Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the list of things Keigo Takami is slowly learning about himself, he decides he’ll have to add that the smell of rain is more intoxicating than any liquor he’s ever tasted.

It shouldn’t be as serene as it is, sitting in a long-abandoned train station and watching the stormclouds overhead continue to quietly drizzle, raindrops rolling down the glass. After all, it’s probably not a safe place to be, perched up in the old scaffolding directly under the station’s clear dome and in a deserted building no less. Hawks has long since learned from years of hero experience that “abandoned” places are typically only as such on paper; empty spaces are only ever empty spaces when the things within them choose not to be seen.

So with that in mind, he should be vigilant right now, keeping an eye on his surroundings rather than the greying evening-storm sky. It’s not yet late enough for everything to be darker than dusky shades of blue, though, too pretty to be missed in a rare occasion of peace like this, and he’s willing to trust in his instincts enough to just enjoy the moment while it lasts.

In times like these, it’s almost easier to convince himself that this is something he deserves. That’s been one of the most difficult parts about siding with the League so far: being able to take something, even just an hour or two under a raining sky, hiding in a train station because he wants to, and take it without looking over his shoulder for repercussions. After years of having it repeatedly drilled into his skull that his role is to give, to give, to give, the action of taking seems like nothing short of a guilty pleasure. He’d never stopped giving for the Commission. They’d taken his time, his morals, his thoughts, his identity, his life, and had snatched them from his young and tiny hands before he’d even had the sense to hold on tighter. His trainers had called it saving, but Hawks knew better. They’d been taking from him all along- and now, he was taking things back for himself too, little by little.

That decision may have eventually manifested itself in taking a break under a thick-clouded sky instead of finishing paperwork or, as the Commission was currently expecting, gleaning information from a certain scarred fire-user, but it all reality, it had started with Dabi in the first place. He’d been careful to keep his relationship with the other man firmly rooted in his life as Keigo, separate from his time as the Number Two hero. That mess was something that neither of them had needed, and truth being told it would’ve been smarter more than ever for Hawks to have turned his back on something that he longed for yet again when it came to the League's renowned arsonist. Dabi had been an infinite risk with undetermined reward, a loose cannon of a desire that hadn’t just rattled Keigo’s world, but also shaken the iron bars of the cage he’d been ignoring being locked in.

It would’ve been smarter just to turn away, but Hawks had been taught to run headlong into fires, not away from them.

He’d taken a chance- a chaotic, spontaneous, insanity-fueled chance in going after the secretive villain, but it had resulted in one hell of a payoff, almost too good to believe, and too precious to risk revealing and losing to the higher ups at the end of his chain. This was the initial act of rebellion that had sparked all others, the lit fuse on the powder keg that would inevitably lead to his ultimately betraying the same group who claimed to own him.

The Commission has no idea yet that these meetings with Dabi have much less to do with tricking him out of intel and much more to do with shared nights in Hawks’ apartment, building up fake news around empty take-out containers and false reports on the low coffee table, sharing space and banter and smirks that melt into something sweeter when pulled in for a kiss. They have no idea, and as far as Keigo is concerned, he’s going to keep it that way for as long as he can.

He deserves this happiness too, the growing sense of stability and assurance that’s beginning to grow within him as the days pass and none of them are quite so full of the dull ache of being alone. This much he will convince himself of, gradually. He’s determined for that much.

It’s been well over a month since his conversation with Shouto Todoroki- almost two months now, really. Two months since he discovered Dabi’s identity, confessed to being a double agent, and decided to switch sides in the impending battle before them, looming in the not-so-distant future. It’s also been two months since he discovered the dark secrets of the Todoroki family, and his whole perception of Endeavor had been flipped on its head.

That day had been an unpleasant one, to say the least.

But he’s still here now, and the world’s somehow managed to continue moving without regard to switched loyalties or cremated images of idols, or broken foundations of identity that are now being rebuilt, brick by brick. It feels almost cold, how inconsiderate it can be in that sense, but then again, this world’s also managed to go on without batting an eyelash at lovers who should be at arms as opposed to in those of each other, and that much he finds comfort in.

There’s a rustling noise of pages being pointedly turned, the snapping of broken binding glue crackling as a book spine is creased ruthlessly into laying flat, the sound snatching Hawks’ attention. He’s met with the sight of a bored-looking man sprawled out beside him, slouched lazily against a support timber and holding a desecrated, beat-up paperback in his pale hands. Dabi doesn’t meet Keigo's eye, just continues reading, though how on earth he has enough light to do so, Hawks has no idea, black hair inky in the shadows and scars so much more prominent in the grey-blue of evening. For a man of his position and habits, Dabi is surprisingly well-read. It’s less surprising once one knows that his means of entertainment are extremely limited and the stories serve as an escapism for a world he can’t actually touch, let alone experience firsthand, but there’s still something somewhat astounding in seeing the arsonist with so many fragile, dry pages  in his hands, hands that have burned down forests and histories and almost himself, and not see them immediately go up in smoke and ash.

“You’re thinking too loud, Pigeon.”

Dabi’s low drawl doesn’t cut the dark so much as leak from it, the two synonymous, one and the same. He glances up, then, blue eyes flashing bright, speculating. It’s a familiar look by now, comfortable in a strange way that he can’t quite describe. Keigo has never appreciated being seen before; of course, he’s used to having eyes on him, and as long as it’s just people seeing the masks he wears, that’s usually fine. You don’t make it to the Number Two spot without having a camera always pointed in your face and people recognizing you on sight. That much doesn’t bother him- but having people try to look past the glamour is nerve-wracking in the worst possible way. That’s too vulnerable, too human to be observed by the masses of people who need him to be anything but. It’s not so much a problem with being seen, but being seen, having all those guards and walls peeled away, and observed for who and what he actually is.

With Dabi, though, he doesn’t mind. Maybe it’s a matter of trust, maybe it’s a matter of being less of Hawks and more of Keigo around him, or maybe it’s just because he knows that Dabi, once Touya Todoroki, hates being seen too.

“Can’t help it.” Keigo smiles easily, grin widening when blue eyes flick up once again to meet his own. At first the other man just stares, but after a few beats he lets his book come to rest on his chest, dog-eared for later. These sorts of outings have become common recently, late night adventures to forgotten places and easily overlooked hiding spots. Knowing his history in the streets, Keigo isn’t sure he wants to know how Dabi has all of these places memorized, how he knows the ins and outs, and never seems to run out of options. It’s bad enough recognizing that the station could be dangerous for them even now, but imagining that Dabi might’ve been hiding out alone in this place for God knows how long before meeting the League, that he might’ve spent days or weeks coming back to sleep on this same platform they’re sitting on now… With the ease that he’d managed to find it, it was clear he’d been here more than once. Hawks doesn’t want to consider the matter too closely. He’s learned enough of Dabi’s tragedies recently to want to think on any more of them. “We’ve all got habits.”

“Hmm,” Humming under his breath, the arsonist in question blinks at him once and then turns his attention to the skies Hawks’ eyes have abandoned, “You should worry less about what other people think, Birdie. Focus on what you want.”

Keigo frowns, surprised to be called out so quickly. He and Dabi have talked once or twice about his struggle with deservance, but he wasn’t expecting the fire-user to pick up on his train of thought near so accurately. Dabi looks over at him once more, gaze lazy and slow as he takes him in leisurely, pausing for a short interval before continuing to speak. “You get that same look on your face whenever you want something but won’t say it out loud.” He lifts the novel off his chest and waves it half-heartedly. “I can read you like a book.”

It’s a fucking horrible pun and Hawks informs him of such, stretching out one wing to smack him in the back of the head. Dabi swats away his feathers with one hand, heating it in false warning, but not hot enough to burn any of the bright red plumage.

“Everyone else says I’m a great liar.” Hawks claims, tone teasing, though the words are true. Hell, Shouto Todoroki had said as much himself the last time they met. Dabi eventually settles for knocking away the rest of the offending wing entirely, Hawks laughing at his last-ditch attempt. Smirk more crooked than a broken hinge, the dark-haired man rises to his feet and stalks over to his counterpart, letting the book fall to the floor, forgotten for now.

“I’m not everyone else.”

It’s both a promise and a secret, those words, and Hawks is more than aware of their implications. He shuffles over to give the lanky man some room when he moves to sit next to him, shoulders brushing, the scent of smoke mixing comfortably with Hawks’ cologne. Dabi always smells like smoke, but not unpleasantly so, Hawks has come to realize. He has yet to determine whether or not it originates from his quirk or the cigarettes he burns so religiously, but at this rate, Keigo could walk into a burning building and feel at home.

One of Dabi’s arms curl around his waist just then, warmer than usual, and Hawks leans into the touch before he can think twice about it, just barely catching the smug but fond grin Dabi shoots him before he hides it again.

“No, you’re not.” Keigo answers quietly, welcoming the new source of heat without complaint, the rain in the air having left his skin somewhat clammy and damp. Part of him knows he could just reach for his jacket lying in a discarded heap a few feet away, knows it would probably be more practical. The other part of him decides that practicality can take a hike; he wants this, and he’s going to enjoy it while it lasts. Dabi chuckles as a wing softly sweeps up off the floor, wrapping around him in kind, raising a hand to stroke through the feathers much more gently than before.

This moment is something to seal forever behind glass, being warm and safe and close, rain drizzling overhead and nobody around to see. He’d keep a whole collection of their encounters like this if he could, immortalized in photo frames or in between the pages of books, tucked away in pockets as a reminder that it’s not quite the whole world going to shit. As it is, he settles for resting his head against Dabi’s shoulder, something not entirely comfortable given the other man’s natural boniness, and turns his eyes back upwards. The rain still isn’t easing up, clouds only blending thicker and darker, and promising a downpour that they hadn’t yet let loose. Flying in this kind of weather would be nightmarish- Keigo hated to get his feathers wet, but he’s always loved the sky like this, the thick smell of rain in the air, heavy and full of promise. Yes, Dabi does know him better than anyone else, he thinks, smiling softly when, after a few seconds, he feels a light kiss brushed into his hair, almost too fleeting to notice. Them finding this place tonight of all times hadn’t been a coincidence.

“I used to be the same way,” Dabi says eventually, startling Keigo slightly. His free hand has stopped running through Keigo’s feathers, drifting unconsciously to his own chest instead. It hovers over the spot where Hawks knows a cord is lying hidden under his shirt, barely ever visible. There’s been a habit in seeing him repeat this gesture over the last few months, subtly reaching for some kind of comfort or assurance from the token, though most of the time Keigo is willing to bet Dabi isn’t even aware he’s doing it. It never seemed to be a conscious move, and definitely wasn’t something he ever drew attention to or wore on display. Even Keigo hasn’t seen it often, but of the necklace he knows two things for certain:the first is that one of his feathers are fastened on the end. The second is that since it had been brought to his attention by Shouto, he hasn’t noticed Dabi without it, and the gesture, though small, is somewhat heartwarming in a way he doesn’t really know how to convey. “When I was younger, growing up. I used to spend hours weighing what I did or didn’t deserve.”

It had become a foundational ground rule in their relationship right off the bat to not push for information about the past. Both Hawks and Dabi had histories and memories they weren’t proud of, secrets tucked up sleeves and shoved into dark corners of their memories, not to be touched. It was how they’d started building trust in the first place, focusing on who they were in the present as opposed to who they’d been altogether. That was part of the reason that Hawks had been so blindsided by the revelation that Dabi was, in fact, Endeavor’s son of all people when the news broke. Those were the kinds of things they’d never delved into before.

But these last few months have changed everything. Once that first secret had been released, it was only a matter of time before others began spilling too, and spill they did. They still haven’t told one another everything, but they're getting there gradually. This isn’t a race and they have time.

Hearing Dabi hesitate, low drawl lapsing into a struggling bout of silence that suggests he’s debating turning back from this confession, Hawks gently fans his feathers, letting them ruffle his partner’s hair, brush coaxingly over his his cheek, his arm, his side. Dabi jumps at the sudden movement but eventually submits to the unexpected barrage with a sharp laugh. “You overgrown chicken-”

“Bold words for someone who’s brooding worse than a hen,” Hawks shoots back before he can finish the statement, lightly elbowing the taller man in the side. “C’mon, spill. You’ve got something to say.”

Dabi mutters something halfhearted about being nosy, to which Hawks only snorts and elbows him again, though he doesn’t bother denying it. How many times had the Commission called him out on that trait? Many. They’d typically listed it as an attribute though, up until he grew old enough to put his spying skills to the test against those who’d given him those very tools and instincts. He was always good at his job until he used his learned ‘talents’ against those who encouraged them.

Dabi sighs deeply but does continue, careful to keep his voice lazy. Hawks’ brain automatically catches the effort in the tone even without looking up to read his face, but he doesn’t even let himself dwell on it. He might’ve been trained to pick up these kinds of mannerisms, but that doesn't mean he has to do anything with his observations.

“I used to think a lot on what I did and didn’t deserve and why. Could I have had a father who wasn’t a raging prick, or had I done something to deserve all the shit he put us through? Did I deserve any of my burns? The damn ‘training’ he put Shou and I through? Or losing mom? It used to keep me up at night.” The arsonist swallows and Keigo doesn’t dare say a word, afraid of accidentally closing the conversation. “And then eventually I realized that what I deserved didn’t fucking matter. Deserving something doesn’t magically make the situation fair. I probably did deserve a better childhood, but just because I should’ve had it didn’t mean I would. Whether or not I deserved any of that should never have been more important to me than the fact that I fucking hated it. That alone should’ve been enough.

“So I stopped thinking about what I deserved and started asking what did I want? A normal family. A quirk that wasn’t burning me alive. To not look so much like my old man that my mother would cringe every time she saw me walk into a room. My own life.” Dabi shrugs noncommittally, Hawks shifting his head slightly to look up at him instead of the rainclouds. “Obviously I couldn’t get everything- there were some things I didn’t have the ability to change. But I started with the things I could reach, and went from there. Enji hated rock music, so I learned how to play guitar. He had red hair, so I dyed mine black. He was always going on about the importance of our family’s image, so I lied about my age to walk into a tattoo parlor and got my ears pierced when I was fourteen. He really hated that one.” This last part is said with a grim but satisfied smile of reminiscence, and Keigo can just imagine a younger version of Dabi strolling into the house with fringy black hair and newly pierced ears, not pointing them out but not hiding them either, just waiting for them to inevitably be noticed. It’s not hard to imagine him as an edgy, rebellious teen, though Hawks supposes he had more reason to riot than most.

“And what do you want now?” Keigo asks quietly, the question more than fair, studying Dabi’s face for a reaction. Blue eyes glance down at him, locking their gazes before Dabi turns entirely, forcing Hawks to raise his head from his shoulder and Dabi’s arm to fall from his waist, but allowing the former Todoroki to face him better.

“Right now?” He repeats, arching an eyebrow. Hawks nods silently, waiting. Dabi’s eyes fall to the floor, expression carefully blank, tone almost unbearably vulnerable in its honesty. “I want to be able to go places without people being horrified to look at me. I want to own more than one shelf of books. I want to live in a place that doesn’t leak from the ceiling and has giant windows in the bedroom for catching sunrises-”

“I thought you didn’t give a shit about sunrises,” Hawks laughs, not meaning to cut him off, but unable to help himself. The idea of dark, mysterious Dabi sitting up in bed with a blanket around his shoulders, hair mussed from sleep and watching the sunrise is more ridiculous than anything. Dabi operates with a strictly nocturnal lifestyle, and sunrise-watching isn’t something he would willingly sit through when his normal schedule for heading to bed is four in the morning. Hawks had tried to convince him to sit up with him and watch them a few times, but Dabi had made it very clear that while getting an hour off to sit and do nothing but look at the sky is relaxing and pleasant for Hawks, it’s definitely not for him.

“I don’t,” Dabi mutters, very obviously avoiding his gaze now, “I said I wanted big windows to watch the sunrise from. I never said they were for me.”

Oh. Oh.

It shouldn’t be a thought he entertains, knowing the improbability of it all, but as he tries to imagine waking up to a full view of the sky, with no patrols to manage or fights to win, just a mug of coffee in his hand and his lover still asleep beside him-

Damn, the frustrating part is that if they both just led normal lives, that’s exactly where they’d be. That’s a tough pill to swallow, just another article to add to his list of ‘if things were different’s. Keigo tries not to let his irritation show- this is more open than Dabi usually gets and he’s not ruining the rare occasion over his own bitterness.

It’s too late to help the atmosphere from shifting though, Dabi immediately plastering on an easy smirk and jumping into safer waters. For a moment Hawks is tempted to make an attempt to return to the former topic, but his counterpart is already moving on, never one to dwell. “What else? I want a reformed world. I want to fight for something and win for once, and I want to have a reason to believe I’ll be around long enough to see that win.” The arsonist’s mouth twists into an even wilier grin, though it looks less unnerving in the darkness where the staples tugging at his skin are better hidden, “Some wants are more persistent though, always on my mind. They’re less like casual desires and more like a constant itch, harder to ignore. Cigarettes. My old man six feet under. You. It’s fucking distracting sometimes.”

Feeling bold, Keigo cocks an eyebrow, a smug smile tugging at his own lips once again.

“Oh really? And what are you going to do about that?”

Dabi’s answering smirk speaks more of danger than the sketchy building they’re sitting in, but Hawks loves the promise of risk. There’s no real threat behind that face, not anymore. With Dabi it can be almost impossible to tell whether he’s smiling or baring his teeth, and Keigo’s come to learn that the difference almost always depends on who that wolfish grin is turned towards.

When it comes to him, the sharpness of Dabi’s smiles reside in his canines catching the dying light,  but the danger ends there, never reaching beyond his teeth. The dark haired man leans in, catching Keigo’s mouth in a searing kiss that sets every nerve in his body alight, hands on either side of his face. The first time Dabi ever kissed him, it was much like this. Granted, that kiss had been far more fierce and possibly desperate, all teeth and frustration, and with a good deal more whiskey on his breath. It hadn’t been a particularly good kiss, Keigo recalls amusedly, the gesture rough and inexperienced, but he’s also learned since then that Dabi had been expecting a horrified rejection that night, not for Keigo to pull him in again. It was the first time he’d ever seen the fire-user’s hands shake, no matter how badly he tried to hide it.

Those hands are steady on him now, so much more certain than before. Hawks melts into his touch, wings fluttering softly behind him, Dabi breathing out a small chuckle at the movement and pressing his forehead to Keigo’s after pulling away.

“Just like I said, Birdie,” He comments quietly, voice a low rasp that suits the darkness well, “Start with the things I can reach and go from there.”

Dabi stands then, cracking his neck and pulling both a box of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket, moving towards the edge of their platform where a ladder sits, likely to find a place to light up that won’t bother Hawks with the smoke. Before he disappears into the shadows, though, twirling a cigarette between his fingers, Dabi calls one last thing over his shoulder. “Looks like I’ve already got two out of three in the last list.”

It’s that third outlier that has Hawks frowning worriedly even after the other man’s footsteps fade, mulling under the raining sky, the grey clouds overhead suddenly feeling less peaceful and more ominous.

‘Cigarettes. My old man six feet under. You.’

All he can do is pray that when Dabi inevitably tries to cross off that last item, it doesn’t put him six feet under in a grave as well.

Chapter Text

If playing double agent for the Commission and pretending to be a villain had been bad, playing triple agent for the League and pretending to be a hero is far worse.

It isn’t really the act of heroism that’s difficult for Hawks to maintain; whether through his upbringing or just general character, helping others is still in his nature. That had been one of his primary reasons for joining the League in the first place: acknowledging how corrupt hero society is and how badly the system needs to be reformed for the true benefit of the people they’re swearing to protect. That much is a cause he can get behind, and if it also means eventually gaining his freedom, it’s just one more incentive.

However, trying to fall back under the Commission like a docile little fledgling was, and is, an absolute pain in the ass.

Every time he has to come in to give a report or update, it feels as though he’s on trial. Standing in the middle of the room with all eyes on him, bodies in pressed grey suits and blank faces, pallid and bland, devoid of independent thought or expression without it being a collective movement- it’s like being a specimen in a viewing tank, and he hates it with a burning passion that always leaves scorch marks in his chest. It’s a twist of cruel irony that he, the traitor with the painted-on smiling face and fake identity is somehow, simultaneously, the most genuine person in the room.

‘ Takami Keigo doesn’t exist here- you left him behind. You’re Hawks now. Do you understand me, boy?’

It’s the same setup every time; act casual and at ease, put on a lazy smile, and relay some total bullshit sprinkled with just enough truth to get the higher-ups focused on whatever lies he wants them to believe in. It’s not all that hard to do, seeing as how the information they’re digesting is being served by the man they think they have completely pinned under their thumb, obedient down to the very breaths he takes, the perfect little spy. The Commission has no idea just how well they trained him in espionage and falsity. Not yet, anyway.

Most days he can handle it with a bit of ducking his head and biting his tongue, same as he’d done for years in this organization. It’s easier to take the heat as Hawks, to fall into the old rhythm of things and let himself dissociate into a mere observer, slipping into an icy state to not feel or demonstrate any emotions beyond the ones he actively plays on his face as part of the facade. It’s the easiest way to read the room, to get in and out without raising questions or suspicions, or gathering too much attention beyond what is necessary. But other days… Other days it becomes harder and harder to put that mask on again, especially after growing so much more into his identity as Keigo, and it’s on those days that he occasionally trips up.

‘I understand.’

The most recent case happens after he’s already delivered his report and is waiting on further instruction while the Commission members talk among themselves, almost ignoring him entirely. He’s another facet of the room, a pretty wallflower that only comes to life when they need him to. It’s a simple role, playing Hawks in a war-room; speak when spoken to, always answer with an affirmative, know your boundary lines and don’t cross them. Simple doesn’t mean easy, though, and these days that’s proving to be more and more the case.

Hawks is standing antsy in the center of the room, surrounded by tables and muttering personnel discussing his options for him, when a sudden thought crosses his mind.

“The League,”‌ He begins, interrupting the discussion he wasn’t paying attention to in the first place, and snatching the attention of everyone in the room. Rule number one broken. “After we’ve pulled all of this off, what’s our plan for them?”

It’s a risky question to ask, one that Hawks isn’t sure they’ll answer, but if he can get some kind of idea as to what the Commission is planning for his comrades, he might be able to give them a heads up in advance. In any case, it’d be a good idea to have a backup plan in case their efforts go south. There’s a few owlish blinks by members around the tables before one finally speaks up.

‘Lose the attitude, no more of this nonsense. We’ve trained you with better manners than this. Try again.’

“Your operation is infiltration, Hawks. As far as we’re concerned, the aftermath isn’t your problem.”

As far as they’re concerned. Of course it’s just their opinions that count- even, it seems, when it comes to a mission that he’s supposed to be putting his life in peril for. His stakes are higher here than anybody’s, but his voice is the one they want to hear least. There isn’t even room for anger in him when the words settle, just numbness. Once upon a time he’d considered the lack of feeling to be some kind of emotional protection, but now it only serves as an accidentally self-imposed barrier that rears its head far too often when he’s in this room and his stress levels are high. Dissociation is a mean bitch.

It’s not as bad as it used to be, though, a permanent state of emotionless limbo, and for that much he’s grateful.

A second voice pipes up, pulling his gaze from the original speaker.

“That is to say that you’ve got enough on your plate as it is,” The woman smiles, but her lips are thin. There’s no real friendliness or warmth in that expression despite her tone of voice, and Hawks mirrors that smile right back at her instinctively, calm, easygoing. “We know you like to tackle everything yourself, but this is one mission we need more than one set of hands for. Leave the cleanup to someone else.”

He knows a fucking manipulation when he sees it, and this case is no exception. In fact, he’s more than used to reading manipulation and gaslighting from the Commission by now, can pick up the words they aren’t saying just as clearly as the ones they are. In conversations like these, “You’ve got enough on your plate,” means “Stick to the role we’ve given you,” and “Leave it to someone else” means “Stay out of this.” Here, sentences are traps, words are snares. Things are said with a sympathetic tone of voice all while meaning the exact opposite. They try to quell his curiosity by enforcing his boundaries and then manipulating the situation to look like they’re doing it out of concern for his own well-being, as if they’re not the ones who put him in such a precarious situation in the first place. It’s repulsive, aggravating, and Hawks can feel the invisible bars of the cage shrinking and pressing into his skin.

‘I understand what you’ve said, and I apologize for defying your orders. Please forgive me.”

He doesn’t feel like playing by the rules today. Hell, if he’s one down already, he may as well go the full mile.

“It does concern me though,”‌ Hawks argues mildly, shrugging his shoulders and letting his hands fall easily into his pockets, “‌We’ve got no idea when we might have the opportunity to attack. For all I know, I might still be undercover and on scene when that moment arrives, and if that’s the case, I need to know whether or not I should be pulling my punches. Once the League finds out I’m not legit, they’ll come after me full-force, and I need to be aware of how far I’m allowed to go in defending myself against all of them. They’ll be going for the kill, but if I’ve got kids like Toga thrown in the mix and the goal is to get her in rehab, I can’t be reciprocating at full force.”

Hawks knows his argument is a solid one, and he can see the moment that he finishes speaking that his points are hitting exactly where he needs them to. It’s a valid approach on his part, a careful trepidation to avoid getting caught up in the legality of their whole situation and play his role as nothing but the golden hero. After all, he’d hate to bring unnecessary trouble down on the Commission’s head, right? As they love to remind him on a fairly regular basis, “After all they’ve done for him it’s really the least he can do.”

And yet, despite the considering faces, he knows he’s stepped over a line. Even if he’s raised a good point, fighting for ground and dominance in this place is the cardinal sin that’s gotten him in trouble on far more occasions than he’d like to consider. The Commission loves hearing him speak, but only when it’s with the words they’ve given him, words like ‘yes’ and ‘of course’.

Hawks was trained to not have words of disagreement in his vocabulary, trained to agree blindly with whatever he’s been told, take whatever mission, sing whatever song. He’s the pretty little canary in the Commission’s coal mine that’s always taken the phrase “Live fast, die young” a little too liberally, knowing that canaries in coal mines only serve one purpose, and it’s to get others out alive at the cost of themselves. He’s never fed himself the illusion of dying old and frail, not in this line of work, not with this organization, and fuck if he hasn’t started to live by it, reckless and fearless of the inevitable crash. Remarkably, it’s been siding with the villains and spending more time around them that’s beginning to curb that reckless energy, beginning to remind him that there’s value in fighting for the world you want and living to see it, fighting your way forward with the intention of living and breathing, and screaming your name as loudly as you can the whole while so the world can never forget you existed. When the League fights and lives and breathes, they don’t do so as victims; they do so as avengers and warriors, upstarts and rebels. They’re unapologetic and unpredictable and wildly unchained, and they’ll never be remembered as the human shield thrown down at the feet of the enemy like a cheap sacrifice.

The Commission has trained Hawks to be that shield without question, an object of defense for everyone around him, to take the beatings and the blows and do his best not to buckle under the weight, his fate already sealed and too far above his reach to grasp.

Keigo, on the other hand, has taken it upon himself to reach for a sword instead, and has no intention of going back.

And maybe that’s why it takes an actual physical effort of biting the inside of his cheek to ground himself enough that he doesn’t flare his feathers defensively as he feels so many pairs of eyes on him, the raptor instincts that come branded with his wings screeching ‘predator’ over and over in his head on loop. Everything about this situation feels like danger, like a fight waiting to break. This is the type of threat that you recognize inexplicably when your stomach drops and your breath catches, and you know in a split second that you’ve gotten yourself into a situation you won’t be leaving gently from.

When the Defense Minister finally nods in agreement and the others settle back, following his lead, Hawks feels a spark of accomplishment rival the toxic creeping vines of ivy coiling in his abdomen, the tiny flare of hope burning the stems. He’s not out of the woods yet, but this might still go favorably for him.

“That’s a fair evaluation,”‌ The greying man concedes, Hawks dipping his head in thanks at the praise, though it’s an effort to appear humble, “And in hearing your concerns, I think a reasonable course of action would be to start putting together a pro hero quick-response team for the scenario you’ve described. If we hand pick individuals who can capably take out their respective members and keep casualties to a minimum, we’ll have less of a possibility for errors. We may only get one shot at this.” The man makes a sweeping glance around the room to ensure that everyone is on the same page before looking back to Hawks again, “Once we’ve started matching possible foils for the League’s members, I’ll send their profiles your way and have you narrow down those who would be most effective against these villains. At this rate, you know their strengths and weaknesses better than anyone. Make that information count.”

Hawks gives a sharp nod, but the Minister isn’t finished, steepling his fingers. “On the off chance that you do end up caught in the attack or if your cover is blown in advance, it’s safe to say that every member of the League is slated for Tartarus Prison. Ideally, we’d like to deliver them there alive, but it’s been acknowledged that Tomura Shigaraki, Jin Bubaigawara, and Dabi in particular are all wildcards and arguably the most dangerous pieces on the table. Restraining them may prove to be beyond your ability, and letting them go free is not a viable option. Deal with them as you must in the event that things go sour. We’ll make sure you have federal clearance if that happens to be the case.”

Hawks’ mouth goes dry at that, but he forces a thankful grin and nods once more, a brief duck of understanding though he can’t even fathom pulling his tongue from the roof of his mouth right now. It’s said so casually, like they’re not discussing life and death in this room, like they haven’t just thrown the dice on three people’s lives and are leaving it on his shoulders to determine whether or not they deserve to live.

‘ Your apology is acknowledged. Now tell me, child, what is your name?’

Distantly he’s aware that assigning him to be the one to put together the team is a form of punishment in itself. It’s a reprimandment for pushing further than he’s supposed to, even if his points were all valid ones, more work in his already near-to-impossible schedule. Beyond that, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that a second message is also very clear; that they’ve tried to spin things as if this was his idea, that he’s supposed to be picking these people based on his quality of intel, and that if they fail it’ll be on him. This is his idea, his concern, his team, his mission, and if he doesn’t get this right, there’ll be hell to pay. The little comment about them only having one chance to see this through is definitely just another subtle jab at not fucking up, and Hawks has to hide the fact that he’s gritting his teeth so hard his jaw aches. By now, the dissociating numbness has faded, and normally, this would be one of the times where he’d start getting stressed out enough to feel his anxiety creeping in, but today it all falls silent, drowned under an ocean of rebellious indignation. Maybe he’s finally just had enough, or maybe it’s the fleeting thought of blue eyes and found family and dreams of the future that remind him this is all for a reason, but right now, at this moment, Hawks doesn’t care about the Commission. He doesn’t care what they want him to do, he doesn’t care what they’ll say, he doesn’t care what they might do to force him back into his place- they may as well just give him a slap on the wrist next time and call it good, because he’s not a child anymore and he stopped giving a damn about repercussions a long time ago.

‘I am Hawks.’

‘Say it again.’

‘I am Hawks.’

‘With conviction, boy, or don’t bother saying it at all.’

‘My name is Hawks. Takami Keigo is dead.’ 

“I’d be honoured to have a hand in the process.”‌ He replies smoothly, diplomatic despite the long streams of cursing clamouring in his head, “And I appreciate the clearance. That’s relieving.” The members around the table each offer some kind of copy and paste variation of a smile and farewell as he’s dismissed.

‘That’s right. I don’t want to have this conversation again; I’m sure this is the last time you’ll disappoint us with this kind of immature setback, correct? Or do you not want to be a hero?’

‘It won’t happen again. I’m going to be a hero, I promise.’

Takami Keigo impresses himself by making it down two whole flights of stairs before losing his cool and leaping casually out a window on the thirty-sixth floor, quickly catching an updraft and soaring away.

‘Don’t let us down.’

It’s a venomous, spite-filled thought, but he can’t wait to see this whole organization burn to the fucking ground.

Chapter Text

The folders arrive in his office four days later, and it’s not a small stack of papers. Along with them comes a letter reminding him that the priority in this situation is capture and detainment, and that they are dealing with “dangerous and unstable individuals who possess minimal regard for human life.” The message is clear: the Commission is  interested in crushing a threat, and the grounds of morality and concern can be sorted later.

Hawks wants so badly to point out the number of occasions in which the Commission has instructed him to allow there to be casualties in a handful of different scenarios, but there’s nobody to complain to. Still, it’s interesting that they’re so focused on condemning those who’ve killed to further their cause when the Commission’s ultimately gotten their hands dirty with the same way of thinking.

As it is, going through this many portfolios on his own would take hours of reading and filtering, likely a few all-nighters fueled by dark coffee and a heavily analytical eye. It would be tiring, monotonous work with small room for error.

Fortunately, however, he doesn’t have to go through them alone.

“You’ve got to hand it to them, they really went all out.” Spinner remarks, flipping through his pile of papers, seemingly impressed, “I’m almost flattered that they think we’re worth some of these opponents.”

“ No kidding; anyone else kind of worried? ” Twice chips in, speaking nervously through a mouthful of lukewarm yakisoba that Keigo brought over. He contradicts himself a half-second later, bolder than ever, “ Nah, they’re really underestimating us. We can take any of these pros!”

There’s an irritated hiss from the floor, where Shigaraki is sitting cross-legged, his papers laid out neatly in front of him, the young man scratching slowly at his throat with one hand. His red eyes narrow in annoyance on Twice, mouth twisting into a grimace. Keigo can’t deny that he still feels uneasy pins and needles go up his spine whenever those eyes turn on him, but to this extent, Shigaraki’s left him well enough alone. It would be a stretch to say the other man holds any kind of trust or loyalty in him yet, but he hasn’t outright treated him poorly either; to Shigaraki, it’s safe to say that most days Keigo is a fly on a few convenient walls, easy to squash as needed, and almost as easy to ignore entirely. Tonight is no exception.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Their resident leader says with derision, disgusted and waspish, “Nobody wants your food spraying all over the place.”

Keigo can’t help but smile to himself just a little bit, watching over the ensuing chaos with hesitant fondness. He’s becoming more and more used to these kinds of meetings with the League, much more casual than before, slowly being integrated into their circle. When he’d first started infiltrating them, he’d barely gotten to see a glimpse beyond their villain personas, all of them guarded around one another. But now, chilling in the warehouse with four boxes of cooling yakisoba on the decrepit kitchen counter and all of them sprawled in various positions in the living room, it’s beginning to feel less like a diplomatic session and more like an obnoxious family gathering- even if it’s clear he’s still an outsider in their close-knit ranks.

Perched at the kitchen table himself, Keigo takes a sip of his third black coffee before rolling his shoulders and trying to crack his back, long since gone stiff with the weight of his wings hanging over his chair. They’ve been at this for a while, each member sorting through their potential match-ups and giving their input on who they would be best suited to fight that would still not be suspicious on the Commission’s end when Hawks had to present his choices. It’ a challenging situation, finding an equilibrium between who the Commission will expect him to pick based on who would have the greatest chance of besting the villains, and also managing to select people who the League can truly have the odds of holding their own against. In all honesty, he isn’t even absolutely sure that the Commission will go through with the team he picks, but he’s still hoping that by having the League go through the profiles selected against them, he might be able to at least give them an idea of who and what they may be going up against.

Twice speaks up in protest to defend himself, though Hawks isn’t really paying attention to what he’s saying, too focused on his own tasks and sipping coffee to keep his weariness at bay. When he’d first brought the folders to the warehouse with him, he wasn’t entirely sure how the League would handle the situation. To some degree, he’d expected them to read through a few papers and then lose interest, or just flat-out tell him to handle it himself anyway. He hadn’t entirely been expecting any of them to take it as seriously as they had. Shigaraki and Spinner were particularly meticulous with their respective folders, Shigaraki going so far as to be taking notes comparing figurative stats, something probably unnecessary due to the insanely powerful nature of his quirk. Anyone paired up with him will be on the underdog end of the stick no matter who they are. Spinner’s no better, occasionally asking for his leader’s input. Granted, considering the two villains’ affinity for gaming, Hawks is willing to bet they’re both treating this like something of a real-life “pick your player” simulator, and he isn’t going to deny either of them the opportunity. If they’re willing to do all the hard thinking for him, he’s not  going to complain. As it is, he’s already going through both Toga and Compress’s matches on his own, the two of them currently out gathering supplies for the League, and any less work on his plate is welcomed, especially after the gruelling week he’s had.

Keigo’s enraptured enough in his reading, tuning the sound in the living room out into white noise and paying attention to his own thoughts that he doesn’t realize there’s someone behind him until they speak.

“Nah, that one’s too risky- Toga’s good, but she’s not much of a tactical close-range fighter. Sometimes her unpredictability is a strength, but against a seasoned pro, she’ll be amateur.” Dabi comments from over his shoulder, causing Keigo to tip his head back. The other man is standing behind his chair with one arm slung across the back like he owns it, draped over the furniture like a cat. His eyes are on the paper in Keigo’s hand and not on Keigo himself, but the blond grins anyway, noticing that the shirt the arsonist is wearing, a washed-out grey tee that’s a bit too snug across the shoulders and too big across everything else, is actually one of his. He reaches out and tugs lightly at the hem teasingly with one hand, using the other to pick up a different profile, his eyes also scanning the page just as Dabi’s are, though his words have nothing to do with the profile.

“Y’know, I thought I’d lost a shirt just like this recently.”

Dabi knocks his hand away, causing Keigo to look up again and laugh at the effortlessly careless expression of indifference on the other’s face.

“That’s unfortunate.” Dabi muses, stepping out from behind Keigo’s chair to fill his empty plate with more yakisoba from the counter. It’s so like him to not fess up to the action even though it’s obvious from the way his pale skin is showing through the slits in the back of the shirt meant for the hero’s wings that it is definitely Keigo’s without question. Instead of challenging him, though, Keigo watches the lanky man, happy to see him dish a second helping of food. To say Dabi is built like a twig is an understatement; with his combined height and body’s natural affinity for burning fat faster than the average person due to his higher body temp, the arsonist is little more than skin pulled tight over brittle bone and lean muscle to put things kindly. It’s clear that he needs a much higher calorie intake than he usually gets, but with a serious case of malnutrition and meals scarce on the streets, it makes sense that he’s so painfully scrawny. It used to scare Hawks at times, how unhealthy he seemed, body horrifyingly delicate behind that fierce quirk and crass personality.

Since realizing this, Keigo’s taken it upon himself to make sure Dabi’s at least eating more regularly. He knows the other man’s too stubborn and prideful to ever let him make a fuss over it, but at the very least he makes sure that whenever they meet up he’s got some kind of dinner ready and that he often “accidentally” brings too much and makes the villain take the leftovers. Dabi definitely notices the trend, but neither of them mention it, willing to just let things be as they are. It’s become enough of a habit that he’s been noticing Dabi’s ribs look less prominent, less like they’re aching to break free from his skin, and more settled into his body even if they’re still apparent.

Keigo had mentioned it the last time he’d come to visit the warehouse, relaxing on Dabi’s bed and soaking in the last few rays of sunlight coming in through his small window, watching as the other man changed his shirt. Originally, he’d just been trying to catch a glimpse of Dabi’s necklace- he’d seen it before, but each rare occasion still filled him with a sense of warmth that he found himself chasing whenever an opportunity arose. It had taken him a few moments to realize, though, that something was slightly different about the sight now, and it wasn’t anything to do with the necklace itself.  When he finally pieced together that the subtle change was to do with the light not cutting sharp, angry shadows across Dabi’s chest anymore, he’d broken out in a triumphant grin, glad to see his arsonist looking a little less gaunt and a bit better taken care of. The man in question had caught him staring and raised a semi-surprised eyebrow at his expression, pausing with his second shirt pulled just over his head and collarbones, hands freezing in their motions.

“What’re you gawking at, Feathers?” He sounded lazy, but almost a hint suspicious, genuinely confused by the situation. Keigo just grinned brighter, propping himself up on one elbow.

“You’ve put on some weight,” He’d commented, regretting the blunt, careless wording as soon as Dabi immediately yanked his shirt down the rest of the way in an embarrassed, clumsy knee-jerk reaction that had the blond laughing and Dabi frowning at him, clearly blanking on what to do or say in response. Feeling bad for the mildly shellshocked and uncertain posture his partner had taken up, Hawks had pulled himself out of the comfort of the bed and padded across the cold floorboards, looping his arms loosely around the taller man’s waist when he was close enough to lean into him. “That’s a good thing, Hot Stuff- it’s healthy. I’m proud of you.”

Dabi really hadn’t responded then, just gave a small huff and muttered something about it being due to Keigo’s many boxes of fried chicken leftovers, but there had been the faintest tug of a smile on his lips too as he said it, the barest smidgen of pride in himself as well that he also dared to show. 

It’s similar to the small smirk he wears as Keigo moves to kick out the chair nearest to him for the fire-user to sit, but Dabi just waves him off, choosing to hop up on the table instead, and resting his feet on the seat of the chair the blond had been offering. He studies the pages Keigo has scattered around him with a contemplative eye, working on a forkful of noodles as he reads. The smaller man jerks his head towards the folders, not looking up from his own work and fighting the urge to yawn. He really should’ve tried to find a way out of that double patrol the day before, but he couldn’t come up with a reasonable enough excuse, and he was already on a short leash with the Commission this week as it were. Sleep would be so great right now, but he’s hesitant to hope that he’d even manage to keep his eyes closed with the amount of coffee he’s consumed. Odds are, this is going to be another long night. He distracts himself by talking instead, trying to keep up a casual conversation with Dabi to keep his mind off of how he’s needed to reread the same sentence three times to properly understand it.

“Who’d you get?” Keigo asks curiously, tossing aside another sheaf of papers after giving up on reading the one he was working on and picking up another. Dabi grunts around a mouthful of yakisoba and slides his own stack of papers over to Keigo from across the table. Hawks hadn’t even noticed that he’d brought them over with him, too swamped as it was in profiles to notice the extra papers on the table. He pretends to finish reading the article in his hands and drops it absently  in the discard pile before glancing over tiredly, catching a profile picture of blond hair, amber eyes-

He freezes in his seat, suddenly wide awake when he realizes he’s looking down on his own face staring up at him, his profile on top. Keigo’s heart stills in his chest, blood running cold.

“Can I see that?” He asks softly, voice almost too quiet to hear. Dabi shoots him a look that starts as amusement though it fades into something else as he passes the folder over and into Keigo’s waiting hands, the hero reading silently through his credentials and attributes, skills and strengths, all determined by other people. All his marketable and usable traits.

All the reasons he should be a good pick for taking out and possibly killing the man sitting next to him, whose knee is now pressing gently into his arm, who’s wearing his shirt and one of his feathers around his neck.  Fuck, he hates that once upon a time he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at this job, just followed through with orders, cut his losses and moved on. But now the idea sickens him to his very core, nausea causing his stomach to cramp and roll. His hands feel clammy and stiff as he flips through the pages, wings trembling behind him. He’s not even aware that his breathing has picked up and he’s spiraling into an attack until Dabi’s hands are in his feathers, plate abandoned on the table, face only inches away from Keigo’s own.

“None of that,” He says firmly, and Keigo tries to offer him a forced weak smile instead, but Dabi’s not having it. “None of that either, Pigeon.” His blue eyes narrow, and once again Keigo feels seen, secrets and thoughts laid out like the pages before them. Realization sparks then on Dabi’s face, tone quieter as he adds, “It’s alright, it’s not going to be you.”

And he knows that, he does. The rational part of him is full to the brim with the understanding that his will is his own and there’s no way the Commission can force him to put a gun to Dabi’s head and pull the trigger, but it’s not the rational side of him that has the center stage of his attention at the moment. All he can think is that it could have been- if circumstances had been even slightly different, it very well could’ve been his next mission, and the fact that his name is even a part of this stack implies that it isn’t something the Commission hasn’t considered. Chills crawl up his spine, causing his hands to tremble slightly as they pass his profile back to the arsonist silently, Dabi immediately reaching for it and setting his fingers alight as soon as they hit paper. Hawks watches in horrified fascination as the pages char and curl under blue flame, disintegrating in the villain’s hands, his photo and pages of info going up in a sudden combustion of smoke and ash. Spinner is the first to complain about the smell, Shigaraki snarling something about just having given Twice shit for getting stuff all over the place, but Dabi doesn’t even glance their way, eyes focused.

“It isn’t going to be you.” He repeats definitively, tone leaving no room for argument as he casually brushes the ash from his hands. Keigo watches it fall, paper snow tumbling down. It’s almost satisfying despite the edge, watching a piece of Commission property burn.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and it isn’t from the coffee.

Eventually he manages to nod and Dabi gives a small huff, going to pick up his plate again. The skinny man’s only gotten a few more bites down when Keigo finally pipes up, clearing his throat to settle his nerves further.

“Who then? I’m guessing you’ve already picked.”

Dabi makes a noise of bland agreement, choosing to continue eating rather than be bothered to give a real response. The half-assed wave he directs towards another of his files on the table is so painfully careless that for a split second Keigo assumes he’s picked some nobody, a hero with a low rank and name, someone under the radar.

He hates that he’s wrong once again.

“ No .”

Chapter Text

“ No .”

“Wasn’t asking for permission, Birdie.” Dabi shrugs, cocking an eyebrow. He’s got that stubborn set in his shoulders and his mouth quirked in that challenging smirk that implies he’s charted his course and neither heaven nor hell can move him from it now. Normally, Keigo finds it irritating in an admirable kind of way, an oxymoron of conflicting emotions that lean further into one or the other depending on the situation, but right now all it’s just terrifying. He can’t be set on this, because he won’t win.

He can’t be set on this, because it will kill him.

“Dabi, you can’t face him on your own,”‌ Keigo protests, trying his best to play the voice of reason. He’s well aware that they’ve attracted the attention of everyone in the living room as well at this point, but he’s too adamant to care. “I know you’ve got a grudge, but don’t let it cloud your judgement. This isn’t the way to deal with it.”

Dabi scowls, looking away and flexing the fingers on his right hand. There’s a bead of blood pearling on his cheek from where one of his staples was pulled too sharply with his grimace, and he swipes at it irritably, prior jovial mood vanished. “Don’t act so surprised, Pigeon. This has been on the agenda for a while.”

And oh God it has been, but that doesn’t make it any better when he snatches the offending portfolio from the collection, the taste in his mouth souring even further.

“What’s going on? Who’d he pick? Just get it over with, boys! At least he made up his mind quickly on something for once.” Twice asks, and Hawks glances over to find all three men looking at them, Twice and Spinner gawking more openly, though even Shigaraki is eyeing them curiously from his spot on the floor. He meets Dabi’s gaze again before answering, doing his best to keep his voice even, though all he really wants to do is rage.

“Endeavor.” Keigo spits, letting the file fall back to the table with a loud slap, and leaning back in his chair.

He can hear Twice congratulating Dabi on being deemed worthy of the Number One hero, can hear Spinner immediately going to correct him that Endeavor isn’t a true hero by Stain’s principles and that he’s nothing more than a strong opponent. He’s aware Dabi is frustrated, that he’s frustrated himself, but all he can think of is that day everything changed, ashes falling like snow, the fear in Dabi’s eyes unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He’d been terrified for that split second it had taken to get to Shouto’s side, and whether it had been terror for his younger brother or terror of Endeavor himself had gone unsaid. Either way, Keigo’s already borne witness to Dabi facing off against his father on two different occasions, during both High End and the patrolling skirmish with Shouto, and he has no intention of allowing there to be a third time where he has to stand on the sidelines, hands tied.

Endeavor. Fuck, just thinking of him makes Keigo’s blood burn in his veins in all the worst kinds of ways, the smoke constricting his throat, unseen fire scorching under his skin. Discovering the truth about the pro hero had been the worst betrayal Keigo had ever experienced, and he still hasn’t managed to get a full rein on the near-crippling amount of weight and anger that the discovery had set on him.

Since then though, and having heard the youngest Todoroki’s side of the story, Keigo has been making an attempt to keep an eye on Shouto, finding reasons to join more patrols with the dual-quirked teen and his father, though Keigo has come to loathe being around the latter. Whenever the man so much as raises his voice around the boy, the tiny feathers at the base of his wings immediately go sharp, too small for anyone else to observe a difference in, but Keigo notices every time. Shouto had eventually called him out on his true reasons for sticking around while Endeavor was off handling a police report, his cross-armed pose so unconsciously similar to his father’s that it caused Keigo’s heart to pang. If Shouto had been made aware that he’d unintentionally mimicked Enji’s posture to make himself look stronger, he would have been appalled.

“I know what you’re doing.”‌ He’d stated bluntly, not even bothering with formalities. Keigo liked that about Shouto: his no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point attitude that made him easy to deal with and even easier to understand. He wasn’t the type of person to beat around the bush, and in an industry of fake faces it just made his genuine nature appreciated all the more. “You don’t need to be monitoring the situation- I can handle him on my own.”

Seeing as how their relationship didn’t seem the type for secrets or falsity, considering what they both knew about the other, Hawks hadn’t bothered to deny his interference. Instead, he pushed his visor down, noting that it had cracked again with a frown.

“You’re right, you can- you’ve been doing that up to this point. The thing is that you shouldn’t have to.” He said easily, adjusting his gloves. Shouto had given him a surprised look so similar to Dabi’s that Keigo almost smiled. “I’m in your corner now, kid. This isn’t a solo fight anymore.”

It was a simple assurance, but Hawks caught the shift in Shouto’s eyes, the sharpness dulled just slightly as the words settled in. The teen took a long breath, still stone-faced.

“You don’t have to.”‌ He pushed, though it was quieter this time, less cold. Catching Endeavor glancing over at them talking, Hawks gave a laugh, aware that from his distance the two would just look like Hawks was being chatty again as he was prone to pretend around the pro.

“What kind of hero would I be if I walked away?”‌ The blond asked, loud enough for Enji to catch. The man turned away, disinterested and busy with his own tasks, and Hawks ruffled his feathers, lowering his voice. “Having to has nothing to do with it.” Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a notebook and pen, scribbling something down and tearing the sheet out to pass to Shouto. “That’s my number. Save it in your phone. If you ever need help, you call me, got it?”

Shouto took the paper with hesitant fingers, holding it as though it were dangerous and prepared to bite. He cast a wary look in Endeavor’s direction too that didn’t go unnoticed before pocketing the slip, giving Hawks a small nod of thanks. It wasn’t a fully committal nod, but it was one of gratitude nonetheless.

He’s seen little of Shouto since then with everything going on. It’s unnerving for him, and to some degree there’s a guilty part of his conscience that loves to tell him he’s not doing enough. From the tiny crumbs of information he’s managed to get from the teen since the original incident that sparked this whole mess, it sounds like Endeavor’s making some kind of attempt at reconcile; but Hawks is not the trusting kind, nor is he terribly inclined to easy forgiveness. After hearing of Endeavor’s wrongs, he’ll never see him in the same light again, redemption or no.

As such, he has no intentions of seeing him as an ally again either, and he’ll let his suspicion guide his actions with him from here on out. Even if the pro does manage to mend things with Shouto somehow, miraculously, he’ll never be able to fix what he’s done to his oldest son, and that’s a crime that Keigo will never be able to forgive. He’s coaxed Dabi through too many nightmares to not sense danger when he catches sight of red hair and blue eyes, to not notice how the man is tall enough to intimidate, broad enough to harm. That’s all he sees now in this hero he once admired, all of the ways he poses a threat instead of a savior, and he’ll never be able to ignore what he’s discovered.

That’s all he can think of now, too, trying to talk Dabi down from facing the Number One pro on his own, all the ways Enji could hurt him beyond how badly he already has.

“You never put a fire type against a fire type,”‌ Shigaraki comments from the floor, wrinkling his nose. Keigo’s half-tempted to remind him that this isn’t the time to be downplaying the severity of things, but decides to shut up instead, letting his nerves and emotions roll over him in waves and trying to let some of it go. The leader is on his side for now, after all, and he’d rather keep things that way even if he’s referring to Dabi like some character on a game screen. “Especially not with your lack of stamina. I’m not interested in losing a fight or our only long-distance fighter to the heroes just because you’ve got a vendetta, Patchwork. Pick someone else.”

A muscle flutters in Dabi’s jaw as he clenches his teeth, locked in a standoff with the blue-haired man who doesn’t even flinch. There’s a high air of tension filling the room that wasn’t there before, one that has Keigo sitting a little closer to the edge of his seat and glancing between Dabi and Shigaraki, careful to keep his expression blank.‌ Shigaraki seems to notice the obstinate look in the fire user’s eyes, because he narrows his own dangerously, Spinner very noticeably leaning as far back away from him as the battered sofa will allow. “That wasn’t a request, asshole. Stand down and pick someone else.”

Dabi’s scowl deepens, and for a moment, Keigo thinks they may be breaking apart a fight in the middle of the dining room. He’s ready to jump up at a moment’s notice, already trying to decide what his first move will be if Shigaraki decides to strike first, whether or not he’ll be able to shove Dabi out of the way or throw a chair under the leader’s feet quicker. As it turns out, his mind is made up for him when Dabi slips off the table, abandoning his plate and swiping up the files.

“Fine. I’m done here.” It’s all he has to say before he’s heading for the stairs, stalking up to his room, everyone watching after him. There’s a hard pang in Keigo’s chest and he immediately stands up as well to follow, leaving his own coffee and files behind.

“Dabi-”

“ C’mon Dabi, it’s not that big a deal - you’re being a total wimp, pull yourself together!”

Keigo ignores Twice as he wanders carefully up the stairs after the arsonist, slowly making his way to where he knows Dabi’s room to be. The door isn’t quite closed all the way, still open an inch, so he pushes his way inside and closes it softly behind him. Dabi’s already dumped all of the files on his floor, leaving only one with him where he sits on his bed, back turned to the winged hero. His shoulders are rigid, black hair messy from running his hands through it. It makes for a sorry sight, and Keigo hasn’t even seen his face yet.

Wordlessly, he sheds his feathers, letting them fall into neat stacks around the messy portfolios, and quietly clambers onto the bed as well, pressing up against Dabi’s spine and wrapping his arms around his own knees.

“I’m sorry,”‌‌ He murmurs eventually, breaking the silence and causing Dabi to tense. “I know how much you want to go after him. And I know right now this seems like the best window of opportunity or the right call, but I promise you it’s not.”

“It’s a chance to get the bastard alone.”‌ Dabi snarls, glints of iron in his words, but Hawks doesn’t move away, choosing instead to press closer.

“It’s a chance for him to get you alone too, and also a chance for him to determine when and where. You’d be at a complete disadvantage in all ways possible.”‌ Keigo answers rationally, tone slightly more pleading as he adds, “Don’t play into his hands, Dabi.” There’s a beat of silence before the arsonist responds, and what he says isn’t what Hawks is expecting.

“He still has Shouto. He’s alone with him.” Dabi turns around to face Keigo and even though he’s keeping his composure, his eyes have the same haunted look in them that they did two months ago on that patrol.  Keigo recognizes that look. It’s desperation, and in all honesty, Dabi’s so desperate for so many things right now, Keigo doesn’t know what lengths he’ll go to in achieving them. “He needs to pay for what he’s done and be stopped for everything he could still do. Things can’t be better for any of them until he’s gone.”

“Will it make things better for you?” Keigo asks, and Dabi blinks, surprised by the question. He tries putting on a smirk that Keigo would believe if his intuition hadn’t told him that it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It’d sure as hell let me sleep better at night.”

The unfortunate thing is that Keigo isn’t sure that it would. Despite whatever idea Dabi’s got in his head that getting rid of his tormenter will erase the torment he’s experienced and continues to live through… It’s not going to work. Figuratively speaking, it might ease some weight off Shouto’s shoulders or even allow Rei to return home, but it’s never going to mend the gaping wounds that Enji has rendered in any of their lives, Dabi’s included.

His death won’t mean anything but blood on Dabi’s hands, blood that Keigo isn’t sure the other man will ever be able to wash himself clean of.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Dabi looks away, studies the bedsheets and then tosses the last file down onto the floor with the others, papers pouring out like loose lips spilling secrets and classified documents, the action so nonchalant despite the severity of the crime. The draft of air it sends up disturbs some of Keigo’s feathers, causing their neat stacks to drift and settle, spraying up in a plume, and falling all over the room.

“I know,” He says flatly, picking up a feather that had landed on the bed by his knee. He fiddles with it while he speaks, careful so as to not damage it. “But I don’t really have any other answers for you, Pigeon. Who knows whether the fuck it’ll help or not- I just need to do something.” His eyes flash when he adds, “I wasn’t strong enough to do anything before, but I am now.” Dabi flexes his fingers, lets the feather fall over the side of the bed and then goes to catch it again, hand cupped. It’s such an innocent gesture in contrast to the topic in question, a total contradiction to the mood that has settled over them both, weighted and heavy.

He is stronger now- that much Keigo knows. How could he not be? He’s witnessed firsthand those monstrous walls of blue flame that Dabi can put up at a moment’s notice, just as quickly as the walls he has a tendency to build within himself. He knows their destructive force, knows the heat, the raging inferno that roars in his veins so uncontrollably that it’s just as devastating to his own fragile body as it is to the world around him.

Dabi’s quirk is strong- that much is inarguable. It’s so strong that he himself can’t withstand its power. But the question of the matter isn’t whether or not he’s strong- it’s whether or not he’s strong enough .

“It’s not winning if you have to burn yourself up like a martyr on a pyre to beat him.”‌ Hawks points out, willing the feather Dabi’s still fiddling with to wrap loosely around his thin wrist and spiral up his arm. “We call that sacrifice, and it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. Don’t let him be.”

“Sure, pretty bird.” Dabi muses, but the words aren’t any kind of guarantee. They’re a compromised reassurance to soothe ruffled feathers and end the conversation before it goes into more upsetting territory. Keigo sighs softly, knowing better than to take this any further than he already has. If Dabi’s not in the mood for a lecture then he isn’t going to sit through one, well-intentioned or no; pushing him any kind of direction is like standing in a river and trying to force the water to flow the opposite way. In other words, you can shove as hard as you want but it’ll always find a way around you if that’s where it wants to go.

This isn’t finished. They’ll need to talk about it seriously again in the future, but he’s just so tired and doesn’t want to pick a fight. This is the first time he’s seen Dabi in a full week with everything going on, and he needs to be back at his agency for a patrol by four in the morning- he’s not wasting the few hours they’ve got left starting arguments that will leave them parting ways with everything unresolved. So he switches gears, allows himself some humour as a break from the stress of the last few days, and opts to push at Dabi’s lanky knees rather than the obstinate pride he’s been chipping at for the better part of an hour. “How can your scrawny ass be taking up so much space right now? I’m basically falling off the bed- c’mon, move over.”

It’s a comment that promptly gets him knocked off the bed entirely, but he doesn’t mind because Dabi laughs as he does it, a short, but genuine bark of a laugh that has Keigo laughing as well from his new position on the floor, fall cushioned by feathers and files. That mess will be a problem for later, something to deal with in the very early hours of the morning before Keigo has to head out again, when both of them are drowsy and stumbling around the room, Keigo shrugging into his hero uniform and reassembling his wings, Dabi kicking all the folders unceremoniously into the closet. For now, though, it can wait, and so can the Commission- to hell with it, so can Endeavor. It can all wait until he’s ready to deal with it.

Dabi makes a ‘tsk’ sound between his teeth, observing the downed winged hero with a lazy sweeping gaze. Whatever he sees has him shaking his head and drawing back the blankets on the bed, gesturing for Keigo to stand, voice softer than before.

“Get back up here, Pigeon. You look like you haven’t slept right in days.”

The last thing Keigo wants to do right now is try to sleep; not that it wouldn’t be great, but sleeping’s been something of a problem for him for years now, and the stress of everything he’s been under for the last while combined with his elevated anxiety levels haven’t been helping matters at all. It’s more frustrating to need and want sleep but be unable to do so than to just ignore the ache behind his eyes. Still, he stands and cracks his back before hauling himself up onto the bed again anyway, optimistic enough to hope for a few hours of rest before his shift.

“Ah, so you do care.”

“I‌ just don’t need is my informant dying on his next patrol by flying into a window or something equally stupid.” Dabi quips back sarcastically as the blond kicks his way under his sheets, Keigo grinning as the arsonist subtly contradicts his own statement to tug the blankets back down over them both. The tension in him has eased, the sharp corners on his mood dulled smooth, temper talked down from snapping like an elastic band pulled too tight. Keigo does his best to relax in kind, tired body more than happy to give in as he falls, exhausted, on his side. The mattress is all springs and no support, barely wide enough for the both of them and covered in blankets that are old and thinning, but Keigo couldn’t care less- prefers it, actually, to the spacious bed back in his own apartment that always feels too big and empty, just one more reminder of the isolated life he leads. Dabi’s bed is one of the shittiest he’s ever slept in, but it smells comfortingly of smoke instead of Commission money and the thin blankets aren’t a concern with a fire-user warming the bed, and the lack of room is far better than too much open space.

He’s comfortable enough here that he’s willing to leave his feathers abandoned just this once, doesn’t feel the itch to have them close enough to grab at a moment’s notice. It’s surprisingly nice, relieving in an odd way that he wasn’t expecting, but it doesn’t feel like he’s defenseless when he knows he’s got his best ally guarding his back as it is.

As if reading his thoughts, Dabi chuffs quietly from behind him, pressing his forehead into the nape of Keigo’s neck and winding a spindly arm around the hero’s waist. “Huh- this is an opportunity I don’t get often. Not with those chicken wings of yours getting in the way.”

“Didn’t take you for much of a cuddler, Dabs.” Keigo mumbles in retaliation through a yawn, quickly protesting as the taller man immediately begins pulling away, snatching his wrist and yanking his arm back over his waist before he can remove it entirely. “No, don’t- it’s nice. Don’t move.”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Pigeon.” Dabi’s voice is all gravel and Keigo interlaces their fingers while he’s still got the other man’s hand pinned with his own to ensure he won’t try to distance himself again. It’s more of a personal need than anything, the simple contact, but after the strain of the last few days and having to deal with everything alone, even this is comforting. His heart soars a little higher when he feels an almost shy kiss brushed across the back of his neck, a hesitantly intimate gesture that lasts no longer than a half-second, but it counts. He squeezes Dabi’s hand in gentle acknowledgement, and is surprised when the arsonist speaks up again, almost too quiet to hear but voice still wry, even in its softness. “Sleep, birdie. The world will still be around for you to save tomorrow.”

‘I’m more worried about saving you.’

The thought comes to him unbidden as he’s already drifting off, and he doesn’t realize he’s whispered it aloud until a few seconds later when Dabi, having fallen silent and still, carefully hooks his ankle around Keigo’s shin and pulls him closer with the arm still trapped around the smaller man’s waist. The heat radiating off of him, soothing and familiar, is enough to pull Keigo into the undertow of sleep, held secure in an embrace warmed by embers and hushed by a voice in his ear that winds and fades likes smoke in the evening darkness:

“I’ll still be here tomorrow too, hero; I’m not going anywhere.”

He falls asleep with a villain’s words coaxing him to rest like a lullaby, and allows everything else to fall away.

Chapter Text

In the end of it all, Keigo isn’t sure if Dabi ever does change his mind or if Shigaraki finally picks a new counterpart for him, but when it comes time for him to hand over his selections, the listing under the arsonist’s name isn’t Endeavor’s. In some ways, it’s a relief to find out that his option is some lesser-known (yet still competent) hero with a water quirk, but Keigo’s still uncomfortably aware that Enji not being on the list only means that Dabi will be looking for alternative ways to confront him. That itself isn’t very reassuring, but he hopes that the former Todoroki has enough sense to at least take Keigo’s point about not facing him alone to heart.

Granted, doing the opposite is no slice either. Working with the number one pro is taxing in the best of times, as Hawks is beginning to learn more and more certainly as the days pass. All things considered, it might have been more bearable had he still been blind to the truths of the man under the mantle. Keeping a friendly face around him, still acting as a supportive teammate- the damned triple-agent role could take a seat, this was by far the most challenging acting gig of his career.

If it weren’t for Shouto, he wouldn’t stick around. There’s nothing that Hawks would love to do more than cut all ties to the flame hero altogether, but knowing that Shouto would be left entirely on his own with him otherwise simply isn’t an option. And while the teen has yet to have needed to use his number or have Hawks intervene on a patrol, he’ll be damned before he puts him in a position of thinking he needs to handle this by himself.

It’s a sentiment Dabi shares, though the villain’s in a much more limited position to do anything but seethe about it whenever he sees both Shouto and Endeavor together on the same screen. Lately, the news has been full of nothing but the father-and-son duo, eagerly soaking up all the information they can on the pair, commenting on how incredible it must be to have the privilege of training under the number one hero, and on such a personal basis-

Lately, Dabi has stopped watching the news.

He’d snapped once, after finding out that one announcer had referred to Shouta’s scar as ‘unfortunate’, breaking out into a bitter, sharp laugh. It had been one of his bad days, where he’d been quiet and sullen all afternoon, a haunted look tainting his eyes, and the reporter’s comment hadn’t really been so much the main problem as it was the last straw on the camel’s back, the catalyst for the storm he’d been building to break.

“Unfortunate?” He’d repeated, brimming with rage, fists clenched, “Fuck, do you think that’s all they’d call it if they knew it was old daddy dearest who gave it to him?! What a joke.” Dabi had answered himself before Keigo got the opportunity to, the look on his face something manic. “Nah, actually, that probably wouldn’t change anything- he’d just write it off on Mom again, same as last time. Funny how nobody asked any questions about how she went nuts in the first place. He may not have been the one to pour that kettle, but he’s responsible for all of it.”

“You were still around for that?” Keigo probed gently. He already knew the answer- Dabi hadn’t explained many of the details or big events leading up to when and why he had disappeared, but he did know that it hadn’t been until after Rei had been taken away. The point then had just been to keep him talking and get it out of his system, let the resentment rage its course and die down.

Dabi’s laugh was more strangled this time, an awful choking noise that sputtered from his throat as he leaned into the kitchen counter, pressing all his weight back on his palms. Fortunately, the rest of the League hadn’t been around, or this spectacle would’ve been a disaster to contain.

“Still around for that?‌ Birdie, I was the one who had to carry him all the way to the fucking hospital.” The man’s skin had begun to bleed where some of his staples had pulled too tight, and Keigo had begun searching absently for a tissue, quietly rifling through the kitchen drawers, all of them full of horrendously mismatched things, and almost none of them containing utensils of any kind. “The bastard wouldn’t let Mom come with and I had the most experience with burns, so he tossed Shou to me in the backseat while he sat up front with the driver and told me to get him quieted down by the time we arrived.”‌ Dabi shook his head, eyes glaring vacantly at the empty spanse of wall beside the battered GTA poster Twice had found for Spinner the other day and insisted hanging over the dining table of all places. “It was a forty-three minute trip and all the asshole did was roll up the driver’s screen when Shouto wouldn’t stop crying.”

Keigo knew the rest of that story now, that they’d spent four days in that hospital and by the time Shouto was released, Rei was already gone. It had all happened so fast that neither of them had even gotten the chance to say goodbye, and while small-talk with Shouto had led to Hawks learning that he’d taken to visiting his mother on his time off, the eldest Todoroki son hadn’t seen Rei since the afternoon of the accident more than ten years ago. It’s left a hole in him that Keigo can resonate with, having not seen either of his own parents in well over sixteen or seventeen years too, though that’s been more by choice than anything else on his part.

Family’s always been a sensitive subject for him, a profuse ache in the soul over something intangible yet always present. Looking at the world around him, it’s constantly impossible to not notice the relationships everyone else has that he lacks, how others take those around them for granted without consideration of how life would be without them. In a way it’s frustrating and disheartening, but finding a place among the League has filled some of the cavities, even if it can’t entirely unwork the damage or ease the hurts of knowing he’ll never have a family Christmas, never see them in the front row at his wedding, never-

No, that’s a dangerous path to walk down. He isn’t even going to allow himself to consider those avenues right now.

Regardless, the situation with Shouto is a precarious one that keeps him up at night and bothers him routinely throughout the day. The boy needs help, that much is inarguable, but what’s up for debate is how much help he can be given right now without upending his life entirely. Whether Hawks likes it or not, they can’t just come forward with their claims against Enji, especially not while Shouto still lives with him and has nowhere else to go. Beyond that, with how badly the media has latched onto the dual-quirked boy and his father, a scandal like this would be the talk of all headlines for months. That kind of explosive, constant lack of privacy isn’t something Shouto Todoroki is ready for, particularly not without a proper support system in place. So, on that front, Hawks’ hands are tied. It’s a damned frustrating thing, seeing someone who needs that help and being unable to do anything to get him out of there yet.

But he remembers being in a similar position and how, at the time, any hand extended in help had been a treasured gift indeed. It was unfortunate luck and a round of life’s bad cards that had led to the hands extended to him being attached to a corrupt organization who had been looking out for their own gain, but that doesn’t have to be the case here. He can still try to get involved before anyone else with less-than-honourable intentions does; heck, with a quirk like Shouto’s and how powerful he’s proven it to be, there’s not a single hero agency in Japan that wouldn’t be sprinting to snatch him up if word got out that he was in a compromised position. For some, it would be a popularity boost and a definite position in the spotlight as the hero who saved Endeavor’s son. For others, it would be an opportunity to snag a powerful sidekick, the boy seen as his quirk and nothing more.

Granted, knowing Shouto, Hawks isn’t all that sure that anyone could easily take advantage of the youngest Todoroki if he didn’t want them to. Shouto’s a remarkably bright kid, perceptive and quick-witted, and stubborn as hell. That being said, he’s still a child and it’s not fair to expect him to act as anything more than that, regardless of his stoic sense of maturity. He’s in a vulnerable position, and like it or not there are some who will try to use both that and his lack of adult status to take advantage of him in ways that are beyond his control. Hawks hates to think what kind of weapon a group like the Commission could turn him into if they’re able to get their hands on him, and he knows without a doubt that they’ll try if they see an opening.

So he sticks as close as he can without raising suspicion, tries to be a friend even if he’s struggling to do much else. All the while, he keeps a firm eye on Endeavor too, watching how he interacts with his youngest son, watches his movements and expressions, begins marking the little tics that indicate when his moods are shifting, his tells for what moves he’ll make next. He’s dissecting the Number One Hero piece by piece and taking careful note of everything he finds, because regardless of whether Enji is truly trying to change or not, Hawks isn’t willing to give him a single inch of leeway. If this man has so much as a thought of harming his son, Hawks is going to know, and he’s going to be there in time to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Shouto Todoroki deserves that much and more, but this is what he can give him for now.

“Hawks! On your left!”

The winged hero lets loose a few feathers at Shouto’s warning, successfully pinning the static-quirked criminal to the wall behind him and flying up out of the range of the charged shock-attack she’d launched at his wings only a moment beforehand.

“Thanks, kid!”

All in all, the skirmish isn’t a big one. It’s nothing more than a typical patrol would present: five criminals wrapped up in a botched robbery gone wrong when a civilian had noticed them breaking into a building from the street. For two pros and one hero in training, the fight itself isn’t a huge deal, but what makes it a challenge is that they’re fighting in a downtown epicenter during the busiest part of the day while trying to keep innocent people out of the conflict zone and damage to a minimum. 

Damn, he hates when he can’t resolve situations like this quickly. What a pain in the ass.

Hawks soars upwards above the fight in a sharp vertical incline that sets him high above the buildings they’re fighting between, trying to get a better view of the chaos below. Endeavor is at arms against the second criminal, one with a nasty blade quirk that’s making it hard for him to get close enough to restrain the man. Shouto’s taken on the third who made a break for a nearby alley, only for the young man to quickly put an end to his escape, encasing him in ice up to the waist. He’s engaged with the fourth felon now, leaving Hawks to deal with the fifth.

As it turns out, he has to deal with him quickly as the man draws a gun of all things, eyeing Hawks down the length of the pistol. ‘ Fuck- that’s not good.’   The winged hero immediately falls into a dive to make himself a more difficult target, loosing several more feathers directly at the criminal. “Gun!” He shouts as a warning to the others, just in time for the man to get one shot in, the gun going off with a resounding bang that has Hawks barrel-rolling out of the way, his feathers hitting home and restraining the man an instant later. The pistol hits the concrete, useless without a hand on the trigger, and Hawks straightens out, directing his feathers to take the man skyborne, eager to get him out of the equation. That leaves three down and two to go.

Seeing that Endeavor almost has his opponent taken care of, the Number Two hero turns his attention to the man’s son, who’s still locked in combat, holding his own but not making much progress against his target who appears to have a dismantling quirk. The woman’s ruining his ice left and right, no matter what he tries, and it’s clear that Shouto’s starting to get frustrated with the cat and mouse game they’re playing. “Hold tight, Shouto!” Hawks calls, swooping in to help. As it turns out, his help isn’t needed.

The youngest Todoroki chooses then to switch tactics, releasing a large burst of flame that distracts the criminal for the split second he needs to freeze her properly. It’s a solid plan and good, quick thinking on his part as the teen manages to freeze the woman in such a position that she can’t bend her arms to touch her destructive hands to the ice holding her in place. She’s effectively immobilized and no longer a threat.

The only unfortunate thing is that he didn’t account for his fire affecting Hawks’ flight.

The winged hero swears in surprise as he hits the unexpected updraft of hot air, the propulsion throwing him off balance and hard to his left like a plastic grocery bag caught in the wind. He manages to get himself righted with a few strong beats of his wings, but by the time he’s in control and gets his vision back in focus, he’s met with another problem.

“Gotcha!” The static villain howls, Shouto’s blast having knocked Hawks directly in her line of fire. This time he isn’t fast enough to move fully out of the way, one of his wings taking the brunt of the attack as he tries to dodge. The charged electricity slams into him like a train, sensitive feathers spasming under the shock, wings locking mid-flight. He’s free-falling before he even knows what’s happening, has enough sense to forcibly release as many of his primaries as he can get to fly, the larger feathers snatching through his clothes and yanking upward to help slow his descent, though his control over them is considerably weaker than normal. It’s a heart-stopping few seconds that he never wants to relive, paralyzed and hurtling towards the ground, having just enough time to hope blindly that his barely-functioning feathers will be enough-

Hawks still hits the concrete hard, but hopefully not hard enough to do any lasting damage, though tumbling across the pavement is hardly fun. Come the next morning he’ll be covered in bruises and his skinned jaw will be more apparent, but for now he’s focused on getting himself up off the ground and getting some mobility back in his wings. Irritated, he tries shaking them out, frustrated to find that the motion is jerky and almost mechanical, like a poorly-maintained machine in desperate need of oil. It’s a sad state to be in and, albeit temporary, he’s essentially grounded for the time being.

Fortunately for him, the fight is already over, Endeavor dispatching their last opponent in that moment as though Hawks’ fall was their last grand hurrah, the closing of the show. With the scene now safe enough for the police to enter and handle things, the winged hero carefully conducts the feathers he has holding the former gunman aloft to bring him safely downward, the man being cuffed the moment he reaches the ground. An officer nods his way in thanks and Hawks nods back before wincing as he rolls his aching shoulders, tentatively flexing his arms for any sign of strain from the fall. It’s not so much that he’s in enough pain that he’s worried of the possibility for injury, but he’s more than aware that his bones, hollow and lightweight like a bird’s, are not sturdy in the slightest. It doesn’t take much to cause an unnoticed fracture or crack that can quickly turn into something more severe, and that’s a few weeks’ worth of heavily-monitored recovery that he doesn’t need right now.

“Hawks!” Shouto jogs out into the road where he’s standing, his expression and tone flat, though Hawks is perceptive enough to read the concern in his mismatched eyes. There’s guilt there too, but the winged hero chooses not to comment on it, putting on an easy face instead. He’s not really damaged that he can tell, beyond what’s sure to be a hell of a lot of bruising later, and there’s no use worrying the boy over an easy mistake. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine kid, no worries. I’ve taken worse spills than that before.” Hawks grins, making a ‘calm down’ gesture with his hands. Shouto nods, but the frown on his face betrays his conscience.

“I’m sorry,”‌ He says openly without hesitation, Hawks appreciating his blunt nature once again. The dual-quirked sure doesn’t mince time or words, and, unlike his father, isn’t too held up on his pride to apologize without struggling over it. “I should’ve been more aware of where you were and considered how my attack would affect you. That was irresponsible of me.”

Keigo’s smile is more genuine this time, reaching out a hand to clap the youngest Todoroki on the shoulder, and using the other to push up his visor.

“It was an easy mistake, Shouto, and we can share the blame on this one. I‌ should’ve been more aware of my surroundings too- I flew right into your attack without thinking. You had everything handled on your own.”

Shouto nods silently in acceptance, shoulders sloping just a little with relief. The trick to understanding Shouto Todoroki, Hawks has learned, is to read and hear all the things he doesn’t say just as equally as the words he manages. He’s blunt, but not much of a sharer, and just because it seems like he doesn’t ever have much to say doesn’t mean there isn’t something being said.

His brother is very much the same way, though Hawks sometimes feels he needs a cipher to decode Dabi’s meanings from his words. He shares Shouto’s blunt nature but none of his honesty, and the way he conceals things under words like they’re hiding places can be near impossible to navigate. He’s particularly bad about being verbally honest about his emotions when it comes to things he considers a vulnerability, tending to default into drawling sarcasm and an easy devil-may-care attitude to take cover behind when his walls have been stripped down. It can be difficult at times, but Dabi demonstrates honesty through action better than words, and Keigo has come to both accept and appreciate the gestures when they come. Things like quietly wearing one of Keigo’s feathers on him at all times, how he initiates small, fleeting touches though he hates contact from everyone else, how he has a whole collection of nicknames for the winged hero, but never calls him Hawks- he shows he cares in the most subtle of ways, yet admitting vocally to any kind of affection without making it some kind of joke is like raking nails through his skin.

Keigo fleetingly wonders if that’s a family trait.

“ Shouto !” Hawks’ head snaps up at the sound of Endeavor approaching, but Shouto’s reaction is faster, his entire posture and expression going rigid again in an instant. The look on the taller man’s face is one of extreme irritation, Hawks frowning at his intimidating approach. Endeavor storms more than he walks, glowers more than frowns. He looks like he’s on a warpath, and once upon a time Hawks might have seen that as an attribute, but now all he sees is a man unnecessarily trying to throw his weight around. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings! That kind of reckless accident is unacceptable if you’re looking to be a pro. You’re lucky nobody was more seriously injured.”

“Yes Father,”‌ Shouto mutters flatly, though with the distance still between them, Hawks isn’t even sure that Endeavor can hear it. Sensing a spat about to take place, Hawks jumps in, keeping his voice light and cheery.

“No harm done, Endeavor! It was just a mistake, and Shouto’s already apologized. It wasn’t all his fault either.”

Shouto glances up at Hawks in mild surprise when he defends him, only to look away again when‌ Endeavor nears, voice booming.

“Shrugging off negligence doesn’t improve his skill, Hawks.” Shouto stares hard at the ground, ignoring his father when he comes to loom over him. The boy only continues to stiffen as the reprimanding barrage continues, Endeavor’s voice escalating in volume. “If you’re going to be an active part of patrols, you need to take these situations seriously. This isn’t a UA class, and I won’t tolerate-”

“Listen, I get that shrugging it off isn’t going to help the kid but I don’t think any of this is either.” Hawks placates, hoping that Endeavor will at least take the hint and lower his voice. There are still civilians wandering around and police officers handling the scene- a public humiliation isn’t the kind of lesson Shouto needs, especially when he’s already noticed where he was lacking in performance. More particularly, the boy definitely doesn’t need his father giving him a verbal lashing, shouting at him in the middle of the street. That’s not going to be effective in any regard. 

He seems to be blocking out most of the words, but the sheer force of Endeavor’s tone, whether accidental or not, has Shouto’s shoulders hunched up by his ears, hands clenched into fists, eyes vacant. Endeavor doesn’t seem to notice though, turning to Hawks with a frown at the interruption.

“I’ll determine how best to train my own son, Hawks-”

The flame hero reaches out for Shouto’s arm, presumably to take them both to a less public setting to talk, but his hand never lands as Shouto’s downed eyes meet Keigo’s for a split, fleeting second, and-

A wall of red goes flying up between the boy and his father before he even has a moment to think, instincts kicking into high gear.

‘Huh. Guess my mobility’s back.’

“Hawks-” Endeavor begins with his eyes narrowed, clearly not impressed with the wing that’s shot up to separate him from his son. Hawks knows the older pro could burn this makeshift barrier away with a snap of his fingers if he so chose, that his feathers serve only as a visual protection and nothing more in this case. Still, he lets them stand, spreads them out as broad as they’ll unfurl, and holds his ground.

“ Enough .” Keigo snaps, letting the single word come out sharp enough that Endeavor blinks in surprise at the force of it. Gone is the jovial, lighthearted character that the flame hero has come to know, and Hawks gets the impression that both of them are suddenly very aware that this version is exceedingly more genuine. “It was an accident. He knows , for fuck’s sake. Let it go.”

From behind him, Hawks’ feathers can sense that Shouto’s stopped breathing, holding his breath while waiting for Endeavor to react. He doesn’t want to see the boy’s face right now- Hell, he doesn’t want Endeavor seeing Shouto’s face right now, so he flares his wings up just a bit higher, lets them arc and bristle defensively, giving the teen a wall to hide behind, even if it’s just to block him from view.

For a few tense seconds, nothing happens. They’re locked in a standoff in the middle of the now-barricaded street with witnesses all around, and Hawks can tell that much more of this is going to cause a scene. Endeavor seems to come to the same realization, because eventually he turns with a grunt, walking away without another word. Shouto steps awkwardly forward as Hawks lowers his wings once again, shaking them out lightly to settle his feathers, which had sharpened involuntarily in the altercation. To his annoyance, some of them are fried from the static villain’s attack, burnt and useless, which means he’ll have to go through the painstaking process of preening them later, but that’s a problem he can put off for now.

“You didn’t have to do that,”‌ Shouto says at length, quietly. He pauses for a second before frowning and admitting, almost grudgingly, “He’s right- I do need to learn to be better.”

“We’ve talked about this- I’m in your corner, remember? And you are learning to be better.”‌ Hawks answers, tone serious as he turns to the younger man. Shouto meets his gaze evenly, expression hard to read, “That’s the whole point. You’re learning; mistakes happen. This is the time for them. The problem,”‌ He glances back at Enji, now a good distance away and still walking, “Is that telling you to be better and teaching you to be better are two different things, Shouto.”

“I should be able to identify and overcome my weaknesses without them being pointed out by others.”‌ Shouto replies automatically, almost as though he’s reading off a page. Hawks quirks an eyebrow at him, pushing his visor back down and his hands in his pockets.

“If that’s the case, then what the hell was the point of putting you on an internship?”‌ Hawks asks, blunt but not unfriendly as he watches Shouto mull his words over, frown deepening. “Your plan was a good one, especially for thinking on your feet against a difficult opponent for your quirk. With any other teammate, it would’ve gone off without a hitch. The only reason it got messy is because the burst of flame you used was strong enough to create a powerful updraft of heated air that I got caught in, and it pulled me off course.” He lets the dual-quirked boy digest this information for a second before adding, “You aren’t going to be able to control the updraft let off by your flames any more than you can control how your fire moves, but you should be able to redirect it a bit if you use different angles and reduce the force of the flames you’re producing. That’s all there is to it, really.”

Shouto nods slowly, working through the advice meticulously and seeming to come to a satisfied conclusion.

“Thank you.” There’s a few seconds before Shouto pipes up again, Hawks beginning to walk away and beckoning him to come with. “What happened to having no interest in teaching the younger generation?”

“Just because I don’t teach doesn’t mean I can’t .”

“Tell that to Tokoyami.”

“What- hey !” Hawks wheels around in mock offense, only to find Shouto Todoroki staring straight ahead with the faintest of smiles on his face, teasing. It’s the first time Shouto’s ever been relaxed enough to joke around with him and while it may not be much, it’s a definite start. Hawks smacks the boy’s shoulder lightly in reciprocation, earning a tiny, almost inaudible chuckle for his efforts. “How rude! I’ll let it go this time, you little-” Keigo pauses, an idea coming to him out of nowhere. “Hey Shouto, how long is your work study with your old man supposed to last?”

Shouto eyes him curiously, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. His smile disappears.

“Another few weeks, and then we’re into exams. We pick up again after that. Why?”

‘He still has Shouto. He’s alone with him.’

Something resolute solidifies in Hawks’ chest then, undeveloped but sure. It’s barely a plan at this stage, barely an idea, but if he can somehow pull it off…

“Hawks?”‌ Shouto asks again, sounding more concerned, and the winged hero breaks his train of thought to offer him a wide, reassuring smile, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair, much to his chagrin.

“It’s nothing, kiddo. Just curious.”

Just curious.

Just curious.

Just curious enough to try.

Chapter Text

The man’s grey eyes are rigid and unyielding as he stares Hawks down, immovable and cold.

“ Absolutely not .”

With an answer as instantaneously refusive as that, he probably shouldn’t argue.

Logic suggests that the wise move here would be not to push. Keigo already feels like he’s almost pushed too far in even coming here at all, in approaching this man’s desk, in the request that he’s just tipped off his tongue, already being shut down. He’s more than aware that his request is a flimsy one, that his makeshift idea of a plan isn’t one of the average calling and that he’s honestly stepping way out of line in even suggesting it. More than anything he’s getting the sense that this whole meeting is just a very large annoyance to the person sitting across from him, but then again, maybe Shouta Aizawa just has that effect on every conversation he enters.

All the same, he has to try.

“Eraser-”

“I said no, Hawks.” Aizawa’s eyes narrow in irritation, firm and resolute. Keigo’s heart sinks a little, but he does his best not to let it show, putting on a bright smile and refusing to back down so easily.

“C’mon, do you not think I can handle it?”

“If you not being able to ‘handle it’  has any correlation to me believing you’re a media show-pony who’s only doing this to stir the pot for publicity,” Aizawa answers flatly, sitting back in his chair,‌ “Then yes, I think you’re somewhat underqualified.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Oh really?” Eraserhead raises an eyebrow in a way that almost looks bored, like this whole scenario has been played out to its fullest and he’s simply indulging extra time to the winged hero now, “And what other reason would the Number Two hero have for trying to get one of my best students transferred to his agency midyear when he’s already in an internship? I’m assuming that Shouto’s being the Number One’s son doesn’t have anything to do with this at all either.”

The scruffy man’s tone is nothing but sarcasm, annoyance basically dripping from each syllable. Hawks frowns, leaning back on one of the empty student desks behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. He’d been hoping, when he came up with this proposal, that Aizawa would take him seriously. He should’ve known, though, that he’d need to put up a little bit of a fight.

In all honesty, Keigo’s completely aware of what kind of image he presents as Hawks: cocky and reckless, the type to act on a whim and use a smile to get away with whatever he wants just because he can. Thinking of how this must look, it’s no wonder that Eraser’s so keen on turning him away. After all, regardless of Keigo’s real intention, there’s no mistaking the fact that this gesture isn’t a polite one to Japan’s current pro hero at the top of the charts.

Hell, he’s talking about cutting Endeavor’s own protege out from under him and taking him on as his  intern. There’s no way that couldn’t be read as an enormous “fuck you” to the flame hero, and Hawks would be lying if he said he didn’t know the media would be all over this if his plan actually goes through. That being said, it has to go through Aizawa first, and so far it’s looking like he’s holding tight to his cards while Hawks has everything laid out on the table.

Keigo can’t blame the other man for being defensive. If he were a teacher in Aizawa’s position, he’d probably do the same, especially after the number of attacks and targettings his class has been through over the last year. He’s bound to be protective, and in a way it’s good to see- but this request isn’t one that Hawks is making lightly, and he’s trying to be protective in his own right too.

“I know that it’s unorthodox,” Hawks insists, causing Aizawa to blink pointedly, looking nonplussed, “These kinds of internships- Shouto’s supposed to be continuing with Endeavor’s agency after exams, right? He’s already been accepted there for the term and I understand that much. I get it, Eraser. I’m not asking this just to stir up trouble.”

Aizawa eyes him skeptically, waiting for the younger man to explain himself. Hawks pauses, trying to gather his thoughts and words altogether, running a hand through his hair.

“Listen, Endeavor is a… Difficult man to work with.”

“Bold words for the man with a reputation for flying solo.” Grey eyes narrow, “If that’s all this is about, leave my student out of your grudges.”

Hawks’ phone chooses this opportune time to chime in his pocket, his fourth persistent message since walking in the room. He doesn’t bother checking it, just slides the ringer into silent mode as Aizawa’s mouth tugs into a scowl, almost as though the continued disruption is just furthering his point that the younger hero isn’t taking this as seriously as he should be. 

The messages can wait, though Hawks is sure he knows exactly what he’ll find there when he does get around to checking them. For now, he has a bigger problem to deal with, and Shouta Aizawa’s proving to be one hell of an adversary.

“Aizawa, please.” Keigo sighs, finally losing the false bravado entirely. It’s not getting him anywhere, and he gets the sense that Aizawa will appreciate blunt honesty more than plastered-on confidence. The weariness in his tone catches the older man’s attention and he falls silent again, still impatient but listening at the very least. That much leeway is enough for Keigo to work with, a smidgen of hope returning to him. Listening means there’s still a chance this could work, but he’s going to have to drop all the bullshit and just cut to the chase. “It’s- Shouto is exactly what this is about, alright? I know the kid. I’ve worked with him for weeks- I know what he’s like. But I also know Endeavor and I’ve worked with him in action, and I promise you that they’re not a good match.” This is tentative ground. It’s not that Keigo doesn’t like being honest, but being this transparent with someone he doesn’t know is disconcerting, especially when the information he’s starting to reveal isn’t his own to manage. Nothing about this is anything like the underground work he’s used to. 

The blond rubs the back of his neck, unsure how to proceed. It isn’t his place to hand out Shouto’s story, particularly when he’s fully aware there’s a lot the boy didn’t tell him, but there’s no way he can just let the matter slide under the rug either. “Endeavor’s intense and he has a lot of drive to be the best. In different circumstances, he might have made a great mentor, but with his own son… He doesn’t know when  to draw the line with how far to push him, and there’s a lot of bad blood between the two already. It’s brutal to watch, and I can’t imagine how hard it is on the kid.” He’s still hedging, reluctant to give away details that he only has a vague, shady idea of or that Shouto may want to discuss on his own, but it’s enough to open the door to a more proper discussion as Aizawa’s mood shifts imperceptibly into something a bit more cold. There’s a rigidness in him that hadn’t been there before; though his body still sits slouched, Keigo can tell he’s got his full attention. 

Aizawa isn’t just listening anymore. He’s looking for something now.

“Endeavor’s always been a nuisance when it comes to Shouto and his training- his manner at the Sports Festival was more than proof of that, and there have been other instances besides. But my question is,” The older man tugs absently at his binding scarf, the gesture practiced and smooth from years of use. “Such an avid fan of Endeavor, Hawks- what’s changed all of a sudden?”

Everything. God, everything has changed.

“I’ve had my eyes opened to some things recently that have… Greatly affected my perspective.” Hawks picks at the hemming on his jacket cuffs before continuing with a wry smile, more habit than anything. “Never meet your heroes, you know?”

Aizawa doesn’t even blink, just regards him wordlessly for a few uncomfortable beats that have Hawks trying not to squirm under his gaze like a worm on a hook. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and sharp, dangerous enough to feel the sting like a cut.

“Cut the bullshit for once and be honest with me, Hawks- is Todoroki in danger?”

Under any other circumstance, Hawks would’ve laughed at the irony of Aizawa’s words and his own attempts to do just that already, though it seemed he hadn’t done quite well enough for the older man’s standards. Aizawa’s tone reeks of threat, but Keigo can tell it isn’t directed towards him. There’s worry there, worry for Shouto with roots deeper than this conversation. Hawks is beginning to sense that this isn’t Aizawa’s first suspicion that there’s more going on behind the scenes than he’s been aware of, but perhaps it’s the first solid piece of evidence he’s had to support his fears. If that’s the case, this situation just took a very unanticipated turn.

The winged hero weighs his answer carefully, feathers ruffled. The grounds of this conversation are a little too unstable for his tastes, a little too loose. There’s no clear divider of how much he should or shouldn’t say, and this isn’t a situation that he wants to treat like a mission, ruthless in his execution. This is fragile, delicate, and he doesn’t want to end up hurting Shouto more than helping.

“I’m not sure,”‌ Keigo admits eventually with hesitation, dragging a hand down his face. Aizawa’s eyes narrow once again in irritation and he goes to say something, but Hawks cuts him off before he can launch into whatever exasperated retort he’s about to say, “I’m not trying to be ambiguous, Eraser. It’s just- Shouto’s told me things and... So have others.” He corrects himself quickly, attempting to be more specific so his concern may be understood, “Things about the past, but not so much the present. I don’t know what kind of situation he’s in now, so it’s hard to say. Danger? Maybe not, but I’m leery to take the risk.”‌ Hawks shrugs his shoulders, meeting Aizawa’s gaze head-on. There’s a growing anger in his expression, barely contained under his lackadaisical pretense. “I know I don’t have the whole scope on everything that’s happened either; just snippets, and some of them pretty glossed-over, but they’re enough for me to know that there’s no way that kind of history hasn’t followed Shouto through this whole ordeal. He’s so reactionary, and from what I understand of his early years, a lot of those reactions aren’t derived from great experiences. I’m sure you’ve probably noticed some of them yourself.”

Keigo knows he’s being too vague about what he’s been told for Aizawa to not have questions, but that much he isn’t going to budge on. “And as far as everything goes, Shouto should be the one to tell you about any of the details if he’s willing, and on his own terms. That can’t come from me. It’s not like I have a lot of that info to begin with, but he deserves to have control over that much.”

In a way, he feels somewhat guilty- knowing what he knows, most people wouldn’t hesitate to tell Aizawa everything and let him handle it from there. It would be a responsible course of action, getting the proper authorities informed and involved, but Keigo has come to understand something else: he has a responsibility to Shouto‌ Todoroki as well.

Shouto trusts him, or is beginning to, and that’s not something he can treat with disregard. Even to the extent that he knows him, he’s more than aware that it isn’t in Shouto’s nature to trust blindly. To have the honour of it is a privilege, not a right, and one misstep would be all it takes to lose it entirely. The boy is expecting Keigo to uphold his end of their deal and keep Shouto’s story secret and safe; it’s a trial of sorts, a way of testing the waters to see whether or not Hawks is a safe person to put his faith in, and Keigo can’t blame him for taking precautions. Shouto’s lived a hell of a solitary, self-defended life in which helping hands have been infrequent and noncommital, and Keigo refuses to be yet another person who’s let down the youngest Todoroki.

It poses a moral dilemma, but that’s not something that Hawks is entirely unfamiliar with these days. In fact, ‘moral dilemma’ sums up a majority of his current life choices over the last few months, so he’s well-versed in this if anything.

But on the other hand, he’s not lying when he says he doesn’t have the details Aizawa’s probably looking for. Shouto’s discussion with him over the whole thing had been brief and condensed, and there’s a lot Keigo knows he left out. More than anything, the legitimate details he does have are from Dabi’s occasional stories, and that’s not information he can freely bring up either. A lot of the memories he has are from times when Shouto was still small, and there’s nothing saying that Shouto has even faint recollections of any of the same events. The last thing Keigo wants is to offer up some of Dabi’s stories only to have questions arise if they’re cross-referenced with Shouto and the boy has no idea what they’re talking about. It would be incredibly hard to explain how he would know more about the Todoroki’s home life than the youngest Todoroki himself, especially if he were referring to situations that Shouto was directly involved in and can’t remember. That’s a nightmare Keigo doesn’t want on his hands.

If Aizawa is going to take a hand in any of this, he’s going to need a more reliable source than what little intel Hawks can actually give him, and that means talking to Shouto either way. It’s the cleanest route for all of them to take, albeit possibly not the easiest. Shouto isn’t exactly a ‘pour your heart out’ kind of person and there’s nothing saying he’ll want to talk to Aizawa about any of this, but it’s really one of their only options.

Speaking of Aizawa, Hawks is anticipating some kind of push-back from the teacher, but the man just nods quietly, grey eyes gone stormy. He mulls for a few moments, clearly upset, though he doesn’t comment on it and manages to keep most of it retained internally. When he finally goes to speak, he mutters a few choice curse words under his breath, before reining in most of his composure.

“Todoroki isn’t an open book. I’m glad to see you understand the gravity of that.” Aizawa pinches the bridge of his nose eventually and sighs, the sound heavy and burdened. “I’ll tell him there’s an offer open from your agency if he wants to switch internships after exams.” Keigo stands up straighter in surprise and elation, though the erasure-hero  isn’t finished. His voice boldens in strength and authority as he adds, “Quite frankly, his opinion is the one that matters to me more than yours and Endeavor’s combined. I won’t push him to go either way without knowing fully what’s going on, but if what you say is true, he should have an out if he needs one.” Aizawa opens his eyes again, dropping his hands and leaning forward somewhat in his chair. “I don’t know what’s driven him to confide in you, but it’s clear he trusts you if that’s the case.”

The man doesn’t elaborate on the subject beyond what he’s already said, gaze pointed, but Hawks hears what he’s saying loud and clear. Reasonably, if Shouto does need to be transferred to someone else, Hawks is probably one of the best candidates for the job. Beyond having earned Shouto’s trust already and already having a relationship with the teen, Hawks has worked with the dual-quirked boy enough to have a sense of the boundaries of his abilities, what he’s capable of, where his strengths and weaknesses lie. That puts him in a more advantageous position than anyone else coming in with a blank slate, and should prevent Shouto from falling behind the rest of his classmates.

But the unsaid implications are stronger and much more simple than that. Todoroki has put his tentative confidence in Keigo of all people, and Aizawa doesn’t want him fucking that up, especially with how precarious this situation may have just become. Hawks doesn’t know what, exactly, Aizawa’s plans are for dealing with this going forward, but he’s under the impression that there’s no way in hell the older hero plans on letting this conversation drop here. In a way, that’s reassuring. Aizawa isn’t his own teacher- heck, he isn’t even that much older than Keigo, really- but it’s somehow relieving, knowing the other man is on his side, like things can’t really go wrong. It’s ridiculous, really it is, and Hawks knows that Shouta “Eraserhead” Aizawa is no less human than he is, but there’s something empowering in knowing he’s involved, even if it’s not to a large degree yet. “But I also know your style,” The man in question continues, “You’re not the type to spend time on anything. If you’re not willing to dedicate yourself to this, let someone else who will step in. This isn’t a situation you can just up and walk away from when you lose interest.”

“I’m not going to walk away.”‌ Keigo promises, blatantly ignoring his phone as it begins ringing adamantly, demanding his attention. Aizawa raises an eyebrow at the interruption, more prominent than before.

“Should you be answering that?”

He doesn’t want to. Should he?‌ Probably, but he’s not in the mood for a lecture. ‌Still, he pulls his phone from his pocket and drops it on the desk beside him, catching sight of the contact. It’s one of his handlers, Toshiaki, no doubt resorting to calling after the last stream of messages he’d sent had gone unanswered. His ringtone is one of the few set to go through on ringer even if his phone is on silent mode, and it’s never been anything but an annoyance, though he doesn’t dare change it.

Hawks is willing to bet this call is to give him hell for being a no-show in the promotional shoot he’s supposed to be on set for right now. Well, technically, he was supposed to be on set an hour ago, and very clearly never made the trip. To his credit, he’d cancelled the day before, but Keigo suspects there’s still a set somewhere in Japan that’s waiting for him to show regardless. He hits the decline call button for both the sake of sanity and pettiness and turns back to Eraser to continue what he’d been saying.

“I understand what it’s li-”

The sound of a phone ringing cuts him off once again, the screen flashing with the same contact as before. For a second Keigo considers turning it off entirely, but then he realizes that maybe this will be important for Eraser to hear, just to get a taste of where he’s coming from- not as the showy, confident hero with a knack for flair and moving too fast, but as himself, the man behind the facade. After a beat of anxiousness he allows the call to come through, putting it on speaker with a small dose of trepidation. This isn’t a side of his career that he puts on display often, doesn’t typically allow the lines of his leash to be visible but for once, just this once, he thinks it might do him a favor. “Toshiaki, hey-”

“Where the hell are you?”

“Preoccupied; I’m dealing with something-”

“Well, wrap it up fast. Kasumi’s been freaking out for the last hour and it’s driving all of us mental.  You know how many strings she had to pull to get this team together?”

Hawks frowns, not exactly surprised that his cancellation had been ignored, but not happy about it at all either. One hand splays instinctively across his ribs as he recalls his fall from the day before, bone and muscles protesting even under the gentle contact. He’s covered in bruises and everything still aches.

“Toshiaki, I already told you I’m not in any kind of position for a shoot.”

He’d felt bad yesterday afternoon, asking for the postponement on such short notice- Kasumi was a newer hire and this had been her first big gig that she’d put together on her own, but the fact of the matter is that photoshoots are a painstaking, tiring process in the best of times and Hawks can’t imagine spending five hours in front of a camera right now. The idea of being poked and prodded to stand or sit a certain way, smile a certain way, “bend your body like this,” “tilt your head up more,” and make it all look effortlessly natural while caked in makeup? Not to mention the clothes- very rarely does he ever walk into a shoot that has clothing that works comfortably with his wings, and more often than not that’s a frustration all in itself. Even though most of the articles are designed and cut for wing-quirked individuals, most people don’t have Hawks’ secondary trait for control and sensitivity through his feathers. It just makes him doubly aware if the gaps for his wings are still too constrictive, extra sensitive to the texture of the fabric, hyperaware of the heat of the lights- the whole process is a sensory nightmare. Hawks is used to it enough to be good at the whole modelling thing, but that doesn’t really make it any easier and the tumble he’d taken on patrol with Shouto and Endeavor had done a number on him. The only thing he really wants to be doing is resting, and it’s becoming increasingly more clear that’s probably not going to be the case.

“We’ve got makeup teams for that.”‌ Keigo locks eyes with Aizawa and doesn’t say anything as the man’s expression goes cautiously stony again, the two of them unmoving and silent as the voice on the phone continues to speak. “Listen, these people used to shoot for All Might. Do you really think they’re going to want to postpone just because their subject’s been a little beat up?‌ They’re used to having a hero walk on set with a smile regardless of what went down the day before. That’s the image they’re looking for, and that’s what we’re going to provide.”

“I’m not All Might.” Hawks retorts flatly, and Toshiaki snorts on the other end of the line, unamused.

“Maybe not, but you are the Number Two hero and you represent all of us, not just yourself. This kind of insolence is bad for our image, Hawks. You know how many heroes they’ve got on a waiting list for shoots like this? Other people would be begging for this opportunity.” Keigo doesn’t care who they’ve photographed for- really, he’d rather they cancel entirely and call up some starter photographers instead to give them a healthy leg up; it’s not like his brand is going to suffer from not having photographers that have reached national renown. There’s a pause before Toshiaki continues, Hawks beginning to clench his teeth. “Kasumi’s managed to convince the team to extend our time into a double-shoot this evening so we can get some more work done-”

Hawks crosses his arms, bristling.

“Tonight’s my night off.”

“We’re not wasting a chance like this, Hawks.‌ Besides, putting in a few later hours can make up for you standing everyone up this morning. It’s only fair.”

Standing them up by an hour barely equates to sacrificing an entire evening for this kind of process, but Hawks doesn’t comment on it.

“I already have plans-”

“Cancel them. I’ll see you on set by two.”

The man hangs up without another word, leaving Keigo and Aizawa sitting in silence. The older hero’s face is impassive, impossible to read, but he doesn’t look at all impressed. Hawks is the first to break the quiet, raking a hand through his hair once again and giving a short, wry laugh.

“I know what it’s like to feel as though you’re not really in control of your own life,” He says, finishing the statement he’d been trying to make earlier, before Toshiaki’s call had cut him off, “And going through it alone is no picnic. If Shouto’s in that boat, of course I want to bail him out.” He reaches out to slip his phone back into his pocket before he forgets it, and crosses his arms. “I just want to help, Eraser.”

Aizawa regards him for a moment before giving a short nod.

“I’ll be in touch,”‌ He states, lips pursing as he goes to stand, “See Recovery‌ Girl on your way out if you’re hurt. Flying around injured is just asking for trouble.”

Hawks laughs, a more genuine laugh this time around as Aizawa slumps his way to the door and walks through without saying goodbye or waiting for Hawks to leave.

“Yes sir.” He answers jokingly, though he’s the only one there to hear it.  It’s clear spending so many years in a classroom has given the erasure-hero a few universal parental instincts that expand beyond the maintenance of his students. Still, even delivered in that brusque way of Aizawa’s, just having someone care is heartwarming.

Hopefully they can show Shouto Todoroki the same thing.

Chapter Text

It takes three days for Keigo to get a response and when he finally does, it’s a simple email from Aizawa with a few attached documents for him to sign and a simple message reading:

‘Keep looking out for him and don’t let him down.’

The documents are transfer of internship papers with Shouto Todoroki’s information on them, stamped and signed, filled out except for all the areas Keigo’s supposed to address. He doesn’t waste any time, printing off the forms as soon as the email comes through and filling in the required spaces with the first pen he finds in his living room, pulling off the cap with his teeth and using the wall as a writing surface. His writing is messy and scrawled, ruined by his rushed hand and visible lack of patience, the pen’s line wavering and inconsistent, some places more dark with ink than others. Drawing this procedure out by even the few extra minutes it would require to properly take his time feels like nothing short of a scandal, like if he slows at all Aizawa will change his mind or Shouto will shy away, or literally anything will happen that will keep this agreement from going through. It’s a senseless anxiety, but one he can’t help but work under all the same, nervous until he has everything confirmed and set in stone.

Keigo finishes the paperwork and scans it in again, sending everything off in record time and printing out a copy for himself. On yet another hand, it’s almost as though the longer he takes, the longer he’s leaving Shouto waiting, even if that’s completely irrational. They still have a few weeks before they’ll be starting his internship after all. Still, it feels good to have everything taken care of early, to know that he’s done what he can for now and that he’s secured a way to do what he can going forward as well.

In better spirits than he’s been in a while, Keigo pulls out his phone and takes a seat directly on the living room floor, fanning out his wings to catch the copious amount of late-afternoon sunlight streaming in from the windows. The sunset won’t last forever, and in a few hours there won’t be any light left to enjoy, but for now it’s enough to warm his feathers gently, gracious and kind. He lounges in that spot contentedly, stretching his arms and back to clear the strain of his earlier workout and patrol, before unlocking his phone to a very familiar number, now-memorized though it’s entered under no contact name.

‘We still good to meet up tonight?’

He shoots off the message and places his phone on the floor beside him to wait for a reply, continuing his stretches, enjoying the low burn under his skin. All in all, it’s been a good day; patrols have been easygoing recently, helped by the fact that he’s been doing them on his own again. He hadn’t wanted to seem pushy by overcrowding Shouto’s space while he was still in consideration of joining him for internships and had figured this would be as good a time as any to take a break from Endeavor’s patrols and get back on his own two feet for a bit. It was a refreshing breath of fresh air to say the least, well-needed and highly overdue.

That being said, so is tonight, so long as their plans are still a go.

Keigo’s phone buzzes surprisingly quickly, Dabi’s answer coming through much earlier than he’d been anticipating. It’s a rare event that Dabi ever checks his phone, let alone answers anything in a timely fashion.

However, it is in typical cryptic Dabi fashion that he gets address coordinates as a response instead of any kind of basic confirmation. Keigo searches them up quickly and laughs when he discovers that their destination for the night is a factory on the outskirts of the city, shut down and empty for fifteen years, but still standing. It looks like tonight’s going to be another of their adventures in the forgotten corners of Japan, no different than their meet-up at the train station a few weeks prior. Keigo’s come to see them as almost-dates, though Dabi outright refuses to. Regardless, they’re basically their equivalent at this rate, and possibly the closest they’ll ever get.

‘You really know how to take a guy to the nicest places in town.’

The  next message comes through almost immediately, causing Keigo to smile. It looks like Dabi’s actually keeping an eye on his phone for once.

‘Only the best for you, Birdie.’

Keigo can just imagine the villain’s crooked smirk even from here, so familiar by now it’s branded into his memory. The winged hero laughs quietly to himself in return, even if Dabi won’t see it, quickly typing up his next message before going to jump in the shower.

‘As always, babe. See you tonight.’

He’ll order donburi for dinner and bring it with him. Fuck it, they’re due for some celebrating.

All things considered, former Keigo would never have imagined he’d one day be excited to fly himself to the skywalk of an abandoned appliance factory to meet a criminal for supper, but here he is. The menu for the evening is greasy take-out that he’s sure to regret later, a healthy shot of banter, conspiratorial planning for overthrowing a corrupt government system, and coffee and Seven Star smokes respectively. Hawks doesn’t light up cigarettes, so the coffee is to indulge his own caffeine addiction just as Dabi is certain to chase his nicotine. Is it unhealthy?‌ Almost certainly, but Keigo can’t bring himself to care. They’re celebrating after all, and considering this line of work, they could be doing far worse than drinking dark roast at ten in the evening and filling the darkened sky with the dusky tone of smoke.

He touches down on the skywalk gingerly to test how secure it is, wings still aloft behind him in the event that he needs to quickly catch himself, but the metal structure holds secure without so much as a rattle or squeak, quiet as the rest of the building around it. It’s dark inside the factory, even for Keigo’s vision, improved with his raptor traits. There’s a fair amount of moonlight coming in through the upper-story windows, but those are high above his head even from where he’s standing and the lower-story windows are all boarded up. At his estimate, the walkway must be at least six floors above the ground, and there’s at least another three above that, though they’re floorless and open. The factory is tall, full of open space and stripped bare, save mostly for the structure he’s perched on and the occasional sheet of torn canvas or chunk of scrap metal. Even the factory parts themselves have been cleared away, leaving an empty shell of a building almost eery in its decay.

But where human hands have failed it, nature has not. Grass carpets the bottom floor in stubborn patches that have fought their way through the broken concrete, creeping vines scaling the walls. In one corner, he can just make out a few tall, stubby saplings shooting up to fight for the minimal light- trees, young trees and of what kind he doesn’t know, but trees nonetheless.

Keigo smiles to himself, observing the view from above with a careful eye, wishing they could’ve done this during the day. It probably would’ve made for an odd but pretty sight with sunlight coming down through the windows, like a peculiar greenhouse or indoor garden.

The side door opens again, and Keigo can see a dark figure slip through like a ghost, disappearing into the shadows until they reach the ladder for the walkway. It’s a long climb, and it takes a minute for Dabi to maneuver his way up all the rungs. Keigo keeps an eye on him to ensure that he isn't going to fall, offering the arsonist a smile when he finally hauls himself up onto the walkway.

“I should’ve just had you fly me up here, Feathers.” Dabi says in greeting, slightly out of breath and shrugging off a black duffel bag, “Would’ve saved me a lot of effort.”

Keigo scoffs, stepping forward and immediately pulling his arms loosely around Dabi’s thin waist, letting his head fall against the other’s chest.

“Your stubborn ass would never ask for help like that.” He mumbles into Dabi’s shirt, Dabi snorting in response. He brings a hand up to comb through the blond’s wind-tangled hair before returning the hug and resting his chin on Keigo’s head.

“Maybe not, but my lazy ass absolutely would.” Dabi muses dryly, causing Keigo to laugh properly. He seems to notice, after a second, that Keigo has no intention of letting go, so he continues, “Tell that ‘handler’ of yours, or whatever the fuck it is he calls himself, that the next time he tries double-booking you for a photoshoot, it can’t be when I’m trying to take you out. Fucking inconvenient.”

“Dabs, if I tell anyone a villain’s trying to take me out, they’ll be thinking homicide, not dinner.”

Dabi chuffs a quiet snort of a laugh, and Keigo gets the sense that might’ve been the joke he was going for.

“Better for my reputation that way.” He answers amusedly. The shit-eating grin on his face is something that doesn’t need to be seen to be heard in his voice, and Keigo gives an equal unseen smirk in response, relaxing his grip a little and simply breathing in the familiar scent of smoke. It takes a second, but eventually Dabi’s fingers drag carefully through the tiny, soft feathers of Keigo’s wings closest to where his hands can reach, the blonde hero all but sagging against him in gratitude. He’d preened most of his ruined feathers following his last patrol with Shouto and Endeavor, but admittedly he hadn’t bothered going through the smaller ones, figuring that for now his greatest problem were the large feathers that had quite obviously taken a lot of damage. Still, he could feel that the barbs in some of them were out of place and dragging uncomfortably, but they were hard to reach without him shedding his feathers again and going through them all manually. Having someone else finally straighten them after days of ignoring the problem feels amazing.

The arsonist hums knowingly at his reaction, sobering up a little. “Rough week, birdie?”

“You could say that.” Keigo says quietly, allowing a small sigh before adding, “Actually, it wasn’t all bad or anything, it’s just… Been a damned rollercoaster.”

Dabi hums again before drawing away, reaching for his duffel bag. He waves a hand for Keigo to continue while he fights with the zipper, one hand lit with blue fire so he can see what he’s doing. “I’ll explain in a moment. It’s- well, you’ll see.” Keigo takes off his jacket and uses it as a cushion, sitting on the walkway and unpacking his own bag, unearthing boxed donburi and cutlery, as well as picking up his coffee again. Seconds later, he can actually see more than two feet in front of his face as Dabi fishes out a few candles and lights them with his quirk, placing them where they won’t be in the way. That wasn’t a bad idea- Keigo would’ve considered bringing a few battery-operated lamps or flashlights, but their light would’ve been much less natural and a good deal more conspicuous if seen. Dabi finishes up before taking a seat next to Keigo, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, and pointing wordlessly to the takeout boxes. “Donburi.”‌ Keigo supplies. Dabi’s eyes narrow, and Keigo knows what he’s about to say before he bothers asking. “Yes, I ordered yours without fish.” Dabi’s eyes brighten and return to normal.

“Assuming this isn’t what you were talking about, then,” The fire-user says pointedly, nodding in thanks as Keigo slides him his takeout box, “What the hell’s going on? You’re acting off; normally you just cut to the chase.”

“We’re celebrating.” Keigo takes a bite of his own meal before continuing, “So your father’s an asshole-”

“Not surprising or worth celebrating, but thanks for confirming that nothing has changed.”

Keigo elbows the scarred man for the sarcastic interruption, causing Dabi to spill some of his broth, though the wicked grin on his face, brimming with satisfaction at his jibe, proves he’s not bothered.

“We’re not celebrating the fact that he’s an asshole; we’re celebrating the fact that he’s an asshole, but karma’s a bitch.”

Dabi looks up from his dinner, intrigued. He lays down his spoon, raising an eyebrow, that grin fading into something a bit more curious. “Alright Pigeon, you’ve got my attention.”

In all raw, real honesty, Keigo has no idea how Dabi will respond to this. He’s unpredictable in everything but how he burns- his flames, his skin, his words. They all carry singe-marks with them wherever they go, like they’ve been built from ash and to ash they will return. This is personal, and one of the last times the arsonist had a personal bombshell dropped on him, Keigo didn’t hear from him for almost a week and had to resort to pulling answers from Shouto. That had been when Dabi unintentionally revealed himself as Touya, and to this moment Keigo still doesn’t know how he’d reacted to the whole situation in the days following.

So with that in mind, there’s a chance that dumping this on him will be a mistake. Dabi’s only ever really open about his past life when he wants to show that card, and Keigo pushing himself directly into the melee may be a tough pill to swallow, good intentions or no. Granted, how Dabi reacts isn’t going to change the fact that he’s going through with this; he’s still a hero at heart, and if there’s someone in need of help, he’s helping. The fact that this is Shouto, Dabi’s brother, doesn’t make a difference, though maybe the fact that this is Shouto, the boy that Keigo has begun to see as a friend, makes all of it.

Either way, he’s gotten himself this far and hopefully this development will be better received than the former Todoroki incident he bore witness to. Keigo silently pulls a few folded papers from his pocket and passes them over, Dabi taking them with the nimble fingers of a thief with far too much practice. He shoots Keigo a questioning glance for how oddly he’s handling this, flipping the pages open with relative ease. “You’re really starting to weird me out, Birdie.”

“Just read it.”‌ Keigo insists, not wanting to break the news verbally himself. Dabi frowns, but holds the papers closer to the candlelight, setting his supper down properly at his side to avoid spilling it more than he already has. He squints in the flickering light, eyes tracking the words on the page in confusion at first, though as Keigo watches they gradually widen in realization, hands trembling and then going still, the expression on his face not changing.

“What are these?”

“Exchange of internship papers.”‌ Keigo responds nodding towards the pages when Dabi’s gaze rakes over him as if to confirm that they’re not fake. “Signed and ready to go. Shouto’s interning with me for the rest of the year as soon as exams are over.” There’s a heavy moment of silence between them as Dabi tries to process what he’s just been told. He reaches for his necklace distractedly and out of habit, but the winged hero intercepts and takes the arsonist’s spare hand instead, turning to face him properly. Gently running his thumb across the scar he finds there and careful not to catch on any of the staples, Keigo waits for Dabi’s eyes to meet his again before continuing. “My agency building is a few cities over, but I can still take on an intern while out of town without any trouble. We own a few places here for residences when we have heroes doing long-term missions away from home or interns that need a place to stay- those doors will be open to him too if he wants somewhere to go other than dorms. They’re not far from UA at all, and getting him back and forth wouldn’t be a problem.” Dabi’s hands start shaking again, and Keigo can feel the tremors against his fingers. It’s crazy that his expression remains unchanged through all of this, even as the rest of him is reacting. The only change he allows is for his brows to furrow slightly as he glances at the document again.

“Endeavor will-”‌ The former Todoroki begins, sounding two ounces strangled in a one ounce glass. Keigo shifts their hands so their fingers are interlaced and squeezes gently.

“He doesn’t get a say. Shouto’s homeroom teacher is pushing the transfer through, and it sounds like he might be looking into things on his own.” He meets Dabi’s stare with a quiet, somewhat sad smile, “Enji’s not going to be able to lay a hand on him. He’ll be safe, Dabi.”

There’s a brief moment where Dabi just continues staring at him, face blank, and Keigo can’t tell if he’s even breathing- but then he looks back down at the papers in his hand again and lays them carefully on the metal walkway floor like priceless relics. Keigo’s wings twitch nervously, the hero trying to read the other man’s mood. He’s being unbearably quiet- has he made him upset somehow?‌ That’s exactly what he’d been trying to avoid, but maybe he’s crossed some kind of line by accident-

Dabi sighs hard enough that the flames on the candles quiver, shoulders slumping, hand tugging itself free from Keigo’s grip. The winged hero’s heart jumps all the way up into his throat. “Dabs?”

The worry dies instantly when he feels those same hands gently fall on either side of his face almost impossibly light, thumbs just barely brushing over his cheekbones, tracing under his amber eyes and mapping the lay of the markings there. His touch is all moth’s wings and feathers, tendrils of smoke, faint as memory. It’s an unpracticed tenderness, a trait being rediscovered with a lost-and-found kind of fragility, like flowers pressed and forgotten in books just now being opened after years of collecting dust.

The soft kiss on his forehead is a surprise, not so much in the action itself, but in the fact that for once it isn’t rushed or brusque in that way Dabi tends to get when he tries exhibiting physical affection. This is unhurried, meek and powerfully vulnerable, a strong enough combination to knock the air from Keigo’s lungs and fill him with warmth all at once. Not wanting him to draw away, he instinctively curls his fingers into the leather of Dabi’s worn jacket, the arsonist brushing another kiss over the same spot as the first before pulling back just enough to press his forehead to Keigo’s instead. Blue eyes fall shut as the two of them share breath, Dabi releasing a quiet, teasing huff before murmuring,

“My favourite hero saving the day again, huh?”

Said hero in question gives a small chuckle, trying to chip in with a joke.

“Hero?‌ Really?‌ Well, I guess the name Hawks had to come from somewhe-”

He’s cut off by Dabi’s mouth on his, this kiss less chaste than the others had been, more intense but still considerate despite the fire behind it.

“ Keigo .” Dabi says it only once, definitively and almost like an argument, before he’s chasing the first kiss with a second, then a third across the line of his jaw, a fourth pressed to his neck, just an inch below his ear. The sound of his name- his real name, not one of Dabi’s many familiar nicknames for him- startles him for a moment, though the dismay quickly gives way to a delighted grin as the winged hero laughs under the attention, dragging his hands up behind Dabi’s neck and combing through his hair the whole while.

Keigo doesn’t light up cigarettes; hell, he doesn’t have a reason to. The thing about kissing an arsonist, he’s learned, is that there’s more than one way to be addicted to the taste of smoke and fuck, nicotine has to be a weaker drug than this.

And how can it not be addicting?‌ Keigo’s been trained his whole life to stick close to danger and he can’t get much closer than where he is now,letting himself be  coaxed to perch in danger’s lap, permitting hands that have torched forests to touch, allowing eyes that have never stopped burning to see beyond the surface, relishing in the most reverent of kisses carved by a mouth that’s been known to make words cut sharper than knives- He loves every damned minute of it, but maybe that has less to do with the element of danger, and more to do with the preordained guarantee of safety; how these hands could burn but he knows they’ll never do so on him, and these eyes have seen him at his worst and not faltered, and this mouth could cut, but has kissed away fears and murmured quiet assurances more times than he cares to count.

He’d hunted down danger and danger had asked him to stay, held him more carefully than he’d ever been held on a night when it seemed like the very world was falling apart, and after so many months of this, Keigo can only hope there’s been other nights he’s managed to return the favor. Maybe this is one of them, he wonders, as Dabi releases a shaky breath into the crook of Keigo’s neck and shoulder, arms looping around him properly. Keigo continues to patiently thread through the other man’s hair softly, smiling a bit to himself as he feels Dabi’s eyelashes sweep lightly over his skin just once and then stop, a sure sign that his eyes have fallen shut. “Thank you,” He murmurs eventually into Keigo’s collarbone, not moving his head from where it rests, “For Shou.”

“He deserves to have someone step in,”‌ Keigo responds, matching his tone, “You all did. I’m just sorry it’s so late.”

Dabi trails a hand along Keigo’s spine as though deep in thought, releasing a breath that barely counts as a sigh, almost unnoticeable.

“It’s more than anyone else has ever done, Pigeon. I think we’d all kind of accepted it wasn’t going to happen.” There’s a bit of shuffling as Dabi readjusts his grip on the winged hero, looking up just enough over Keigo’s shoulder to reread the papers he’s picked up once again in one hand. “Fuck, his writing looks exactly the same as Fuyumi’s.”

He sounds almost awestruck, but Keigo’s more surprised he remembers his little sister’s handwriting well enough to recognize it’s twin in Shouto’s. It’s such a tiny detail to recall with that degree of accuracy. “She used to sit him and Natsuo down at the table after dinner and help them practice spelling. Probably where her whole teaching thing came from; it’s not like any of the rest of us would’ve been an inspiration for that idea.”

Dabi sounds almost fond in his reminiscence, this memory a rare pleasant one. Keigo ruffles his feathers slightly, shifting his wings into a more comfortable position and turning his head to also get a view of the page as though seeing the letters for himself will somehow grant him sight over the table Dabi’s speaking of, over tiny hands fumbling with pencils and argued voices, white hair clashing with red as heads all bow over their work in tandem. In his imagination, a boy with bright red hair and blue eyes watches them all, not yet scarred and twice as willing to let that fondness for them show on his face, as easy to read as the lines his siblings are too preoccupied with to notice.

It leaves a taste like ashes and honey in his mouth, sweet and yet charged with the reminder that he’s only witnessing the rubble of a foundation that once stood.

“I told you I wanted to help people get out from under a corruption nobody else was fighting,” Keigo’s voice falls with the quiet hush and solemnity of an oath made in blood and Dabi’s eyes flick up to meet his, the other man drawing away enough to regard him fully, “It’s a lofty goal, way too big for me, and I know that; hell, sometimes I wonder if I’m crazy for even trying. But I got some advice recently about fighting the odds and just going for what I want- something about ‘starting with what I can reach,’ I believe.” The look on Dabi’s face alone is enough to tell him that he got it right. “I can’t reach everyone, and I couldn’t reach all of you then- but I can reach Shouto, and if I can help him, I’m damn well going to everything I can. It’s small, but it’s a start.”

“It’s a start.” Dabi agrees. His staples glint blue when they catch the candlelight, “But don’t be so quick to assume it’s small, little bird.”

“It’s not enough-”

“Tell that to anyone you’ve rescued.” The arsonist challenges, eyes flashing heatedly, though not with anger. “It makes a pretty big difference for them.” The look on his face tempers itself as he adds, “Slow the hell down for once, Feathers; you don’t always need to be saving cities to be a hero.”

It’s a sentiment he wasn’t expecting but needed, and Keigo kisses him softly as though stealing the words right off his lips will help them sink in better. Someday, he hopes, he won’t need the reminder because there won’t be cities in need of saving. That day’s a long ways off, though, and heaven only knows if he’ll live long enough to see it come to fruition.

Dabi takes a heavy breath a few seconds later, and when he speaks again it isn’t as a street-hardened criminal who relies on smoke and shadows to hide himself, but as an older brother aged beyond his years and long laid to rest, quiet and tired but willing to trust.

“Take care of him.”

“Of course.” Keigo answers instantly, without hesitation. That much is an easy promise to make.

The light from the candles gradually burns low as the wax continues to drip, burning the wicks down to stubs as their dinner cools and the night presses in even darker than before, but neither of them mind. There’s a different source of light surrounding them that gives off more warmth than the meager flames anyways:

The light is hope, and unlike their weak candles, it doesn’t burn itself out.

Chapter Text

It’s raining.

“Why are we here?”

“To patrol, obviously.”

“I understand that much, but why are we here ?”

Shouto’s tone is flat as he finally breaks and asks the question that Hawks knows has been building all day, the young man looking up at him with displeased eyes and a confused frown, wet hair plastered to his forehead as rivers of water roll down his cheeks. It’s probably somewhat unpleasant, but the boy doesn’t make a move to scrub the rain from his skin, choosing instead to ignore it and keep walking.

Hawks sidesteps a large puddle. Shouto walks right through it.

To this extent their morning has been a tense one, the first in their internship, and the two of them have spent the duration figuring out how to work together without an overbearing flame hero hovering over their shoulders. For all Hawks’ time interacting with Shouto, very rarely has he spent a large amount of time with the boy on his own, and it shows. The teen is on edge and almost buzzing with stress; while all in all their first few hours haven’t been unpleasant, per se, it’s clear that they haven’t quite found their footing yet. Even with both of them wanting to see this through, there’s an air of awkwardness over them both that Hawks has never noticed being there before.

It’s a slightly disheartening setback, but knowing the situation and circumstances that have put them in this position to begin with, the slow start is an understandable one.

After all, Hawks gets the sense that this isn’t necessarily a case of Shouto being stressed and nervous around him, which would be infinitely more unnerving. Generally speaking, it seems that  he’s still feeling a lot of trepidation over this decision, over dropping his father to pursue this internship instead, and admittedly that makes sense. There are a lot of unknowns here and for the teen to give up an internship with the Number One hero and take on someone else is a bold choice to begin with; those are the kind of opportunities that can launch a person’s career and guarantee their success. Hawks isn’t blind to that much; but beyond that, Shouto’s signed on to learn with a hero whose main weakness is Shouto’s own quirk. When it comes to his fire side, the part of his quirk that Shouto needs the most practice with, Hawks has more knowledge in avoiding flames than helping perfect them. That’s going to be a challenge on his part too, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s raised a lot of red flags for Shouto as far as the training portion of their time together is concerned, especially when the boy could still have been training under the best flame-quirked hero in all of Japan.

He’s not the only one who’s had doubts either. Hawks had been in for an earful once the Commission had heard about his little stunt in taking on an intern mid-year, especially with it being Shouto no less. It wasn’t him having an intern that was the problem; the winged hero had taken on an intern in the past without any issues whatsoever. The fact of the matter was that taking someone else’s intern halfway through an internship- well, quite frankly, it was unheard of. It didn’t happen.

But Hawks had done just that, and not only had he taken someone’s intern, he’d taken the Number One’s own son without so much as asking the other pro. It had been pretty clear that the move was an unapologetic slight against the older man, and upon finding out, the Commission had immediately scrambled to determine what this would do to his image, not that Hawks could’ve cared any less. He already had a reputation for being an upstart with a tendency to shoot his mouth and act without remorse; if the public wanted to raise a fuss over his position in this whole debacle, they were more than welcome to. Either way, the Commission had found out about the whole thing too late to do anything but damage control, and they hadn’t been impressed in the slightest. For almost a week following, they’d done their best to convince Hawks to drop Shouto and take on someone else if he was serious about interning, but Hawks hadn’t budged an inch. Once upon a time he would’ve let them have their way and bowed under orders and apparently him choosing to be obstinate and fight for his reins wasn’t something that any of his handlers had been expecting or all that prepared for. After a week, the cajoling and lectures and even shouting matches had been reduced to pissed silent treatment and the cold shoulder, as if that was the worst they could do. Or as if Hawks would give a shit. He’d take their silence over their praise any day of the damned week, and to be entirely honest, he’d really been enjoying having his superiors basically ignore him.

The Commission had managed to keep the whole thing under wraps in the weeks it had taken to get Shouto through his exams, but the news was bound to break as soon as they began patrolling. Hawks is more or less prepared for the heat, knowing full well that the media is probably going to have a field day over this, but it’s a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things, even if he gets pinned as the bad guy that broke up the popular father-son duo.

Yet somehow, with all of this going on, the one person he hasn’t heard from at all is Endeavor. Hawks had figured that Enji Todoroki would be the first man demanding his head on a pike, but the other pro had been surprisingly silent over this whole thing. Granted, Hawks isn’t sure how long that silence will last and suspects that the storm is still off in the distance, not yet passed. It isn’t like Enji to just let things like this blow over. Hell, he might even only be holding his tongue because he’s assuming this whole internship will fall through before the end of its term. That wouldn’t surprise Keigo, though even the idea of it gives him an extra push of motivation to make this work.

Hawks smiles down at his disgruntled intern, but doesn’t give him a direct answer. “Here” is Kawasaki, the large but peaceful city they’d caught a train to early in the morning. Shouto had pretended to sleep for the whole hour-long trip, head lolled against the window at such an angle that his scar was hidden from the other passengers and his hood pulled up to cover his two-toned hair. Those two simple actions made him almost instantly unrecognizable, just another stranger on the train, nobody worth noticing. He was clearly well-versed in this.

For his part, Hawks had pretended not to notice that Shouto was only faking being asleep, opting instead to stand and use a handrail, casually scrolling through his phone. Keigo is somewhat disguised as well, having left a large portion of his feathers in Mustafu before they set out and keeping just enough to aid them in a fight if necessary. His wings are comfortably hidden under a large, baggy sweater, one of few that he owns without slits in the back. He won’t need them at full size today anyway, not in Kawasaki, and it’s incredible how quick people are to look over him when he doesn’t have the telltale wings on display. He’d thrown a ballcap on for extra measure, but it probably hadn’t been needed; he hadn’t caught a single eye since entering the station. In some ways, not being noticed was nice, honestly- a welcome change of pace from the mundane, and Keigo embraced it fully for however long it would prove to last.

Midway through their train ride, the clouds above had begun a gentle downpour, dissipating the early morning mist and forming little tracks of their own along the train windows, tiny creeks along the rails. Kiego had stopped reading through the news to pocket his phone for a few minutes and simply take in the smell of the rain with a small smile, enjoying the rumble under his feet and the sound of the storm washing over their car, soothing and low. It seemed the poor weather and early hours had driven many to stay home; their car had only been a quarter full at most, all quiet individuals minding their own lives in the surreal kind of hours that five A.M. on a near-empty train will give you, dawn hidden by the grey rainclouds, and not yet ready to make an appearance.

By the time they’d arrived the storm had eased into a soft drizzle, enough to keep the scent of rain heavy in the air, rich like a lover’s cologne, but not enough of a concern to bother carrying an umbrella. Shouto had gone off to change into his hero costume in one of the station washrooms while Hawks was more than content to wait, leaning against the chilled brick of the station wall and watching people pass, none the wiser. The boy’s confusion had been palpable the moment he returned to find his new mentor still in his civilian clothes, though.

“Aren’t you going to get into uniform as well?”

“Not today,”‌ Keigo had shrugged pleasantly, gesturing for Shouto to follow him, the station beginning to buzz with more activity as the hour grew later. If they stayed any longer, the building would’ve become a hive of activity, and their chances of being recognized and stopped would’ve been much higher. Instead, he’d guided the two of them out into the brightening but still-grey dusk of morning, Shouto glancing up at the rainclouds appraisingly, but without comment and Hawks fluffing his feathers happily under his jacket, glad to be out in this weather without having to worry about painstakingly dealing with a heavy pair waterlogged wings later.

They started to walk.

It was exactly this, walking without direction through the gradually busying streets of Kawasaki that had led to Shouto posing his question of frustration in the first place. Seeing that Hawks isn’t likely to give him a straight answer, Shouto frowns deeper, wiping some rain from his face and yanking his bangs back from out of his eyes, the jerky motion one of the only indications that he’s getting cross. His face is mostly impassive as ever, even with the frown.

“You say we’re patrolling, yet we haven’t come across a single incident; in fact, we traveled here specifically even though Kawasaki has a lower crime rate than Mustafu.” Keigo has to tamper down a grin at this, opting to stare straight ahead instead. He has to hand it to him, Shouto’s a good student if he managed to debrief himself on the city before even meeting up with Hawks that morning; how early had he woken up for this? “And I don’t understand. Kawasaki’s crime rates have done nothing but decrease steadily over the last sixty years- it’s one of the safest cities in Japan. You didn’t even bother to come in your hero uniform because you knew you wouldn’t be needed on the street.”‌ Clever boy. He’d caught on quickly. “So is this some kind of punishment?” Shouto doesn’t sound particularly upset or angry over this assumption, just inquisitive and confused, “For our last patrol? Do you just think I’m not capable of real patrols after that?”

“This isn’t a punishment,” Keigo promises, quick to assure him of that much. While he does want to get Shouto thinking on his own in a new environment, he doesn’t want him going that route. “We’re just trying something new today.” He grins at the teen warmly, “Just trust me- and maybe go offer that lady over there some help with her bags.”

Shouto turns to see the lady Hawks is referring to, an elderly woman struggling to manage her groceries and cane simultaneously as she makes her way down the sidewalk and towards her apartment building. They’ve been out for an hour and this is the first person they’ve come across in any kind of crisis, big or small. Without another word the boy jogs over, the two of them engaging in a short conversation that Hawks can’t quite make out. Still, he catches the woman’s smile as she passes her groceries off to the young man and he stoops slightly to let her take his other arm, the two of them making their way slowly down the rain-dampened sidewalk. He watches as the lady chats amicably with his new intern, Shouto gradually beginning to smile softly at whatever it is she’s telling him, the tenseness that’s been lingering all morning easing slowly from his shoulders.

That’s better to see. The winged hero grins to himself at the sight and repositions his stance slightly so it won’t seem like he’s studying them outright; he doesn’t look like a hero right now, after all, even if these streets are safer than most, and people are bound to be suspicious of an unfamiliar face paying close attention to potentially vulnerable targets.

When Shouto returns to his side a few minutes later, he’s looking significantly more relaxed than he had before, probably in a better mood having gotten to do something. They make it another few streets before running into a boy who’s dropped all his schoolbooks on his way to the bus, trying in irritation to pick them up and get them into his bag before they take on water. This time, all Keigo has to do is raise an eyebrow and glance over and Shouto’s already moving, taking the time to help the younger boy arrange his books properly so they won’t fall out of his bag again, working mostly in silence. The whole while the boy’s eyes are wide with near disbelief, staring up at Shouto in awe. He doesn’t even offer Hawks a second glance, with eyes only for the hero helping him now.

“I know you!”‌ He exclaims eventually after Shouto hands him back his bag with a quiet “There you go.” The boy takes it with hands that are shaky with excitement, “From the Sports Festival. You’re Endeavor’s son, the one with two quirks.” Shouto balks slightly but nods silently at this in confirmation, a muscle fluttering in his jaw when he grits his teeth. He doesn’t say anything to correct him, though, and the boy adds, “My little sister and I were cheering you on. She has an ice quirk just like yours and… Sorry, can I get an autograph?”

He asks the last part shyly and Shouto blinks at him in surprise, but agrees quietly, the boy instantly dumping his bag on the ground again a moment later to fish out a notepad and pen and chattering nonstop, almost as though he’s switched into a new gear, even more energetic than before. “Hina’s going to be so jealous when I tell her I got to meet you- she’s not old enough to walk to school and take the bus by herself and she had to go walk with Mom, otherwise she could’ve been here too- here, I’ve got a blue pen, that’ll be really cool for your signature because of your ice quirk. I don’t have a red one.”‌ He thrusts the paper and apparently blue pen out to a stunned Shouto who stares at the notebook for a solid second before even attempting to put utensil to paper, signing his name in a motion that looks more mechanical than smooth. “Nobody’s going to believe that a hero helped me on my way to school!” The boy takes the notebook back, beaming and brimming with enough sunshine that it could very well have cleared up this rainy weather overhead. He begins scooping his belongings into his bag once more, Shouto stooping good-naturedly to help him do so a second time. “Thank you for everything! I have to go- my bus will be here soon. Have fun saving people!”

“Have fun at school.” Shouto responds, making the boy grin even wider as he waves goodbye before sprinting down the street. Both he and Hawks watch him go as he runs, splashing through all the puddles his small feet can find, and eventually disappearing from view. They stand in silence for a long moment before Shouto finally speaks, noticing, for the first time, that he’s still holding the blue pen the boy had let him borrow. It’s too late to return it, and he pockets it carefully in one of his uniform pouches after a long beat. “I think I’m beginning to understand, now.”

“That’s good.” Hawks walks over and knocks shoulders with the younger man, letting his hands fall in his pockets, “Let’s go find some more people for you to help.”

They spend the rest of the morning this way until the sun is pushing noon, Hawks hanging back and gathering minimal attention, Shouto helping to fish cats out of trees and locate lost objects, giving band-aids for scrapes and even helping a struggling father get his twins’ stroller up a set of stairs. It’s not standard hero work, not by a long shot; there are no explosions or fires, no people to chase down or catch. Nobody’s going to be pointing a camera in Shouto’s face for a newspaper shot or trying to create video reports to put on air later; this is menial, everyday assistance that anyone could help with, though this time it’s a hero stepping up. All the while, Hawks gives small pointers for the teen’s next interaction, content to observe as Shouto becomes more and more comfortable in the environment. For the most part, it goes as smoothly as could be hoped-

But there’s one encounter that sticks out above the others, a single situation in which Hawks notes that the boy drops all his guards and even his logical approach entirely and just reacts. It’s to help a girl, maybe a year or two younger than Shouto, being picked on by a small group of students. Both the hero and hero in training seem to notice the skirmish at the same time, Hawks glancing over at Todoroki just in time to catch that muscle tic in his jaw again, just like it did earlier. He’s quietly livid even before getting involved, which is interesting to say the least. Keigo keeps an eye on him after noting this, recognizing that something in his intern has shifted, and it’s worth paying attention to.

Across the street, one of the students forcibly yanks a folder out of the girl’s hands despite her protests, laughing as he flips through the pages inside and pulls out a handful of them, passing them around. Whatever the pages are, they’re special- the girl is clearly distraught, trying to coerce her classmates to give them back, but to no avail. It’s hard to watch and Hawks frowns at the sight, irritated, but his frustration only grows when one of the students rips one of the pages in half and lets it fall into one of the puddles underfoot, causing the girl to gape in horror, instantly frozen on the spot and moved to silence.

The winged hero casts one more look at his intern who appears to have clenched his fists at this point, but still seems outwardly calm, before glancing up at the overhead streetlight; traffic is still flowing, so crossing isn’t an option at the moment and using his wings or feathers is sure to blow his cover, so flying is off the table. Shit.

“A crossing light should come on soon,”‌ Hawks says, eyes now fixed on the scene as well, “And then we can-”

Shouto doesn’t wait for a crossing lane to open up, opting instead to lunge forward as soon as there’s a break between vehicles and running directly into oncoming traffic. “Wha- Shouto!” Keigo shouts, heart all but launching into his throat when he notices the boy move, fingers just barely grazing the back of his uniform and missing him by a hair as he reaches out to grab him. Shouto doesn’t even glance back, sprinting across the street and using a very thin stripe of ice to help himself slide to the other side of the road without hindrance and quickly enough to not disrupt the flow of traffic. The whole thing doesn’t last long- Keigo counts three frantic heartbeats pounding in his chest before Shouto’s stepping easily onto the cracked sidewalk across from him, cool and composed as ever. That being said, the next car that does pass only misses him by a few seconds and it does nothing to ease the adrenaline now coursing through Keigo’s system, his mouth dry as hell. Dear God, this internship is going to be the death of him.

The winged hero releases a slow breath, trying to gather his suddenly frazzled nerves. It was an impulsive move, unpredictable and dangerous beyond what the situation probably called for, but in the event of an emergency that kind of quick, reactionary speed could be crucial in saving lives. Hawks makes a mental note to point that out later after giving his new intern some ground rules about running out into the middle of the street with reckless abandon.

Keigo crosses the street less than a half-minute later, though by the time he gets there, Shouto’s already run the bullies off. The girl’s papers lie scattered all over the sidewalk, some of them drifting out into the road or soaking in the gutter and growing damp on the concrete. Trying not to draw any undue attention to himself, Hawks reaches down and picks up the one nearest to him, careful not to let the wet paper tear as he peels it off the ground. It’s with a head tilt of surprise that he realizes it’s a drawing- a drawing of a hero. This one looks like Edgeshot if he’s not mistaken.

He glances around, picking up the others around him. They’re all heroes; pros, costume edits, heroes drawn in different styles, original characters- heck, Hawks even recognizes a few of them as UA students featured in the Sports Festival this year. He feels a small swell of pride when he realizes that one of the pages is Tokoyami and his Dark Shadow.

‘How would you react to knowing that you already have a fan, Tsukuyomi?’ Hawks wonders to himself with a tiny grin. They’re good drawings, all of them, and he cringes a little to think how many hours of work may have just been ruined by those students and the rain he, himself, was enjoying earlier.

The winged hero makes his way up the sidewalk, collecting pages as he goes until he’s almost close enough to Shouto and the girl to pass them off. Shouto’s got a bundle of pages in his own hands, having had the sense to get both himself and the girl under a cafe awning to keep them from being rained on even more. The girl’s in the process of scrubbing tears from her cheeks and thanking Shouto profusely, though she’s continuously apologizing the whole while.

“You’ve probably got better things to do- it’s fine, they were just messing around. The one that got ripped up wasn’t really all that good anyway.”‌ She babbles and Todoroki shrugs, laying the pile of drawings down on the cafe table next to him and beginning to pick them up one by one. Hawks watches quietly as the boy screens his left hand slowly over the drawing he’s holding, brows knitted in concentration, before he sets it aside to start a new pile and begins on the next. It takes Keigo a moment to realize he’s drying them with his fire quirk, the paper still somewhat crinkled even after drying, but that can’t be prevented. At the very least they’ll be salvageable, and that much he’s sure this girl will be appreciative of.

“The whole point of being a hero is to help others. This is exactly what I should be doing; and it doesn’t seem like they were just messing around. They were trying to hurt you, even if it wasn’t physical.”‌ He glances over to the girl who’s stopped crying by now, though her eyes are still puffy from the tears. “I don’t like bullies. What’s your name?”

“Minako,”‌ The girl sniffles, but offers a watery smile, “Thanks for stepping in…?” Her voice trails off inquisitively.

“Shouto,” Todoroki replies, finishing up a few more pages, and lifting a few more, “That’s my hero name.”‌ There’s a small moment of silence before he adds, “They won’t be able to push you around forever.”

From where he’s standing, leaning up against a wall again and mostly out of view, Hawks blinks curiously. Shouto’s been good about interacting with people so far in the day, but this is the furthest he’s gone to engage in legitimate personal conversation with anyone. Everything else has been mostly small talk.

“… I don’t know,” ‌Minako admits eventually, sounding downcast. Sure enough, when Hawks peaks over at her, her eyes are focused on the ground. “It’s my art they tease me for.‌ I want to be an artist someday, or maybe a hero costume designer but… My classmates say I’ll never get anywhere with it, that I’m too obsessed to see I’m not good enough. And I guess,”‌ Minako gestures halfheartedly to the drawings Shouto’s still in the process of drying, “What professional is ever going to hire me when all I do is fanart? They might be right.”

But Shouto shakes his head, taking a few more pages from the nearly-gone pile of ruined pieces, and when he speaks his voice is bold.

“Giving up when people say you can’t do something is the same as letting them win,” He explains, “And you can either listen to them or use their disbelief as the fuel you need to get even stronger and prove them wrong. A friend taught me that.” There’s a beat of awkward silence before Shouto points to the drawing he’s got in his hands, holding it up for Minako to see. “This friend, actually.”

Hawks can’t see who the person is he’s referring to, but Minako drops her face into her hands in embarrassment, which Hawks takes as his cue to step in. He and Shouto are going to need to call it quits for the morning sometime soon anyway- the younger boy’s been doing well this morning, but Keigo wants time for lunch and a solid debriefing before sending the kid home. They’ve probably done enough for today. Casually, the hero walks past the two teens and deposits Minako’s drawings on the table, keeping his baseball cap tucked low over his face to shield himself from the girl’s surprised look, and heading directly into the cafe.

The tiny restaurant is nice and surprisingly quiet for a weekday close to lunch, a small but tidy building with low music playing over the speakers and the morning’s pastries on glass displays. Hawks reads the enormous blackboards behind the counter displaying the menu, ordering a large coffee with cream and two hot chocolates when he reaches the front of the line.

It only takes a few minutes for the barista to prepare his drinks before he’s out the door again, carrying the cups in a tray and coming to stand beside Shouto. Both teens look up at him as he does so, the winged hero having had enough of skulking on the side for the time being. He sips from his coffee, humming appreciatively at the heavy taste of cream and caffeine, and pushes a to-go cup towards either student.

“I thought you didn’t want to be noticed today?” Shouto asks with the barest suggestion of a smile, almost-teasing in the way he raises an eyebrow at the older hero curiously. Hawks snorts, taking another sip of coffee.

“I don’t think anyone’s going to pay an average man buying coffee any mind when they just got a front-row view of my intern trying to get himself hit by a car.” Hawks turns to Minako, who looks absolutely shellshocked. Poor girl- this has probably been some hellish rollercoaster of a morning. “Hey, we saw what was going on over there. You okay?”

Minako nods violently fast with wide eyes, now clutching her salvaged drawings close to her chest. Shouto’s still working on saving the others, though by the looks of things he’s worked out a rather efficient process. It won’t take him much longer to have all of them done. Still, the boy looks over at Minako questioningly when she turns his way slowly, still agape.

“Since when did you start working with Hawks?”

She says it in a hissed, quiet way as if Hawks isn’t standing three feet away and can hear her himself. He hides an amused smile behind his coffee cup, lets Shouto explain that this is their first day, and that they’ve come here from Mustafu for the morning. Minako follows along, but it doesn’t aid in the fact that she still looks like she’s about to combust.

“You must be pretty observant,”‌ Hawks chips in eventually, holding his coffee in both hands to enjoy the warmth radiating off of it, “We’ve spent the last six hours in public, and you’re the first person to call me out.” Minako immediately gets flustered, blushing with embarrassment.

“It’s, um- this is going to sound so weird but I’ve drawn you quite a few times before and- actually, maybe that is creepy, I don’t know-” She tumbles over her words nervously, tripping through her statement awkwardly. Hawks is patient as she gathers herself enough to say, “Anyway, it’s your eyes. They give you away.”‌ She points at her own with her free hand, jerkily making note of the places where Hawks’ markings lie. When he smiles in acknowledgment and understanding, she flushes again, stuttering a bit more before gesturing towards the hot chocolate cup in front of her. “Is this for me?” At Keigo’s amused nod, the girl thanks him and takes a hurried sip, immediately wincing as she burns her tongue. It only serves to embarrass her further, and Keigo can tell Minako’s about to back into her shell; that’s no good. They don’t want to leave this conversation making her feel worse than before. He glances over at the drawings Shouto’s still working on drying, only a few of them left now.

“You’re really quite good.” The winged hero picks up a few of the recently dried pictures, looking to Minako for permission before sifting through the pages one by one. He handles them all carefully, afraid to damage them more than they already have been- and he wasn’t lying. They are skilled works, that much he can tell. If Minako’s this good now, he’s optimistic that once she gets older she’ll go quite a ways in the hero design field at least. He doesn’t know much about art, has never had the time to commit to it, but it’s not hard to tell she has definite talent. “Have you ever sold any pieces?”

Minako coughs, choking on her hot chocolate before laughing, seemingly a little more comfortable when it comes to talking about her art instead. Shouto looks at her curiously as well, finishing off the last few drawings and wiping his palms down on the legs of his uniform before picking up his own cup.

“Oh no, no these are just for fun,”‌ Minako grins like he’s told some kind of joke, “They’re not exactly the kind of stuff anyone would want framed and hanging in their house. Just studies, mostly.” Keigo cocks his head in consideration. He comes across the drawing of Tokoyami again and regards it for a moment, pausing in his shuffling.

“Would you?” Shouto asks suddenly, garnering the attention of both the young artist and Hawks as well. He’s looking down at some of the drawings Minako has yet to pick up, face carefully blank as ever.

“Would I what?”

“Sell any?” Shouto looks up seriously upon hearing Minako sputter, mismatched eyes blinking curiously. “I’d be more than happy to buy a few. Some of these are my classmates. They’d be very excited to know they have fanart.”

Minako sets her cup down, glancing awkwardly between both Shouto and Hawks, becoming shy once again.

“I should honestly just be giving them to you if you want any- you’ve done enough as it is.”

But Shouto argues and Minako protests, and after a few long seconds of the two going back and forth, Keigo finally interrupts.

“Giving your work away is a kind gesture, but not a good way to make a living as an artist,” He says kindly, putting an end to the argument. “Consider us your first patrons.”

Minako stutters and blushes and protests, but eventually the girl concedes, burying her face in her hands once again, though Hawks can see a wobbly, bright grin through the gaps of her fingers. A few minutes later, they’re paid up and ready to go, Minako giving them an extra folder from her bag to keep the drawings in so they won’t be ruined. Keigo knows she probably lowballed herself on the price of them, and he sneakily slips her an extra bill when he passes his money over, one folded within another. She doesn’t notice- probably won’t notice at all until she goes to use it later.

When they part ways, Keigo has the folder tucked under his arm and Shouto is carrying his hot chocolate, taking tentative sips. The winged hero wouldn’t doubt it’s the first one he’s ever had judging by the boy’s expression, but he chooses not to comment, instead jerking his head back towards Minako who’s walking away much happier than she’d been when they’d first run into her. “So, what happened back there?” Shouto frowns, the scar tissue around his eye tugging slightly as he does so, brows furrowed. For a brief, fleeting second, Hawks catches a glimpse of the boy’s father in that look, but he shakes the observation off as quickly as he notices it, only lingering for a second on the memory of the teen smiling so lightly earlier, how much younger it had made him look. No, not even younger- it had made him look his age for once, still a child, still growing. Shouto hasn’t seen enough years on this Earth to look as jaded as he does, and sometimes it’s so easy to forget that he isn’t already of age to be a sidekick, graduated and looking for a start. Even comparing him to Minako- heck, the girl couldn’t have been more than two years younger than him, and somehow Keigo couldn’t manage to compare the two and imagine Shouto in that kind of position of childish light.

The thought wasn’t a new one. It’s something he’s noticed time and time before but it never fails to up and slap him in the face every now and again. ‘If it’s any consolation,’ the winged hero thinks quietly to himself, not voicing the thought out loud, ‘You might have adopted a lot of Enji’s mannerisms by accident, but you look so much more like your mother when you smile, Shouto Todoroki.’

“What do you mean?” Shouto asks, voice quiet and flat, careful. Keigo gets the sense that he knows exactly what his mentor is asking, but something’s got him clamming up a little bit. Hawks takes the hint and backs off for now, looking at the buildings around them.

“You know, why don’t we talk about all of this over lunch? You’ve done great today, and I think we’re due for a break. Good job.”‌ Keigo bumps shoulders with the younger man, Shouto relaxing both with the compliment and the easygoing gesture, nodding quietly and falling into proper step beside the still-disguised wing hero. The rain’s stopped, but the smell of it is still thick in the air, clinging at Keigo’s clothes and hair. It’s nice. He grins easily and glances over at Shouto, “Any suggestions for what we should go for?”

Shouto looks up at him almost hopefully, a glimmer of interest in those mismatched eyes.

“I like soba.”

Keigo’s smile grows, the pro staring straight ahead while he reaches out to ruffle Shouto’s hair again.

“Soba it is, then. Keep your eyes out for a place.” Shouto huffs, swatting at his hand before it can completely tousle his bi-parted hair into a red and white mess, but he doesn’t duck fast enough to hide the smallest of smiles on his own face.

Chapter Text

Shouto Todoroki is almost a stranger to Keigo Takami, and that’s not something he realizes until they’re sitting across from one another in a cramped noodle shop, enjoying homemade cold soba from chipped and scratched ceramic bowls, and Shouto quietly comments that he likes the colour of the walls.

It’s not exactly a statement he’d been expecting from the boy, considering the room is the most garish yellow he’s ever seen in his life, barely noticeable behind the obscene number of plants all over the place. Keigo takes a second to put down his chopsticks and swivel in his chair to see if the wall behind him is painted any different, or maybe just less aged and stained. It’s no different, horribly tacky, like a muted hue that should’ve been bright and failed halfway through being laid on the wall. The winged hero is reminded almost instantly of overwatered sunflowers, soggy and off-colour and just… Wrong. It’s not a nice yellow, not even in general, but it is to Shouto, and for whatever reason it’s that fact that makes him realize he knows Shouto, but he doesn’t know Shouto. He doesn’t know his favourite colour, he doesn’t know who his best friend is, whether he’s a night owl or a morning person, whether he prefers coffee or tea, why he’d never had hot chocolate before this morning- he knows all of his intern’s little tells, how to read him beyond that impassive face and beyond the words he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t know who Shouto is , and that bothers him.

Part of that though is because that’s the kind of information Shouto Todoroki just doesn’t share.

Hawks pushes his empty bowl away, leaning back in his seat casually with his legs stretched under the table and his elbow slung over the back of his chair like a discarded coat. Shouto’s focused on his soba again, happily enjoying his lunch now that he’s stated his preferences and offering no more on the subject, case closed.

Shouto’s a strange kid, a little odd in a way that originally came off as cold when Keigo first met him all those months ago, but has gradually become endearing. He’s more blunt than any sixteen year old should have reason to be, a closed book in most other regards, and brutally honest in conjunction with being awkward as hell. Keigo finds it interesting that he’d been willing to dump his life story on the pro after knowing him for less than a week, but he always tends to clam up when it comes to personal things- little personal things too, small things about his person that should be inconsequential but are kept close and gathered to his heart like the most precious of secrets. It’s something that Keigo doesn’t fully understand, but wants to.

So little offerings like this are special, when Shouto does give away pieces of himself. It doesn’t matter that they’re shared at the most random of times, like his comment a few minutes ago; the fact of the matter is that they’re little tidbits that Shouto is aware of and has a tendency to keep to himself, and when he says anything about them it’s because he’s made a conscious effort to make them known.

“I didn’t know you liked yellow,”‌ Keigo says for the sake of conversation, observing the wall again. It really is an ugly yellow, “What’s your favourite colour?”

Shouto glances up from his bowl, finishing a mouthful of noodles and chives before answering.

“I don’t have a favourite colour- there’s too many. I just think yellow is nice sometimes.”

Keigo hums in acknowledgement, surprised when Shouto goes for another bite of his soba, only to hesitate and let it drop, glancing up again. “What’s yours?”

The innocent question takes Hawks off guard, and he readjusts his wings against his seat before answering to hide his surprise.

“Blue,” Keigo says quietly, softer than he intends. Shouto raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“Sky blue?” ‌He guesses flatly, and oh, what a generic answer that would be for a man with wings, wouldn’t it?‌ Keigo grins at the slight, Shouto smirking into his bowl when he sees that his joke has landed.

“No, not sky blue. It’s more like-” Keigo struggles to put his thoughts into words for a moment, before gesturing to the window on their right, where the heavy clouds from the morning’s rain are still visible “Like when it’s raining at night, and it’s not quite dark enough to turn the sky black, but everything seems kind of greyish-blue, you know? Not bright like sky blue.”

Shouto takes a sip of his hot chocolate, still not finished from earlier, and scratches at his jaw contemplatively.

“You like when it rains.”

It’s not a question so much as an observation, and Keigo genuinely laughs this time, not used to being the one being analyzed so meticulously. Most people don’t bother peeling back his masks, and even fewer notice that he has them to begin with, but Shouto is something of a different case and has been since they met. He knows more about Keigo than the man should feel comfortable with, but then again they’re both alike in that regard.

“I do when I don’t have to fly in it.”

Shouto nods, satisfied with his answers and continues with his lunch. Keigo debates back and forth as to whether or not to keep up the conversation and ask what he’s been wondering for the last hour, eventually deciding to give it a shot. “I was trying to ask this earlier but never actually got around to it,”‌ Hadn’t gotten around to it because Shouto had all but shot him down, really, but that wasn’t worth mentioning, “But earlier, with Minako- you were quicker to react in helping her, seemed more at ease in chatting… I’m just wondering what made her special. You handled that entire situation differently than anything else today.”

The dual-quirked boy doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just stares at Keigo wordlessly before finally setting down his own chopsticks as well. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, not exactly, but definitely serious as he takes a second to gather his thoughts, staring down at the scratched tabletop.

“She reminded me of someone,”‌ Shouto manages at length, rubbing at his left wrist self-consciously. He corrects himself immediately afterwards, adding, “A friend of mine. He went through something similar, but he didn’t have anyone cheering him on. He had to get himself to where he is mostly on his own. It was very hard.”

That’s interesting.‌ Keigo recalls the look on Shouto’s face when they’d seen the girl across the street, his clenched fists, gritted teeth, how he’d bolted right into danger without a second thought. That makes somewhat more sense, now.

“You’ve never told me anything about your friends. Is this the same one you were mentioning to her earlier?”

Shouto nods silently before eyeing the folder of drawings sitting on the table safely out of range of Hawks’ empty dishes, and sliding it towards himself. For a few breaths he just holds onto it, before carefully opening the flap.

“I’ve never had friends before this year. I wasn’t allowed them; everyone was competition. And really, these people should be competition now more than ever, but I don’t like to just think of them like that.”‌ Shouto lets out a small sigh, meeting Keigo’s eyes once again, something sharp biting in the man’s chest then, the teen’s confession hitting a little too close to home. “I don’t talk about them because I know he’ll ruin it. He doesn’t understand.”

Shouto looks away again, bangs falling in his face almost defensively. There’s no need to clarify who the ‘he’ in question is and it takes everything in Keigo’s willpower to not make a face. Instead, he schools his features and reaches across the table to flick Shouto’s wrist for his attention.

“That’s literally the best course of rebellious action you could’ve taken. How many friends do you have? ‌I hope it’s a small army if only just to be petty.”

Shouto cracks a smile and laughs, finally laughs, just a quiet little thing that’s more like a punched-out exhale than an actual chuckle, but Keigo will take what he can get.

“I’m working on it,” He promises amusedly, eyes crinkling somewhat in the corners. He sobers up just a little as he rotates the folder on the table and slides it back in Keigo’s direction, showing him the first drawing in the stack he’d bought from Minako. “This is Momo. We’re not as close, but she’s still a good acquaintance.” Shouto slides this drawing over to reveal the one underneath, a boy with glasses and wearing what appears to be a suit of armor.

“This kid looks like Ingenium,” Hawks notes, Shouto nodding in tandem.

“His brother. This is Iida; he’s our class president. We’ve… Been through a lot together. And this,” Another page, “Is Uraraka. She’s very kind.” Keigo picks up the page, studying it a bit better. The girl is familiar to him, though someone he’s never met in person.

“This is little Uravity, right? I’ve heard talk of her. Interned with Gunhead, right?” Shouto just nods again, smiling faintly.

“Uraraka’s a good fighter.” Another page. “Bakugou.”

This person is one Hawks can place immediately. It’s hard not to with his costume being so recognizable, but beyond that most of Japan has heard of Katsuki Bakugou for one reason or another. Whether it’s from the sludge villain attack he survived that made national headlines, his win at the UA Sports Festival, or his kidnapping and consequential escape during the Kamino Ward incident, the kid’s definitely had his name thrown around a few times.

That being said, Keigo’s more than a bit surprised to hear he’s somehow made it into Shouto’s pool of friends. By the sounds of things, the blond has a reputation for being aggressive and unpredictably manic, loud and brutal, in for the win. Imagining him even sharing a space with reserved Shouto is almost impossible to fathom, let alone them getting along.

“I’ll admit, he’s a little unexpected.”

“We did remedial classes together. Bakugou doesn’t like to admit we’re friends, and sometimes neither do I.” Shouto states factually, pursuing his lips when he sees Hawks about to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, “I don’t like bullies.” It’s a repetition of what he said earlier, spoken in a flattened tone that’s just a little sharper than normal. Keigo doesn’t pry, senses there’s more of a story going on here than he knows, and more of a story than he’s going to find out about. “He’s trying though. In his own way.” Shouto does roll his eyes tiredly all the same, tacking a small, “And with a ways to go,”‌ on the end of his statement.

“Not the friend you were referencing, I would guess?” Keigo prompts, eyeing the page again. With his grenades and explosive reputation, Bakugou doesn’t seem the type to be verbally inspirational whatsoever. Performance-wise could be a different story, but nothing about the boy screams ‘positive motivation’, and Shouto’s reaction doesn’t exactly allude to it either.

Shouto shuffles past the drawing of Tokoyami that Hawks had ended up buying from Minako and pulls the stack away to reveal the last work in the pile. On this page is a boy with a green uniform and equally green hair, crackling with energy and drawn with a fierce look of determination on his young face. He’s yet another up-and-coming hero that Hawks recognizes on sight, feeling almost guilty for why.

After the Sports Festival, a few of his sidekicks had taken to calling the boy ‘Finger-Breaker’ for his performance, and even Hawks had fallen into the habit of recalling him that way. Observing him compete, shattering himself piece by piece with his own quirk just to progress in a school event, had been hard to watch- but it had also definitely left its mark.

“No- that would be Midoriya.” Shouto explains, expression significantly less sour than before. He takes on a small smile, “I owe him a great deal. He’s a very good friend and he’ll be an even better hero someday.”

It’s a surprisingly earnest thing to say, and Keigo studies the teen for a moment, catching again the difference in his intern. It’s small, but Shouto is more relaxed when it comes to Midoriya. It’s a nice thing to see.

“Is he your best friend?”‌ He asks, and Shouto’s expression changes into one of baffled consideration, as if it’s not something he’s ever thought over.

“I-” ‌His brows furrow momentarily before easing, “I’d like to think so. Yes.”

Well, that’s another new thing he knows about Shouto Todoroki, and he suspects it’s a new thing for the boy to know about himself as well. Keigo grins into his glass of water as he takes a sip, leaving Shouto to himself for a few moments to digest this information. In the few minutes that he waits, he closes his eyes and takes in the sounds of the near-empty restaurant, testing the reach of the feathers he still has on his person and how much they can sense in the building. There’s low music playing over a set of crackling speakers either set too far away to hear properly from or left intentionally quiet to hide the static, the rattling of pots and dishes being moved around in the back room. There are voices in there as well, the cook and the dishwasher, someone singing under their breath, a waitress coming out from between the swinging doors with a watering can for the plants-

“Alright, now answer my question.” Keigo blinks as their shared silence is broken by Shouto clearing his throat and gathering the drawings again, carefully setting the folder aside and looking back to Hawks with serious eyes once more. It’s a no-nonsense statement, not optional, and Hawks offers a small sliver of a smile at the boy’s tenacity. “Patrol today-  I have an idea of why we were doing this, but I want your take. You didn’t answer me earlier either.” Shouto fiddles with the edge of the napkin closest to him, peeling at the corner idly. “I’m assuming today was practice for one-on-one interaction with civilians, correct? To prove I can help people in many ways and practice these skills outside of large-scale emergency zones.”

The dual-quirked boy sits back in his chair and crosses his arms similar to how Hawks is positioned, waiting expectantly for his mentor’s reply. The blond considers Shouto’s points and nods slowly, cracking his shoulders before answering.

“Fair enough. You’re partially right; but there’s a bit more to it than that.” Hawks admits, gently pushing his intern to consider the matter a little further, “When you ran into that boy, the one who asked for your autograph; do you remember what he said when he first recognized you?”

“He recognized me as Endeavor’s son.”‌ Shouto supplies, looking not at all impressed by it.

“Exactly.” Hawks rubs at the back of his neck, “Endeavor’s powerful, I can’t argue that. He’s good in a fight- way better than I am. I’m not much of a combat fighter. But all things considered, that’s all he has a fanbase for. He’s not good at interacting with people, isn’t even known to be nice to them when he does- it makes him seem inhuman for a number of reasons, but what I’m getting at is that he’s known for being untouchable, both by villains but also by everyday people as well. He’s above them.” Hawks regards the teen across from him, Shouto having once again reached for his soba, “And so far, he’s had you running the same track. Anyone who’s watched the Sports Festival knows you’re a powerhouse already; they don’t need you to prove to them that you’re strong. But they do need you to prove to them that they’re worth your time, that you care about them as people beyond when there’s some kind of disaster going on. Right now, you’re like an extension of Endeavor to them; they’ve seen you fight with him, they’ve seen you both side by side, but they haven’t had the chance to interact with you themselves and get their own idea of who you are as a person separate from the Number One or anyone else.”

Shouto stares at him thoughtfully, cocking his head in a moment of understanding.

“And that’s why you didn’t want to be spotted today either.” ‌He concludes astutely, Hawks grinning once more in affirmation. “To start building my identity without it being connected to anyone else.”

“You got it. Approachability is a good asset to have and be associated with. Take All Might for example. If he weren’t a hero, the guy would be terrifying. Hell, even if he were a hero but wasn’t friendly, he’d still be scary- but instead he’s known as the national Symbol of Peace. Just being willing to interact kindly with people, regardless of who they are or how small their problems may be, can go a long way.” Hawks explains, “I know it’s not what you’re used to, but I think it’ll give you a good leg up in getting your own identity out there while you debut. We’ll keep this up for a few weeks- intermittently, not for the whole internship or anything. Just every now and then as a break of sorts.”

Shouto nods in agreement, seemingly content with this arrangement. He finishes off his soba and sets his chopsticks aside, looking to his mentor before reaching for his bag and the folder of drawings.

“In that case, is there anything in particular I should be keeping in mind for these situations going forward?”

Keigo grins brightly, standing up to pay and pushing in his chair.

“The simplest thing, kid? Give them a name to remember.”

-3 WEEKS LATER-

“You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

Keigo drops his pen and phone pointedly at the wry comment, rubbing at his eyes irritably. Turning to glare over the back of the threadbare couch he’s currently sitting on to meet Dabi’s own eyes, hooded and lazy, the winged hero pulls a scowl. It’s probably more of an honest observational comment than an intentionally aggravating one, but that doesn’t stop it from twisting Keigo’s patience all kinds of wrong directions.

The simple action very nearly sends the whole pile of books in his lap tumbling to the floor as he moves, which does wonders for pissing him off even further. Fortunately, a few well-timed feathers manage to catch the texts and his notebook before they hit the floor, though part of him is honestly tempted to just drop them anyway for the crashing, angry noise if nothing else.

“Thank you.”‌ He drawls crossly, sarcastic and snappish beyond reason. It’s not Dabi’s fault, per se, that he’s so annoyed and done, but his crass remarks definitely aren’t helping things. The arsonist raises an eyebrow at his reaction, Toga giggling feverishly from where she’s perched in the armchair on Keigo’s left, chin resting on her drawn-up knees, tiny hands caught around her own ankles. Keigo has yet to draw a solid opinion on how he feels about Toga, but in this moment, she seems like a bother.

“Ooh, a lover’s quarrel - I have spare knives in the kitchen if you need help fighting this out!” She interjects cheerfully, watching them both with excitement. Toga’s fixated stare is always unnerving, and the blond can feel it burning into the side of his face as he avoids looking at her entirely. It does nothing to improve Keigo’s mood, nor Dabi either, it seems, as the other man breathes out a long sigh and gives the girl a pointed look.

“Stay out of this, Creeper. And we’re not fighting.” He turns his attention back to Keigo, eyes narrowed. “Seriously, you look like you’ve been punched in both eyes. When was the last time you slept, Pigeon?”

For whatever reason, the question only serves to grate on Keigo’s nerves more, though deep down he knows it shouldn’t, not really. He scowls even more, picking up one of his books again and flipping through the pages determinedly, without a specific one in mind. It doesn’t matter so long as he looks busy and Dabi gets the hint to leave him alone. Toga too, preferably, though she won’t poke at him unless Dabi’s here.

“Don’t start with me. You’re not one of my handlers.”

Toga snickers again at this, Dabi blinking twice in bewilderment before stalking forward. Keigo ignores him when the man comes to stand directly behind him, finally finding a page with information he might actually be able to use and focusing on it, picking up his pen again to take notes.

He’s expecting Dabi to either snap at him or walk away as he tends to do when he’s aggravated, so when two large hands press low between his shoulder-blades, just an inch or two above the base of his wings, the hero jumps hard .

“Just- relax Birdie. Fuck’s sake.” Dabi mutters irritably. He lets his quirk heat up his hands, carefully digging his fingers into the tight knots in Keigo’s back and slowly working them loose. Keigo stays rigid for a moment, still surprised, but eventually he sags, tension bleeding out of him like an open wound. Toga, seeing the situation rapidly diffusing instead of escalating, pouts in disappointment and stands, wandering off to her bedroom with her phone in hand and calling for Twice when she reaches the hallway. Hopefully the other villain will find some means of entertaining the girl that will keep her preoccupied for the time being; Keigo’s patience is on a thin wire as it is, and her egging his and Dabi’s arguing on would inevitably lead to some kind of blowup.

The arsonist in question finally speaks up again once she’s gone, voice gritty as he asks, “Commission shit again?”

“No, I just- I mean maybe, but there’s just - I don’t even know what.” Keigo manages, stumbling through the whole sentence in a stream of frustration and broken fragments of speech. Thoughts are difficult right now, and he’s been on night shifts as well as interning for the last few days. It’s starting to take a toll, his temper the first thing to go. “I’m tired .”

“ Sleep , then.” Dabi says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, voice just as sharp as Keigo’s giving. He’s not one to take shit on any account, Keigo’s included, and the subtle reminder is sobering enough for Keigo to rein his emotions in a little, trying to temper himself and keep from lashing out again. “You can stay here tonight, Feathers. You know where my room is.”

It’s easier to breathe, now. Keigo shakes his head, lifting his notebook.

“I can’t sleep yet. Shouto’s having problems with using his fire quirk for controlled moves and I need to learn how to help him with this stuff if I’m going to be responsible for training him.”

They’re just shy of three weeks in at this point and so far things have been going well. That being said, Keigo can tell this quirk situation couldn’t have come up at a worse time; he’s been overworked over the last few says and can feel a burnout fast approaching on the horizon. Regardless of that, though, Shouto needs his help figuring this out, and that means tackling it in his currently limited spare time even if he feels cranky and irritable, and like his eyelids are lined with weights. He signed up for this, and every time he considers putting the problem off for another day, Eraserhead’s words hang over his head like a guillotine- ‘If you’re not willing to dedicate yourself to this, let someone else who will step in. This isn’t a situation you can just up and walk away from when you lose interest.’ Walking away might not be his intention, but damn, he doesn’t want to prove the older pro right.

The winged hero runs a hand down his face, scanning his notes as if the solution to his problem will take pity and just appear on the page for him. There has to be an answer here somewhere, but Keigo doesn’t even know where to start looking- it’s easy enough in book theory to understand how different quirks can act and work, but to be trying to learn the fundamentals of a quirk that isn’t your own with the premise of teaching it is an absolute nightmare. It feels like every time he thinks he’s taking a right turn it leads to two more left ones and a broken bridge he has to cross to understand how the hell to apply this to Shouto, especially seeing as how he’s dual-quirked on top of everything else. He doesn’t even want to think about the fact that he’s probably going to need this kind of in-depth self-learning for Shouto’s ice quirk eventually as well; that’s a problem he can’t fathom handling at the moment. Dabi stills behind him, the pressure of his hands easing momentarily. Then, without warning, he leans down and tugs the notebook from Keigo’s grip, gathering the other books too despite the hero’s protests. “ Dabi- ”

The scarred man ditches the books on the floor and knocks away a few feathers aiming to pick them up again, before walking around the battered sofa, facing Keigo properly. “He’s made it this long without whatever this is about,” ‌Dabi states firmly, “He can last another ten hours while you fucking rest.”

“I’m fine, alright?” Keigo huffs, “I’ve done full patrols on less sleep than this- book work is nothing. I just need to finish this.” He goes to reach for the books that Dabi’s dropped, but the villain catches his wrist, stopping him in one fluid motion. “Dabi I swear I’m not in the mood for this shi-”

“Neither am I,” Dabi answers with a flash of teeth before Keigo can even finish the statement, tugging him to his feet and steadying the smaller, exhausted man with an arm around his waist when he stumbles. “I’m not in the mood for this shit either.” His blue eyes burn when they stare at the shadows under Keigo’s own for a beat too long before looking away, and Keigo gets the sense they’re talking about two entirely different things here. “Just take an hour or two,”‌ He asks, “I’ll wake you up after that.”

Keigo hesitates in retaliating, the compromise sounding pretty appealing in his current state. Two hours is enough for a quick recharge, and he tends to sleep better in Dabi’s bed than his own, meaning he might actually feel more rested coming out of this. Two hours still gives him a good amount of time to work on Shouto’s dilemma before meeting for the morning.

Glancing at the battered clock on the wall proves it’s just after nine.

“Two hours?” Keigo confirms, voice stern and without room for argument. It’s as good as admitting defeat in the most roundabout way possible and Dabi knows it, smirking at him in success and already tugging him up the stairs.

“Would I lie to you, Birdie?‌ Two hours.”

It’s a kind gesture and one that Keigo admittedly needs more than he’d care to ask for, though wanting it is another matter entirely. He works his way through Dabi’s room mostly by memory, aware that the villain is still there with him, but unable to cut him apart from the heavy dark.

“What happened to all of your blankets?” Keigo asks the shadows, having found the bed and surprised to find only one thin blanket where there’s usually more. He curls under it anyway, the true weight of his exhaustion crashing over him the moment he settles, eyes already drooping. He can’t see anything anyway, so he closes them as Dabi responds from somewhere ahead of him, footsteps muffled on the old floorboards.

“Gave them to Spinner. It’s getting colder and I need them the least out of any of us.” Something heavier drapes over Keigo’s shoulders as Dabi manages to wrangle up what must be another blanket.

“I can bring you guys more blankets sometime,” Keigo mumbles drowsily. The mattress dips somewhere close to Keigo’s hip as Dabi sits next to him, silent except for the gentle sounds of him breathing that Keigo’s feathers pick up better than he hears as his tiredness wins over, snaring his senses and dragging them deep. He means to add, ‘Don’t let me forget,’ but he falls asleep halfway through saying it, lulled into a peaceful undertow by the smell of smoke lingering in the pillow under his heavy head and the sensation of Dabi subtly adjusting one of the blankets over him more evenly, before fading back into the night.

Waking up again is like blinking three seconds later.

The winged hero groans and sits himself up on one elbow, mouth dry as cotton and aching for another hour or two of rest, but feeling significantly better than he had earlier. That much is a nice reprieve, but he does have to admit it would be easier to fantasize about staying in bed if it wasn’t significantly chillier than normal. A quick glance around would prove that’s due to two things: the first is a distinct lack of Dabi’s blankets, save for the one he’d had on his bed the night prior and what was actually his jacket, apparently, thrown over the winged an like a spare sheet. The second is a distinct lack of Dabi himself, which has Keigo frowning and sitting up a bit straighter. He’s never woken up alone in the hideout before, especially not with Dabi’s tendency to wake up later than him, and-

Keigo stares down at the jacket he’d noticed just a few moments earlier, noticing each stitch, each imperfection of the leather, the scuff on the collar that Dabi hates but has never dealt with. He stares because he can visibly see each little detail from where the coat rests across his lap, paired with the fact that the blanket underneath it is washed-out green and made of fleece… All of this being something he hadn’t noticed before because then it had been too dark to.

There’s sunlight streaming in through the window, and there should not be.

The hero kicks his way out of bed, throwing the blanket and Dabi’s coat haphazardly off of him in a frantic, less-than-graceful movement and shivering when his feet hit the cold floor. There’s no clock in Dabi’s room and his phone is downstairs- fuck, he has no idea what time it is, but he’s damn well sure it’s not eleven o’clock at night like he’d been expecting.

Being as quiet as he can because there’s a good chance the rest of the League is still asleep and he is not risking waking anyone else up, Keigo slips down the stairs, warring between annoyance and relief the whole while. The persistent ache behind his eyes is gone at least, head feeling clear for the first time in days. He wanders quickly around the first floor, collecting his own coat and phone along the way, his screen reading 8:06 A.M when he opens it. That means he’s got an hour and a half to meet up with Shouto for the morning, and he still doesn’t have an answer for his quirk situation.

It’s aggravating, but he also knows that Dabi was right to some extent; it’s not going to be the end of the world if he doesn’t have a solution for his intern this exact moment. They can figure it out gradually over the next few days and it won’t set them back any- but he doesn’t want to let Shouto down either, and this already feels like some kind of misstep. Keigo sighs, going to grab the books that Dabi snatched away from him earlier, only to pause when he reaches the couch.

His books aren’t on the floor where the arsonist left them. No, instead they’re piled around the scarred man where he sleeps, lying across the too-short sofa with his neck bent across the arm at an angle he’s surely going to regret later and one of his legs dangling over the other arm, too lanky to fit comfortably. How he managed to fall asleep like this, Keigo has no idea, but the man’s chest softly rises and falls rhythmically, expression relaxed and untroubled. Carefully, so as not to wake him, Keigo begins gathering his books, hesitating when he goes to snag his scribbler from where it rests open in Dabi’s lap. It’s flipped to a page he doesn’t recognize, the lettering darker and heavier  than-

The writing isn’t his.

Reaching out for the notebook and flipping quietly through the pages until he finds his own writing again, Keigo takes a moment to skim through the new notes, counting pages as he goes, though he gives up after reaching twenty. The new notes are Dabi’s inputs obviously, flagging page numbers in certain books, making suggestions and explaining broader concepts, crossing out some of Keigo’s theories and circling others. In some cases, the hero even finds a few drawings, scratchy and not at all perfect, but still legible, diagrams and charts, tips from personal experience, others from knowledge of Shouto’s ice and, more particularly, fire quirks. There’s even a few pointers of how he may be able to use the two in ways they haven’t yet considered or explored, something that Keigo takes particular interest in from an outside source who knows more about the basic properties of both Enji and Rei’s powers than Hawks has heard and Shouto remembers.

For the sake of teaching the dual-quirked boy how to gain better control over a pair of quirks that  Keigo has no experience with, the additions are an information gold mine, and an infinite amount of stress off his plate. They won’t give him all the answers to everything he’ll need to know, not even close, but this will at least provide him with a few building blocks and starting points to begin figuring this stuff out until he can handle it on his own. The winged hero smiles quietly to himself, setting all of his belongings in a pile on the floor again and reaching out to card his fingers through Dabi’s dark hair, gently coaxing the other man awake. Dabi slowly starts coming to, blue eyes blinking open and immediately locking on Keigo, even if they’re still a little sleep-fuzzy.

“Hey Pigeon.” He mumbles groggily, grimacing as he goes to turn his head a little better, Keigo clearly having been right about the angle he was sleeping at. He crouches instead so he’s in better view and blocks the offensive amount of light coming in from the living room window with one slightly raised wing, keeping his voice down.

“So, two hours turned into eleven, huh?” The blond teases, though his tone is warm. Dabi scoffs, closing his eyes again as Keigo continues stroking through his hair slowly.

“Mm. You needed it.”

Humming under his breath, Keigo combs Dabi’s bangs out of his eyes, not disagreeing with his statement. They both remember what kind of mood he’d been in the day prior. That being said, by the way that Dabi is relaxing back into the couch with each pass of  Keigo’s fingers working through his bedhead tangles, it looks like he might be the next one to pass out any second.

“It looks like you will too,” Keigo says, voice low and quiet, “How late were you up last night?”

“Late enough.” ‌Dabi grunts, not giving him a solid answer. He stirs slightly, wincing at the angle of his neck again. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Why didn’t you come upstairs?”

“And risk waking your grouchy ass up halfway through the night?” Dabi opens one eye to smirk at Keigo wryly, gaze amused. “Your feathers were a bit ruffled yesterday, Birdie.” Keigo looks down in muted embarrassment, offering a small, chided apology as he does so, but there’s no animosity in Dabi’s tone, no venom. His touch is cool against Keigo’s cheek as he clumsily smooths his palm across the smaller man’s skin, both eyes blinking open now though they remain half-lidded and sleep-hazy, not yet fully awake. “Pigeon, I’m just trying to be an asshole. It’s not a big deal- you were tired. Shit happens.”

He’s so casual about it, like Keigo losing face isn’t a problem- and really, he reminds himself, it isn’t. They do not wear masks here. This is safe, and being honest here is safe, and being honest about his frustration and stress and losing his composure a little here is safe. It’s all okay.

Turning his head ever so slightly to kiss the inside of Dabi’s wrist delicately, Keigo smiles lightly in appreciation. Dabi’s thumb travels downward and mindlessly traces the curve of his grin where it can reach on the corner, an impulse move more than a planned one. It only serves to make Keigo smile wider.

“Thank you,” He murmurs eventually, lifting the notebook in silent explanation, though the words apply to more than just the scribbler and they both know it. “There’s been so much going on lately- this is a huge help. I had no idea how I was going to manage getting everything done.”

Dabi’s thumb stills and rests on Keigo’s jaw at this, the arsonist’s gaze dropping to the hero’s clavicle.

“Y’know,” He muses quietly, not meeting Keigo’s eyes, voice still raspy from just having woken up, thick like dark molasses, “You work yourself so deep in the ground sometimes I don’t think you’ll ever need a grave.”

It’s a heavy statement, one that hangs in the air long after it’s been said, inflating and filling the empty space between them until the air is almost too stifled for words.

“Someday, things won’t be like this.” Keigo manages at length, trying for a smile again. The one that Dabi responds with doesn’t quite meet his eyes when he looks up once more, but his gaze softens just a bit at the hero’s promise, still not content but less intense.

“Yeah,” He agrees, nodding shortly. It’s another of his compromises, a lock on a box that Keigo isn’t entirely sure he really meant to open. “Someday a lot of things’ll be different.”

Keigo leans briefly into the other man’s touch for a moment, prompting Dabi to trace his cheekbone this time before the blond is drawing away, making mention of not wanting to be late. He sits back on his heels to gather his belongings, blue eyes watching him the whole while. “Stay out of the warehouse district in the East side today,” The scarred man continues as Keigo’s in the process of putting on his jacket, “A branch of those CRC bastards decided to set up shop there- the ones that think mutant and creature quirks are inferior or some shit? Anyways, sounds like they’ve been pretty quiet up until a few days ago, but now they’ve started going after people. Word through the grapevine is that they’ve got a hit on Spinner.” Dabi’s mouth twists as he purses his lips, pulling his arms up above his head to stretch them. One makes an ugly cracking sound that has Dabi wincing slightly before adding, “Shigaraki’s decided he’s gonna go have a little chat this afternoon. You won’t want to be around and risk getting called in to deal with it.”

The winged hero nods in thanks for the heads-up. He’s been in a position of having to face the League in a fight before to not blow his cover, and has absolutely no urge to do so again, especially against Shigaraki of all people.

“Noted. Are you going with him?”

Dabi shrugs, looking almost lackadaisical.

“I’ll probably tag along. Odds are Dusty’s not going to need any help sending a message, but he shouldn’t go alone. Besides,” The arsonist’s eyes are a bit more sharp as he adds, “Spinner’s not just part of Shig’s League. No one fucks with my Vanguard.”

Keigo points a finger at him, eyes narrowed.

“Send a message, minimal casualties. Don’t let Shigaraki go on a killing spree.”

Dabi rolls his eyes, but grumbles in compliance.

“This ain’t that kind of meeting, Pigeon, but I’ll keep him in line.”

“With Shigaraki, any meeting can become ‘that kind of meeting’.” Keigo counters, Dabi huffing a small laugh of agreement. The winged hero drags his fingers through Dabi’s hair one last time before ducking in for a parting kiss that feels far too domestic given the topic at hand, Dabi tilting his head just enough to press his forehead to Keigo’s when they part. “I’ll see you tonight- stay safe out there, Hot Stuff.”

Dabi’s grin is crooked, a picture frame left intentionally skewed where it hangs.

“Safe as ever, Feathers. See you tonight.”

The explosion is loud enough to ring in his ears, rocking the ground underfoot and sending up a gust of wind and dust that would’ve sent Hawks sprawling if he didn’t already have his wings braced, catching the draft and using it to put some distance between himself and the raging inferno of a building in front of him.

“ Shit .” He curses angrily, wiping sweat from his eyes with the back of one arm before sliding his visor back down and twisting in the air to fly another six hundred or metres or so to where his intern is picking himself up off the ground. Shouto brushes a few feathers out of his uniform as he stands up, Hawks flying overhead and calling the red plumes back to himself as he does so, having used several of them to throw the boy out of the blast zone. “You alright there, Shouto?”

His intern looks up and nods briskly, swiping at a shallow cut on his cheek.

“I’m fine,” He assures, glancing back out at the wreckage of the building currently burning itself to the ground, lips pursed. Hawks looks the same way, landing at the boy’s side and surveying the scene as best he can.

Even from the outside, the winged hero can spot ten, maybe twelve separate electrical fires within the multi-floored complex, all of them started by a criminal, likely electrically-quirked based on the details of the situation, who’d gone on an absolute rampage. There’d been no apparent motive in this case, just someone going on a crazy power-trip, and it irks Hawks to no end.

A scream rises from a watching pedestrian, thinned from the distance where they’re standing, as a part of the burning structure comes loose and tumbles down, charred black and still blazing. It hits the concrete within the evacuated zone they’ve already cleared of people in preparation of this, but Hawks still isn’t a fan of how unstable this situation is getting. They need to get this over with fast.

The building in question is nothing more than an office, between ten and thirteen floors at the most. It doesn’t warrant any kind of villain attack whatsoever unless the man in question has some burning vengeance against accountants. No, this is nothing more than an attempt to scare people taken to extremes, and judging by the expressions on the faces of the evacuated citizens that Keigo had both saved and passed earlier, it’s working.

He’s really not the best hero for this. There’s nothing he can do against the fires rapidly climbing the building, and they have yet to even get a visual on the villain supposedly still inside this fucking inferno. There are more water-quirked heroes on the way, but for now even the fire department gathered around the building looks leery to approach it, hesitant to engage. Hawks doesn’t blame them; there’s no telling where the villain will strike next, and for every fire they manage to put out, he raises another. Sending anyone in to either stop the fires or catch this guy would be a death trap, and Hawks can’t even sense which floor he’s on or where he might be striking next without having his feathers burned to a crisp. Instead, the winged hero had helped evacuate the building before the fires had begun to build above the first floor, the facility, thankfully, more empty than full. As it were, he was pretty sure they’d gotten everyone but when they were forced to evacuate themselves to get away from the flames, the only thing they could do was hope. That was standard with situations like this, but it didn't make it any less bitter.

“Alright- we’re going to head back in. Stay close, and don’t get any closer to that building than you have to- and keep your comm on. Between everything my feathers are sensing right now and how loud this scene is going to be, I won’t hear you otherwise.”

Shouto taps the earpiece in his ear and nods again, serious and determined. “Okay, let’s do this.”

The dual-quirked boy goes to sprint back into the action, only to jerk in surprise as a few of Hawks’ feathers propel him again, Shouto canting his head up at the hero flying overhead with an expression of muted annoyance.

The scene is no better up close. As Hawks releases his intern and calls his feathers back to him for the second time, he cringes at the sound of wood popping and snapping under the lick of the flames, of windows shattering and foundations groaning. There are reinforcements arriving now, thankfully, helping where they can and trying to cooperate as best as possible.

“Hawks!” From his left, he can make out Kamui Woods through the smoke below, the other pro working on keeping pedestrians out of the danger zone and across the fenced-off street, trying to put more distance between them. He’s shouting to get his attention, barely audible over the roar of the fire and the pandemonium between the crowd and gathered heroes. “That building’s about to come down any minute! Be careful out there!”

The damned building collapsing right now is the last thing they need- they’re in the middle of an urban complex surrounded by thin streets and packed with other stores and businesses. If this thing comes down like a house of cards, it’s taking other buildings with it.

“Got it!” The winged man shouts back, before comming Shouto, “Go help Kamui with crowd control- I don’t want you to be in range if this thing topples over.” He hears the boy’s affirmative on the line before watching him run over to the bark-skinned man, Hawks taking it upon himself to fly higher and survey the scale of the inferno from the upper levels that are harder to see from the ground. His hands are tied when it comes to keeping this thing upright, but here’s an area he can do something about. It doesn’t look good, and Hawks makes several loops between the skies and gathered groups of firefighters and water heroes to relay information on where and how the fire is spreading. He can’t see much, and without using his feathers to actually scout the interior of the building he feels almost blind, but every little bit of intel helps.

It feels almost like a stall for time until they can get a solid plan in motion. At one point Hawks  flies a little closer than he should have risked, almost getting caught in a spontaneous burst of flames that comes lunging out from a series of broken windows like a grasping hand, something within the building having caused another explosion, this one smaller and more contained but no less dangerous. The winged hero curses, dropping out of the way fast enough that only his primaries are singed, but it’s enough of a scare to get his heart pounding in his ears. He’s up pretty high to be burning his feathers off. His comm crackles to life as Shouto’s voice comes through, young and not without a note of nervousness.

“Are you alright?” He’s still in a dive, no doubt leaving a smoke trail behind him. That must absolutely look bad from the ground. Hawks immediately evens out, catching sight of a red-and-white haired boy in the crowd below, and comming in.

“I’m fine kiddo- everything still good down there?”

“We’re okay for now. Everyone’s listening and staying out of the way-”

The boy breaks off for a second and Hawks frowns, hesitantly stalling and flapping his wings to just hover in one spot, tapping at the comm to make sure it’s still working. He can’t see any commotion going on below, anything out of the ordinary unless his intern can see something he can’t. A moment later he hears Shouto muttering under his breath, confused about something. “What…”

“Shouto talk to me- what’s going on?”

There’s silence for another beat before the dual-quirked boy speaks again, suddenly sounding doubtful.

“I could have sworn I saw movement somewhere on the third floor where the smoke isn’t as bad, but that’s impossible. The fires would be too strong and the building too unstable for the criminal to get back down to the lower levels at all.”

Shouto’s right in his evaluation- there’s no way anyone could’ve been lighting fires from the bottom of the building and working their way up, only to make it back down again. Whatever he thought he saw must’ve just been an illusion caused by the smoke. Hawks is about to assure him of that much, making a loop around the upper portion of the building and trying to see anything himself, when Shouto raises his voice unexpectedly. “No- Hawks there’s someone in there.”

There shouldn’t be- not unless they missed a civilian and someone’s trapped. The winged hero curses again, glancing between the upper levels he’s still monitoring and the lower floors where this person is supposedly stuck. If he dives now he can reach the third floor, but they’ll lose their eyes on the situation at the top of the building, where only he can reach, None of the other heroes present are equipped with any kind of quirk that can get them up this high and keep them safe from the fires. More of them gathered around the base of the building can reach the third floor though- but will they believe an intern and risk their lives on his word alone? So far, Shouto’s the only one who’s seen anything and his word is at a disadvantage for being distanced from the scene. Besides, the heroes are spread thin as it is, between trying to keep people out of the range of the building and trying to control the fire situation, not to mention discussing how the hell to make sure it’ll still be standing coming out of this. Nobody’s going to want to put any heroes in there on top of everything else when the place could be coming down on their heads.

Hawks makes a few more quick loops around the building’s top, speaking to Shouto the whole while.

“Okay, I believe you. It’s gonna be alright, we’ll figure this out. Tell me what you’re seeing. They were on the third floor?” He asks, half-parts for confirmation and the other half to calm the boy down.

Shouto’s voice is tight when he answers.

“Second.”

Hawks furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“Second? There’s no way anyone made it from the third floor to the second that fast, not with the inferno happening in the lower levels. The stairs shouldn’t even be operable. Are you sure it’s the same person that you think you saw earlier?”

Fuck, if there’s more than one person still stuck in this building, this is going to be a nightmare. Hopefully Shouto’s wrong.

“I know,” The dual-quirked boy says hesitantly, sounding like he’s second-guessing himself again. “It doesn’t make any sense- and I’ve lost sight of them again, like they just disappeared.” He pauses, “Maybe I’m seeing things.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Hawks answers firmly, an uneasy feeling building in his stomach. He can’t put a finger on exactly why, but something just doesn’t feel right here. There’s a good chance it’s just high nerves and the smoke playing tricks, but something in his gut tells him not to risk it and take Shouto’s word. “Tell Kamui what you’ve just told me and have him keep an eye out as well. You might still be right.”

Distantly he can hear Shouto relaying this information to the other hero as Keigo focuses on the fires in front of him, trying to assess how best to handle the situation before they get any more attacks towards the top-

He freezes, realization washing over him like cold water. There haven’t been any more fires going towards the top of the building. Which could very well mean-

“Shouto, get every hero you can on the ground to be watching those lower levels-” Hawks begins quickly, going to pull himself into a dive once again, only to hear shouting on the other end of the comm. Kamui’s voice is clearly recognizable in the background, several others chipping in, many of them panicked. “Shouto?”

There’s a beat of nothing but yelling before Shouto’s voice comes back on the line, dry and hushed.

“ Ground floor .”

The explosion that follows a second later is strong enough to rock the building where it stands, and for one horrifying moment, Keigo thinks that it might just topple right over. All the same, all he can focus on is the fire, the smoke, and the fact that the implosion was right on the ground floor.

‘’He’s going for the crowds-’

“Shouto!” Hawks folds into a barrel roll as the scene comes into closer view, unfurling his wings with a ‘snap’ to gain air again when he’s close enough to get a visual of the ground- or close enough, rather that he would have had a visual if the air hadn’t been filled with dust and smoke, leaving everything a smoggy grey and brown below. The hero’s heart pounds in his throat as he makes another pass over, wings cutting through the dust like shears through dirty wool. God, his intern was down there, Shouto was down there - “Shouto, come in!”

“ Hawks ,” Shouto’s voice is a coughing croak through the comm, “Hawks, there’s two of them-” He’s cut off once more by the sounds of screaming from the crowd, Kamui shouting “ They’ve disappeared again! ” in the background. “I think one of them has an apparition quirk that was letting them jump between floors, and we’ve lost them-”

“Stay with Kamui,” Hawks orders calmly, “And keep trying to get people as far away from this as you can- they’re not out of range yet. I’m going to try and find you both.” A second thought crosses his mind immediately afterward, mouth going dry. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” Shouto answers, voice level despite the edge in it. He’s nervous, Hawks can tell, and he doesn’t blame him. For all of the times that Shouto Todoroki has ever endured an attack, this might be the first time he’s done so with a situation of this scale and without his classmates around him. “I’m still okay. Mt. Lady just arrived; it sounds like she’s going to try to stabilize the building.”

Well, that’s one problem solved that will make this situation a bit easier, at least.

“Okay, that’s good. Keep talking to me,” Hawks urges, swooping low again, only to be forced to pull up sharply when he almost flies into a bar of traffic lights, indiscernible in the smog. The dust is starting to settle though, and he manages to right himself before slowly backtracking, assuming that he’s flown over the moving crowd at this point and needs to double back. Trying to find a place to safely land in this mess is going to be a bitch and a half. Hawks lets a few feathers fly, trying to locate the group he’s searching for. “Tell me what you can see.”

“The last explosion they set off was just outside the building,” Shouto explains tersely, factual and precise, “But there didn’t seem to be anything around that the villain could’ve electrocuted to cause such a violent reaction, so I’m betting they have some kind of explosives on them.”

“Good to know,” Hawks prompts, trying to descend again only to make a left bank to avoid scraping another building with his wings, though a few of his feathers have picked up the place of the crowd. With a pinpointed location, he begins flying over, choosing to circle until he can see clearly enough to land safely. Sure enough, as the smoke continues to thin, the winged hero can make out the civilians below, some people running from the chaos, others clustered in a large bunch while a few individuals stand out, likely heroes trying to control the mass and get them out of harm’s way. It’s still difficult to make anyone out in particular, but he can at least see well enough to scan the ground now. “Alright, I’ve found the crowd again, but I can’t pick you out in particular yet. I’m here though, hang tight.”

True to Shouto’s word, the form of Mt. Lady grows through the smoke and sky, the tall woman standing at full size to hold the building safely upright and keep it from crumbling anymore than it already has. Keigo has no doubt that the fires inside will probably leave her with a few burns, but she seems steadfast for now, so he turns his attention back to the civilians at hand.

“I can see them again!” Shouto suddenly exclaims loudly, likely both for him and Kamui to hear, “They’re about to throw something right into the crowd!”

Hawks glances around frantically, trying to pinpoint where his intern is talking about, so he can get a hold on these two criminals before they do any more damage than they already have.

It’s then that he finally notices a red-and-white-haired figure peeling away from the front lines and running straight for two individuals not far away, Hawks’ heart sinking in his chest.

“Shouto-!” He manages before the ground below lights up again, this time less of an explosion and more of a blistering wall of fire. It sweeps toward the assembled crowd gobbling up the grass and debris like a gluttonous, destructive black hole, the whole crowd of people visibly stirring and moving at this point, trying to get away from the inferno. There are scattered water heroes still surrounding the building, some of them now racing to reach the new fire before it can build and begin consuming other buildings, other streets, endangering more lives-

Hawks touches down on the street and races towards Shouto as quickly as he can manage, breaking free from the panicked throng just in time to see his intern standing virtually alone in front of the wall of fire, hands raised.

The winged hero goes to shout for him, to use his feathers to yank him to safety before the boy tries to use his ice for this, because there’s no way it’ll work in time to keep him safe without potentially harming someone else or doing more damage to the building.

But Shouto doesn’t use his ice.

Hawks skids to an astonished halt, boots skidding over asphalt as a geyser of water erupts from the youngest Todoroki’s right hand, the boy visibly having to grit his teeth as sweat begins pouring down his face. The sight is incredible, still less strong than his ice would be, but powerful nonetheless as it comes down as a crashing wave on the fire that the other water heroes have yet to reach, almost immediately dousing a large portion of the most dangerous flames.

“Holy shi-” Keigo begins before catching himself, Kamui racing past him to ensnare the electricity villain and his apparitional counterpart who seems woozy on their feet, their quirk likely spent.

It takes a moment for him to realize that Shouto has his left hand at a ninety-degree angle to his right, heat radiating visibly off of him like a mirage. He’s using both quirks at once. He’s using both quirks at once , melting his ice just as quickly as he’s producing it. As of three weeks ago, that was something he’d told Hawks he couldn’t do. As of four days ago, Hawks had been at the League’s base, researching fire quirks because Shouto had announced a small concern about his control with his flames.

Not once had they ever discussed him doing anything like this, had barely considered it a possibility with where the boy was progress-wise, and now here he is, whipping out a new special move like it’s nothing.

It’s short-lived, the display only lasting a few seconds before Shouto’s body gives out and he has to take a wobbling step backwards, but those few seconds are enough time for some of the stronger water heroes to arrive and begin tackling the remainder of the fire. Hawks runs forward to catch his intern as he takes another step back and stumbles. There’s steam rising from his clothes, Shouto’s legs crumpling underneath him just as Keigo manages to reach his side. A billion questions shoot through his mind, but he doesn’t ask any of them. There’ll be a time and place for talking about this newfound ability of Shouto’s, but this isn’t it- for now, his main concern is getting his intern checked over and patched up.

“Did you catch them?” Shouto asks blearily, doing his best to keep his balance while Hawks loops one of the boy’s arms across his shoulders and walks them towards a group of ambulances that have just pulled in now that the scene is more or less under control, medics already filing out of the vehicles.

“Kamui’s got it covered,” Keigo informs him distractedly, keeping a close eye on Shouto as they pick their way around the rubble and still-burning debris, “That was a hell of a move kid- are you alright?”

Shouto chuckles weakly, head hanging low as they walk. His face is streaked with soot, ashes freckling the red part of his hair. Keigo is willing to bet he looks something similar. “You’re like a chicken.”

“Excuse me?”

The dual-quirked boy looks up at him slowly like raising his head is an effort, but when he manages, Keigo can see that despite the exhaustion, despite the way his knees are shaking and he’s dragging his feet to keep walking, Shouto’s mismatched eyes are proud.

“Mother hen.” He clarifies smartly, causing Hawks to smirk and shake his head.

“What am I going to do with you?” The winged man sighs, Shouto chuckling once again, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You too.” Shouto answers without hesitation, Keigo glancing down at him in surprise. Maybe it’s that he’s worn out, or his blunt nature is just coming through, but there’s no denying that the boy said the words and meant them.

Keigo’s grin softens, the man adjusting his hold on his student and shouldering a bit more of his weight as they walk, the wing he protectively brings up around Shouto bumping him lightly in the back of the head.

“C’mon kid. Let’s get you home.”

Chapter Text

Keigo hasn’t used the front door to his apartment in a while.

Usually, it’s easier to fly. There’s a balcony just off his living room that works perfectly fine for taking off and landing, and he lives high enough that he doesn’t really have to worry about anyone breaking in- well, with the exception of Dabi who hasn’t stopped climbing in through the window since they first met, but he’s more dedicated than most common thieves would be- so it’s easy enough to just leave the balcony door unlocked and enter from there.

With guests, however, the front door is preferable.

Keigo pulls his keys from the lock and swings the door open, stepping back to allow Shouto through first, and turning on the lights. It’s almost too bright after being out on the streets so late, and his eyes immediately regret it, the winged hero grimacing and using the dimmer switch to lower the intensity of the bulbs to something more manageable after having grown accustomed to the soft three A.M. city glow.

Their first solo night patrol as a team had been a success as far as Keigo was concerned. He’d been worried that Shouto might have come out of their last patrol a little rattled and had figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a few days to work out of the field and ease into it again. It wasn’t a matter of doubting Shouto’s capabilities at all, but at the same token the building fire had been more intense than anything they’d tackled up to this point and there was nothing wrong with stepping back and taking a breather. Besides, Shouto’s newfound move had given them something to begin discussing and working on, and Keigo had taken the opportunity to pull the boy aside for stamina training in the half-week following, practicing both of his quirks and trying to build up a routine for the boy to strengthen his ability in using both powers at once for more extended periods of time without burning out.

“You’ve discovered a pretty unique special move,” Keigo had explained to his intern after Shouto had expressed that he was interested in working with his newfound water technique to a greater extent. It was, the boy explained, a way to finally make his quirks his own after using them according to others’ direction for so long, the idea for the move having been a long-fueled one that he and Natsuo had thought up as kids. Hawks’ recent change in leadership over his training had brought the memory back to being something more tangible, as it was now a possibility to pursue once again. “And I definitely think it’s got a lot of potential for you in the future, If it’s something you want to pursue, I’m more than happy to help you explore and build on it, but we’re going to have to rein things in a little until you’ve got more practice using both of your quirks simultaneously. Water could be extremely useful for you in a ton of different situations, but it won’t do you any good if using it immediately makes you another casualty on the scene. Let’s start with the basics and build our way up.”

It’s been grueling physical work for Shouto, tough on his body and on his quirks, but, fortunately, not on his determination or spirited drive. Each day, their practice has been making tiny amounts of headway already, inching towards that final goal slowly but surely. It will be a long road to that last step of success, but Keigo is patient and Shouto is resilient.

All the same, it had recently become clear that they’d both been itching to be back out in the field, and Keigo had decided it was time to give his intern a taste of night life in Mustafu.

While it had definitely been the right move to make and a well-needed break from training, night patrols always came with their own sets of unpredictable difficulties; the primary one, in this case, being that finding open places to eat afterwards were near to impossible. Keigo’s stomach had been growling in protest for the last hour before they called it quits, and there’s no doubt in his mind that Shouto’s no different, but managing to catch a bite before sending the boy back to dorms had proven to be the most challenging part of the evening by far. Two failed attempts at locating open restaurants and multiple fruitless Google searches later had left the duo resorting to last-ditch measures, backtracking through the city streets to a building Keigo was all too familiar with, and of which Shouto had never seen.

All things considered it’s not an ideal situation for either of them, but the winged hero’s apartment had only been a few blocks away from where they’d finished up for the evening and his mediocre grocery situation would be enough to feed them for the night at least. That being said, Keigo isn’t used to having company over and there’s nothing to his cooking worth talking about, but he’s not sending his apprentice home hungry after a long patrol, and Shouto is a more welcome guest than most.

“You can set your stuff down anywhere,” Keigo offers, spotting his intern standing awkwardly off to the side and somewhat in his living room, glancing around for a convenient place to drop his schoolbag where it won’t seem like it’s in the way. He won’t find one. There’s too much open space in the winged hero’s apartment for the flat to feel comfortable- for it to even feel lived in, really, and Shouto seems to notice, standing in place like an exhibit on display. Keigo sheds a few of his feathers to remove his own coat and hang it by the door, red streaks zipping around the apartment to flick on more lights and start pulling things out of the fridge. Shouto complies, though he crosses the room to set his bag down beside a chair, as though setting it anywhere else will be an infringement to the empty stage that is Keigo’s living room.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt self-conscious about his so-to-speak nest of sorts, but seeing Shouto examine the place with such scrutiny makes Keigo want to at least gather up the many coffee mugs littered all over the place and move them to the sink where they won’t be so offensive. The only reason he doesn’t is that some of them are currently acting as markers on the many stacks of paperwork scattered across most of the viable surfaces in his apartment, indicating what is what, to some degree. Admittedly, it’s more cluttered than he would like- but it’s all organized chaos, and it’s not like there’s much of a mess beyond the papers and tangible evidence of a caffeine addiction he has yet to address, so he tells himself to let it slide.

Shouto begins looking around curiously and Keigo leaves him for a moment, partially to handle his unexpected bout of nerves, and partially to let him explore while the blond goes to change out of his hero uniform. Wandering down the hall to his room, Keigo shrugs into an old pair of sweatpants and a threadbare, overwashed shirt that used to have a band logo on the front, but has become so faded he can’t even remember what it was. Regardless of its battered shape, it’s a favourite of his, and he only recently managed to snag it back from an A-class villain who’s begun developing a notorious habit of stealing his clothes and wearing them instead of his own. “I’ll get food on in a second,” The winged hero calls, about to leave his room again before catching sight of a dark, navy-blue hoodie kicked halfway under his bed. Fishing it out, he throws that on as well if only to tidy up his sleeping space a little. He really hates messes in his bedroom, moreso than the paperwork and cups in the living room. “I’m thinking poke bowls tonight- are you particular about what you want in yours?” Reemerging from the hallway and scrubbing a hand through his wind-tangled hair, the man takes a second to gather up a few documents that have begun migrating into his living room, and drops them instead on an ever-growing stack by the counter. Shouto just shrugs, still standing in the same spot as Keigo left him, with a furrow between his brows and a frown on his face when he reaches his mentor’s eyes again. “What’s up?”

“Your apartment feels empty.”  Shouto says flatly, eyes narrowed in confusion as he glances around again, arms crossed almost uncomfortably over his chest. “It’s like I’m in a hotel. Is this some kind of temporary placement?”

‘It’s not mine.’

Keigo catches himself from speaking the words aloud at the last second, though they all but jump up on his tongue. Technically speaking, the flat is his own, on paper at least. It’s his name on the lease, his signature on the dotted line.

But it’s the Commission who placed him here when he was a fresh hero out in the world, a then nineteen-year-old boy from nowhere important put up in a pretty little penthouse birdcage. It’s the Commission who picked this building in particular, who furnished it, put a stack of books on a shelf that he’s never touched, used another to house a vase he’s never once put flowers in. And Shouto’s right- it is empty. Somewhere in the back of Keigo’s mind, he knows that there are people out there dying to live like this; that the open concept that offers way too much space, and sleek, barely used furniture, and granite countertops, and expensive, minimalist touches that toy at being humble but are almost painfully not so would all be dreamworthy to so many. And maybe he should be more appreciative, maybe it shouldn’t bother him as much as it does, because it’s not as though his Handlers haven’t spared any expense in trying to make the flat nice for him.

That doesn’t change the fact that his dining table cost more than most people would make in a year, and it’s been nothing more than a glorified desk since he first moved in. He owns exactly three original paintings that used to hang in a gallery in New York, a collection on the walls that Keigo has barely bothered to acknowledge. let alone appreciate. He’s not sure he’d really even be able to visualize any of them if he had his eyes closed, the longest he’s looked at them having been when he was in the process of taking one down to hang up Minako’s drawing of Tokoyami instead. That gallery piece is now taking up space in the entryway closet, forgotten. His bed is big enough for three, large enough to swallow one man whole and hit heavy in his chest when he wakes up blearily some nights, reaching out with searching fingers and not even being able to find the edge of the mattress, let alone anyone beside him.

This is a place for admiring from a distance, not for trying to make a home of.

“I’ve lived here since I was only a few years older than you.” Keigo replies, avoiding his intern’s mismatched eyes as he walks around the expanse of a kitchen island to pull out a cutting board. Picking up a knife from a block on the counter, he starts cutting up some of the ingredients he’d pulled from the fridge earlier, a few other feathers lifting bowls out of cupboards and a pot over to the sink. Shouto quietly makes his way over to rinse his hands at the tap before filling the pot himself. “There’s rice in the pantry- top shelf, don’t be afraid to move stuff around and take out anything else you want.”

“You’re already not that much older than me,” Shouto replies, returning a moment later with the rice and an unopened jar of ginger that Keigo had honestly forgotten he even owned. The dust on the top of the bottle proves that much, but Shouto brushes it off with an unfazed hand. He sets the pot to boil and begins measuring the rice into a separate bowl as Keigo begins slicing up thin pieces of avocado, “This just doesn’t seem like anything you’ve described liking.”

Keigo dumps the avocado in a small bowl and starts on a bundle of chives instead.

“I like the windows. They let in a lot of light.”

From behind him, standing somewhere over the stove, Shouto huffs.

“Any house can have windows.”

He immediately thinks of the League’s hideout, the big window in the living room that always annoys Shigaraki because it makes it difficult to see the screen when gaming during the day, and how the sunlight looks filtering through the open screen in Dabi’s room, driving away the shadows with a gentle hand.

“Yeah,” He admits with a small smile that Shouto can’t see, scraping the chives into another dish with his knife. “Yeah, I guess so. Can you grab me the shredder? Cupboard above your head.”

There’s a small thud as cupboard doors open and shut, and soon enough Shouto’s passing a grater over the blond’s shoulder, Keigo taking it with a small nod of thanks. He doesn’t look up from his work as Shouto hops up on the counter beside him, the teen scrolling through his phone quietly. “You can put on some music or something if you want; there should be a Bluetooth speaker kicking around here somewhere.”

Shouto doesn’t respond, expression blank as he continues to stare at the device in his hands. A curious glance proves he’s paused on a message thread, a stream of received texts lighting up the screen, none of them ones he’s responded to or sent himself. “Shouto?”

The phone clicks off, pocketed with a swift gesture and quickly forgotten.

“It’s nothing,” The boy assures him dismissively, “My old man’s just determined to get me to come home this weekend.”

Keigo frowns, setting down the carrot he’s been grating into thin shreds. The students have a long weekend coming up, with four days off instead of two. That is, without question, probably when Shouto’s referring to.

“This weekend? Isn’t that when Midoriya invited you to that Legendary Heroes convention in Warabi?”

He doesn’t really need to double-check. Shouto’s brought it up on a few occasions now, and Keigo knows this is important to him. Apparently the other boy had saved up enough money to buy two passes for full access to the convention for the weekend and had asked Shouto to take the second one. It’s a big deal to the dual-quirked teen, and having heard his whole story behind his friend situation, Keigo can empathize with why.

“Yes,” Shouto says, and Keigo knows him well enough by now to catch the slight shift in tone in his voice, the subtle underlay of bitterness thinly veiled underneath. “And he’s been persistent about it for a while, but now Fuyumi’s getting involved because she thinks he’s trying to spend time together as a family and I honestly don’t really want anything to do with it.” Shouto purses his lips, rubbing at his knuckles. “He’s started asking questions about training.”

“Then tell him you’re not going back.” Keigo says, Shouto glancing at him incredulously. “I’m serious- if you don’t want to go home, don’t. My offer still stands for getting you temporarily set up in agency housing if you ever need, but I’m sure nobody would mind if you stayed through the weekend in dorms either.”

It’s Tuesday now- technically Wednesday considering it’s almost four in the morning. With the students’ break beginning Friday, that doesn’t leave them with much of a time gap to find alternative solutions. His intern looks hesitant, fingers tapping slowly on the countertop as he considers quietly. Keigo begins grating again as he lets Shouto think, mulling silently to himself in turn. The fact that Enji’s started taking a vocal interest in Shouto’s training is definitely something to keep an eye on; it was bound to happen eventually, and in all honesty he’s amazed it hadn’t come up earlier. They’re a month into their internship and this is the first he’s heard of Endeavor commenting on the situation at all. Nonetheless, knowing the man’s history when it comes to his son and his ambitions for him, Keigo’s not taking chances. For all he knows, Enji could only be asking to try and be an involved parent, finally taking responsibility and trying to step up; but there’s an equally good chance that he’s falling back into a position of control.

Regardless of intent, if Shouto doesn’t want to go home, Keigo will respect his concerns over Enji’s potential acts of redemption any day of the week.

“I…” Shouto starts, only to dwindle off, frowning to himself. Keigo pauses in his work, waiting patiently, “Is it selfish to wish I didn’t have options?”

“What do you mean?”

Shouto looks away.

“Most people don’t. I guarantee the rest of my classmates are going home for the break without thinking twice about it.” The boy slips off the counter to stir the rice, and Keigo properly sets down the grater again to turn and lean against the counter Shouto’s abandoned, watching his intern with crossed arms. “They don’t have to question where they’ll go. And even if I choose to stay in dorms or housing, I’ll be the only one.” He doesn’t meet Keigo’s eyes as he adds, “I don’t know what it’s like to be…”

Shouto’s voice fades in frustration and Keigo adjusts his wings slightly, one hand tightening on his bicep.

“…Secure?” He asks gently, encouraging Shouto to finish the statement. The boy finally looks at him, expression blank as ever, carefully neutral and impassive.

“Normal.”

Keigo stares at his intern for a few beats, wordless and a little stunned. It’s enough of an accidental deterrent for Shouto’s eyes to shutter, the boy straightening his shoulders and turning back to the rice. “My apologies- this isn’t an appropriate conversation to be having with a mentor. I’ve overstepped.”

His apology burns almost more than his confession.

Keigo bites his lip for a moment, noticing a sudden tenseness in the air that wasn’t there before. Assurances right now aren’t going to convince Shouto of anything; they’re a little too far gone for that, and the boy’s never been the type to take comfort at face value.

He’s about to try talking to him anyway, when something small and blue nearly hidden entirely under a stack of papers on the dining table catches his attention, Keigo whisking away a few feathers to unearth the small speaker he’d been mentioning earlier. Bringing the tiny device over, the winged hero pulls out his own phone, beginning to quickly assemble a music playlist as Shouto continues tending their food on the stove.

“Are the carrots almost done?” The dual-quirked teen asks eventually, tone flat and measured like it came pre-packaged and pre-sized to not be too much or too little of anything remarkable. When Keigo doesn’t answer, wrapped up in his new task, the boy turns. “Hawks- what are you doing?”

Holding up one finger in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture, Keigo finishes putting together his list and shares it to the boy, hearing Shouto’s phone give off a muffled bird chirping tone that signifies his message has definitely gotten through, though in any other circumstance he would have given the teen an amused glare for his cheekiness.

“Have you ever just put on some good music and danced like nothing can touch you?” Keigo asks while syncing his phone to the speaker, catching Shouto’s silent head shake ‘no’. “Good, neither have I.” The speaker kicks to life, and Shouto glances down at it, still confused. “To be honest, kiddo, I’m not all that normal either,” They’re not going to delve into that, Shouto doesn’t need to know the extent to which he means. Those curious eyes turn on him at the statement, surprised. “But I feel like doing something normal right now could do us both some good.”

Without warning, he cranks the volume on the speaker as the sound connects and the music roars to life, leaving the little device and his phone on the counter by a stunned Shouto who watches in dismay as the winged hero pushes his couch a bit farther back to make the living room even more spacious.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I absolutely am,” Keigo replies, grinning widely, “Turn off the stove so we don’t burn the place down by accident. The rice can wait.”

Keigo sheds a large portion of his feathers, directing them down the hallway and into his room where they won’t get in the way or be damaged before closing his eyes and focusing on the music. It’s an upbeat rock song, guitars thrumming, lyrics rebellious. He can feel it pulsing in the air around him like a heartbeat, sensitive feathers only honing in on the vibrations and amplifying them all the more, the music curling and wrapping through his apartment like it’s alive, serpentine and adrenaline-inducing. Tentatively, he begins to sway to the tune, getting a feel for the rhythm, head lolling to either side lazily as he tries to relax and take everything in naturally.

But swaying isn’t enough- not for this, not for now. It’s with an ounce of trepidation that Keigo starts to dance, awkward and unpolished, testing the waters before diving right in. At first, it feels goofy and uncoordinated, like he’s gangly in ways he doesn’t remember being when he looked in the mirror earlier, and his feet weigh more than they did before, a calf on new legs trying to run before it can stand. Once he catches his balance and starts letting go, though, the tension washes away to something much more pure and light, his confidence and grin only continuing to grow in tandem as he moves until he breaks into laughter.

Oh, this is fun .

Shrugging off his hesitations entirely, Keigo begins to dance with no holds barred, tugging off his hoodie and throwing it in the general direction of the couch, not bothering to check and see whether or it lands on the furniture or not.

“We’re going to get a noise complaint,” Shouto warns over the music, but Keigo waves away his concern.

“The Commission owns this building and the two floors below us are kept empty through the year unless they have travelling personnel.” He shouts back to be heard, spinning in a tight circle that almost has him falling over when his socks slip on the hardwood. He laughs again, giddy on adrenaline before noticing that Shouto is hanging back by the counter looking awkward and wary, even as Keigo reaches out a hand and beckons him over. “It’s alright, c’mon Shou!”

Shouto eyes him doubtfully, still holding back though he cocks his head at the older man curiously as though contemplating something, a quick flash of a frown creasing his face. It’s gone and covered up within a moment as the boy’s phone buzzes adamantly in his pocket once more, persistent and irritating, and Shouto lock eyes with Keigo, the simple vibrating tone splicing the music better than any knife. For a few seconds they both just stare, Shouto assessing, Keigo encouraging, neither one making a move. Then, very pointedly, the dual-quirked boy fishes the phone from his pocket and lets it drop on the counter completely ignored, taking a second to turn off the stove before stepping out into the living room.

“Father would hate this.” Shouto announces, monotone but almost casually indignant. It’s hard to imagine that the odd, off-time motions and stiff arm gestures he’s making are supposed to be an act of rebellion in any form. In fact, it’s hard to even classify the movements as dancing in general.

“All the more reason to give it a shot,” Keigo prompts when the teen falters after a few moments under the weight of doing something so clearly out of his comfort zone. The older man pulls a goofy move that has Shouto quirking an amused grin, recovering somewhat from his sputter of courage with a slightly more enthusiastic sway to the left, “Just try moving to the beat, kid- you’ll get the hang of it!”

“But how do I move?”

“However you want! Go for it!”

In demonstration, Keigo steps over to the bookcase and snatches the decorative vase off the shelf to use as a mock-microphone as he begins singing along to add to his antics, Shouto finally breaking face enough to chuckle at him and try moving his head back and forth to the melody as well.

It takes a while for the concept to click completely but within a few songs, Shouto has picked up the basics, finally having let loose enough to be jumping around and dancing freely, eyes pressed shut and a grin beginning to work its way across his face. He laughs when Keigo almost drops the vase at one point, the two of them bickering over the music about how expensive the ugly little thing would’ve been to break, and laughs even harder when he accidentally bumps into the coffee table and has to stand everything upright on it again like dominoes. It’s good to see him act his age, even if just for now; reckless and energetic, and unapologetically full of life.

Eventually, he falls out of a spin to collapse on the couch tiredly, still smiling, shoulders shaking in mirth. Keigo chuckles with him, going to turn off the music before taking a seat on the other side of the sofa, leaning against the arm, and draping his significantly smaller-than-normal wings over the other side. “Feeling better?” He asks, and Shouto nods, curling up tiredly against a throw pillow.

“Yes, thank you.” A look of contemplation crosses his face a moment later. “Do you think my friends would do this with me if I asked?”

Upon first thought, Keigo deduces that Bakugou is probably a hard no, but from what he’s heard of Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida, the other three might. He smiles a little to himself too at the thought.

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” Keigo answers, standing up to grab them each a glass of water. Upon entering the kitchen, he’s met with the sight of their unfinished dinner scattered across the countertops, grimacing to himself at the thought of cooking now. “Hey kid, are you still hungry?”

Shouto’s muffled ‘no’ proves he’s more tired than anything. Keigo quickly scrapes their chopped veggies into containers and tucks them away in the fridge, choosing to abandon the rice entirely, before snatching a few protein bars for them each and calling it good. Returning to the living room proves that the combination of patrol and dance has Shouto completely worn out, the boy laying in the exact same position as when Keigo left him, picking at the loose threads in the embroidery on the cushion. Keigo shakes his head, watching the boy fighting to keep his eyes open as he enters the room again, placing the water down on the table by Shouto’s head for him to find later when he’s more coherent, and forcing one of the protein bars into his free hand. Shouto thanks him quietly again, fumbling with the wrapper and not, to his credit, grimacing at the taste of the snack, which reminds Keigo unpleasantly of sawdust the moment he bites into his own.

“You know,” The older man says eventually, scratching at his jaw, “Speaking of your friends, why not ask and see if you can stay at Midoriya’s- for the upcoming weekend, I mean. Calling it a sleepover sounds kinda immature, but with the two of you hanging out and everything, it’s an option.”

Shouto is quiet for a few moments before speaking. Eventually his expression softens as he thinks it over, glancing at his mentor.s

“I think I would like that.” He looks up, grinning softly, almost relieved, cautiously hopeful. “It’s a normal option.”

“It’s a normal option.” Keigo repeats, reaching out to ruffle his intern’s hair messily. For once, Shouto doesn’t protest, and the winged man wonders if it’s because he’s tired, or if he’s just getting used to it. Yawning, Keigo stretches his arms above his head, wings flaring slightly as he does so, “As for now, you may as well stay the night here. We’ve got patrol again in eight hours with a few former sidekicks of mine who’ll be in town; they’re meeting us at the agency, so there’s no sense sending you back only to make you head this way again later.”

Shouto nods silently as he settles further into the couch, sinking against the pillow he’s had a hold on for the better part of twenty minutes, now. Meanwhile, Keigo wanders off to shoot a message to Aizawa, informing him that his student won’t be back until later the next day, and to find Shouto some blankets stored in the hallway closet, kept there for guests that Keigo never has. He takes a second to specifically pick out one in white and another in red for the sake of good humour, before returning to his intern who’s already almost passed out, glass of water untouched where it sits. “There’s more blankets in the closet over there if you need them, but I’m betting two will probably be enough- I don’t like keeping the apartment cold or anything, so-”

“You called me Shou earlier,” Shouto cuts him off, voice dry and weighted with sleep, accepting the blankets with one hand and tucking them under his arm. Keigo frowns, trying to recall, his own exhaustion making his memory fuzzy and reasoning for why on earth it might be important even fuzzier. “You’ve never done that.” Upon registering Keigo’s confusion, Shouto begins unfolding the blankets over himself, not looking the other man in the eye when he says, “That was Touya’s nickname for me.”

Realization hits the winged hero like a slap across the face, and he freezes in place, unsure for the second time tonight as to what to do or say. Fuck, he had slipped up. The truth of the matter is that he’s become so used to having Dabi address Shouto as ‘Shou’ that he’s started thinking of him in that way as well, and while that in itself isn’t an issue, the origin of the nickname itself may be.

Shouto had made it very clear from right off the bat that he didn’t want to talk more about Touya or Dabi any more than they already had prior to their internship, which was minimal. Aside from the conversation they’d had all those months ago when the boy had revealed to him the atrocities of the Todoroki household, Keigo had been careful to avoid bringing up the eldest Todoroki sibling even in passing. They’re both aware of the fact that Dabi now plays some form of an active role in Keigo’s life beyond what Shouto is aware of, but the boy doesn’t want to know any of it, and Keigo is hesitant to tell him.

Admittedly, it’s easier that way. Like this, loyalties aren’t questioned, ethics aren’t put under speculation, trust isn’t laid on the line. There are a lot of portions to this that Keigo wouldn’t expect Shouto to understand even if he did know, and while it sometimes feels wrong to have what almost feels like a second life behind his intern’s back, especially with Shouto becoming as close to Keigo as he is, it’s safer for both of them this way.

So, in that sense, Shouto opening the door in mentioning Touya is a first, and Keigo isn’t sure where this will go. His training is the first thing to kick in, a billion lies and misdirections leaping to mind, the urge to put on a convincing smile and talk the situation down a strong one. He could walk out of this without being caught again, could make this trip-up look like a naive blunder hinged on lack of knowledge rather than what it truly is: the exact opposite.

But instead, he stays quiet and lets Shouto do the talking, though it sets every nerve he has on edge. He shouldn’t be as worried as he is; Shouto already knows what he knows, this is nothing new.  Years of conditioning can’t be persuaded, though, that he’s been caught and there won’t be repercussions.

Shouto looks up at him, mismatched eyes clear.

“You can call me Shou too if you want. I’ve missed it.”

Keigo blinks, surprised. That hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting at all, but the sentiment is a nice one. He takes a long breath, releasing the pent-up tension in his shoulders and chuckles fondly, chucking a better pillow at the boy who has to raise an arm to ward off the cushion.

“You’ll wake up with the pattern of that thing imprinted into your face if you sleep on it.”

Shouto laughs, moving to switch the pillows out, though he still holds the throw pillow to his chest loosely. “Get some sleep, kid. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

His intern nods, mumbling a tired “Goodnight,” before rolling over so his face is turned in towards the crook of the couch, blankets pulled up high enough that only his closed eyes are visible. Keigo takes a second to wander around the apartment, turning off all of the lights and locking up the door before making his way towards his own room, Shouto already breathing steady and quietly as he passes by. Keigo grins softly at him, stretching his arms once more before padding down the hallway and heading off to bed himself.

“Sleep well, Shou.”

The winged hero lifts his visor and studies the skies overhead as they walk, examining the building clouds, grey and dark in the horizon. There’s a storm brewing, or, at the very least, a heavy downpour waiting to burst, just continuing to grow in the distance. If it holds off long enough, he might be able to convince Dabi to take him back to that abandoned station again, the one they went to when it rained before, with the glass dome that made him feel like he was standing in the sky itself.

It’s a dramatic way of remembering it, but Keigo had honestly really enjoyed that spot, and wouldn’t hesitate to go back if he weren’t afraid of getting lost on his own. It had been peaceful there, sitting under the rain and enjoying the quiet. Likely, the excursion would still be better appreciated with company, though, and considering the amount of work Dabi had been putting in with the League lately, recruiting in the streets with Twice, he’d probably be willing to take a night off.

A hint of a smile tugs on Keigo’s face and his intern catches it, having fallen easily into step beside him, and catching the focus of his mentor’s attention.

“You’re hoping for rain, aren’t you?” He asks knowingly, Keigo’s smile only growing as he shares a look with his apprentice, neither confirming nor denying his observation. Shouto looks skyward as well and shakes his head, though there’s a faint trace of a smile on his own mouth as he does so.

They turn and take a right, bumping into a few fans with the agency building now in sight. With some time to spare, it’s not a big deal to take a few moments to chat and sign autographs, Shouto in particular having started to become a new favourite up-and-coming hero for younger audiences of all things. He’s been very popular with children; a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. Keigo has enjoyed watching the teen learn to interact with his small but growing fanbase, gradually overcoming his hesitant awkwardness little by little and growing more comfortable as the days pass.

Shouto’s improving measurably though, leaps and bounds better about handling situations like this than he was when they’d first started their internship. It seems he’s taken Keigo’s words about giving people a name to remember to heart; he always makes sure to introduce himself now, and Keigo wonders if his hero alias being his real name isn’t part of what’s made him so loved by the younger kids. Talking to him and having him introduce himself as though you’re already close friends is probably very special to them. Regardless, seeing Shouto carve out his own image as a hero has been a pleasure and seeing him succeed with it has been even greater. The teen takes a moment to sign a few things, still using the same pen he accidentally acquired from the first boy to ask for his autograph all those weeks ago, a patient grin on his face.

