Chapter Text
Most of Shouto’s thoughts revolved, as of late, around Midoriya Izuku.
That wasn’t bad, per se. There were much worse things to be preoccupied with (fire, boiling water, the hate that still simmered deep in his gut) and so, really, Midoriya was the least of many evils.
But then All Might came onto the TV.
Now, that also wasn’t bad, per se, because Shouto and Fuyumi were already well-versed in how to tune out the frequency of Endeavor’s grumbling. But there were complications; namely that a) Endeavor was already in a foul mood after an argument with his hiring manager, and b) All Might was taking about ethics.
You wouldn’t think the second would be a complication. Shouto hadn’t, either. That was until Endeavor made one particularly derisive comment and Shouto nearly blurted out, actually, Midoriya said—at which point he decided he probably needed to get out of the house for a bit, for both his and Midoriya’s sakes.
Thankfully this part of town was quiet as always (save for some kids roughhousing in a playground). That gave Shouto time to sort out his thoughts.
First of all: no, despite what the books and movies all suggested, he was not infatuated with Midoriya, and no, he was not in denial, either. Did he find Midoriya interesting? Yes. Admirable? Yes. Attractive? Well…
“SHUT UP!”
Shouto stopped. That shout was a child’s, and suddenly what he’d taken as some kids horsing about seemed more sinister. No need to think; he backtracked to the playground, just in time to hear the ringing smack of knuckles against teeth.
“—dare say that about my mom!”
One grade-school boy, pale hair and bangs, scuffed and bruised and bleeding knuckles (the one who shouted and threw the punch just now, the victim) faced off against three others (bullies). The one in front (ringleader) sneered despite his split lip.
“Aw, was that supposed to hurt?” he mocked. “You punch like—”
“Excuse me,” Shouto interrupted, going for his most imposing look. It worked: the boys froze in place. “What’s going on here?”
“Uh,” Split Lip stammered, his earlier bravado nowhere to be seen. “Nothing!” The other two nodded vigorously. “Actually it’s, uh, super late we’ve got to go home bye!”
“Hey, get back here!” The last boy tried to charge after the fleeing bullies, but Shouto caught him by the arm.
“Don’t—”
“Lemme go!” the boy howled, thrashing against Shouto’s grip. “I’m—I’m—I’m gonna knock their teeth out—”
“They’re not worth your time,” Shouto said firmly. “Calm. Down.”
He was prepared for the boy to quiet, to go limp. He was also prepared for the boy to struggle even harder.
But then he burst into tears, and Shouto completely blanked. Shit shit shit he was not equipped to deal with this, crying children had most definitely not been an item in Endeavor’s crisis response training, then add that to the fact he had next to no social skills (yes, he was aware of that, thank you very much)—what should he do?
What would Midoriya do?
Pushing aside the little voice that said he would’ve avoided this mess in the first place, duh, because that was utterly unhelpful, Shouto knelt down so he was on eye level with the boy.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. But it’s alright now.” Was that awkward? Probably. He held out his right hand. “Do you want me to ice your bruises?“
The boy nodded, sniffling. At first, Shouto had thought him the aggressive type, but more likely he’d caught him in a moment of wild anger. That was what the way he braced himself each time Shouto touched him said: he was afraid.
“What’s your name?”
“Um—T-Touya. Akatani Touya.”
Huh. What a coincidence.
“I’m Todoroki Shouto.”
“I know,” said Touya (what), before hastily adding, “You were on TV.” He twirled a finger in his bangs, cheeks faintly pink. “I thought you were, um. Really cool. Just so you know.”
“Oh.” That…was unexpected. “Thanks.” Shouto iced the last bruise and moved back to give Touya some space. “Does it feel better now?”
“Yeah. A lot better.”
With a grunt, Shouto pushed himself back upright and brushed the dirt from his knees. “I’ll walk you home, if you want,” he offered.
Instantly, Touya stiffened. For a second Shouto was thrown—what did he do wrong?
