shouto and tenya are ... close & whether it be of concern or a budding friendship with the other, he’s not quite sure ( tells himself it’s the former, isn’t very good with friendships but tenya and izuku make it easy ). they’re eating together when he notices that the class president isn’t eating much, isn’t talking much / shouto watches, observes. he breaks the silence, gaze downcast as he slurps at his noodles. “iida,” his voice is quiet and low. “it’s okay to cry ; we’re here for you.”
we’re here for you. just like they were when he was face down and bleeding out in an alley, heart pounding loudly in the clutches of a rage so overwhelming, it churns his stomach to recall – and just like they were during his hospital recovery, and his return to school to brave the class he’d been appointed to lead and now faced with a nauseating shame for his selfish actions.
he’s made progress over the last several weeks, but the ache that’s settled somewhere in his ribcage has merely lessened, not dispersed ; like an angry boil, it swells to the point of bursting every time he lays eyes on tensei in his wheelchair, disabled but still smiling, and the anger gives way to disappointment and guilt that only fade when he’s back at school, giving his all in training. but no amount of training seems to quell his expectations, and only serves to remind him that he’s not yet capable enough ( wasn’t then, isn’t now ) and the anger and resentment creep up on him again, and the cycle begins anew.
he fixes his gaze on the untouched food before him, long cooled in direct opposition to the heat stoking within his cheeks. he’s spoken with a select few about his state of mind – rather dismissively, never quite fully honest – but it’s todoroki’s statement, in a sea of never - ending sympathy and suffocating concern, that finally breaks him down.
it starts as a breath that hitches in his throat, chest uncomfortably tight. broad shoulders follow with a shudder that leaks out in an almost inaudible exhale, staccato and feeble, and he lowers his head as his vision swims with hot tears welling beneath his eyes and pricking at their corners. something close to a whimper forces its way up his throat and cracks as it claws its way out, lips parting with an excuse that dies long before it reaches his tongue.
he’s thankful that todoroki’s chosen such a secluded spot for lunch. uncaulked cracks in the dam holding his sorrow at bay finally splinter beneath the pressure. his tears begin to flow freely, hands rising to shelter his face from prying eyes that he knows would sooner look away out of respect than stare with scrutiny. this isn’t the kind of leader he wants to be —– weak and irrational and prone to bouts of time where he feels so goddamn useless —– but at least, he supposes, someone knows that he isn’t quite as confident as he likes to appear. someone, he knows, suffers from the same questionable sense of self - identity between what his classmates see and what lurks, gnaws, deep beneath the surface.
he can’t quite speak, not just yet, but he slowly lowers his hands to bare himself, red - faced and cheeks wet with tears, if only to truly allow someone to see him at his worst for the first time. i’m not that strong, he wants to say. but please tell me that’s okay. tell me that you know, and you’ll stay anyway.
he continues to cry, fingers clutching, white - knuckled, at his knees.
his friend makes no move to leave.
@handcrushed