Title: Fractured Flames
It was a chilly evening in Musutafu, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting a soft glow that struggled against the creeping twilight. The streets, usually bustling with life, lay quiet, as if even the wind held its breath for what was to come. Shoto Todoroki, the boy with half a flame and half a glacier, stood on the rooftop of U.A. High School, looking out over the city with a heavy heart.
Though he had made strides in accepting his duality, and the friction between his two halves, he had not yet managed to reconcile the memories of his past. Tonight, the weight of it all bore down on him like a physical pain.
It was a year since the incident that had changed everything—the day he had lost his mother. The haunting image of her silent cry, mirrored in her melted visage when he had used his flames to save her, continued to torment him like a relentless specter. She had always been the kind of warmth he desperately craved, the gentle touch that soothed the scars left by his father’s cruelty. When she had been at her most vulnerable, reduced to ashes by the flame she feared, Shoto had felt something within himself shatter irreparably.
His hands trembled. He clenched them into fists, nails digging into his palms. He wished he could push away the memories, cast aside the guilt that gnawed at him like a relentless tide. But guilt was a viscous shadow, creeping back no matter how far he ran.
“Hey, Shoto!” It was Deku, his friend, and classmate, who had come to join him, breaking through his morose reverie. “What're you doing up here? It’s getting cold.”
Shoto turned towards him, forcing a small smile. “Just... thinking.” It felt easier to give that response than to explain the tempest of emotions swirling within him.
“Thinking about All Might’s training regimen again, huh?” Izuku teased, attempting to lighten the mood. While his voice was cheerful, Shoto noticed the way his eyes flickered with concern. He was grateful for his friend’s presence, yet the ache inside him remained, a constant echo of his mother’s absence.
“No, not really.” Shoto let a sigh escape his lips. “Just… you know, family.”
The conversation shifted, yet the heaviness weighed heavily on him. As the evening wore on, Shoto devoted most of his focus to the adaptations of his flames, practicing against the dimming sun. Nearby, Izuku continued to demonstrate his own techniques, but Shoto noticed that he often looked over to him, studying him with concern.
It was a silent understanding that hung in the air between them. Izuku had his demons too, and while they had both survived battles that tested their strength, the fight within felt more insidious. “You know,” Izuku finally ventured, “it’s okay to miss them. To feel sad.”
Shoto turned, surprised by the insight in his friend's voice. “I just wish…” He hesitated, forcing words through the fog of sorrow. “I wish I could have done something more. I could have saved her.”
Izuku’s expression softened. “You did everything you could, Shoto. Sometimes… Sometimes things are out of our control.” The sincerity in his friend’s eyes was comforting yet painful. “You’re not alone in this.”
“I feel alone,” Shoto admitted, the words feeling like ice on his tongue. “Every day.”
The skyline was painted with deep hues of purple and orange, and the stars began to sparkle above, yet to him, the world felt muted. As tears blurred his vision, he struggled to suppress the flood of grief, but the dam broke. The tears flowed freely, hot trails against his cold cheeks, and for the first time in so long, he allowed himself to cry, truly cry, without the burden of restraint.
Izuku was by his side instantly, wrapping his arms around him, grounding him. “It’s okay,” he whispered softly. “It’s okay to cry.”
In that moment, Shoto allowed himself to be vulnerable. The façade of strength he wore like armor melted away, replaced by the raw emotion he had kept buried. The pain was still there—the guilt and regret unrelenting. But there was also a warmth in Izuku’s embrace, a reminder that he didn't have to face this alone.
After what felt like hours, their cries subsided, and Shoto pulled away, sniffling as he tried to regain his composure. “I think I’m okay now,” he said hoarsely.
Izuku offered a small smile, wiping away tears from Shoto's cheeks. “You don’t have to pretend to be okay all the time. We’re all here for you—your friends, your classmates. We’re family.”
A warmth surged within Shoto, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to reconcile his past with the present. His journey wouldn't be easy; the scars would remain, but perhaps with time, the pain could become less consuming.
“Thank you, Izuku,” he said earnestly. “For being here.”
As the stars twinkled above them, the sky a vast, unending expanse, Shoto felt the first whisper of peace brush against his heart. Together, he and Izuku stood, two boys bearing the weight of their worlds, yet finding solace in their shared burdens and the promise of tomorrow.
For now, the flames within him flickered gently, not extinguished, but learning to coexist with the chill of his ice. And perhaps, one day, they would forge a new path that honored both halves of him. The journey ahead would still be fraught with challenges; grief would forever leave its mark. But as long as he held onto the bonds forged through love and friendship, he knew he could find the strength to keep moving forward.
In the quiet solace of that rooftop, with the warm glow of camaraderie surrounding him, Shoto Todoroki took a deep breath, allowing a hint of a smile to grace his lips, not for the absence he mourned, but for the connections that remained.