Chapter Text
Besides the initial awkwardness from Shouto knowing basically nothing about the game, they ended up playing until the last of the spring sun faded behind the house. Though none of them kept score, both Natsuo and Shouto unanimously agreed that Fuyumi had been the winner. Shouto’s naturally shy and quiet sister wiped the floor clean with them, displaying a ferocity Shouto would have expected from Bakugou. Terrifying.
“Wow, Fuyumi, tell us how you really feel.” Natsuo lay spread eagle on grass, utterly exhausted.
“Would have expected more, Mr. ‘I’m in the varsity team,” Fuyumi gasped, also out of breath. To drive the insult home, she kicked the ball up with one final dramatic spin, catching it deftly in one hand. “Come on, Natsu, let’s go inside. I’ll make dinner.”
Shouto watched them from the outside of the yard. Their interactions were so natural. A pang of jealousy fleeted quickly, gripping his chest, but leaving just as suddenly. What might he have, had Shouto not been Endeavour’s masterpiece? No use. No one can change the past. There was no choice but to move forward.
Fuyumi disappeared inside, but Natsuo stayed on the grass awhile longer, gazing at the darkening sky, seeming deep in thought. Shouto remained in the yard, unsure of how to navigate these new interactions. Endeavour ensured for most of Shouto’s life there was a distinct alienation from the rest of the family, and only recently Shouto had begun to feel a part of his sibling’s and mother’s life. Before long, Natsuo brushed himself off to head inside after Fuyumi. Opening the door, Natsuo waited at the entrance to give him a beaconing wave. “Come on, Shou, let’s go.”
Following his brother to the kitchen, Fuyumi had already washed up, hair in a neat ponytail. She skillfully sliced cucumber to go with the chicken salad and cold soba, water placed on the stove to boil with an expert hand. The image so strikingly similar, Shouto paused just out of view, hesitant to interrupt. Breath frozen as if by a spell, broken by Natsuo crashing return.
“I brought the box! Shou get ready to laugh cause I found- Shouto you alright?” Concern radiated from the look on Natsuo’s face.
“I’m fine.”
Puzzled but also willing to brush it off, Natsuo held up the photo in his hand.
“Fuyumi remember the terrible apron you made for Touya?”
Fuyumi spun around sharply from the vegetables she was cutting. Making Shouto flinch, the shock so achingly familiar. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, but I did, Shouto look.”
Silently willing himself to come back to his senses. This was not the same kitchen; there was no kettle. Shouto looked at the photo Natsuo was all but shoving in his face.
A smiling Touya greeted him. Hands up in a dramatic flare that mimicked one of Best Jeanist’s signature poses, hair red like the setting summer sun. Fuyumi, small and shy, standing with a little proud smile next to him. The object of Fuyumi’s pride apparently was the worst, most ugly looking apron Shouto had ever seen. A terrible shade of mottled pink, lopsided, longer on the right side and shabby cut on the left. Blotchy blue objects were sewn throughout the monstrosity that vaguely resembles stars. Truly awful. But Touya, at that moment, seemed the happiest person in the world. His brother’s joy was so apparent, it washed away the last waves of nervousness, and Shouto felt a sea of calm embracing him.
“Don’t look, Shouto.” Fuyumi waved her hands frantically in his direction “Natsuo put that away! Or you can cook your own dinner.”
In a house full of fire users, there was rarely the need to sew. Anything that needed mending was likely burnt beyond repair, and being the number two hero meant that any shirt lost to training was no real tragedy. Still, at the tender age of seven, Fuyumi had begun to learn the skill, determined to be able to sew effectively should the need ever arise, or be able to make a gift.
Birthdays in the Todoroki household never held much importance. Father never had time for such silly things, but Fuyumi hoped he would set aside the day for. Mother sometimes made a special treat for them on their birthday, but since Father put Touya on a specific diet, Mother had stopped. Fuyumi didn’t think Natsuo could remember when the four of them would sit around a small cake and wish quietly for a better year. Touya was the only one who seemed to care these days. Sneaking around father’s strict rules to give Fuyumi a small bowl of homemade ice cream and sitting with her late into the night to watch a soap opera even though Touya hated them, but knew that she loved the drama. It wasn’t much, but it was her favourite day of the year. With baby Shouto, mother got too busy to notice Touya’s birthday was just around the corner. That’s ok, Fuyumi thought, even if this year Touya couldn’t get a special treat, Fuyumi would make him the best gift ever.
