Heart Of Gold

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Shoto slams the door to his bedroom shut, swiftly locking it. It doesn't do much to muffle the sound of his father's shouting—it practically shakes through the floorboards.

The old man came home unexpectedly early from some hero operation and upon finding Shoto outside of his room, tried forcing him to do some training. Of course, this involved attempting to force Shoto to use his left side. When Shoto stubbornly held his ground and only used his ice, his father flipped out.

Nothing unusual. This wasn't new to Shoto.

For some strange reason, though, Shoto wasn't able to block out his father's screaming with his usual desensitized indifference. Today was different, for some reason. His heart suddenly picked up in his chest, and his lungs felt like they were being crushed into his ribs.

As soon as Shoto's hand left his doorknob, his vision blurred.

Shit. Tears.

Shoto hurries towards his bed, practically falling into it with the way his limbs seem to give up on him. His body just isn't cooperating with him today. The tears burn at Shoto's eyes; bitterly resenting and frustrated as they leak down his face. He rests his head on the sill of his open window, hating the sound of his crying but unable to put a stop to it.

Shoto's skin seems to buzz with pure, radiating hatred.

The damn bastard. Why can't he just give up already? Does he not get that Shoto wants to be a hero without using his Quirk? The Quirk that brought so much pain and suffering to their family? To Touya-nii, and to his mother, and to him?

Shoto hates the way a sob hitches in his throat at the thought of his mother. His scar feels like it's throbbing. It's searing and sharp, yet dull—a bit like his memories of the whole thing.

Perfectly clear, yet numbingly dull.

His heart hurts, heavy yet squeezing in on itself in his chest with each hiccuped sob. They ring out into the air, filling the silence of the night.

I hate him. I hate him I hate him I HATE HIM—

"Hello?"

Shoto freezes, stuttering on his breath as he tries to hold another sobbed sniffle from slipping past his lips.

Wh—

Who said that?

The voice calls out again. It sounds like a boy—probably a kid around Shoto's age, give or take a few years.

"Hello? Is someone there? Are you okay?"

Shoto blinks twice, bringing a hand up to wipe away the stray tears clinging to his lashes.

Ah.

He takes a deep breath, tilting his head upwards towards his screened window.

Someone must be in the alley between Shoto's house and the neighbors'. Since his window's open, they probably heard him while walking out on the sidewalk.

This neighborhood's usually pretty quiet, after all.

So, Shoto clears his throat before speaking out against the window, "I'm in the house to your right. I'm fine. You can go."

"Ah, I see."

Shoto squints, but he can't see anything outside, it's basically pitch black out, and the screen definitely doesn't help.

"Um. Are you sure, though?" the voice asks. "You don't sound okay. I know that I can't, y'know, do much, but I can listen? If you'd like?"

A blatant rejection is at the tip of Shoto's tongue, but it slowly fades away. There's something so...disarming, about this stranger's voice.