Chapter Text
Reason #34 to Live: Today, a little girl in line at the restaurant I stopped at pointed at me, then held up her shark toy. She had a huge smile on her face with all these cute gaps.
Maybe the teeth aren’t so bad.
***
Kirishima Eijirou was not perfect.
Sometimes he wore the same shirt two days in a row, forgot to brush his teeth in the morning, or didn’t leave the door open for old ladies trying to get groceries.
Once, when he was fifteen, he threw a water bottle off the top of a bridge above the freeway. It had hit a car windshield, splattering so violently that the driver couldn’t see. The red Camaro - yes, Kirishima remembered the exact car - swerved and rear-ended a truck in the passing lane. He hadn’t told anyone about the incident, choosing to keep the extremely bad decision to himself.
Kirishima Eijirou made a lot of mistakes; he was willing to admit that.
Oh, yeah.
Then, there was that time he slit his wrists in his bathtub.
It had been earlier that summer when he’d sunk so low he saw no other escape. Yes, it hadn’t been his brightest moment, perhaps one of the dumber things he’d done.
Kirishima didn’t know how to tell people that, at the time, that did feel like the right decision. That all the life he had been living was better being swept down the drain than wasted on him. He was fine dying next to the shampoo bottles and last standing rubber ducky from his childhood.
When he tried to express the feeling - the all-consuming black sludge that dragged him down to the depths of hell - it always came out as whining over his shitty friends, internship, or self-worth issues.
Kirishima sunk back into the far too plush couch, eyes on his punishment from the summer’s events.
“Kirishima,” his therapist, Ito, said. He leaned forward in his seat, “What are you thinking about?”
“UA mostly,” Kirishima grumbled, uninterested in talking further. The school had required him to take on therapy after the ‘incident’, telling him he’d be expelled if he didn’t comply.
At first, he thought about telling them to suck his dick, but he realized that he was in far too deep to just give up now.
Plus, that meant staying with his parents instead of at the dorms. He couldn’t handle staring at the locked knife drawer anymore.
Ito nodded, “That makes sense. Are you excited to see your friends?”
“Friends,” Kirishima scoffed, digging his heel into the carpet, “I don’t really have those.”
That had been true since Mina had confessed her feelings at the end of their second year, under the dead cherry blossoms. He had politely declined, but it didn’t matter. Mina took Sero and Denki like they were a set of dogs in the middle of a divorce.
As for Bakugou?
Kirishima had spent the first two weeks of summer trying to get a response. He tried again after he got out of the hospital, going so far as to call his parents.
There was a very uncomfortable voicemail on his phone to prove it.
He didn’t know what he had done, but it was clear Bakugou Katsuki wanted nothing to do with him. It was inevitable; he and Midoriya had repaired their long-broken relationship.
What was the point in keeping Kirishima around if he had Izuku?
He was reminded of the fact that Ito and his parents were the only people he’d spoken to in months. It made him feel like shit. Wiping at his eyes, he stood up, “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Ito seemed to be expecting that answer, “Please, I only have one last thing.”
Kirishima rocked back on his heels, making no move to leave as he waited. Ito dug through a mountain of papers to find why lay underneath them. There was a black notebook.
Opening it, he handed it to Kirishima, who took it reluctantly. He looked down at the blank pages, running a finger over some of the paper, “What’s this?”
“It’s a journal,” Ito said, handing him a pen from his cupholder, “Kirishima, I’m not stupid.”
Kirishima looked up, a bit confused by the accusation, “Did I say you were?”
“No,” Ito said, reclining back into his chair, “but don’t act like you’ve been invested in anything I have to say,” he cracked the knuckles on one hand, “your inability to fix what you're struggling with is just another form of self-harm. You think you deserve to be depressed and isolated.”
Kirishima sighed, closing his very tired eyes. This guy was always talking like he knew anything about Kirishima beyond their hour a day. Besides, Ito was acting like he didn’t deserve it, and he most certainly did. If his therapist really knew anything about him, he’d see why he should be dead too.
“I can’t tell you that it’s not what you deserve because you won’t believe me,” Ito continued, “but, in my absence, I’m giving you a mandatory assignment. If you do not complete it, I will have to turn you into the school.”
He was going to lose it on this guy, absolutely lose it.
“What’s the assignment?” He said through gritted teeth.
“By the end of the semester, you are to have one-hundred reasons to live written down in there. I don’t care how you do it. I don’t care if they are big or small reasons, as long as they are reasons, that is enough.”
“This is stupid,” Kirishima bit.
Why was he angry?
Ito was just trying to help him.
You don’t deserve help.
See, now you’re just proving him right.
“It probably is,” he said, a small smile on his face, “most of the reasons people stay alive are stupid. Some people do it for their cat or dog, others try to hold out until their favorite TV show ends,” Ito cleared his throat, “When I tried to do it in high school, I promised myself I wouldn’t attempt again until All Might retired.”
