Shouta Aizawa
Several seconds of silence slowly slipped away before Todoroki parted his lips to speak. "No," he uttered in a glacial, monotonous sigh. "I've thought life is difficult—maybe too difficult sometimes—but nothing to that extent." His cold, neutral visage denied the notion of prevarication.
He doesn't give off the impression that he's lying, but I know that he is. Bakugou has no reason to lie about Todoroki attempting suicide. These kids have a lot weighing them down, but their futures are still bright, beyond that. I'm going to secure that future for them. A future cut short…
"A part of me started urging me to die a few years ago. I can't take it anymore."
Although Aizawa's chest ached after hearing his student's words, he did not allow his emotions to seep through his expression as he presented the poem in his lap. "Can you explain this poem to me, then?" He observed how Todoroki simply canted his head.
A soft, dour smile materialized on Todoroki's countenance. "I forgot about this. I must've been going through a dark phase when I wrote it." His eyes slowly scanned over the poem. "But I've never thought about either of those things." He shrugged nonchalantly, but out of the corner of Aizawa's eye, he could make out Todoroki fiddling with his sleeve.
He didn't try to deny the poem was his? Perhaps he came to the conclusion that I'd asked Bakugou about it since I didn't ask if the poem was his—it was implied that I knew. How odd. I was certain he would deny it. But I get the sense that, no matter what it takes, he doesn't want me to know the truth. Why is he actively guarding himself from my hand? He's different from Bakugou. But I do think that Todoroki is harming himself. Thinking about it now, I don't believe I've seen Todoroki go a day without wearing long sleeves.
"Todoroki, I don't think you're being honest," Aizawa replied, catching a glimpse at the poem Todoroki set on the coffee table.
"The blade, it glides like the tip of this pen."
Todoroki's eyes reflected Aizawa's dark eyes like a pair of mirrors. "I'm being honest."
"Why do you always wear long sleeves?"
"I'm most comfortable that way."
I had no intention of asking this, but for the sake of his safety, I will. It's painful to consider that one of my students is more than likely cutting himself. It's also painful to think that more and more adolescents and teenagers are harming themselves. So often do we emphasize helping others, but it almost seems like helping oneself is seen as selfish.
Aizawa inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "Todoroki, would you mind rolling up your sleeves so I can clear my concerns?" He nodded, but although he presumed that Todoroki would flinch or offer an indication of being taken aback, he remained as the phlegmatic student Aizawa had always seen.
"Sorry. I'm not comfortable with showing much skin to anyone." A conflicted look abruptly washed over Todoroki's face, and his body leaned away from Aizawa. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Fair enough. But I've noticed that you seem to be uncomfortable when you're with me. Is this related to that?"
Todoroki swallowed thickly, but his composure seemingly remained unscathed. "I…can't talk about it."
Suddenly, a revelation unraveled in Aizawa's mind. Does this all relate back to abuse? Is that why he's uncomfortable with showing his skin and being alone with me? He specifically says he 'can't' talk about it. Is that indicative of someone forcing him to keep silent and not raise suspicion?
"Is that because someone else is denying you that right?"
"No."
I can tell I won't get anywhere if I keep pressing him. He absolutely refuses to tell me the truth. What would he do if I found a way to prove my suspicions? Would he break?
With a sigh, Aizawa replied, "I'll leave it be for now." He sieved Todoroki's slender, trembling frame. "But before I leave, I want you to eat something." His brows lowered a bit as Todoroki glanced away.
"I'm really not hungry." Todoroki's eyes looked like someone had detached the lifeless eyes of a doll and sewn them beneath his eyelids.
"Todoroki, you're incredibly malnourished."
"I know… But I already tried to eat not long ago."
"You 'tried?'"
"It's not important."
"I think it is."
Todoroki furrowed his brows, sinking into what appeared to be conflicted thought. "I ate, but…" He vacantly stared at the floor. "I…couldn't keep it down. Sorry. I didn't want to say—it's not a pleasant picture." He gently gripped his wrist.
Right. What Bakugou mentioned…
Aizawa nodded. "Was this unintentional?" he candidly inquired.
"Yes," Todoroki promptly replied.
"Todoroki."
"I'm being honest."
Letting out a sigh, Aizawa said, "I'm concerned about your health, safety, and state of mind. I know these are difficult, uncomfortable things to talk about, but I will continue to bring them up as long as I have a reason to be concerned. Todoroki, I want to help you. Whether you want that or not, you're making it harder on yourself by keeping this all inside. You recognize that, right? But if you're not comfortable talking to me or someone else, then I want you to begin looking for a therapist to talk to."
Perplexion and dejection mantled Todoroki's visage. "I…" He slowly fastened his lips back together, but he looked as though he wanted to continue his severed sentence. "I understand."
I don't think he agreed with what I said. Was he taught to either agree or receive a beating of some kind? The possibilities are endless, but there's only one right answer. What is it? How do I uncover enough to reveal it? Can I uncover enough in time?
"You can tell me what you really think," Aizawa sighed.
Todoroki seemed to vacillate between what to say. "It's fine. It's not important. Sorry you've had to waste your time on—"
Todoroki's voice was sundered by the door slamming open, and there in the doorway stood Bakugou.