Chapter Text
It’s ironic, he thinks, how bright his father burns. How his presence commands an entire room. How much of his life is occupied by him. Endeavor’s fire burns through them all, in flames, in anger, in the hurt they bring. He’s the reason Touya died, the reason his mother is locked up in a hospital and the reason Natsuo and Fuyumi could never have a proper family.
Shouto’s imagined his own undoing so many times. He often wonders, as Endeavor’s creation, if he’ll go up in flames, a spectacle for all to see, or if he’ll fizzle out in silence until there’s nothing left but ash. A masterpiece falling from grace. Sometimes he even wonders if one day he’ll burn himself up like Touya had. He imagines Endeavor’s reaction, as he once again conceals a dead Todoroki and continues to live without guilt for the children he destroyed.
In the end, his unravelling begins with a single drop of blood.
They’re outside sparring, no limitations, so despite how his body aches and his limbs weigh him down, he gives his all. When Aizawa had explained the exercise, he’d immediately veered away from both Izuku and Bakugou. It hurts to move and he’s pretty sure something’s reopened – he knows that in his state he wouldn’t be able to face either of them, as shameful as it is. All of his classmates have improved during their time at U.A., but he’s still supposed to be one of the strongest, still supposed to be the one to overthrow the number one hero. The fact that it’s him doesn’t seem to bother Endeavor. He’s been in a downward spiral since it had been handed to him. A consolation prize. He didn’t really earn it if All Might retired and Shouto thinks that angers him even more.
By the time class is over, his vision is blurring and his balance is off kilter. He leans heavily to his left, hand pressed against his ribs but he quickly corrects himself. It’s a struggle after the gruelling training session he had yesterday. Shouto had been antagonistic and uncooperative – he knows a lot of it was deserved – and Endeavor had been in a foul mood, so his refusal to use his fire had been the icing on the cake. He’s usually a lot more careful, aware enough to know he doesn’t want others to see what he does to his youngest son, but Shouto’s sporting a dark bruise on his neck that’s way too close for comfort.
The gash isn’t particularly pleasant either, but it’s hidden well enough under his clothes, along with the usual bruises and burns. He’ll probably have to redress them during lunch, but as they gather in a group in front of Aizawa, all he’s worried about is steadying his breathing and maintaining his posture.
“Which one of you brats is injured?”
Shouto’s gaze snaps up as he freezes, the perpetual cold that encapsulates his right invading his entire body. Aizawa’s looking particularly unimpressed, and when he looks down, he sees blood in front of where Aizawa stands, stark against the ground. It’s not a concerning amount and given the size of the wound, it’s probably no more than a drop that’s escaped his bandages, but it’s enough. Enough to have Aizawa point it out. Enough to have his classmates glancing between themselves to see who’s injured.
“We can stay here all lunch, if you want, but we both know that’s a waste of my time and yours.”
Shouto prides himself on his control. With a quirk as dangerous as his, it’s a necessity, but it also trickles out into his demeanour, his words. He knows his anger gets the best of him sometimes, that his grades aren’t perfect – he feels nauseous even thinking about failing the provisional licence and Endeavor’s reaction, his punishment – but he tries to present himself as an ideal student. Quiet, good grades, disciplined, follows instructions, doesn’t cause trouble. Admittedly, he’s not great at the final two, but still, the perfect student doesn’t come to school with an open wound bleeding under his clothes. He’s still not sure how he got it but he doesn’t have a lot of memories of training with Endeavor anymore. He hears the words spat at him: weak, sloppy, unworthy, but everything else is a blur. He finds it doesn’t matter, though. His body remembers and he gets stronger, with or without the memory.
He’s gotten worse since the dorms, since he no longer has Endeavor breathing down his back. It makes him dread returning home even more. He can’t even seem to bandage a damn wound properly anymore. His side is throbbing, blood sticking his shirt to his skin and he only hopes it doesn’t bleed through his jacket. Aizawa won’t let it go easily. The blood on the ground is fresh and Shouto’s come to learn that despite his gruff demeanour, he cares about their safety and well-being. That’s something he’s still not sure how to feel about. It’s odd, having someone look out for him, even if it isn’t personal. Perhaps even nice. Most times, though, it’s a hinderance. He doesn’t like being seen; it’s easier to make mistakes that way. Mistakes like exposing his wounds. He can’t afford to cause more problems.
He's wasting everyone’s time. Being selfish, Endeavour would say. He thinks Iida speaks up, imploring whoever was injured to come forward, but the words ring in his ears as he stares at his palm. Frost dances at his fingertips. He knows it’s a slippery slope, has been since he was young, but before he can think of another solution, he presses a shard of ice into his left hand. It’s shallow, blood slowly oozing to the surface, but it’s enough to avoid further questions. Even before he steps forward, his face warms with embarrassment.
It’s better than the alternative.
“My apologies.”
It’s all he can manage. He keeps his head down until Aizawa makes a dismissive noise. “Alright, everyone get changed then off to lunch. Todoroki, stay behind for a minute.”
“Shouto? Are you okay?” He does raise his head this time, but it feels like a mistake when he sees Izuku’s eyes brimming with concern. He reaches for his left arm to look at his hand and it takes his all not to rip it out Izuku’s grip. He’s been using his fire more and more since the Sport’s Festival, but he still has that lingering fear in the back of his mind that he’s Endeavor’s creation, that he’ll burn those that love him too. “What happened? I didn’t even see you get hurt. You’re usually quite careful and you were only fighting Sero. With his quirk he shouldn’t be able to cut you unless he knocked you into something but I’m not sure how–”
Aizawa clears his throat and Izuku squeaks. Despite the look Aizawa follows with, Izuku composes himself quickly and already looks ready to argue – it’s always been fascinating to him, the juxtaposition. He’s timid and gets flustered easily but the second he sets his mind on something, he’ll tear his body apart to set things right.
“You can question him later, Problem Child,” Aizawa says. Izuku’s gaze drifts to him and he looks away. As much as he appreciates his kindness, Izuku’s the one who knows the most about his dysfunctional family. He relents after a moment, following the rest of the class to get changed and Aizawa turns to him. He looks just as unimpressed as he did with Izuku. “Next time, it will be easier for you to speak up straight away. I don’t know who taught you kids hiding injuries is heroic because it’s not.”
“I… I wasn’t trying to hide it,” he mutters. Sirens blare in his head; he’s doing everything wrong. Endeavor’s injuries are inches away from exposure, Aizawa’s disappointed in him – that one particularly burns. The last adult’s opinion he’d really cared about was his mother and that had gone up in flames too. “I made a stupid mistake. I didn’t think it was worth stopping class over.”
“Let me have a look.”
“It’s nothing serious.” He clenches his fist, the blood sticky between his fingers and Aizawa’s gaze follows the movement. “I just nicked it on a shard of ice.”
“You understand that U.A. helps teach you how to be a hero? Mistakes are part of the learning process. They’re not a personal failing and none of your classmates are going to judge you for not getting it right every time. Everyone makes mistakes. Even heroes.”
“Even All Might?”
It feels wrong to ask, given his retirement, but Shouto still can’t separate him as the symbol of peace. Endeavor will never fill that mantle in his mind.
“Exceptions don’t exist. Heroes are human and humans make mistakes.”
He stares at Aizawa for a moment before extending his hand. More blood drips onto the ground beside the first drop and Aizawa purses his lips, letting out a displeased noise. He pats his pockets and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, lifts his capture scarf from where it rests on his shoulders. When Shouto realises what he’s going to do he steps back, but Aizawa catches his wrist before he can evade him.
“It’ll get dirty.”
Undeterred, Aizawa wraps the tail end of the scarf around his hand before passing the rest to him. “Kid, I’m a pro hero. This won’t be the first time I’ve washed blood out of my costume,” he says. “Keep pressure on your hand. Recovery Girl should fix that up easily.”
This time, he does snatch his hand back. “I don’t need to see Recovery Girl.”
“Do you plan on arguing with me on everything?” His tone is edging on annoyed now, but Shouto can’t let him take him to Recovery Girl. They’ll find out about the wounds under his clothes and then Endeavor will find out and– “It’s either her or I can deal with it, but I’m not a miracle worker. If I do it, it’ll have to heal on its own.”
“I can do it.”
“That wasn’t an option, kid. You can either come with me or you can visit Recovery Girl.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I can deal with it myself,” he snaps. He can feel the heat prickling under his skin, flames ghosting around his hand and he shrinks back. No matter how much he tries to distance himself from Endeavor, he’s reminded of their similarities in moments like this. Reminded that he has his father’s anger and it doesn’t matter who it is – his flames are volatile. He’ll hurt those who don’t deserve it. Those he cares about. “I’m not a child; I don’t need to be coddled. It’s barely a scratch.”
“Todoroki.” He raises his gaze. Aizawa’s no longer overtly annoyed, looking more tired than anything. Guilt twists in his stomach and he inhales deeply, trying to stave off the nausea. Aizawa sighs. “It would be negligent of me to leave you to deal with it yourself. As teachers, we’re liable for whatever happens on school grounds – small scratch or not. Do you understand?”
He nods, eyeing his teacher cautiously. He’s just checking off boxes, making sure Shouto’s not going to cause him trouble. He won’t pry. Shouto tilts his head forward in a gesture of compliance and when Aizawa starts walking away, instead of running, he finds himself following.
Present Mic, Midnight and Eri are there when they arrive at the teacher’s lounge. He doesn’t know much about Eri, has heard snippets here and there from Izuku and Uraraka, but from what he’s pieced together, it was horrific. The way she tucks herself behind Present Mic when they enter is telling enough.
He tries not to look at her as Aizawa leads him inside. He knows he has a reputation amongst his classmates for being cold and emotionless, that his demeanour isn’t particularly inviting and he doesn’t want to cause any more trouble.
“Hey, little listener,” Present Mic greets, shooting a look between him and Aizawa, then down to the capture scarf in his hand. He bows his head, but keeps his mouth firmly shut. “Joining us for lunch?”
“Depends on if he wants to cooperate or not,” Aizawa says. “Todoroki, you can take a seat up the back, I just need to grab the first aid kit.”
“Rough training session, huh?” Present Mic says and gestures for him to follow. Shouto’s pretty sure he could find the table himself, but he doesn’t want to be disrespectful, especially not when Eri extracts herself to follow too. “Happens to the best of us.”
He takes a seat as instructed and debates removing the capture scarf, before deciding against it when he feels Eri’s eyes boring a hole into his side. She clutches her dress in one hand, the other grasping at Present Mic’s hand and he’s suddenly hit with an overwhelming amount of longing for his mother, the way she used to hold and comfort him. The way she used to try to protect him when Endeavor took training too far.
I don’t wanna be like him. I don’t wanna become someone who hurts you.
It will always be Endeavor’s fault to him, no matter who poured the water, but he finds it doesn’t matter how many times he forgives her, nor how many times he visits her in hospital, things will never be the same as they were. Endeavor caused an irreversible rift between their family when he sent her away. Sometimes, she doesn’t look at him properly because the evidence of what he made her do is scarred across his face and he only serves as a reminder as to why she’s trapped. If he’d been better, if he’d endured more, if he wasn’t so pathetic she felt the need to protect him, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.
He startles when Aizawa drops the first aid kit on the table. Shouto bristles at the unnecessary display. It’s excessive for such a small injury and embarrassment washes over him knowing that there are other people in the room to witness it. A small part of him worries it will find its way back to Endeavor. He doesn’t need to be coddled and he would’ve thought someone like Aizawa would agree.
