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Shouto was scared. Fear wasn’t something new to him but this was different. Fire and violence, shouting and hitting, was something tangible, something he could close his eyes and wait out. It would pass, it always passed but this fear didn’t. He couldn’t hide from it, couldn’t fight back. They knew where he was, their hollow eyes following him.
Shouto was heading back to the dorms from the walk he had taken. Well, day-long walk. He had felt exposed back in the dorms, a sitting duck, and he need to get out and the anonymity of the crowd helped some of the tension ease.
But after a few hours of mindless wandering the streams of people thinned and he could feel their eyes once again. He was too recognizable. Shouto needed to get back to the dorms.
It was just on the outside of a park he saw something. A person who a few seconds before had stood still started moving as they saw him. The long, gray jacket clung to their frame and their hood was pulled up so Shouto couldn’t see who it was but it must be one of them. The wind picked up speed.
His heart started hammering and his palms got sweaty, but Shouto could take care of himself, he knew how to fight. He had a powerful quirk, and for once he was thankful for the rigorous training his father had put him through. His muscles tensed, and he took a deep breath, forcing it to become a little more steady.
The person, one of them they must be because why else would they look at him like that and move like that he could see the intent in their steps and in the mud on their shoes, was coming closer. Ice started creeping up his right arm and he clenched his fist. Any second now.
Five steps.
Fours steps.
Three st-
“Grandma!” A shrill voice called and only a moment later, the person with the jacket looked up and Shouto met her eyes for just a second. It was an old woman. A child ran past him, bumping into Shouto’s side, and grasped her hand. He blinked a couple of times, frozen in place as the woman and child turned around and walked back into the park. His leg felt a little shaky.
It wasn’t one of them. It was an old woman. Of course it wasn’t one of them. They didn’t exist. It was just in his head, yes. Imagine if his father saw him now, nearly panicking because of an old lady. A grandma. He was just imagining things, being silly. If he ignored them, they didn’t exist, they didn’t exist because they weren’t real and Shouto wasn’t thinking about them. Just like his sister said.
They couldn’t exist.
He ran back to the dorms, winds howling in his ears.
“Yo, Todoroki! Where you’ve been? You’ve been gone a really long time,” Sero asked from where he was lounging on one of the couches when he saw Shouto walk in.
“On a walk.” Shouto left in the morning when the sun had barely risen and now it was starting to set. How did Sero know when Shouto left? He wasn’t one of them, no one was because they weren’t real, right, Shouto knew this.
Sero raised an eyebrow but before he could say anything else, probably about the manga they both were reading, Ashido threw herself over him, laughing and pushing up her phone in his face.
Shouto took the chance and escaped up to his room. He couldn’t deal with people talking to him right now. He was irrational and he couldn’t let that rub off on anyone else. Didn’t want anyone to see him like that.
When he came to his door, he paused. It was unlocked. Didn’t he lock it? He was certain he locked it in the morning. Shouto could maybe ask one of his classmates if they knew if anyone had been in his rooms but maybe that would alert them that he knew something was up.
His hands trembled as he opened the door. The room looked just like it had done that morning. Homework was strewn over the desk, futon unmade and at the foot of it his backpack, still opened. Nothing had changed. No one had been in his room. He probably forgot to lock the door, because sometimes he did that.
An accident.
A mistake.
But then again, if someone had been in his room, wouldn’t they make sure it looked the same afterward? They had done it before, after all. Or had they? Natsuo said they hadn’t. They weren’t real but what if-
On the back of the door, a couple of blood red flowers bloomed.
Shouto was nine when he realized something was wrong and no one else knew. Red flowers grew where they shouldn't and wouldn’t go away. When Shouto had seen them the first time, stumbling out of the training room with bruised arms and a fading spirit, he tore them away from where they grew on the floor and threw them out. They shouldn’t be inside.
But they returned. His father didn’t believe him. His sister looked concerned. His brother asked him what they looked like. The flowers bloomed and Shouto wilted.
Over the years, the flower came and went. With them, they brought the strangers. Sometimes they were many and Shouto wasn’t safe and sometimes there weren’t any and Shouto was safe. Shouto wanted to be safe. He didn’t want anyone to be watching him, didn’t want to sit under his desk with his hands over his ears, trying desperately to block out his wall’s echoing, the screams of the scratched. They always returned, no matter what.
His dorm wasn’t safe anymore. His one safe haven. Flowers never got into his dorm, never at UA because Shouto assumed they couldn’t get in but they were right there, hanging and taunting him. One of the flower's petals fell and landed on the floor. It felt a little bit sacrilege.
A cold shiver went through him and he wasn’t sure how to breathe anymore. His room wasn’t safe, would never be safe again because the flowers were there and they weren’t supposed to get in. He slowly backed out of his room and closed the door. Minutes, or hours, Shouto wasn’t sure, passed before he could move again. He walked back into the common room. His classmates were there, at least a few of them, and that meant he was safe again because his classmates weren’t one of them, would never be, right? They wouldn’t lure them in, they wouldn’t let them in.
But they didn’t exist, Shouto knew this because Fuyumi told him and told him not to think about it but the flowers were there and Shouto knows what’s real and what wasn’t because he wasn’t stupid-
“Todoroki, did something happen?” Shouto barely suppressed a flinch when Midorya appeared in front of him. He shook his head.
“You sure? You look a little…spooked,” Midoriya said, eyes big and hands hovering in the air as if wanting to reach out.
“I’m fine.” Shouto ignored some of his classmates' looks as he made his way into the kitchen. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and hurriedly searched for what killed flowers. Salt, vinegar and boiling water. Maybe the flowers were just normal flowers that bloomed.
That could happen, right? He lived in a world where some people looked like fish and he was attending a hero school, filled with people with different and powerful quirks. It wasn’t far-fetched. Maybe someone’s quirk. There was a grass girl in 1B, maybe it was because of her. But wasn’t her quirk just vines? But vines were something that grew, so they could just as well be flowers.
He couldn’t be sure. He needed to be sure. So he just needed to kill the flowers and they would be gone. If he used fire, it could leave a mark on the door and if it was them, he couldn’t let them know he knew.
He started to rummage through the cupboards hurriedly.
“What are you looking for?” Midoriya’s voice startled him, and he turned around slightly to see that the other had trailed after him into the kitchen.
“Nothing important,” Shouto said as he slammed one of the cupboard doors shut. It bounced back open and with an annoyed huff and shoved it back, freezing it in place. He disregarded Midoriya’s surprised inhale and continued to rummage through the cupboards because he needed salt and vinegar.
He couldn’t tell Midoriya what he was looking for. Well, not say it out loud. What if someone listened? But he couldn’t find it. He usually never was in the kitchen, especially after having been permanently banned from cooking by Bakugou, so he had no idea where anything was.
“You must be real hungry, dude. I have some ram-” Someone started to say, but Shouto abruptly cut them off.
“No. No, nothing. It’s there”
He couldn’t find it. Had they known he was going to look for it and taken it away when he was out? He ignored the following question, slammed another cupboard shut and opened another, ignoring that at least three were wide open, and found a container with salt. He took it quickly, gripping it hard in his hand. He couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let anyone take it.
People were talking and he was still looking for vinegar because it wasn’t enough with salt, he had both things that were listed except boiling water. What did vinegar even look like? It was a liquid, that he was sure of.
