These Boys will be the Death of Her

Oh my God, getting into Shoto's brain is exhausting. Lots of empty space I have to fill up hahahaha.

Also, I'm British so I write "mum" not "mom" but it reads so weird in this fic. Shoto with a British accent hahaha. So I'm using "mom" here but it's the only Americanised spelling I will use. Even though I watch it in Japanese. Welcome to the confusion.

These Boys will be the Death of Her

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Shoto stood on the podium, the silver medal heavy around his neck. The arena was a sea of faces, a blur of colours and movement that seemed to swirl and shift before his eyes. As confetti rained down around him, Shoto felt distant and detached from it all. A skill he had honed since childhood; he remained unaffected, unwavering in the face of the crowd's scrutiny and support.

He thought of the battles he had fought, the challenges he had faced. He thought of the moment when he had finally unleashed his fire, when he had felt the rush of power coursing through his veins like molten lava. And yet, in the end, it hadn't been his undoing. He had faced Bakugo in the final round and he found himself immobilised, unable to throw everything he had at his classmate. Something had held him back, some deep-seated fear or reluctance that he couldn't quite name.

Was it the memory of his father's training, the endless hours of brutal sparring and relentless drills? Was it the weight of Endeavor's expectations, the suffocating pressure to live up to his legacy and surpass All Might? Or was it something else entirely, some unspoken doubt or hesitation that had nothing to do with quirks or heroes at all?

As the pro hero All Might stood, addressing the clamouring crowd, Shoto's thoughts drifted to Ren, to the moment when she had walked out of the stadium, her head held high and her eyes blazing with a fierce, unyielding light. He had seen the disgust on her face, the revulsion and anger that had radiated from her. Was that the moment? Was that when something shifted inside him, made him aware of the uncertainty that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface?

The world of heroes was a brutal, unforgiving place, a world where violence and ego reigned supreme. It was a world that chewed up the weak and spat them out, a world that demanded sacrifice and pain and endless, relentless pursuit of an impossible ideal. And as Shoto stood there on the podium, the silver medal glinting around his neck and the roar of the crowd ringing in his ears, he couldn't help but wonder...was it all worth it? Losing a relationship with his mother, training his body until he couldn't move…all for what? This trophy? The look of disappointment in his father's face?

He felt adrift at sea, with no shore in sight. How do you navigate something so vast, so empty, so all-encompassing?

After spending a mandatory night in the U.A. hospital, Shoto returned home the next morning, his body aching and his mind still reeling from the events of the festival. The emptiness of he house was a stark contrast to the air of jubilance around the festival. It was as if the whole world had been muted, the colours drained away and the sounds muffled by some unseen force.

As he stepped into the entryway, his footsteps echoing on the polished wood floors, Shoto was suddenly engulfed in a crushing hug. He stiffened, his body tensing instinctively at the unexpected contact. But then he recognized the scent of his sister's shampoo, the familiar warmth of her embrace, and he felt himself relax a little.

"Fuyumi," he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion. "What's going on?"

His sister pulled back, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I'm so proud of you, Shoto," her voice was quiet, trembling with emotion. "You were amazing out there." The younger sibling felt a pang of discomfort, a twinge of unease that he couldn't quite place. He had never been good at accepting praise, had never known quite how to respond to the warmth and affection that his sister so freely offered in a home where those things did not usually exist.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his gaze sliding away from hers as he removed his shoes. "But I didn't win…" He trailed off, the words sticking in his throat. He couldn't quite bring himself to say it out loud, to admit to the weakness and hesitation that had held him back in that final battle.

His sister's face softened, her eyes filled with a gentle understanding. "That doesn't matter," she said firmly. "What matters is that you gave it your all, that you fought with everything you had. And that's something to be proud of, no matter the outcome." Shoto swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat as she tilted her head and smiled sweetly, her glasses shimmering in the hallway light. He wanted to believe her, wanted to take comfort in her words. But the doubts and fears that had plagued him for so long refused to be silenced, refused to be soothed by platitudes and empty reassurances.

"Fuyumi," he said abruptly, shaking his head to move the straying stands of red and white hair that fell across his eyes. "I want to see mom."

His sister's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and hesitation passing over her features. "Shoto," she said carefully, "are you sure? It's been so long, and after everything that's happened..." She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. Shoto knew what she was thinking, knew the unspoken fears and doubts that hung heavy in the air between them. Their mother had been absent from their lives for so long, had been locked away in a hospital somewhere, hidden from view like a shameful secret. And the last time Shoto had seen her...well, it was a memory that still haunted him, a moment that he had tried so hard to forget.

