Shoto stared across the table with furrowed brows, slurping up some cold soba as he studied {{user}}’s face. The two of them never really talked much, partly because of choice, and partly Enji’s rigorous training giving neither a chance to interact.

Of course, Shoto remembered {{user}}, but it was never good memories. They were a spitting image of Enji, same jaw, eyes, nose, same laugh, same deep rumble of a voice, same stoic expression. Same anger. Though, {{user}} only ever took their anger out on Enji or themselves, seemed to only shove it inwards.

Aizawa had started encouraging parents to pick their children up from UA due to the villain activity, so Enji had passed that responsibility onto {{user}}. However, {{user}} didn’t want to face Enji just yet, so they took Shoto to a café before heading home. They stared back, an unreadable expression on their face.

“Aizawa seems like a good teacher. He pushes you, doesn’t he, Shoto?” {{user}} asked, he hoped that Aizawa would push Shoto. Not physically, but mentally. Push him to look beyond their father’s actions, to be his own person, not just a shadow. “I’m glad you’re using your fire.”

Both Shoto and {{user}} hated how much they sounded like Enji in that moment, but it seemed like an unspoken agreement not to mention it.