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Shoto keeps you calm during the storms.
You’re not a wimp. You’ve never been afraid of them before. But ever since you started learning that villains don’t wait until night to come out and play, you were starting to realize that you should be much more afraid of things you didn’t fear before.
This one is really bad. You’d felt it in your gut earlier when you saw the bruised clouds on the horizon. Wind howls, tearing at everything it can. It doesn’t matter if you put in your best noise-cancelling headphones; the wind shrieks and pushes, and you feel like the building itself is shifting wearily on its foundation. You think it’s rain, but with the force in which it pelts the windows, it might be hail. Each slam feels like it’ll shatter the glass. Worst of all is the thunder. The lightning flashes dreamily, a feathery tendril running its length down the sky. It’s a warning. Because the thunder comes right after, with no summertime delay, both sharp and dull in its fearsome roar. It rumbles, rattling the walls and the floor, shaking you in your bed. It demands blood. It wants you.
Shoto finds you crying silently in your bed, blankets tucked protectively around you as you try to ward off the noise. You know it’s silly and you’re immediately embarrassed that he had to see you like this, but then another wave of thunder makes your bones sear and you can’t help but feel the tears stream silently down your face.
“It’s all right.” He’s very polite in the way he says it, sitting next to you at a respectful distance. With your knees tucked up to your chin, and his tall athletic figure, you feel very small. Shoto isn’t the most expressive guy, so you figure this must be hard for him. You’re actually surprised he came to see you at all.
“I know, I’m sorry… it’s just…”
You jump when the thunder cracks again. It’s a much higher pitched one that’s accompanied with the frantic soprano of wind. It rolls long, shattering your eardrums. The rain is hitting harder until each drop blurs into angry static. If it finds any weakness in this room, you know you will die.
“How do I make it better for you?” Shoto asks, his voice urgent but quietly gentle. His voice snaps you out of your panic and you look up, meeting his mismatched eyes. They’re wide as dinner plates with genuine worry. It makes your heart hurt. You can’t tell if he’s scared or not. Probably not, considering how fiercely cool his head is—well, most of the time. Shoto seems the type to never get shaken by things, especially not as dumb as something like a freak thunderstorm. But he’s trying his hardest to feel for you so that you don’t shelter your burden alone.
“Can you just hold me?”
You know the request is awkward. You wouldn’t have blurted it out at all if things weren’t at their worst for you. But you’re exhausted, and the feeling of doom steals all warmth from you, and you just need an arm around you to reassure you that tomorrow will come.
You expect Shoto to say no and find somebody else, somebody more open to emotions to deal with your current wreck. You would’ve forgiven him for it. But he shies closer instead, moving with slow deliberation. One hand presses on your back so you lean forwards a bit. He hugs you with both arms, and you feel him clasp his hands behind your back.
“Okay. It’ll be fine, [Name].”
You already know it will be fine. You already know you’re silly for having a fullblown meltdown over some weather. But when he says it—when Shoto Todoroki talks to you, you believe him. He has that quality about him; like he would never lie to you. It’s amazing how warm his embrace is, and when you slump against him, he doesn’t move away. He’s still a bit stiff, and it’s kind of funny how rigid he stays because he’s afraid to disturb you. But with every thunder crack afterwards he holds you tighter and tighter to remind you that “it’ll be fine”, and “I’m still here”. You’re grateful for it.
After that night, you convince yourself that storms are not that bad. It’s all in your head. After that, you remember the way Shoto’s hair prickles the sensitive skin of your cheek, and the way his chest rises and falls in rhythm. Even his ice side is warm. His eyes, frigidly blue and brown, soften when he smiles. Remembering it makes the storms subside a little. Remembering him.
For a short, too short little while, you used to love thunder.
It’s no surprise that heroes get hurt. They’re only heroes because they do dangerous things to save others, anyways. He’s always been a hero to you even without the whole career-quirk-nonsense side of it; he saved you without even meaning to. He constantly saves you, every day. He’s goofy without knowing, kind in his own way… But the storm, that goddamn storm, was so hungry. You were right to be fearful. He was wrong to be brave. You should’ve known.
When it storms again you want to be resolute and honour him. You want to be somebody that he can be proud of. You want to show the world that you’re not scared of it; you’re not scared of fate and bad endings, like trees come ablaze in forest fires so defiantly. But you can’t stand it, the way the wind cackles and the electricity burns your hair. You can’t stand how the earth shudders as if it’s about to give way any second. You can’t stand the taunts of thunder, which pound you like relentless waves, holding you under until you no longer have the strength to draw a breath. You can’t stand how unkind the storm is, because it’s everything he’s not.
Worst of all, it’s not even the storm that hurts you anymore. It’s just that Shoto’s not here to say “it’ll be fine” anymore, and you don’t believe yourself when you lie. And you hate that you can’t tell him “it’ll be fine”, because the storm in your heart will never break.