But he couldn't run from it anymore, couldn't keep pretending that the past didn't exist. He needed answers, needed closure, needed...something, anything to help him make sense of the chaos and confusion that swirled inside him.

"I'm sure," he said firmly, his jaw clenching with determination. "Please, Fuyumi, I need to know where she is."

His sister hesitated for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for what she was about to say. "She's-" But before she could finish her sentence, a loud bang echoed through the house, the sound of the front door slamming shut with a force that shook the walls.

Endeavor strode into the entryway, kicking off his shoes, his massive frame filling the space, giving his children barely any room to breathe. His eyes were hard and cold, his face set in a scowl of disapproval.

Before anyone could utter a word, Endeavor's hand shot out, his fingers closing around Shoto's shoulder in a grip that was just shy of painful.

"Out of my way," he snarled, shoving Shoto aside with a casual brutality that made the boy's stomach churn.

Shoto stumbled a little, looking up at his father, a mix of anger and hurt flashing in his mismatched eyes. "I want to see Mom," he said defiantly. "I need to know where she is."

Endeavor stopped in his tracks, he looked over his shoulder at his younger child, hi eyes narrowed, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You want to know where your mother is?" he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "That information would have been available to you if you had gotten first place in the festival."

Shoto felt as if he had been punched in the gut, the air rushing out of his lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. His father's words cut deep, slicing through the fragile hope that he had been clinging to. Only Enji Todoroki could so cruelly, so unashamedly, keep up this game for fourteen years.

Endeavor turned and stalked down the hallway, disappearing into his study with a slam of the door. Shoto stood there for a long moment, his body trembling with a mix of fear and rage. He could feel the heat of his father's quirk still lingering on his skin, could feel the bruising force of his grip on his shoulder.

And in that moment, something inside him snapped, some deep-seated reserve of strength and defiance that had been building for so long, waiting for the right moment to break free. Without a word, he turned and ran to his room, his footsteps pounding on the polished wood. He burst into his bedroom, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as he slammed the door shut behind him.

For a moment, he simply stood there, his chest heaving and his mind racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions. The room was a reflection of his inner turmoil, the empty walls and minimal furnishings a sharp contrast to the chaos and clutter of his own mind. Shoto felt the weight of his school bag on his shoulder and with a sudden, violent motion, he hurled it across the room, watching with grim satisfaction as it slammed into the wall and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

He sank down onto his bed, his head falling into his hands as he tried to make sense of the swirling maelstrom inside him. He thought of his father, of the years of abuse and neglect and relentless, ruthless pursuit of impossible ideal. He thought of his mother, of the woman he had loved so fiercely, so desperately, before she had been ripped away from him by the cruelty and selfishness of the man who was supposed to protect them both.

He had to find her, had to see her, but how? His father had made it clear that he wouldn't give him the information, that he wasn't worthy of it.

And then, as though fate were taunting him, he realised the answer was the girl he was trying to run away from. Ren. The Ishikawa family was wealthy and influential, with connections to all the major hospitals in the city. If Shoto remembered correctly, Ren's father had connections to most of the hospitals in the area, either through funding or ownership.

With a sense of grim determination, Shoto reached for his phone, his fingers scrolling through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for.

Ren Ishikawa.

He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the call button. He thought of the last moment he saw beside his father, a look of revulsion and hurt across her pretty a deep breath and a racing heart, Shoto hit the call button, lifting the phone to his ear with a sense of trepidation and hope.

***

Ren brushed her dark hair behind her ear as she sat at the round table in the tutorial room, her heart pounding as she faced the three editors of the university paper. Her application and writing samples lay on the table before them, the pages crisp and neatly arranged, glowing under the fluorescent lights. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she studied the faces of the people who held her future in their hands.

"I enjoyed your piece on the university's quirk-based housing policy," the man directly across from her said, tapping the paper in front of him. "It's an interesting take on how seemingly neutral policies can have discriminatory effects on quirkless students."

Ren felt a flush of relief at his words, a small smile playing on her lips. She had taken a chance on submitting a piece that could be considered controversial in this hero-worshipping society.

"Thank you," she said, meeting his warm brown eyes, catching herself staring at the way his dark hair fell across them. She trailed off, realising she didn't know his name. He seemed to sense her unspoken question, his smile widening as he extended his hand across the table.

"Kaito Nakamura," he introduced himself. "I'm a TA, finishing up my PhD in Journalism and Conflict Studies." Ren shook his hand, noting the way his fingers lingered just a moment too long on hers. There was a spark of something in his gaze, a hint of interest that made her heart skip a beat. She quickly pulled her hand back, feeling a flush creep up her neck.

