A story about Izuku's problems with his mother's death and his abusive father. Deku slowly opens up after hiding his emotion from his classmates and teachers. And soon regrow a relationship with Bakugo to be more than friends.
⚠️Warning ⚠️
Lord this...
{Many mature and triggering subjects are included in this story, so if at any point you don't feel comfortable, feel free to leave. Pls, be careful.}
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~Deku's POV~
The silver doorknob felt cool in my hand as I turned the handle and entered my small, one-room apartment. Quietly locking the door behind me.
I placed my bag down and kicked off my shoes before sitting on the couch. I bought my knees to my chest and hugged them as tears started to run down my cheeks.
Like most days, today was not a good day. Yes, I was a student at U.A, but that didn't mean it was easy, if anything it meant it was harder. At school, we were given a ton of homework plus I lost a sparring match against Kacchan, the insults that he shouted at me still echoed in my head.
The tears wouldn't stop flowing down my face, like a broken water fountain. I wiped the tears onto the sleeve of my blazer, knowing what would stop them. Standing up, I walked into my room, decorated with All Might posters. I reached into my closet and grabbed a small black box.
That box was my world, my friend, the thing that could make me forget, make me stop crying and save me from myself. I walked to the bathroom with the box in hand. I walked through the door and, closing it behind me.
The white tile floor was cold underneath me, as I sat, my back resting against the door. I looked forward to the light blue walls before looking back at the box.
I looked at it for several moments before opening it. The top of the box laid on the floor beside me as I stated inside the now open box. The box was filled with blades, from knife blades to razor blades. Some were tinted red or brow, but others were still new and unused. Even seeing the blades relieved some of the pain and stress in my head.
I picked up a red-tinted razor blade and removed my blazer, throwing it to the side and rolled up my sleeves. As I rolled my sleeves, it revealed old scars, some I had made and others were made by the man I called father. I placed the blade on my left wrist as the voices started to get louder.
"Stupid" the voice yelled.
One cut.
"Weak"
Two cuts.
"Fat"
Three cuts.
"Useless"
Four cuts.
"........" the voice paused before speaking again.
