torrent | shoto todoroki

四 | anger

SHOTO SHOT UP, his chest heaving as he sat up in bed. Sweat coated his skin for different reasons as everything felt cold, his skin feeling exposed to the air as he rummaged to get out of his bedsheets. He froze for a moment, tensing. How did I get in bed? He glanced down at the soft pillows and the clean blankets that were draped over him.

He didn't need anyone's pity. He could've gotten up himself. He scowled bitterly, angry at himself that he allowed himself to fall asleep for so long. The dual-haired boy managed to get out of bed, fixing his futon haphazardly before traipsing over to the door. Todoroki slid it open, hearing commotion a few feet away from his bedroom. 

His feet smacked against the hardwood floor as he made his way over to the dining table, seeing his sister and father crowded around it as they ate dinner. They talked occasionally, but it was small. "Oh, you're awake," Fuyumi greeted him with a soft smile. He just nodded at her, too tired to come up with a verbal answer.

"I found you asleep on the floor of the training room. Did you train yourself to the point of passing out?" Endeavor asked, his voice deep as he spared a glance at his son. Todoroki didn't say anything, taking some food for himself as he piled it onto his bowl already filled with rice. "Where's Natsuo?" He asked quietly.

Fuyumi averted her eyes, poking at her food nervously. "He has a night shift tonight."

Endeavor still expected an answer from his son, looking down at him expectantly. The white-haired girl, however, stayed quiet, figuring it was best if she didn't get involved. "I understand you're grieving, but you shouldn't overwork yourself—" Shoto stood up, ignoring the fact that he had just stood up.

"—you don't get to tell me what to do, old man. Not when you encouraged me to overwork myself to the point of vomiting." His eyes were as cold as his voice. The chopsticks he had just snapped were burned in an instant. The boy rudely left the ash pile of his utensils on the table, speaking bluntly. "I'm not hungry."

"But Shoto—" Fuyumi said, clearly worried for her brother.

He shot her a glare too, one that made her meekly sit down again. He could feel his father's gaze burning holes into the back of his head, but Endeavor didn't talk back; Shoto was right, after all. Fuyumi stared at Endeavor, the two gazing at each other as if asking what they were supposed to do. They were both equally clueless. 

Shoto had never acted that brashly and it was clear that the second stage of the five stages of grief was rearing its ugly head. The most they could do was get therapy, but even then, would Shoto go to his therapy appointments? Instead, the two decided to quietly eat, averting their attention innocently once more.

Todoroki returned to his room, not liking the stickiness of his skin or the heat he felt from his tank top clinging so tightly to his skin. He didn't want to think about it, but his father probably carried him to bed, as childish as it sounded. As if I need more pity. He thought to himself, grabbing a change of clothes before going into the bathroom.

He swiftly locked the door behind him, hanging up the towel as he stripped off his workout clothes and tossed them into his hamper. He wasted no time to get in the shower, turning the knob as water rained down his face. Shoto made the mistake of opening his eyes, water dripping into his eyes as he flinched, his back slamming into the wall of the shower.

He suddenly opened his eyes again, away from the showerhead. The boy quickly moved his hair out of the way, slicking it back as he stared up at the shower. His chest heaved with shock. It was a small thing, but it was so similar to the feeling of being underwater in his dream. His heart twisted at the thought and he fought back a wave of nausea.

He had watched her die.

Right in front of him.

And he still had the audacity to blame her?! 

Another wave of nausea overcame him and he swung the door open, keeling over the toilet quick enough to vomit his stomach's contents into it. Shoto coughed roughly again, holding tightly onto the toilet rim as he squeezed his eyes shut. The stomach acid had burned his throat, his lips pursing to fight back yet another nauseating twist in his stomach.

The image wouldn't stop replaying in his head: the sight of watching her fall to her death. He'd felt shocked by a simple water droplet in the shower; how did she feel? When she drowned? Didn't the medical examiner say she hit her head on a rock and drowned? That that's how she went? Shoto didn't want to remember.

He shook his head, a fruitless attempt to get the thoughts out of his head. His hands shook as he felt cold, the anxious feeling returning. Suddenly, he didn't feel like showering anymore. Another rough cough ripped through his throat. This time, a knock resounded on the bathroom door. "Shoto?" The deep voice of his father called out.

Shoto could feel the tears pooling in his eyes; was he really that desperate that he was going to run into the arms of the man who had tortured him as a child? He didn't feel safe. He wanted her. No, he needed her. He'd always make her feel safe, right? He remembered her warmth, the way her hands had gently curled around his back, the way she smiled when he'd kiss her cheek.

He needed her.

He missed her so much.

He moved away from the toilet, grabbing a towel in a weak attempt to keep warm. He sat on the floor, not responding to his father as he leaned against the wall of the bathroom. The boy didn't hear his father walk away, but he didn't care if he stayed or walked away at this point. He just wanted to be gone, away from this place labeled 'home'.

He wanted to be in Y/n's arms.

He wanted to hold her again.

He wanted her comfort.

He wanted her warmth.

Maybe there was a way he could get it back?