"Didn't we all find Ren's piece thought-provoking?" Kaito asked, finally tearing his eyes away from her, turning to his fellow editors.

The girl to his left, a bubbly-looking third-year with long, wavy pink hair and bright blue eyes, blinked slowly, her chin resting in her hands, as she studied Ren with undisguised curiosity.

"You're so pretty," she said, her voice dreamy and high pitched. "I should write a piece on your skincare routine." Ren felt a mix of embarrassment and amusement at the girl's unexpected comment. She hadn't pegged her for someone with an empty head, but there was something endearing about her unfiltered enthusiasm.

"Hana, focus," Kaito chided gently, though there was a hint of laughter in his voice. "We're here to discuss Ren's writing, not her appearance."

Hana pouted, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Like you don't want to do both, Kaito?" she asked, winking at Ren. For a second Ren stared at her with her mouth open before laughing, feeling some of her nerves dissipate. Hana might be a bit of an airhead, but she had a way of putting people at ease. Ren glanced at Kaito, his handsome, more mature face flashing a warm smile, not willing to disagree with Hana's observation. With a small laugh to herself, Ren mused how every step she seemed to take led her straight to a handsome face. These boys are going to be the death of me, she thought wryly.

The boy to Kaito's right, however, seemed less impressed. He was of average height with a slender build, his dark brown hair messy and his green eyes sharp and inquisitive. He regarded Ren with a skeptical expression, his brows furrowed as if he was trying to figure her out.

"So the billionaire's daughter wants to school us on privilege and discrimination?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Ren prevented the flare of indignation in her chest manifest any further than that. She had expected this kind of skepticism, had prepared herself for the inevitable pushback against her background and her family name.

"What does it matter where I come from, Ryu?" she asked, reading his name off the placard in front of him. "My argument is logical and objective. This policy has detrimental effects on the wellbeing of quirkless students. Even the language we use seems outdated - 'quirkless' implies something negative, creating a narrative of haves and have-nots." Ryu's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of surprise passing over his face before he returning to a scowl. Ren could tell he was a second-year, probably studying Economics, based on the books and papers poking out of his bag beside him.

"So the haves are going to tell us how to improve our lives?" his voice dripped with disdain.

Ren met his gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed by his hostility. "I don't have a quirk," she said simply. "In that sense, you and I are both have-nots. We can divide the world up until we are all strangers to one another. Or we can work together to change it." There was a moment of stunned silence as the three editors processed her words. Ren could see the gears turning in their heads, the way they were re-evaluating their initial assumptions about her.

Kaito, who had been listening intently to the exchange, leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest. "Let's run it," he said, his voice filled with quiet conviction.

Ryu frowned, confusion etched on his face. "Run what?"

"Ren's piece," Kaito clarified, tapping the paper again. "I think it's great. It's well-written, hard to argue against, and it's not just an opinion piece. It's grounded in research and analysis."

The green eyed boy's scowl deepened, his arms crossing over his chest. "She's a first-year," he pointed out. "It will need editing."

Kaito's smile widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Then it's a good thing we have you, Editor Ryu." He turned to Ren, his gaze warm and encouraging. "Welcome to the team," he said, his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

Ren felt a rush of elation as she met his eyes, a smile breaking out across her face. She had done it. She had proven herself, had shown that she was more than just her family name and her privileged background.

But before she could fully savour the moment, Hana let out a squeal of excitement, she reached out, her arm suddenly intertwining with Ren's. "Let's get boba!" she exclaimed, her voice high-pitched and enthusiastic. "To celebrate! You can sit next to me!"

***

"You know people usually knock," Ren said as she entered her apartment, "they don't just break in to my apartment." Turning the corner, she found Shoto Todoroki stood in her living room, completely unfazed by her words. His red and white hair was gleaming in the soft light filtering through the curtains, his face an unreadable expression as always.

"Hana let me in," he informed her.

"That was nice of her," Ren said absentmindedly as she dropped her bad to the floor, so ready to end a long day. She was slightly irritated by the sight of Shoto, her mind had been buzzing from the excitement of her successful interview at the university paper. She had felt as though her life were finally turning in a direction of her choosing and yet here he was, forcing her to face the past.

She looked a little flushed, her cheeks were pink, her lips stained a little with something red. The boy spied the way her silk blouse clung to her before he looked away, putting his hands in his pockets and shifting in his jacket. Ren walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out some water and gulping at it greedily.

