the stars are floating and we are flying

by lunalou

Summary:

Aizawa starts walking towards the exit, obviously expecting Shouto to follow him, but Shouto's feet are frozen in place. His eyes flicker from the distorted reflection of himself in the ice to where All Might is giving him a long look, eyes kinder than anything Todoroki has ever been deserving of, and he feels sick.

“Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya says gently, squeezing his arm in what Shouto presumes is meant to be a reassuring gesture. “It’s going to be okay.”

He doesn’t think Midoriya is in any place to tell him what okay is, all things considered, but he chooses to keep quiet on the matter.

Chapter 1: inhale

Shouto floats, sometimes.

Not in the physical sense, he doesn't mean it like that. He doesn't have a Quirk that allows him to fly or affect gravity like Uraraka's does, as much as he sometimes wishes he did.

He's aware of his body weighing him down and keeping him tethered to the earth, feet and legs sometimes so distressingly heavy that Shouto finds it difficult to get out of bed. 

(“Get up.” his father looms over him, a familiar scowl on his face. “If you stay down like this then your opponent won't hesitate to kill you.”

Shouto presses his cheek to the floor, chest heaving and muscles spasming, and thinks, would it be such a bad thing to be ki-)

Mentally, emotionally, he'll float.

Sometimes Shouto is acutely aware of when his mind separates itself from his body. His ears will ring, and he'll forget about the sentence he's stringing together, mind growing fuzzy and thick. (He must always say the right thing in the end as nobody ever calls him out on it otherwise.) 

Sometimes he'll find himself tuning in mid conversation to see his classmates’ lips moving but he's not able to comprehend what they're saying, the words jumbled and foreign to his ears.

When the world starts to blur and fade, that’s when he knows he's going to float.

The worst times are the ones where Shouto will blink in his dorm room and then two, three blinks later he'll find that he's sitting in class or standing outside the hospital his mother's in, snapping back to himself with gaps of time missing from his mind. He never has any recollection of how he gets there, let alone what day or time it is. It'll startle him, scare him maybe, but he's learnt to keep his face blank over the years, masking most of his emotions, and is quiet enough in general that nobody ever picks up on his silences as anything abnormal.

Well that's what he had thought at least.

He thought that people wouldn't pick up on his distant gazes or long pauses, would brush them off as aloofness or arrogance.

He thought that because he was quiet anyway (reserved, his sisters voice whispers. You don't always have to be so reserved around me, Shouto.) his days of silence would be brushed aside, most likely be considered as rudeness, but he didn't mind that. 

He thought that maybe people wouldn't notice because Shouto doesn't try to engage, doesn't let himself get drawn in to their class activities, stays quiet and true to himself, and yet-

“Are you okay?” Kirishima’s face is closer than Shouto remembers, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned in the corners.

He looks concerned, his brain supplies. Weird.

Shouto blinks again, mind fuzzy, and then Ashido is leaning against the desk next to him with a concerned frown of her own, sharing a look with Kirishima when Shouto keeps quiet for what must be too long.

He blinks again, trying to force the murkiness back, murmuring a small “I'm fine.” that does nothing to appease his classmates if their next shared look is anything to go by.

Shouto takes in his surroundings and notes that all of 1-A are in their classroom, most sitting at their desks whilst others, like Jirou and Kaminari, are milling about so that they can chat to their friends. He isn't sure how he got here, the last thing in his mind being his reflection in the mirror, face pale and toothbrush being held in his shaking hand. He can't have lost more than an hour though as Aizawa hasn't arrived for class yet.

“You sure?” Kirishima presses. Todoroki blinks again, confused as to why Kirishima's eyes are shining worriedly, but the other boy continues before Shouto can repeat that he's fine. “It's just that you weren't at dinner last night. Or breakfast this morning. And uh, you're looking pretty...” he trails off with a grimace, hand gesturing in Shouto’s direction.

“You just pointed to all of me.” Shouto says blankly. He wonders just how bad he must look for Kirishima to point it out, wonders what is so off about him that his classmates have decided to voice their concerns to his face.

“You're shaking.” Yaoyorozu’s quiet voice points out from his left.

Is he?

Shouto looks down to where his hands are sitting on his desk and figures that shaking is one word for it. His fingers keep jerking and twitching whilst trembles run up his arms and down his body. Now it's been pointed out to him, the fog fading from his mind even more, he notices that even his legs are trembling under his desk.

That's odd, Shouto thinks. He tries to throw his mind back to try and recall why he'd be shaking but he comes up blank.

“Do you need to go to the nurse?” Ashido asks him, voice hushed. Kirishima had also been quiet when he’d spoken, and he notes absently that they've formed a small half circle around him, effectively blocking him from everyone else's view.

(His eldest brother is stood to one side of him, eyes staring down at Shouto with a mix of awe and worry, whilst his sister is sat down on her knees in front of him, hands gentle as they hold his own shaking ones.

“It's okay.” she says quietly. “It's going to be okay.”

Shouto’s huddled in a corner, tears running down his cheeks, whilst his siblings surround him in a protective circle. A door downstairs bangs open and they press in closer, faces grim and determined, as all of their postures grow stiffer. His brother twists to face the door and takes a wider stance, one hand reaching out to touch Fuyumi's hair whilst the other curls into a fist at his side. He looks as if he's going to try and physically protect Shouto from their parents with his body alone and it makes Shouto cry harder.

“W-what's going to h-happen?” Shouto hiccups.

Around them, the room is ruined. There's ice covering the floor, creeping up the walls in frosty tendrils, whilst the chair he was sitting in earlier is scorched. The smell of smoke hangs heavy in the air and Shouto knows there's no way his parents won't notice (that his father won't notice) the changes in the room, the change in Shouto.

“It's okay.” his sister repeats, eyes wet but hands steady where they hold his own burning one's. “You'll be okay.”

“He's g’na know I've got my Quirk.” Shouto sniffs. “What will happen?”

“I don't know.” His older sister sounds scared and it makes him sob. “I'm sorry, Shouto.”

They hear their fathers’ heavy footsteps climb the stairs and his sister squeezes his hands as they draw closer, her eyes holding his gaze as the door slams open.)

They're trying to be nice. Shouto thinks. They're trying to stop the others from noticing.

His skin feels sticky and he realises that he probably hasn't showered in a few days, let alone eat, which would explain the trembling.

It's been a long few days of being half aware, small flashes of time missing between longer periods of feeling fuzzy and absent. He'd received a text from his father earlier in the week and it was nothing discriminating, nothing harsh, just a simple i hope you remember your training Shouto. you can be better than all of them. If anything, it had been kind, or as kind as it gets when his fathers involved. It had still been enough to set him off though, enough to cause days of fluctuating in and out of being here and being nowhere at all.

“Todoroki?” Yaoyorozu’s hand touches his shoulder and he tenses (he doesn't flinch) and she stills, hand hovering above him.

“Hey.” Ashido’s frown deepens in what must be concern, or maybe some other emotion Shouto doesn't know about, eyes sad, but he can't help but read her posture and think she's angry.

“Sorry.” he says automatically, mind taking in the tense postures and furrowed eyebrows surrounding him and supplying the words that have always had the chance of diffusing the situation. The others seem to loom over him and he knows seeing it as looming is stupid, is ridiculous even, because only Kirishima and Ashido are standing and if Todoroki could bring himself to stand up he'd easily be on their level, if not taller. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine.” Kirishima says bluntly.

“Don't worry about it then.” Shouto returns, probably a bit too harshly. “Leave it alone.”

“Todoroki-kun.” Yaoyorozu’s sounds more worried now which is the opposite of the reaction Shouto was going for. “If you're sick then I'm sure Aizawa-sensei will let you skip class and rest if you need to.”

“You should all be in your seats already.” Aizawa’s voice rings out, bursting the small bubble they'd been in. Kirishima and Ashido hesitate, sharing another look and glancing towards Shouto and then, when his appearance doesn't soothe their worries, towards Yaoyorozu. He sees her nod out of the corner of his vision and, after Aizawa slaps his hands on his desk, the other two slink off towards their seats.

Shouto pulls his still shaking hands from his desk and rests them on his legs, not wanting anyone else to notice his trembling, breathing in deeply through his nose and trying to ground himself. It's hard to do when his brain is still half submerged in fog and the sounds of the class talking is creating white noise in his ears. The room starts to blur around him and he squeezes his nails into his shaking thighs, trying to focus on where Aizawa is saying something at the front of the class.

He can feel Yaoyorozu’s eyes on him as he watches Aizawa’s lips move, words not registering in his mind, but he blinks once, and the room starts to fade. Another blink and the room is half empty.

“Todoroki?” Yaoyorozu’s gentle voice rings in his ears, swimming around the mess of his brain. “Hey, you with me?”

Her face is in front of him then as she crouches by his desk, dark eyes soft and worried as she slowly reaches her hand out to lightly touch his arm. He doesn't tense up when her fingers touch him this time, brain registering her posture and tone as calm and safe.

“Shouto?” she says in a softer voice.

(“Shouto?” he hears his sister call. It makes his footsteps falter as he twists around to try and find Fuyumi, eyes desperate and heart beating faster after almost a month without seeing her. His new training routine is so rigorous and draining that he’s done nothing but sleep in his spare time, unable to find the time or energy to sneak into the part of the house were his siblings reside.

Fuyumi is standing in the courtyard, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. She's taller than Shouto remembers her, hair longer and skin paler. She's still familiar though, familiar and safe, and Shouto feels his eyes tear up at the sight of her.

