Suicidal Todoroki x Midoriya | What it Means to Love

49 | Sweet Deceit

Shoto Todoroki

How queer. You are oddly perceptive of repression, Aizawa. You must have had quite the experience with it, regardless of whether or not you were the victim of it yourself. '...doesn't mean you're fine on the inside, right?' To hear those words from you...

"I do not want to burden you," I counter with a reactionary murmur. "I cannot fathom why you are so persistent like Midoriya. Please, forget about me and proceed with your day. I should be getting home."

I should be ripping through my skin to add to my collection of scars. Puncturing, slashing, sawing... Watching the putrid blood of my being bubble to the surface and spill out is incredibly enticing. I deserve it. Every last scar. I deserve them all. I deserve more.

He shakes his head, taking a step towards me. "Even if you were to become a burden—which, I don't think I'll have to worry about that—that would be my own fault. I'm persistent because I've seen what has transpired to others somewhat similar to you, Todoroki. It's fairly feasible to assume that I won't forget about you, either. You are my student, and one of my top students at that. Whatever matters you have to attend to at home can be put aside for now. Hey, look at me." He halts his movements and turns to face me with a neutral expression, although something about it is comforting. He curls his hand into a fist and lightly presses his knuckles into my chest. "I'm trusting that you won't be reckless enough to act on impulse towards my proposition. I'll lend you my hand this afternoon, as opposed to a much longer duration, but you'll have to answer a series of questions from me. Additionally, these questions might be very candid, so they might be uncomfortable to answer." The injunction of his jet-black eyes fails to subjugate my equanimity, although it is rather vexing to hear.

I nod in agreement, despite the broken symphony of fell words resounding in my head. "And if I decline your hand?" I decide to inquire with a pedestrian tone. "You don't have any choice but to accept," Aizawa states with an unyielding stare rendering his statement as unequivocal. "I see. That is unfortunate," I mutter with an inconsolable frigidity to my acrimonious words.

Once we reach Aizawa's light gray, medium-sized house that has a small concrete pathway leading up to it, he opens the door for me like I typically would for Midoriya. His house is quite generic and has a minimalist feel, but it is fully equipped with modern furniture and appliances. The walls are white and the floor is also white, but there is a large blackish-gray carpet sprawled out in the living room.

It feels utterly sublime not to be confined within the haunting walls of my own house where my deplorable memories implore me to perform less than favorable actions. However, being plunged into the halls of an unfamiliar household isn't incredibly ideal. Additionally, this foreign territory belongs to Aizawa, whose intent is to endeavor the amelioration of simple trash.

Aizawa guides me towards his relatively large, yet comfortably sized living room. "Go ahead and sit somewhere in the living room. I'm making tea. Anything you want?" He leans his body against the wall while waiting for my reply.

I believe that I will be able to hold down tea. "I suppose earl grey. Weak, strong, sweet, or bitter—whatever is easiest for you. I am already asking for enough." I sit myself down at a lone black chair facing a coffee table in the center of the living room.

"Can I get you anything else?" I can easily deduce what it is that he's prodding at, but I still shake my head and thank him. "I'll be back in a few minutes," Aizawa announces before disappearing into the kitchen.

He is being unnaturally kind to me. Why do I deserve to be treated like this? I begin to brood while casting my sullen gaze to three lone pictures framed on the wall. One is a picture of a woman with medium-length sea-green hair grinning brightly with one arm around Aizawa's neck; Aizawa looks indifferent, but a faint trace of surprise lies in his eyes. The second is a picture of Aizawa and Present Mic as children; Present Mic has a wide, cheeky smile, and Aizawa is expressing one of his unwonted, genuine smiles. The final picture seems to be fairly recent, and it is of Aizawa with a cat nestled into his lap, one sitting atop his head, another curled into his capture cloth, and one walking across his arm; he seems quite content with the furry bundles.