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It was all a facade. An act. The way people act towards each other. Like they care about the other person. They ask questions like “are you okay?” and “what’s wrong?” because it’s disrupting their lives. They need to look like a good person, so they ask questions.
They need to make themselves feel better so yet again, they ask questions. It’s all endless. It’s everyone’s world except Shoutos.
At a young age, Shouto knew the word danger. Always on the tip of his toes, edge of his seat or seconds away from sprinting out of the nearest exit. His fight or flight so familiar to him that he regularly saw unbooked appointments.
Sometimes it hits him like a ton of bricks. Other times it manifests over hours or even days. The feeling of knowing that something bad will happen. Something out to get him. Someone out for him. The feeling of each and every second crawling on his skin like he was the prey about to be devoured. And then adds up to one big flaming ball of anger. Thus his current predicament.
His footsteps boom as Shouto marches through the UA corridors and into his dorm. Each monstrous step sounding like it’s got a vendetta against the UA carpeted floor.
If the dorms weren’t empty right now then the class would think that Bakugo was on one of his tantrums again. But today it was a very special half and half boy. Not the first person who would come to mind when you think of anger.
But anger was all Shouto was feeling right now. That seething anger that enters through every pore in your body. The one that makes the world stop and just laugh at you. Pathetic you.
Even hearing his door collide on its hinges made him angrier. Nothing can make the noise of how he feels. Shouto places both hands on his door and tries to reason with the anger. But he’s not even willing to listen to himself.
He clenched his fist that turn white with power and bangs. Bangs his fist on the back of the poor wooden door. Enrage sobs escaping from the back of his throat. Trying desperately to win atleast this battle.
His murderous eyes not softening. He stands back.
He throws his hands in the standing shelf next to him and just whips everything off the side.
Not quite doing it in one go but that doesn’t stop. Whatever is near him he throws. UA textbooks. Gone. Gifts from his sister, he throws. A statue of a cat from Natsuo, he tosses. Nothing has meaning.
Or he wishes to think.
Because it’s a lot easier to feel like nothing has meaning when meaning has you by the throat.
Upon all of the mess Shouto has made. There was only one thing that made the anger drain from him.
A manilla envelope with a heart shaped sticker in the opening. A faint vanilla aura that will always have the feeling of mother. His mother.
Seeing that letter amongst the wreckage he has made. Almost killed him then and there.
An unfortunate snow globe had smashed and oozed out all over the letter. Meaning the contents within would become meaningless. The emotions that once took Shouto by the hand and showed him freedom in his world has unfortunately turned to sludge.
A shakey hand pressed over his own mouth. Terrified of the words that he may speak. Strangled sobs escaped his throat. Like the prey had finally been caught.
That paralysing feeling. Tears slowing seeped from his clenched eyes. Eyes still forever stuck on that paper.
His body loses all strengths. A thud leaves him sat in the floor.
The thumps in his chest becomes the only sound he hears. A pathetic mess. Has he ever been any different?
A thought flashed through his mind. The screaming. The anger. The throwing of things.
He’s the very person he swore to never become.
That person who he will never call his father.
Endeavour.
His stomach drops. His throat tightens.
Another hand rushes to his mouth as what he can only think of is bile coming up.
A very familiar enemy.
In the end, it became inevitable. All these years of not using his left side. Not showing him an ounce of respect. Was all for nothing.
It was all a childish game. A rebellion. He had became the very thing he had promised his mother not to become.
A monster that carries the Todoroki name.
He is his fathers son.
More bile rushes up to his mouth. Shouto scurries across the floor and throws himself into his en-suite bathroom.
Finally landing on the toilet and heaves. He isn’t even sure if he’s throwing up or just making noise.
Shoutos eyes burn. His nose burns. His throat burns. His fingers ache.
Soon his gags starts to quiet down and lessen. His nose runs as his lip turn to a frown.
An unpleasant look for such a beautiful boy.
Sobs wreak his body. Hands still holding onto the toilet as his body rocks. Weeping becomes violent as he bends his head and his locks fall over his face.
Salty tears stings his red face.
His body starts to slow.
The tears stop running and he quiets down.
In the end Shouto was alone. For a while it was very hard for him to accept. But like death, he must experience it.
As the night lingers on, Shouto dragged himself from his seat. Forced himself flush down his sick. To wash his face. Forced himself to pick up the pieces of the things he had destroyed. Forced himself to pick up the soaking wet envelope and read over the soggy inked words.
He had no strength left. But he continued to make his room to how it was. So no one will ask questions.
Later that evening, his class came back from their trip to the mall.
He feigned illness to avoid them.
After all that, he now feels numb. A numbness that will indefinitely last for the remainder of his days.
Training with his father was getting better. So why did today hurt him so much?
His mother didn’t even know him. If she did then she would see that he is the incarnation of his father.
“You are not another vessel of your father. My child, you didn’t deserve the cruel mess of this world. So please, learn from our actions and learn to love again.”
If only she knew what he has already become.