Suicidal Todoroki x Midoriya | What it Means to Love

50 | I Don't Matter

Shoto Todoroki

You should have died instead of your mother. She was such a wonderful woman with a heart of an immaculate white. She never meant harm. Rather than her presence gracing the world, the world has you. You are an execrable disgrace. You don't matter.

I would have gladly taken her place if I'd been given the opportunity. If a quirk exists to reverse the damage, I would sacrifice virtually anything to coerce the user. Adversity believes it is a great friend of mine, much to my chagrin.

Aizawa closes his eyes in contemplation of my previous statement. "Tell me a few good things about yourself, then." Now blinking, his eyes run across my left half.

Nothing. There is nothing that I appreciate about myself. No facet of mine is deserving of any form of gratitude by anyone or anything. Everything... There is something that I detest about every part of me. Palpable or not, there is something that fills me with revulsion. I don't like myself. What a drastic understatement. I hate my very own blood. No amelioration would truly mitigate the beast of rancor residing within me. Throbbing is the desire to sink my nails into my skin until the person beneath the lucent scarlet is unidentifiable. Even then, the damage would not suffice. No... Never.

Unconsciously flicking my nails at the scabs on my arms, I manually pull my hands back once I free a flap of scabbing skin that, upon tugging at to remove, will more than likely result in a thin strip of skin being torn off and the old wound being reopened. "Hmm. Ah, I suppose I have a strong quirk." My eyes finally glance down to my hands. "I... That is all I can think of. I'm sorry."

This quirk is what decided my fate. If I had known, I would have chosen to be born quirkless. This quirk contributed to putting Mom in the hospital. My flames look like his vile beasts. Even so, these flames are my own. They do not belong to him.

"That's it, huh? You see your only asset as something you suppressed half of for quite some time? Right. Your statements certainly don't line up with the person I'm looking at right now." He glances at my cup of tea before looking me over. "Look up. Let me see your eyes again."

Subserviently obeying Aizawa's command, I allow him to take a deep gander into my dull eyes. "Those eyes tell me a lot. You've been through hell and back, I'm going to assume. You lost your brother, father, and mother this year. I remember when I first saw you in your hero costume. You covered your left half with ice and refused to use your flames. It takes more than simply disliking a part of your quirk to completely refuse to entertain the idea of using it and to carry out extensive efforts to conceal the fact that it is a salient part of you. Am I right to assume that this was out of self-reproach?" His gaze of onyx hardens.

Stop interfering with my own problems. I do not need another person brooding over me. I do not need any aid with my problems. I dug these atrocities up from the ground, so it is henceforth my own war to fight. I am the one who should be reforming them or burning in them. Is it too much to ask to allow myself to burn with my mistakes?

"You would be correct," I reluctantly admit with a minor scowl. "But that is no longer the case," I lie in a bland, mundane sigh.

Tilting his head, Aizawa looks at my hands. "Oh? Then show me your arms." I know that he knows that I know that he knows about my arms, and yet he demands to see them. I comply nonetheless, offering my arms to Aizawa as the rancid bitterness of boiling guilt and piercing defeat sinks its venomous fangs into my neck. Slipping my sleeves back, I reveal past scars, healing wounds, and bandages wrapped around my recent streaks of self-inflicted cuts. "You're still doing it, huh? We'll have to—"