He’s checking off boxes, Shouto reminds himself. He’s barely even paying attention. Aizawa raises his hands and signs something to Present Mic before crouching in front of Eri.
“Hair out your mouth,” he chides gently, but Eri tenses like she’s face to face with a villain and Shouto sees so much of himself in her reaction that he has to turn away. “You’re not in trouble, but we don’t want you to start feeling unwell.”
Eri doesn’t respond, at least not verbally, and when he glances back, Aizawa is smiling at her. It’s the softest Shouto’s seen his teacher be with anyone and he feels like he’s intruding. He should have chosen Recovery Girl – he has experience evading her. He’s never willingly gone before and every time he’s been sent, he hides out in the bathroom and patches the injuries himself.
Aizawa ruffles her hair before standing back up with a groan. “Eri, this is Todoroki. One of Deku’s friends.”
She fiddles for a moment before glancing up at him. “Duel quirk?”
He’s not sure if she’s asking because of his hair, or because Izuku has rambled around her, or even showed her his notebook. He finds Izuku’s notebooks of heroes endearing, even the one of their class, though he had been particularly embarrassed to find out there’d been a page on him too. Izuku’s fair and kind, but Shouto thinks he overestimates his abilities sometimes. He doesn’t need another set of expectations he can’t reach.
“That’s the one,” Aizawa says. “Do you want to sit with Hizashi for a minute? I need to speak with Todoroki and then we’ll have lunch.”
“Cupcake?”
When he smiles again, it’s more familiar, amused. “After lunch.”
She nods eagerly and tugs Present Mic towards the couch in the corner. Aizawa’s yellow sleeping bag is spread across it and Eri curls it around herself as she reaches for one of the few toys scattered around. He’s glad she has people looking out for her; he still sometimes sees his siblings playing in the courtyard while Endeavor drags him to another training session. In his lowest moments, he mourns the childhood he never had.
Aizawa sits down across from him and Shouto forces his focus away from Eri.
“Show me your hand,” he says, rummaging through the first aid kit. He twists the end of the capture scarf, watching Aizawa instead, and when he realises Shouto’s not moving, he gives him a pointed look. It’s not threatening the way his father’s stares are, but he responds as if it is. The mess on the scarf as he sets it aside is indication enough of the damage, but he feels awfully exposed when he turns his palm over. The blood is smeared over his skin and although the wound has mostly coagulated, some fresh blood still oozes to the surface. It’s deeper than he expected and some petty part of him thinks about how he’ll show off the bandage when Endeavor berates him for not using his fire. He’s forced him to keep training through worse, but he also knows Shouto doesn’t need a reason to not cooperate. “Wiggle your fingers.”
He does, but he levels Aizawa with a blank stare. “I’m fine. It’s just a hand injury.”
“Hand injuries can be quite serious, especially if not taken care of properly.”
“Head and spinal cord injuries are serious. This is just… trivial.”
He’s had both, though Endeavor’s usually careful about serious injuries. He doesn’t want to kill him – Shouto’s still his masterpiece – but he often underestimates his strength and size, especially when Shouto was younger. He still remembers when he’d been sent flying into the dojo wall. The private nurse that had come to check his back had told him he was lucky he still had full functioning of his legs. He’d barely been able to walk for a month and afterwards Endeavor had taken more care around seriously injuring him. At least, he's careful around his back and head; it still seems like he’s trying to burn the flesh off his bone sometimes. Shouto thinks that should qualify as serious, but he supposes he’s never not been able to walk afterwards because of it.