Was it in the fridge? It could be in the fridge. He knew most liquids were kept in the fridge. Having abandoned the cupboards he shoved his way through two people talking, who, he didn’t notice, and opened one of the fridges. It was full of different types of foods, and a lot were labeled.
He had to pause when he felt his hands start to shake, and he realized he was completely out of breath. Two small hands landed on his shoulders and he flinched. They were quickly removed and held up in front of the person - in front of Midroiya. He was saying something.
“-doroki? Todoroki, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe,” Midoriya’s hands still hovered awkwardly in the air and his eyebrows were furrowed, eyes wide and gentle.
“I can’t find it.” He found himself responding, head rushing and hands still trembling because he needed to find the vinegar but he couldn’t.
“How about I’ll help you?”
Shouto trusted Midoriya. Well, at least as much as he could. He could help him. It was something minor, just vinegar, it didn’t matter. Maybe they would know, but they would eventually know anyway if it was them and Shouto needed to kill the flowers, to see if they were real flowers that would eventually die, if the vinegar and salt would push through the wooden door to the flower's roots and kill it. Shouto nodded.
“Okay, great. What are you looking for?” Midroiya asked as he carefully closed the fridge behind Shouto.
“Vinegar. I need vinegar.” Midoriya nodded and headed to the cupboard on the left of the sink, stood on his tiptoes as he reached to the back of it and pulled out a glass bottle. Shouto quickly strode forwards, grabbed it and after he read the label, breathed out in slight relief.
“What do you need it for?” Shouto didn’t like the way Midoriya was looking at him. It was not like how one of them would look at him, standing above the table and looking down but always disappearing when he looked but he knew how they looked at him could feel it, and it wasn’t-
It wasn’t like that. No, it was like how he looked at some civilian during a fight. Or maybe a scared deer. Shouto felt like one.
“Nothing, nothing. I just need it,” Shouto said, cradling the salt and the vinegar close before turning away. He ignored the questioning looks he was receiving, ignored the mess he had created in the kitchen, the stuff he threw out on the floor in his search, and ran up to his dorm.
He had acted strange, probably, but it didn’t matter. As soon as the flowers died everything would go back to normal and he would go back to normal. He tore the door open, closed it quietly, and fell down to his knees in front of it.
The flowers grew on the lower half just at the edge. Shouto didn’t know how he should do it so he opened the salt container and started pouring it over the flowers. After a minute or so, when the container was empty, he threw it away and screwed off the cap on the vinegar bottle, and processed to dump the liquid on the flowers. It smelled strongly and stuck in his nose, making his eyes water and a faint headache started to build. When the bottle was empty, he breathed out again.
He knew he could just tear the flowers out but that wouldn’t help the problem. They would just grow out again. He needed to kill them at their core.
A few days passed and the flowers hadn’t died. Now, a couple was growing on his closet. Midoriya didn’t ask him about what happened, didn’t ask him about the salt and the vinegar, but he looked at him. Uraraka and Iida did that too, sometimes.
Shouto wondered why.
One evening after getting back to the dorm, petals littered every surface of his room. The desk, the futon, the chair. One moment he was standing against the closed door, the next scrambling for the entrance to the balcony. He opened it, went outside and hurriedly shut the door, then leaned against it and breathed out.
The air was cool, with calm winds chasing the day’s warmth away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was outside the room and he had never seen anything outside the room. Yes, he was safe here. The flowers didn’t bloom outside, not the wrong ones. Maybe it was something with the air that kept them from growing, keeping them from taking root.
The sky was in a quickly darkening twilight. From the balcony, he could see the forest on the outside of the little glade behind the dorms. It was getting easier to breathe. He took a couple of unsure steps towards the railing after having frozen the door shut. He knew the ice couldn’t keep them away for long, but it would alert him to change.
But the balcony was safe, yes, outside was safe. He knew that. The flowers and their petals couldn’t get to him outside. But it could change. His dorm had been safe and now it wasn’t, so he had to be vigilant. Before, the whisperings only followed him at the house, now it did in his dorm.
His hands gripped the railing and he used the contanct to steady himself. The temperature outside was quickly sinking, but that wasn’t an issue with his heat regulation, a benefit from his quirk. Under he could hear a balcony door opening.
“God, why is it so warm inside?” He could hear someone complain, but he couldn’t place the voice.
“If you shitheads stop playing that stupid game, you wouldn’t need to fuck up my space heaters. Hey, turn them off if you’re gonna leave the door open!” Someone responded, and Shouto recognized Bakugou’s voice directly.
Its harsh and direct tones made it succinct, and he heard it often. Sometimes he found himself searching for it. Shouto knew he wasn’t one of them. Well, he could be, as could anyone, but out of all of his classmates, Bakugou was the least likely.
“Yeah, yeah, calm down, dude. Hey, Mina, you turning them off?”
Shouto opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and shifted so he had a better sight of the balcony under him. Light spilled out from the open door, and he could see someone, Kaminari, maybe, standing on the balcony with his hands in the air.
“Guys, you got to come outside. I’ve never felt more alive!”
“You said that yesterday when you were eating Sero’s new ramen,” Someone countered, probably Ashdio since it was a female voice. Shouto knew that much.
“Well, now I feel even more alive than then!” Footsteps followed and Shouto could see the outline of a few people. Someone leaned out and looked up and he hurriedly pressed himself against the railing in the middle, keeping himself out of sight. He couldn’t let anyone know where he was. Besides, he wasn’t up for talking to anyone.
“Hey, doesn’t Todoroki live above you?” Shouto felt himself freeze and he held his breath. Don’t breathe, don’t move and no one will notice.
“Yeah, I guess,” Bakugou answered.
Why were they talking about him? Had he done something? It was suspicious. They made sure he wasn’t out and then talked about him. People didn’t talk about him if it wasn’t about his old man or quirk. Shouto took in a silent, slow breath when his chest started aching.
“You guess? Yeah, sure dude. Like you didn’t already know that,” Another voice said.
“The fuck that’s supposed to mean, hah?” Shouto wondered that too.
“Nothing, nothing. Well, speaking of, hasn’t he been a bit…off these last days?” That sounded like Sero when he tried harder to place the voice.
“Yeah, I mean that whole thing in the kitchen was a bit weird.”
“Not like it’s any of our goddamn business.” Shouto liked listening to Bakugou. Liked the sound of his voice, the words he used.
“Yeah, and dude’s probably just stressed, with finals and everything coming up. Being the son of the number one hero sure gotta put a lot of pressure on someone.” It was familiar waters they started to tread. Yes, about his father, that sounded logical. It wasn’t them, his classmates weren’t them because they weren't Yes, they weren’t.
“True true. Wait, finals, oh god-” Ashido started before she was cut off.
“Anyways, who’s up for another round?”
The light shining from under started to diminish before it completely disappeared together with the voices at the slam of the door. His fingers tingled.
They couldn’t be part of them , no. They wouldn’t talk about it so openly. Sure, they looked up and didn’t see him but it was outside. The organization wouldn’t be so careless, no. Shouo had heard them talk and they didn't talk like that. No, they talked in codes that Shouto only sometimes could work out.
But what if they knew that, and it was a trap? No, no, it was his classmates. They had saved him, fought by his side. He could trust them. There were no flowers, no hissing in the walls and he was completely fine outside. He was safe here. Safe from them, safe from his father, safe from bright azure eyes and red that was draining.
The wind picked up speed, harsh just like Bakugou’s voice always was but it didn’t hurt. It kept them away, kept the flowers from growing.
He pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged them close. He hadn’t slept in a while and the tiredness was becoming too heavy to handle. He rested his cheek against his knees and closed his eyes. The wind dragged at his shirt and the cold started to surround him, but he kept it away. Before he fell asleep, he reinforced the ice on the door, making it overly chunky and spiky. He would wake if someone, if they, tried to open the door.
He fell asleep to the sound of the gentle, but so, so heavy wind.
He woke up before the sun, stiff and cold. The tips of his fingers didn’t have any feeling, but the rest of him was okay. A quick look at the balcony door confirmed that it was still closed. The ice had mostly melted and his socks were wet from the water that ran in tiny rivulets from the door. Shotou hadn’t slept long but he felt better than he had in a while. At least a little.
He had to go back to the house on the weekend. The flowers were there now too, but they always started just outside the training room. At dinner, he couldn’t eat. His sister had made the food, sure, but the flowers still bloomed and they spread.
The whole house was infected, the flowers had taken root a long time ago and were now so intertwined with the house that they couldn’t be separated. They were the same. The first night he took his covers and crawled under his desk, covering his ears and eyes as they stood and the walls hissed and the flowers shone, innocent but so, so guilty.
On Sunday he burned but the flowers thrived. His father raged, as he always did, and Shouto wilted. He ached and hurt and they whispered and they were coming for him. They were just waiting for the right moment to come. Shouto didn’t want them to. Didn’t want the hurt, didn’t want the pain and the burn and the boiling water. Didn’t want to die, not really, but they were going to kill him and it all started with flowers as red as burned and boiling flesh. They bloomed and promised horror and pain. Promised terror-filled nights and hopeless days.
Sitting cramped and hurt under the desk the coming night, he thought about escaping. Run so far away they would never find him again. He wanted his brother. He couldn’t remember which one.
The first night back in the dorms, he heard how they hissed and scratched against the walls and felt himself drowning. The flowers had let them in. They whispered to him in the morning. He told them to stop, but they didn’t. They never did. The flowers had let them in and they would never leave.
(“How do they look like?” Natsuo asked from where he sat in front of Shouto cross-legged. He whispered because he wasn’t supposed to be there. Wasn’t allowed to by their father. Shouto’s ten and his brother fourteen, and they hadn’t talked in ages. He was the only one who would talk to Shouto about the flowers, about the whispering and the hissing, the strangers and their horror.
“They’re red, with small petals and also some big.”
“Do you think you can draw them for me?” Shouto nodded and was handed a piece of paper that was missing a big piece in the corner and a pen. He looked at the ones that had started to grow on the floor under the window. Natsuo followed his gaze.
The flowers had been away for a while, but during the last weeks, they returned again. More and more, and the whispers more tangible. He drew it as best as he could, filled in what was supposed to be red, left the green stem uncolored. Shouto showed his brother who hummed in response, and gently pat him on the head. He only flinched a little.
“Can you draw the strangers for me too?” Shouto paused and his grip on the pen tightened.
“Hey, it’s okay, Shouto. I don’t think they will mind it. And besides, I’m here so I’ll protect you now.”
That sounded reasonable, so he thought of them. Thought of the voices, the towering figures that he could see parts of from where he hid. He drew what they felt like. Crude dark lines and whisky light ones. When he handed it to his brother, he frowned, eyes widened and the hand holding the paper clenching, before relaxing and quickly smiling.
“Thank you.”
“They don’t like you,” Shouto said because he needed to warn him.
“They don’t?” He shook his head in response.
“Do you know why?” Natsuo continued all calm serenity and careful movements. Shouto didn’t know why, so he shook his head again.
”How about the next time you see more flowers, or when you hear something, you-” The door slammed open, fire and anger burning bright in the doorway, looming over their icy skin and hollow veins.
The drawings were already hidden on his brother’s person, so they stayed safe from the smoldering heat. It was the first time Shouto saw his father hit his older brother. Well, the younger one.)
The constant fear was draining. The sleeplessness was also starting to get to him. His friends looked more worried each day (or calculating, maybe they-) and Shouto felt himself falling even more. They asked him questions sometimes, asked how he was. SHouto always told them he was fine.
Every other night he slept on the balcony, but that never got him more than an hour or two.
Every time he woke, he was colder. His hands became numb, when his feet, and one morning his arms. He could barely move his fingers. He wondered if his quirk worked with the cold, instead of against it. Some evenings he heard Bakugou’s door open, heard his steps and listened to the gentle sound of his breathing, and some mornings before the sun had fully risen he became more aware of himself when the door below opened.
Some nights he spend in the dorm because he felt too exposed on the balcony, but he never slept those nights. The walls were echoing, hissing and sizzling. Sometimes he saw them watching him from a window, with blurry suits and dripping emptiness.
When he looked at his classmates, he felt wary. Anyone could be one of them and he wouldn’t know until it was too late.
It all came to a boiling point on a Thursday when he was asked to stay behind in class by Aizawa.
“I wanted to talk to you about your last English test,” Aizawa said, something unreadable in his eyes from where he was sitting behind his desk.
But why would Aizawa talk to him about history? He wasn’t his history teacher. That was weird, almost like he was one of t-
Seeing his confusion, his teacher continued. “Kayama, and a few other teachers expressed concern regarding you. Especially on your last History test.”
Shouto’s brow furrowed. Had he failed? Why wouldn’t Kayama talk to him in that case, instead of sending Aizawa? Where the other teachers also watching him? The air was stagnant but the whispering, the whispers of horrible things and nothing at all echoed in his head.
“Why don’t you read through your first answer?” Aizawa asked, handing him a test he remembered taking a couple of days ago. It had been about the chapter on hero images. He barely remembered filling it out. He skimmed it though and his brow pulled down halfway through. It didn’t make much sense at all. Shouto didn’t remember writing it.
“Oh.”
He looked up and met Aizawa’s eyes, dark and heavy and Shouto still didn’t know what else.
“How is everything, Todoroki?”
“Fine,” Shouto responded on instinct.
He knew he wasn’t fine. Sometimes his father used to say he was messed up in the head, just like his mother. Not often, but it happened. He didn’t want to be sent away like her. His father told him to get over it, get through it. Shouto didn’t feel sick. No one could see the flowers but they were there. He knew what he saw, what he heard in the silence. How they were after him.
His sister said to not talk about it.
“School’s stressful now that finals soon are coming up, I imagine. Are you getting enough sleep?” Aizawa continued, seemingly not convinced in the slightest.
“Yes.”
“Okay, that’s good. How are classes? Can you focus well?”
Why did he want to know? He looked up at him once again, met tired and dry eyes and felt his chest swell. Or maybe it constricted. The thing was, the only ones who knew about the flowers were his family. They couldn’t see them.
But maybe…maybe someone else could? Aizawa was all no-nonsense, he wouldn’t lie to him. When Shouto took too long to answer, Aizawa frowned, hands clasping in front of him.
“You know you can talk to me, right? If there is anything. All of the teachers, really.”
But maybe it would be bad to tell Aizawa. He was an authority figure, and maybe he would send Shouto away as his father threatened with when he hid under furniture and covered his ears and cried in fear because they were coming for him and he had let them in, had let the flowers in and it was all Endeavour’s his mother’s Touya’s his fault. He didn’t want to go away, didn’t want to fade away in a dull room just like his mother. But maybe, he could ask someone else.
