“I think classifying butter knives as ‘sharp objects' is ridiculous too, but rules are rules.” Touya didn't appear fazed by the way Shouto's two-colored eyes glared at him, his face a perfectly straight mask as he handed back the buttered slices of bread before getting up to leave the knife in the sink.
Truth was, Touya was just as watched as Shouto was. He wasn't much keeping an eye on his younger brother, more like being in the same place so they could be watched at the same time. Where Aizawa could afford to be more lax and bend the rules a little, Touya had to be extra careful: a sigle oversight could be interpreted as the wrong way.
Touya sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt an upcoming headache. Same old, same old. No matter what he did, how many people he helped, how popular he was with the general public, he'd always be the son a villain in the eyes of those in the known. Touya at least had been lucky enough that not many people were in the known; hair and eye color aside, he was very much his mother's son.
Ah, that could be another reason for Shouto's hostility, perhaps. Did he see the same thing he himself saw in the mirror everytime? The similarities with their dear mother, the pro heroine that had fallen victim to her villainoud husband? Touya could never hope to be like his mother, but people did tell him he looked a great deal like her...
“I miss her too, y'know...” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else that could have been listening in that moment. He wasn't sure whether Shouto heard it or not, and honestly he wasn't sure which was better...
