Surge • Shoto Todoroki

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⚡Hayame's POV⚡

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"If you want it so bad, then you go."

"No."

"nO."

"DAD!"

I felt a smack on the back of my neck and heard Yo's exclamation of "ow."
My father had just hit both of us, claiming that "we were arguing really loudly."

Mother arrived home late from work, visibly tired. My dad suggested we get take-out because he didn't want to pay extra for delivery. Naturally, I recommended the best place in the world to eat. They serve my favorite ramen and my mother's favorite soba.

My dad told Yo to go get it, but predictably, he resisted. He then decided to involve me, asking my dad to tell me to go, even though I had just come home.

"How about both of you go?"
I stared at my father as if he'd suggested something utterly absurd, which he did. Spending even ten more minutes with Yo at that moment might lead to me becoming an only child.

"Pa, seriously, Yame can get it super fast. Why should I go?" Yo complained, his arms flailing around for emphasis.

"I'll go!" I volunteered excitedly, a brilliant idea forming in my mind.

My dad's face lit up. "You see, Yo? You should be more mature like your sister here." I nodded with a straight face as my dad gave Yo a mild scolding.

"Daad, you know, I was also thinking that I could pick up some ice cream for myself. You know, since it was a pretty hard entrance exam and all the hard work and—"

"See? She's manipulating you!"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"That's enough from both of you." That was mom, her irritation palpable, and it prompted both of us to fall silent.

I was strategically positioned behind my dad, so I stuck my tongue out at Yo, knowing he couldn't see me. My dad handed me the money, and I dashed out before my mother could say another word about my little gesture towards Yo.

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I decided to stroll at a regular pace, partly to irk Yo, and partly because my thoughts were consumed by the encounter with stranger Shoto.
He was an attractive guy who I probably wouldn't have the chance to see again unless I made it into U.A.

The thought occurred that I should've asked for his number, but that might've come across as too forward. 

As I entered the shop and got ready to place the order, the cashier asked, "Take-out?" I nodded, and for the first time, I took a proper look around the place. That's when I noticed a familiar tuft of hair. I couldn't help but grin—it was Shoto!

He appeared to be nearly finished with his soba. I thought about approaching him, but then self-doubt began to creep in.
What if he didn't remember me from the subway?
Or what if I just came across as intrusive?
I found myself hesitating, my mind warring between the desire to talk to him and the uncertainty of how he might react.

I hate how insecure can be

Just as my internal debate reached its peak, Shoto looked up and noticed me. If only I could spontaneously combust on the spot, that would be fantastic.
He hesitated for a brief moment before offering a tentative wave.
Summoning whatever courage I had left, I took a step forward, internally applauding my brain for finally giving me some semblance of control.