“Can I go now?” Shouto interrupted whatever Aizawa was saying. He knew it was rude but he needed to ask someone, anyone, that wasn’t Aizawa. He was met with a look that made him want to run far, far away from prying eyes and fake warmth.
“Sure. Just know I’m here if you need anything, okay?”
He sat on one of the couches in the common room, looking at his classmates a few days later. A few were studying in groups, others were cooking. If anyone else saw them, saw the flowers, maybe even heard them, they would be easier to get rid of. Then maybe the heroes could get on the case, track down whoever it was, what ever it was and it would be gone. The flowers would die, once and for all, and the awful noises would stop.
Maybe it was a villain. His father was the number one hero, had been the number two for a long time before that. He must have made a lot of enemies, especially considering his brutal use of force and severely lacking personality, his angry demeanor. He never thought of it like that before. It was logical. That’s why his family couldn’t see them because whoever did it made it so. Then someone must notice. The strangers, the voices, the hissing and whispering and mumbling and towering figures draped in blurry darkness and heavy shadows were because of that. If it was, then it could all disappear.
Right?
(“Do you hear that?” Shouto asked, looking up at his sister who was chopping something with a big, sharp knife on the kitchen counter.
“Hear what?” Fuyumi answer absentmindedly, as she cut through something thick.
“The flowers.” She drew in a harsh breath and put the knife down, turned around to him.
“Are they back?”
Shouto nodded, pointed at where they bloomed in the corner and under the fridge. His sister looked around nervously, checking that no one else was around, and dried her hands on her apron before coming and sitting next to Shouto.
“They’re not real, Shouto. Okay, so ignore them.” She took one of his hands in hers. It was still a little wet from what she had been cutting.
“But I can see them, and the walls make noises in the night and I think they’re watching me, they’re watching me becau-”
“Shouto. It isn’t real. There isn’t anything, okay?” Fuyumi interrupted hurriedly, the hands against his one trembling. When he didn’t answer, only continued staring at the flowers, her hands cupping his cheeks, turning him to face her.
“Listen. If- if you don’t talk about it, they’re not there. They only exist if you think about them, so, so don’t.” Her voice was strained and empty and sounded a little like mom’s voice had done, those last few weeks before-
“And don't tell Dad about it. You know he doesn’t like it.” A few of her fingers dug into his skin, nails leaving imprints. Shouto blinked and then Fuyumi started crying.
“So, so please Shouto, ignore them, and don’t mention them, okay?”
The blurry figures, shapes, shadows, outside the window got a little more clear, the whispering a little bit louder. His sister’s eyes were cloudy, hiding the sadness and loneliness Shouto sometimes knew was there.
He nodded.
“Okay.”)
He considered his choices. Midoriya had at first seemed like the obvious answer but he was too observing, too good at looking through everything. If he didn’t see any flowers, he would ask questions. Bakugou would be too loud about it, but he liked his bluntness, and for some reason he didn’t want him to look at Shouto weird.
It had to be someone he didn’t spend time with regularly, who he then could easily ignore. On the other couch Kirishima and Sato were talking, the former animatedly with big movements, gesturing down at the block of paper he was holding, the sudden raise of his voice having made Shouto startle.
Kirishima was a good choice. Yes, he was with them when they rescued Bakugou, was honest and straightforward. He was Bakugou’s closest friend, and that must mean something. While the others started gathering for dinner Shouto stood up and determinedly walked towards Kirishima. He waited until the other eventually noticed him.
“Oh, hey Todoroki, what’s up?” Kirishima said, arms coming to a still.
“I need your help with something.” Kirishima’s eyes widened minutely before he smiled.
“Sure thing. What do you need help with?”
Sato was looking at them curiously, anyone could hear them so he nodded towards the staircase and started walking, looking back to make sure the other was following him. He was.
When Kirishima caught up to him, he was on the first few steps of the staircase.
“Just a warning, if it’s anything school-related I might not be of much help,” Kirishima said, hand sheepishly scratching at his head.
“It’s not.” Shouto continued walking, heading towards his dorm room.
“Oh, okay. What is it then?”
He didn’t answer, didn’t find it important to do because he would soon know. It was when Shouto’s hand landed on the doorknob that he froze. If it was a villain who was behind all of it and had made sure his family couldn’t see it, then Kirishima must be able to. Right? That’s how it would work. The villain wouldn’t have reached all of his classmates. No.
But maybe they have-
Just as Kirishima was saying something, Shouto opened the door in one quick movement and walked inside, gesturing for Kirishima to follow and closing it behind him
“So what-”
“The door,” Shouto began, pointing at the flowers. “Do you see them?”
Kirishima paused, eyebrows coming together and lips thinning for a second before he took a step closer.
“See what?”
Shouto needed to know, so he had to risk a bit.
“The flowers.”
“Flowers? I don’t see any flowers. Where, exactly?”
A bit of salt remained on the mats under it, and it still smelled vaguely of vinegar. Shouto pointed at them, felt the bits of hope slowly drain out of him.
“It smells a bit though, like-” Kirishima stopped, looking at the empty bottle of vinegar lying just beside it. Shouto never bothered to throw it or the salt container away.
“It’s to kill the flowers,” Shouto said, feeling an unexplainable need to defend himself. “The flowers on the door.”
“There aren’t any flowers.” Kirishima looked at him with soft and open eyes, his expression pinched and hands hovering awkwardly above where Shouto pointed. “Hey. Are you okay, man? Do you need me to-”
“It’s fine.” He said quickly, feeling excessively angry all of a sudden.
Now one person more knew. Kirishima liked red. His hair was red, his hero suit, his hero name was Red Riot. His eyes. Red just like the flowers on the door, the flowers on the closet, on the window, and like the petals flying through the air, one of them landing softly and mockingly on his shoulder. He brushed it off with a shaking hand and opened the door.
“Hey, it’s okay not to be fine. Do you want to talk about it? Maybe we should go to Aizawa-sensei, he-”
“I said I’m fine!” Shouto said, screamed, he didn’t know, he needed him out no because his eyes were watching him and everyone was watching him, they were watching him. They had to know what had happened. The flowers, their petals following his movements, reporting his actions, spreading because they would come.
Kirishima took a step back, frozen, and without further ado, Shouto shoved him out and slammed the door shut. There were scorch marks on the wall beside the door. Shouto closed his eyes, breathed in, and took the knife he kept in the top drawer and crawled under the desk.
He didn’t sleep, on constant watch in case they were coming. His quirk didn’t work, or at least not enough, against them, not when they were around him. Ice refused to form and fire refused to burn. The knife made him feel safe. And if worse came to worst, he could decide when it ended, on his own terms, not theirs.
Every time he closed his eyes, he could see flowers and boiling water dripping down over the desk, burning the floor but never the flowers that remained unchanged. Shadows moved, figure looming and Shouto held his breath, covered his ears and cried.
He avoided Kirishima the following days. The other tried to talk to him, but he was quick to duck out, move away, pretend it never happened because they couldn’t know, because if they knew they would come for him and Shouto didn’t want to boil anymore. He always kept the knife on him, hidden in his blazer but easy to get to if he needed. He pretended not to notice Kirishima talking about him with Bakugou. Pretended not to see their inquisitive looks. If he didn’t think about it, it wasn’t real.
One day after class when he tried to study down in the common room together with Yaoyorozu the whispers got loud. He thought of his brother, of white hair and cool hands against hot skin, and put the pen to the paper he was supposed to be doing math problems on. He drew the flowers from his dorm, the petals and the stem, just like he had done when he was ten, sitting in a dark room opposite his brother.
