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Shit.
Tetsutetsu had him backed against a wall, literally and figuratively. The metal coating that covered his opponent’s skin was still a blinding red with sunburst spots of orange, protecting him from the worst of Shouto’s flames. Tetsutetsu had done a surprisingly well-coordinated job of backing him into a corner, preventing him from putting more distance between them. They both knew Shouto wasn’t adept at close combat, not in his current training, and that his staple attacks were often long-range. It was a weak spot he had always been aware of in the back of his mind, but he hadn’t thought it would be challenged so soon before he had the opportunity to fix it. For all the training his father had put him through, apparently hand-to-hand had slipped through the cracks somewhere.
Shouto ducked another of Tetsutetsu’s fists and listened to the ringing crack of it connecting with solid concrete. He ducked out of the way, managing a few feet, and tried another burst of flames from his left hand. Tetsutetsu barely even blinked, pulling his fist free of the wall he had punched it through and turning into the fire like it was nothing but a slight breeze. Shouto stomped his right foot down and a swell of thick ice separated them, blocking his own vision but also Tetsutetsu’s. He had only a few seconds before Tetsutetsu broke through with his literal iron fists and he took the precious moment he had to breathe and think.
There had to be something he could do. He couldn’t take Tetsutetsu on head-to-head, but he couldn’t keep dodging him either. There was a limit to how long both of them could keep up a game of chase, but an endurance test wasn’t a foolproof strategy. Any of their teammates could show up at any second and he wasn’t sure how long he could take on two of them at once when Tetsutetsu already had him struggling. He needed a better plan, something that didn’t rely on waiting out Tetsutetsu’s iron.
“Draw out the heat from your body to its utmost limit!”
“Now isn’t the time,” he growled, trying and failing to block out the gratingly familiar sound of his old man’s voice.
“Come on, Todoroki!” Tetsutetsu’s fist went straight through his wall of ice, shattering it to pieces like it was nothing more than brittle wood. “Give me a challenge!”
Shouto ducked again and swept out his right foot, knocking Tetsutetsu off balance. He coated his right arm in ice, icicles forming claws around his fingers, and used his momentum to aim an uppercut at Tetsutetsu’s chin.
The screeching groan of ice against iron was like the worst kind of painful to his ears. Tetsutetsu stumbled back a few steps and Shouto eyed the deep grooves now cut into the underside of his jaw, satisfied that he had done at least a little damage. But then Tetsutetsu was turning back to him with a wide grin on his face, shark-like teeth glinting in the light, and he didn’t look phased at all.
“Is that the best you can do?” He taunted, taking one, heavy step forward that seemed to shake the very ground beneath their boots. “Yer supposed to be one of the top fighters in class.”
Fuck, shit, fuck, goddammit- Shouto glanced around at their immediate surroundings, searching for an escape route or something to use to his advantage. He didn’t know where Iida or Ojiro were anymore and Shouji was preoccupied with the American girl, so he couldn’t count on any of them for backup.
Okay, rethink. Tetsutetsu can break through his ice and is resistant to his fire. He has the upper hand in close combat fighting and he obviously has the strength to back it up. Distance would be the best strategy, but there were walls of piping and other obstacles blocking his chances of an easy escape.
“You’re just not trying hard enough!”
Now really wasn’t the fucking time.
Tetsutetsu grabbed onto the front of his hero costume and Shouto could feel the heat emanating off of his iron, steam rolling off his shoulders.
“I’m gonna beat the daylights outta ya until you pass out!”
Think, for the love of fucking-
“Hiding within you is a power stronger than any other! You must become aware of that fact!”
Shouto felt his left eye twitch and Tetsutetsu swung his fist down, aiming for his face. He needed to think but his father’s voice was loud and overbearing and he couldn’t hear his own thoughts past the adrenaline or the shouting. He needed a solution or a strategy, just something to work with until he could find the others or they could find him. He couldn’t take a beating from Tetsutetsu and he knew that and he had only a second to react before that red-hot fist connected with his face. Maybe he hadn’t touched a hot stove top before, but he had definitely come close enough and he didn’t feel like reliving that experience. He needed something, anything, just an idea, come on, Shouto, what could work against iron-
The thought came to him suddenly and unbidden. Midoriya, a late-night study session. Something about chemistry and the periodic table. Midoriya hated the electron configurations and Shouto always mixed up the decimals with the atomic mass. They were memorizing one group at a time and quizzing each other on basic characteristics like boiling and melting points.
“Oh, hey!” Midoriya looked up from the worksheet he was using to quiz Shouto, eyes bright. “Iron, melting point. This one should be easy!”
“Why would this one be easy?” He asked in a grumble, doodling a circle with his pencil on his own worksheet.
“Because!”
“You can’t just say that and expect me to know the answer.”
“It’s related to your quirk,” Midoriya hinted, unhelpfully.
Shouto glared at him from the corner of his eye. “The melting point of iron is related to my quirk.”
“Well, okay, when you put it like that-”
“Just spit it out,” he sighed, pushing his fringe out of his face.
“1,538 degrees Celsius, first of all.” Midoriya set the paper down, turning fully towards him. “And second, didn’t you tell me yourself that you think your range is about 1500 for your left side? So, it’s in the same ballpark!”
“It was a complete guess. I have no way of actually knowing. And I’m not going to be thinking of my quirk when I’m doing chemistry.”
“Well, jeez, I’m just trying to help here.”
Shouto had rolled his eyes and shoved Midoriya’s chair which had led to him being kicked out of his own chair and the situation had devolved into disaster. But 1,538 degrees. He could work with that.
It was difficult to gauge the temperature of his own flames accurately both because he was so out of practice and he wasn’t used to higher temperatures. His ice was easier - he could give a better estimate of how low he could afford to go in dire situations, but his fire? That was tricky. Obviously the flames weren’t hot enough to do damage to Tetsutetsu’s iron skin, so he had to go higher. How, though?
“Draw out the heat from your body to its utmost limit!”
Fuck, he hated knowing his old man was right about something.
Shouto gritted his teeth, planting his feet, and swung up his right hand to catch Tetsutetsu’s incoming fist. The heat was only a faint sting, his temperature dropping to nullify the worst of it, and Tetsutetsu’s grin filled his vision as they both dug in their heels.
“Yeah, that’s more like it! C’mon, lover boy, gimme your best shot!”
“You know,” he breathed, a cloud of black smoke spilling past his lips as he exhaled. “I really hate people who don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”
He dropped his weight suddenly, forcing Tetsutetsu to stumble. He felt the grip on his left shoulder loosen and he took his chance, the heat and energy inside him spilling outward in one large burst. Flames erupted along his left side and he swung his left arm forward, aiming directly for Tetsutetsu’s chest as his vision filled with a rich, vibrant blue. The sudden heat and the force of aiming a shot from such close-range sent Tetsutetsu skidding back several feet and Shouto finally had room to maneuver. The flames along his left side were a shimmering blue that crawled up his left arm and across his shoulder, licking at his hair and scar in thick tendrils. His left side was steadily increasing in temperature and he used his right to hastily even out the difference, panting out small puffs of smoke.
It was invigorating, the energy that pulsed through him. Using his regular flames was one thing, but this was something different. Something more. He could see the cracks in Tetsutetsu’s armor from a distance and he knew he had the upper hand now, giving him a rush of excitement that he hadn’t expected to feel now of all times. An almost smile pulled at his mouth, his heart racing, and he shifted into a fighting stance as Tetsutetsu lowered his arms from their protective cross in front of his face.
He would charge again or he would take a more cautious approach now that Shouto had the advantage. It was hard to decipher the look on his face and his body language wasn’t giving anything away. He looked tense which was understandable, but he wasn’t giving any indication of where he would be moving next. Shouto hesitated, flexing the fingers on his left hand. Should he attack first and make sure Tetsutetsu stayed at a distance? What if he was waiting for just that and would strike as soon as he leased his flames? He wasn’t sure how much control he had yet, so it might be finicky if he tried targeting one thing. Should he do a broad range attack?
Tetsutetsu was still watching him - no, staring at him. It was almost unnerving with the silence around them, broken only by the crackling of his own fire. Was he missing something? Had someone come back to give Tetsutetsu backup? He chanced a quick glance around them, but he didn’t see any other figures.
It had to be a trap of some kind or a trick. Tetsutetsu was too head strong to do something by himself, but maybe that Honenuki? Maybe-
He stiffened as the smell of something burning hit his nose. That didn’t make sense. Everything around them was steel and iron and concrete, Tetsutetsu included. He hadn’t hit someone with his earlier broad range attack had he? Had that Pony girl gotten out of the way in time? Shouji had been to his right, Ojiro had been somewhere else- Was Iida okay? He hadn’t gotten him had he? Oh, God, Tetsutetsu was the least of his concerns if he had injured one of his own teammates.
He started to turn his head, looking first to his right and then to his left. He didn’t see anyone or anything on fire, except for his costume, but that was-
Wait.
His costume?
He looked down at his left arm, still swarmed with blue flames. They were slowly eating away at the material of his costume, burning holes into the fabric and straight through to his skin. That was the burning smell, but it brought up a new problem: why was his costume burning? It was specifically made to withstand extreme temperatures, most especially his flames, but it was disappearing right in front of his eyes. And then a new smell reached his nose, seeping into his nostrils with one breath and almost making him choke on its rancid stench.
This smell he knew far more intimately than he had ever wanted to know it: burnt flesh.
It was cloying, flooding all his senses between one inhale and the next like a fog. He thought wildly that it might be Tetsutetsu, that maybe his flames had broken through his iron, but then vivid blue licked at his skin. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched his skin start to flush, turning a bright red in random splotches along his arm. His skin started to turn a sickly grey-black shade along the edges, eating away at the red to replace it with dead, burnt skin that looked like crumbling ash.
There was a faint ringing in his ears that only got louder the longer he watched his own flesh burn, watching as if from a distance. He couldn’t move, stuck in the mounting horror that was gripping his throat and making his heart race. The ringing turned to a shrill whistle that made his head hurt and ears ache, sounding eerily like the kettle his mother had poured over him so many years ago. He couldn’t hear anything except the whistling; the whistling and his own ragged breathing and his mother’s gasping breaths as she stared at him with wide, horror-struck eyes like she didn’t know who he was - didn’t know who she was.
He remembered the pain when she poured the water over him, but he didn’t remember the screaming. Had either of them screamed? Was someone screaming now? The whistling was still too loud and his heart was beating too fast and his skin was still turning black, his flames a harsh, striking turquoise that didn’t look quite so pretty or feel quite so powerful anymore. They looked like the sharp, glass-cut shards of his father’s eyes, staring at him and burrowing under his skin and picking him apart piece by piece to find the exact way he - no, his quirk ticked.
His mother hadn’t screamed, but maybe he had, though not right away. He remembered hearing the distinct, ringing clang of her dropping the kettle first. Some of the leftover water had spilled out onto the floor, soaking into the tatami mats. He remembered his left eye hurting first. His vision had grown cloudy, fuzzing around the edges until he couldn’t see anything anymore, relying solely on his right eye. He blinked hard a few times now - Now? Or then? He wasn’t- He couldn’t-
He couldn’t see out of his left eye. His scar felt like stretched taffy pulled taut over the curvature of his skull, twitching and aching and pulsing. The whistling still hadn’t stopped and he couldn’t hear himself think and he was supposed to be doing something important and-
And that was when the pain hit him.
