Rolling deep, white hills dip into lighter pastures, their mounds of snow piling against wooden fences and pushed to the roadsides after a much needed plowing earlier that day. Shouto stands almost calf deep in the middle of such an untouched field, squinting. Knit hat pushed haphazardly far up his forehead; taking almost his entire front bangs with it.

Playing in the snow was a fuss. At least for those who had to hang up his wet clothes and his father who is undoubtedly peeved at skipping the first fifteen minutes of their mandatory; forced, training. Regardless Shouto has no desire to stay inside.

Trudging through all this snow kicks up a fine powder behind him with every step and he doesn't have to glance over his shoulder to know his back is covered with snow. Using his quirk would ruin the thrill of his exploration thus he refuses to do so.

Instead lurching forward with a mighty leap to cling against another fence with both half-frozen hands. Shouto doesn't particularly mind how his feet seem to be swallowed whole; boots and even half his legs more like in the white landscape. He does mind her quiet laughter as she kicks her legs up back and forth from her place on the iron wrought top rung. Momo is taller and probably strong enough to hoist herself up even in this sort of weather.

Shouto hasn't the strength to climb one rung of the fence.

Ice crackles up the iron rails in a frustrated zig-zag and Momo offers her hand to him with no hesitation but instead a disappointed sigh. Her oversized scarf wrapped so many times around her neck Shouto wonders how she breathes in several layers of scratchy wool and four pairs of socks most likely. "You're a bit slow."

He spares no response, grabbing onto her outstretched hand and grudgingly allows himself to be dragged upwards where she sits. Their 'gateway' of exploration is hardly that tall but even from this height the usual dusted treeline, frozen pond and like can be seen through a new set of eyes.

Momo is saying something but his mind is so incredibly fixated on what fun things might be in store if they explore past the greenish, rock solid pond that Shouto manages exhaling a nonchalant "mmm," and that would be it as far as their conversation goes. Until Momo reaches out intending to adjust Shouto's bangs, mussed and somewhat static from his hat; now dangerously close to falling off his head.

"What?"

It took her a little off-guard. Momo hadn't expected him to grab her hand so suddenly. Thinking about it now asking first would've been a politer approach. She figures a small portion of Shouto's hesitancy has to do with his scar, and he does occasionally complain about it hurting when their toughest days wind to an end.

"Your hat is falling off," She's embarrassed now. "I was trying to fix it." Shouto's fingers adjust around her hand comfortably. Pulling it forward to rest on his hat along with a partial bit of his head, she relaxes into his welcoming behavior. Setting to work and along the lines becoming so caught up that Shouto's collar is adjusted as well. "That kind of thing is fine." So he says.

"Alright! Now that we've met as planned, where should we explore? How much time do you have today?" Momo's questions are met with Shouto's uncontainable grin. "Almost two hours today, it's a lucky afternoon." Smiles are contagious.

"It's super lucky today. Now we can do some real adventuring!" Shouto likes when she's excited; firing him up as well for their longest adventure of the month.

And the last—

An incurable drowsiness. Shouto isn't like this, at least normally. He grumbles into the nook of one arm; both arms are curled beneath his head as he lies on his stomach sideways across the futon. I'm cold, he thinks, but resolves to do nothing and continues occupying time as an immovable sack of potatoes. Blaming weather instead.

In fact, glaring through the window right this moment at snowflakes that amassed overnight and refuse to take a rest, harassing him to no end with a twinge of unusual annoyance, Shouto decides he's even too tired to close the shades. Late afternoon shadows crawling up his walls and fading into uncomfortable sunlight jeer, and cast themselves amongst trampled snow just outside his room.

Get up. At least eat. It's a little satisfying to be lying down and ignoring ice-cold feet. The result of forgetting to put on socks.

Inconvenienced by his own need to sustain himself through food Shouto rouses himself enough to see a bit clearer and maybe prop his right arm up, preparing for the incommodious task of hoisting his heavy body out of bed. The first time his arm slips out from beneath his unexpected weight — Shouto lets himself fall, face first.

Then resolves to sit up.

Then counter resolves to let himself fall face first once more.

Persistent knocking outside his door is what finally irritates Shouto enough to hoist himself up by first the arms, then the rest of the body following. Taking very long, unsteady strides across the room and hesitantly turning the equally cold doorknob. And maybe it won't —

"You should eat something," Fuyumi appears unwell, they both know full and well the reason; however long it may not be present today. "You haven't left your room yet — at least ," Shouto's nod only cuts off her further thoughts, spoken aloud. And they relapse into usual silence.

Only when he — that man isn't present — do they eat together.

Shouto's sluggish movements are only exasperated by an occasional bumping against the table's edge with his arm, dropping food onto it's lightly scratched top. He could hardly take any bites fast enough. Eventually laying his chopsticks to the side, disgusted at his own incapabilities when cheerless precipitation is involved.

"Maybe we should warm up the house." Fuyumi suggests carefully, sweeping bits of escaped rice into her palm. And then blanches at her own suggestion. "I take that back."

Shouto knows it's his cue to disperse as Fuyumi rushes their half-eaten dishes to the sink in a blind panic, dumping Shouto's portion in to trash and scrubbing at his dishes furiously. They don't want to get in any sort of trouble with telltale signs. His shoulder reminds him with a dull throb that its been all but wrenched from its socket recently. He, sad eyes, sweeps into his room on quick, noiseless feet and quietly clicks the door shut just as the front door greets Enji home with a sickening thud.

Heavy footsteps and sloshing water chime Fuyumi is nervously scrubbing to keep her panic under wraps. Shouto leaves the door unlocked.

Empty bookshelves remind him there is nothing without knowledge, and knowledge is power. And magic is —

"Shouto."

