Shouto Todoroki

Todoroki's question rendered Bakugou speechless. So, while Todoroki awaited a response from his classmate, he slid back into the upper half of his uniform and straightened his tie.

With a hefty, vexed sigh, Bakugou sibilated, "Coupled with what I know, that question says a lot, Todoroki." He stood up to his feet with ire simmering in his irises. "You're not fine. You're not out of that tunnel yet. You're not seeing things the right way…and that's why yer still in that endless tunnel. You're rejecting your own freedom. You don't realize how fucking miserable you are. Just like the fake-ass person you're trying to show me, the point of relief you think you're at is just a fake place you made up on your own. Y'know what I see this as?"

That's not true. You don't know how miserable I felt before. How ashamed I was. How miserably weak I'd become.

Bakugou continued, muttering, "You've closed yourself off from reality. You're just convinced that this hell is your freedom because you've thrown a fake lens over your eyes as your own way of escaping. Hide behind that fake face all you want, but it ain't changing the reality of your situation." He pointed his index finger at Todoroki. "Whether you like it or not, I'm gonna care. I'm not an animal. I'm a fucking human with a heart that cares when someone's gettin' the shit beaten out of 'em. I ain't gonna walk away like I didn't see it. Hell no. I'm gonna help you."

Without a vestige of emotion slithering through his voice, Todoroki replied, "You're free to believe whatever you want. But know that the 'best' answer isn't always the 'right' answer." The bell signaling the end of lunch echoed through the walls. "I'm fine, Bakugou. I mean that." A sizzling surge of serrated pressure enveloped his head upon standing up.

Just a few more weeks of this before I leave, Todoroki internally maundered while his lightheadedness began to dissolve into clarity. Bakugou, the kindness you're trying to bestow upon me hurts in a way I can't explain. It's hurting me more than you'd think. It's not helping me like you want it to. His stomach whined at him. I really need to eat more. Sometimes, I can't hold anything down. How fucking pathetic I am. At least it's not like before, bu—

"Hey." Like the baritone snarl of an animal, Bakugou's relentless voice impaled Todoroki with a quivering reality. "Todoroki, you don't have to fake being fine. You—"

"I'm not faking any—"

"Then why the hell is your body festering with bruises and self-inflicted cuts?!"

"How is it possible that you still haven't improved when I've spent all this time training you?!"

"I… I've… It's just… I-It's…"

"If you're not willing to pull your weight, then all you are is a failure. You are a failure, Shouto!"

"I-I…"

I can't breathe. Shaking. Stop. Stop thinking. Why won't it stop? It hurts. Knees…breaking. 'Pull yourself together, you good-for-nothing failure!'

Todoroki's chest slowly inflated as he inhaled deeply. "I'm fine," he uttered with a voice chained by no emotion. "I apologize for that, but I need some time to myself to process everything that happened. Thanks for being here, Bakugou." Donning a designing smile, he waved Bakugou off and departed for his own dorm.

It's the weekend soon, Todoroki realized once he entered his dorm. I have to go home and train. Fuyumi says I overwork myself. I think the opposite. I'm not working hard enough. Endeavor would agree. Especially now, since all I do is sleep. His fingers brushed over the bandages around his left arm. It's almost embarrassing how much I've been cutting. I went without it for six weeks and suddenly can't seem to make it a few hours without it.

"I'm nothing but a burden to the world…" Todoroki muttered while sieving his smiling reflection. "Which one of us is the fake? I don't know anymore. All of me is fake… Yet, we idolize fake things. Fake things somehow end up looking so much better than the real things. Fake things…are what we want to be, but no matter how much we change to try and achieve that, we never win. All we accomplish is starting a silent war of masquerades."

Change, change, change… Change your face to match the trends. Copy, copy, copy… Copy the best elements you see. Act, act, act… Act perfectly in line for your own sake and for the appeal of the others. But the more you alter that mask, the further we stray from the truth. Everyone's dancing together… If we're so happy, why are we hiding behind a mask? Why are we all trying to be each other? Why are we still not satisfied when we've surpassed last week's target of change?

How… How can it be that those with the best performances, designs, and smiles are the ones suffering the most beneath it all? But all we are now is the fake identity we're trying to be. Reflections are dancing together. The originals have drowned in their misery. We're dancing ourselves to death and obscuring the truth more with each step we take and each gem adorning the masks. At what point are we no longer human? And yet, the night carries on. Everyone looks so happy. Not a speck of misery to be seen under the artificial stars. What a beautiful night.

Maintaining his mirthful smile, Todoroki descried his reflection again. Perhaps his eyes had deceived him, but he could not see his smile in his own reflection.