Chapter Text
"I have some news for you, Toshinori." Torino Sorahiko clicks his tongue down the phone on a Tuesday afternoon. The sky is just beginning to fade from blue to orange, and the old man's only comfort is the pile of taiyaki on the dining table — plus the hero on the receiving end of his call. "You need to promise me that you'll be calm."
A loud laugh resonates from the other end, "You have too little faith in me, old man! I'm capable of being perfectly reasonable."
He snorts, running his thumb over the lip of his cup of tea. The day has run him down considerably, especially after a very sudden change in his lifestyle plans. Instead of being on his back, his cloak is hung up on the coat rack beside the front door, which is something Sorahiko never does. He likes the comfort of his hero outfit; it keeps him feeling much younger than he actually is.
"Come on, Gran Torino, don't be like that!" Toshinori's voice pounds through his eardrum, and Sorahiko finds himself having to pull the phone away from himself. Typical.
Wincing, he picks at the plate in front of him, taking a bite from the steaming food, "Just...promise me you'll keep your cool."
Toshinori is silent, debating his options, and Sorahiko waits patiently, chewing absentmindedly on the taiyaki. What he needs to say is important enough to hold on.
"Alright," he can hear his old student shuffling to get more comfortable in his seat. "Let's hear it."
"...I have a child living with me at the moment."
That's only just scratching the surface of the matter. In truth, Sorahiko doesn't really know where to start this long conversation that he's been anticipating with Toshinori, especially with a case so unusual.
Shimura Tenko is his name; a name incredibly familiar to Sorahiko. He's a small kid, at just five, but the dead look in his eye ages him at least another five years. The kid is unlike any he's ever seen before and Sorahiko is at a complete loss on how to even approach him. It's a miracle that he even managed to gain the trust he needed to get him to his home.
To make matters worse, Tenko hasn't strayed from the tiny corner in the spare bedroom since they arrived. If Sorahiko were to initiate conversation now, it will be even closer to speaking to a brick wall.
"A child?" Toshinori asks incredulously. "I didn't take you for a man who'd be interested."
He swallows the rest of the taiyaki in his mouth, "I wasn't planning on it, to be honest...but it's unusual circumstances."
"How so?" Toshinori hums, surprisingly calm — which is certainly not what Sorahiko has been expecting.
Giving the phone a suspicious side-eye, he clears his throat, "His name is Shimura Tenko."
Something similar to glass crackles on the other end of the line, and Toshinori falls so silent that Sorahiko has to check the screen several times incase he's been hung up on, "Hey, you still there?"
"O-Oh, yes, yes, I'm here." he clears his throat. Sorahiko almost smiles at the awkward tone in his voice, but now isn't the time to tease him for showing something other than pure confidence. "So...the child is related to Nana? Is that what you wanted to tell me?"
"Yes," he replies slowly, taking a sip from his tea. "Grandson, is my best guess...but there's more."
Toshinori exhales loudly, "What happened?"
"He...I found him sitting in the rubble of his home." he says, his body giving the slightest shudder at the memory. "I've never seen so much blood in all my career."
It's clearer than ever in his mind now. He remembers the way Tenko was trembling in the dust, the way his hands were drenched in blood up to his wrists. A pair of shattered glasses lay nearby, and Sorahiko spied clumps of loose hair scattered on the grass. It was something out of a horror movie, or a nightmare that he'd been trapped in.
On the other end of the phone, Toshinori exhales shakily. He can't see the same things that Sorahiko can, but just a brief description is enough. He doesn't know if he can bring himself to go into further gory details, so Toshinori will just have to take what he can get, "I see...has the boy spoken about it?"
He almost laughs, "He's unresponsive. I've heard him speak only once or twice. He told me his name and that he might hurt me, but that's about it."
"Do you think his quirk is responsible for the damage?" the other man asks.
Sorahiko nods, even though Toshinori has no way of seeing him, "Yes, I do. He disintegrated the chest of drawers in the spare room. Looked absolutely terrified though, so I don't think he has any control over it."
