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It took five blocks of walking, two train rides, then three more blocks of walking to make it back to UA. Plus one straight path to the dorm. Kirishima had walked the same route countless times. Logically, he knew it was a lot more than fourteen steps. But the lesser number, that was eleven. He didn’t know eleven of what, but it was eleven. Less than fourteen.
He wondered how many times he walked fourteen steps during the journey back to campus. He couldn’t keep track.
He started counting how many steps from the doorway of 1A’s building to the stairwell, but he lost track when Iida and Shouji greeted him. He thought he said something back, but he couldn’t remember what.
It was forty-eight stairs to the fourth floor. More than fourteen.
He was on step eight down the hallway to his room when he dropped his keys. He knelt down to pick them up and couldn’t remember how to stand back up. He couldn’t tell if he was crying. He hoped he wasn’t.
“Shitty hair?”
Kirishima scrambled to his feet to glance at the boy in front of him. He didn’t even hear Bakugou approach. Bakugou was carrying his gym bag and frowning at him.
“Hi, Katsuki!” Kirishima forced out as much enthusiasm as he could as he plastered on his best smile. Bakugou just stared at him.
“Why were you on the floor?”
“Just being clumsy!” Kirishima chuckled. “Dropped my keys. All good. Heading to the gym?”
“Yeah,” Bakugou’s eyes narrowed slightly at him. “You want to come?”
“Not today. I just got back from Fat Gum’s, I’m pretty tired already.”
They stood staring at each other long enough for Kirishima’s head to start buzzing again.
“Anyway,” Kirishima shrugged as he moved to walk past Bakugou. Instead, Bakugou’s arm darted out to grab his bicep, pulling Kirishima to face him. Bakugou studied his face carefully again, the frown still etched on his face. Kirishima answered the question he knew Bakugou wouldn’t ask but wanted to. “Dude, I’m fine. Just tired.”
Bakugou watched him for a moment more before he dropped his arm.
“Whatever,” Bakugou scowled.
Kirishima exhaled carefully as he quickly closed the rest of the distance and pushed his door open.
It wasn’t until the door was shut behind him that he realized he forgot to count the steps from the stairwell to his door. It was probably less. It felt like less, at least.
He sank to the ground in the middle of his room. He could feel the tears threatening to spill out. He pushed his shorts up, hardened his hand, and dug claws into his thigh, sighing shakily as he felt the slightest bit of the buzzing slip out with the thin beads of blood squeezing past his fingers.
He barely had time to process that it wasn’t nearly enough before he started crying.
Except it wasn’t the sound of his familiar, pathetic crying that he heard. All he could hear was her crying, begging, screaming.
He couldn’t remember when she started crying. He was pretty sure she had been crying for most of it. That wasn’t too unusual. It happened.
It was when she started begging that Kirishima realized his mistake. That he realized the villain that was supposed to be unconscious, wasn’t.
She started screaming when he was still nine steps too far away. She was still screaming when he got the villain down a second time.
Then she stopped.
Kirishima choked on a sob as he frantically pulled himself to his feet.
Everything hurt. His body felt like it was being crushed, his emotions felt like they were being grated, his head felt heavy enough that he could barely lift it.
He couldn’t. It was too much. He couldn’t make it stop.
He gave half a thought to the coping mechanisms he had developed over the years. He could make up whatever excuse later for why he didn’t attempt any. But he knew the cold, awful truth was that he didn’t want any of the goddamn coping mechanisms, he didn’t want a substitute. He knew exactly what he wanted and nothing could get in way.
Maybe he hadn’t actually grown at all. Maybe he was still the same broken shell of a person. Maybe this was all he would ever be.
So he stumbled up to his dresser, ripping the top drawer open as fast as he could. His fingers quickly found the decorated box that used to hold a watch he got years ago. He fumbled with the latch as he collapsed on his bed, dumping the sparse contents on the mattress next to him.
One of his hardened hands came up to claw at his thigh again as he let out half of a sob before clamping his mouth shut and swallowing it down. He reluctantly listened to the rational part of his brain that warned him he should grab a towel or at least tissues or something first because he knew he hated having to deal with cleaning the sheets after. He tore his hand out of his thigh as he pushed off the bed to grab his towel across his room.
