Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izuku stares at his untouched notebook. The faint sounds of the library, shuffling papers and quiet whispers, surround him, but he hears none of it.

Izuku’s tired. He always has been, for longer than he can even remember. It’s nothing new.

It’s certainly frustrating, though. He had really hoped he’d be better by now. He really thought he would- he has everything he’s ever wanted. He’s training to be a hero at U.A. He has the most amazing friends, the most amazing boyfriend. Katsuki had softened so much since they started dating, showing him a side of himself Izuku thought he’d never get to see.

He’s much better off than he was in middle school. At least, he should be, right?

Why is it that Izuku’s still stuck, looping the same thoughts over and over that tell him such ugly things?

Setting his alarm for the morning is beginning to feel more and more hopeless. What does it matter if he wakes up or not?

Yet, Izuku continues the routine. He gets up anyway, ignores his body screaming at him to get back in bed and give up, and smiles at his friends on the way to class.

He daydreams the whole time, tries to ignore the more concerning thoughts that try to sneak their way in, and trains until his muscles are on fire and he feels like his lungs will give out.

Every minor inconvenience sends his brain into overdrive, wondering if it would be easier if he just stopped.

If he just… let himself go. Let himself fall back.

He feels awful at the very thought of doing something drastic to himself, he really does. Deep down, he knows he can’t do that to Kacchan, to anyone. The thoughts are only fantasies, something he holds in the back of his mind. Just in case. A last resort, if anything.

He still needs something, though. Something that feels like he has control. Like he could do it at any time, any point.

His fingers grip the edge of the notebook, the paper crinkling under the pressure. He feels hollow. Detached. The weight in his chest feels unbearable, suffocating, but no one seems to notice. He can’t help but wonder how. He feels so obvious.

And he knows he should say something. To Katsuki, to anyone. But the idea of telling anyone about this—of ruining the image of who they think he is—makes his stomach churn.

I can handle it, he tells himself for the hundredth time.

He doesn’t really believe it.

-

Izuku sits on his bed, the box tucked carefully into his lap. It’s been months since the thoughts started creeping back in, months of fighting the urge, of telling himself he didn't need it anymore.

He knew it wasn’t true. He needs it, always has. He never stopped needing it; he had just been distracted for a while.

His hands tremble with anticipation as he opens the little box, the blade gleaming faintly under the soft light of his desk lamp, a familiar sight that sends a strange mix of dread and relief coursing through him.

He rolls up his sleeve, exposing the pale skin of his forearm. He stares at it for a long, long time, hesitating. He knows he’s scared, but he wants it so bad. Part of him screams to stop, to throw the blade away and tell someone that he needs help.

But the other part, the louder, more comforting part, reminds him how good it’ll feel. How badly he misses it.

God, does he miss it.

The first cut is shallow, barely more than a scratch. It hardly even bleeds. The sting is sharp but manageable, and for a brief moment, the weight in his chest eases.

The second cut is deeper, blood beading up along the thin line.

And then there’s quiet.

Izuku sits and allows himself to settle into the comfort of his sadness. He’d been working so hard to push away any thoughts of soaking in that sadness again, but now, he can’t help but bask in its warmth. He’s much too tired to care. So what if he’s fallen back? It would’ve happened eventually.

He exhales shakily, watching the blood slowly trickle with a sick sense of satisfaction. He cleans it quickly, slapping a measly bandage over his arm with a huff.

When he looks in the mirror, he feels nothing. But it’s better, somehow, that what he felt before.

-

Izuku becomes more careful.

He plans everything meticulously, a comforting routine— where he hides the blades, how he conceals the marks, when he can slip away unnoticed. Katsuki can’t find out.

It works, at first.

During class, he excuses himself to the bathroom, locking himself in the farthest stall. At night, he waits until Katsuki is asleep before locking himself in his own room. He tells himself he has it under control, that this is necessary.

-

Izuku sits in the cafeteria with his friends, his tray untouched in front of him. Ochako is chatting away about their next training exercise, her face lit up with excitement, lida chiming in and gesturing dramatically as he speaks.

Katsuki is sat beside Izuku, casually stealing fries from his plate and raising a brow at his non-reaction.

“Izuku," Katsuki says suddenly, his eyes narrowing. “You good?"

Izuku startles, looking up. "Huh? Yeah. I'm fine. What for?”

