Liberosis - n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

His wounds ache.

He is covered in bruises and burns. He is bleeding from a cut on his palm, where he must have caught his hand on something. His body hurts, screams with every move he makes. He ignores it, can't do anything but ignore it, and runs.

There are days when he can't stand living in that house. Days when his father's presence is too much and he can't bring himself to seclude himself in his room after a training session, licking his wounds and waiting for the next session to begin. Days when he can't force himself to ignore the phantom ache around his eye, when his vision blurs and mind clamors with the voices of ghosts he doesn't want to hear.

Todoroki Shouto is only thirteen years old. He doesn't feel thirteen.

Endeavor left him on the floor of the Dojo as usual, stalking out with a flare of flame and a disappointed look in his eyes. There is nothing Shouto can do to please him, and Shouto doesn't want to please him, so that works out just fine. (It's not fine, not with the bruises shaped like handprints and burns shaped like fingers and terror terror terror, what if he-)

It hurts to stand up after that. It hurts to get onto his knees, his hands clammy and shaking with tremors he glares at to try and make them go away. (They don't) It hurts to put one foot on the ground, steadying himself on the wall with his hands, before forcing himself to his feet. The world wavers (It hasn't done that in a while…) and Shouto wonders if that blow to the head hadn't caused more damage than he'd originally thought.

The first step hurts the most. It usually does. It's a shock to his system, and he sends ice through his veins to force himself to take a second and a third and a fourth. Soon enough he's walking out of the Dojo on his own two feet, no matter how much it hurts.

Usually, he heads to his room after this. Usually, he pulls out the first aid kit he keeps in there and bandages his wounds, applies ointment to his burns, and avoids looking at the scars that drip down his shoulder from the boiling water that had run down the back of his neck and pooled there, years ago.

Usually.

Today, he can't bring himself to do that. He can't, not when the walls are closing in around him, suffocating him, making it hard to breathe. Not when he can hear his mother's voice in his head, ("Unsightly") and feel the burn of water against his face. Not today.

So he stumbles as he walks, forcing himself to move faster and faster. He's still dressed in his training cloths, his wounds are still uncared for, and this is stupid, so stupid, but-

He needs this.

His steps get steadier as he walks, step after step. He straightens his back, takes deep breaths, isolating the pain and pushing it back back back, so he doesn't have to think about it. (Doesn't have to feel)

He reaches the entrance and leaves. Just walks out. Never mind his wounds, never mind his clothes, never mind that he's heading out in public where anyone could recognize him.

Todoroki Shouto is thirteen. Just thirteen.

His steps get faster as they get steadier, his strides growing longer, growing quicker, until suddenly he's running. He's running through the streets, running away from home, running as far as he possibly can. It's irrational-his father will drag him home if he doesn't come back, will hunt him down. He knows because he's tried before, when he was younger. (When his scar was still covered in bandages and he was too stupid to know that there was no escaping here, no escaping this hell that man has created for him)

He runs because there is nothing else he can do. He runs because running is something he has, something he can do on his own power, and power is something precious when you have so little of it. He runs because the wind in his hair is freeing, because the burn in his limbs reminds him he's alive, because the sharp pain in his lungs with every heaving breath is a reminder of his determination, of his resolve, of his promise.

He runs.

He doesn't know how long he runs for. He doesn't count the seconds, count the minutes. (He doesn't count the ticking hands of the clock as each moment slips through his fingers like sand) He doesn't look where he runs, only avoiding crowds because they press into him on all sides. (And if he's sort of claustrophobic, can anyone blame him?) He loses himself in the rhythm of pumping arms, moving legs, of breath after breath, his wounds a constant reminder of what, exactly, he is escaping from. He runs and runs and runs and runs and-

He crashes into someone. They both fall to the ground, and there is a clatter of something metalic hitting the floor. Shouto hisses in discomfort, having landed on a bruise, and resists the urge to curl up and cry. Crying doesn't help things, doesn't change anything, doesn't make anything better. He's learned crying only makes things worse.

