ShigaTodo Stories Book 2

🫨Empty in the Core🥀

Word count:  4,387

Type of story: angst but it's fluff at times. 
Basic Summary: After a long, tiring week at UA, Shoto returns to the base when everyone else is on a mission. He drinks himself to sleep and wakes up to find he's started his cycle. 

Inspiration(s): A chat I had on Character AI.
Warning(s): Gender dysphoria, mentions of past SH and description of SH scars, assisting someone to bathe. Shoto is trans(FTM) in this story, so if you're not a fan of that do not read.

The way his head pounded was as if he had been struck with a mallet, then filled with lead. Shoto could barely lift himself up off the floor he found himself laying on. His body was oddly weak in the current moment, arms shaking as Shoto tried to use them to push his form up. Eventually he did manage to sit up, running his fingers up through his disheveled bangs, finding a cold sweat thinly coating his forehead. 


Groaning lowly as he rubbed the hoof of his palms against his aching skull, Shoto gradually began opening his eyes. His vision was blurred and the room seemed to move on its own. ' This is even worse than Wednesday's concussion...' Shoto manages to think to himself, recalling the injury he suffered earlier that week. It had been during training when he was caught off his guard, getting hit in the head from behind by falling rubble. 


Glancing over, Shoto notices as his vision focused just slightly that there was a hole in the wall. Around the edges of it appeared to be scorch marks, chunks of drywall having fallen and left a trail of dust behind them on the floor. Nearby was an empty bottle of some kind of booze he couldn't quite read the label of. Confused, Shoto gradually -as he nearly fell over onto his face- reached out and grabbed the bottle. It was near completely empty; Shoto didn't drink often, but when he did it was never a lot.


Finding this discovery odd at first, Shoto slowly begins to realize that his headache was more than likely a hangover of sorts. ' I must've really gone all out..' After the week he had, Shoto didn't really blame himself for wanting to drink so much, despite his present self regretting it greatly. Even now he somehow felt worse than he had yesterday, though in some areas he felt better. His body felt numb to the bruises and aches all over, meanwhile his mental state was thin as graphene.


Looking around his room a bit more in an attempt to get his senses up and running, Shoto's attention is brought to a dark area of the floor in front of him. It was a stain of some sort, darker than the color of the wooden floorboards. Then, Shoto saw a similar shade along the crotch and inner thighs of his pants. Bewildered, his shaky hand reached out and touched the stain, pulling his hand back to see a very familiar reddish-orange color on his skin. Blood.


Reality slams into Shoto like a freight train as he realizes that the stuff was blood.
The date...what was the date..? In a panic he found getting up a little easier, despite still being uneasy and sloppy on his trembling legs. Shoto rushed to the calendar, body slamming into the wall as his hand reached out and ripped it from the wall. While his vision still wasn't great, Shoto manages to read the words in red print. 


Already fragile in his state of mind, Shoto let out a frustrated and despair-filled sob of defeat. The calendar was set on fire before being tossed onto the floor, where it curled and crumbled in on itself. The reminder of his biology was a major blow to Shoto's already ailing masculinity, so much so the fire/ice user began to cry. He fell back to the floor, back sliding along the wall as his hands covered his face, muffling his hiccuping sobs. In an instant what little bit he had in him was ripped from Shoto's core, leaving behind searing, bleeding pain. 

While Shoto wasn't one to cry, for some reason he found he wasn't able to stop. No matter how much he rubbed his eyes dry, more tears came and ran down his cheeks. It felt like the more he cried, the more empty his core began. His lack of ever being able to properly emote left this anguish feeling absolutely suffocating; drowning in emotions he had no idea how to properly handle. The room felt all-enclosing, trapping Shoto in the corner as he wept. 


After a time, he managed to regain some form of composure, if Shoto's current state could even be considered composed. He briefly leaves his room, going to the closet further down the hall to rummage around inside it for supplies. He best start cleaning the mess before the blood ruins the wood..




___________


The front door to the base opens, the exhausted members of the LOV tumbling inside almost on top of each other. They all looked very reminiscent of dominoes; falling in one after the next. The mission was tiring, having needed vast amounts of manual energy from each of the villains who were a part of it. All were on the brink of passing out, running on fumes as they stumble around.


Dabi actually did collapse, dropping right onto the floor as he nudged the front door closed behind him. The ebony haired man fell right onto his face, falling fast asleep as soon as he collided with the wooden floorboards below. Twice wasn't too far behind, tripping on his own feet and landing on the love seat, where he too promptly passed out from exhaustion. 


Before he would go and pass out in his own bed, Shigaraki wanted to get a drink. After the long day he had, he would need at least a decent buzz before he could relax enough to even think of slumber. As he went over to the bar, Shigaraki paused as he did not see his favorite brand of whiskey; Kurogiri usually had it stocked up. He stared at the shelves in confusion for a time, before shaking his head. 'I must be more tired than I thought..'


Perhaps he was just imagining this. He'd check back again in the morning.


Shigaraki leaves and goes down the hallway that led towards the bedrooms. As he went on his way, the man happened to notice that one of the bedroom lights were on. It was Shoto's room. Again, this had him take a moment to pause. It was only a few hours after midnight, so Shoto shouldn't have been up yet. Along with that, Shigaraki could've sworn he heard the sound of scrubbing.


Srch...srch...srch...


Curiosity and -concern- bewilderment getting the better of him, the hand-wearing man approaches the door and creaks the door open enough for him to peek inside. There, he finds a rather concerning sight:


There was a hole in the wall, about fist-sized along with an empty bottle of whiskey. Unless someone was in Shoto's room drinking, you'd never find a bottle or can of liquor in the boy's space. As for the hole in the wall, the fire/ice user was never really physically violent with objects, even if he was extremely frustrated; Tomura may or may not be a bad influence on Shoto.


On the floor Shoto was continuously scrubbing some sort of stain, the chemical reaction making suds that were colored an orangeish-red from whatever was on the ground. The lower half of Shoto's body was bloodied, pants more than likely beyond saving due to the extent they were soaked with the substance. His left hand also appeared to have bloodied and bruised knuckles, proving wordlessly that he did in fact punch the wall at some point. The boy himself looked very drained, as if he too had just gone on the previous mission the LOV were just returning from. His turquoise/silver eyes were listless and were drained of life, almost akin to doll eyes. He continuously scrubbed the floorboard as if stuck in that movement.