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As the students of UA settled into an incident-free time, the days seemed to blur together. Class 1-A trained, learned and improved day after day, and for a month now, did not have to fight any villains. For most students, the days went by fast, especially as the final exams approached. It was as if there was not enough time to study, to fully take in all the knowledge they had gathered over the course of the past few months.
English class was the first class of the morning, but usually the students had energy (until questions started being asked, of course.) Present Mic, or as he was known to his students, Yamada Hizashi, always seemed to have an impossible amount of energy, which, at times, did motivate the class. While most of class 1-A were not fans of this class, [Name] was. They were never a particularly vocal person - and since transitioning and having to deal with homophobia and transphobia, it did not improve. With English, however, they felt they could speak (well, write) their mind. Most of their classmates were not as fluent as they were, with a few exceptions, which made writing down essays on topics they were passionate about, because of what they experienced first hand, feel safe. So, on a normal day, [Name] tried to seem invested in the class, even if they did not speak up. They adjusted their body language, sitting up, really paying attention.
It was just one day, [Name] told themself one particular day. Their energy did not match what it usually was. There was no particular reason for them to feel so sad, but the creeping numbness snuck up on them. The same numb feeling they fought daily to keep buried deep below, only allowing it to come out late at night when they were safe in their bedroom, door locked. Somehow it escaped the moment they woke up in the morning.
Sero Hanta, [Name]'s best friend, noticed as soon as he met up with them in front of the doors of UA. "Are you okay?" he asked. [Name] faked a smile and assured him that yes, they were. He bought it, and they went about their day.
Soon, though, one day turned into a week. [Name] figured they were good at faking being okay, since no one asked. That was good, they told themself. That was a good thing, they mused as the sun set, the light from the moon being the only light inside their bedroom. Everything was fine, they said in their head as tears streamed down their face for reasons they could not comprehend. The spiralling came next. They said something wrong today, didn't they? One of their friends must be pissed at them right now. They were an awful person. The thoughts did not stop. Suddenly the blade hidden beneath the tissue box on their dresser seemed very enticing. Their hands shook. Subconsciously, they knew they would regret this, but it was an addiction. An addiction that they just could not quit. They sat with their back against the bed, arm exposed. They blinked away the tears. As they dragged the cold metal against the soft flesh of their skin, they did not feel so bad anymore. There was something new to focus on. The cut did not start off deep. Just a skim. It was when the red blood did not drip down their arm, simply pooling at the cut, that they cut deeper. Again. And again. And again. Until their arm leaked red. Then came the next cut, starting deeper than the last. They felt no pain, not physically. Mental numbness was the only thing present as the small blade tore through the skin of their arm. It was as if they could feel the muscle against the blade. Only when the shaking of their hand was too much to make pretty lines did they stop.
As [Name] ran cold water over the fresh wounds, it dawned on them that they would still have to show up to school the next day. To their parents, mental health was no good reason to cut school. They had no reason to. No reason was good enough to them, not that [Name] wanted to be stuck at home with their parents who kept misgendering and deadnaming them all day, despite them being out for months now. So school was the safer option.
They tried to get to sleep, but they just could not. They had no bandages, so they could feel the cool air and the fabric of their blanket against the self-inflicted wounds. With a frustrated exhale, they pushed themself out of bed and packed their bag. They could go out, buy some bandages and an energy drink, stay out until morning, and go straight to school, they told themself as they put on their binder. They threw their blazer into their bag, settling for wearing their favourite jacket - a leather jacket two sizes two big for them - before they crept out the window and out into the street.
As good a liar they thought they were, there was someone who saw right through [Name]. Not one of their friends, they were not yet trained to see that kind of thing, but one of their teachers. It was about one thirty in the morning now, and Hizashi and Aizawa Shouta were still in the staff room, both grading papers. They were the only ones at this time. "Have you noticed anything off about [Name] this week?" Hizashi inquired, pushing his glasses up.
Shouta glanced up from the pile of work in front of him. His furrowed eyebrows were the only indication of anything but his usual apathy. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
The blonde shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to put his gut feeling into words. "Well, I don't know, they don't seem like themself. They're quiet lately."
Shouta was unimpressed. If anyone was the quiet kid, it was [Name]. "They're always quiet."
"I know, but this is a different quiet."
"If you want," Shouta started with a tired sigh, "I could talk to them. But I won't get an answer."
Hizashi slumped. "Ah, forget it. I'll give it a couple days before I ask," he said. He did not exactly have proof that something was wrong, but something told him his gut feeling was right.
