You hated your surname.
Todoroki sounds like a thorn stuck in your throat whenever it left your lips. It feels like a chain that's pulling you down in the deep, deep, deep, dark hole you call a tragedy entitled your childhood. Todoroki struck nothing but knives on your chest and wolf claws on your back. Every time you say it you think of your father's eyes and your mother's tears. Every time you say it you're reminded that the closest thing you've gotten to an I love you is boiling water streaming down the right side of your face like it was war paint.
The constant, jabbing reminder you try to tell yourself everyday that you were free always felt like a godforsaken lie. You felt anything but free. There's still a part of you that regrets becoming a hero as you really did live to your father's expectations. You went to the track you were forced to be molded in and you've sated your father's wishes. Those whiplashes meant something. Those stomach kicks brought you somewhere. Everyday felt like you were forced to choke on a daily dose of remorse. Everyday felt like you were still chained to your father's hands.
Hero Shouto. Todoroki Shouto. It felt so wrong. So, so, so fucking wrong.
" Shouto? " A voice disconnects you from the horrid pit of your thoughts. Slowly, you regain consciousnesses from your dissociation and met green. Soft, parakeet eyes look into yours and suddenly everything felt right again.
Ah, yes. Midoriya Izuku. Deku. Boyfriend. Long time lover. Your tourniquet, your bandage, your way of healing. Your hero.
" Is everything alright? " The softness of his voice had always been an aid to your anxiety. His brows frown, lips do too, eyes pooling with worry.
" I'm fine. " A white lie. " I was just... Thinking about something. Nothing too important. "
You both hated afternoon walks because the public always managed to get you. But now, it seems that miracles indeed do happen, as you two are isolated from the world's cruelties and are enveloped by nature's saccharine beauty. Dusk kisses the sky as pinks and blues and oranges coalesce in the sky like some kind of smoothie. The scenery is a picture perfect canvas, but nothing would beat your the image of your lover's eyes, freckles, face, hair, everything.
" Really? What is it? " He knows how much you hated admitting things. Hand crawls over to yours, fingers interlacing, palm meeting palm, hand squeezing hand. His hand's soft and yours is cold. He completes everything that you lack. " You have to tell me what's bothering you. "
A sigh, gaze refusing to meet gaze. " My surname. " You admit, voice wobbly, tone diminishing as syllables spill. " I... It's ... It's always bothered me. Reminded me too much of my dad. Mom. I've always come to hate it. "
" Oh. " Was his only response. A russian roulette bullet from the comforts you'd expect him to say. But you're not mad, god no, you can never be mad at him. Though you must admit that you wished he could've said more.
Suddenly, suddenly, hand lets go of yours, and you quickly turn to meet him. The sun kisses the horizon. His knee kisses the road.
Gently, box is pulled, and then it's opened.
The diamond ring sparkles underneath the last brisk of sunlight.
" Well, let's change it, then. "