Nine steps there.
Nine steps back.
Nine steps away was when she started screaming.
He picked up one of the clean blades.
He inhaled sharply at the too brief flash of pain as it slid across his soft forearm.
“You’re a terrible hero.”
The first cut released a few bubbles of blood as he brought the blade down again.
“You should have known you could never be more than the pathetic kid that froze.”
The third time the blade slipped a little too deep and made him hiss.
“It’s not like dying your hair could actually change your entire fucking personality.”
The next three cuts went almost too easy, and he exhaled softer as he felt the familiar rush start to kick in.
Six.
Six steps away was when she collapsed to the ground with a hole in her side.
“You’ll never be as good a hero as your classmates. There’s no point in trying. You’ll never catch up to Izuku or Shoto or-or Katsuki.”
He moved his arm over the towel with the next two slices as the blood began to run in small rivers down his arm.
“And you know, if you just stopped pretending and let everyone see how weak you are, you wouldn’t even have any friends. You’d be all alone just like you fucking deserve.”
Kirishima cried harder. He barely even felt the next three over the painful static radiating from his arm.
Eleven steps away was when he realized just how bad he fucked up. Eleven steps away was when he started yelling at the villain, trying to distract him, to make him stop, to stall. Eleven steps away was when he realized he was too slow.
“You always fuck everything up anyway. You should have known he was going to get back up. You should have protected her!” Kirishima was practically screaming, but it didn't matter. He didn’t have the restraint to stop or try to calm himself down. Nobody else was on the floor anyway.
He quickly added two more, tearing through his skin harder than he probably should. They started bleeding immediately in thick streaks.
One left.
“You’re just as bad as the villains! Everyone’s going to hate you once they know what you did! You’re the shittiest, worst excuse of a hero ever and-” Kirishima froze, the blade held too tightly between red-stained fingers, as he itched to bring it down one last time. He thought he heard something interrupt his yelling, but rationally he knew no one was around. Bakugou was at the gym and Shouji was downstairs. No one else should have been close enough to hear him.
He sniffled again in the silence. He must have heard nothing.
The blade had just brushed against his skin when he heard it again.
A knock. On his door.
He quickly pulled the razor away, as if the person on the other side could see it.
“Eijirou?”
Kirishima cried harder. He didn’t know why. It didn’t matter.
“I'm coming in?” It wasn't actually a question, but Kirishima knew him well enough to understand the question in his tone.
“Please just leave me alone. I’m feeling a little sick,” Kirishima croaked out somehow, the hand that clutched the blade trembling a few inches above his arm.
He knew Bakugou could be stubborn, but he was also fairly certain Bakugou wouldn’t actually blast his door down, despite his past threats.
Bakugou couldn’t see him like this. Kirishima still held the blade too tightly like it was a lifeline. He needed to finish. One more. But it felt wrong to do it when his best friend was right outside his door.
Kirishima watched in horror and mortification and fear as his door knob turned and didn’t catch on the lock.
He forgot to lock the door. That was fucking basics. And he fucking forgot because he’s so fucking stupid and-
“Eijirou,” Bakugou whispered. Kirishima couldn’t look at him. He felt the tears falling faster, though silent at least.
The door clicked behind Bakugou and heavy footsteps made their way to him.
Whatever trance Kirishima fell in when Bakugou knocked on his door ended abruptly as he felt a hand wrap tightly around his wrist that was currently holding the blade.
“No!” Kirishima yelped, tightening his hold and sending a wave of hardening over his wrist. Bakugou pulled his hand back with a soft string of curses. “You can’t- I need one more- just-” Kirishima broke off as the suppressed sobs finally caught up to him.
“No, Eijirou,” Bakugou snapped, but even as Kirishima folded in on himself to sob he could hear the tremor in his friend’s voice. He barely noticed Bakugou pick up the other spare blades still scattered on his mattress and drop them on top of his dresser. “Give me it.”