“Can you draw the strangers for me too? His brother had said, so Shouto did.
Yaoyorozu leaned over, asking him something, and then stopped. A few minutes later, Shouto took his books and fled to his room. He continued drawing them during the night, drew the walls whispering and the horror and the fear and the harsh lines of reality.
There was something about Midoriya. Something off.
He was kind, caring and optimistic. Gentle but at the same time firm, understanding but also challenging and driven. He was the first to look at Shouto, really look at him. Was the first to look through the heavy walls of ice he used to keep everyone away, to keep himself safe and sound and away from harm.
He had looked through them and didn’t break them, but helped Shouto slowly melt them. Not all the way, never all the way because he needed them, needed something, but enough so he could see what was happening. At first, the ice had become transparent in some places, and he could watch what was happening, if slightly skewed.
Then holes had started to form that turned into small openings that Midoriya could drag him out through every now and then, and when it didn’t work, Midroiya could enter through and sit with him.
He was so, so good. Good in everything he did, everything he said, everything he was. Shouto had never met a kinder person. He had also never met someone so observing, either. He had started to think about that a lot more, especially ever since hero training a few days prior. Midoriya had been the villain and he had been good at it. Which, sure, Midoriya was good at most of what he did, was smart and adaptable.
But he was almost too good at it. The other had played the classmates that were fighting as the heroes frighteningly well. The class had been about specifically fighting against deception and Midotiya was the hidden villain.
Shouto realized, as he stood with the rest of the classmates that were waiting for their turn, observing the fight, how good of an actor Midoriya was. How good of a liar he was. The rest of the class had been shocked but quickly became impressed. Shouto just became…wary. Because he thought he knew Midoriya, at least a bit. And the one he knew wore his heart on his sleeves, exposed to everything and everyone all the time. He showed his emotions and acted on them and that had been something predictable about him.
They were good liars, too. The flowers, beautiful and vibrant, hid what they really stood for. They seemed pretty and nice but Shouto knew it was all fake. Once the flowers took root there wasn’t anything to be done but get away. He had lied under his covers many times, refusing to look at the red blossoming in the corner of his room. Had one time when he was young and their father was away, hidden his face in his brother’s shirt because he was safe. He listened to Shouto, helped him try to ignore the flowers, tried to protect him from them. Because where flowers grew, the strangers were.
The beautiful flowers were all a deception, an ironic foreshadowing, an agenda hidden in fragile leaves and unbreakable petals.
Midoriya was a little bit like a flower too. You would never expect pretty, pretty flowers to represent something much darker, to represent them , you never would have picked the flower, never accepted them, never bought them, if you knew what you were actually letting in. It was never about the flowers, the flowers were only a means to an end. That’s how they got you. Lured you with something innocent and beautiful, and then you could never get away.
Midoriya was everything good. But he was also a liar, a skilled actor. A pretender. And a greatly powerful, one. His quirk that seemingly never stopped evolving, that grew more powerful each day, mystic and wild. Wreathed in lies and shadow but pretended to be a still lake under a crystal sky.
Shouto watched him carefully in the coming days, and he never did anything suspicious. Midoriya was completely normal in everything he did, still smiled just as brightly and as often and nothing changed that. The flowers, no matter how much he inspected them, how much he tore at them and burned them and froze them, never changed.
He stared at them for hours, days sometimes when there were many of them and they never, ever changed. The petals were always the same red, the stem the same color of forest green. They never grew once they had bloomed, just stayed the same size and spread.
Just like Midoriya.
Shouto knew people had bad sides, knew people always hid something they never would want anyone to know. To the public, his father seemed like a great person, a hero, but behind closed doors he was anything but. He knew his own dark side. Had seen Iida’s that night in Hosu, a rageful hatred in eyes that used to be so, so calm. Saw his classmates’ from time to time.
The benefit of being quiet, of being still, was that his presence was often overlooked. He had heard Hagakure yell at her parents through the phones, seen Jirou and Yaoyorozu right, making snide comments for days before they made up. Had been on the receiving end of Bakugou’s excessive violence in training, his screamed insults and threats that often weren’t empty.
But never Midoriya. Midoriya was good, through and through. Was merciful in fights, even against villains, and so, so good. So, so good.
Shouto didn’t trust it, especially not after the hero training class. He saw a glimpse of him, of what the other is capable of and it scared him. Because in the beginning, the flowers had seemed kind. They were good and kept him company, but then the deep sounds started, the hissing in the middle of the night and the whispering during the days. They brought them to him and Shouto hadn’t known.
Shouto knew better now. He knew he had been retreating a lot socially lately. He always escaped to his dorm, to his balcony, or just away when there were too many people, too many faces that could be one of them or where they could hide. He never said more than necessary to avoid giving them something more, something they already didn’t know even if they already knew everything because of the flowers. But it would be overtly suspicious to completely ignore Midoriya.
Then he, and they, would know. They would know because they always knew, and Midoriya was observant. He followed Shouto constantly with inquiring gazes and piercing eyes, trying to look into his soul but Shouto wouldn’t let him.
He fell asleep on the balcony and woke shortly after to a single, red flower blooming on the railing. He had taken to using a blanket when he slept outside, but he woke closer then he ever had before. His room was filled with petals and both growing and dying flowers and the walls screeched. Shouto texted his brother and tightened the hold on the knife he had taken to sleep with.
On lunch one day when he stayed behind in the classroom, fully alone, he searched Midoriya’s desk. Went through his bag with a racing pulse and stuttering breaths. He didn’t find anything. Midoriya had probably knew he was on to him, knew that Shouto knew his secrets.
Of course he wouldn’t leave the flowers, the red blazing emblem of the strangers, somewhere Shouto easily could reach.
After classes the same day he wandered the school grounds aimlessly, waiting for time to pass, trying and failing to ignore the increasing whispers. The air was steadily getting colder and the sky turning dark more quickly. It was filled with something heavy, something foreboding that Shouto didn’t like. Didn’t like at all. Something was getting nearer and Shouto didn’t like it.
He was careful to walk on the edge of the school, away from most people but still close so that they couldn’t take him without anyone noticing. A group of four people sat on a bench tightly, talking. Were they looking at him? A glimpse of red caught his eyes and he turned around and walked away, in the direction of the dorms.
In the distance, he could see Bakugou and Midoriya talking. Well, more like fighting. It ended with Midoriya storming off towards the dorms and Bakugou aggressively kicking the ground, tiny explosions going off in his palms. He walked up to him, maybe after a few seconds or an hour, with firm and hurried steps. Before the other could start shouting at him or insulting him, he spoke.
“Did he try to give you a flower?” Shouto asked because he needed to know.
Maybe they were expanding, trying to get into more people’s lives and houses, and Bakugou, while he was an asshole, didn’t deserve that. And if they got to Bakugou, they could get to everyone. They could reach him much faster. That could be what Bakugou was angry about, he needed to know. The whispering increased, seeing through him and it was getting hard to concentrate.
“Hah? You making fun of me or something shithead?” Bakugou shouted at him but Shouto needed him to know, to understand. Maybe he had mistakenly accepted something, maybe someone, the strangers, Midoriya, planted something-
“Don’t buy their flowers, okay? Don’t accept them. That’s how they get you.” He needed to warn him, like how he warned his brother. Things were in motion and Shouto needed to be prepared, needed to get away, needed to-
Needed to-
“What the actual fuck are you talking about, Icyhot?” Bakugou didn’t shout as loud and he looked a little lost, hand clenching and then opening.