He forces himself up, looking to see who he crashed into, and sees a boy.

They're about the same age, if Shouto had to guess. The boy has messy hair, dark green curls peaking out from the hood of an All Might hoodie. The ears of All Might's hair are sticking up, and it looks almost like rabbit ears. His eyes are green, Shouto notes, and he has freckles scattered across his cheeks.

He's also holding a knife.

He'd scrambled for it, apparently, when they had hit the ground and it had fallen out of either his grip or his pocket, Shouto didn't know. He clutched it to his chest, cradling it, like something precious, and there is a wild sort of look in his eyes that Shouto isn't sure he likes the look of. It feels dangerous. (Not like his father is dangerous, not like his mother was dangerous, but-)

"S-sorry!" the boy stammers, hunching his shoulders and scrambling to his knees, the knife still hidden among his fingers, clutched close to his chest. "I-I'll just-" he pauses then, stopping, though for what reason Shouto can't fathom.

"Are you okay?" the boy asks, his voice surprisingly soft and steady compared to the mess it was just a second before. Shouto finds himself dragged in. It has been a while since he has heard that tone from anyone other than his sister.

"I-" Shouto cut himself off, suddenly so much more aware of what he must look like, of the bruises and burns and the cut on his palm that must be full of grime by this point. Shouto's still sitting on the ground, and he must be bleeding onto the concrete.

(Drip… Drip… Drip…)

"You're not," the boy says firmly, something odd in his eyes. Something powerful, hidden in those depths. "Stay here, I'll be right back. Promise."

Then he leaves.

Shouto, though he cannot name the reason why, obeys. He sits there, feeling stupid and confused and too exhausted to move. He regrets it, now, running away. He should be heading back, should go to his room and bandage his wounds, should hide there until dinner was served and he would be forced to leave it and face that man again. He can't, though, and he can't name why, doesn't understand-

(It stupid. So stupid)

Then the boy is back, and he's carrying a plastic convenience store bag, and he's kneeling down in front of Shouto, and he's speaking. Shouto can't hear him, can't distinguish between the words, so he just stares at him numbly and hopes the boy understands. He does, somehow (against all odds) and gently picks up Shouto's hand and starts to clean his wounds.

The boy is talking, and his voice is smooth. Shouto watches him numbly, watches the way his shoulders shift when he leans forward, watches the way his fingers grip the alcohol wipes, watches the way his lips move with each word he says. He bandages the cut on his hand, wrapping it in a manner that suggests he's done this action many times before, and for a moment, Shouto wonders.

"What's your name?" They're the first words Shouto has managed to actually say. He feels like they're important, like he has to know, to know this boy's name, to understand why he's treating Shouto so kindly, so gently, because can't you see just how broken he is?

(He screams when the water is poured on his face and falls to the floor. His elbow hits the floor at a bad angle and it hurts. Water drips through his hair, falls down his neck, and pools at his shoulder, it burns it burns it burns)

"Midoriya Izuku," the boy tells him, smiling up at him. He moves to pick up some burn ointment and starts treating the burn on his shoulder, opposite from the one with the scars from the water. "I'm almost done. Be patient a little longer, for me?"

Shouto nods, still staring. He can't seem to stop. His thoughts are sluggish and he doesn't know why. He doesn't know a lot of things, really.

Soon enough, all of Shouto's wounds are cleaned and bandaged. A shirt is then shoved in his arms. Shouto looks down at it in confusion, and then up at Midoriya, wondering why he has been handed a shirt-one with tags still on it-before realizing. Oh, he thinks absently, I'm still wearing my training clothes. Clothes which are burnt and torn. The gods only knew what the people he passed had thought when they'd seen him. He's run around in public, looking like this. It would be a miracle if it didn't feature in some gossip rag or another. His status as Endeavor's son wasn't exactly a secret.

(Why did it always have to be-)

"Why?" he asks. He clutches the fabric in his hands. It's a cheap thing, a plain T-shirt colored blue. "Why would you do this?"

