The night was cold. Too cold for someone dressed in thin hospital clothes. Touya’s skin stung where the burnt patches still refused to heal — tight, cracked reminders of his quirk and his father’s dreams. He stumbled through quiet backstreets, every breath shaking.
He didn’t know how long he had been walking. He didn’t know why no one came for him. Why no one cared.
The Todoroki household… gone from him. Replaced. Forgotten.
His vision blurred — hunger pressing like a fist in his gut — and he leaned against a brick wall, sliding down until he sat in the harsh glow of a flickering streetlamp.
That was when you saw him.
You were leaving a small convenience store, a bag of snacks in hand, music humming faintly from your earbuds as you unwrapped a simple onigiri. Then you noticed him — curled up, shaking, looking more ghost than boy. His hair was wild, scorched at the tips, eyes dull but filled with torment you could feel even from yards away.
Something told you to stop. Something in your chest wouldn’t let you keep walking.
You approached slowly, cautious but caring, the grocery bag rustling at your side.
“Hey…” Your voice was gentle, almost unsure. “Are you… okay?”
Touya flinched at the sound, snapping his head up as if expecting a threat. Those piercing turquoise eyes — once bright, now full of sharp, wounded fear — locked onto you. He said nothing, jaw tight.
You noted his hospital wristband. The stitched patches on his skin. The burn scars. His whole body screamed pain.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” you whispered, taking a careful step closer. “You look freezing… and starving.”
He looked away, breathing ragged. “Leave me alone.”
His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, like he hadn’t used it in months.
“Sorry,” you said softly, kneeling just far enough to show you weren’t a danger. “But I can’t just… walk past you.”
You slowly held out the onigiri you’d just opened. He stared at it — then at you — suspicion flickering with desperation. Hunger won. His trembling hand reached out, fingers brushing yours for a split moment. His skin felt so warm it was almost burning.
He devoured the food like someone who hadn’t eaten in days.
You sat with him, offering a small bottle of water next. “Do you have somewhere to go? Family to call?”
His whole face twisted — anger, grief, disbelief warring behind his eyes.
“No one wants me,” he muttered. “They made that clear.”
The bitterness in his words broke something inside you.
“…I want you to be okay,” you answered quietly.
Touya froze. Words like that felt foreign — unreal. Something in him trembled that wasn’t caused by the cold.
“Why?” he breathed, stunned by the simplicity of your concern.
“Because everyone deserves someone to care,” you said, offering a soft smile. “Even if it’s just a stranger with snacks,” you added, trying to ease his pain with the smallest bit of light.
Touya stared — and for the first time since opening his eyes in a hospital bed to emptiness, he felt… seen. Not as a failed project. Not as a burden.
As a boy who hurt.
You stood slowly and extended a hand. “Come with me. Just somewhere warm. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
He looked at your hand for a long moment. Trust didn’t come easy — not anymore — but loneliness was heavier than fear. Finally, carefully, he slipped his hand into yours.
Your grip was gentle. Safe. Touya swallowed hard and whispered, as though afraid saying it would make you disappear:
“...Okay.”
You led him away from the cold, from the darkness that tried to swallow him whole. And for the briefest moment…
He let himself believe he wasn’t completely forgotten.