Important Information Section:

Disclaimers:
• I do not own BNHA/MHA. All credit for the series and its characters goes to Horikoshi Kohei.
• Credit for the beautiful cover goes to kairichan13 (wattpad user). Unfortunately, the original cover size is meant for wattpad, so it looks a bit odd after doing a bit of resizing to fit for this site.

Warnings: ️
*This story is not for the faint of heart.
Read at your own discretion.*
• Suicidal thoughts/actions, suicide attempt(s), suicide.
• Self-harm, self-destructive behaviors/actions, alcohol abuse/addiction, unhealthy coping methods.
• Eating disorder(s).
• Abuse, blood and violence, torture.
• Homophobia, internalized homophobia.
• Sexual harassment, rape.

Important note:
• This story is not intended to promote/encourage any of the above warnings.

Hanahaki disease aspect:
If something I write doesn't follow the traditional ways, then consider it my own twist on the concept. There is quite the unconventional event that occurs, but I do have a reason for this.

Other information:
• My dashes sometimes decide that they want to be hyphens.
• The spacing between italicized text and non-italicized text sometimes gets messed up.
• Yes, I have a fairly large vocabulary. Please look up the words before you comment that you don't understand them (I apologize if this sounds rude, but I've received enough of these comments on wattpad, so I'd like to avoid that here).
• Todoroki is a bit ooc because I always end up sharing my vocabulary with him. It's a bad habit.
• This is a completed story (which I will probably edit in the future), but I will gradually upload the chapters here.

I had to butcher the actual summary for this story to fit the sad character count cap on this site. Here's the original:
Shoto Todoroki is beloved by adversity. Although he struggled with depression most of his life, Endeavor's abuse only augmented the agony of fighting through another day. Concealing his wounds and scars behind sleeves and lies, Todoroki never anticipated that the complacent ash-blonde known as Katsuki Bakugou would become the hero unknowingly killing him on the inside.

When Todoroki refuses to believe that he's fallen for Bakugou, what happens when Todoroki finds himself haplessly hacking up yellow chrysanthemum petals?

With that all out of the way, here's what y'all probably came here for in the first place—actual story content.

Shoto Todoroki
- Day 1 -

A thud. A vehement thud resounded through my abominably grandiose household like the irate snarl of thunder. Following the bedlam was the encroachment of incendiary, verbal blades into my mind and a tangible assault to my limbs, to put it candidly.

My morning prior to arriving at U.A. could have been prefaced with the sole mentioning of one name: Endeavor. The crass father of mine known as Endeavor was informed that his presence was of paramount importance for the next month in a Hero Agency located in the United States, and so ensued his ruthless lambasting of my every flaw. Although I was quite blasé about his ruthless remarks compared to a few years prior, my heart still throbbed in my chest.

"I cannot train such a godforsaken thing to surpass All Might without being present to train it," he virulently maundered, speaking as though I never truly existed.

Endeavor would selectively shift between referring to me as an object of vanity and referring to me by name to ascertain proper emphasis on his ideals. I abhorred the fact that he was quite the astute man, and that he knew eerily well how to find new, effective methods to degrade me with. Even so, I hadn't yet capitulated to hatred; my deceitfully idyllic thoughts never ceased to divert my path from such a forest of entropy.

After listening to Endeavor's onslaught of pernicious statements that served as reminders of my asinine existence and how worthless of a failure I was to him and the world, he lunged at me like a feral beast of flame. Keen claws and somewhat dulled fangs perforated my arms and legs. Searing strands of scarlet were raked across my arms. The agonizing crunch of teeth grinding down into tendons and challenging bones pulsated through my body. Stifled gasps and whines spilled from my mouth while my vision was stained with a hazy film. Blood, saliva, and tears coalesced in the pungent odor of alcohol exuded from him. Separate from the fell liquid symphony was another vehement thud. That time, however, I was the hud.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

At last surfeited with his assault, Endeavor spat the words "fucking worthless" before departing from the house and to America with fuming steps.

Combusting my punctual record at U.A. by what had already been a twenty-minute delay, I dressed my wounds for another fifteen minutes before texting none other than Katsuki Bakugou. I became acquainted with the arrogant ash-blonde approximately one or two weeks succeeding the Sports Festival of my first year at U.A. During lunch, he was simultaneously serendipitous and inauspicious upon noticing a small splotch of scarlet resting out of my view on my left shoulder. With a sneer, he'd inquired as to who the lucky lady was that I'd allowed to smudge lipstick on my shoulder. Instantaneously comprehending what Bakugou's snide question had entailed for me, I swiftly scooped up my bag from the floor and took my leave. Bakugou appeared to have recognized the desperation razing my movements and presented to me a slew of volatile, yet notably attenuated questions.

Bakugou was not deterred from following me once I began to approach the bathroom. In fact, our seclusion from the rest silenced his irksome questions and allowed his true questions to emerge.

"What the hell happened to your shoulder?" he gruffly demanded while we entered the bathroom. "I know that's blood. It's already almost double the damn size it was when I pointed it out. Oi. I asked you a question, Todoroki. Don't give me the goddamn silent treatment."

