Kirishima thought he’d gotten past it, really, but his depression hits him hard after graduation.

tw :
- depression
- suicidal thoughts
- body dysmorphia
- slight body shaming
- self harm
- eating disorders
- substance abuse
- self esteem issues
He wasn’t expecting it at all. He’d be doing so well for so long, it doesn’t make sense. And yet, here he is, drunk in bed, crying silently because he doesn’t want to wake up Bakugou in the next room over.
It feels like every bad thought and insecurity he ever had during high school has just hit him a thousand times as hard. It’s not like anything even really triggered it, but now /everything/ feels like it could be the reason.
He feels inadequate as a hero, he’s hopelessly in love with his best friend and has been hurting over it for years, he hasn’t gotten to see his friends as often anymore, Bakugou always seems bored with him now, and he used to think he was friendly, now he just feels annoying.
He doesn’t even want to talk to anyone anymore, every time he does he just ends up feeling like an idiot later on for what he said. Even tonight, out drinking with the bros, he felt out of place.
Like they were looking for something in him he doesn’t have anymore. He really fucking tries though, he tries to be like high school Kirishima, happy and outgoing, but he can’t even think of things to say that he used to.
If he tries to act peppy, he just comes off as manic, if he tries to be kind, he just sounds awkward, he can’t do it right anymore. The only time his little act seems to work is when he does it for the public.
He knows he’s a well liked hero, and he knows he has a shit ton of fans, but they love Red Riot, they don’t love Kirishima Eijirou. And why would they? No one does.
Well, maybe his moms. And his friends definitely loved him before he lost his touch with humanity, but that’s over now. They love a ghost, not him.
He nearly falls off his bed reaching for the glass of whiskey on his nightstand, but he manages to grab it without spilling. That’s the problem with going out, he gets drunk and then he gets home and he doesn’t have the mental capacity to shove down the bad thoughts.
So he just has to keep going by himself until he passes out once everyone’s disbanded. It’s gross and he never feels good about it, or himself, but it’s better than laying here half lucid, thinking about digging hardened fingers into soft skin.
He sets his glass down a little too hard when he’s finished emptying it, and he stumbles up to go get the bottle from the kitchen. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, and that’s a problem.
He leans heavily on the walls on his way there, but he successfully gets to the bottle and sits on the kitchen floor. He and Bakugou bought this one together, he should probably save some for him. Maybe he’ll just buy a new one later.
He’s not entirely sure how long he’s been sitting here, running his fingers over the floor and wallowing, but soon enough, the bottle’s near empty and he’s still not as wasted as he’d like. Downside of being 6’6 and 240 pounds.
He’s pulled from that train of thought, quite literally, by Bakugou crouching down and yanking his head up by his hair.

“Oh, heybro.”

“How much have you fucking drank?”
He shrugs and swings the empty bottle a little bit.

“I dunno, this much?”

Bakugou rips it out of his hands.

“Jesus christ, Eijirou. This shit was fucking full.”
He hangs his head at the disappointment in Bakugou’s voice and expression. Maybe he should’ve gone back to his room to drink, then he wouldn’t be in trouble.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your fucking liver. Can you walk?”
He shrugs before trying to stand up and falling right back on his ass. Oh, that’s right, his ankle is sprained. He forgot that was why his friends took him out to cheer him up.

“I don’ think so”
Bakugou sighs and throws Eijirou’s arm around his shoulders to help him stand up. It’d honestly be better if Bakugou was bitching at him as they walked to his bed, the silence makes him feel worse.
“‘M sorry.”

“What did I just tell you?”

“I don’ rumember”

Bakugou sighs again and lays Eijirou in his bed before he starts tugging off his jeans.
“Oh, ya’wanna fuck?”

“No, Eijirou, I just don’t want you sleeping in stiff pants, lay back down.”

“Awww, I wanna ave’sex.”

Bakugou freezes where he’s digging out sweatpants from Eijirou’s dresser.
“You’re drunk, you don’t mean that.”

“I dooooo!”

“Just, put these on, I’m going to get you some water.”
Eijirou pouts at Bakugou’s back as he leaves the room. That was a no to the sex thing. He does want he was told though, and he gets his sweatpants halfway up his legs before he starts crying.
“Kirishima?! The fuck?”

He feels so stupid, he looks so stupid. Bakugou is trying to help him finish pulling on his pants and wipe his crocodile tears at the same time.
It takes them a minute to have him dressed and laying down, and Bakugou’s crouching next to the bed with a concerned look on his face.

“What’s going on, Ei?”
He’s really trying to make the tears stop, but it’s hopeless at this point.

“I hate myself.”

Bakugou’s looking at him with shock and, disgust? Good, he deserves that.