“No.” his father snarls, grip tightening around Shouto’s wrist as he yanks him forward. “That's not your life anymore Shouto. Remember that.”)

He blinks as she squeezes his arm, face familiar and not so familiar at all. “It's time for lunch.” she explains, using her grip on his arm to help pull him up.

Shouto nods, disorientated at the loss of time and blurring faces but not wanting to let that show, dreading the thought of alerting someone to the fact that he's been floating all morning. He'd rather let Yaoyorozu think he's sick then let on to anything else.

“Alright?” she asks, bending down to pick both of their bags up and sling them over her shoulder. “You seemed pretty out of it all morning.”

“Tired.” Shouto supplies. Yaoyorozu hums in reply, taking his hand in hers when Shouto makes no effort to move. She gives him a gentle tug and he follows her easily, trusting that she'll take him somewhere safe if not back to the dorms. Yaoyorozu has never been anything but kind to him and his trust in her has grown into something more stable after their rescue mission for Bakugou.

“You do seem tired.” She agrees as she leads them out of the now empty classroom. “I'm guessing you're hungry too, right?” Shouto’s stomach rumbles in reply and he can feel his cheeks flush, looking away from Yaoyorozu’s knowing eyes.

Her palm is warm in his and it’s the first time in a long time Shouto can remember somebody actively touching him without any intention of hurting him. It's strangely grounding and Shouto feels the fog in his head recede slightly, thoughts becoming clearer and his body’s state registering in his mind. His stomach is cramping from hunger, which is probably to be expected as Shouto can't actually remember the last time he ate a proper meal. His head is pounding behind his eyes and his throat feels dry and scratchy, his skin thin and blood thick where it's being pumped through his veins.

He's still shaking, knees feeling weak and legs heavy, and if it wasn't for Yaoyorozu’s oddly strong grip on his arm then he figures he would've lilted to one side by now.

He feels like he owes Yaoyorozu’s kindness some honesty and chooses to share a half-truth with her. “I've been a bit sick.” his voice is scratchy and it hurts to speak. “A headache. I forgot to eat because of it.”

“You haven't eaten?” she asks, sounding sad and a bit frustrated. She doesn't sound angry though, which Shouto takes as a win.

He apologises regardless but Yaoyorozu waves it away, looping her arm through his. “You're lucky it's lunch.” she tuts. “I'll have to feed you up before judging whether it's okay for you to come to this afternoon's lesson or not.”

“You can't actually decide whether I come to class or not you realise?” Todoroki feels touched by her statement nevertheless, left side of his face feeling hotter under her concern.

“Who's deciding whether we get to go to class?” Ashido’s voice rings out as they enter the hallway. She's leaning against the wall with Jirou next to her, both of them seemingly having been waiting Yaoyorozu to leave the classroom. “Because I'd do anything to get an afternoon off.”

“Not you.” Yaoyorozu scoffs. “This idiot here.” she jostles their arms, making Shouto stumble, but pulls him back to her side easily, taking on more of his weight when the hallways shifts sideways and he can't find his footing.

“Woah,” Ashido jumps forward to help support him. “Careful Todoroki.”

“What's up with him?” Jirou demands and then, voice wary. “He's not contagious, is he?”

“Stupidity isn't contagious.” Yaoyorozu says snootily. She glances at Shouto and says in a softer tone. “Sorry Todoroki.”

He isn't sure if she's apologising for the insult or for making him fall, but he accepts it anyway, bowing his head in forgiveness and keeping it low as he tries to regain his spinning vision.

Ashido links her arm with Shouto’s spare one and helps Yaoyorozu support him as they slowly make their way towards the lunch hall. He feels embarrassed at needing the support but he's too tired to shrug them off, so he focuses his attention on the floor instead, trying to keep his steps steady as his classmates continue to talk around him.

“What's up with you then, Todoroki?” Jirou asks. Shouto can't bring himself to answer, feeling too sick and lightheaded to say what's happening to him. Luckily Yaoyorozu doesn't seem to mind supplying the answers on his behalf.

“He hasn't been looking after himself.” she sounds fond, if not slightly annoyed, and it's a tone that confuses him. “He's forgotten to eat, and by the looks of it, sleep as well.”

“That is stupid.” Jirou agrees. “What's up with that?”

“He said he’s had a headache.”

Ashido coos next to him, fingers rubbing circles into his arm. “If you're not feeling well then you need to speak up.”

“A classic man.” Jirou murmurs.

Yaoyorozu snorts. “Like you weren't the one hiding that nasty cough the other week.”

“Whatever.” Jirou sniffs. “I bet Todoroki just doesn't know how to look after himself because he's so used to his mom doing everything for him.”

Her words shouldn't jar him as much as they do but Shouto finds his breath hitching, footsteps stuttering, and if Yaoyorozu and Ashido hadn't been holding him up then he probably would've fallen again.

It's not like any of his classmates would know about his home life, he knows. He'd told Midoriya about his mother before the sports event but bar that he hasn't spoken a word of it since. He hasn't been able to bring himself to do anything but think about it, new thoughts and memories doing nothing but haunting him day and night.

Why would any of his classmates know about his mother? Why would they know what she did? What his father made her do?

(“Unsightly.” his mother's voice is unhinged, full of hate and fear, and it's not a tone that's ever been directed at Shouto before. Her grip on the kettle is shaking and he takes a step back in confusion.

“Mom?” he asks hesitantly.

“So unsightly.” she repeats, grip tightening on the handle. "So ugly.")

He blinks when a tray is placed in front of him. He looks around to see that they're in the canteen now, Jirou and Yaoyorozu sitting opposite him whilst Ashido is by his side, arm still looped with his.

It's been worse than this before, the floating, but usually nobody in class will be paying him this much attention. To fade away whilst walking with people from his class is horribly embarrassing, shameful even. Shouto desperately tries to force the murkiness in his mind to the back, shaking his head in the hopes to help clear it and letting his bangs fall into his eyes.

“Thank you.” he murmurs absently. He's not quite sure who exactly got him a tray of food, but he knows that it couldn't have been him.

“Don't worry about it.” Yaoyorozu flaps her hands again, face kind when Shouto chances a glance at it. “Just make sure you eat it all up, okay? I can't have you passing out on me.”

It takes a nudge from Ashido to prompt him into grabbing his chopsticks, but the motions of eating come easily to him after the first bite, hand lowering the chopstick to and from his plate as he chews robotically.

He wonders if any of the girls had noticed his... Slip up. He wonders whether they'd been aware that although Todoroki was with them, he wasn't really there at all. A big part of him hopes that they didn't notice anything amiss. He can't face their questions, their concern, and he really doesn't want to disappoint them by not having any of the answers either. A small part of him though, a tiny ember at the back of his mind, hopes that they did notice. A part of him wants help, is almost desperate for it, but Shouto stomps that thought out before it can catch alight.

“Sorry.” Jirou says, foot nudging into Shouto’s under the table and directing his attention to her.

One hand is pushing pork around her plate whilst the other is fiddling with the cord hanging from her ear. She's nervous his mind supplies. Her eyes are big and genuine as she stares at him and he cocks his head in confusion, wondering what he's missing.

“For making a comment about your mom.” she continues when Shouto does nothing but blink at her.

Oh. Right, that.

“I didn't think it'd upset you. So, I'm sorry.”

He chews slowly, considering his next steps carefully. People apologising to him is unknown territory and Shouto doesn't want to offend Jirou by handling it wrong. It’s not like she was to know what happened between him and his mother. The media had only ever gotten wind of the fact that her and his father split apart but they never had any content behind it. Nobody could know that he hadn't seen his mother in years or that she'd backed him into a corner as a child, eyes wide and unseeing as she-

(“What are you doing mommy?” Shouto feels his back hit the wall as he stares at his mom, at where she's staring at him like he's a stranger whilst her hands tighten into a white knuckled grip on the kettle.)

It’s not like anyone would know what happened.

“It's okay.” Shouto says. “You weren't to know anything was amiss with the subject of my mother. You don't have to apologise.”

“I do.” Jirou insists. “I shouldn't have made a comment regardless. I'm sorry.”

He doesn't think there's anything to be forgiven but he doesn't want to upset Jirou further, so he murmurs a quiet “I forgive you.”, feeling pleased when her shoulders lose their stiffness.

Shouto can’t help but feel guilty still, can't help but feel like he owes Jirou an explanation of why he was upset, and he wants to let her know that it's his fault for not being able to move on from something that happened years ago. It's not like he hasn't been able to tell someone from his class before, he'd actually felt relieved after he had, and Midoriya doesn't treat him any differently for it. He doesn't see why these three girls would either.

“My mother is at a hospital.” he says, pausing when Ashido makes a sad noise next to him.

“I'm so sorry to hear that.” she squeezes his arm again, grip oddly comforting. “Is she sick?”

“She's doing better now,” he thinks of her absent gaze the last time he went to visit, the way she gave him a polite smile as if he was another nurse. “But she's in there because of something she did a long time ago.” His hand absently comes up to cover his scar and he finds he can't say anymore, the words turning to ash in his mouth and clogging his throat. He thought that he'd be able to tell the story again, but it appears that he can't, the air in his lungs growing thick and the memories rolling unpleasantly in his mind.

