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To an outsider, Kyoka Jiro had a perfect life. She was enrolled in the most prestigious hero school in Japan. Her parents loved and supported her with everything they had. Nothing bad had ever happened to her, except for a few villain attacks she wasn’t even the target of. No death or near-death experiences to anyone she knew. Enough money to live comfortably, enough brains to get through school, a strong Quirk and heaps of musical talent.
It was a perfect life. Kyoka knew that. She was incredibly blessed, unconditionally loved, and perfectly happy. If someone had approached her and granted one wish, chances were she’d ask for concert tickets. So she shouldn’t be where she is now: on the floor of her dorm room clutching a metal guitar pick as pink lines appeared on her forearms.
Kyoka was scared. She still is. She knew she was being a bad friend, but she couldn’t help it. The memories play in her head on loop, reminding her of her many inadequacies. Some of her class had gathered in Denki’s room for a sleepover the night before night. It was a rare moment of peace amid a mess of pillows and blankets, and Kyoka had taken the opportunity to look at a song she was writing.
Fairy lights glittered as she bent over her page and hummed softly. All of a sudden, she felt a warm weight on her back. Turning her head, she saw Tsuyu leaning on her with her eyes closed. A questioning “Hmm?” escaped her; this was not very Tsuyu-like behavior.
Her amphibious friend had then replied that they had a stomach ache, and Kyoka froze. Oh no. She tried to reassure herself Tsu was just on her period or had too much junk food, but she could feel the panic bubbling under her skin. Tsuyu couldn’t be sick. They were fine, just accidently ate another fly without noticing or something. never mind that she eats them on purpose, all the time, whispered a voice in Kyoka’s head.
No, no, no. Tsu was not sick and therefore couldn’t possibly infect anyone. Kyoka would not get sick. People get random stomach aches all the time. She knew that.
However, that didn’t stop Kyoka from gently nudging Tsuyu onto a pillow, offering some pathetic excuse about her music being private. She felt like she was neglecting her friend. Tsuyu was in some level of pain, they had trusted Kyoka, and her friend couldn’t even pretend to be helpful. But Kyoka was on the verge of freaking out and she had to leave. Her brain went into fight or flight, but what was there to fight? She had to get out get out get OUT it’s not safe you’re not safe GET OUT.
She stood up under the false pretense of getting snacks, intentionally holding her breath until she had shut the dorm room’s door behind her. Five seconds later, she was standing with her back pressed to Denki’s door, her hands clenched into fists.
For as long as she could remember, Kyoka hated being sick. It wasn’t the pain or discomfort, but the idea of needing help. She didn’t like to put plans on hold, receive sympathy from others, or get attention. Even just the idea of being weak was embarrassing to her. It made her feel guilty to need help, and uncomfortable to ask for it. She’d rather hide her sickness and claim to be fine, even if she wasn’t. (And no, she was not acting like Katsuki.)
There was also an element of compulsory reciprocation, and she had a horrible bedside manner due to her anxiety. Kyoka was likely to hold her breath while in the same room as someone sick. She’d stand as far away from them as possible and physically push them away when they got too close. It was an awful feeling, and she felt like an awful person every time.
She never worried about germs when she was around healthy-looking people. It wasn’t exactly a phobia in that way. Drinking from public water fountains didn’t scare her, and she’d readily share food with her family. But if someone mentioned feeling under the weather or interacting with a sick person, all her instincts kicked into overdrive.
First came the overwhelming urge to get away from them. “My mom is calling me,” she’d claim. Or; “I need the bathroom.” Next Kyoka would replay her interactions with them in her head. Was there food shared? Likely no, but that didn’t calm her much. Physical contact? How close did she get? you can’t be close, you have to get away, you have to hold your breath, leave now.
At that point, Kyoka tried to avoid touching her face or eating with her hands. If no one was looking at her, she’d pull her shirt up over her nose to breath through. It was a difficult and tiring song-and-dance that only made her more scared. Yet, it was the only thing she could do when she felt her fear choke her. not safe not safe can’t be here now. Interactions like that often ruined entire events for her.
Kyoka returned to the party after a few minutes. She looked around as she entered and saw Tsuyu sitting on Mina’s futon. They looked perfectly fine, and even better, she was far from Kyoka’s bed. Kyoka felt a knot of anxiety loosen, just little. She released the breath she had been holding since the kitchen. Everything was fine again.