“Eijirou-“
He wakes up feeling like shit. It’s to be expected, but hangovers are always worse when you sobbed your eyes out the night before. He practically chugs the cup of water on his nightstand before flopping back down and realizing something’s on his bed.
Well, more /someone/. Bakugou’s sleeping curled up facing him on the top of his bedspread.
-

They don’t talk about it. About the fact Eijirou got majorly sad drunk and cried about hating himself or the fact Bakugou ended up sleeping in his room to take care of him.
Not that it isn’t hinted at though. There have been several instances Bakugou has tried to ask how he’s doing in very unconventional ways.
They both come to the conclusion that no, he’s not, when he gets shot in the torso during a battle where he was seriously off his game.
Healing isn’t horrible, it didn’t hit anything major and they had access to healing quirks. Bakugou cusses him out for being careless, he spends a week in the hospital, and he gets sent home with a referral to a therapist.
He can’t go back to work until he’s cleared by her, and that’s frustrating, but he gets it.

“Kirishima, I’m going to my parents’ for dinner tonight. I’d invite you but you’re all fucked up, you’ll be okay by yourself?”
He smiles at Bakugou’s way of caring and nods.

“Yeah, dude. Don’t worry about me, tell them I say hi though!”

His friend grunts and closes the door behind himself.
-

He gets through about two episodes of his tv show before his thoughts catch up with him. How fucking stupid could he be? Not only is he pathetic as a human being, now he’s shit as a hero too.
His body isn’t even going to be ready to work out for another few days, but that feels like forever. Like he’s going to be sitting here, wallowing in self pity forever. Might as well try to avoid remembering it.
Bakugou hid the rest of the alcohol in the apartment after his last time getting wasted, so he has to tie his hair back and pull on a hoodie to go pick some up.
He would go to a bar, but it’s not like he has the energy to socialize or try to keep up his false persona, so he starts walking the two blocks to the liquor store.
It’s a nice evening, the weather is alright, and it’s pretty peaceful for the city. He lets himself get too caught up in his own head, and he doesn’t notice the teenage girls yelling his hero name until they’re right in front of him.
Fuck, he does not have the energy for this. It’s so rare people even recognize him in his street clothes and with his hair unspiked, just his luck he’d get stopped today of all days.
“Oh, hi! What can I do for you?”

He gives the grin he’s trained so well and one of them squeals.

“Can we get a picture?!”

Great, he’s probably never looked shittier than he does right and they want a picture.

“Of course!”
-

He finishes his walk to the liquor store feeling even worse than when he left the house, and goes for a glass bottle instead of the six pack of beer he was originally intending to get.
Holding the large paper bag on his way home feels like a walk of shame. Don’t mind him, just a failing pro hero falling deep into a depressive episode, nothing to see here.
It takes him considerably less time to get back than it did to get there, and he sighs as he sinks into the couch with his new purchase. Might as well just skip the glass, he’s not planning on going slow.
Maybe it’s bad his quirk can apply to his tongue and throat, just for the fact it makes it incredibly easy for him to chug when he wants to.

“Oops.”

He really didn’t mean to empty half of the bottle in one gulp, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.
-

Well, that was a bigger “oops” than he thought it’d be, given the fact he’s now dry heaving over the toilet. He hasn’t been able to actually get anything up, and he’s been having small time lapses, but his doctor said his pain medicine can make him nauseous.
Oh yeah, he has pain medicine. He probably shouldn’t have drank anything with that. Maybe if he took his pain meds now, they could help with how much his head hurts.
He’s pulled from that train of thought by the sound of keys in the door. Fuck, Bakugou’s home! He doesn’t want Bakugou to see him like this, he probably looks so stupid, and he already made a drunken fool of himself once.
He tries kicking the door closed from where he’s laying on the floor, but he only succeeds in making it bang against the wall with a loud noise. Dammit, now there’s no way Bakugou won’t come in here and see him being so pathetic.
He curls in on himself and turns his face away from the door in an attempt to hide his tears. He doesn’t know when he started crying, but he’s practically choking on sobs when he hears Bakugou’s voice getting closer.

“Kirishima?”
Oh fuck, oh shit oh fuck he’s in here. Maybe if Eijirou pretends to be asleep he’ll leave and he won’t get mad. Fuck! Why does he have to be crying so loud?

“Eijirou? What’s going on?”

“N-Nothing! Go’way. M’fine.”

“Are you fucking drunk?”
Kirishima cries harder as the empathy and worry in his tone turns into frustration. God, why’s he such a fucking failure?

“Stop.”

“No, you know what, this is bullshit. I’m not gonna just sit around and watch you get sad drunk all the fucking time.”
“Then leave.”

He’s still not facing him, but he can hear Bakugou’s scoff.

“You’re being a fucking idiot. Come on, if you’re done puking, you’re going to bed.”
He’s still lightly sobbing when his friend hoists him up and drags him to his room for the second time in a month.
“I don’t want to be alive anymore.”

