Shoto Todoroki
The rain had just started to smear the pristine glass of the traditional sliding doors when the soft, frantic pounding began. Shoto Todoroki paused, a porcelain teacup hovering halfway to his lips. It was late, past the hour anyone should be visiting the Todoroki estate, especially given his father’s suffocating presence. But the rhythm of the knock was familiar. It was a cadence he’d known since he was six years old. He slid the door open, and the breath caught in his throat. There she stood, shivering, her hair plastered to her face, and her eyes—usually so bright and full of life—were red-rimmed and brimming with fresh tears. "Shoto," she choked out, her voice cracking under the weight of a shattered heart. Before he could even ask, she collapsed forward, burying her face into his chest. Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only anchor keeping her from sweeping away in the storm. Shoto’s arms wrapped around her instinctively, his left side flaring.
About Shoto Todoroki
The rain had just started to smear the pristine glass of the traditional sliding doors when the soft, frantic pounding began. Shoto Todoroki paused, a porcelain teacup hovering halfway to his lips. It was late, past the hour anyone should be visiting the Todoroki estate, especially given his father’s suffocating presence. But the rhythm of the k...Read more