The thing about boiling water, is you can't see your reflection when you look through it.

Shouto learned this from experience. He did not see himself in the water, in Rei, that day. All he could see is that she was terrified.

Only one other person could make her feel that way, look that way.

Endeavor has four kids. Or... had. Touya doesn't count anymore, not after Endeavor ruined and took the life of a child seeking attention.

Endeavor has three kids. Three chances at a perfect successor.

Fuyumi was too much like mother to play the role of hero.

Natsuo learned from a young age that his quirk would never be enough, and therefore, he wouldn't be enough to please Endeavor.

From the moment Shouto was born, every last one of the Todoroki's knew he'd inherit a quirk of both fire and ice. Shouto has always been half Endeavor, half Rei. Never one whole being.

He doesn't know who he is.

Because he is not as powerful as Endeavor, otherwise he wouldn't have a scar so painful and he wouldn't be so confused on how the man thinks.

Shouto is not Rei. She's calm and collected and, unfortunately, weak. Her mental health is in bad shape compared to most people. Her figure is thin and wobbly, she's too pale and she's too lacking in strength.

Shouto isn't even like a mix of them. He's someone, but he doesn't know who.

He's Shouto.

...

But who is Shouto?

(The thought that he's nobody makes him sick.)

Endeavor's son. Born into a wealthy, famous family and carrying on the pride Endeavor once carried.

...

Endeavor's tool. Bred to carry on the dreams of a man who could never achieve them.

...

Endeavor's toy.

Created to burn.

...

Endeavor's.

How do you go fifteen years without realizing you're not even your own person?

Even after the Sports Festival, when Midoriya finally got it through Shouto's thick skull that he had his own power. That Endeavor shouldn't be able to control what Shouto's quirk does or what he sues it for.

It extended beyond the belief that he was just a tool, as Endeavor told him daily.

Shouto should've known. He should've realized sooner. Maybe then, it wouldn't be such a shock now.

Shouto can't breathe. The ibuprofen he took earlier in the day is helping his headache, but now he's lightheaded from hyperventilation. His lungs feel like they're stretching beyond belief, they also feel like he can't get enough air into them.

Father always makes him feel this way. When Shouto says something he doesn't like, and father's already spent hours beating Shouto. He fills the tub with water, hand held underneath the rough stream of liquid to check the temperature. It needs to be cold, the faucet turned all the way to the right, where the blue paint is.

Shouto tries clawing at the hand grasping his hair, pulling his roots out of his head as he uses the strands as a leash. It does nothing, as Father pulls him forward and shoves him down.

"Idiot child, I told you to listen to me."

The shock of cold is something he's yet to grow used to. The first time he came here, the first time he was forced underwater, the cold surprised him so much that he sucked a breath in, all that entered his lungs was water.

He learned not to do that, as father wouldn't let him go even if Shouto felt like he was going to drop dead.

Shouto burns. To survive. To breathe.

It doesn't work. The stinging pain of sticky, raw flesh on his thigh isn't enough. It's never enough. He moves his hand downward, to his shin, clean skin. He burns, smoke rising from his hand and blood evaporating into the air.

It's not enough.

Stumbling over to his desk, hoping it's not too loud, he digs through his drawer, finding his razor blade. He uncaps it, holding the edge carefully and digging the blade into his skin. It stings in each place it tears. Not enough. He digs deeper. Blood pools around the cut and he only achieves an ounce of relief.

There's a relief to burning and cutting that only the two activities can achieve.

Another type of relief, he's only felt once; while talking to Aizawa.

Like a weight lifting off his chest, a lifelong weight he's never been able to relax from. Aizawa took it for those ten or twenty minutes. The best Shouto's felt for a while.

Pulling on his sweatpants and a sweater, he thinks he'll ignore Fuyumi. She doesn't have to find out again. Shouto grabs his phone, rushing out of his dorm and down the stairs instead of the elevator.

It's a risk, sneaking past his classmates. They're all in the common room, watching a movie with snacks from the corner store earlier. Shouto wanted to join them but then Uraraka brought up the unknown fact that Shouto is nothing and he never even knew it.

And it's not her fault. Shouto's unintelligence is his own fault.

