✓LIFE SENTENCE|| TodoDeku Au

☆Thirty☆

~ Third Person P.O.V ~ *Trigger Warning*

"You lurk in your shadows, cowardly. You attack from behind, mischievously. Yet despite it all, I once loved you . . . ridiculously . . ."
—BisexualCricket, Poetry Journal

As the small group of men walked briskly across campus and towards the dorms Izuku could not help but delve into the mind-numbing sensations of dread, guilt, and pure rage. 

It had been silent between the four as Izuku and Shoto impatiently awaited an answer from an ashen-faced Bakugou; his conventional sharp and taunting eyes had been drained and went slack at Shoto's question, losing any sense of life it had once had moments ago. Something wasn't right. Izuku could sense that from the moment the words let his love's mouth.

"Monoma," Bakugou finally managed to whisper, his jaw locked and eyes distant as Kirishima placed a comforting yet firm hand on his shoulder.

And, with that, they were here. Speed-walking silently towards the dorm building with a tension-clogged cloud hanging delicately overhead—goadingly wavering and shifting with each footstep the boys took. Once they arrived to their destination, other residents walking down the halls cleared a path for them as if they had sensed or noticed the animosity flickering in each and every one of their eyes. 

Threatening to spark and catch flame.

Dread went slick against the slippery thin film of Izuku's flesh, coating every inch and crevice of him like second glaze of skin. It was all he felt as they walked down those familiar halls; halls which were probably tarnished with Monoma's horrid steps or touches; withering with the lingering breaths he may or may not have taken. It was nearly paradoxical, impossible, for Izuku not to question what had happened within that moment—What did Monoma want? Had he been here? Why did he do it?—however, those well-deserved questions never made it past the heavily guarded barrier of his lips. Trapped.

And, as they spun the corner Izuku's eyes landed on their dorm room door. Which had oddly had scratches and the smallest of indents that only became visible when you got closer.

Guilt had then sent its course through his bloodstream. Every ounce of blood and other fluids that constructed his body had been tinctured and tainted with his everlasting guilt. How could he have left? Why had he left? His safety was the least of his worries in comparison to that of his elder brother's. His protector. His best friend. The only other person on the planet, aside from Shoto, who knew Izuku inside and out. And he had left him there defenseless—after all the years Bakugou had devoted to protecting Izuku—not returning the favor he had been given long ago.

After Kirishima had ushered them all into the room, which had appeared as though it had been ransacked, all Shoto and Izuku could do was gape at it. Their dressers had been pulled open; Shoto's nightstand had been tilted on its axis all of its contents lay scattered on the floor; Izuku's bed along with the sheets were sprawled out on the floor, along with the few clothing items they left in the closet.

That bastard trashed the place.

Finally, pure rage had stung bitterly on the tip of Izuku's tongue. Like acid in its purest form, no inch of it left in a diluted state, for it twisted and contorted the depth of vision he harbored; controlling the depth of perception he willed; and harnessing whatever restraint Izuku possessed and unleashing it into half of its full-force—he would be saving the rest for when they found Monoma. His anger rippled across his skin, overpowering his dread. It wove into the seams of his guilt, overriding it until there was nothing but oxidized ash left in its wake.

Part of Izuku—the small part untouched by his animosity-shattered anger—wondered where this rather large supply of rage had come from. However, there was another part of him that could not help but feel a sense of familiarity at the feeling. For there had only been one time Izuku felt this way towards Monoma, an emotion besides fear: