Archive of Our Own ^beta

God, this woman is irritating. Touya groans, cutting her off, “Dude, shut up with all this manifesto bullshit. I just need a job.” 

He lost his decrepit, tiny apartment to somebody able to sign a legitimate lease twelve days ago and, since the grocery story let him go three weeks ago, Touya can’t even afford a hostel at this point. Turns out, employers don’t like it when you lie about having a high school diploma when you haven’t even graduated middle school. They were already paying him under the table, below minimum wage to boot, so what did they expect? It’s not like he was performing poorly either, but apparently that’s not enough these days.

Touya’s shitty little shoebox was shit, but it was better, marginally, than living on the streets. That margin went a long way. Sure, nothing worked and the landlord’s a parasitic creep, but four walls and a lock save lives. Touya remembers those first few years as a naive kid alone in alleyways with a clarity he wishes was impossible; he is not eager to return to that life.

In fact, he is so unenthusiastic that he’s willing to stoop this low, out and about in the world an entire two hours before the sun even rises to network with sketchy fuckers like this. 

“So you wanna be a villain?” The woman’s distrustful squint Touya tells him they’re mutually unimpressed. “You understand what I’m recruiting around here for, don’t you?”

Touya blinks owlishly. He only struck up a conversation with her because he is in dire need of some decent shut-eye. Why is she trying to make his life harder than it already is? She’s recruiting for… Touya forgot who, exactly, but the important part is that this is a relatively organized recruitment effort and therefore her employer presumably has the resources to support potential recruits. Touya knows he can protect himself, so he’s not too worried about the kind of people these villains are; that’s a concern for someone with two square meals a day and a safe place to rest his head at night.

“I need a job. It’s not that I actually want to work,” he shrugs. “I want money, enough to live like a real person. I’ll do what I gotta to make that happen.” 

“Dabi, was it?” The recruiter narrows her eyes, trying to come across as shrewd instead of cheap. “You’re not cut out for this, kid.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He tries not to roll his eyes. If you’re broke, just say that. He’s desperate enough to keep trying to reason with her and she’s spitting in his face, acting like she’s doing him some kinda favor. “I’m flexible, though. All I really need is a bed.”

“You don’t sound committed to the cause,” she crosses her arms, egging Touya on to prove otherwise. “You’d become an informant for a paycheck.”

“You’re right.” This was a waste of time. What is he, a show pony? Fuck jumping through all these hoops, he’s done. “I’d turn snitch in a heartbeat.”

Her face goes slack. After a moment, she schools her features into a sneer. “You don’t have what it takes, just like I said.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, walking away.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, but no one has this number and picking it up now will ruin his dramatic exit so Touya lets it ring. He doesn’t pull it out until he rounds the corner and finds a mostly clean section of wall to lean against undisturbed. It’s not a number he recognizes, but whoever it was left a voicemail.

He’s got shit else to do, so he lets it play. 

“Heyya, it’s Hawks!” The voice is masculine and entirely too chipper for predawn hours. Touya thinks he hates him on principle. “Sorry for such an early call, it’s an occupational-slash-bird hazard. So, uh, I hired your agency to clean my place today, but it kinda got demolished a few months ago—I’m sure you saw, ha ha. Villains, you know?”

Hawks pauses for a moment too long, waiting for a response. Touya doesn’t know that anyone can sound so awkward on the phone. He laughs a bit to himself while the hero—as inferred by the fact that he only gave one name and Touya, the butt of every joke the cosmos have to offer, got the call while contemplating the merits of villainy—clears his throat.

He sounds embarrassed, which must be why he rushes through the rest of his message. “Anyway, I forgot about y’all ‘til my assistant reminded me so this is really last minute, but I moved into a new place and I’m sure it’s too late to cancel entirely so can you just come by this new address? I would hate to waste the money. I’m gonna be out all day patrolling, so I’ll get you the door codes! And I still have all the supplies because I’m kinda sensitive to that kinda thing. I know I’m probably putting y’all out and this is a much bigger hassle than you agreed to, but you’d be doing me a huge favor if you still came on out. Oh, as for the second half of the fee in cash. It’s—”

Touya promptly blacks out when this Hawks guy says the most ridiculous number he has ever heard for a one time job. And it’s only half? He replays the voicemail three more times just to make sure he’s not missing anything.

He stares at the screen of his prepaid so long that it turns off, leaving him looking into his own eyes. Touya reasons with himself that this villainy thing really ain’t all that. Not with a golden opportunity like this falling into his lap. Maybe his luck isn’t so bad.

He knows how to cook and clean; Touya can take care of a hero, even one as disgustingly messy as this Hawks must be to justify paying this much for a cleaning service. Triple the market rate to clean a two bedroom apartment one time—and, Touya feels he cannot emphasize this enough, that’s only half of what the hero is paying in total. The way he figures, if Touya shows up and does well, the atmosphere might be good enough for him to confess to the whole mix up. In that case, he might even be able to ask for a regular job, undercutting the sleazy company to stay on.

Touya doesn’t really know who Hawks is and he has to get to his city, but that’s nothing big in the grand scheme of things. If he can keep this job, Touya really has nothing to lose.

He calls the number back and confirms he’s coming in.

The hero’s apartment is underwhelming. 

Considering how busy he learned Hawks is, nothing Touya sees immediately stands out. He’d been psyching himself up, thinking about how the workload would justify his unfathomable payday, but the mess truly isn’t so bad. It’s just the regular stuff; the luxury apartment merely looks lived in. Even the size of it is relatively modest after taking Hawks’ standing into account. So then why—

A chill goes down his spine. Did Touya accidentally agree to some weirdo sex shit? The pay is insanely high for some simple house cleaning, but maybe it’s ballpark for an escort service. But, no; when he looks around, Touya only sees standard cleaning supplies, no skimpy maid outfit or line of Johns waiting for oral or a quick handy. 

Thank God for that, he breathes a sigh of relief. 

But that means Hawks is probably doing this as part of a money laundering scheme, which, yikes. That’ll suck for the man once Touya is in the wind, won’t it?

Slung across his chest, Touya’s duffle bag contains all of his worldly possessions. He’s not letting it out of his sight, especially now that it’s stuffed full of all that cash. He had to toss out some underclothes to get every last bill to fit. No way in hell he’s returning any of it to Hawks or whichever big bad is the real intended recipient.

Then again, Touya likes to think he’s a decent judge of character. He did his due diligence on the way to Fukuoka, so he has a better sense of things now. Hawks seems like a good hero. Touya wouldn’t put anything past someone in the public eye, but he trusts his gut. If he’s right, then Hawks, the poor bastard, is paying an obscene amount of money for a standard cleaning job. 

He’d have to be an idiot, but that’s preferrable, given the other options. 

Touya gets to work, pulling out all the stops. Given how much he’s getting paid, it’s the least he could do. Dusting, sweeping, vacuuming, mopping. There’s a small laundry room in the unit, so he collects all loose articles of clothing, washes, and folds them, placing them in a hamper that he found and sanitized rather than invade the privacy of Hawks’ closet. 

Sure, he might have caught a few hours of sleep while the laundry was cycling, but he was sitting on the floor, not contaminating Hawks’ beds. And, yeah, he left to treat himself to lunch around the corner and then left again to get some ice cream, but Hawks is the one who paid him in advance and it’s been a while, okay? He’s a simple guy, and he’s got needs. The important part is that he got the job done. Hell, he even shined the shoes in the entryway. Touya dares the stupid hero to find an issue with his work.

Actually, on second thought… dare might be a strong verb. 

Based on the voicemail, Hawks has some animal traits. Touya knew a kid like that a few years ago, a girl with a falcon quirk, and she had some… compulsions, is probably the way to put it. Maybe in the same vein, red feathers cluster in awkward places around Hawks’ place. Carefully, Touya makes sure to place them back exactly as he found them. Hopefully, the hero won’t even be able to tell he disturbed them at all.

Just in case, though, he makes a few meals for the hero. Simple stuff, just using what Hawks already has on hand. It might be a bit of a faux paus, but Touya refuses to spend his paycheck on his employer, so that’s the best he can do.

He’s ready to leave when a bout of nonsensical guilt swallows him out of nowhere. It’s a lot of money. It’s a lot of money, sure, but Touya did the work to earn it. There’s nothing left to clean, nothing left to do at all, and he knows that. Yet Touya can’t get himself to leave. He finds himself rooted in place, waiting at the table for the hero to return from work as the sun slinks lower and lower below the horizon.

This is stupid, he thinks to himself. But maybe he can turn this around; he’ll apply for a full-time gig, just like he thought about doing earlier. His duffle is heavy, the strap digging into the side of his neck. It’s a lot of money. He should take it and run. Touya can make it stretch. It won’t last forever, but he doesn’t need forever, just a while. A while to get back on his feet, find a place, find a job. He taps his foot. He might have a job here. There’s no harm in trying. Right?

Unless the hero arrests him for fraud and seizes the money.

But, so long as Hawks isn’t fireproof, Touya can get out of here. Some light maiming and he’ll be free. Of course, then he’ll have to join up with the next villain he meets, bed or no bed, on account of having attacked a hero, but what else does he have going for him? 

This is so stupid, he thinks to himself as the door opens. Hawks spots him immediately, straightening his posture as he drags himself inside. “Ah—you’re still here?”

