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It’s been a month since that day. Todoroki remembers it well. It’s the day he barely escaped with his life.
Momo Yaoyorozu hadn’t been so fortunate.
He wants to forget. Sleep was usually his solution to the problem, but lately it had been near impossible to get any with the demons that haunt his dreams.
There is no escape from them whether waking or sleeping.
“Shouto Todoroki. How sad.” The stitch-faced man stares into his soul before giving him a devilish grin. He isn’t sure why after all these years, the man continues to torment him—and yet deep down inside he feels like the villain is a part of him; a strange sense of familiarity he can’t seem to shake off.
“You couldn’t even save one poor little girl, and you have the nerve to call yourself a hero?” The man sneers at him before stretching out his arm and engulfing Shouto in blue flames, swallowing his silent screams.
“Todoroki…”
He opens his eyes and she’s there, pressing into him, a sultry look on her face. Her already revealing hero costume is a bit lower, a bit looser, and it’s impossible not to notice her assets draped delicately against his chest. How many times had he fantasized about such a situation as this?
His heart skips a beat as she shifts her weight on him, bringing her face closer to his.
“Shouto…” She whispers, drawing it out lightly, as if she enjoys the taste of his name on her tongue. Her face spreads into a smile which he loved so much in life—but this was cruel, too cruel. His breath hitches as her lips graze his own, and her hands, ice cold, press down on his shoulders. It’s her eyes that convince him this is not the Momo Yaoyorozu he knows. He had always loved the fire in her eyes—this facsimile’s are devoid of emotion—lifeless.
Please, stop it.
—But his voice won’t come out. He struggles to move his arms, legs—anything—but his body refuses to obey his thoughts, still very much asleep.
He watches as she lets out her ponytail, her raven black hair cascading around his face, bringing with it a faint scent of cherry blossoms that had always been comforting and familiar.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” She breathes, fingers trailing the right side of his face—but they are cold, too cold, even for this half of him.
No—
not like this.
Regret runs deep through his being and there are a million words he wishes he had said to her before her life had ended all too abruptly.
I’m sorry. For taking the burden on myself, not considering your feelings.
Thank you. For trusting me, believing in me, encouraging me all those years.
And his biggest regret.
The three words he never had the courage to say.
“If you loved me so much, Shouto…” Her voice sounds like wind whistling through leaves of a tree, stealing the unspoken words from his thoughts as she pushes herself up on his stomach. He watches in horror as the red of her hero costume morphs into blood; crimson color that spreads up to her face and drips down onto his paralyzed body like tears.
“Why didn’t you save me?”