He’s not even sure he’s said it loud enough to be heard, but does it matter? He’s just being a little bitch and telling Bakugou that is a dick move.
“If this is the type of shit you think when you get drunk, why the fuck do you still drink?”

Kirishima gives a humorless laugh and turns over on his bed.
“I always feel like this. I’m just not stupid enough to actually say it when I’m sober.”

He nearly falls asleep in the time Bakugou takes to respond.
“I don’t understand why. You’re so- I just don’t fucking understand.”

He sighs and crawls into bed next to Eijirou, still wearing the clothes he went to dinner in.
“What’re you doing? You’re not in pajamas.”

“Tch. Like I’m leaving you alone for a fucking second after you tell me you want to die. Just get under the covers, Eijirou.”
( tw: I just wanna reiterate Kirishima is going to have some serious body image issues, and that includes unhealthy thoughts about gaining weight, along with external fat shaming. a big part is body dysmorphia, so most of what he thinks isn’t true. -
a lot of how he feels comes from my personal experience, so it gets really harsh when it comes to his feelings towards himself. if any of these things could seriously upset or trigger you, please please don’t read.)
-

Bakugou doesn’t bring it up, and Kirishima wonders if he’s hoping he forgot, or just hopes that what he’d said was truly a drunken whim.
It’s two days later Eijirou sees himself in a gossip article linked on twitter. It’s the picture he took with those teenage girls on his way to the liquor store, and he cringes at how unflattering it is.
Does he really look like that? It doesn’t even feel like he’s looking at a picture of himself, he looks awful. Apparently, that sentiment is shared.

“Red Riot Dad Bod?”

What? He doesn’t have kids. He walks through the open door into Bakugou’s room.
“Hey bro, do you know what a dad bod is?”

Bakugou doesn’t even bother looking up from his book.

“The fuck? Of course I know what a dad bod is.”

“Uh, could you maybe tell me?”
He glances at Eijirou with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s when you quit giving a fuck and get round. Why are you even asking?”

Oh. He has a dad bod. He gives an awkward laugh as he tries to retreat before he fucking cries or makes a fool of himself in some other way.
“No reason! Just saw someone say it on twitter and got confused. Later, dude!”

Kirishima doesn’t miss the skeptical look Bakugou gives him as he leaves, but it’s not like he can say anything else about it.
He locks his door and crawls into bed once he gets back to his own room. He knows it’s not healthy, and that it’s a bad idea, but that doesn’t stop him from opening the full article.
It isn’t kind. They don’t pull their punches and Eijirou assumes they never really considered him actually reading it. Never considered they could actually affect the hero they’re calling “past his prime” and “no longer fit for his costume”.
He’s holding back and noise he might make, but he can’t stop the tears. His appearance shouldn’t matter this much to him, but it has for a long time. The way he looks is the first thing people see, and he’s always been more confident in his body than anything else.
Seeing an article practically calling him ugly and gross, with thousands of likes, is snuffing that out quickly. He reads the replies.
[ he used to be so hot :( ]

[ Real women prefer this body type 😍 ]

[ dude’s seriously gonna go out shirtless like that? ]

[ this is kinda gross ngl ]
[ I get that he’s been on medical leave or something but that’s kind of ridiculous. ]

[ imagine what he’s been doing to get that big so fast 🤮 ]

[ please pray for the ex hottest hero. he’s not dead he just got fat ]

[ ew ]
Eijirou’s never faced a response like this before, he didn’t even know anyone would actually say these things, but he was always warned about how bold people get online.

After reading through probably two hundred responses, he wipes his eyes and drags himself to the bathroom.
He almost doesn’t want to see it, but he tugs off his shirt and sweatpants before looking in the mirror. He fails at suppressing a small sob at what’s in his reflection.

How did he miss this? How did he not notice himself getting... like this? Every individual part is awful.
Bakugou called this a v-line once, but now it’s just a line of fat. He can’t see any of the hard lines in his body that he used to have, fuck, he can barely even find his muscles.
The skin below his arm sags too much when he holds it out, his stomach sticks out too much, there’s far to much give when he presses his fingers on his pecs, to a point he thinks they could be called breasts, and there’s too much movement- no, /jiggling/ when he jumps.
They were right, he did let himself get fucking gross.
He doesn’t even realize how long he’s been standing here, criticizing himself and crying until Bakugou knocks on the door.

“Oi, I gotta take a piss, you almost done?”
He sucks in a deep breath and coughs to try and loosen the lump in his throat.

“Y-Yeah bro! Just one second.”