Clearly, he doesn’t say. Employers don’t like back talk and since Touya’s stupid ass grew a misguided conscience in the eleventh hour, the least he can do now is try to be cordial, especially since he intends to score a legitimate gig out of this. “Consider this quality assurance. Is there anything else you wanted done? Something I missed?”

Hawks doesn’t look around. His hands folded together, he apologizes, “Man, I’m sorry, it was a lot, right? I should pay you m—”

“No,” he blurts. Touya feels guilty enough as is; he can’t con more money out of Hawks right now.

His head tilts like a bird—oh, maybe Touya shouldn’t say that. “No? Oh, you cooked.” The wondrously bright tone Hawks takes is augmented by the sudden growling of the hero’s stomach. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did. Thank you!”

“It’s a simple dinner and a couple lunches. Tell me if there’s something you don’t like and I’ll take it,” he orders. He took the food out of the fridge when he decided to stay and wait for Hawks for this exact reason. “Don’t waste it.”

“I like everything! I’m not the type to waste food,” he assures, eyeing the chicken katsu. This warms Touya’s perception of the guy until he asks, “How much more do I owe you?”

“Holy shit, dude.” Because he is an idiot who can’t accept the good things that happen to him, Touya sighs. He kisses the golden goose goodbye; it’s time to get real with the hero, for better or worse. “Sit down, let’s chat a bit.”

“Ah.” His smile stretches, fake like he’s bracing himself. It’s wide and happy looking and Touya’s temper flares at the sight. He’s the only one who should be grieving now. “Sure thing, man!”

He sets the food in front of the hero, gesturing for him to eat. “You already paid me an ungodly amount of money just to clean this place. And I mean that especially because I only saw half of all that you spent. Full disclosure, I’m not from that company.” Ignoring Hawks’ attempt to interrupt, he asks, “Where’d you find it, anyway? That place didn’t reach out to you when your address turned into a crater to talk to you about refunds or anything. That’s sketchy as hell, man. But don’t bother with them. They’re overcharging you.”

Food pushed to one side of his mouth, Hawks frowns, “You—”

“You called the wrong number but you sounded earnest and I needed the cash,” Touya explains, waving his hand. “Which I’m gonna keep, hundred percent, but next time, pay the poor bastard after they do the job. I could’ve robbed you.”

Hawks bursts into laughter. “Sure, let’s say you could’ve robbed me.”

He scowls, “Overconfidence will get you killed, Hero.”

“I was just gonna say you oughta be compensated for cooking,” he smiles. “Cooking and cleaning are separate things, yeah?”

“Do not play the nice guy right now, what the fuck?”

“You know, you’re really kind,” the hero keeps smiling, angling toward him. Touya leans back. Hawks’ eyes twinkle as he teases, “For a fraud.”

“Oh,” he realizes. “You’re starved for affection, aren’t you? Well, it doesn’t matter. Get a therapist and learn how to manage your money better.”

Sitting back in his seat, Hawks laughs. “My assistant suggested this cleaning agency, but he’s kinda gullible. They said they specialize in heteromorphs—”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That they can charge ten times more than they’re worth!” His cheery, flirtatious veneer disappears as he proposes, “That said, you wanna stay on?”

“Sorry?” Is this what Touya gets for sticking his nose in someone else’s business? A braindead doormat? God, this is the last time he’ll try to do something nice for someone else. He should’ve taken the money and ran. “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

“Ooh, you’re smokin’, man,” Hawks whistles. “What’s your name, Sparky?”

Touya takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. So he lost his suppressant, whatever. He’ll buy a better one once he gets out of here. He stares the hero down. “You cannot be serious.”

He shrugs, “Why not? You said you needed cash and needing cash tends to be an ongoing thing. You were up as early as me and you stayed this late, so presumably you don’t have another job. And, well.” Hawks stops, sizing him up. “You wear it well enough, but I can tell your living situation isn’t especially ideal right now.”

Touya runs his tongue along the front of his teeth. “What, you want a cookie?”

“If you’re baking,” he winks, back to that flirty tone. “Unlike you, I’m useless in the kitchen.”

“Money laundering,” he decides. That has to be it. “You’re trying to keep me here to get your money back, right?”

“You’re a funny guy,” Hawks grins. “I’m saying you can have the other bedroom. I’ll hire you as a live-in house manager. Hell, I’ll even throw in some quirk suppressant jewelry that actually fits.”

A feather delivers Touya’s missing bracelet much like Prince Charming presenting that lone glass slipper. So it isn’t lost. And, apparently, the feathers move. Tch. Annoying. 

Touya stares at the feather and his bracelet with contempt for a long moment, but he has to accept his cuff back. His scars regularly itch and ache, as old and healed as they already are; he hates to think about what suffering fresh wounds from his faulty quirk might cause.

“You that bored at your job, Hero?” All Hawks does is laugh. Touya is beginning to think that’s the only way he knows how to respond to others. Laugh and flirt. It’s irksome. “You can’t be serious.”

“Sure, I can. I am.” His head tilts like a bird again. “Didn’t I already say so? We’ll negotiate your tasks and salary, keeping everything under the table or with an official contact, whichever you prefer,” he waves his hand. “We’ll figure it out. How ‘bout it, Firecracker?”

It’s good. Too good, really, which means it’s probably a terrible idea. Stewing in silence isn’t helping him find any cracks in Hawks’ face. The hero seems genuine, bizarrely enough. Touya isn’t strong enough to keep resisting the temptation.

I’ll run when it gets dicey, he decides. “You can call me Touya.”

Hawks grins, one arm outstretched to shake. “As far as aliases go, it’s a pretty good one.”

“Spell it with the kanji for ‘fuck’ and ‘off.’”

“Ooh,” he lights up, “or is it your real name?”

“Who knows,” he shrugs. “You’re overly familiar, Hawks.”

“Call me Keigo,” he winks. “This is the start of a beautiful working relationship, ain’t it, Firefly?”

“Assuming I don’t wake up in the middle of night with ink on my fingertips, Pigeon.” Then again, legally, Touya is too old to be forcibly sent back to his family home. Worst case scenario, he could be fed and housed in jail, too.

“Okay, hint taken,” Keigo holds up his hands. “Don’t dig into the identity of the housekeeper impersonator I just hired to live with me indefinitely.”

“What a quick learner,” he praises disingenuously. “He’s earned a second cookie.”

“Well, if you put it like that, I want oatmeal cookies with extra Christmas pinecone scent.”

“Do,” Touya pinches his lips sealed. Taking a deep breath, he asks, “Do you mean cinnamon?”

“Oh, is that what it is?”

“You’re bullshitting me. Tell me you’re bullshitting me.” Keigo blinks innocently back at him. “On second thought, put me under the jail. I don’t want this job.” 

Touya takes the job. 

Of course he takes the job. He’d have to be an idiot not to, and that slot has already been filled by his employer/housemate.

It’s good—great, even. Keigo’s a pretty decent guy. Straightforward, too, aside from the occasional tests he puts Touya through. Nothing extreme; they’re clearly designed to make sure the two can live and work together safely. Keigo seems more relaxed now that he’s sure Touya isn’t a groupie-pervert-creep trying to insert himself into his life, so there’s that.

After weeks of dealing with Keigo’s half-answers, Touya has finally been deemed trustworthy enough to know what the stupid hero wants to eat. Apparently, Keigo likes seasoning in general, but he wants his meat kept as close to raw as possible, and warm, too, if possible. Unless it’s chicken, which he prefers fried—because that tastes best eaten together with others. 

“Plus, the texture of undercooked chicken is ass, so,” he wrinkles his nose, hovering in the kitchen. Touya pushes him out without looking, lowering the heat on the stove. This does not disrupt Keigo’s rambling. “And it’s not like I can’t or don’t like to eat cooked meat, but whenever I splurge on a fresh kill, I prefer to eat it like that. You do all the grocery shopping now, so it’s not my place to tell you what to do—” 

“Except for the part where you’re my boss and I’m literally cooking for you.”

“—and I’m not saying to stop buying frozen meat or to stop freezing it at home! But if you ever go to a butcher shop,” he trails off and Touya almost swears he can hear the hero’s stomach growl. 

He wouldn’t be surprised; between the scent of dinner cooking and the conversation matter, even Touya is getting hungry. Absently, he wonders, “How do you know all this stuff? Is it, like, instinctual, or something?”

“Same way you know about your own diet, dumbass,” Keigo rolls his eyes.

“My bad,” Touya snorts. Sometimes his mouth works faster than his brain.

He waves him off; no harm, no foul. “You know, this quirkless couple out in the sticks gave me a live chicken once. They said it’d be good for my wings, and I dunno if that’s true but, man, it was delicious.”

“I bet,” he laughs. Keigo looks pleased at this, so it must have been another one of his tests. 

Touya huffs, but he can’t be surprised. Too many of the heteromorphs he’s met dealt with so much bullshit from bigots growing up that it fucked them in the head. He’s glad that hasn’t happened to Keigo, or at least if it has, he’s healed a bit since then. 

Good for him. “I’ll use that next time, so thanks for telling me.”

Keigo shrugs, “Why wouldn’t I? It’s what I wanna eat and how, and you’re basically my personal chef. This is information you need, isn’t it?”

“So you do listen to me when I speak,” he mutters mostly to himself. “I’m not that good a chef, so don’t get your hopes up.”

The twinkle in his eyes spells trouble. “I’ll call you a house-spouse instead, if you prefer?”

“I’d prefer you become a better husband if you expect me to stay here,” he deadpans. “Eat up.”

After the first bite, Keigo promises, “Oh, man. I’m never gonna let you divorce me. You’re gonna have me wrapped around your finger.”

Touya rolls his eyes. This hero is such a playboy, he’s always got a line. He flips him off and wonders, “This finger? Or maybe this one?”

“Your fingers are so long and pretty, like a pianist,” he grins without missing a beat. “Wonder if they’ll still be so thin once I fatten you up.”

His spoon clatters against his bowl. “You say some odd shit, Birdie, but never before have you reminded me of Hansel and Gretel’s evil witch.”

“I don’t know that reference,” he shakes his head. “Touya, you don’t think your old bracelet kept falling off by accident, do you? It’s ’cause you’re tiny.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from someone smaller than me,” he snaps, stuffing his face.

Keigo snorts, “I might be shorter than you, but seriously? Dude, my bicep is bigger than your head.”

“In your fuckin’ dreams it is. You just wanted to flex at me,” he accuses.

“And one day you’ll be able to flex at me,” he winks, “once I fatten you up.”

Living in a stable home suits Touya incredibly well. 

He naps when he pleases, eats when he’s hungry. His domestic chores notwithstanding, there’s nothing sucking up his time and energy. He and some aunties down the street have become fast friends, trading coupons and working in the community garden together. It’s a comfortable life, exactly what Touya needs after the last couple of decades.

Flipping through TV channels, he stumbles across something interesting. Looks like it aired from last week, which is weird because Keigo never mentioned anything about any featured appearances. Given the hero’s usual M.O. of compulsive oversharing, Touya wouldn’t think this is something he should have had to ask about—and he wouldn’t, either; Keigo’s head is big enough without knowing that Touya cares enough about him to be interested in all of his silly late night appearances.

He is interested, though, and Keigo’s not here to catch him. And this one is a double feature, Big Sis Magne is interviewing both Hawks and—oh. Hawks and Endeavor. 

Touya chokes on his next inhale when he sees that scarred face so suddenly take over the screen. Endeavor doesn’t look like the father Touya once knew, and maybe that’s why Touya is more curious than overwhelmed. He laughs at himself, rubbing tiredly at the back of his head. 

Well. Whatever works, works. 

Touya missed the beginning, so he doesn’t know why, but Endeavor is sat right across from Magne, a pride flag pinned to his chest, clip-on earrings attached to his ears, a big red wig fixed crookedly atop his head. He’s in a standard penguin suit, so the look is a bit awkward even before Keigo’s pathetic attempt at painting his senior’s face in dramatic makeup is accounted for. It looks like a preschooler’s art project.

Endeavor glances in the mirror silently, his features perfectly neutral, but he clearly did a much better job with Keigo. Honestly, Keigo looks runway ready. He’s in a shimmery number, wearing a long blond wig and thematic makeup. Without obscuring the dark lines that naturally line them, Endeavor painted red around Keigo’s eyes, warming his golden brown irises and pairing nicely with his wings.

Now that Touya is looking at the highlighter on his cheekbones, he hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but he does vaguely recall Keigo coming home especially glittery one day. He had assumed it was just another bird thing.

“I kinda feel bad that you’re ugly when you made me so pretty,” Keigo repents. 

Touya grins into his fist; Keigo is clearly distracted by his own reflection. Magne laughs outright, teasing, “You only feel kinda bad?”

Endeavor pats Keigo’s shoulder. “It is fine, Hawks-kun. You did well with the lashes.”

His voice sounds the same, though the praise came easier and more genuine than—

“You’re very good at this, Endeavor-san,” Magne praises in turn. “Do you partake?”

“I do not,” he shakes his head. “My middle children, Fuyumi and Natsuo, enjoy costuming and makeup. I have been modeling for them for many years, so I have picked things up over time.”

She coos, “Aww, Endeavor-san! You’re such a good dad.”

“No,” he disagrees. “I am better than I used to be, but I have more work to do.”

His voice is gruff and a little awkward, short, just as Touya remembers him sounding. It’s the subject matter that’s so uncomfortably different. Touya’s father being a father.

Endeavor is very open about his struggles with his family—adamant that it was all his own fault. Touya’s father was never so earnest, but Endeavor is now. He talks about what it took to reconcile and make amends, keeping the specifics vague as per his family’s request. Touya would call it a PR stunt, but he was there, too, in the beginning of the transformation. Even after leaving, he still pays close attention to the household. He knows this is who Todoroki Enji is now.

It’s a strange kind of melancholy. Touya wonders what his father would do if they ever met again. It doesn’t seem like it would be so bad. Actually, it seems kind of nice. Endeavor takes every chance he can to uplift his family these days, and Touya is curious what that feels like. There’s no talk of disappointment and failure anymore. Maybe that includes him, too. Maybe he could—

On second thought, no. It’s probably a bad idea. It would just be embarrassing. For all he knows, things are better because he’s gone. What gives him the right to waltz back in, fucking things up for everyone else? Nothing. It’s stupid to think otherwise. He’d only be setting himself up to get hurt. 

“Rei is amazing,” Endeavor is praising when Touya calms down enough to tune in. “She is the strongest person I know and I am thankful for her guiding hand in my life. I—”

“Love your wife very much,” everyone finishes, even Touya muttering at home.

“That is how it should be.” Endeavor has the sense to be a little embarrassed, the pink of his cheeks glowing even through all the cosmetics caked on his face. “I am just saying that I almost permanently lost her because of my many failings as a father, a partner, and as a man. Rei is my rock and I would not be here without her. Be purposeful when you show your appreciation for your loved ones,” he commands. “I will stop talking about my family now before I hit my limit.”

Because his wife and children limit the amount of time he can spend talking about them in one sitting. Shouto told the world so on his YouTube channel with his middle school classmates; he still tracks how well Endeavor minds this limit in his public appearances even as a first year at UA. Touya smiles just thinking about it.

“Endeavor-san, your family is absolutely adorable. I love that we can always depend on you for relationship advice.” Magne turns her smiles to Keigo. “On that note, Hawks-san. Do you ever go to your colleague here for advice?”

Keigo flashes a smile so fake that Touya’s chest twinges in discomfort. “Nah!”

Endeavor side-eyes him. “Yes, he does.”

“Ooh! Does that mean there’s someone special you have your eye on, Hawks? Are you seeing this person?”

“There is no person,” Keigo denies. Endeavor snorts.

“There is a person. The sooner you stop running from your feelings, the sooner you can try to win over your love.”

Touya grins, snickering to himself. So this is why Keigo didn’t brag to him about Big Sis’ show. It’s not because he figured out who Touya used to be—not that he was really worried about that because he knows Keigo would’ve cracked immediately under the weight of something like that. No, it’s because Keigo knew Touya would tease him mercilessly for getting caught up in such an obvious trap on national television. 

Big Sis Mag gushes, “Love? It’s not hard to catch your eye, Hawks-san, but to keep it? Tell us more about this amazing person!”

Keigo flushes and doesn’t deny anything and—

Oh, Touya realizes, surprised. So it’s true. Keigo has a crush and he’s been talking about it with Endeavor. Endeavor is broadsiding him now because he keeps running away from the conversation. Keigo has a crush and Touya feels distinctly not normal about it. And it makes no sense that he feels anything about it because—oh no, no, no. Ha. No.

He didn’t think that. No, he would never do something so stupid. No. Mm-mm. Never gonna happen. No.

Touya cuts the TV off to save what’s left of his peace of mind. His carefree and unburdened afternoon is becoming unduly strained, and that simply will not do. He doesn’t need to think about any of this right now—or ever. It’s not real.

Shit.

Touya shouldn’t have said it. He knows he shouldn’t have. It was just in passing, he didn’t mean anything by it—didn’t even mean for it to come out. Now Keigo’s staring at him.

They’re only supposed to be watching TV after dinner. They’ve done this a thousand times without issue. Keigo started talking about the happenings of his patrol today, which is nothing unusual, but now, due to Touya’s unexpectedly loose lips, they’re here.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Forget it.”

Keigo does not forget it. “You said you almost became a villain.”

“No, I didn’t,” Touya denies. He wants the couch to swallow him whole.

Keigo vibrates in place, his winglets flapping excitedly. “Yes, you did!”

“Fine! I did. But it’s behind me now,” he swears, “so don’t worry about it.”

“Whoa,” he breathes. Wearing an airy smile, Keigo wonders, “Am I so capable that I can successfully rehabilitate villains?”

Touya scowls, “You have a serious listening problem, Songbird. I rehabilitated myself.”

He corrects, “You said you almost became a villain but decided to take this job here, with me, instead.”

“It’s not much of a job,” he sneers. Touya doesn’t get paid because he lives here for free and he charges all of the house’s expenses to Keigo’s card. Not that he’s complaining; it’s not like he can open a bank account and his duffle bag is already stuffed full of money he’s hardly touched. 

“You abandoned villainy to be here,” Keigo sings. “I helped you. That’s what you said!”

