Boku No Hero Academia One Shots [Book 2]

Shouta Aizawa ღ Eraserhead

Requested by: SunsetYugure

[A/N]: This was supposed to go in a different direction, but my impatient ass apparently decided that wasn't happening.

Trigger Warning: Anorexia.

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The concern manifesting in his heart first appeared in high school.

It dwindled as the years flashed by, because you couldn't meet as frequently, and he mistakenly assumed that it was an issue lost to time. He didn't understand it, exactly...just that you were avoiding the cafeteria, escaping the moment class ended, so you wouldn't be carried along with the flow of students. It must be study, or a sudden bout of anxiety. If it was serious, life-threatening, then surely you would seek him out for comfort? That never happened. So his worry slowly ebbed away. Although, he did latch on to something - you weren't executing your techniques as flawlessly as usual, but you were undertaking a harsher training plan. He asked, but you reassured him. How could there be a serious problem, when a cheerful smile was plastered on your face?

Foolishly, he took your words as gospel. He believed it all, because who could possibly know you better than yourself?

After a certain, tragic incident, your sleep-starved and over-worked image receded from his mind. His own future took priority. Today, fifteen years later, he was finally uncovering all your lies, peeling back the facades you fed to him. It had been serious, the whole time! It had been...so much more than that.

It had been detriment.

Torture.

The deliberate deprivation of food...of something crucial for your survival! It was devastating. He felt about to hurl, but if you awakened now...you would consider it an offence. Why didn't he notice? And why, oh god why did he interrogate you about your abrupt change in costume? He remembered that day with nauseating clarity, how you had shuffled uncomfortably when he mentioned how much baggier and hindering it might be. Why didn't he realise what you were trying so desperately to hide? Why had he allowed such horrible words to fall from his lips? Why hadn't he considered your feelings, speaking without really thinking? The doubt didn't fester - he definitely worsened your condition. He made you feel awful. Now he felt awful. Why had he been so accepting of statements that were, in hindsight, extremely suspect? You always formed excuses as to why you needed space to eat, or why you weren't hungry.

With all the facts arranged for his viewing, it seemed a miserable existence, fraught with self-hatred and a distorted image of your vessel. It was a vessel...had you been hoping to slip from it, if only you ignored its screams for nourishment, for long enough? Why didn't you like it? What was so very wrong with its design, that his own eyes couldn't see?

He didn't understand! There was no blemish, no trace of anything unsightly.

He loved it all - every part that differentiated you from others, everything that made you unique. If you were just a sheep, someone who followed the flock and never broke away...he wouldn't have fallen as hard as he did.

But look what happened. In the midst of a fight with a powerful villain, you collapsed from exhaustion and hunger. The nearby heroes were on the scene within seconds, but when the news reached Aizawa, his blood chilled and his bones trembled. What if they hadn't been there, if they hadn't arrived with enough haste? Where would you be? Where would he be? He sat beside your hospital bed, grasping a cold, weak hand, while fending off his tears. He had cried before, openly, but...something told him that he shouldn't. Not right now. You wouldn't appreciate it.

As the minutes trickled by, more memories surfaced - more red flags.

He wasn't angry. He was scared, eyes narrowing at the monitor as his apprehension intensified. He was waiting for it to flat-line...waiting for his tears to smash through the dam. All those years of hero training, and he still hadn't been prepared for this. But how could he be? In your profession, you were supposed to meet a grizzly end by the hand of some damn villain. While that in itself was a horrifying prospect...this was worse. So much worse. And he didn't really know why. He didn't have answers, only questions. But when...if...you woke up, he couldn't overwhelm you. He couldn't ask everything he wanted to. He could help, yes, but you would be fragile beyond compare. 

At least in his eyes.

He re-read the leaflet crumpling in his hands, clinging to the information as if it were his lifeline. 'Encourage them to eat', 'Plan meals out with them', 'Shop together', 'Keep conversations neutral, where possible', 'Distract them after the meal, with something non-food related', 'When issuing compliments, try to avoid topics such as looks and food'. It was all standard, but lots to remember. It seemed a firm decision that you would stay with him, to aid in the recovery.

You hadn't exactly agreed yet, but...

"This is probably the most rest she's had in a long time. Take care of her, won't you, Eraserhead?" The doctor gave a saddened smile.

The pro hero listened, but never abandoned your side. "Yeah...I will."

He would provide for you the world, love you like no-one else, ensure you knew how much you were valued - how beautiful you truly were. You didn't have to change, to be perfect.

I'll free up the next few weeks. I can't leave her alone, not for even a second.

[Word Count: 894]