Useless on someone who can't properly help others. Creaky wooden doors, metal knobs that rattle ominously and him — enough. That man could search desperately around town all afternoon but only in the evening will he ever catch Shouto. So Shouto decides, when the door fully opens and he's left out the open window. Despite the freezing cold. Hearing Enji yell only quickens his pace over the sloping hills and open fields of their home. Past the half-frozen pond that's been around for ages.

Shouto feels six years old again.

There isn't anywhere else to go; it isn't as if he has money in his pockets and he'll be back within a few hours once the sky is dark. Stomping through patches of slush in loosely tied sneakers and no coat, Shouto can't help but feel unbearably cold.

I shouldn't have left her. Always running away.

Muddled regrets interrupt each other over and over, leading him blindly down heavily trodden paths where the powdery soft snow turned to dirty slush, flattened by a great many footprints that humans and animals alike left behind themselves. Each thought pokes at his clouded judgement, flexing his fingers and wrists hoping for something other than this magic. Shouto wants different magic. Shouto wants some sort he can create with his own hands, and if anything let this reality of flames and forced destinies die.

Enji ought to be after him now or instead —

Snow comes down suddenly on his head, it slips down his shirt causing Shouto to yelp, stumbling off the beaten path a bit and digging his sneakers into the mud as an added injury to the dreaded training day.

"What are you doing?" Shouto asks the chilly air.

Midoriya Izuku — a lamppost — Midoriya on the lamppost hugging the pole tightly like a bear cub with his legs wrapped around the entire post. He doesn't seem to be struggling really more like concentrated on his task. Which happens to be replacing its burnt out bulb judging how he's attempting to unscrew the blackened bulb with his left hand all while maintaining position with his right. A clear bulb tucked into his breast pocket.

"Oh,Todoroki! I'd ask you what you're doing out here without any coat but first — if you wouldn't mind catching this?" He twists a burnt bulb between his fingers, wiggling it a bit for Shouto to better see. At the slight incline of Shouto's head Izuku drops it carefully.

His coatless friend catches it clumsily between frozen hands and sneezes when stray bangs tickle his nose. Shouto tuckes the frozen light between both hands still and waits for Izuku to finish his chore — quickly screwing in a replacement before swinging the paneled glass shut with a click. "Thanks."

Izuku slides down the post like a firemans pole bearing a huge grin. Then comes his 'nagging look' as Ochako always stresses whenever she's present for it. "Aren't you wearing too little layers?" Shouto stares back with dead fish eyes unsure of how to reply and Izuku's tone switches immediately to embarrassment. "I mean — i t's like this, we've only met twice I know but — aren't you freezing? You might get sick." He's wringing his hands now, nervous.

"I guess I- I forgot…" A cutting chill mocks how anyone with a sense of feeling could forget a coat in this sort of weather. But Shouto hasn't a better formulated excuse which feels odd, he has a memorized script of excuses by now. Icy fingers thread together over glass, fooling with the metal ridges of that bulb, and tracing them.

I don't believe you , Izuku's eyes say. But he speaks nothing of it. Merely, "okay." Offering Shouto his own gloves at least. "Are you headed home then?"

Midoriya's sharp, prying nature is uncomfortable. Shouto doesn't wish to speak of those things. Half-truths and little white lies aren't exactly a horrendous thing to make use of. "No. I have somewhere I want to be." Shouto focuses himself on counting the numerous splotched freckles on Midoriya's cheeks rather than looking into his all-knowing eyes. Not that he does know. He couldn't and Shouto isn't about to let wicked words betray what he's thinking.

Todoroki is clamming up, and Izuku bites his lip, mentally berating himself for having run his mouth so much and making the sad eyes boy even sadder. Words come out rushed, tripping over the other in jarring repetition. "O-oh, is that so? Sorry for being nosy I guess. It's a habit of mine though Mom says I shouldn't be too overbearing with others — and I kinda lose sight of that. You seem cold and all I wanted to be sure you were okay and I'm rambling but I really, really hope you're okay. I don't want people to feel bad or anything is all, um,"

He wishes Todoroki would say something instead of staring blankly like that. It makes him seem all the more dead.

"I'm fine." Shouto's reply comes out as a tentative whisper and Izuku has to strain his ears to hear it. Not so, people don't just walk around in the dead of winter hardly dressed and looking as if they're about ready to cry. Though he isn't about to but Shouto looks miserable enough to.

"The bookshop is nearby and it's pretty warm in there. Toshinori won't mind if we hang out there a little?" Izuku offers him a tentative hand only met with confusion. "Bookshop? Oh —" Todoroki seems to vaguely remember it. Though it's only been a little over a month since his last trip there. After ridding himself of his collection there wasn't much of a reason to visit.

"Yeah, let's go?" The smaller boy offers.

Shouto doesn't take Izuku's hand but falls into stride next to him."Okay." Midoriya fills the silence with aimless chatter while only a nod or hum assured him Todoroki is still listening. Scuffing his sneakers along the sidewalk while Shouto seems a bit too worried over his own muddy ones. "I don't have a lot of time," He admits. "But I can stay a little, maybe."

Izuku understands. The lull of dim yellow lights casted on shadowed snowdrifts seems unusually welcome— sky beginning to darken— Shouto doesn't really intend to stay too long. And with luck Endeavor had brushed right past Fuyumi in his rage to catch him by the collar. He won't cross his fingers for it though in an array of chiming shop bells and a soft "welcome."

Aforementioned Toshinori's bookshop is awfully warm. But Izuku's chatter is drowning out whatever thoughts he can recognize. Shouto stares as the dead bulb still in his hands and sees himself in its smudged reflection.

updates are slow going and this chapter is twice the size of my usual chapter lengths but in this case all the better? tune in next time for shouto to discover that turkish delight is indeed good enough to sell out ones family