Facade | Suicidal Todoroki x Bakugou

1 | Bleeding

Shouto Todoroki

Dawn seeped through the windows and bled across the walls of Todoroki's dorm. The encroaching waterfall of light dipped the inky furniture in a pale, blazing sheen that was almost like honey. Despite the saccharine connotations of the refulgent dawn, however, Todoroki simply thought that it heralded the beginning of another day in his life where nothing would be accomplished.

The dawn fills the world with light, Todoroki thought while blinking his bleary eyes open, but everything is still the same beneath it. I don't...want to get up. I didn't sleep. Today just keeps repeating. It all feels the same. Even the 'happy' moments still feel meaningless, but if meaningless is the best I've felt, can I really call that happiness? It should be. With a slow, steady sigh, Todoroki sat upright in his futon. If I told someone else about the good things, they'd surely say those were good, happy moments. But they don't feel that way. Still, I don't think I have the right to call that anything but happiness.

Staring with unblinking, frigid eyes directed at the floor, Todoroki slid his right hand over his left arm. His slender digits danced across the tenuous protrusions strewn across his arm from the scars that his sleeves concealed. Finally, his gaze drifted to his arm, and he found himself tugging his left sleeve up to his elbow.

At least I felt something when I cut myself, Todoroki inwardly sighed as his pupils glanced between each obtrusive scar streaking across his arm; the scars almost seemed to amalgamate around his wrist. Damn. My chest is tight. I want to cut again. I've been clean for six weeks, though. Weak. Can I not even make it a few months? I'm fucking pathetic. I'm doing fine, and yet, I have the audacity to cut myself. Then again, I deserve them.

Having plucked up the motivation to force himself out of his futon, Todoroki ambled into his bathroom and opened up one of his cabinets to retrieve a shard of glass. Wedging the transparent blade between his fingers, he brought it to his exposed left arm.

You deserve it, he internally vituperated while slashing the serrated shard of glass across his arm. All you do is fuck up the lives of the people around you. They say they care about you? Bullshit. They're just serving platitudes on a silver platter because you're too worthless to be worthy of any genuine solace. He felt his heart throbbing in his chest as the adrenaline surging through his veins benumbed his sense of pain. You don't even deserve to have friends. What makes you think you deserve to waste their time with your pathetic, good-for-nothing existence? You are a waste. You're a fucking waste of human life. Cut deeper. Cut deeper. That's what you fucking deserve.

With an augmented tenacity strangling the glass blade, Todoroki held his breath and began to frantically gouge through his flesh as though scrawling across a sheet of paper. Ribbons of cerise fluttered over his skin like contaminated, salty tears. Even so, the ardor fulminating in Todoroki's glacial eyes simply roared from his self-inflicted wounds.

Upon finishing his deleterious dance of destruction, Todoroki finally expelled the hot, stale breath that had been clawing at his lungs to be released. He sieved the partially-visible lacerations he'd created, but the majority had already been drowned with his own blood. He swallowed thickly and briefly scrunched his pounding eyes closed. Then, Todoroki shambled to the sink and shattered the ornaments of scarlet adorning his arm with a deluge of cold water.

It already took too long for me to get up, Todoroki growled at himself while bandaging up his arm that had been bestrewn with lacerations. I need to do this quickly. I'll be late. I can't fucking do anything right... What's wrong with me? Never mind. Nothing is wrong with me. I'm just treating myself the way I deserve to be treated. My problems don't mean a thing—they're paltry in comparison to what others go through. He espied his maladroit bandaging and shook his head. I'll just hope I don't bleed through again. Bleeding profusely like that was...awful.

After throwing himself together for the day like a cheap, plastic toy, Todoroki plodded forth to his class and rested his head on his right arm. He attempted to blink away the hefty haze glazing over his vision, but he found his eyes drooping shut instead.

My arm feels oddly warm, Todoroki realized, but rather than lifting his head to examine his arm, he pried one of his eyes open again at the sound of the bell blaring in his ears. So tired... I can't even sleep. I like sleeping because I can't feel the weight of reality when I'm asleep. Wake up. Check your arm. It's probably nothing. What if it's not? Just check. How fucking hard is it to lift your head? How useless can you possibly be?

Finally mustering up the energy to glance over at his arm, Todoroki's eyes gasped at the sight of crimson splotches mottling his left sleeve. A blistering gale of consternation swam through his blood and scorched his flesh. He frantically peered around the room, but a transient mist of relief soaked his being after he'd scanned to the front of the room.

I'll have to leave and deal with this s—

Todoroki's thoughts were severed once his gaze spun back to his desk. Inadvertently, he'd locked eyes with Bakugou, but Bakugou promptly averted his attention. Despite that, Todoroki could feel the sizzling sting of Bakugou's lingering gaze.

Damn, I hope he didn't see. It was only a brief moment. Surely he didn't. I can't leave now. But I can't forgive myself for making the same mistake twice. It feels like the only thing I ever accomplish is giving up and ending up as a fucking disappointment...