He had nothing to compare it with, no words to describe the exact sensation of feeling his skin peel away from his muscles, tissues, and bones. It hurt, it hurt and he grabbed onto his left arm with his right, wildly summoning his ice by pure instinct alone to try and lessen the pain. The blue was still clinging to him, melting his ice instantly, and he felt it start to burn his right palm as he kept repeating the same desperate attempt over and over again because something had to make it stop. His throat was hoarse and he was blind in his left eye and maybe he hadn’t screamed when his mother disfigured him for life, but he was definitely doing it now because it hurt, it hurt, it hurt it hurt it h u r ts mo m ma it h ur t s-
Shouto opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was white and tiled. It was the kind where the individual squares were speckled with black spots. Iida would have known the proper name.
It was quiet, wherever he was. There was one light fixture a little to the right of his direct line of sight, currently switched off. Most of the light in the room was natural, spilling in from windows that he assumed were on his left. It gave the ceiling a soft, pale orange glow, leading him to further assume that it was late in the evening.
He breathed shallowly, not looking away from the ceiling just yet, and took brief stock of himself. He felt tired, mentally and physically. He had a migraine that made his head feel heavy and his eyes ache, straining without his glasses. His left was clear, only a little fuzziness at the very far corner which was typical. He felt okay, albeit exhausted, and perhaps the most concerning thing was that he couldn’t feel his left arm. He tried flexing his fingers, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not when his brain told him one thing and his body told him another. It was weird. He carefully turned his head to find out if he even still had a left arm - why wouldn’t he have a left arm? - and met eyes with Aizawa instead.
His teacher watched him silently, seated in a chair at his bedside with his arms folded across his chest. The windows he had suspected earlier were behind him, letting in the last rays of the setting sun and casting Aizawa in a dark silhouette. It made it difficult to read his expression, but Shouto suspected it wasn’t much different than his usual, tired indifference.
“You’re awake.” It was said as a statement. A small voice at the back of Shouto’s head murmured, Too bad. “You’re in the infirmary. You had a panic attack in the middle of your battle with Tetsutetsu and weren’t able to control your quirk. I erased it and brought you here.”
Shouto blinked slowly, feeling sluggish. A panic attack? But- “I don’t have panic attacks.”
Aizawa raised his eyebrows and didn’t say anything. Shouto turned his eyes back to the ceiling, still slowly processing his words.
“What happened?” He asked quietly, his own memories foggy.
“Tetsutetsu had you backed into a tight spot,” Aizawa explained. “You were struggling to keep up with his close-quarters fighting, but you managed to knock him back by summoning blue flames with your left side. It was a good turn-a-around, but your body wasn’t prepared for the extent of strain your quirk caused. You started to burn yourself, and shortly after you lost control Vlad and I stepped in to stop you.”
He soaked in the explanation, connecting it with the faint recollections he could drudge up if he forced himself. He vaguely remembered blue fire and Tetsutetsu staring at him for some reason; he must have seen the burning first.
“I erased your quirk, but Recovery Girl had to put you under when we got you here,” Aizawa continued. “She tended to your wounds after you were out cold. She should be back soon if you have questions for her.”
He nodded automatically, but his eyes moved down to his left arm. It was covered all the way up to his bicep, hiding all available skin with white bandaging. He tried flexing his fingers again and watched as his hand curled into a loose fist before relaxing again.
“Did we-” he swallowed, his throat clicking loudly in the quiet. “Did my team- win?”
Aizawa didn’t say anything for a few moments and when Shouto looked up at him again his head was turned to the windows. “Iida, Ojiro and Shouji all won.”
“But not me.”
He looked back up at the ceiling, nodding again. “I’m glad my disruption didn’t ruin their chance.”
He could feel Aizawa’s eyes on him but he didn’t turn his head to look at him. He periodically flexed his left hand just to make sure it was still there, sensation slowly creeping back into his fingers.
“These were extenuating circumstances we couldn’t have accounted for-”
“If I failed, then I failed.” The numbness in his arm seemed to be spreading, seeping into his chest and down to his legs. He wasn’t sure if his heart was still beating or not. “I wasn’t good enough.”
“You aren’t trying hard enough!”
“I didn’t try hard enough.”
“You’re weak, Shouto. You will never reach that power inside you if you continue like this.”
“I couldn’t control my own quirk, so I suffered the consequences. I shouldn’t have pushed my luck.”
“One day you’ll reach the limit of that right side of yours.”
“One day you’ll reach a breaking point. Just like her.”
He closed his eyes against the burning that itched at them, something thick and heavy sitting on his chest. His left arm was cold and he carefully brought it up to fold across his chest, gripping his opposite sleeve with bandaged fingers. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the familiar coppery tang of his own blood and tamped down on the tempest of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. It was a fluke, just a one time thing. He would get control eventually. It was fine. He hadn’t reached his limit, he just needed to practice more and he would be fine, it would all be fine.
He could still hear the faint whistling of the kettle at the back of his mind and his mother’s soft crying.
Aizawa didn’t say anything else to him, but he didn’t leave either. Shouto squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible and felt the hot slide of his own tears streak down his face, dripping onto his pillow. He cried silently while Aizawa lingered, a stoic yet reassuring presence that didn’t push him for anything, but still remained. It didn’t force, shove, stifle, or threaten him; it just stayed.
It stayed.
Recovery Girl told him he would have some new scarring, but it wouldn’t be as serious as the one on his face. She said she had healed the damaged nerves to the best of her ability, but there still might be some residual numbness and he should come back if it got any worse. She said he could use his quirk again so long as he was careful and that he should have a teacher nearby if he wanted to continue testing his ability with blue fire. She gave him some painkillers and told him to change his bandages in a few days.
