~ Third Person P.O.V ~

To say he was perceptibly silent would be an understatement in this case. Shoto was an artlessly quiet individual, a well-known fact to most, however, when he's too quiet it irrefutably raises some red flags to those around him. The group walked in semi-silene back to the hotel, Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, and Ashido would converse every now and then in subdued whispers. Only to shut up whenever they got too loud and Shoto would throw them a dirty look over his shoulder.

"I saw him talking on the phone earlier," Ashido commented to the three men as the walked. "Maybe that's why he was so pissed off,"

"But who was he talking to?" Kaminari pondered out loud, constantly flickering his eyes up to make sure the duel-haired man wasn't paying attention to them.

Sero gave a light shrug of his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and lips pursed as he spoke. "'Dunno man . . . do you think it was Sergeant Bakugou?" He proposed, scratching the top of his head.

"Could've been," Kirishima chimed in.

With a low growl that rumbled in the subsection of his throat, Shoto's fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. The glowing rays of sunlight mixed with the humid and sultry air only adding fuel to the fire raging inside of him. His boots scuffed and crunched against the grounded dirt and rock mixture beneath him, a few stray pebbles flying up and hitting his clothed legs as he walked. If he were being candid, he could hear the others talking just fine— however, he didn't feel up to starting another argument so early in the day.

It had become too tiring on him. Mind, body, soul.

As they walked Shoto remained quiet, as to be expected at this point, silently seething as he began to deliberately kick at the rocks under the soles of his boots. Listening to the clatter they made once the cement came into contact with them, deflecting his full attention onto something so minuscule and unimportant. Anything to keep himself from thinking about the hell that'll be here come tomorrow morning.

"Sarge?"

Shoto reluctantly pulled his eyes off to the side, gazing at Kirishima from his peripheral with cold, intense duel-colored-orbs. "What?" He asked gruffly, not in the mood for talking.

"Well," The black-haired male started, seeing as though he were the only one out of the group who had the balls to talk to their Sergeant. "We were all just talking, and are wondering what we're going to do— since we don't have any oil?"

"Captain Aizawa is sending a few trusted soldiers down here tomorrow to help with that . . . Meaning more people who didn't even know about this mission do now, and this all could have been avoided if someone did as they were told!" The man growled, giving a shaking Kaminair a pointed look.

It was silent again after that, nobody daring to speak ever since Shoto's outburst. The only sound that cut through the air was their shoes scuffing the ground, the leaves shaking in the humid zephyr, and the occasional bird cawing above their heads. As soon as the hotel's dirt, grime, and mold-covered sign came into view the other made a run for it inside— desiring nothing more than to get away from the duel-haired male.

Shoto, who was too lost in his own world sat down on the curb, calloused digits raking through his two-toned locks in exhaustion. He rested his elbows on his knees, and head in between both of his hands— intently staring at the ground as he desperately tried to clear his mind. Per usual, he wasn't able to receive that luxury, as his thoughts began to compile onto one another.

In spite of that, before he allowed himself to drown in said thoughts; a folded up picture wiggled its way out from one of his many pockets, clattering softly onto the floor.

Slowly, he picks up the piece of glossed over paper, unfolding it and gazing down upon it with hooded eyes. He was no more than seven or eight in this particular picture, his bottom tooth missing yet a face stretching grin stayed plastered on his soft features. His arm was slung around a young Katsuki, who appeared to be around the same age, the blond's hair still messy and spiked as he held up two oddly large fish.

The two were standing on a wooden dock, the greenish water of the lake they had fished in barely noticeable. However, what was noticeable were the people standing behind the two young boys.

Their mother's.

Mitsuki Bakugou had gently wrapped her arms around her son's waist, smiling brightly into the camera while Katsuki seemed completely at ease. Rei Todoroki was currently sporting a horrified expression as what looked like a frog of some sort was in the process of hopping by them— photobombing the picture.

Shoto's index finger trailed over his mother, a reminiscent smile lingering over his lips for a while as he recalled the events of that day.

"Would you look at that, he can smile," Katsuki chuckled next to him, prompting a small gasp of air to release itself from Shoto's mouth as he placed a hand over his heart.

"You scared the shit out of me!" The elder man huffed, "How the hell did you get out of the closet?"

The blond sat down next to his friend with a huff, propping his legs up on one another as he leaned back on his hands. "Shitty Hair let us out," He explained nonchalantly, scratching his neck with one hand.

"Hm . . . So, will I have to worry about you and the kid giving me a headache?" Shoto asked, gripping onto the picture tightly.

"Ehh, depends,"

Quirking up a curious yet perplexed white brow, Shoto cocks his head to the side— waiting for a further explanation. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I guess . . . I don't hate the Small Fry as much as I thought I did," Katsuki admitted, purposefully averting his best friend's gaze as he looked up at the cloudless sky instead. "He's pretty funny too,"

"Funny?" The duel-haired male repeated, his interest spiking immensely as he fully turned to look at the blond. "Meaning he showed you another emotion besides just plain pissed off?"

A smirk made its way onto the surface of Katsuki's lips, tugging the corners upwards just a bit as a revelation seemed to strike in his mind. "Why, you jealous?" He teased.

Yes.

"No,"

Was Shoto jealous? Yes. Just not in the way one would think, he was merely upset that he wasn't there to witness another emotion come from the Japanese-American. Something he had been trying to find ever since he met the boy, just one simple emotion other than the one they usually see. But of course, Katsuki was there.

The scarlet-eyed male narrowed his orbs into thin slits as he pursed his lips, giving his friend an 'Are you sure?' type of look. "Yeah, mhm. Whatever you say to help yourself sleep at night Todo," He snickered, only to stop when the glare of the picture caught his eye.

Shoto looked back down at it as well, his eyes lingering over it for a few more moments before passing it onto Katsuki. "I saw that you threw it away a few weeks ago, but it had my mother in it so I wanted to keep it,"

Katsuki closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again to look at one strong detail of the photo in his hands.

A prominent rip down the side of it.