Chapter Text
"I don't get it."
Eijirou muttered under his breath as he stared down at the notebook on his desk. This late at night with little to no sleep, he could barely register the numbers dancing across his vision. He had his hands clutching at his scalp, a pencil supposedly in the middle of his fingers but it had fallen at some point. Thoughts were swirling endlessly inside his head, and he was tired enough to give in to listening to them.
"Maybe I should ask—"
No, what kind of sane person would be awake right now?
Okay, well, to be fair, nothing about their class was sane. Still, they weren't that insane.
Eijirou turned his phone over to see the time, and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
"5 A.M.!?" He whispered, now snapping his head to his window as he leaned back to see. No crap, the sun was slowly rising and he was still, still, stuck at this one question. He should've acknowledged his mushy brain a long time ago, known he had lost the capacity to register information and got some rest. Still, he didn't and thought that maybe he could succeed if he tried hard enough.
Judging by the eraser crumbs, though? Guess not.
With a disappointed sigh, he just closed the notebook and ceased to acknowledge its existence.
He barely noticed the day going by, and before he knew it, it was the last period with Aizawa; some topic about Hero mannerism. His seat was in the middle of the class, so he didn't have the privilege of hiding just to sleep. So he just stared at Aizawa teaching whose face portrayed ‘I don't want to be here.’ pretty well.
His vision was blurring out of nowhere.
He had handled worse nights before, a few nights of no sleep weren't that bad.
But for some reason, he couldn't stop blinking to try to get rid of it.
Why was he exhausted lately? He could just suck it up, no big deal.
"...shim—"
Maybe he should've bought more energy drinks.
"...shima."
Actually, he could technically just close his eyes—
"Kirishima."
His eyes suddenly snapped fully open, his head spinning. He looked up — he didn't realize his head was low — as he saw Aizawa glaring down at him. His teacher, however, didn't seem disappointed like he expected him to.
"Kirishima, I've called you several times now." Aizawa sternly stated, frowning a bit, and the words registered in the redhead's brain just 5 seconds later. "Oh, sorry!" Eijirou blurted, scratching his neck a tad harshly. It burnt and he was confused.
A sigh. "...You have eyebags, Kirishima. How long have you been up for, and importantly, why? If you knew you'd have class today, you should've rested."
Eijirou felt his voice die out as he tried to breathe. Somehow, Aizawa's voice was louder than usual. Nobody seemed to notice every grain in his groggy voice like Eijirou could.
"It's— nothing serious! I was uh—"
Maybe now was the time to get his brain engines working, and come up with something. He could feel nineteen pairs of eyes, excluding Aizawa, burning into his head. He confirmed his suspicions when he caught a glimpse of Kaminari's worried face as the boy was turned around in his chair, looking back at him.
Aizawa repeated his question, or at least that's what Eijirou thought. He could only see the lips moving, which was hard under the scarf.
"I was stuck on homework." He mumbled, his head lowering as he tried to avoid the man's gaze — or everyone's. Well, he didn't lie ; it just wasn't the truth either. He didn't want to do homework, but he couldn't sleep. So he might as well have gotten into it, wanting to be useful.
He heard a deep sigh from above and it took everything in his willpower to keep his tears from suddenly showing up in his eyes. They had no reason to be there. Unwelcome.
Aizawa was looking down at him or so it felt like, inspecting before Eijirou’s head bobbed a bit and he mentally slapped himself for it.
"...Kirishima, you're free to leave." A series of protests sounded in the room, making him twitch as it was all too much, all too loud. Though they all shut up, presumably from a death glare.
Eijirou slowly looked up, eyes a bit wide but he took the offer. He stood shakily, nodding once before mumbling a thanks. He immediately got out of his seat, ignoring how his vision swayed before he ran out of the class.
Maybe he should've contained himself when he left with scratch marks on his desk, since the inevitable concern was following him like a weight.
"What the hell am I doing,"
He panted out as he sank against one of the bathroom stalls, clutching his head. It had been too obvious he was sleep-deprived, apparently. It was only Monday and he started the week horribly, his thoughts were all shoved against each other and he did not know which one to focus on. His mind picked out the bold one, an old wound.
He thought he hated his quirk when he was young.
He tried to ignore the awful scent of the toilet in front of him, hell, even slamming the lid down as he tried to breathe. The bathrooms of the U.A. weren't remotely dirty. He was getting worked up over nothing; even more so, he had no reason to think about his quirk out of the blue.
Because it hurt him.
His hand subconsciously hovered over his right eye, cringing internally as he remembered the night his quirk appeared. His other hand, however, grabbed onto his chest tightly. As if squeezing it would steady the sudden rhythm of his pounding heart.
He thought he had recovered, though he supposed it wasn't an old wound after all. Even after Rappa, the sports festival, after everything he had gone through. All of that progress came crashing down each time he did so little as mess up a simple task. He chose to think about it negatively each time he felt even remotely upset — about anything.
Good for nothing.
He could hear cloth tear before he bit down a yelp, eyes snapping down with shock. The pain brought him back to his senses. His hand; why was he hardening? Blood— blood —
Maybe it still does hurt him.
