Cyclone - Shoto Todoroki

Prologue

No more 'I love you' no more 'Goodbye'

It was summer, and the cicadas were chirping, an incessant stream of audible vibrations. It was hot; the boiling heat of July, and he could feel the sweat dripping into the tatami mats below him, seemingly drowning him in his shame.

His father had long since left him.

He wonders absentmindedly if he was Abandoned or liberated, beaten or reformed? He wasn't sure, his father had told him it would make him stronger- that the pain would fix him, mending what was broken and welding it into an impenetrable defence.

And yet Shoto didn't feel stronger. He felt so weak he couldn't move, pinned down by the agony and the sweltering summer heat. Powerless against nature's flames and his fathers searing fire..

—

Shoto was angry.

There was an incensed, angry- enraged villain clawing in his chest, his heart pounding with the force of its desperation. The self-restraint was beaten into him, fused into his very being by the melting heat of his fathers inferno.

And yet...

He wonders if this is how his father feels, if this 'villain' was inherited, a fucked up legacy of violence and burning hellfire. Shoto wonders if his father had once been the same way as him, falling prey to the ocean of fiery rage that feeds on their blood.

But how could he ask such a question now?

He bowed his head, looking down into the warm, bright eyes staring up at him- betrayal and regret shining in the irises that were once so cold, so all-consuming in their intensity.

His fathers lips parted, tears shining in the moonlight as he uttered his final words.

''Shoto... I'm sorry.''

He heard a thump as his hands went lax- and it all hit him at once.

His father was going to die.

His father was going to die, and there was nothing Shoto could do.

His eyes, a blue so bright they haunted his dreams- But in the light of the moon, they had never looked so gentle.

His voice- once so loud and relentless in its forecity, had sounded so weak, so fragile and drowning in... remorse.

And regret was something that Shoto couldn't even begin to fathom the implications of.

He moved before his head caught up, hugging his fathers body as he grew cold. Forgoing his hunger for revenge, he held the once blisteringly hot skin to his chest in a tender embrace.

Shotos eyes were shaking, dipping between the lines of nightmares and reality, between hysteria and apathy.

What had he done?

But he knew what he had done, and was well aware that there was no turning back.

—

He was a villain now, and Endeavour had impressed the reality of villainy on him for every day of his life. He would be hunted down and killed. Or, if he was lucky, thrown into a cage for the rest of his life.

And maybe, just maybe Shoto deserved that; but he knew he couldn't give up yet. Freedom was finally, finally within his grasp- and he'd be an idiot not to seize that sliver of hope while he could.

And so he backed out of his fathers room, bloody socks padding silently against the tatami mats. 

But, as he reached the entrance a tidal wave of memories flooded through his mind, threatening to pull him under. His father bandaging his wounds, his father bringing him his favourite dinner, his father checking on him every night- bending down to pat his head gently when he thought he was asleep.

And suddenly it hit him. He would never see Endeavor again, and for better or worse, he would never again hear his father say his name.

He hesitated, hand gripping the sliding door, and slowly turned around.

''Goodbye, father.'' he spoke into the void, a part of him hoping that somehow his father might hear it, and rise again to look at him with the loving eyes he was only privy to in his final moments.

But, he didn't. So with glossy eyes Shoto left, closing the door gently, his fathers corpse laying unmoving in the room he would never again have to enter.

Packing his belongings was quick, his sole possessions being a single manga, a gift from Fuyuki on his recent thirteenth birthday, and a pile of clothing. The thought crossed his mind that nothing he owned had been chosen by him.

He hurried out of his bedroom, gym bag slung over his shoulder, and unlike with his fathers room, he felt no impulse to turn back.

In what felt like no time at all and yet simultaneously the longest walk of his life, he had arrived in the genkan of his family home, an absurd amount of money stashed away in his bag- stolen from his fathers office on the way down.

Stealing might not be very heroic, but it's not like his father will care anymore.

He felt the inexplicable urge to turn around and run back to bed, to hide under the covers and pretend it had never happened. To pretend that when he woke up everything would be okay, That his father would wake him up, and drag him into the training room for a glorified beating.

But he refused himself that indulgence. It was too late, and things would never be the same again.

So he took a deep breath, and slid open the front door.

The first thing he was greeted with where the howling winds of January, whistling past his ears and into the place he could no longer call home. 

But he moved forward, pushing against the current and into his front yard, sliding the door shut behind him with a resounding thud.

The plan was to leave quietly and efficiently, no looking back and no second-guessing. And yet, as he stood there looking out at a street he had only before seen through thick panes of glass, he allowed a smile to grace his lips.

A small laugh bubbled up, escaping him and invading the quiet night air. Tears sprung up, falling down his face in rivets.

He was free, free from that house; free from that man who shackled him his entire life. Free from the excruciating nights spent alone, wounded and hopeless. But he would never again have to feel that way, never again would he be a weak, pathetic victim.

So maybe Shoto indulged himself, prancing gleefully down the pavement in a way he had never been allowed before.

He tripped over his feet, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. It was a clumsy, somewhat pathetic attempt at skipping. And yet he had never felt so light, and he had never been so happy.

------------------------

Authors Note

Thank you again for reading! Since this chapter is just the Prologue, I figured making it shorter would be appropriate. 

You don't just grieve for the dead, but for what could have been, and what is lost. I hope I managed to convey these feelings as I intended! :D

The lyric from the beginning of this chapter was from the song 'Mother' by 'MUCC'