Then, it hit him. In retrospect, it was so obvious—especially in the wake of what’d happened just last week—he could’ve slapped himself.
“I’ll walk you to where you need to be,” he corrected. “Sorry.”
But Touya didn’t seem comforted at all. “Could—” He swallowed, eyes darting about. “C-could I see your phone?”
Shouto blinked at the non-sequitur, but passed his phone over anyway. Touya didn’t even turn it on; instead, he gripped it with both hands, took a deep breath—
And his eyes were glowing blue. On trained reflex Shouto tensed (Quirk activation, why?), but in a flash the glow had blinked out and Touya was staring at him, a mix of shock and relief on his face.
“You— You know someone like me?“
Someone like you? was the first thing on Shouto’s tongue. But then he thought—Midoriya—and it clicked. Worn clothes, thin frame, bullied, possibly an absent father, evasive about his home—
“He’s my friend,” Shouto confirmed (first friend, best friend, but he didn’t say that), and the last bit of tension drained from Touya’s shoulders.
“Oh. That’s—that’s good.” It was then that Touya remembered he was still holding Shouto’s phone and, turning scarlet, quickly handed it back. “I, um… Techno-Psychometry. That’s my Quirk. If I touch electronics, they tell me things.” He shot Shouto a nervous glance. “I just… I was just scared and I wanted to know if…”
“It’s fine,” Shouto cut in, sensing an incoming apology. “No harm done. Where are you headed?”
“N-Nishinari House.”
A quick search showed it was a ten-minute walk away. Shouto fired off a text to Fuyumi before pocketing his phone.
“Alright, lead the way.”
Nishinari House was a standard shelter on the outskirts of town, with several rows of mattresses in the center, a table of food against the wall manned by two workers, and a curtained doorway leading to what was likely a kitchen. And if the water-stained walls and patched-up bedsheets were any indication, it’d seen better days.
As Shouto wedged the door open, careful not to jostle Touya—who’d fallen asleep on his back—a bell rang, and one of the workers hurried over to meet him.
“Dear, dear,” she tutted, deftly lifting Touya into her arms. Her name-tag read Kawabe in brisk handwriting, and she spoke with a slight Kansai accent. “The little one’s all tuckered out, isn’t he?”
“I think he’s tired from using his Quirk.”
“Well, thanks for bringing him here safely, sugar. I’ll get him checked in and all, don’t you worry.”
A sudden impulse hit him, and before he could stop to think about it, Shouto said, “Actually—“
Kawabe, on her way to an unoccupied mattress, stopped and glanced back questioningly. “Something the matter?”
“Is there something I could help with?“
The words didn’t fit quite right in his mouth; they came out stilted, a little off-sounding. He wasn’t used to saying such things. But still, Kawabe looked pleasantly surprised.
“Why, of course! How about you pop into the kitchen, see if Ibara needs a hand?” She gave a light laugh, mindful of the still-sleeping Touya. “With your Quirk we’d sure shave some off the energy bill, at least.”
That name rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, so he just nodded and made his way to the kitchen. At the rustling of the curtain, a girl with vines for hair looked up from cleaning the stove. Hold on—vines?
"Ah!” she gasped. “You're—"
"—from 1-B," he realized.
"—from 1-A," she said simultaneously. Her smile was cautious. "Todoroki, yes?"
Fourth place in the obstacle race—what was her name again? Shio... Shiosaki...
"Shiozaki,” he finally recalled, with some relief. He probably needed to make more of an effort to remember his classmates’ names. “I was asked to see if you wanted help.”
Shiozaki’s eyes widened. “You’re volunteering as well?”
“I guess I am,” Shouto replied, though it was more like a question. “But if I’d just get in the way—”
“No, no, not at all. It’s just…” Awkwardly, she cleared her throat and recomposed herself. “I confess I never took you for that sort of person. That is to say—you always seemed rather…”
“Cold.”
“Well. Yes.“
Shouto wasn’t quite sure how to put yeah, I was kind of a selfish asshole up until last week when my friend deconstructed my entire worldview and also punched me in the face in socially-appropriate terms, so instead he said, “I’ve been rethinking some things.”
