As students are issued dorm rooms, Todoroki, an apathetic and paternally scorned boy, is overwhelmed by a seemingly fictional admiration for a fellow classmate, Midoriya. The foreign warmth the two share is something that Todoroki has come to distru...
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⚠️⚠️TW: Mentions of Physical/Verbal Abuse⚠️⚠️
An audible thud could be heard as I harshly hit the ground. My back was screaming in anguish and my skin burning with anger. As I slowly moved into a sitting position, I glared at the man towering over me. His face was contorted into a mix of disgust and disapproval, his stature resembling that of an unyielding soldier, the flames that licked the frame of his face only made him more intimidating: the number two hero. Of course, this man was my father; though, I tend to stray from that idea. He's merely a funnel for financial needs to me. Disposable, yet worthwhile. He then approached me with his usual hostility and lifted me by the collar of my shirt. "You're pathetic," he said simply, speaking each syllable through gritted teeth. He throws me back on the cool, smooth surface of our marbled floor before turning to exit the room, leaving me beaten and battered on the ground. I realized that my nose had begun bleeding from the harsh impact. He looked over his shoulder once more before he disappeared back into our house. "Clean that up, too," he said coldly. I continued to lie on the floor. My very bones felt as if they were throbbing in pain from the countless hours my father had put me through. This painstakingly gruesome process took place every day and continued to deteriorate my very being. I had spent half of my life in this dull, gray room; the thought of it was constantly looming over me, reminding me of its never-ending presence. That it was the only thing I had to look forward to each day. Frost began forming on the concrete around me as I was still on my left side. The blood from my nose became a sinister mush of red as I lifted myself from the floor into a sitting position. The blinding pain from my ribs felt as though I was being seared in my chest, making me lose my breath, eventually falling back onto the ground in a fetal position. I continued to lay on the floor, gritting my teeth to hold back my cries of agony. My vision began to blur as the scrutinizing pain worsened. As I looked around the room, I could see my entire life. The first time I came into this room was when I was five-years-old and having just discovered my quirk. If only I knew then what these four walls would entail for the rest of my life. The pain and trauma it brought with it. During that first visit, I remember only being able to create a small flurry of snow from the palm of my hand. A single snowflake against a raging wildfire. The sheer force of his hand was enough to send me flying back, but the harsh, searing pain from his flames was enough to wear me down to nothing but a hollow shell in a matter of seconds. The cruel bite of the ice forming around my body was enough to bring me back to reality, yet not enough to numb the pain. I could only lay on the ground, hearing nothing but his voice and seeing the innocence fade from my past self before being wrapped in a sheath of blackness. *** As I cracked my eyes open, the dim golden glow of the morning sun cast itself around the room. As I began to stir from my sleep, the sudden reminder of yesterday's events overwhelmed my senses causing me to groan in pain. The sounds of my misery echoed through the vast walls of the training room, only leaving the bitter aftertaste of defeat in my mouth. I felt the slight sting of tears in the corners of my eyes as I laid on my back. 'A week can't come fast enough,' I thought. Since the League of Villains attacked our class recently, UA Supervisors felt that it was necessary to assign dorms to each of its students to ensure our safety. Though my father was perplexed at the idea as he wouldn't be able to force me to hone my fire quirk. After witnessing me ignite my flames at the Sports Festival with Midoriya, he has relentlessly tried to harass me into using it again. However, after the promise of extensive training hours and close surveillance from the school's staff, my father agreed to the new living arrangement. We were permitted a week out of school to pack our belongings and arrive at the new dormitory on the following Saturday. It was now Wednesday and I hadn't been able to box a single item due to the pervasiveness of my father's training. I slowly began to sit up, hunching over as I did so, and limped my way upstairs to my room. Once I had closed the door, I let silent tears stream down my face. I don't like crying. It makes me feel so weak and small. There are too many days where I feel like this though. As I walk around my room, my fingers roam the surfaces of my furniture, memorizing every detail, reliving every torturous vision, recounting every tear that had been shed. I stopped at my window, gazing out at the golden city below, fighting to remember a better time, yet, I am left defeated. 'Time heals all,' they say. All I can do is wait for the better days. Maybe it's time itself that is the bitterness of our existence.