The rest of the night was wonderful. They played Cards Against Humanity, completely disregarding any wins or point system after Denki started choking from laughter on a particularly funny card. Eijiro and Momo unexpectedly shared a lot of movie preferences and loudly argued the merits of Disney’s Encanto to an unbelieving Ochako. Izuku accidentally walked in on Tooru and Mina making out in the bathroom, but he thought it was only Mina since Tooru was… Well, they usually used her clothes to spot her.
Nobody slept until the lights turned off at 2:00 am, at which Kyoka promptly fell onto her futon. She felt herself peacefully falling asleep, until she heard a noise. Was that a cough? Kyoka rolled over away from the sound, just in case. She covered up her jacks with noise-cancelling caps and instantly fell asleep. It was fine.
She woke up early the next morning, thanks to Denki’s snoring. Usually it didn’t bother her, but one of her earjack covers had fallen off and her annoying significant other/partner/not-boyfriend (they had to find better terms for this) was sprawled over his own, Eijiro’s, and Kyoka’s beds, with his head right below Kyoka’s feet. Eijiro was half in his own and half in Mina’s, which had allowed Denki to adopt this position in the night. Mina was, unsurprisingly, in Tooru’s.
Careful not to disturb anyone, Kyoka crept into the kitchen to find Izuku sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal. She waved a jack in greeting and made herself coffee before taking a seat across from him. It was nice to sit in silence like this; Izuku could be quite calm when he wanted to be. They must have gone twenty minutes without talking, until Denki came in.
“Morning!” he said. Kyoka watched as he made his way around the kitchen, retrieving a pineapple-banana yogurt cup (read: neon yellow monstrosity) and then opening the medicine drawer. And grabbing the cold medicine. And swallowing some.
Kyoka heard her heartbeat speed up. Dammit dammit dammit not safe bad bad danger danger. Was Denki sick? He was sleeping on her bed last night. Fight or flight triggered again, but this time freeze won out. She didn’t say anything, didn’t move at all, only watched blankly as her brain spiralled.
“Denki, you okay?” Izuku had also been watching him, and he asked this concernedly.
“I’m fine, but I kinda feel bad for anyone who was sleeping in my room.” He sniffled and cleared his throat. “I dunno, I think I got a cold or something.” Denki took his yogurt and joined them at the table, next to Izuku. Too close to Kyoka.
too close, too close, get away go go go. This was less than ideal. Kyoka all but jumped up, grabbing her mug and hurriedly putting it in the sink before heading to her room. She felt so bad. Izuku was kind enough to check in on Denki, and Izuku wasn’t in a queerplatonic relationship with him. Kyoka was supposed to be considerate and caring. Denki was always helpful to her, but she had just sat, stared, and ran away.
Her enhanced hearing picked up Izuku talking to Denki. “Is Kyoka okay? That was kinda sudden.”
“Shit, her anxiety. I forgot, I thought I was far enough. What a great friend I am.” Kyoka heard a thunk not unlike the sound of one’s head hitting a table. Great. Now Denki thought he had messed up. Kyoka was a horrible person, and this just confirmed it.
Her room was normally her designated safe space (except for when Momo fell asleep in her bed once and it turned out she had a fever), but nothing felt safe right now. Kyoka was crying, and she fell on the floor kneeling and clutching her pajama top. Which had also spent the night in Denki’s room. oh fuck oh god this is NOT GOOD. Kyoka’s room was a mess, which left her very little floor space to cry on.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a gleaming metal triangle. She picked it up. Rested it on her arm. Pressed just a little, enough so she could feel something other than fear. So what if it hurt? Kyoka deserved it. She was a bad person, friend, and partner. She pressed harder, dragging the pick along the inside of her forearm.
This was even worse. Kyoka had a perfect life. It was pathetic, how weak she was. This sort of pain was for people with real problems. Kyoka knew Tooru pulled her hair just to remember it was there, and Izuku had been told to take a swan dive. Shouto was abused and told he was weak for over a decade. Hitoshi had a “villainous” Quirk.
But Kyoka? Kyoka had a perfect family. She was so lucky. Self-harm was for people with real issues or trauma or something else just as bad. Not Kyoka, who fell apart at the first bad thing to happen.
She stayed on her floor for a while, until she eventually calmed down enough to find her headphones. Music helped her breathing slow and her tears stop. She was fine. It would be fine.