Work Text:
" Unlike prepositions, which link words of unequal weight (showing a subordinate relationship), coordinating conjunctions ... "
The words blurred, letters melting into nonsense lines and unidentifiable shapes on the paper. Each stroke of ink seemed to shift and move on its own, like a horde of ants crawling over the paper, and even when Shouto pressed the pen tip to the words, underlining them with a shaky hand as if placing a guideline for where they were meant to be, the meanings wouldn't register in the fevered haze of his mind. Deeming finishing the lesson an impossible task for now, he let the ink pen fall from frostbitten fingertips with a ragged exhale.
The light from the window was starting to become less of a minor inconvenience, and more of a pressing issue, slowly forming a headache. He stood slowly, stepping towards the clear glass on uneven legs. Reaching up to pull the curtains closed became the problem, as the minute he lifted his head to see, vertigo struck, hard and fast.
Letting go of the fabric as he felt frost creeping into the fibers, he stumbled, turning to press his back against the windowsill instead. The back of his hand pressed over his eyes as he tried to steady himself, heart pounding with an unnatural quickness in his ears.
"God .. dammit." The words were strained, and he lowered his head, fatigue making it too hard to properly manage even something as simple as keeping his head lifted. An almost ghostly chill crept along his body, and he didn't have to look to know that his Quirk had activated, frost clinging to his fingertips, spiraling along his arm in patterns that almost would have been mesmerizing, had it been actually a voluntary choice. He glanced over at the small shapes and snowflakes that were buried beneath other layers quicker than he could blink, and his mind unexpectedly shifted to his mother.
...
( Cold hands.
Cold hands, holding onto his wrist tightly, but not painfully. Mom's hands were never painful, but always cold, and a little bit scarred from callouses. He remembered tracing the lines in her palm, delighting in the way she allowed him with her gentle smile. When she had turned it into almost a game of sorts, allowing him to trace lopsided hearts into her palms with his ice, he had been entertained for the few hours Endeavour was away. He had thought, before, that it was just a game to keep him occupied. Now he could recognize it for what it was — something like a reminder. A reminder that no matter how much he burned and Endeavour tried to melt away his stubborn resolve, until he was malleable enough to be compliant, he would always be himself. There would always be parts of him Endeavour couldn't lock away.
In any other world, perhaps, it would have just been entertainment. In the works of masterpieces and perfect Quirks, it was a whispered promise — don't forget about what I've given you, too.
This was not a memory of promises. And he was not a child playing games with his mother.
“ — You can't do this. You can't keep doing this. ”
Mom's voice. It was soft, gentle, and yet now it was sharper around the edges, hardened with a rare defensiveness. Shouto felt her hand squeeze his wrist almost protectively and he winced slightly at the feeling of pressure on an old bruise, from where he had fallen and caught himself badly with his hands. Mom didn't seem to notice, and he didn't mention it, not daring to invoke the monster's wrath.
“ He's only a child, you're going to kill him! ” Her voice sounded strained, as if raising it pained her. Maybe it did — Shouto couldn't count many times his mother had raised her voice at them , couldn't count many times she had raised her voice at all. Not in a place like this , where the walls were too thick and every cry only echoed back to them like a mockery.
His father's voice was heavier, louder, carrying the weight of a threat in every word he spat. No amount of playing pretend with his siblings in the silence of the night, no amount of acting as a strong warrior, could keep him from flinching, shifting to hide behind the woman. Soft blue eyes met his watery, uneven ones, and she nodded once, releasing his wrist and letting him dash off while Endeavour was still deep in his rant.
The next part was the bitter part. The part that stung. The part he remembered too vividly. The faces of his siblings peeking around the door, his own hands reaching out to grab Fuyumi's outstretched ones, and the sharp sound of impact behind him, followed by his mother's cry of pain. He didn't get a chance to turn around to check on the woman before Fuyumi was tugging him in the room, his brother shutting the door behind them — loud enough to make them both tense up for a moment, listening to make sure it hadn't been heard — but there was no cease to the muffled cacaphony of sound outside the room.
Shouto rubbed at his eyes, tears already spilling over as Fuyumi's hands — cold, cold, cold like mom's — tugged gently at his wrists, mindful of the dull bruises that still weren't healed.