In and out and through, Fuyumi weaved the red thread around azure stars. Touya was always doing things for them. Be it making sure Natsuo knew he was loved or taking care of baby Shouto when mother was too sad to leave her room, or braiding Fuyumi’s hair. Touya used to take care of mom too, but when she mistook him for Father, well Fuyumi took over the role. Fuyumi didn’t mind. That’s just how things worked in the Todoroki home. Fuyumi took care of the house, and Touya took care of them.
Who was left to take care of Touya?
In and out and through, Fuyumi pinned in the straps. Touya did so much for them. It was only fair that he got a great birthday gift this year. For months, Fuyumi had been teaching herself to sew and working on making an apron for her brother. Out of the two of them, Touya was still the better cook, though Fuyumi thought she was catching up quickly. He was always getting something on his shirt when he cooked for them; what better gift than an apron? She refused to think that her improvement was just because Touya didn’t have the energy after training to cook for them often anymore. Everything is ok. It will all be alright as long as Touya kept saying it would be.
Fuyumi didn’t learn until much too late, Touya lied.
In and out and though, Fuyumi pricked her finger on the needle. Their family isn’t perfect, but no family is. Father increased Touya’s training to make him a hero. The hero to defeat All Might. Once Touya could do that, they could be a proper family. So much depended on Touya, on his thin shoulders. Fuyumi had faith in him, never doubted.
Later she learnt from Natsuo, Touya was filled with nothing but doubt. And when she looked at the young faces of her students, Fuyumi wondered how she could have dared pinned the weight of the world and her dreams on a child. Even a child as strong as Touya.
Fuyumi held up her finished work and hugged it tightly to her chest. The first thing Fuyumi ever made with her own two hands, all by herself. It wasn’t perfect, but that was ok. Pride blossomed in her as she set as her masterpiece and turned off the light. The clock on her desk blinked one in the morning. Usually, Fuyumi would be long asleep by now, getting up early and making the household breakfast in time for Father to eat after morning training with Touya before work. What was one night of missed sleep in exchange for a gift, a small price to pay to give Touya some semblance of a special day.
The next morning Fuyumi awoke to a sharp cry of pain. She scrambled to get up and ready, having slept through her alarm. Berating herself for the mistake, she rushed to the kitchen.
“Oh! Good morning Mom” Fuyumi blinked in surprise. It had been at least a year since mom had gotten out of bed early enough to make them breakfast.
Her mother hummed in acknowledgment, kissing the top of her hair. A good day then. Oh, please let it stay that way.
The universe seemed to be on Fuyumi’s side today, and father barely entered the kitchen with a gruff “I’m running late” before leaving in a rush. Fuyumi helped her mom finish cooking, ensuring all of Touya’s favourite foods that were among Father’s approved list were just as he liked them. Not long, after Touya shuffled in. Dressed and cleaned from the morning training, Fuyumi was pleased to see no new bandages were added to Touya’s growing collection.
“Good Morning Touya,” mother’s voice, quiet but loving, filled the room, “happy birthday, my little star.”
If Touya shed a few tears, Fuyumi pretended not to notice. When was the last time mother acknowledged Touya without fear, Fuyumi wondered? Didn’t matter, what mattered now was adding to Touya’s day. And a bubble of excitement grew as Fuyumi prepared to give Touya her gift.
“Happy birthday Tou-ni” shyly, she grabbed the package she hid in the pantry, knowing that their father never entered. Looking at her brother in the eye, she handed Touya her gift. Fuyumi hated eye contact and hated seeing the darkness behind electric blues and madness hidden in stormy greys. If you avoided the eyes, the Todoroki family seemed just like any other. However, it was essential for Touya to make him feel human. Ground and reassure him that he was not Endeavour.
“Thank you, Yumi,” slender fingers unravelled the gift.
