[semi-open] If you're trying hard to breathe in the dark

[likethelight]

Who: Allen & others, possibly Argonaut appearances
What: Event-log and other April-related prompts. Plotting prompt stuff!
When: Throughout April
Where: Various

Content Warnings: SAD THINGS, harm and death to NPC children, mutilation, nightmare fuel mindfuckery, high corruption and beasthood.




⛧ 1. if your screams don't make a sound (wonderkind/AKUMA) ★

[ You were probably just minded your own business doing something totally normal — and then you got caught in up in Allen Walker's vortex of bad luck. Sorry. It's just a thing that happens. He doesn't even have his unlucky rabbit's foot on him! He learned better really quickly...!!

Regardless of whether you might have been haggling with a bakery over the price of day-olds, sipping tea in some little shop, or maybe this is your house that he's... about to put a hole through. So sorry — but all of a sudden part of the nearby brickwork explodes as a slender figure is bodily slammed entirely through it.

Yeah. It's that kind of day.

It does not look comfortable. And it does not look like something anyone could have gotten away with without some broken ribs, but as the dust settles the boy that was indeed used as a wrecking ball of sorts starts coughing and trying to sit up. This is just -- ugghhh...

Coming to his senses quickly though, dressed in a black and red jacket underneath what seems to be a impossibly volumous feathered white cloak that seems to be made of moonlight itself he -- blinks. And then whirls around, realizing you're there.

His left eye has bled black throughout the sclera, and the iris has shifted to glowing red rings that shift in and out like a camera lens focusing. There's a dark, corrupted sort of smoke that seems to be pooling around it as well. His expression is wide with alarm, actual fear for a moment at seeing you there, before he stumbles back up to his feet. To square his shoulders, face the hole he just was thrown through—

And rip back, shouting at you over his shoulder as he spreads a single arm out in warning. ]

RUN!

[ Because, over the edge of the rubble... there's a faint sort of here-but-not dark glow. And the world seems to desaturate, fading from color into the black and white. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're even looking through your own eyes.

And then you hear a faint sobbing. Distant, but far too close as well. Like it's there in your own skull. Faintly.

And a figure floats into view, cresting the stone. At first, it looks like... an extremely mummified corpse. Bone dry, curled up in a fetal position. It isn't even the thing crawling up and through the hole, but that seems deem and distant right now. It's attached to it.

Because the sobbing stops as soon as you look at it, and the specter stiffens suddenly. Socketless pits for eyes turning right towards you as it realizes you see it —

—and its jaw falls open as it screams. ]



⛧ 2. if your heart just cries too loud all the time (butterflies/beasthood) ★


[ He knew this worked like a game of Russian roulette, he really did. And he doesn't even want to have to destroy any of the butterflies that have flocked to the Trench. It's fine when they stay up and away from people, but when they choose to land near populated areas...

It's not even for misjudging his own ability to purge corruption from his own body! It has limits, he knows that... too much can still be too much if it's all at once. But he has to keep trying. Better him than someone else. Or at least, thinking about that...

...it's easy to forget the actual consequences.

Maybe you were there when he destroyed the butterfly, a boy who suddenly transformed into into a white harbinger wreathed in what looks like condensed moonlight taking the shape of a huge feathered cloak and wielding a great broadsword as long and broad as he is. Maybe you just see the consequences of that — or hear the sudden howling gale.

A whirling gale of feathers, light, and tattered wings made from moonlight themselves that rips upwards from a doubled over figure. A white and gold gigantic masquerade mask floats above as well, twisting to and fro from the feathered cloak like it's unsure how to hold its shape, like it's too angry to remember its shape and cares not for what it was, but is trying to contort itself into something new. But the winged sort of cloak looks almost angelic, glowing white-gold and ethereal. It's beautiful, and somewhat terrible as well. Especially as the figure, with his hands clutching his head like it wants to split in two, would not seem to have a normal left hand but a great white and gold monstrous sort of claw instead. But it too can't seem to hold its form, splitting into glowing feathers along his arm that twist in the air.

It's like a howling monster clinging to the figure even as it also tries to rip away.

