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Izuku had been feeling off.
On edge. Restless.
Just - off.
Nothing had happened to make him feel this way. It just crept up on him. Fine one day, the next, not.
One day a week or so after he’d begun feeling like this, during lunch, he’d sat with his friends, not talking. He’d been quiet in class too. Hadn’t put his hand up, hadn’t done much except stare at his notebook, eyes occasionally flicking around the room, restless. Off feeling ever present.
“Midoriya”
Izuku’s head snaps up at his name, eyes flicking to Aizawa-sensei, his tired eyes on him
“Pay attention.”
Izuku nods, mumbling an apology. He takes to staring at the board instead, having to put up some semblance of focus for Aizawa.
______
Shouta knew his students. He knew when something was up with them. Like now, he could tell something was off about Midoriya. the way his eyes kept flicking round the classroom, untalking and unfocused. He kept his eye on him the rest of the lesson, unsettled by the look in his eyes, void of - well - anything.
______
Heroics class. They’re doing sparring, and Izuku is paired with Kirishima. He’s distracted the whole fight, and pays for it when Kirishima lands a sharp right hook to the jaw. Izuku brings his fingers up to his cheek, feeling the small split now marring his cheek.
For a split second, the off feeling didn’t feel off. It felt - right. It then dropped away, Like nothing ever happened. After class, as they got changed, that feeling stuck with Izuku. that moment of rightness, of satisfaction. he mulled it over as they went back to their dorms, trying and failing to ignore it.
That night he sat in his room, at his desk, trying to focus on his homework to no avail. Izuku’s mind wanders back to the sparring session, the brief feeling of rightness. His fingers again ghost over the cut, confused and curious. The urge to feel that again grows, filling him, itching at his skin. A hand reaches, on autopilot, for the scissors that sit at the top of his desk.
Izuku doesn’t hate himself. He’s not depressed. Nothing’s happened. Yet he still presses the scissors to his forearm. Slowly drags it downwards. Watches as it leaves a thin red line in its wake. The dull sting feels so right.
Izuku blinks, trance broken as he’s hit with what he just did. He flings the scissors back on his desk, stumbling to his feet.
“Shit.”
He mumbles, tugging at his sleeve. The cut wasn’t deep. It hadn’t even bled. But the thin red line stared up at him. It looked so pretty against his freckled skin. It looked lonely. It looked-
Izuku shakes his head, sitting back into his bed. What were these thoughts? What was happening to him? Why had he - hurt himself? The greenette pulls out his phone, eyes flicking over the screen as he searches. the familiarity of learning and researching calms him as he scrolls. Posts, art, websites, chat rooms, anything he can find on hurting oneself, he takes in. The topic of suicide inevitably comes up. The teen stares at the screen, infatuated with what it shows. Doing something like that to yourself - Izuku doesn’t want to die. But why did it seem so damn appealing?
Knowing he won’t be able to sleep without aid, with these thoughts swirling around his head, he takes a sleeping pill, and lets it pull him under.
_______
The next day is a repeat. Quiet. On edge. Unfocused. Aizawa sensei tries to talk to him after class, but Izuku insists he’s fine, just tired. His sensei lets him go, worried gaze lingering. The greenette hates lying to his teachers. Especially Aizawa. But he hardly understands these feelings himself. And Izuku didn’t want to blow it out of proportion. Maybe he really is just tired.
Throughout the day though, his thoughts are filled with his earlier research. Self harm. Suicide. Cutting. Pills. Burns. Rooftops. It all infatuated him. Izuku was scared. He didn’t feel like himself. He couldn’t trust himself.
This - this darkside of his consumed his mind as he sat in his room that night. He needed to feel it again. He needed to-
The scissors are in his hands before he knows what he’s doing. The greenette slashes it down his arm, drawing blood this time. The adrenaline, the high washes over him, exhilarating in its rush. Izuku drags the scissors over his skin again and again, blood mixing and starting to drip. The sound of it hitting the floor stops him, hands shaking as his eyes take over the masterpiece that is his arm. Tears fill his eyes, emotions conflicting and swirling and too much..