(Shouto barely shuts his eyes in time as the freshly boiled water starts to pour towards his face. The first splash steams and burns, the feeling of burning so different to the fire he's used to on his left side, and everything after growing worse, so much worse-)

He looks up, hoping to distract himself, to see Jirou looking at him with a- well, he isn't sure what word to use to describe her expression as. Her lips are pressed tightly together, downturned and thin, which would suggest sadness, but her eyebrows are furrowed, and her eyes remind him of Midoriya’s whenever he tries to save Bakugou. She looks what Shouto hesitantly places as protective, as concerned, and when he glances around the table he sees the other two with similar looks on their faces.

They don't press him to explain, seemingly being able to put the dots together without much more from him. Yaoyorozu eyes are shining slightly with tears and Shouto feels bad for making her upset.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you any distress.” he tells her, letting his eyes fall back onto his plate.

“Hey, no. I'm not upset with you, Todoroki-kun.” he glances up in confusion at that. “I'm upset for you.”

It's a sentiment Todoroki is unfamiliar with, but it makes something warm swell up inside him, a fluttery feeling blooming in his stomach as an embarrassed blush spreads across his cheeks.

The fog has faded from his mind and he knows that it’s most likely from the food he's just eaten, but that small part of him reignites with new hope, hope that the conversation and the people surrounding him are what have grounded him.

 

---

 

 

His shaking dies down after lunch, headache turning into something more manageable, and Yaoyorozu deems him well enough to attend the afternoon class. When Kirishima walks in and sees him sitting at his desk he comes over to poke at his cheeks, teeth flashing in a happy smile. “Nice to see you've got some colour back in your face, Icy-hot.”

Shouto stays very still, fingers twitching at the feeling of having his face prodded and pinched. He doesn't think he's ever been touched this much in the same day for years.

His mind stays steady for the rest of the week, thankfully, and it allows Shouto to keep to his usual routine of attending his classes, training, and going to bed after attending Midoriya's mandatory one hour of social time. Well, he tries to keep to it as best he can, but his class have taken to trying to get him involved to a whole new level.

“Hello Todoroki-kun.” Iida and Uraraka are standing in the common room when Todoroki comes back from training at the gym, scarves wrapped around their necks and coats on. “We're gonna go grab some ice cream if you fancy coming with.”

“Um.” Shouto’s glances between where Uraraka is looking at him with her big eyes, wide and earnest, and towards where Iida is giving him a small genuine smile. “No thank you.” he says, confused about their offer. Maybe they were heading out and had only offered to invite Shouto out of politeness.

“Okay then.” Iida says easily. “Enjoy your evening Todoroki-kun.”

“And you, Iida-san.” Shouto nods politely before continuing towards the lift at a slower pace, mind trying to find a reason as to why they'd invite him out.

“You'll have to come with us next time.” Uraraka calls to his back which makes him pause mid step. He twists around, curious to see if she's joking with him, but the door to the dorms has already swung shut behind them.

He shrugs off the weird interaction, unsure on how to take it, and continues up to his room.

That's the first instance of something happening.

“Hey Shouto-kun!” Midoriya’s voice calls as Shouto steps outside. “Wait up!”

It's not uncommon for Midoriya to try and walk him to class but it is weird that he called him-

“Shouto-kun?” he repeats, raising a confused eyebrow.

Midoriya flushes, cheeks and ears growing red as he offers a nervous laugh. “W-well, yeah. We're friends, right?”

Friends. Todoroki Shouto isn't used to the term, doesn't really understand what the emotions behind the word mean, let alone if he could apply it to the relationship he has with Midoriya.

Friendship. A person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations.

Does he feel affection for Midoriya? Is that what the warm soft feeling that blooms inside of him every time he sees the smaller boy is? If so, does that mean that Shouto has somehow befriended his other classmates without him even realising?

“S-sorry I just thought t-that-” Midoriya’s face is red and he’s fiddling with the strap on his backpack nervously. He's nervous because Shouto hasn't responded to his question, nervous because he thinks he's overstepped a line, nervous because he thinks Shouto isn't his friend.

It makes the warm feeling in him grow like a flower in the sun, like sugared candy melting on his tongue, and he could label the feeling as affectionate. A mutual affection.

“We can be friends.” Shouto decides, interrupting Midoriya's nervous rambling, feeling his heart soften at the thought. He, Todoroki Shouto, has a friend within Midoriya. 

“Can be?” Midoriya splutters. “I thought we already were but, u-uh, thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” Shouto feels a grin tug at the corners of his mouth, small and private, and Midoriya must see it because he gives him a bright smile in return, something so warm and blinding that it rivals the sun on a summer’s day.

And then, later that week.

“Are you going to fucking watch this fucking movie with us or what?” Bakugou snarls as he slams Shouto’s dorm room open.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima’s voice rings out from behind him. “I told you to knock!”

“I’m not knocking on this bastard’s door. He’s making us all wait for him and I’m fed up from it. He’s lucky I’m not dragging him down the fucking stairs right now.”

Shouto twists his head to see the two boys standing in his doorway, Kirishima looking apologetic whilst Bakugou glares at him.

“Um.” Shouto says blankly, head feeling a bit fuzzy. He’d shut himself in his room when he felt the clouds start to roll in, choosing to skip his workout to lay on his floor instead and watch as the walls melted around him. “What?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Bakugou demands, hands curling into fists.

“It’s movie night.” Kirishima explains when Todoroki continues to stare at them blankly. “We all said to meet downstairs at eight, remember?”

No.

“Right, yeah.” Shouto chews on his bottom lip, unable to remember the conversation he'd apparently had to agree to this.

He doesn’t like being reminded of conversations he’s had with people whilst he’s gone. It makes him uncomfortable and, if he's honest, a little bit scared. He pushes himself into a sitting position but doesn't move any further, feeling winded and dizzy from the simple motion.

“You coming then?” Kirishima asks from behind him after a short silence. “It’s like, almost half past now.”

“Right.” Shouto presses his palms into his eyes, trying to force himself to focus. “The movie.”

“Yes, the fucking movie. Did you hit your fucking head, you idiot?” Bakugou sounds even more annoyed now but Kirishima whispers something to him - something that blurs in Shouto’s mind - and when he opens his eyes it's to the door slamming and Kirishima crouching down in front of him.

“Sorry, he’s got no tact.” Kirishima reaches out slowly, the action oddly reminiscent of Yaoyorozu’s a few weeks ago, and gently closes a hand around Shouto’s forearm. He wonders if Yaoyorozu had warned him that Shouto reacts better to slower, gentler actions. “Alright?” He asks quietly, eyes tracing Shouto’s face. “You didn’t actually hit your head, did you?”

“No.” Shouto says, blinking slowly through heavy eyelids. “I’m fine.”

Kirishima frowns at him. “Did you get another headache? When was the last time you ate something?”

Yaoyorozu did speak to him, then.

“I was at dinner.” He feels stupid and embarrassed of the thought of his classmates discussing his health behind his back. A small part of him might feel touched by the action but Shouto ignores it, unsure what to do with the emotion.

“You've got another headache then?” Kirishima presses. “Because you should visit Recovery Girl if so.”

He wonders how Kirishima would react if Todoroki was to tell him that he finds himself fading from this world into one devoid of anything on a weekly basis. What would the other boy do if he knew that Shouto sometimes wakes up to find that he’s in the courtyard or sitting in the training hall with no memory of how he got there. It all sounds crazy, even in his own mind, so he chooses to give a half-truth that won't end with him being sent away. “I’m just tired.”

Shouto is always so tired.

“You don’t have to watch the movie if you’d rather rest. I can just tell the others you were busy.” Kirishima squeezes him arm. “But if you’re gonna rest then I’d rather you do it in a bed, y’know?”

“Okay.” Shouto agrees quietly. He doesn’t know if he’s grateful or upset that the red headed boy is letting him off this easily. 

Kirishima helps pull Shouto up from the floor and waits until he's sitting on his bed before he takes his leave, shutting the door behind him with a “Feel better man!”

 

---

 

 

When he floats, he feels nothing.

He wonders if the reason he disconnects from himself so often is because of the easy escape it offers him, the easy peace away from the mess of emotions he has to face in the real world.

Sometimes something will trigger his floating but often it’ll just happen without his say so.

The only warnings he'll get is when words start to mash together, writing becoming unreadable and voices becoming distorted, but by then it's too late to fight against it. The colours around him will bleed into each other and create an ugly stain of darkness that he knows will consume him. He never used to leave for long, mind blocking things out instead of forcing Shouto to go, but ever since he started Yuuei things have gotten worse.

(Ever since Midoriya reminded him of what he had, what he still has now. Ever since Shouto was reminded how it felt to burn.)

After a lot of thought and consideration he's worked out that speaking to someone about it will result in one of three possible outcomes:

1. They’ll think he’s crazy and take him off the hero course
2. They’ll think the stress of school is too much and send him home to his father
3. They’ll think he’s stressed and crazy, just like his mother, and he’ll end up in a hospital similar to hers

None of the outcomes sound appealing and it makes Shouto even more hesitant to broach the subject with anyone.

(“Your mother isn’t here anymore.” His father tells all of them, arms crossed, and frown etched onto his face. “I don’t want any more questions about it. Shouto, come.”

“Where is she?” Shouto can’t help but press, tears welling in his eyes. “I want to see her.”

His father, as predicted, ignores him as they make their way to the training room. Shouto can't help but keep asking though, voice growing hoarse and desperate as time passes on.

"She's coming home, right?" He pants. He's been putting more effort into his training in the hopes his father will reward him with an answer. "When she's done wherever she is, she'll come home to me, right?"