And if you're caught staring, an edge of that tattered, feathery wing-cloak rips out towards you and slashes into—and through the brickwork by your head. And that's when you might realize that even though it looks like a cloak and feathers, it cuts as sharply as any sword. ]

Stay— [ It's a boy beneath all that. A teenager, pale and ethereal himself as the feathers around him, with a dark red scar cutting through the left side of his face. And he pants and rasps it out, gritting his teeth audibly and fixing a surprisingly sharp and hard dark eye on you. A window of raw clarity in a maelstrom.

Anguished clarity, his face twisted in tragedy.

But that eye is blood red and black, and the scar surrounding it twists itself restlessly across his face like an angry, living thing. Black smoke bleeds from that left side of his face, mixing in with the white. ]

—back...

More closed prompts below! I'm trying to do more closed/planned things since I have a lot going on this month and a bunch that are sequential, but please feel free to hit me up on my plotting prompt and I'm happy to plan something and do a private prompt for us! He will be generally collecting the hope orbs, mostly for Viktor, getting fucked up with his restored memories/tether and hiding from people later in the month, and trying to purify and reverse the corruption/beasthood of any turned, especially as a result of the butterflies. So, especially if you want to get your character in on realizing even full beasthood can be reversed by exorcists and other sorts of purification abilities and you want them to be able to see the human souls still in them... 👉👈 hit me up.

Comments

[likethelight]

[ He isn't surprised.

It isn't much longer before they get to Viktor's lab. He's awkwardly trying to find a way to reach into his pocket to fish for the key while also balancing Todoroki on his back, when he hears a clink and glances up to see Timcanpy hovering in front of him with the key already in his mouth. _{Aah, he should have expected it. Thanks, Tim.}

Viktor isn't there, having already moved in with Palamedes -- something he's grateful for, something tells him that after his reaction to Allen getting minorly injured before that seeing the two of them like this might give the man a small heart attack -- so he toes the door shut behind them and leaves Tim to get the light. Gingerly, he eases Shouto onto the cot, hovering for a moment in some nervous concern to make sure he still seems alright, just asleep, and making sure he didn't have any serious wounds he'd missed before. That his temperature seems alright and there isn't the severe frost from before, though he'd also felt as much before.

But it seems okay. It seems like they'll be okay, something that lets him finally let out a breath it feels like he'd been holding since the fight started, and... honestly, he just wants to collapse. He was just running on fumes, adrenaline, and the determination born from not having any other choice to even get this far. He was still shot repeatedly, has the lingering effects of the virus even if he did purge the deadliness of it, and the fatigue of just the fight itself. _{Sigh... he's hungry.}

Finding a blanket, he pulls it over the other boy, considers then his own coat for a moment... warm and like a blanket too, sure, but... ... he also got shot in it a bunch... and decides against it. So he just drops somewhat bonelessly against the wall by the head of the cot instead, with a faint oof, and curls up there with his back against it. Aaa, he should tend to his wounds, but he really is just so tired... a bit of a nap first sounds best. And besides, it wasn't like he'd just drop off Todoroki here and then leave... who does that.

Timcanpy crawls into his lap, perching on his thigh and looking expectantly up at him as Allen reflexively cups a hand around the golem and leans back, letting his eyes close. Tries to use his hood to pillow his head a little against the stone, but... that doesn't work great. ]

Hey, Tim... [ It's quiet, already sounding a little dreamy and disconnected. ]

Wake me up before Viktor gets here, okay...? Don't let me sleep too... long...

[ He's out, and Timcanpy just squares himself up and will also help watch over the two of them. It's a golem's duty as much as an omen's so he'll just sit quietly and record it all, keeping himself pressed up against Allen no matter how long he's asleep or wants to hold onto him.

No matter how long. ]

[swellter]

[ Sometime later, when his body finally releases him from its hold, Shouto shoots up from the cot, mind revving up to about 80% within seconds. He's relatively calm for waking up in a strange place, eyes shifting around the space while the sleep fog clears up.

Where am I?

After half a year in Trench, he's used to reaching for his omen whenever he finds himself at odds with his senses. He can feel Kizu in his mind, warm and calm. It relaxes him more than any words could ever soothe him.

Viktor's lab. Allen brought you here.

