Shouta Aizawa

Like sand, Aizawa's body was buried beneath a blanket of fatigue. He'd spent the night attempting to seek out child protection services and the police, but no agency would hear Aizawa out. So, by the break of dawn, he decided that he would contact Endeavor directly to discuss Todoroki's behavior in class.

Slurping up the last of the instant noodles Aizawa had prepared fifteen minutes ago, he set his chopsticks on the rim of the disposable bowl from the noodles. As the warmth from the oily, boiled broth and noodles faded in his mouth, Aizawa lifted his phone in the light of only the desk lamp on his desk and the faint smear of blue from the window beside his bed.

Another email from Bakugou? thought Aizawa as he read the blurred text on his illuminated phone screen. Sent…eight minutes ago. It's six thirty in the morning.

Bakugou
Icyhot went out last night to "train." I asked him to prove it, and he refused. When he came back, he was a mess. Whatever's going on is breaking him more and more. I don't trust him to be on his own, either.

Aizawa
I plan to speak with Endeavor today. Is Todoroki doing all right?

Aizawa set his phone on his wooden desk and closed his eyes. Eventually, I'd like to discuss Bakugou with Todoroki. Todoroki has been my main concern, but I'm beginning to see more and more glaring causes for concern with Bakugou as well. Anxiety, denial, anger, hatred, feelings of inferiority, the chronic lack of sleep… The list goes on.

Then, Aizawa's phone vibrated.

Bakugou
No idea. I called him, and he was stuttering all over the place. He got to the apartment, and he couldn't speak. He was also super on edge and shaken up about something. Then, he just suddenly snapped to being in a perky mood. He's probably not gonna be up for another few hours.

Aizawa could only sigh as he deliberated over a response.

Aizawa
Keep an eye on him, if possible. If you're not busy, I'd like to talk to you in person about some things.

Bakugou
Fine. Be at the bench in five minutes.

With that, Aizawa silently slipped out of his room and left a note for Yamada to inform the latter of his whereabouts. His body simultaneously felt like a bag of bricks and nothing but air as he hobbled out of the apartment and made his way to the bench outside of the apartment complex in the spears of blue drowning out the morning shadows. Walking past puddles of black stretching out onto the cracked, stone pavement, Aizawa was reminded of the day he could never forget:

Entering his classroom at U.A. for the first time that morning with cherry blossoms flittering in the air, Aizawa flicked on the lights to see a piece of paper lying at his feet. He crouched down and picked up the white paper scrawled over with black ink; he recognized the penmanship.

Hey, it's Kei. Thank you all for everything. I had a lot of fun this year. I'm so glad to have made all the friends I did. It was an honor to be a part of this class. I'm so grateful I got the opportunity. But if you're reading this, I'm gone. I'm sorry to do this to all of you, and I feel selfish for writing this note since it draws attention to me, but I'd feel guiltier if I didn't give any explanation for doing this. None of you are at fault. Please don't blame yourselves. You were all more than enough. More than I deserve.

The truth is that I've been suicidal for a long time. No one knew until now. I tried to die last year, but I survived, and thanks to my Quirk, I was able to leave no traces of it. I also tried the year before that. I almost tried a few months ago, but someone ended up seeing me at a bridge as I was about to take my shoes off, so I went back home.

I don't know why I want to die. I have a loving, supportive family, lots of invaluable friends, good grades, a good Quirk, and just about everything anyone could ever want. But I'm not depressed. I feel genuinely happy every day. Despite that, I have so many regrets that I hate myself for all of them, even though I'm sure no one even remembers most of what I regret. A part of me started urging me to die a few years ago. I can't take it anymore. I feel like everyone secretly hates me and won't tell me. I know it's irrational, but I can't help it. I also feel pathetic for wanting to die for no reason. I feel useless. Like I'm hurting everyone more than I'm helping, and all those smiles and laughs are just a lie to make me feel better. What did I do to deserve all this? Nothing. It was all just given to me. I never had to work hard. So, it has to all be a lie.

It keeps me up at night, thinking about how it might just be me and only me thinking these friendships are real friendships, and that the truth is everyone hates me. That my entire life is a lie. Everything I love and value is all a lie. All the help I thought I'd done was all just a lie. So, I'm putting an end to it all for real. Thank you all for everything, even if it is true that I was nothing but a hated, worthless, wasted existence. I hope you're all happy. That's all I want. Please tell me I was right…

Unfortunately, you couldn't have been more wrong, Aizawa thought while glancing up at the flicker of movement from his peripheral vision. The scars of the past will remain, but I've come to terms with it. I vowed to protect my students from villains, but I vowed to myself that I would protect them from themselves. That includes you two.

With his hands in his pockets, Bakugou sat beside Aizawa and kept his eyes pointed at the ground. "So?" Bakugou murmured.

Aizawa could smell the faint scent of smoke emanating from Bakugou. "How are you handling this situation?" He observed how Bakugou refused to lift his head.

Bakugou shrugged. "Fine." He dragged the curved edge of his nail on his left index finger over his knee.

Suddenly, a thought washed over Aizawa's mind, and thus, he held his silence. As one second turned to two, and soon enough, eight seconds scraped by, he noticed how Bakugou had begun cracking his knuckles. Yet, Aizawa continued to observe his student from the corner of his eye in the spools of pink and orange beginning to unravel over the horizon.