“I turned down villainy before you called,” he insists. “There was time between the two events!”

“Even if that’s true, it still means that you’ve only stayed away from villainy since due to my love and support!”

Touya does a double take. “Your what?”

He enunciates, “My. Loving. Support.”

Touya squints. Keigo smiles.

“Anyways! Why’d you wanna be a villain?” He teases, “They don’t make money.”

“You’re telling me,” Touya grumbles. Buying time, he notes, “You know, normally people just assume villains are hateful and angry.”

“Firefly, I’m a hero,” Keigo reminds. “Half my job is about knowing what makes people turn to a career in crime, you know, to help prevent that,” he shrugs. “So?”

“I dunno,” he hums in answer. Keigo’s flat tone makes his interest seem impersonal, which Touya appreciates. It almost feels like anonymity. “I was desperate, needed a place to crash. Kinda felt like punching my dad, maybe, just to show him that I could.”

Next to him on the couch, Keigo hugs his knees to his chest. “You must really hate him.”

“I don’t,” he admits, annoyed that it’s the truth. “I really wanted to, especially when I was younger, but I couldn’t. He used to be so shitty, but I was shitty, too. Then he went and reformed himself like a real jackass,” he laughs. “If it was my place, I’d be proud of him. It was some Hallmark movie stuff, I’m telling you.”

“Will you? Tell me, I mean,” he says. “You wanna talk about it?”

How many details can he give before he gives himself away? Not many; Keigo knows Endeavor, and he’s pretty damn smart. Touya dyes his hair black, but Keigo knows it’s white underneath. He helped him touch up his roots just last week. Speaking of—Touya needs a trim; his hair has never been this long before, sticking out in a short, spiky ponytail when he pulls it back. He can’t decide if he wants to leave it alone or chop it off again. But he’s getting off track. 

The white hair, plus his blue eyes and bluer fire… Keigo only caught the barest glimpse of his flames one time, but still. Endeavor holds space for his long lost eldest, a quiet void in the Todoroki family. Seven months may have passed without Keigo growing overtly suspicious, but the odds aren’t in Touya’s favor. 

It’s too risky, isn’t it? Carelessness will get him caught.

Keigo sees the moment his walls come up, and he reaches out softly. “Touya.”

“I don’t need saving, Hawks.” He warns, “There’s nothing for you to fix.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “I’m just here to listen, Firecracker.”

“… Okay.” It’s risky, but Touya is tired and Keigo’s presence is warm and unobtrusive at his side. “I left home,” he chews on his cheek, his heart racing, “young. Too young, really. It was what it was.”

He was fourteen and more naive than he realized. Most of the money he saved was gone within a week. He sold his fancy quirk suppressants and bought a shitty one, too big and prone to slip off his thin wrists, put his head down and grew up. It took six years before he could find consistent housing, running through alleyways and squatting where he could. He jumped at his first chance at four walls to call his own. Who wouldn’t? He’s spent the last three years like that, scraping by with a handful of flaky aliases and lifesaving neuroses. 

He made it this far. Things never got so shitty that Touya felt he had to return, tail tucked between his legs. He had no place in the Todoroki house any longer.

It wasn’t his father’s fault, not really. Father was a power obsessed, insecure, and small man for a time. Touya doesn’t know what changed, but something did. Around the time that Shouto’s quirk came in, things became different. Better.

He had thought it was because Shouto was perfect, Father’s little masterpiece, in the flesh at last, but the dojo stayed closed. Shouto was never asked to perform, never had to do any agility and endurance exercises. No, Shouto just… grew up. Like a normal kid from a normal place. He fit in well with his peers at school. Public school—one full of other celebrities’ children, but it was still a far cry from the homeschooling they used to get.

Touya couldn’t understand it. It was like everyone was playing a trick on him, telling a joke and leaving him out. He couldn’t let his guard down, anxiously waiting for the backslide into the old normalcy, not this alternate universe bullshit. The others seemed to have forgotten what it was like before, but Touya couldn’t. He’s the oldest of them all, that’s probably why. The others didn’t remember, or didn’t care to. But that part makes sense; the boys were so young, and their sister is the forgiving type, just like their mother. 

Things were better, though. There’s still scars, obviously, but they’re the pink, healing kind rather than a festering infection. Touya knew it then, and he checks up on them enough these days to remain sure. He knew it even then, yet still he left.

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” he sighs through Keigo’s noise of dissent. “Objectively, that’s the truth. My family loves me, but I can hold a grudge like you wouldn’t believe. I had to go.”

“You didn’t have to.” He holds up his hands in surrender, “I know, I know. You’re gonna say I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I have to say it. You were a kid, Touya. You deserve the world—”

“Okay, Hero,” he smiles, a little shaky. “It’s okay. Listening, not fixing, remember?”

“I can multitask!”

“You said you wouldn’t.”

“I know,” he sighs, deflating. “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t ask me to do, I swear. But it is objectively upsetting that you were just a kid, out there fending for yourself.”

Touya shrugs, uncomfortable under the weight of Keigo’s kind eyes. “It hardly matters. It was a lifetime ago. For a while, I had tried to be better, but,” he shakes his head. “It was better for them if I disappeared, so I did. And I was right,” he insists. “The family has really come together since. They look happier than I ever remember.”

He made the right decision. Back then, there was no other choice. Maybe, maybe, things could be different now, with all this time in between like a cushion, but not then. If there’s anything Touya believes, it’s that. It has to be.

Hesitantly, Keigo asks, “Do you ever think about going home? Meeting your family again?”

Touya closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits, probably too quietly. “But I’m not ready yet.”

“You keep tabs on them?”

“Every now and then. It’s not hard.”

“Touya.”

He clears his throat. “I’m—”

“Fine, yeah, I know. Can I hug you? For me,” he pleads, “so I can feel better?”

Touya breathes out a small laugh. It’s so transparent that he has to believe the hero means it, at least in part. Keigo opens his arms and even his wings, which he normally keeps light and small at home, fold around them, loose feathers flying back into place. It’s full and warm and secure. Nice. Really nice, actually.

Until Keigo goes and ruins the vibe. “Are you wearing your bracelet? You’re hotter than usual.”

Touya groans. “Now isn’t the time to feed me your usual lines, Pretty Bird.”

Affronted, he counters, “My lines are better than—”

“They’re really not.”

“Whatever. Seriously, though. I think you’re sick, Firefly.” He presses his hand to Touya’s forehead. “You’re warmer than usual.”

He shrugs Keigo off, thinking nothing of it. Touya feels lighter with all that heavy shit off his chest. He’s not even all that annoyed about the bird’s awful recreational flirting. Better he makes a fool of himself than hover around like a kicked puppy, working himself up over things that have nothing to do with him. 

In the morning, however, Touya finds that maybe Keigo had a point. He feels like he’s been bulldozed and his nostrils are avidly refusing to accept oxygen, so that’s fun. Keigo, some kinda freak of nature who has never been sick, is losing his shit which, as one might imagine, is a fuckin’ blast. The hero even ditched work today, professedly to help him recover but Touya isn’t so sure.

“Calm down,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. “Are you this useless in a real crisis?” 

Reading his phone screen in horror, Keigo despairs, “What if it’s Scarlet fever!”

He squeezes his eyes closed, hoping his brain stops trying to leak out through the sockets. Touya should’ve kicked Keigo out and begged some tea off Yanaga-obachan instead. “It’s not.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do,” he corrects, sucking on a spoonful of honey to soothe his sore throat. He shouldn’t have admitted that his body burns through most medicines too quickly for them to be effective. Things would be going much smoother if Keigo gave him some Dayquil and left.

“You’re too young to die,” Keigo cries. “Eat your soup, Touya, c’mon, please.”

“I don’t want soup. I’m not so invalid that I can’t chew.”

He groans, “It’s not—”

“And I’m not old enough to drink my food.”

Exasperated, because maybe Touya isn’t the only one who’s spent all morning repeating himself, Keigo snaps, “You sound like Endeavor. Is this a fire quirk thing? You hotheads suck at being sick.”

He bristles. “Like you’d know! Your AI bot is just throwing shit at the wall and trust me, it ain’t stickin’.”

“This is WebMD!”

“That’s not any better!”

“I’m not arguing with a sick person.” His face buried in his hands, Keigo takes a deep, gathering breath. “Please drink your tea at least. It’s good for you!”

Touya tries to sniff it, but his health being what it is, he can’t quite figure it out. He’s tempted to stick his tongue in a spoonful to make sure it’s not soup in a mug, but he gets enough cat accusations to mind the optics. That doesn’t stop him from glaring suspiciously at the dark fluid for a long moment. He isn’t a coward, though, so eventually, he bites the bullet.

He chokes on the first sip. “The fuck, Kei? What’s in this?”

“I boiled fresh lemon, ginger, and garlic, then let it cool a bit before adding some honey.” His eyes slide sideways guiltily. “Ah, there’s also a healthy dosage of hot sauce, you know, to help clear you out. I was told it works best if you don’t know that, though.”

That’s exactly what Mom used to say. It’s her recipe, the tea she would make every time one of them got sick. Touya’s breath catches, hit with the memory like a truck.

The execution is slightly off, but there’s no mistake. Keigo made his mother’s tea for him. And that’s—it’s just—

Shit. Trying to pull himself together, Touya coughs into his fist. “Who told you that?”

