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Privacy has always been a luxury; the bedrooms in the Todoroki estate locked from the outside. Enji had loved reminding Shouto of that fact.
Shouto was always more of a possession than a son. Something to be brought out, trained, fixed up—and then locked away again.
He thought he’d numbed himself to Enji’s constantly expanding control, but this afternoon had proved that Enji could still rattle him.
There was a soft knock at the door. “Todoroki?”
The door was locked. Shouto wasn’t worried about anyone barging into his room—for the first time, he lived with people who saw and respected his boundaries—but he couldn’t help the thrill that went through him everytime he clicked the lock into place.
The knock came again, louder this time. “Todoroki? It’s me. I just want to know if you’re okay.”
Shouto rolled off his futon and shuffled to the door. He opened it a crack. Izuku was wide-eyed and achingly genuine in the hallway, worrying at the bottom of his t-shirt.
“Are you okay?” Izuku asked. “You weren’t in classes this afternoon. Hagakure said that you ran right past Momo when you came back to the dorms. Everyone’s worried.”
Shouto retreated back to his futon, leaving the door open. Izuku took the silent invitation, closing the door behind him. He perched awkwardly at the foot of Shouto’s bed.
“You can tell me to leave.” Izuku was always terrified of going where he wasn’t wanted, as if he wasn’t effortlessly charismatic and able to befriend almost everyone.
Shouto shook his head, no. They lapsed into silence. He could feel Izuku eyeing him, but he was too drained to care.
“Todoroki?” Izuku’s voice was so soft. Shouto clenched his jaw against a fresh wave of pain. “I don’t want to push you, but I’m here, okay? Whenever you’re ready to talk.”
Shouto stood. He crossed over to the door and locked it. Instead of making him feel safe, as the gesture always did, he just felt trapped.
He’d felt like this inside that seashell-blue office. The distinct chemical smell lingered in his nose, and he could still see Enji looming between him and the door, could still feel him pinning his wrists down when he tried to flinch away from the orthodontist’s whirring machine.
Izuku stood too, but didn’t move. Didn’t get in Shouto’s space. He was so patient and nervous and steady, ready to fix Shouto’s problem without even knowing what it was.
Shouto opened his mouth. “I didn’t want to.”
Izuku gasped. Shouto’s mouth closed with a click, fresh pain shooting up through his gums. He glared down at the tatami matts.
“You got braces,” Izuku said dumbly.
“Not by choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father only cares about Hero Rankings.” Shouto resented the slight lisp to his words. His lips were still numb, his mouth full of cotton-wool dryness. If his speech wasn’t back to normal the next time he saw Enji, there would be hell to pay. “Even slightly crooked teeth could impact my public image. Can’t have that.”
He had always known that people thought he was attractive, but it never bothered him before. Now, with a skull-splitting headache, a mouthful of metal poking into his gums, and faint bruises ringing his wrists—now, it bothered him.
“Does it hurt?” Izuku asked.
Shouto shrugged. “Normally I can handle pain.”
“And this is different?”
“He’s always treated me like I’m an object,” Shouto began, curling his arms around his stomach, “or a pet. Something to be trained and groomed and paraded around for everyone to see.
“I can handle pain and discomfort. But this … he didn’t ask. He didn’t even tell me when he picked me up. I didn’t know what was happening until he was holding me down and the orthodontist was gluing metal to my teeth.”
“That’s not right,” Izuku said.
“Every time he does this,” Shouto said, “he reminds me that my body doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to him.”
Izuku’s expression hardened. He stepped closer, careful not to crowd Shouto. “You’re your own person, Todoroki. You’re not a pet or a thing. You don’t belong to anyone but yourself.” Izuku poked his left side and grinned, his eyes burning electric-green. “It’s your power.”
For the first time since Enji shoved him into a car that afternoon, Shouto smiled. “It’s my power.”
Izuku laughed and drifted close enough for their shoulders to jostle together, before bouncing for the door. “I’m going to make soup.”
Shouto blinked. “What?”
“Okay,” Izuku relented, “I’m find Satou and get him to make you soup. Or maybe I could manipulate Kacchan into doing it. Actually, Kacchan always makes soup extra spicy, and I don’t think you could handle that right now, so maybe not.”
Izuku nudged him back towards his futon. Shouto submitted to the manhandling easily.
“I’ll be right back,” Izuku promised, before jogging out the door.
Alone again, Shouto stared up at the ceiling. His lower face still hurt, an ache that started in his teeth and ended in his jaw, but he felt somewhat settled. Less ready to climb out of his skin.
When Izuku returned, he was weighed down by duvets and stuffed toys, his laptop perched dangerously on top of the pile.
He dumped everything on the floor, catching his laptop at the last moment. “Okay, I borrowed as many plushies as I could. Don’t worry, I asked first. I didn’t want to take any plushies that people need to get to sleep.”
Izuku laid a few duvets over him, then got to work arranging the collection of stuffed toys around him like an honour guard. He recognised Uraraka’s squashed kirby and Tsuyu’s keroppi, as well as half a dozen animal plushies that belonged to Kouda. Even Soft Might, Izuku’s plushie that lived on his bed, was placed around him.
Izuku paused. “Wait, do you want to stay here? If you want to go downstairs and be with the others, I can move everything—”
“No.” His throat closed. Panic tasted like iron and digestible glue, the sweet adhesive drying against his teeth. “I don’t want the rest of the class to see me like this.”
“They’re our friends,” Izuku reminded him. “They love you.”
“I don’t want to see their reactions. Even if they say nice things, it’ll still bring attention to what he did. And I can’t ...”
“Okay,” Izuku said easily. “We’ll stay up here tonight. I’ll talk to them. Make sure they won’t say anything.”
Izuku nudged Soft Might closer. Reverently, Shouto tucked it beneath his chin and imagined Soft Might leeching the pain out of his jaw. Izuku’s hand ghosted over his temple. His eyes fluttered shut. With worn felt against his skin, Izuku guarding his bedside, and the promise of soup in his immediate future, Shouto felt younger and safer than he had in years.
“Izuku?” Shouto murmured. “Thank you.”
Izuku’s hand pulled away. Shouto made a soft sound of protest and his fingers reappeared, gently soothing his fringe down. “It’s okay, Shouto. I’m here.”