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midoriya's mother was kind. it was a fact. you didn't have to know her to notice it in everything she did. when they were allowed to leave the dorms, and midoriya insisted on bringing shouto to hang out with him, because shouto would never go home like the rest of them did, and he would enter an unfamiliar house with an unfamiliar warmth. not oppressive, not suffocating, never overpowering, the warmth of a stovetop and the smell of food.
and he would watch, standing in the doorway silently, as inko would take her son's face in her hands and gush about how big he's gotten and worry over every little scar, and how midoriya's lopsided smile would spread across his face, cheeks tinted red with embarrassment and that same comfortable warmth as he reassured her that he was okay, he was fine, he was getting better at controlling his quirk – no, really, you don't need to worry! – and how yes, kaachan was fine too, these scars weren't from him. on, and on and on, about nothing and everything. and then, only minutes later, after they had chatted like good friends would midoriya remember shouto was there and falter, waving his hands wildly as he tugged the other over, introducing him — right, mom, this is my friend todoroki, todoroki this is my mom, she's really nice — and inko would smile and say it was nice to meet him, and shouto would not smile back, and reply that it was nice to meet her as well, even as envy burned in his chest.
bakugou's mother was not kind, but she was not cold. her words were sharp-edged , but not poisonous, she was loud, but not obtrusive. as if she were everything endeavour could have been, had he been just a tad nicer, and shouto would watch from the adjacent hospital bed as mitsuki shook her son by the shoulders, shouting at him without true anger, and bakugou would shove and swear at her, irritating the injuries and disrupting the right bandages until a nurse reminded them to be quiet , warned them that if they couldn't quit being disruptive, mitsuki would have to leave. and mitsuki would scoff and tsk and complain about how loud her son was ( as if she hadn't been matching his volume ) and yet there would be no real malice in her tone.
it felt strange, bitter, to watch the interaction, to see bakugou's lack of fear.everyone knew that when parents shouted, it meant you were in trouble, you had done something wrong and that you were going to be hurt, somehow. so, why didn't bakugou understand that, if his mother was so abrasive?
( " you must be lucky. " he had told bakugou once, in the aftermath of a sparring session while his left side cooled down and he used his right side to soothe the bruises from the other's fists. " your mother doesn't really hurt you. "
when he said that, bakugou had gotten a weird look on his face, caught between anger and something unreadable, before he scoffed, tossing a roll of bandages at the other and ignoring when todoroki muttered a quiet 'ouch'.
" my mom's not a piece of shit like your shitty dad is. " the blond haired boy grumbled after a long moment of silence, tugging harshly at his gloves. " yeah, she hits me. but it's never enough to leave scars or shit like yours. "
todoroki does not tell him that the scar on his face is from his mother. bakugou does not ask. they split paths without much else conversation, and the next time bakugou's irritation builds enough for him to start swinging at people undeserving, or todoroki's simmering bitterness swells into a burning flame along his left side during quirk training that scorches the ground, they meet each other in the same place, trading attacks until one of them surrenders. it's familiar, now. shouto doesn't call it friendship, but there is a mutual trust between them, a bond forged from the anger that drives them both, as different as it is between the two. )
when he visits his mother, he sits stiffly across from her, not daring to make any sudden movements, never letting his emotions overwhelm him even slightly, lest he trigger old memories of the man who landed her there.
sometimes, it is hard to tell who is afraid of who.
the last time he visited, it was with his brother. it's funny, in a bitter way, how rei seems to communicate easier with him, how her eyes soften instead of harden, even though natsuo has enji's hairstyle, his loudness, his frame. natsuo has a gentleness about him with rei, that endeavour has always lacked, and it makes a revolting sort of jealousy settle into the pit of shouto's stomach as he watches them converse, as he sits in the chair across from rei and natsuo stands beside her — its a reminder of how distant shouto really is from them.
( “ dont pay attention to them at all, shouto. " father had ordered, grip bruising on the young boy's wrist as he struggled to keep up with the man's longer strides. “ they are worlds away from you. ” )
in the end, endeavour had been right. shouto leans back slightly, expression carefully blank as he watches rei smile softly at the sound of natsuo's laughter, and he can feel frost cling to his right side as he silently stares, heart pounding too loud, too loud, too loud against his ribs, as if threatening to tear apart the skin itself. yet, when he feels his mother's gaze shift to him, sees her brow furrow with familiar concern ( of course, he's making her worry. ) and sees her reach a hand out to rest on his knee, he can't help but flinch away.
the warmth in the room is gone, replaced by stillness, tension, and when it is time to leave, shouto ignore's his brother's gaze, bowing politely to his mother. she doesn't quite meet his eyes even as she smiles and bids him farewell, and he focuses his attention on a small scorch mark on the floor.
the ride back is quiet. shouto does not speak, and when he arrives back at UA, he goes straight to his dorm, and does not speak to anyone until the next day.
✦ ✦ ✦
“ .. there's ice types, too. this one is the one i was telling you about, glaceon. "
he shifts forward, turning the screen so she can see the image. when she reaches out to take the phone for a better look, he does not flinch. her fingers are cold, as they always were, and the old memory of cold hands pressing against his scar stirs something uncomfortable in his chest that he doesn't allow to show on his face, not when his mom is smiling even slightly, not when her eyes are already tired. he tamps down the unease, swallows down the wariness in his voice, and returns her smile.
when she hands the phone back, he does not expect her to speak, and therefore cannot mask the way his eyebrows raise slightly as she does.
" i am glad i get to learn more about you. " her voice is soft in the quiet room, as if she is afraid of being overheard still by someone who isn't there. " you and your siblings both. "
her hands fold in her lap, and shouto can see the way the skin at the edges of her nails is uneven, as if she had been biting at it. he mentally notes to ask the nurses about that, to question if she would have any major reason to be anxious.