Not a second later, he opened the same lid he had closed, gripping at the sides as he poured his stomach into it; which wasn't a lot, considering he only ate a toast. Acid swirled around in his stomach, some of it burning his throat.
He hated it .
Tears started streaming down his face, his grip hard enough to break the concrete of the toilet. His eyes burnt by the time it was over. He leaned back again, biting his tongue to shut any pain he felt; it hurt.
He hated it so much.
He managed to get back to the dorms without anyone noticing; mainly because they were still attending classes. He thought his stay in the bathroom had taken ages and yet not even the last period was over. He didn't bother to go to Recovery Girl over such a trivial matter either, he had some sort of pride, thank you very much.
He just grabbed a few cookies and water bottles, hesitantly taking an additional energy drink, hoping the supply would last long so he wouldn't have to get out of his room. Normally, he would love hanging out with his friends; grabbing his switch to play with Kaminari, letting Mina try makeup styles or braids on him, watching movies with Sero with a huge load of popcorn, and listening to Jirou play music while he dozed off. And Bakugou, well—
He immediately slammed the door shut and sat down against it, feeling his face contort from the impact.
Bakugou had a rather weird way of showing appreciation, but they could understand it through his actions. To most people, it seemed like his usual explosive attitude. Eijirou was aware Bakugou cared, though; even though the blond wouldn't admit it even under a gun.
Gun.
The word itself only made a sound, firing inside his head as he flinched. Okay, he was starting to hallucinate. Sleeping — or trying to — was the best choice.
Letting the snacks lie wherever he had dropped them, he crawled into his bed, unaware of how he was still in his uniform or how his chest was still bleeding from his earlier tantrum.
A shot.
The trigger went off again and he jerked from under the covers. It made no sense. Sleep had caught up to him after so long, so why—
And another.
Now, it was getting abnormal—
Suddenly, he heard a loud alarm and he shot up instantly. That wasn't in his head. Was there a shooting? At U.A.?
He stumbled to his window — almost walking into his punching bag — before opening it as he bent to see what was going on. Judging by the sound alone, he suspected it was Mr. Snipe who was firing the shots; no one else carried a gun like that around.
He blinked again before he saw what the teacher was dodging attacks from — a beast. Why is Mr. Snipe alone? Is no one hearing the shots or the alarm?
The deafening sound of the bullets were starting to get annoying. He groaned, opening his window wider before he stepped onto the ledge, hardening his feet. He jumped down, breaking the concrete from the impact. With no further stalling, he started sprinting towards the fight. He failed to realize, however, that the beast was a Nomu.
"...ima!"
He was getting a sense of deja vu. His whole body hurt and his head spun. His skin was somewhat broken, blood seeping from under the cracks. What happened? His vision was unusually hazy.
"...rishima!"
Was he unconscious? No, he could feel himself standing. Well, not standing, more like on one of his knees. He tried to open his eyes, but they couldn't open more than they were. His head spun around continuously, the swaying was to blame; actually, was he swaying or getting swayed?
"..Christ, Shitty hair!!" And with that beautiful voice screaming into his face, he received a metaphorical — or physical, he couldn't detect — slap that woke him up to some extent.
He inhaled sharply, blinking before he looked in front of him. He nearly flinched away from the close proximity as red eyes bore into his. "How many times do I have to call your name, fuckhead? You deaf or something!?" Bakugou grabbed him from his arm to make him stand up, but Eijirou only stumbled again as he hit the ground with the same battered knee.
"What— What happened?" He asked quietly, now looking around and figuring the whole class was circling them. His classmates and some teachers— even the principal were there.
"Kacchan! Kirishima is injured, we should—"
"Don't tell me what I already know, Jesus!"
Eijirou tuned them out, focus shifting from the two bickering to the scene over Bakugou's shoulder, a swarm of teachers and students standing with the beast he was fighting was on the ground— wait, a Nomu?
"It's down." He flinched when he heard Aizawa call from beside him, his eyes looking a bit drier than usual.
Using his quirk on the Nomu, huh.
"What happened?" Eijirou repeated, trying to get his — somewhat rasped — voice through Bakugou and Midoriya's bantering. Aizawa seemed to notice, frowning a bit before he grabbed Kirishima from Bakugou's grasp — who was far happier to let go so he could stomp towards the poor boy.
"We heard shots mid-class, and when we got here, Snipe was already injured and you were up against the Nomu." He explained calmly, eyeing the scene again and Eijirou nodded. "It doesn't seem to have a strong regeneration quirk, so the injuries will suffice in slowing him down." Aizawa glimpsed at Eijirou's hardened claws and then back at the Nomu.
Eijirou looked down as well, eyes widening when he noticed them coated in blood. He gazed back at the Nomu, noticing a very visible hole through its torso. Did he do that?
"I don't remember doing anything." He groaned, wincing when suddenly everything was too loud. Aizawa's worried glare only got worse as he looked around for the small old lady figure. Not too long after, Recovery Girl was making her way towards them.
"Would it be okay to treat him right here?" Aizawa asked gently, now glancing at Eijirou who finally disabled his hardening, and instantly, blood dripped from his chest. Aizawa frowned but didn't voice his thoughts and boy was Eijirou glad; he did not need a lecture.
