"Call the nurse!" All Might commanded again, the frantic urgancey slicing through the choas. But Izuku was already lost in the shadows, surrending to the sofficating silence as he passed out, the weight of his struggles finally overweighing him.
In the background, a chorus of worried voices rushed to the scene, but for Izuku, the battle was over - even if the battle within him was far from over.
The sharp, penetrating tang of alcohol hit Izuku; Bakugo didn't need to know how it affected him to see the pallor creeping onto his face and the tremors in his hands. The explosion quirk user could see those trembling fingers clutching at Izuku's hair, as if somehow he could tear away the chaos in his mind.
The nurse's voice rose above the swell of chaos, and Bakugo felt a flicker of hope. "We're going to help you, Izuku. Just hold on," she urged, her tone steady, calm—like the eye of a storm. Bakugo and his classmates shared her determination, but as the blonde caught a glimpse of Izuku's face once more, despair washed over him anew.
It was an entirely different kind of storm raging within his friend; dark clouds filled with doubt threatening to drown him deeper into a void that seemed unescapable.
Gritting his teeth, Bakugo felt emotion flare within him like an explosive projectile ready to burst. "C'mon, Izuku! We're in this together!" His grip on Izuku's shoulders tightened, a frantic anchor in a sea of despair. But even as he said it, he couldn't quite believe it himself. "You've fought harder battles than this! Remember how far you've come?" He watched as Izuku's eyes flitted around, searching for meaning, a lifeline—anything to pull him from the chasm of his own turmoil.
But Izuku's breath hitched, eyes darting back and forth and his chest stuttering like a malfunctioning engine. Each gasp seemed to echo the devastation within, and Bakugo could see the struggle play out on his friend's face—an array of emotions: terror, shame, and an overwhelming sense of loss. "I... I don't want to be a hero anymore..." Izuku's voice shattered like glass, filled with a raw, cutting anguish. The words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of countless dreams and aspirations now unraveling at the seams.
Kirishima knelt beside Bakugo, desperation etched across his features, his hands trembling as he reached toward Izuku. "Please, just listen! We're here for you!" His voice cracked, a plea that resonated with the depths of their bond, but Bakugo felt the struggle against Izuku's resolve—the boy was a ship, adrift in a tumultuous sea, and he was fighting against every tide. "Whatever is making you feel this way, we can help man, just please-" Kirishima choked on his words, tears now in his eyes. A wave of anger surged through Bakugo, but it was coupled with grief, a profound sorrow for his friend who stood at the precipice, all too close to losing everything.
"Please, don't leave us!" Bakugo half-shouted, half-sobbed, as the nurse and a couple of students worked quickly to get a stretcher beneath Izuku. Yet with every movement, Bakugo felt the reality of losing Izuku clawing at him, a relentless beast waiting to strike. Their worlds were colliding—his fear against Izuku's despair.
As the cold, sterile stretcher brushed against Izuku's side, he flinched, the sudden touch pulling him further from the ground he grasped onto. Bakugo watched helplessly as the flicker of hope that had started to ignite in Izuku's eyes waned, replaced again with that flickering fear—a candle in the tempest. His green hair, usually alive with energy, now lay messily on the floor—damp and defeated, much like the spirit that had flickered within.
"Please," Bakugo whispered, desperation tinging his voice as he leaned in closer. "You can't give up, Izuku. Not now." He just needed to see that fire ignite again, to feel the warmth of their connection radiate through the cacophony. He watched in horror as the nurse whisked the young hero away in the bed, ordering other nurse's that came to aid. But as the shadows contorted deeper into the arena, Bakugo feared he might lose the one person who held aloft the spirit of heroism within him—a beacon he'd fought beside, and, more importantly, a friend he loved dearly.
Aizawa's footsteps echoed in the empty hall as he sprinted to the nurse's office, anxiety knotting in his stomach. The report he received from All-Might about Izuku sent a wave of dread over him. His heart raced as he reached the door, flinging it open to find the nurse attending to Izuku, who was slumped on the cot, pale and unconscious. A small vial lay on the table—a PRN.
"What happened?" Aizawa demanded, his voice low but urgent. He walked more into the room and shut the door behind him as he walked over to the cot and stared down at his student.
The nurse paused, her face etched with worry. "He was experiencing a severe anxiety attack, and, given his condition, I administered a sedative to help him calm down. He drank too much at training, and...it escalated."