“Rumi’s girlfriend. She said it’s a family recipe.” Earnestly, he swears, “You’d really like her!”

“Yeah, she sounds delightful,” he huffs, grateful his sickness disguises the nuances of his voice. “She gives out such sweet advice, like telling you to boil hot sauce into my tea without warning.”

“It’s not boiled into your tea, I just poured a few tablespoons’ worth into your cup.” Keigo embarrassedly explains, “I wasn’t sure how much it’d take to get past your fire quirk taste buds.”

“Less.”

He winces, contrite. “Is it too spicy?”

“It’s awful,” he laughs. “Thanks, Keigo.”

“You’re pretty irritable for somebody who’s never done this before,” Keigo notes infuriatingly. “Lighten up! This is meant to be fun.”

Easy for him to say. Keigo has enough gaming experience that even if Touya didn’t suck so abysmally, the hero would still at least appear competent. Given his disastrous performance so far, every second counts as Touya tries to save a little face. 

He’s the one who wanted to play, but he had no idea what he was getting into. This game’s a classic according to that ashy fucker who sold it to him behind the gaming store, so it seemed a good place to start. Touya bought into his enthusiasm and perhaps overpaid for it, but that’s fine. He was merely glad to have spent his own money. 

Keigo hasn’t let him spend a dime the whole time they’ve been living together. Sneaky feathers began smuggling cash back into Touya’s bag a few weeks ago, keeping the total balance steady. It’s like he never touched the money at all. And it should be a good thing, or not a thing at all, but Touya doesn’t get it. He has no qualms about spending Keigo’s money on stuff they need around the house, but the bird now reimburses him for things he buys for himself. Even his drugstore toothpaste, for fuck’s sake. 

Keigo swears up and down that it’s not a manipulation tactic, that it has nothing to do with Touya’s backstory or his brief sickness, but he offers no satisfactory explanation to the contrary. 

It just doesn’t make sense. Keigo said it’s because they never settled the salary business for all he does around the place. Touya said that’s bullshit. Keigo said to think of it as a rainy day fund, but Touya knows that the amount of money he currently has saved is enough to flee the country and assume a new identity. He’d be dirt poor afterwards, but that’s nothing new, he assured Keigo. That didn’t help.

While they were arguing, Keigo said the only things he can provide for him are security and finances, but Touya doesn’t understand why he tries to provide for him in the first place. And, as aforementioned, Keigo is doing fuckall to alleviate his confusion. Useless bastard. 

Frustrated, Touya took a fistful of bills from his bag and bought this video game and its trappings. He didn’t count it and he did not ask for his change. When Keigo found out, he tried to just also give a fistful of money back to him, but Touya put his foot down. Keigo said he’d leave things be this time, but he wasn’t making any promises for the future. And what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Who knows. 

They’re still at an impasse. 

It’s been three days. It’s their first fight and it’s so very ridiculous, he knows. It’s Keigo’s fault, but Touya is a problem solver. Hence, Mario Bros. They’re making peace by playing together. At least, Touya’s intent is to make peace; apparently, Keigo’s intent is to be a dick. Probably they’ll have a new issue to fight about before the day’s out. 

“Oh,” Touya jolts. 

Keigo snickers, “You’re so small.”

Okay, sure, he was lost in his thoughts and the little monster thing hit his character, but that doesn’t mean Keigo gets to laugh. He glares over his shoulder. “That’s not my fault!”

“Just an observation,” he smiles. “You’re tiny.”

Touya holds his breath when he’s nervous, which makes him tense, which only makes this harder, but he will kill this stupid bird bitch, mark his words. “Have you considered that maybe you’re just too big?”

“No,” he hums, conversational and light as he dodges Touya’s attempts to grab and throw his avatar. “I think I’m a pretty good size.”

“Really? ‘Cause I can fix—” Touya cuts himself off with a gasp. “No, no, stop, fuck—Keigo! You’re gonna kill me! I can’t, no, wait! Stop, stop—ooh, you rat bastard, son of a bitch.”

Having caused Touya’s death again, the jerk sits there cackling. “You gotta keep up, babe.”

“We’re on the same team! We’re supposed to save that blonde chick! You stupid ass mother—”

Using a few hardened feathers to pat his head, Keigo patronizes, “Hotstuff, it’s just a game.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” he snarls. “You stretched the screen and it pinched me and I fuckin’ died. Again!” Blue toad has two lives left. Mario has twenty-nine. Looking at the numbers side by side is enough to push Touya’s boiling temper over the edge. “Pop my damn bubble already.”

Their doorbell rings but Keigo doesn’t pause the game, laughing his feathered ass off. Trying to avoid Touya’s bubble, he makes a jump he shouldn’t and dies, too, ending their attempt at this level. 

Of course, since he has over twenty more lives to spare, the hero doesn’t care. Disgusted, Touya sneers, “What kinda bird hero even are you?”

“Oh,” the Rabbit Hero breathes as she lets herself in. She takes in the video game lighting up the TV while Keigo lounges across the couch and Touya sits on the floor closer to the screen with visceral relief. “I was worried, dude. Sure, that last part was less ambiguous and I was pretty sure that I heard the Mario Bros music, but I wouldn’t put it past Hawks to fuck to that.”

“Eww,” Touya wrinkles his nose. Then the implication clicks. “Wait—”

“And, not that I’d mind accidentally walking in on him—the jokes would write themselves,” she snickers, “but I don’t know how’d I feel about him purposefully exposing such a horrific scene to my precious eyes, you know?” 

“No,” Keigo says. “We don’t know.”

With a wide grin, she winks, “Anyways! Nice to meetcha, call me Rumi!”

“Yeah.” Touya’s face is beet red. God, and this is Yumi’s girlfriend? “You thought—?”

“This is Touya, you’ve heard of each other,” Keigo speeds through the introductions. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Cottontail?”

“I’m fighting for my bestie rights,” she grouses. “You never come hang with me anymore, too busy playing with Touya.”

“I’ve had both dreams and nightmares about you two meeting,” Keigo nods. “Wonder which one this is.”

“So you’re playing Mario Bros?” Rumi plops down onto the couch with Keigo, humming in mild interest. “And it looks like a really old version. That’s good; it is a classic, after all.”

“Wanna join, Rumi? I’m not good,” Touya admits, “but we can double team this fucker.” He’d gladly sacrifice his lives to chip away at Keigo’s, letting Rumi focus on the gameplay. 

“Aww, sweetie. I’d destroy you both,” she flexes her fists. “I just wanna win.”

Flatly, he repeats what he was told when he bought the damn thing. “This is a team player game.”

“So they say,” she shrugs. “More importantly, ya think you’re close enough to the screen there, bud?”

“Ha!” Keigo points. “I keep telling him he needs glasses, Rums, but he doesn’t believe me.”

“You can’t compare my eyes to yours, Hawks,” Touya refutes.

“Firefly, we’re four feet apart and you’re squinting to see me and Rumi on the couch.”

“Anyways,” he deflects, getting to his feet and discarding his controller. “I’m hungry.”

Keigo smirks, “Using up twenty-eight lives in the first world was real draining, huh?”

“Sure was,” Touya flips him off. The water level sucks, so what? Touya can give as good as he gets, though. “So draining that I can’t make karaage tonight. I’ll order take out instead. My treat.”

He leaves the heroes to whine and catch up in his absence, going to Keigo’s room. Touya finds the stash of printout menus the hero hides in his nightstand for his midnight snacks. He’s not sure why Keigo hides them in the first place, but he really should do a better job if he doesn’t want them found.

Flipping through the contraband, he gladly settles on a place that doesn’t serve fried chicken. Victorious, he brings the menu back out so the heroes can look and pick what they want.

As he returns, he finds Keigo insisting, “It’ll stimulate my beard growth!”

“How,” Rumi snickers, “will the hair follicles get competitive?”

“They might, you don’t know,” he rejects sensitively. “Don’t you think a mustache would suit me?”

“No,” Touya answers for everyone. “Here, Rumi. Does this look good to you?”

“Touya,” Keigo whines. “But growing a mustache might help me grow a beard.”

Touya reaches out and pats his cheek gently. “I’ll divorce you if you try that stupid shit.”

Keigo squawks, but he is easily ignored. Rumi hums, “This place looks bomb. I want the number three and five combo plates.”

“Got it.” Touya calls over his shoulder, “I know what you want, Kei, so I’ll be back in a few.”

Rumi freezes, latching onto her friend’s arm and helping Touya make a clean escape. “Wait, did he say divorce? You’re married?”

Considering himself in the bathroom mirror, Touya feels he looks like a skunk. Like an inverted one, though, mostly white; the black doesn’t touch his hair tie anymore no matter how he pulls back his hair. 

The length is nice, he thinks. It’s healthier than he thought it would be at the roots, given all the years he spent dousing his hair in cheap dye. He’s no model or anything, but he can work with this. He can afford the expensive, nice dye now, plus all the daily care stuff that goes with it.

He can also afford to go back to his natural color. Maybe. 

Touya stopped dyeing it months ago, back when Keigo got him to unload his history. No reason, really. He was just seeing how things went. Maybe he should start dyeing it again. Touya can ask Keigo for his opinion, but—his face feels a little warm. He’d rather just flip a coin or something. 