Kirishima hated that this guy was so likable. He smiled a little, “Yet, you’re still here.”
“Yes,” Ito said, shaking his head, “because high school me died a long time ago.”
Attention on the journal, Kirishima sighed, “Do you think, one day, high school me can die too?”
Ito smiled soft, “He’ll die on his own, I promise. Let’s not cut off his life early, yeah?” Kirishima nodded, shoving the book into his bag, “I’m serious about the journal. You’re going to show me every update when you come in. Since you’re starting school, we’re going to have to push your appointments back to every three weeks.”
That was fine with Kirishima. He was getting kind of tired of seeing this guy once a week, “Sure thing, Doctor Ito.”
Ito waved his hand around, “Just Ito, please. We’ve been over this.”
Kirishima rolled his eyes in amusement, “It’s still funny.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Kirishima,” Ito said, smirking. Suddenly, he looked like a thought struck him, “Oh, and another thing.” Kirishima hummed in acknowledgment, “Maybe you should change up your appearance. It might help make you feel like… a different person than the one from this summer,” Ito set a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “I’m not saying it’ll fix everything, but it might help”
Kirishima pondered his words for a moment, mind wandering back to the bathroom sink and the cabinet above, “I understand.”
Ito had this warped look of concern heavy on his face, “Alright… Goodbye, Kirishima.”
Kirishima left, backpack weighing him down. He looked down at the journal as he stepped outside.
An idea came to mind as he opened the book.
Contrary to popular belief, Kirishima was very competitive; he was a driven, goal-oriented person. Also, he was a firm believer in races.
He clicked the pen Ito had given him, opening the first page. In big letters, he wrote, “Reasons To Live: 1-100.”
Then, he flipped to the middle of the journal. He paused, felt-tip inches from the page. This was gonna be another mistake to add to his long-running list, wasn’t it?
Caving, he put the pen to the page.
“Reasons to Die: 1-100.”
The idea was simple; old as time.
First to one hundred wins.
***
He stayed up late that night, in the company of a bowl of black box dye and stained hands.
***
“Get the fuck off of me!” Bakugou bit, shoving Denki off of his shoulder. It was the first goddamn day of school and he was already being annoyed beyond belief. He spent all fucking summer trying to help Deku with All For One and this is what he gets, huh?
Denki whined, “Come on man! We haven’t seen you all summer! It’s our last year, can you pretend to like us?”
“No,” Bakugou said, pushing him away again. Mina, in all her bubbly glory, skipped up to the two. He felt like caving in his own skull; it was too early for this shit.
She crashed into Denki, catching him by the shoulders, “Hey! Is that the guy that didn’t text us once all summer?”
Bakugou growled lowly, turning around. He didn’t need to put up with their bullshit anymore, “If it makes your bleeding hearts feel better, I didn’t text anyone all summer. Don’t think your fucking special.”
“Whatever,” Denki said, rolling his eyes, “You missed us.”
That was somewhat true. Working with Deku at Miruko’s agency had been fucking tiring, but at least he was in the company of someone who understood him.
Not that Bakugou would ever admit that.
Plus, they’d learned a lot about the League’s underworkings, and behind the scenes, they’d gotten closer to getting Deku to the full mastery of his quirk. Sure, it was hard work, but there was a certain weight that had been lifted off his shoulders. It felt like repayment for his treatment of Deku in middle school.
He was okay with that. They were… friends now.
Speaking of friends.
“Where is Shitty Hair?” He said, looking at the pair. They shared a glance before returning his gaze, both looking extremely guilty.
“We… don’t know,” Mina answered honestly, shoe scuffing the dirt below it.
Bakugou furrowed his eyebrows, “You don’t know?”
Denki studied Mina, making a vague gesture with the roll of his hand, “Tell him.”
She sighed, hanging her head, “We got into a fight.”
“When,” Bakugou questioned, stepping forward, “and why?”
She made a noise of frustration, “I confessed to him at the end of last year’s semester. He rejected me and… I didn’t take it very well. We haven’t spoken since.”
Bakugou stared at them in disgust, “Are you fucking serious? How pathetic.”
“It’s not like he tried to reach out to me either!” Mina defended, crossing her arms.
“Yeah, he did,” Denki whispered, sinking downward, “He texted you like a hundred times.”
She turned to him, “When was the last time you talked to him, huh?”
“You told me not to!” Denki said, putting his hands up.
Bakugou felt the churning of anger deep in his gut, teeth grinding together, “And you listened to her?!”
“I had to! Sero was just as mad; he and Mina are my best friends!”
“And Kirishima wasn’t?”
“It’s not like that!” He said, “Don’t sit there and act like you care now! We couldn’t even get you to answer us! Tell me when the last time you talked to him was!”
