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The first few times Shouto had visited his mother, he’d arrived unprepared and tentative. After all their years apart, he was uncertain what to expect—stilted conversations? awkward interactions?—, but he hoped she’d be willing to connect.
Rei had simply patted a spot on her hospital bed, intending for him to take a seat next to her. He gingerly settled in, bed creaking with the additional weight. Shouto held his breath, awaiting her next move.
A soft smile dawned on his face as he felt her lean in and embrace him, sharing a surprising amount of body heat for someone who’d passed on her ice quirk to him. He pulled his stiff arms out of their creaky inactivity to wrap back around her. How long had it been since he’d hugged his family? “Thank you for coming to see me,” she said simply.
Their words that followed were accompanied by tears and smiles alike. It would take them time to work out what a “normal” parent-child relationship looked like, but it was a start. Every visit thereafter, Shouto grew more and more comfortable with physical touch. No longer was it something to shy away from; he began to see it as a way to help communicate feelings: affection, confidence, trust.
Actions spoke when words fell short. And words didn’t come that easily to Shouto, so he took that message to heart.
Twice a week, Shouto makes his way from the UA campus to a private facility in Musutafu. His interactions with the reception desk are swift and painless, requiring only a brief identification check to verify that his name is indeed among the list of approved visitors. Even strides lead him into room 118, where he closes the door quietly behind him. He then drags a chair into position to sit directly across from his eldest sibling’s hospital bed, calm expression unflappable even as Touya glares at him.
The older man is hooked up to multiple machines. Once upon a time, their appearances and sounds were foreign to Shouto. Now, he recognizes the function each one is meant to serve.
He’s become familiar with a lot of things in the facility. He knows the shortcuts to avoid hallways that get traffic-jammed with medical equipment and patient beds. He can recite the cocktail of pills that Touya has to take every evening. When he notices Touya wince, Shouto prompts him to press the button administering doses of pain medication (”don’t be a martyr, your suffering won’t prove anything to anyone”)—and Touya actually listens.
It hasn’t always been like this. Perseverance (and stubbornness) have paid off.
Shouto’s first visits to Touya hadn’t gone smoothly. As a patient, Touya was Rei’s polar opposite. Rei’s hospitalization for mental wellness had lasted a matter of years, while Touya’s innumerable physical ailments would keep him in hospice care for the rest of his life. He seized every opportunity to gripe, made conversation akin to pulling teeth, and constantly threatened to call the nurse on his brother. Luckily, Shouto had some experience dealing with guys whose bark was worse than their bite. He brushed off Touya’s comments without a second thought. However, he was ill-equipped to steer the negativity in a more pleasant direction.
Shouto fixed his gaze on the sterile off-white walls serving as Touya’s permanent enclosure. His father had obviously come by multiple times, just as he’d promised; the fresh flowers by the window were replaced too quickly to wilt. Despite no active coordination, the Todoroki family had managed to establish a schedule without overlapping visits.
At UA, he’d developed something he never thought he’d have: Real, lasting friendships with people who wanted to know him, didn’t pigeonhole him based on their expectations or his last name, and empowered him to make his own decisions. He made eye contact with Touya once more, wondering what Touya’s dynamic with the League of Villains had been like. He hoped it was a little something like that.
Touya tired quickly of their wordless staring contest. “If you’re gonna come here so much, at least do something useful,” he grumbled.
Shouto considered the suggestion carefully. “That's fair,” he mused, then left the room. The door closed in the middle of a bewildered “what the hell?”. Sure, Touya could have phrased it more delicately, but Shouto’s other visits had lasted half an hour. Leaving after ten minutes without even a goodbye was an affront.
The door swung open again about an hour later. Shouto entered, a large backpack swung over his shoulder. He emptied it on the table, revealing a pile of schoolwork. “Can you help me with my homework?”
Touya frowned, unsure what Shouto expected of him. As he hadn’t had formal schooling in about a decade, he wasn’t likely to be helpful, and someone else’s homework wasn’t his idea of fun. But he wasn’t in a position to communicate his displeasure by leaving the room. His range of motion was extremely limited. “This is supposed to be you being useful?”
“It might help with your boredom,” shrugged Shouto. “You can’t do that much here, but your mind is still clear and your mouth definitely works.”
Touya’s eye twitched at the last remark.
“And if you don't want me to be here, you can call the nurse to kick me out.”
Touya knew that. The call button was always a click away. “Just bring it over here.”
Shouto obliged, moving the tray table toward the bed. “First off is an essay about ways to augment rescue operations with mutant-type quirks. I only have an outline so far.”
Touya glanced over Shouto’s notes, immediately observing how similar Shouto’s handwriting was to his own: decisive crossbars, sharp curves, wide loopless o’s, and a hard rightward slant.
