in a spoon and melt me,

Inject me and breathe me in,

Let me inch across you with an itch

Let me slip into you, smoke thin

I want to share the joy you get

From something that rips your skin,

Because a part of me

Needed therapy

Before you ever even walked in.

I find myself becoming so jealous of

The things that destroy you,

I've done well at fooling myself

That I've been in your shoes.

What Katsuki foundto be the most annoying thing about living, was the fact that breathing was somewhat obligatory. There were times when he was grateful for the ability to subconsciously do it (since the reminder helped calm his anxiety attacks down), and there were other times it made him feel trapped.

Katsuki had his first anxiety attack at the age of thirteen. He'd been in an awful falling out that had escalated into a full-on fist fest.

"Katsuki. Do you want to explain to me why you've been suspended?"

Katsuki gritted his teeth as tears threatened to escape his eyes, his head hung low. "You already fucking know why."

"Don't give me that fucking tone, brat!" Mitsuki Bakugou slammed the kitchen table, making the dishes and glasses on it clink noisily. Her nostrils were flared, her jaw was clenched, and her spiky blonde hair bounced as she jerked her head. Masaru, her husband, flinched at the outburst.

She eyed her partner's meek reaction and sighed, closing her eyes before reopening them. With a more subdued (but still edged) tone, she said, "You know what I mean, Katsuki. We were only given a half-assed summary of the situation." She rose her brows. "How did this fight happen?"

Truthfully, the cause was so stupid to Katsuki it made him sick. He'd been looking a tad too long at a classmate from two seats over. The boy caught him looking, accused him of being a 'digusting homo' that would spread his disease to him, and got a few of his shitty little lads to join in on the name-calling.

Bakugou broke the fucker's nose and almost crushed his leg under the weight of his black boot. Naturally.

It was so stupid, Katsuki thought. But that didn't stop a part of him, a twisted part, from replaying the satisfying crunch of a nose over and over in his head. If the teachers were a little bit more late, he would've gotten to see more tears run down the fucker's face. That fucking bastard deserved it.

"He said," Katsuki said, his voice now firm and his eyes dry as he raised his head to look Mitsuki in the eye, "that I was a queer. That I'm full of nasty germs that are gonna spread to him if I don't stay the fuck away. I'm a creep. I've been staring at him for days now, weeks now, he says."

Mitsuki tensed.

"But I keep wondering, 'what's the deal if I look at him', you know?" He looked at his father, his face blank. "I didn't ask though. I shut the fuck up because I've been in too many fights with too many of these cunts, so everyone's got their eyes on me. Because I'm the issue. Because I will always be an issue." He blinked. "But then he got his friends in on it. So he got what he asked for, really."

Silence fell over the room.

"Katsuki," Masaru finally said, trying to give some insight, "What that kid did is unacceptable, and we'll be sure to bring this to Mr. Izamashu. You should never be experiencing something as hateful as that."

"But," he continued a bit timidly, adjusting his glasses, "I'm sure you know that violence, especially of that degree, is never something that should be a choice. It's hard to, I know, but you've got to learn to control your anger and ignore those kids. Otherwise, you'll lose your say." He glanced at Mitsuki. "Your mother and I will do our best to make sure any issues are limited as possible."

"Doesn't matter."

Mitsuki rose a brow. "What?"

Katsuki shrugged, picking at his food, his breath shortening despite his calm demeanor. He was on the verge of breaking down. "I said, it doesn't matter. Nothing will change. No matter how many hours you spend warding off those assholes, they'll come back in some other way. Because people like him will always exist. At some point, this shit will come full circle again. Nothing will change."

"Nothing will change."

"Nothing will change."

"Nothing will-"

Katsuki opened his eyes, his breathing short. He stared at the familiar plainness of his dorm room ceiling. Great, another stupid flashback-dream. Those things had been plaguing him ever since Izuku said he needed some space days ago, and he couldn't figure out why that was.

There were things he missed about Izuku that terrified him. He was way more attached to that nerd than he initially thought. He was all he thought about when he was awake, so he tried sleeping. But then he had been beaten with the past in his dreams. Katsuki just couldn't win.