The priest's name circles his head as he looks around the room unaware of the boy sleeping behind him. Feeling in a daze, his memories of the battle start to surface including the strange aftermath with that ghostly lady. He remembers his fatigue. Allen making his way to him. A reprimand in the cold. Being moved, carried on his back, and then... nothing.

From his state, it's fairly easy to figure out what happened next. He's been rescued in the past after he overexerted himself and woken up in the hospital more than once. But, first things first, he takes inventory of his form, checking for any strange pain. Finding none, he pushes off the blanket and lets his legs swing over the edge of the cot when he spots-- ]

Allen?

[ --curled up on the cold floor next to the cot. Standing, he moves to his side to check on him. Finding Tim curled up beside him, quells any fears that surged to the forefront of his mind. Checking him for any visible signs of injury, Shouto moves to scoop him up into his arms to settle him onto the empty cot. ]

[likethelight]

[ Timcanpy wags his wings happily in greeting the moment Shouto looks at him, face splitting wide in an open, toothy grin. Entirely like an elated dog wagging its tail to see someone come home. He moves aside when he reaches for Allen though, taking flight and hovering in the air to watch.

There are visible injuries, certainly. His coat was blasted and torn where bullets hit and there is both his own blood and a thick substance like oil. Mostly they're grazes, with a few that impacted deeply across shoulder and chest despite his protective cloak, but in a manner more like blunt fangs biting in than the impact of bullets. But he isn't actively bleeding, and they seem clotted and dried.

Unfortunately though, even when exhausted Allen is a very light sleeper with a finely honed panic-reflex for anything that tries to move him, and so he starts to blink awake as soon as he's been lifted up. A little groggily at first -- and then startling a little at realizing he's being held. By -- ? ]

O-oh. [ It's... a little dumbfounded. And pink in the face. _{How embarrassing.}

He blinks again up at Shouto, pale eyes round as the moon, and searches for what he should say. Hi? ]

Are you better?

[swellter]

[ The toothy grin is met with a neutral expression that shifts dangerously close to curious when Tim starts wagging his tail with more energy than he'd expect after that battle. Looking at the golem in a silent - Can I? - he waits for Tim to move aside before gathering Allen in his arms and lifting him with ease. The movement prompts a panicked reflex from the shorter boy, which Shouto meets with calm eyes taking note of the rosy cheeks. ]

Are you feeling hot?

[ He asks, wondering if he's running a fever. How long did he carry him out in the snow? Plus there are the added bullet holes he spotted on his coat. How many times did he get SHOT?! He spoke about a virus; remembers the dark stars crawling on his skin like a curse mark. After all that, sleeping on the cold floor did him no favors.

Standing still, he waits for Allen to gain recognition before walking him to the cot and settling him down on the make-shift bed. ]

I overexerted myself. [ He answers as he raises a hand to check his temperature. ] I just needed some rest.

[likethelight]

[ He's barely two centimeters shorter...! That's hardly anything! ]

Not really. [ He doesn't quite put together why he's asking that and so he just answers reflexively and normally. Just watching the other's expression a little curiously now that his surprise has faded, though his forehead would feel a little warm. But only a little. His body fights the virus -- the poison -- very quickly and the rest was what he needed. Although his head does hurt...

But... his face might feel warmer than the light remaining fever or the brief blush. There's a lingering redness and tightness across one side of his face from the heat of his flames when Shouto had first lost control of his rage against the original akuma. But Allen's entirely forgotten it's even there.

He can set him down, but you better believe Allen's going to be sitting up, even if he struggles a bit up into it. His attention is primarily on taking in Todoroki's condition anyway, even if the other reaches out to check his temperature. ]

That's good... [ Good, he does seem alright. ] I figured it was something as much.

[swellter]

[ Seems like those two centimeters really have you strung up there. ]

[ He touches the back of his palm to his temple and finds him on the warmer side. Not a fever, but fighting off something.

The virus... ]

How many times did you get shot by those bullets?

[ He asks, looking at him for an answer as he recalls his explanation of the virus and his own immunity to it. Immunity doesn't mean it can't harm him still. He thinks, aware of the shortfalls of his own resistance. His immunity to the cold worked up to a point, after which, he could still succumb to extreme temperatures like anyone else.

