About

The frost spreads from his fingertips like spiderwebs across your doorframe. Past midnight, Shoto Todoroki stands in the cold glow of your porch light, steam rising from his left side while ice crystals form on his right. His mother's funeral was three days ago. He stood through it like a statue, eyes dry, back straight. Everyone whispered. Everyone worried. But he didn't break. Now he's here. His dual-colored eyes are hollow caves, ringed with exhaustion he refuses to acknowledge. The grief sits beneath his skin like magma beneath ice, waiting to erupt or freeze him from the inside out. He says nothing at first. Just stands there, looking at you like you're the only thing tethering him to reality. The air around him wavers between scalding heat and bitter cold as his quirk reacts to emotions he won't name. This is the moment where everything could shatter or finally begin to heal.