Katsuki frowns, leaning closer. "You're spacing out, nerd.”

"I'm just tired," Izuku says quickly, forcing a small smile. It hardly meets his eyes. “Didn't sleep well, had a ton of homework.”

Katsuki's eyes linger on him for a moment longer, but he doesn’t push. He turns back to his stolen fries, though the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease.

Izuku lets out a quiet breath of relief, his hands trembling under the table. He knows he needs to be more careful than this if he wants to keep it up.

-

That night, Izuku sits on his bedroom floor, his back pressed against the wall. The blade feels heavier in his hand than usual, but it’s a soothing weight. His chest aches with want.

He rolls up his sleeve, shoulders relaxing at the sight of layers of healing scars from weeks of careful, hidden cuts. He knows he’s pushing his limits, taking risks he shouldn't.

He doesn’t care.

The first cut comes quickly with only a little hesitation, followed by another, and another. The blood comes faster this time, the sting sharper, the hesitation lessening. He’s so focused, so lost in his own world, that he hardly hears the faint knock at the door.

"Izuku?"

He freezes, his heart dropping all the way to his stomach. The knock comes again, louder this time.

"You okay?" Katsuki's voice is muffled through the door. There’s a hint of something like concern in it.

Izuku scrambles to clean up, wrapping his arm hastily with a towel and shoving the blade into his pocket.

"Yeah!” he calls back, putting all his effort into keeping his voice even. "I'll be out in a minute."

There’s a long pause before Katsuki replies. "Don't take too long."

Izuku sits for a moment longer, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts at the fear and the odd thrill of almost being caught. When he finally emerges, Katsuki is standing in the hallway, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"What the hell took you so long?" Katsuki asks, his tone audibly suspicious.

"Nothing”, Izuku says quickly, forcing a smile. "I was in the middle of studying, Kacchan.”

Red eyes search green, scanning for any sign of a lie, any sign that Izuku didn’t mean what he said. Quickly enough, though, his gaze drops once more into something softer, and Izuku lets out an exhale he wasn’t aware he was holding.

Kacchan asks him about a paper for English, which Izuku helps him with before slipping back into his room. His hands tremble as he re-locks the door behind him, leaning against it with a shaky breath.

He was getting far too close to being caught.

It doesn’t mean he’s going to stop. He just needs to learn to get better at hiding it.

-

He doesn’t mean to let it get worse, he really doesn’t. But every time the urge comes back, it hits harder, fiercer, the idea of his blade getting more and more comforting.

The cuts grow deeper. Izuku becomes fascinated with reaching the deeper layers of skin, feels pure euphoria the deeper he goes. He starts feeling like he hasn’t harmed himself successfully until he reaches fat every time. The bandages become harder to hide, cuts reopening and bleeding through during the day, his trashcan overflowing with stained tissues and gauze. He needs stitches, on many occasions— but it doesn’t mean he’ll get them. He’s smart enough to know how to take care of them himself, dangerous as it is. He obtains a steadily growing collection of medical supplies.

And yet, no one notices- not Katsuki, not his friends, not his teachers.

Part of him hates how easy it is to keep the secret. Part of him is thrilled at the secrecy.

The bathroom stall becomes his refuge.

During classes, Izuku excuses himself more often, always with a polite smile. He locks himself away and digs through his backpack.

He never needs much time- just a few minutes to cut, to feel the sharp sting and the release that comes with it. By the time he returns to class, his arm freshly bandaged under his sleeve, his mind feels clearer, though only for a little while.

No one second guesses his motives. No one says a word.

-

During combat training, Izuku's overestimates a kick, sending him tumbling into the dirt. He lands hard on his side, knocking the air out of him and skidding across the ground before coming to a stop.

"Midoriya!" All Might's voice booms across the field, laced with concern. "Are you alright?"

Izuku sits up slowly, brushing the dirt off his uniform. His sleeve had torn in the fall, exposing a faint glimpse of bandaged skin beneath.

He freezes, his heart pounding. Quickly, he yanks the sleeve down enough to cover it, pretending to adjust his gloves.

"All good!" he calls out, grinning.

"Be more careful, young Midoriya.” Is all he gets in response.

"Yes, sir!" Izuku replies, relief and exhilaration washing over him as the attention shifts back to the training exercise.

But when he glances at Katsuki, he finds his boyfriend staring at him, eyes unreadable.

