Early to bed, early to rise.

     That was the main rule of the Todoroki household.

     You break that, you break all the rules. No matter how good of a kid you are, no matter how much your parents favor you, not even if you just do it on accident, you don't get spared the punishment. It was stupid, this family was stupid, Touya's life was stupid.

     He stared at himself in the mirror just like all the days before. Bags under blue eyes, discoloration on his face from the lack of sleep, chapped lips, unruly red hair.

     He frowns as he pulls a strand, a not-so obvious change from red to white. It started about a week ago, and everyday he'd have to hide it from his parents in fear of getting accused of something he knew damn well he wasn't. His father wasn't exactly a subtle man, who rarely showed any signs of telling something that was anything but the truth. If he hated something, he damn well hated it, and would never hesitate from showing it. And as such, they never did change with the existence of. . . of those. . .

     He doesn't have to think about it further it seems, the sounds of a bell ringing outside and down the hall letting his body move to his door like clockwork.

     Almost like an unspoken synchronization, his door opens the same way as all his other siblings. The same sounds of locks being turned, the sounds of their mandatory shoes clicking on the wooden floors as they leave for breakfast. Hell, even their youngest, that was two, hardly cried nor showed any emotions that one would expect from a baby. He walked with all the grace and standard they were all forced to meet, sometimes being expected to take care of himsef on his own. One pair of feet, two, three. . .

     He rolls his eyes, following right after Fuyumi in their usual line. "Back straight." Came the annoying sounds of their governess' voice, the stick she held for lectures serving as well as it did a whip.

     Touya hissed as it hits one of the scars he woke up with that morning on his back, his crudely wrapped bandages no doubt soaking itself up with blood. Great, and this woman was still employed, how? It seemed that he was never given a break on meeting adults he would despise. First his dad, his pregnant mother who hardly did shit to protest against his unrealistic expectations and cruelty, and now this bitch who waltzed right into their manor about a month ago hired and ready to work. He at least expected some semblance of humanity in her, to see how much of a shit-show they were already in and that kids their age would at least deserve some sort of sympathy.

     But even low expectations could never be met perfectly. If even met at all.

     He wanted to glare at her, to spit at her feet and call her what he wanted to call her. He had every right to be pissed at her, and it was supposed to be his job as the eldest to stand up for his siblings, right?

     . . .

     He bites his tongue to stop a comment that would no doubt end with his head on a stick, deciding against it as, he had no choice but to glare at the red and white of his sister's hair.

     They arrived at the large room, breakfast as dead as ever that for a second, Touya almost forgot that the day hardly started. What with the dark windows, hardly lit candlelight, and the bad weather outside on the verge of a storm—the mere sight of the place had him experiencing déjà vu of last night's dinner. And the night before that, and the night before that.

     At the end of the table was the scowling face of his father, head buried in a magazine as he spared no greetings.

     "Good morning, father," Came Fuyumi's unreasonably chirpy voice as she goes to land a kiss on his cheek, walking behind his chair and towards her seat. She's done this yesterday, she's done this in all the days before that, she'll do it again tomorrow—it was a routine that she lived with, and Touya could never see how she was able to live with it.

     His youngest brother's babbles were still baby-like, but it was spoken so well and rehearsed time and time again that he didn't sound like a toddler at all. His good morning sounded more graceful and polite than anything Touya would ever be able to accomplish himself, the mere sight of his father enough to send so much anger throughout his body that he had to physically hold himself back from saying something undignified.

     "Good morning." He walks past, their route of having to walk behind him something he'll never forgive the governess for. She can whip him all she wants, call him and his siblings brats for all he cared—but was this really necessary? He already saw his father everyday, he didn't need a reason to ever be this close to him.

     . . .But he digressed.

     As he walks off, his whole body tenses as a large hand lands on his shoulder to stop him.

     He didn't have to turn around to take a guess as to who it was, the glint of gold rings hitting his eyes at just the right angle to blind him. "Good morning," The fucker said it in a way that was expecting another word, one that he just loved to torment his kids with. A word that Touya absolutely fucking refused to call him out-loud. If he was embarrassed of Touya's unruliness, the kid was embarrassed of having to call him a dad.

     "I'm not gonna call you something you aren't."

     . . .

     . . .

     . . .

     The silence from before was different from the type of silence there was now. The tension was heavier, the wary glances and exchanged looks were different.

     What broke it was the sounds of the governess easily walking over to him, a bow and an apology for his behavior on his behalf. "Let's go," Her voice commanded, hitting him harshly once again with the stick.

     He doesn't react, only letting her grab his arm so tightly he felt her fingers dig holes onto his skin. Maybe then she felt the bandages, but if she did she felt no need to mention it, dragging him out of the room and making him miss his breakfast. Not that he cared, he could always eat later. It was a small price to pay for the exchange of not having to see his stupid face.