He sees his father snap at his words, patience seemingly coming to its end as flames burst over his face with a quiet whump. Shouto recognises what's about to happen before it actually does, but that doesn't mean that his father’s slap doesn't hurt. Tears spill out of his good eye, his left one still wrapped tightly in a bandage. The doctor told him that he may never be able to see out of it again, that the nerve damage may be too much for his body to mend.

“She’s gone, you stupid child. She's gone and she's never coming back." His father says in a deep voice. Hot fingers grab Shouto's face and yank it up so that he's staring at his father’s dark eyes. "You don’t need her, Shouto." the fingers trace the bandage, making him shudder and cry harder. "You were created to defeat All Might. You need to stop focusing on other people and focus on yourself. Now come, enough of this nonsense.")

(She’s gone. She’s gone. Shesgone.)

Shouto trails his fingertips lightly over his scar, feeling his brain grow fuzzy at the action.

Maybe his mother left the way he leaves, escaping from this reality to somewhere that isn’t particularly nicer but is definitely somewhere better.

Maybe she also escapes to a familiar darkness where nothing matters.

“Did you hear we’re allowed to go home this weekend?” Sato says from beside him, Midoriya and Uraraka sitting cross legged on the floor opposite them on training mats. Shouto wonders when he ended up in the training hall with everyone else but doesn't focus on that for too long, instead tuning into the more pressing matter of the conversation happening around him.

“Are we?” Midoriya lights up. “How’d you know that?”

“I overheard Aizawa-sensei talking to All Might.”

“Oh wow.” Uraraka squeals. “I haven’t spent a night at home in forever!”

“Same here.” Sero pumps a fist in the air. “I’m so excited.”

“Me too.” Uraraka shakes Midoriya's arm, swaying them both back and forth in her excitement. “I’ve missed my mom's cooking so much.”

"God, yeah." Midoriya agrees. "My mum sends me those care packages, but it'll be so nice to have a meal that's not reheated."

Shouto feels his ice creeping over his hand, mind reeling at the news as he try's his best to keep outwardly calm. His breathing has turned heavy, the air around him suddenly seeming too thick, and he wonders why they're being sent home, wonders whether there's any way out of it.

Home is where his father is.

Home is a life of vigorous training exercises, physical blows as a repercussion, and his father's hell fire.

Home is the place where he was forced to grow up too young. It's empty rooms that are haunted by his mother’s voice, gentle as it whispers that she loves him and cracking as she calls him a monster.

When he tunes back into the class it’s too see them all whispering excitedly to each other as Aizawa stands at the front of the room with his arms crossed. “I put a lot of effort into getting this accepted.” He’s saying in a monotone voice. “So, I expect you to honour my efforts by keeping out of trouble.” He throws a hard look in Midoriya’s and Bakugou’s direction as he says it.

Home. Shouto isn’t sure his family house will ever be his home, isn't sure if it had ever been anyone's home besides his fathers.

“Are you excited to go home, Todoroki-kun?” Uraraka asks him, face bright and happy. She looks the polar opposite to how he feels, he notes with disdain, and he isn’t sure how to respond to her in a voice that isn't bitter and biting, so he chooses to say nothing instead, pushing himself up off the floor and heading over to where Aizawa is waiting for them to line up.

“Not wanting to fawn over your weekend away?” Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him.

“I’d rather just get on with the lesson, Aizawa-sensei.” Shouto says politely, averting his eyes to his shoes.

Aizawa hums and gives Shouto an unreadable glance before shouting for the rest of the class to line up.

They're doing strength training today in partners, two teams being put up against each other in practise.

The thought of being able to train is something of a relief. He's paired up with Kaminari to fight against Asui and Jirou and at first, it's distracting enough for him to almost forget about having to go home in a few days. Almost.

The movements of fighting are soothing and for a while they help to numb his mind, to soothe his worries, but the niggling thought of going home to his father plays on his mind. Moving into the dorms was a blessing and being sent home, in Shouto's eyes, is a punishment of sorts. It has to be a punishment because any way Shouto looks at it he can't see it as anything but a retribution for something he's done wrong, something the class has failed at. His whole life has been built up on discipline and punishments and being sent home falls into a twisted version of this, the only rules he's known structuring his life into right and wrong.

The training lesson quickly becomes a way for Shouto to let his frustrations out, for him to prove that he's the best in the class, because if he's good enough then maybe he can stay. If he's good enough then maybe, he won't have to be punished.

Shouto pushes himself and his Quirk past what is probably deemed acceptable for a friendly class competition, large walls of ice standing tall and proud all over the arena as smoke billows around them.

He sees Midoriya and Uraraka giving him worried looks as his team is called out of the arena by a frustrated sounding Aizawa. Shouto considers heading over towards them but his hands are shaking at his sides and he feels hot, burning and seething at the idea of having to interact with anyone. He notices Aizawa whispering something to All Might which pisses him off even more for some reason, irrational frustration bubbling across his skin and making him want to bare his teeth. He doesn't bother to mask his expression as he makes his way towards the back of the class, hoping his glare and display in the arena is enough to warn his classmates to stay away from him.

Shouto had thought that after the training exercise he’d feel calmer, more relaxed, and ready to accept his fate of having to spend his weekend away from the dorms but, as it is, his hands are vibrating with pent up energy and he can’t shake the frost from his face.  

Home is the place where he's faced years of abuse. Home is the place where his father lives, his father the number one hero, who has no idea what to do with Shouto now he's broken goods.

(“You were created to beat All Might.”)

With All Might beaten, who is Shouto now besides Endeavor’s son?

(“If you stay down like this then your opponent won't hesitate to kill you.”

Shouto presses his cheek to the floor, chest heaving and muscles spasming, and thinks, would it be such a bad thing to be killed?)

He’s been left drifting, left floating in his own thoughts, his own past, for so long that Shouto wonders whether or not he drowned in them long ago, that the person left standing here now is nothing but a shadow of someone he could've been.

(would it be such a bad thing to be killed?)

(“Your left side is unsightly. Ugly.”)

(His mother's eyes stare at Shouto likes he’s a stranger. A monster.)

“Todoroki.” All Might’s voice jars him from where he’s leaning against the wall. “Quite an impressive display out there.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs politely, bowing his head in respect and curling his palms into fists to hide how they're trembling.

If he were to label his display, Shouto would choose the word erratic over impressive. If the look Kaminari keeps throwing him is anything to go by then it would seem that the other boy agrees with him. All Might doesn't seem to share any of the same sentiment though, throwing Shouto what seems to be a genuine smile.

“Your father's Endeavor.” His teacher states unprompted, tone light. “That must be pretty cool, huh? Having the number one hero as your dad.”

“I think I preferred it when you were number one.” Shouto mutters, nails biting into his palm.

“No need to flatter me.” All Might waves a hand in the air, eyes trailing over to where Midoriya is now training alongside Iida against Yaoyorozu and Hagakure. “If I had a kid, I would have wanted them to proud of me.”

Do people think I’m proud of my father? Shouto frowns, ice and searing heat now digging into his hands, making them ache. How could I ever be proud of the man who destroyed my life?

It’s not like anybody knows the monster Shouto sees when he looks at his father. Nobody could know about the upbringing he was forced to endure but it still hurts to hear that All Might, the worlds hero, somebody Shouto used to look up to, expects him to be proud of his father. He expects Shouto to have had a good life, an easy life, and it makes his ribs feel too tight around his lungs.

(His brothers are no longer allowed to speak or see him, his father warning Shouto not to get distracted by people like them. He still catches glimpses of them sometimes, playing happily in their side of the house or coming home from the public school they're allowed to attend.

Shouto has been confined to the other half of the house, the half with the training facilities and the room for his home schooling. His father tells him not to get distracted, to stay focused on getting better, on becoming the best.

Fuyumi is the only one of his siblings that is willing to interact with him, the only one willing to stand up to their father, but, after a while, Shouto finds himself too tired after training to do anything other than eat and sleep.

Their father doesn’t have the time to spare for his other siblings, telling Shouto that he’s the only thing that he’s willing to invest his time in, that Shouto is his only perfect creation.

Shouto hates his father for everything he's done, feels an unbearable anger at his old man for it all. He hates himself too, though, for a part of him can't help but blame his mother for breaking on him, for leaving him, for making him take on all his father's attention alone.)

Frost is creeping up the wall behind them and Shouto can see All Might frowning at him, lips moving in the shapes of words that he can't hear through the ringing in his ears.

How could people think that he’s proud of Endeavor?

(There isn't a moment in his life where Shouto doesn’t know what the sound of his father’s fist on his mother's skin sounded like. The sound of her crying is more familiar to him than her laughter and the smell of disinfectant on a cut is the first thing Shouto registers with his mother’s smell.

He imagines that she would’ve smelt like winter flowers once, pretty and delicate yet still so strong, but he’s only ever known the wilted version of her, the version of her that his father had destroyed.)

“I’m not proud.” He snarls, memories taunting him. He steps away from All Might, away from the image of his mother’s curled up form, frost forming into ice on the floor below him. “I’m not proud of him.”

(He sees his mother's eyes, big and frightened, as his father looms over her. Endeavor has one hand wrapped too tightly around Shouto’s arm, the grip crushing and bruising, as the other is raised in warning towards his mother. She still begs, regardless of the bruises forming on her body, pleading with his father to let Shouto rest.)

“I’m not proud to be his son.” he feels flames licking at his face, at his scar, and he shudders, eyes shutting tightly.