"A new quirk then..." Toshinori muses. "Did you get any idea who his parents might be?"
"No," his eyes cast downwards at his empty hand flopped across the table. The room is beginning to grow darker, but Sorahiko can't bring himself to reach for the light switch. "He told me they were dead, but he didn't give any details."
"Do you think....?"
Toshinori doesn't want to finish off his sentence, so they fall into silence for a few moments. Sorahiko rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, closing his eyes briefly, "Yes, I do, Toshinori. And I don't know what the logical next step would be."
"The police will come for him," the younger warns his former teacher. "And they'll lock him away for a pow—
"—the Hero Commission won't get their hands on him," he grits his teeth together, shutting down any possibilities with the potential to work their way into his head. Tenko single-handedly destroyed his home life, he'd be considered an immediate danger and especially with a quirk that caused nothing but destruction. "He's just a kid, Toshinori! I can't let them do that to him, not when he has a chance for a future."
There's a pause on the other end of the phone, and Sorahiko almost wonders if he's decided to hang up, but then Toshinori sighs, "So then what?"
"I don't know." he admits, picking aimlessly at the taiyaki. His stomach churns just by looking at it now, his mind plagued with earlier memories. "I destroyed any evidence that he's still alive. As of now, Shimura Tenko is dead."
"You can't be serious—"
"—I am." he interrupts, unnervingly calm. "Do you have any idea what his life would be like if I left him? Everyone would know, and he'd be alone."
Toshinori exhales deeply. Sorahiko can hear the exasperated expression on his face, not that he can imagine it too well. As All Might, he's impossible to catch without his smile — a trademark for the Symbol of Peace. Toshinori, after all, has a reputation to maintain, but Sorahiko doesn't doubt that it's draining him out.
"You seem to have this figured out, so I don't really understand why you're asking me." Sorahiko jolts out of his zoned state when Toshinori speaks again. "I'm not good with children."
"I want to know what you would do anyway." he tries to reason. "You're the only one I trust with this, Toshinori."
He huffs out a small laugh. It's hollowed out, "I'm flattered."
"Don’t get cocky." his reply is just as empty. Toshinori doesn't reply immediately, but he's expecting that. He sits with the phone pressed to his ear, drumming his fingers on the dining table. Tenko's presence in the house might not be noticeable, but Sorahiko can feel it anywhere and it's shaking his nerves. Having someone else in the house isn't normal for him, he's grown way too used to being alone. The property is, truthfully, swallowing him whole with its size. It's enormous for a man so tiny, but once upon a time it wasn't a problem — not when he stood at a towering six feet in his youth. For a moment, Sorahiko wonders if Tenko will be able to fill out the empty space in years to come.
"You want my opinion," Toshinori clears his throat suddenly. "So I'll say this; I think you should take him on."
"I was worried that you'd say that."
"What—don't ask me if you don't want to hear it, old man!"
"I do!" he snaps back, sinking down into the oversized chair. Aggravated, he leans his head back to stare up at the wide expanse of the ceiling. "Living with a hero is no life for a child."
"I doubt he'd have a normal life anywhere else, from what you've told me." Toshinori muses. "This might be his best chance now, and you knew Nana better than anyone. I think she'd want you to take him."
"He might not want to stay with me." Sorahiko tries to reason with him, his head snapping forwards again. His fingers wander towards the taiyaki plate, picking another up between two fingers and stuffing it into his mouth. The nausea he's been feeling has vanished, but it dragged on for so long that the cakes aren't as satisfying as before. They've been left out in the air for too long.
"You don't know until you ask." Toshinori points out. "He could take your surname, it'll rid him of his past life and prevent people finding out that he's still alive."
"I guess...Torino Tenko sounds a bit strange, don't you think?" his voice is muffled by taiyaki.
Toshinori smiles, he can tell, "I think it's good."