Aizawa felt a rush of frustration but pushed it aside. "He was drinking?" He seethed through his teeth, his face hardening at the thought of Izuku starting his bad habit up again. This wasn't the time.
" ..?" a small voice stretched into silence, breaking it as if on cue. He took a deep breath, turning on his heel to find Bakugo and Kirishima lingering nervously in the doorway.
"Get in here," Aizawa ordered, beckoning them into the room, his voice clipped. The door clicked shut behind them, isolating the four of them in a space that felt too small for the weight of the situation. "Do you both know what's going on with him?" Aizawa's gaze pierced into Bakugo and Kirishima, urgency bleeding from his tone. The two shrunk underneath his gaze, avoiding eye contact as Kirishima shifted uncomfortably.
Bakugo was on the defensive. He spoke first. "He's just—"
"Don't!" Aizawa interrupted, his voice sharp. "I'm not asking for excuses" Aizawa crossed his arms and tried again, except his voice was clip - cold. It left no discussion for decievment. "What is going on with Izuku?" He tried again.
Kirishima glanced at Bakugo, his expression worried but determined. There were hints of tiny gray bags underneath his eyes Aizawa noted. On both of their faces he could tell they hadn't been getting enough sleep. "We've seen him...going out at night. He's been drinking a lot, and—"
Bakugo was trembling with anger and exasperation. "He's been meeting people, going out and coming back at weird times.. We found him once—he was blacked out on the floor...in his own blood." Bakugo winced as he trailed off, gritting his teeth as he looked away from his shocked teacher.
They stood still in front of the doorway, afraid to move any closer.
Aizawa's heart dropped. The shadows of his past with Izuku collided violently with the current reality, igniting each flare of pain he had ever felt for the boy. "What do you mean, blood?" But he didn't have to ask to know what it meant. His gut turned horribly.
Kirishima took a deep breath. "I-I don't think he really remembers.." He lifted his arm and scratched the back of his head, meeting eye contact with his teacher as tears welled up into his eyes. He let out a shuddering breath. "But we do. I think he's been self-harming..."
The blonde stepped forwards, interjecting. "I tried to get him help," Bakugo admitted, his voice strained. His hands reached out in gestures, unconsciously supporting the guilt that bubbled within. "I didn't want him in trouble with the school because I thought the authorities would be involved. We had an agreement, the fucking bastard said he was getting help!" He paused, biting his lip as his body shook. Aizawa watched him intently, his fists clenched as the quirk user explosion looked away in shame. "But...he's been faking it. Just smiling and laughing...like nothing's wrong. I-I tried-"
Aizawa clenched his fists, the anger burning in him. "Why didn't you come to me?" His voice was razor-sharp, the years of looking out for Izuku overwhelming him. "You knew something was wrong. You both knew!"
The anger from his voice made the boys flinch. Kirishima looked over at Bakugo and exchanged glances before he looked away again.
Bakugo shrugged being the first to cut the silence, guilt etched in his features. "We thought we could handle it. We didn't want to involve the school, and we thought...we thought maybe he would come around. But it's gotten worse—we saw him tipsy today. That's why we faced off; he was trying to prove he's changed, that he's not the same."
"And he freaked out," Aizawa finished, realization dawning as the pieces fell together. "He broke under the pressure." Running a hand through his hair, an angry growl slipped through his throat as Aizawa turned away from his students and started pacing. "You should've told me. I was—" He fumbled his words, panic rising in him. "He was under my care when his mother left. I could have helped him." He was saying that more to himself.
Kirishima stepped forward, his voice earnest. "We didn't think it would come to this. We thought we could reach him! We thought if we helped him, he wouldn't need to—"
"No!" Aizawa's fury flared as his head snapped towards him, his body halting in place but it was rooted in feelings of helplessness. "Izuku can't keep doing this alone. Whatever pain he's feeling isn't something he can face by himself. He's been through enough. Letting him slip into this darkness without me knowing is unacceptable."
Bakugo and Kirishima exchanged glances, and the weight of their choices settled over them like a shroud. Aizawa's heart ached for Izuku—he couldn't let this go on. He took a steadying breath. Turning away from the boys, Aizawa looked over at the nurse who stood beside Izuku's bed checking his vitals.