This close to Allen, it's difficult to miss the reddened skin where his mask stopped. Feeling guilty, he pulls his hand away from him. He did that. His fire. In a moment of weakness, he lost control. Expression shifting to melancholy, he looks away to unclip one of the metal canisters hanging from his utility belt. Once in hand, he opens it and pulls out a familiar ointment meant to soothe first-degree burns. ]

Use this.

[ A solemn decree, as he hands him the balm. ]

[likethelight]

[ Maybe because it keeps getting pointed out. ]

A few times... [ Does he know? Actually he doesn't. But it feels like (and is) three that impacted him squarely and tore flesh, and a handful of other grazes along his left side where he'd managed to twist back in time to avoid anything direct. This is why machine gun versions suck. A single bullet he could catch or dodge more easily.

He looks a little surprised when Shouto's expression suddenly shifts as he pulls his hand back. Did he see something? Or... oh.

There isn't even the line from where his mask could have protected him; he reached out to stop Shouto before he'd even invoked his ability, let alone put his mask on, so the entire left side of his face is reddened from it, pulling tightly at the edges of his scar. Probably looks worse than it is just because of how starkly pale he is.

Remembering it the moment he tries to refocus on his face and realizing the tightened and slightly seared feeling there -- look, there's a lot that hurts right now and is going on with him and he really did legit forget -- and remembering when he'd first reached out to spin him around, he almost raises up a hand to confirm the minor burn. That's right, the heat had scorched him a little since he hadn't invoked. But he doesn't touch it, he only blinks for a moment at realizing Shouto's expression and where it comes from, and does not reach to touch it quite consciously.

But he does reach out when he offers him the familiar ointment. Like he means to take it -- but does not. Not yet. He covers his hand with his own (black leather) gloved right one, and then clasps them together with his left. And when Shouto looks back Allen is looking up at him quite intently, gentle but also with a somber kind of seriousness. ]

It's okay, you know. [ He knows you'll say it isn't because that's honestly how he'd feel if the roles were reversed, but... ] Even if you don't feel like it is.

Besides, it was my fault anyway when you'd already warned me to be careful.

1/2

[swellter]

[ You mean, you've got a problem with facts? ]

[ Looking away, Shouto tries to keep his focus on what matters instead of the guilt creeping into his thoughts. He knows the oppressive nature of his quirk. Felt the sweltering heat pounding down on him forcing him to submit to his father's rule for years. Now, he was the one endangering others.

Of course, he feels guilty. But he also knows, it's not the same.

I'm not my father.

Dragging himself away from those damning thoughts is difficult, but he manages it, focusing instead on providing first aid. It's why he's so diligent with his supplies, the ointment fully replenished since the last time Allen used it. It lends him a reprieve. Heart pounding in his chest, he shoves away the old addage when a gloved hand clasps his between two hands.

He startles, eyes flicking up to meet a grey sea. Hand stiff, he's left staring at Allen with uncertainty. For a moment, it even seems like his words might soothe him up until he speaks that last line. ]

2/2

[swellter]

[ It's my fault...

He snaps.

Eyes sharpen, losing all hesitation. Denial on his tongue. ]

It's not your fault. It was my fire.

[ He yanks his hand away from his grasp, breaking the connection as the pendulum swings left, anger - at himself - brewing. ]

You don't blame the victim.

[likethelight]

[ Huff. Just you wait until he hits another growth spurt, he's just a late bloomer. ]

[ While he's startled when Shouto rips his hand back, his emotions swinging so strongly in a way he's not familiar with, it's just for a moment. Blinking, before Allen's own expression smooths even as that last word really stings. Or, maybe because of it.

It's ironic. Todoroki's emotions swing violently, and then Allen's swing calmer. ]

I'm not a victim. [ He continues to speak gently, with a quiet expression, but with a dead set certainty. Pale eyes fixed unwaveringly on the other boy's. ]

Just as you're not a villain.

[ Not now, not ever. Allen is not a victim, so don't look at him like he is one. Even with every terrible thing that's happened in his life... most of them, his actions made him at least partially responsible. Most of them. Once he became old enough, at least. And we aren't here to talk about his early childhood. And even then that word would sit bitterly in his mouth.