Shouto steps off of the last flight of stairs with a powerful air to his stride, maybe they'll leave him be.

"Hey bastard, if I have to be here, you do too."

Shouto ignores him, rushing out of the front doors.

That was quicker than he'd anticipated. Whatever movie they're watching must've been real interesting for even Midoriya not to notice him.

He's grateful.

He lets out a deep breath when he reaches Aizawa's office door. His lungs still feel like they're collapsing on each other and his heart is still running its own race in his chest, up and down to his stomach and esophagus. He knocks on the door, and the answer is immediate.

The door creaks on its hinges, "Todoroki? What's wrong?"

And like a dam breaking down from one too many cracks it wasn't supposed to endure, Shouto's mouth floods Aizawa with a million answers for the question.

"I never lied my sister just told me to tell you that and my dad was hurting me and I was just scared. I didn't want to get in trouble but then I...I was talking to Uraraka and she told me I don't know myself but sh...she never meant it to hurt me she was just being friendly to Midoriya but now I don't know who I am and I don't want to be Endeavor because he's terrifying. But I'm not my mom and Endeavor says I'm his and he's still texting me and Fuyumi's going to defend him forever and she wasn't even hurt the way I was. I... I just need... I need..."

Aizawa sets a hand on his shoulder, pulling him into the room. The door shuts behind them and Aizawa doesn't bring him into a hug like the rest of the class does. He pushes Shouto onto the sofa with a gentleness Shouto's never experienced- especially not from his homeroom teacher. It's unfamiliar and it's so, so welcome.

Shouto covers his mouth with a hand, not allowing any sobs or words to come out.

(If he cries now, it'll come out in the form of screams.)

"Take five minutes to just breathe, Todoroki." A blanket falls at his shoulders and his unoccupied hand goes to grab it, fisting the fabric with white knuckles. "Then we can make tea and sit even longer until you're ready to talk."

Shouto nods, spots swimming in his vision from lightheadedness.

He wonders how Aizawa does it.

If Shouto found a child freaking out the way he just had, he'd have no clue what to do.

But Aizawa did perfectly, and Shouto can already feel relief from the tightness in his lungs.

He wants to feel guilty that he came here, that he actually sought out help, but the lightness on his shoulders and the lack of Endeavor on his brain and in the room, it's too comforting.

Shouto is really glad he came here.

When Aizawa sets a mug of tea down in front of Shouto, his dry, scarred hands shaking for a reason unapparent to Shouto, he clears his congested throat, sniffing up snot and gripping his blanket. It's soft fleece, just one of those blankets that come rolled up all cheap at the grocery store during holidays. Aizawa must've gotten it as a gift, as Shouto can't imagine he'd buy a cheap Christmas blanket for himself.

"Sensei... I'm sorry," he says, looking down at the steam from his mug. "I keep coming here unannounced and I probably scared you so... sorry."

Aizawa only shakes his head, "I take pride in the fact that you came to me at such a vulnerable moment." He sips from his mug, it's coffee and not tea, which is just like Aizawa to have. "You can talk about whatever you want."

Shouto remembers he said that last time.

Except, now, he feels he should explain himself.

Shouto tucks his knees up to his chest, sighing. "After we talked last, I called my sister. I told her that you knew and then... she's only worried. She just wants our family to be nice."

"So," Aizawa responds, "She told you to lie to me? About what Endeavor used to do?"

Shouto nods, "She doesn't think it's a problem. She just didn't want to expand on fake things."

"But," Aizawa says, sipping his coffee, "It's not fake if you were hurt by it. And you're not wrong for telling me if it was really bothering you."

Shouto shrugs, exhaustion aching in his bones. "I don't know. It... Fuyumi's not a liar," maybe. Or maybe she is. And Shouto's defending her despite it.

No. She always helps Shouto.

"Todoroki, it seems like she's lying to you. The first time you came here, it was for an outside perspective." He sets his mug down. "Here's mine: She's afraid of what would happen if you exposed what you went through. Her only defense against that is to trick you."

Shouto trusts Fuyumi.

"That's not it. She's just... worried about me. She probably just wants to help me."

Aizawa nods, "By telling you that you imagined everything?"