The ringing of his phone interrupted his thoughts. That's been, like, the tenth time this week. Because of his laziness and detachment from reality, Katsuki had been dutifully ignoring the calls, not even bothering to pick up the phone. Who was so insistent on trying to burst his eardrums anyway?

He exhaled heavily, reaching over to his bedside dresser to pick up the phone miserably. "What?"

"Katsuki, have you been ignoring my calls, brat?"

Bakugou sighed, blinking lazily. "Whaddya want, old hag?"

"I'm just checking on you, dumbass. Jesus, am I not allowed to check on you or somethin'?" Mitsuki, on her end of the call, rose a brow in question. Katsuki gritted his teeth. He didn't fancy getting on his mother's wrong side; she was intense. "You can do whatever you want."

"I know," Mitsuki replied, now balancing the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she stretched her arms forward, her fingers wiggling. "Anyway, I called you for a reason." The young intern before her slid gold avant-garde accessories up both of her arms that were currently painted pink. Mitsuki's recent shoots had been getting more...abstract.

"Don't rush yourself, please," Katsuki said sarcastically, knowing that his mother would get that he wanted her to hurry up and talk.

"Shut up. Anyway, I've heard from Aizawa. You've been skipping classes and shit. Why?"

Katsuki sighed with exasperation. That fucking snitch, He thought.

"Katsuki, he's not a snitch or whatever it is I know you're thinking. He's a bit concerned, actually. But he's emotionally handicapped, so he has no idea how to approach an angry little fucker like you." She paused in thought. "He's actually a more functional version of you, now that I think about it."

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "So now what? You telling me to go to class again?"

"Duh. But since I still care about you, I did you the favor of signing you up for therapy, on campus."

Katsuki sat up at the speed of light. "You what? I don't need that shit, and I'm doing just fine! You know how much I fucking hated it last time-"

"Oh, shut up. I can smell your emotional constipation through this phone," Mitsuki laughed, her chortles becoming louder after seeing how confused her assistant looked.

After she calmed down, she sighed, her voice more stern, yet soft. "Look, your father and I decided that being in this environment with...everything you've dealt with must be tiring. You might even be dealing with shit right now, but you wouldn't tell us that. We processed your records for the registration online so it makes shit easier. Just...try to get even one session in, okay?"

Katsuki slumped. He just couldn't catch a break. "Okay."

After hanging up, the phone buzzed from an incoming message. His mother had sent him more details about the therapy. He sighed, slamming his feet lazily against the plushness of his bed. Great, just fucking fantastic. Now he felt obliged to sit in an air-conditioned room with vague motivational posters, with some fucking pretentious boomer asking empty questions, probably secretly judging him. Katsuki was certain of it. Everybody to ever exist probably secretly judges him, after all. For fuck's sake.

His first god awful appointment was tomorrow, at nine a.m. Katsuki wished he'd been warned at least a week or two before, but a part of him knew that he'd find a way to not go with that much time to think. His mother knew him well.

Dismissing his thought process, he decided to go to sleep. He had a lot of shit to face in the morning, anyway.

___________________

The room Katsuki currently sat in felt stuffy and a bit too cold for his liking. It was a tidy space; a desk, shelf, and two comfortable seats filled the room, all three a pure white. The walls were painted a pretty pink, and on the desk, a few books, a clipboard, and a snow globe sat neatly. The oval-shaped clock on the wall ticked incessantly, and Katsuki clicked his toes in annoyance. It took him a lot of willpower to get out of bed.

Before him, a beautiful woman (probably in her mid to late twenties) with shimmering inky blue hair and matching eyes sat, her legs politely crossed at the ankles. She wore a midnight blue knee-length dress, with matching dark stilettos. Her nails were immaculately white, Katsuki noticed, really just trying to distract himself and detach from the oncoming conversation.

"Hello, Katsuki. My name is Ms. Nemuri." Her pink lips quirked up into a smile. "Since we are only beginning to know each other, I think it's fair to ask some basic questions based on the application sent first. Fair enough?"

Katsuki scowled, hating the air of formality. "Did my parents fill that shit for me?"

The therapist smiled reassuringly, adjusting her feline-esque glasses. "Don't worry, it's just basic information about your health. It's not cemented, and you're a legal adult, which is why I'm asking some questions."