By the time they make it to his agency, Hawks’ former sidekicks are already waiting, Astra floating silently by the door with her arms crossed stoically over her chest, and Wisp sitting sprawled out across the stairs like he owns them. Hawks raises an eyebrow at that, but can’t help a smirk from printing itself on his face. Wisp might be a good three years older than he had been when he’d first sidekicked with Hawks’ agency, but it seems that some things never change.

“Hawks, my man! How’ve you been?” The man calls loudly, immediately sitting up and bounding gracelessly down the steps. Astra eyes her partner’s rambunctious nature with a displeased eye, though she nods silently to Hawks in turn, her version of a polite hello if ever Keigo saw one. “Dude, it’s been forever!”

“It has been a while- where did those muscles come from? When you left my agency you were still a twig.” Hawks jokes in kind, stepping forward to lightly smack the dark-haired hero’s shoulder with a closed fist, Wisp laughing boisterously. “Glad to see you’re doing well; congrats on your latest ranking by the way, I saw that you moved up twenty spots in the last review.”

“And I’ll be coming for your spot next!” Wisp winks teasingly, Hawks giving a short laugh. He’s more than welcome to Keigo’s position if he wants it, but they both know Wisp has a long ways to go before he’ll hit top ten. “And this must be Shouto, right? I’ve heard a lot about you on the news over the last few months. You’re a born natural!”

“Thank you.” Shouto ducks his chin in acknowledgement, guarded and professional once more in the presence of strangers. Keigo wasn’t expecting anything different, but he hopes that the boy will still enjoy spending the day with these two. There’s a lot he can learn from them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hey, the pleasure’s all mine,” Wisp grins, before waving Astra down the stairs. “Astra, c’mon, you’re being antisocial. Say hi!”

When Hawks had heard the news that Astra and Wisp had teamed up for their debut, after each leaving his agency, he’d been nothing short of stunned. For all the ways Wisp was outgoing, loud, goofy, Astra was the complete opposite. Her no-nonsense behaviour and practical attitude had made her an incredible sidekick in the time she’d spent with him, but her closed off personality and adamant refusal to become involved in a team atmosphere had made her difficult to know. When they’d parted ways, it had been almost as strangers, though she’d worked under Hawks for at least two years.

In many ways, looking back on it, he’d regretted not trying harder to become better acquainted with the young woman. That being said, he wasn’t sure Astra would’ve let him, but the opportunity to at least see her again was a nice one, and having looked into them both and found out that his two sidekicks had teamed up further down the line had been a pleasant, if unanticipated, surprise. Originally, Hawks had been planning on only getting a hold of Wisp for a day, but in finding out that Astra was also part of the picture, he’d wasted no time in getting in contact with them both.

“You cut your hair.” Hawks notes as the young woman makes her way gracefully down the steps, floating down swiftly instead of walking. Once upon a time, Astra’s hair had been a part of her trademark; with her dark skin, her stark white hair had been all the more magnificent, long and cloud-like as it floated around her. It was a feature that had solidified her hero name, Astra, as one who could most definitely belong among the stars, and Keigo could remember that being one of his first impressions of her.

But that hair is gone now, shaved down to a fierce military buzzcut that reminds Hawks of dandelion fuzz, though it lacks all the fluff and supplies all the edge. Astra meets his eye with a challenging stare as though waiting for him to critique her new appearance.

“It wasn’t practical to have hair floating around my face in battle. This is much more efficient.” She says shortly, and Keigo nods, easily seeing her point.

“No, I get it- this suits you. Very badass.”

Astra blinks at him as though surprised, before giving an appreciative nod as he continues, “You were bumped up in the rankings too, right? I think I saw that you just broke into the top one-fifty?”

“Indeed.” His former sidekick confirms, Wisp beaming proudly at her. Their dynamic is a unique one, Keigo will give them that much. The woman turns to Shouto, eyes like flint. “You’re the intern. I look forward to seeing what mettle you’re made of.”

Shouto looks ready for any challenge she can throw at him, for which Keigo is proud. He doesn’t waver under the woman’s assessing eyes, determined.

“Alright, enough niceties; can we head out now?” Wisp asks, antsy, “I’m ready to get a move on.”

Energetic and more than ready to expend his quirk a little, Wisp pounds his fist into his open hand, a small geyser of water crashing up around his fingers as he does so. Shouto regards him with consideration at the gesture, a light switching on in his eyes.

“You have a water quirk?” He asks, interested. Wisp nods, displaying both palms to the teen, face out.

“Water projection. Just from my hands, though, nowhere else.”

This was the main reason Keigo had wanted Shouto to meet Wisp; the move he was trying to accomplish wasn’t entirely unlike the other man’s full quirk, and if anyone could offer him some solid feedback, it would be Wisp. He’d be a better resource than Keigo himself in any regard, and it’s obvious that Shouto is beginning to piece together what today’s objective is going to be.

He begins asking Wisp questions as they walk, the two chatting and going ahead of Astra and Hawks who trail behind, observing the happenings of the city in relative silence. Eventually, though, after an hour or so of patrolling, the young woman speaks up.

“He’s special to you, isn’t he?” She asks point blank, Keigo surprised to hear her speak. He glances over, trying to process what it was, exactly, that she asked, but Astra clarifies for him. “Your new intern. Sidekicking with you, it was always a matter of keeping up or being left behind. You were a solo player, even when you had a team at your back. That was part of the reason I left as early as I did; I had no interest in handling the leftovers of a scene you’d already gone into.”

A pang of guilt causes Hawks to wince, but he doesn’t argue. After all, Astra’s not wrong; it had always been a dick move, but he’d never really wanted sidekicks. He’d taken them on because the Commission had wanted him to, but he’d never worked as well with them as he could’ve. Every day was like an attempt to prove he didn’t need the help they were forcing him to accept and at the time it had been aggravating, but he hadn’t really considered it from the opposite angle.

Astra continues before he can apologize, though, her voice familiar in it’s low, flat tone. “But you wait for this boy. You’re working at his pace, actually walking with him through this. That’s not something you ever used to do; what changed?”

Keigo stares straight ahead, watches Wisp demonstrate something with his hands to Shouto, who copies the gesture and makes small adjustments with the older man’s critiques.

“I’m learning to be better too,” He says eventually, still watching his intern, “Shouto challenges me to be better. These days I’m learning just as much as I teach.”

Astra doesn’t respond for a few moments afterwards, watching Shouto and Wisp as well.

“That’s good.” She says, measuredly and at length, giving a slow nod. “I’m glad to see it.”

They drop the subject there, content to maintain their vigilance in silence. Astra isn’t much of a talker and Keigo isn’t in a chatty mood either, and the simple camaraderie of walking side by side is enough for now.

For a moment, it almost feels like peace. For a moment, it seems that all storms but the one in the clouds have let up or passed entirely.

For a moment, Keigo dares to believe that here, in these precious minutes that he’ll later lock into memory, nothing can possibly go wrong.

Moments are not infinite things.

They see the smoke before anything else, and at first glance, Keigo assumes it’s just part of the rainclouds overhead. He almost dismisses it entirely until the smell hits next, smoke and ashes, fire on the breeze.

Something’s burning.

“That’s got to be one hell of a fire,” Wisp comments, eyes narrowed as he watches the smoke trail grow, the plumes growing darker and heavier as they reach for the sky like guilty hands. Keigo frowns as well, about to answer when the wail of firetruck sirens cuts him off, one growing nearer until it speeds past them, barreling in the same direction they’d been heading. “Maybe we should head over and see if they need any help.”

“At the very least, we can move civilians away from the scene,” Astra begins agreeing, floating over to him. The woman looks up to study the smoke pillars, soaring up a short ways to get a better vantage point over what they may be dealing with. Seeing as how she has that much handled, Keigo turns to his intern, addressing Shouto seriously.

“Are you ready to head into another fire after the last one, or do you want to wait?”

The dual-quirked boy ducks his head, mismatched eyes determined and sure.

“I’m ready.”

Hawks nods, turning back to his sidekicks, Astra touching down on the ground once more. She looks troubled.

“I can’t see anythi-” She begins, cut short when Keigo’s comm chooses then to crackle to life. The voice on the other end is strained and rushed, audibly shaky, even over the speaker.

“This is an all-call for any pros patrolling in sectors twelve and thirteen of Mustafu,” The woman says, repeating herself a second time a moment later, “We have reported villain activity in the Chiharu sector. Pro hero Endeavor is requesting immediate aid.”

A trickle of dread begins rolling down Keigo’s spine as Wisp comments on Endeavor needing help, the winged hero too immersed now in the comm call to pay attention to whatever it is the other man is saying. “Novice heroes are advised to remain off-scene and on standby unless absolutely necessary. I repeat, novice heroes are advised not to engage on scene.”

A mother runs past, both of her children running at her heels with their hands clasped firmly in her own. All three are white as ghosts. A man is quickly to follow, dropping his suit jacket when it slips from hanging over his arm, and not bothering to stop and pick it up. Keigo watches them in inexplicable horror, gaze turning sharply to the smoke billowing overhead. He barely registers the new voice speaking when RockLock chimes in over the comm thread, assertive.

“Advised not to engage? Affirmative, but what is it we’ve got on our hands here? Civilian attack?”

Two more people run past. Five. Eight. An officer arrives and is waved over by Astra, the two beginning to debrief one another with the limited information they both have.

Hawks’ mouth is dry.

“As of now, it’s believed this is a targeted hero attack, though it may escalate to endanger civilians in proximity,” The woman clarifies, sounding nervous, “Once again, pro hero Endeavor is requesting backup from anyone within range.”

“We’re five blocks away,” Another voice calls in, “Any idea who we’re dealing with, or is this someone new?”

Keigo’s heart stops.

“The individual in question is A-ranking and highly dangerous. Novice heroes do not engage, ” The woman stresses one final time, “Quirk: Cremation. Identity confirmed as League of Villains member Dabi.”

Chapter Text

Oh God, he can’t breathe.

It’s one of those moments where it feels like the world should either come to a complete standstill or begin falling down, buildings crumbling, earth shattering underfoot like brittle glass. It shouldn’t keep moving. The sirens shouldn’t still be wailing, people shouldn’t still be running, Shouto’s eyes shouldn’t move to meet his in a quick snapping motion that is equal parts instinctive for instruction and instinctive for help. Everything’s supposed to stop for just a second because the very idea of it not coming to a halt in the same way his heart has paused long enough to skip a beat in his chest is near impossible.

This isn’t happening.

He can’t fucking breathe.

Distantly, Keigo is aware of Astra still talking to the officer, getting more details on the scene while Wisp fiddles with his own comm, casting unnerved glances between Shouto and Hawks as if  unsure what to do about the turn this situation has taken. In all honesty, Hawks isn’t sure himself.

“Some wants are more persistent though, always on my mind. They’re less like casual desires and more like a constant itch, harder to ignore. Cigarettes. My old man six feet under. You. It’s fucking distracting sometimes.”

“Hawks?” Wisp calls. His voice sounds muted even though he’s only standing three feet away, like Keigo’s earmuffs are on. “It’s your call, man. Are we heading in?”

He doesn’t want this to be his call. He doesn’t want to go into this scene at all; he’s terrified of what he’ll find when he gets there, scared to play witness to whatever may still be happening with his hands virtually tied.

“Things can’t be better for any of them until he’s gone.”

“Will it make things better for you?”

“It’d sure as hell let me sleep better at night.”

He’d actually tried it.

There’s a weight building in Keigo’s chest, threatening to crush his ribs bone by hollow bone. This shouldn’t be a surprise; he should’ve seen it coming, should’ve taken the possibility of this happening more seriously than he had. For all the times Dabi had mentioned facing Endeavor, they’d only talked about it that once at the League’s hideout, and never again.

It seems, in one way or another, that he hadn’t been wholly convinced that the arsonist would actually make good on his threats. Not when they’d both known what was on the line. And oh, Keigo had known Dabi was serious in his thoughts, that he’d meant what he said, and Keigo had thought he’d taken the whole possibility seriously as well- but somehow he’d never expected, not really, that they’d actually end up here.

“Don’t act so surprised, Pigeon. This has been on the agenda for a while.”

This time when someone says his name, it’s Shouto, voice stiff as manilla paper. He’s wearing his grown-up mask right now, bangs shielding his eyes from speculation, jaw tense and rigid, shoulders back.

“Hawks, I can handle this. Let’s go.”

Absolutely not.

It’s the first coherent, tangible, decision that he’s made since that comm warning went off, the choice so solid, he’s almost certain it’ll make a noise when he drops it. Shouto, young, growing, sixteen-year old Shouto Todoroki, who has watched his family collapse and fold on itself time and time over like angry hands on a house of flimsy cards, isn’t going to be present for this. The boy’s been scarred by the past enough, wears one on his face as a permanent reminder of darker times in which this was a norm and not a nightmare.

This isn’t a horror for him, it’s a fucking relapse. Keigo can tell by the tension in his face, the way he’s braced for whatever they’re about to walk into, that this is not something new. This may be a street instead of a sparring ring, this may be a city instead of his family home, this may be a day patrol instead of an otherwise silent Wednesday night; but for Shouto, that doesn’t make any difference. How old was he the first time he walked through that training room door to find his brother being beaten to the floor? How old was he when it began happening to himself?

“Wisp. Astra.” The winged man finally speaks, snatching their attention immediately. It feels like he hasn’t said a word in hours, though it could’ve only been a minute at most, mouth dry, throat aching. His eyes don’t leave his intern’s as he finally gives them all a directive, “Go back to the agency with Shouto. I’ll head into this scene on my own.”

“Dude, are you sure?” Wisp sounds hesitant, Astra indifferent if not a little dubious. Keigo nods though, certain.

“My priority right now is as a mentor. Head back; this isn’t your fight.”

Both of his sidekicks nod, albeit tentatively, turning back in the direction they came from, but Shouto stands steadfast and immovable, fists clenched.

“I can handle this,” He repeats, firmer this time, a bit more loud, a bit more defiant. “I can do this with you.”

“Shouto-”

“Heroes can’t let situations become personal.” His intern is trembling just a little now, voice shaky. He makes up for strength in volume. “I’m strong enough to do this, I can help you!”

“Shou.” Keigo says quietly and his intern stills, the older man walking up to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. Shouto’s watching him with wide eyes that he probably doesn’t realize show as much raw emotion as they do. “It’s alright. You’ve got nothing to prove. Not to me, or to anyone else.” He gestures towards Wisp and Astra with his chin, releasing the boy’s shoulder after a small squeeze of reassurance, “Go back with them. Once we get everything sorted out, you’ll be the first person I report to, alright?”

Shouto’s expression is torn, but eventually he concedes when Hawks adds, “It’ll be safer the fewer people we have on scene anyway.”

The teen sighs quietly, shoulders slumping just slightly.

“Be careful.” He says, that statement sounding more like a demand than a request. Hawks grins just a little despite the nerves, offering his intern a tiny nod as he steps away.

“Will do, kid. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

Hawks doesn’t add that he’s probably the safest out of anyone who could possibly be put in this situation, though the knowledge goes unsaid. They part ways with Shouto still glancing back at his mentor over his shoulder and Hawks doing his best to look convincing, despite the growing pit carving itself out in his stomach. He’s afraid that this has already become a manhunt, prays that Dabi’s at least had the sense to not continue fighting now that the heroes have been called in for reinforcement.

‘Get out of there,’ He thinks desperately to himself, forced to keep the thought silent, ‘Please, for the love of God, Dabi, get out of there.’

“I’ll come back to help deal with the fires later- and don’t worry,” Wisp calls out as they all depart, the young man offering Hawks a determined smile, “That asshole will get what’s coming to him.” At Hawks’ blank, confused look, Wisp clarifies, “The villain- he’ll no better than to mess with one of our pros after today. Go show him what heroes are made of!”

It’s meant to be heartening, but his words only make Keigo’s stomach roll with nausea because no, that isn’t right and-

The hero takes to the skies before he can try talking himself out of it, reporting in on his comm.

“This is Hawks; I’m on my way to Endeavor’s location.”

The woman chimes in again, giving directions, updates on the scene, answering questions by others, but Keigo isn’t listening. His heart is pounding so hard in his ears that it’s difficult to focus on anything else, pulse flighty and unsteady, throat tight. It’s still hard to breathe, and he can’t tell if it’s an impending bout of anxiety crushing his chest or if it’s because he’s flying fast enough that the very air is being stolen from his lungs. Maybe it’s a combination of both, but he doesn’t have the capacity to dissect that right now.

A cold gust of wind forces him to adjust his flight and shiver in silence, the ground a blur below. He’s not even sure what to think, what to process, how to handle this. Everything in him is warring between feeling overwhelmed and feeling nothing at all, falling into the dissociative protection that is Hawks or fighting to feel this and hold onto it as Keigo.

He doesn’t get much time to decide. As the scene in question fast approaches, Keigo can feel the air turn warm around his feathers, the smoke rising and spreading into the darkening sky. From above, he feels like he’s coming upon the remains of a funeral pyre.

He hopes to anyone, anything who might be listening, that this isn’t the literal case.

Landing close to the scene but still far enough that he won’t be caught up in any fires still burning that he can’t yet see through the smoke, Keigo pushes up his visor and begins to walk, the roadway empty and completely silent. There’s no bustle and life here, no sound, nothing. It’s like the entirety of the street has fled in the wake of whatever cataclysmic event erupted here. Taking a second to chime in on his comm one last time, the winged hero turns a corner to where the actual scene is supposed to be-

And stops dead in his tracks.

It takes a second for his mind to catch up with what it is that he’s seeing, because his first thought is that it’s too early for snow. The weather is turning, yes, and winter will be upon them in the coming months, but it’s not cold enough for snow just yet, though the streets are full of still-drifting white, specks settling all around.

One flake falls on his lips and doesn’t melt. It tastes like smoke.

There’s ashes everywhere.

Keigo turns slowly in place, seeing everything and nothing all at once. All he can take in is the degree of destruction, the scorch marks on the buildings and the still-burning debris blown all over the street, some flames red, others blue. Somewhere behind him, he can hear wood groan and give, part of some building crashing down in a flurry of sparks and sprayed embers that he opts to ignore in favour of stepping forward, shock coursing through his system. His boots disrupt the powered ashes, the first prints in the coating, broken glass snapping and crackling under his feet. It’s an obnoxious sound, too loud in the otherwise dead quiet of the burnt-out street.

It feels like he’s walking through the cremated remains of the city itself.

Movement to his left finally catches his attention more than the smoke stinging his eyes, the winged hero numbly turning his head to the side to see what’s happening. Through the haze and still-warm ashes falling in his hair, Hawks can make out the hazy figure of Endeavor struggling to his feet, two other heroes going to help him up, only to have the Number One forcibly shrug them off. His eyes meet Keigo’s, burning even in the distance between which they stand, and the blond does his best not to flinch. How the hell he saw this man as his hero once is beyond him; now all he sees is a threat.

‘If you’ve hurt him,’ Keigo thinks silently to himself, staring the older man down without saying a word, acting under the guise of waiting for him to properly approach. Anger simmers under his skin, spiking the blood in his veins, “If you’ve hurt him again, Enji Todoroki, you’d best begin choosing a God to pray to for mercy because I will not be showing any.”

Upon a quick glance around, there’s no telling whether or not he’ll have to make good on that threat, because there’s no sign of Dabi at all. In some ways, the fact that the villain isn’t present is a small blessing, Keigo tries to convince himself. The only thing worse than arriving while the fight was still ongoing would’ve been to arrive to find the arsonist being brought to his knees and cuffed, that stubborn, fighting spirit in him finally snuffed out like a weak candle. At least he’s not being dragged away. At least he’s not bleeding out in the middle of the street. At least he’s still got a chance.

It’s not a strong reassurance, because any of that could change any minute now, but it’s a reassurance nonetheless. Keigo tries to steady his breathing, tries to temper his facial expressions and appear lackadaisical as ever, though internally he’s still warring between screaming and going completely numb.

The numbness would be easier than this. It feels like his heart is attacking itself, tearing and shredding and shattering in a place he can’t reach, can’t try to make it stop. It hurts, and his throat and eyes hurt from the smoke, and his hands feel shaky, and it’s still so hard to breathe, why can’t he breathe-

“The villain, Dabi, ran off,” Endeavor announces the minute he’s within earshot, limping across the ground of the street he helped decimate to cinders. The pro doesn’t even spare a passing glance at one tree still crumbling and smoking as he passes it, orange flames indicating whose fault the curling leaves and kindling bark is. “But he can’t be far. I got a few good blows in before he snuck away. He’ll be moving slow.”

All in all, Endeavor looks worse for wear, struggling and injured, and grimacing with each step, but his state only serves to fan the flames of Keigo’s anxieties even higher. Seeing no sign of Dabi is, as he’s been desperately trying to convince himself, a good thing in some ways, yes; but in others, many others, it’s terrifying in ways he doesn’t want to consider. Standing in the aftermath of the fight, seeing the devastation firsthand and just imagining how tremendous the force of this encounter must have been- that evidence alone is enough to have Keigo afraid of how far the arsonist must’ve pushed the limits of his quirk to do this much.

So as hard as he’s trying to tell himself that Dabi being missing is a plus, there’s an opposite side to this theoretical coin, and it’s that if he’s out there, if he’s stumbling down filthy alleys and looking for cover or any place to nurse his wounds, it’s going to be near impossible to find him before anyone else does- and in all terrible, horrifying honesty, part of Hawks knows that while there are good heroes probably already combing the streets, there are others who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at killing the villain on sight if they get the chance.

“I’ll still be here tomorrow too, hero; I’m not going anywhere.”

Another crippling wave of nausea rolls through Keigo’s system, his mouth going dry once more, and he has to clamp his jaw tight to resist the urge to heave then and there. His body begins nodding calmly to Endeavor through trained instinct more than anything, an easygoing facade though internally his mind is static. He hopes the more seasoned pro hasn’t noticed the way his pulse is pounding erratically in his throat, hopes that if he does, he’ll chalk it up to the winged man’s hasty flight to his aid, hopes that he won’t say anything that warrants a response, because Keigo’s not sure he can handle speaking right now without emptying his stomach on the charred road.

The flame hero frowns, keeping a hand pressed to a spot on his cheek that Hawks assumes must be cut and bleeding, glancing around the blond as though searching for something. “Where is Shouto?”

The question is enough of a stabilizer for Keigo to get his feet under him again, indignation scorching in his veins. Hawks levels him with a steady look that doesn’t offer room for discussion, if the man is even remotely capable of picking up hints.

“I sent him back to my agency,” He manages at length, voice croaking and hoarse. The smoke is definitely to blame, but it’s not the only thing choking him up. “He didn’t need to be here. Which way did this villain go?”

“Back at your agency?” Endeavor asks, frown deepening into something closer to a scowl, “That’s-”

“Not your call to make.” Keigo cuts him off sharply, voice steadier and stronger this time. Today he doesn’t have the patience to play nice, especially not to this man, not after everything, not after today. He plasters on a fake smile, though he’s sure his eyes are colder than his tone, “Now, I’ll ask again- which way did the villain go?”

Endeavor stares at him long enough that Keigo is almost certain he’ll choose to argue, but the other man finally concedes with a low grunt, turning to face one store that Keigo had previously all but disregarded, the building in complete shambles in a terribly unremarkable way to all of those around it. He can see from here that the display window has been entirely smashed in, frame burnt black, the yellow candy colour of the walls now stained dark with smoke.

“I’m not sure,” Enji confesses gruffly, dropping his hand down from his cheek to cross his arms. He’s wavering on his feet even if he doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge how much of a toll this encounter has taken on him. Sure enough, there’s a smear of blood left behind on his face, the cut thin but long as it stretches from his mouth to an inch below his eye. “I had to overuse my quirk and blacked out momentarily from the heat; my last move caused too much physical strain, but it also blew my opponent out of range. He went through that window, but I didn’t see which way he ran when he retreated.”

The mental image of Dabi, whose body is one of the most frail Keigo’s hands have ever touched, going sailing through a window and crashing in a tumble of glass shards and steel shelving is enough to make his breath hitch-

Because all he can think of right now is the way Dabi’s ribs feel just like glass as well; blown glass curved delicately under his skin, blown glass that Keigo’s fingers have fanned across and traced and brushed softer than paintstrokes on canvas because art is to be treated with all the care in the world and this was no exception.

The reality is that Dabi is fragile. Behind that menacing quirk and cold outer shell of a personality and that proud stance he sets, he has a fighter’s spirit trapped in a body that was never made for dealing punches and can’t hold up under them either, no matter how firm his resolve may be. And Keigo knows this; knows this and has known it for so long he often doesn’t consider it anymore. It’s instinctive, the way he’s memorized and mapped out Dabi’s skin, and knows exactly where to press kisses so they’ll always be felt, none lost to portions of scarring too thick and nerves too damaged. How he’s so cautious about catching his staples, gentle across the lines where healthy skin meets harmed, aware of places that hurt more than others and avoiding them entirely.

His arsonist is a jigsaw to know in both mind and body and Keigo’s always been so good at puzzles- but this time, this time Dabi’s fragility scares him more than most.

‘You told me you’d be here,’ The winged man thinks desperately to himself, not letting it read on his face, ‘You told me you weren’t going anywhere- please, I need you to be okay, I need you to be safe, please-’

“I’ll find him,” Is what he says instead, turning his gaze back to the battered pro standing at his side. Keigo flares his wings as if to make a point, already adjusting his visor. “It’s like you said; he can’t have gone far- not after what you just described. Sounds like you’ve already done the hard work for me.”

‘Please, I can’t lose you.’

Endeavor nods curtly, turning away. Neither of them comment on the fact that he sways dangerously as he does so, and Keigo takes to the sky once more, not offering a farewell and not receiving one either. There are medics just beginning to arrive on scene, ambulances picking their way through the wreckage and individual people jumping out to run into the fray and see who they can help. He doesn’t stay around to watch, instead loosing a fair number of his feathers to sweep through the nearby streets and alleys as he flies, searching as quickly and efficiently as he can manage. His comm is beginning to pick up more voices as others begin a form of sweeping pursuit, only adding to the challenge as he tries to concentrate on the readings of his feathers, any signs of life they may pick up, anything to indicate a person in distress. Any clue is a small lead, but having just the smallest of info to go off of won’t help him sieve out the city.

As such, the next hour is grueling and increasingly more terrifying as the seconds continue to tick and pass. Leads coming up short at every turn like dead ends in a maze. It’s like playing the highest-risk game of hot-and-cold that Keigo’s ever been exposed to as he searches the streets from the skies, trying to catch as many snippets of intel as he can from the other heroes on the ground, use what it is they’ve discovered to their advantage, fly faster than they can move so he can get there first if anyone’s onto something. It’s taxing and stress-inducing, the growing ball of nerves in his chest tangling into a ferocious mess that threatens to consume him whole if he doesn’t keep tamping it down.

Everything about this would be easier if he could legitimately search for the villain properly- he can’t call for him by name, not in this kind of situation, can’t give any kind of indication that he’s looking for him. He could try calling Dabi’s cell, but he doesn’t dare, even when it becomes tempting after seventy fruitless minutes and an ever-increasing group taking to the streets. One call could reveal him if he’s hiding somewhere, and that’s not a risk Keigo’s willing to take.

There’s a few heart-stopping occasions in which blood trails are spotted and followed, helping Keigo narrow down his search, but aiding the others as well. It’s all just a game of speed and chance at this point with whoever finds Dabi first, and the more hints the heroes find, the less hope Keigo has of them both simply walking out of this if he does manage to find the dark-haired man.

It’s a thought he’s grappling with when one of his feathers finally catches something, Keigo’s wings missing a beat and causing him to drop slightly when one feather flits past in an alley far off to his right, easily another fifteen streets away, and goes hot enough it sears. It could be nothing but it could also be everything, and in a second the winged hero decides to throw in his lot and check, frantic and worried sick.

He lands roughly in the alley, kicking up a cloud of dust as he does so, coming in too fast and his wings sending up a forceful gust that throws garbage and debris flying in all directions. Raindrops have started dampening his shoulders, spattering over the visor he hurriedly pushes up out of his eyes as he looks around, pacing desperately down the dirt side-street like a caged lion. Soon enough the storm will roll in properly, and it’ll be too dangerous to fly- he’s running out of time.

But the alley seems empty, and he’s beginning to feel nauseous all over again. Keigo links his hands behind his neck and takes a few steady breaths, annoyed at the pinpricks behind his eyes and trying to calm down enough to think rationally, though it’s so tempting to just allow himself to fall apart a little.

The winged hero takes a quick walk through the alley to see if he missed anyone hiding in a darkened doorway or huddled into one of the walls and to also gather his nerves. Coming up short once again, he’s about to take to the skies, chalking the situation up to coincidence, when his feathers pick up something only a few seconds before a rasping, laboured breath cuts the relative silence. Heart in his throat, Keigo whips around, sprinting back in the general direction of the sound His eyes are wide, searching, feet kicking up water as they seem to hit every single puddle forming on the cracked concrete.

It takes him a while to find him even then, turning in the same spot a few times before finally thinking to check between the rusted dumpster and the wall, the space almost impossibly small for a person to fit in. He feels silly even bothering to look, but when he catches sight of a familiar jacket in the shadows, his shoulders and wings slump all at once, knees giving out more than actually crouching with intent as he goes to pull the man’s limp body from its hiding place hurriedly with shaky hands and punched-out breath.

“Oh my God-” Keigo tugs off one of his gloves with his teeth and tosses it to the side, immediately tilting Dabi’s limp head towards him and searching for a pulse in his throat. It’s erratic, fluttering and weak, but still there at the very least- and for that much he almost cries, relief crashing down on him hard.

He’s in bad shape though; really bad shape, and Keigo’s not blind to it. What’s almost more concerning than his heart rate is the source of the heat his feather had detected earlier; Dabi’s skin is so hot right now it almost hurts to touch, and Keigo’s not sure if it’s a result of his quirk, his body literally burning, or if fever is beginning to attack his system. There’s a chance that it’s all three, but regardless of reason the winged hero hisses when he accidentally lets his thumb fall across one of the staples in Dabi’s cheek, the metal close to branding him.

His noise of pain is enough to rouse the other man for just a moment, Dabi’s eyelids flickering open slightly, blue eyes glazed over, unseeing. His face is deathly pale, almost grey, dark hair plastered to his forehead by either sweat or the rain that’s beginning to fall more steadily as the seconds pass. Blood stains his skin in many places where it’s visible, but with the darkening skies and steady rain making everything run, it’s impossible to tell where it’s coming from and how much there really is. Keigo swallows hard, beginning to shrug out of his hero jacket to carefully pull around the injured man’s body, hoping it doesn’t just serve to make his current condition worse.

“We need to get you out of here.” Keigo urges quietly, looking to either end of the alley before calling all of his feathers back towards him and sending them out in the nearby alleys and streets in an attempt to detect which route will be best for them to take to avoid being seen. The last thing he wants to do, and the last thing he knows he should be doing, is moving Dabi right now without getting a solid read on how badly he’s injured and where, but at the moment they don’t have any better alternatives. There’s no time to treat him here, not without inevitably being caught by the patrolling heroes still scouring the city, and while Keigo can still fly them to safety for now, if he keeps low between the buildings and doesn’t take much to the open sky, that storm will still be a problem before they’re completely in the clear.

Working carefully, the winged hero shifts the villain’s weight in his arms, cradling him close and thinking, last minute, to tug the collar of his jacket up around Dabi’s face so he’ll be less easy to recognize. Dabi’s already lost consciousness again by the time he does so, still and quiet in a way that just sits wrong in all regards. Keigo forces himself up on his feet again, trying not to jostle Dabi too much, but taking a stumbling step backwards as he does so, all the same. Dabi’s by no means a heavy man, but unconscious as he is currently, he’s entirely dead weight and Keigo’s muscles are already protesting at the strain.

The hero grits his teeth, shaking his head once to clear it and focus, trying to hone in on his feathers once more and assess which way to go. He takes flight without a set destination in mind just to get them out of the open, flying low and feeling far too vulnerable with a pack closing in. Even at their reduced size, the tips of Keigo’s wings still scrape the walls on either side of the alley as he soars, a trend that continues as he ducks into backstreet after backstreet. The feathers there will be frayed to hell by the time they get to safety, but he doesn’t care- keeping his wings moving right now is more important than keeping them in one piece.

His goal is just to get them out of the area, but wracking his brain for a safehouse comes up short at every turn. Keigo hurtles across an open street as quickly as possible, shooting over a few cars stopped at a red light before tucking his wings in tightly to barrel into the next small alleyway, snapping them out once again as soon as they’re past the entryway. Flying recklessly like this is just asking for trouble, but that’s another concern that can sit on the back burner as well for the time being, Keigo fighting the urge to continuously glance down ever few seconds and ensure that the man in his arms is still breathing. A distraction right now could be devastating, and he’s receiving distraction enough from the chattering on his comm that he can’t quite make out, an annoying, persistant buzzing in his ear that he can’t turn off now.

The League’s warehouse isn’t an option. It’s on the other side of the city, and they’ll be caught before he can reach it, not to mention that openly flying there in the middle of the day would be damned risky for a handful of reasons. None of the other locations they’ve haunted have any kind of medical supplies to speak of, even if they might be safer than nothing. A hospital is very obviously not on the table either, which means the hero’s going to have to get creative with how he addresses this.

That leaves his apartment, once again. Keigo frowns worriedly as he mulls it over. It’s not close, but it’s inarguable that it’s one of the closest options they have at their disposal, and in that portion of town, nobody will bat an eyelash at seeing Hawks fly overhead.

The biggest crux is that he’s getting tired, but the hero doesn’t waver in his flight, instead holding onto Dabi as though his grip alone is keeping him tethered to life, even as his arms begin to shake.

“I can do this,” He mumbles under his breath, the wind stealing the words as soon as he says them, “I can do this, just stay with me.”

Dabi doesn’t respond.

Keigo pushes himself to fly faster.

Time passes immeasurably as the rain pelts down on all sides, an aggressive force that’s beginning to make sight difficult and flying even worse. Keigo’s wings feel waterlogged, heavy, his clothes entirely soaked through without the protection of his coat. He’s shivering hard, ignoring how his teeth are starting to chatter, keeping his eyes forward. On his comm, heroes slowly begin withdrawing from the search, seeking shelter from the onslaught of rain and dropping one by one. Someone gives an update on Endeavor’s condition. Keigo blocks it out, angling a dive so he doesn’t clip the corner of an office building, heart lifting slightly when he realizes it’s one he recognizes. On the ground, this would be a twenty minute walk back to his place. They’re getting closer.

It’s not a moment too soon, either. Lightning brightens the sky overhead for a split second, Keigo swooping deeper into the alley instinctively and wincing when thunder crashes only a few moments later. Continuing to fly in this will be a deathtrap if he doesn’t either find a place to land and walk the rest of the way, or else manage to gain some momentum quickly, beyond what he’s already done.

Walking turns out to be the option of choice as the storm gradually picks up considerably, Keigo cursing as he’s forced to land and go on foot the rest of the way. The only upside to the situation is that the rain has convinced most people to vacate the streets and stay indoors, and Keigo’s managed to get them close enough to the apartment that he can get them home in a matter of minutes. Slinging one of Dabi’s arms over his shoulder and hoping he’s not hurting the other man at all, Keigo slips his free arm around Dabi’s waist and takes one step, then another, trembling and aching and cold, but determined. The arsonist is still dangerously warm, possibly, Keigo assesses quickly, burning up even moreso than before, yet another problem they’ll have to tackle once they’re safe, but for now he presses close into the villain’s side to glean some of his heat, body wracking with shivers. With no other use for his wings, he uses them to try and shield them both from the persistent wind and rain and to hopefully hide Dabi’s identity entirely from the odd spectator, ploughing forward.

Something falls from one of Dabi’s loose hands, catching Keigo’s attention as it drifts to the ground, caught on the wind. It’s the remains of one of his feathers, mostly burnt and barely recognizable. It must be the one that he’d sent out earlier that had found the man’s location; Keigo remembers how it had felt like it was searing, how that had been his indicator to look into things. Dabi must’ve gotten a hold of it once he’d reached the alley and either burned it by accident or intentionally tried to use it as a kind of homing signal.

Keigo leaves the ruined feather behind in a puddle, stepping over it and continuing on his way, not looking back. His building is in sight, and he keeps his eyes on that instead, panting slightly as he pauses for a brief moment to catch his breath, water rolling in rivulets down his face. His hair, soaked, isn’t helping with that in any regard as it drips down his nose, his cheeks, into his eyes. Keigo blinks away the rain and pushes on, carrying them both on nothing more than adrenaline alone.

But by the time they reach the corner where his apartment is located, the winged hero can feel his knees shaking, shoulders and back aching, head swimming as that same adrenaline begins to leak out of his veins and be replaced with a numbing, exhausted chill that he can’t shake off. Nine floors has suddenly never looked higher as he cranes his neck to locate his balcony, but they’ve made it this far and he’ll be damned if he burns out here. The storm’s still raging violently, but Keigo determines, shaking out his wings and adjusting his hold on Dabi one last time, that flying’s got to be a safer option than taking the stairs and being caught literally steps away from safety.

This time, carrying his arsonist proves to be much more of a struggle, buffeted by the wind and aching and weak. Still, he manages, dragging himself upright even as he wavers, and taking off from the ground. The storm is eager to toss him around like a tantruming child, clawing at his battered wings and pummeling him off course as he tries flying right up to a small target. Gritting his teeth once more, Keigo flaps his wings harder, forcing himself through the air and corkscrewing upward in between beats to gain more propulsion, wings pulled in as tight as he can manage, before flaring each time. It’s an exhausting fight to gain any kind of air, but when he finally, finally reaches the top floor of the building and lands clumsily, broad wings catching the wind again last minute, he’s quick to drag himself out of the rain and through the unlocked sliding glass door, almost collapsing on the floor under the wave of relief and physical tiredness that falls over him like a weighted blanket. He keeps his feet though, because one look at Dabi’s still-pallid face is all the proof he needs that they may have found asylum, but they’re definitely not out of the woods yet.

Keigo lays Dabi out on the couch in the living room, leaving his side for a brief second to turn on some lights and grab a first aid kit from under the kitchen sink before returning. The first matter of business is getting Dabi out of both Hawks’ coat and then his own, neither of which are hard tasks, though what he finds underneath is a different story.

The arsonist’s shirt is stained pink and red, holes burnt through in some places. Keigo wastes no time in simply cutting the ruined garment away with a pair of medical scissors, steeling himself for what he may find. There’s a calm, practical rationale taking over his prior state of panic, maybe in part due to being too tired to be worked up anymore, his hands steadier than they’ve been in over two hours as they carefully peel away desecrated fabric from brutalized skin.

“Fuck, Dabi-” Keigo mutters dropping the scissors and tugging on a pair of gloves from the kit. His hands hover over the other man’s chest as he tries to figure out where to start trying to patch things up; Dabi’s skin is littered with cuts, most of them looking shallow at least, and no doubt a result of being sent flying through the display window. A few look more like they may need stitches though, and possibly a few shards of glass removed beforehand. His arms, protected by his jacket, are safe from the same treatment at least, but his burns look terrible, agitated and mottled bruise-purple, more inflamed than normal.

Worst, though, is his fever. Keigo frowns and presses a bared wrist to Dabi’s forehead and cringes at how high the temperature’s gotten, biting his lip in concern. Knowing the negative effects of Dabi’s quirk, it’s not entirely unexpected that he’s burning up, but the degree of severity to which it’s gotten has Keigo concerned. It’s not healthy, especially for an individual whose body is meant for an ice quirk that doesn’t particularly respond well to heat. Has it always been this bad?

‘One thing at a time,’ Keigo’s mind supplies, and he puts the matter to the side for now, guiding his hands to pull antiseptic wipes and tweezers from the kit. For the next few minutes, his actions are nothing but detached precision; cleaning, stitching, collecting glass in a small dish, biting the inside of his own cheek in concentration- he makes quick work of the whole mess, which turns out to be fortunate.

The fever won’t be ignored, continues to incline steadily, and it’s something that needs to be reined in sooner rather than later as Keigo tests Dabi’s temperature again, only to rise to his feet when it spikes sharply.

“Shit-” He curses, peeling off his gloves and tossing them to the side before jogging down the hallway to the bathroom and cranking the faucet to the coldest setting it can manage, letting the tub begin to fill. It seems impossible that Dabi’s fever can keep growing worse, but he feels as though the fire in him has set its course on cremating him from the inside out and is devouring him from under his own skin which, in all honesty, might very well be the case.

The winged hero returns to scoop up the villain once more, Dabi sweating bullets and beginning to shiver worse than Keigo had been earlier in the rain. It isn’t until they’re halfway to the bathroom that the winged hero realizes thin tendrils of smoke have begun rising from the arsonist’s scars, his condition worsening considerably within a matter of minutes.

Keigo doesn’t have time to assess the rest of Dabi’s injuries before rushing him into the bathroom and all but dumping him in the ice-cold water of the tub, taking only a few seconds to strip the man of the rest of his clothes in case he starts burning through. Immediately, steam erupts from the water in huge plumes, filling the room with humidity despite the door still being open. Keigo stumbles back in surprise before lunging forward again a moment later to restrain a flailing Dabi whose delirious eyes have finally opened again, shocked into consciousness once more, shivering and spasming as the water cools the fires threatening to burn him alive. Completely unaware of what’s going on and fighting weakly against Keigo’s steadying hands on his still-burning shoulders, Dabi surprisingly calls out for Rei in a hoarse, croaking voice that’s equal parts pain and raw fear.

“Mom- Mom, please, I-”

He chokes on his own words, taking a few hyperventalative breaths that have him panicking even worse than before. Keigo shucks off his own drenched shirt so he doesn’t get soaked any more than he already is, kneeling up against the side of the tub and pulling down a few towels with him as he does so. “I can keep training! I can keep training, I’ll get stronger I swear, don’t hurt him- ”

“ Shhh ,” Keigo coaxes softly, smoothing his palm out across the other man’s cheek ever-so-gently, Dabi’s terrified fever-bright eyes snapping to his at the contact, chest heaving, body trembling violently. The arsonist clamps one hand around Keigo’s wrist in a deathgrip as though afraid the blond will pull away if he doesn’t anchor him and his kind touch in place. “Shhh,” Keigo repeats again, using the smaller of the two towels to wipe the sweat from Dabi’s face slowly, careful not to let the cloth catch anywhere on his staples. “It’s okay- you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Dabi’s gaze shutters in disbelief for a moment before recognition sparks in his gaze, his grip loosening and sliding down the winged hero’s arm, where it rests, now more of a caress than a clasp.

“ Kei .” He says in relief, voice cracking and sounding absolutely shattered, but at least familiar with the man in front of him. Keigo smooths back the other’s damp hair, gently combing it behind his ears soothingly while Dabi continues to tremble, weak body fighting the fire burning in its veins as best it can. He allows Keigo to finish running his fingers through his hair before the smaller man winds the crook of his free arm around Dabi’s shoulders comfortingly and draws himself close enough to press their foreheads together. Dabi, still delirious and confused gives a rattling, sharp breath and presses closer, his next words quiet and under his breath as his shoulders continue to shiver under Keigo’s arm. “You can’t be here- Keigo, if he finds you here he’ll-”

Keigo stretches out his wings momentarily, the whole bathroom filling with red before he pulls them forward, blocking off the rest of the room from view. His counterpart sags a little under the spectacle, appreciative of a shield, even if made only by feathers.

“He’s not going to find us.” The arsonist’s grip tightens on his arm, fingers white, but Keigo doesn’t wince, murmuring quiet assurances until Dabi’s fear chokes itself enough to fall back a little and give him a chance to breathe. “We’re safe here, it’s alright. He can’t reach you now.”

“If it’s not me, it’ll just be Shouto next- or Mom,” Dabi’s voice hitches and wavers, shaky from shivering and thick with emotion, “And ‘Yumi can’t see me like this, it always scares her so bad…” He dwindles off on another wracking shiver, water rolling down from his hair to soak his cheeks like tears he can’t shed. Keigo can feel the heat radiating off his skin, lesser than before but still dangerously high. It’s a good thing Keigo chose to clean and mend the worst of his injuries when he got the opportunity; there wouldn’t be a chance to do so now. They’re going to have to change out the water soon as it’s lukewarm already, but for now he’s relieved to even see Dabi awake and functional, if barely coherent.

This is not the house of Dabi’s nightmares and Touya’s last days, there is not a doorway in this home that will ever be darkened by Endeavor’s presence, this is not a place of harm just as much as it is not a place of family, but the villain in his arms doesn’t know that, can’t see the difference beyond the fever in his eyes and the illusion and tricks his mind must be playing on him. Keigo presses a soft kiss to his temple as Dabi sinks his head wearily into the crook of Keigo’s shoulder and neck, shaking and tired and burning and cold.

He doesn’t know why he did it. He doesn’t know if Dabi started the fight or was simply drawn into it, he doesn’t know why he pushed himself as far as he did, he doesn’t know why he tried to do this alone when he knew the risks, but for now, right now, Keigo doesn’t care. He will later, when it all sets in and he lets his own emotions catch up to him when he has the time, but all that matters in this moment is that he’s alive, something that hadn’t seemed like a strong possibility for the last several hours, and something he intends to ensure, though they’ll have a long night ahead of them.

“I’ll protect them,” Keigo murmurs, thinking instantly of Shouto. It’s too late to do much of anything for Rei, and Natsuo and Fuyumi are grown far beyond what Dabi’s imagining they are right now, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I won’t let anything happen. It’s going to be alright.”

Dabi sighs into his collarbone, a long, trembling gasp that has Keigo working the fingers of his free hand through the other’s darker hair again, threading coaxingly through the strands at the base of his neck. “It’s alright,” He repeats, maybe more for his own sake than for Dabi’s this once, “Just rest now, sweetheart. You’ve done enough.”

It’s a testament to how out of it Dabi is that he doesn’t refute the pet name, instead letting Keigo hold him as the shivering continues and the fever rages its course, the villain vulnerable in a way that Keigo has never had to see him before. But he rests, though Keigo does not, keeping a vigil well into the night and beyond, with only himself for company as Dabi reluctantly slips under again, fighting against his own body the whole while. It leaves too much time for the blond to be alone in his thoughts, too much time for him to look into the future and know the storm they’ve faced tonight is nothing compared to what’s coming.

No, there’s hell on the horizon; and when push comes to shove, Keigo’s not sure who will be paying for it.

Chapter Text

Two days. That’s how long Dabi stays unconscious following the incident, and it’s two days of nightmares for the winged hero trying to keep him tied to the world of the living.

In those slow forty-eight hours, Keigo doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t dare, not with how Dabi’s condition continues fluctuating so wildly between improving and worsening unpredictably at what seems to be every other minute, the whole situation an emotional rollercoaster that shows no sign of slowing as time continues to pass.

The first time he relapses, fever spiking again out of nowhere and smoke pouring from his scars once more, Keigo barely has time to get him back into an ice bath, fumbling and exhausted, and terrified when, this time, the fire-user doesn’t wake up. It’s only been an hour since Dabi passed out in his arms, shivering and confused, and terrified for a family he was never going home to. His temperature drops again eventually, but the whole thing is enough of a scare to leave Keigo crying quietly on the bathroom floor afterward, sitting on the chilled tile and curling in on himself, knees pressed tightly to his chest, hands pressed tighter to his mouth. It’s overwhelming how hard the fear and panic hits him, but he’s never had anyone to be worried for in this way, not like this; and the realization setting in that he managed to save this man, but that he may still be pulled from his white-knuckled grasp, is an absolutely debilitating one. Keigo’s still trembling an hour later when he manages to peel himself up off the ground and shakily search for his phone, realizing out of the blue that he still hasn’t reached out to Shouto and it’s well past nine o’clock at night.

“Shit-” He mutters, finally finding the device in the pocket of the jacket that he’d discarded in the living room hours beforehand. There’s a long stream of missed calls and messages, most of which are from Wisp and a few from Astra. There’s two calls from Toshiaki and a couple texts as well, probably the first of which that need to be addressed.

Then he sees the ones from Shouto.

Shouto never messages first. He’s had Keigo’s number since before they were interning, back when he’d given him that little slip of paper in case he ever needed help. The teen had still been just starting to know him then and had never taken him up on the offer of needing it, and while they’d messaged one another occasionally to determine details for their internship, like where to meet up and what to bring, Keigo had always been the one to reach out to him in advance, Shouto’s answering replies usually one-worded and clipped. This is the first he’s ever seen of Shouto messaging him first without prompting, and more than one sentence no less.

His heart sinks, and he hurries back to the bathroom to continue monitoring his injured partner while still scrolling through the list of messages to find Toshiaki again and deal with him first.

Forgoing reading his handler’s messages, Keigo calls him back instead, sitting on the edge of the tub and scrubbing his free hand through his hair tiredly, spent. Toshiaki picks up on the first ring, immediately assaulting him with a barrage of questions that have Keigo’s skull pounding within seconds, the winged hero shutting his eyes and heaving a long sigh.

“Where have you been?” The other man demands, voice splintering angrily through the phone speaker, sounding pissed as hell, “This wasn’t exactly the time to be going MIA, Hawks- we’ve got the Number One in the hospital and the Number Two missing after last being heard from going in pursuit of this League bastard earlier; the public’s throwing a fucking fit. Why weren’t you answering your damned phone?!”

He continues going off, rambling on about how they’d been trying to reach him for hours, how they were literally minutes away from sending out a search, how everybody had been worried sick. Keigo finally cuts him off when his handler mentions sending a team to his apartment to look for him, gaze skittering to his right to observe Dabi’s face, pale and gaunt above the water of the tub. His cheeks are flushed above his scars, head tilted askew where it’s come to rest against the back of the shower wall, his hair wet and plastered against the white tile in some spots.

“Don’t send out a team.” Keigo says firmly, amber eyes still locked on the fallen arsonist, watching his chest rise and fall, and keeping time with each breath, “Toshiaki I’m fine, really, I just got caught flying in the storm earlier and completely passed out when I finally made it home. That’s all. I’m sorry to have scared everyone.”

Toshiaki makes a sound of annoyance on the other end of the line, but with a few more urgings from Hawks, he lets the matter drop after a short lecture about communication and not going off the grid unexpectedly when there are hero attacks happening in the city.

“Keep us up to date next time,” The man snaps, Keigo not bothering to argue back in hopes of not drawing the conversation out any more than he has to, “The last thing we need right now is for everyone to think we just lost the top two heroes in the Pro charts over one event. And with that villain still unaccounted for, every hero and civilian in a hundred-mile radius is on alert, wondering who’s next. He could be anywhere.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.” Keigo answers automatically, tone serious despite him being distracted as he moves to hold his phone between his shoulder and ear, carefully reaching out and taking a loose hold of Dabi’s wrist for the fifth or sixth time that night, testing his pulse again when he notices the man’s breathing pattern shift slightly.

“Dabi- wasn’t that fucker your connection to the League?” Toshiaki asks sharply, catching Keigo’s attention once more. He pauses, laying on an easygoing tone.

“Was, as in past tense? I wouldn’t rule the guy out just yet, I’m sure he’s still around.”

Dabi winces in his sleep, face tensing, and Keigo frowns, standing up momentarily to grab a small cloth from the bathroom cabinet and wet it with cold water in the sink.

“Well, that’s just it; we either need him alive and in contact for your mission, or dead and out of the picture. Obviously neither is exactly optimal, but the one thing we don’t need right now is him being alive, dangerous, and under the radar. It looks bad for us to lose a villain in this kind of situation and not have any answers for the public.”

“Fair enough.” Keigo responds, walking back over to tilt Dabi’s head just enough that he can place the cloth over his forehead. After a few beats, the strain in his expression eases, muscles relaxing once more as the coolness of the water sets in, combating his fire.

Toshiaki hangs up shortly thereafter, giving Keigo clipped instructions about keeping them informed in the following days and trying to catch wind of Dabi’s case, the winged hero offering him a quiet “Goodnight,” before immediately pulling up Shouto’s contact instead. The list of messages he finds there, unanswered, eats guiltily at his heart.

Shouto: Any updates? (Delivered 2:47 P.M)

    That storm will be coming in soon. You shouldn’t be flying in that. (Delivered 3:15 P.M)

    It’s raining pretty hard; are you coming back? (Delivered 3:56 P.M)

    You haven’t called in on the comm in over an hour. (Delivered 4:02 P.M)

    It’s been five hours, where are you (Delivered 6:39 P.M)

    Hawks, please respond (Delivered 7:02 P.M)

‘Fuck, that was last one was two hours ago,’ Keigo thinks to himself, hitting the call button under Shouto’s name and anxiously bouncing his leg until the boy finally picks up.

“Hawks?”

“Hey, Shou.” The winged hero confirms, able to hear Shouto’s long breath of relief from the other end of the line. Keigo heaves a sigh of his own, shoulders slumping under the weight of the world once more, putting the teen on speakerphone.

“Took you long enough.” Shouto grouses, though he doesn’t even sound annoyed, just thankful. His voice fills the empty, pressing silence of the bathroom in a way that’s almost comforting, Keigo appreciative of this small ounce of normalcy amidst the chaos of the day, even if it’s just hearing the flat tone of Shouto Todoroki taking a jab at him when it feels like everything’s been going to hell over the last few hours.

Keigo nods, though the boy can’t see it, rubbing at the back of his neck tiredly.

“I’m really sorry about that, kid- I should’ve gotten a hold of you sooner, but this afternoon was a bit of a shitshow.” The pro admits, closing his eyes just to rest them for a moment. “I didn’t even think to check my phone until now. Are you holding up alright?” A thought hits him a second later, eyes shooting open again. “Oh God, tell me you’re not still waiting at the agency.”

Shouto huffs a noise that might be a laugh under his breath.

“I’m fine; and no, I‘m with Midoriya right now. His mother was kind enough to come get me.” There’s a short beat in which Todoroki’s voice sounds more distant, as if he’s pulled away from the phone to speak to someone presumably in the same room. “Would you like to say hello?”

Keigo assumes it’s Midoriya he can hear when whoever Shouto’s talking to answers with a flustered and nervous, “Oh- oh no, I couldn’t. You two catch up, I’ll just-”

“It’s okay. Come sit, he’s not going to mind.” Shouto’s voice comes back stronger a second later when he adds, to Keigo, “Hang on a moment, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

The winged hero grins to himself softly, still able to hear the other boy squeak and protest up to the moment he seemingly does concede and sit down with Shouto, his nervousness tangible through the phone.

“Let me guess,” Keigo asks eventually, once the two seem to have settled down, that small grin still in place. This is the calmest he’s felt since being on patrol earlier, like something that was threatening to topple over in his chest has righted itself, backed away from the edge and given him some space to breathe. “This is Izuku Midoriya, right? Shouto’s talked about you quite a bit; nice to finally get the pleasure of meeting you.”

“H-Hi there. Nice to meet you as well! Well, kind of at least- I mean, kind of as in we’re just talking and not meeting face to face, not ‘kind of’ as in it’s not a pleasure or anything, this is still really cool and all-” Midoriya cuts himself off before Keigo has even finished processing what it was that he’d said, the man’s smile quirking into one of amusement. He can already see why Shouto likes this kid. “Sorry, I tend to ramble when I get excited.”

“You’re fine.” Keigo assures him easily, sparing an assessing glance Dabi’s way before deeming him stable enough for the winged hero to go put on a pot of coffee and take this conversation to the kitchen for a bit. They chat back and forth while Keigo fights to separate a coffee filter from the box and Midoriya asks him a handful of shy questions. Noting his hesitation throughout the whole exchange, Keigo is half tempted to inform him that the hero he’s so timid speaking to is currently standing in the kitchen making coffee at almost ten o’clock at night, wearing nothing but a pair of ratty old sweatpants and fighting a losing battle with a box of coffee filters he picked up at the convenience store two streets away. He doesn’t though, if only for the sake of the fact that Midoriya’s questions don’t really allow much room for interjection once he starts picking up speed again.

Eventually though, the hero in training leaves Shouto and Hawks to chat, thanking Hawks for his time and promising Todoroki he’ll be back with snacks for them both later after helping his mom with some stuff. Keigo says his farewells, waiting to hear the faint click of a door closing in the background before returning to the bathroom once more, retreating from the kitchen as soon as their portion of the call is over as though afraid Midoriya would’ve been able to sense Dabi’s presence through the phone. He forgoes sitting on the tub to sit on the floor this time, ditching most of his feathers so he can lean properly back against the tub instead, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.

“He seems nice,” The winged hero informs his intern, grinning at the tiny huff he gets in response.

“Midoriya’s always nice.” Shouto agrees readily, though his next statement sounds a bit more awkward. “He agreed to your sleepover idea; apparently he’s never had one either. We don’t really know what to do.” Keigo’s grin widens as he tries not to chuckle at the serious look he’s imagining is no doubt on Shouto’s face as they speak. “I’m having fun, though.”

“That’s awesome to hear, kiddo.” Keigo takes a sip of his coffee and tips his head back against the edge of the tub, blond hair falling only an inch or two above the water. “I’m sure you two will have a blast- are you still going to that panel event this weekend?”