Frustration brewed under his skin, reaching the surface because he cared for Bakugou and he needed him to understand. Tears started brimming in his eyes and his chest hurt so bad but he needed him to know
“The flowers, okay? The red flowers! Don’t let them in.” Had his hands started to shake, or did they just never stop since the last time they started?
“Flowers? The shit you were asking Krishima about?”
Yes, yes, exactly Shouto nodded. The flowers. He started searching through Bakugou’s clothes, his pockets, batted his hands away when he tried to make Shouto stop. Held him in place when he tried to back off, ignored whatever he was saying because he needed to be sure. His chest ached and burned but it didn’t matter.
“Don’t let them in, you can’t let them him. Don’t let them in.”
“I won’t let them in, so calm the fuck down.” Bakugou’s voice was a lot calmer, but it was as steady and harsh as always.
“You won’t, right? You can’t, you can’t, so don’t because you won’t work in them, so, so don’t.”
“I won’t, alright. I won’t do anything I don’t fucking want to. See?” Bakugou held out his hands in front of him, and Shouto patted his arm one final time. “No fucking flowers.”
Shouto felt something in him become a little less heavy. Shouto nodded, opened his mouth and tried to speak but nothing but rasping breaths came out.
Shouto met his eyes and felt the tears start to spill over, roll down his cheeks in slow movements. Slowly, the blonde reached out, and Shouto let him. Let him place a grounding hand on his shoulder, let him start to steer him back towards the dorms. Shouto looked around, was careful so he would know if they came. The whispers and mutterings in his head were a constant and he shook his head to get them to stop but they didn’t.
Through the large windows of the common room, he could see Midoriya and Kirishima talking. His breath caught.
Were they talking about him? Did they talk about the flowers? How they were going to hurt him, how the strangers would show up and Shouto would boil and burn and hurt and ache because that was all he could seem to do? He didn’t want them to. He wanted to be okay but he never was, and he couldn’t be as long as they were out there.
They followed him and would never stop, flowers growing where they shouldn’t and spreading. When he found himself gently guided in through the door of the dorm, he froze. The air was filled with whirling petals, red like his blood spilled in the training room, like the swelling on Natsuo’s cheek where he was hit that evening, like the boiling water and the flowers and the tables and the benches and the eyes and everything and nothing.
They had gotten to his dorm, to his balcony, to the common room. They had gotten to Midoriya, to Kirishima. He never should have asked Kirishima about them because he revealed that he knew, that he was trying to figure it out.
They didn’t like that, never liked that. That’s why they never liked Natsuo because he would try to make it more bearable for Shouto. Would tell him to draw whenever the voices got too loud, to think of soba and bright winter days when the flowers never stopped blooming, dropping petals and petals but never losing one.
Midoriya was one of them. Had he always been? Or did they get to him? Did they enter his mind, slowly taking over the boy he knew?
He was close to All Might. Very close. All Might trusted him. Did he manage to deceive All Might too, or did he know? Was a a part of it too?
He looked up and realized the two of them had the attention of most of the room. The tears wouldn’t stop and Shouto was so, so afraid because they could be anywhere and anyone. Like that old lady, the grandma, from his walk that day. Maybe she was been one of them too. Maybe that child as well.
Shouto didn’t know because how was he supposed to know who the strangers were? Who lingered in the shadows, whispered everything and nothing and hissed through the walls, trying to get through, trying to get to him. Watching him with imposing figures that never had a face, because they couldn't. That’s how it worked but Shouto didn’t know the rest of the rules. Just knew that they were going to come for him, going to hurt him so, so bad and maybe his brother too, because they didn’t like him.
His mom was easy to get to, maybe they would come for her too because they knew it would hurt Shouto. None of the flowers Shouto had gotten her last time he visited had been red, hadn’t been one of them, but they were flowers. What if the red one was hidden? Midoriya knew a lot about his mom, about him and if he was one of them-
People were talking, Bakugou trying to get him to move, saying something but Shouto stood frozen still and watched as Midorioya started to walk up to him, the petals glittering and swirling around in the air. It looked morbidly beautiful, in a way.
But if Midoriya and All Might were part of the strangers, anyone else could be as well. He needed to get away, needed to run far, far away so no one could ever hurt him again or maybe he just needed to jump off the roof to be completely sure like the voices whispered sometimes.
He shrugged off the grounding hand on his shoulder and started to walk towards the stairs, couldn’t run because what if they realized and pounded on him? He walked but Midoriya walked after, calling his name, taking his arm and at the bottom of the stairs, just outside the elevator, he-
“Todoroki! What’s happening? Are you-”
“Leave me alone!” He knew fire didn’t do anything against them, knew ice didn’t, but he couldn’t keep the flames from blossoming up from his arm.
“I won’t- the flowers. It won’t work, okay, I know you’re one of them so stop pretending you’re not!” Shouto screamed and the voices shouted in his head, not whispering anymore and the people in the common room had stopped talking, he could only see a few of them but they could see him, hear him.
But they couldn’t hear the shoutings in his head. His classmates could shut up but not them and he needed them to be quiet, for once. Backed against the wall, flowers quickly blooming and shadows forming figures that were trying to drag him down, he hit his head with his hand, trying to get everything to stop. He told them to shut up but they didn’t. They wouldn’t listen.
Midoriya reached for him, was saying something, and Shouto tensed. He hit his head once more, but they wouldn't stop and Midoriya was going to kill him, was going to take him to them and they would boil the rest of him and he, he couldn’t handle that, he couldn’t, not again, never again-
He stopped, let Midoriya get closer to him, nearing him like Shouto was a scared animal and not like Midoriya was one of the strangers and planned on eating him. He quickly dove to the side, took hold of the back of the stranger’s head, used his faux confusion and bashed his head against the wall, as hard as he could. The flower people had to get out.
People screamed but he turned towards the stairs and ran before anyone could get to him. He couldn’t breathe but he needed to if he was going to continue to run. He grabbed his knife, tore it out of its hiding place and grasped it.
Footsteps were coming closer and he was slowing and flowers now bloomed in the corridor and the building itself hissed at him, the shouting in his head making it hard to focus, making it hard to think. Something reached him, grasped him so he pressed himself against the wall and stabbed at whatever was getting nearer. He missed, but the person, the stranger, the shadow, he didn’t know, took a step back and he got away. Tore open the door to his room and froze everything, his room or the whole building, something, everything. They would get through but it would give him time to think.
He couldn’t go out the way he came through, so he would have to get out by the balcony. Yes, that was a good idea. Get as far away from the strangers as possible, get to safety and then he could plan forwards. The walls hissed and an awful screeching noise echoed. He reached for the balcony but when he opened the door he screamed because they were there .
People in shadows, heavy and dark and they were on his balcony, and they were going to torture him and drown him and kill his brother. They didn’t have faces, they never had, but they were there and Shouto slammed the door shut. He was trapped. He couldn’t get away. His quirk never worked against them, often didn’t work around them, and all he had was a knife. He froze the balcony door, froze the walls and everything his eyes could reach.
His phone, which lay on his desk, rang. He inched forwards, avoiding the flowers and everything that could hurt him, ignored how he was completely and utterly trapped, and looked at who was calling. It was Natsu. He answered.
