2am Knows All Secrets [Kiribaku]

last night I woke the fuck up

In the meantime, he hardened his eyes, picking up the staring contest where he'd left it off before his own internal monologue had distracted him.

Third session since Kamino, first since living on campus, and he was getting really fucking good at this. It took ages for his eyes to start stinging. It also intimidated the hell out of her, he could tell. She was young, not as experienced. And Katsuki had a killer resting bitch face.

After a few moments of staring, the shrink shifted in her seat. Adjusted her suit jacket. Broke eye contact to look down at her clipboard.

Score. Too easy.

"Talk to me," she said, clearing her throat. "How's life in the dorms? How're you adjusting?"

Katsuki snorted. As if he was gonna tell some stuck-up stranger about any of it. No. No way. Not a single goddamn word. His parents already knew about the nightmares — they asked him how he was sleeping every fucking time they called, and Katsuki knew exactly why — and as far as he was concerned, that was two people too many. Deku was starting to notice something was up, too, if his constant side-eyeing was anything to go by. That creep. Not to mention, nosey Shitty Hair was inching closer and closer to the truth with every day that passed. Shit. Shit.

The shrink watched him for a bit, then jotted something down on her clipboard, and rage burst in Katsuki's chest. How dare she think she understood him enough to take fucking notes. How dare she.

He blinked away the prickling in his eyes. All that staring was starting to catch up to him. Nothing else. He jutted out his jaw and schooled his face and dug his heels into the dirt even more. Good luck wringing anything else out of him now.

He wanted to go home. Away from UA. Away from the expectant eyes of the shrink's office and the prying ears of the dormitory and all of his half-spilled secrets. Pro heroes didn't deal with this bullshit. Pro heroes couldn't afford to deal with this bullshit. Pathetic is what it was.

Weak. Fucking weak.

☆

That was all Katsuki could think as he woke Friday night to yet another nightmare. Weak, pitiful, good-for-nothing. He covered his ears with his pillow, trying to stifle the taunts, trying to stop his dry-heaving, but there wasn't anything he could do, he really was weak, pathetic, a coward—

At his door, frantic knocking.

In him, there was only rage.

That motherfucker.

He shouted for Shitty Hair to go away, to leave him the fuck alone, but not even squeezing the pillow tighter over his head worked to block it out. Shitty Hair just kept going, on and on, knocking and yammering and demanding answers as if he had any right to know what Katsuki was going through.

Fuck that.

With a growl, Katsuki tore the pillow away from his head, stomped to the door, and wrenched it open.

And there Shitty Hair was, snarky this time, as if this was all some fucking game, a silly little puzzle for him to figure out, like Katsuki's most compromising secret wasn't on the line here. No fucking way. Katsuki balled his fists. Shitty Hair wasn't gonna get a single fucking word out of him, either.

Yet, there Shitty Hair was, reading him with a single look. Like he knew Katsuki, knew when something was wrong, his smirk falling away, his brow creasing in concern, and what the fuck was wrong with Katsuki, anyway? Why couldn't he keep his face in check? Why'd his voice crack like that? Why was he trembling? Why couldn't he stop?