-

That night, Izuku sits on his bed, his arm throbbing. The rough landing had reopened one of the deeper cuts, and blood had soaked through the bandage just as he got back to the dorms.

He cleans it quickly, his hands steady as he rewraps it. His heart races with a mix of guilt and elation— he’d come so close to being caught today.

There’s a knock at his door just as he finishes up.

"Izuku, open up."

Izuku stiffens. He shoves the bloody bandages into his desk drawer and pulls his sleeve down hastily before opening the door, finding Katsuki standing with his arms crossed and glaring. "You were off today," he says bluntly. Ouch.

"Sorry!” Izuku says quickly, plastering a smile onto his face. “I’ve been distracted, I guess, but I’m fine!”

"Bullshit." Katsuki pushes straight past him, not even giving Izuku a chance to stop him, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "You've been acting weird for weeks. Spacing out, skipping meals, locking yourself in the bathroom all the damn time. It’s weird.”

Izuku's stomach twists with unease.

"It’s nothing”, he says, his voice too high, too fast. "I'm just tired, Kacchan, you don’t need to keep worrying. The training's been intense lately, you know?"

Katsuki narrows his eyes, his gaze boring into him. Izuku feels like he can see right through him.

"You're hiding something," he says quietly, simply.

Izuku's breath hitches, but he forces himself to not let it show. "I'm not," he lies through his teeth. "I promise." Please go away.

Katsuki stares at him for a long moment before finally backing off with a frustrated growl. "You better not be lying to me, idiot."

"I'm not," he replies softly, guilt clawing at his chest for lying so easily to his boyfriend.

Katsuki leaves without another word, and Izuku sinks to the floor, his head in his hands.

-

Izuku spirals further.

He sits through class, the buzzing in his skin louder than ever. His hands twitch with need as he takes notes, the pen trembling between his fingers. There’s only one thing he needs to make it all stop. By the time lunch rolls around, he feels like he’s suffocating.

"I'll catch up with you guys later," he tells Uraraka and lida as they walk toward the cafeteria. "I forgot something in the classroom."

They don’t question it, waving him off with a smile.

Izuku heads straight to the nearest bathroom instead, locking himself in a stall. His hands shake with adrenaline as he pulls out the blade, the familiar rush of relief flooding his chest as he presses it against his skin.

The first cut is frustratingly shallow. The second is better, if only by a little.

The third catches him off guard.

Blood pools instantly, dripping down his arm and staining the floor before he can grab tissues to stop it. He’s gone far before, but he’s never seen himself bleed so quickly, so intensely. He realizes with consuming dread that he must’ve hit a vein.

Izuku's breath hitches in this throat. He hastily grabs tissues and presses them hard against the wound, but it bleeds through instantly. His vision blurs, panic rising in his chest. This is not good. He still has two more classes to go, and he can’t afford to tell anyone right now. It’ll be fine for an hour or two, he decides. He digs for gauze in his backpack, wraps it in as much as he possibly can without making his jacket look too bulky, and heads to lunch.

By the time he gets back to the dorms that afternoon, the bleeding has slowed, but hasn’t entirely stopped. His arm aches with every movement, throbbing. He locks himself in his room, avoiding Katsuki and the rest of the class entirely.

He peels back the tissues, which only seems to irritate it, the bleeding starting right back up again. Now, back in the safety of his room, adrenaline not as prominent as before, he can properly examine the damage.

The wound is clearly worse than anything he’s done before, and Izuku knows he’s out of his depth. He stares at the blood-soaked bandages, his chest tight with fear. He can’t  hide this. He’d be putting himself in the chance of real danger.

Izuku sits on his bed, his back pressed against the wall, clutching his arm tightly to his chest. His head feels light, his hands trembling as the weight of what he'd done finally settles in.

This is bad. Really, really bad.

He can feel his pulse in the wound, each throb sending a fresh wave of dizziness through him. His mind races with alternatives, but no solution comes. He has no choice.

Izuku bites his lip, his phone sitting in his lap. He doesn’t want to call. He doesn’t want Katsuki to know. But the alternative is worse— he can’t fix this.

With trembling, blood-stained fingers, he unlocks his phone and presses Katsuki's name.

The line barely rings once before Katsuki's voice comes through, concerned. "’Zuku? What's up? You never call me-"

"Kacchan," Izuku interrupts before he can finish asking, his voice shaky and weak. "I need— I need help."