" i .. " she fights for words for a moment, gaze shifting to the flowers in the windowsill — strangely fresh, to have assumingly been there for so long — and finally sighs. " i an sorry. for not being able to be there for you, properly. "
( the apology makes shouto's chest tighten, the familiar whisper of guilt reminding him that it's his fault she's there in the first place. this time, he can't tell if it's referring to endeavour or him. )
" its fine. " he says, as he always does, and he hesitates for a moment, before reaching out and resting a hand over hers, pretending not to notice the way she tenses for just a split second before her eyes meet his, too many emotions at war in the bright blues. " i dont blame you. ive never blamed you. "
it takes a moment, but she shifts, placing her other hand over his, trapping the warmth of his palm between hers, and she smiles — a sorrowful, melancholy thing, but a smile nonetheless. there are no more words shared, and shouto knows that she does not fully forgive herself.
( he fears, sometimes, that he does not fully forgive her, either. )
✦ ✦ ✦
it's on the worst days that he does not leave his dorm, when old pain reminds him of worse times and he cannot hide the bitterness in his tone when he's forced to answer questions during class. when he feels familiar exhaustion creeping over him and buries his face in the cloth of his blanket, entire body feeling painfully heavy.
( its on the worst days, that he turns his phone off, to avoid snapping at natsuo again. )
in hindsight, he should have recognized the signs. the way irritation was already festering under his skin from the moment he woke up from a dream of endless flames, the way his mind buzzed with faint static as he tried to focus, words melting into nothingness in his mind. yet, somehow, he brushes it off as *weakness* instead, and doesn't bother with his usual isolation as his phone buzzes with a reply to his conversation with rei about his relationship with izuku. honestly, he doesn't know himself how he feels about the other boy — and he tells her that.
[ > —@coldhandswarmheart: do you truly not know or are you afraid of it? ]
afraid. *afraid.* the implied weakness in the word felt like a direct sting, and he could feel flames lick at the side of his face for a second too long before dying out.
[ > —@FROSTBITE: Why the hell would I be afraid of it? ]
and then, the silence. he regretted it as soon as he said it, the familiar rush of anger dying down into a dull simmer.
perhaps, part of him is afraid of it. afraid of getting too close to anyone. because everyone he grows close to, ends up hurt in some way. his existence is a blight upon his family, upon his siblings, upon his mother. the only one happy about his birth had been endeavour, and that joy was twisted, depraved, seeing not a son but a soldier, a malleable child to become his successor.
( he continues to speak to izuku, but doesn't let himself grow closer. keeps the walls up, keeps himself at arm's length. never too honest, never too vulnerable. he wont allow izuku to be hurt as well. )
with natsuo, its harder. he's learned to trust his brother, to find comfort in him instead of treating him as a stranger. to feel content talking about mundane things, trading useless facts and staying up late into the night to speak about whatever comes to his mind. with natsuo, he learns to smile more, to laugh more, to joke around and to taunt. it stings, knowing how this will end, knowing inevitably he will hurt natsuo unforgiveably.
he has already slipped up before. now, it is a wait for the inevitable.
fuyumi is busy, always, distant. it feels for the best — shouto knows fuyumi is too kind for her own good, that she buries her anger where it won't be found and noticed. fuyumi is not soft, but she is far from cold, and he knows that the wrong thing will upset her easily.
he has already hurt her, too. he still remembers the look on her face, when his flames sputtered abruptly and scorched her during what should have been harmless training, still remembers the suffocating guilt — the steady reminder that he had done it again, hurt his own family. first rei, now his sister.
he does not ask to train with her anymore. she does not mention it again. he keeps his distance from her, now that it is easier, now that he has a reason, can remind himself when he starts itching for the familiarity of her kind eyes and soft smile that he ruined it. that if he cannot keep from hurting his family, then he and endeavour are one in the same.
it's envy that drives him. envy of midoriya's kindness, of bakugou's confidence. of his mother's resilience, his brother's boldness, his sister's gentleness. he allowed hatred to cloud his senses, and he let himself feel it for no more than a second before burying it.
his family does not deserve to be the victim of endeavour's masterpiece's anger.
✦ ✦ ✦
the house is deathly quiet at this hour, the only audible sound at all being the rain pattering against the windows. shouto is silent as he steps into touya's room.
for a minute, he just stands there, staring at what's left of the brother he barely knew. of the scrapped tool endeavour could not use. it is only after a long moment more that he steps forward, carefully taking the candles down and replacing them with new ones. he allows flames to spark to life at his fingertips, and then puts it out.
its disrespectful, using his quirk in front of touya, when the other had hated him so much for it.
" sorry. " he murmurs as the flames die, picking up the matchbox from one of the shelves across the room instead and using that to light the new candles, kneeling in front of the shrine.
and, he talks.
he tells touya about the festival coming up. tells him about how he and natsuo are getting closer, how he has been talking to his mother more, about their visit to the hospital, about snapping at endeavour. he tells touya about everything, and he tells touya about nothing at all. and when he feels the burning of tears in his eyes, he keeps speaking, voice coming out in choked gasps as he apologizes again — for not helping him even though he was so young, for not being a good little brother, for having the perfect quirk, for being born at all.
there are too many grievances, and when he is finished with his apologies, the heavy feeling still lingers with him.
he lifts his head after a moment, brushing dust off of touya's picture frame before standing up, wiping the remaining tears from his eyes and blinking those that threaten to fall away before they get the chance.
he inhales, and shuts his eyes, allowing his emotions to settle back into the familiar blankness.
there is no room for weakness, no room for a mother's warmth, in the todoroki household.