“Okay,” All Might is saying. “Hey, Todoroki, it’s okay.”

(“What have you done to him?” His father snarls at his mother, yanking her off of Todoroki by her hair.

Todoroki can’t stop shaking, limbs twitching as he presses a hand to his eye, palm pressing into where it burns, where it sears, where his nerve endings are on fire. He’s never known anything like this pain, never imagined that he could ever hurt this much. His lips are open in a silent keen, tears cutting through his skin like lava.

He sees his father slam his mother’s face into the wall, hears the crunch of her nose breaking, feels the way his stomach churns from the pain of it all.

Fuyumi has one hand on his arm, trying to tug it away from where it’s covering his face, gentle voice pleading with him, “Please Shouto, let me see. I need to see how bad it is.”)

He can feel his Quirk unravelling before him as All Might’s thin frame turns into something bigger, something hulking and familiar. Flames burst across the face that haunts his dreams, that haunts his days. Endeavor stands across from him with a smug look on his face, unhinged laughter pouring from his mouth as he wipes his mother’s blood off his face. When his father jerks his hand towards Shouto, the shape of his fist all too familiar, Shouto acts on instinct, ice forming from his hand and shooting towards his father. He makes sure that the spikes are large and sharp because his father can easily burn them away and-

His Quirk jolts to a stop and Shouto takes a heaving breath, panic clawing at his throat, because he needs to stop his father, needs to protect his mom, his sister, but then he blinks and his father melts into All Might. All Might who is defenceless without his powers, who has wide eyes and a hand raised to protect himself because there's spikes of ice inches away from his bare face.

He registers the feeling of his Quirk not working as Aizawa's eraser one in action.

Shouto’s hand is shaking where he’s holding it out in front of him, ears ringing as blood rushes to his head. He could’ve killed All Might. He could’ve killed him, would've maybe, had it not been for Aizawa. He was made to beat All Might, was created for this, but All Might had already been beaten, hadn't he? 

Shouto wasn't a weapon, not anymore, hadn't Midoriya taught him this? Hadn't Shouto been shown that he could be more than what his father wanted him to be?

Aizawa’s face appears behind All Might’s, hair floating around his head as he stares Shouto down.

“Drop your hand, Todoroki.” He’s saying. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Shouto wants to drop his hand but his heart is racing, and he can't stop the panic racing around him, can't stop the feeling that something is wrong, that something is really really wrong. His head is thick with a smoke, thick and blinding -

(“Stop protecting him, he was created to beat All Might. Your coddling of the boy will only ruin him.”

“He’s a person, Enji! He’s your son, not some sort of weapon for you to train.”

“He’s what I’ll make him and-” The sound of a palm striking skin. “You’ll do your best to remember that.”)

A hand touches his outstretched arm and Todoroki jerks around to see Midoriya, stupid, kind Midoriya, looking at Shouto gently, lips moving slowly as if he knows Shouto can’t hear what he's saying properly.

It’s okay, his lips say. You’re okay.

Shouto glances up to see his class staring at him in horror, eyes wide and stances ready to fight.

(Because it must be horror, surely. It couldn’t be anything like concern because concern does nothing but damage him. Shouto wasn’t made for kindness. He was made to be the best, to be trained, to bleed, to learn.)

“Stand down, Shouto-kun.” Midoriya says firmly, voice free of stutter because he’s doing what he was made to do, be a hero.

He’s a better hero than Shouto will ever be, always standing up for what’s right and protecting people even if it means hurting himself. Shouto is the monster in this scenario. He’s the villain that people need protecting from. He almost just killed All Might and over what? A comment about his father?

Shouto lets his arm go lax, lets Midoriya guide it down and away, leaving him shaking and sweating and so so confused.

“Class over.” Aizawa says loudly. Nobody moves though, all left staring at the mess he’s made. “Todoroki.” Aizawa directs his attention to where Shouto’s standing behind shards of ice, gaze hard and making him shudder slightly. “Come with me.”

Aizawa starts walking towards the exit, obviously expecting Shouto to follow him. Shouto can't though, feels like he's frozen in place, eyes stuck on the ice in front of him, flicking from the distorted reflection of himself towards where All Might is giving him a long look (a considering look, a sad look, something kinder than Todoroki has ever been deserving of) before he turns to help round up the rest of the students. 

“Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya says gently, squeezing his arm in what Shouto presumes is meant to be a reassuring gesture. “It’s going to be okay.”

He doesn’t think Midoriya is in any place to tell him what okay is considering Shouto's just tried to attack a teacher, just tried to attack Midoriya's idol, the ex-number one hero of their time, for no reason at all.

With a sudden clarity Shouto knows that he’s going to get kicked off of the course for this. He’s going to get kicked off the course and he’s going to have to go back to living at home with his father permanently whilst the media drag his name through the mud.

Endeavor’s son tries to kill All Might!

His father is going to have to live with him whilst the media drags both of their names through the mud because of this.

“Todoroki.” Aizawa is holding the door open, looking at him expectantly. “Don’t make me ask again.”  

“I’ll see you back at the dorms, okay?” Midoriya squeezes his arm before nudging him carefully around the ice and pushing him towards the door.

Shouto highly doubts he’ll ever be allowed to step foot in the 1-A dorms again, but he keeps that to himself, walking stiffly towards where Aizawa is waiting for him, head bowed and the feeling of his classmates’ eyes heavy on his back.

 

---

 

 

He doesn’t see Midoriya at the dorms that night, as expected.

What’s unexpected is the kindness Aizawa had shown him, a kindness Shouto struggled to understand.

His sensei had sent him home four days early with the promise of a mental health check with Recovery Girl when he returns with the rest of his class on Monday.

Because Shouto is going to be returning to Yuuei, regardless of his actions.

“I don’t know what I saw out there Todoroki, but I know it wasn’t the same student I’ve been teaching for the past year.” Aizawa levels him with a long look, eyes softer than Shouto thinks is deserved. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but I want to help if I can.

“Help?” Shouto asks quietly, stumped. “Aren’t I getting expelled?”

“It would be unwise to expel you for something I don’t believe you were in control of. Unless you’re telling me that you, in your right mind, would attack an unsuspecting teacher?  A defenceless one at that.”

“No,” he rushes to say. “I wouldn’t ever- I don’t." He takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. "That’s not me.”

“Exactly.” Aizawa says, putting emphasis on his words. “That wasn’t you, Todoroki. I want to help.”

“Help how?” Shouto feels like the conversation has gotten away from him and it’s barely even started. He was fully prepared for a punishment, for the removal of his license before he even got it, and to be kicked from the hero course.

“Recovery Girl can perform a mental health check on you to start with so that we can see what's going on up there. Being a hero isn't easy, Todoroki, and your class has experienced more than most your age.”

“Mental health.” Shouto repeats, words feeling thick and wrong on his tongue. He pictures his mother sitting in her hospital room, pictures his childhood without her, all because of her mental health.

“It’s not as scary as it sounds.” Aizawa folds his hands on his desk. “And it’ll help us help you.”

Because apparently Shouto is someone who needs help, is someone who his teacher wants to help. He knows that the kindness he's being shown is undeserved, but he doesn’t dare question it, not wanting Aizawa to change his mind on the matter. Shouto needs things clarified though because surely it can't just be this simple. What he did was illegal, was dangerous. “Won’t somebody report what I’ve done? Won’t the school have to have a formal hearing?”

“The only people who know about this is your class, All Might, and me. I know All Might won’t press anything and, if I know your class correctly, they’ll keep quiet if it means helping you.”

Because they all want to help him.

He's not sure what to do with this piece of information. A part of him wants to argue, wants to point out to Aizawa that he'd be breaking the law and it could end in both Shouto's expulsion and him losing his job. He wants to ask Aizawa to report it for both their sake, but Shouto is tired.

He's so,

so,

tired.

All he's done for years now is keep quiet and pretend; he's so fed up of not being able to put the broken shards of himself back together that he doesn't dare fight the kindness being shown to him, doesn't have it in him to voice any his arguments. 

He takes another deep breath when he realises that he's stopped, shutting his eyes and drowning in the feeling of being overwhelmed.

“I...” Shouto breathes in again, holds for three, then breathes out. “Thank you, Aizawa-sensei.”

“Prove that this is the right choice, okay?” Aizawa taps his fingers on the table, making Shouto meet his eyes again. He waits until Shouto nods before continuing. “What I think is best for you at the moment is for you to go home and rest for the remainder of the week. I’ll sort things out on my end and you can return on Monday.”

“Home?” Shouto lets out a shuddering laugh that leaves an ashy taste on his tongue. It was almost too good to be true, almost the ideal outcome, but the universe has had it out for Todoroki the second he was born. There's hell fire running through his veins and it's always condemned him to a harsher fate. “Will you tell my father what happened?”

“No,” Aizawa pauses, giving Shouto a careful look. “Not if you don’t want me to do so.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” His voice comes out strained and he sees Aizawa eyes narrow at him in thought.

Shouto averts his eyes when the gaze gets too intense. Aizawa is looking at him with something dangerous, something almost like understanding, and it makes him feel vulnerable. The last thing Shouto wants is for anyone to think that they have him figured out. His insides are a mess of ice and fire, beaten and battered by the harsh storm that's been raging between the two sides since he was a child. There is barely anything left of him that's whole and to think that somebody could begin to understand terrifies him in a way he's never felt before. 