     He didn't have the energy to glare at Enji as he was dragged off, head hung low. Not with regret, but with anger threatening to burst at any moment. Behind him he could feel his sister's sad look, the girl young and with enough naïve thinking to ever think that there was a chance of them being a happy family. To be able to fix things and make anew. But as much wishful thinking as that would take, a part of her knew that it would be a while, if not never, for it to ever come true.

     Because afterall, a Todoroki's upbringing was anything but something to enjoy.

     Hardly any games, no fun, nothing that you would expect a kid to need and experience. Instead, their lives were filled and laid out in front of them in a clear cut schedule—even now as he was dragged off for his usual punishments he knew that it was part of it. Wake up early, eat, go and listen to their governess' teaching. Eat, listen some more, wash up for dinner, eat, go to sleep early. Rinse and repeat. Rarely did the schedule ever change, and even then it was a nightmare to live through.

     Like an endless cycle of misery with nothing but the occasional slivers of freedom as a silver lining.

     As the eldest, most of the responsibility was laid on him since the ripe old age of five. He was trained, had countless of lessons dedicated to shaping him up to be the next Enji Todoroki—his successor. But of course, he wasn't expecting such a brat to be someone he'd have to hand over his life's work to. The older he got the more rebellious he started acting. He started speaking up, glaring back, missing lessons on purpose and hiding in the abundance of rooms their house had—and the man knew that his company would be in shit hands if he ever got through with naming him his next heir.

     He always thought of just raising Fuyumi instead of Touya, to give it to her instead. She was a responsible young girl, and she showed more restraint and grace even when two years younger.

     . . .

     But that would mean handing it over to his daughter, and he wasn't exactly one to change his ways of being the misogynistic piece of shit that he was.

     Touya involuntarily yelped as he was shoved into one of the rooms, sounds of the woman very quickly working on writing on the board.

     "Out of all my years in working as a teacher I have never, and I mean have never met a brat as insistent as you are at being insufferable, rude," Chalk scratched on the board, Touya still on the floor cursing at it in pain as though it had anything to do with his suffering. "And an overall hell-spawn that refuses to do anything good in his life!"

     "I wonder why," He comments, earning yet another smack as he yells in pain. Okay, that one really drew out blood. "Silence! I won't let you ruin this day more than you already have. Your father is working his hardest to provide a home that educates you three into being the best versions of yourselves you could be! The least you could do is respect his efforts and at least try to cooperate with how things work here!" She goes back to writing, her pace picking up but the quality consistent all throughout. "You are all causing your pregnant mother enough problems as it is, and if anything happens to the baby in her stomach I will see to it that each and every single one of you three will pay!"

     She throws the white stick straight towards Touya, about an inch away from hitting his face as, God-forbid, he flinched. The woman was still writing with now another chalk, not even bothering to read what it said as he feared her breaking it and throwing it anger once more.

     And almost like a sadistic expectation coming true, she did.

     Powder went up his nose as he coughed, the white rolling on the floor after hitting him straight onto his forehead (And was that more blood?) "Quiet!" Touya ignores her, heaving as he tried desperately to get rid of the thing from his nostrils. He sat on the floor with his knees tucked under, the wood creaking from his weight as he dare shifted the slightest bit from the hit. God, out of all the days, it just had to be picture day, huh? Apparently the one they took the day before wasn't enough, passing comments of him 'looking too dead' warranting a retake.

     "Did you hear nothing of what I said, boy? Quiet!" He cries out as the stick hits his chest, never budging from his spot but his eyes blurry from the tears that welled up. God, when was the last time he ever let himself cry?

     All his years of dealing with abuse like this, and a governess with a stick was enough to do the job?

     "I pray to God that none of your siblings ever grow up to be like you." She spat, hands behind her back as she walks towards the door. "You are not to leave this room until you have made up for your atrocities and mistakes." She stops right before she slams the door shut, a humorless laugh escaping her throat, "Try and see if you can do it before you miss lunch."

     And just like that, he was left alone.

     . . .

     He stares straight ahead at the board, trying to make sense of what she had written despite how blurry and unclear his vision was getting. Tears welled and dropped, fat rolls on his cheeks in heavy heaps as he lets out a shaky breath. One, two, three. . .

     "One, two, three, four," He swallows a lump forming in his throat, hands gripping his knees in an attempt to ground himself. "Five, six, seven," His pants had obvious wet spots from where his tears landed on, trying desperately to blink them away as more and more he felt himself losing sight of whatever front he had been putting on all this time. "Seven. . . seven. . ." He wipes his eyes desperately with the back of his hand, his voice breaking all the more. "Seven. . . dammit, dammit. . !"