Shouto took the painkillers and left her office without a word.
It was difficult to use his left hand after his initial healing. His fingers fumbled more often than not, making him drop things constantly, and the numbness was the worst at the tips of his fingers. He also had developed a resting tremor isolated to his left side that irritated him more than anything else. He hated not being steady-handed and he knew it was something his classmate’s had noticed. It was extremely difficult to hide something from them already, let alone the fact that they had all seen his- thing. The fact that he kept dropping things probably would have given him away anyways, his soft-spoken curses enough to draw attention if not the thing he dropped. He had yet to drop anything breakable, but it was only a matter of time. Maybe that was why everyone had started to jump in and carry things for him more often. One day it was Momo taking a mug of tea from his shaking left hand and the next it was Iida offering to carry his extra books for him. Another it was Kirishima playfully stealing his lunch tray and carrying it to their table, then it was Tsuyu helping him tie his hair back in a neat bun.
He couldn’t say he minded the help because he didn’t. He appreciated their thoughtfulness and he didn’t mind it as much as he might have in the past. But it was the way people grew quiet for half a second when he stepped into a room. It was the looks they sent him when they thought he wasn’t paying attention, looking over their shoulders with worried eyes. It was the whispers he knew he was being mildly paranoid about but still heard start up when he distanced himself from them all. No one mentioned the battles, but they knew. They all knew. It wasn't like they treated him differently aside from being a little more helpful, but they did choose their words a little more carefully than usual. A part of him knew they were just being considerate, but another part that sounded suspiciously like his father provided consistent reminders that they saw him as helpless. They were just softening the blow of inevitable failure. He tried to block out that voice as much as possible, only feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt when Uraraka bent down to pick up his pencil for him or Shouji gently steadied his hand when he almost spilled soba noodles across their lunch table. He didn't want to think of any of them like that.
He stopped using his left side, switching back to his dominant right during practice and combat training. He still used his flames when necessary, but he kept it to a bare minimum, barely pushing the limit of lukewarm. He was careful, tedious, and he refused to aim them in any direction that was within ten meters of another person. It was overly cautious and he knew that, but every time he felt his temperature rising on his left side, every time his flames got a little too strong, he heard the whistling and smelled his own burning flesh all over again.
He kept the bandages on and only went in once more to Recovery Girl when Aizawa threatened him with detention. She guided him to sit on one of the chairs in her office and he turned his head away when she started to carefully unravel her handiwork.
“How has that numbness been?” She asked him, snipping away a few pieces with scissors.
“Okay.” He turned his arm over at her prompting. “I drop things a lot.”
“That’s to be expected,” she hummed. “Is it only in your fingers?”
“Noticeably.”
“I see you have a slight tremor here, too. Are you experiencing any pain?”
“No.”
He flinched when she clicked her tongue, the rest of the bandaging slipping away from his skin.
“It’s healing very nicely,” she assured him. “Still a bit more tender than I would have liked it to be, but I’ll apply some fresh salve and re-wrap it. This should be applied every few days, though. Have you taken these off at all since I first had you here?”
He shook his head, staring at the floor.
“Now, young man,” she huffed. “It’s very important that you allow wounds to-”
“I don’t want to see it,” he interrupted before she could really scold him. “I can’t.”
She fell silent at his words and he swallowed past the knot in his throat, skin crawling with unease. It was like his first scar all over again but worse, somehow. The whistling kicked up in pitch by a few notches and he irritably rubbed at his temple with his right hand.
“Well, that certainly is an issue, isn’t it?”
The wheels of her chair clacked against the floor as she moved with it, retrieving something from nearby before returning to his side. He listened to her unscrew the lid on something before he felt her fingers touch his arm, wet with some sort of cream. She started to apply a cool salve to his skin, her touch surprisingly gentle as she rubbed it in. He couldn’t quite feel her touch on the inside of his forearm.
“How about one of your classmates, dearie?” She asked, steadily moving up the length of his arm. “Or perhaps your homeroom teacher? I would check up on you myself, but I’m afraid my schedule is a bit busy.”
“I… I guess I could find someone,” he mumbled.
“Wonderful! Then I’ll give you a container of this cream to help promote the healing process and all they’ll have to do is rub it in and change your bandages. Does that sound doable?”
“Um, sure.”
“Excellent, excellent. I wish all my patients could be so cooperative.”
Shouto smiled a little despite himself, knowing somehow that she was talking about Midoriya. She finished applying the salve and re-wrapped his arm in the same snug bandaging as before. He only looked back when she patted his wrist, tucking in the last stray end.
“Don’t push yourself, dearie,” she told him kindly. “But do make sure to allow yourself time to heal properly. These kinds of wounds don’t fix themselves without a little help.”
He nodded, thanking her, and wondered in the back of his mind how he was going to get around her instructions. Just as he was rising from his chair, she said, “I would recommend you see one of the school counselors as well. Healing involves the mind as well, after all.”
He stiffened, his eyes flicking over to her but she had already turned her back on him, messing with some paperwork on her desk. Aizawa must have explained the situation to her, but enough to warrant a recommendation to see a counselor? He wasn’t crazy, he just- He didn’t need that. He was fine.
He didn’t wait for her to say more and hurried out, starting the trek back to class while absently cradling his left arm in his right. He looked down at the fresh bandaging around his wrist and hand, the rest disappearing under his jacket sleeve. He rubbed his fingers together, the thick cotton numbing the feeling. They trembled slightly even as he held them still and he eventually clenched them into a fist, shame sinking its claws into the back of his mind.