" C'mon, don't do that, Sho. " She all-but whispered, as if afraid speaking too loud would make him hear. " You're gonna make your eyes hurt a lot, 'n then you won't be able to sleep. "
A scoff sounded from behind her, Natsuo passing back over to the two of them to stare, and Shouto 's eyes absently tracked the fading red streaks in his hair, part of him wondering why Natsuo had so little red in his hair, and another part of him appreciating the lack of resemblance to their father.
There was quiet for a moment, only broken by the youngest boy's quiet sniffles as Fuyumi held him close, and Natsuo's uneasy shifting, gaze darting between the door and his two siblings, caught between the buried jealousy towards Shouto and anger towards his father. Eventually he spoke up, voice laced with deep-rooted exhaustion.
“ .. Sounds like they stopped. ” He muttered, twisting the edges of his shirt between his hands before he scowled, grip on the fabric tightening as he vehemently shook his head. " Its not fair. Why's he keep getting away with this? Just 'cuz he's stronger than her doesn't mean he gets to shove her around. If that's what you gotta do to be a hero, then I don't wanna do it. "
" Natsuo! " Came the scolding hiss from the older girl, but her voice was wary and uneven as well, as if she wasn't completely sure she disagreed with him. Fuyumi presses her chin to the top of her baby brother's head for a moment before letting go, stepping back with a wary sort of determination in her eyes.
" It's okay. It's gonna be okay. We don't have to be heroes, you know? " She declared, and amidst the stares from her brothers — blankness from Shouto, curiosity from Natsuo — she continued, tone one of half-hearted cheer. " I mean, we can do regular stuff, you know? I was thinking about being a teacher, so I can help little kids. "
There was an unspoken truth hanging in the air, uncomfortable and tense, and silence fell over them again for a moment before Natsuo's lips twisted into a deeper scowl, and he let out a frustrated shout, kicking at the bedframe and making Shouto flinch and Fuyumi shoot him a questioning look.
" It's not fair. " He insisted, gesturing to the tight-shut doors. " Why's he have the right to get away with this? Why can't we tell anyone? "
His hands curled into fists, frustration curling in his chest like poison as he stared stubbornly at the ground, tears pricking at his eyes.
" It's bad enough that he kicks mom around like she's some kinda' ragdoll. But now, he's pushing Shouto past what he can take, too? " A choked sound, some mix between a sob and a scoff. " Why's he gotta screw up everything else, too? Wasn't taking Touya from us enough? "
"Natsuo!" Fuyumi gasped, but her next words were cut off by the door pushing open. Rei was silent as she stepped inside the room, hand shaped burn mark still visible on her face even in the dark. Shouto felt Fuyumi pull away from him as Rei reached down to lift him into her arms instead, and as tears welled in his eyes for the second time, all he could hear was her fragile, whispered apologies. )
The screen of his phone flickering to life was what drug him out of his stupor, and it took more effort than it should have to focus on the blurry notification over the wallpaper — an older picture one of his classmates had taken, of him, Yaomomo, and Midoriya working together on something.
[ 1 New Message.
[ — big bro natgeo [@cryoclastics] : Yeah, Shouto? ]
He sighed softly, cold hands fumbling for the phone to unlock it, but the Japanese letters on the keyboard didn't make any more sense than the English ones on the worksheet he had abandoned earlier, and typing proved impossible. He let the phone slip back onto the ground with a muted clatter just as the case began to decorate itself with icy fractals. As he pressed his eyes shut against the throbbing pain of an oncoming headache, he could see the screen flash to life a few more times, but the energy to even to get rid of the notifications was gone. He let his head fall back down, feeling exhaustion and weakness tug at his very core, before sleep sunk gentle teeth into his skin, dragging him into the muted warmth of a dream.
...
When Shouto opened his eyes again, it was dimmer outside, and the sunlight that had previously slipped through the curtains had all - but dissipated. He lifted a hand to his face, rubbing at tired eyes as he checked the time — 5:12pm.
[ 3 new messages. ]
He inhaled tiredly, exhaling in a ragged sigh as he picked the phone up, standing up with slight difficulty as he glanced out the window.
“ .. I should probably eat. ” He thought aloud as he ran a hand through two-toned hair, fighting the heavy haze of fatigue that still clung to him and making his way to the kitchen, glancing at the messages as he went and setting on answering.