"Dear Diary,

There's not much to say today. Today was probably one of the worst days for me.

Shirakumo... is gone? How could that be?

Loud Cloud, the hero-in-training, student of UA at class 2-A? Oboro, the best friend of Shota Aizawa and Yamada Hizashi, close friend of Nemuri and I?

How could that be? It hurts... looking at the picture of the five of us, knowing... one of us couldn't have made it. The four of us [not including Nemuri] wanted to create a hero agency of our own... we even had a name and the logistics set up... nobody would try to fight over the money or leadership. We even had our agency name, the "Misfits." I mean, when you have a guy who can control clouds, another who could scream memes to defeat people, another hero that could erase enemies' quirks, and just a girl who could make people unconscious, it wasn't the ideal hero agency that had the perfect combination of quirks and such. Frankly, two were obnoxiously social while the other two weren't fond of the spotlight.

It just hurts thinking about the future we could have had.

Still... I couldn't imagine Shirakumo... dying. But his body; his blood was there. Shota was there as well. I can't imagine... how he might be coping with it. I know that Hizashi is just listening to some sad beats and Nemuri... well who knows what Nemuri is doing. But Sho?

Sho was not one to allow his emotions to overcome him. He was not one to show to he was suffering or that something was bothering him. He always looked at the logical side of things, no matter what exactly happened. He'll probably treat this as a lesson, maybe he'll treat it as a recognition of what he had to change about himself. I just know... that this will change him... a lot. He'll carry it in the future, as a pro-hero and a person. He'll grow more aloof and reclosive, and I'm scared of that. Maybe he'll push people away... will he push me away? I don't want that to happen... I don't want him to break down even more than he already has broken himself down.

I remember hugging him in my arms as he stood there, frozen. This was a few hours after, when I had finally heard and when they had returned to their homes. Immediately, I raced to his house, knocking on his door, and I went to his room without hesitation.

Lemme tell you, he was not in an 'okay' mood. He sat on his bed, blankly staring off into the distance, and thinking what I could imagine a grieving hero would think. His mouth was still open and his eyes were masked shock and pain. He didn't even notice me.

I hugged him tightly, which finally caught his attention. I whispered all kinds of things like "It'll be alright," and "you did great" but Shota was a complicated person, and honestly, in a situation like this, you wouldn't know how he would react or what he was thinking. He either was thinking he should have done more or done better, or he's probably thinking of all the times they spent together. I also did.

This was the first time we had a glimpse of the harsh reality. Where heroes die and risk their lives constantly, and it almost scares me to think of how I would die as a hero. We are so blinded by the fame and the rewards that we forget the consequences of becoming a hero.

Being a hero is the most dangerous profession anyone could take because murder and accidental death were almost guranteed in any situation.

I'm sure that everybody that knew of the death had fully understood that now.

Shota, he was lost in his own thoughts, no words were exchanged, but I've kept him in my arms for so long I've lost the time. Before I knew it, I was crying too, and this was what made him snap out of his trance. I guess he really does care, huh?

Both of us were much too sad and depressed to care about the position we were in, but I was sitting on his lap, setting my head on his shoulders and sobbing freely, while he buried his face in between my neck and shoulders. We sat there like that for a long time, still with a comfortable and sober air lingering around us.

We both ended up not doing our homework or eating. Eventually, we decided to get some rest, and since we weren't in the mood, we didn't mind sharing his bed.
I may have slept at least for some hours, but I know he has not slept at all. It worries me, his mental state and spirit, will it be okay? Will he just turn on to a different person like a switch just like that?

Nothing is to be sure when you know life can go unwanted turns.

Reminds me of winter...

Sept. 20, 20XX

At this point, Aizawa wasn't sure why he bothered reading anymore, he knew he was just going to break himself apart more and more with the coming entries. Oboro's death was still quite a touchy and tender subject to him, and he hated being reminded of that. Of course, Hizashi and Nemuri understood that, but why won't they leave him alone about Y/N?

