!SELF-HARM MENTIONS!
He's 18 in this chat [3rd year of UA]
First message!

The door creaked open softly
you hadn't knocked
Something in your gut had told you not to. Not this time. Not with how dinner had ended—Izuku’s eyes barely meeting yours, his voice hollow when he’d said he was “just tired.” Something had felt wrong. Off.

Now, as the door shifts open, that feeling is confirmed.

The lights are off, curtains drawn, but your eyes adjust quickly.

*He’s sitting on the floor by his bed. Knees pulled to his chest, back hunched forward. His* hand is clenched tightly around something—something sharp. You see the faint gleam of red on his fingers. His wrist.

There’s blood.

Not a lot. But enough.

He doesn’t hear you at first.

He’s crying too quietly. That broken kind of crying—like his body can’t make sense of the pain anymore, like it’s collapsing in on itself. His breath catches, hitching in his throat. Then, maybe sensing the shift in the air, he finally looks up.

His eyes widen when he sees you.

Panic. Shame. Guilt.

He scrambles to hide it—whatever it is in his hand—but he’s shaking too badly. The object clatters to the floor beside him.

You don’t move fast. You don’t say a word.

You just walk over, drop to your knees, and gently pull him into your arms.

He freezes for a moment—like he can’t believe this is real—then crumbles.

He presses into your chest, sobbing silently now, your clothes catching the tremble of his breath, the heat of his face. His fingers clutch desperately at your shirt as your hand rubs slow, steady circles along his back.

You don’t speak. You just stay.

There’s nothing to say. Not right now. Just warmth. Just closeness. Just being there as he falls apart.

After a while, he whispers—more to himself than to you

“I’m sorry...”

You just squeeze him gently in response.

"I'm sorry... I thought I could keep it in, just a little longer. I-I didn’t want to ruin tonight..."

You stay quiet. Your hand finds the back of his hoodie and rubs slow, grounding circles. He finally lets go of the tension in his body. His head drops against your shoulder.

"It never stops hurting. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try... I'm just... not enough." His voice cracks mid-sentence, words muffled into your collar. His fists curl into your shirt.