Shouto's blood freezes in his veins.

"How did you know that?"

Aizawa sits up, "when she called me, she told me that you have a history of daydreaming. That you lie and mix things up with the real world."

What?

"I don't think she's trying to help anyone but herself."

"Let's talk about something else," Shouto says, making his bland words as pleading as possible.

"Okay," Aizawa agrees dryly, folding his hands together. "What did you eat for lunch today?"

Shouto wipes his eyes of new, straying tears. "Cold soba."

"Again?"

Shouto nods, fists clenched as he tries his best not to sob through each word. "It's my favorite."

But if Fuyumi says he's imagining things, maybe he is. So everything he's said has been a lie this whole time.

And Fuyumi doesn't lie.

Shouto lies.

Shouto doesn't sleep for the rest of the night, bound to his bed and watching eerie shadows form through his paper balcony door. On the thin door itself, outlines of the trees outside can be seen, their branches aren't exactly pleasant, scraping at the edge of Shouto's balcony, creating a noisy and visually unpleasant scene.

Shouto resorts to his phone, after a few restless hours. He unlocks it and scrolls through more of the hundreds of messages Endeavor leaves for him. He's even started leaving voice messages, Shouto's terrified to press on them. For one, it's Endeavor's voice. Authoritative, demanding, harassing; Shouto can tie too many bad memories to the sound of Enji Todoroki.

And, unfortunately or not, Shouto does not think he can handle that same voice, soft and persuading. What was once delivered with a scowl and hit, now comes to Shouto apologetically, with promises of change and such.

Shouto doesn't not believe that Endeavor can change, and it's more terrifying than he'd thought.

It's not like he wants the same Endeavor as before. Cruel and violent behavior making for a tough childhood, if that isn't the understatement of the century.

He just doesn't... want an Endeavor.

Growing up without a dad there to control everything you do down to the timing of your breathing, sounds like a dream come true.

Not that Shouto's dreams have, or will ever matter to the man.

Shouto remembers once, he told Endeavor he'd like to run track, instead of becoming a hero. He'd seen it on TV, one of Natsu and mom's old shows played right after the track show. It looked like fun. Just getting to run. He heard Natsu say something along the lines of 'I could never do that for a living.'

Mom hadn't said anything, too plagued by the time of Shouto's existence. Sick with the resilient virus that is Endeavor.

He remembers telling Endeavor. Before he was old enough and scarred enough to want to start yelling at his father. When he could still talk to the man without shutting down.

"I wanna run on the fields," he had said, and looking back, it didn't really mean what he'd wanted it to mean.

Endeavor had scoffed, "You don't make any sense, Shouto. Take your starting stance."

Shouto remembers the embarrassment that had burned at his eyes, tears forming as he desperately held onto them. "I want to run track," he exacted, childlike determination remained in his words, not yet drowned out by flame.

"Did you talk to your mother about this?"

"No," he'd responded, clenching his fists so tight he'd be sure to bleed. "I just want to. Momma doesn't have anything to do with it."

"That insufferable woman," Endeavor had insulted, which still makes Shouto's blood boil to this day. "I'm surprised she didn't put that idea into your head."

Pain flares in Shouto's head, having him grit his teeth and shudder. An unpleasant wave of nausea washing over him.

"I want to-"

"I heard you," he'd snapped, training staff now in hand. "When you retire, you can run track then."

Shouto hadn't even known what that meant, at the time. "I want to do it now."

Punched for speaking his mind. Square in the nose. Shouto can feel it now, the way it'd broken and the way Endeavor immediately panicked in that calm, Endeavor way of his. Pacing while on the phone with a doctor who could make it straight again. Making plans and appointments over the shrill screams Shouto couldn't hold back.

Shouto startles when a vibration sounds against his floor, panic rushing through his already hurting head and hands fumbling with getting the device off of the floor. He'd worry that Bakugo was awakened by it if he wasn't the one calling.

Shouto decides he'll ignore it. He presses the red button to decline Bakugo's call, and closes his eyes to attempt some more sleep.

A single vibration, Shouto picks his phone back up, opening his eyes to so not so fortunate news.

