MHA Sickfics

039⭐️🌈Sensory issues🌈(no ship)

Short A/N before you read!!

1) Ive made some changes w my writing style, I've put some lines when some time in the fanfiction passed.

2) if you haven't read my message on my message board,
there are only 11 chapters of this book left until im gonna stop writing sickfics, im very sorry for the decision ive made.
I keep writing fanfictions just not about my hero academia since im not really a fan of it anymore.
—-

Sick: Shoto
Caretaker: Aizawa

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning sunlight pierced Shoto's eyelids, pulling him unwillingly from sleep. His breath hitched. The light was too sharp, stabbing through the curtains he'd carefully drawn the night before. The chirping of birds outside was relentless, each note like a needle prick in his ears. Shoto's hand shot out, fumbling to pull the blankets over his head. The muffling helped, but not enough. His chest felt heavy, tight, as though someone was sitting on him.

He closed his eyes tightly and focused on breathing. **In through the nose, out through the mouth.**

It didn't help. The sensations were still there, crawling under his skin.

Shoto pushed himself upright, blinking against the assault of light, and stumbled toward the bathroom. Maybe getting ready for school would help distract him. Routine often grounded him on bad days. He started the water for a shower, leaning against the sink while it warmed. His reflection in the mirror looked pale and exhausted, dark shadows hanging under his mismatched eyes.

When he stepped under the stream of water, he flinched. The temperature, though perfect yesterday, felt wrong today—too cold on one side of his body, too hot on the other. He bit back a frustrated noise and focused on scrubbing quickly.

By the time he was dressed in his uniform, his skin was crawling. The stiff fabric brushed against him in all the wrong ways, the seams rough against his shoulders and arms. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. Maybe it would ease up when he was distracted at school.

---

The classroom was bustling by the time Shoto arrived. Kirishima was recounting an exaggerated tale to Kaminari and Sero, their laughter ringing loudly across the room. Yaoyorozu was helping Jirou with a physics problem, their conversation punctuated by the sound of rustling papers. Shoto slipped into his seat, dropping his bag at his feet.

He hunched his shoulders, trying to block out the noise. It felt like the walls were closing in. Every voice seemed magnified, overlapping in a chaotic din that made his head pound. The flickering overhead lights buzzed faintly but persistently, a sound that no one else seemed to notice but grated on Shoto's nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"Hey, Todoroki!" Midoriya's cheerful voice cut through the noise. "Good morning! Did you—?"

Shoto held up a hand, his movements stiff. "Not now." His voice came out sharper than intended, and Midoriya stepped back, blinking in surprise.

"Uh, okay. Sorry," he mumbled, retreating to his own desk.

Guilt joined the cacophony of emotions swirling in Shoto's chest. He hadn't meant to snap. But the sound of Izuku's voice, kind and inquisitive as always, had felt like too much.

---

By lunchtime, Shoto was barely holding it together. The fabric of his uniform felt like sandpaper against his skin. His nails dug into his palms under the desk, his only method of grounding himself amidst the sensory overload. When the lunch bell rang and his classmates began chatting excitedly, it became unbearable.

Shoto stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The noise cut through him like a knife, and he froze for a moment before bolting from the classroom.

He didn't know where he was going until he found himself in the bathroom, locking himself inside a stall. He slid down to the floor, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and his vision blurred with tears he couldn't hold back.

The scratchiness of his uniform, the buzzing lights, the relentless noise—it was too much. He couldn't escape it, couldn't shut it out. The walls of the stall felt too close, but stepping outside felt impossible. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and his hands trembled as he pressed them against his ears, trying to block out the world.

---

It was almost an hour later when a knock echoed softly against the stall door.

"Shoto," came a familiar voice. Calm, steady, grounding. Aizawa.

Shoto didn't respond, but he pulled his knees closer to his chest. He didn't want to be seen like this—weak, vulnerable.

"I know you're in there," Aizawa said gently. "Take your time. I'll stay out here."

The quiet assurance in his teacher's voice broke something in Shoto. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and took a shaky breath.

Aizawa didn't push. Minutes passed in silence, the man's presence a quiet anchor on the other side of the door.

"I... can't," Shoto finally whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Can't what?" Aizawa asked.

"Everything," Shoto choked out. "It's all too much."

There was a pause before Aizawa responded. "That's okay. Let's focus on one thing at a time. Start with your breathing. Can you match mine?"

Shoto hesitated but nodded, even though Aizawa couldn't see him. He strained to hear the slow, deliberate rhythm of his teacher's breaths and tried to mimic them. **In for four counts, hold for four, out for four.** It wasn't perfect, but it helped.

"Good," Aizawa said after a moment. "You're doing well. Take your time. When you're ready, we can talk."

---

Shoto didn't know how much time passed before he felt stable enough to unlock the stall door. Aizawa was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression soft and patient. He straightened when he saw Shoto.

"You don't have to explain," Aizawa said before Shoto could speak. "But I need to know—do you want to go back to class, or do you need a break?"

Shoto looked away. "I can't... go back. Not like this."

"Understood." Aizawa gestured toward the door. "Let's get out of here. Fresh air might help."

Shoto followed him out of the bathroom, grateful for his teacher's quiet presence. They ended up in a secluded spot outside, away from the noise of the other students. The gentle rustling of leaves and the cool breeze were a welcome relief from the sensory chaos of the classroom.

Aizawa sat on the grass, gesturing for Shoto to do the same. "Bad sensory day?"

Shoto nodded hesitantly. "Everything's... too loud, too bright. My uniform feels like it's attacking me."

Aizawa hummed thoughtfully. "Have you considered sensory accommodations? Softer fabrics for your uniform, noise-canceling headphones, tinted glasses?"

Shoto blinked. He hadn't, though the idea made sense. "I didn't think it was an option."

"It is," Aizawa said firmly. "You don't need to suffer in silence. We can work with the school to make sure you have what you need."

Shoto's chest felt a little lighter at the thought. "Thank you."

"You're not alone in this," Aizawa said. "I'm here to help. Always."

---

The rest of the day was quiet. Aizawa let Shoto sit in his office, away from the overwhelming stimuli of the classroom. The noise-canceling headphones he provided dulled the world to a manageable hum, and Shoto found himself breathing easier.

By the time the school day ended, Shoto felt steadier. As he walked back to the dorms, Aizawa's words lingered in his mind. He wasn't alone. And for the first time in a long time, he believed it.

(One of my favorite sickfics actually)