MY R.

Eight

-And like that, there was someone every day. I listened to their tale, I made them turn away. And yet there was no one who would do this for me, no way I could let out all this pain.

Kirishima arrived at the roof once more, and glanced around. Of course, he saw someone at the fences. He sighed and didn't bother to take his shoes off and made his way over. He saw white hair... And red hair? He froze as he realized who was going to jump. Todoroki?

The week after was Yaoyorozu.

Then Denki.

Sero.

He honestly didn't expect some of the students who were on the roof, but nevertheless, no matter what time of the day he went, someone was always there. It annoyed him. Despite what his friends and classmates were going through, he was wondering why they were on the roof. 

They didn't belong there.

Todoroki had to deal with past abuse, and his father. Yaoyorozu had to deal with self doubt and she thought she was only here because of her looks. Denki had to put up with the feeling of being weaker than everyone else and not fit to be a hero. And Sero's brother had died, without Sero by his side. There were some from class 1-b, and sometimes general studies. At some point, he saw Tsetsutetsu. He was there because he felt like a clone of Kirishima, and to be honest, Kirishima had felt the same as him. The both agreed on receiving the same amount of attention, and to stick up to each other at all times as bros. Another time he saw Shinso. Kirishima had to sit there for half an hour and try to convince him that he wasn't a villain, and Shinso had nothing to prove. 

Kirishima looked up at the sky as soon as Shinso had left, a slim tear rolling down his slightly chubby cheeks. He wiped it away as soon as it reached his trembling lip, before he looked down. He thought for a moment.

What would happen if he just went now? Why did he have to do it at the sunsets, when everyone was around? It would be so much easier.

He shook his head slowly, a loose strand of red hair falling from behind his ear. He held a hand over his eye, weeping silently. After a few hours of crying, he begun to realize something.

Every time someone had cried or tried something on this roof, the same person had come up and made them turn away. The same person, every time. They had stopped multiple suicides, but no matter how many times he helped someone, he was never saved in return.

This was the exact reason he wanted to go. No one cared. He wasn't an important asset of the world, everyone used him only to cheer themselves up. He wasn't unmanly. He was a faggot, who was kicked out of his own home at the age of 15, only to be bought back, as a cycle. His quirk wasn't appealing at all, it was useless in a lot of situations.

He spun around on his heels as one last tear rolled down his cheeks. He struggled to compose himself, but did either way. Tomorrow. 

He will not wait another week like normal. Tomorrow was the day.