     He dug his nails past his pants, the skin on his knees erupting in sharp pain as a part of him desperately tried to draw out blood. "One, two, three. . ." And then again, he counts, the repetitive cycle enough to keep himself grounded. It always helped, it used to help—it was supposed to!

     "One, two," His voice broke once again, dropping himself on the floor as he hugged his knees. "Three, four, five," He rocked back and forth, trying to stimulate. . . something! Anything to make hinself feel like he wasn't going crazy.

     . . .

     He managed to at least steady his breath, the tears never slowing but at least enough for him to catch himself. "One. . . two. . . three. . ." He thought that was the end of it—that he'd be able to go right back outside with no problems with a half-assed apology and him being on his 'best behavior', he really, really did.

     He was expecting a slap, a whip to the back—he wouldn't mind, because at least then he was used to it. What he wasn't expecting, was the uncanny smell of smoke.

     Touya thought nothing of it at first, that maybe something just happened in the kitchen or it was from a neighbor having a bad day. But. . . it smelled so close and. . . and was his leg. . . hot?

     He stared in horror at the sight of. . . fire. Fire? What—oh my God his leg was on fire!

     A scream leaves his throat, desperately kicking and trying to roll on the floor in an attempt to put it out. How did it even—he was nowhere near anything that would be even remotely flammable, let alone his leg and pants! "YVETTE! YVETTE—HELP!" He cried out as the searing pain pretty much engulfed the entire lower part of his leg, the sight of cackling blue enough for him to pass out if it weren't for the adrenaline forcing him awake.

     The door to the room opens with the governess there, a bored and annoyed look expertly hidden behind her unwavering professional scowl. But all that drained from her face at the sight of her student screaming in pain on the floor, blue flames quickly spreading up his pant-leg. She curses in that language that vaguely sounded like Russian, rushing out of the room in search of a fire extinguisher.

     When she came back and hurriedly sprayed the foam over his leg, Touya was already halfway to passing out, fearing what he might end up seeing if ever dared lift up his pant. The last thing he saw was a horrified look on his governess' face.

     . . .

     . . .

     . . .

     When he woke up hours later, he almost forgot what was happening.

     He thought it was once again five in the morning, just a regular day to wake up to and another day behind him.

     After all, his room was just as dark as it had always been.

     . . .

     He runs a hand down his face, flinching as he feels. . . bandages??

     He sits up with a jolt, the blanket over his face falling off. The room was dark but. . . what time was it? How long has he been asleep?

     The events of the morning flashed in his head, assuming that it was probably. . . lunch? After lunch? At the very least? He glances at his clock to make sure, almost falling off his bed at the sight of it reading six pm. Six?! He went to go eat breakfast at six in the morning, and now he's just waking up at six in the evening?!

     The rain outside was full force, his windows barely closed as he heard talking from straight outside.

     "Well I've waited about a whole day, tell me again, what do you mean his pant leg caught on fire, Yvette?" His father's voice reached to dangerous levels outside, practically feeling his glare through the wood. "I mean it was on fire, blue, on flames, sir. The boy has missed this entire day's lessons and do you really think that I'm gonna be wasting time asking him how he set his leg on—sir!"

     He flinched as the door burst open, Enji holding the handle with a look he hadn't seen in a good while. Their father was an angry man, but for the past few weeks that had calmed just about enough for it to be tolerable. But now. . . it was back. That look of disappointment, his scowl, furrowed brows—this. . . this wasn't going to end well for him, and he knew it.

     . . .

     . . .

     . . .

     Dabi groans as reality and consciousness dropped on him harder than a bag of bricks, the moon high in the sky right outside his window.

     The moon was there, but paled in comparison to the New York city lights. He felt like shit, and almost everything felt like it was mocking him.

     He wasn't surprised that you figured out he was Touya pretty quickly, and he wasn't exactly blaming you for thinking that way. He was being obvious, and you were just piecing together what was already there.

     . . .

     And all throughout this day he'd been ghosting you, which made him feel even more like shit.

     His phone's light practically broke his already-deteriorating eyesight, the one way message making a stone drop in his stomach and hardened heart. God, you really fucked him up, huh? And the sad thing was that he didn't mind.

7:12

Good morning, Dabi

11:53
You eat lunch yet?
You better have, or I'll spoon feed you myself

14:46
Someone tried to steal my bag wtf
Hope your day is going better than mine lol

19:28
Hey, eat dinner
Overheard your tophat guy saying something about you skipping it sometimes
Do that and I'll kick your ass

20:03
I found?? A sock??? On my cat's head??
We don't own the sock?????

just now

are you still at work?

     Nothing at first, and he feared he might've chased you off permanently, never to be seen again because of how shitty he was at keeping up relationships.

Yeah, I'm still here.
You good?

     . . .

     He sighs, typing out a response as he lets his head hang. God, he never thought he'd be happy to read a message.

stay there
im coming