A/N: A day late, I know. I had prewritten some and wanted to spend time with my family, so I won't apologize for this being late. The next oneshot will come out today or tomorrow as well. Also, uh, arthritic Kirishima in this one? I dunno, I've just been so damn stressed out about my arthritis today, and I don't know why. And my instinct is to be a petty bitch about it and push it all onto my comfort character so it can feel like I've got someone else who goes through the same thing. So there'll be a lot of talk about that disease, the medications that go with it (including injections), and bone cracking. Don't like, don't read.

Kirishima's POV

Today is shit.

Today feels like shit.

I don't know what's wrong, I just know something's gonna happen.

It's one of those days where I can sense that there's something bad that'll happen.

And I'm scared.

Honest to god, I'm terrified.

I never like feeling that way, because then I know my head's going to be swarming with anxious thoughts and overwhelming emotions until I absolutely explode.

I don't think I can take that right now.

It hurts.

My hands and fingers hurt.

I don't want them to hurt anymore.

I've been trying not to rely on pain killers too much.

I can't write or draw too long. I was making drawings for my friends as Christmas gifts. I'd started too late. I should've started earlier.

Instead, I'd started on Christmas Eve, or maybe the day before that. I only got two drawings done.

I procrastinated, yes. Not because I didn't want to draw, but I got distracted. It happens a lot. But the state my fingers are in doesn't help either.

So I just had two drawings done out of the four or five I needed to get done. And I wanted to send them all at once, so it didn't seem like I was playing favorites.

So I felt guilty.

I knew we'd agreed not to get each other anything. So at this point, when I finish, since it isn't even anything festive, I'll just say it's a fucking drawing I wanted to make for them.

I know that by the time I get all those drawings done, it'll be January, maybe even February.

I'd dropped off Katsuki's gift a few days ago.

Like I said above, no one was getting gifts for each other. But Katsuki is my boyfriend, and it's our first Christmas, and I wanted to give him a gift.

So I made him a card and bought him a necklace.

The necklace was a cute rose quartz on a chain, which supposedly meant love.

Although he isn't out to his parents about our relationship, I bought him that meaning genuine love. But, in case it was perceived that way by his parents, the description on the cardboard the necklace was attached to said something about friendly love and self-love.

You know, throw them off the scent of gay.

Though the gay is strong with Katsuki, I'll say that right now.

I need to do stuff though.

Like shut the fuck up and get out of bed.

Sitting up, I stretched, my right shoulder and mid-back cracking loudly. When I swung my legs over the side of my bed to stand up, nothing cracked.

However, the second my feet were flat on the floor, I got several loud cracks from both of my feet.

I tried to crack my knuckles, but to no avail. There was still too much damn fluid.

Hauling ass out of my dorm room and down the stairs, I went into the kitchen.

The girls, Midnight-sensei, and Present Mic-sensei were all passed out in the common room, supposedly having one of their sleepovers again.

Aizawa-sensei was leaning against the counter, drinking some coffee.

"Good morning, sensei," I said, catching the glance of my teacher.

"Good morning, Kirishima," he said dully before taking another sip of his coffee. "How are you feeling?"

Like shit.

"Fine," I shrugged, going into the fridge to pull out eggs.

"It's Saturday, Kirishima,"

I paused, thinking.

The fuck happens on Saturday?

Seeming to sense my confusion, Aizawa-sensei sighed. "You need to take your medicine,"

"Oh, right. Thank you for the reminder, sensei," I said, pulling out both the eggs and the box that held my injections in it.

Or injection.

"Fuck," I hissed.

"Last one?"

"Yes, sensei,"

"I'll see if Recovery Girl can get you more through the hosptials,"

"Thank you, sensei,"

I grabbed a paper towel, placed the auto injector on it, and collapsed the box.

Breakfast passed slowly, since scrambled eggs only take so long to eat.

So I just chilled in the common room, scrolling on my phone.

"Hey, kiddo,"

I turned my head to look at Midnight-sensei, my neck cracking.

"Oh boy, you're not doing too well, are you?"

No, just fucking look at my hands. Do they look like the hands of a "well" person to you?

"I'm fine, it happens all the time anyway," I said, habitually lifting my hand up to show her that my condition isn't awful when it clearly is.

"Your fingers look like that all the time?"