But he doesn't look angry. Just... a little saddened. ]

It's just unfortunate. That's all. [ His tone softens at that, his hands crossing loosely in his lap. ]

We'll both just have to do better. Alright?

[swellter]

[ Pfft. His father is 195cm, and his other brother is 181cm. He's an early bloomer and right on track to meet them in the middle. ]

[ Despite what his usual demeanor might lead one to believe, he does feel things. Too strongly at times. He spent his childhood swinging back and forth between left and right, his emotions running away from him, unable to control them along with his quirk. His passions left his throat hoarse from yelling, and a cold hatred so deeply embedded itself in him that he resembled a villain in the making. Time taught him how to curb his emotions, a little too good. It's not a short arc when that pendulum swings.

Heat hums through him. Jaw tight from the effort to reign himself in. It was always harder to control the burning passions. They raise his temperature a few degrees before he puts a stop to it. He swings right, and the anger is smothered by the cold. His mother's quirk calms the churning heat. ]

Unfortunate. [ He repeats, breath fogging from the cold. ] That's not how I see it.

[likethelight]

[ You genetically gifted ass... ]

[ His breath fogged. He blinks at that, and then bites his lip a little at that response. Metering it, and thinking back to that time in the catacombs. When Allen knew he misspoke then as well, stepped on some unknown landmine, and Shouto had ripped his hand away then too. With them both realizing the burning house at that moment, it had stopped him from asking at the time and thus had slipped away, but... If he'd been able to ask at that time... ]

Then, how do you see it? [ It's not contrary; he asks it with an absolutely genuine manner. ]

[swellter]

[ Pretty much his life story. Don't worry he'll never look down on you, figuratively speaking, of course. ]


[ Anger no longer burning, his demeanor is not calm but sharp, like icicles. ]

People aren't commodities.

When you hurt someone, it's not an unfortunate mistake.

[likethelight]

[ Again with the back-handed slights!! Again!!! ]

I don't think they're commodities either. [ He sounds surprised, utterly so. ] It couldn't be further from that... Even if they're no longer alive and only the soul, even if they've done terrible things... they don't matter any less. They aren't just numbers. Living or dead. They shouldn't have to suffer, and they still deserve to be saved. [ Somehow that because an unfortunate accident happens, someone ends up hurting someone else, saying it's unfortunate means their lives mean less?

No, there's something more there. ]

...if I had hurt you accidentally... if I wasn't thinking and used my claws in battle, and I cut you... Even after I'd told you not to come near them, that they're too sharp with too much destructive power I can't control as well, but you did anyway... If I obviously felt terrible about that, even if it really was just an accident...

...would you hate me?

[swellter]

[ Thought he was the one who was supposed to be good with sleight of hand. ]

[ He is a product of a childhood built on commodities. Where those he loved were bought and paid for like livestock. Quality monitored. Constantly evaluated and ultimately discarded, resetting the cycle. As the fourth child, he made the cut. The golden child, genetically gifted. Hated by the eldest, separated from inferior stock despite his every protest. It scarred him, making him far too troublesome a minefield for anyone to navigate when certain subjects are brought up. Allen escaped the first mine by sheer luck, the second, not so much.

He sees his reasoning. It's the same one he discovered on his own journey after his fight with Midoriya helped open his eyes to the truth. Too bad for Allen, that's not what he finds fault with. Frozen over, the tundra of his emotions chill in a deep frost. Calm, collected, but not warm. ]

I don't hate you.

[ He sets the ointment down between them, his skin cold to the touch. ]

And I don't consider myself a villain.

[ He's covered that ground already, crossed that hurdle. ]

But calling what happened an unfortunate mistake is not right either.

[likethelight]

[ Sleight of hand! Sleight! woowww

don't make him shave those centimeters off his boots ]

[ He's speaking in short, clipped sentences that make Allen watch him carefully, lips still pressed together in a thinly worried sort of way. He isn't saying many words, but there's a lot there. Lines he needs to try to read between, and it's hard to.