Meanwhile, [Name] had gotten the stuff they needed - bandages, safety pins, a couple energy drinks, as well as some snacks - from a nearby convenience store. Afterward they made their way to a familiar spot they had claimed as their own. It was a little ways from their house, a decent walk, but nothing too drastic distance-wise. It was a little spot near an abandoned playground. No one went there, leaving Name to be able to manipulate the metal from that park with their quirk (they could not be breaking the law if it's training, right?) to make a little makeshift safe space. The wood had to be done manually, but they had managed after a while. Now they had a cozy little tree-house. From their house, they had brought a few things, such as a couple blankets and a few smaller pillows, all that belonged to them so their parents wouldn't notice nor care that they had gone missing. It was laid out so that there was a blanket covering the floor, and the pillows could be used either as individual seats or as a sort of bed. The other blankets were for warmth and comfort. In the corner, covered by the thinnest blanket [Name] had, was a pile of books. Half were written in Japanese, and the others in English.
This was more like home. They climbed up the metal ladder, pushing aside the tarp they used as a door and settling into the treehouse. They placed their bag down and took out the bandages and safety pins, then slipped off their jacket to expose their wounded arm. As they had done a few times before, when they took it a bit too far to leave it, [Name] wrapped up their arm and used the safety pins to keep it there. It was easier than wrapping it around their wrist and thumb, so they would not have to explain what happened. They were already lying about being okay, they did not need to keep building up lies if avoidable.
Once finished, they cracked open one of the cans of energy drinks and took a sip. They took the pillows and blankets, forming a sort of bed. Before laying down on it, they put their headphones on and played their comfort playlist. They laid there, staring at the ceiling, for hours. So long that they fell asleep for a bit despite the caffeine in their system.
Yamada’s claims that something was wrong with [Name] raised alarm within Aizawa. Though the claim that they were quiet seemed like a usual thing, it seemed to rain true. Aizawa kept thinking about it, despite himself. He cared for his students. He had risked his life for them, and he would do it again. It was only natural that he grow concerned.
“I’m telling you, Sho, they aren’t acting like themself,” Yamada said as he walked towards his partner’s homeroom class with him.
“I believe you,” Aizawa interrupted before he could rant further. He stopped, turning to face the other man. “Do you have a plan? I don’t want you to stress them out.”
In any other situation, Yamada would have made a joke. But this was his (favourite) student. “I don’t have one, but-“ he cut off any protest Aizawa may have at his words before he could speak, “-I think it’s best to give it a day. It might just be a bad week.”
Aizawa raised an eyebrow, impressed. He nodded. He assured Yamada that throughout the day he would keep an eye on [Name], as that was the only way to get him to let him start the day before first period. Aizawa entered the classroom. Everyone was there, though not all seated. Everyone except one person, Aizawa noticed. He approached the podium as his students scrambled to get to their seats.
“Sero,” Aizawa started.
“Yes, sir?”
“Where’s [Name]?”
Sero scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “They aren’t answering my texts.”
Something in the back of Aizawa’s head told him something was wrong, but for the time being he buried it, making sure to keep his expression neutral as always. He got on with announcements before walking out to allow Yamada to start teaching. He knew already that he would get an earful later about [Name]’s absence, and frankly he did not want that. So, he made his way to the teacher’s lounge.
There, he found All Might, much to his annoyance. He did not greet him as he made his way to sit down, flipping through files until he found the number of [Name]’s parents. After three rings, someone picked up.
“Yes?” said a man’s voice, impatient.
“This is Aizawa Shouta, [Name]’s teacher,” Aizawa started.
The man, [Name]’s father, huffed. “What did she do?”
Aizawa swallowed his annoyance. “Did they stay home today?” he asked.
[Name]’s father scoffed. “Fuck no, she left early. Don’t tell me she’s skipping class again.”
Shit, Aizawa thought. This was not good. “No, they just weren’t feeling well. They must still be at the nurse’s office,” he said before ending the call. He put the phone down and leaned back, sighing silently. He was annoyed. He had no idea where his student could be, but Hizashi might. After all, he had told him about some of the things [Name] had written which he had been mildly concerned about, but never thought it was too bad. Maybe he was wrong on that front.
The period went by slowly for both teachers, and there was no sign of [Name]. Sero too was worried. [Name] never ignored his texts. Bakugo’s? Yes. Kaminari’s? Sure. Kirishima’s? Sometimes. But never his.