It was one mistake in the grand scheme of things. He shouldn’t feel so worked up over something easily solved. All he needed to do was train more and build up his resistance just like he had done with his ice over the years. He could take advantage of his father’s knowledge again - he would be absolutely thrilled - and suffer through with gritted teeth and a steel-trap shut over his worst temper. It wasn’t easy, but he could do it. He knew he could do it. He had just let himself get carried away before - a one time thing.
But then there were the nightmares that kept creeping up on him during the darkest hours, the ones clouded with the raw, open-wounds of distress and fear and his mother crying while the kettle bounced and rolled across tatami flooring. There was that cursed whistling in the back of his head that never quite stopped, a piercing note that seemed to tremble in time with his left hand. He still couldn’t remember the battle very well and the memories he had were mixed in with those of his mother, making for a confusing recollection of terror and pain. The odd echo of his own cries mixed with hers during the night and he woke up grasping his left arm with his right hand, a sheer coating of frost already wrapped around his skin. The numbness was always the worst after he had just woken up, his fingers like stiff pieces of wood that creaked and groaned whenever he tried to bend them. It was almost like they were frozen stiff, locked at the joints and aching with something worse than any frost bite or burn.
One person he hadn’t seen since the battle was Tetsutetsu. He wasn’t sure what that implied, but he had a feeling he might have freaked him out in some way or worse. In his own mind it made sense - he didn’t know the extent of how badly he had lost control. Aizawa had assured him that no one had been hurt and Shouto hadn’t questioned him initially, but maybe that was a mistake. Maybe Aizawa was just telling him that to hide the worst of the situation from him. Maybe he had hurt someone, specifically Tetsutetsu. He had been the closest one to Shouto and his iron had already been damaged by the first appearance of blue fire, so maybe Aizawa and Vlad hadn’t arrived in time to protect him. The thought made Shouto feel sick to his stomach, bile seeping onto the back of his tongue.
He stopped walking in the middle of the hallway. It was empty, classes ongoing, and he stared down the length of the sunlit corridor without really seeing the scuffed tile or pale walls. His left arm itched under his bandages, feeling oddly warm, and he covered it with a thin layer of frost from his right.
The thought occurred to him suddenly and without remorse, searing itself into his minds eye like a brand: he didn’t want to hurt people with his fire. He didn’t want to use it against people he cared about.
But he had. He had, he had done just that and how did that differentiate him from-
The kettle rolled across the floor and he could only see it through his right eye, the water slowly dripping out of its spout, still steaming.
“Oh, Todoroki!”
Shouto blinked away the sight of his mother falling to her knees in front of him, distorted through his half-blind sight, and turned around. Uraraka and Tsuyu were behind him just stepping out of the bathrooms he hadn’t even realized he had passed.
“We were wondering what was taking so long!” Uraraka said, her voice bright. “Did Recovery Girl give you a clean bill of health?”
He nodded, watching them walk closer to join him. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Tsuyu. Her eyes flicked briefly to his chest and he realized he was still cradling his left arm. He dropped it without meeting her eyes. “Do you want to walk back to class with us?”
“Sure.”
“Great!” Uraraka chirped, stepping up to walk on his right side. “Man, you missed it earlier! Kaminari was goofing around with his quirk and he did this thing where-”
Shouto started to walk again with Uraraka on his right and Tsuyu on his left, Uraraka’s chatter filling the silence. Neither of them mentioned Recovery Girl again for which he was grateful, still shaking off the clinging images of his mom. When they returned to the classroom Iida was the first out of his seat to check up on him, almost demanding to know if he was okay and if he needed anything. Everyone else followed shortly after, not crowding him, but still expressing their concern as he slowly shuffled through them back to his desk. The bandaging on his left hand was obvious, but he waved them all off. Their worry for his well-being made for a weird jumble of emotions in his chest when combined with his earlier shame and anxiety, making him feel off-balance. He appreciated their concern, but at the same time a small voice whispered, You don’t deserve this. He was inclined to agree.
Midoriya was the only one that made him stop fully, catching him as he passed by his desk. His eyes were bright, bright green and shining with enthusiasm that he knew to be genuine. Midoriya was never anything but happy to see him and it made his chest constrict.
“Hey!” He smiled and Shouto’s heart did a somersault or two. “You missed the notes for the end of English. I can bring them by later if you want?”
He nodded, surprised, and Midoriya’s smile widened. “Okay! I’ll stop by your room tonight!”
He finished the trek to his desk and slid into his seat, mildly confused. Momo gently thumped the top of his head as she moved over to lean against his desk, eyebrows raised.
“What’s got you looking like that?”
“Nothing,” he replied automatically. “And before you ask, I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry, I heard you spinning like a record to everybody else.” She idly examined her nails, lowering her voice as she said, “But you forgot to melt the frost on your left arm when you came in.”
He immediately looked down and sighed under his breath, the familiar sparkle of his own ice hitting his eyes. He carefully nudged his temperature up by a few degrees to melt it, watching the faint designs disappear. Momo patted his head more affectionately than before, fixing his fringe for him.
“I’ll ask anyways. Are you sure you’re okay?”
He nodded, drying the dampness from his bandages. The whistle pierced through his skull like a bullet. “Perfectly okay.”
Midoriya stopped by his room later just like he promised. Shouto opened his door to find him standing in the hall with his English notebook in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. His attempt to peak inside the bag was thwarted when Midoriya clicked his tongue and swung it behind his back, hiding it from view.
“No peeking,” he scolded lightly. “It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.” He stepped back to let him inside, closing the door behind him.
“Liar.” Midoriya accused, setting his notebook down on the desk. “You loved it when Shishida-kun surprised us with his family’s dogs.”
“That was different.”
“How was that different?”
“It just was.”
Midoriya rolled his eyes at him, an amused smile on his face. “Whatever, I know your secret.”
Shouto’s heart skipped a painful beat, panicking for the briefest of seconds. He masked it easily, stepping forward to dig out his own English notes. “I don’t have secrets. I’m an open book. A strict ‘No Secrets’ policy here.”