Katsuki sighed and leaned back. He could already tell this was going to be a fucking pain.

"Fine," he muttered.

"Great." She flipped through a few pages on her clipboard before settling on one. She brought a pen to her cheek, idly tapping at it as her eyes scanned over the page.

"First question: how would you describe your relationship with your parents?"

"I am absolutely fucking sick of your behavior, Katsuki. It's been the third time this month!"

"I told you, old hag-- I didn't start shit!"

"Will you guys please keep it down?"

"I don't know." Katsuki frowned deeply. "They give a shit, which I guess means they care."

"How do you feel about them?"

"Don't expect me to get all touchy-feely, okay?" Katsuki snapped, already feeling extreme levels of irritation.

"I don't. It's an unfortunately common misconception about therapy. There's never any pressure or need to deep-dive right away." Nemuri's voice was calm and soft. It made Katsuki think of Izuku. "You can always let me know when the questions become too overwhelming, okay?"

Katsuki sunk further into his seat. "Whatever."

"Great!" Ms. Nemuri's eyes returned to her clipboard. "Second question, do you self harm?"

"I feel like you skipped twenty steps with that question."

Nemuri sighed internally. "I understand your reasoning for thinking so, but I'm only eliminating what applies from your old records. If I'm correct, in the past you have self-harmed. I only need to know if you still do."

"Okay, for fuck's sake. I do 'self-harm' now and then," Katsuki ground out, air quoting the words self-harm.

After a brief jotting down, Nemuri eyed the clipboard again. "When was the last time you've done this?"

There wasn't enough blood, I think. My arms are swollen again, though. I need new razors.

"Two days ago."

"Have you ever experienced large amounts of trauma in your life?"

The crucifix glowed over the altar and my head was pushed unto the carpeted floor of the church.

"Repent, Katsuki. You have to repent."

"Don't touch me, don't fucking touch me!"

Katsuki stifled a laugh. "Yeah, sure."

Ms. Nemuri squinted at the reaction, tucking a mental note into her back pocket for later. "Where do you self harm?"

I fucking hate these questions. "On my arms."

"Are these inflictions deep cuts or light scrapes?"

"Depends."

"What do you use for this?"

"Razors, usually." He rolled his eyes and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the linear scars. "It wastes less time if I fucking show you. We done yet?"

Nemuri smiled softly. "Soon. Your records say you've been diagnosed with clinical depression and you'd been treated for that. Are you still suicidal?"

"Look," Katsuki sighed, "It's not that I want to die." He rolled his sleeves back down and huffed in annoyance. "It's just that living takes work. Happiness takes work. I'm a lazy little shit."

Nemuri tilted her head. "Don't you think you're deserving of that work?"

"I'm not some special enigma. People suffer all the time."

"I see. Last question for today: what are you hoping to attain from going to therapy? What are your goals?"

Katsuki scowled. "You do know I was forced to do this, right?"

Nemuri smiled. "Hardly. You're nineteen; an adult. Your parents only suggested this. If you skipped this session and lied to them, they'd have no way of knowing since they have no legal control over you. You chose to come here. You chose to answer these questions, you chose to cooperate though reluctantly, and you chose to not walk out when you clearly wanted to. Even though you called yourself lazy, you still care enough to make that effort. You are more in charge of yourself than you may think, Katsuki."

Bakugou squinted. "You don't know me."

Nemuri adjusted her glasses. "Of course not, at least not yet. But you know yourself, don't you?"

Katsuki narrowed his eyes at the woman before him, hating the way her words seemed to crawl into his head. "What's your point?"

"My point is, by choosing to be here, there must've been something you hoped to attain or learn. Bring that to the forefront of your mind, and let me know. Otherwise, we won't be able to understand each other. You won't be able to understand yourself."

"I thought you said I already know myself," Katsuki scoffed.

"Knowing yourself and understanding yourself is fundamentally different."

"Fine." Katsuki thought for a second. His mind wandered off to his friends, his parents, and despite his ache, Izuku. Despite allowing his past and demons to stick to him like glue, they'd been patient with him.

"I just...I don't want to a pain in the ass for other people anymore."