[Name] woke up and realized with fear that they were late. Not by a minute, but by a whole hour now. Anxiety settled, clouding all rational thoughts. It was like this was the final tipping point. They were no stranger to suicidal ideation. Hell, they’ve written a suicide note before but never had the strength to go through with it. But it felt like every time something went wrong, their brain tricked itself into thinking death was the only way out.
Was it too late to go to school now? [Name] wondered, biting the inside of their cheek. They looked at their phone, seeing a dozen missed messages from Sero. That alone gave them the strength to push themself up, exchange their jacket for their school blazer and head to school, quickly sending a text back to their best friend explaining that they slept in and forgot to set an alarm, which was mot a complete lie. It was more just refraining from telling the whole truth.
The morning went by surprisingly fast for [Name], though they were not sure how much more they could take. They had been wearing their binder much too long now, and the training definitely would not be a healthy addition to that. Not to mention, they felt as though their teacher was looking at them specifically more than usual. Did he know something? He couldn’t, right? There was no way. They were good at hiding it, hiding the scars. If he knew... well, they were in serious trouble. And they could not have that.
These thoughts clouded all [Name]'s rationality. For the remainder of the day, they were fidgety. Their eyes barely left the clock for a minute, but time was going in slow motion. They could not focus on their work. By the time hero training rolled around, [Name] could barely see straight, but they could not tell if it was from pain or anxiety, or maybe even malnutrition.
All Might was teaching. Usually, this got the class excited. [Name] was never the biggest All Might fan, but it was still overwhelming, especially in the beginning. Now, they had begun to get used to it. [Name] just could not seem to match everyone else's energy. They were knocked out of this state of dissociation by Bakugo elbowing them in the ribs. "Oi! What's wrong with you?" Bakugo asked in his usual aggressive nature, trying to mask any worry he might have felt for his friend.
[Name] blinked a couple times, taking a moment to process that he was talking to them. "Huh..? Oh, nothing's wrong, I'm fine. Just tired," [Name] quickly explained, forcing a smile. Bakugo clearly did not believe them, but did not bother pushing them.
Training began, but [Name] was too out of it to preform to their usual standard. If All Might were not so focused on Midoriya, maybe he would have notice. By the time the day ended, [Name] was rushing to get home, accidentally ignoring their friends in the process.
Concerned, Sero decided to approached his teacher once everyone had left the classroom. He approached the front a bit nervously, which was out of character for him. "Uh, Mr Aizawa?"
"What is it?" Aizawa asked tiredly.
Sero rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it's [Name]..."
It was the weekend now. A whole two days alone with their thoughts, when in this state of mind, was not ideal for [Name]. But the thought of being alone was more appealing than social interaction, so they just went home. For a bit, at least. They caught their reflection in the mirror not long after, their mood dropping immediately.
[Name] hated the look of their face. Something about it just made them look feminine, and they hated that. They had once brought a blade to their jawline and made up an excuse about a cat. It did not happen again, as it raised too many questions. The longer they looked at themself, the worst they felt. Originally, they planned on taking off their binder but now… now they couldn’t. It was like the task became physically impossible despite the pressure on their ribs. Only when tears fell from their eyes did they finally manage to pull their gaze away from the mirror. Things were getting worse, but who could they talk to about it? They refused to bother Sero or any of their other friends about these problems. They were probably being dramatic anyway.
Wiping the tears off their face, they took off their binder and crawled into bed. Sleeping was the best way to avoid their problems, and avoid dinner with their parents. They woke up only hours later, in the dead of night, to multiple missed messages. Most were from Sero, but there were a couple from the class groupchat and their ‘Bakusquad’ chat as well. They did not bother checking them.
The thoughts they had ignored in favour of getting some sleep flooded back, drowning [Name] in self-deprecation they could not seem to avoid. Their arm felt heavy, as though the scars and the self-inflicted wounds finally decided to hold them down.You deserved these. Why are you even alive? Scars aren’t enough for you, are they? their brain whispered to them.
“Shut up,” [Name] murmured, but their brain did not listen. The thoughts created a headache that no amount of advil would take away.
Frustrated, and sick of everything, [Name] stood up quickly. They grabbed their bag as well as their blade before crawling out of their window, letting the cool breeze of the night wash over them. They were just in a t-shirt, arm exposed for the world to see, not that it mattered anymore. No one was awake anyway.
They made their way to the only safe place they could think of - their treehouse. No one knew about it, something they made sure of. Now, subconsciously, they wished someone knew. That someone would show up to stop them. But no one did.