Bakugou froze, his phone burning a hole in his pocket. Cutting off his friends had been necessary; he was trying to keep them safe while he and Deku looked into All For One. It’s not like Deku had talked to his friends either…
Probably.
Kirishima had texted him many times over the summer. They were all unread; he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. There were at least a dozen missed calls and a voicemail that had sat there since the third week of break.
He was about to yell again when he caught sight of green hair. Looking down at the pair, he flipped them off, “Fuck you.”
“Yeah, run away Bakugou! It’s summer all over again,” Mina screamed, pulled away by an upset Denki.
Deku looked over to him, a bit thrown off by his angry footsteps, “Kacchan?”
“Shut up nerd,” He said, voice softer than before.
“Ah,” Deku hummed, picking up on the frustration, “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” He said curtly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “You?”
Deku laughed slightly, rolling his eyes, “Every once and awhile you could say, ‘How are you Izuku? How has your day been?’, y’know?”
Bakugou smiled lightly, “As if.”
They walked in silence for a while, Bakugou trying his best to forget about the early encounter, regret sinking deep into his bones. At the time, his actions hadn’t seemed that bad. Bakugou just assumed his friends would be fine with it. Maybe that had been selfish of him.
“If you actually wanted an answer to your not question about my day,” Deku said, a little too cocky for Bakugou’s liking, “It was good. I finally got to see Ochako and Iida today. It’s been hard only speaking to them over the phone.”
Motherfucker
“Right,” Bakugou said, remorse flooding his tongue like sour milk. He was such an idiot.
They finally passed through the classroom doors, Bakugou’s mood somehow much worse than this morning. He took his seat behind Deku, making sure to give it an extra kick for good measure.
He looked back at him, shaking his head, “We can go to Ground Beta right now.”
Bakugou’s shoulders dropped, “Oi. Not funny.”
“I thought it was,” Deku said, turning back around with a grin.
Bakugou glanced over to Kirishima’s desk, noticeably empty despite all the other students being present. His leg bounced in nervousness.
Maybe…
Maybe Kirishima wasn’t coming. It had been three months since they’d seen each other, or even spoke. He might not be returning. Something could’ve happened and now he didn’t want to be a hero anymore. Kirishima might’ve been hurt, or worse. If something had happened to him, why did nobody tell him and-
His phone seemed a lot heavier than usual.
Ignoring Kirishima all this time just to worry about him now? How stupid.
If he really was a good friend, he would’ve reached out when they weren’t speaking. When he wasn’t speaking. No wonder Kirishima wasn’t here. He probably didn’t want to see him.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Bakugou’s eyes shot up. Upon seeing the sight in front of him, his heart jumped into his throat.
Kirishima stood there, leaning against the arm he had on the door. He looked… incredibly Bakugou-like, face twisted into mild annoyance as he stepped into the class. There was a lot different about him at first glance; he was taller, a bit bulkier, and…
What the fuck?
His hair wasn’t spiked up.
His hair wasn’t red anymore.
It was shorter and down; it was curlier too.
Bakugou’s first reaction was to look at Mina, who also turned to him. They gave each other looks of - what could be described as - mild horror. Denki made a choking noise as he spat back up the water he was drinking.
“What the fuck?” he heard Sero whisper, and red eyes snapped to him.
Kirishima’s face bunched up, looking a certain type of disgusted. “What?” he hissed, fists bunching up, “Got something to say all of a sudden?” Sero sank back in his seat.
The mummers of confusion sparked up as Kirishima walked up to Ochako, who seemed unphased by Kirishima’s appearance. He leaned down close to her, saying something softly; a small glimpse of the old Kirishima shining through. She listened intently, nodding along.
She smiled at him, then picked up her stuff, moving to Kirishima’s old desk.
“Hi, Kaminari,” She said kindly, taking the seat.
The entire class had their eyes on Kirishima as he sat down, crossing his arms and reclining back in clear disinterest.
“Kacchan,” Deku whispered, turning around, “What’s up with him?”
Bakugou was at a loss for words, “... I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Deku scream-whispered, “How do you not know?”
“We haven’t spoken since last semester,” He said back, leaning forward.
“What?” Deku said, a little too loud. Red eyes moved to the corner of their sockets, staring Deku down hard.
Deku looked back for a moment before turning back around, “Fuck that.”
“Did you just swear?” Bakugou questioned.
Deku stayed facing forward, “That, Kacchan, is the kind of look you’d give me in middle school. So let me repeat, fuck that.”
Bakugou fell back, mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts as he tried his best not to look at the boy who he thought he knew.
Something really fucked was going on, and Bakugou was going to get to the bottom of it.
***
Reason #56 to Die: It’s 2 a.m.
I wonder if Denki is playing Mario Kart.