This was definitely... different. To be honest he still wasn't sure what to make of it, but it was what it was. He was messed up in the head before they went and crammed two lives in there, thanks to dear ol' dad. Living with Shouto was just as conflicting as that, torn between one mindset and the other. Heroes here... weren't like back home. His vendetta, the big chip on his shoulder, didn't exist here. Shigaraki and his haphazard plans that got them nowhere in the long run. He'd let his hair grow out some, just waiting to snip off the last tips of black from trying to cover and bury anything about himself that reminded him of Enji Todoroki.
Part of being a kid who grew up on the streets was learning how to fend for yourself. He still had the scars, the marks that stood as proof of when he couldn't do that. Back to the point, it wasn't the first time he cooked an egg in his palm. "I washed my hands, thanks. Besides," he paused, flipping the egg into the other hand after a minute to cook the other side, "dishes are dirty." He nodded to the dishwasher humming close by, giving a shrug. "Sure you don't want one?" He smirked some, holding his hand out to Shouto despite the look he was being given.
Complicated. It was definitely complicated. The last time he was 'big bro Touya' felt like a lifetime ago... but still right there fresh from those mixed memories he had.