✓LIFE SENTENCE|| TodoDeku Au

☆Eight☆

~ Third Person P.O.V ~

"It's amusing how you say sorry when I already have two feet in the grave. Sorry can't save me now . . ."
—BisexualCricket, Poetry Journal

Fuck, what was he doing?

Izuku seemed to be asking himself this same question for the past few days now. At this point, the answer to it was quite equivocal, for he had yet to discover the resolution himself. In the past two years he had only known three truths: 

All men were not created equal, some people had more power over others. To touch someone was a sin, no matter how people viewed it. And finally, if you let someone in — if you're naïve enough to trust someone — you'll only be hurt in the end.

And now? Well, he still believed these truths, yet he was beginning to see them in a different light. Now, whether that was a good thing or bad thing, he wasn't sure but . . . All he knew was that he allowed Shoto Todoroki — a man he had barely even met — help him. That has got to count for something, right? It was a pernicious realization that was for sure. And if Izuku were being utterly and truly candid that was the most frightening thing in the world. However, this didn't mean he was all of a sudden cured.

It didn't mean he dropped all his walls and actually trusted Shoto.

Hell, he barely knows anything about him!

But . . . it was a start? Maybe. Izuku didn't know why that start had to be with him yet here he was.

So, there he sat on a Wednesday afternoon, finishing up the remainder of his work while huddling himself in the corner of his bed. Shoto had been gone for quite some time now, while Bakugou and Kirishima had been over a few times throughout the day to check-in on the green-haired male. And while he greatly appreciated his brother and his brother's boyfriend checking-in, it could get rather suffocating at times — as odd as it sounds, he wanted to be left alone. Izuku wanted to be left to drown in his thoughts, floating in the ocean of words that clogged his mind. It was peculiar but true.

The doorknob began to rattle, causing an arctic shiver to crawl up his spine — yet he didn't flinch he had grown used to the sound. 

"Look, I'm not saying it's the best idea I've ever had, but it's not the worst either. So that's progress." Kirishima's voice reverberated throughout the small room.

Bakugou followed in soon after him, index and middle finger pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. "I swear sometimes I want to throw you out of a fucking window," he grumbled, going over to sit next to a confused Izuku.

"Kinky," The redhead replied smoothly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "How about you throw me into a brick wall too, just to spice things up."

"Well, as much as I love hearing your guys' dirty talk —" Izuku interrupted, clapping his hands. "— why are you here? And what's the stupid idea?"

The blond did a roll of his scarlet eyes, waving a dismissive hand as he glared at his boyfriend. "Eiji thinks it'd be a good idea to introduce you to our friends," Bakugou explained with a growl, "Which is pretty fucking stupid."

Izuku stiffened at the boy's words, thinking back to all the times Bakugou had told him stories of his wild friends. As far as Izuku was concerned there was just no chill in any of them, not to mention meeting new people wasn't exactly his forte. Just as he were about to decline he thought of his mother and father . . . Hell, the only reason why he was doing all of this in the first place was because of them — they'd want him to get better.

He had to do this, even if it killed him.

"That doesn't sound so bad," Izuku mumbled, his ashen face not matching up with his words; which was heavily noticed by his elder brother.

"Deku —" Bakugou started, again, only to be promptly cut off.

The green-haired male gave a shrug of his shoulders, attempting to wipe the reluctant expression from his features. "No, no really, Kacchan. I've been cutting myself off from the world for far too long . . . I have to do this,"

Kirishima watched silently as the two brothers conversed, somewhat admiring the elder male's words. "You sure?" he asked, cocking on fiery brow.

"Mhm . . . When would I be meeting them?" The smaller of the three questioned, heaving a sigh as he rubbed his hands against his arms.

The two boys exchanged pointed looks before turning their attention back onto Izuku, Bakugou being the first to speak up. "Oh, you know . . . Like in ten minutes," he sighed.

Ten minutes.

Izuku nodded his head stiffly, yet a plastered and unwavering smile rested on his lips as he stared at the floor. "Okay, just give me a few minutes to get ready." his response almost sounded robotic, like he had been programmed to give such a reply for nearly every situation.

As the duo exited the room why quietly bickering, the freckled male got up to lock the door behind them. His body shifting into auto-pilot as his feet scuffed against the hardwood flooring, arms stiff at his sides as he went into the bathroom his fresh clothes clutched in his palms. He needed to do this, at least that's what he kept trying to remind himself as he walked.

How would he ever get better if he didn't push himself?

How would he ever be free of the shackles placed around his mind and heart if he didn't do this?

How would he ever live if he didn't do this?

God damn it — Izuku just wanted to live again. Sure, he had been stuck at eighteen for about a year or two now but . . . that didn't matter. Physically he couldn't die, but on the inside? Little pieces of him were being chipped off slowly and thrown into his self-dug grave.

The showerhead sputtered and groaned before water shot out from the miniature holes, filling his ears with the almost static-like sound. Placing his clothes down he goes over to the mirror, easily pulling off his shirt and other clothing. He nearly scoffed in disgust as his bare body came into view, every inch of him was tainted and disgusting — at least in his eyes, it was. The bruises and scars were long gone and yet he still had them . . . Izuku's scars ran deeper than his thick blood.

And he hated it.

He knew this next part would be torture, but he had been doing it for the past couple of months now — there was no use in stopping. I want to get better. Izuku had seen a therapist only a handful of times at the beginning of the year; in which she told him one of the best ways to get over his . . . disliking of his body, and the feeling of touch is to rub his hand against the skin. More precisely, the parts that he found most . . . disgusting. Such as his chest.

The palms of his hands pressed firmly against the warm flesh, a shudder leaving his lips as his skin began to crawl. Izuku swallowed thickly as he slowly rubbed up and down, trying his best to think positively as he did so — a sharp prickly feeling rising underneath his fingertips as he continued his torture. Finally, after what seemed like the longest minute of his life he stopped.

Instantly getting in the shower and scrubbing away, as if he were scrubbing away the feeling.

This was going to be a long day.

Hello Cricket Cultists!!

Yeah . . . I got a little free time today so I wrote this shit.

I may or may not have cried while writing this . . .

More theories?? On anybody at this point idk.

Until we meet again!!!