He's always been happy being the quiet kid, the reserved one, because it meant that nobody knew, that there was no potential of anyone knowing. If anyone were to really know him they'd realise that he was a lie. They'd stop seeing him as reserved the second they realise that his personality is built up on a friendless childhood, lonely and empty, and his father’s training, punishing and cruel. If anyone were to take a look at his bruised heart and the poison that it pumps through him then they'd realise that he's nothing but a broken monster that's been chained and muzzled by his father’s upbringing.

“I’ll say there was an incident with your dorm room, if you would prefer?" Aizawa says, voice more knowing then Shouto wants it to be. "One that’ll take us a week to mend and one that means you'll need to reside at home, resting from the incident that occurred.”

“Please.” Shouto is not below begging when it comes to his father, even if it inadvertently confirms Aizawa's thoughts. “If you wouldn’t mind, then please.”

So here Shouto is, standing outside his family home with his most important belongings thrown into his backpack and a note to give to his father, the story on it matching the one Aizawa had told his father over the phone.

Regardless of the story given, Shouto knows that his father won’t be happy with him returning home. He knows that sending him here to rest, to collect his thoughts and stabilise himself, was meant to be an act of kindness on his Aizawa’s part, but Shouto wasn’t made to be coddled.

(“Your coddling of the boy will only ruin him.”)

He can see his father walking down the path, flames flickering brightly in the dying light of the day. Being sent home in itself could be seen as a worse punishment than expelling him, depending on his father's mood. From the height of his flames Shouto guesses that it’ll be a hard week for him, the opposite of what Aizawa wanted.

You deserve this, his mind whispers. You deserve to get put in your place. The voice sounds disturbingly like his fathers and it makes Shouto shudder. He knows that the words are true though, knows that he needs to be punished for his reckless actions, accidental or not. A twisted part of him craves the punishment, finding a familiarity in his father correcting his mistakes.

“Shouto.” His father pulls the gate open with a wicked grin on his face. “Don’t just stand there. This is your home, remember?” Shouto drops his head and loosens his shoulders automatically, body melding itself into a submissive picture as he steps onto the property, gates shutting closed behind him with a deafening click. “Your sister’s on holiday so we have the house to ourselves for the week. Perfect for some father son bonding time, hm?”

You deserve this, he repeats to himself as he follows his father up the path and towards their house. You deserve this, you deserve this, youdeservethis-

It’s easy, Shouto finds, to fall back into the familiar routine of his childhood.

Their training starts that evening and his father picks back up as if they'd never stopped, beating Shouto in fights over and over until he's shaking, and dots are dancing in front of his eyes. He calls out the flaws he sees in Shouto, voice biting and disappointed, as if Shouto isn't trying his hardest on purpose. His father knocks him back harder than usual if Shouto does something he deems especially stupid, and by the time he calls it to a stop Shouto feels numb and is covered in a light scattering of burns.

His dad tells him to eat dinner and shower before going to bed as he walks out of the room, leaving Shouto wincing on a training mat on the floor. “Training starts at eight tomorrow, don’t forget." His father says before he leaves. "You may have let your training regime slip whilst attending that school, but I'll try my best to catch you up to speed."

 

---

 

 

Back when Shouto was still young enough to believe that love existed, he used to think that the relationship between him and his father was just a twisted form of it. He used to think that his father trained him hard because he cared, because he wanted Shouto to succeed, and that his heart was always in the right place even if his actions weren't. He used to convince himself that this must be love, for a parent should always love their child, and that any mistakes his father made were because things got twisted up along the way.

Now that Shouto’s older he understands that his father never held any feelings of love towards him, understands that the man has probably never known how to love anything his entire life. He knows now that the only thing his father will ever feel towards him is possession and greed. He sees Shouto as something to mould and shape, something there for him to control, and there's nothing he can do about it. 

His mother, Shouto used to think, loved him unconditionally. There was no one else in the world that looked after him like she did. There has never been anybody else willing to throw themselves in front of his father’s blows for him, nobody willing to argue for his health when Shouto was worn down to the bone. She offered him a kindness that he took for granted at the time. Her soft touches and small smiles were saved for Shouto and Shouto alone and he'd accepted them easily, accepted them without question, when he should've been treasuring them. He knows that his mother loved him once, long ago, but Shouto also learnt that love is never unconditional.

Everybody has their limits, has their breaking points, and his unsightly left side was the thing that broke his mother’s love for him.

(He overhears Ashido call him the hottest boy in their class and he can’t get her words out of his head.

He spends that night staring at his reflection in the mirror, eyes glued to the ugly seared skin on his forehead and around his eye, tracing the way his red bangs fall and cover the worst of the scar. His mother called it unsightly, had done the unthinkable to him because of how ugly the left side of him was.

He traces his fingers over the thin skin and shudders, mind growing clouded, and wonders how anybody could look at him and think of anything other than monster.)

Shouto was not made to be loved.

“Get up.” his father snarls. Shouto can’t get up, is too busy clutching his stomach and trying not to let his tired head lull into the pile of sick next to him. “Do you always have to be so pathetic? You can’t just give up all the time, Shouto.” His father kicks lightly at his twitching legs, making him curl up tighter. “What’s the point in sending you to that school if they can’t even teach you how to fight properly?”

That has Shouto forcing his eyes open, glaring weakly up at his father.

“I could probably train you better myself.” His dad muses, a nasty curl to his lips. “It might be better to pull you out of school if you aren't learning anything of value there.”

“No.” Shouto breathes, forcing himself up on shaking legs. He feels like he could collapse at any moment, but he refuses to stay down, refuses to let his father take him away from Yuuei and his classmates. His friends. The only freedom he's ever known. “No.” he repeats, spitting blood onto the floor and wheezing as his lungs burn. “I can keep going.”

“Good.” His father claps his hands, shifting into a more aggressive stance. “You need to learn stamina, boy. If you fall down like that during a real battle, then villains won’t hesitate to kill you.”

(Shouto presses his cheek to the floor, chest heaving and muscles spasming, and thinks, would it be such a bad thing to be killed?)

For the first time ever, he’s grateful when the world grows blurred around him, walls oozing into the rippling floor as everything becomes distorted. He sinks into the nothingness his mind provides him and lets his body cope with the rest, the act more familiar than Shouto ever wanted it to be.

 

---

  

He comes back to himself in flashes over the remainder of the week.

Blink once and he’s gasping as his father's hell fire scrapes his neck, the flames dancing and leaving charred flesh by his Adams' apple.

Twice and he’s shovelling pork and rice into his mouth robotically as his father sits opposite him holding a one-sided conversation, the words sounding foreign to his ears.

The third blink finds him sitting under a tree in the garden, the nights stars shining brightly above him. His mind is half there for that one and, if he ignores the painful throbbing of his body, he could almost consider it peaceful. The sound of the wind rustling the leaves around him is a welcome sound, the way it laps at his burning skin soothing.

The dark blue of the sky stretches out above him, stars twinkling softly, and if Shouto lets his eyes flutter shut he can almost feel the presence of a body lying in the grass next to him, the sound of Midoriya's voice echoing around his head like they're both underwater. The older boy had tried to teach Shouto about the constellations late one night, both of them too unsettled to sleep. He'd seemed offended that Shouto hadn't already learnt them off by heart and Shouto had spent the next few hours listening to Midoriya rambling on about everything he knew about the stars and the stories behind them. It's one of Shouto's more treasured memories, one of his most private ones, and he happily lets himself get lost in it.

And then he blinks and finds himself sprawled on the floor, his father glaring down at him. “I just want to make you better, Shouto.” he snarls, flaming face just like the one from Shouto’s nightmares. “You understand that, right? I just want to make you better.”

It’s disorientating to live in such small increments of time. He finds scrapes and bruises on his body that he can’t remember getting, finds himself waking up with his stomach rumbling because he hasn't eaten. He loses track of the days but when his father reminds him that he's going back to school tomorrow he suddenly finds himself standing before a mirror, staring at his own face and thinking to himself how the fuck am I meant to hide this.

He thought that he’d be excited to be going back to Yuuei dorms but, staring at the cut on his right cheek and the graze on his chin, he feels nothing but dread.

Aizawa sent him home to rest and Shouto knows that he looks like hell. He feels like hell too, body sore and aching and mind scattered. There are dark bags under his eyes and his hair is lank, face sticky from being unwashed. He can do something about that at least, Shouto thinks as he grabs his towel from his door and heads towards the bathroom. The rest will just have to be covered by a good enough a lie, a good enough story that explains the state he's in well enough, leaving no room for questions.

Well that was the plan anyway but before he knows it Sunday evening has bled into Monday morning and he’s being dropped off at the Yuuei gates, scanning himself onto the campus. 

He keeps his head ducked as he slowly makes his way over towards the 1-A dorms, feeling nervous about his meeting with Aizawa later that morning, the words mental health check causing his stomach to roll unpleasantly. The thought of having to see his classmates on top of that makes frost curl on his fingertips, anxiety biting at him from all sides.

He isn’t sure what Aizawa told the rest of the class about his absence, but he knows that there will never be an explanation good enough to paint them both in a positive light. The truth of the matter is simple: one of the top students from their class disappeared for a week after he attacked a teacher.

The whole class saw him lose control and Aizawa can't stop them from remembering that, as much as Shouto wishes that something could be done. There's nothing anybody could ever say that would excuse what happened. 

Hopefully he’s early enough that he's beaten everyone in returning to the dorms.