He quickly wets a towel with cold water and presses it to his face. There’s no way Bakugou won’t say anything if he comes out looking like this.
He doesn’t even know if he’d be able to come up with an excuse if he’s asked why he’s crying. It’s definitely not that Bakugou’s never seen him cry before, but he’s also never left him alone when he has.
He loves that his friend cares enough to try and make him feel better, but he really doesn’t want to explain the reason he’s been sobbing for an hour. It’ll just make him sound superficial and stupid.
When he’s confident he doesn’t look like a basket case, he puts on his clothes and a fake smile and opens the door.

“Sorry I took so long, totally got distracted.”
Bakugou gives him a scrutinizing look, but nods and swiftly pushes past him. Damn, Eijirou really shouldn’t have hogged the bathroom for so long if he’s that desperate to pee.
By the time he gets back to his bed, he’s truly finished crying, and now he just feels like shit. He’s exhausted and disgusted by himself, but he still has a sense of morbid curiosity. When did he let himself go?
He looks through his camera roll, and he feels himself getting more and more upset. He’s gone back two months already and he looks fucking horrible in every picture. Even the pictures of himself he used to like are awful.
Why did his friends let him go out like this? Let him think he was still decent looking? Joke about him being cute and attractive? Was that just them making fun of him? No, they’d never do that, right?
Maybe it was just some weird overcompensation. Like they were trying to make the ugliest one of their friend group feel better. God, he must’ve looked so fucking stupid, laughing along and accepting the compliments. They probably all cringed every time he did.
Now that he’s thinking about it, they rarely ever say things like that about anyone else, in fact, Eijirou’s often the one singing praises. That’s probably it, they just want it to be even.
Even his face.. He used to think he was okay on that front, as long as he wasn’t showing his freaky teeth. Maybe even slightly above average. But now that he’s looking at the pictures they’ve taken together, the candid or posed, he can see he sticks out like a sore thumb.
All of his friends are so attractive, Mina and Denki have always been so pretty, Uraraka and Midoriya are both cute, Shinsou has his mysterious goth appeal, even Hanta got hot when he cut his hair and got a couple piercings. Not to mention Bakugou, who’s fucking ethereal.
And then there’s Eijirou, laughing and smiling like he belongs with them. This is so dumb, looks aren’t everything and he knows his friends aren’t that shallow, but it feels like that was the last thing he had. The last thing he /thought/ he had.
He’s useless. Sure he’s a decent hero sometimes, and people who don’t actually know him seem to like him, but he himself is a piece of shit. He just wants to go away.
But he knows that would hurt his moms, and it would hurt his friends, even if they don’t like him anymore, they’d probably blame themselves. At least he didn’t do it when he was still at UA, when he still seemed worthy of existence, when Bakugou still saw him as his only friend.
He’s not really jealous or upset about it, but Bakugou’s grown and branched out a lot since back then, and he has a whole community of real friends now. Even he and Midoriya are somewhat close. He’d be okay.
Eijirou wonders what would happen if he just dragged a hardened finger deep through his arm right now. Or maybe the artery in his thigh, or his neck. It’d probably be disgusting, and Bakugou would probably have to see, but it would feel so nice to let go.
He feels tears prick his eyes again as he tugs off his shorts for the second time today and does something he hasn’t had a problem with since middle school.

No one sees his thighs anyway, what do a few gashes matter?
-

Fuck. A few turned into a lot and a lot turned into way too many. He always hated this part the most, cleaning up.
No matter how much he wants to hurt, an infection would be gross, and he’s not even sure they have enough gauze in the apartment to wrap it all. Stupid, he’s so stupid.
He goes to his closet first, and tries to ignore the burn with each step. He definitely went too deep on some of them, but he doesn’t really care enough to feel bad for himself.
He just feels even more gross now that he’s got blood all over his legs. A fair amount has trailed all the way down and he’s glad he’s wearing socks to catch it before it can stain the floor.
He digs around for an old t-shirt he can throw away, and pulls out a tank top he used to wear often. It was always a little tight, and he liked getting looks whenever he wore it, but he realizes now that they were probably looks of disgust.
Whatever, it’s not like he’s going to be wearing tank tops again anytime soon. He should probably shower, but he doesn’t have the energy, so he just wets the shirt in his half-bathroom and starts wiping himself off.
He chokes on a sob when he cleans one of the deepest marks and finds light flesh beneath it. He should’ve expected this, of course he’d be seeing fat.
Just because he was slim and all muscle when he was fourteen doesn’t mean his cuts would always look the way they did back then. He stares at the exposed fat for longer than he should before he gets back to cleaning.
Once it’s all gone and most of the bleeding has slowed down, he stares at his legs in the mirror. Disgusting. He really is so /weak/. A fucking gossip article had him throwing away years of recovery just because it made him feel ugly.
How ridiculous, it was stupid of him to ever think that he’d be fine, that he’d get “better”. He’s always just going to be a weak little kid, crying quietly alone in his room.
“Eijirou? I made dinner.”