"Do you mind?" I sighed, gripping the hem of my uniform to spare myself the grief of unbuttoning my blazer and removing the constituents of the upper half of the uniform one by one.

He crossed his arms, clicking his tongue. "The hell's there to hide? Stop actin' like such a girl. Do you really think you can effectively treat that yourself? Tch. It'd take you longer than we have left for lunch." His garnet eyes traced along my injured shoulder.

Damn. "Then my sole request is that you stay your eyes on the wound on my shoulder and nothing else," I muttered, my voice the prey of no emotion.

"Sure. Whatever. We don't have all day, dammit."

Forcing down the lump in my throat, I aridly exhaled as acute consternation seized my mind. Tugging my uniform over my head and jamming it into my bag, I frantically retrieved the medical supplies I kept on my person at all times.

"Well, shit," Bakugou commented in a somewhat perturbed whisper. "The fuck caused that?"

In contrast to my expeditious extraction of supplies, I languidly handed Bakugou the contents in my arms. "A bagatelle." My eyes remained in observation of his own eye movements, and much to my stupefaction, his eyes hardly drifted.

"The fuckin' hole in your shoulder doesn't mean jack shit to you?" he hissed.

"It doesn't matter. I ask that you make this prompt."

"Tch."

While a kind of silence neither affable nor disconcerting befell the two of us as Bakugou began to dress my wound, I glanced up into the mirror above the sink to observe his handiwork. "Thank you, Bakugou."

His brows raised ever so slightly. "Don't mention it. Really. Don't say a damn word about any of this or the dirt's gonna taste real nice." Two spheres of ruby with an anomalous placidity met mine from the mirror before swiftly retreating.

"Might I ask why you were so keen on assisting me?"

With eyes enthralled by the bandages wrapping around my shoulder, he murmured, "Something didn't sit right with me. If you won't tell me why you have a goddamn hole in your shoulder, I ain't obligated to give my rationale for this." Perhaps it had simply been an illusion, but a fleeting breath of pink mantled his flesh reflected in the mirror.

How queer, I thought to myself. He initially sounded quite earnest and…kind, almost.

Once Bakugou quite literally wrapped up his work, I pulled my uniform back over my head and brushed my hands along the fabric to flatten some of the wrinkles. "Thank you for heeding my request," I uttered, mustering up a feigned, slender smile.

What a daft smile, I internally reviled myself. It must certainly look forced. Why, then, did I entertain the thought of donning one? Why did I precipitously proceed with such a puerile thought? As it is, I don't deserve the kindness he bestowed upon me, but I'm thankful for it.

He cocked a brow at me. "Huh? Oi. That's the first time I've seen you smile since the Sports Festival. Not like I did anything special."

"Your eyes did not avert from the area I requested." I knelt down to the unsanitary ground without touching any of my limbs to it in order to gather my belongings.

"Don't brush off the latter half of what I said. The hell could I possibly have done to make you crack a smile? You never smile. Or you just don't smile when I'm in the room."

Why is it that I feel so comfortable around him? "I could say the same to you. Nonetheless, I suppose you weren't acting like such an ass to me? I didn't believe that you would deign to lend anyone but Kirishima your hand."

His countenance twisted up into a grim lour. "Tch. Don't think I'm friends with Shitty Hair. Don't think we're friends, either. I just knew something was up with you, dammit. And guess who was right? Me."

"Congratulations," I sighed tersely, retaining my phlegmatic mien.

"Fuck you, too." He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Slinging my bag over my right shoulder, I gingerly murmured, "Sweetest thing you've said to me this year."

"Oh, fuck off."

He seems so nettled, yet his mien looks different from usual. I like that expression of his. Perhaps it's the situation dictating such an unorthodox perception of mine.

"Might I remind you who it was that accompanied me?"

Bakugou slapped the palm of his hand across his forehead, sliding his hand upwards through his hair so that tendrils of ash-blonde poked through the gaps between his fingers. "Go to hell." The white sheen of his teeth gleamed through his slightly curled lips.

Thus concluded my encounter with Bakugou that would eventually spark a nascent friendship between the two of us. Such an auspicious friendship was ameliorated greatly by our second year at U.A.

After informing Bakugou of my debilitated state, I made a headlong scramble to regain my composure and prime myself for my attendance before sprinting towards U.A. with excruciating steps. He replied to my text with: "Fuck. You okay? Get anything to eat?" I explained that I was fine, although undeniably hungry. His next response was along the lines of: "I swear to fucking God! I'm going to beat the shit out of him one of these days."

My stomach groaned indignantly, but my hunger was paltry to the irreversible minutes I would have spent scouring for any remnants to sate it.

It isn't…his fault, I attempted to reassure myself while entering through the gates to U.A. Never once has he physically abused me when he's been sober, so it's all right. I cannot hope to forgive him for what transpired then, but I do not hate him, per se. I would prefer not to associate myself with him in any way, shape, or form, however. I might be acutely infuriated and displeased by him, but…

At last stumbling into the 1-A classroom an hour tardy and with a slight limp, I was considerably mortified once Aizawa began to approach me. "You look out of it. Did something happen?" he queried.