“No!” Kirishima screamed. “You don’t understand! Just one more, please Katsuki, it has to be fourteen, just let me fucking finish!”
“Eijirou, stop!” Bakugou yelled, the unfamiliar panic in his voice twisting a knife in Kirishima.
“No,” Kirishima said quietly, staring at his hand smudged with blood as it lowered itself back towards his arm. He just had to finish. Then it would be fine.
The blade had closed half the distance before Kirishima was thrown down against the mattress. The hand that held the blade was pinned to the side by Bakugou, a string of curses whispered as the blade was torn out of his hand.
Fourteen steps. Fourteen reasons why he shouldn’t try anymore. Fourteen reasons why he would never be the hero he stupidly wanted to be. Fourteen cuts.
Except he had only done thirteen.
“Stop, please, it has to be fourteen, I need one more, please,” Kirishima pleaded as he fought to sit up and tried to snatch the blade back from Bakugou. Bakugou all but hissed as he dropped it to the floor out of reach. “No! Give it back!” Kirishima yelled as he pulled his arm out of Bakugou’s grip and tried to push him away.
Bakugou too easily pinned both of his wrists to the bed again, using his body weight to keep Kirishima down.
“Eijirou, stop,” Bakugou said quietly, but there was something wrong with his voice.
“Why? I’m worthless, I’m a terrible hero, I’m fucking awful and everyone knows it! I just need one more, so stop acting like you give a shit and leave me alone!”
“Shut the fuck up, Eijirou,” Bakugou said too softly, too tight.
Kirishima opened his mouth to scream, to say whatever he needed to say to get Bakugou to leave him alone, when he felt it.
A drop of water hit his cheek. Then another.
He actually looked up at him for the first time as Bakugou rubbed the right side of his face against the shoulder of his shirt. Even so, when Bakugou’s eyes glared down at him again, it was all too evident.
Bakugou was crying.
“Please stop fighting me, Eijirou.”
All of the rage, all of the frustration, all of the pain melted as another teardrop landed on Kirishima’s face.
“I just- one more- it has to be fourteen. It has to,” Kirishima pleaded.
“If you think I’m just going to- to let you hurt yourself while I’m here, you’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.” Bakugou’s hands tightened around Kirishima’s wrists as he trembled. “Just, fucking stop this and let me fucking take care of you. Let me help.”
Kirishima couldn’t stop the sob ripped from him as the last word just reminded him of the innocent woman begging him to help her as she-
“No! I can’t- I don’t deserve- I couldn’t help her! I wasn’t good enough, I’ll never be good enough, I’m-” Kirishima tried to force more words out, but they didn’t come out as anything more than unintelligible crying.
“Shit,” Bakugou muttered. “Shit. Okay. I mean, no you’re fucking not, you’re plenty good, Eijirou,” He muttered as he released Kirishima’s wrists. “Don’t even think about it,” Bakugou snapped as Kirishima glanced down to where Bakugou had dropped the razor before Kirishima felt his body hauled by Bakugou.
“What happened?” Bakugou asked tensely once he pulled Kirishima into his lap. One of his arms wrapped tightly around Kirishima, pushing his head against Bakugou’s shoulder. Bakugou’s other arm grabbed the already stained towel to wrap around Kirishima’s arm.
“I- I couldn’t save her. I thought he was down but he wasn't and I was too far away and too slow and she- she didn’t make it,” Kirishima cried into his shoulder. “I should have known better. I’m a terrible hero. I should just stop trying to fucking be something that I'm not! I’m so fucking-”
“Listen to me. I know you, and I know you did everything you could. I know you know this- it happens. It’s awful and it sucks but you can’t always save everyone. That doesn’t mean you’re less or not good enough or whatever. That doesn’t mean you give up and stop trying.”
“But I-”
“Shut up, Eijirou. Just, fucking, cry or whatever. Whatever you need that’s not fucking hurting yourself.” Bakugou tightened both of his arms around Kirishima and nudged his chin against Kirishima’s head. “Just let me take care of you for once, okay?”
