Boku No Hero Academia One Shots [Book 1]

Eijiro Kirishima {1}

Requested by: babizizi

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Sighing softly, you raked a steady hand through your luscious (h/c) hair. Leisurely fluttering your eyes open, a hint of annoyance present, you locked gazes with him. He had positioned himself as close as he could be with a desk in the way, beginning to question you almost immediately.

"For the last time Kirishima, I don't know." You replied coldly, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

This was a common occurrence – every day he would ask the same questions, and every day you had the same responses. The dejected expression he willed himself not to pull near you played on his features, causing a subtle but rising feeling of guilt to well up inside you.

"Alright. Just...tell me when you're ready, okay?" He pleaded, eyes glossing over painfully.

In all honesty, his classmates often wondered why he persisted. Pursuing you relentlessly, only to get stabbed with an immense pain, Kirishima's heart broke a little each failed attempt. The rejection and humiliation he faced daily ate at him, yet he still shadowed you, appearing like a lost puppy that had just been kicked.

Pivoting around, he trudged back to his seat with a despondent air, emitting absentminded sighs every few minutes. Silent glares were directed your way, but you forced your attention elsewhere. Your actions were never intended to hurt the boy, you just weren't completely sure of your own feelings.

Taking the initiative, a usually infinitely cheerful girl bounded up to Kirishima, settling in a chair next to him. She rubbed his shoulders in an attempt at comfort, allowing his head to rest against her neck as she traced calming circles on his back. Her tone was gentle and loving as she whispered sweet words into his ear.

A single, unwanted tear rolled down his cheek, signalling his utter devastation. Panicked and agitated, Mina Ashido escorted him far from the source of his problem, leaving you behind in quiet, dismal contemplation.

That night you lay awake, wondering what your life would have looked like had he not been in it. Sobs echoed throughout your bedroom, as you realised the extent of your mistake. It was extremely difficult drifting to sleep, but a determination set in your mind – you would right this wrong. Finding an acceptable way to atone for the heartbreak he suffered daily, however, would be no easy feat.

For the next few days, various efforts were made on your part, but no matter how hard you tried, someone would either drag him away, or look at you in disgust, yelling at you to leave. More often than not, it was both. In endeavouring to make him understand your undecided emotions, you had repelled the people you cared for most.

As you set your heavy head on the desk, you managed to overhear a frankly preposterous conversation. The noise was quite obviously deliberate, expected to fully shatter your already fractured heart.

"Haha, yeah, Kiri's happy now. He's with Ashido, remember?"

"Thankfully. I mean, could you imagine him any more distressed?"

"That was fucked up. I didn't realise she was that horrible."

"Yeah. Playing with his feelings like that! How could she have led him on for so long?"

Gripping your ears so forcefully you nearly ripped them from your head, an agonising, internal rendition of that exchange panned out in your mind. Even when you stumbled through the classroom door, attempting to ignore the sickened expressions of your former friends, a distorted version of their discussion followed you, flooding your ears with unwelcome criticism.

Throwing yourself on one of the outside benches, your head buried in your hands, the tears cascaded down your cheeks, forming a small puddle on the ground. With irregular breaths, you slipped a shaky hand into your bag, searching around for something...anything to stop the hurting.

To stop the voices.

Eventually, your fingers brushed against a plastic bottle. Hurriedly pulling it out, you found a total of sixty-four remaining pills. Despite being prescribed these prior to your current predicament, there were still so many left. Gathering around ten or so, you rolled them about in your hand, readying a flask of water. They were practically useless, serving no further purpose, other than satisfying your untamed desire to finish the bottle.

So, glimpsing the ambitious, modern architecture of the building in which you spent countless joyous months, intoxicated on the thought of one day flourishing into a remarkable hero, you whispered a worthless farewell, releasing the bottle from your quivering hands.

"I'm sorry...Kirishima..."

[Word Count: 751]