“Hey Shouto, I got your mess-”
“Nii-san.” Shouto cried into the phone .He hadn’t called him that in a long time. The ice was getting broken and the shadows started creeping in through the doors and Shouto was going to die and he couldn’t breathe.
“What’s happening? Are you okay?”
It was nice to hear his brother’s voice. His brother knew how to protect him, promised to do it. Touya couldn’t protect him from their father but this was different, right?
“They’re back and oh my god the table always turns nii-san, they’re here now and they want to hurt me again and I don’t want that.” Shouto started sobbing when the handle on the balcony door turned and the strangers started slowly creeping inside. He screamed and screamed and his hand stung as he crawled under the desk.
“-re are you? Shouto? Hey, you’re going to be fine, I promise. It’s scary but it’s going to be alright, okay?” Natsuo said, way too calm for what the situation required. Didn’t he know Shouto was about to die?
“No no you don’t understand, you don’t know them. I do, they’re Midoriya and the red one and the grass girl, they’re all them and they’re coming in suits when they shouldn’t.”
“You’re in your dorms, right? I’m on my way, I’ll be there in, fuck, an hour, but I’m on my way.”
“No, no you have to get here now please nii-san, please I don’t, I don’t, just, please-” The shouting in his head stopped, turning once again into a whisper but now it seemed mocking, they didn’t need to shout because they were here. They knew it and were taunting him. Shouto cried harder.
Natsuo was still talking but Shouto couldn’t listen. Could only focus on the sound, the wall and the air and he froze whatever he could but it wouldn’t work, it never worked. It never worked against his father, never against anyone who actually wanted to hurt him, so it didn’t work against them. It couldn’t. That was how it worked.
“I- I got to go, nii-san. They can’t know you hear them, they can’t because then you’ll, you’ll turn to the sky and that doesn’t work with the books and the leaves, it doesn’t so I have to go”
“Shouto, hey, it’s alright, stay with me. Okay?”
He shook his head even though his brother couldn’t see and hung up before he could change his mind. He was training to be a hero, a hero his mom could be proud of, not like his father, and good heroes didn’t put their brother in harm's way just because they were scared. When it started ringing again he froze it, then crushed it.
But heroes could still cry, his mom had told him so, so he did.
When he could hear the door slam open, he cried even harder. Begged them to go away, to leave him alone, but they wouldn’t listen. He pleaded with them, but they didn’t care. Steps were getting closer and then, suddenly, his ice stopped working. He held his breath as he saw dark legs outside, and grasped the knife close.
This was it.
They were talking to him, saying his name but Shouto wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t be distracted. He couldn’t be distracted. That was how he got hurt, how he burned and boiled and ached and hurt. Heavy tears continued streaming down and Shouto was shaking, his entire being, his blood and his heart and his liver and his hands.
He let out his breath, tried to breathe in again but it didn’t work. When he saw the figure, the stranger, one of them , start to come down lower he felt nauseous. Focused on not puking, on not moving an inch but he couldn’t stop shaking. He could feel eyes on him, but feel them watching, but he didn’t dare to move. Didn’t dare to look at the faceless face with eyes that weren’t there but were still watching him.
Slowly a hand reached out and slowly grasped his hand that was holding the knife. They were still talking, saying something and Shouto was so scared, and with a hitching sob shaking hands dropped the knife, and they took it.
They had never come this far before, had never touched him, and Shouto didn’t know what to do. The hands disappeared together with the knife and Shouto stared straight ahead, dragging his knees up and hugging them close to his chest, trying to become as small as possible. Prayed to anyone that would listen that he would be okay. He just wanted to be okay.
Something they said caught his attention.
“-outo. Hey, Shouto. I’m not going to hurt you.” Why were they still trying to deceive him?
“S-stop. You can’t, please, don’t, I don’t want to boil again, please, I don’t-” Shotuo sobbed before he continued heaving, coughing and crying. He buried his face in his knees, trying to close everything out.
“I’m not going to, you’re o-” He shook his head, stopped listening and covered his ears because they were still lying to him, always lying to him. Maybe they believed their own lie, just like Fuyumi did. His hands were still shaking and it was hard to keep them pressed against his ears but he managed, he had to.
For a second his ice came back and but before he could freeze something, anything, with it, it disappeared again. Time passed but he didn’t know how long, just that he cried and tried to block the world out and screamed and ached and hurt and so, so scared but the stranger, one of them, never moved. Never touched him, and now and then his quirk came back. It almost felt a little like-
He dared a quick look at the figure and realized it was Aizawa.
“Sen- sensei?” Shouto whispered, the confusion making everything still for a second, making it stop.
“Yeah kid, It’s me. Your homeroom teacher. Do you remember me?” He asked and Shouto stared at him before he nodded. Yes, he knew him, remembered him. He protected them against villains, convinced his father to let him stay in the dorms. Asked him if he was okay. Aizawa only helped them.
“Okay, good. Can you tell me what is happening?”
Didn’t he know? Didn’t he see them? See the flowers and their deadly and mocking petals, the shadows that turned into them . What if they were going to come for him, too?
“They’re here, t’re here because the fl- flowers, l-let them in, they’re here.” Shouto’s voice broke a couple of times but he finished the sentence because there was danger and his teacher needed to know.
“Who’s here? Villains?”
“I don’t, I don’t know. The flower people and them and they’re going to kill me and, and Midoriya, he’s one of them, or they got to him, they all are and I-” Shouto paused when he realized something. Aizawa had always helped them, yes, just like Midoriya had always helped him. His stuttering breath caught and his eyes widened, and he scrambled back so far he could go.
“You’re one of, of them, of them -them too, aren’t you?”
Aizawa, the stranger, whoever it was, quickly shook his head.
“I’m not, I promise.” Words weren’t enough, would never be enough. His brother said he would take him away but he never did, his mother that she would always love him. Words didn’t work against his father, against the burning pain that dull aches that never want away, not really.
“Then why-” Shouto coughed, tried to breathe but it came out stuttered and staggered. “Who are, why you he- here?”
His teacher never came to his dorm, never went inside, never broke open the door anytime else so why would he know, if he wasn’t one of them? He had ample opportunity, as a teacher and prohero, he could observe and know what the flowers said.
“I got called here by your classmates who were worried about you.” Right, right, Shouto had bashed Midoriyas’ head against the wall but the rest of them didn’t know why, they didn’t understand but what if all of them were-
No, not everyone could be. Or maybe they could? THe whispers said anyone, everything could.
“So the flowers didn’t tell you?” Shouto looked back towards Aizawa, who was kneeling on the ground with his hands raised placatingly away from him. The knife was far away against the wall.
“No, they didn’t. Should they have?”
“No, no, no they only tell them, but they’re everywhere, and, and they know and the grass girl and the old lady and Midoriya-”
“What do they know?” Aizawa asked and Shouto started sobbing again, because how could he even begin to explain?
“They’re after me and I don’t want to die, sensei, I don’t want to, I don’t-”
“Okay. So people are after you and they want to hurt you. Is that correct?” His teacher sounded so understanding and gentle and he got it, and Shouto nodded.
His sister never wanted to talk about the flowers and the strangers, always too worried and stressed and sad, and his father just burned brighter and much more dangerous when he mentioned them. Natsuo hadn’t been home in a while and Shouto hadn’t talked to him about it since he was eleven and he would tell him to draw something, to think of something better. Shouto missed him.