All Kirishima could do was nod his head against Bakugou’s warmth as he felt the sobs rising again. This time he didn’t try to stop them. With the comfort of the body holding him tightly, he didn’t know if he even could.
Bakugou didn’t say another word as Kirishima sobbed for an eternity. His arms never loosened, and Kirishima didn’t have the energy to try and look up at his expression.
But he was steady. Solid. It was nicer than Kirishima deserved.
Kirishima didn’t know how long it took before exhaustion took over, silencing his sobs as he slumped heavier on Bakugou. Kirishima didn’t know if he felt better, but the instinct to hurt himself wasn’t so sharp at least.
Kirishima wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Bakugou finally spoke.
“Where’s your first aid kit?”
Kirishima immediately felt the exhaustion overpowered by guilt as he realized just what he had forced his friend to deal with.
“You can go. I’m sorry. I’m better,” Kirishima said, wincing at the flatness in his voice.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” Bakugou repeated, what Kirishima easily recognized as his fake anger creeping into his voice.
“Just go. I’m fine. I'm sorry,” Kirishima muttered.
Despite his words, Kirishima ached at the loss of warmth as Bakugou shifted Kirishima off his lap, stood up, and muttered as he left the room.
Once his friend was gone, he numbly realized he should probably lock his door. The last thing he needed was Ashido or Kaminari barging in and finding him like this. He didn’t have the energy to clean himself up. He’d nap first. Then do whatever. He just had to lock the door first.
He winced as he pried the towel off his arm. A couple of the deeper cuts welled up with wetness again, most of his arm stained red. Some of the smaller cuts were completely obscured by blood, but he could still see the split mouth grins of the deeper cuts further up his arm.
It was a lot more than he had ever really done at one time. His arm burned. He wondered how long it would last. With Bakugou disappearing out of his room, he could already feel the thick sadness creeping back in.
He frowned as he realized it had ended up a lot more messy than it was supposed to. Nearly everything was stained red. The towel, his sheets, his clothes. He absently thought it should make him sick or feel bad or whatever. But it didn’t. Not really at least.
He just felt off. Numb.
Shit. He should really wash the sheets before he let himself sleep off the whatever.
But he was so fucking tired.
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Bakugou muttered as he stomped back into his room, a large case and a small towel in his hand. “And don't fucking apologize. I’m not leaving you right now.”
“Why?” Kirishima asked blankly.
“Are you fucking-” Bakugou muttered something else unintelligible under his breath. He rested the first aid kit and the small towel on his bed and knelt in front of Kirishima. “I’m going to clean you up. Give me your fucking arm.”
Bakugou’s fingers trembled as he fumbled trying to open up the kit and pull materials out. When Kirishima didn’t move to respond to his demand, Bakugou gently wrapped his hand around Kirishima’s wrist and pulled it towards him. Kirishima frowned as he noticed the new band-aid on Bakugou's palm, but he was too afraid to say anything.
Bakugou grabbed the small towel he had brought and disappeared into Kirishima’s bathroom.
“I can do this myself,” Kirishima tried to argue when Bakugou returned with the towel damp.
“Shut up,” Bakugou muttered, but it lacked any anger. He held Kirishima’s wrist carefully as his other hand used the towel to wipe away the blood stuck to Kirishima’s arm. “I know I’m not any fucking good at the emotions part, but I can do this,” he admitted quietly.
Kirishima didn’t say another word as Bakugou finished cleaning the blood off. Kirishima could barely pay attention as he felt Bakugou apply something to the deeper cuts before wrapping them with gauze and tape.
“Take your shirt and shorts off,” Bakugou instructed. When Kirishima started to protest, he explained, “Your clothes are all… stained. And I want to look at the marks on your thigh. It’s just easier.”
Kirishima slowly obeyed, even though it was a little weird. Sure Bakugou had seen him change in the locker room plenty of times, but not in his room because he was covered with blood.
Once Kirishima sat back down, Bakugou continued to gently wipe at the bloodied claw marks in his thigh before wrapping them as well.
Bakugou’s hands softly held Kirishima’s wrists when he finished.
“You should really see Recovery Girl,” he said quietly. “And we have to tell Mr. Aizawa.”