“Mhmm,” Shouto hums, before brusquely adding “The old man’s not injured enough to warrant staying, and I’m not sitting in a hospital room with him anyway. He made mom sit alone in a hospital for how many years, he can handle this recovery by himself. If he’s lucky, Fuyumi will probably take pity and show up for him.”

He sounds bitter beyond his years, but he’s definitely not bitter beyond his experiences. Keigo takes another sip of his coffee, appreciative of its warmth, and glances over at Dabi who hasn’t moved since he left earlier.

“So he’s alright, then?” Keigo asks, more out of courtesy than anything. Thinking of Endeavor right now leaves a thorn between his ribs, and he tries to soothe it before any of its ache can touch his tone. He removes the cloth from Dabi’s forehead, now warm, and pushes his hair back out of his face once more as a distraction from the upset still simmering under his skin.

“He’ll be fine,” Shouto supplies, clipped but certain, “He had quite a few injuries, but nothing life threatening.” There’s a beat of silence before the boy continues, tentative and stiff, “What about…” He hesitates, takes a second, tries again, “Did you… Did you find him?”

Keigo’s fingers still in Dabi’s hair, surprised that Shouto would willingly bring this up.

“Yeah,” Keigo answers softly, “I found him.”

There’s silence for a good few seconds, Shouto clearly torn about his stance on this, Keigo somewhat nervous. Unable to take the empty air any longer, Keigo finally says his intern’s name, trying to both get his attention and prompt him to speak. “Shouto?”

The teen heaves a strong sigh that rattles more than exhales, and Keigo can’t tell if it’s a sound of relief or panic.

“Is he going to live?”

Oh God. It’s not an easy question to ask, but it’s an even harder one to answer, and the heartbreaking amount of sincerity in Shouto’s voice while he waits for Keigo’s reply is something that the winged hero doesn’t want to dwell on too long or too closely.

“I don’t know,” He answers truthfully, swallowing hard. “But I think so.” Keigo catches himself before the words ‘ I hope so’ tumble clumsily from his mouth, too personal a thing to say for the amount that Shouto knows. The teen goes quiet again for a second, and this time Keigo waits for him to respond.

“Okay.” Shouto manages eventually, the single word sounding punched-out and not pained, exactly, but absolutely torn and conflicted. “Okay. And you’re alright? I don’t have a different hospital to be visiting?”

Conversation closed, just like that. It’s a weak joke, but the fact that he’s joking at all proves that the nature of this chat is over. Keigo tries for a smile once more despite his intern not being able to see it.

“I’m fine, Shou.” He confirms warmly, reassuring, though his shoulders take far longer to relax from how stiff they’ve become, easing gradually. “I wasn’t injured at all; just tired.”

They don’t talk about the obvious, about the fact that as far as the public is concerned, Dabi’s whereabouts are still unknown. They don’t talk about the fact that Keigo is very obviously aware of his situation and has been in contact with him since the attack. They don’t talk about the fact that despite all of this, Keigo hasn’t turned him in.

Keigo doesn’t doubt that they will have to eventually, inevitably, but that can wait for a day that isn’t this one.

Instead, they talk about Shouto and Midoriya’s upcoming weekend, and everything the boy learned from his limited time with Wisp, and how, at some point, Shouto needs to teach his mentor how to properly play Shogi.

“It’s fun,” Shouto argues when Keigo grumbles argumentatively, not one to be terribly fond of games- particularly board games- in general. Apparently Midoriya makes a challenging opponent, and Keigo’s happy to hear, at least, that the boys have some kind of common interest. “It’s all strategy and trying to figure out your opponent’s moves before they make them. You’d probably enjoy that.”

Maybe he would. Dabi plays shogi; he knows because he’s heard Shigaraki cussing him out enough times over the board in the League’s warehouse to get the idea, though it sounds like Shig’s still in the learning phase and Dabi makes something of a merciless competitor. Keigo can’t begin to count the number of times he’s been disrupted from reading reports at their kitchen table by Shigaraki hissing or screeching in anger, followed by Dabi’s familiar, low-toned rasp of a laugh and the sound of tokens being shuffled around the board.

It’s a sound he longs for now. He waits for the arsonist to open his eyes, counts each second that passes and fills them one by one with individual wishes and prayers that seemingly go unheard, the dark-haired man not even stirring.

They banter back and forth about it for a bit until Midoriya returns, the young man hesitant to intrude on their conversation once again, but both mentor and apprentice are unperturbed. He should be letting the teen go anyway, and with his friend back in the picture, Keigo wishes Shouto a good night, picking absentmindedly at the loose threads in the bathmat under him.

“Send me some pictures from the convention,” The winged hero says, both Shouto and Midoriya agreeing readily, “And both of you have fun. You deserve a break.”

“Thanks Hawks.” Shouto replies at the same time Midoriya pipes up with a fairly enthusiastic “Yes sir!” that has Keigo grinning all over again, the older man’s eyes crinkling in the corners.

‘Good for you, Shou,’ He thinks to himself silently, taking his last sip of coffee and setting the now-cold mug to the side, ‘Hang on to this one.’

“Take care, kiddo.” Is what he says instead, scrubbing a tired hand through his hair once more, though feeling infinitely better than he had been earlier, “I’ll see you soon.”

Shouto hangs up with a quiet goodbye, and as Keigo sits in the silence alone afterwards, steady and calm once more, it comes to him suddenly that while he’s concerned himself so long with being a support for the boy, he’d never once thought that Shouto might end up being the same for him. There’s a name for the feeling that he doesn’t quite know how to place.

‘Liability .’ His training hisses in the back of his head, snarling and mean, and a voice he very much would’ve instinctively listened to and followed blindly even a year ago.

‘Family .’ The other portion of him murmurs, this piece more new, more tentative, less developed but growing stronger as the days continue to pass. It’s a heavy word with even heavier meaning for the winged man, who’s held the concept of family like sand running through his open hands, close enough to try getting a hold of, impossible to keep without watching it slip through his fingers.

And yet… Looking back to Dabi once more and feeling such a surge of unchecked, unmarked emotion strong enough to make him consider, maybe he’s had a family longer than he’s thought.

Keigo lets out a shaky breath, taking up Dabi’s hand again and pressing it to his cheek, lips ghosting the inside of the scarred man’s wrist. His skin burns like a brand.

Sand through his fingers. Sand through his fingers, slipping out of reach.

‘Hang on,’ Keigo begs wordlessly, closing his eyes, and resting his head on one elbow he brings up on the edge of the tub, exhausted, ‘I’ll wait however long you need, just hang on.’

Sand through his fingers, a broken hourglass of everything he’s tried holding onto so desperately he can almost feel the shards of glass in his fingertips from where he clenched his fists too tightly.

“I’m not ready to let you go yet,” Keigo murmurs, this time out loud. It goes unanswered, but for the hum of the lights overhead and the ringing of silence in his ears.

He takes the next two mornings off, calling in sick which isn’t a lie. Between flying in that storm and not sleeping, the winged hero’s been in better shape on many an occasion, and is definitely not in any position to be on patrol. His handlers aren’t happy, his superiors will be pissed, but Keigo can barely think and process past the cotton in his head, and his wings have never felt heavier. He spends most of the day with them detached, shuffling around his apartment to make more pots of coffee and occasionally grab food from the fridge.

Dabi still doesn’t wake, and that’s the other reason Keigo doesn’t want to head out. He can’t just leave the downed arsonist to his own devices, not with him like this, not even long enough to try and fetch the League. Keigo doesn’t even have any of their contacts to call them, and further investigation around 3 A.M. had proven that Dabi’s phone had been absolutely obliterated during his fight with Endeavor, rendering that route a complete dead end.

As it is, Keigo’s stuck, and the worst part of it is that he’s unable to really tell if Dabi’s condition is improving at all, or just not getting worse. Stable is better than nothing, but the bar is low, very low, and it grates on him to no end.

But at the very least, he manages to get the other man get the other man dressed and in bed to let his body rest properly, fitted in a pair of loose jogging pants that fit him more like capris and an old, soft shirt of Keigo’s that’s large enough to not catch on his scars and staples and recent stitches. It good to have him out of the tub- Keigo knows being constantly submerged wasn’t optimal for his wounds but at the time they didn’t have much of another choice, and the fact that he hasn’t needed to pour an ice bath for him again is something that Keigo takes as a good sign. It means being more careful about monitoring his temperature and making sure he’s got a steady supply of ice packs and cold compresses on hand, but he feels better knowing Dabi’s at least asleep in his bed and not passed out in the bathroom.

But he, himself, can’t sleep in his room anymore. He’s tried a few times, lying down at the arsonist’s side and trying to catch a few minutes of rest here or there, but every time he manages to doze off, he bolts awake again a few moments later, awakened by a shift in Dabi’s breathing pattern or nightmarish flashes of events already passed and now beyond his reach- snippets of smoke, debris still burning, the embers in Enji Todoroki’s eyes-

He stops attempting to sleep entirely when he sees Dabi bleeding out in an alley once more, and goes to make himself another cup of coffee.

Without sleep the days drag on, slow and tiring and long, and nerve-wracking as hell. His only respites are the occasional messages he receives from Shouto, a welcome distraction from changing bandages, chugging back more caffeine, and trying to find a television channel that works between being proper white noise and also not somehow covering the previous day’s attack. The most recent text comes with a photo of what Keigo can only assume must be the convention.

Shouto: Guess who we ran into (Delivered 4:17 P.M)

At a loss, the winged hero scrolls down to the image and clicks on it to enlarge it, laughing when everything registers. It’s a selfie, taken by Midoriya based on the angle, of the two boys in front of an artist’s stand, with Shouto and Minako of all people posing in the background.

“What were the odds,” Keigo chuckles to himself, setting his mug aside to type in a quick ‘Say hi for me!’ , before exiting the messaging app and pulling up a different browser screen instead, the video he’d been playing earlier coming back up to loop once more. He doesn’t hit the pause button, just lets it continue to play as his eyes watch almost blankly, the footage basically memorized at this point,his easy grin slowly disappearing.

He’s lost track of the number of times he’s watched the videos of the fight. There were plenty of witnesses and plenty of different videos to go through, but the content in all of them is the same, and it’s content that, for the life of him, Keigo can’t rationalize.

There’s fire, so much fire. Fire and smoke, blue and red grappling, devouring everything either touches. His eyes track to the left where he knows by now that Dabi’s face will appear through the smoke, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed, staples bleeding. He’s rigid and fierce, and the expression on his face just looks… Haunted. Not even manic, but gaunt in a terrified way that seems angry, yes, but equal parts tormented. It’s a conflict that Hawks can only scrape the surface of understanding.

But still, he watches again as though all of his questions will be answered in the clips, though it’s upsetting to watch,   and has continued to be from the first one he’d forced himself to access, fingers hovering hesitantly over the ‘play’ button.

It’s in this way that he learns most of the damage in the square was done by Endeavor, his attacks more explosive and Dabi’s more concentrated on one target. That much makes sense; with his limits set, the arsonist wouldn’t be wanting to waste what resources he had by just spraying flames everywhere, instead focusing on dodging his father’s attacks to get closer and hit him point-blank where he can. It’s an attack style that puts him more at risk, though, and it’s become obvious to Keigo why the man came out of this fight as damaged as he did.

Dabi runs forward, goes to attack and then falters, sidestepping and making a last-minute adjustment that costs him his accuracy. Through the smoke Kiego can see a family trying to run out of the scene, a father with his daughter in his arms and a mother racing with both of her sons hands in her own. Had he not chosen to rein in and attack differently, his fire would’ve hit them head-on. They make it out fine, but the fumbled attack leaves the man open and a second later a powerful blast from Endeavour is sending him tumbling to the side, the arsonist hitting one of the cars parked to the side of the wreckage and the force of the impact causing him to break off one of the side mirrors and likely the reason for one of the worse cuts he’s had across his abdomen that had needed stitches. Keigo winces at the sight even though he’s seen this a million times over, watches as Dabi pulls himself upright and continues the fight, matching Endeavor blow for blow and not falling back even as smoke billows from his scars and his eyes are red and bloodshot from the fumes.

Even as it becomes clear that he’s becoming weaker. Even as it becomes clear he’s not going to win.

It ends, like a grand finale, when Endeavor gives off a raging, violent burst of fire that sends Dabi flying, tossed like a ragdoll, weak and beaten through the display window of the shop Keigo recognizes, the arsonist completely hidden from view by the smoke and falling ash, and shadows of the building. The camera angle is too shaky and the smoke too thick for Keigo to see the man pull himself upright and retreat, but based on how he found him, he knows it must’ve happened.

And then it’s done, simple as that.

‘Why did you do it?’   Keigo wonders to himself, hurt and angry and sick, closing his phone and setting it to the side, rubbing at his aching eyes, ‘Why did you do it, when you knew the risks?’

Because the fact of the matter is, despite not answering all of the questions he’d had about the event, the video footage had answered a single burning one; Endeavor hadn’t started that fight. It hadn’t been prompted, he hadn’t spotted the villain and started anything- Dabi saw him first and went for the throat when he could’ve stayed hidden and walked away. Despite the outcome, the Number One hero had started off on the defensive long before he took up on offensive position. ‘Why did you do it? Why now, why like this?’

It’s a question that bothers him and refuses to dissipate from his mind even after those two days are passed and the winged hero finally crashes, body fried from exhaustion and collapsing into sleep the moment he falls on the couch in his living room, desperate for a reprieve and for some silence in his head.

Keigo’s not a heavy sleeper. Between his general troubles sleeping and his feathers being permanently sensitive to the landscape around him unless he sheds them, the winged hero is about as light a sleeper as they come.

It’s this fact which makes waking up to a hand around his throat all the more a shocking experience.

“I wouldn’t move a muscle if I were you.” A thin, reedy voice snarls, one that Keigo recognizes instantaneously, before he can even make out the face in the dark.

“What the fuck are yo-” He begins, only to fall short as Shigaraki’s fingers press sharply into the skin close to his windpipe, one finger short of being lethal. “Hey, what the hell!”

“I said not to move.”

The man’s voice reeks of danger, and Keigo slowly forces his body to relax back into the couch, clenching his jaw and glaring down the villain leader the whole while. Of all things to wake up to, being threatened like this by a man he’d considered a tentative ally up until fifteen seconds ago is not optimal, and whatever the reason for Shigaraki’s methods in this particular chat, Keigo is more than aware that this isn’t a social call.

A noise to the right causes Keigo to glance to the side as best he can given his current position, to find Compress standing by the open window, fishing a series of marbles out of his jacket pockets.

“Rather presumptuous of you to leave your windows unlocked when there’s a fire escape just outside your building,” The older man tuts, “You never know who might saunter right in.”

Keigo grimaces, temper flaring.

“Most villains know better than to go breaking into the homes of pro heroes.” He retaliates angrily, “Though it seems there’s always some exceptions to that general concept of common sense. Care to explain what’s going on?”

In all regards, he’d be almost happy to see them if it weren’t in  the situation it currently is. While he’s surprised to find them in his apartment, obviously- well, surprised even moreso actually that  they knew how to find it to begin with, at the very least he has a way to now tell them about Dabi, and maybe have them help.

But something in Shigaraki’s eyes makes the winged hero hold back, catching the maniac glimmer and knowing, based on how serious of a turn this has taken, that now’s not the time to be speaking. It’s better to hear the villains out first and see what’s happening than to fuck this up somehow by opening his mouth without knowing what’s going on. And with that in mind, he should watch his tongue altogether, probably, but there’s a sharpness in his voice that he can’t conceal for the life of him, not even now when it would be pertinent to do so. He’s too tired to bother, exhausted and burnt out and with nerves frayed to the point of snapping like brittle, aged cord. Dealing with this kind of bullshit right now isn’t even scary, despite obviously being surprising considering his relationship with the League over the last few months.

In all honesty, this just seems like the icing on the fucking cake that has been the last two days, and Keigo’s more than done mentally, emotionally, physically. What’s one more problem on his plate right now?

Compress drops the marbles in his hands and lets them roll across the hardwood, each one releasing a League member as it rolls. Twice is first, then Toga, and lastly Spinner, all three of which look entirely nonplussed, Toga in particular narrowing her eyes and whipping out a set of knives the moment she has her feet under her. Not a good sign, and Keigo frowns at the aggressive move, surprised by the amount of hate in the girl’s eyes when only a few weeks ago they’d shared a bowl of popcorn on the floor in the warehouse and Keigo had let her practice drawing his wings.

“You know what I find funny, Hawks?” Shigaraki asks, tapping one finger on Keigo’s throat both contemplatively and as a warning. The gesture causes him to focus on the blue-haired man again, attention shifted from the rest of the League for now. “That a trained pro hero would actively seek us out to be recruited, only to feed us unreliable information for months and think we wouldn’t catch on. You think I don’t do my own research?”

Keigo blinks up at him, stunned. This isn’t where he expected this encounter to be going, though he supposes he should have.

The truth of the matter is that if this is why the League’s here, they’re slow to the chase. Dabi was the first to know about Keigo being a double agent, and that discussion happened months ago, the same day Keigo in turn discovered that the arsonist was in fact Touya Todoroki. This whole situation seems like old news to him, something that’s already been addressed, though he realizes, then, that while he’d never bothered broaching his changing of sides with the League because he’d assumed they’d never had him marked as false in the first place, this is probably a base they should’ve covered sooner.

‘Fuck, this is gonna be a mess.’

“Shig-” Keigo begins again, only to be cut off once more.

“At first I played a blind eye because you were just an opportunity for us to mislead the heroes even further, make them think they were getting a few steps ahead of us while we gave you information that wasn’t true either. It was all a game, really.” His grip tightens, Keigo hisses. “But playtime’s over. Call me paranoid, but I find it just a little suspicious that you come into our home,” His tone grows more dangerous, “Start brushing shoulders with Dabi until he trusts you, until you know every ounce of vulnerability he has, until you’ve got him in the fucking palm of your hand,” The villain leans in closer, and Keigo can see that the red portions of his irises are burning like embers. “And then it just so happens that the one person he’s got enough of a vendetta against to face on his own conveniently shows up when he’s out by himself- you know, Endeavor, the man that you yourself acknowledged he can’t beat. Or had you forgotten about that little chat? Because I was beginning to find it strange that we hadn’t heard anything more about that team of yours you were supposed to put together, until this came up.” Shigaraki smiles in a venomous way that reads more like bared teeth, “I told him not to get attached- I warned him. But he didn’t listen- so hero, now that you’ve got our weaknesses worked out, who’s next on your agenda?”

The words hit hard, landing like invisible blows to Keigo’s chest as he begins to piece together what this is about. His blood curdles and goes cold in his veins when it registers.

“You think I set him up?! ” Keigo explodes, feathers bristling, prior sensibility all but gone out the window. He goes to push himself up off the couch, only to have Shigaraki force him back in place again, Spinner taking a step forward when he sees how close a fight is to breaking out. “No, get the fuck off of me- you seriously think I tried to have him offed?”

Keigo isn’t even sure which emotion he’s feeling most strongly right now; it’s like there’s a star collapsing in his chest, a black hole forming that sucking in everything and just building energy all at once. Shigaraki leers down at him threateningly, pinning him like a butterfly to a collector’s corkboard.

“Oh, so it’s just coincidence that you both disappeared then? You never tried finding us to check in on him. He never showed. You know more here than we do, and I’m willing to bet why that might be.” He leans in, and Keigo can feel his hand quaking slightly where it rests on his windpipe, though whether it’s rage or upset that has him shaking, Keigo can’t tell.

This is unbelievable.

Especially with the knowledge of everything he’s done to keep Dabi alive, the accusation seems ridiculous. Keigo can’t help but let out a bewildered bark of a laugh.

“I saved him, asshole.” The winged hero remarks, bitterly, his voice a wheeze with the pressure against his throat, “And had no way to contact you because somebody didn’t want me to have anyone’s number but Dabi’s.” The whole League freezes, Shigaraki included, though he seems the most skeptical. Toga is the first to say anything, lowering her eyes and looking afraid to believe him.

“Are you telling the truth?” She asks, her young face almost heartbreakingly open. Keigo’s surprised to see how scared she looks, voice wavering with cautious hope. Shigaraki tries to shush her, but Toga speaks over him, not hesitating for a second. “Is Dabi actually alive?”

Keigo frowns again, reining in his temper and his tone. The girl’s only a year or two older than Shouto, and he often forgets it- but right now she looks small and terrified.

“He’s alive,” Keigo confirms, more quietly and calmly than before, “His phone broke in the fight, otherwise I would’ve called.” Twice is quick to put an arm around Toga’s shoulders when her shaking fingers drop one of their knives entirely, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as her breath hitches in relief. There are tears welling in the girl’s eyes as her shoulders begin to shake as well. “I couldn’t leave him because he’s been in rough shape, but Toga, I wouldn’t…”

He can’t bring himself to finish it, not after seeing how the teen’s reacting to this whole development. Spinner’s the next to speak up, looking more pallid than normal, his typical bravado obsolete.

“Where?” Is all he asks, Keigo directing him down the hall and to the last door. The lizard-quirked man looks to Shigaraki for permission before hurrying away, calling quietly for Dabi as he does so.

For his part, Shigaraki says nothing, just watches Keigo the whole while, as if waiting for the hero to try and loose any feathers. It’s not a bad move, all things considered, but damn if it’s not disconcerting. Keigo doesn’t know where to look, especially seeing as how his options are limited with the villain still holding him in place by his neck. Eventually he settles for just staring right back, raising an eyebrow, if only to look less intimidated with his current position. It’s a cocky gesture, probably not smart, but it makes him feel slightly better even if just for the sake of the fact that he can tell it grates on Shigaraki’s nerves.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have the time to make any more terrible choices, as footsteps are heard coming back up the hallway, one pair slow and steady, the other awkward and shuffling. Catching the distinction, Keigo glances up sharply, heart rising in his chest.

When he’d sent Spinner off to find Dabi, he hadn’t been expecting the man to return with him- but here he is, awake for the first time in days and looking like shit, but his eyes are finally clear even as the rest of him seems to be doing poorly. Spinner’s holding up most of Dabi’s weight as they enter the room together, the dark-haired man clearly still weak and wavering on his feet, bruises visible on the healthier skin of his arms, though Keigo knows the ones under his shirt are far worse.

Toga cuts a sob, ducking away from Twice and sprinting towards the injured man, tossing her arms around his middle as soon as she gets close. Dabi grunts at the impact, pained, his mouth twisting into a grimace, but it doesn’t stop him from gingerly curling an arm around her back, hesitant and surprised, but not entirely averse.

“Easy, Creeper.” He mumbles, ending the statement with a cough that’s more of a wheeze than anything. Toga doesn’t let go, still trembling.

“I thought this was going to be like Magne all over again.” She cries shakily, and suddenly it feels like all of the air has been sucked from the room. Magne- Toga’s reaction makes sense now, Keigo realizes, before marking how pale Spinner’s face has been, Shigaraki’s fierce aggression, Twice’s uncharacteristic amount of silence. It all makes sense, and Keigo can see the moment it clicks for the arsonist too, Dabi’s whole expression changing and his hold on the girl tightening imperceptibly.

He doesn’t say anything in reassurance; there’s no words that can ease the kind of hurt they must all be reliving right now, but when he does speak, it’s after his eyes meet Keigo’s first, then Shigaraki’s a half-second later. They narrow.

“If you don’t get your hands off of him, I swear to fuck the next pair you’re going to be wearing will be mine around your own damn neck.”

Under different circumstances Keigo might’ve laughed, because it’s so good, so good to hear him be awake and aware and back to his normal self- but as it is he can’t even bring himself to grin at Dabi’s comment because this situation is very much not diffused and everyone present seems to know it.

“We’re not finished here,” The blue-haired man leers derisively, eyes turning to Keigo again. “Your little bird still has some answering to do.”

Dabi blinks in confusion before the look on his face darkens, Keigo getting the sense he’s already figured out what it might be that his leader is referring to.

“Shigaraki. Leave him alone.”

The tone in his voice is a last warning if ever Keigo heard one, and the sound makes his heart drop like a stone. He has no doubt in his mind that Dabi will make this a fight if he has to, and the last thing they need right now is the fire-user’s condition relapsing all over again if he gets himself worked up.

“Stay out of this, Dabs.” Amber eyes lock on blue, Dabi gritting his teeth, Keigo trying to look calm. The dark-haired man needs to relax, or he’s going to end up hurting himself all over again. “It’s alright.”

Dabi looks dubious that any of this is alright in the slightest, and really it’s probably not, but Keigo keeps his voice steady and his composure reined in, trying to silently convince the other man to stand down. Spinner quietly puts a steadying hand on Dabi’s shoulder that Keigo suspects is supposed to double as an act of reassurance, or maybe even just to hold him back.

He can feel that the arsonist’s gaze still hasn’t left his face, even when he looks back up at Shigaraki defiantly again. “Well?”

“You’re not going to deny it, hero?”

Keigo scoffs, meeting Shigaraki’s accusatory glare with a level eye.

“What is there to deny? You said you wanted answers.” The Leader of the League waits impatiently and Keigo steels himself, taking a deep breath. This is it; time to come clean completely. It’s a slightly harrowing sensation, like ice-cold water dripping down his spine.

‘Just get this over with,’ Keigo thinks to himself, swallowing drily and fighting the urge to ruffle his feathers, lest Shigaraki take it as a threatening move. “Here’s the truth- I was tasked with infiltrating the League for the Commission early last spring. They wanted information, and I was one of their better candidates for the job; it wasn’t really an optional thing, just another order that I couldn’t turn down.”

Keigo pauses, letting the words sink in before continuing, “At first it was only a mission, but… Things started to change, and it got to a point where I was getting pretty conflicted over the whole situation. It wasn’t sitting right anymore. I started making less reports to my superiors, leaving out information, sometimes getting things wrong intentionally here or there- nothing too major, just crossing the lines a little when I found the leeway to do so.”

Shigaraki scowls, clearly not impressed.

“So really, what you’re saying here is you’ve just been selling us out less .” He deduces, spitting the words like they’re bitter in his mouth, though judging by the look on his face, he’s not surprised. Keigo doesn’t even want to see the rest of the League’s reactions right now. The winged hero goes to clarify, to explain that’s not the case anymore, when Dabi speaks up.

“He’s not selling us out.”

The man’s throat must ache like hell, because his voice sounds like that of a smoker three times his age- which, granted, in consideration of his quirk isn’t a funny comparison. Shigaraki turns his scowl on the arsonist instead, irritated.

“Were you not listening, Patchwork? He said it himself.”

Keigo watches as Dabi shakes his head firmly, weary, Spinner adjusting his hold on him and Toga turning slightly to keep one arm around the man while also helping to keep him upright. The girl glances between him and Keigo once, twice, confused and skeptical, and maybe still a little hurt at the confirmation, but not dangerously like before.

“He used to be, but he’s not anymore. Hasn’t been for a while now.”

Keigo tenses as Shigaraki slowly begins dissolving into rage, the pieces beginning to fall together one by one for the villain, whose hand slackens around Keigo’s throat in momentary disbelief. He still doesn’t dare move despite the window of opportunity.

“You son of a-” Shigaraki begins, stunned, only to cut himself short with a low growl, eyes piercing Dabi where he stands. “You knew about this?”

“Shig.” Spinner warns softly, trying to placate the other man before things have the chance to escalate. Shigaraki ignores him.

“How long?”

“He told me back in… What, July? But I’d suspected it from the start. He’s been on our side since.”

July- it doesn’t feel possible that it could’ve been that long ago that everything came to light, and yet it somehow doesn’t feel like enough time has passed for it to have only been five months either. It’s November now, mid-November, and it’s been almost half a year since Shouto Todoroki turned his whole world sideways with one story and two hours of his time.

He’s come far in half a year; they both have, actually, and Shouto too when he cares to consider it. It’s been a period of growth for all of them, slow and steady, and for just a moment, he allows himself to be the tiniest bit proud.

Shigaraki crumbles that moment like he’s used his quirk to ruin it.

“You’re telling me,” The man emphasizes, absolutely livid, “That you’ve suspected since day one that he was a spy, and you still brought him around until he came clean in July ?!”

Dabi scowls, bristling, but his leader isn’t done. “You had no clue if this guy was going to turn around and stab you- stab any one of us- in the back at any point in all of this; what were you thinking?”

“ He wasn’t! ” Twice finally speaks up for the first time, before immediately contradicting himself, “ He was head over heels- ”

“ Jin .” Dabi snaps, and it’s not often that the arsonist raises his voice, but this is definitely one of such times. It only serves to add to the chaos that is slowly unfurling around them, the tension rising, everything going to shambles.

His arsonist looks about ready to fight even though he can barely stand, and Keigo tries to stare him down, though the man is watching his leader instead.

But Shigaraki’s not done, and clearly not concerned with the threat. He picks up where Twice left off, raging freely now without bothering to rein any of his anger in.

In a way, Keigo knows, he’s justified in his anger. It’s not like he’s wrong; Keigo could’ve betrayed them at any given point, and the fallout for it could’ve been devastating. Whether or not he had any legitimate information against them isn’t the concern here- it’s what he could’ve physically done, picking them out one by one, tearing them apart from the inside.

Losing Magne had been a blow that none of them had ever fully recovered from, Keigo knows. Seeing how defensive the League are of one another, knowing how quickly they’ll go to arms for a comrade even if oftentimes they won’t admit it- this isn’t a surprise anymore, so much as a reckoning that’s been on the horizon for a while.

He’d been a gun pointed at the heads of every member of Shigaraki’s League, and up until now it’s been a guessing game of whether or not there were bullets in the chamber.

Once upon a time, Keigo thinks miserably, his stomach twisting, there very well might have been.

“Is that it?” Shigaraki accuses venomously, and oh God he reminds Keigo of a rattlesnake, shaking with fury. The blue-haired man lets out a bewildered laugh that’s more brittle and hollow than full, “So what, Patchwork- you find an easy fuck who’ll let you get them in bed and suddenly nothing else matters?”

He’s crossed a line- Keigo can tell that much the moment the words leave Shigaraki’s mouth, because in that split second Dabi’s eyes go from blue to icy, like he’s adopted nothing of his mother’s quirk except in his stare. An instant later there’s smoke pouring from his scars again, the injured man brushing off Toga and Spinner to stand on his own and get his feet under him.

“What was that?” The arsonist asks quietly, deadly calm. Dread courses its way into Keigo’s system.

“Dabi, no-” He warns, but Shigaraki’s already rising to the challenge, not one to put out this fire so quickly after starting it. The other League members are beginning to look nervous as well, Compress finally stepping up to say something and talk their leader down, only for Shigaraki to speak over him.

“I said- ”

It’s a split-second choice, but Keigo doesn’t give him the opportunity to finish the statement.

Taking advantage of Shigaraki’s distraction, Keigo surges upright with some forceful help from his wings, knocking the villain’s hand away, only to grab him by the wrist and shoulder and use his gained momentum to knock the surprised villain to the ground. Keigo tumbles over him in a somersaulting motion that’s not graceful in the slightest, but effective at the very least, granting him time and a little bit of space to work with as Shigaraki fights to regain the wind that’s been knocked out of him. In the end the hero is more quick to recover, picking himself up off the floor and staggering back far enough to stand in front of Dabi, flaring his wings up defensively while Shigaraki works his way back up to his feet.

“You need to calm the hell down.” Keigo mutters, reaching a steadying hand out behind him and glancing back with knitted brows when it lands on Dabi’s chest, noting the heat emanating through his shirt. Dabi doesn’t say a word, just tugs Keigo’s hand away by interlocking the fingers of the winged man’s right hand with his own and stepping closer, standing directly behind him and just over his shoulder. His presence, though weakened like a flickering candle, is a strengthening one for Keigo; Dabi’s in no shape to fight, but even just having him standing behind him feels like his back is being guarded.

All the same, he can’t help but wonder if Dabi’s action is one of protection in a different way, the other members of the League catching the gesture and not a single one of them stepping forward to confront the winged man after his scuffle with their leader. Whether or not the arsonist backing him is the reason for it, he doesn’t know- but one look at the expression still on his face as he stares down the blue-haired man now on his feet and turning a laugh like a broken music box, and Keigo knows he wouldn’t be keen on crossing him either.

“I’ll admit, Keigo Takami,” Shigaraki sounds a weird mix of winded and thrilled, and Keigo’s not entirely sure how to respond to it, especially not after the unpleasant but unsurprising revelation that the other man knows his name, “You never fail to be entertaining.”

Keigo’s wings twitch in annoyance, Dabi muttering something to him under his breath that Keigo can’t make out, though it sounds like a warning, if the pressure he applies to his palm is anything to go by. Shigaraki’s eyes narrow, watching the two of them skeptically, before eventually shaking his head slowly and glowering at the hero in question. “It’s a nice story” His tone implies otherwise, “But you’ve got some gaps. Let’s say you’re telling the truth; you still haven’t told us why you changed your mind.”

He doesn’t want to do this- doesn’t want to and yet, he knows he needs to. There’s not much of a choice in that.

Keigo is used to not having choices when it comes to tough calls, and in a way that makes this almost easier.

“I…” Here’s the hard part of the story to tell, because most of it isn’t even his, and the part that is, the deep roots of it, are secrets that only a select few have ever known. “Things became personal.” Keigo manages eventually, stalling for time. That much is true, in more ways than one. He’s never been so aware of the gravity of Dabi’s hand in his own. His mouth feels gritty. “I was dragged into the Hero Public Safety Commission as a kid- they asked if I wanted to go with them and be a hero. I was only five or six at the time.”

These are not stories to be shared; he’s had that much drilled into him for as long as he can remember. His identity, his background, were crucial to be left in the dark. He remembers the threats, ridicule, discipline like it was yesterday, when in reality he was really very small at the time.

The fact that time has passed doesn’t stop sirens from ringing in his head and nerves to choke his throat worse than Shigaraki’s hand earlier.

“There was nothing at home worth staying for. Dad was a convict I barely saw and Mom was an addict without a maternal bone in her body, who’d never wanted a kid and had to bear with being saddled with one. We could never afford rent, jumped from place to place for years. Food was always a surprise. Getting an offer to be taken in and have an actual bed and three meals a day sounded like a dream. I had no idea what I was getting into.”

Keigo says the last part softly, more a self-reflection than anything he intended to admit out loud. When he catches himself, he’s quick to continue before Shigaraki can lose his patience. He can do this.

It needs to be said, needs to be put out in the open.

Wounds need air to breathe and heal.

“The next seventeen years were absolute hell- still are, really, who am I kidding. They basically own me at this point, and there’s about fuck all I can do about it.” Keigo states flatly, seeing Spinner look his way sharply, confused. “Everything I do is their call. Where I live, where I go, how to act when I get there, who I am- it’s all their call. I didn’t even choose my own name, but I haven’t been allowed to use my real one since that first day they took me. That much hasn’t changed.”

“Well, with a history like that, it’s no wonder going against your superiors looked appealing.” Compress announces in the silence that follows, the first to have anything to say. Keigo doesn’t want to look at the others, especially not after the twinge of shame that pinches his stomach.

“My… Situation wasn’t the turning point.” He confesses, “It should have been- I should’ve taken a stand for myself sooner, but I think I was always just resigned to that; it was just the way things were going to be. Nobody saves heroes, and it was easier to convince myself out of how bad it was when I didn’t have the experience of anything different.”

His hands are shaking. He doesn’t notice it until Dabi tightens his grip on his hand again for a brief moment, thumb just barely brushing over the first knuckle on his own. It’s a silent reassurance, unnoticeable to the others and one that Keigo appreciates as the hurt grows more fierce and the fight to keep his voice even becomes a tough one. “Growing up, I’d been encouraged to look up to the pro heroes in the Top Ten charts and see them as an inspiration for my own future. The Commission may have intended for that to be All Might, but I idolized Endeavor instead. He’d been my favourite hero before the Commission got involved, and he continued to be afterward. Even when I had nothing, I had a dream to be just like him. He was an inspiration and role model for me long after I’d started my career.

“And then last June, I found out Enji Todoroki had been abusing his family behind closed doors for the last twenty-five years, and everything changed. Here was a man who’d been committing fucking horrendous acts on the side, the kind of bastard we’re supposed to be protecting people from, and here he is now sitting in the Number One hero spot, the saviour of Japan. There’s no way it was a complete secret. There’s no way that nobody was aware it was going on. And yet, because he’s a hero by license and license only, he’s never even seen a courtroom for his crimes, let alone served for any of them. He should have been put away years ago; that’s when it clicked, how corrupt the system is and how badly it needs to change.”

That was it, the truth of the matter spilled out and laid bare for them all to see and dissect as they wished. Each League member takes their time ingesting the news, a mix of emotions painted across the room. Keigo can’t bring himself to focus on any specific one of them, heart hammering in his throat.

“Endeavor… A false hero undoubtedly, but in more ways than we imagined.” Spinner eventually speaks up, the first of the League to know what to say. He looks over to Dabi, Keigo unable to see his face, though it goes without question he probably doesn’t seem impressed. “Your grudge against this man- is this why you sought to challenge him, as a fellow follower of Stain?”

Keigo expects him to lie. He expects him to deflect the question or simply agree with the lizard-quirked man’s assumptions for the sake of maintaining his lock-box secrecy.

But Dabi is, as Keigo has noted on many an occasion, not a predictable creature.

“Oh no, this runs a lot deeper than that. It’s personal for me as well.” Keigo stiffens in surprise, turning slightly to try and catch a read on where Dabi’s planning to go with this. The next words out of the fire-user’s mouth are those of a sinner in a confessional, airing their wrongdoings. “I never told you who I was.”

This catches Shigaraki’s attention immediately, the blue-haired man quirking an eyebrow at his second-in-command in expectation. The rest of the League look to him as well, the winged hero immediately bristling under the weight of their attention. Keigo stiffens, still alert, still on guard, still defending the man behind him. His wings flare slightly in warning, an instinctive gesture that he doesn’t catch himself doing until Dabi’s free hand comes up to stroke through the plumage at the base of them, straightening rigid feathers and coaxing them to lie flat. “Easy, Pigeon.”  The fire-user mumbles under his breath.

Keigo hesitates before letting his wings drop ever so slightly, still leery.

“Dabi…”

The arsonist makes another short pass through his feathers, mostly out of sight of the others, and Keigo leans back somewhat into his hand, still not taking his eyes off of the amassed gathering of villains in his living room. Dabi coughs twice, breath rattling and wheezy, but he keeps himself upright and gathers his voice again with time.

“My name,” He announces hoarsely, “Is Touya Todoroki, and that Hellfire bastard is my father.”

Chapter Text

“My name is Touya Todoroki, and that Hellfire bastard is my father.”

Silence. That’s all there is at first, just silence and shock from those gathered as they try to process Dabi’s words. It’s a reaction that hits Keigo as the uneasy calm before a rampant storm, quiet before all hell breaks loose, but it’s the only reaction the League is permitted in the moments following as Dabi, unsteady in the first place, lasts about two seconds longer after dropping his bombshell of a statement before his weakened body caves. 

The man stumbles into Keigo’s back as his shaking legs finally give out beneath him, his expression pained when the winged hero wheels around to catch him more properly and is surprised, for a moment, that such a weak spell has come over him so quickly. At first, he thinks maybe he just lost his balance, or one of his legs was more injured than he previously thought-

But then Dabi’s head comes to fall against the crook of his neck, and the fire-user’s skin burns .

It’s intense, but not, Keigo assesses quickly, as bad as the fevers Dabi had been experiencing before. That much is a relief, at the very least. There’s no smoke, not this time, and Keigo holds him upright as the villain tremors in his arms, the fever settling in hard and fast. Keigo’s not sure if it’s a physical backlash from the arsonist’s near-fight with Shigaraki or simply from the emotional toll of what he’s just revealed, but either way Dabi spits a few curses under his breath as his whole body continues to shake-

And then Spinner lurches forward unexpectedly, Keigo’s feathers bristling at the sudden movement as his eyes snap on the mutation-quirked villain. Catching his mistake, Spinner raises his hands easily, trying to soothe Keigo’s frazzled nerves, pausing in place and waiting a moment.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” He clarifies nervously before taking a smaller, more tentative step. Keigo eyes him warily, not entirely willing to let his guard down around any of them after the events that have unfolded over the last hour and without knowing how they’re taking this newest slice of news, but still letting him approach. “Here, let me help.”

This is his family- this is his family, he should be safe with them, look at what they were willing to risk for vengeance when they thought he was gone. They won’t hurt him now, they wouldn’t…

If they try to, I don’t know if I could take them all in a fight at once.

The thought is a slightly harrowing one, Keigo’s stomach twisting sickly, and he swallows hard, his grip on his arsonist tightening slightly. But then-

“Toga, go see if you can scrounge up some ice- Twice, go with her. Compress, towels.” Shigaraki demands, said League members snapping out of their apparent shock and jumping into action. Now it’s Keigo’s turn to be stunned as they fall into what must be a familiar pattern, Toga and Twice heading straight for the kitchen, Compress looking for the bathroom.

“On your right!” Keigo calls out, the masked man ducking his head in thanks before disappearing, the sound of a tap running shortly thereafter just barely audible from the living room as Spinner gets one arm around his injured comrade, easing some of the weight off Keigo’s shoulders.

“Let’s get him on the couch,” The lizard-quirked man suggests, he and Keigo keeping the dark-haired villain on his feet long enough to get them moved over and Dabi properly situated. He hisses and instinctively presses a hand to his abdomen when the movement of lying down again tugs at the stitches there. Keigo takes a seat by his hip, Dabi’s gangly form barely taking up half the width of the sofa and easily leaving enough space for the hero to perch by his side, the blond reaching out to carefully pry open one of Dabi’s clenched fists and thread his fingers through the arsonist’s once more. “How’re you holding up, man?” Spinner asks, walking around to lean over the back of the couch with his arms braced up over the back. Dabi opens one eye into a narrow slit, brows still furrowed, face flushed and sweat tacking his hair to his skin as he shivers.

“ Peachy .” He grinds out from behind gritted teeth. Spinner glances at Keigo flatly.

“He’ll be fine.”

Shigaraki is the first to return from his ventures, bearing a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol that he must have pilfered from Keigo’s medicine cabinet. The winged man hadn’t even noticed that he’d left the room in the first place, wholly preoccupied, and the sight of him suddenly standing there once more startles Keigo enough to have him raise his wings in warning again, Shigaraki scoffing. He brushes past Keigo like he’s not even there, completely disregarding the threat of those feathers poised to strike at a moment’s notice. All things considered, as far as quirks go, maybe he’s in the right to be so confident and unconcerned- out of everyone in the room, Shigaraki and Dabi are probably the safest ones here. His feathers won’t stand up to the League leader’s Decay and he’s well aware of that.

“Don’t go getting your panties in a twist now, hero. If I wanted him dead, he would be already.” Shigaraki muses, before dumping a few of the Tylenol tablets in Dabi’s free hand, not before glancing down at the one that’s occupied with no thinly veiled amount of disgust. Dabi knocks back the pills easily, taking the proffered glass and taking intermittent sips. It’s clear he’s tempted to guzzle back the whole thing, but that would turn his empty stomach for sure, and the last thing they need is him puking up what limited fluids he must have in him at this point. He’s no doubt dehydrated- Keigo’s kicking himself for that one, because water should’ve been something obvious that the arsonist would’ve needed, burning up as he was, but trying to pour water down an unconscious man’s throat would’ve been a nightmare and a half, and he’s not sure he would’ve been able to manage it either way. 

The blue-haired man’s eyes narrow as he regards his second-in-command, lips pursed. “Explanation. Now.”

Dabi explains.

He doesn’t tell him everything- of course he doesn’t, that’s not Dabi’s style and it never has been, but he tells Shigaraki the main details, the summary of the story, the important things. He leaves out the fact that this is why he’s so meticulous about keeping his hair dyed black, because his breath catches every time he catches a glimpse of red in the mirror. That this is why he stiffens whenever doors slam and always seems prepared to jump into a fight whenever anyone raises their voice. That this is why he stares at the shadows of silhouettes on the wall until they move and reveal themselves as someone safe, why his hands shake so bad sometimes when he runs out to light up a cigarette, eyes vacant, why he sleeps with a window open as not just an alleviant for his quirk, but for an escape route that Keigo hopes to God he’ll never need again.

These are all things the hero notices but doesn’t call out, things he can catch in one hand and juggle with the other because he knows this man better than the breath in his own lungs, and he can see when he’s hurting. But for the League, who have known Dabi only for the cards he plays- which are few and far between- everything goes unsaid. He is still a mystery to them despite their apparent fondness for the fire-quirked villain, and it shows in the rapt attention on Shigaraki’s face and that of everyone else as they slowly filter back into the living room as well, supplies in hand.

So he tells them about quirk marriages, about a woman who’d thought she was in love until her new husband showed his true hand too late, about the children she bore him and a little boy with red hair and fire that burned too brightly for him to control. He tells them about the abuse, about the taste of blood in his mouth at age five, six, seven, how it stained the back of his throat just as often as the training room floor. He tells them about a mother’s attempts to save her sons, a son’s attempts to save his mother, the blows he took for both and the day she was taken from them forever. He tells them of prodigies and failures, bandages and broken bones, teaching himself to use concealer with the makeup left untouched on his mother’s nightstand and learning that a sharp tongue would put him through hell but shield younger, smaller bodies from the storms that were their father’s rage.

He tells them of a boy named Touya, and he tells them all about the day he died.

At some point in all of this, Toga and Twice had returned with several makeshift ice packs in hand, nothing more than ice cubes in Ziplock bags wrapped in paper towel, but an attempt nonetheless and somewhat of a relief for the villain who has one of them held against his temple, the others piled close by for when the one in his hands inevitably melts faster than it should. The rest of his burns, across his arms and stomach, and even under the back of his neck have cold towels draped across them, Compress having soaked them in the bathroom before treating his comrade with the kind of quick precision that only repeat practice gives. They’ve done this before, and while Keigo’s not sure it’s ever been to help the arsonist while he’s been in this rough of shape, it gives him some solace to know they at least have an idea of how to address this.

Toga, seated on the hardwood and leaning against the arm of the couch by Dabi’s head, peers up at him with those catlike eyes and tilts her head so her cheek is resting on her crossed arms, knees drawn up to her chest.

“Is he how you got your scars?”

Oh, the weight that question has, but she asks it carefully, and she’s probably the best one to ask it. Keigo can tell by the way the tenseness in Dabi’s face eases just a little as he stares down at her for a beat, then two. If it had been anyone else, he might not have replied to them at all, but he reaches out to tug at a chunk of hair that’s fallen out of one of her messier-than-normal buns, blonde hair coming loose, and replies, “Who the hell did your hair, Creeper? It’s a fucking mess.”

“ Hey, I did a great job!” Twice protests loudly before she can answer, “ They look terrible, I know!”

“You weren’t there to help me with them,” The girl points out, grabbing his wrist and holding tight. Dabi regards her for a moment longer, hand trapped in her hair by the teen’s own grip, before ruffling it softly.

“Sorry kid,” He murmurs, before pulling his wrist from Toga’s grasp to flick her on the forehead. Keigo passes him another ice pack, which the arsonist takes appreciatively, sighing with relief when he brings it up to his temple again. He closes his eyes for a brief second, opening them again and meeting Toga’s still-inquisitive gaze. “I was sixteen- maybe seventeen by then actually. We stopped keeping track of birthdays a while after Mom was taken away. It didn’t feel right to celebrate.” His voice is still hoarse, rasping, almost too nonchalant for the topic at hand. It’s carefully unemotional, his tone, too carefully unemotional, intentional. His hand is loose in Keigo’s, slack and weary. The hero’s tempted to bring it up to his lips and kiss each knuckle until he doesn’t sound so numb, until his fingers tighten properly around Keigo’s hand again, until he’s okay. He doesn’t dare though, not in front of the League. “He’d been taking it too hard on Shouto. There was some move he wanted him to learn to do- I can’t remember what the fuck it was, but it was too hard for him. I told him I’d train that night instead, that I’d get it. Shouto had already been in the dojo for most of the morning, the poor kid was spent.”

Dabi hesitates for a moment as though gathering his bearings. This is a part of his story that even Keigo doesn’t know entirely, beyond the fact that Endeavor was somehow directly responsible. The hero frowns, adjusting his wings in upset. “I… Don’t remember most of it, to be honest. He was worse than normal, though. More brutal. I could hear Fuyumi crying in the hallway- they could probably hear us through the walls, I don’t know. Everything was so blurry; I remember feeling sluggish, I was so tired. Everything hurt. It felt like I was burning from the inside out, but he wouldn’t let me stop. I tried to quit and he just kept attacking- I didn’t have a choice. Every time I picked myself up…” His eyes go glassy and Keigo squeezes his hand hard , the arsonist glancing up sharply with a wince before realizing what had been happening, and giving Keigo an appreciative nod. “He put me over the brink. I lost control, my body couldn’t stand up to the heat after the amount of strain I’d already put it under. It was like stretching an elastic too far and having it snap before you can just decrease the force and let it go back to its original shape. I… Broke.” Dabi mutters, the word sounding bitter. “I think I lit the dojo on fire- I must’ve, because everything was blue, and he ran out, probably to grab the other kids; Natsuo and Fuyumi were just outside the door, Shouto was asleep upstairs- I just remember screaming until I didn’t have a voice left.” He swallows, and the action looks painful. “I made it outside somehow- it was snowing. I was still on fire, I remember shoving my arms into a snowbank and the pain being so intense I almost blacked out, but then a moment later realizing I couldn’t feel certain parts of my hands. I panicked. I must’ve started running- this part’s the most fuzzy, because I barely remember any of it, just being scared shitless and thinking I was going to die because I could literally feel my blood catching fire in my veins, and the burns were so bad.”

Keigo’s heart feels weighed down by lead, the hero curling in on himself and biting a lip. How the fuck had none of this been released, how on earth had none of it come to light-

“-passed out on the side of a road somewhere and burned myself out.” Dabi’s continuing, but he can barely hear it, like the words are being spoken through deep water, “A lady came across me when she was passing through and took me back to her place to get patched up- she was from the red light district and I guess one of her girls had some kind of black-market healing quirk or some shit. I never really got the details on that, but either way, she kept me alive even if they couldn’t keep me pretty.”

Dabi pauses, everyone uncomfortably aware of the metal in the man’s skin. “I stayed with them afterwards though, for a few years at least. It was an easy way to keep a low profile; nobody was going to be looking for Endeavor’s kid in that part of town, and even if anyone ever did recognize me there, they’d never have fessed up to it- they wouldn’t have wanted to admit what they were doing there in the first place. Red light zones are the kind of places you pass through without showing your face and without memorizing anybody else’s, and that makes them ideal for anyone looking to be forgotten.

“So I stayed with them, had a place to sleep so long as I kept out the people the girls didn’t want getting anywhere near them and kept them safe from the occasional shitbag. It was a pretty easy gig, and none of them treated me weird because of my scars- they were used to seeing that kind of stuff. When people are desperate enough to pay you to give them attention, you meet all kinds. Meanwhile the old man wrote me off as dead; I think they sent a search out, but they were looking for a body, probably out in the snow or in a river, I don’t know. It would’ve been easier to mark me as dead; I knew too much to just be missing, he would’ve been terrified of that.”

Keigo had looked into the case once after Shouto had told him everything, a few weeks after he and Dabi had talked things over and he felt strong enough to stomach whatever it was he might find. What it was that he had found was surprisingly little in regards to the death of the pro hero’s son. There had indeed been teams sent out in search of Touya Todoroki, and every single one of them had come back completely empty-handed. There was speculation about whether or not he might have died in the house fire that had left half of the Todoroki house in shambles, body burnt to nothing, or if he’d managed to get out but burned afterwards, leaving behind no trace but ash among the trees. Either way, it had been determined that Touya had disappeared like the smoke from his flames, and there was no telling what had happened of him.

But the story they told around it had been different. They spoke a narrative of a boy whose quirk was too strong for his weak disposition, who couldn’t control his fierce power, and had never been able to. The house fire had been an unfortunate incident caused by the boy in his sleep, and it had been too strong for Endeavor to save anyone but the children he could reach at the time, too strong for him to run back in after helping his other three escape the deadly flames. He was a single parent, after all. There was only so much he could do.

That had been the report filed by the Commission eight years ago, one sheet typed in size eleven Arial font, double spaced and stapled to the inside of a clean manila folder, a sleek, cream coffin to close the story of a young man who’d never find justice, and they’d all known it.

Hearing the whole of it now, after so many months of wondering and not wanting to ask, is yet another punch to the gut because of course he’d known by this point that it was Endeavor’s fault, of course he’d known it was bad, but when it could remain vague… It was painful, yes, but there wasn’t a visual to go with, no narrative, no storyline to follow for how badly things had spiraled.

He would’ve been fifteen when this happened. At fifteen, he was still researching his favourite hero’s statistics, reading articles about him whenever he got the chance, copying down his quotes for motivation to push himself to be faster, stronger, better. He’d never heard anything about this then, for sure. They’d done a good job keeping it quiet.

There’s more to the story, but Keigo is only half-listening, caught up in his own thoughts, sad, angry. Dabi mentions something about there being a hero raid that destroyed the whole district, something about heroes hellbent on winning a fight and not considering the damage done around them. Something about buildings collapsing and crumbling, fires, floods, shrapnel, people being crushed under rubble, innocents being caught up in the turmoil even though they weren’t the intended targets, how it was never dealt with properly. “They were after one bar three streets down, and somehow managed to destroy an an entire block that wasn’t part of the picture when the guys put up a fight,” Dabi explains, switching out his ice packs again, “It was like a movie to them- they weren’t concerned about anyone on the ground; they cared about who won and who did it the flashiest. Meanwhile, anyone within that circuit lost everything they had. Homes, belongings, jobs- everyone was fucked, but the heroes walked away and got a paycheck because they roped in four dealers who’d been stirring up some trouble in the area. We were nothing to them- that’s when I found Stain, bouncing around from place to place with nowhere to go and no way to make a living without someone finding out who I was. Then the League came up, and I figured why the hell not.” He looks to Shigaraki, the villain unmoving. “The rest is history. That an explanation enough?”

Shigaraki stares. His fingers twitch around the glass that Dabi had passed back to him, fifth finger brushing it by accident. The splintering crack of glass shattering and then falling apart to nothing makes Keigo wince.

The man’s eyes are red and unblinking.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He growls lowly, and Dabi raises an eyebrow.

“What, like you’re my therapist of choice?”

“Not about your story, dipshit. About you being Enji Todoroki’s fucking son .”

This time the arsonist scoffs, leaning back against the arm of the couch tiredly, closing his eyes again. His fever seems better- his hand doesn’t feel near so warm in Keigo’s, and his skin’s returning back to its typical pale pallor.

“You would’ve killed me.” One blue eye blinks open, piercing his leader openly where he sits. “You never would’ve given me a chance to prove myself, and you definitely wouldn’t have ever trusted me. I would’ve been a dead man walking for a second time over, and that’s not an event I cared to relive.”

He says it casually, but the words ring true. Keigo can read it in the faces of the other League members as it sets in because yes, they care for Dabi now but if they’d known who he was before, without those bonds of brotherhood, he would’ve been one of the first cut from the group- one way, or another. The arsonist had been looking out for himself, watching his steps and covering his tracks where he could. He’d done what he had to do to survive, and to fault him for that when the rest of them knew it had been a smart move would be ridiculous at this point.

Shigaraki frowns but doesn’t argue, merely huffing and turning away, pacing the living room. Spinner crosses his arms awkwardly, glancing to the others for direction, Toga still just seems sad, Twice and Compress have fallen silent behind their masks. Keigo can feel Dabi’s pulse jump against his wrist though his expression remains cool and neutral, blank. At the end of the day, whatever happens next is Shig’s call, and while Keigo thinks the rest of the League would probably stand up for Dabi if needs be, he’s not sure to what extent, doesn’t want to rely too heavily on them when he can feel the unsteady ground they’re standing on.

Finally, Shigaraki speaks up, scratching at his throat and glancing over.

“Well Patchwork, the vendetta shit makes sense now,” He says, almost wryly, “And if you wanna go fight your dad, then fine- all the power to ya; but the next time you go off on a revenge hunt, you take us with you or I’ll kill you myself. I told you not to put a fire type against a fire type, asshole- that was the stupidest fucking decision I’ve ever seen you make.”

Dabi smirks tiredly, Shigaraki stalking back over while the rest of the League visibly relaxes, the arsonist choking on a cough when he replies, “You’re the boss.” Shig’s eyes turn to Keigo and narrow.

“So this two-tone brat you’ve been training-”

“My brother.” Dabi wheezes, recovering from his coughing fit.

“…If we ever encounter UA again-”

“He’s off-limits. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Shigaraki lets out a noise of annoyance and grumbles loudly, but Dabi fixes him with a look that’s about as obstinate as they come and the other man concedes in no small amount of irritation.

Toga adjusts one of the towels across Dabi’s arm, leaning forward on her toes to keep the cloth from falling away, and pressing it back in place firmly, before reaching over and grabbing one of the melted, but still cold, ice packs and dumping the water out over the fabric to re-wet it. The arsonist hums under his breath at the gesture, worn out to the point of almost dozing at this point, but appreciative nonetheless.

“Thanks, Doll.” He mumbles, eyes flickering open and shut, adrenaline burnt out of his body, energy sapped. Toga tests her wrist against his forehead for a brief moment before pulling away, fingertips digging into the arm of the couch, chin resting on the back of her hands. She glances over at the rest of her boys, worried.