"Get me the files on everything related to his recent behavior and the injuries. We're going to make sure he gets the help he needs—whether he wants it or not. I will not allow him to drown in this."
As the nurses nodded, determination flickering in their eyes, Aizawa turned back to the young pro-heros. "Please keep an eye on him. I'll be back. We're going to make this right." He stepped out, his mind racing, burdened with how to confront Izuku once he woke up. Whether he was ready or not, the truth would have to be faced, and Aizawa would be there to guide him through it. He wouldn't allow Izuku to fight his battles alone any longer.
Aizawa paced the dimly lit corridor outside the nurse's office, his thoughts a tangled web of guilt and frustration. How had he let things spiral so far out of control? He was supposed to be aware of his students, their struggles, their pain. There was a time when Izuku's soft-spoken nature called to him, evoking the instinct to protect someone so... vulnerable. He had thought establishing trust with Izuku would be enough, that the cracks in his facade would reveal themselves over time. But amidst Bakugo and Kirishima's frantic revelations, Aizawa realized how deeply he had failed.
He thought back to Izuku's childhood—the bruises hidden beneath oversized clothes, flinching away from gentle touches. He remembered the conversations, hushed and filled with pity, that had taken place amongst faculty and authorities. Only he, All Might, Principal Nezu, and the police knew the full extent of Izuku's trauma. The physical abuse that had marred his early years had left scars too painful to mention, and now those were compounded by his emotional struggle. Aizawa was acutely aware that while he had intervened, it hadn't been enough. He had tried his best to keep Izuku safe, but he felt like he had merely scratched the surface; the core issues lay buried and masked by a brave front. How could he have missed the signs?
The tension in his chest coiled tighter as he glanced back toward the closed door. The revelation that Izuku had been self-harming struck Aizawa with the force of a tidal wave. His heart clenched at the helplessness of it all. He couldn't help but recall Bakugo's words during their earlier confrontation; Izuku had claimed he was not the same. The thought rattled him. What did it mean for a boy who aspired to be a hero to state he no longer wanted to be one? Had the pressure of expectation crushed him to the point that he felt he could no longer rise to the occasion?
As he left the hallway corridor, and turned left to All-Might's office, he slipped in and closed the door behind him, clearing his throat. All Might spoke before Aizawa could, his eyes intense and filled with purpose as he stood by the window, staring out. "We need to hold a meeting with the faculty—everyone needs to be alerted to watch out for his well-being while also respecting his privacy. Otherwise, he may feel cornered."
"Yes...sir." Aizawa responded slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead. Silence etched for what felt like an eternity of time, but it was just several minutes before Aizawa spoke up again, looking at the scattered papers on his desk. "How did you find out?" Aizawa asked, rummaging a hand through his black hair as he looked away tiredly as he sighed.
"I was there, but even I couldn't seem to get through to him." Toshi's voice came out in a cracked whisper, his eyes faltering from the view outside to the tile floors as if he was searching for answers within the cracks.
Aizawa's eyes immeditaly went to the older man. "What?"
The silence hung heavy in the air, wrapping around Aizawa like a cloak as he processed Toshi's words. The weight of unspoken truths pressed against him, but the gravity of what he'd just learned was suffocating, but now this? Without saying anything, Aizawa's eyes narrowed, piercing through to the core of the matter; he wanted to push Toshi, to open the floodgates of what had transpired that day Izuku had collapsed beneath the weight of his burden.
"Why didn't you call me?" Was what Aizawa wanted to ask, disapointment and anger flaring upon his ribs causing a gasp but he held back. Aizawa clenched his jaw, and for a moment, he felt a flash of shame but quickly swallowed it down. The two of them were on the same side—both deeply concerned for the boy who had become their responsibility, their hope. "What do you mean you couldn't get through to him?" He changed his course.
With a deep sigh, Toshi ran his hand through his unruly blond hair. "You might not know everything that's been happening."
"Tell me," Aizawa pushed through gritted teeth.
Just then, the nurse appeared at the door, an anxious expression clouding her face. "Aizawa, I need you to come with me. It's about Midoriya." Her voice trembled slightly, and Aizawa exchanged a troubled glance with Toshi before nodding sharply.
A sinking feeling gnawed at him as he followed the nurse down the corridor. Every step echoed with a dread he had never known before. They reached the infirmary, and the nurse swung the door open to reveal a dimly lit room. Izuku lay on the bed, looking smaller than ever, with his fragile body almost swallowed by the hospital sheets.