His head swims with useless thoughts, so Touya goes to the kitchen to be more productive. The vegetables from the community garden need washing. He’ll use some for dinner tonight. 

The key turns in the lock, startling him from his thoughts. He frowns. It’s too early for Keigo to be home, and the hero is way too old to be playing hooky. Touya folds his arms, but then the door opens and—

Keigo stands in the doorway, propped up by Todoroki Shouto. Because of course it’s the brat. They stare at each other, neither one of them breathing, a certified pair of idiots.

“Firefly,” Keigo slurs, his eyes fuzzy. “Honey, m’home!” He giggles, “Always wanna say that.”

Touya shifts to focus on his ditsy grin. Robotically, he swears, “Songbird, we’re getting a divorce.”

“Boo! S’like your catchphrase or somethin’,” he pouts. Smiling again, he shakes Shouto’s shoulder and announces, “I brought a guest! This is Todoroki Shouto. Shou-kun, this is—”

Shouto says, “It’s you.”

Touya hesitates, mulling over his options. As if he has any. Even if he wanted to lie, his mind is totally blank. He relents, “It’s me.”

Keigo, definitely delirious in the background, sings, “ Orpheus,” with a hand on his chest, and then he extends it and finishes, “Eurydice.”

“I never should’ve shown you that musical.” Disgust clears Touya’s head of the fog caused by Shouto’s appearance. “I want a divorce, Keigo.”

Touya and Shouto put the idiot to bed, eventually. It takes their combined efforts distracting him and then a minor bit of blunt force trauma to get him to stay in bed, but it works. Touya beats his accomplice to the door and flees, busying himself in the kitchen.

Shouto doesn’t say anything to him, but his eyes bore holes into his back. He does allow Touya miniscule breathing room by staying outside of the kitchen proper, so there’s that.

Once he can’t slice the carrots any thinner, Touya swallows the lump in his dry throat and attempts light conversation. “It’s not the season for internships yet.”

“By definition, I’m a nepo baby,” Shouto shrugs in quick answer. Quick and false. 

“Not in the colloquial sense,” he corrects waspishly. “You’re talented in your own right, not just ‘cause of—” Touya cuts himself off, berating himself for rising to the bait.

“It took months to wear Dad down enough to get in the field,” Shouto admits unprompted. His tone is light but his gaze is heavy, measuring what it takes to grab hold of Touya’s attention. “He only allowed it because he was working with Hawks this week and I argued that I’d be fine between the two of them.”

“Then the dumbass got himself beat up and your father sent you here on babysitting duty,” Touya summarizes, staring at his cutting board to avoid Shouto’s gaze. He pulls out the onions next. “I can put two and two together, kid.”

“Our father,” he corrects, startling Touya into making eye contact.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Well.” Touya isn’t sure he’s allowed to call that man by that title in front of his children. He washes the onions and begins to dice them.

Shouto folds his arms neatly behind his back and changes tactics. Touya doesn’t like the calculating look in his eyes, so he averts his gaze. “You know, Natsu swears he saw you a few years after you left. Told us you had dyed your hair, but he knew it was you.”

He’s holding the knife too tightly. His hand will cramp. “And you didn’t believe him?”

“No, we did.” Shouto smiles, “He liked Legos, but Gang Orca was always your favorite, not his.”

“Because I’m the only one of us with any goddamn taste,” he grumbles louder than intended. 

“Us,” he smiles. It’s very annoying how tightly Shouto hangs off of his words. “Oh! I can’t believe I’m the one who gets to tell you, Niichan. You’re the reason Dad changed. You and Mom.”

The knife nearly clatters out of Touya’s hand. “What?”

“Your body couldn’t handle your quirk. I guess it’s still difficult,” he gestures at Touya’s wrist, the observant little jerk. “I know that brand. Dad used to think he could train it away like a weakness,” he continues and Touya does not flinch, “but the last time he tried, it put you in a coma.”

Touya sets the knife down before he loses a finger. “I don’t remember that.”

Shouto looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Of course not. You were the one in the coma, genius.”

Well, it’s nice to know Touya isn’t the only asshole out of his siblings. “Your point?”

“Mom was furious. You and Dad were admitted to the hospital together, actually. That scar, by his eye?” Shouto uses two fingers to trace a triangular shape on his unblemished face, recalling the injury. Touya never had the courage to ask Endeavor about it. “She gave it to him. In the end,” he continues, uncaring of Touya’s ruptured worldview, “your coma and recovery combined lasted about a year. Your memory was fractured, but you were fine otherwise, so the doctors said it wouldn’t be a problem. Mom made Dad shape up, separated from him for a while and everything. We all got therapy. The doctors tried to explain it to us. Dad and Mom and—and you, Niichan, too, after. You were twelve, I think, when you woke up. Things were too different, right? You probably felt like you couldn’t adapt, the doctor said.”

Touya doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know shit about shrinks and his mother’s protective fury. He’s supposed to believe that was the impetus for the happiness the Todoroki family has now? That’s impossible. It can’t be true. He doesn’t remember. All he remembers is how hard it was, how he couldn’t breathe or speak or think in that place. It wasn’t real, not for him.

He crumples his shirt in his fist, keeping his heart in place. “I tried, but—”

“I know, Niichan,” Shouto gently interrupts.

“I didn’t know we were sick before. It was just,” he flounders, “normal. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. And you all looked so happy that I couldn’t—I just,” he shakes his head. Erasing the desperation from his voice, he repeats what he knows is true. “I had to leave. I was sick. I didn’t wanna infect you guys.”

His lips bitten straight to keep from wobbling, Shouto insists, “We would’ve helped you.”

“Aw, come on, kid,” Touya laughs, putting him out of his misery. “You had a few shitty years with me, didn’t you? You know I wouldn’t have taken to it.”

“You’re wrong,” he snaps. “They weren’t shitty years. It was shitty that you left, and that you only ever got Natsu a birthday gift.”

“Bullshit! I send Mom flowers every year, and I’ve given Father more All Might bobbleheads than I probably should’ve,” he lists. “I got gifts for all you brats every year. I fought a kid during Black Friday sales for that stupid hair dye kit Yumi had wanted for her first birthday I missed, and I spent a paycheck and a half on that special edition All Might shirt I got you on your tenth.” Touya flicks Shouto’s forehead—when did he leave the kitchen?—and snaps, “I know you got that.”

“Yeah,” Shouto laughs, and now Touya is totally wrongfooted. “We even got candy I’m pretty sure you stole when you couldn’t afford the other things. I was just proving a point,” he shrugs, his small smile more delighted than smug as he wipes under his eyes. “Dad even keeps all those gag gifts you got him in display cases, split between home and the offices.”

This little brat just played him, and all Touya can mount in response is a wet laugh that he will blame exclusively on the onions he was cutting a lifetime ago. “Does he really?”

Shouto’s hand snags on the end of his shirt, his words running together. “Touya-nii, can I hug you?” 

Touya had turned to hide his face and wash the foodstuff off his hands, but Shouto’s words rushed out quick enough to shake tears loose from Touya’s waterline. He stares dumbly over his shoulder. “There’s, uh, there’s onion on my hands.” 

He repeats, “Can I?”

It’s awkward—they’re basically strangers, aren’t they? But Shouto holds him so tightly, like he’s genuinely afraid to lose him. Like the ash and muck that makes Touya who he is won’t dirty his skin. Pushing past the awkwardness, Touya finds it terrifying how quickly hope sparks.

Holding Shouto in his arms, it’s clear how much time he has missed. “God, you’re nearly as big as me.”

They’ve both lost the battle against their tears. Shouto sniffle-laughs, “Wait ‘til you see Natsu.”

“I know,” he groans. “Keigo brought me to the opening night of his play.”

Touya was adamant that the Bird Hero: Hawks not draw any attention away from the students, so they went in disguise, inconspicuous and distanced from the Todoroki family. He hung back when Keigo went to offer congratulations with the excuse that it wasn’t his place, and he was nervous enough that his sweaty hands could revive the Sahara, but it was nice to see everyone together.

Shouto pulls back and glares. “You didn’t even come say hi. And the venue wasn’t that big, I can’t believe we didn’t sniff you out.”

He pats his head patronizingly. “That’s a very weird thing to say.”

Shouto shoves unforgivingly at his shoulder. “I can’t wait until I’m taller than you, too.”

That will hurt his pride as the eldest, especially since it very much does seem like a when situation, not if. But Touya won’t show weakness here. He smiles, “As long as I’m still taller than Yumi.”

“She’s dating Miruko, did you know?” He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “You probably did, ‘cause of Hawks. Bet you didn’t know Natsuo is dating this girl he met in theater camp.”

“I saw her, I think.” There was one girl he saw every time he would check in on Natsu. Even from a distance, Touya could see the chemistry between them. “The brunette with the—”

“No, that’s the one he should be dating,” Shouto interrupts smugly, following Touya’s lead and taking a seat on the couch. “We’re giving this one another week before someone comes to their senses. My money’s on Natsu, and I’ll make bank if I’m right because he’s the worst pick by far.”

“You’re making bets?” 

“Taking them, too,” he hints. 

Touya tosses his head back to laugh, giving into the urge to ruffle Shouto’s hair. “You degenerate.”

He beams, “You’ll fit right back in, won’t you, Niichan?”