Midoriya snorted, flopping down onto his futon and obviously not believing him for a second. Shouto recovered his notebook from his bag and sought out a pencil next.
“Oh, yeah? Then that means I can ask you anything and you won’t lie to me, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Okay, what’s your favorite color?”
He paused, looking over at him with raised eyebrows. “That’s what you’re asking?”
“You said anything,” Midoriya replied with an innocent grin. He was leaned back on his arms, legs sprawled out in front of him with the plastic bag held in safe captivity between his knees. His t-shirt was riding up just slightly around his waist and Shouto looked away from the sliver of freckled skin, cheeks warm.
“Grey,” he answered, going back to his pencil search.
“Oh, cool! Mine is blue.”
“Not red?”
“Red?”
Shouto found a pencil at the very bottom of his bag, hidden beneath a smushed protein bar. “Your shoes.”
“Oh!” Midoriya laughed a little, a small chuckle that bubbled out of him and made Shouto’s chest feel tight. “Nah, I just really like those shoes.”
He collected both notebooks and his found pencil before moving closer. He lightly kicked aside one of Midoriya's sprawled legs before sitting down on the floor. He received a playful kick to his knee in return.
“Okay, next question - and remember, no lies!”
He hummed absently, flipping through his notes to find where he had left off. “Fine, fine.”
“Did you or did you not walk into one of the windows downstairs?”
“Oh for-” He huffed, looking up to glare at Midoriya’s mischievous grin. “That was an accident.”
“But did you?” He insisted, raising one eyebrow.
“Ugh, fine. Yes.”
Midoriya bit his bottom lip to stifle his snickering while Shouto ripped a spare page out of his notebook to throw at him.
“I was tired and wasn’t paying attention,” he groused. “It happens.”
“Still funny, though.”
“Shut up, Mr. I Can’t Work A Blender.”
“Hey!” Midoriya squawked indignantly. “I can, too! It was one time!”
“There was protein shake everywhere.”
“Shut up!” He threw the paper ball back at his head and Shouto bit back a smile, admiring the faint blush on his cheeks. “I don’t deserve this ridicule, next question.”
He looked down at his notebook again, listening to Midoriya’s quiet grumbling. Something in his chest fluttered pleasantly and he felt content, at ease in a way that only being around Midoriya ever brought out in him. His left hand fumbled with turning the pages of the notebook, but he hardly noticed, the sound of Midoriya’s laugh drowning out anything else in his head.
It was quiet for a few minutes and he started in on copying the notes Midoriya had brought for him, waiting patiently for his next question. He wondered maybe if he had gotten distracted and had half a mind to remind him when suddenly he spoke up.
“How’s your left arm?”
His pencil left a deep groove in the paper as he pressed down a little too hard, snapping the lead. He hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek, and muttered a crisp, “Fine.”
“Hey,” Midoriya murmured. “No lies, remember?”
Shouto dug his teeth in a little harder, not looking up from the paper as he restarted the line he was on. “I said fine, didn’t I? I’m not lying.”
“Then why haven’t you taken the bandages off?”
“Because-” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. “Because.”
“Todoroki-”
His left eye twitched and his arm started to itch under the bandages again. He moved it away from Midoriya’s notebook just in case, not trusting himself to not set in on fire on accident.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that-”
He dragged a hand over his face, hiding a grimace, and tried to block out the mind-numbing darkness that nipped at his heels. Midoriya was still apologizing, his voice not quite registering past the high-pitched drone of white noise that fuzzed in his ears. The little voice was back again, getting louder and louder.
“It’s not that easy,” he finally said, cutting him off. “It’s- It isn’t important. Forget about it.”
He started to write again, his lines a little more shaky than before. Midoriya was quiet for a few beats before speaking again.
“Do you remember what happened?” He asked gently.
“Yes,” he muttered. You hurt people just like h i m. “I lost control. The teachers had to step in and stop me before I hurt anyone else.”
“Hurt anyone else?”
“Tetsutetsu.” He could picture the cracks in his iron perfectly, deep grooves left behind by first his ice and then amplified by his fire. “I damaged his iron before- before I lost control.”
You could have killed him.
“Todoroki,” said Midoriya slowly. “Tetsutetsu wasn’t hurt, you know.”
“It was hard to see unless you were there, Midoriya-”
“No, I mean, he tried to stop you before the teachers were even there.”
Shouto grew still, only his left hand shaking in its usual tremor. Midoriya kept talking, his voice low and soft like he was picking each word with the utmost care.
“Maybe you got a good blow on him, but it wasn’t enough to stop him,” he explained. “He was the first one to try and restrain you. I don’t think Aizawa would have been able to erase your quirk as fast as he did if Tetsu hadn’t been there. There was too much ice blocking his vision and your fire was really bright, making it hard to see even on screen. Tetsutetsu was able to stop you long enough for Aizawa to get a good look at you.”
He exhaled a slow, steady breath. His heart was beating too fast all of a sudden, making him feel uncomfortably warm and sweaty. To be able to endure that much heat for so long must have been agonizing.
You Co u ld Ha v e Kil le d Him.
“I think he had a pretty bad iron deficiency when Recovery Girl saw him, but he was fine. He wasn’t hurt seriously or anything.”
He didn’t remember anything like that. He didn’t remember anything past the point he had first seen his skin turn black. If he had burned himself with the amount of power from his own quirk, then Tetsutetsu must have nearly gone catatonic trying to keep up his own iron against it. Why? They barely knew each other. The battle might have been the first time they had properly spoken to one another in the whole year. It didn’t make any sense.
“He’s... okay?”
Midoriya nodded, folding his legs. “Yeah, he’s okay, Todoroki. No one got hurt except… well, you.”