Izuku’s eyes land on his bottle of sleeping pills. No. Yes. No. He needed more. More than just cuts. No. He reaches for his phone instead, hands shaking as he pulls up Aizawa sensei's contact. They all had their homeroom teacher's school number in case of emergencies. Izuku hits the dial button, eyes flicking between the bottle and his phone. He knows how many pills are left in it. He got a refill recently, so it was almost full. How much would it take? How much- Izuku's spiraling thoughts are interrupted by a gruff
"Midoriya? This better be an emergency."
He almost sobs in relief, before talking into the phone
"U-Uhm, can you come over to my dorm, sensei?" The teen manages to choke out. "I, uh, I've done something bad."
His eyes move back to the pill bottle, scared of it and wanting it all at once.
"I'm coming over. What did you do?" Aizawa replies, the sound of shuffling and a door opening in the background. he was at the teachers dorms, a short walk from the student dorms. Izuku just had to hold on 'till then.
"My bottle of pills. I w-want to- the scissors - i don't know what's happening. I need you to talk me away-"
"Alright, shit, don't hang up"
Aizawa orders him, worry evident in his voice as he infers what his student was impling.
"Are you away from the pills?" he asks, trying to stay calm for his student's sake "is there anything else you're at risk from?"
Izuku looks down at the scissors still in his hand, his arms still covered in red.
"I'm holding scissors. the pills are a meter or so away"
"Okay, you need to put them down for me, can you do that? Izuku, I need you to put them down"
"i c-can't"
The teen murmurs, eyes now stuck on the scissors
"i want to - s-sensei, I can't trust myself" The greenette confesses. "I don't know what to do. I want to - the pills - I -"
"hey, hey, it's okay" Aizawa interrupts. "you don't have to do anything. Just sit there for me, I'm almost there. Don't do anything, problem child. Hold on"
Izuku hums, still transfixed on the scissors. "m'kay"
Not ten seconds later, his door is pushed open. Aizawa stands in the doorway, assessing the situation. His eyes fall on the red-covered lines crossing Izuku's arms. The scissors still gripped in his hands. The pill bottle on the nightstand. He cautiously walks over to where the boy sits on his bed, sitting beside him, yet giving him space. Aizawa gently wraps his hand around Izuku's holding the scissors, slowly prying them out of his grip.
"You're ok" He murmurs quietly as the boy finally relaxes his hand, letting the scissors get taken. "there you go. That's good, 'zuku"
The teen's shoulders shake slightly as tears return to his eyes
"S-Sensei, I don't know - I just -" he tries, before Aizawa interrupts
"Hey, you're okay. you don't have to explain. Just let me help you"
He pulls a roll of bandages out of his first aid pack. He'd had a feeling he'd need to bring it when he got the call. Aizawa starts wrapping his arms, slowly but firmly. Blood seeps through a little at first, but soon stops under the pressure.
"There you go" He murmurs. Once he knows the boy will be okay, he stands, and goes to grab the bottle of pills. "I'm going to be keeping these, problem child. And the scissors." he goes back to sit next to him "you'll have to go to the infirmary. I'd rather you go tonight, have a professional watch over you."
His eyes asses the boy, his broken state
"C-Can I - not tonight. please. I don't want it to be - I don't want it to be real yet." Izuku says quietly. "I just wanna sleep. But - please stay. I can't trust myself tonight."
Aizawa sighs "You've got the wrong idea if you thought I was gonna leave you like this. C'mon, kid. get some sleep. we can figure this out in the morning. I won't go, don't worry"
The boy nods at that, shuffling backwards into his bed. The hero settles in his desk chair, tired but with no intention of sleeping, of taking his eyes off his kid. Never again.