He sniffs, “I’ll stick out like a sore thumb ‘cause I’m a goddamn saint.”

“Hmm,” Shouto squints teasingly, “I think I’ll have to see that to believe it.”

“I missed you guys,” Touya smiles. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it’s true. He means it.

“Then come home.” He startles, but Shouto doesn’t give him a chance to run. “We’ve all been waiting for you to come home, Niichan.”

“Is that—I mean,” he flounders. “All of you? Really?”

Shouto has little tears in his eyes and a small smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything, though, not before the door swings open again and sends the brothers to their feet in surprise. 

How many people have keys to this place? Next time Touya moves, he’s changing the locks. 

Shouto with his budding hero reflexes and Touya with his nearly defunct older brother instincts both try to shield the other, which makes for an even more awkward picture to present to Endeavor. Because, naturally, that’s who is at the door. 

Touya really should have changed the locks. 

“Keigo-kun, I—oh, apologies. I didn’t realize Hawks had,” he slows to a stop. With visible effort, Endeavor tears his eyes from Touya to glance briefly at his youngest son. “Shouto, who…?”

“For the record,” the teen says very slowly, as if trying not to spook wild animals, “I did not plan this.”

“Touya?” Endeavor breathes, “Is it really you?”

“Hi.” Right into the deep end we go, he thinks deliriously. Fuck. “Been a while, huh?”

Touya has never seen his father cry before. He didn’t even think he was capable of it.

Endeavor takes a step forward, then stumbles back, unsure. He reaches uselessly for his collar, as if to loosen it. He’s gasping? No, he’s sobbing. He can’t catch his breath—and, shit, that makes two of them. Touya can’t hear a word he’s saying. It’s just a wall of sound.

Endeavor looks so small. His hands dance anxiously as he speaks, the movements consciously restrained. Endeavor is overthinking this, trying to minimize his presence, but he’s already, inherently, a nuclear bomb. Touya’s ears are ringing. 

Shouto grabs his hand and it’s so startlingly real that Touya flinches. He doesn’t speak, which is good because Touya still can’t hear, but his message is clear. Shouto reaches out with his ice hand to take Endeavor’s hand, too, bodily bridging the two of them and that’s—Touya can’t breathe—

Shouto doesn’t hesitate. Why should he? Touya is the outsider. He doesn’t belong here, Father can’t want him here. He tries to pull away, but Shouto doesn’t let him. His grip tightens, asking for Touya’s trust, but that’s not the issue here.

Touya knows things are better now. It’s not survival of the most ruthless anymore; there’s room for kindness and softness that won’t be punished as weakness. He has seen as much with his own eyes over the years. Hell, Shouto told him so only a few moments ago. He knows. Worse, he hopes.

That’s the problem. It’s not that he doesn’t know Endeavor won’t attack him, it’s that he hopes his father loves him. Touya doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out.

But he won’t lose to his baby brother. Touya has an image to uphold here; he can’t look like a coward now, not after all this time. He wants to live up to the idea of himself in Shouto’s mind.

Endeavor wears an unfamiliar face. He is apologizing or explaining or telling his life story, Touya doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he cares, either. Or—it’s more that he does, but those things don’t feel that important right now. Apologies are good, to have and to give, and he knows that, he does, but… they can do that later.

Touya moves to hug Endeavor before he can lose his nerve.

Touya tenses, they both do, but it’s safe. Warm. The illusion of Endeavor appearing small breaks with the touch; Touya feels tiny in his stiff arms. He isn’t shoved immediately away, yet Touya holds his breath anyway, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Endeavor only breathes shakily, tentatively holding him tighter. Even in his uniform, he doesn’t feel like Endeavor. He’s just Touya’s father.

What the fuck, man. How long has it been since he last had a dad?

His body wracked with tremors, Enji holds Touya securely in his arms. “Thank you for being alive.”

He frowns, the both of them taking a step back. “What?”

“I just—I do not know what to say.” Halting and slow, Enji holds Touya’s face in trembling hands. Just the barest brush of his palms against the fragile skin on his face is too much for both of them. “I am thankful that you are alive and well. You are well?”

“I’m okay,” he nods, feeling like he’s underwater. He isn’t sure this is real. “I’m doing well.”

“Good,” he relaxes weakly. He jerks his head up and down, gruffly clearing his throat. “Good. Your mother—and your siblings and I—well, we all want you to be well. We miss—”

“Can I,” he stops, clearing his throat. Overwhelmed, he counts himself down, timing his breaths. 

Meeting Enji here now, so unexpectedly, has been almost unbearable, but Touya survived. It’s his biggest hurdle and maybe his knees are a little bloody, but he’d say he cleared the challenge. Shouto, who hardly knows him at all, quickly welcomed him with open arms; Enji, who is crying for the first time in his memory, holds space in his heart for a forgotten son, even now.

It feels like he is loved. Touya wants it to be true. He wants—things which are within his reach, he thinks. He’s already come this far, and now the future isn’t so terrifying. There is more that Touya wants, more that he is willing to let himself reach for. 

Swallowing, he musters up the dregs of his courage. “Can I come visit some time?”

“Yes,” Enji answers without hesitation. His eyes are wet and his smile is nearly as soft as his voice. “Yes. I—well, I can schedule time at the office—”

Touya startles. “You won’t be there?”

“It is my fault that you felt you had to leave,” he says resolutely. “I drove you away.”

“But,” doesn’t that mean he has all the more to make up for? Ten years—twenty-three, really—have already passed them by. If Enji is good now and his goodness has saved room enough for Touya, shouldn’t that mean something? “Will—if I call you, will you—”

“Of course,” his father promises. “Of course, Touya.”

He stares, but there’s nothing to read in his expression that hasn’t already been laid bare. Touya looks away and chuckles softly to himself, unsure what to do with this fuzzy mass of emotion in his chest.

Is it meant to be this easy? Touya thought it would cost him something more, but there’s no way around it. He’s happy, if that’s allowed. Tentatively, braced for something to blow back in his face, but happy all the same. Even if it’s fleeting, right now it is good. He could combust with all the emotion swirling in his chest. Maybe he is, seeing how he can’t seem to get his tears to stop welling up and spilling over.

“Touy—”

“I’m hungry,” he announces, wiping under his eyes. “Are you hungry? Let’s eat.” 

Touya flees again to the kitchen, splashing water on his face then walking to the fridge to quickly pull something together. Shouto and Enji both scramble, “I can help—”

“No,” he orders. “No, stay there. I just need a sec.”

Enji marches to the couch and stiffly takes a seat, facing the blank TV with a dancer’s perfect posture. Shouto looks at their father’s easy submission and sighs. Judging by the mischief that suddenly lights up his face, he must be going through his teenage rebellion phase—not that Touya has room to judge, given his own personal history.

“Niichan,” Shouto grabs his attention, the flash going off before Touya realizes his picture has been taken. “I probably shouldn’t make any posts about this yet, right?”

“Do not,” Touya yelps. He makes a dash for the phone, chasing Shouto around the living room.

Enji shrinks in place, staying out of their way. “You must wait, Shouto. Your brother has to input his phone number to the family chat first.”

Touya stops in his tracks. “What?”

Enji’s eyes widen, flinching toward him. “If you want, of course. There is no rush. I cannot keep a secret from Rei, but the others should get to speak to you themselves before a third party app introduces you to the world. You have a cellphone, correct? I can buy—”

Shouto begins laughing and he does not stop. Touya chucks a throw pillow at the teen and the brat catches it, unaware that it was a smokescreen so that Touya could get close enough to drag him into a headlock. “I give, I give! I won’t post your ugly crying face yet—”

“Not ever, you little twerp!”

“Shou-kun?”

“Hawks!” Oh, shit. Right. “Save me from Ni—” Touya slaps his hand over Shouto’s mouth before he can expose him. It’s a moot point by now, but old habits die hard. 

He scowls, “Keigo, what the hell are you doing up?”

“I’m more curious about your situation, Firefly,” he gestures vaguely. Touya and Shouto separate with a swear, the elder disgusted by the brat’s saliva now drying on his palm. “And why does Endeavor-san look like he’s being held hostage?”

Oh, shit. Right. The Todoroki mini-reunion. Maybe Keigo is still out of it enough that he won’t do anything rash. Maybe Touya can put him back to bed and convince him this was all a dream, at least until he figures out what exactly he’s going to do. 

Enji stares between them and, based on the way his eyes widen before avoiding all contact, he realizes something that he doesn’t wish to share. “Oh.” Stiffly, he holds out the bag he came with. “Electrolytes, quick calories, and bed rest, Hawks-kun.”

Keigo, because he derives pleasure from shattering every careful wall Touya has built around himself, ignores the offered goods. “Hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but,” he squints. “Has anyone ever told you that the three of you could be related?”

Shouto’s amused snort is the least subtle sound in the world. Touya closes his eyes. “Not only are we getting divorced, but I’m taking the house and leaving you on the streets, Keigo.”

“It’s not fair that it’s always divorce this, divorce that, but you won’t even let me give you a kiss!”

Clearly, the hero is still out of it from whatever happened on patrol today, because there is no way he just said what Touya thinks he heard. “What?!”

Wide-eyed, he defends, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Touya makes a strangled sound. “But you meant it?” 

