Cyclone - Shoto Todoroki

Chapter Six

Here, there are none of those children who have it so easy in life, either.

He barely manages to dodge the incoming fist, twisting out of the way in time as it swings through the air where his head had just been. He took the opportunity and kneed his attacker in the gut swiftly and with practiced ease, knocking the boy to the ground.

With no time to regain his bearings, He hears shuffling from behind him, as the other teenager grabs his knife, rushing towards Shuya, blade angled with the intention to stab him in the chest.

Luckily, the thugs' earlier injuries caused him to be careless and sloppy- and he was easily disarmed with a swift kick to the wrist, sending the knife clattering against the alley's wall before falling silently into a stray trash can.

''For fucks sake, don't you guys have anything better to do?'' Shuya muttered under his breath, panting heavily from exertion as he bent down, placing shaky hands onto similarly trembling knees.

It felt distinctly pathetic, how weak he had become- how quickly those muscles that were painstakingly cultivated disappeared, leaving behind a boy with so little stamina he couldn't run for more than five minutes without getting winded.

After his breathing evened out again, he stood back up with a huff, glancing down at the teenage boys who lay still on the grimy concrete. He had been wandering aimlessly through these sketchy alleyways when they had attempted to corner him, demanding that he hand over his money or possessions.

They deserved it, Shuya thinks, after all, they had been the ones to pick a fight in the first place, right?

But as he looks down at them, he notes their skinny frames. They looked starving, with hollow cheekbones and greasy hair. He wonders if he would have been in a similar position to them, had he not thought to steal the money he had from his father or come across the Hotel.

A hero would probably stay, and make sure that they were alright. A hero would offer them money, or some food, before advising them to be careful or go to the police for help.

Shuya turns around and walks away, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his best attempt at hiding the tremors currently wracking them so harshly.

When he arrived back home, he sighed dramatically as he flung himself down onto the freshly washed bedding. Zushis penchant for melodrama was starting to rub off on him.

The burn on his stomach had finally healed enough that it no longer required bandages, and the leftover bruises from Endeavor, and the one from that one customer, had all healed.

He can remember thinking that his father's death would be the end of his injuries- that he might even get to feel what it was like to move painlessly, for the first time in his life.

But new wounds continued to replace old ones.

It made him feel sick, trying to understand his own twisted thought process. Why did he let himself get injured in those fights? Both today and with that customer. He could have dodged; should have dodged, and yet took the hit anyway.

Was there something wrong with him?

Every Time he steps out of the shower, and looks at the array of purple bruises, the cuts and burns marring his body, he feels satisfied.

He rolls over on his bed, hands gripping the fluffy sheets as his eyes drift over to his desk, glancing towards the small stash of food he had accumulated over the past few weeks.

He wasn't particularly hungry, and he had no desire to eat. Chewing was exhausting, and the novelty of new flavours quickly lost its intrigue after the first week of experimentation.