Shoto Todoroki Oneshots

Record of my Youth

At the time, he was in his second year of high school. Well, he would have been if he were not home schooled. Going to a public school would have been too much trouble to hide the cigarette burns on his skin, or the bruises along his spine, and being home schooled meant less worry about him running his mouth and saying the wrong things to those who shouldn't know of their family's business. Some days were okay, his tutors intelligent and instructive if not distant, but most days all he had to do was press his pencil too hard on the paper for the kettle to boil over. Sometimes he would catch a purple mark peeking out from under his clothes whilst recording, leaving him to have to cut out long periods of shaky, stuttering breaths each time he edited an episode. 

But he told himself he was okay, that nobody knew about the podcast and nobody knew it was his voice. This was just for him, and a few strangers who didn't care about the real him only the temporary service he provided. It was a small strand that tethered his feet to the ground, pulling him through the impossible days.

"I never really knew what would happen when I uploaded my first episode. I was too stuck in my own world to truly think about it, too focused on how much longer the bad days would last, if the microphone stored under my bed would one day vanish. I guess it's all of you who have helped me grow. Through your comments I learned how to improve my production, I had ideas for new episode discussions, and even had my first collab thanks to your efforts. Blank Space would have remained just that if it weren't for every single one of you. Each listener has brought joy and light into my life, and if I had known what my life would be like now, I would tell my younger self to keep going. I would tell him that he is loved, that his future is warm and good, and that each trial he faced would reap a thousand rewards."

"Would you stop pulling on the earphones!" 

He heard Mina shout as he headed over to their lunch table. The cafeteria was as busy as always, with students cramming for final exams whilst eating overpriced food so aggressively it was surely not good for their health. Societies discussing their next events or practising lines for their performances. Or if people were lucky they were spending time with their friends, catching up on their weekend plans and discussing the latest relationship drama. He hummed in acknowledgement at the familiar sight around him, never bored of it despite seeing the same scenes each day. He never took for granted how lucky he was to be here, in a prestigious university where he could have his own small world of independence. He could decide anything from what modules to study each semester to what time he went to bed. He could make his own meals regardless of how simple they were, and there was nobody to reprimand him about how he looked, to scoff at his defined collarbones, to shove at his bruised limbs. 

His father decided on sending him here, and even with his affluence and money could not change the minds of the board in allowing him to remain at home rather than living in the student dormitories. The idea of moving away both exhilarated and terrified him, and his first few weeks were definitely difficult to process. To have so much autonomy yet so much expectation, he thought he would have drowned in it if it weren't for the two warm and friendly classmates in his philosophy module who kindly invited him to eat lunch with them. Over time their group of three became four, then six, and then by the time one year had passed they often took up two tables, all of them chatting loudly whilst dinner trays and textbooks lay scattered between them. He listened more than he spoke, that was just the way he was, but never once did he feel excluded, never once did he feel like he had to be someone he was not. There were too many diverse people here for him to be considered out of place, and his friends told him it was endearing and fun to teach him everything he missed out on growing up. 

During the first few months they would ask him questions, pry about his childhood in the spotlight of his family name, but at the mention of something even slightly triggering to him would lead to him clamming up and isolating for a few days. His friends seemed to understand his intentions to keep things private, and in turn, he made efforts to study with them between classes and go to cafes on weekends. Clubs were still difficult for him, loud music that wasn't doors slamming and flashing lights that weren't cigarette lighters, but on those evenings Shoto would fall into the familiar comfort of solitude, books and podcasts to keep him company.