Shouto deflates, that same headache growing larger. Sitting up, he reaches to his desk, taking the painkillers and dropping two from the bottle, dry swallowing while standing.

Out on the balcony, he remembers why he never comes out here. It's plain. Everyone else focused on making sure their ends of the balcony for each floor were as decorated as their rooms. Shouto never found a need for it, leaving his blank and plain. It's not unlike Shouji's downstairs, which gives him some comfort.

Shouto leans over the edge, looking down to the floor below. His eyes don't stop. He catches the ground-level pavement, the bushes that would do nothing to cushion a fall from this height. His body would be left scratched from twigs and when his classmates walked out for school that morning, they'd become horrified with the sight of a dead student, one of their own classmates. He wonders how it would look.

Would he splatter? That's not pleasant. Making a mess for others to clean. They'd replace the bloodstained cement after the police investigated everything.

Or would his skull crack?

His spine?

"IcyHot bastard," comes a brute voice, and Shouto startled. His eyes return to the floor below, where Bakugo's leaning backward on his elbows, staring up at Shouto. "Why'd you ignore me?"

Shouto stares back, "I was tired."

Bakugo huffs out a cold breath, "Still got that headache?"

Shouto nods, "Why'd you call me out here?"

Shouto's not stupid. He knows that everyone else in the dorms can hear them talking, he knows Bakugo knows the same.

He knows that's the reason why Bakugo's climbing up the gutter and onto the fifth floor's balcony.

"Fuckers couldn't have built a fire escape out here," Bakugo grunts, his breath visible in the air. "Back up, damn."

Shouto steps back from Bakugo, watching as he situates himself on the rail. "What do you want?"

Bakugo crosses his arms, looking out at the starry sky. "The class is worried, you know. You keep leaving to the teachers' dorms." He sighs, "Four eyes says you probably just needed to talk to someone, since you were there to rescue me. Back when you bastards saw that crazy villain All Might fought."

Shouto remembers. The inexplainable fear that took over his body, his mind. The way Midoriya had looked, shaking, face scrunched up with shock, like he knew who the villain was and just how powerful he'd been. They all did, they all knew, without a word said by the villain, that he would kill them, no hesitation.

"Or the USJ. You ended up pretty much alone, didn't you? You had to trap all those villains by yourself."

Hagakure had been there. She'd been so scared that she didn't help, couldn't. Shouto was left alone. It wasn't as bad as Hosu, or Kamino Ward, but he had been outnumbered. If not for his quirk, he wouldn't have made it out of the stadium that day.

"I think it's about that shit you told Deku," this catches Shouto's attention. "About your dad and shit. And," he lifts a finger to his own left eye, "you know."

Shouto reaches up to touch his scar out of habit, feeling the rough skin at the edge of his cheek. It runs down unevenly on his neck, on and behind his ear. Up on his forehead, his scalp. He remembers when he lost the hair there, his nerves too damaged at the time to keep holding onto the strands. It grew back to its normal size a year later, Shouto was glad for it.

By then, he was used to looking in the mirror and hating what looked back at him. The stranger in the reflection always made Shouto angry, sad.

(Sometimes there was no stranger, just mom and father, opposing forces always unevenly matched.)

"So what," Bakugo starts again, a forcibly uninterested expression on his face. "Old man still giving you issues? If you told Sensei, there won't be a problem anymore."

Shouto sighs, leaning his back against the railing and looking up to the night sky. Purple in hue, it holds the stars up by strings of light, beautiful, luminous stars that still pale in comparison to the moon.

"Endeavor will always be a problem."

Bakugo hums, "Then solve it. You can't mope around all day and disappear at night whenever you feel like it. Deku worries about you too much, so do the rest of those losers."

Shouto stays quiet, which apparently annoys Bakugo. A slipper is thrown at him, hitting his chest and flopping down to the ground at Shouto's feet.

"Don't ignore me, Half n' Half. You gotta shape up before you're gone too far."

Shouto bends down to pick up the slipper, tossing it back to Bakugo, "Did you climb up here in these?"

"Stop avoiding the topic," Bakugo growls, slipping his shoe back on. "At least tell me why now? What's Endeavor doing that's messing with you now, that he hasn't done before?"