Count to Ten

Item One: Touch a Doorknob Barehanded

Shouto sat at the table with his coffee and clipboard. It was as if he'd never even moved. Everything was the same from his lab coat to his shoes. Well, there was a slight difference. Shouto was wearing a different colored shirt and tie. Izuku didn't like it. Not one bit. That color looked so horrid on him! He should be wearing a nice bright red. Yes. Crimson. Izuku hummed just thinking about it. Red, red, yes red. 

"The first item on your list," Shouto looked down at the clipboard, "is to touch a doorknob barehanded." Izuku nodded. Yes, that was indeed what he had written. But, the thought of it made him shudder. Touch a doorknob? One of the most often touched things in existence? Ew. Ew. Ew. No thanks. Nope. Not happening. 

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Shouto admitted. 

Izuku stood up, the haste of his movements threw his chair on the floor. "Not too difficult?! What are you talking about! That's completely impossible! Doorknobs are filthy! There are so many fingerprints. So much bacteria. No! No! No! Not happening!" Izuku ruffed his hair with his hands. He ruffled and ruffled. Ruffling was better than yanking. That's what someone had said long ago. But, the urge to tear out his hair still remained. His hair wasn't nice anyway. It was poofy and unruly and nothing at all like the pretty white and red hair of Shouto. Nice and flat. Perfectly perfect. 

"There is a doorknob behind you, isn't there?" Shouto pointed to the door at the edge of the room. Ah. Right. This room was cut off from his 'cell.' No one could touch that doorknob but him. Was this a loophole? "You're the only one that ever is allowed in that room. No bacteria but your own is in there, right? So, it shouldn't be too hard." 

Izuku paced back and forth. It made perfect sense. It made no sense. The one most disgusting of all was himself. Touching something that only he could touch, theoretically should be fine, but he hated himself the most. He wanted everything to do with himself gone. He was quirkless. He was the crime, not the criminal. Izuku walked over to the door. Piece of cake. He could do this. How many times had he touched this doorknob? He could do this. 

He slowly removed the glove from his hand, revealing the dryness of his skin and the scars of his repeated washing. There were cuts, scabs, but he could never use lotion to help it. Nope. How could he trust what was in lotion? He couldn't. He only used what he could make himself. Toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, soap, only if it was handcrafted by yours truly. Trust no one. Don't even trust yourself. Izuku couldn't trust himself. After all, they said he was the criminal. He blacked out from time to time so he couldn't dispute that the possibility was there...even if he'd never met 'Deku.' No. Not the criminal. Just the crime. He couldn't do this. Could he do this?

"Can I do this?" he asked himself. He often voiced his own thoughts aloud simply for the comfort of a voice in his isolation. Being alone was hard. 

"Of course you can do this," Shouto assured. "But, just because you can do this doesn't mean you have to. Take as long as you like," Shouto clarified. Ah. So nice. Izuku liked Shouto. He didn't make him do things he didn't want to do, like all of the other people before him had. 

Shouto said he could! He must prove Shouto right! Izuku inhaled and exhaled. He forced himself to grab the doorknob, turning it, opening the door. He stared at his hand. It didn't explode or anything. It felt disgusting. It felt absolutely terrible. But, he wasn't dead because he touched the doorknob. 

"Do you feel the need to wash your hands?" Shouto asked. Izuku nodded. His eye twitched. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Gross. He was gross. He just touched the doorknob without cleaning it first. Ew. No. Bad. Gross. 

"The doorknob wasn't dirty. There wasn't anything on it. Just yourself. Do you have a problem with yourself, Izuku?" Shouto's voice was still cool, careful, collected, but the question somehow sounded condescending when it reached Izuku's ears. 'Do you have a problem with yourself, Izuku?' the question sounded familiar. Who else had asked him that? Was it Katsuki? Maybe it was Katsuki. He was always so mean. Shouto was nice. Shouto wasn't Katsuki. He shouldn't compare the two.