"Sure feels like it," I couldn't stop myself from murmuring.

Shit, I wasn't supposed to say that out loud.

"If only I were a glowstick. Then, every time I cracked, I'd glow," I joked to make it seem normal.

But I was tired.

I am tired.

I want to just lay in bed the rest of the day.

But I can't, because I have a study session with Katsuki later.

Maybe I should take some naproxen too.

No, I'll be fine.

"Kirishima, your injection is good to go," Aizawa-sensei said, leaving the kitchen.

"Thank you, sensei," I said, heading to the kitchen to sit down and give myself my injection.

I shook the injector lightly, pulling off the cap, and set it down. Tore open an alcohol wipe and wiped down my leg, placing it on the paper towel too. I stretched the skin on my right thigh with my forefinger and thumb, grabbed the injector, and placed it on my thigh.

Now, I've been giving myself my own injections for... almost two years? Maybe three? I can't remember.

But for some reason, I still get anxious whenever I give myself my injection.

Always.

I hate being in the same room as someone when I do it, because then they can see how much I hesitate. Then they can see how often I have to put the injector back down and wipe my leg again so I can feel the wetness from the wipe.

I hate when it's noisy too. Background noise that I don't choose to put on, like a television show or movie, always make me anxious. Because that means someone else is in the next room over, and there aren't any doors, and they can stroll in whenever they'd like, and they could do so many different things just by entering the kitchen. They could make more noise, or watch me do it, or startle me and make me miss or waste the injection.

The first hasn't happened to me before, but I still get anxious knowing that the possibility is there.

I've been consistently told by several people that I'm "strong" for being able to "handle" this disease "so well".

I don't feel like it.

Especially when I have to take my injection.

I always feel like a pussy, all because I don't wanna give myself a fucking needle to the leg.

It's stupid, since that's my life. I don't wanna be a pro hero who has to take at least half an hour out of his day to fucking stab himself.

I don't wanna be a pro hero who's still on medication, but is too fucking busy to take it and then can't do his fucking job.

I don't wanna be an ill pro hero.

But I know I am.

I always will be.

There's no fucking cure for it.

No one's found a cure, just treatments and medications to slow progressions and maybe put you in remission for a while.

But I was only in remission off meds for a little under a year.

I was in remission on meds for almost two.

Now I'm not.

I'm getting worse and worse, and I don't want that to happen.

This disease is just full of "don't want"s and such. I should be more grateful that I only have arthritis, though.

There are people who live their day to day lives with feeding tubes, or attached to breathing machines, and so much other shit.

It's part of the reason I don't like to complain about my disease.

I know I'm lucky.

So there's no reason for me to complain.

It should be that easy, right?

Right?

I sighed, doing my injection after moments of pressing down on the button, not hard enough.

Standing up, I placed the cap back on the injector, and went back up to the fourth floor.

"You okay, babe?"

Katsuki was leaning against his door frame, a foreign look of concern on his face.

I wanted to flash him a smile.

I wanted to tell him I was doing great.

I wanted to give him a thumbs up.

I just sighed.

"Can we cuddle after I put my injection away?"

"Of course,"

So he followed me into my room as I went into my bathroom, pulling out my sharps container and tossing it in there.

Katsuki was already sitting on my bed, and I just walked over to him, pressed my face into his neck, and sighed.

"You wanna talk about it? You don't have to, but I'm always open for a listen,"

The dam broke.

I spilled everything.

Every damn thing.

About how much I hated this disease.

How I felt like it was my fault I had it.

How I felt like it was my fault I was getting worse.

How anxious this disease makes me.

How scared this disease makes me.

He stayed there, rubbing my back and kissing my forehead, whispering sweet nothings to me as I cried into his shoulder.

Life has it's own way of giving little gifts, huh?

I hope Katsuki isn't meant to be a little gift.

He makes me so happy, no matter what I'm going through.

His laugh, his smile, his voice, all of him.

I wouldn't want him to change unless he wanted to.

But he makes me the happiest man in the world whenever I hear from him.

He still holds my hands, no matter how crooked they are.

A/N: I had no idea how to end this one. But here it is. Sorry if this was sad or anything weird like that. Like I said at the beginning, I've been feeling like shit about my arthritis lately, and I don't know why. Anyway, I love you guys. Stay safe and healthy! - Septic / Spark