Midoriya shifts, suddenly nervous again. He laughs, quietly, but Shouto can hear that it's not intended as an insult, that there is something self deprecating lurking in it. (A hatred so thick, it poisons his soul, seeping seeping into every crack and crevice until every space is filled) "I-I-I just… You looked l-like you needed help? A-And…" He paused, sucking in a breath and looking at the ground. "I've been there b-before. I'd have done anything t-to have someone to… help. To notice."

Shouto stares at him for a moment, noticing, for the first time, the bandages wrapped around his fingers and the bruises peaking out from under the sleeves of the hoodie.

(He's like-)

He takes off the burnt tank top and puts on the shirt Midoriya gave him. It was a bit large on him, but it wasn't anything obvious and it was far less conspicuous than the tank top. "Thank you," he says, honestly.

Midoriya looks up at him, startled. He blinks, like he's not quite sure what he just heard, and smiles. "You're welcome."

They sit there in silence for a moment, not saying anything, just looking at each other. Shouto stares Midoriya in the eye, and he sees something there. Something he wants to latch onto and never let go.

(Maybe that's why he-)

"Can I see you again?" he asks, and immediately balks. Why would Midoroya want to see him again? Why would Shouto? He has other things to deal with, more training to do. He needed to be strong enough that using his fire side wouldn't be necessary, that he could become the number one hero without it, but-

He doesn't want to let this go.

(Why doesn't he want to let this go?)

Midoriya flusters and starts waving his hands, his face going red "Th-t-that's!" he stammers before forcing himself to calm down and nod "Uh-y-yeah. You can." He reaches up to scratch the back of his head, dislodging the All Might hoodie as he did so. Then he blinks, before going for the inside of his pockets. He pulls out a notebook and tore out a piece of paper, jotting a number down quickly. He holds it out to Shouto, who takes it from him and stares at it. "Y-You can call or text me there, if you'd like. J-Just let me know. I'll meet y-you."

Then Midoriya paused again, going oddly still compared to how fidgety he was before. The odd look was back again, and Shouto found himself unwilling to look away. "You're not alone in this. If anything happens, call, okay?"

"Okay," Shouto finds himself promising. He gets up to his feet, finally, and he feels better than he did before. Midoriya stands up with him, after quickly gathering all the supplies into the plastic bag, and smiles at him. "D-Do you want to take these with you?" he asks, holding the bag out to him.

Shouto shook his head. "No, I have supplies at home."

Midoriya nods, slowly. "Okay. Take care."

"I will." Shouto says. Then Midoriya leaves, and Shouto feels oddly… light again. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head to get rid of the feeling, and walks for home.

He's been gone long enough.

(The paper in his hand is clutched like a lifeline)

…

Izuku sits on the bed, his back pressed to the wall. In his hand he holds a knife, and he turns it so it catches the light. It's sharp, he's tested it, and could slice clean through flesh. Until Aki can get back to him, it's also the only protection he has.

Things are getting dangerous. He keeps jumping at shadows, flinching at the sound of sirens, and looking over his shoulder whenever he goes out. He keeps thinking that someone is going to catch him, to make him pay up for his crimes.

He's a murder now. He still can't quite bring himself to believe it.

He takes a shuddering breath and grasps the knife tighter. He closes his eyes and thinks. His world is falling apart around him, and he can't do anything to stop it.

His mother is sick. A man is dead. Izuku pulled the trigger that killed him.

Is he a villain? Izuku thinks he must be, by this point. He doesn't feel evil, though. Never has. He just feels numb. And if he was a villain, would he have stopped to help him? That boy he ran into today-Todoroki Shouto.

Endeavor's youngest son. How odd that he'd meet a hero's son and stay to help him.

Izuku smiles to himself and turns the knife in his hand so he can see his reflection on the blade. "Maybe I'm not too far gone, just yet."

Who knew how long that would last.

AN: Written for the day two prompt for Villain Izuku Week over on tumblr. The prompt was "Public". This takes place a few days after Nighthawk. Things are only going downhill from here!