Carefully, [Name] took off the bandage around their arm. The wound was no longer bleeding, which was almost worse than if was. Even through the numbness of their mind, the thoughts telling them to just do it
Their hands shook as they dragged the blade against their wrists. Subconsciously, they did not want to die. But it was easier than livings If just their body would stop resisting. After a few tries, not feeling their consciousness fade, they threw the blade down in frustration. This was not working. They were just lightheaded from that, their vision a bit blurred. There had to be a better option.
[Name] set off into the dead of night, blood running down their hand, which they ignored. They avoided most streetlights until they found themself of a pedestrian bridge. Only one of the streetlights they ended up standing under worked, the few on either other side dead. From this height, they could barely hear the flowing water, the sound of waves against the shore.
They crawled over the rail, hands gripping it behind them. Did they really want this? Did they have another option? Getting help was not possible - they did not even know what was wrong. Nothing they felt could be formed into words. This had to be done.
Before they could take the final step and jump, a voice called out to them. Startled, [Name]’s grip on the rail tightened. They shut their eyes, pretending they were not standing on a bridge with tears streaming down their face, ready to jump.
“Hey, hey, listener, you should be careful,” Yamada Hizashi said quickly. He tried to stay strong, mask his worry. This was his student, who he failed to help. Slowly, as if approaching a stray cat, he approached. “You wanna give me your hand?”
[Name] shook their head. No. this is what they wanted. To cease to exist, for the pain, sadness, numbness, to end.
Hizashi approached closer. Shouta should be close by now, their patrols were not so different. And with both of them worried about [Name], they decided to both go out tonight. Good thing they did. “You don’t want to do this, [Name], I know you.”
“How?” [Name] murmured. “I don’t even know myself.” The longer they waited, the quicker fear caught up to them. Their knuckles paled dramatically as they held onto the rail.
The pro-hero was only a few steps away now. He could almost reach them. “I’ve read everything you’ve written,” he supplied, “seen your training improve. I care about you, [Name]. So does Shouta, and your friends, your classmates. You don’t want this, so you?”
[Name] sobbed. No, they did not really want this, but it was the only option. But at his words… they could not help but think of Sero, of their friends. All it did was hurt their heart.
Aizawa had arrived, footsteps quiet as he approached, worry hidden behind his goggles. He stopped a few paces away, watching with his capture weapon ready, but his boyfriend had managed to defuse the situation. Yamada helped [Name] get back on the safe side of the railing, pulling them into a hug as they sobbed.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” Aizawa said quietly, taking into account the blood pouring from their wrists. His eyes saddened upon seeing the rows of scars on their arm.
[Name] pulled away from the hug, backing up a few steps. “No!” they snapped, immediately feeling guilty after and shrinking in on themself. There was only one place they could think of going - their treehouse. Hospitals wouldn’t help, they did not want them to help.
Hizashi grabbed their shoulder, keeping them steady. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he assured. “We don’t have to go to a hospital. Would you rather go home? To UA?” he asked, surprisingly calm.
[Name] shook their head. They looked between the two pro-heroes, debating their chances. In the end, they dashed for it, back in the direction they came. Shouta expected them to run, but he assumed it would be back towards the bridge. Hizashi wasted no time in running after them, Shouta right on his tail.
The only advantage [Name] had here was knowledge of the area, as well as their smaller form. They ducked under a fallen tree, rushing into the forest they knew led to their treehouse. Their safe house. The pros chased them all the way there, stopping at the bottom as they caught glimpse of them scurrying up.
Hizashi and Shouta shared a glanced. Hizashi went up first, finding [Name] curled up in the corner, hand shaking as they struggled to apply bandages to themself. “Hey, listener, let me help, at least,” he murmured, kneeling down at their side.
This time, [Name] made no move to resist. Shota sat down by them, pulling down his goggles to watch them curiously. They avoided all eye contact, instead staring down at their hands. Aizawa grabbed their bag, and looked at them. At the movement, they had looked up, seeming a bit alarmed. “Can I look through this?” he asked, trying hard to keep his voice soft instead of the usual deadpan.
Hesitantly, [Name] nodded. There was not anything bag in there anyway. Shouta looked briefly through the bag. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked once he finished.
[Name] felt two pairs of eyes on them at the question. They swallowed. Shrugging, they looked away. “I don’t know,” they muttered, almost embarrassed. This whole situation was already too much.
Hizashi pat their leg. “How about we get you some food, yeah? Then we can talk about how we,” he gestured between him and Shouta, “can help you.”
[Name] slowly nodded. It was a step in the right direction.