I NEED HIM DEAD - Blog Posts

verryyy rough draft i barfed all my ideas into on my notes app at 1am

cw: self harm, semi-graphic self harm, implied (sorta) eating disorder, erasermic adoptive parent agenda sorry, author SUCKS at dialogue

i love shinso so much i need to project onto him and see him suffer

hitoshi noticed a lot of things—the way people moved, the tone of their voices. it wasn’t that he cared; it was just how his mind worked, always observing.

shinso mostly kept to himself, sometimes joining denki and the others at lunch but often choosing not to say much. one afternoon, denki caught him staring down blankly at the table. “you okay, man?” he asked, concern softening his tone.

kirishima handed him a protein bar with a kind smile. shinso’s hands wobbled as he reached out. “yeah,” he muttered, eyes still downcast staring at the texture of the table.

denki’s expression softened. “we’re here if you need anything.”

the rest of his day was weighed down by exhaustion, hitoshi slipped into the student bathroom and locked the door. tucked in the back of his phone case was a brand new unopened razor blade—what he called his “comfort,” a reminder that he still had at least some control. the first cut was shallow and familiar, offering a fleeting sense of release. more cuts followed, and soon blood pooled down his arm, bringing a harsh wave of reality with it. his hands trembled as he grabbed toilet paper to wipe away the blood, hoping it wouldn’t seep through his blazer. he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the face looking back at him.

the rest of his day was worse. he barely passed a test he even studied for, and during class, he could feel his teacher’s eyes lingering on the bandages peeking out from under his blazer making him feel like all eyes were on him.

“i’m going up to do homework,” hitoshi muttered, dragging himself up the stairs as soon as he got home. “hitoshi,” aizawa said, his voice serious but calm. “we know you’re hurting yourself.” shinso froze, his breath quickening. “what?” he managed, panic bubbling beneath the surface. “we found blades,” aizawa continued, his tone unwavering.

shinso stiffened, anger flaring over panic. “you went through my stuff?”

“your teacher called us, we’re worried about you,” yamada said, tone gentle but resolute.

“so you went through my fucking stuff?” hitoshi shouted, shoving past them and storming into his room. he tore through his things—drawers, under the mattress, behind his pc—nothing.

aizawa stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “they’re gone. you won’t find them.”

“where did you put them?” shinso’s voice cracked with desperation.

“i’m not telling you,” aizawa said firmly. “we’re not letting you hurt yourself.”

“please,” shinso’s voice dropped to a whisper, eyes wide with panic, tears filling his waterline. “i need them.”

aizawa’s expression softened but remained resolute. “this alone should be proof you need help, hitoshi. there are better ways to manage your stress. we’re here to help.”

shinso’s panic surged, and he bolted for his bathroom, locking the door behind him. his hands shook as he reached for the last hidden razor hidden away in his phone case. rolling up his sleeve, he stared at the maze of scars, tears blurring his vision.

“i don’t want help,” hitoshi whispered to no one but himself, sliding down the door with his back, grappling with how everything had come to this.

shinso squeezed his eyes shut breath hitching as he heard the lock on the door clicking, signaling shouta found the key. aizawa stepped into the bathroom and crouched next to shinso, eyes steady as he took the blade and held shinso as he crumbled against him.

blah blah blah conclusion very rough draft i made at 2am to at least get my ideas out,,, not my usual content at all but i felt like i should post this on here too

shoutout to the fic i read 3 years ago that keeps making me think about this