“You're focusing too hard on ideal environmental matchups when that isn't always the case.” Like the lizard's uselessness in open terrain. “But it's not a bad start.”
“I brought soba.” Shouto held up a plastic takeout bowl. He’d remembered that they shared a favorite dish.
Touya cackled. “You snuck in food? I thought you were a rule follower.” He wouldn't admit he was grateful; food at the hospice center was prepared well but got boring after the first two weeks.
“No sneaking necessary. Everything was clearly labeled on the plastic bag. If anyone had a problem with it, they should have stopped me on my way in.”
Touya cast an appraising look at his brother. The youngest Todoroki wasn’t as bland and obedient as he’d thought. Bringing in his favorite food was a thoughtful gesture, and he hadn’t had many opportunities to enjoy leisurely lunch specials before ending up here. Infamous faces sighted in restaurants tended to result in terror-stricken calls to the police. “Not a bad choice,” he conceded.
“Do you need me to feed you?” said Shouto. He placed the bowl on the table, removed the lid, and readied the disposable chopsticks.
If Touya still had eyebrows, they would have wrinkled. “Do I look like an invalid?”
Shouto deadpanned. His answer was prompt and unyielding: “Yes.” Well, at least the kid wasn’t a liar.
“…fuck it. Fine, feed me.”
“Open wide. Here comes the choo-choo train.” Being the youngest, Shouto had never gotten to deliver that line himself until now. The look on Touya’s face only added to his satisfaction.
“Shut up and let me enjoy my noodles, brat.”
Taste-testing bowls of soba together became a routine. Shouto brought in varieties from far and wide—within reason; he didn’t want the noodles to get soggy during transit. Touya begrudgingly allowed Shouto to feed him the first bite of each bowl. Soon after, he’d snatch the chopsticks out of Shouto’s hand to finish the rest. He was perfectly capable of feeding himself, but it was nice to feel cared for every once in a while.
Touya was halfway through Shouto’s newest library book on human psychology when he felt his hospital bed’s headboard start to recline. He noticed Shouto fiddling with the remote and scowled. “What are you doing? What is it this time?”
“Lean this way,” instructed Shouto. “Nee-san doesn’t believe that we hang out, so I’m providing what my classmates call ‘photo proof’. We’ll give her FOMO!” He waved his phone excitedly.
“We’re not hanging out,” Touya said. “Both people have to want to hang out. This is a hospital visit. I’m just stuck here with you.” He scooted closer regardless, glad he didn’t have to ask what a fomo was. That little psycho with the spacebuns had kept him up-to-date on slang.
“Sounds like a standard sibling relationship, based on what Tsuyu-chan tells me,” Shouto said with no small amount of pleasure. The Todorokis exhibiting normal sibling behavior was a welcome new development. He reached his right arm around Touya’s waist, deftly avoiding the tubes protruding from his body. Shouto ignored the resulting “hey, watch the merchandise!” and snapped a selfie with his left hand.
That had gone more smoothly than he’d anticipated. Touya hadn’t even hovered his finger over the call button. Maybe he’d ask Kaminari to suggest some Tiktok dances that only required upper body movement.
Shouto’s visits are no longer 30 minutes; they now last an entire evening. He’s polite to the hospice staff, and his presence makes Touya less crabby on average, so they’re happy to turn a blind eye to his blatant disregard for visiting hours.
After mealtime and homework are finished, the two move on to talking. The calm bubbling of water for Touya’s nasal cannula and steady drip-drip-drip of the infusion pump serve as white noise to their banter. Shouto regales Touya with tales and misadventures from UA’s training courses, and Touya occasionally supplements with a memory of his own. More often than not, these are surprisingly emotionally charged, and Shouto manages to squeeze in a hug without getting whacked on the arm for the unexpected physical contact.
Once Touya grows too tired to engage, he lets Shouto monologue. They’ve developed enough rapport for him to sit quietly as Shouto drones on about a new conspiracy theory that none of the 2-A students has sufficient evidence (or desire) to shut down. His voice is surprisingly soothing, almost like a lullaby, and Touya feels himself drift off to sleep.
“You never call the nurse on me,” Shouto says. He reclines the bed and gently pulls the cotton sheets to cover Touya’s shoulders.
Over the past months, this room has borne witness to countless moments like these. Trivial-seeming but meaningful interactions, the delicate dance of Shouto feeling out his boundaries and Touya choosing to lower his guard and let his younger brother in.
He’s grateful that they have a second chance, and that he has the courage and means to act on it. Just like the rebuilding efforts throughout Japan, they'll never be able to overwrite the toxicity of their family's history, the mistakes they’d made, and the struggles they'd faced. But they weren’t trying to. All they can do is work to improve what remains.