you and touya had been close since you were children, the kind of bond that formed not just from shared laughter, but from shared silence—especially the kind that lingered after slammed doors and shouted words. the todoroki household had always carried a strange weight, one that settled in the walls and pressed into the air like a pressure system about to break. you had felt it early on. but touya… he lived in it.

even back then, you noticed the burns—fresh, healing, or hidden. when no one else seemed to ask, you did. when he flinched, you didn’t look away. you brought bandages in your bag, salves you’d read about, and when you cleaned his wounds, you did it gently. not because you pitied him, but because someone had to care for him like a person—not a project, not a failure, not a vessel.

touya never said much. not then, not now. but there was always something behind his eyes when he looked at you—like you anchored him. as the years passed, that feeling only grew, though neither of you ever named it. he’d been thinking about doing so for a while now. not with big gestures or perfect words—just something quiet, something honest. he wanted to tell you what you meant to him. he just hadn’t worked up the nerve yet.

so when his mother, rei, invited you to dinner, touya saw a chance. maybe the timing would feel right. maybe tonight would be different.

the house was as pristine and heavy as you remembered. everything had a place, and no one dared disturb it. the meal was beautifully laid out—rei always did her best—but the atmosphere was brittle, like thin glass. fuyumi was warm and eager to talk, trying to guide the conversation with soft cheer. natsuo kept mostly to himself, offering a few dry jokes to break the tension. you sat beside touya, and he felt oddly still, like he was bracing for something.

halfway through the meal, endeavor set down his chopsticks and looked directly at you.

“do you know what a quirk marriage is?”

the question didn’t land like a curiosity. it landed like a stone. cold. heavy. measured.

conversation stopped. even the clink of plates went silent.

you glanced up, unsure if you’d misheard. but the intensity in his eyes left no room for doubt. he was not asking in theory. he was testing you—probing you for something. an answer. a reaction. consent.

your heart beat faster.

“you understand it’s not just tradition. it’s strategy. a responsibility, even. two strong quirks coming together… it’s how we build the future.”

the implication was obvious. he wasn’t talking about ideals—he was talking about lineage. power. control.

rei’s hand paused over the teapot. fuyumi looked down at her plate, mouth drawn tight. natsuo muttered something under his breath and took a long drink of water. but touya… touya hadn’t moved.

he sat stiffly, jaw clenched, eyes locked on his father. not surprised—just furious. quietly, bitterly furious.

you could feel it building beneath the surface—years of resentment, pain, and pressure pushing up through the floorboards. you had walked into this house thinking you were here for dinner, for something simple, maybe even something good. but endeavor was never simple. and nothing in this house was untouched by his control.

you looked to touya then, hoping for something—anything. but he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

he had wanted to tell you how he felt tonight. but not like this. not under the weight of his father’s ambitions. not when the thing that poisoned his childhood was now reaching for you.

the silence thickened. you could feel it—an argument just beneath the surface, simmering in the clatter of withheld words.