"Is he—" Aizawa's voice faltered, stricken with fear. Is he dead from alcohol posioning?
"He's stable, but..." The nurse hesitated, her hands trembling slightly. "I am deeply concerned about the marks on his arms. You need to see them."
As they approached, Aizawa's heart raced. When Izuku collapsed, he had expected bruising—a result of his self-policing tendencies. But as he glimpsed the raw wounds sprawling across Izuku's forearms, everything in him froze.
Kirishima glanced at Bakugo, his expression worried but determined. There were hints of tiny gray bags underneath his eyes Aizawa noted. On both of their faces he could tell they hadn't been getting enough sleep. "We've seen him...going out at night. He's been drinking a lot, and—"
Bakugo was trembling with anger and exasperation. "He's been meeting people, going out and coming back at weird times.. We found him once—he was blacked out on the floor...in his own blood." Bakugo winced as he trailed off, gritting his teeth.
"What do you mean, blood?"
"We think he's been self-harming.."
"What have you done?" Aizawa gasped, his voice shaking as he dawned on how troubled his student was really. How much pain he was going through alone.
Izuku stirred slightly, a furrow crossing his brow, but he did not wake. The marks looked nearly a week old, and while they had ceased bleeding, they were deep gashes—angry, red, and festering at the edges. They weren't just superficial reminders of pain; they were a desperate cry for help—a silent scream laid bare for everyone to see if only they allowed themselves to witness it.
Aizawa stepped closer, heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with the implications. "This... this isn't just self-harming," he whispered, feeling the color drain from his face even as a cold sweat broke out along his temples. "These look like attempts—" he swallowed hard, "to end it."
"I know," the nurse responded softly, her eyes brimming with sympathy as her glance went from Aizawa's reaction to the slumberous boy on the cot. "I didn't want to alarm you, but..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "That's what they are."
Aizawa's fingers trembled as he combed through the implications, trying to untangle the knot in his throat. "How long has this been going on?" He turned to the nurse, desperation seeping into his words.
"I can't say for certain," she replied cautiously. "But from what I gather, it's been weeks—perhaps even months. His behavior has shifted so noticeably that staff here were beginning to worry. It's hard to miss when he's always been so energetic and eager to help."
Aizawa ran a hand over his face, feeling the weight of regret press down on him. The late-night injuries, the distance, the slipping through the fingers of those who cared—it all spiraled together into a real-life nightmare that had unfolded beneath his nose while he focused on other battles. As much as he wanted to cast blame, the only person he could truly blame was himself.
"What do we do?" Aizawa asked finally, his voice scarcely above a whisper. He didn't know how they would move forward from this; the sight of Izuku's scars crawled under his skin, and shadows of doubt doused the warmth of hope.
"We need to keep him safe, meaning he wll be on lockdown and watched closely as we get him help. Meaning-" the nurse replied, her tone firm yet nurturing. "-we'll have a psychiatrist evaluate him, and we create a support system. Izuku also needs to attend rehab for his drinking. He can't do this alone. Not anymore."
Aizawa took a step back, overwhelmed by the weight of Izuku's pain that he had been so utterly blind to. He had assumed Izuku's struggles were manageable; he had thought he was helping—but how wrong he had been. Aizawa's chest tightened as another reality struck him: he had let this get so far out of control that he hadn't seen the signs—the cracks widening into gaping holes.
A wave of nausea hit him suddenly, a visceral reaction to the truth that had been laid before him. Aizawa backed away from the bed, his vision blurring as he bolted out of the infirmary and into the nearest restroom, panic clawing at his insides. The smell of antiseptic turned cloying and suffocating in the small space as he made it just in time to double over the toilet bowl, heaving uncontrollably.
As he emptied the contents of his stomach, bile rising with the memories of Izuku's whimpers during their quiet conversations, his gut churned with regret. How could he have allowed this to happen? He should have been there—should have noticed. The thought of Izuku's pain, of his helplessness, made Aizawa want to scream.
Once he retched the last remnants of his stomach, he leaned back against the cool, tiled wall, gasping for air. Each breath felt like a jagged knife to his chest. He felt like the world was closing in on him, suffocating him with his own inadequacies. Aizawa forced himself to breathe, to collect himself, and after what felt like an eternity, he finally rose to his feet, splashing cold water on his face.