Sorahiko shakes his head frantically, dragging his gloved hand across his face. What is he thinking? He's a hero, for God's sake, there's no room for children in a job like that. Toshinori has even admitted that him before, "I don't know if I could be reliable enough. He needs someone to be dependent on."
"I was dependent on you for a while after Nana!" Sorahiko flinches at the increasing volume. "Have some faith in yourself, Gran Torino. Maybe he'll do you some good."
That left a strange atmosphere lingering in the air. Even when Toshinori ends the call, he leaves him with a simple instruction; "Think about what I said."
So he does, and allows the open-plan kitchen and living room space to fall into unsettling silence. He examines the empty phone screen in his hands for a few moments, catching the light from the ceiling, before tossing it aside. Toshinori has a point, as much as he hates to admit it.
Torino Sorahiko isn't put off by the idea at all, which is the weirdest part. For some reason, he even feels partly elated at the idea of being Tenko's legal guardian. Of course, he doesn't for one minute believe that he can fill the hole in the kid's heart left by his parents, but he's content with that. Sorahiko is too old for someone so young to think of him as his father, he's pretty sure.
Shaking his head again, he buries his head in his hands. The idea is too stupid to fathom.
His eyes rake over the half-eaten plate in front of him, mind drifting to the isolated boy upstairs. Guilt eats away in the back of his mind; he's been down here all this time without thinking twice about Tenko's loneliness, but he's struggling to build up the courage to face him. For the first time in a long time, he's become awkward around someone else — a child, to make matters worse. He doesn't know how to approach him. Should he tip-toe around him? Or be forward and open?
He picks the plate up in his hands and shuffles from his seat. It's not too heavy, but a strange weight crushes down on him as he moves towards the stairs. The silence amplifies every sound of his movements, so much so that Sorahiko wonders if it leaves tremors in Tenko's bedroom floor.
Torino Sorahiko is no good with children, and he hasn't even thought twice about the idea of having any of his own. He's glued to his work constantly to the point that it's the only thing that fills his head, so there's no room to ponder over his locked-away paternal instincts. However, he has a terrified five-year-old boy stuck in the corner of the spare room; the catalyst for the rusty cogs beginning to slowly rotate in his head.
Tenko is being kept in the room furthest along the corridor, with the hero's bedroom being closest to the staircase. For that reason, the journey drags out even more than usual and gives him enough time to build up anxieties. He just doesn't know how to behave around him, let alone how he can help him back into society Sorahiko doesn't immediately go into the room with those thoughts on his mind, and spends at least five minutes shifting his weight from foot to foot outside the door. When he does, though, the reality of the situation punches him straight in the gut.
Tenko has his arms hugged to his chest, hands tucked safely behind his bent knees. The boy is no longer huddled in the corner, which Sorahiko acknowledges as progress, but with his back to the bedside table. Right by his feet, a pile of ash – which was once a dresser – has accumulated in the shape of a mountain; he's obviously piled it up himself, and stares wide-eyed at it like it's about to jump and swallow him up. Tenko is so transfixed on the what-was-once-furniture to pay Sorahiko any mind, which just unnerves the man all over again.
The carpets are cream, which settles into the back of his mind when he spies the ash – those stains aren't coming out. That same colour splashes the walls, too, as well as the bedding. The only real colour in the room comes from the darker curtains and the light oak furniture, even if there's minimal. It's not big or flashy, but a boy like Tenko would easily become dwarved.
He clears his throat quietly and breaks the ice first, speaking as he would to an animal he doesn't want to spook, "Hey, is everything okay?"
Tenko jumps three feet out of his skin, his entire body shuddering. He almost kicks over the grey pile on the floor, but manages to angle his feet enough to narrowly avoid it, and locks his elbows in their position to prevent his arms escaping the cage.
"Hey," Sorahiko repeats, taking a few steps closer and setting the plate down on the long chest of drawers leaning against the wall. He comes closer after that, leaving just enough breathing room to keep Tenko at arm's length, "It's only me, no one else....are you alright, kid?"
