Notes: So... I forgot my own updating schedule. My bad - so, you get a Monday update to make up for it.

The first day seems the longest.

Shouto wakes up at five, despite having been forced by Yaoyorozu to turn his phone alarm off, and readies himself for a day of work. He feels dizzy in the shower, has to sit down until light headedness fades away, before pulling on clothes, his shoes and heading out the door.

He gets to the bottom of his apartment building when he realises he's going to be turned away from work, at which point, he sits on the steps to the upper floors, breathless and dizzy, wondering about the consequences of being ill.

Then, after what feels like hours, (but is only really minutes), he drags himself back up to his apartment, where he makes himself a cup of coffee, climbs back into his bed and stares at the walls.

It's grey. He's never paid much attention to his apartment, purely because its only purpose is a place for him to sleep, but it's… hideously bland. There's no signs of life in the apartment and maybe it bothers him now that he thinks about it, but it shouldn't.

He sips at his coffee, tries not to think too much on what it'd be like to live a more colorful life and when it becomes difficult to think without feeling like he's burning up, he rinses his cup out and lays down in his futon.

Shouto tries to fall asleep and fails.

His eyes are closed, but Shouto's mind refuses to shut off. Instead of thinking about relaxing and recuperating after falling ill, his mind is forced onto his father, and the angry words he will receive for not making it into work.

Minutes tick away, silently because Shouto doesn't own a clock, cannot listen to ticks. It feels, almost, like he is trapped in a single moment of time, growing more and more nervous as he thinks more.

At some point, he must drift off, because he wakes to the sound of someone knocking on his door. It's a light knock, and Shouto almost doesn't hear it, but it must register in his subconscious, tearing him from sleep.

Rubbing at his eyes and throwing on a dressing gown – he questions when he'd ever bought it, but apparently, it fits and it's better than throwing on clothes when all his is, is aching bones – he makes his way from his bedroom, out to the door.

He has to pause a few steps from the door, lean against the wall when the world becomes a blur, dizziness dealing more damage to him than a villain ever could. Then, after he's recovered, he reaches out for the door, opening it.

"Todoroki!" Shouto should have expected it to be Midoriya, who else knows his address? "Yaoyorozu said she wouldn't be able to drop your medicine off until tonight, but I was worried and wanted you to start the medication by noon at the latest so here I am."

Shouto levels him with a glare, but lets him in with the slightest incline of his head. He wonders briefly what he's supposed to do with the sudden guest, and closes the door behind Midoriya with a hesitant pause. Then, attempting to move as if exhaustion is not rotting his bones, he leads them into the kitchen.

"Coffee?" He asks, because he can't offer anything else. He's pretty sure that the only thing that exists within the cupboards of his kitchen is coffee beans. He doesn't think he should tell Midoriya that though, feels almost like it'll cause him to go into scowl mode.

"Oh, no thank you," Midoriya says, and he places a small bag on the side, the prescription Shouto knows that he's going to be forced to take, "I'm not much of a coffee drinker."

Shouto nods his head. Leans against the wall and watches as the man opens the bag, placing small boxes on his kitchen side.

"Okay," Midoriya says, "I've brought the antiviral-medicine, which should help boost your immune system long enough to fight your fever. You'll want to take them twice a day, with food. Have you eaten lunch yet?"

Shouto shakes his head. He realises it's probably not a good decision to say he hasn't eaten since before his fight against the villain the day before, so he stays silent instead.

"I thought so," Midoriya says, flashes him a smile. Then he says, "you should make something in a little while. Actually… While I'm here, I was wondering if you could answer some questions about your diet, I've been thinking your white blood cell count might be diet related…"

Shouto closes his eyes as everything becomes a blur again, decides his pride can come later and moves towards one of the chairs by the kitchen side. There are three, but only one has ever been used.

Thinking about it, Shouto thinks Midoriya might be his first guest.

"I guess so," he says, "although it's mainly just stuff I've picked up from the convenient store."

He receives a sigh. "Is it a bento at least?"

Shouto shrugs his shoulders, "I normally just buy onigiri and bread, I don't have the time to eat a lot during work."

At this, he receives a glare, more exasperation, a feeling that he's eliciting in the doctor more than he'd been expecting to. He looks away, purely because he doesn't want to see the man's disappointment – for a doctor, he wears emotions on his face more so than he should.

"Is it that difficult for you to take care of yourself?" Midoriya chides, and he turns. "Malnutrition isn't anything to be okay with. And you're probably sleep deprived too… how are you surviving?"

Shouto's answer: "I don't know."

The truth: He isn't.

"Listen," Midoriya says, "I know you've said your health isn't a priority, but it should be. And… and until I can be certain that it is one for you, I'm not going to give you the go ahead to return to work. It's just… I can't let you live like this."

Shouto doesn't speak. He is not living, after all, simply existing. After a moment, he stands from the chair, itching to be stood up even if it leaves him unsteady on his feet. And he places the kettle over the stove, boiling water.

"I'm not trying to be rude," Midoriya says after a moment, uncertain. After a moment, he says, "you should get some more rest, I'll… I'll make you something that's actually healthy, I'll wake you up then…"

Shouto turns, glances back at the doctor with pursed lips. He asks, "do you usually do things like this for your clients?"

Midoriya hesitates, scratches his cheeks and shakes his head. "No, but most of my patients know how to look after themselves."

And from that point, the day drags.

The following day is a bit easier, mainly because Midoriya doesn't make any appearances. Shouto spends most of the day, and the next, slipping in and out of sleep and only leaving his room to reheat some of the leftover curry Midoriya had made the day before.

When he feels awake enough, he clicks the TV over to the news and follows the news on villain attacks within Tokyo, biting the inside of his cheek when he notices Endeavour being interviewed. Seeing his face on the screen brings too many conflicted feelings to Shouto's head, so he lifts the remote and throws it across the room.

It clatters on the ground, and Shouto feels breathless at doing just that.

He stares at the TV a moment longer, before pulling himself to his feet and pulling the plug from the wall. The screen flickers, much like Endeavour's flames do, before blacking out, leaving only the imprint of a man Shouto hates on the screen.

"I'm not you," Shouto mutters, and it feels almost… real to say the words. He's never said them before, hasn't stood up against his father in the years he's known him, too cautious of the man and the possibility of gaining more burn scars. He throws himself into his room, curls up on his futon and closes his eyes. "I will never be you."

The words do nothing to comfort him, and Shouto falls asleep with fire burning his eyelids, the feeling of fire burning his wrists like shackles searing his mind as he drifts into unconsciousness.

His fever breaks by the end of the fifth day.

Shouto decides against a shower, and draws a bath instead, relaxing tense muscles for the first time in a long time. And as he lies back, he decides that he's going to try and do something today, because he can't handle staying holed up in this apartment again.

He's not sure exactly what he wants to do with his day, although he feels like maybe going grocery shopping might be a good place to start. He needs to stock his cupboards with food after all, if he's going to be at home more often.

Shouto will start with that then. Maybe he'll even wander the area, because the most he's seen of his neighbourhood is the route to the train station. And even then, he doesn't see much because it's always dark when he commutes to and from work…

Within ten minutes, Shouto is dry, clothed with a jacket thrown on, and slipping his shoes on. He grabs his wallet, before making his way out of his apartment, climbing down the stairs and out into the neighbourhood.

It's a weekday, so the neighbourhood is quiet – there are no children playing outside seeing as they're all in school, although Shouto does see some toddlers playing when he passes the park on his walk around the neighbourhood.

One of the toddlers sees him, raises their hand to point and shouts 'Shouto'. It causes all the other toddlers to turn, waving, and directly afterward, draws the attention of multiple mothers.

One woman stands, runs towards the end of the gate nearest to him and asks, "there's not a villain attack around here is there?"

Shouto turns, shakes his head. He says, "No, I'm just… out for a walk I guess."

She smiles in response, says 'oh thank god' before thanking him for what he does to keep Tokyo safe. And then, she turns back to the park, away from him – his first conversation with a civilian and it doesn't even last a minute. Shouto doesn't know whether to be impressed or bewildered.

He waves to the toddlers when they should his name again, purely because there's no reason not to, before continuing on, trying to find the supermarket. It takes an extra twenty minutes, but Shouto finds that he doesn't mind because it's warm and having nothing to do is less stressful than having to do everything at once.

The supermarket is big, and Shouto picks up a shopping basket before moving through the shop. He doesn't know exactly what he needs to buy – he's 24 and yet this is his first time fully shopping for himself – so he picks up the stereotypical objects, before branching out with things he wants to try.

It doesn't quite fill the basket, but there's more than he's used to buying. And then, because Shouto's trying to waste a little time before heading back to his apartment, he sidles to the magazine aisle, eyes flickering between newspapers and magazines.

There's one magazine with the header 'All-Might, where is he now?'. He glances at it, asks the question himself, before grabbing the first newspaper in his reach. He places it in his basket without a second glance, making his way to the till.

"Oh, wow, your Shouto, the super hero, right?" The cashier – a university student from the looks of him – says when he places his groceries on the conveyor belt. Shouto nods, places the empty basket with the others at the end of the till. "Oh wow dude, you're like, so awesome."

Shouto mutters 'thanks', grabs a bag and starts packing his items inside. It doesn't take him to long, but it certainly feels like it as the cashier starts recalling his latest fights against villains, describing them to him as if he'd not been the one fighting them. Shouto grabs his wallet from his coat, picks out the bills he needs.

"But you know what I like most about heroes like you, man?" The cashier asks as he's retrieving Shouto's change, "is that you guys don't got any time for the media. You ain't just doing it for the fame, you do it to help people."

Shouto tries to offer him a smile, but it comes out more of a grimace as he shoves his change into his pocket.

"Seriously man," the cashier says, and then quieter, as if he's disclosing a deep secret, "I kind of consider you the number one hero, you know? It used to be All-Might, but now I'm pretty sure you've taken his place."

Shouto's grimace falters, and he tries to feign happiness at being called someone's favourite – but being compared to All-Might… being told he's number one… Bile rises against his throat, leaving him feeling sickly his entire trip home.

By the time he makes his way back into his apartment, Shouto decides that he's not going to go back out again. He puts the chain on the latch, locks himself indoors and spends the rest of the day focusing on anything that will get the words 'number one hero' out of his head.

He rules out the possibility of walking the neighbourhood again.

Shouto's phone rings on the sixth day, and it's the final day Shouto counts, probably because after this he realises it's not worth counting anymore. His phone rings, and Shouto glances down at the caller I.D. scowling as the word 'Endeavour' shows up.

Some people would type their father in as 'dad' or 'old man', Shouto keeps it impersonal and uses his professional name. It's the only way he can remain impartial to the man, without letting it show.

He places the tea he's been drinking – freshly brewed, although he's not sure if he likes this particular flavour – onto his coffee table, mutes the TV, and presses answer.

"Shouto," Endeavour says.

"Father," Shouto responds, because he needs to offer a degree of respect to avoid being outed as a disappointment. With all the connections his father has, Shouto's certain Endeavour has the power to make it impossible for him to get a job at any other agency in Japan.

"When I received the news that you'd moved to a new doctor, I accepted it." Endeavour begins, in a tone that seems to claim this is a kindness on his side. "When I received an email saying you'd fallen ill and needed a short leave to get better, I wasn't happy about it, but I accepted it."

Shouto glances down, almost as if he's avoiding Endeavour's glare – they're not even in the same room, why? Why does the man leave him feeling like he will never be enough?

"But it's been a week now," Endeavour says – and oh yes, he's counting the half day he'd worked, so technically it is a week, "and there's a difference between recuperating and slacking off."

Shouto bites his tongue, tastes metal against his taste buds, a metallic flavour that he washes away with the taste of tea.

"I don't want to be on leave," he says, mainly because it's true, life is so boring staying cooped up in his apartment, waiting to return to work, "but my doctor ordered it. I have to wait until he gives me the clear to come back."

Endeavour creates a sound that's a mix between a sigh and a growl. He says, "we'll transfer you back to the family doctor then, and he'll clear you for work again. I won't accept slacking off Shouto."

Shouto thinks about Midoriya. About how he'd react if Shouto suddenly called to switch back to his previous doctor, to a man Midoriya knows he'd not attend appointments with.

"The doctor says that if I don't fully rest," Shouto says after a moment, "then I'm at risk of being hospitalised, and it wouldn't… If I'm to become the number one hero," – he feels sick just at the thought – "then I can't afford to be hospitalised for a long time."

Endeavour growl crackles from the speaker.

"Fine," he spits. "But I'm not letting you slack off either. I want at least five hours training a day at the family estate so you're not out of practise when you come back to work. Understood?"

Shouto nods, realises he's talking on the phone and adds, "I understand."

"Good, tomorrow then. Be there for nine o'clock."

The line goes dead, and Shouto, feels his blood run cold. He should have been expecting this, he thinks, and yet after the first few days without any commentary from his father, he'd slowly let his guard down.

Shouto places his phone down, tells himself that he's calm, and picks the T.V. remote up. He unmutes the television, although the words don't register in his head, all he's processing are people smiling on the screen, all living their rosy-coloured lives, enjoying themselves while he's wrapped up in grey.