Back in the infirmary, Izuku stirred again, bewildered eyes slowly looking around the room. Aizawa took a deep breath, bracing himself for what lay ahead, but faltering slightly as he met Izuku's glazed stare. The boy blinked as if trying to piece together fragmented moments, confusion clouding his features.
"W-Where...?" Izuku's voice was soft, laced with remnants of drugs, but there was a familiar desolation in his words.
"Hey, it's okay," Aizawa murmured. "You're safe here."
Izuku frowned, the edges of his lips trembling. "Is something wrong?" Aizawa saw him through the mask he helped create accidentally. His eyes blinked 'innocently'. Aizawa hesitated, torn between honesty and the instinctual need to shield Izuku from the full weight of what had happened. He couldn't risk pushing the boy further into his shell, but at the same time, he couldn't hide the severity of the situation.
"You've been through a lot, problem child. You're going to be okay, though I need you to talk to me. Can you do that?"
Izuku's gaze fell, and he turned it toward a preference for the wall, where shadows stretched into corners, concealing his pain as he realized the situation. Aizawa watched cautiously as Izuku's thoughts seemed to spiral away from him, the boy falling deeper into his own grim reality—a place filled with fear and uncertainty, where the darkness loomed larger than the light. The green boy's face etched into a blank state - an expression unreadable as he looked away, unable to answer.
Aizawa felt a pang of desperation run through him, the loss of his student making his heart ache with a profound sorrow. "Izuku..."
"I-I shouldn't be here." Izuku's heart raced; the attempt to articulate his feelings felt like climbing a steep cliff without any footholds."I'm fine." His voice was cut short. He'd spent years building walls to protect himself from pain only to find them crumbling now. Emotional vulnerability felt foreign, suffocating—and he wasn't ready for it.
"No-" Aizawa began but his student interuppted him.
"I'm fine," Izuku said too quickly, the words escaping his lips like a reflex. His instincts kicked in, the urge to pull back rising fiercely. "I'll get back to class. I'll do better."
Aizawa's face hardened, his brow furrowing deeper, but he kept his voice calm. "This isn't about your grades. It's about your well-being. You can't just brush this off."
Izuku's gaze shifted to the door, a silent retreat into the cold embrace of detachment. He felt the familiar chill of isolation creeping over him, whispering that he was nothing more than a burden. "It won't happen again," he said, voice low, devoid of conviction.
But this time, Aizawa wasn't having it. "Izuku..." His voice held a weight of authority mingled with concern but his voice edging with warning. His throat tightened. "You don't understand. Saying nothing will change anything. You can't handle this alone. You shouldn't have to."
In that moment, Izuku looked up, meeting Aizawa's intense gaze. The rage and truly relentless pain behind Aizawa's expression sent a shiver down his spine. For the first time, he saw the depths of concern mirrored in his teachers' eyes—and it terrified him. "Just leave me alone," he breathed, the simple phrase - a poorly constructed shield. "I don't want to talk about it."
Aizawa clenched his fists at his sides as the words landed like a physical blow, a desperate frustration welling up within him. All Might stepped forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Izuku, please. If you don't let us in, we can't help you." But all Izuku felt was an overwhelming impulse to hide, to retreat back into the recesses of his mind where the darkness felt familiar and safe.
"What's the point?" he whispered, talking to himself as much as to them.
At that moment, Aizawa knew they were standing on the precipice of something serious. The hope that had sparked within him dimmed, leaving a gnawing fear of what would happen if Izuku remained trapped in the shadows. He was running out of time, and Izuku needed something—someone—to help him break those chains before it was too late.
"The point is-" Auzawa started, a fire in his voice, an emotion, an attempt to get his student to understand - but he was cut off once again.
"The point is," Izuku echoed, more firmly this time. "I just need to sleep."
And just like that, the wall had returned, cold and impenetrable, the chasm between them widening further. Aizawa's brow furrowed as he took in the boy's cold demeanor—barely a flicker of the warmth that had once filled him, the boy who had aspired to be a hero despite the odds stacked against him.
He only stared.
Izuku's eyes flicked toward him momentarily, and for the briefest of moments, Aizawa glimpsed a crack in that wall. But it swiftly vanished, replaced with indifference. "I'm tired."
