Itch ~ A Shigaraki Tomura X reader fan fiction

Overflowing

20 years of age, a Med student, a future brain surgeon, a poor kid struggling to pay for my meals let alone my tuition. God.. I'm a fucking mess.

Sorry, bad introduction. My name is (Y/N) (L/N), and I've lived in Japan all of my life. I live by myself in a shanty apartment complex in the middle of downtown Tokyo city. Ah.. it got kind of depressing again.

As you can see, I've got a lot of things on my plate, and the majority of those things are far from edible. The beginning of my story isn't very special, but it's important nonetheless.

It all starts in a place I had grown all too familiar with; in a psychologist office.

The smell of the building is all too clean; the type of place that has so much Clorox bleach showered in the tiles it could probably melt off your nose hairs. Hey, some people like that kind of clean, but definitely not me.

The office of Mr. Daichi was my least favorite place out of the entire building. Wait, let me back up a slight- I feel like I've missed a lot of details already. The Tokyo City mental institution was where I had come to be familiar with after having my first break down. Yes, you guessed it- the cuckoo's nest, the crazy's slammer, the mEnTaL aSyLuM.

Now I don't think that my freak out warranted such harsh punishment, if you were my therapist you'd probably be saying 'It's a gift! You should be jumping for joy at the opportunity!' Pfff-

I need to get on track, you probably don't have all day.

Inside this psycho slammer was home to the most dreary, dark, stinky, old, depressing- (Honestly the list could go on) office of the most mundanely boring man in existence. Just being in his presence made me want to jump out of a-

I wouldn't even be in this mess if I had dropped out of school. The constant pressure from parents and relatives to succeed in college was doubled by the pressures of having to support myself. To get into the University of Tokyo I had to lie to my parents that I had gotten a scholarship from the government. It wasn't all a lie, I had simply borrowed the money from my parents to say it was for the housing cost. I would be paying it back to them later, I swear.

But the reason I was referred to the institute was because of an episode I had on the way home from the University. I had stayed back to discuss a test retake that I had a low score on, and he had threatened to send the report card directly to my parents before the retake. I had left the university and headed back through the subway to get to my apartment. It had been rush hour, and I barely had enough space to move, let alone breathe.
I just don't know what came over me. First, it was shakiness in my vision and shortness of breath, then vibrations through my toes and limbs. Soon enough, the crowd had been thrown back around the sides of the subway car with a large blast. Screams and cries throughout the compartment.

Now I'd love to say it was a coincidence, for my whole life I had been quirk-less, so I wanted to rule that out of the way. As I looked at the passed-out and bruised bodies on the floor, a sinking feeling in my chest told me this was my doing. I was in the very center of the car with not a scratch myself. Trying to steady my breathing, the passengers attempted to flee as the doors flung open. The next thing I knew cops were cuffing me and leading me to the station.

I don't want to try to defend myself on the events of that day, I was at the heart of the chaos. What I will never understand is why they referred me to the institute.