"Why of course, dear. Come a bit closer." She only said before her lips extended, placing a not-so-quiet kiss on Eijirou's face before retracting. "He doesn't have major injuries, as far as I can see. Though, he might pass out from—"
And Eijirou did, right back into Aizawa's arms without a care in the world. Fast asleep, Kirishima's mind finally went quiet, his eyes closing without the fear of opening them to cold sweat.
Aizawa glanced down at the boy, seeing the dents on his chest fade but the blood remained. He glanced around the scattered students, all worried in one way or another, before turning to the only person standing aside.
"Iida, please take Kirishima back to the dorms."
Even though Iida did not seem pleased with the idea of a dirty Kirishima lying down on the bed — as seen on his face — he didn't pry into his privacy so he only did as he was told, carrying Kirishima gently to the dorms and silently entering his room.
He noticed the small snacks right next to Kirishima's bed but didn't comment on it. Without any other words, he shooed Kirishima's friends out of the room, to let him rest, as he closed the door. Quieting down the blond was not easy.
The sheets felt weird. The silence was too loud and his breathing was far too echoed in his head. He couldn't believe he jolted awake from his own breathing, snapping his eyes open. He quickly reached out for the phone he had dropped down next to the window while stretching a bit too much that caused him to groan.
3:08 A.M.
At least he got some sleep. It didn't help the fact his stomach was growling, though. He knew he'd wake others up if he were to go down and prepare himself something at the dead of night.
Besides, he still had the cookies.
Even though his whole body hurt when he moved, with no visible injuries in sight, he reached his hand down to pick the cookies up. Thankfully, no one — particularly Kaminari — had taken them while he was out cold. Starting to rip the packaging open, he hated how loud it was and prayed to every deity out there that his neighbors didn't wake up.
After a while, he satisfied his stomach just enough so he wouldn't starve.
A few minutes passed and Eijirou heaved a sigh, looking up at the ceiling as he processed what went down in the day. He got dismissed by Aizawa early, apparently saved Snipe, and apparently knocked out a Nomu — the two last parts he didn't quite remember.
Was Aizawa messing with him? Was dismissing him a joke to make him actually listen? Or was it genuine? Good god, he remembered nothing from the day's classes. His notebooks were empty and he couldn't just ask for all of it from someone! Maybe he could request different subjects and their notes from different people. It could work, yeah. Otherwise, he was sure that Bakugou would blast his face off if he asked for his notes again.
Bakugou.
The scene of his concerned scowl came reeling back in front of his eyes, his heart aching. He had made them all worry to the point that even Bakugou seemed worried enough to shake him into oblivion. He didn't know why it bothered him, how it felt so wrong and the expression didn't look too belonging on his face.
All he knew was his tears streaming down his face for no reason, wetting the dried-out blood from the battle beforehand.
He had to wash himself.
He practically whimpered as he leaned against the wall in the shower, both hands covering his arms as if he were hugging himself.
He had managed to wash himself properly, but something about the water hurt. It stung like little needles, hot and cold at the same time, and he couldn't bear being under it anymore. He frantically closed the faucet, letting out a relieved whine before he slid down the wall.
Hell, even the water droplets hitting the floor were too much to handle. Even the water pouring down the drain, in the long tunnels, was too much.
Eijirou wanted to wail, wanted to rip his ears off and tear everything apart. But that wasn't manly. That wasn't mature, he knew that. He couldn't just throw a tantrum because everything was too much, so suddenly.
Why was everything so loud?
He breathed in deeply but tried to do it without a sound as he opened his eyes which were tight shut. God, the light. Even the small light bulb was way too bright.
Before he knew it, he had pulled it out of its socket and thrown it into the sink, shattering it. He didn't appreciate the sound. Finally, some darkness. Maybe Tokoyami's point of view wasn't so bad—
A mental sigh.
Who was he kidding, he was trembling now. A stupid sense of loneliness was starting to claw at his stomach, grab his throat, and poke his eyes. Somehow, his eyes got used to the darkness too quickly, too fast. And now everything was bright again.
He just had to close his eyes, right? It would be alright.
And so he did. It wasn't alright. Even in his brain, there was a little lamp lit up. Somehow it was brighter than ten of Bakugou's explosions at once—
The word explosion made itself known by exploding in his head.
He couldn't handle it anymore. He put his hands to his ears, a cry gurgling in his throat before he gave in. He cried, he wept, and he tried to do it as quietly as possible. Even though he wanted to scream his throat raw, he kept quiet. He had covered his ears, and his voice echoed in his head so he took them off but now his cries were deafening.
Somebody, please just knock me out.
And he tried to do that, his hands desperately gripping his own throat as he hardened them. His neck hardened in reflex and Eijirou hated how — out of all the times he needed it — it was working at the wrong time.
He willed it away and soon enough, his vision wasn't as bright as before. The sounds weren't making him lose his mind, and his own voice wasn't that annoying. The only problem was that he stopped breathing for it to work.
No one heard the gasp for air before he collapsed on the hard wet tiles.
•