It felt like getting punched in the gut; Izuku's apathy was more painful than any rage-filled response he could have given. "Izuku," All-Might said, voice trembling under the weight of his emotions, "You don't have to do this."
"Okay."
Aizawa's heart thudded heavily in his chest as he took in the change in Izuku's demeanor. The usually fiery-eyed hero had become a flickering candle, dimmed and nearly extinguished. As Izuku's gaze shifted away, the walls he'd built around himself became more impenetrable, but Aizawa knew them for what they truly were: a fortress of pain, built from years of carrying the weight of the world on his young shoulders.
The silence in the room hung thick with unspoken words, each one a bomb waiting to explode.
"Cut the crap," Aizawa said, his voice firm yet filled with a tenderness aimed at breaking through the barriers Izuku had constructed. He leaned closer, observing the boy who had given everything to protect those he loved, now seemingly lost beyond reach. "You can't hide from me anymore. I saw the scars, i was informed on the anxiety attack and your binge drinking, Izuku. I see the pain."
Izuku's breath hitched again, and though he tried to reclaim his mask of indifference, it slipped with every word Aizawa spoke. "I don't want your sympathy," he shot back, too quickly, as if the very thought burned his tongue.
"Sympathy?" Aizawa shook his head, an edge of frustration beginning to crack his calm facade. "This isn't about pity. It's about concern. I want to help you, but I can't do that if you don't let me in. You're fighting a battle alone, and I know how that ends!"
"I'm fine," Izuku insisted, but it was a weak protest, like a paper wall in the middle of a storm—easily torn apart, barely even standing.
"No, you're not." Aizawa's voice lowered, a grounding presence in the whirlwind. "You haven't been fine for a long time. You're drowning, Izuku. And I can't watch you do it."
For a moment, the veins of tension in the air seemed to pulse with the weight of Izuku's reluctance to speak, the truth hovering just beneath the surface of his skin. But as he gazed into Aizawa's eyes, something shifted—the flicker of defeat igniting the slightest hint of vulnerability.
"What do you want me to say?" Izuku's voice trembled, and Aizawa felt the gravity in those words. "That I'm falling apart? That I don't know how to put myself back together?"
"That's a start," Aizawa pressed gently, willing him to confront the pain. "But you don't have to do it alone. You have people who care about you, who want to help you fight this. You don't have to wear this mask. You can be honest with me."
"My problems don't concern anyone else," Izuku retorted, but the fire in his voice was weakening, gutted by the tears waiting to spill.
"Don't you dare say that. You mean everything to your friends. To me." Aizawa met his gaze, the sincerity of his words seeming to penetrate the boy's icy shield. "You don't realize how much you've impacted our lives. It's not just your battles; it's ours, too. Whatever you're feeling inside, you need to let it out or it will consume you."
The rain poured down in relentless sheets, each droplet striking the pavement like a tiny drumbeat heralding the chaos unfolding inside U.A. High School. The cold, oppressive atmosphere matched the turmoil swirling in Aizawa's mind as he leaned heavily against the wall, torn between anger and despair. Every moment spent reflecting on Izuku's recent unraveling felt like another dagger to his gut—isolated, drinking, self-harming, and the worst of it all: his attempts to take his own life. Aizawa couldn't shake the weight of guilt that settled on his shoulders like the storm clouds outside, thunder rumbling ominously in the distance.
Determined, he pushed himself away from the wall and strode purposefully toward Bakugo and Kirishima, who leaned against the gym entrance, their usual banter noticeably absent. The tension in the air crackled, igniting within him a fury that felt both imperative and unbearable. Without hesitation, he pulled them aside, his voice low but dripping with anger. "What the hell were you thinking, keeping all of this from me?"
Bakugo flinched, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You think I wanted to?" The bravado in his voice faltered, nearly vanishing.
With an intensity that could rival the storm raging outside, Aizawa snapped back, "Izuku is hurting! He tried to take his own life! And you thought it was better to keep that to yourselves?" His voice, laden with disappointment, echoed down the hall.
Color drained from Bakugo's face as he flinched - hearing the words made his stomach drop.
Kirishima stepped forward, eyes wide, a mixture of shock and concern etched across his face. "Wait, what? He tried to—"
Aizawa cut him off, anger seeped into every syllable. "What matters is that you both knew he was in pain, and you didn't come to me. That could have cost him everything."