“Ooh, Dad, I think we should go somewhere else.” Apparently growing a conscience, Shouto pushes the lumbering man towards the door. “Right now.”

Enji stops short of leaving, warning, “We will speak, Takami Keigo.”

“See you at dinner tonight, Niichan.” Shouto grins as surprise slows Touya’s response. “Or on the news tomorrow when I make this,” he shakes his phone, “go viral. Your choice.”

“Some hero you are,” Touya snaps, praying he’s not as red as he feels. “That’s blackmail!”

“It’s not like we can lie to Mom anyway,” he shrugs. Touya is appropriately cowed. “So man up or I’ll sic all of Japan on you.”

“Uh,” Keigo says very intelligently once the door drifts closed. Didn’t even have the decency to slam, how pathetic. “Um.”

Touya groans, collapsing into an overwhelmed puddle of embarrassment. He sits in a low squat, hoping his legs will start to ache and push all other thoughts from his head. Even from across the room, he can feel the heat of Keigo’s self consciousness somewhere behind him. Each has his own reasons, steaming in his own rights, avoiding eye contact as they silently attempt to process whatever the actual fuck just happened.

Lightly, Keigo ventures, “Any chance I could convince you—”

“Probably not.” Hopeful, he looks up and asks, “Would you buy it if—”

Keigo stares at him flatly. “At this point?”

“Fair enough,” he deflates. “So.”

“So.”

“Birdie,” Touya’s eye starts twitching. “Do I seriously have to go first?”

He glares, “Mine’s way worse!”

That straightens his posture. “Worse?”

“Ah, no, that’s not—I misspoke,” Keigo backtracks, his palms out to make peace. “What I mean is—I mean, your thing isn’t bad, you know? And mine, well, you know. I,” he expels a large gust of air, “am not good at this, holy shit. I’m just trying to say that—”

A smarter man would let Keigo ramble himself into a hole, burying all of this behind them and never speaking of it again, but Touya’s an idiot without a filter. “Did you mean it?”

Keigo appears greatly offended. “Obviously!”

Touya does not think it was obvious. He thinks—“Is this why you did that thing with my money?”

He scoffs, loose feathers working themselves in circles around his wings. “That’s so random.”

“Notice how you said random and not wrong.”

He avoids Touya’s gaze, his wings coming up to hide his face. “Well, I needed to give you something that wasn’t related to, like, our contractual relationship—though I guess we’re not actually under a contract, are we? But, yeah, something outside of the whole house manager thing,” he shrugs. Annoyed, Keigo forgets about his feathered wall and accuses, “And you don’t like things, or at least, you don’t let yourself like things, and if you do, you don’t tell me. So the only gift I knew I could get you that I was pretty sure wouldn’t be immediately rejected was cash! And, you know, gift giving is very important to the process of—”

Touya thought going piece by piece would help him make sense of things, but now he’s not so sure he’ll ever have a handle on Keigo’s thought processes. “Who the hell is giving you this advice?”

“Jeanist told me—”

“Birdbrain,” he sighs. Touya never cared one way or another for the Fiber Hero, but he should have known that a grown man decked out head to toe in denim had nothing positive to contribute to society. “You’re overcomplicating things.”

“Oh,” he snorts, “like you’re the expert?”

“At least I know better than to buy someone’s affections!”

“I was giving you a gift. G-I-F-T, gift!” His hands thrown helplessly in the air, Keigo whines, “You take care of everything and I just kinda live here. I wanted to give you a reason to like me.”

“Reason?” Touya frowns. Is that so important? “What reason do you have to like me?”

“You talk to me,” he answers right away. “Me, Keigo, not just Hawks. You take care of me like it’s the easiest thing in the world, but it’s like pulling teeth whenever I try to reciprocate,” he laughs. “I even like that about you because it feels like every moment with you is earned. I dunno, it’s like I’m addicted. You drive me insane, but I’m never so settled as I am with you. I—”

“Okay, okay!” Embarrassed enough for the both of them, Touya waves his hands. “I get it.”

So Keigo likes him. Genuinely. Huh. His strange tastes aside, that’s something to celebrate isn’t it? What a day Touya is having. He marvels at the feeling, sinking into the assurance. 

“Okay,” Keigo sighs. “I’ve said my piece. Your turn.”

Touya has things he likes about the hero, obviously, but are those why he likes him? Though he doesn’t really get it, he offers, “I mean, maybe I’m not the most emotionally adept guy around, but I really think you’re overcomplicating this. Isn’t it enough that you make me happy?”

… Hm. Maybe they’re not on the same page? Judging by lasting silence between them. Keigo stares for so long that Touya genuinely considers retracting not only his statement, but also his existence in this apartment. 

The stupidest smile spreads like melting butter over the hero’s face. “I was talking about the Todoroki thing, but this is better. Much better,” he nods, smiling. “No, no, no. Don’t hide!”

“Let’s talk about the other thing.”

“Oh, wow, looks like I’ve been harboring the long lost Todoroki, how angsty. Nothing we can do about it now, let’s let it sink in over the next couple days. In the meantime,” he grins, “you can tell me all about how happy I make you.”

Avoiding eye contact, he grumbles, “I don’t have some sappy speech for you. I just like you. I didn’t mean to and I tried to avoid it, ‘cause you’re you—”

He scowls, “Hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Touya scowls right back at him. “Birdie, you flirt to breathe. I’d have to be an idiot to take you serious and catch feelings.” He clicks his tongue, “Not that that stopped me, clearly.”

Keigo forgoes reflecting on his character to pout, “Well, don’t sound too happy about it.”

“I’m relieved,” he decides. “I didn’t even realize my own feelings until you were talking about that person you like on national television, so—”

“You watched my interview with Magne?”

“Keigo,” he groans. His complaints must be heard. “Focus.”

“I’m so focused right now, you don’t even know,” he swears. “Touya, I’m not as flirty with other people as you think. I was talking about you in that interview. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoes blankly. Fine, okay, maybe it’s obvious now, but back then? He shoves Keigo away. “Cut me some slack.”

“So,” he catches Touya’s hand and interlocks their fingers. “I like you, and you like me, and we’ve liked each other for months.”

“Oh, shit.” Touya slaps his other hand over his face. “You’ve been talking to my dad about your crush on me?” That settles it then. Decisively, he nods, “I’m gonna fake my death.”

Keigo laughs, “Sure! I’ll take a week off, too. Let’s run away after dinner. Rei-san is an excellent cook—must be where you get it from,” he interrupts himself with a lovesick grin. “It’d be a real shame if we missed out on it.”

“We?” Touya frowns. Hit with a dose of reality, he comes down from the floaty feeling that’s been clouding his head all afternoon. “You’re not going. You’re on bed rest. I’m going alone.”

He gasps, “Touya, I have to go! Don’t you want me there?”

The answer is obvious, but it’s irrelevant. Keigo should focus on his health right now. “It’s just gonna be a pathetic snot-fest,” he prophesies. “It’s not like you’ll be missing anything. There’s nothing in it for you.”

Keigo pauses. He mumbles to himself, “Right. It’s been a few years since he was last emotionally available, let alone allowed others to care for him. Mm.” Magnanimous, he declares, “Because you’re out of practice, I’ll let that slide this time.”

“Mom’s not even gonna cook! We’re gonna end up ordering takeout, and we’ll all pass out from exhaustion before it even arrives. If and when Shouto tries to be funny and run his mouth about useless things—” 

“Useless things? That’s kinda harsh, don’cha think?”

“—I’m jumping out a window then and there.”

“That’s all the more reason I gotta go with you! Who else is gonna catch you when you fall?”

“No one. I’ll die,” he declares succinctly. “Better that than live at the constant threat of humiliation via some brat who just barely hit puberty.”

Scandalized, Keigo hits him with one of his wings. “You can’t die on our day one anniversary!”

Touya scowls, “What the fuck is a day one—”

He stops abruptly as Keigo tugs him closer, shielding him with his own body. “Our door is turning to ice.”

Touya looks over the hero’s head and sees that, yes, their door is very much slowly becoming a popsicle. “Oh, God.”

A red feather tugs his collar, pulling Touya neatly into position for Keigo to give him a kiss. Once they separate, the hero offers in defense, “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

Good point. If the first woman through the door has red streaks in her hair, it might be a swift death. If not, well. Touya pulls him into another kiss just in case and maybe also for a bit of luck. “Happy day one anniversary, Kei.”

Keigo does catch Touya when three Todorokis tackle him to the floor. They all cry, making one sorry and pathetic sight, but maybe it’s beautiful, too. Something like the feeling of certainty that things are gonna turn out okay. 

There’s more work to be done, of course. More healing and talking and crying and growing. Touya’s heart is nearly beating out of his chest. Fuyumi deafens him with her affection, her nagging about how long it’s been almost incomprehensible under her cries. Natsuo’s bear hug takes him right off his feet, the giant spinning them in circles. Their mother’s cold hands trace the planes of his face and soothe a decade-old ache in his soul, harmonizing with Shouto’s laughter and their father’s awkward, polite distance. Keigo orders takeout and makes everyone a plate, his comforting presence dancing around Touya and his family all night. What more could anyone ask for? This life is his—really, truly, sincerely. 

There are memories to be made, and Touya can’t think of a better set of people to do it with.