Which was a pretty terrible explanation in hindsight, but Shiozaki still looked like he’d just told her she’d won the lottery.
“Well, then! We’d be happy to have you! Let’s see…“ She flitted about the kitchen, muttering to herself, before stopping at the fridge and pulling a bag of frozen dumplings out. “Perhaps you could start with these? It’s quite simple—there are instructions on the back. And—ah!”—after fairly shoving the bag into his arms, she brought out a slightly-dented kettle—“if you could boil some water as well—“
Shouto’s scar itched.
Stop being so weak, scolded a voice in his head, one that sounded like Endeavor. It’s been years. Get over it. And, as if in response, a second voice:
No one expects you to flip a switch and suddenly be okay.
“I apologize,” Shiozaki abruptly said, sounding bashful. “I’m rather—excited, you could say, to see a fellow hero-in-training volunteering. In some ways it’s also—relieving.”
“Relieving?” he echoed, absently thawing the dumplings.
A blush rose to her cheeks; she quickly turned to the sink and busied herself with filling the kettle. “You’ll think me—old-fashioned,” she murmured.
“I live in a machiya,” Shouto deadpanned.
“Ah,” said Shiozaki, her blush deepening. “I see.”
There was a pause as she collected her thoughts. When she spoke again, it was with such solemnity it was hard to believe she’d been so flustered just a moment earlier.
“I believe true heroes are those who not only save people from harm, but from anguish as well. Our guests—“ As she searched for the right words, she—maybe without realizing it—touched a hand to her heart. “They are not hurt, not physically, but they are still—asking to be saved. We do our best, but sometimes it is not...” Her voice wavered. “Enough.”
Somehow Shouto couldn’t shake the feeling she had something specific in mind.
“That kind of hero,” she continued, steadier but softer now, “is what I strive to be. But I—I fear they are becoming rarer and rarer, and that, one day…“
She trailed off. But before she could finish, the third worker poked his head past the curtain.
“Sorry to be a bother, Ibara, but we need some help out here. It’s Mr. Matsuoka. He’s—” He made a vague gesture. “You know. We tried, but he likes you best, so...”
“Oh! Oh, yes, of course.” Shiozaki glanced between the worker and Shouto, who realized somewhat belatedly that he was still holding the (now-dripping) bag. “Could you—”
“—cook the dumplings and boil the water, right.”
"Yes, that would be wonderful—thank you."
After Shiozaki had ducked out, Shouto poured the dumplings into a pan and heated it up (200 degrees Fahrenheit should suffice), taking a pause to shut the faucet off once the kettle was full. Pro heroes, if he remembered correctly, weren’t compensated for volunteer work—i.e. giving back to the community in nonviolent ways unrelated to immediate crises such as attacks or natural disasters. The reasoning was that a) it didn’t require any particular skill and b) it was non-paid by definition anyway.
So, what were the consequences? Analyze; think about this like Midoriya. Three things jumped out at him:
- Top pros like All Might didn’t need to worry about money and therefore were perfectly free to volunteer. Even at the top, though, time spent volunteering was still time spent not resolving incidents or cultivating public approval, and so their ranking might suffer.
- Lower-ranking pros, on the other hand, did have to worry about money and therefore might also shunt volunteer work to the side, regardless of their personal feelings.
- And then there was the growing faction of pros who actually believed resolving incidents was all there was to being a hero; volunteering was someone else’s job. Like…who was a good example? Oh, right. Endeavor.
No matter which way you sliced it, Shouto concluded, pros were thoroughly incentivized against volunteer work. Ostensibly civilians were there to pick up the slack—but wouldn’t that create an unnecessary disconnect between the pros and the people they were meant to serve?
He chewed on that thought for a long time.
When Shouto emerged from the kitchen with the dumplings, there was a woman with bobbed dark hair—one he didn’t remember seeing when he’d arrived—hovering uncertainly about the table, a plate in hand.