The weight of Aizawa's words crashed over Bakugo like the torrential rain outside. He staggered back, breath hitching in his throat. For the first time, the fire within him was extinguished, replaced by an unbearable burden of guilt. "I didn't know," Bakugo murmured, voice trembling as images of Izuku flooded his mind—of blood pooling on the floor the night he found him, of desperate attempts to reach out masked by laughter and bravado. He had thought he had saved him that night, that green boy promised him that he was here to stay. The anguished look in Aizawa's eyes compounded the weight of his shame, and he felt suffocated by the realization of just how close he had come to losing his friend.
"Bakugo, you good ma-" Kirishima reached out, his voice filled with genuine concern, but Bakugo recoiled as if burned. The panic rising within him hitched his breaths as he turned abruptly, propelled by a desperate need to escape the suffocating reality. He dashed down the hallway, the flickering fluorescents flickering like the chaos in his mind, dodging startled students and bewildered teachers, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. "Bakugo!"
He burst through the doors into the pounding rain, the cold droplets biting against his skin as he stumbled forward. The chill of the night air did little to alleviate the sense of dread clawing at his insides. Gasping for breath, he pressed his palms against his temples, the world whirling around him as he tried to quell the chaos inside his mind. "No, no, no," he murmured, panic encroaching, squeezing tighter. "Not now, not now!"
All at once, the reality of Izuku's pain crashed down on him like a wave, pulling him under, drowning him in guilt and fear. He staggered back, barely aware of his surroundings until he found a corner, collapsing against the unforgiving ground. He hugged his knees to his chest, trembling, the darkened sky above mirroring the void opening inside him. Each heartbeat echoed the truth he could not bear—he could have lost Izuku forever.
"Bakugo!" Kirishima's voice cut through the haze as he flung the door open, panic etched across his face. Aizawa followed close behind, urgency propelling him forward.
"You gotta breathe!" Kirishima pleaded, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him.
"Get away!" Bakugo shouted, his voice cracking as if shattering from the pressure. "Just leave me—don't come near me!" Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the rain as he fought desperately against the spiraling chaos in his mind. The night air felt thick and suffocating, breaths coming faster, sharper, each inhale feeling like a battle against an invisible force.
Aizawa, recognizing the urgency in Bakugo's panic, stepped forward slowly, his voice now commanding yet steady. "Listen to me! You're alright. You're safe."
"No!" Bakugo screamed, his hands clawing at his head, the memories of Izuku's suffering cascading through his thoughts—dark, desperate, drowning. Each second that ticked by felt like an eternity, an earth-shattering reminder of his failures. It all felt so insurmountable that he could barely remain upright, spiraling further into despair.
Suddenly, as if the storm had reached its boiling point, Aizawa and Kirishima closed in, tentative yet firm, grounding him in a way he desperately needed. They knelt beside him, bridging the chaotic storm of Bakugo's heart with their steady presence.
"Bakugo," Kirishima urged, voice reassuring. "Focus on me, okay? Just breathe with me. In... out... in... out..."
Underneath the cacophony of rain, Aizawa placed a hand on Bakugo's back. "You're not alone in this. We're right here."
Gradually, the whirlwind began to calm, each breath they shared pulling Bakugo back from the precipice of despair. Slowly, he took in the cool, rain-soaked air, grounding himself in the reality of their presence. Minutes felt like hours, but as he finally choked out shaky breaths, he felt the panic begin to recede.
Later that night, Bakugo sat quietly in Izuku's dimly lit room, every shadow a reminder of the friend they were fighting to save. Kirishima remained at his side as they both sat vigil. Aizawa stood nearby, his presence a fortress of support, while All Might stood opposite them, his usual cheer replaced by a somber concern. The nurse busied herself checking Izuku's vitals, her demeanor professional yet filled with an understated empathy.
The rain outside had lessened to a gentle patter, but its echoes still resonated with the emotions swirling inside Bakugo. In the small, still moments, he watched as Izuku lay there peacefully, exhausted, finally claiming him in a way that felt foreign.
"What do we do now?" Bakugo's voice sliced through the silent depths of depression in the room, his voice gruff and low. He had his arms crossed over his chest, one leg swiftly over the other as he leaned back in the chair - staring intently at Izuku. His arms were covered in bandages.