In the light of the morning, the apron transformed from something beautiful to something hideous. Tears welled in her eyes as Fuyumi took in the lopsided stitches and misshapen blobs that were supposed to be stars. And the colour, why had she ever thought this was a good idea? Touya’s face was unreadable. Eyes locked wide, staring at the ugly cloth in hand. Oh, please burn it, Fuyumi silently begged.
Touya’s hands shook violently as they fiddled with the strap. Fuyumi had never known Touya to be cruel, but this was beyond torture by humiliation. When Fuyumi was just about ready to burst, Touya rushed forward and scooped her in a hug. Had Fuyumi not been wishing to be swallowed by the ground, she would have melted. Touya gave the best hugs. Warm but not imposing, Touya’s hugs were like being embraced by summer.
“Thank you, Yumi, I love it” Touya whispered in her ear.
Fuyumi wrapped her own winter arms around Touya, leeching the constantly radiating heat “You’re just saying that.”
A laugh like tinkling bells trickled through the room. The two siblings broke their hug to stare at their mother, whose laughter had not been heard since Shouto’s birth. Fuyumi watched, amazed as two of the people she loved most in the world shone with rare unguarded emotion. Who cared if the apron was one of the ugliest things? If created the most beautiful joy. At that moment, everything was perfect, mother laughing, Touya smiling wearing that god awful apron.
The perfect family, Fuyumi always wanted.
Touya continued to wear the apron every time he entered the kitchen, much to Fuyumi’s embarrassment and Natsuo’s teasing. Anytime Fuyumi commented, she could make him a better one now. Touya refused, saying, “why would I want another when I already have one that’s perfect?”
On the day, Endeavour burnt down the kitchen in a rage over their mother hurting Shouto. Amongst the chaos, the loss of one ugly apron didn’t matter all that much.
Fuyumi groaned, crouching down with embarrassment, hands folded in a pyramid “Natsuo we promised not to bring that up again.”
Natsuo laughed. “Aw Yumi, don’t be that way. It’s our duty to share these moments. Besides, Touya would have thought it was funny. Can you believe that he wore that until he was fifteen?”
Curious, Shouto looked over, “why did he stop?”
The room turned icy. Both Fuyumi and Natsuo tensed up, both of them avoiding eye contact. Shouto messed something up, another one of his increasing curses. The questions he asked always seemed to be wrong. Puzzled at the shuttered looks of his siblings, Shouto fiddled with the photo in his hand.
Fuyumi spoke first, lifting herself off the ground “Dad accidentally burnt it.”
“Just say what really happened Fuyumi, the bastard had a fit and destroyed it.”
The venom in his voice and the look on Natsuo’s face held so much bitter anger that even without a fire quirk, the rage burned anyone near it. It reminded Shouto of how he must have seemed before the sports festival.
Fuyumi ignored him, “Shouto does your friend still want the recipe for MaPo Tofu?”
Shouto gave a small nod, not trusting words to not ruin the moment further.
The sudden change in topics seemed to shut down Natsuo’s anger, but no one commented on the subject again. It was a skill each of them learnt early on: emotions were better left ignored, sensitive topics avoided. The friction slowly ebbed from the room, Natsuo letting go of whatever he was still holding onto as Fuyumi opened the recipe drawer.
“Here do you want to take a picture or make a copy?”
Fuyumi handled the small card over. Bakugou probably would prefer a copy, Shouto would have to make one later. Neat writing Shouto didn’t recognize, and tiny side notes inscribed by Fuyumi’s distinctive characters. Noticing his confusion, Fuyumi gave him a nervous smile.
“Most of the recipes in there are Touya’s. He wrote them down when he had to stop cooking.”
“Mmm, shame Touya didn’t leave his hot chocolate recipe, though,” Natsuo added, with an apologetic look to Fuyumi.
The tension of Shouto’s coiled muscles released with the reestablished peace. Fuyumi, too, regained the relaxed aura she had before Shouto’s question. How easily the two bypassed angry hiccups, a bond clearly forged from growing up together under the scorching roof of Endeavour. A bond that Fuyumi and Natsuo opened to Shouto, but it was bittersweet how after all these years it was Touya the one to bring them together.
Fuyumi placed a hand next to her mouth as if to tell a secret “That’s because he would just make it up.”