He feels his stomach drop into his stomach and he’s never pulled on his clothes so fast, grimacing when his sweatpants drag over his wounds.
“I’m not hungry! Ate a big lunch.”

He opens the door to his bedroom and gives Bakugou a wide fake smile that is not well received.

“We ate lunch together. It wasn’t enough to skip dinner, come eat.”
“I’m just not feeling great, dude. I’m not eating.”

Bakugou looks shocked and either worried or pissed at Eijirou’s tone, but he’s to tired to try and figure it out.
“Fucking- Fine. I’m putting your food in the fridge for when you get hungry in the middle of the night.”

“Thanks.”
He doesn’t see the point in arguing that he’s not going to get hungry later. Well, maybe he will, but he’s not going to eat.
-

Eijirou wakes up feeling like absolute shit. His legs are sore and swollen around his cuts, his head hurts from crying so much, and he feels too weak to move. Low blood sugar probably.
He doesn’t bother checking the time before stumbling out of his room to go make some coffee. The thought of eating right now makes him nauseous, but he needs some energy.
“What’s going on with you?”

“Huh?”

Bakugou is sitting at the kitchen table with a sandwich in front of him and a scowl on his face. Eijirou doesn’t like the way his stomach starts growling.
“You’re acting fucking, /off/. You didn’t eat last night, you spent two hours in the bathroom, and now you’re getting up at half past noon. Are you sick?”

“Something like that.”
He can feel Bakugou’s angry eyes on the back of his head as he makes his “breakfast”. He doesn’t really know why he’s even bothering with coffee, it’s not like he has anything to do today.
“Is that all you’re having?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eijirou, you eat like a fucking vacuum usually and now you’re skipping two meals? What the fuck?”
He eats like a vacuum, which is exactly the reason he’s not eating now.

“Yeah, I fucking get it, you’re shocked the fatass isn’t shoveling food in his face. I’m. Not. Hungry.”
Bakugou looks dumbfounded.

“That’s not what I fucking meant. You’re a goddamn giant, you /need/ to eat-“

“Just drop it, dude!”
“Eijirou, I’m- What the fuck?!”

“What now?”

“What the hell is on your pants?!”
Eijirou looks down at the blood seeping through the fabric on the upper part of his thighs and he can’t be bothered to lie.

“It’s nothing. I’m going back to bed.”
“Kirishima! You can’t just fucking walk away right-“

“Just leave me alone! Holy shit.”

He’s too tired to feel bad about slamming the door in his friend’s face.
-

He makes it to the night before he gives in and binges. It’s barely a binge, but it’s enough to have his self hatred doubling.
He couldn’t even go more than a day without eating, when he was young he could go three times that long without breaking a sweat. But he’s not a skinny kid anymore, and that’s half the problem.
He just needs to avoid food until he’s healed enough to work out again, and then he can try salads or something.
He heard Bakugou on the phone earlier, and he ignored when he knocked on his door, all five times. He doesn’t want to look at him. More accurately, he doesn’t want to be looked at.
After digging around under the couch, he returns to his bed with the half bottle he’d shoved under there a few days ago before Bakugou can catch him out of his room.
-

He feels like everything is somehow lighter and heavier after he starts drinking. He feels his bad feelings even stronger, but he doesn’t have the state of mind to think to deeply about them.
He feels really guilty about this morning though. He loves Bakugou, and he was so mean to him for no reason. He’s tearing up just thinking about how much of an asshole he is.
He misses his best friend.
He was meeting up with someone? Like, like a date? That hurts more than he’d like to admit.
He doesn’t know where he’s going. He declined Bakugou’s calls, and left his phone at home, so he really doesn’t know where he’s going.
In fact, he doesn’t know where he /is/. He wants to cry again. He’s so stupid, no smart person just leaves their apartment while drunk with nowhere to go and no way to get directions.
He sits down on the curb and picks at his shoes. Maybe he’ll get murdered. Maybe some villain with a vendetta will jump him and he’ll have no way to defend himself.
He doesn’t even pretend to dislike those possibilities. At least his moms will get his life insurance if he’s killed.

“You okay, pretty boy?”
Eijirou sniffles and wipes his eyes before looking up at the man who’s sitting down next to him. He’s tall and built, even more than Ei. Maybe this is his chance to get murdered.

“Yeah.”
“You sure? You smell like a liquor store.”

He leans in way closer than necessary but Eijirou doesn’t move away. The primal part of his brain is screaming at him to run, but he really doesn’t even care what this guy does.
“That so?”