“Hello,” he greeted as he set the pan down, figuring that was the polite thing to do. She glanced up at him, looking momentarily puzzled, and he added, “I’m new here.”
Recognition flashed in her eyes.
“Yes, Ms. Kawabe told me—you’re the one who brought my little Touya here, aren’t you?” She spoke in a rushed, breathless manner, like she was so worried about getting everything out that she forgot to inhale. But, mindful of those who were sleeping, she kept her voice to a whisper. “I can’t say how grateful I am. I always worry about him walking here all alone, and—well, let’s just leave it at that.” She bowed her head. “Thank you very much.“
“It wasn’t any trouble,” Shouto replied, a little taken-aback, and bowed as well. “I just happened to be in the area.”
“That’s fortunate, now, isn’t it?” Her eyes brightened when she saw the dumplings. “Oh! Touya’s favorite. Could I—?”
“Help yourself.”
Mrs. Akatani filled her plate, but after a pause, put several back, before carefully maneuvering around the mattresses to reach Touya. He stirred and mumbled something when she gently shook him by the shoulder; after a couple more tries, though, he realized who it was and snapped awake. The two embraced, murmuring something indistinct, and Mrs. Akatani pressed a kiss to Touya’s forehead.
It was…nice to see. The two obviously cared for each other—which was natural, but coming from…
Shouto gave himself a slight shake. Enough of that. Any more watching and that’d be considered intrusive by most people, wouldn’t it?
A sharp inhale.
“You’ve been drinking again.”
He jerked his head back up. That was Touya asking—accusing. Mrs. Akatani’s smile froze in place; most of the other guests swiftly averted their eyes, while others cast the two indiscreet glances. Shiozaki, who’d been sitting with an old man, stood up with a look of growing alarm.
“Only a little bit,” Mrs. Akatani said weakly, with a laugh that was a touch too high. “It’s for my nerves, you know—for tomorrow…”
Touya furrowed his brow, mouthing tomorrow to himself, like he was trying to remember what was so special about it. Then, realization—swiftly followed by horror—dawned over his face.
“No,” he said: a whisper at first, then gradually rising. “You can’t do it.”
“Shhh, Touya, please—”
“He doesn’t—he doesn’t even love you!” Touya was yelling now, tears welling up in his eyes; Shiozaki was trying to soothe him, but he went on. “He just—”
“Touya, please—”
“He just wants your Quirk!“
“I know!” Mrs. Akatani yelled back, the end of her sentence choked in a sob. “I know, Touya, so please—”
In his pocket Shouto’s phone turned hot, the screen spasming with static when he yanked it out; the lights flickered; the landline on the wall spit sparks. Long-range Quirk affecting controlling technology dangerous powerful desirable—
“—just stop it!”
His scar burned.
The next moments passed in a fog; he dimly registered Shiozaki coaxing Touya aside, Kawabe and the other worker speaking gently to Mrs. Akatani; and it was in that same fog that Shouto found himself saying, “I can do it,” and walking her outside.
It was chillier, now that the sun had started to set. He considered making a fire, but Mrs. Akatani hardly seemed to notice the temperature; a fire would probably only startle her. So he hovered awkwardly as she pressed her eyes shut and took shaky breaths in, then out, and in again, until she’d recollected herself. But now there was a weathered look to her he hadn't noticed before: the look of someone wrung dry by the world, and yet, still straggling on.
“I’m sorry to cause you trouble,” she sighed, drying her tears with a sleeve. “Touya… He means well, but sometimes his temper…”
“It’s fine,” Shouto assured her. “I don’t think anyone minds.”
A faint, wry smile crossed her face. “He gets it from me, you know. His father? Couldn’t hurt a fly if he wanted to.” The smile vanished. “I wish…I wish he was still…”
Dead, then. Otherwise she wouldn’t be speaking so fondly of him.
“He’s just”—she cradled her face in her hands—“so young,“ she lamented. Not about the father anymore; she was talking about Touya now. “He doesn’t understand the way the world works—that sometimes, you have to do…things you don’t like…”
"Like a Quirk marriage," said Shouto.