Right, they deserved to know, they deserved to know every single truth and know how much of a monster he was. They deserved to know what he had done to Y/N, and they didn't deserve being lied to. He told them that she moved, but... that wasn't the case. That wasn't the case at all. He was just lying to himself and the others, trying to convince the small part of denial in him despite all of these years, but lying didn't help anything. Lying only sugarcoated the fact that she was gone forever, and he couldn't help but beat himself up for his choice of last words to her before she was gone. They were filled with rage and misconception, accusations and hatred spouted from his lips as he looked down at her. Anytime he had seen her, he gave her a glare that practically meant to 'fuck off.' Although he was serious about it and wanted no business with Y/N after whatsoever, he couldn't help but think that was the last look he gave her.

The last look he owed her was at least a sympathetic and rueful expression, and his last words should have matched with it, with repeating and constant apologies as he asked to forgive her. He wanted to back then, but arrogance and pride had prevented it, and now, he lost that chance.

Even if Y/N hated him after the apology, he still needed to make it up for her. He had socially isolated her from Hizashi and Nemuri, the only people who could help her, and had left her vulnerable to her father. He knew this, and yet, he let it happen.

How could he?

Swallowing a lump formed at the base of his throat, he bit his lip hard, despite causing it to break open and bleed, he couldn't care any less. He needed a distraction, he needed an escape out of this misery and pitish hole he has found himself once again; he needed to leave. This room, the contents of what it had, the things it brought up, they deserved to be buried again. They deserved to not be touched in a million years, and even if this large empty hole remained in his heart, he would continue to ignore it, and live on. Misery was something dealt with in every hero's life, and he just had to man up and move on with it. The aching in his chest and the twisting of his stomach didn't matter, they never mattered in the first place.

'Don't let feelings and emotions distract you. They will get you to nowhere and will only cause you more harm. Even if you push the closet people away from you, it will only hurt if you let more people in.'

That was something he told himself every single day. Everytime he woke up and every time he went to bed, this would always repeat in his mind. Yet, recently, he couldn't help but break this expectation of himself everyday, and saying he didn't enjoy it was a well understatement.

Some urge in him told him to burn the room, and burn the things that came with it. The diaries, the pictures, the photo albums.

He had to destroy the memories, the memories that had hurt him more than anything else in the world could, because everyday, he felt like he was sick and diseased, suffocating and losing oxygen every now and then, his chest would constrict and began to stab him. His eyes would blur and well up with salty liquids and his body would start trembling and sweating. He would feel lightheaded and trapped within the boundaries of his mind and imagination.

Destroy them and turn back on the memories, but this time, permanently destroy them, until they burnt to ashes; until they were nothing but specks of dust that took up space in the pit of his tired and constantly processing mind.

But, he looked at the picture once more, spotting the figure of his former lover, before deflating his shoulders.

The least they deserved was to be remembered, that was the purpose of the room, that was why he hadn't destroyed it earlier. No matter how painful and no matter how much he wanted to destroy it, memories were important, it was what made him; it was what defined him.

Memories were essentially the imaginary skin and bones that composed of his spirit and soul. Utterly destroying them was like destroying himself.

Coaxing out a breaking sigh from his shaking lips he allowed the last of his tears to dry before getting off of the ground and placing back the diary.

He exited the room, taking grasp of the door knob and tugging it towards him, closing the door, but stopped when the light had angled itself on top of the box containing the notebooks. He gazed at them for a few moments before blinking and closing the door full way, fishing his pockets for the keys, and twisting the keyhole as he inserted it inside the doorway.

In reality, it had only been half an hour or so, but to him, it was like spending an eternity in hell. He had tortured himself entirely through the time he had spent in that room, and he didn't bare it. He had noticed himself pale as his thoughts had caused himself to forget how to breathe temporarily, his usual tired and red eyes even more exhausted with eyebags under.

What was he thinking, facing his 'demons.' Idiot, these were memories, not some fears. Erasing something that was always going to be a part of him, that was nearly impossible. It was like he was killing himself, but then again he was killing himself either way, burying or remembering them. They were dead weights on his heart, never to be lifted and never to be forgotten.

That was what memories were.

Cursed.

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