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Fuyumi jerks awake with a gasp, the phantom sounds of kettle-whistling-screaming-sobbing-no-Mama-get-away ringing in her ears. It’s been weeks since the Incident, and Father is out all day, patrolling and ensuring his public relations team manages to cover up the scandal of Todoroki Rei being admitted to a medical facility, presumed to have lost her mind.
It won’t cover up the hole in her heart shaped like her mother, and it won’t cover up the angry red burn over her baby brother’s left eye, but such is Father, and in the absence of Mama, Fuyumi will do her best.
(She remembers Natsuo sneaking into her room the very night after, embarrassed but hurting and all Fuyumi could do was hold him close and hold back her own tears as he whispered “She’s not coming back, is she?”
They need her, and she will do her best.)
Rubbing her eyes, she gets out of bed and pads down to the kitchen to make some breakfast.
It’s only when she’s got the tamagoyaki steaming that she hears a clumsy padding of feet, and then something that sounds… suspiciously like a sob. Brow furrowing, she pokes the omelettes with a chopstick—they look about done, and she turns off the heat, making quick work of plating and bringing them to the dining table.
When she steps out of the kitchen, however, she nearly drops the plate.
“Shouto?”
The boy in question is wobbling on his feet as he turns around to look at her, and Fuyumi feels her heart squeeze at the sight of his scar, still angry red and an ever-present reminder, but what strikes her are the tear tracks on his cheeks.
“Shouto, what happened?”
She wastes no time, gently sweeping him up into her arms and off his feet, which looked like they were about to give out, and the moment he’s safely off the ground, Shouto lets out a soft noise, almost a half-sob, and Fuyumi is yet again struck by the realisation that he’s never even been allowed to cry properly.
She doesn’t want to hate Father. She doesn’t, but Shouto’s tears hit her heart like icicles, and all she can do is rock him slowly and whisper what she can remember of Mama’s gentle, soothing words until he calms, going almost completely silent again, the only indication that anything had happened being the drying tear tracks on his face, and for a second she must be Fuyumi and Mama and the pillar that Shouto needs. She is twelve, after all. He is only six. She’s old enough to care for her little brother properly, no matter what happens with Father.
“What’s wrong, Shou?” Fuyumi murmurs, setting him down on the couch, and she doesn’t miss how he immediately reaches out for her, looking around wildly before she puts a soothing hand on his shoulder. “No one else is here. Just me.”
Shouto’s gaze lowers, and he sounds almost ashamed when he speaks. “H-hurts, Yumi-nee.”
“What hurts?” Offhandedly, she reaches out to brush his fringe away from his eyes— it’s growing, and she’d probably have to give him a haircut soon— and freezes. He feels hot and cold on the completely wrong sides. With his quirk, getting sick would work differently, but never being able to even go near him on a regular day made it difficult for her to observe. To think of it, she’s not sure he’s ever been sick before. No, scratch that— it would be the days when Father stormed around, even more terse than usual, with no Shouto in sight, and Mama—
Her heart aches as she looks at her brother, tucked into her side, sniffling and scared. “Hey, Shou, you need to tell me what hurts, so I can help you, okay?” She almost whispers, running her fingers through the soft bicoloured hair. “Father isn’t home. It’s just us.”
Shouto leans into her touch, and it’s silent for a moment before he speaks softly. “M’ head hurts.” It’s all the explanation he gives, and Fuyumi isn’t sure if he’s hiding more than that, but she ruffles his hair and smiles anyway.
“Okay. I’ll bring you back to your room and make some okayu . You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten and rested.”
She isn’t expecting Shouto’s eyes to widen in fear, the grip on her clothes tightening. “‘M sorry, Yumi-nee, don’t lock me in my room, please.” His voice breaks on the last syllable, and Fuyumi feels her heart shatter.
Don’t lock me in my room.
So that ’s what Father had been doing.
“No, Shou,” she soothes, rubbing his back gently. He still looks so small. Fuyumi feels irreversibly lost in the face of his distress, looking out the window at the neighbourhood beyond.
What do I do, Mama ?
“It’s okay. No one’s locking you in your room. If it makes you feel better, you can sleep in mine?” She was planning to get some homework done, but she supposes it’s an easily explained predicament.
Shouto blinks up at her, something like confusion in his eyes, but he nods almost immediately, before looking down. “What if Father…”
“Father isn’t home, Shou.” And if it was up to her, she’d take Natsuo and Shouto and Mama and get away from this place, where Endeavour’s shadow loomed over each corner. She’d take them away and find a home where they woke up to peace instead of fear. Where Shouto could grow up like a normal child, away from the expectations and the pressure and the spotlight. “I’ll take care of you, okay?” she vows, looking into those wide eyes and trying not to think of a similar set belonging to a passionate, hopeful older brother. “I’ll take care of you.”
Shouto’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t say any more, just clings tightly to her as she stands to take him to her room. Along the way, they pass Natsuo’s, where he’s just woken, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He blinks blearily at her. “Wh…”
Opportunity strikes her. “Natsu, can you watch Shouto for a bit? He isn’t feeling well, I’m taking him to my room. Gonna make some okayu for him. There’s tamagoyaki on the table, I’ll bring it in later.”
Natsuo’s sleep-addled brain seems to process this, before he nods, looking down at their little brother in her arms. “Yeah, okay.” He follows them to her room, and sits down beside the bed as she helps Shouto lay down on the freshly-made bed, tucking him in gently. “Hey, squirt.” The corner of his lips quirk up into a half-smile as he reaches out to muss up Shouto’s hair, to the younger boy’s only half-hearted protests. “Feel better.”
The scene is so normal, so domestic it makes Fuyumi’s heart ache for a life that will never be. She sighs, taking one last look at the two before turning towards the kitchen.
They need her, and she will do her best.
And one day, hopefully, there will be a home, with love and light and peace, and they will all live without fear.
Like a normal family.