The boy is a deer caught in the headlights, gaping at Sorahiko as if he's just fallen out of the sky, "I—um..."
He raises one of his hands, smiling as warmly as he can, and reassures, "It's fine. You don't need to force yourself to speak if you don't want to. I just wanted to check up on you. You haven't eaten since you came here, have you?"
Tenko hesitates, eyeballing the plate just at the edge of the drawers. The rim is just over the edge, giving the boy just enough to spy what lay on top. His gaze flickers between the man and the plate a few times, silently weighing up his options. When the wait drags out to the point that it's painful, Sorahiko goes to say something again, but Tenko beats him to it with the shake of his head.
Neither utter a word as Sorahiko brings the plate towards him, and Tenko gives him the bug-eye stare the whole time. It's strange to watch, so Sorahiko keeps his interest on the plate of taiyaki rather than the boy.
The plate settles on the carpet without a sound, excluding the grating sound of cotton against china as he nudges the plate towards him, "D'you think you could stomach something? They're sweet, but they're filling."
Tenko doesn't have the energy to protest, judging by the shadows underneath his eyes, and a small hand reaches out towards the plate. Sorahiko feels some sense of accomplishment, until the boy freezes up when his fingertips brush against the food. Tenko bites down on his lip, the shuddering returning as his eyes gradually begun to threaten to fall out of his skull. His hand pulls away as if he's been scalded.
The old man watches him carefully, not rushing into action to avoid any slim chance of Tenko spooking. Instead, he holds out until the shivering calms to something barely noticeable. Progress is important, no matter how big or small, so Sorahiko suppresses any urge to do something for a while; Tenko's trust is too precious. Still, he did manage to touch something without disintegrating it.
"Would you like me to pick it up for you?"
Tenko regards him cautiously, and Sorahiko can hear the cogs turning in his head. He bundles his hands up his lap, eventually turning his head down to stare mournfully. The skin across his knuckles is drying up like his cheeks, travelling further up his arm gradually and discolouring to a sickly-pale grey.
Eventually, the child nods his head as he cradles his hands. Sorahiko cracks at the seams as he watches Tenko's hesitant movements, his long black hair shrouding his face from view. He's so vulnerable and tiny, and Sorahiko is terrified of breaking him.
Still though, Tenko has given his permission, so the hero carefully picks a piece from the plate and brings it ever closer to the boy. When the taiyaki travels far enough to be under his nose, Tenko finally raises his chin up to inspect – with great reluctance.
If the interactions haven't been dragging out before, Sorahiko is convinced that this is the longest. It takes a painfully large number of seconds before Tenko can muster the willpower to ease the tension locking his jaw in place and take the smallest bite from the edge. By the way he's treating the snack, Sorahiko might as well have laced the taiyaki with poison. Though, if Tenko isn't enjoying it, he doesn't show anything on his face to give the impression; he's just a blank slate.
"You said your quirk activates when you touch something, yes?" Sorahiko asks, keeping his arm steady as Tenko eats. It's a sore subject to begin with, sure, but he already knows where he's going with this.
Tenko pauses chewing, choosing instead to stare with a wild look in his eye, as if something vulgar has passed Sorahiko's lips. As expected, he attempts to put some distance between them and turns his head away from the old man. It's looking already like a dead end conversation, and it's only just begun.
Until, that is, Tenko surprises even himself, "Yes."
No child should carry a voice like that, Sorahiko's first thought is, not one so hoarse and drained. With a monotonous tone like that, it's hard to tell what Tenko might be feeling in that moment, and Sorahiko is left to rely heavily on intuition and body language.
"I–I see," he says purely out of surprise. "Well, when your fingers touched the taiyaki, it didn't get hit by your quirk. D'you think it only works when you use five or four?"
He doubts Tenko has looked at his quirk that way, and he's proven right when Tenko flashes the most dumbfounded expression at him. In fact, it's the most emotion he's shown all day, so Sorahiko staples it into the front of his memory for safekeeping. Still, that look doesn't quite reach his empty eyes.