The words were acid on his tongue. Mrs. Akatani smiled wanly.
"A billionaire comes up to me and asks me to marry him. Some fake-dating, some sex, some public appearances here and there to keep up the pretense. In exchange, more money than Touya and I would ever know what to do with." The smile took on a bitter tinge. "Look me in the eyes and tell me how I could ever refuse."
“Could…” Shouto grasped for the right words. Everything he thought up sounded wrong. “Would it be possible for you to get a job?”
Like a grim, tired joke, she laughed: “Single mothers don’t get jobs.”
Being a single mother—that made it even harder for her to find work. Whatever she did find just wasn't enough.
Ah.
Shouto…didn’t know what to feel.
Realistically—realistically speaking, most Quirk marriages were perfectly civil. Both parties knew it was only about genes. Knew what to expect. It wasn't rare for one of them, or even both, to carry on an affair on the side. No one cared.
Most Quirk marriages were not his mother and father.
And yet, he thought he understood a bit better, now, just what had driven his mother to tie herself to the man who would destroy her life.
What could Shouto do?
The answer came instantly. It was obvious. After all, barely a few hours earlier, he'd heard Endeavor on the phone with his hiring manager, about a long-time secretary who'd retired. The manager had drawn up a list of candidates, but Endeavor hadn't liked any of them. Maybe—
You’re going to ask him for help?
Him?
The thought repulsed him. A knee-jerk reaction cultivated over years and years of simmering resentment. But when he swallowed the bile, stepped back and assessed the situation logically, it was the best decision. Endeavor treated his employees well—not out of any great kindness, but because it was practical. A disgruntled worker could very easily leak sensitive information to a villain, after all. That was why jobs at hero agencies were so sought-after. In turn, that was why it was near-impossible to get one without someone vouching for you now.
In other words, Shouto was perfectly positioned to help the Akatanis (if not in a slightly underhanded way). And yet, still, there was that hesitation, that recoil—
Forty-five people. Selfishness was not an option.
“My father, Endeavor,” he started, fumbling slightly; it was like he was learning how to speak all over again—“his agency is looking for a secretary.” Mrs. Akatani gasped, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. “It’s a tech-heavy job, so I think you’d be a strong candidate. They’ll get a work license for you and everything. If you’re interested, I’ll vouch for you.”
“I—oh…” Overwhelmed, she briefly pressed her face into her hands again. Inhaled and exhaled. “You’re—you’re sure about this?”
In response, Shouto said: “I was born to a Quirk marriage.” He smiled faintly. “I’ve never been surer of anything else.“
The bad taste in his mouth hadn’t totally gone away. In fact, he doubted there would ever come a time when his tongue didn’t curl at the thought of Endeavor, at least slightly. But in face of the blooming hope in Mrs. Akatani’s eyes that made her look so much younger and healthier, the brilliance of Touya's smile and how fiercely he hugged Shouto, the two words that carried the weight of a thousand more behind them—
None of it mattered.
It was well into the evening when Shouto left, exhaustion starting to set in and feeling rather…what was the word for it? On one hand, he was glad he’d been able to help the Akatanis. And yet, to see them in that sort of situation in the first place…
So maybe that was how Midoriya felt.
Shouto ran through the numbers in his head. As long as he kept up with his training and grades, Endeavor didn’t care what he did with his free time. So, if he visited his mother every afternoon, one to two hours, that’d leave weekend mornings for Nishinari House. Six, seven hours a week, maybe more if he—
Someone collided roughly into him, jarring Shouto from his thoughts.
“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I was—“
He faltered when he saw the man he’d bumped into. It was a lanky twenty-something, dark-haired and looking just as startled as Shouto was. But were those…burn scars?
“Watch it,” the man grumbled. And before Shouto could say anything else, he was already walking off in the other direction.
Something about him had seemed…familiar, almost. Or was it just Shouto’s imagination?