“Head and spinal cord injuries can be life-threatening, but life-threatening isn’t a requirement of a serious injury.” There’s something in Aizawa’s voice Shouto can’t place, though he’s never been particularly good at reading people. He drops his gaze back to his hand, resisting the urge to flinch when Aizawa gently grabs him, and instead focuses on keeping his fire at bay. “Your hand has thousands of nerve endings, so it’s a lot easier to cause permanent impairment than you would think. It’s a good sign that you can move your fingers, even if they’re a little stiff, but the injury isn’t as shallow as you want me to believe.”
“I apologise for misjudging.”
Aizawa sighs. “You’re not in trouble, Todoroki,” he says. “But I want you to remember that being a hero means taking care of yourself too. It’s a wonder how any of you have made it so far with your abysmal self-preservation skills.”
It’s a little hypocritical, he thinks, given that his first proper introduction, or at least the first time Aizawa managed to break free of the frost that kept him in the background of Shouto’s mind, was when he singlehandedly fought those villains to protect their class.
“I heard it was a requirement. It’s important for students to demonstrate qualities of a hero and I feel our class has worked hard to prove that,” he says instead, but when Aizawa’s hands pause momentarily from tending to his injury, the frost starts creeping in around the edges of his mind. He doesn’t like that his memories often get trapped between layers of ice, but it keeps him safe. Stops him saying stupid shit like that. “Sorry. That joke was inappropriate. I don’t mean to downplay how much trouble we’ve caused you and the other staff.”
“Todoroki, it’s okay. You’re fine.” Aizawa taps his hand when he finishes wrapping the bandage and Shouto immediately tucks it under the table. “You can change in the staff bathroom behind you.”
“Thank you.”
The second he shuts the door behind him, he slumps against the sink. His side burns and when he presses a frosty hand against the wound, he has to bite down on his wrist to stop any noises. It’s the worst injury he’s received in a while and it annoys him more that he can’t even remember how he got it. Most of the time, if Endeavor draws blood, it’s immediately cauterised by the onslaught of flames. He briefly wonders if he did it himself, but the location is too obvious and the wound is too large.
When the ice numbs the area as much as it can, he strips off his clothes and leaves himself bare in front of the mirror. He hates this part, having to see the damage to his body. There’s mottled bruises scattered across his arms and legs, accompanied by the expected burns – most of them will fade like nothing happened – and then there’s the bruise stark against his neck, fingerprints wrapped around the sides. He must have really pissed Endeavor off for that one.
He reaches for the bloodied bandage around his abdomen. There’s another set of fingerprints, this one burned under the laceration and he imagines Endeavor must have thrown him into something. He’s not entirely sure what given that the room is usually empty, but the injury is there as proof.
It’s a cruel joke, how his memory blanks out what happens during training and yet he can never properly forget because the reminders are seared into his skin.
Gritting his teeth, he peels the gauze away. The dry blood causes his skin to stick in some places and he can feel the tugging as the scab pulls off, reopening the wound for the second time that day. He shoves the bandages in his bag – he’ll dispose of them later – and reaches for the cloth and clean bandages he’d packed.
There’s no clock in the bathroom and he glances to the door, worried about taking too long. He’d usually spend longer tending to it, but blood is already sliding down his side and leg and dripping onto the floor. It’s easier to hide the mess in the student bathrooms and even if he misses something in the cleanup, it’s unlikely anyone will notice or care.
Shouto wipes himself clean with warm water until all that’s left is the still oozing wound. If he’s not careful, it will bleed through again but he doesn’t have to see Endeavor until the weekend so even if it does, it should still heal enough.
Without the blood, he grimaces at how deep the cut actually is. If he’s being honest with himself, it probably needs stitches, but the hospital is out of the question and if he goes to Recovery Girl she’ll see all his other injuries and have to report it. Instead, he covers it with clean gauze pad, wraps the bandage around himself and hopes the pressure will stop the bleeding.