"Think about it," he continues, diverting his eyes from Tenko's face to gesture to the dust on the carpet. "When you disintegrated the drawers, how many fingers did you use?"
Tenko follows his gaze, wrapping himself up tighter when he settles on the ash, "Five."
Sorahiko nods his head in thought, rubbing two fingers on his chin, with Tenko analysing every subtle move he makes. He's already had suspicions about what Tenko's quirk can do, but it's still a very new power. He highly doubts that the boy has done anything else with it since it manifested.
"Would you be able to try something for me, kid?" his head tilts downwards to get a look at the other. Tenko has one wild eye trained on him from a small parting between his hair. "It won't take long, and I won't force you to do it if you don't want to."
Tenko stays quiet for a moment, "What...what do you want me to do?"
Sorahiko holds out the taiyaki that he still has in between his fingers, keeping an arm's length distance between them, "Try putting one finger on it."
He looks at him like he's stupid, flicking his gaze between man and food. Sorahiko musters a warm smile, "I'm not worried about your quirk, if that's what you're thinking."
The boy's expression doesn't move even with reassurance, and for a moment the rejection sets in, but one small hand slowly uncurls itself from inside its cage. He reaches out with a trembling arm, the arm's length distance shrinking between them. Sorahiko's attention is no longer on his face, coaxing him along by putting the taiyaki closer to him. Then, one tiny index finger touches the edge, pressing down on the sponge so lightly that the pressure isn't even noticeable, and the tension between them falls apart at the seams.
"Just as I thought," Sorahiko grins widely, reaching out with his free hand to tentatively pat his head. "Could you try two fingers?"
Tenko maintains the wide-eyed stare, flexing his fingers, "I can...touch..."
"Sure you can, quirks always have limitations."
With his encouragement, Tenko gains enough confidence to press against the taiyaki with the addition of his thumb. Again, the snack doesn't shift.
Tenko gasps quietly with wonder written all over his face. His body is trembling again, but Sorahiko chooses not to let it get to him this time around, "Think you could try three, kid?"
He does with more confidence this time, and repeats with the fourth. However, Tenko's luck runs dry when his pinky finger brushes against it; the snack crumbles into nothing but grey dust.
"I suspected that it was five fingers that triggered the quirk," Sorahiko says, brushing the ash from his palm. "At least you know now though in case..."
Tenko's trembling form grows worse, and once again his eyes threaten to pop out of his skull. Retracting his hand as if he's been burnt, he frantically looks for his words, "I–I'm sorry! It...it just, um–"
"Don't stress," he waves his hands in the air dismissively, plastering his smile back on his face. "It's not a big deal."
"I destroyed it." he states, mournfully watching the dust scattered over the plate. Some has sprinkled over the other taiyaki, which completely defeats the point of Sorahiko getting Tenko fed, but it no longer matters.
"Yes, you did, but that doesn't make you a bad person." he explains. "You can still hold onto things, and if someone gets stuck then you can just destroy what's holding them down. Any rescue hero would love a quirk like yours."
Tenko's body jerks at the word 'hero', shrinking in on himself, "Not...not allowed to talk about heroes..."
Huh. That's a new one.
Sorahiko frowns, sitting down properly on the floor, "Why not?"
The boy calculates his response very carefully, gaze down casting and his arms wrapping around himself, "Father doesn't want me to."
He sighs to himself, propping his head up on one hand which balances on his crossed knee. Sorahiko has no idea what Tenko's upbringing is like, but this is the first time he's heard of someone who banned hero-talk in their house. Personally Sorahiko doesn't understand it, but who is he to judge?
"You can talk about heroes with me, then." he replies carefully, still smiling.
Tenko spares him a glance, fingers digging into his biceps, "Really?"
Sorahiko nods, gaining the courage to ruffle the black locks on the boy's head, "Yeah, you can. I do things differently in this house, kid."