Another smile.

Shouto is calm.

Another rosy-coloured life.

He's not angry at all. Not disappointed and tearing himself to pieces over a sickness he's got no control over.

Another person enjoying what he can't.

Shouto grits his teeth, hurls the remote towards the TV screen. The screen shatters around the remote, a circle that spreads, the rest of the screen going black. Shouto has to remind himself to breath.

He takes a step towards the wreck, before shaking his head, leaving the room behind before he can think any more on the topic.

Despite the sick feeling that had built in him as a result of the phone call, Shouto feels a sense of relief at the prospect of having something to do. He's not used to resting, to not having a busy work schedule, and while he knows sparring isn't what Midoriya had in mind when he'd ordered medical leave, Shouto can't keep… Sitting around his apartment, letting the lack of stimulation drain his spirit.

So, he catches the train to his family estate, even though he hates setting foot inside, and he spars.

Shouto practises hand-to-hand combat, making sure his reflexes remain quick. Some mornings, he practises with the man who taught him self-defence, a tutor employed by the Todoroki family, and other mornings – terrible mornings – Endeavour is the one who trains him.

Endeavour, Shouto remembers as he loses his footing after being sent flying from a particularly heavy-footed kick, is not someone to work below 100% efficiency. He doesn't go easy on Shouto, which is a blessing, because it means Shouto has to focus, his mind unable to trail off into random thoughts.

Hitting the floor, Shouto makes sure to hit the mat properly, moving into a roll and getting back to his feet. It takes seconds, and by the time he's adjusted his footing so he's stable, Endeavour moves forward with another kick.

This time, Shouto braces, stops the kick, and pulls Endeavour nearer in an attempt to stagger his balance. Then, he surges forward, jabs at his father. The man dodges, although Shouto does think he clips the man several times.

The sparring almost acts as a medium for his own frustrations, with himself, with work, with himself. And Shouto doesn't feel better exactly, but he does feel grounded.

By the time his next appointment comes, two weeks after his initial sick leave, Shouto is littered with bruises from sparring. His muscles ache, although the daily sparring matches have left him feeling more energetic, simply because it's the longest he's spent outside in years.

"We'll have to retake your bloods," Midoriya says, when Shouto sits down, making sure that none of his bruises from sparring are on show, "but today is just a general check-up to talk about your symptoms and how you're feeling."

The doctor turns to him, a notepad on his lap for any quick notes, and offers him a smile.

Shouto says, "okay," because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Your fever's gone," Midoriya says, as if it weren't obvious. He says, "how's your head, are you still getting headaches? Is there any lingering nausea?"

Shouto shakes his head no – he's technically not lying, but that's because the nausea he's feeling is completely unrelated to any sickness he'd had before. The churning of his stomach is caused purely by the mention of being number one, of fulfilling the purpose he'd been conceived to achieve.

"That's good," Midoriya smiles, "and your diet, please tell me you've branched out from just onigiri and bread…"

"I've branched out," Shouto sighs, "listen, I've done what you've said. I'm taking the prescribed medicines, I'm eating more healthily… when can I go back to work?"

Midoriya's smile morphs into a frown, it's fuelled by unease and discontent, but Shouto doesn't look away from it now. He says, "I can't say anything for certain until I get your blood results back… but if they come back fine, you should be back at work soon."

The man doesn't look pleased admitting that. And he breathes out a sigh, the sound almost breathless.

"Just keep resting until your next blood test," Midoriya says. And he tilts his head, almost as if he's proud of Shouto for not having tried to go back into work behind his back, as if he'd been expecting it.

Shouto tries not to feel bad about the sparring, but after a brief hesitation, it becomes impossible.

"I'll book the blood test then," Shouto says, nods. It's not like he's been told not to spar, plus… there's no health risks to it involving illness and infection – Shouto's been training indoors and hasn't felt any after affects, there's nothing for him to be guilty about.

"Until then," Midoriya says, the check-up cut short. He walks Shouto to his door, like he usually does, offers a small wave, before closing the door behind him.

And Shouto, glancing down at his watch, readies himself for another sparring match.

"Work harder," Endeavour orders during their next sparring match, and Shouto does. What is meant to be a five-hour training day, with multiple breaks littered between them, soon drags out until the sun is going down, exhaustion running deep in his bones.

"I am," Shouto responds, and he stays in his childhood room that night, sleeps at the family estate so he'll be ready for the next morning. Purple blotches cover his body, some fading away to green and yellow as the days drag on.

