Runnin' with the devil

Part 1

It's not like they don't know he's gay. So is Kirishima, and Midoriya is bi, and the fact that Mina not infrequently flits in and out of Uraraka's and Asui's relationship is no secret (thanks to Mina). The thing, though, is that Shouto is new—to this university, to this life, to this group—and all the Gay Thoughts he's had building up for years on end seem determined to all pour out now, now that there's no danger of his father or his father's associates catching them showing on his face. They've also been pouring out in other ways as of late, since he doesn't have to worry about anyone walking in on him masturbating at all hours of the day.

But the other thing is that even though this group has made ample space for him, he's still trying to figure out how he fits in. He doesn't want to make things... weird. Letting on to Midoriya and Kirishima that he can't stop fantasizing about them nearly every time his mind wanders seems like a sure-fire way to make everything awkward. So, not for the first time, he's intensely glad for his well-honed pokerface.

Not too much later, he's learned, at least, that he fits pretty well in Kirishima's jeans. They're a slim fit, more snug on him than he's used to, but he can tell the girls have deemed this a Good Thing, so he's content to accept his newfound presentability. His polo shirt is also discarded in favor of the white t-shirt he's wearing under it and one of Kirishima's blue button-ups.

"It brings out your eyes," Mina says, before correcting to: "Eye. Singular."

"Maybe he's got a grey one I can layer over this," Shouto jokes, and Mina laughs as she drags him back downstairs.

"Now we're talking," Kirishima says approvingly. "Alright, now that we can be seen in public with this guy over here—time to move out or we're gonna be late for the show."

Sero bemoans being left behind, but he has a paper due on Monday; he'll be there in spirit, and Mina swears she'll drink an extra beer for him. And so, clad almost entirely in clothes that are both not his own, and far too cool for him, Shouto finds himself on his way with the others to catch the train to his very first underground rock concert.

The fact that he's never been to one before might sound pretty weird at first, given that Shouto's father is none other than the legendary Rock Hall of Famer: Todoroki Enji, frontman of the world famous band Endeavor.

They aren't close. But it's not because Enji was a distant famous dad or anything like that; Shouto's father had been an overbearing nightmare since Shouto was born, and it only got worse as Shouto's musical talents began to surface. He was a natural on string instruments, piano, bass, viola—from the age of five, Enji had him playing guitar until his fingers literally bled.

He had plans for Shouto, grand plans for the Todoroki family to produce more platinum albums than any other artist, until they could take over the Hall of Fame and finally make people forget the name of the number one rockstar ahead of Enji. Personally, Shouto is fairly certain that a man who has carved his way into the hearts of music aficionados and casual listeners alike as "Rock God of Ages: All Might™" is not going to be easily forgotten. But his old man keeps trying.

Unfortunately for him, Shouto never leaned that way. The glitz and glam he'd been simultaneously steeped in and sheltered from his entire life held no appeal to him. Maybe it was because the sheen had worn off so early, baring the processed corporate underbelly that his dad was such a master of, the manipulation of the fans' ears, the perks that money would always have over creativity. Maybe it was the realization that he would grow up to be nothing but a puppet, less of a frontman than a mouthpiece for his father's machinations, surrounded by Enji's carefully handpicked band and managers and marketing team.

But the most likely reason was because he fell in love at a young age—with the tender, mournful sounds he could draw from the strings of a violin, his mother's instrument of choice, that she'd played for him whenever he cried as a child after his father's unending, harsh lessons. After the accident that had left the side of his face scarred (he has to think of it as an accident, or else he just feels more out of place, more unwanted), after his mother had been committed to the hospital, it was her violin he picked up and played, day in and day out, behind closed doors. He doesn't cry anymore, but sometimes... when he plays... maybe the strings do in his place.