Finally, Bakugou curled the hand at his knee and reluctantly sighed, "Kind of…stressed. I just…don't know what to do, and it feels like all I've done is just watch all this shit happen and only make it worse. Dunno how to even begin processing it all. Doesn't even feel real." He shook his head and began to scrupulously examine his trembling, dawn-dipped fingertips.

A worm of pain wriggled between Aizawa's ribs. "What about this stresses you out the most?"

Bakugou inhaled deeply. "I don't know. All of it. Standing by, waiting, wondering, watching, anticipating… Should I be doing something? Every time I try, I fuck it up."

"It might not feel like it, but keeping an eye on him and letting him know in your own ways that he's needed can be more impactful than you think. Being stressed about this isn't something to be ashamed of. Would you believe me if I said that I'm stressed as well?"

For a while, Bakugou was silent. "Tried that in the past, and he tried to kill himself." He swallowed thickly, and then, with a shaky voice, he continued, "I've tried so many things…and nothing works. He just lies, says he's fine, hides the true things killing him, and keeps killing himself slowly. No shit I'm not a therapist or anything, but it's still my fucking job to do something. But none of my efforts ever fucking do shit. He helped me, so why…" As his faded, fractured voice tapered off, he balled both hands into fists. "Guess I'd believe you. Tch. I hate…playing right into your fucking hands. I know I am, but I'm still rambling on."

To me, it seems like a part of you that you deny truly wants help. You want to be heard, but you don't want to admit that anything is wrong. It must be suffocating…like it's drowning you in anxiety from every direction. You seem lost and disoriented, so you stay put instead of taking the risk of swimming in the wrong direction.

As glimmering petals of gold began to weave through the shadows on the ground, Aizawa replied, "You can't say he would've been alive if you hadn't done all that." Rough like the skin of a kiwi, Aizawa's voice carried a certain softness, sweetness, and sourness to it. "Have you ever tried writing those kinds of thoughts down when there's no one you can talk to?"

Bakugou shook his head. "Waste of time," he retorted in a growl.

"It's a waste of time when you've never tried?"

Bakugou was silent.

It seems like he drowns his difficult emotions enough so the outer flames go out, but it still burns brightly inside, cerebrated Aizawa as a bird chirped from the distance. Then, the inner embers become a fire, and they erupt beneath the waves.

"I'd like you to try it today. You don't need to show anyone. I trust that you'll try it." Aizawa nodded. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Tch. Maybe like an hour. Whole world feels like a fishbowl."

Aizawa eyed Bakugou's shoulder roll. "Have you tried taking melatonin tablets before?" He lifted his head when Bakugou shook his head. "They may help, but I wouldn't advise using them as a long-term solution." He scrutinized Bakugou's quaking hands. "You're shaking quite a bit."

Bakugou slid his hands to the sides of his thighs. "Just…tired."

"I've also noticed you've lost weight." Aizawa's voice was like a frigid bullet.

"Just…" Bakugou squinted and shook his head. "I've been more focused on Icyhot. I'm not like him." He visibly grit his teeth.

"What do you mean by that?"

"He's just straight-up anorexic or something. I'm not like that at all." With a gritty trail of thunder on his words, Bakugou stood up from the bench. "I'm getting back to him, just to make sure. Maybe I'll try and go back to sleep." With that, he was swallowed up between the gap of the pink horizon and the pink-dappled wall of the apartment complex.

Aizawa gazed out to the fiery crescent scaling the clouds drenched in ribbons of amber and peach. I'm certain Todoroki's current state as of late has been contributing to it, but what is the stem of his anxiety? I suppose it's not my job to uncover that, but I wonder about it. He blinked in silence. The fear of being perceived as weak? Fear of failure? Fear of doing the wrong thing? He and Todoroki both maintain a public facade, but whereas Todoroki seems to go with the flow and pick his lies accordingly to make it seem natural, Bakugou almost seems like he's in a constant debate with himself over what to do. Judgment, public view, reputation… I see. Bakugou also seems to flee or pick fights in uncomfortable situations. I wonder if it's dependent on what he's feeling. He picks fights with everyone but me, seemingly. Why is that?

Then, Aizawa returned to his apartment, and after closing the door, he was ridiculed by Yamada about his sleeping habits. He informed Yamada that he was in the process of figuring out how to tackle one of his students being a suspected victim of abuse, but Yamada emphasized that quality sleep would be necessary to think about it with a clear head.

"How are your students getting along?" Aizawa asked while listening to the buzzing and whirring of the coffee machine beside him.

Yamada offered a thumbs-up. "Great! They've been helping each other with homework, and they've been hosting game parties as well. It's a wild ride over here." He set his red pen on the dining table atop the papers he was grading. "Your kids seem to be a handful in a different kind of way. Aren't they getting a little behind on their studies?"

Aizawa expelled a sigh. "It must be nice having kids that get along. As things currently stand, I'm more concerned about keeping my students alive than keeping them up with their studies." His voice was like a rock sinking into the depths of the mud.

"It must be rough on you, yeah?"

"It takes its toll on me, but it's nothing I'm incapable of handling."

As Yamada reminded Aizawa to look after his own well-being as well, Aizawa felt a familiar vibration at his hip. He extracted his phone to find that he'd received an email from none other than Enji Todoroki.