyes closing, he whispers, “Thank you.”
Katsuki rests his hand against the others back, keeping him pressed close. “You’re welcome, Ei,” he pauses, stretching slightly, “Get some sleep, it’s too late for this.”
The thoughts aren’t gone, maybe they’ll never truly be gone, but Eijirou knows now that he’s stronger than them. He has so many people at his side, people that he can’t ever disappoint, people that wish for the best of him.
He is worth it. He may not have the flashiest or most powerful Quirk, but that doesn’t matter. He can be a symbol for people to look up to.
Heroes are people too and people are allowed to stumble and fall. As long as he gets up, then he’s still a hero.
And if he needs the help of his friends to get up, then who’s to say that he’s not manly?
He’s strong because he chooses to be.
Eijirou is steadfast. He’s strong, he’s brave, he’s courageous. He’s not a burden and he’s going to be an amazing hero.
Kirishima Eijirou is unbreakable.
//