Hopefully he's early enough that people will still be collecting their belongings at their parents and saying their goodbyes, giving him more than enough time to sneak back up to his room and shut himself in there.

Hopefully Shouto can avoid having to face anyone until after his 09:00am meeting with Aizawa and Recovery Girl.

It's clinging onto those thoughts that gives Shouto the courage to scan into the 1-A dorm and take a step inside. It’s quiet, he notes with relief, quickly making his way towards the elevator, eyes trained to the floor. He doesn't realise before it's too late that he's mistaken quietness for a shocked silence.

“Todoroki-kun!” Shouto freezes at that, eyes growing wide at the sound of Iida’s voice, of the other voices that slowly pick up talking again. He keeps his eyes low the ground as he slowly turns and looks over to where a familiar pair of shoes are.

Where many familiar pairs of shoes are and - fucking christ, he must be the last one back.

He feels the panic well up in his stomach, fingers tingling at his sides, unsure on what to do next. He could look up but that would mean facing his class, the class that saw him lose control and the class that Shouto is more rude than nice towards. It also means showing his bruised face, showing the tiredness that's painted across every inch of him.

He thought that he’d be able to skip all of this, that Recovery Girl would fix the bruises and scrapes without anybody else seeing them and that he and Aizawa could come up with a story together. He ducks his head lower, bangs falling into his eyes. That can still be the plan, if he plays his cards right.

“I’m so pleased to see you’re back.” Iida continues, oblivious to the fact that Shouto feels like he’s going to throw up. “And in time for breakfast, too.”

“Yeah.” Uraraka’s cheerful voice chimes in. “We were hoping you’d arrive last night with the rest of us but Aizawa mentioned you might not of received the message about us returning early.”

“Fucking typical that they’d let you off.” Bakugou’s voice scoffs. “You should’ve been suspended for more than a week.”

“Bakugou!” Karishma chides. “It’s got nothing to do with us. Sorry Todoroki - you know what this hot head is like.”

“Hey!” Bakugou shouts. “Do you want to die, punk?”

“I hope your week at home was nice.” Asui offers over the sounds of the other two arguing. “Are you- uh, just going to stand there?”

He probably looks stupid, frozen in place with his backpack in a white knuckled grip and eyes trained on the floor by his feet. He tries to think of something to say- of something to do - but he’s not sure if he knows how to string together a coherent enough sentence to appease his class.

“I need to unpack.” Todoroki winces when his voice comes out dry and scratchy from disuse, words thick on his tongue.

“Of course you do.” Yaoyorozu agrees instantly, picking up on how uncomfortable he is. “You shouldn’t let us stop you, Todoroki-kun. We can all catch up later.” She puts emphasis on the last few words and he hears voices murmur in agreement, making his right eye twitch.

“Right.” Shouto mutters, turning away from them all and continuing towards where the elevator is, feet moving on auto-pilot. He thought that his class would be angry at him (and maybe a part of him wanted them to be angry at him) but they’re being nothing but nice, nothing but kind, and he doesn't understand why.

He goes to press the button for the elevator, needing to escape from it all, but the doors ding open before he can.

“Shouto-kun!” Midoriya’s voice rings out from in front of him and then Shouto suddenly finds himself being lifted from the floor, Midoriya's arms curled tightly around his waist in a hug. 

There was once a time where Shouto craved this sort of affection, where he would dream of his mother's gentle embrace, where he would imagine what it would feel like for Midoriya to spin him around like he does Uraraka and Asui, but now when Midoriya clutches him tightly, arms warm around his waist, it does nothing but hurt.

It’s not the worst pain he’s felt, far from it, but his injuries are still new, and they ache and throb when squeezed and Shouto can’t help the gasp of pain that leaves his lips. Midoriya puts him down quickly, arms dropping to his own sides as Shouto presses a palm to his bruised ribs.

“Shouto-kun?” He says worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Shouto breathes, eyes fluttering shut as the throbbing of his ribs die down into a dull ache. “I’m fine. Hi Midoriya.”

“Hi.” Midoriya sounds hesitant and then, before he can stop it, gentle fingers are tilting Shouto's face up to meet big, concerned eyes. “Oh,” Midoriya gasps, fingers dropping again as if he’s afraid he’ll hurt Shouto even more. “Your face, Todoroki. What happened?”

He can hear the noise behind him die down at the shock in Midoriya’s voice, the upset behind it. “Leave it.” Shouto mutters tiredly, something close to panic gnawing at his ribs. Midoriya looks like he’s wants to argue more but, after he glances to Shouto’s neck, his mouth clicks shut, eyes starting to glisten with tears. Shouto knows what the older boy has seen. Small and discreet, nestled near his adams apple, is a black burn left by hell fire.

“Shouto.” Midoriya can’t help but say, reaching out to hold Shouto’s arm. He tenses before the other boy touches though (he doesn’t flinch) and Midoriya stills again, looking hurt.

“Please.” Shouto whispers. “Let it go.” He knows Midoriya won’t let it go but he uses the others hesitation as an excuse to jump into the elevator and spam the close door button.

“Shouto-” Midoriya calls, voice thick with concern, but the doors shut in the older boy’s face and cut off the rest of his sentence. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence, anyway. He just wants to get his meeting with Aizawa over with and then -

Well. Who knows what will happen then.

 

---

 

 

“You need to tell me who did this to you if you want my help, kid.” Aizawa sounds tired, more tired than Shouto's ever heard him, and frustrated.

“Sorry.” Shouto murmurs, not wanting to make his teacher angry but not willing to say any more on the subject either.

“Don’t apologise.” Aizawa sighs. “Please don’t apologise to me.”

Sorry, Shouto thinks.

They were meant to be meeting with Recovery Girl at 09:15 after a short catch up but, after confirming that Shouto wasn’t about to drop dead from internal bleeding, Aizawa had let her know that they’d arrive in their own time. Aizawa had decided that getting to the bottom of why Shouto looks like a warmed-up piece of shit was more pressing in the long run.

“You live with your father, correct?” Aizawa has a strange look on his face. Protective his mind supplies. Shouto shoves that thought away harshly.

“Yes.”

“Your father, Endeavor. The number one hero.”

“Yes.”

“And your mother isn't in the picture any longer, right?"

“Not anymore, no.” Shouto chews on his bottom lip, trying his best to appear unaffected by Aizawa's new route of questioning. He's tired of being so confused though, fed up of having to overthink and second guess everything that happens. “Why are we talking about my parents, Aizawa-sensei?”

“I think you know why.” Aizawa says in a softer tone. It’s still gruff, similar to the voice he uses in class, but there’s an underlying sense of softness to it now. “Shouto," his name sounds gentle on his teachers lips and it makes their conversation more personal, makes it more real. "You realise I can’t help you if you don’t say anything?”

“I know.” he replies honestly, watching as Aizawa runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“But you still won’t say anything?”

Shouto shakes his head, eyes diverting back down to the desk.

“I could open up a child abuse case regardless.” Aizawa says after a moments silence, making him tense up. “People will recognise the burns on you as ones left by hell fire. We could take photos as proof. You wouldn’t have to go home again if you didn’t want to.”

His shoulders hunch more at his teachers’ words. He feels sick just thinking about admitting to everything his father's done. Shouto's not been the only one affected by his father’s hatred and to admit what's happened to him is to admit what's happened to them as well. To his mother. To his siblings. To their family. He isn't sure if he can do it, isn't sure if he wants to do it, but a small part of him lights up at his teachers’ words. The small flame of hope that catches whenever he thinks that his classmates care, that wants Shouto to ask for help, that burns bright in hope that Midoriya doesn’t regret his offer of friendship, swells at the thought of never having to go back to his family house. At never having to go back to his father.

It's such a surreal offer that it leaves him dazed, leaves him feeling like he's watching the conversation from above. Shouto is so tired of pretending, so tired of lying and being afraid, that he finds himself saying, “He’d be angry.” before he can quite register it. And then, when Aizawa gives him a look that hints that he understands, that he thinks Shouto is doing the right thing, the words are spilling before he can stop it. “He doesn't mean to do it, not really. He’s helping me.”

“No.” Aizawa stops him. “This, the hurting you - that isn’t help, Shouto. That’s abuse.”

Abuse.

“It’s not that bad.” Shouto denies. “I can handle it.”

“You shouldn't have to handle it,” Aizawa presses. “That’s what I’m trying to offer you. I want to help, Shouto.” He pauses and taps the desk until Todoroki meets his eyes again, holding his gaze like he needs Shouto to look at him for this, needs to see for himself that Shouto is registering the words. “You’re a good kid, do you hear me? You’re a really good kid, Shouto. I don’t like seeing you like this. I don’t like seeing you how you were on Monday which -” he pauses then, eyes widening as he puts the pieces together, letting out a sigh. “Which only occurred because I said you were all heading home, right?

Shouto presses his lips together and shrugs his shoulders.

“I want to help you, Shouto.” The sentiment is unfamiliar, the phrasing sounding odd and surreal to his ears because Shouto has never considered himself in need of saving. No, he corrects himself. Shouto has never thought of himself as someone worthy of being saved, not from his father.

(“It’s unsightly. I can’t look at him.”)

Shouto wasn’t meant to be saved. He was born a monster, is the spawn of one, and he was created to be the best and to be nothing else-

(“You’ll ruin him, you stupid woman. He needs to learn how to use his Quirk and this is the only way to teach him.”)

