The King is Dead

The Unparalelled Stupid Kachaan

Shouto doesn't want to go to the hot spring. Mineta had already bothered him about his scars when he was fully dressed, there were more to be seen if he only had a towel on.

He showers instead, washing off today's sweat from his body and even taking a few moments to himself, standing in cold water and focusing on his breathing. The water had fluctuated, turning to searing hot and freezing cold. It was too much like mother's hands.

He shuts the water off, dries himself, and then walks over to his bag. He sees Midoriya outside, carrying that child from yesterday. He looks like he just stepped out of the hot spring, his hair damp and a small towel at his waist.

He ignores it. Midoriya's business isn't Shouto's to know. If only the other would also keep to that ideology.

He looks through his bag, pulling on boxers and joggers. He makes for a t-shirt, when he pulls it out he's met with a familiar scent.

It's Hizashi.

Shouto's lip starts to curve up, he slaps a hand at his mouth and burns. He isn't allowed to do that. He burns low enough not to leave a mark but hot enough to remind him of father. The smile doesn't return.

He pulls the shirt on, the scent makes him think of his new home. He wonders what Hizashi is doing now. Probably sleeping, worrying about Sensei. Or maybe he's different while he's alone. Maybe he's rowdy like when he's out, maybe he drinks and invites friends over like he said his friend does.

When father drank, it didn't sound so fun. It sounded like pained screams coming from his own throat and an occasional huff of laughter. It sounded like a camera flashing on his weak form and it sounded like threats to expose his weakness to the world. Father always did like to document when he was drunk, like he wanted to take notes for later. Or maybe he liked to watch whatever videos he captured, saw them as a movie and laughed at the pain he managed to draw from his child.

When Shouto drank, it was calming. Warmth would fill his icy veins and he could see clearly again, without the mist in the windshield or the lack of emergency brake. He was in control of what he did.

He hasn't had a sip of father's alcohol for a long time now, Aizawa-Sensei keeps too close of an eye on him.

Shouto traces a finger over the print on the shirt as he walks. He doesn't know what band it is but it's American he thinks. The words are English, anyway.

The others will be at the springs for a while, he has time to try and sleep, if he wants. Or he could go look at the stars and tree-line like he did yesterday. A pro or teacher might come bother him but it could be quick. Maybe.

He feels tired, weak in his limbs like he's been standing for days on end. His arms have to be up in front of him, he has to endure the cold. He can't sit down. Keep your arms up. Don't fail father again.

It only makes things worse.

He walks around the campground for a while, the wind feels nice on his damp hair, almost like when mother used to use chilly hands on him, to make the lingering heat go away. He likes it. That's one of the few good memories he has that hasn't been altered to be less true than it is. It's pure and genuine; he likes to remember mother's hands in his hair.

"Oi! Todoroki!"

Shouto stops in his tracks, turning dumbly to face a lit room with the sliding door wide open. Aizawa-Sensei and the stranger from earlier are there, playing a board game of some kind. Aizawa-Sensei raises his hand and curves a finger to beckon Shouto, Shouto listens and walks toward the two men, the taller of the two has him on high alert. He tried to hit him earlier, which means they must've hired someone to do the dirty work for them. Does he accept that or run? Does he take the beatings because he knows he deserves it or does he take off and never come back to his home?