[ it’s easy, sometimes, to forget how young Raidou is. he’s no older than yuji, than nyuu, than denji or bakugo or, ha, even sonic. a year is a long time to live and yet nothing at all, but choso has had 150 prior to understand who and what he is on his own.

he thinks of a man with red hair in a train tunnel, directing him away from twisted steel. he thinks of bakugo, pulling him down to sit in the grass while castle bran burned in the distance. alone he thought he was strong enough, but it took those guiding hands then to show him how lost he was. ]

Well, then, let’s talk. We will figure it out together.

[ so choso reaches out with his right this time, fingertips at Raidou’s elbow as if to urge him along, nudging him gently toward the comfort of a neatly-made bed. ]

We have water, and bottled tea, and senbei. I will get you some.