Bakugou exhaled the warm, stagnant air that had pooled up in his lungs. He arched his back against his chair, sinking into it. The yellow, wooden pencil resting in his open palm was dulled and grated by its constant, unwavering use; he let it tumble across his fingers and roll over its pointed, hexagonal shape onto his desk.

I'm so fucking tired, Bakugou inwardly groaned. It's late, and I still have so much shit to do. God… I haven't even done as much work as I did yesterday. I can't be tired yet. To think Shouto can do this all day every day without complaint. What the hell. He squinted his eyes. I love him, and I don't know how to prove that to him. Asshole. Keeps telling me I deserve someone better, and that I'd be so much happier with someone else. Well, I don't want to be with anyone else. He tells me the fact that I love him is blinding me from making the best decisions. That's not how I function. Yeah, I wanna make the best decisions, but I don't think he understands that my feelings are a factor in that.

A familiar vibration slanted the phone on Bakugou's desk. He expelled another tapered sigh and scooped up his phone.

Shouto
Thank you for everything, Katsuki. I love you.

Bakugou's heart throbbed against his temples as he thought, Fuck. Shouto, I swear to fucking God! If you think this is gonna make me happy, you couldn't be any more wrong than that! His veins shivered, and the tips of his fingers became cold and numb. How many times have I told you I love you? That I'd be torn apart if I lost you? That I don't want you to fucking do this to yourself?! His brow glistened.

"Oi, Shouto… After what happened, are you…still cutting?"

"What do you think?"

"Babe, you were doing so well… What happened?"

"I deserve to constantly be hurting, and I want to feel the pain—something that isn't this perpetual numbness."

"You know I love you, right? It fucking hurts me to know this is how you think. I fell apart when I almost lost you. I thought I was gonna lose you. Shouto, I don't want you to keep hurting yourself. I don't want you to die. I can't fucking stand the thought of losing you."

"It's funny how easily words can break a person…but how difficult it is to heal someone with them. It's practically impossible. Do you know how long it took me not to feel like I was breaking whenever I remembered Mom calling me 'unbearable?' Too long. Just one word…made me wonder if I was better off dead. But no matter how many times I'm told that I'm loved, I've never really felt anything. It feels like it's just an obligatory, kind thing to say that anyone can say without really meaning it. The same goes with most kind things. But it usually takes a lot more to say hateful things with conviction. Does that make sense?"

Bakugou shook off the memories plaguing his mind as he swiftly approached Todoroki's dorm. He immediately tried the handle of the door, and much like the time he witnessed Todoroki preparing to hang himself, the door gave way. Yet, unlike the incident that constantly gnawed at Bakugou's mind, Todoroki was nestled into his futon.

Torpefying stupefaction enveloped Bakugou's body as his hand hovered over Todoroki's mouth and nose; soft clouds of warmth hugged Bakugou's hand. Bakugou released a silent sigh of relief, but his breath knotted together in his throat once he glanced around the room and noticed the open, empty bottle of pills on Todoroki's nightstand. His arms moved before he could think, and Bakugou found himself clasping onto Todoroki's arm, jerking his body back and forth.

"Oi, oi!" vociferated the ash-blonde, but as he turned Todoroki's body supine, Todoroki's eyes were slowly pulled open. "Shouto, when'd you take those?!" Cold sweat adhered to his forehead as he lifted Todoroki into his arms.

With heavy, squinted eyes, Todoroki murmured, "I…" He blinked slowly. "I don't…know." His voice was faint like the breeze.

Scrambling to transport Todoroki to the infirmary, Bakugou shoved down the inferno of frenetic emotions rumbling inside him. He didn't know what to say or how to respond, and his mind was flooded with the fear that Todoroki would not survive. Although silent, Bakugou felt his bones screeching each time he moved his body.

Once Bakugou arrived at the infirmary with Todoroki's limp body, he summoned Recovery Girl and prefaced Todoroki's condition. After placing Todoroki on the nearest bed, Bakugou felt a certain tightness around his hand. He looked down, and Todoroki, whose eyes were closed, was loosely holding Bakugou's hand.

I fucking love you, Shouto, Bakugou thought to himself while reluctantly withdrawing his hand. I just wish…you didn't feel like this all the time. I try not to show it in front of you more than I have to, but do you know how often I fucking cry over you? I think about how much you're going through, how much you keep hurting yourself, how much you've suffered in the time I've known you… I can't help it. I hate it, and I refuse to show it to anyone else, but I cry over a lot, Shouto. Fucking pathetic, huh? I can deny it all I want, but it won't change the facts.

His eyes glimpsed over at a lone piece of paper on the floor. He bent over and picked it up. The front of the paper read:

Katsuki, I love you. I'm going to write this and hold on to it, so you'll probably find this in my futon. I know what you've told me. I know. No matter what I'm told, I still think the world is better off without me. Look at how many times I've hurt you. How many people I'm hurting every day. How many people want things to end this way. I know how contradictory this all is, but I can't keep hurting people if I don't exist anymore. Maybe this is just a suppressed desire to try and feel some sense of self-fulfillment from my actions. But at the same time, I want to give you some time to get to me. I already took the pills. If I'm gone, I think this was for the best, Katsuki. I'm sorry you likely woke up to my message and found me like this. I'm sorry. Well, I wish I was sorry, but I'm not. If I'm still alive, then…why? Why do you want me to live? How do I mean so much to you? It doesn't make any sense to me. But I'm sorry I put you through this again. I told you, you deserve someone that isn't selfish like me. All I'm good for is hurting people and worrying people.

Bakugou turned the paper over:

Midnight

Cold hands of ink resting
Around my purple neck.
One of its fluid tendrils
Burrows like a parasite

In the cavity between
Both halves of my
Clavicle. It's wriggling
Inside my veins.

My fading voice rots
Into black spools
Of piano wire. I tip
My head back and

Scream.

But all that exits
My body is the sound
Of an electric cord
Being ripped in two.

My throat is burning
With blood. My feet slip
Over the pools
Of my own ink.

Splash.

My body is
Impaled
By this salty,
Black sea

Again.

Why won't my body
Obey me? My eyes
Flicker shut. Fangs of
Ice crunch into my

Head. Paralyzed
By the cold
Burn of the sea,
It all goes

Black.

I can't remember
If I'm supposed to be
Happy or sad. But
That's just not right.

My eyes are full of
Ink. I open them,
And the world burns
My attempt to start

Struggling.

Sinking into the
Sky that's folded
Up into this icy,
Motionless sea,

I realize:
I'm awake
But not alive.
My blood, my

Ink, and my own
Hands have dissolved
Into the empty future where
Everything is all the

Same.

When did I dissolve into myself?