“How are we going to get him home?” The teen asks to the open room, Shigaraki the first to snort like the answer is obvious and point to Compress.

“Same way we got in.” The blue-haired leader responds-

But Compress slowly shakes his head, removing his mask and going to kneel beside his injured comrade with furrowed eyes and an analytical sweep over the arsonist’s weakened body, looking  unsure.

“I do not believe that would be wise.” He assesses, glancing between Shigaraki and Dabi to gauge each of their reactions, “Considering the injuries you’ve sustained, Dabi, I can’t guarantee that being compressed into one of my marbles won’t do any more extensive damage.”

Dabi grits his teeth again and sighs hard through his nose, Compress turning back to Shigaraki. “I’d be leery trying even with the shape he’s in now, but beyond that my marbles aren’t quirk-cancelling- if he goes into another fever or has an episode while contained, the heat will be contained with him. It’s worrying to think, but that kind of situation could kill him if not properly monitored.” The older man looks back at their resident arsonist, frowning. “I don’t want to be responsible for him roasting alive.” Dabi looks at him, flatly.

“Thanks for the concern.”

Toga fixes another one of his towels while the former magician continues, disregarding Dabi’s comment entirely.

“This is worse than we’re used to dealing with.” A piercing look Dabi’s way, “You’re lucky to still be alive as it is, my friend. I’m not keen on tempting fate when you’ve just barely evaded it.”

Shigaraki curses again, but Compress isn’t finished. “Your body needs time to rest and recover properly, and we don’t have the resources available to treat the rest of your wounds either. God forbid an infection set in now while you’re like this.”

“What’re you saying here, Doc?” Dabi raises an eyebrow, voice low, sarcastic, though Keigo knows the other man’s making solid points.

Of all people, the masked man looks up at Keigo. The winged man knows what he’s going to say before he even does, and the hero freezes in shock.

“You want him to stay here?” Keigo asks incredulously, Compress pursing his lips at the hero’s outburst. The rest of the League looks stunned as well, Toga and Twice immediately protesting in a cacophony of sound, Spinner getting vocal as well. Dabi just stares at him, surprised but trying to hide it with half-lidded eyes. Compress shrugs off the strong amount of protest and nods, rising to his feet again. It’s then that Keigo finally finds his tongue, dropping Dabi’s hand to stand as well.

“You can’t be serious- the Commission’s engaged in a full-blown manhunt for him, and you want to harbor him here ?” Keigo exclaims, gesturing towards the bedridden man, “He’ll be a sitting duck if they get suspicious at all; there’ll be nobody here to defend him if I’m gone-”

“We’ be hiding him in plain sight,” Compress argues, splaying his fingers and revealing three white cards before clapping his hands and showing them both, empty. “A good portion of any magic trick is knowing how to keep your audience’s eyes where you want them. Your Commission won’t be looking for their prodigy to be hiding the wanted man they’re after in their own building. They’ll be watching the streets, the gang networks, the League. And as far as anyone’s concerned, we’re the only ones who know where he really is- the whisperings in the underground should keep them occupied enough with chasing dead ends that he’ll have time to heal and return to us before trouble is stirred.” The man then shakes the three cards out of his jacket sleeve and shows them to Keigo again. “Simple misdirection and illusion, young Hawks.”

Shigaraki scratches at his jaw, contemplative, while Keigo stands there in almost open-mouthed shock, in complete disbelief over the situation unfolding before him. It appears he’s not going to have much of a say in the matter when the villain leader narrows his eyes thoughtfully, side-eyeing Compress appraisingly.

“That might work.” Shigaraki wonders aloud, focus returning to Keigo momentarily. “There were no lights on for at least two floors below you.”

“Empty.” Keigo manages, “They’re all empty.”

“Not many people around, then. That makes it easier to notice if anyone comes snooping around, looking for trouble.” The blue-haired man begins counting off points on his fingers, contemplative, “A place to rest, supplies, secure from the public-” He stares Keigo down with red eyes. “Seems almost like a perfect situation for you to prove your trustworthiness, hero.”

Keigo wants to argue that him saving Dabi in the first place should prove his worth well enough, but he doesn’t bother, too tired to make another jab at this point. He just wants the villains out of his apartment so this nightmare of a day can pass over.

He can feel a muscle tic in his jaw, but the hero nods nonetheless, accepting the proffered olive branch with some dignity, even if there’s barely a trace of amicable intent behind it. Shigaraki doesn’t look horribly excited about the prospect of this situation either, but his mind is set either way, Keigo knows that much. He’s not in much of a position to say no either way, looking at the logistics of everything.

“I’m not getting a say in this?” Dabi asks, looking to his leader in irritation, “No, I’m with Kei on this one- it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan, and it’s not like me being here wouldn’t put him at risk either.”

“Recover quickly, then,” Shigaraki shrugs, not giving an inch of leeway to his second-in-command, “We don’t have many options, Patchwork. If we have to wait for you to get better, then so be it; but I’m not risking fucking things up worse for all of us by rushing things if we have an out for saving ourselves the trouble.” The villain looks back to Keigo, “It’s not like it’s a permanent situation. Pretend you’re happily married or some shit, I don’t know. It’s not the end of the world.”

The way he says it sounds almost like a sneering joke, but it only goes to rub salt into open wounds Keigo doesn’t want to acknowledge he has. That’s a future they’ll probably never have a shot at, an end goal that he can’t imagine ever managing to obtain. Telling them to pretend they have a life together like they’re getting in some kind of temporary fix is a punch in the teeth. Keigo swallows around the sour taste in his mouth and looks at the floor instead of over to meet Dabi’s eyes, not really wanting him to see the hurt there in case it’s not reciprocated.

“If Twice can get you a new burner from Giran, I can come for you when you’re ready.” Compress placates, obviously speaking to the arsonist again until he adds a considerate, “Two burners actually, Twice, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“ I’ll see what I can do! No way, do it yourself!”

“Thank you. Depending on how fast he can get them, I’ll do a supply run over the next few days.” The compression-quirked villain continues, eyes turning to Keigo. “Can you think of anything you might need?”

Keigo’s head feels fuzzy. He still can’t really believe this is happening, but he pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly. The few days that he’d been trying to keep Dabi safe and alive and hidden in his apartment had been enough of an experience to not really want to continue with it, but at the very least the man seems coherent now, and that’s something. It’ll be easier to make this work if they can cooperate and collaborate, rather than having one individual unconscious in a bathtub while the other tries to keep the authorities from knocking on his door.

It’s risky. Of course it is; risky for both of them, and Keigo is more aware of that than he’s comfortable with. He can only imagine what the Commission will do to either one of them if they manage to catch wind of this. Hell, if they manage to find out that a top-ranked villain’s been keeping him warm in his bed far longer than the hero’s been safeguarding him in his apartment, they’re both fucked.

But Compress’ words ring true, and that’s the part that worries him more than the threat of the Commission- the League doesn’t have the means to treat Dabi’s injuries. Not well, anyway, and with the ongoing search for the villain still taking place, he’s safer with Keigo than he would be stuck at the warehouse. He needs time to recover, time to rest properly, and he’ll heal more quickly if he can be comfortable and in an environment where he doesn’t need to be looking over his shoulder constantly for threats.

That much, Keigo can give him.

“Clothes,” He tells Compress, the first thing that comes to mind, “Try to keep them soft if you can. I’ve got medical supplies and everything, so don’t worry about that. Besides, they’re easier for me to get a hold of than any of you- and I can pick up any of the basics as well, that won’t be a problem.” Keigo does meet Dabi’s gaze this time, taking a steadying breath. “Anything you can think of that I can’t get for you?”

Dabi shakes his head silently, closing his eyes again and just looking… Resigned or defeated, Keigo doesn’t know, but he suddenly gets the impression that the arsonist doesn’t like the idea of being trapped in a penthouse any more than he’d enjoy being caged anywhere else. Granted, all cards on the table, it’s his own fault that he’s in this situation, but Keigo doesn’t make comment.

“Well, that’s easy en-”

“Books.” The winged hero thinks suddenly, cutting Compress off by accident. The man waits patiently for him to finish, Keigo lamely rubbing the back of his neck, “His… His books if you can. I don’t have many.”

He’s never had much of an affinity for reading in the first place, never had the time, but he knows that back at the warehouse, Dabi’s pitiful, battered collection of books are one of the only unessential  belongings he owns, one of the only things he’s carried over with him when moving from place to place at random, one of the only things he’d bothered to bring upon joining the League.

They might not be essentials in a traditional sense, but something tells Keigo he’ll need them now.

Compress nods, seeming to understand, both of them casting a glance over at the dark-haired man who seems to be well and truly beginning to doze off now, allowing Toga to pet his hair in a way he definitely would’ve shaken her off for in his regular state of mind.

“Well, if that’s everything,” Shigaraki raises his arms above his head and lets his shoulders crack and pop, Keigo wincing at the noise, “Let’s go home. I’m tired.”

It’s such a casual, nonchalant way to end an otherwise terrifying and intense evening, and Keigo almost can’t believe that’s just… The end of it. Simple as that. He stares at the blue-haired villain in no small amount of shock, astounded that, after all of this, they’re about to call everything off and head home because the most feared man in Japan wants to sleep. Somehow, knowing the League this makes a degree of sense. Knowing Shigaraki in general, this makes more sense. But altogether, it’s hard to fathom.

One by one, Compress begins gathering the members of the League into marbles again, Shigaraki and Twice going first. Toga grabs him by the arm before disappearing as well, her smile manic but still friendly.

“Don’t worry,” The young woman explains, sharp canines glinting in the moonlight, “Surviving a death threat from Shigaraki is like League initiation. That’s how Dabi and I got in!”

He’s not sure if that’s reassuring or not, but pats the teen on the back anyway for good measure and tells her goodnight before she’s suddenly gone, a blue marble falling with a tiny ‘clink’ by Keigo’s feet. He passes it off to Compress before intercepting Spinner on his way out as well.

“Dabi had mentioned a while back that you needed more blankets.” Keigo says tiredly, walking over to pull open the hallway closet door and pulling a large bag off the top shelf. “Lizard quirk in winter and all of that. I haven’t had time to drop them off, but these should help.”

He passes the bag off to the other mutation-quirked man, seeing his eyes widen in surprise at the gift, one clawed hand reaching in to pull out part of one of the blankets resting on the top of the stack. “These are… These are nice .” He says, sounding surprised. When he looks back at Keigo, he holds the bag a little tighter, letting the blanket fall back in between the plastic handles once more. “Thank you.”

Keigo shrugs, offering a small grin, tentative, but a grin nonetheless. It’s an attempt, anyway.

“Mutation quirks can be a bitch- and finding accommodations for them can be hard when you’re on the streets. I hear you.” He flutters his wings, case in point, before rubbing at his eyes. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Spinner nods gratefully, thanks him one more time before Compress shrinks him as well, and there’s suddenly only three men left in the room. Dabi is silent and still on the couch, likely asleep now, and Keigo reaches back into the closet to grab him a blanket of his own, almost grabbing an old blue one, when two others catch his eye- familiar red and white quilts, stacked one on top of the other from the last time they were used and put away, only a few days ago. He tugs them out from under a few others and closes the closet door behind him.

Compress is standing over Dabi when he reemerges, the two talking quietly at the couch, the arsonist apparently not as asleep as Keigo had previously thought. When Compress sees Keigo, though, the conversation dies, the older man stepping away to give the hero enough room to throw the blankets over his injured counterpart silently.

“You’re a good man, Hawks.” He says eventually, Keigo shrugging it off.

“I’m barely doing the minimum.”

“Minimum is more than most.”

It’s a sad statement, but one Keigo doesn’t doubt is accurate. He doesn’t say a word, though, as the masked man hands over one of the blank cards from earlier, now filled in with contact information for the League. He just wants this to be done.

“Call us if you need us; your best point of contact is likely myself, but Toga can disguise herself well also, if the situation calls for it. We’ll do what we can on our end.”

The former magician looks down at Dabi once more and replaces his mask, face instantly hidden from view. “I wish you a swift recovery.”

Dabi doesn’t answer, the silence filling the room pointed enough to cut. It’s on this note that Compress clambers back out the window again, adjusting his coat before disappearing from view. Keigo stands still, watching after him for a good few beats even after he’s gone, long enough to get a hold on his immensely frayed nerves and until the persistent noise of the fridge running in the next room doesn’t sound like a personal offence.

He almost snaps entirely when Dabi finally speaks, exhausted and nerve-wracked, frustrated and riled-up, sapped of all energy and scared . He can still feel the paranoia and nervousness crawling its way from his bones when Dabi shatters the quiet with a soft but cautious “Kei…” that has the winged hero turning away to keep his temper, because he’s just so fucking overwhelmed, he can’t take anything else tonight.

“I’m going to bed.” Keigo says stiffly, walking past the couch and towards his own room, rubbing at his eyes. Dabi doesn’t dare say anything after that, just lets him leave, Keigo not particularly caring anymore if it seems like he’s being an ass. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

He leaves it at that, keeping his bedroom door open an inch when he gets there and kicking his way under his blankets. The weight is soothing over his tired body, and immediately pushes him close to sleep, dancing on the brink. In the back of his mind, though, there’s the sense once again that there’s too much space as he curls on his side, keeping one wing tucked in tight and the other splayed out across the mattress, feathers sensing nothing but cool, empty sheets on all sides. It’s not like it’s not something he’s used to, but for some reason the loneliness hits harder than it should, then, intense and unforgiving, even with his knowledge that there’s someone sleeping just down the hall. His throat aches hard, eyes blinking quickly to ward off the stinging sensation in them that just grows as the seconds pass, chest hollow, fingers itching to instinctively reach out for something that isn’t there.

The urge to walk his way back across the cold floor and invite Dabi into his bed is a strong one, but Keigo holds back. He needs space- genuinely he does, even if he’s warring with it; he needs to rest, and given how little sleep he’d managed over the last few days, trying to sleep at Dabi’s side and constantly waking up in a panic, he needs to get a full night of uninterrupted sleep on his own.

It’s a logical fact, but not one Keigo likes to sit with when it means being alone and just waiting for his exhaustion to drag him under when his subconscious is so unfairly aware that there’s no source of warmth beside him, no gentle breaths to match his to, no fingers tangled in his feathers or hair or clothes-

Fuck, when did he become so dependent on this?

Keigo sighs heavily through his nose, closing his eyes and eventually allowing himself to at least grab one of the other pillows on the bed and hold it close, instantly feeling a bit more at ease. It’s a sorry replacement for the man currently asleep on his couch, too cold and soft to be even remotely similar to the lanky furnace he’s apparently grown accustomed to curling up beside, but at the very least it smells faintly of smoke and that’s a comfort enough.

When sleep does come for him, it takes him deep and sudden like a drowning man, and Keigo lets it, eager to let the last few days wash away in the dark waters. He sinks and sinks until his eyelids are too heavy to open, body too tired to protest, until the anchors of stress and anger around his ankles break free and leave him falling slower, more relaxed.

He sleeps, and this time his dreams are not those of blood and fire and nightmares, but of rain; clouds hanging heavy and low, blue-grey and gorgeous, droplets falling steady but still light, calming, cool, sweet. It’s inexplicable, but under the gentle rainfall, he feels free- like all prior bonds, all shackles, all chains can simply be melted by the water. It’s just because it’s a dream, nothing more than that, but Keigo tips his head back anyway, lets the rain make tracks down his face and throat, flares his wings and holds them to catch the wind even as he stands on solid ground. 

He dreams and lets the world fall away just for now, holds it at bay with the scent of smoke in his lungs and the kiss of imagined mist and rain on his skin, and under the weight of such peace, all else finally falls silent and still.

Waking up the next morning is like nursing a hangover.

Keigo groans as he forces himself to sit up, blankets falling around him in a heap, half of them already on the floor. Leaving his curtains open last night had been a mistake; under most circumstances, the sunlight pouring through would’ve been one of the highlights of his morning, but at present, it only serves to aggravate his sleep-drowsy eyes, causing him to wince and rub at his already-aching temples. The winged hero flaps his wings noncommittally for a few seconds to try and release some of the stiffness out of the joints, the sunlight helping for this much, but not much else.

Cranky as he might be feeling, his feathers ruffle happily under the warm rays, soaking in as much heat as they can, Keigo closing his eyes and rolling his neck, trying to appreciate it beyond his current impression that his mouth feels as though he ate a handful of sand as a late snack the night before.

The night before. Oh God.

Memories of the whole thing come flooding back, immediately dampening the hero’s spirits. If it weren’t too late for it, Keigo would consider falling back into bed and sleeping to avoid his current problems and recent situational developments, but as it is he knows he’s well and truly awake now, despite feeling like he could easily sleep for another four days straight, and it’s discipline more than anything that has him kicking his heels over the side of the bed and getting up to start his day.

Padding quietly into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee proves three things off the bat; he needs to pick up more coffee grounds very soon, otherwise the conditions of his life are about to drastically degrade, it’s 9:03, which Keigo assumes means he must’ve slept for a solid five or six hours, and, lastly, Dabi must’ve slept much less than that, because when he quietly peaks over the top of the couch, the arsonist is already awake.

He looks tense as hell. Keigo’s not sure what’s running through the fire-user’s brain right now, but whatever it is, he just stares up at Keigo and doesn’t say a word, looking expectant and like he’s got his teeth clenched so tight, they might crack at any second. 

Keigo blinks and leaves him to go pour himself a cup of coffee, chugging it back even though it’s bitter and burns all the way down.

From the corner of his eye, he suddenly sees the other man pushing himself upright with a pained grimace on his face, no doubt pulling at staples and stitches, but he does it on his own without asking for help, and meets Keigo’s eye again over the back of the couch.

The atmosphere around them is so awkward, Keigo has the uncomfortable sense to run or hide.

“You said,” Dabi says, voice brittle, “That we needed to talk. So let’s just get this over with.”

He’s a straight-shooter today. Usually that’s Keigo’s role, but clearly Dabi’s not in the mood to skirt around the issue this time. It’s probably for the better anyway, really, so Keigo sighs and makes his way into the living room. He goes to sit and then changes his mind last-minute, not settled with the idea of trying to relax on a sofa for this chat, and stays on his feet. Dabi’s eyes watch him the whole while as he moves.

The lack of noise is oppressive.

There’s a tension in the room that’s almost tangible enough to physically choke on, Keigo eventually running both hands down his face in tandem as he stands uncomfortably still in the open space of the living room, an exhibit on display. Dabi, despite his initiating this, makes a halfhearted audience, sagging like a rapidly deflating balloon on the couch, skin still paler than normal and face gaunt with shadows that Keigo hasn’t noticed to be so dark in a long while, as though the past is clawing him back piece by piece. Their eyes meet and lock once more, neither of them speaking.

The hum of the lights overhead is too loud- or maybe that’s the silence ringing in his eardrums.

Keigo’s chest aches with the amount of pressure he can feel on it, imaginary or not. It’s crushing, the weight of knowledge, and the weight of fear, and the weight of the unknown, and the weight of questions. It piles and grows, and when he begins to feel his hollow ribs crack and fracture underneath it all, he finally lets it go, says the words that have been bubbling under the surface for days, throws them out with a mental shove.

“What the hell were you thinking.” Keigo manages, voice low and quiet, strained and almost hushed. It’s phrased like a question, but it isn’t spoken as one. The lights continue to hum and buzz as Dabi stares back at him, one arm pressed close to his wounded abdomen and the other wrapped tightly around it, defensive.

This is the first they’ve really spoken coherently on both ends in four days, and it’s going sideways fast. Keigo doesn’t know if he has it in him to keep this from turning into an argument- doesn’t know if either of them do, really. Dabi’s injured and weak, yes- but he’s also spent, and maybe it’s not fair, maybe he’s not putting in enough effort to keep his patience, but this time he thinks it’s justified.

Keigo knows he’s a mess. The sweatpants he’s wearing are the same pair he’s been inhabiting since the night he brought Dabi home, his hair is probably greasy and unkempt. There are bags under his eyes darker than any he’s ever had even in his insomniac episodes, and he’s never let his stubble go untrimmed this long.

Worst of all are his wings which are an absolute disaster, and in a sudden fit of annoyance the hero casts all his feathers away in a frustrated wave, letting them pile up in a heap somewhere between the bathroom and his bedroom. A few of them litter the hallway like fallen leaves, dropped before they can cluster properly because Keigo doesn’t have the mind to care about them or where they end up right now.

“I could’ve dealt with him,” Dabi says, tone also on a thin and fraying leash. His shoulders are stiff. “I could’ve ended all of this. It would’ve been over.”

“Ended it? Dabi, you could’ve died .” Keigo snaps, hands trembling. He’s not sure if it’s from rage or a side-effect of the collaborative amount of terror he’s dealt with over the last few hours- over the last few days. “Do you not fucking get that?” His voice wavers, shaky, Dabi’s eyes piercing as they watch him unblinkingly. “Scratch that- you did almost die. I found you- I found you bleeding out in some fucking backalley for God’s sake, and by the time I got there I thought-” He has to stop there because the memory alone is enough to make his stomach roll and heave, a shudder crowhopping down his spine. Neither of them comment on that. There’s no need to- the bloodstains still memorialized starkly in the neutral beige of the couch throw cushions, tossed to the floor, speak volumes on their own. Keigo swallows, hard. “I almost lost you.”

The words almost seem to reverberate in the silence between them, Dabi having the grace to at least glance at the ground at this, eyes running slowly along the scratched hardwood. “I… Almost lost you, and I have no idea what I would’ve done if I had.”

Keigo heaves a long breath at the confession, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to calm himself down. The immediate danger has passed, he reminds himself, this is just the aftermath. They’re alright.

But Dabi just snorts dismissively, gesturing blandly at the walls around them, deflective.

“What you would’ve done? Pigeon, look around you- it’s not like you needed me around to build all of this before I was part of the picture. You would’ve managed just fine-”

“ Don’t fucking tell me that. ” Keigo seethes from between his teeth, almost a hiss and cutting him off. His throat aches so hard it’s almost hard to breathe, arms coming up to wrap around himself, hands clenched into his biceps.  “Don’t you dare fucking tell me that, or try to back away and make this about something it’s not. My career has nothing to do with this, and you know it.”

Dabi’s eyes flash, angry as well, and he scowls, mouth twisting into a snarl. It seems as though he’s gone a shade paler, but Keigo’s not sure if that’s true or just his mind playing tricks with how poorly this is going. It could be either. It could be both. He ignores it for now and makes a pacing lap across the living room, needing to get up and move.

The arsonist is retreating. Keigo can’t tell why, but he can see that he’s pulling back into his shell, grabbing every guard and wall he can handle carrying and trying to throw them all up at once. He wouldn’t be acting so casually indifferent if he weren’t, would be more honest right now, and that’s frustrating in and of itself because  Keigo thought they were beyond this.

“Get to the point, Keigo,” Dabi leers, and for once the man using his real name and not just a nickname feels cold, chilled, “I know what I did, but I don’t know what the hell you want me to do about it.” He struggles to rise to his feet as well, wavers when he gets there, and this time Keigo can see that he is definitely paler than normal, his next words spat like poison, “But if you want me to leave or some shit, just fucking say it- don’t drag it out like this.”

Keigo’s heart stops dead in his chest, everything coming to a standstill for a brief moment. The words ring in his ears, don’t quite register quickly enough, and he can feel Dabi growing more restless as he stands there voiceless in front of him.

“Leave?” He asks blankly, the anger in Dabi’s eyes melting and diluting itself into something more like fear, bottled and distilled, though his face stays impassive, impossible to read. Something clicks then that hadn’t before, something about the other man’s rigid stance and his guards and defensiveness. He’s protecting himself from being hurt. “No, I don’t want you to- I don’t want you to leave .”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, but it’s definitely been haunting the arsonist’s. Dabi looks ready to bolt at the nearest available opportunity, like he’s prepared to reach for the door before he can be told to.

But of course he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The scarred man has made a life of walking out and fending for himself when people inevitably fail him one way or another, used to having to run rather than being asked to stay. Part of Keigo’s anger shatters at that and reforms itself into sadness; they’re arguing different things here, seeing different outcomes in this, and in a way he thinks the villain might be just as scared as he is, though for entirely different reason.

“Then what do you want?!” Dabi snaps, still tense, still on edge and Keigo can’t help the outburst that erupts from his chest.

“I want you to live , Dabi!”  He shouts, all of his pent up frustration and fear and pain leaking into his tone. Dabi freezes and stills, flinching at the volume. His angry expression slackens in quiet surprise, and Keigo rambles on. “I want you to… Fuck- I want you to live. I don’t want you to leave, I’ve never wanted that. And I want-” He takes a breath, voice gentling, forcing himself to relax. A former conversation comes to him, then; dark subway tunnels, rain on glass domes, dog-eared books in poor lighting and a hero asking a villain what it was that he wanted most in life, what he wanted beyond what the world thought he deserved, because Keigo didn’t know what he, himself, would say if asked.

He hadn’t known what he wanted, then. He hadn’t been sure that what he wanted mattered, so caught up in his own idea of deservance, and how even that night had felt like a gift to treasure because those moments were precious. It had felt greedy at the time to ask for more, to want more than he’d been given, to enjoy the memory for what it was, but run it over in his mind on loop and ask, “ Again, again, please. ”

Keigo knew what he wanted now.

“Big windows for sunrises, remember?” He asks softly, still shaky. Dabi looks at him sharply, blue eyes unreadable in his guarded expression, and Keigo strengthens his voice, tightens his arms across his chest. “A place where we don’t have to hide. I want to be there to see your hair turn to grey as the years pass, and you won’t have to dye it anymore because you’ll never see your father in the mirror again. I want to wake up every morning with the knowledge that you made it home and are safe, because you’ll be there beside me.”

The arsonist’s eyes grow wide as Keigo continues, Dabi’s expression continuing to thaw as what the hero’s saying begins to settle, his face still marked in disbelief even as the rigidness falls from his lean frame. He ends up stepping back slowly to sit on the arm of the couch, hesitant and unsure, stunned to silence. Keigo advances then, approaching him with quiet, soft footsteps and even more gentle intentions. “And I know it’s a long shot- I know it is, there’s so many obstacles and so much at stake, but I want to have the chance.”

The last sentence comes out of his mouth as barely a murmur, achingly vulnerable and raw. He takes a long, slow breath as Dabi hesitantly reaches to tangle his fingers in the fabric at the hem of Keigo’s shirt, close to his hip, grip loose but grounded.

“What’re you saying, Birdie?” Dabi asks carefully, not meeting his eyes, not avoiding them either. Keigo runs a hand through the man’s dark hair before pressing it to his scarred cheek. A thought comes unbidden to Keigo’s mind before he has the opportunity to consider it, the words springing up his throat without trepidation.

“I love you.”

Silence.

Keigo’s mouth is dry, throat closing off. He can feel his hand trembling against Dabi’s skin, and it takes a conscious effort to not snatch it away and hide his shaking fingers away in pockets or crossed arms. ‘Holy shit. Holy shit.’

He didn’t mean to say it. Fuck, he didn’t even know he meant it until this moment, hadn’t put much thought into considering it before because love for anyone wasn’t a luxury he’d ever been afforded in his twenty-three years, and he’d been raised with the perception that he never would be. And yet, he realizes then, this is not new. It is new in that this is the first experience he’s had with the word, the first person he’s ever shared such an emotion with, but the feeling itself isn’t new- it’s just taken a while to understand, determine, label.

‘ Holy shit, I love him. ’

Dabi’s fingers tighten slowly in Keigo’s shirt, the arsonist still not looking up, though Keigo can tell his body’s gone entirely rigid. Keigo’s not much better, tense and in shock with his revelation, torn between euphoria at this newest broken shackle, and fear of what it means for the future. Love, like family, is a liability, especially in his field of work, especially with who he works for, especially with who he works with . It’s an unnecessary Achilles heel, possibly detrimental to a person if not cut early, but a weakness that is easily preventable. Isn’t that what he’d been taught, seven years old and swinging his feet in a chair too tall for them to touch the ground? He’d learned it young, had it drilled into his head. No attachments. No weak links. Nobody to rely too strongly on, nobody to share vulnerabilities with, nobody who can be used against you. On your own, you are stronger. On your own, you’re untouchable.

But fuck it all if he cares. Untouchable; that had been the Commission’s goal and for the longest while, they’d succeeded. Untouchable; they’d taught him to fight and hunt and kill, taught him to break bones and snap the wrists of pummeling fists, how to withstand brutality until pain became obsolete and to act without hesitation- but in making him untouchable to the offences of an angry man, they’d never taught him not to crumble under the caress of a gentle one.

The more he thinks about it, the more solid and tangible it seems, all the more obvious. Everything they’ve risked for one another, everything they’ve done; every mild touch that could easily have been foregone, every quiet night spent with soft voices and even softer eyes, hands reverent, kisses moreso. It’s not something they’ve ever said out loud, not something either of them have expressed. but it lingers like an aftertaste in the gestures of the everyday, and it’s a sweetness the hero savors all the more for those lessons that left blood staining his teeth.

‘ Untouchable. You’ll be untouchable.’

Keigo risks running his thumb across the seem of the scar under Dabi’s right eye, can feel the other man shiver under his touch, even as his eyes screw shut, unknowing to the thoughts running through the blond’s head.

“Don’t fuck with me like that, Pigeon.” He says, tone a cocktail mix of strained nerves and shock and hoarse tension that hangs off him like an ill-fitting shirt. Keigo brings his second hand up to the other side of the villain’s face, gently tilting his head upwards so he’ll look him in the eye.

“I mean it.” Dabi just stares at him, deadpan, but Keigo doesn’t waver, equally resolved in his stance. It takes a moment, but he watches as belief slowly begins to smother the ice in the arsonist’s gaze, expression rapidly transforming into one of bewilderment.

When Dabi finally finds his voice again, it’s low and wary, fitting for his pale face and whiter knuckles still fisted in the cotton of Keigo’s shirt.

“You shouldn’t.” He warns quietly. Rationally, that’s true. There are a billion reasons why this is a terrible idea, a billion ways why he would’ve been better off to walk the other direction when he still had the chance, all those months ago, before getting caught up in all of this.

He didn’t though, dove blindly into the plunge instead of walking from the water.

He’d do it again. Rationality has nothing to do with it.

The winged hero brings his forehead to rest against the fire-user’s own, Dabi’s breath warm on his face as he lets out a small sigh at the contact.

“Maybe so,” Keigo murmurs, sliding one hand down to cradle the back of the arsonist’s neck. His next statement is said against Dabi’s lips, Keigo tilting his own head just enough to catch the corner of his mouth as he speaks. “But who’s going to stop me?”

In retrospect, neither one of them would be able to determine who it was that closed the remaining space between them and initiated the kiss, gentle, sweet, slow. Keigo smiles softly when he feels Dabi release his shirt in favor of fitting either hand on the shorter man’s waist, the weight of them there familiar, comfortable.

“You’re a brave little bird,” Dabi says as they part, voice low, quieter than he has any reason to be. His thumbs press circles into Keigo’s hipbones, the arsonist looking down and lost in thought again. Keigo lets him take his time, waiting patiently for the man to process.

And it is a lot to process, really. Dabi’s right, they’re playing a dangerous game. Part of why they’d left things unsaid, left labels unused, took roundabout ways of demonstrating who they were to one another had been, in the first place, to avoid giving too much away to prying eyes and open ears. The villain world was full of those who’d use that kind of information in all kinds of horrifying ways, the hero world not much better, and it was easier to avoid entirely if never voiced, never addressed, never even considered.

There are other reasons too. The sake of commitment, being able to turn a blind eye to how serious things had gotten if they so had to, no binding words to say ‘ this was supposed to be forever, how can you walk away? ’ Silence had been a better alternative to ripped heartstrings in the event of a bad or sudden goodbye. They’d lacked spoken permanence, had both honestly jumped into this relationship with the full-blown expectation that it would end with them both facing the other with a knife through their back- but they had changed, all of it had changed, and to pretend now that they were still just waiting this out to an inevitable finish line simply wasn’t realistic.

“I love you,” Keigo repeats, filling the silence when Dabi still doesn’t say anything, making another gentle pass through his hair, and taking a second to smooth it out of his eyes, “And I know that might be scary, I get it. It’s… It’s a lot.” Dabi glances up at him, relaxes a little into his touch when he sees the understanding in Keigo’s eyes, “It’s a lot for me too, I promise. But if it’s true, I want to have this for as long as I can; I want to have the opportunity to explore it.” The winged hero takes a second to collect his thoughts and emotions properly, uncomfortable with how disorganized they feel right now, messy and uncontrolled. “The last few days have kinda been an eye-opener to how quickly that opportunity could be stripped away.”

Dabi glances to the side and rolls his shoulders, guilty, but that’s not the point here. “I’m not going to say I understand,” Keigo admits honestly, because Dabi’s side of the story in regards to the fight has yet gone unheard, and with only the limited knowledge he holds, he truly doesn’t understand it at all. “But I was terrified. Still am a little bit, with how uncertain everything is right now.”

The arsonist nods quietly, breathing out a long sigh through his nose and letting his eyes fall shut again, brows furrowed, when Keigo’s hand returns to his cheek. It’s hard to tell what he’s feeling, but Keigo can see the conflict painting him like acrylic on canvas. Dabi’s thumbs fall still on his hips, pressing into the bone lightly instead, the man working his jaw for a moment before dropping his head against Keigo’s chest. He moves his arms then, the gesture stiff from his injuries as he splays his fingers and drags one hand up Keigo’s side and over his back where it stays, his other arm curling tight around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Dabi says. It’s quiet, and his voice is gravelly as hell, still, but the verbal apology is something of a surprise that has Keigo moving to hold him closer. Dabi’s not a vocal person, never has been, and action over words has always been his mantra; but Keigo stands patiently as the dark-haired man works to string his sentences and voice his thoughts. “I forget sometimes that it’s not just me anymore; I didn’t think of you or the others, I just…”

Just acted. Keigo knows where he’s going with this much, even as the words fade out into frustrated silence and restart somewhere else. Dabi’s grip on him tightens fractionally. “I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in it at all. Especially not like this.”

“I know,” Keigo soothes. That much is true and he knows it; for what it’s worth, at the end of the day, Dabi may not have considered the repercussions his actions would have on those around him, but he hadn’t gone into things with ill-intentions for them either. “We can figure out how to handle this together- it’ll be alright, we’re just going to have to be careful.“ It was going to have to work- based on how Shigaraki had left them, Keigo wasn’t sure they had any other choice. He runs his nails up and down the arsonists’s spine gently, the action a calming one. “Honestly, babe, I’m just glad you’re alive. Whatever happens now, I have that much, and that was the most important thing.”

Dabi mumbles a few more apologies into Keigo’s shirt, quiet, quiet, quiet, the storm inside him stilled to nothing. He’s burnt out- in more ways than one, really, and Keigo’s not used to seeing that spark in him burned so low, rendered so helpless, so scarily easy to snuff out entirely. Dabi’s always been wildfire and matchsticks, the glow of lighters in alleys otherwise darker than the sins of the past, embers and coals in his eyes. To see him reduced to this, smoke and ash and nothing more, is a definite first. “We still need to talk about it,” Dabi’s shoulders stiffen under his touch at the vague mention of Endeavor, and Keigo can feel the arsonist beginning to tremble against him. The winged hero reaches for his hair once more, coaxing. “Shhh… It doesn’t have to be right now. I can wait. But soon, yeah?”

Nodding into his chest again, Dabi sags as Keigo continues threading his fingers through the dark strands of his hair, sunlight beginning to strip the chill from the floorboards and warm the previously frigid atmosphere of the room, not all of it due to temperature alone. Keigo enjoys the rays filtering through the windows for a moment, before gently untangling himself from Dabi’s embrace and tugging on his hand instead when the man looks up. “C’mon, let’s just head back to bed. I’ve got the day off and we could both use the sleep.”

Blue eyes meet amber, Dabi’s strained expression softening enough to allow a ghost of a smile. He pushes himself to his feet, wobbling slightly but maintaining his footing without Keigo’s help, limping forward the first few steps on his own, though he wraps an arm over the winged hero’s shoulders a few moments later. Keigo’s not really sure that the gesture’s for physical support more than an excuse to keep him close, but he tucks in under it regardless, more than happy to be there either way.

“Whatever you say, Pigeon.”

Chapter Text

Bed, as it turns out, is where they spend most of the day.

Keigo dozes intermittently, passing in and out with the hours, marking time only by the movement of the sun’s light across his room whenever he brings himself to open his eyes. It makes for a languid morning and an even more relaxing afternoon as they lie there, legs tangled in clean sheets, ankles hooked around knees and shins, blankets warm with sunshine and body heat; it’s a well-needed break overall, long overdue, and Keigo soaks it all in while the opportunity is laid out for him.

On his part, Dabi sleeps soundly, barely moving at all as his battered body works to rest and heal from the abuse it’s taken. Keigo tries to avoid stirring as much as possible, not wanting to risk waking him, especially when he’s somewhat enjoying the view of the arsonist tucked into his side, expression the most mild and peaceful that Keigo’s seen in a while. Dabi’s breathing deep and slow, consistent and stable, and infinitely better than he’d been in the days previous. It’s a relief unlike any other, and while Dabi may have a long road to recovery ahead of him, Keigo will take what he can get, this being one such development he’s willing to celebrate for what it is.

They’re beating the odds with every breath he manages. That’s enough for now.

More for himself than for the fire-user, Keigo reaches to carefully pull one of the blankets a little higher up, adjusting it softly over Dabi’s gangly frame nonetheless and smiling when the taller man instinctively shuffles closer at the light disruption, brow furrowing for just a second as he settles once more. He has one hand knotted in the back of Keigo’s t-shirt, just below his wings, and Keigo can feel his grip change from loose to tight, the hero murmuring under his breath and stroking the other’s hair until his fingers slacken again.

Careful. If he wants to keep him safe, if he wants things to continue like this, they’re going to have to be so careful. Keigo muses about it as he lets Dabi’s hair wind over, around, through his fingers again, inky like the shadows the man so loves to hide in. All things taken into account, they don’t know yet how long of a timeframe they’re looking at, but Keigo’s more than aware that this isn’t going to be an “until the end of the week” kind of deal. If they’re supposed to be keeping him here until Dabi’s healed, they’ll have a ways to go yet; his body is frail and not entirely the healthiest. Recovery’s not going to be easy for him- but Keigo’s also worried about what his state might look like afterward.

It’s easy enough to agree to him being here until he’s stable enough to go back to the League- but if he ends up back on the street before he’s in fighting shape, what the hell is he going to do when, not if, a skirmish arises? The arsonist hasn’t ever been known to take it easy in a fight, and if they send him out too early, only for him to relapse or be captured in this weakened state, he’ll be screwed. There’s no avoiding it.

But that’s not all- if the Commission ever finds out that he’s alive, finds out how weakened he is, they won’t hesitate to go full force in taking him down. Fuck- if he were caught, what would they do to him?

Keigo bites the inside of his cheek softly, not wanting to dwell on it as he closes his eyes and raises one wing to drape over them both. It’s not much of a defense against whatever the world has in store to throw against them, his shield of feathers, but it’s a barrier all the same, some kind of protection in one way or another.

Dabi, light sleeper that he is, does wake up this time as Keigo moves; comes to just enough to blink his eyes hazily and reach to rake his fingers through the feathers of Keigo’s outstretched wing clumsily.

“G’back to sleep, hero.” The arsonist mumbles with a sigh, groggy and warm. He shifts his arm around Keigo’s waist and traces one of the notches in the blond’s spine with a lazy hand until Keigo’s eyes start to drift shut once more, relaxing instinctively into the other man’s touch. Part of him doesn’t really want to go back to sleep again, though- not now that he’s got his brain worked up and active. The sky’s starting to darken, sundown only a few minutes away- he should be doing something anyway, probably. There’s always so much to do; not something he’d been considering before, but something he’s definitely aware of now. He’s going to have missed so much paperwork with these days off, catching up is going to be a nightmare.

“I should be getting some things done while I’ve still got the free time.” Keigo denies softly, though the undertow of sleep is, admittedly, still a tempting competitor to the restlessness he’s now feeling, even if only for the sake of procrastinating his responsibilities a few minutes more. Still, he’s put everything off for longer than he could typically stomach, and the growing sense of urgency to get up and move is a little easier to listen to when he knows how much still needs to be done. “The Commission wanted villain scans done last week that I haven’t gotten around to- shit, and those stupid accident forms Toshiaki wanted completed, when was the deadline on those- ”

Caught on a new train of thought entirely, Keigo moves to disentangle himself from the lanky man at his side and kick himself free of the blankets, only to be caught short in his efforts as Dabi snares his wrist with one hand.

“Slow down; you’re still fucking exhausted, Kei.” The villain states, point-blank as ever, though still sleep-husky and drawling, voice thick. “You’ve barely slept in the last what- three days? Just leave that shit for now, it can wait.”

“I’ve been resting for most of today already.” Keigo argues, Dabi only scoffing in response.

“So what? Sleep for the other half of it too if you have to- I can tell you’re tired; you’re not exactly great at hiding it, Pigeon.”

Keigo wishes it were that easy, but guilt gnaws at his stomach at the idea of wasting the rest of the evening, even if Dabi has a point.

A beat passes before the villain tugs lightly on the wrist he’s taken captive, drawing a still-torn Keigo to at least move from sitting upright to partially-laying down again, propped up on his elbows reluctantly. He catches his hesitation and the sleep-lazy fog fades from his gaze just a bit, sobering up. “What is it with you and trying to run yourself into the ground, huh?” Dabi teases, the words wry but his tone gentled enough that they aren’t meant to sting. Keigo looks down at him.

“There’s always so much to do and always new people out there to help.” He says gradually, finding the words as he speaks “I can’t stop if the rest of it hasn’t; there’s no pause button to turn it all off and take a breather. I can always be doing more because it never ends, and the sooner I finish one task, the sooner I can move onto the next.” He glances away, fiddling with the sheets for a moment before meeting Dabi’s eyes once more. “If I can reach, I have to reach. If I can get there, I need to get there. I need to keep going because if I fall back, the next person behind me might not make it in time to do anything about it.”

Dabi blinks, the amused sparkle in his eyes blinking out as well with the gesture, face falling into a more serious smile that doesn’t exactly look happy, but a very small, barely noticeable smile nonetheless.

“You move too fast, little bird.”

“So I’ve been told, but I can’t afford to be slow. That’s how people get hurt.”

Dabi stares at him for a moment, eyes holding his own before scanning the rest of his face, lingering on the markings in the corner of his eyes, on his lips, tracing the length of his neck and sinking into the recesses of his collarbone before looking back up again.

“It hurt you,” He says slowly, eventually. His next words are unexpected,  “When I challenged Endeavor. You’d warned me about it ages ago because you were scared I’d be taking on more than I could handle and that I’d end up injured or worse if I overdid it. And you were right; that’s exactly what happened. I pushed too far and burnt out, but I wasn’t the only one hurt by it.”

Dabi’s fingers squeeze his wrist for a moment before sliding loosely up his arm. His touch is fire even without his quirk active, and Keigo’s not sure if he’s imagining the feeling of sparks lingering in the wake of this man’s palms or not. The arsonist stops short at his shoulder, breaking contact enough to instead let the back of his hand stroke down Keigo’s cheek quietly, the gesture an almost subconscious one. If he hadn’t still been slightly surprised about the route this conversation had taken, the blond might have leaned into it, but for now he just watches Dabi’s face as he sighs slowly, fingers stilling when they reach Keigo’s jaw. “We’re cut from the same cloth, Pigeon.” He mutters, rolling his wrist to hold the hero’s face properly. He settles with his thumb brushing over the blond’s ear, the rest of his hand resting on the back of his neck, and the press of his callouses and old training scars over Keigo’s skin is a familiar one. “You do the same shit, just… Not quite so drastic.”

He offers the last part with a wry grin that looks half parts sardonic and almost apologetic, Keigo furrowing his brow in confusion.

“How so?” The winged man asks at what seems to be a near-preposterous claim, a little indignant. Dabi’s smile grows fonder at the reaction, amused once again, though he props himself up too with a small, pained huff at having to move, and uses the moment to steal a kiss from the hero before he can protest.

“Don’t go getting your feathers ruffled.” The arsonist chastises with another small peck that Keigo permits but does not reciprocate, damn it. Seeing the winged hero’s annoyance, Dabi chuckles softly before pressing his forehead to the other’s, blond hair tangling with black. “I’m not trying to be a dick here, Birdie. I know you’ve never pulled any stunts like the one I did.” Realizing how that might have sounded, Dabi smartens up a moment later, adding, “I’m not trying to joke about that whole thing either. It scared the hell out of you, I wouldn’t fuck around like that.” He kisses Keigo again softly, the hero caving just slightly in his resolution and tilting his head to make the angle a little better. When he pulls away, the arsonist’s eyes are serious. “But you’re not great at prioritizing yourself over your missions either, hero. You push yourself too hard- to the point it’s almost a permanent state most days.” Dabi’s thumb runs across his cheek contemplatively and Keigo stills under it, listening. “Even if you know it’s going to be too much, you don’t even slow down or think about taking care of yourself until you’re close to crashing. It’s hard to watch sometimes.”

Oh.

Keigo knows that the other man’s not wrong; he’s notorious for overworking, though it’s a habit he tends to just accept and ignore most of the time, a daily part of life. It’s a struggle he’s used to by now, operating on the bare minimum and still giving his all, but it hadn’t ever exactly occurred to him that his lack of concern might bother anyone else on more than an occasional surface level.

Yet, as he takes a second to consider it, Dabi’s been chasing him over this for a while. It’s the arsonist who convinces him to put everything aside and sleep when he’s gone too long without, who subtly reminds him to eat whenever they meet up by declaring that he’s hungry and that they should grab dinner. He remembers their last argument around this, when Dabi had literally taken his work out of his hands and done it himself just to make sure Keigo slept through the night, tricking him into a recovering rest when he’d thought he was only taking a quick nap to ease the ache from his eyes.

‘You work yourself so deep in the ground sometimes I don’t think you’ll ever need a grave.’

The words ring in Keigo’s memory for the first time in weeks, remembering the look on his partner’s face when he’d said it, still honest from just waking up, and watching him so intensely. Keigo hadn’t wasted much thought on it then, brushing the matter off in a way by assuring him that someday things wouldn’t be like this, but he thinks, now, that their versions of that someday had been very different. Keigo had been reassuring him of the far future. Dabi had just been hoping for a different tomorrow.

He’d missed the mark on that one by a mile without realizing it, had been repeating this same scenario time and time over since that day and hadn’t paid it a single ounce of mind, too caught up in the present and the future to notice what it was doing to one of the people closest to him.

Understanding begins to sink in, the winged hero blinking mutely for a moment as Dabi tries to gather his words. Keigo leans into his touch this time as the other man offers him another kiss, this one on his forehead instead. “I know I get after you about sleeping and resting and all that shit often- I’m sure it gets pretty fucking annoying.” Dabi manages, voice low and quiet and honest, “But I have to see you giving yourself away until there’s almost nothing left. Maybe other people don’t notice because they’re not close enough and that’s why they don’t do or say anything, but I know what it looks like when you come in through the door to sleep for two hours and then head back out on patrol again. I’ve seen the breakdowns at four in the morning on the kitchen floor and the anxiety attacks from the stress-” Here the arsonist swallows hard, mouth twisting into a frown as he works his jaw, “They get so much worse when you’re working on anything too, because you shove all that shit away when you think you don’t have time to process it, and the second you have a moment to catch your breath it all- fucking comes down at once.”

Dabi sighs quietly, though one look at the expression on his face is all the proof Keigo needs to see that the arsonist isn’t really irritated, just… Saddened isn’t quite the right word, maybe not even wholly upset, because he seems relatively accepting of it all despite the fact that it’s clear it bothers him. It’s a hard look to stamp a title on, the man not quite emotional, but not entirely deadpan either, eyes clear, though the tone of his voice aches in a subtle way that Keigo can catch like rain in cupped palms; barely there, but enough to be felt. “It’s not quite the same, the things we do. I tend to go from zero to one hundred spontaneously every now and then, all or nothing, and the days where I go for all are the ones I usually end up regretting later; you keep a steady high gear and keep turning it up until you have no choice but to drop the throttle just enough to start picking up speed all over again. It’s just how you’re wired,” Dabi continues eventually, “I understand that much, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I’ve watched you break and rebuild yourself so many times over, I’ve lost count- and having to sit there, knowing it’s going to happen again?” His breath is warm on Keigo’s face when the man sighs once more, now sounding genuinely upset to some degree. “This last time was my fault. I hate that that’s the case, but I can’t do much now except atone for it. So please, Pigeon, if you’re tired,” Dabi repeats slowly, point now elaborated, his lips brushing the corner of Keigo’s right eye, just along the markings there, voice not much more than a husky murmur, “Then go back to sleep. Let the world wait for a few hours and rest if you have to.”

It’s a kind sentiment, gentle despite the number of times Keigo’s gone in favour of ignoring it in the past. He vows not to do that this time as he nods, taking a long inhale, then exhale before answering, feeling properly humbled.

“I’ll be better.” He promises. The answer is an almost automatic one that he knows he’s given his handlers a million times when they’ve pointed out his flaws, weaknesses, places to improve. Usually it’s good enough. The arsonist shakes his head though, not one and the same to the people he’s used to dealing with.

“I’m not asking you to be better- there’s nothing wrong with you.” His voice is firm, though it tempers itself into something more gentle as he adds, “Just take it easier on yourself, Pigeon.” His touch is warm, and Keigo smiles into it softly, tilting his head just enough to press a chaste kiss to the other man’s wrist as he’s prone to doing, the gesture a familiar one between both of them. “You might be a hero, but you’re still human too.”

Dabi lets his thumb skim over the blond’s cheek one last time before drawing away enough that Keigo can still get up and leave if he wants. He’s patient, waiting for him to make a call and sitting silent, having already said his piece. The sun’s started coming down as they’ve been talking, and the warm-toned light washes above and over Keigo’s shoulders and back to paint Dabi’s typically pale face in orange and gold and purple, staples and piercings glinting brightly.

He’s stunning. The scarred man wouldn’t believe him if he were to say it, but he really is beautiful in an inexplicable way that Keigo just knows more than he’s ever been able to pinpoint.

Keigo takes a second to memorize the sight, mentally snapshotting it and filing it away quietly before anything can spoil it, because these are the kinds of memories he wants to save and hide anywhere that can never be touched by outside hands. These kinds of moments are too rare, too few and far between for him to pass up so easily.

The winged hero doesn’t leave, instead closing the newfound space between them himself as he pushes up off his elbows and reaches out for his lover, hovering over him. Dabi welcomes the kiss he’s pulled in for, humming against Keigo’s mouth softly as that one kiss becomes two and then many, his blue eyes falling shut and body falling as well shortly after as Keigo gently presses him back into the pillows. The arsonist doesn’t resist, eager, if anything, to relax the strain on some of his injuries by laying down again anyway. He breaks the kiss momentarily with a small sigh of relief at one point, one hand gingerly reaching for a spot along his ribs, fingers splayed, even as his mouth finds Keigo’s once more a second later, a wordless reassurance to the question of concern that springs to the tip of the hero’s tongue. Still uncertain, Keigo softly runs his own fingers down the man’s other side, gauging his expression for any kind of reaction. There isn’t one, save Dabi blinking his eyes open, half-lidded and azure in contrast to the fire-toned colours streaked across his face. “ I’m okay, ” He breathes quietly, just enough to be heard. His free hand tangles in the blond’s hair, “I’m fine, Kei.” Another kiss, this one long and slow. Keigo melts into it fast enough his wings could be made of wax, and the sunset far closer than it truly is. Dabi reaches for the hand that the smaller man has cautiously skimmed over his ribs with, placing his own overtop and pressing them both to his chest. Keigo can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt as the fire-user carefully pulls his hand upwards, lets him feel each bandage with the weight of his palm, lets him note every scrape and bruise when he moves his fingers to linger over particular spots, mapping out the damage with his touch.

When he stills, though, it’s to very deliberately place Keigo’s hand over his heart and hold it there, his pulse strong and steady, nothing like the erratic pace it’s kept over the last few days, a broken metronome. Dabi’s gaze is steady when Keigo glances up to catch it, resolute and certain. “I’m going to be fine, Feathers, I promise.”

It’s something Keigo knows, has known since he saw Dabi walk in on his feet the night before, but hearing it from the other man, finally, is more comforting than he expected. The arsonist strokes through his hair slowly as the winged hero leans in, silently demanding another kiss, Dabi obliging without complaint and a small smile crossing his face.

“Promise me something else?” Keigo asks eventually, wings fluttering as the dark-haired man dusts a final kiss on the underside of his jaw before pulling away with a serious expression, waiting for the blond to say what’s on his mind. “Please,” Keigo glances down at his hand, still pressed to Dabi’s chest, before closing his eyes entirely and remembering the feeling of those bandages, remembering how hurriedly he’d worked to patch him up with these same hands on his skin while he burned, remembering bathtubs and alleyways, and those stupid throw cushions in the living room he has yet to throw out but has barely been able to look at for the last three days, let alone touch. Amber eyes open again, catch blue, hold them without blinking. “Don’t do anything like that again. I don’t know how I… If I could-”

He stumbles gracelessly over his words, not even sure what he’s trying to say anymore. Whatever it is, Dabi seems to understand, gently but firmly pulling the hero close enough to brush his lips over his cheeks, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. He kisses him properly last, taking his time, fingers running through Keigo’s hair again, again, again.

“I won’t.” The arsonist swears softly. Keigo thanks him under his breath, captures Dabi’s mouth again as he’s still murmuring and lets the words fade out, wholly preoccupied.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that for, lost in one another and lost to the world, but it’s enough that when the winged hero finally reins himself in and pulls away, evening lilacs and blues tint everything where once there had been the warm hues of a slow-burning sunset.

“We’re going to need to change these again.” Keigo says quietly, breathless, breaking the long-held silence to run his hands over Dabi’s bandages, hidden by his shirt- Keigo’s shirt, really, but he’s not dwelling on that. “The last time I switched them was yesterday afternoon.”

It’s a spontaneous thought that comes to him from out of nowhere. Dabi freezes under him for a moment, lips still on the blond’s throat, before breaking down with a loud snort, head coming to fall with a small ‘thunk’ into the crook of his neck, the arsonist beginning to laugh. The sound is an almost silent chuff that Keigo doesn’t notice at first until he catches the man’s shoulders shaking midway through his next sentence, “We need to get some food in you too, you haven’t eaten in a few… Why are you laughing?”

“You, Pigeon,” Dabi accuses, voice wry and amused, “Really know how to set a mood. Holy shit.”

His words sink in as the dark-haired man continues to chuckle, Keigo eventually scoffing in good humour, seeing his point.

“I don’t know, I thought me keeping your ass alive was pretty sexy of me.”

Dabi hums and answers with a muffled “Very,” into Keigo’s collarbone that has the hero laughing as well, though he begins pulling away entirely, much to the other’s chagrin. Pressing a kiss into the taller man’s hair, Keigo shifts from being braced on his elbows to propped up on his hands, still careful not to let any of his weight fall on the injured villain beneath him. “Seriously though, you need to eat something. That fever nearly burned everything out of you- think you can handle soup, or should I go for something else?”

“Soup’s fine, Birdie.” Dabi reluctantly lets him slip out of his arms, the winged hero leaning back on his knees in the blankets around them before clambering off the bed, shaking out his wings and stretching as he does so. On his part, the arsonist relaxes back into the pillows once more, moving around slightly to make himself more comfortable. He watches Keigo stretch for a moment, expression still snared somewhere between amused and fond, only shifting into a smirk and looking away when the blond catches him staring. “Damn, if I’d known this was the kind of treatment I’d get, I would’ve been coming to you when I was injured way earlier. Definitely wasn’t getting anyone to cook for me in the League.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Keigo informs him, walking over to snag a hoodie that’s hanging from one of the bed posts and dismantling his wings momentarily to shrug it on. “The soup,” He leans down a second later to kiss the other man again slowly, a few of Dabi’s fingers coming to rest on his jaw, feather-light. “Is canned.”

The arsonist near-sputters on a laugh again, Keigo grinning at the sight.

“Wow, the eloquent romanticism continues. Am I being seduced?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“I’m fucking swooning.”

Keigo’s smile widens, accidentally bumping noses with the dark-haired man when he goes to peck the corner of his mouth, dissolving into quiet laughter again. He can feel Dabi’s own grin pressed, hidden, along the side of his chin.

It’s not often that they get the time or opportunity to goof around like this without running the risk of getting caught, save for the times where Keigo comes to visit the League. For that much alone, he could very easily get used to this arrangement of having the arsonist be a permanent placement in his home.

“We can get you some into some fresh bandages after supper,” Keigo says, smoothing Dabi’s hair back from his face, “Don’t let me forget. The last thing we want or need right now is any kind of infection setting in.”

Dabi nods in quiet agreement, docile even as he quirks an eyebrow and his eyes light up with challenge.

“Sure, but after that,” The arsonist’s thumb runs under Keigo’s lower lip, “I was serious about you getting more sleep, Pigeon. Especially if you’re on patrol tomorrow. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that either.”

“Funny, you didn’t seem so worried about me going to bed ten minutes ago,” Keigo teases, though he’s willing to concede to his partner’s request. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day anyway, and something tells him that if the arsonist is cracking down on him resting properly now, the habit isn’t going to lift the longer he’s staying in the hero’s apartment, around him constantly and able to see for himself how the man is doing. He might as well get used to it now.