Once the wound is covered, he cleans up the mess on the floor, scrubbing until there’s not a trace left of him being there. He lacks a lot of skills outside of his quirk and fighting, all deemed a waste of time by Endeavor, but he’s good at falling into the background when he needs to and even better at making it seem like he was never there in the first place. The face that stares back at him in the mirror is the same one that earned him the title ‘ice prince’ by his classmates, devoid of all emotion. He checks his hands once more, eyes sweeping over the room and when he’s sure there’s no more blood, he opens the door.
The lounge feels crowded when he re-enters, despite how only a few more teachers have arrived. They don’t seem to notice him, but he ducks his head anyway. It’s bad enough that he’s here, but he can’t even hide his bandaged hand under his uniform like the others.
Shouto approaches the table again, where Present Mic and Eri have moved back to and he feels bad for disturbing their routine. He should’ve kept quiet, should have been more careful in the first place – Endeavor’s taught him better than this. He catches Aizawa’s attention and bows, only to immediately regret the movement when a tugging pain shoots up his side.
“Thank you again, sensei.”
“You’re welcome to stay,” he says as he passes a bowl of rice to Eri. Her chair is as close as it can get to Aizawa’s and she’s pressed so close to his side that Shouto’s not sure she’s even sitting on her own chair. “There’s extra.”
He shifts from foot to foot, arms stiff by his side. He wonders if somehow Aizawa knows about his other injuries but he’s not even looking at him, still portioning lunch for himself, Present Mic and Eri.
“Thank you, but I don’t want to intrude.”
“If you were going to intrude, I wouldn’t have offered. You should know by now I don’t say things just to be kind.”
And it’s true that Aizawa can be quite blunt, but Shouto doesn’t think it’s ever meant maliciously. “I still think sensei is kind.”
Present Mic grins. “Of course! Shouta’s a total softie.”
Shouto stops himself from shaking his head. He doesn’t want to outright disagree with Present Mic, but soft isn’t a word he would usually associate with Aizawa. Though, maybe he’s not really sure what it means to be soft in the first place. It’s just not something that exists within their family.
“Aizawa-sensei is harsh, but I think actions matter more than words,” he says. He’s not sure why he’s trying to explain himself. He shouldn’t be worried about his words being misconstrued but he also doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. Because he is grateful, more than he can express and it feels silly given how little he interacts with anyone, let alone his teachers. But Aizawa doesn’t try to tell him he’s helping him while training him until he throws up. “He wants us to do our best and he’s always protected us. So, I don’t think it matters how he speaks.”
Silence drifts between them and when he dares to glance up, Aizawa is looking at him with an unreadable expression, arm still outstretched where he was passing a bowl to Present Mic. He’s said something wrong again, and like always he doesn’t know what.
“I’m your teacher. It’s my job to look out for you,” he says after a moment and returns to serving lunch. Shouto thinks about how a father is also supposed to look out for his children and instead, their family is in shambles because Endeavor didn’t. “Come on, kid. Sit down. I have work I need to do.”
“Yes, sensei.”
The lunch that Fuyumi had prepared for him over the weekend – the lunch that follows Endeavor’s strict meal plan – sits in the bottom of his bag. He likes her cooking, but the fact that it’s Endeavor dictating what he eats overpowers everything else. He’ll feel guilty throwing it away, but it won’t be enough to subdue the satisfaction, even if Endeavor never finds out. He doesn’t refuse when Aizawa places a bowl in front of him.
“It’s probably a little plain, but it’s easy on the stomach.”
He assumes it’s for Eri. When his mother was first institutionalised, he was so angry and confused he’d stopped eating. It was impossible for him to avoid training and not fighting back hurt too much, so he chose the only other thing that would piss Endeavor off. And it had. When he’d started falling behind in his training, Endeavor had been fuming, but eventually the consequences grew more severe and he’d had to stop. He remembered what it felt like trying to eat normally again, how his stomach protested everything for a long time.
Most things he eats these days taste like ash on his tongue and he’s certainly not going to complain about their generosity. He accepts the food gratefully and ducks his head again.