There’s a long silence on the other end. 

“What's going on?" Katsuki's tone shifts, low and serious now.

Izuku swallows hard, tears blurring his vision in his embarrassment. "I, um. Need to go to the hospital."

"Fuck, what h- okay, shit, I’m coming, don’t move. Where are you?” Katsuki barks immediately.

"My room," Izuku whispers, his voice barely audible. He drops the phone to the bed, his heart pounding.

The door flies open less than a minute later, Katsuki standing in the doorway, his chest heaving. His eyes immediately locked onto Izuku's arm, the blood dripping onto the floor.

"What the fuck”, he mutters.

Izuku winces.

Katsuki steps inside and slams the door shut behind him, kneeling in front of Izuku and grabbing his wrist to inspect the wound.

"Jesus, Izu. What the hell did you do?"

Izuku flinches, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I didn’t mean for it to get this bad, I swear.”

Katsuki curses under his breath, grabbing the cleanest towel he can find and pressing it firmly against Izuku's arm. "You need stitches”, he says, his voice tight with fear. "Fuck, you're burning up. How long has it been bleeding like this?"

"Since lunchtime," Izuku admits, voice shaking.

Katsuki's hands still, eyes shooting back to Izuku's face, his expression unreadable. "Since lunch?" He echoes.

Izuku nods, unable to meet his gaze.

Katsuki's jaw clenches, his hands shaking as he presses harder on the towel. "You fucking idiot, you should've said—" he pauses, his voice low and tense. "How long have you been—?”

“Couple months.”

Katsuki’s eyes widen and something akin to guilt flashes across his face. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

"I didn't want you to know," Izuku mutters, angry at himself.

Katsuki lets out a shaky breath, his head dropping forward as he grits his teeth.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice breaking. "A stupid, self-sacrificing idiot."

Izuku lets out a quiet sob, the guilt in his chest overwhelming. "I'm sorry," he chokes, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry, Kacchan."

"Shut up," snaps, though his tone lacks much bite. He stands abruptly, pulling Izuku up with him.

"We're going. Now."

The ride to the hospital is tense and silent. Katsuki sits beside Izuku in the back of the cab, his hand gripping Izuku's uninjured arm tightly like Izuku will slip away if he lets go.

Izuku stares down at his lap, his chest tight with shame. The blood had soaked through the towel Katsuki had wrapped around his arm, staining the edges of his jacket.

When they arrive, Katsuki doesn’t hesitate. He drags Izuku through the emergency room doors, his voice taut as he explains the situation to the nurse at the desk.

The nurse calls for a doctor, and within minutes, Izuku is whisked away to a private room. Katsuki tries to follow, but the nurse stops him at the door.

"You'll need to wait out here," she says firmly.

Katsuki glares at her, his hands clenched into fists. "I'm not leaving him."

“Kacchan, it's okay," Izuku says weakly, flashing a smile. "Just leave it. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Katsuki's jaw tightens, but he nods reluctantly, stepping back as the door closes.

It feels like hours before Izuku is allowed to leave the room, his arm freshly stitched and bandaged. It’s certainly not the first time he’s received stitches, being a hero in training, but it’s the most unnerving.

Katsuki is waiting for him in the hallway, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

When he sees Izuku, he freezes, eyes flicking to the bandages, then to Izuku's face, his expression a mix of anger and worry.

"Hey," Izuku says softly, his voice hoarse.

Katsuki closes the distance between them in a few quick strides, grabbing Izuku's uninjured arm and pulling him into a tight hug.

"You scared the shit out of me, baby”, Katsuki mutters, his voice shaking.

"I'm sorry," Izuku whispers, his throat tightening. Kacchan really is too good for him.

"Stop apologizing," Katsuki says, pulling back to glare at him. "Stop apologizing and start explaining. How long were you planning on doing this without telling anyone?”

Izuku's stomach twists. He looks away, shame burning in his chest. “I dunno”, he shrugs.

“God, you’re so— why wouldn’t you tell me? Why did you let it get so-?”

"I didn’t wanna stop," Izuku says, his voice breaking.

Katsuki stares at him, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words. He lets go of Izuku’s arm and steps back slightly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You didn’t want to stop?” he repeats, his voice soft, disbelieving.