His eyes flicked down to his left arm, his bandaged fingers still shaking. He hadn’t hurt anyone except himself. He should have felt relieved, but instead he just felt numb. Numb and tired.
You should have let yourself burn instead.
“Oh.”
“So,” Midoriya prodded gently. “Why haven’t you taken them off?”
Because he didn’t want to see a new scar to match the one on his face. Because he didn’t want to see the burnt, blackened skin against his usual pale tone again. Because he didn’t want to see a constant reminder of his own failure to control something that was his like Midoriya had told him what seemed like years ago now. Because he didn’t want the reminder that his father was right - he wasn’t trying hard enough.
“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “Nothing important.”
“Todoroki.”
Shouto lifted his gaze and was startled by the fierce spark in Midoriya’s eyes across from him, almost like his eyes were glowing in the dim lighting. He wasn’t smiling, his mouth set in a determined line. He leaned forward across the small gap between them, reaching out his crooked right hand to gently grasp Shouto’s trembling left. His fingers slotted into the spaces between Midoriya’s instantly, almost like they belonged there, and he could feel the roughness of his scar even through the bandages.
His tone matched the ferocity in his eyes, quivering just a little around the edges like he was trying not to be emotional. “You are important, okay? Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you’re thinking, it matters and you deserve just as much time as anyone else to feel those things and cope with them. And it’s still your quirk, remember? No one is telling you how to use or not use it.”
In his mind’s eye he saw the flash of light against steel and iron; a kettle rolling across the floor and a sharp-toothed grin. He heard his mother’s soft crying interwoven with his own cries of pain and he could smell burning flesh. But in front of him was Midoriya and his shining eyes and the wobbly but determined line of his mouth and the fierce conviction in his voice. He was stubborn under all that bubbly, anxiety-fueled energy and nothing could change his mind easily. Shouto knew that firsthand, almost better than anyone.
A softer, gentler voice murmured at the back of his head, different from his father’s and separate from the little one that whispered dark promises in his ear when he was at his worst.
You don’t have to be a prisoner of your blood.
He tightened his fingers around Midoriya’s and looked down at the floor between them, a startling gap that held too much potential. He didn’t suddenly want to rip off his bandages and display his mutilated left arm for the world to see nor did the whistling in his head suddenly stop; but something clicked into place. Something slotted in just right and fixed itself, making it a little easier to breathe and a little harder to let go of Midoriya’s hand.
It wasn’t the same thing. He had made a mistake, yes, but that was it. He hadn’t purposefully hurt someone with his quirk just for the sake of hurting them or to establish a sick sort of dominance. Tetsutetsu was okay. He had tried to save him. His quirk hadn't been used against him or by anyone else; it was still his and no matter what that little voice said he hadn't tried to kill anyone either. It wasn’t the same thing.
They didn’t speak for several minutes, Shouto digesting Midoriya’s words while Midoriya himself just watched him. He wiped his nose with his free hand and looked to the forgotten plastic bag still sitting in the crook of Midoriya’s knee.
“What was the surprise?”
“Oh!” Midoriya didn’t let go of his hand even as he dug around in the bag, struggling for just a second before producing a large package of sour lemon candies. “These! I know they’re your favorite and you seemed like you needed something to cheer you up, so I went out with Iida earlier to pick something out! So, technically it’s a surprise from both of us, but it was my idea.”
“Iida cosigned on a bag of candy?”
“In his words these were ‘extenuating circumstances.’”
Shouto snorted, amused despite himself, and Midoriya beamed. “Do you wanna see how many we can fit in our mouths at once?”
“You hate sour candy. You’re on.”
He knew it was inevitable that they would see each other again, but he still wished he could have been a little more prepared for it.
It was well past the battles. He hadn’t completely left behind the bandages, but they had been reduced to his forearm and part of his bicep, giving him more freedom with his left hand again. He was starting to get used to the tremors and he didn’t drop things as much anymore, the numbness fading while sensation returned to his fingers. He had struggled initially with trying to do the bandages himself, but he discovered very quickly that doing that much on his own without looking at his arm was difficult. Very difficult. So, he had hesitantly approached Ojiro about doing the wrappings for him instead and he wasn’t sure which one of them had been more surprised.
“You want me to do it?” Ojiro had stared at him with wide eyes, gaze flicking between his face and the roll of white bandaging in his hand.
“Yes.” Shouto had shifted on his feet, feeling more awkward the longer he stood there. “You- I’ve seen you wrap your hands before for sparring.”
“Well, yeah, but why me?”
“I-” He hesitated, biting his lip. “I trust you. To not- make a big deal. Or something.”
Ojiro blinked at him and Shouto tilted his head down, fringe falling into his face.
“Never mind, this was a bad idea. I’m sor-”
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
Shouto had glanced back up and Ojiro had offered him a small, timid smile. He returned it after a moment’s hesitation and felt a little better.
With his arm slowly getting better, he took on a tentative approach in training. Aizawa had taken to finding him during training more often and provided a welcome safety net while he slowly turned his focus back to his flames. Using them in combination with his ice was certainly an advantage, but in focusing on dual-wielding he had passed over proper resistance training to his fire, thus leading to the results he had gotten. He had a new goal to focus on now, one that was more tricky, but necessary. He didn’t want a repeat of his last attempt - no one did. It was a matter of building up resistance while also working at the tedious process of temperature regulation. His costume could only assist him so much and he ended up visiting the Support department about getting some upgrades, talking with one overly-enthusiastic girl that suggested one thing too many. They eventually reached an agreeable decision after an irritating amount of back-and-forth that left him with a headache, but an underlying feeling of satisfaction. He was getting better, taking slow but sure steps in the right direction.
