Work Text:
Bakugou didn't know what to say all day, it had been an unusual day and he was starting to feel empty.
Broken.
He severely wanted someone to hold him and tell him.. he was going to be okay. That he was okay, that he was fighting for a good reason, and his actions wouldn't be pointless.
But that little nagging voice buried deep into the back of his mind, in the center of his mind, the circling thoughts, said.. no screamed out that it was not going to be the way he wanted.
The only thing rushing through his head was that mischievous little voice telling him to quit, to stop, to end it all in one jump, in one blow, in a single action to end it all and especially end himself.
Anything would be fine to the voice.
Anything.
He wanted to be seen for the person he is on the inside, not for the inferior anger that got the better of all his emotions due to his fear of being hurt by others.
He looked down at his pale thighs that were barely visible in the light leaking in from the balcony doors. He wore nothing but a black tank top and a pair of orange boxers that nicely hugged at his waist and upper thighs, the boxers not even making it halfway to his knee.
Subconsciously he began to trace old scars that came from his overflowing emotions from back in middle school. "Maybe a few would help me forget... help me feel better... it won't be too bad right?" he mumbled looking at his palm as small pops began to form. He watched as they lit up his room.
He stopped the pops of explosions to carefully place his palms flat on his thighs. Taking a deep breath he soon just let the explosions go, his legs being met by an unmerciful amount of explosions directly against the soft pale skin of his thighs.
When he pulled his hands away there was a very faint, but disturbing, sizzling pops coming from the fresh and large blistering burn that was now placed on the soft muscle of his thighs.
The male couldn't help but let out a shaky breath, large tears dropping from his eyes as he choked back the threatening sobs. He knew they were going to come as a result of agony of charring his own flesh.
This was much worse than he had ever done to anyone, let alone himself, but yet here he is letting go of his hold and allowing himself to succumb to the voice badgering deep in his mind.
The saddest part of it all was that the voice was screaming at him, infecting him with all these self destructive emotions.
Why?
Because of trauma?
As if he'd let himself believe that everything that was happening was due to trauma.
He continued to emptily try to find comfort in something other then pain, but before he could succeed his chest started to tighten and his sobs broke through his bruised and bitten lips, tears erupting from the soft ruby eyes that were always assumed to be filled with hatred or spite for everyone and everything around him. When the truth is, it was always self hatred and fear.
He's scared.
He feels he's alone.
He is struggling but refuses to ask for help, feeling as if no one would believe him or give a crap.
Izuku.
That Deku.
That's who they care for, not him, -- Izuku Midoriya, he's the star of the school now. -- and that was fine. But now, sitting in the dark in tears, Bakugou felt he was left in Deku's shadow, forced to find a safe but different path all on his own. One without self doubt, or hate.
He began to lay down as he silently sobbed. Surely, after all this time, it became obvious he had nothing left to try and process, no more emotions that needed to be broken into. Nothing but a broken self esteem and an endless loop of self destructive thoughts and memories.