Shouta Aizawa

With the melancholic poem in hand that heralded blatant reasons for concern, Aizawa expelled a sigh. For at least five minutes, he'd deliberated over the possibility of the poem intentionally being left behind for someone to find.

It's sad to think that a student of mine wrote this poem, Aizawa found himself thinking while bringing his cup of coffee to his lips. But was this an accident, or was this a cry for help? I don't know if the final line is meant to imply that the writer more or less gave up and was consumed by the 'abyss,' or if it's implying that they're giving up on life. It's concerning nonetheless, and it seems to directly reference self-harm.

Aizawa glanced over his shoulder to Yamada, who had approached him from behind. "Read this," Aizawa dejectedly sighed, handing the poem to Yamada.

"What is it?" Yamada questioned with the tilt of his head. "A poem?"

"Yes. One of my students wrote it, but I don't know which one." He tipped his head back and swallowed down the final vestiges of his coffee. "My greatest fear is that one of them is seriously contemplating suicide." He lowered his brows as his mind dredged up the incident that constantly gnawed at the back of his head. "Three years ago…one of my students committed suicide. He was one of my top students from that class, and every day, he brought a smile and a good attitude with him. I still remember the note he left. I don't want history to repeat itself."

"The truth is that I've been suicidal for a long time."

Aizawa inhaled deeply, blinking away the memory of his student's suicide note. Perhaps my current actions are biased from that day.

Yamada's cheeks inflated as he let out a long, sharp breath of air. "Kids are ending their lives so young nowadays, and male suicide rates are just depressing. Like, so many people need help for their mental health, and it's not even available or affordable for a lot of them! Makes me sad, and especially when lives are lost because of that. It kind of feels like the world is getting more depressed as a whole." He laid the poem on the table in front of Aizawa. "You're not still beating yourself up for what happened, right?"

I tell myself I've come to terms with it, but I still let it and the guilt that follows linger in my head. I don't let it control me like before, though. I won't allow it to happen again.

"Right." Aizawa opened his mouth to continue speaking, but he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

An email…from Bakugou? Aizawa cogitated. I don't believe he's ever emailed me before. 'There's something important I need to talk to you about as soon as possible.' Is he all right? Did something happen?

Aizawa promptly sent his reply to Bakugou's email:

I'll be over shortly.

Standing up from his chair, Aizawa shoveled his books into his bag. "I'll be back—there's something urgent I need to take care of." He briskly strode off to his destination.

I can only hope that those two have been taking care of themselves without my supervision. They'll be adults soon, and they'll have many more responsibilities to come. It's taxing and sometimes numbing, but life is worth living as long as you have something to live for. What are their reasons to live? Why can they get out of bed each day? What motivates them to keep going?

While approaching Bakugou and Todoroki's apartment, Aizawa noticed Bakugou leaning back against the wall beside the door. "Oi," Bakugou greeted him while nonchalantly pushing off the wall. "Can we discuss this outside?" He rolled his shoulders back and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Aizawa nodded, and thus, the two made their way to the entrance of the apartment complex. "You look tired," sighed Aizawa. "Have you been getting much sleep?"

The ash-blonde shrugged. "Not really. But that ain't important." The aura emanating from his body soured like milk. "What I wanna talk about… It's about Icyhot." His arm twitched.

As the two stepped out into the shimmering bath of morning sunlight, Aizawa replied, "Is he okay?" He rounded the corner of the building and slid onto the nearby bench that faced a birdbath and a few small trees.

An unidentified, tenebrous emotion rippled across Bakugou's countenance as he sat beside Aizawa with arms crossed. "No," he muttered under his breath before cracking his knuckles and inhaling deeply. "He left again…and came back limping. He said he 'fell down some stairs,' but… I…" Although Bakugou's voice had tapered off into silence, his shallow, ragged breaths had instead begun to speak for him.

Bakugou's brilliant, vermillion eyes were saturated with liquid desperation, and upon scrutinizing this, Aizawa immediately queried, "Bakugou, can you hear me?" Stern yet soft, his voice was an intense whisper.

For a second or two, Bakugou simply stared at the ground with his eyes that had been detached from the world. "Yeah…" he finally murmured through his shaking breaths.

"Take deep breaths," instructed Aizawa. "In…and out. In…and out." He knelt before Bakugou to demonstrate the movements of his chest. "Good. Focus on your breaths. Try to keep this steady rhythm." He listened to Bakugou's long, deep breaths for another few minutes until Bakugou lifted his head and let out an exasperated sigh. "Better?"

Bakugou nodded, but he canted his head, averting his eyes from Aizawa. "Fine. Tch… Pretend like this never happened." He slowly shook his head while vexation singed his expression.

"Does this happen very often?" Aizawa figured he'd ask as he stood up and sat back on the bench.

"Doesn't matter."

"I'm going to label that as a yes unless you'd like to elaborate."

"I just… This isn't fucking about me, goddammit." Bakugou curled his hands into fists. "Icyhot… Tch. I think…he's being abused." He paused for a moment, and in that ephemeral pool of silence, Aizawa felt a twinge of pain squirm through his chest. "I asked 'im about it…and he denied it, but for once, he didn't exactly have his resting bitch face on. He's gotten so secretive about all his injuries when, before, he openly admitted to where any injuries he had came from. He's getting way more injuries than he used to as well. I know what his regular injuries from training used to look like, and he never had a limp in the past from training. He never looked so beaten up, either. I ignored it 'cuz I thought… Tch. You see the difference too, yeah? I don't know what the hell to do…"

Although a myriad of questions had culminated in Aizawa's mind, he retained his insouciance. "It's all right," he assured Bakugou. "Do you know who's most likely to be his abuser?"

"Endeavor." Venom leaked from Bakugou's words. "Both times he's left the apartment, he said he went to see his boyfriend, but I don't know if that's an excuse or not. Regardless, something's going on, and he fucking needs help before he just…leaves and doesn't come back at all." He squinted his eyes.

Would he blame himself if Todoroki were to leave and not come back? Aizawa wondered. I suspect that Bakugou isn't saying this in an attempt to remove any guilt that could be thrown his way if that were to happen.

Aizawa nodded slowly. "I'll talk to him. But before that, do you know who this poem belongs to?"