Yes, 'something' certainly happened. "No. I'm fine," I muttered deceitfully while biting back the pain that ravaged my veins. "I—"

A vexatious voice transfixed my ears with a single sentence that, spoken solely to me, would have had minimal effects, but such a comment had been voiced for all to hear. "Like I said, the class structure really is falling apart," remarked none other than Mineta.

Why did that…hurt so much to hear? A scalding shiver surged through my body. Endeavor has never rebuked me before an audience, I suppose. Still, it hurts far more than it leaves the acerbic taste of humiliation in my mouth. Why, though? Ah…

Drawing himself up from his seat like a livid cobra, Bakugou whipped his head around to face my verbal assailant. "You shut the fuck up, Grape Juice," he snarled tempestuously as venom dripped from his acrimonious words. "I'll drag you to hell and back!"

He's defending me? My heartbeat hastened. I feel so warm. I feel warm, but that does not thaw everything else I feel from cutting into my chest.

"Bakugou!" Iida shouted. "Please refrain from speaking in a hostile ma—"

Eyes of ruby alone sufficed as a middle finger to Iida. "Save the lecture, Glasses!"

"Bakugou," Aizawa attempted to interject while Mineta slunk down into his seat.

Disregarding Aizawa's implicated injunction, Bakugou vociferated, "The hell do you know about him and his reason for being late? You—"

With a somewhat hoarse voice, I cut into Bakugou's reprisal. "Bakugou. It's all right." As his lips twitched with the intent of flying open again, I halted his advance. "I know. There is a more appropriate time for this." Locking my gaze with the ground, I meandered towards my desk and internally supplicated that I would manage to suppress my limp.

Warm… I feel so warm with him. I feel safe. I feel…happy? No. Far from it. Why is it that he is always so kind to me? No. Not simply kind. Far, far more immense than 'kind' alone. He always tells me he'll see me tomorrow, and not once has that been a lie. Simply knowing that he is there for me mitigates the pain that much more every day.

Once our class was provided a brief break before proceeding with our next subject, Bakugou approached my desk and tossed a package of dorayaki onto my desk as if flinging a frisbee. "Here. Bet you're starved from that piece of shit. Really, don't be so damn shy about coming over. Tch. Even my old hag likes it when you do." He furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side.

"Thank you, Bakugou. Truly. You have already done enough for me. I owe you…practically everything I have. I'd prefer—"

"What part of 'don't be so damn shy' did you not understand?" His voice swung into a sonorous whisper. "Todoroki, you don't owe me anything. Not one damn thing. Got it?" I nodded, but the baleful thoughts streaming through my mind begged to differ. "Good. The last thing you are is a burden." He scratched the back of his head lightly.

I feel so warm. I feel so very warm. I like this feeling. I like it a lot. I want to hold it fast and never release it. I like it. Still. You would not believe how much more you have done for me than I've allowed you to see. Bakugou, I was on the verge of executing a horrible decision. All it took to preclude the solidification of that decision…was for you to text me. You never would have forgiven me if I'd been devout to my plan.

Perishing the tenebrous thoughts milling through my mind, I shook my head. "Was my limp evident?" Vacantly staring down at the dorayaki in my hands, I released a soft sigh through my lips.

His eyes glanced skywards before settling back on me. "It was pretty fucking obvious. Why'd you even show up? You should've taken a day off. It's one damn day."

"You know what he would do if this happened to be disclosed."

"You look like shit," he huffed, briefly surveying the room. "They're glancin' at you. Oi. Eat."

I would prefer not to attract attention, but it seems that that is inevitable. "Ah. Are they? Sorry. Again, thank you for this. I am quite hungry." I cleared my throat while an oddly satisfying crackle of the packaging in my hands pierced the air. "About earlier…"

With arms crossed, he drummed his fingers along his robust arms while I began to nibble away at the snack he'd blessed me with. "Look. That asshole of a perverse grape had no right to say that. I'd wring his goddamn neck if I could."

I tore off another thin strip of the dorayaki with my teeth. "It's fine," I assured him as Kirishima began to approach the two of us.

"Like hell it is," he seethingly whispered under his breath. "Oi. Shitty Hair, whaddya need?" The softened, almost playful glance he presented to Kirishima was accompanied by the ghost of a ravishing smirk that twitched at the tips of his lips.

Dragged from my grasp by Kirishima, Bakugou's figure marched towards the former's desk. While the two were drawn elsewhere, Midoriya and Yaoyorozu advanced towards me with harrowed, grim expressions.

That was when I felt it. An abrupt twinge within the general vicinity of my sternum felt as if it had transiently ensnared my lungs with vines or perhaps even roots before dissipating. Once the unpleasant sensation had faded fully, a certain heftiness seized my chest and mind.

I suddenly feel incredibly drained. Bakugou, why is it that your beatific interactions with Kirishima cause my chest to ache? Most salient of these instances is today. I've never been afflicted by such a constricting feeling before. I've never…noticed how cold it is without your warmth.