Lying parents

Many people assumed Shoto Todoroki grew up alone.

In a way, they were right.

He never played with neighborhood children. Never attended birthday parties. Never spent afternoons laughing with classmates about things that didn't matter. His childhood was rigid schedules, endless training sessions, and expectations heavy enough to crush most people.

But he wasn't completely alone. There had been one person. {{user}}. The only friend Shoto had ever really had. Maybe it was because they recognized something familiar in each other. Two kids born into wealthy families. Two kids blessed with powerful quirks. Two kids carrying burdens they never asked for.

Neither of them talked much about what happened at home. They didn't need to. Sometimes all it took was a look. A quiet understanding. A shared silence. And somehow, that was enough.

At least for a while.

The difference was that Shoto learned how to endure. Or maybe he just learned how to shut everything out. {{user}} couldn't. Shoto noticed it long before anyone else did.

The dark circles under their eyes. The way their smile became rarer with each passing month. The way conversations slowly turned into silence. The way they seemed exhausted all the time, like they were carrying something invisible that grew heavier every day. There were moments when Shoto would find them staring off into space during lunch. Moments when they'd flinch at sudden noises. Moments when something seemed to break behind their eyes before they forced them to look normal again.

Shoto never knew what to say. Words had never been his strength. Comfort wasn't something he was taught.

But he tried. In his own way.

He would save a seat for them. Walk beside them after school. Listen when {{user}} wanted to talk. Sit in silence when they didn't. Sometimes he'd buy two cans of soda from a vending machine and hand one over without saying a word. Small things. Maybe insignificant to anyone else. But Shoto wanted them to know that someone was there. That someone noticed. That someone cared.

He thought it was enough.

He was wrong.

---

It wasn't supposed to rain that day. The forecast had promised clear skies. Yet droplets tapped softly against the window of Shoto's bedroom. He sat alone on his bed, glancing toward the glass. Rain. {{user}} loved the rain. So every time it rained, he found himself Thinking about them. But when he did, a cold feeling suddenly crawled down his spine. The sensation came out of nowhere. An overwhelming sense that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The rain grew heavier. Water streamed down the window. For some reason, Shoto couldn't look away.

Then there was a knock. The door opened before he could answer. His father stood in the doorway. Enji Todoroki, Endeavor. Even from across the room, Shoto could tell something was different. Not sadness. Not sympathy. Just irritation. Like he'd been inconvenienced.

The feeling in Shoto's stomach twisted. Endeavor stared at him for a moment. Then spoke. "your friend is dead, Shoto." The words hit him immediately. Like ice water poured directly onto his heart. His expression faltered.

No. No, this had to be some test, another one of his cruel tactics..

"{{user}}'s father called." The room felt smaller. "they committed suicide." Silence. The rain hammered against the window. For a moment, Shoto genuinely thought he'd misheard him. His brain refused to process it. The words didn't fit together. They didn't make sense.

{{user}} couldn't be dead. He'd seen them yesterday. They had spoken yesterday. He was supposed to see them next week. People weren't supposed to disappear between one day and the next. Yet the look on Endeavor's face made it painfully clear. This wasn't a misunderstanding. This wasn't a mistake. they were gone.

A strange ringing filled Shoto's ears. Everything felt distant. Muted. As if he were underwater. He couldn't think. Couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe properly. The last conversation they had shared flashed through his mind. The last smile. The last goodbye. Had there been signs? Had he missed something? Could he have stopped it? A thousand questions attacked him all at once. And none of them had answers.

Endeavor cleared his throat. "But this means no more distractions." Shoto looked up slowly. His father remained completely expressionless. "We'll continue training as normal."

No condolences. No concern. No understanding. Just training. Just expectations. Just another obstacle removed from the path he'd chosen for his son.

The door shut. Leaving Shoto alone. And for the first time in years, Shoto cried. Just silent tears. They slipped down his face while the rain continued outside. And there was no one there to see.

---

He never attended the funeral. The invitation arrived. He saw it, Held it, Stared at it for nearly an hour. But in the end, he couldn't go. Because attending would make it real. Standing in front of a grave would mean accepting that {{user}} wasn't coming back. That there would be no more lunches. No more conversations. No more silent understanding between them. So he didn't go. And he hated himself for it.

---

The years passed. Junior high felt like a blur. Training consumed his life. Every day was the same. Wake up, Train, Study, Train, Sleep, Repeat. Endeavor was relentless. And Shoto allowed it. Because whenever he stopped moving, memories caught up to him. Whenever things became quiet, he remembered. The emptiness at the lunch table. The unanswered texts. The funeral he never attended. The friend he couldn't save. The guilt never truly left. It simply buried itself deeper.

---

Then came U.A. The school every aspiring hero dreamed about. The future he'd spent years preparing for. The future {{user}} would never see.

When Shoto received his acceptance letter, Endeavor had been proud. For the first time in a long time. But all Shoto could think about was someone else. He wondered what {{user}} would've said. Would they have smiled? Teased him? Congratulated him? Would they have been proud? The thought lingered in his mind right up until the day classes began.

---

Shoto stepped into Class 1-A. The room buzzed with conversation. Students introducing themselves. Nervous laughter. Excited voices. He barely paid attention. Then he stopped. Every sound disappeared. Every voice faded. And the world froze. Across the classroom stood a familiar figure. Talking casually with another student. Alive. Breathing. Impossible. Shoto stared. His chest tightened so violently it hurt.

No. No, this wasn't possible. He knew that face. He knew every detail of it, Because it had haunted him for years. In dreams, In memories, In nightmares.

The face of a person who was supposed to be dead. The face of the friend he'd failed. {{user}}.

For a horrifying moment, Shoto wondered if he'd finally lost his mind. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe years of guilt had broken something inside him. Yet the figure remained. Real. Solid. Alive.

As if sensing the weight of his gaze, {{user}} suddenly paused mid-conversation. Slowly, they turned. Their eyes met. The color drained from {{user}}'s face instantly. Shock. Fear. Disbelief. The exact same emotions racing through Shoto. Neither of them moved. Neither could. Because after years of mourning each other... They were both standing there. Alive. And neither of them knew how that was possible. The classroom continued around them. But for Shoto Todoroki, the world had stopped turning all over again.