“Later,” Kirishima mumbled. Bakugou’s eyes narrowed at him.
“Now,” Bakugou snapped.
“I’m too exhausted for her to even do anything right now. Just let me nap and then I’ll go.”
Bakugou frowned.
“Your sheets are fucking bloody.”
“Then I’ll sleep on the floor. I don’t care Katsuki, I just need to sleep for a bit. I’m exhausted.”
Kirishima moved to pull himself off the bed, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Wait,” Bakugou said quietly as he turned away to rummage through Kirishima’s dresser. He tossed him a new shirt and shorts, which Kirishima slowly pulled on.
“C’mon. You can sleep in my room,” Bakugou stated as he took a step towards Kirishima’s door.
“Katsuki, it’s really fine, you don’t-”
“Shut up, Eijirou,” Bakugou muttered as he opened the door and stared at Kirishima expectantly. When Kirishima didn’t move from where he sat on the bed, Bakugou huffed before walking back over to him.
Kirishima yelped as Bakugou picked him up as if he weighed nothing, muttering curses as he carried Kirishima out of the room. He kicked his own door shut behind them before dumping Kirishima on his own bed. Bakugou tore off his own shirt, which Kirishima guiltily realized was also stained red, before pulling a new one on and sitting next to him on the bed.
Kirishima laid silently curled in a ball in for several minutes, exhaustion trying to drag him to sleep but his mind just kept screaming him awake.
“Stop thinking so much,” Bakugou said quietly. There was a long pause before he added, “Can I do anything?”
Kirishima greedily took the invitation to pull himself back into Bakugou’s lap, desperately craving warmth again. He rested his head on Bakugou’s thigh, one of his arms wrapped around Bakugou’s legs. After a moment, Bakugou brought one of his hands to run through Kirishima’s hair as the other rested on his shoulder.
“Why fourteen?” He asked quietly.
“I-I was fourteen steps away from her when I realized that he- he was going to hurt her. It was too far. I don’t know. Fourteen felt like- like fourteen reasons why I failed. Fourteen- fourteen cuts for each step that I failed her.”
“You’re too hard on yourself. You’re one of the best heroes in our class, Eijirou.”
“No, but-”
“Stop. Stop shitting on yourself. Whatever your fourteen reasons were, they were bullshit. Reason one: you’re completely self-less. You’ll do anything to save someone else. Reason two: You’re the nicest, kindest person I’ve ever met. Reason three: You always give everything your all. Even if it’s just dumb training exercises.”
“What are you doing?” Kirishima murmured.
“Proving you wrong. Reason four: You always get back up. No matter how hard you’re knocked down, you always get back to your feet. Reason five: You care about literally everyone. No matter who they are. Reason six: You’re probably more motivated than even me to be a hero. Or at least for better reasons.”
“Katsuki you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do, because you’re an idiot. Reason seven: You’re a fucking idiot when it comes to yourself, but you’re smart in battles. You don’t just rush in headfirst anymore. You plan, and strategize, and you know how to use your skills best. Reason eight: You know your weaknesses, you acknowledge them, and you figure out a way to get past them and improve. Reason nine: You save everyone you can, no matter the cost. You even saved the biggest asshole in your class.”
Kirishima’s eyes flickered closed as he nuzzled his head against Bakugou.
“Reason ten: You see the good in everyone, but not without letting it erase the bad. Reason eleven: You’re my best friend. And I wouldn’t be friends with someone that wasn’t the best, let alone a good hero. Reason twelve: You’re actually good at comforting people in situations like this, unlike this asshole. Reason thirteen: The fact that this upsets you so much and you’re taking responsibility for it tells me that you’re going to be a good hero who constantly improves himself.”
Kirishima felt himself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the gentleness and sincerity of Bakugou’s voice.
“Reason fourteen: You’re the best hero I know. Better than me, better than Deku. Better than any of the extras in our class. Because you’re your amazing, kickass, incredible self. Because you give so much of yourself in everything you do, because you love everyone so much, because you're just a really fucking good person. Because you're you.”