Izuku nods, staring down at the floor. “It was… I don’t know. It was helping,” he says weakly. “It made things quieter. Better.”

Katsuki’s hands shake, his breathing shallow. “Helping? ” he spits. “Izuku, you were fucking bleeding out in your room when you called me. That’s not ‘helping!’”

Izuku flinches but doesn’t look up. “I know,” he whispers. “I know, Kacchan. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to make anyone else deal with it. You’re already so busy, and everyone—”

“ Shut up. ” Katsuki’s voice cracks, and Izuku finally looks up to see tears pooling in his eyes, though he doesn’t let them fall. “You think I give a shit? You think I wouldn’t have dropped everything the second I noticed you were hurting like this? How the hell could you think I wouldn’t care?”

Izuku bites his lip hard, tears burning in his own eyes. “I just didn’t want to bother you,” he says.

“Bother me?” Katsuki says slowly, his voice low, trembling with barely controlled emotion. “You really think you’re a bother to me?”

Izuku doesn’t respond, his chest tight with guilt and shame. The tears spill over, streaming down his cheeks as he stares at the floor. He doesn’t know what to say, how to fix this, how to make him understand.

“You’re my whole fucking world, Izuku,” Katsuki says, his voice breaking. “Do you not get that? You think I don’t care? That you’re not worth it? That’s bullshit. Absolute bullshit.”

Izuku shakes his head, choking on a sob. “I’m not worth it,” he opposes, his voice barely audible. “I’m just taking up space. Like— like I’m dragging everyone down.“

Katsuki steps forward in a flash, cupping Izuku’s face in his hands. “You’re not too much,” Katsuki says fiercely, his eyes locking onto Izuku’s. “You’re not a bother. You’re not dragging anyone down. You’re fucking Izuku Midoriya. You’re the strongest person I know. Always have been, even when I didn’t want to admit it.”

Katsuki’s voice wavers, and his grip tightens slightly. “But you’re not supposed to do it alone, you idiot. You don’t have to.”

Izuku sobs, falling until Katsuki catches him, holding him tightly as Izuku’s body shakes with the force of his cries. “I’m sorry,” Izuku chokes out again.

“Stop saying that,” Katsuki mutters. “You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to let me help you. That’s all I want, Izuku. Just let me fucking help.”

Izuku nods weakly, his head resting against Kacchan’s shoulder as his sobs slowly subside. Katsuki stays quiet, his arms wrapped around Izuku.

The ride back to the dorms is quiet. Katsuki keeps a firm grip on Izuku’s uninjured hand, his thumb tracing slow circles against his skin. Izuku doesn’t say much, too drained to do anything but lean against Katsuki’s side, his head resting on his shoulder.

When they arrive, Katsuki helps him inside, guiding him up the stairs and into his room. He doesn’t ask if Izuku wants to be alone. Instead, he sits on the bed beside him, his hand never leaving Izuku’s.

“I’m staying,” he says bluntly.

Izuku blinks at him, surprised. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m staying,” Katsuki repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you lock yourself in here alone. Not tonight. You scared the shit out of me, Izuku.”

Izuku swallows hard, nodding. “Okay.”

They settle into bed, Katsuki lying beside Izuku with one arm slung protectively over his waist. Izuku stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts racing even through his exhaustion. He still feels the weight in his chest, the buzzing in his skin. The thought of what he did, the fact that his secret is known, makes his stomach churn with guilt and shame.

It takes him far too long to fall asleep.

-

Izuku wakes to the sound of Katsuki’s quiet breathing beside him. For a moment, everything feels normal. But then he shifts, and the ache in his arm reminds him of the night before. He grimaces, frustrated with himself. Stupid, getting caught.

Katsuki stirs, blinking blearily at Izuku. “You’re up,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” Izuku says softly. “Sorry I woke you.”

Katsuki waves him off, sitting up and stretching. “You didn’t. Couldn’t sleep much anyway.”

Izuku bites his lip, guilt settling in his stomach. “Kacchan…”

“Don’t start,” Katsuki says, cutting him off. “I don’t care. We’re dealing with this shit together. Got it?”

Izuku hesitates before nodding. “Got it.”

Katsuki smirks faintly, ruffling Izuku’s hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Good. Now let’s get you some food before you pass out, dumbass.”

Izuku feels the weight in his chest ease just slightly.