[ warning: chapter may contain disturbing images and depictions of self-harm that may upset some readers. viewer discretion is advised. ]
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Isn't it crazy how, to change a life, all you have to do is end another?
Oh, how easy it is, too easy, really, to ruin someone's future. To ruin your own.
But sometimes, you just aren't lucky enough to do even that.
You open your eyes. Your body shakes in fear of itself, not forgetting the way you ended your own life almost without hesitation. So easily. Oh, so, so, easily.
Looking around, you stand, surprised to even be alive. Panic sets in when you realize where you are: the police department, watching Izuku hug Ochaco, a knife sitting comfortably in your hand.
You clutch at your neck, imagining Shinimi's blood soaked body, and the red gushing from his throat.
Was it . . . was it even real?
You're back. Back to the place you killed Ochaco, except she's right here, and she's completely fine.
And she's got her arms wrapped around Deku, a blush dusting his cheeks.
There's too many things going on in your head. Too many emotions, clouding your judgement, blurring your vision, and so only one thought fills your head:
He's mine.
You lift the knife, deja vu shooting through you, unsure if this is even real, thinking a thousand thoughts, a thousand words, wondering if you'll regret it, wondering if he'll hate you again, wondering if it will all end the same way it did before—
—when Ochaco spins around, grabbing your wrist, and sending the knife floating into the air. Her face is hurt, and by the way she's sweating, you can tell she's scared.
"I knew," she huffs, "you couldn't be trusted."
Midoriya looks shocked, and his eyes search your face for an answer to his question.
Are you okay?
You can hear his voice, though, from back then. Was it real? Him calling you a monster?
Everyone in the police department stares at you now, whispers flying through the room like gunfire. They pierce your heart the same way a bullet would, shattering it, scattering it into pieces.
And you run.
You run away, just like you did before. This time, you didn't kill Ochaco.
But now you're running as if you did.
It all hits you as you run through the rain . . . the oh, so familiar rain, pelting your back and soaking your hair.
Maybe if I can make it to the convenience store, you think, then I can help Shinimi.
Right now, Midoriya doesn't matter to you, and all you can think about as you near the store is how much you're hoping that it was all an illusion. One of Kurai's dirty tricks.
The rain doesn't stop, even when you do, falling in front of the store in a heap of huffing and sore legs.
Where is he?
You clench your fists.
I have to save him!
Hitting the sidewalk, you grind your teeth, screaming into the dark sky. Small drops of blood drip from your knuckles, and you watch them heal, only getting more angry.
You almost punch the sidewalk again, before you see your arms in the moonlight. The glinting moonlight, laughing at you from above, making fun of you with the stars. They laugh, wondering how you could've been so stupid.
Scars.
Burn scars.
Running up and down your forearms, like fire tracing your veins. Like a river, flowing across your skin; the evidence of your demise. Your quirk wouldn't let you die. A simple burn was easy to heal, and heal it did, leaving scars behind.
So it was real?
Ochaco's body, falling to the floor with a knife lodged in her back.
So then . . . no, it wasn't real.
Running through the rain, escaping your own mistakes.
Was it real?
Surely.
Shinimi's dead body, burning, the smell of smoke and rotting flesh.
No, it can't be.
But . . .
You look down at your scars.
And you scream. It rips from your throat like a knife, and you feel the dry, raw pain tearing through you.
Why?
You hit your head on the concrete.
What's even real anymore?
Again, and again, and again.
Why hasn't it ended yet?
Again, and again, and again.
Why did you mess it all up?
Again, and again, and again.
Why did Hiroto have to die?
Again, and again, and again.
Why did you even—!?
"Please!"
You stop, tilting your head up but unable to see because of the blood flowing into your eyes. The concrete is rough on your palms, stinging with a pain you don't recognize.
"Please stop!" Midoriya huffs, reaching for you, "Please!"
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