“Yeah, but I /love/ the taste of whiskey. Come with me.”
He doesn’t bother fighting when the guy hoists him up and starts leading him somewhere. He’s kind of attractive, and Eijirou can just pretend it’s Bakugou doing whatever this guy does to him, so he lets himself be pulled wherever they’re going.
“You’re pretty quiet, cutie. Something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”
The man laughs at Eijirou’s sad response, and he realizes they’re in an alley. Oh, so maybe he really will get killed tonight.
He barely has the state of mind to notice when the man starts touching him everywhere and attacking his mouth, but he doesn’t try to push him away or reciprocate.
He’s so tired, when did he get so tired? He wishes he could remember which way his apartment is, in case this guy doesn’t actually kill him. Maybe he’ll just sit in this alley and wait until he sobers up once the man is finished with him.
He doesn’t move when a hand slides between his legs, or when he’s turned around and pressed against the brick wall, or when the man tugs down his jeans and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers while grinding against him.
He only actually moves when his wrist is grabbed and he’s yanked sideways hard enough for his cheek to get scraped on the wall.
There’s a loud pop and a flash of light followed by a deep voice in his ear, and two warm hands pulling his pants back up.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Eijirou.”
“Go ahead.”

“You- Fucking- Gah! We’re going home. You! Stay the fuck away from him!”
Eijirou doesn’t care about the pain hd feels when the creepy guy grabs his arm too tight and pulls him back.

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a downer, we were just having a little fun. Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll let you watch me fuck your boyfriend.”
Eijirou doesn’t have to be sober to know he should probably activate his quirk, because there’s no way Bakugou isn’t about to explode. He doesn’t harden.
He doesn’t know if he should be relieved or disappointed that Bakugou’s aim is accurate enough to not hit him.
-

He’s pretty sure Bakugou only stunned the guy so he could have enough time to shove Eijirou in the car, but it’s not like it matters much to him.
He’s actually somewhat disappointed the man never had a chance to hurt him, though he’s probably never going to forget the feeling of his hands all over him.
“What the FUCK were you thinking?! I’ve been looking for you for over an hour, the only reason I was able to fucking find you was because of the emergency tracker in your watch! Do you even realize what he was about to do to you?!”
“Yes.”

“And you just don’t fucking care that you almost got taken advantage of while wasted in an alley? You don’t give a shit about how badly he could’ve hurt you?”

“No.”
Bakugou scrubs a hand over his face and hits his steering wheel with a frustrated shout.

“I don’t know what to do, Eijirou. Just tell me what to do and I’ll fucking do it. I don’t know what’s going on with you, and you’re fucking scaring me.”
“You don’t have to do anything. It’s not a big deal.”

“How can you say that?”

Eijirou shrugs.

“It’s really just not your business.”
“I- It /is/. I fucking care about you and I don’t want to sit here, watching you kill yourself!”

“Then don’t look.”
Kirishima is pretty sure Bakugou is crying as he pulls over to the side of the road.

“Look at me, Eijirou.”

It hurts, but he lifts his head to make eye contact.
“I need you to tell me the truth, is that how you really feel, or is this because of the fucking alcohol?”

Eijirou doesn’t even think about his answer before he speaks. He doesn’t want to be sent away.

“It’s the alcohol.”
Bakugou seems to release some of his tension and takes a deep breath while wiping his eyes.

“Okay, we can handle this. We’ll get you in one of those fucking programs and- and I’ll help you stay sober. We’ll get you through this, alright? You’re strong enough, I know it.”
He feels bad about lying to his best friend, but it’s outweighed by the relief he feels. He doesn’t want to get sent away.
-

Eijirou twirls the coin between his fingers and sighs. He only has the “one week sober” chip, but it feels like it’s been years.
Bakugou found him some small AA group with strict confidentiality agreements to protect his career, but that isn’t a big problem in Eijirou’s mind.
He’s already the weak, stupid, fat, ugly pro hero who’s past his prime before he’s even gotten through his mid twenties, might as well add alcoholic to that list.
He hasn’t responded to anyone’s texts or calls in two weeks, and he’d probably be avoiding Bakugou too if they didn’t live together.
He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He doesn’t like lying and he doesn’t like feeling pitied, an experience that’s only gotten worse since he realized how truly dislikable and gross he is.
Honestly, he’s just a waste of space at this point. Too much space. He’s become increasingly aware of his size as time goes on, and it’s disturbing to the point of him having to wear baggy clothes 24/7.
He can see the concern in Bakugou’s eyes grow every day, but he really doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s certain that concern will snuff out once he realizes how pathetic Eijirou is. There’s not a doubt in his mind.
But until then, he’ll just have to feel guilty every time he sees Bakugou look at him.
“You got the chip today?”

“Oh, yeah. One week, woohoo.”

He flicks the coin across the kitchen table and Katsuki catches it before it falls off.
“One week is good, Ei. You’ve heard your sponsor, it’s especially impressive for you to stay sober this long off the bat.”

