✓LIFE SENTENCE|| TodoDeku Au

☆Two☆

~ Third Person P.O.V ~ *SEMI-TRIGGER WANRING IG*

All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart.
―Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me  

Two hundred years.

Seventy-three-thousand days had passed yet he still remembered every bit of it, for it had all embedded itself into the forefront of his mind. Sticking to his memory like asphalt when its freshly laid, boring into every nerve of his body throughout the day — never giving him a breather. However, he had gotten used to it after the first few decades had passed by in a drunken haze . . . In fact, he had now begun to rely on the memories, they were like a second oxygen to him now; and he so desperately needed to breathe. As much as he despised it, loathed, held onto so much animosity for it — Shoto needed it.

It was sick and twisted really. Someone finding themselves relying on all the bad memories they'd usually suppress and block out, hell, at this point he craved it. 

Because if there was one thing Shoto had learned in all of his two centuries of being alive . . . it's that dying is peaceful yet living is harder. He held onto all of those memories for a reason, to remind himself every day of who he was; 'The who never died'. Of course, it was only a matter of time before people found out about him; especially since the past few decades has had technology rising more than ever in people's everyday life. Shoto had caused quite the stir ever since some amateur hacker pulled up his records from the early seventies  — which led to everyone finding out just how long he's been alive.

If anything, at this point he was exhausted; physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Shoto had lived an incredibly long life, he could care less about all of this soulmate stuff now . . . he just wanted to rest. Of course, he knew that'd most likely never happen, the unforgiving and taunting date on his wrist was a liar — and he should have known better than to rely on it.

Rain glided down his dorm window like rippling vines in a forest, heavy drops of the contaminated water pouring down onto the roof with a thrumming splatter. The sound had soon become the soundtrack to the everlasting silence that filled his room. One side of said room remained empty and untouched, as it had for the past few months now . . . No matter who moved in next nobody would be able to fill the void of the right side of his room.

Nobody.

His summer homework had been left abandoned on his desk, still waiting patiently to be touched and finished. For he had put it off all break, deciding to procrastinate and do it all the night before classes resumed again. Typical Shoto. 

As the rain cascaded harder against the roof of the dorm building, Shoto sunk deeper into his chair — heterochromatic eyes hooded as he mindlessly clicked his pen. Click, click, click. He sunk even lower in his chair now, strands of scarlet and pure snow mixing together as his head tilted back. Shoto did this often, especially when it rained, sink low into his chair, head back, eyes closed. He liked to imagine that's would it'd feel like when he died.

. . . Peaceful.

A knock sounded at his door, rudely interrupting his peace as the person, or more like people, behind the door barged in. Kirishima and Bakugou. Unfortunately for Shoto, he had been blessed — cursed  — with the two ever since the beginning of college . . . Not that he really minded it, not that he would ever admit that out loud of course.

"Oh, no guys by all means please come in," Shoto muttered sarcastically, swiveling around in his chair to glare at the duo. "Even though I could have been buck naked, but who cares, right?" he drawled with tired eyes.

"Fuck off Half 'n Half, we just came into check on you . . . You know, to make sure you weren't trying to kill yourself or something," Bakugou said nonchalantly, taking a seat next to Shoto on the desk.

"Katsuki!" The redhead snapped, giving him a pointed look. "You're not supposed to say that out loud,"

Shoto heaved a sigh as he pulled the sleeves down on his hoodie. "You drink bleach on time and all of a sudden you're deemed 'Suicidal' . . . I can't die dumbasses, or have you forgot that little detail?" he scoffed, flicking the blond on the forehead.

"Yeah, but that still doesn't mean you should do shit like that." Katsuki uttered, his ruby orbs glued to the ground.

The duel-haired 'teen' didn't like to consider himself suicidal as others had, that term just didn't fit right with how he felt. Like he's said, he lived a long life and he was exhausted — after the first century went by he had come to that conclusion. Death sounded peaceful to him right about now, he had lived far too long . . . Of course, that would never be the case with him; he couldn't die.

He could probably never die.

"Is there any other reason why you came by here? Or is it just to check on me?" The younger demanded, cocking on frosty brow.

Kirishima did a roll of his eyes, as he pulled out his phone. "Well, we just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out — ya know?" he offered, "A few of us are going down to the lake today,"

"It's raining," Shoto pointed out, yet he still got up to retrieve a fresh pair of clothes.

"Since when has that ever stopped us?" Bakugou chuckled, hopping off the wooden desk to join the other two by the bed. 

A small, tight-lipped smile made itself known on Shoto's lips as he resisted a low chuckle that threatened to break past his mouth. It was true, no matter the weather the three and their friends would always find time to go to the lake a few minutes away from campus. Finding shelter underneath the line of trees whenever they arrived. It was stupid and reckless . . .

Yet fun nevertheless.

As the duo exited the male's room, it gave Shoto a few more minutes to himself as he went into the bathroom to change. Quickly getting in the shower and getting back out as he brushed his teeth. The mirror was fogged over from his shower, water droplets forming around the circumference of the clear patch he wiped in order to see himself clearer. 

The smooth span of his chest and pecs adorned with faded, old scars and burns of a sort; more memories attached to these small markings embedded into his flesh. One more painful than the other. He liked to think of his skin like a story more than his mind, showing the readers all he had been through rather than simply telling them. Displaying all his pain out for the world to see on a silver platter almost. As he slipped into a fresh hoodie his eyes lingered over his wrist which was usually covered, thumb caressing the date printed into his flattened skin. 

Before — meaning a century ago at least — he would count down the years, months, weeks, and days until this date came to pass. Unlike now. Which would be his downfall in the end, because what Shoto failed to realize was . . .

That date was merely days away.

Hello Cricket Cultists!!

Just a fair warning there are probably going to be a lot of trigger warnings throughout this specific book. I probably should have mentioned this in the beginning so sorry about that, if you need to take breaks or just not read this at all I understand.

Again like most of my books, I'm trying to bring awareness to a lot of things people go through and show them that things do get better. I'm going to be tackling a lot of problems and challenges throughout this book, not only as a writer but as an individual ya know?

I hope you enjoy.

Until wee met again!!!