His eyes dip down to the ointment when he places it down, and then back up to Todoroki. He doesn't move to pick it up. ]

...alright. Okay then, I won't. [ Still soft-spoken, but with a certain kind of certainty and clear eyes. Then he really won't. It isn't even really the point he was trying to make, and he agrees with everything Shouto is saying. It seems like a poor choice of words that set off something that runs terribly deep and into very dark places.

"He's broken too." That's what Kizu had said. ]

But if you wouldn't hate me, then I don't think you'd want me to hate myself for it either. Right? [ It's quiet, but also earnest. This he does believe. ]

Likewise I don't hate you and don't want you to hate yourself. Even if I can understand how that feels and that it isn't so easy to just... not. [ He laces his fingers together, pressing down on them. ] A good person who does something bad -- it doesn't mean they're inherently bad.

That's all I'm trying to say.

[swellter]

[ What a slight. ]

[ Even if it's not taken, he leaves the peace offering behind and stands. Screws the lid back onto the metal canister, and clips it back into place. He'll replace the ointment later. For now, he checks his wrist guard for damage making an assessment of his costume before heading out.

The concession, when it's made, receives no response. Not a look from him or a word of acceptance because it doesn't matter. He made his point and that was all he meant to do from the start. Not convince him, but state his thoughts now that they weren't warped by anger.

For that same reason, the latter part of his words catches his attention. Looking up from his wrist guards, heterochromic eyes settle on Allen. There's a deep calmness there with none of the warmth he normally displayed. Perfectly neutral like a frozen heart, even Kizu is strangely quiet, swallowed up by the whiteout. ]

You think I hate myself.

[ A calm statement. Before he makes something perfectly clear: ]

I don't.

[ He doesn't feel anything right now. ]

we inadvertently made the death thread 19475 times worse and I have no idea how but(º̩̩́⌣º̩

[likethelight]

[ Eyyyyy (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ]

[ There really aren't words to say how much that hurts. Worse than every ache in his body, worse than getting shot. And he swallows, finding it a little hard to control his expression.

Hurts so much worse than getting shot. ]

I said I wouldn't want you to. [ Don't twist his words. There's a big difference there. But if Allen hurt a friend? Yeah. Yeah he'd hate himself a little. And then he'd do everything he could to make sure it didn't happen again.

He meets his gaze, holding it, because even if it does hurt and he feels terrible for inadvertently causing him to feel this way, his ultimate point stands moreso now. And he says it so very softly, with genuine care, but also steadfast. ]

For the same reason I wish you weren't hurting so much right now.

[ Or, more precisely... that there was something he could do about it.

You can say you're not and you can say you don't feel hurt right now, but he can recognize the difference between this and his normal, caring sort of calmness. More than that, he recognizes that kind of walling off of yourself. That's a mask to bury your own emotions somewhere you can't feel them and he knows it.

He knows it, because he wore one himself for so long. Still does, if not quite to harshly, and that his is with a smile. ]

That wasn't my intent!!! It just snowballed into this mess!

[swellter]

[ Surveying him for signs of the virus, Todoroki misses the change of expression, more concerned with his physical well-being than the bombs he inadvertently set off inside. Despite what his demeanor might belie, his aim is still to help him. Hurting him is the last thing on his mind.

Perhaps... it's a little easier to understand how he kept people at bay for so long while being admired from afar. Strong but not boastful. Intelligent. Honest. His manner of speech to the point. Helpful, but not kind. He gave them nothing to latch onto. Nothing to use against him because he had nothing left to give. Not when he'd already given every part of himself and was found lacking. Scarred by his father by his mother's hand, locked away from his siblings in a gilded cage. He raged and screamed himself hoarse, but nothing ever changed. He was still alone. All his father ever taught him was how to lose himself to his passions, so he stopped using his fire. Buried himself in his mother's ice, his last remnant of her. The cold did not hurt, and it didn't hurt others, unlike his father's oppressive flames. ]

I think you're the one who's hurting right now.

[ Teal and grey meet his eyes, unwavering and detached. ]

You should use the ointment on your burns.

LMAO it wasn't mine either!! I thought it would continue for like 2-3 more tags!!