But now he talked with Aizawa who was their teacher, and a hero. Aizawa was a good hero, his mom had said so when he talked about him. But-
“Why did you take my knife?” Shouto inquired, accused, whatever, he needed to know. Aizawa was a hero and good heroes like him help weaker people like Shouto but he took his only defense and that was suspicious.
“Because you were hurting yourself. Look at your palm,” Aizawa sounded genuine and Shouto’s eyes flickered down to his hand and oh-
On his palm was a long, deep cut. Had he grabbed the knife by the blade? Aizawa was a hero so he protected people against others, even themselves. That seemed logical, and the knife was far away, for he wouldn’t use it to hurt Shouto. He couldn't without Shouto noticing. Okay. Okay.
“Do you know where they are right now?” Aizawa’s voice came suddenly, and Shouto slowly inched towards the opening of where he sat under the desk, and peeked out. He bit back a scream and felt new tears flow down as he pointed towards the balcony and the door.
The faceless people were watching him, their suits a void and the flowers were spreading and he would never be safe again because they were in and wouldn’t leave. He hurriedly crawled back inside under where he was more protected.
“They’re outside?” Aizawa asked, sounding concerned but just as he did on the field. He was in hero mode and that was safe, because that meant he was going to protect Shouto because he always protected his students.
“And inside.” Shouto nodded to himself and when a petal fell right beside Aizawa, he motioned for him to come closer, dragging him by the arm so he would get closer to the desk where there was cover. Always look for cover in unknown situations, he knew from hero class.
“Do you know what they want?”
“To hurt me, I don’t know, to get in, ‘cause that’s what they do, they get in and don’t leave and I don’t want to burn again, please, sensei, I don’t want to, please, I don’t-” A hand landed on Shouto’s own hand that was still clinging to Aizawa’s arm, and Shouto stopped talking, trying to breathe through the crying, the fear and the terror and the overwhelming sense of end.
“Okay, you won’t. I’m here so no one will get you, okay?”
“But what if, what if you’re one of them?” Because Shouto didn’t know, because how would he? “Like Midoriya.”
“You’ll have to trust me. I know it’s hard but I’m only going to protect you, not hurt you.” Aizawa spoke slowly, hand warm against Shouto’s. The flowers couldn’t get to him, they couldn’t because Aizawa was there and Shouto trusted him, he did, but-
“What about Midoriya then?”
“How about we’ll deal with that later? For now, it’s just you and me, and I’m going to protect you.” The voices whispered still, whispered how the horrors to come, of the lies written in his teacher's face and in his voice, his deceit and-
“They say you’re lying,” Shouto said and waited for his response. The whispers didn’t like Natsou. They didn’t like Aizawa. Said awful things about him, about his intentions.
His brother had never hurt him, and the voices didn’t like him. Maybe-
“I’ll do my best to prove that I am not.” That must be the answer he wanted, because he felt himself leaning more again his teacher, burrowing down against him.
“You’ll protect me?” Shouto sounded small, he felt small, wanted to sleep and never wake up again. Wanted to be protected and cared for, wanted to trust his teacher.
“Always,” Aizawa responded and Shouto tried his best to believe him.
“From the flowers?”
“Yes.”
“From them ?”
“From everyone.” Shouto cried more and leaned against Aizawa heavily.
“I just want to not be hurt anymore, but they won’t go away, sensei,” He said, feeling the need to explain himself, to get Aizawa to understand.
“That must be very hard, but you are doing great Shouto.”
His teacher continued talking, softly and clearly and Shouto clung to him and tried to trust that his teacher would protect him from the flowers, from them , from everyone. Shouto was so, so tired. Had been tired for years, since the first flower bloomed and the first drops of blood were spilled, from when the sky burned and what was became what had been.
He was tired of being scared, being afraid. Time passed, voices and other noise souned, but Shouto only focused on the gentle voice of his teacher, on hand against his, until eventually, everything faded.
When Shouto woke up, he was completely drained. The first thing he noticed was the gentle hand in his hair and the warm person he was leaning against, another hair soft against his back. He slowly blinked his eyes open but he didn’t recognize where he was. There weren’t any flowers, so he must be okay. He felt calmer, safer, even if the whispering still echoed in his head and the awful fear and paranoia crawled under his skin. He felt cold, just like how he did when he had used to right side too much.
Voices started filtering in, and it took a while for him to be able to make out what was being said.
“...been like that for years now, and it’s only gotten wo-” Shouto blinked again, drifted for a minute, or an hour, he didn’t know, but when he came to the hand on his back was gone. He groaned tiredly, started moving, blinked in the world.
“It’s okay, you’re safe Shouto,” Someone- Aizawa said and Shouto shifted, realizing he leaned against him and he flexed his right hand and found that it was firmly curled around Aizawa’s upper arm. He couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, or to care. He just wrapped the hand firmer, leaning into the hand that was caressing his hair, just like his mom used to do when he was younger. The world, Shouto, everything, felt hazy and dim.
“Where..whe-,” Shouto tried but his throat was sore and he was far too tired to continue the question. Luckily, Aizawa must have understood because he responded.
“You’re at my place. It’s early morning, so you have slept for a couple of hours. We gave you something calming, so If you feel weird, don’t worry.”
Time passed and after a while, he felt a little more clear, but the mist still hung heavy.
“Are they gone?” Shouto asked because he needed to know.
“I hope so. I never left your side, so you’ve been safe when you slept.” Shouto hummed in answer. Memories of the night before slowly started trickling in, one after another. He remembered-
“What ab’t Midir..Mido- the green, the green one,” Aizawa huffed a short laugh.
“He’s fine. Just a light concussion that recovery girl immediately healed.”
He felt relieved because he remembered how he had hit the other’s head against a wall, when he only had been trying to help Shouto. Right? He had been trying to help Shouto, nothing else, he wasn’t one of them, wasn’t, but what if he wa-
“Is he mad at me?”
“No, not at all. He’s just very worried about you. We all are.” Aizawa answered, voice still so gentle and soft that Shouto felt himself start to tear up. He buried himself deeper against Aizawa, trying to disappear in the fabric of his shirt.
“But it’s going to be okay Shouto. You’re going to be okay.”
Tears pooled out of his eyes, slowly wetting his cheeks and then his teacher’s shirt but he didn’t care. He wanted to be okay. He fell asleep again.
The next time he woke, Aizawa was still there, Shouto’s hand still around his arm, but his brother was there too, sat next to him where he was laying against Aizawa on a couch. His cool presence, just like their mother’s, was calming.
“Nii-san,” Shouto said, finally releasing his grip on Aizawa so he could throw himself against his brother. Natsuo immediately put his arms against him, and held him against his chest.
“Shouto, you’re okay, everything’s okay, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to get you help and everything’s going to be okay. Fuyumi just stepped out but she’ll be back soon, and we’re going to be okay” He spoke fast, words tripping over each other and Shouto wasn’t really sure who his brother was trying to reassure.
He remembered the other brother he had had, who was draining red and white and used to cup his cheek, dry his tears. Who used to protect him, who hated him and who loved him. Natsuo was like him, in some ways. The good ones.
“It’s going to be okay Shouto, I won’t leave you again”
Shouto reached for Aizawa, held on to his brother and cried. Cried for a lot of things. Touya, the father that never loved any of them, the mother that did but not enough, for the things he saw that no one else did, for the things he knew was wrong with him that he wished weren’t.
He had never cried for those things before. It felt like a start for something new. What, he didn’t know, but something different. Maybe something better.
“Okay.”