But then there was Tetsutetsu. He still hadn’t talked to him since the fight and now he was only that much more hesitant to seek him out after so long. Should he even try to talk to him? Was it necessary? The guy had basically risked his life to try and stop him, so thanking him would probably be a good idea. But how did he go about doing that? Hey, sorry for losing my shit during that fight we had and thanks for almost killing yourself from an iron deficiency to stop me, that was real dope of you. We cool?
Utterly astounding, Shouto. Really outdone yourself. He will definitely appreciate the gesture. Throw in a box of chocolates and it’ll almost be a declaration of love.
Thankfully, or perhaps not so thankfully, fate decided to step in and make the decision for him.
It was during lunch, of all times. He was with Midoriya, Iida and Uraraka as they maneuvered through the lunchroom, seeking out a table for themselves. It was unusually crowded and Iida was using his height advantage to look above the heads of other students for them. Uraraka offered to steal them a few chairs and Iida was quick to turn down the idea. Midoriya was just pointing out a table that looked relatively empty when Shouto felt someone bump into his shoulder. He turned his head, expecting an upperclassmen or maybe one of their own classmates, and came face-to-face with Tetsutetsu.
He tightened his grip on his lunch tray as his heart rate picked up, meeting Tetsutetsu’s wide-eyed gaze. He hadn’t thought they shared the same lunch time, but he had been wrong about things before, why not this? The universe was having a good laugh at his expense.
“Oi, Tetsu, what’re you-” Kirishima appeared from behind Tetsutetsu, holding his own lunch tray. “Oh, ‘sup, Todoroki!”
He nodded in Kirishima’s direction, trying to settle the nausea in his stomach by willpower alone. Midoriya, lingering by his elbow, turned at the sound of Kirishima’s voice and smiled automatically. Shouto could tell he understood the situation by the way his eyes flickered between him and Tetsutetsu who had yet to break eye contact with him.
“Hey, Kirishima! Tetsutetsu! Did you guys want to sit with us? We were just looking for a table!”
“Midoriya-kun!” Iida announced suddenly. “I have spotted an ideal location!”
Shouto half-listened to the conversation around him, his mouth suddenly dry. He noticed Tetsutetsu’s eyes flicker to his rolled up sleeves, taking in the bandages on his left arm. His lips parted a little like he was getting ready to say something and Shouto felt his pulse skyrocket.
“Todoroki?”
Midoriya peered up at him worriedly, a small furrow between his brows. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. He cleared his throat, finally looking away from Tetsutetsu to meet Midoriya’s eyes. “Just- uh, give me a minute?”
Midoriya glanced between him and Tetsutetsu again, obviously concerned, and nodded. “Okay. We’ll be at that table by the window.”
Shouto followed his pointing finger before nodding as well. Midoriya hesitated another few seconds, shifting on his feet, before reaching out to gently take his left hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. Shouto felt the warmth of his hand even as he ducked away through the crowd, the feeling sending tingles all along his nerve endings. Kirishima had disappeared at some point as well which left him alone with Tetsutetsu who was still watching him carefully when he turned back.
“Hey.” He tried not to choke on his own greeting, worried that it might sound too casual.
“Hey.” Tetsutetsu cleared his throat, looking about as comfortable as Shouto felt. “How’s, uh, the arm?”
“Good. Better.”
“Cool.”
Another long stretch of silence punctuated by shuffling feet and hesitant eye contact. They both spoke up again at the same time, cutting each other off.
“I just wanted to say-”
“I’ve been meanin’ to-”
Shouto coughed awkwardly and said, “You first.”
“Okay, uh.” Tetsutetsu shifted again, rolling his shoulders back and huffing out a breath. “Okay, listen. That was a shitty thing to happen and I’m sorry I pushed you into that kinda thing. I shoulda’ held back or somethin’ I dunno.”
“Wait.” He frowned. “You think it was your fault?”
“Well, yeah. I was fightin’ you and all that.”
“I-” He stopped, re-thinking the situation. “It wasn’t your fault that I had a panic attack.”
Tetsutetsu frowned, looking doubtful, and Shouto continued on before he could interrupt him.
“I heard about you trying to stop me when that happened. I didn’t know why because we barely know each other, but it makes more sense if you thought you were responsible. But you weren’t.” He looked down at his lunch tray, eyes flicking over to his left arm. “It was inevitable, I think, regardless of what you did or didn’t do, so don’t apologize for trying your best. You were a good opponent. I’m sorry for putting you in danger like I did.”
“Man, if yer gonna tell me not to apologize, then don’t beat yourself up at the same time.”
He blinked in surprise and looked back up, meeting Tetsutetsu’s gaze.
“I don’t think it was anyone’s fault,” he admitted. “I mean, what happened, happened, y’know? It sucks that you got fucked up in the process, but it’s not like you planned for that. We were both trying our best, not just me, so don’t sell yourself short.”
Shouto nodded hesitantly, still uncertain but less anxious than he had felt a few minutes ago. Tetsutetsu nodded back at him before his mouth split into a grin, edged with a little more hardness than Kirishima’s own bright smiles.
“Gotta say, I’m lookin’ forward to a rematch someday, so don’t go slackin’ off on me!”
His eyes were alight with a competitive eagerness that made Shouto smile a little, surprising even himself. “I won’t. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Tetsutetsu’s grin widened and he smacked him on the shoulder in solidarity. They rejoined the others shortly after and Shouto slid into the empty spot next to Midoriya, anticipating the worried eyes that flicked over to him.
“I’m fine,” he assured without waiting for the actual question.
“And you mean it this time?”
He glanced over to Tetsutetsu a few seats away, watching him wrestle with Kirishima over something or other, and nodded. Midoriya offered his hand under the table and Shouto took it on instinct, fingers slotting between his.
“I mean it.”