i'll burn your name into my throat//todobaku

convince myself to come clean

"...advise you to seek medical attention." 

He looked up, eyes unfocused, right leg bouncing. He hadn't remembered spacing out, though he was still on auto-pilot from that night with Endeavour. "What?" He cleared his throat-- deepened his voice forcefully. "Sorry say that again?" 

Midnight rose a brow, but she did as requested. "I was just telling your mother-...I feel like you should see someone, Katsuki."  

His immediate reaction surprised even him. 

"I don't need a therapist. I'm not fucking suicidal." Even as he said it, the words felt...off. If he was being honest with himself, he really wasn't suicidal--but he didn't exactly want to live. Hard as it was to rationalize the statement with himself, he knew he needed help. He couldn't go on like this for the rest of his miserable life. 

It wasn't like he was going to kill himself. He liked being alive; seeing the world, seeing Shouto, seeing his mom--it wasn't something he wanted to just drop. 

So no. 

He wasn't suicidal. 

But he sure as hell preferred the certainty death came with. 

His mother put a hand on her son's. "Katuski, I think she's right...you've been worrying me lately.." That hurt him more than a punch to the chest would, but he wasn't budging. 

He didn't need help. 

"I'm fine." Before Midnight, or his mother could stop him, Katsuki was already out of his chair and on his way out of the office. He made his way back to class, grumpily. His schoolmates watched him, but didn't say much. 

Nobody except the staff, and his boyfriend, knew but some students had had an inkling that Katsuki wasn't...a normal boy. They saw it in the way he moved. The way he held himself. How he talked in a way that purposefully seemed to take up every bit of air in the room; he seemed to only speak when his voice was groggy, or when it was hoarse. When he gave short answers, his voice was abnormally high. Nobody paid much attention to him apart from that, figuring that it must have been a side effect of his quirk. Most people at U.A had weird perks to their bodies due to their powers. 

He sank in his seat; Shouto watched carefully. 

There were silent tears of panic running down his face, but he didn't notice; even if he did, he didn't give two shits. Others, however, noticed it. They didn't say anything to Katsuki directly, but he heard the whispers. The murmurs behind him. He brought a knee up to his chest as he sat, silently taking down what notes he needed too. 

It got worse after lunch. A seam on his binder had begun to rip during quirk training, and the longer he wore it without taking it off, the worse the rip was getting. By sixth period, it had nearly ripped halfway. He was in the middle of class when he stretched his arms above his head and took a deep breath. The rip was audible, which raised suspicions. 

On Katsuki's end, it was like a grenade being set off in his mind. His eyes widened a little. Aizawa and Katsuki's gazes met, and he swore his teacher was telling him calm down. Breathe. 

Except he couldn't. His binder was the only thing holding him together, and it had broke. In public. Wearing it so often had wore it thin, and Katsuki wasn't sure how to deal with that. He often dealt with more top dysphoria than bottom, and this had been the last straw; he had no means of fixing it, no means of buying a new one. He was capital f, Fucked. Whatever mental stability he had built up during the day let loose like a dam. He stood up, storming out of the classroom and down the hall. He didn't know where he was going. He just needed to get out before someone saw him.