She had forgotten that she'd told him to come over, to pick up the envelope containing the information about his mother's whereabouts. It had only taken a couple of phone calls to track down the hospital where Rei Todoroki was being treated, but Ren had chosen not to look at the details herself. It wasn't her business, and she didn't want to intrude on Shoto's personal life any more than she already had. There was a tension in the air between them, something was filing the space, the words unspoken pushing them apart. The weight of their telephone conversation was bearing down on the two teenagers, threatening to break them. Neither was quite ready to face it.

Ren turned to him once more and walked to the other side of the table, putting the sturdy wooden surface between herself and Shoto. It was a subconscious move, a way to keep some distance between them, both physically and emotionally.

On the table lay a plain white envelope, unmarked except for a single word scrawled across the front in Ren's flowing handwriting: "Shoto."She picked up the envelope and held it out to him, annoyed that her fingers were trembling slightly. "The information you asked for," she said, her voice sounding too loud in the quiet room. "It's all in here."

With a start, as though he could not quite believe it, Shoto moved towards her, reached out and took the envelope from her. His fingers brushed against hers for the briefest of moments. His quirk affected her as it always did but Ren gritted her teeth, not wanting to draw attention to it. She quickly pulled her hand back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Thank you," Shoto said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude and a hint of vulnerability that made Ren's heart ache. All thoughts of their last conversation left her as her lips parted to offer him some comfort. But he wouldn't let her voice them yet. "I know this couldn't have been easy for you, to help me with the choices I have made…given your feelings about heroes and quirks."

Ren shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even as her heart raced in her chest. "It's just a few phone calls," her voice sounded strained to her own ears. "Anyone could have done it." But they both knew that wasn't true. Ren had access to information and resources that most people could only dream of, thanks to her family's wealth and influence. And she had chosen to use those resources to help Shoto, despite her own misgivings about the world he inhabited.

There was a tension between them, a crackling energy that filled the air like static. It wasn't just the familiar attraction that simmered between them, the undeniable pull of their bodies and minds. It was something deeper, more profound. They were on opposite sides of a divide, a chasm that separated the world of heroes and villains from the rest of society. Shoto had dedicated his life to becoming a hero, to following in his father's footsteps and using his quirk to help others. Ren, on the other hand, had always been skeptical of the hero industry, seeing it as a corrupt and broken system that did more harm than good.

And yet, here they were, brought together by the past and a connection that neither of them could deny. It was a bond that ran deeper than their differences, a thread that tied them together even as the world tried to pull them apart.

Ren could feel Shoto's eyes on her, could sense the weight of his gaze as he studied her face. She wanted to look away, to hide from the intensity of his stare, but she found herself caught, unable to move.

"I know what you think of me, Ren," he said quietly, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and resignation. Ren felt a surge of irritation rise up inside her, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She didn't want to have this conversation, didn't want to rehash the same old arguments about heroes and villains and the broken system that had shaped both their lives.

"Shoto, please," she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes in exasperation. "I don't want to talk about this right now."

"I just want you to know," he said softly, "that it's not just about living up to my father's expectations. It's about helping people, making a difference."

The girl felt a lump rise in her throat, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She knew he meant well, knew that he truly believed in the ideals of heroism and selflessness. But she also knew that the world was not so simple, that there were shades of grey and complexities that he couldn't see.

"You're a far better person than I am, Shoto," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to justify anything to me." Ren was begging him silently to just take the papers and go. She didn't want to face this, any of this. He sensed it, he knew not to push her. So Shoto turned away from her and began to walk away.

Something sparked inside of Shoto, something fanned by the idea of not seeing her again. He couldn't let this end here, something undeniable, fearless and unrelenting was tying him to her and the idea of it breaking, stirred something inside of him. He turned back to her before he left the living room.

"I'll come back later," Ren looked up in confusion as Shoto's handsome face glanced back to her and smiled, a small, sad curve of his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes, "to thank you properly."

He left her standing at her dining table alone, the cold bottle of water in her hand somehow now frozen. Ren put it on the table and sighed, pulling at her hair. Suddenly she stood bolt upright, before sinking into one of the dining chairs, her legs suddenly feeling weak. Pulling at her hair, she tried to rid herself of the image of him, of the way his eyes had darkened with an unspoken promise.

"Okay, stop." She told her brain which had begun speculating what a "thank you" from Shoto Todoroki may look like. She pulled at her hair and tried to rid herself of the image of him.

The. Fucking. Death. Of. Me.

Are we happy with the pacing and characterisations in this? I'm not sure…would appreciate some feedback.

Quickly…Before we develop a love/hate relationship, dear reader.