Shouto Todoroki

Three days had passed, and it was the end of school but the beginning of the weekend. Todoroki was trudging back to his dorm with Bakugou at his side; the ash-blonde walked ever so slightly in front of Todoroki.

"Write any new poems lately?" queried Bakugou, who had managed to ensnare Todoroki into agonizingly long conversations a multiplicity of times.

"No," Todoroki sighed, but he half-pursed his lips at the subtle sensation of Bakugou's fingertips brushing against his.

Was that intentional? I doubt it. But he did try to kiss me a few days ago. He also hugged me. It was so warm, and yet, it was suffocating. Why am I thinking about this so much? I'm not gay. I don't care if other people are, and I'll support them, but the thought of being gay myself…sickens me. Damn. I zoned out again. I've berated myself with the same words so many times that they've lost the majority of their effects.

"I zoned out," Todoroki admitted with gritted teeth as he readjusted his shoulder bag. "Can you say whatever you said again? Sorry." Monotony mangled any minute remnants of color in his words.

Bakugou rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Then what were you writing earlier today?"

"Nothing. Why do you want to know?"

"For one, bullshit. Two, I wanna read yer poems. Three, I'd never fucking forgive myself if you wrote a suicide note right in front of my face without my being aware of it."

"My poems aren't good, so I don't know why you're interested. But fine, I was writing one—not a suicide note. I don't like it in the slightest, but, here."

Ocean

A mesmerizing mirage of waves.
An azure palace of microscopic graves.
Sunlight spills over the coruscating surface.
Such normalcy dictates that something is amiss.

Pictorial scenes are generated like a game.
The unfeeling ocean still remains the same.
The sea creatures roam eternally free.
But the ocean cannot feel their sublime gaiety.

Even the mightiest of waves ineluctably shatter.
It suffocates what's served on a silver platter.
The hands which dive within it so deep
Drown into whispers for a memory to keep.

Reflections of those looking in stare out.
Distorted by light and itself without a doubt.
Reflecting all keeps the ocean bound.
But the ocean's own reflection cannot be found.

While Bakugou read through the poem, Todoroki commented, "I didn't really know what I was doing." Once the poem was handed back to him, he tore the paper into a scattered array of brilliant flames.

"What the fuck was that for?!" Bakugou's wroth expression challenged the heat of the descending flames from Todoroki's paper.

"I didn't like it. End of story."

Later that afternoon, Todoroki arrived at his home and was greeted by his sister, Fuyumi. He presented a thin smile as his sister hugged him, but much to his chagrin, that embrace felt like it was grinding into his cuts and bruises.

"You're just in time for dinner," Fuyumi chuckled while walking beside her brother to the kitchen. "How has school been?" She pushed her glasses along the bridge of her nose.

"Good," Todoroki answered. "Thank you for making dinner, Fuyumi." Once he stepped into the kitchen, he offered up another fake smile for his mother.

"It's good to see you, Shouto," Rei said with a tender smile in return. "Come sit down with us." Her gray eyes were like thunderstorms that had been frozen into two striking rings.

You need to eat, Todoroki began to berate himself as he served himself a hearty helping of cold soba. You haven't been eating nearly enough for how much you need to train. Look at all the weight you've lost. Look at how weak you're getting. Look at the failure you've let yourself become. He thanked Fuyumi for the food once more and proceeded to silently relish the taste of his meal. You're only eating that? You know what Fuyumi will think, right? You're always worrying her. You're never enough for any standards. You're just a waste of a life.

Todoroki lifted his chopsticks to his lips again, but he found himself actively draining his own willpower in order to swallow the noodles. As it was, he wasn't hungry, and mere bites of soba were enough to coat his insides with the feeling of fullness.

I just feel sick… I can't eat more. Damn. Very…nauseous. I hate this feeling. Not again. I need to leave. Now.

Without warning, Todoroki stood up and briskly plodded towards his room. He clutched his stomach and fought back the bile rising in his throat. Almost immediately after he'd scrambled into his bathroom, his stomach was emptied out.

I know I'm going to fuck up during my training tonight, Todoroki reminded himself while rinsing out his mouth. I always fail to achieve my goals, so I stop caring about putting in the effort, but even though I choose not to put in the effort, I still want to bash my head against the wall for falling short again. 'Next time, I'll put in the effort.' But 'next time' ends up the same as the last, and even though the answer is right in front of me, I know that even if I finally put in the effort, it still wouldn't be enough. Why is the mind so fucked up? No matter what I do…it's never enough. I eat, but I don't eat enough. I get stronger, but I don't get strong enough. I improve, but I don't improve enough. I don't cut enough. I don't train enough. I don't study enough. I don't ever amount to enough. I'm so fucking useless… I can't eat. I can't concentrate. I can't even trust other people. I'm sorry, Endeavor…

Footsteps shuffled towards Todoroki, and the wilted, melancholic voice of Fuyumi barely broke through the sea of water winding down the drain. "Shouto, are you…okay?"