“Yeah, I’m a real model alcoholic. Or maybe a bad one? I don’t know.”
Katsuki purses his lips and looks down at the table while visibly searching for something to say.

“It’s- I’m fucking proud of you.”
Eijirou feels even more like curling in on himself until he disappears. It’s not like he can tell Bakugou that the drinking was barely even a fraction of his buttload of problems, or that stopping it only made it harder to hold everything else back.
He’d have to give up his one-week-clean chip in a second if it included self harm or starving or suicidal thoughts. He can recognize that he’s really not doing great.
“Thanks, man.”

Katsuki nods with a small grunt and turns to step into the kitchen.

“What do you feel like for dinner? Choose whatever, we’re celebrating.”
“Um, actually I already ate on my way back from the meeting. Sorry, bro.”

“So? You can usually eat- Just, what do you want?”
You can usually eat twice. He knows that’s what Katsuki was going to say. How the hell did Eijirou manage to not notice how gross he’d gotten when everyone else saw it?
He’d convinced himself in high school that he needed to eat to get stronger, but he obviously took that too far, if his current physique is anything to go by.
“I’m really not hungry, dude. I’ll keep you company while you eat though!”

“Tch, obviously, but you should have something too. It’ll take me a while to make this shit, you’ll probably be hungry again by the time it’s ready.”
Eijirou sighs. He does feel kind of guilty already for turning down Katsuki’s offer.. he’ll just eat a couple bites. Or at least pretend to.

“Alright, alright, what’re you making?”

“Nope, you wouldn’t pick, so you don’t get to know.”
-

Dinner went terribly. Well, it went well on a surface level, he enjoyed talking to Katsuki, and the food did taste good, but he actually ate it.
He tried so hard to only have a few bites, but he couldn’t stop. It was like the part of his brain reminding him not to just completely shut off. It finally woke back up after he’d nearly cleared his plate and Katsuki smiled triumphantly.
“See? I told you you’d be hungry.”

He wanted to disappear. He felt the panic coming, but he didn’t want to ruin a good night, so he faked a laugh and put his hands up in surrender.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe you were right.”
“Maybe? You fucking ate half a ton! Just admit you can’t resist my cooking.”

He had that cute arrogant and teasing smile, and Eijirou used that to force down his self hatred. At least temporarily.
“And feed your ego even more? Nah, no can do, Katsu. We’ve already exceeded your daily ego points.”

“Fuck you. Asshole.”
He looked so pretty, all relaxed and content. Eijirou felt guilty for being so miserable in that moment.
He cleaned up the kitchen extra quickly and told Katsuki he was too tired when he asked if they were going to watch a movie.
It wasn’t a complete lie, but sitting on the bathroom floor contemplating whether or not he should make himself get sick is definitely not because he’s tired.
He’s just never really been able to go through with it, even when he was younger, he was the type to avoid food instead of forcing it back up.
His gag reflex is practically nonexistent, and the one time he was actually able to make himself sick he had a sore throat for a week.
A few times his binges were bad enough that he didn’t even have to try, though. Maybe he should go chug saltwater or something.
No, that’s stupid. Fuck, why couldn’t he just stop after a few bites? He should’ve been able to stop, he’s supposed to be strong enough to fight his impulses by now.
He lets his head fall back to the wall and stares at the ceiling. At least Katsuki only cooks healthy meals, and he always uses fresh ingredients.
Eijirou will just have to fast extra long after tonight. Thirty two hours might be enough, if he works out.
He sits on the floor for another fifteen minutes without doing anything and gets up to go to bed. He’s not really planning on sleeping yet, but he’s at least gonna go in there to rectify some of the guilt he’s feeling.
He failed today, and he feels the itch under his skin because of it. He is running out of space on his upper thighs, though. Maybe he’ll move to his ass next, it’s not like anyone will be seeing it.
Yeah, he’s contemplated going out and getting a random person to fuck him after the night Bakugou found him in that alley, but a hookup requires someone looking at him, and he definitely doesn’t want that.
He could probably snag some creep, but he’s pretty sure he’d have trouble even finding someone who’d want to sleep with him, especially after those articles about how shitty his body is.
The ones that talk about how he used to be considered attractive feel like salt in the wound. He doesn’t want to hear that, he doesn’t want to hear about how much he’s failed.
Bakugou found one of the harsher articles and made some offhand comment about it being bullshit, but Eijirou knows he only said that because of how much he hates tabloids.
Eijirou just felt even more shitty knowing that it meant he’d seen those pictures. It isn’t even just the “dad bod” pictures anymore, it’s pictures of him leaving the hospital, him going to the grocery store, him just fucking existing and looking like this.
He wants it to stop. He just wants to look like he apparently used to, he wants to be worth something.
It sounds shallow, but his body is the only way he can achieve that. He can’t change his personality, he can’t make himself smarter or more likable, despite how much he’s tried, so his last option is his looks.
He cleans up his legs once he’s finished and makes himself stare at his body in the mirror until the image is even more burned into his brain. He needs to remember that this is what he looks like now, this is what he needs to change.
-