He drifts a little when he starts eating; it makes the pain more tolerable. His throat is still a little hoarse from training and every time he swallows it drags against the inside. The movement of his arm tugs the skin around his wound too. The second day is always the worst. When he wakes up the next morning with everything tended to and the adrenaline worn off, all he’s left with is the delayed signals overwhelming him and the knowledge that the cycle will continue next week, regardless of what state he’s left in. He’ll have to cover the gash in the shower somehow and he knows no matter how cold he keeps the water, the burns will sting fiercely.
“Todoroki.”
He blinks away the haze. The table in front of him is clear. He doesn’t recall eating it all, but he doesn’t ask either. Heroes who zone out so easily are a liability, even if the only fights it affects are the ones with Endeavor. He glances up at Aizawa who simply nods to his side.
“Here.” His gaze shifts to Eri. Her voice is soft, if not a little timid. He’s seen her around campus before, but this is the first time she’s spoken directly to him. It’s a much nicer sound to come back to than the usual shouting. She’s leaning across the table, her cupcake cut in half and sat between them. She’s clinging to Aizawa’s free hand and trembling slightly like she’s afraid of him. He knows it’s not personal, knows it in the way he still flinches when an adult raises their voice, in the way he still flinches when someone comes up on his left side. It’s a reaction he can’t seem to kick and he doesn’t blame Eri for being cautious, no matter how much his heart twists at the thought of causing even a fraction of the amount of fear Endeavor causes him. “Deku-san and Hitoshi-nii helped me make them, but I only have one left.”
He finds himself a little surprised by her generosity. He shouldn’t be. He knows their situations are completely different, that living under such an overbearing man is not the same as being taken apart over and over by a villain, but Natsuo, Fuyumi, their mother – they all still have so much room for kindness and love despite what Endeavor put them through.
“Ah, you don’t have to,” he says. “It’s yours.”
“We can share.”
“I’m sure you’re looking forward to it. I’m also not really supposed to have anything sweet.”
“You have to,” she insists, a little more determined than before. He’s a little relieved to know she’s not so scared of him that she’ll cower at any little push back. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded-up sheet. “A sweet and a sticker to help you get better.”
“It’s best not to argue with her, Todoroki,” Aizawa says as he writes away on the paper in front of him, his lunch half-eaten by his side. He runs a hand over his face, sighing and Shouto imagines he’d rather be asleep than grading their tests. “She’ll win.”
Aizawa keeps his head down and when Shouto turns to Present Mic, the man just smiles with a shrug. It’s not that he wants to argue with her, but he doesn’t want her to feel obligated because he made a stupid mistake. He’ll heal, like he always does – in private and without help.
He bows his head. “Thank you, Eri.”
He waits for her to pass it to him, not daring to reach over in case his sudden movements startle her. She peels herself away from Aizawa slowly and Shouto’s lips twitch in amusement as she crawls across the table to sit in front of him. Present Mic does laugh and Aizawa huffs, but neither tell her to move. Endeavor would never tolerate that kind of behaviour.
She carefully peels off what he assumes to be the sticker and gently places it on the bandage. It’s a cat playing with a ball of wool and from what he can see, the rest of her stickers are cats too. It’s fitting, he supposes, given that she lives with Aizawa, despite being a ward of the school.
She then holds out the other half of her cupcake to him before crawling back and tucking herself into Aizawa’s side. He barely reacts, adjusting to a more comfortable position before resuming his work. Even Present Mic is unusually quiet despite the chatter of the other teachers in the room. They seem to be steering clear of the table – for Eri’s sake, he guesses. It’s strange, different, especially compared to the cafeteria, but it’s not as uncomfortable as he expected.
Eri’s eyes stay on him for the rest of lunch, equal parts curiosity and caution and even with the discomfort it brings, he finds that on his way to his next class, the weight on his chest feels lighter than it has in a while.