He sleeps better than he has in a while, mainly because fatigue wraps around him, pulling him into dreamless sleep as the days pass.

By the day of his blood test, Shouto feels the most rested – and exhausted, somehow – that he's been in years. He feels almost… not at peace, because he still feels rope coiled around his neck, a weight on his shoulder that he will never stop struggling beneath… but, well… now he's not drowning under a massive workload.

The blood test does not quite go the way Shouto is expecting.

He expects to step inside, talk to his doctor and receive the smile Midoriya always gives. Then, he'll roll up his sleeve, have his bloods taken and head home.

Instead, he feels tension the moment he steps inside the room. He still receives the smile, and it's as bright as ever – which means… Shouto is the one feeling nervous, as if something isn't going to go well.

"Todoroki!" Midoriya says as he sits down, and Shouto offers him a smile in response, something that comes out more of a grimace. "How are you feeling, better?"

Shouto takes a moment to think, before nodding. "Rested, I guess."

"Good," Midoriya says, and he leans onto his desk, places on gloves to ensure he's not getting germs everywhere. "Let's get started with your bloods, yes?"

The doctor stands, moving over to the cupboards, where he grabs some vials and a needle. Shouto's eyes follow him, and he hesitates, before shrugging off his jacket, and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt.

Shouto glances at his arm, winces at the bruises that litter the limb, before taking a breath. This isn't going to go well, but he certainly doesn't need to explain himself either.

Midoriya closes the cupboard, places the vials on his desk, and readies the needle. Then, he glances at Shouto, reaches forward with the tourniquet he'd had on his desk to make the blood sample easier to take. His eyes narrow.

The doctor places the tourniquet back on his desk and says, "what's all these bruises?"

Shouto glances at him, "they're just… bruises."

"You're supposed to be resting," Midoriya says, and he leans forward, narrow-eyed, exasperated and angry. "I've told you time and time again to rest."

"I have been resting." Shouto replies.

"And yet all I'm seeing are bruises." It's the first time Midoriya raises his voice – and somehow Shouto knows it will not be the last. "What have you been doing."

Shouto hesitates. "Sparring."

"I told you not to work!" Midoriya cries, "does your health really mean nothing to you?"

At this point Shouto's own eyes narrow. Maybe he shouldn't get mad at the doctor, he's only trying to help, but irritation bubbles up inside him. This is the man that practically forced him to become a patient, who's taken him from work and made things difficult as a result.

He'd not be stuck thinking about the fact that he's got nothing other than work, if he'd not been told by the man that he lives such a lonely existence.

"I've not been working," Shouto says, voice terse, but quieter than Midoriya's is. "You've made that impossible, you won't clear me for work. Remember?"

"Yes," Midoriya says, "I haven't cleared you, and yet you're doing so anyway. How else do you explain the… these bruises?"

Shouto crosses his arms. "I've not been working, I've been sparring. That's different."

"I told you to rest!"

A stupid word – rest. Does the man expect him to just sit around and do nothing for weeks until he's back on his feet? Endeavour was right, Shouto can't slack off, and there's only so much time he can rest before he's taking advantage of those around him and pushing his luck.

"I have." He says, "I rested when I was feverish. I did for a week, but there's only so much time I can spend doing nothing."

Midoriya narrows his eyes. "I tell you to rest so you'll heal, and you come in more bruised than you had been when you were working. What's wrong with you? Why can't you just take time for yourself and relax?"

"I did." Shouto protests.

"No," Midoriya shakes his head, "are you incapable of looking after yourself?"

"I'm not incapable."

"Well, it certainly seems that way!" Midoriya cries, and he balls his hands into fists, struggling with his irritation.

"I'm not incapable," Shouto repeats. "You just don't understand."

"I don't understand why you can't look after yourself? No, I most certainly do not understand. There's nothing to understand!"

"I don't have the time to look after myself." Shouto shouts, and his voice breaks as he raises it, the most unhinged it's become since… since forever. "I've got work and I've got to succeed and God, there's all this pressure and I can't slack off because if I do what do I even exist for?"

He's riled up enough that he needs to take a moment to breathe. He gasps, swallowing down air. He stands, glancing away from Midoriya's shocked expression, the expression turning from angry to…

Shouto doesn't want to search for meaning in the other man's widened eyes, so he turns away from them, forces his way over to the door.

"Todoroki-"

Shouto ignores him. He lets the door swing on his way out.

The author very much so enjoys reviews!