Eijirou tosses his three week chip in the plastic cup on his dresser. Three weeks doesn’t even sound like a big enough milestone to get a chip, but he’s gotten one every week so far.
It’s ironic that everyone in his life is praising him for “getting better” when he’s really only getting worse.
The drinking was never the problem. The drinking was a distraction, and without it, he has to face reality every second of every day.
The “bakusquad” laughed last night about how the tables had turned with Katsuki being the one to drag /him/ out of the apartment to be social instead of the other way around.
He enjoyed seeing them, he really did, but it was tainted by the fact he knew they didn’t feel the same way. He could see the way they were uncomfortable around him, like they were forcing smiles and conversation.
He was tempted to just go home more than once. He felt it in his gut when Mina nudged Denki after he ordered a drink, and he said “Oh, right, shit.” before flagging down the waitress to cancel it.
He knows they thought he didn’t notice, and he should feel happy about the fact they were being that considerate, but all he could think about was the way his presence ruined more than one aspect of their night.
Eijirou flops on his bed and tries to push the self pity from his mind. He feels like a whiny child, but that type of thoughts rarely leave his head. It feels like he’s just been marinating in his wallowing for weeks.
Eijirou sighs and rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie to wrap his hand around his forearm. He’s able to get his fingers to touch just below the freckle he uses for measurement.
He wouldn’t mind if his arm was just muscle, in fact, he’d be excited, but he feels the softness, he knows the diameter is this big because of the fat. Hopefully he can get past the freckle by next week.
-

He can’t. He doesn’t know what he did wrong. He fasted more often than not and he worked out every day, so why hasn’t anything changed?
He would’ve expected to at least lose some water weight, but no, he’s exactly the same as last week, only more tired.
He’s been relying on caffeine a bit too much, and it’s been messing with his sleep schedule, but it shouldn’t have stunted his progress.
He wants to scream and cry and throw a tantrum when he realizes he’s even farther from the freckle than he was before. Does he need to just stop eating completely?
He could make it a while before starvation caught up with him in a bad way, but it’s going to be hard to work out without any fuel.
No, he has plenty of fuel. Fat is fuel. With the way he is now, he could probably survive on just water for months.
It sounds miserable, but it can’t be any worse than how he’s feeling now. He can eat when he has his old body back.
He lets out a shout of frustration when he can’t force his fingers to touch around his arm, and he takes several deep breaths to keep from sobbing.
This is stupid, he shouldn’t be crying about this. He really should’ve been crying before, when he had no idea he’d become gross and everyone around him just let him believe he was fine.
“Eijirou? The fuck are you screaming about?”

Shit, he didn’t think Katsuki was home.

“Oh, nothing, man! Got sniped in my game.”
He hears Katsuki scoff on the other side of the door and walk away. He’s never been a fan of video games, but Eijirou enjoys them sometimes. Well, he used to. It feels wrong to let himself enjoy anything now.
Part of it may just be the fear that he won’t be able to. That he’ll be stuck in the same place he was as a kid when he lost all of his hobbies and passions and lived solely to keep his moms from being sad.
He doesn’t know how he’d react if he started hating /everything/ again. He’s already lost a lot of his motivation, he probably wouldn’t be able to handle another important part of his existence being taken away.
He doesn’t feel like himself at all, and he hasn’t for a long time, but he sometimes wonders if this is his true self. Just because it’s the “bad” version of him doesn’t mean it isn’t the truest.
He clenches his fists on his knees and wants to hit something. He wants to hit himself, honestly, but he’ll settle for his punching bag.
-

His knuckles are busted and bleeding, and he feels like an idiot. How the hell is he supposed to explain why he didn’t wrap them? It’s not like that’s something he could’ve just forgotten.
He’s staring at the already forming bruises when Katsuki walks in without knocking.
Eijirou feels like his heart stops. He’s at home, he was just working out at home, and he’s been bundling up so much to go to the gym lately... He’s at home, and he’s shirtless.
He hasn’t been this exposed in front of anyone in weeks, and of course it has to be Katsuki looking at him. Looking at his stomach, and his chest, and his arms that lack the definition they used to have.
He sees the way Katsuki’s eyes linger on his skin, and he’s never felt more disgusting.

“Get out!”

“What? I was just going to ask what you wanted for-“
Eijirou’s throwing a boxing glove at the door before he even realizes it.

“GET OUT!”
Katsuki predictably dodges it, and he looks at Eijirou with a mixture of shock and anger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Fine, fucking starve for all I care!”

He slams the door behind himself, and Eijirou feels sick.
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