-regardless of what Midoriya tells him, regardless of what Aizawa is trying to tell him. He’s his father's son and their blood runs bad, -

(“Mom?” The kitchen wall presses into his back and he feels cornered, feels scared, as his mom lifts the kettle from the top of the stove.)

-runs thick and heavy like poison through his veins. His life-

(“That’s not your life anymore Shouto. Remember that. You were created to become the number one hero, do you understand?”)

-was forfeited the second his Quirk appeared, was forfeited when his father grew a sickly interest in him. To think that he, Todoroki Shouto, could be saved, could be worthy of being saved, after everything is -

(Shouto presses his cheek to the floor, chest heaving and muscles spasming, and thinks, would it be such a bad thing to be killed?)

-something like a dream. It’s laughable and it makes him feel so sick and yet so -

Relieved, maybe.

“I can’t help you if you don’t want it, though. I’ll need you to be honest with me, Todoroki.”

Honest about his life, honest about the secret he drowned in a long, long time ago.

Shouto is so, so tired. 

“Sometimes,” he breathes, lungs pressing into his brittle ribs. “I float.”

 

---

 

 

Dissociative disorder. A state of mind where you disconnect from the world around you. There are many types, the pamphlet tells him. Recovery Girl says that it he experiences two types of dissociative states commonly: depersonalisation and dissociative amnesia.

He’s not broken, she tells him, and he definitely isn’t crazy.

The disorder can be caused by a traumatic event or a series of them. Shouto thinks that his childhood could be described as traumatic, but he doesn’t want to admit to it, which, as it turns out, is understandable, is fine even, because he’ll supposedly end up telling the therapist he now has to see twice a week.

After evidence of his injuries was taken and Recovery Girl had healed him, leaving him to rest in the bed for a while, Aizawa asked again if this is what Shouto wanted. After he'd gained Shouto's approval there was a brief discussion between Aizawa, Recovery Girl, and president Nezu over how they should proceed with both Shouto’s mental state and home life.

Shouto finds himself tuning in and out of the conversation, shaky fingers clutching the pamphlets he was given to his chest, but gathers enough to know that, if Aizawa is willing to take temporary guardianship and responsibility of him, Shouto will be allowed to stay at Yuuei to train. The relief is overwhelming but is quickly drowned out by more nerves, more questions piling on his tongue that he bites back.

“I’m happy to do it.” Aizawa pauses then, voice growing firmer. “But only if that’s what Shouto wants.”

Because Shouto’s opinion on the situation did matter, it would seem. He’s asked more questions then, ones he tries his best to answer honestly, no matter how difficult he finds them. There’s a break for lunch and then the child welfare officers are there to speak to him.

It's all happening too quickly but he’s reassured that it's only because they don’t want to worsen his mental state by delaying this meeting for another day.

(They don't want to give him the time to change his mind on the matter.)

By the end of the day Shouto is physically and mentally exhausted.

He feels - not better, no, but more settled then he has in a long time.

Aizawa walks him back to the dorms, voice still oddly soft as he chats idly about what’s going to happen next. Shouto didn't take Aizawa as one to ramble but he finds the act soothing. “There will be more meetings of course, but I can be there if needed. I’d also rather you didn’t partake in the bigger practical lessons for now, but I’m happy to arrange private lessons so that you don’t fall behind in class.”

“My father?” Shouto asks quietly, breath fogging in the cold night air. “What will happen to him?”

“The child welfare officers will need to write up their reports before speaking to the police. That'll take a few days, I imagine. Your father won’t know anything until there’s enough evidence to convict him, okay?”

“Okay.” Shouto repeats. He can’t quite believe what's happened today and he's tempted to write the whole thing off as a dream, a different life that isn’t his own, but he lets the sound of Aizawa’s voice ground him and fights against the temptation.

They both pause when they reach the dorms and Aizawa shifts so that his left arm is pressed up against Shouto’s briefly. It’s not a hug, not even close, but he finds the motion comforting, finds it nice. “Thank you, Aizawa-sensei.” Shouto bows, wanting to show the other man's kindness as much respect as he can, knowing he'll never find the words to do so.

“It’s okay, Shouto.” Aizawa says. “You have my number, yeah?” He waits for Shouto to nod before he continues. “Good. Call me if you need anything, okay? And I really do mean anything. I’m here to help.” Aizawa nudges their arms together again before he makes a move to leave. “Get out of the cold, kid. Don’t forget that you’ve done the right thing - You’re a good boy, Shouto.”

A good boy isn’t something Shouto’s ever been called but it makes him feel soft and warm and safe.

He scans his ID badge before walking into the dorms, surprised to see people are still milling about downstairs. When he takes note of who it is though his surprise melts into that same soft feeling he felt outside and his cheeks flush slightly.

Iida, Kirishima, Jirou and Uraraka are sitting around a table playing a board game, faces animated and voices loud and happy, whilst Midoriya and Kaminari cheer them on. Ashido is sitting with Yaoyorozu and Hagakure in the living area, seemingly having a more private conversation, voices hushed as they lean in towards each other. The dorm smells of cake, no doubt Sato’s doing, and Aoyama’s fruit scented candles - familiar, warm, and homely. He feels like he hasn't appreciated the rooms here enough, feels like he's been taking his life here for granted. The comforting layout gives his tired mind some peace and, as he takes in the chatter and motions around him, he sees the dorms in a new light.

He’s never known what family is, not really. The relationship Shouto has with Fuyumi is the closest thing he’s ever known but even that’s built on blood-soaked sands with boiling seas. He never thought that he could find a semblance of family within Yuuei, never thought that he’d be able to make friends after being alone so many years but looking around the dorm he feels - warm. Calm.

His brain doesn’t feel like it’s in as many pieces at the moment, thoughts clear and his surroundings seeming solid, and he stands in the doorway just taking it all in.

Midoriya spots him not even a minute later, unsurprisingly.

He’s letting out an excited whoop at something Uraraka's done when he catches Shouto’s eyes, freezing mid fist pump to stare at him.

He's handsome, Shouto thinks absently, staring at his green messy hair and increasingly muscled body. Midoriya's jaw has grown stronger over the past year and most of the puppy fat has fallen away from his face, leaving it more chiselled. His nose is upturned, and his lips are a pretty pink, complementary to the freckles on his cheeks, and he's everything Shouto never imagined he'd have in his life. 

His green eyes are anxious as they rove over his body and Shouto remembers their earlier interaction, Midoriya being the only one to physically see the damage done by his father up close. It feels like it was weeks ago and Shouto thinks that today may just be the longest day in his life after the day his mother was taken to the hospital.

Any thought about his mother would usually make some kind of cloud gather in the back of his mind but nothing happens, brain fuzzy from nothing but his tiredness. He’s probably too exhausted for him to float he knows, especially after such a draining day, but he allows himself to hope that taking a step forward to right his past - to right his future - has helped, too.

He offers Midoriya a tired smile, eyelids drooping slightly, and can’t help but drop his gaze when Midoriya gives him a blinding grin in return. Shouto isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such affection, such kindness, but he doesn't push Midoriya off when he makes his way over to pull Shouto into a hug, this one more gentle then the one he received earlier but no less warm. Shouto’s usual reaction to being hugged is tensing up, standing stiffly, and not knowing what to do in return whilst his brain short circuits. This time though he lets himself sag into Midoriya, knowing that the smaller boy is more than strong enough to take on some of his weight, and he presses his face into his warm neck. Shouto sniffs slightly, tired and drained and yet still so emotional over everything, and Midoriya tightens his hold, helping ground Shouto even more.

“Alright?” Midoriya asks quietly, pulling back to take in Shouto’s face again. He, much like Aizawa, waits for Shouto to nod before he continues. “You were gone all day. We were all pretty worried, especially after my, uh, not so subtle reaction this morning.”

“I had to sort some stuff out.” He lets Midoriya take his hand and lead him over towards the kitchen.

“Not like, killing anyone, right?” Midoriya pulls a few bowls out of the fridge and places them in the microwave. “Because after seeing you this morning I wouldn’t blame you, but I’d like to think you’d invite me along to kill whoever did that to you. I would’ve come too, you realise? I can’t believe someone would do that to you Shouto, especially after everything you’ve been through. You deserve better than-”

“Izuku.” The name feels nice on his lips in the way his fathers never had. “I didn’t kill-” he hesitates, but then shakes it off, knowing Midoriya knows half of the truth anyway. “-my father.” his voice comes out shakier then he intends but Midoriya doesn’t seem to think any less of him for it. He comes over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder instead, squeezing it in comfort.

“I guessed it was your dad.” He says quietly, hand reaching up to fiddle with Shouto’s hair. It’s a weird feeling and such an easy affection but it makes Shouto feel like he might cry. Nobody before Yuuei has ever treated him this gently - this kindly. Not since his mother. “But I didn’t want to presume, you know? Did you tell Aizawa-sensei?”

“Yes.” Shouto admits, letting his eyes fall shut to the hide the tears welling in them. “I did.”

“Good.” Midoriya tugs lightly on a strand of hair. “I’m glad, Shouto-kun.”

Shouto thinks that he may be glad too.

 

 

 

Notes:

wow guess who watched and read bnha and fell in love all over again

i wrote this in the space of 2 days because i love my son and wanted to both put him through the works and give him the love he deserves. as always, she is unbeta'd so all mistakes are on me xo

i might do a p2 to this to give shouto the needed /comfort to his hurt. let me know if you'd wanna read more

 

title is from serendipity by bts

 

Update: p2 is written xo

+twt
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