[likethelight]

[ He'd get mad and yell at him for it if he knew him a little better. As it is, it doesn't feel like his place and he knows he's missing too much of the picture to react like that and probably just make things worse. He's not someone who ever shoots off his mouth without trying to really understand a situation first, where someone is actually coming from. Not unless he's provoked. Especially with someone he knows is kind and likes, even if he's really frustrated. Especially at that, "you're the one who's hurting now"...

He swallows, unable to control his expression for a moment at that. Twisting in frustrated anguish, and he looks away abruptly. Yes, he's hurting. And that isn't the point, you ass.

Don't misjudge him though. He's way too stubborn to give up just because your coping mechanism makes you act like a dick. Bullshit that the cold doesn't hurt.

He stares down at the ointment for a moment before answering, and his hands ball up. Fingers pressing hard into his palms. ]

They don't bother me. [ It's calm, but stubborn. _{And true.} Rougher-sounding that usual. And he stands, a little unsteadily because what rest he got was not great and one of those grazes caught his thigh, and starts to make his way over to where he saw Viktor keep the first aid kit from when he used it before on him. ]

I should take care of the blood first anyway.

[ You know. Gunshots. ]

[swellter]

[ He sets a hand on his shoulder, physically impeding his way.

Stay. ]

You'll make it worse by moving. I have a first aid kit.

[ Allen can probably understand now how easily Todoroki managed to rile up some of his more hot-headed classmates without even trying. Practical. Blunt. Offering support in that cold manner. ]

You should sit before you open up your wounds.

[ It comes out like a command, but it's a suggestion. ]

[likethelight]

[ He can stop him easily without even needing to try, the gesture is enough on its own and Allen turns to look at him with clear, harder to read eyes than normal. Bright, but more sharply so. As they are when he sets his mind to something.

He holds his gaze with a long, even stare, like some small contest of wills. Even if it's more that he's warring with himself; is he mad enough to hazard a guess and call him out, or does he relent and try to find a different way to crack that ice.

There are only certain situations where he looks stern, but this is one. ]

...will you stop looking at me like that if I do?

[swellter]

[ He wouldn't stop him. Even in this state, he's not the type to impose his will on others. If he was, Endeavor would've had an easier time molding him to his image. It's a suggestion given substance by the physical weight of his hand on his shoulder. Not heavy or exerting force; easily pushed aside. You need to care enough to force an issue and right now, that urgent need inside him to lend aid no longer drives him at full force.

It's slowed but not forgotten. He's focused on that blood. He's been a Hunter long enough to know what kind of corruption open wounds can cause. It would've been the first thing he addressed if he were in a normal state. He overreacted when Allen coughed up blood in the catacombs, creating a platform of ice to catch it before crystallizing it to keep it from corrupting him. He's too numb for that kind of reaction now, but he still cares. A fundamental part of him that neither side of him could ever smother. It's why even in this state, he's not cruel. ]

...

[ His expression remains the same but there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Puzzlement. ]

... I don't know what you mean.

[likethelight]

[ There.

He breathes, having made up his mind even before there was finally a flicker of something in Todoroki's eyes again. And, gently, he brings up a hand to rest quite lightly over that one on his shoulder. Very lightly, with only the press of his fingertips. ]

...I mean like someone who's locked my friend who's precious to me away somewhere deep because he's stopped being honest enough with himself to face his own feelings. [ The words might seem harsh, but he says it softly. With clear, unwaveringly steady eyes like someone used to trying to stare straight into one's soul, but much more softly. ]

I miss him.

[swellter]

[ The arctic starts to subside with the added human connection, yet his expression remains the same. Not a single muscle shifts out of place as the thermal gradient starts to tick up in a gradual fashion. Subtle. Slow. It's hard to spot unless you're looking for it and close enough to see. ]

I don't understand what you mean. [ Nor is their time to contemplate it. Not with his open wounds. ] We need to clean up the blood and dress your wounds.

[ It's a statement delivered in his neutral tone, not cold or warm, but practical. Unclipping several of his metal canisters from his belt, Todoroki starts to set them out on the nightstand. ]

You'll open your wounds if you keep moving.

[ His words carry the same consenses as before, delivered in the same practical manner but with none of the coldness just simple neutrality. ]