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Tomorrow was the day of the sports festival. The sports festival where Shouto would be paraded around like his father’s prize horse, where he would be expected to dance and fight just as a proper hero student should.
It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Wasn’t anything worse that what Shouto had to live with on the regular.
And yet he couldn’t stop the pounding of his heart as he thought of the crowds watching him, the whole world’s exceptions of him just the same as Endeavor’s. For Shouto to be strong, for Shouto to be a winner, to be the best. It was right, after all, the son of the number two hero. If he didn’t win, he would be a failure in the eyes of the whole of Japan, possibly even the world. And if he won he would be playing right into Endeavor’s hands. Right into the goal Endeavor had beaten into his skin, the goal that Shouto had fought so hard to not be defined by.
Every second that passed by, every minute that grew closer and closer to the day of the sports festival was a second that weighed heavily on Shouto’s soul. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking and each breath ran ragged.
He ignored his sisters attempts at a greeting as he got home, immediately chosing to run to his bedroom.
He pressed his fingers to his skull. His quirk was twisting inside him, boiling hot then burning cold, an incessant agony of change that he couldn’t control.
Nothing in his life was in his control.
Except…
Maybe…
He had a plan. It wasn’t very thought out, but it was there. A comforting thought in the back of his mind that helped take him through the darkest days.
Not suicide, Shouto wasn’t that far gone. He still wanted to live, just wanted to live freely.
No, there was another option.
He could fake his death.
Fake his death, and there would be no expectations for him anymore. Todoroki Shouto would be dead, nothing to pin him down. A free man. A spirit walking amongst the living, no more chains of expectations.
He was moving before he even fully processed the thought. A small bag stuffed with essentials, as little as he could get away without the risk of anyone noticing them missing.
A minute later and he was shimmying down the drainpipe, using his ice to stabilise it when it strained under his weight. He dropped to the floor, the moon his only companion.
How to die, was the question.
He couldn’t leave behind a body, for there wouldn’t be one. He’d left his phone behind so couldn’t use that to look up possible ways.
A drop of rain fell from the sky, sliding down his face and dripping off his nose.
Rain.
Water.
There was a river nearby. It would explain the lack of body, and it wouldn’t leave a trace.
Perfect.
It wasn’t far to walk, wasn’t far at all, not with a mind pumping full of adrenaline, not with the song of freedom pounding through his heart.
The river was quiet, water flowing against the bank. Shouto slid his shoes off and laid them next to the bank. Dew soaked in between his bare toes. He needed more. He ripped his hoodie off, tearing his shirt off and replaced his hoodie. He let the fabric drop into the bank.
He’d miss them, but he could always get more. Shoes and shirts were barely a drop in the ocean compared to his freedom.
He flicked his hood up as he walked into the night, leaving Todoroki Shouto behind with his shirt, left to drift away into the river.
~
The sports festival. This was the year Shouto would be an entrant in it, and Dabi knew he was going to win.
There was no doubt he’d got into UA, no way Enji’s little masterpiece had failed the recommendation exam.
Not with his perfect quirk.
Dabi watched over the rim of his glass, arm slumped over the edge of the bar as he glared up at the screen. He already knew the bartender was judging him for drinking so early, but whatever. Dabi needed it. Liquid courage, or whatever bullshit people liked to call it.
The start of the sports festival was interrupted by a short announcement, a newscasters bored face blinking across the screen.
Todoroki Shouto: missing?
Dabi was instantly alert.
His shoes found by a river, but no sight of a body. Apparently the official statement was that he was still alive, despite Endeavor’s melodramatic claims that Shouto was dead, never to return, taken by the villainous rot infecting Japan. The newsreader clamoured for anyone to find him, and apologised for interrupting the events before cutting back to the festival.
Dabi was no longer interested.
Dead? No shit.
Faking his death was Dabi’s thing, and Shouto wasn’t going to take his place. Amateur. Hadn’t even left part of his body behind to trick the investigators. Even if that hadn’t been Dabi’s intention at the time, it had worked out perfectly.
Enji hadn’t come looking for Touya, but everyone would go searching for Shouto. The precious child. The golden boy.
Well then. Dabi would just have to find him first.
Without even a word to the bartender, Dabi strode off into the city.