Dabi’s answering smirk is wolfish.

“What can I say?” He says the next part against Keigo’s lips, tilting the hero’s chin downwards just a bit so he can reach. “I’m a greedy,” An actual kiss this time, short-lived, “ Selfish bastard.” He makes a contemplative expression a moment later, grin quirking in the corners, his drawl lazy when he adds, “I hear it runs in the family.”

“Your brother is exempt.”

“How lucky of him.”

“Hmm, maybe,” Keigo murmurs, beginning to kiss him softly again, allowing himself to be distracted for a second time, just for now, “But I think… I like you just fine this way.”

Dabi doesn’t respond at first, instead letting the softer, genuine grin that replaces his sharp one speak for him; rare and priceless and pure, hard-fought for in the last year that they’ve known one another. He’s happy, despite everything, and that’s more than Keigo thinks either of them can say they had before all of this, despite the struggles they’ve faced in the long and short of it.

“Thank God for that.” The arsonist whispers back. His voice crackles like fire, eyes embers, his hands light as smoke where they rest on his face once more-

And Keigo burns with every kiss, lets the flames wash over and through him to send old anxieties and fears up like kindling, scorch through his veins and light sparks under his skin.

He burns,

And burns,

And burns,

And lets the weight of the world go to cinders, ashes on the wind, as the evening presses in on all sides and the darkness he’s come to know and love holds him close in scarred arms through the night.

The whole story is told to him the next morning, over coffee as most news about Pro Hero Endeavor tends to be with Keigo these days.

He’s fresh out of the shower when it comes up, still towel-drying his hair and dressed in a clean uniform shirt and pair of compression pants, not yet bothering with the rest of his hero ensemble quite this early in the morning. In all respects, it’s a good day for serious conversations; the winged hero’s better rested than he’s been in a long while, and in a much better mood now that he’s clean too, his disarray over the last few days having been bothering the man more than he let on. The only disheveled portion of his appearance now is his wings, still a damper on his spirits when he notices how frayed and battered some of the feathers are from his last flight through the city, where they’d been scraped across buildings and concrete, or sent searching with little remorse, at the time, for whatever condition they came back in.

Still, it’s a small price to pay to walk into the kitchen and see his arsonist already sitting there, looking sleep-mussed and half-awake, and nursing a black coffee at the table. Dabi looks up as he walks in, Keigo ruffling his hair as he walks past to reach the coffee maker himself, and pour a mug from the carafe.

“Good morning- I wasn’t expecting to see you up and about on your own. How’re you feeling?” The hero asks, grabbing the creamer box from the fridge and pouring a heavy dose in before filling his cup to the brim with the leftover coffee in the pot. He leaves his towel hanging around his neck as he wanders about the kitchen, also grabbing a protein bar from the pantry before snagging the seat next to Dabi, and throwing a stack of paperwork further back on the table so he has a place for his cup without it leaving coffee rings all over the documents.

“Had to grab some ice,” The arsonist explains, missing half of his questions, but responding at the very least. He’s never been much of a morning person, and it is only seven A.M. which would be an ungodly hour for the other man to even be questioning waking up on most days, but that’s not what has Keigo’s attention now. He realizes, then, that Dabi has an ice pack pressed to the back of his neck, the blond frowning at the sight.

“Did your fever come back again?” He asks, reaching out to press a wrist to the villain’s forehead. They’d already encountered him having another fever episode again late last night, though fortunately it hadn’t been too severe. Careful monitoring for a few hours and keeping the other man on a steady surplus of fever-reducing medication, more ice packs, and a healthy supply of cold electrolyte drinks had gotten them through the night without too many problems, but it makes Keigo leery to see that the arsonist’s skin is tacky with sweat again, the non-scarred portions along his cheekbones and throat flushed red. That much explains also why he’s shed Keigo’s shirt and rolled the sweatpants he’s wearing up past his knees. Dabi nods, weary but still alert and coherent.

“It spiked again this morning. Not too bad though, just a pain in the ass.” He grumbles, sleepy and overheated, and to no small degree annoyed, though Keigo can tell the frustration is with his own body and not with the hero himself. Keigo strokes the man’s cheek with his thumb empathetically, quietly asking if he needs anything else. Dabi sighs, slinging one arm over the back of the chair he’s currently sitting sideways in, and tucking his head into his elbow, closing his eyes under Keigo’s touch. “Do you still have any Tylenol left?” He grimaces in discomfort, readjusting the pack on the back of his neck, “Acetaminophen works best, just anything to get this fever to start going down.”

“I can look.” The winged hero abandons his own chair in search of his medicine cabinet, throwing his towel over one of the other chairs at the table and seeking out the Tylenol bottle they’d had to grab for the arsonist the night prior, glad to hear a few pills still rattling inside when he lifts the container. “Seems like you’re in luck,” He announces, sliding Dabi’s coffee closer to his free hand and dropping a few pills next to it, the injured man breathing out a relieved statement of gratitude as he reaches for both. “As impressed as I am that you made it out here on your own, you could’ve just hollered and got my attention. I was just down the hall.”

Dabi takes a few sips of his coffee to get the medicine down, before setting his mug off to the side and fixing Keigo with a joking smirk.

“Didn’t want to interrupt your birdbath.” He teases dryly, Keigo smacking his arm for the comment, and Dabi huffing a short laugh that sounds more like a wheezing cough than anything. It’s concerning, but hard to see how much of a setback the arsonist’s health has taken, although Dabi doesn’t seem too concerned about it. “This is normal, Pigeon. It’s gonna be like this for a few more days at least, but the fevers should be basically done by the end of the week.” The villain reassures him, likely catching the look on the blond’s face. Keigo nods slowly, not happy with the statistic, but understanding of how little there really is that they can do to change it. If they’re reduced to letting this thing run its course, then so be it- but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be any fun to endure in the slightest.

The villain regards him for a moment longer, blue eyes taking in their fill before Dabi gives a small sigh, glancing down at the tabletop and back up again. “I can see those wheels spinning in your head, pretty bird. Don’t stress the details yet, we’ll get it figured out. But we do need to have a chat.” Keigo’s wings stiffen instantly in unpleasant surprise at that, tensed, the hero frozen in his seat. Dabi catches the reaction immediately, using the hand he’s got stretched out over the back of his chair to comb through the tips of the feathers closest to him, the action lazy and slow. “Relax, baby. Everything’s fine.” Dabi drawls, voice sleep and fever heavy, before frowning at the feather between his fingers. He runs it through a few times and brushes his thumb over the tip, catching the frayed and broken barbs before examining some of the others. “These, on the other hand, are not. Fuck- Pigeon ,” He sits up straighter, tugging Keigo’s wing a little closer to himself so he can look through his primaries properly, hands cautiously gentle. The hero shudders under his ministrations, melting into his own chair happily, his insides going warm and fuzzy as the seconds pass. All prior stiffness dissolves in his limbs as the villain coaxes his fingers through the battered feathers, Dabi beginning to smirk softly despite himself at the reaction the simple gesture pulls from the winged man.

“I should’ve preened them,” Keigo acknowledges quietly, picking up his mug between both hands again, and enjoying the warmth it radiates in his grasp. “It’s such a hassle though, I didn’t want to deal with the whole process.”

His arsonist hums, laying a small kiss on one of his damaged feathers that sends pleasant shivers tingling up Keigo’s spine and butterflies fluttering in his stomach. The smaller man smiles bashfully and slouches further into his chair, stretching out his wings even more as a silent invitation to continue, Dabi taking the hint and stroking through them carefully.

“How much time’ve you got before work, Birdie?”

“I don’t have to be out of here until around nine. I want to get some work done in the office before meeting up with Shouto this afternoon.” Keigo responds, eyes drifting shut.

“Around nine?” Dabi’s hand stills in his feathers, and Keigo opens his eyes again just as quickly as he’d shut them in the first place, just in time to witness the other man setting his now-thawed ice pack on the table and gesturing for Keigo to move his chair. “We can get these done in two hours- turn around for me, Pigeon.”

Keigo grins appreciatively his way before setting his coffee aside, next to Dabi’s own identical mug, and turning his chair so he can still rest his elbows on the back of it while Dabi works on his wings.

“Sure you’re up for this?” He asks over his shoulder when seated again, “I know it’s a whole mess, I can always deal with them when I get home-”

“How the hell could I overexert myself while helping you shed feathers?” Dabi cracks his knuckles soundly, both hands working through the plumage on his left wing a moment later, Keigo all but wilting into his chair, “We’ve got time to kill, and you get all wound up when they don’t look pretty. I don’t mind.”

The villain looks through each feather carefully, starting on the outermost ones and working his way inward, tugging gently on the ones damaged enough to be discarded, Keigo using the cues to mentally detach them into his hands. Dabi continues running his fingers through the man’s feathers as he works, smoothing and properly arranging them as he goes, Keigo relaxing entirely. He chuckles drowsily after a few minutes of the arsonist preening in silence, voice almost slurring in this state when he gathers the consciousness to speak.

“God, I love you- that’s already feeling better.” Keigo sighs happily, more than content with his current circumstances- but Dabi’s hands stutter and freeze where they are, the arsonist’s breath hitching lightly from behind him. Keigo blinks one eye open and glances over his shoulder curiously at the sudden interruption. Dabi sinks his fingers through the feathers again in quiet apology, but with less of an intention to preen them this time, just straightening all of the quills in a gentle downward motion.

“That’s… Part of what we need to talk about, Birdie.” Dabi says, sighing again softly. Keigo frowns, trying to decipher his words, Dabi trying but failing to elaborate a moment later with his hands still stroking through Keigo’s feathers, and his tone low and nonabrasive.  “I- Does it bother you I… I didn’t-” The arsonist makes a noise of frustration through his teeth, but his grip never tightens on the winged man’s feathers, careful to stay light even now. “Fuck, I don’t know how to word this without sounding like a dick-” He takes a breath, short and sharp, and then goes for the bullet, blunt as ever. “Kei, I didn’t say it back.”

It takes a second for Keigo to realize what he means and another for his heart to miss a beat, but Dabi rushes his words after that, filling the following silence quickly, and not without a bright streak of nervousness. “It’s not that I don’t- Pigeon, it’s not that I don’t want to. Or that I don’t care; shit, I’m making a mess of this.” The arsonist runs a hand raggedly through his hair, messing it up even further, and if Keigo were in any state to right now, he’d laugh. As it is, he sits quiet, waiting for Dabi to finish before letting any kind of emotion settle resolutely in his chest.

Hear him out. Hear him out first.

The former Todoroki speaks up once more, voice gravelly as he does so.

“Hey.”

Keigo hesitates for a moment before twisting his body to properly meet the eyes of the man behind him, unsure whether to feel awkward or hurt or worried, simply keeping it all at bay for now. One of Dabi’s hands finds his cheek, still fever-warm, though the arsonist’s eyes are clear and solemn, serious. “I know how this all must sound- I promise you that’s not what I mean.” An ounce of comfort settles over the winged man before Dabi continues, taking a heavy breath, and when he speaks his voice is softer than before. “Keigo, you’re everything. Don’t doubt that.” The hero in question blinks in mute astonishment at the sudden vulnerability of the statement, the villain leaning in to brush a kiss against his shoulder, even with his shirt in the way. “Pigeon, you’re the first reason I’ve had in a very long time to look forward to waking up in the morning.”

Dabi pulls away then, hands in Keigo’s feathers again and beginning, once more, to meticulously preen them if only for an excuse to not look the other man in the eye after that declaration. Keigo just watches him, dumbfounded beyond words. “When I was younger,” The fire-user continues, taking on a somewhat flat tone once more, “I watched my mother’s marriage tear her apart until there was barely anything left of her to recognize. I wasn’t old enough to make the distinction between a relationship with or without love in it then, but it didn’t really matter; I wanted absolutely nothing to fucking do with it. There was no way in hell I was letting anyone do that to me-” Dabi makes a face, probably unknowingly, “Guess Dad beat everyone else to the chase on that one, but that’s not a mentality you grow out of overnight. ” He finally meets Keigo’s gaze, measured, but with a conflicted mix of apology as well, looking torn. “ Saying it is… Fuck, it’s scary, Feathers. And for more reasons than one. It’s dangerous for us, makes things a whole lot more real, even if it’s just a small thing. But… There’s more to it than that for me, and honestly Birdie, it might seem stupid but I can’t…” He sighs, trying yet again, rerouting like an out-of-date GPS in a poor-service location. “I need more time. It’s nothing to do with you, it’s nothing you’ve done, I just need to wrap my head around it.”

Keigo lets his words sink in and register for a moment before nodding slowly, holding the arsonist’s stare evenly, without faltering.

“Okay,” The blond says eventually, gradually relaxing the stiffness in his shoulders and taking an easy breath, “Okay, that’s fine. Is me saying it also a trigger thing, or…?”

Dabi swallows, glancing to the side, hands playing with Keigo’s feathers absentmindedly. The hero lets him take a moment, knowing him well enough to understand that if he wants an honest answer and not just the first warped truth, tagged with sarcasm and venom, off the villain’s tongue, he’s going to have to wait a second for him to think it through. Dabi can be quickwitted, snarky and cutting with those barbed words that he can drop in an instant when prompted- but for more serious things, for matters actually genuinely important to him, he tries a little harder. He stumbles sometimes, runs his sentences into dead ends and picks them up elsewhere when he can find a way back onto the track of what he’s trying to say, but the emotions like to run from him, choke him up and make it hard to just say what he means. The fact that they’re even having this conversation- that he got himself to initiate it- is a good step on his part.

“It’s… Startling.” Dabi confesses almost lamely, though Keigo gives him a small nod of encouragement and the man elaborates a little more fully, staring down at his partner’s wings again now. “I need to hear it though, I don’t want you to stop.” When he does look back up once more, it’s with certainty in his expression. “I’ll get there. I might… Need you to be patient with me, but I’ll get there.”

Keigo wills one of his preened feathers to spiral loosely up the villain’s wrist, turning around properly once more to rest his chin on his crossed arms. Once upon a time, leaving his back exposed to the arsonist like this probably would’ve spelled a death sentence for him; if he had the ability to let his former self know what a change in course the future would take, he knows he never would’ve believed it.

“Take your time, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” Keigo ruffles his feathers and lets his wings go soft and fluffy under Dabi’s hands, the dark-haired man scoffing quietly at the nickname, but not refuting it. The silent ‘ Just this once ,’ goes unsaid, Keigo grinning into his arm at the casual leeway. Dabi simply tugs lightly on another feather that Keigo lets fall, a collection of them beginning to gather on the floor around both of their chairs.

It’s a pleasant silence that follows, but Keigo soon finds out that the arsonist still has one other thing to discuss, this chat of theirs not yet concluded.

“I had to search her up just to remember what she looked like. My mom, I mean. I hadn’t realized how much I’d forgotten, but it’s been so long.” Dabi’s voice is quiet and steady when he breaks that silence without preface, but the breath he takes then is near about the opposite, “The whole thing with Dad- Pigeon, these last couple weeks have been hell. The nightmares were getting bad again and… Well, you know how they get. I just couldn’t get him out of my head; I was so paranoid, it was like he was around every corner and I was just waiting for him to make a move.”

Shit. It wasn’t an unknown fact that the arsonist had episodes here and there where some days, certain things were just a lot harder to handle. Keigo was mostly used to it by now, attuned to watching for that haunted look in Dabi’s eyes that would be just a little sharper than normal, the tenseness in his jaw, the incessant fiddling- how he was prone to picking at his staples, keeping his shoulders rigid and his gaze shifting at the slightest of sounds. It was on those such days that he tended to deal more poorly with the flashbacks and the memories, shaky and terrified and angry all at once. Keigo had started taking care to talk, move, live softly those days, keeping his voice gentle and his touches moreso, closing doors quietly and stepping lightly enough that his footfalls were mostly muffled by the sounds of whichever place they were in. They were all little things, small adjustments to the everyday, but they seemed to help on those worse days when everything else was a bit too hard and sharp and painful.

It didn’t take much effort to not slam a door. It could take an hour to recover from the triggering nature a slammed door could set off. The solution was a rather easy one to come to, on Keigo’s part.

But he hadn’t been there this time. The League had been, yes, but if they hadn’t known about Dabi’s history, he wouldn’t have been in much of a position to talk to them about any of the things plaguing him so badly. Hell, Keigo’s not sure he would’ve in the first place. But they wouldn’t have known what to do, what was happening, and the arsonist certainly wouldn’t have been getting any better, trying to keep it all bottled away.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Keigo asks, not accusatory, just inquisitive. “I could’ve been there.”

“We were both busy,” Dabi answers evenly, though a shade of guilt taints his tone, “Honestly Feathers, even if you’d tried I don’t think you could’ve been there. Not really; Shig had Twice and I on recruitment duty again. I was barely around. I could’ve called, I guess, but I didn’t really want to admit to myself how bad it had gotten. And then- I had this one nightmare that was pretty bad. Scared the shit out of me, but the main thing that bothered me coming out of it was that Mom’s face had been blank. No features at all; when I woke up I still couldn’t remember how she was supposed to look.” The arsonist clears his throat, Keigo listens patiently. “I had to search up a picture of her just to figure it out. And that was when I also discovered that I’d missed her birthday by three days when I’d thought it was two weeks before then, and I’ve completely forgotten what her voice sounded like. That’s something you can’t find out there as easily as a photograph.” He goes quiet, not quite embarrassed, but definitely not proud either. “Anyway, that was all kind of the last straw.”

Keigo’s feather makes another loop around the arsonist’s wrist, Dabi silently pulling one of his hands back to run his thumb along the vane of the tiny thing, an acknowledgement of the wordless comfort being offered.

“So, when did you see your Dad in all of this?” Dabi scoffs at the blond’s question.

“The next morning.”

“ Fuck .” Keigo drops his head entirely into his arms with a humourless laugh of his own, cussing under his breath as he does so. “And that’s when-?”

“Yeah.” The villain sighs, locating a few more damaged feathers in Keigo’s wings and smoothing out the rest, “Twice and I had split up, so by the time I came across him there was nobody there to talk me down. I just snapped, didn’t even think about it.”

“And that family? You avoided hitting them, that’s what gave Endeavor an opening.” When Dabi’s hands still in his feathers yet again in question, Keigo follows up with, “I watched some video clips of what happened while you were out.”

The arsonist laughs quietly, resuming his task.

“Of course you’d catch that. I forgot who I’m dealing with.” Dabi points out five more feathers to drop before moving on to Keigo’s other wing, the first one apparently dealt with. The hero shakes it out a little bit, letting the rest of his feathers flare and sit properly with a bit of movement, testing them out. Dabi casually leans out of the way so he doesn’t get decked, waiting for the blond to settle happily before continuing his story. “I don’t know, but seeing them snapped me out of it- I’m not sure if I just saw the woman and thought of my mom again, or if it was the kids, but…” Keigo senses more than sees the villain shrug, “Either way, it made me realize what was happening. It’s not like I’d jumped in with a game plan or anything at all, so when I came to my senses it was too late to back out and just a matter of fighting long enough to stay alive.” There’s a long beat of silence as Keigo digests this before Dabi speaks again, hesitant. “It’s not an excuse, I know that. I’m not trying for it to be. But does it at least make sense now?”

Keigo nods, giving a small “Yeah,” into his arm. It’s a truthful answer, despite how muffled and tiny it sounds, even to his ears. Dabi, thankfully, chooses not to comment on his tone, instead leaning once more, pressing a swift kiss to the back of the hero’s neck this time.

“Hey, come on now, Pigeon- none of that. It’s over- well, most of it, anyway.”

Keigo manages a burst of a laugh as the arsonist makes a half-assed joke about their current “roommate-situation,” Dabi teasingly grumbling about having to share the barren rations that make up Keigo’s poor excuse for a fridge. “You should just be thankful I’m a scoundrel,” The man continues, looping an arm casually around the winged hero’s waist as Keigo leans back into him slightly, still laughing. Dabi rests his chin on the other’s shoulder, lazy, his voice a sarcastic drawl. “If I were a man of decency or propriety, we wouldn’t be sharing a bed and one of us would have to sleep on the floor.”

“Hey, have a little faith. I’d get you set up on the couch at least.”

Dabi snorts gracelessly.

“Very generous of you.”

Keigo laughs again, catching Dabi’s poorly-concealed smirk out of the corner of his eye, the arsonist sitting up properly to press another  kiss in his hair, just behind his ear, before beginning to work on the smaller man’s wings once more. “You never actually told me how you got me back here.”

That’s quite the story. Keigo gives him the summarized version, opting to skip out of explaining, in detail, the condition he’d found the other man in, the terror he’d felt, the sheer staggering state of ruin that the scene had been in. Dabi stays mostly silent as he recounts the whole thing, only interjecting once or twice with clarifying questions here and there.

“Shouto was with you?” He asks at one point, voice taking on a slightly sharp edge of concern. Keigo shakes his head in response.

“Nah, just when we first started the patrol. I sent him back to the agency as soon as the call came in-decided he didn’t need to be there for all of that. Your father had some things to say about it when I showed up without him, though.”

Dabi scoffs from behind him, irritated but not surprised.

“Of course he did. What a fucking prick.”

“Would you expect anything less?” Keigo jokes, Dabi grumbling in return. “Oh, I guess- Shouto called. You probably don’t remember that at all. Actually, come to think of it, you would’ve still been out of it then, but he asked about you.”

Months ago, following the initial incident that had brought them all to this point, Keigo had told Dabi about the connections Shouto had made between the two of them; how the teen had caught a fleeting sight of the feather the arsonist had been wearing around his neck and realized for himself what the implications of that had meant. As far as everyone involved is concerned, the dual-quirked boy hasn’t determined, yet, what exactly the relationship is between the pro hero and villain, but Keigo assumes it’s only a matter of time before he works that much out himself as well. For as bright as Shouto is, he can be a bit slow to the chase on matters like this, particularly after he’d already determined he didn’t want to know the details in how Keigo knew the former Todoroki.

Dabi goes silent again, possibly in surprise though it’s difficult to tell when he can’t see the other man’s face. “He wanted to know whether or not you were going to live. I’ll have to give him an update on that one.” Keigo tilts his head slightly, still not quite able to view the arsonist with his wings in the way. “How much do you actually remember?”

“Not much,” Dabi admits after a beat, “I remember getting my ass kicked. Flying through that window. From there, barely anything, honestly. I know I got out of there, but I don’t remember how- I think I ran for a bit, but all I can remember is burning.”

That adds up.

“You were in an alley,” Keigo informs him, shifting his shoulders slightly under the weight of his wings, “It had started to rain. I found you behind a dumpster, and the only reason I even knew where to look was because I’d sent feathers out to look through the streets- you managed to get a hold of one and burn it. I pinpointed you from there.”

“I burned one of your feathers?” The arsonist’s voice is incredulous, maybe a bit apologetic. “Shit, I doubt that was intentional. Was it the one I used to wear?”

Keigo had been wondering when he’d ask about that, having noticed, himself, over the last few days, that the cord that had lain permanently around the other man’s neck for the last few months was missing.

“No, I wouldn’t have felt it if that were the case,” Keigo explains carefully, flexing his wings out of habit more than anything as the arsonist continues to preen them, “If my feathers are detached, I lose feeling and control in them after about three days or so. Yours was an old one.” He clears his throat awkwardly, “You were missing it even when I brought you back; it must’ve burned away in the fight.”

Dabi goes quiet again for a moment at the implication, fingers combing through Keigo’s feathers again a second later, still meticulous and careful even after the length of time that they’ve been sitting here.

“I was afraid you might’ve taken it back,” He confesses eventually, hesitant, “I didn’t notice it was gone until that first night, after the League had left and you’d walked out- I knew you were upset, and it hadn’t even occurred to me that I might’ve burnt it by accident.” One of his hands lift to rub at the back of his neck, “I was certain you were done with me- that’s part of why I was so scared and worked up yesterday morning.”

His feathers feeling mostly preened out, Keigo carefully folds his wings inward enough to turn around completely without smacking Dabi with them, draping the large appendages over his chair once more when he gets situated. His first matter of business is to get closer to the edge of his seat so he can pull the arsonist in for their first proper kiss in this whole conversation, Dabi taken by surprise but willing nonetheless.

“Not something you have to worry about.” Keigo guarantees quietly, ending the promise with a soft peck on the villain’s jaw before going to stand, grabbing his forgotten cup of coffee and walking over to the counter so he can chug the rest of it back and leave his dishes in the sink. Dabi’s eyes follow him as he wanders.

“No,” He says eventually. There’s a warmth in his voice that betrays his fondness before the tiny quirk upwards on the corner of his mouth does, “Not anymore, at least.”

Keigo shoots him an answering grin in response, tugging a hand through his now mostly-dry hair and glancing out the kitchen window as he goes to slug back the rest of his coffee.

It almost immediately gets spat back out in the sink.

“What the h-” The winged hero begins, sputtering, Dabi connecting the dots before he does when the arsonist frowns and then tips the other mug left on the table towards him, snorting when he realizes the mistake.

“Wrong coffee, Birdie?”

“Why the fuck is it sweet ?” Keigo asks, sounding almost offended. Dabi shrugs amusedly, seemingly content to let Keigo snatch the other mug from his hand, disgusted.

“I like sugar in my coffee- got a bit carried away today, though. My hands were shaky.”

“Like sugar? You can’t convince me that’s not straight syrup in a cup.” Making a face, Keigo grimaces and finishes off his own, “And here, this whole time I’ve just assumed you take it black.” He narrows his eyes suddenly in realization, pinning the villain with an accusing look, Dabi’s smirk growing as though the other man’s been slow to the chase. “You don’t actually like black coffee.” No answer from the arsonist, just a subtle, yet pointed, sip out of his mug. Keigo sets his own down, appalled. “Is that why it takes you so long to drink yours whenever I bring coffee for us?”

Dabi swallows his laughter with another mouthful of caffeine, Keigo staring at him incredulously. “It’s been months , why didn’t you say something?”

When Dabi smiles this time, he gives a flash of teeth, blue eyes crinkling somewhat as he shakes his head. The flush from his fever has mostly dissipated, Keigo assuming it’s run its course for now, or is at least close to breaking, the sight a small relief.

“Like hell I would’ve asked you for sugar in my coffee when we were first meeting up. What kind of image does that set?”

Keigo blinks at him owlishly.

“It’s coffee . It’s not supposed to be an aesthetic choice. ”

The sound of his lover outright laughing, even at his own expense, is honestly a well-appreciated one, though Keigo still stands in place, astounded, fighting a baffled grin of his own. “Nevermind, I take it back- I am leaving you. Oh my God.”

Despite his words, and after ditching his empty mug in the sink, Keigo grabs another ice pack from the freezer and a few yogurt cups from the fridge, passing both over to the still-chuckling villain when he wanders close enough to do so. “You’re so dramatic sometimes, you know that?”

Dabi hums in possibly modest agreement or tolerance, reaching out to pull the hero closer by the hip with one hand. Keigo lets him, threading his fingers through the other man’s hair when the arsonist rests his head against his abdomen. “I’m gonna have to keep getting ready for work here soon- make sure you eat, alright? There’s other snacks and stuff around here that should be easy enough to grab through the day. Help yourself to whatever, obviously. I’ll grab some actual food on my way home tonight.” He takes a moment to consider, before flicking the top of the villain’s head smartly, his next words firm. “And don’t overdo it. Rest up- no straining yourself. We’re going to have to take this slow. Got it?”

The injured man huffs into his shirt but doesn’t protest, instead speaking up so Keigo can hear him properly.

“Sure, Pigeon. I’ll be careful.”

Having half been expecting a snarky reply instead of outright agreement, Keigo grins to himself silently, making another pass through the man’s hair contemplatively. There’s another portion of their relationship that’s definitely undergone some change since the start of their meetings; it doesn’t feel like all that long ago when getting a simple agreement out of him for near about anything was like pulling teeth. That’s one thing about those days that Keigo doesn’t particularly miss.

“Good.” The hero shifts his wings, ruffling them happily when his feathers fluff and lay flat again, no ruined barbs catching on one another, or damaged shafts not quite laying right. In a gentler tone, he adds, “Thanks for the help this morning. I appreciate it.” Keigo wills one of the smaller, still-intact feathers on his left wing to drift over to the table, falling beside Dabi’s mug. The arsonist glances up when he catches sight of it from the corner of his eye, “I’ll leave this one with you today- if anything happens and you need me to come back, burn it again.”

In an ideal situation, he wouldn’t be asking the recovering fire-user to use his quirk at all, even in an emergency situation, but their means are limited right now. Hopefully Compress can get them that supply run soon enough so they’ll have a new phone for Dabi to use instead, but in the meantime they’re going to have to work with what they’ve got. “Need me to grab anything else for you before I head out?”

Dabi shakes his head tiredly, stifling a yawn and blinking once, twice.

“Nah, I’ll manage. M’probably going to go lie down again here in a bit anyway. I can handle a day on my own.” He snorts a moment later, taking up the ice that Keigo had brought him, and pressing it to the back of his neck once more, sighing softly at the contact. “I’ve definitely done so in worse places than this.”

For whatever reason, the wry comment makes him think of the other man’s scars, Keigo running his eyes down the spanses of purpled, damaged skin he can see. The stark image of a young boy with hair not yet black, burnt alive and wracked with fever like this, and surrounded by strangers trying to miraculously keep him alive in a seedy hotel or brothel- it makes his stomach twist harshly, hands coming instinctively to rest on either side of the villain’s face. Dabi glances up at him curiously, blue eyes yet undimmed, just like that stubborn little spark that he’s got in him despite the rest of his fire being snuffed out. “Feathers?”

Keigo leans in to kiss him softly, still able to taste the sugar from the other man’s coffee on his lips, before brushing another kiss over his forehead after.

“I’d never hurt you like that,” He says out of nowhere, a confusing statement considering their current situation, though understanding registers in Dabi’s eyes when he backtracks, “With what you said earlier; being afraid of ending up like your mom, everything to do with your dad- I’d never-” Dabi goes to interrupt, placating, but Keigo shakes his head, “I know you know that, okay? But I feel like it needs to be said anyway. Peace of mind or whatever, even if it’s just for me. But I’d never do any of that to you, and I fully intend to spend the next twenty years of my life making up for the last twenty that either of us spent alone.”

The arsonist’s fingers press lightly into Keigo’s hipbone in quiet acknowledgement at his statement, but Keigo’s not done. “I’ll be here when you’re ready,” He promises, “And until you are, I’ll still be happy just like this.” The hero runs his thumb over his cheek,  “I don’t need the words to see when you mean them.”

Dabi blinks up at him, not entirely surprised but maybe a little chagrined if anything, caught red-handed in his ways. He grins just a little at the comment though, huffing good-naturedly despite his apparent embarrassment at the blond’s attentiveness to his quiet affections.

“You know me too well.”

Keigo laughs, gesturing to the man’s abandoned mug with a jerk of his chin.

“Evidently not.”

This spurs another round of chuckles from them both, cut short by Dabi moving his hand from Keigo’s waist to his neck, gently dipping his head in for another kiss, long and slow.

“Be safe out there, Hero.” He mutters when they part, bumping foreheads with the other man and letting his fingers tangle in the hair at the base of Keigo’s neck.

“As ever,” Keigo promises, pressing his lips briefly to the corner of the fire-user’s mouth before drawing away with a soft smile, warm and bright and happy. “I love you. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight, little bird.” The arsonist repeats, then flashing a wildcard grin, fierce as ever, with burning blue eyes to match. “Go raise hell for me.”

The wink that Keigo shoots him over his shoulder in response speaks enough for itself, cocky and self-assured, and more than ready to take that challenge up back out in the field.

They’ll have to redefine the parameters of hell later, because as far as Keigo’s concerned, the only hell he’ll be raising is a fit in his office if he can’t get out of here soon enough.

The hero groans quietly as he sits back in his chair, taking a break from his laptop for a bit to stretch his stiff back, muscles aching from the strain of having his wings hanging over the back of it for so long, heavy and tired from the uncomfortable position. They really need to invest in better quirk-oriented furniture- it’s not like they don’t have the means. Granted, Keigo doesn’t spend much time in here anyway, and maybe that’s why he’s never bothered to bring it up before, and probably never will- deskwork isn’t his style.

The paperwork portion of being a hero is by no means fun, but it’s a rational and mandatory part of it nonetheless. It’s not  something to slough off or try to toss on someone else, and yet seeing the sky right outside his window makes Keigo’s feathers itch in the confines of his office, tempted. He’s not one for being cooped up, never has been. Maybe it’s to be expected that the man who has a reputation for going too fast doesn’t like being tied down and forced to sit still in an office chair for hours at a time when there’s a world out there that needs saving. That’s definitely what he was trained for, though he knows he can’t blame training for everything- he’s geared this way in general and has been from day one.

Regardless, the work across his desktop is still his responsibility, even if he doesn’t like it. He owes it to the people he’s trying to save to get it all finished and completed, because yeah, all of these forms and documents and accounts are tedious, nitpick-detail monotony- but they’re still important. This is where they get their paper trails that can be used to bring criminals to justice in court, explanations of encounters that can be saved and filed away for reference on how to efficiently address similar situations in the future, verifications of eyewitness accounts and proper descriptions of faced villains that will make them easier to identify and combat properly should they ever raise trouble again, so fewer citizens will be in jeopardy the next time around.

It’s all still important. That’s what keeps his fingers typing on the keys even when he’s dying to take a break or close his laptop and head out on patrol early instead. This kind of work still goes towards saving people too, even if it’s not the flashy, hands-on approach.

But fuck, is it ever hard to keep in mind sometimes.

It’s not just the average civilians these reports are saving either. Keigo opens up one of the other tabs on his computer, taking a sip of now-lukewarm coffee and scanning through the page he’s got pulled up on the screen. The League- he’s been hedging things wherever he can for them in his reports to the HPSC, meddling whatever information he can get away with, leaving out whatever will go otherwise unnoticed. They’re in a more compromised position than normal with Dabi down, and despite their recent altercation, Keigo doesn’t really want to see anything happen to the motley of villains. He and Shigaraki may not be on the best of terms exactly, not that Keigo honestly ever expected they had been in the first place, nor does he hold out any kind of dream that they ever will be, but the mental image of Toga stuck alone in a padded cell for the rest of her life, or Twice dead under the feet of a hero who was instructed, just as Keigo had been, not to hold back on him is sickening.

If the Commission knew what a blow this whole thing had been to them, and very well may continue to be for the foreseeable future, they’d attack without hesitation. Keigo’s certain of it. Mission or no mission, they wouldn’t miss a chance to take the League out at the knees if a chance showed itself, and this would be a larger opening than they’d hoped for in a while. For now, it’s best to keep them questioning, keep things in the dark and let them stay focused on the situation with Dabi as opposed to the League itself in general. The longer they focus on digging out the other man’s status and whereabouts, the longer their eyes are off of Shigaraki and the others. As much as it makes his skin prickle to be bringing the arsonist to the forefront of the Commission’s attention when the villain’s currently healing in his own apartment, he knows, intuitively, that it’s the best call for now- and he trusts Compress’ judgement on them overlooking their double agent to be seeking answers in Japan’s underground. If the League can keep a misleading number of rumours moving on their end and answers known to nobody, they just might be able to avert the Commission’s gaze directly to where they want it: away from both the League and the real case with their injured member long enough to regroup and get their bearings.

It’ll be a tough ideal to maintain, but Keigo’s really the best person for the job, here.

So he tailors his “intel”, presents falsities instead of the actual occurrences in his meetings with the League, hides so much that the documents are more lies and blindfolds at this point than any real degree of truth. He throws in seeds of legitimacy here and there to keep the Commission on the scent and occupied, just enough to keep them hooked and in belief that the operation is still running relatively smoothly, but not enough to give away anything that could be crippling for these strange people Keigo has come to see as tentative allies, some of them maybe even friends, over the course of the last few months.

Coming up with false tales and not getting all the strings tangled is a bit of a nightmare, though. Dabi used to help him with this during most of their meet-ups, the two of them collaborating to work out just how much leash to give the HPSC, and how much to keep away from them. They’d made a good team as far as concocting believable lies went, though looking at both of them and the lives they’d lived up to this extent, Keigo supposed that wasn’t entirely surprising.

But with Dabi wounded and mostly out of it over the last week, Keigo has to handle this report on his own. That isn’t really a bad thing to be honest; he’s more than capable of managing it, but that doesn’t make it feel any less weird to not have the arsonist crouched behind his shoulder, offering snarky comments and interjections as he types, wry and actually helpful, and making the time pass by just a little faster.

Fortunately, there’s not much to report, and it’s easy enough for Keigo to mostly brush the report off entirely. As far as things go, the Commission’s currently under the impression that he hasn’t had any contact with the League since the incident with Dabi happened, what with the villain himself disappearing, and Keigo taking sick days immediately afterward. It’s easy enough to mark that he hasn’t heard anything and that he was on sick leave with no real reason to have seen the League in the days he’s been gone. Matter basically solved, for now at least.

It won’t always be this easy. Keigo’s already bracing himself for the amount of pressure he knows he’s going to be under when one week without any real answers and only short leads turns into two and then three- hell, maybe even four depending on how long this takes. The Commission will be foaming at the mouth by the end of this, that much he knows without doubt.

How they’ll respond to it beyond that has yet to be determined, but Keigo’s not looking forward to it.

A knock on the door stirs him out of his thoughts, the winged hero frowning to himself at the disruption. A quick glance at his calendar proves he wasn’t scheduled for any meetings today, and there weren’t any messages this morning on his answering machine about having anybody stop in, so this is a definite surprise.

Confused, the man gets to his feet and heads over to open the door for whoever’s standing behind it, welcoming, at the very least, the small break the opportunity provides.

As soon as he opens the door, he wishes he hadn’t.

Looming immensely in the hallway is the man partially responsible for at least two-thirds of the problems on his plate right now.

“Endeavor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Keigo doesn’t move out of the way, keeping the other man in the hall and out of his own space, letting the doorway make a separating barrier in and of itself, even if open. Nothing about his stance is an invitation, but that doesn’t seem to hinder the other pro, the taller of the two looking down the bridge of his nose at the smaller hero, and narrowing his eyes.

“May I come in?”

It’s not really a question, no matter how it’s phrased. Endeavor fills the whole doorframe with just his overbearing and intimidating size alone, and the way he’s standing, as if prepared to shoulder the door the rest of the way open if it starts to be shut in his face, is already enough to make Keigo grit his teeth behind the smile he flashes.

“Yeah, of course. Just let me move some stuff so you can sit down.”

Enji steps around him more than Keigo really moves out of the way, the latter turning so Endeavor never gets a direct view of his back, hoping to hide the fact that the feathers at the base of his wings have gone entirely rigid and sharp all on their own. Damn, this is not a good day to be having whatever little chat the flame hero’s hoping to have- his and Dabi’s conversation from earlier in the morning is still ringing in his ears, and the image of the injuries under the arsonist’s bandages are still fresh in his mind, branded there from the night before when he was helping change them. To his credit, Dabi had been stone-faced through the whole thing until it came time to deal with the number of second degree burns on his body, Keigo trying to gently clean any of the spots where blisters had broken or blood had trickled through. These burns weren’t like his others. They hadn’t been caused by the arsonist himself, weren’t third-degree and scarred over from direct contact like the ones he wore permanently as a reminder of the devastating nature his quirk could have- no, these burns were from flames that hadn’t sprung from his skin but had simply come close, had scorched and raked at his body, but hadn’t been derived from it, flames that hadn’t been hot enough to kill the sensory capabilities of the nerves underneath, not this time. Dabi had grimaced and panted the whole while as the hero tended those wounds, clenching Keigo’s shoulder painfully hard, though the winged man hadn’t dared utter a single complaint, knowing how much less the fingers digging into his skin hurt in comparison.

The flames that did that damage weren’t blue, they were orange. It’s a fact that registers but doesn’t sit well in him as he gathers up a heap of files out of the way and unceremoniously chucks them into his desk, closing the drawer more roughly than he intends. It’s this action that catches Endeavor’s attention, the older man raising an eyebrow at the uncouth nature of the thing, and taking a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of the tabletop.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Keigo wears his strain like cheap cologne; overwhelmingly strong and impossible to miss. He smiles again, closing a tab on his computer.

“Not at all.”

Enji grunts, the simple sound somehow managing to tick Keigo off even more, the large man leaning back in his chair. It’s then that Keigo catches sight of the bandages around his arms too, having not even been looking for them the first time around. The fire-user’s wearing civilian clothes today, not back on duty yet, then, and Keigo takes a moment to notice that the cut on the man’s cheek has all but disappeared- an impressive feat for only a few days’ worth of healing. His son’s state in comparison proves that much- though, granted, Keigo’s more than willing to admit that Dabi walked out of that encounter in far worse shape than his father, the arsonist’s pride be damned. Hell, if he really cares to think about it, Dabi didn’t walk out of that fight at all, hadn’t even managed to stand on his own for any kind of time until this morning, really.

The winged hero bites his tongue, nodding towards Enji’s arms considerately, eyes still on his computer screen so he doesn’t have  to look the other man directly in the face. “Healing up alright?”

“Fine.” Enji rolls his neck, “I’ll be back in the field within the next day or so. They had a few staff at the hospital with advanced healing quirks, so most of my injuries have already been dealt with. Now’s just a matter of regaining my strength. Nothing permanent, just a minor setback.”

A minor setback. Fucking hell.

His throat is choked up, blood on his hands, knees digging painfully into the grit of the alleyway, the body in his arms too limp to be natural. God, is he even breathing? There’s so much blood. He can’t tell where it’s coming from, whether or not the rain’s making it look worse than it is. Everything hurts, everything hurts- his heart is shredding itself, he can feel it, there’s no way it’s still intact in all this pain- fuck, where is his pulse, please be alive, please don’t be gone-

Keigo nods politely, plastering on an easy, lighthearted smile. Hopefully it’s sharp enough to cut.

“Minor setback, huh? That’s great to hear.”

It feels like he’s baring his teeth. He knows it doesn’t look that way, he’s been trained far too well for that.

Endeavor grunts again. Keigo picks up a pen off his desk and begins pointedly clicking the end of it off the tabletop, doing his best to distract himself from the boiling geyser of emotion beginning to clot in his veins, already on a short fuse. Overhead, the lights hum.

They sit in silence. The tension isn’t a comfortable one.

Ten seconds pass. Twenty. Thirty.

Keigo drops the pen.

It clatters almost too loudly when it lands, rolling obnoxiously on the desktop for a few seconds before falling to the floor. The winged man doesn’t even cast it a passing glance, amber eyes now fixed on the older pro sitting across from him. “This isn’t a social call,” Keigo says, voice still upbeat, keeping that grin on his face even as his voice sinks into a quiet, borderline-dangerous tone, rimmed like poisoned salt on a margarita glass. “So, what is the Number One hero doing here?”

The last part of the phrase comes out sounding more like a challenge than anything, spat as though bitter despite the smile. Endeavor narrows his own eyes, leaning back fully in his chair and scowling at the younger man’s thinly-veiled show of hostility. He doesn’t seem surprised though; almost the opposite, as he looks annoyed if anything.

“I’m here about my son.” The words are clipped, pressed and to the point. Keigo’s shoulders stiffen. “I want a reinstated transfer over his internship.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’m not asking.”

Keigo laughs incredulously, the sound sharp, before leaning forward in his own seat.

“I don’t fucking care.”

He needs to calm down. He knows he does, and yet it’s difficult when the man across from him gives him that demeaning look and a long-winded sigh as if getting ready to scold an stubborn child, his scowl an ugly one.

“Don’t be obstinate just for the sake of picking a fight, Hawks. I’ve put up with this little rebellious act for long enough.”

“Rebellious act?” Keigo asks, astounded, “ Rebellious- why, because Shouto dropped your internship for a different one?”

Enji crosses his arms, stance firm.

“You’re letting it go to your head- that boy’s just using this as a means to rebel and push buttons. He’s always looking for a way to take out some spite on me, that’s all this is.” The pro grimaces, looking skyward. “I was willing to tolerate it at first to appease him, until he lost interest in his little game and came to his senses when he realized he’d made a mistake, but it’s clear he’s determined to stay on this path now. I’m not letting him jeopardize his future career over some dramatic teenage phase.”

Holy shit, they’re actually doing this. Keigo knows he should’ve expected it; after how many months of near-silence from the other pro on the subject, he’s honestly just amazed it’s taken him this long to fight back against the change-of-internship situation.

Some weaker, younger part of him still smarts at the fact that his former idol is basically calling him inadequate, but Keigo hushes it almost immediately, putting that aside. It doesn’t matter anymore- none of it matters anymore. He has nothing to prove to this man now, and meeting his standards isn’t anything he’s going to concern himself with again.

“Well, you came to the wrong person,” Keigo argues stoically, semi-proud of himself for reining his character back in and not simply going off in the way he wants to. He raises an eyebrow, “Bold of you to assume my say is the determining factor here. Even if I was up for transferring internships, that call is Shouto’s- whether you want to regard it as a phase or not.” The winged hero steeples his fingers, letting his feathers ruffle slightly, eyes narrowing, “That aside, you’re in no position to be making demands here, Number One. Especially not over this.”

Flames crackle in Enji Todoroki’s eyes as his face darkens, almost as though in shadow. Even sitting as he is, he makes a fucking intimidating menace to put up an opposition against, though Keigo holds his ground without budging. He was raised under more pressure than this; he can handle an angry pro no problem. The older man grinds his teeth in irritation, the sheer sound of it enough to make Keigo’s feathers stiffen even further.

“Do you honestly believe you’re the best help for him?” The flame hero asks harshly, sneering, his tone almost mocking in how condescendingly it resonates, “If so, you’re fooling yourself. That boy was meant to be a prodigy; you’ll never teach him how to grow into his talents in the way he needs to. You’ll be nothing but a ball and chain on his progress if this continues; a hero with a flying quirk ,” He snaps this like it’s an offense to say out loud, and it leaves Keigo bristling, “Doesn’t know anything about his abilities. As he is now, he probably overpowers you in almost every way.” Endeavor huffs, folding his crossed arms tighter. “What will you do when the day comes that he surpasses you? It’s not that far off, you must be aware of that. My son needs proper guidance if he’s going to be the best. You’ll never understand him well enough to push him, to challenge him enough to attain that spot and maintain the legacy I’ve built for him.”

Each accusation burns like a brand, sinking into his skin and searing when Keigo’s blood begins to boil, the winged hero trying to ignore it.

“I’ll never understand him?” Keigo asks cuttingly, Endeavor frowning at the smaller man when he speaks up, “Is that what you said? That’s rich, coming from you.”

“My son-”

“ His name is Shouto .”

The sheer amount of undiluted, seething rage he tosses into that simple statement renders both men quiet for a moment in surprise, before Keigo picks up where he left off, fully aware that his wings have flared defensively behind him and doing nothing to pull them down. “His name is Shouto, and you haven’t used it once in this whole fucking conversation.”

Endeavor opens his mouth as though to argue, but Keigo cuts him off with a suddenly soft, “What’s his favourite colour?”

“What?” The flame hero’s eyebrows are pulled into a low ‘v’ over his eyes, mouth curling into a confused grimace. Keigo repeats himself, unshaken, and Endeavor sputters angrily, jerking back as though slapped, in total disbelief. “Why does it matter what-”

“He doesn’t have one.” Keigo informs him, leaning against the back of his chair, and fixing the other pro with an amber-eyed stare. “There’s too many for him to choose just a single colour, but he likes yellow- he likes-” The winged hero gives a choked-sounding laugh, rubbing at one temple before dragging a hand through his hair, “God-awful, ugly yellow. Not even the nice kind, but he somehow finds a way to appreciate it. And- he likes cold soba. It’s his favourite meal, and there’s a shop three streets down from UA that he goes to most often because they serve it with the best jasmine tea. He prefers hot chocolate over coffee and never holds teacups right because he doesn’t like the feel of the handles.”

“I fail to see how this is relevant-”

“He likes dancing,” Keigo ploughs over the older man’s interruption without hesitation, “And those stupid, cheesy cards with the bad jokes in them because he actually understands the humour, and sleepovers with his friends- having friends.” He’s on a roll now, Endeavor sitting back and just letting him continue without protest because the man’s really in no place to do otherwise. “Buying gifts for them and spending time, and telling stories about them; he’s loyal to a fucking fault, and that’s not something you drilled into him, that’s just how he is .” Keigo pierces Endeavor with a hard glare, not slowing down for an instant, “And you know what? You’re right; he’s destined for amazing things. He’ll probably surpass me long before his debut; he’s overpowered and brilliant, and insanely talented- but what will get him that extra mile isn’t anything to do with his quirk.”

“Since you seem bent on doing so, enlighten me.” Endeavor scowls grudgingly, Keigo taking a deep breath to calm himself down once again and keep his voice level.

“Shouto’s kind.” He says quietly. “He’s got a heart of gold, and he always manages to look for the best in people, even after everything he’s been through- even if they don’t deserve it. He tries because he’s more compassionate than you’ll ever know, and I don’t know if I can possibly explain that to you in any way you’ll understand, but you sure as hell need to consider it.”

Keigo raises his jaw, glowers at the man sitting across from him and forces his wings to lie flat. “I may not be the best teacher,” He admits, “I might be weaker than you, less experienced and less knowledgeable in the field of Shouto’s quirks. But don’t tell me I don’t understand him when the only thing you know about your son is what you want him to be.”

He can tell by the look on Enji’s stony, cold face that he’s pissed the other man off thoroughly, whether solely with that comment or collaboratively with the rest, he doesn’t know.

“What are you trying to prove here, Hawks?” Endeavor asks, tone biting, “A person of your background is the last who should be ridiculing me on parenting practice.”

It’s a low blow from nowhere, taking Keigo by surprise hard enough that he feels a shiver of numbness course through his veins like it’s been forced in with an IV. His background? Not something he’s used to hearing about, for sure, though the man across from him is one of the only ones out there who knows any extent of it in detail. Maybe that makes it worse. Keigo’s breath catches sharply in his lungs, dies in his chest all the fight leaving him in an instant. All he can see are stained walls, broken beer bottles in the carpet, a dirty mattress on the floor-

-

-

-

And for just a moment,  the memories all come back at once.

Chapter Text

He’s hungry again.

Keigo does his best to ignore the aching cramps in his stomach, hunkering quietly in the corner of the small room and trying to keep his shivering wings tight enough around himself to retain an ounce of warmth in his tiny body. The effort doesn’t amount to much, but it’s something; maybe even just a distraction from how empty he feels, how hollow.

Their new, temporary home isn’t nearly insulated well enough for the early November chill, and the ugly, water-stained concrete floor that Keigo’s quickly learned to dislike more than anything seems to have every intention of leeching out whatever small spark of heat in him remains. It’s a greedy thing, one Keigo’s not inclined to forgive.

It’s this house, at four years old, that makes him understand why people hate thieves.

“Don’t steal this from me,” He wants to ask, not that anyone would listen. The walls don’t talk, even if it feels like they’re always watching, always closing in. It’s worse in the dark. “Please don’t, I need this.”

The house doesn’t care, which shouldn’t be terribly surprising, because nobody else does either. His father told him that. Keigo’s not sure he likes him. Father steals, just like the house with the cold floor; takes from people for himself. He says they have to, takes Keigo with him sometimes to snatch small things with his feathers, or help charm a few people out of some change. On the days where they do well, they eat better. Some nights he even goes to bed full, stuffed and happy. Most nights, though, are spent like this.

A guilty part of him knows he looks forward to the nights when Father doesn’t return empty-handed. He gets hopeful every time that he’ll have stolen enough that they’ll all get something. Maybe it’s wrong- the heroes are always going after thieves, and the boy is terrified of the day he ever gets caught and taken to prison too. Thieves are bad; Keigo doesn’t want to be bad, but he doesn’t want to be hungry anymore either. Or cold. He would give up a whole week’s worth of food if he could get his hands on a blanket. Just one. Not even new. It would be better than this.

The winged boy rubs at his runny nose with a stiff, chilled hand, before tucking his knees up against his chest even tighter and wrapping his arms around his ankles. Across the room, his mother’s lighting a cigarette, her face pallid and grey in the dim light, expression sallow and lifeless. There was a time, he thinks, that she might have been beautiful once, but if that were ever the case, she’s long traded all beauty for something far more miserable now.

At her side, there’s a styrofoam box with a fork still hanging out under the closed lid, the sight catching Keigo’s attention instantly. His stomach growls again, protesting, and he tries to ignore how hopeful he immediately gets, eyes locked on the carton. His mother seems to actually notice him at that, as though he’d been invisible before, her instant scowl a twisted one. She might be drunk, Keigo can’t tell. He’s so used to seeing her that way, he’s not sure he’d know if she wasn’t. He’ll keep his distance either way.

“Don’t get your hopes up, brat.” She snarls, flicking the lid open to reveal the container is empty. Keigo’s little heart sinks hard and fast in his chest, head sinking against his knees again. He can feel his wings droop, hadn’t even realized they’d perked up in the first place. “We’re all hungry.”

It’s hard to fathom that the aching in their bellies could be comparable. All Keigo can think of is his own. He wants to cry. He’s afraid to, because crying makes noise, and noise gets attention, and attention usually isn’t good. He likes to be left alone; it’s easier to try blocking out the world when he isn’t being addressed directly.

There’s nothing to do but wait until his father gets home. Keigo doesn’t feel quite so guilty this time when he hopes he brings back something good, something all of them can share.

He tucks one wing over his head and tries to fall asleep, blocking out the cold and the gnawing hunger in his stomach, and trying to kill some of the waiting time between now and his next chance at a meal.

His parents don’t love each other. They don’t love him either, and Keigo’s okay with that. He doesn’t really understand what the word means and can’t miss not having what he doesn’t really know, but he’s heard that families love each other. They’re not a family- his mother’s made that very clear, so they must not have love either. 

He doesn’t lose much sleep over it. Whatever it is, it can’t be that important. After all, his parents live without it too, and surely they all live without more crucial things.

Keigo’s mother wanted to be an actress. He knows this because she reminds him that she’d be a celebrity by now if she hadn’t gotten pregnant and had him. He’s not sure it’s true, but sometimes he likes to imagine her in pretty dresses and smiling. His mother doesn’t smile. She’s bitter- with the world and herself and him too. Sometimes Keigo thinks she dislikes him the most, the son she blames for the ruin of her own future.

But sometimes she doesn’t seem quite so bad. Keigo sees more of her than his father, and they’ve gotten into some habit of living, even if it’s not an extremely friendly one. His mother drinks a lot, more than she should, and Keigo learns early the dangers of unassuming glass bottles, how low they render a person. She said once that she drinks to forget. Keigo’s not sure what she means or what it is she’s forgetting, but sometimes he carries all the empty bottles over to a corner where they won’t be broken and puts an old shirt or towel under his mother’s head when she falls asleep, passed out. Sometimes when she wakes up she’ll grunt, put a cigarette between her teeth, and preen Keigo’s wings for him. Sometimes, it’s a little easier to pretend things are normal.

He’s got new feathers coming in and they itch , new feathers that are larger and stronger than the tiny, baby-down ones he’s had until now. Keigo tries to sit still as his mother combs through his wings, teasing loose feathers into falling away so the new ones have enough space to grow in. She’s not particularly careful about it, her fingers occasionally snagging and catching in them painfully, but he doesn’t dare complain. He can’t reach them well enough to do them on his own, and he’s not good enough with his feathers yet to let them all fall off and go through them himself. The last time he tried that he couldn’t put them back together and he’d cried for three days until they began to grow back in. It had been scary, and not anything he cares to repeat, so he puts up with the feeling of other people touching his wings even though he hates it, impatiently waiting for the day that he’s old enough to preen them on his own without help ever again. He’ll never let anyone touch them when he’s older; his feathers are too sensitive to everything and nobody understands. Mother doesn’t have control over hers like he does, and so she’s not gentle, her own feathers mostly deadened to feeling.

It sometimes hurts to even let them brush along walls if he’s not careful; it’s easy to get overwhelmed in the amount of senses they take in. All the sound vibrations and how oversensitive they are to temperature and contact of any sort- it’s a sharp, constantly throbbing pain when everything becomes too much, like biting hard into an icecube and holding it between his molars until it melts.

He doesn’t have any options but to let his mother help for now, though, until his arms are long enough to reach on his own and his wings are bigger. Keigo’s not even sure that she really knows what she’s doing either; Mother’s wings are ragged and dirty, too bulky to not be a pain and yet not strong enough for her to fly. She says they’re a burden, that they’d made her beautiful once but now she wishes she could just cut them off. Keigo can’t imagine doing the same to his own. His wings keep him safe at night when the darkness crawls in, when he can’t see everything and the shadows are scary. Other times, he can curl them inwards and the feeling of feathers brushing over his face, his arms, his back- it’s reassuring, like gentle hugs and touches from someone who cares when he’s hungry or hurting or sad. It fills a hole  in his chest that he doesn’t have a name for; it’s not like the hunger or the cold. Still, it aches, and there are times he just wants to scream or fight to get the weight of it off his tiny body, but he’s not even sure who he’s angry with or what he’s angry about, or what it is he’s missing, because that’s exactly exactly what it feels like- like he’s missing something and he can’t even place what’s lost.

Someday he’ll figure it out- he’ll figure it all out. And when that day comes he’ll be as far away from here as possible.

There’s three days where Father doesn’t bring anything home. People are already starting to get wary of all the theft in the area and it’s only a matter of time before they’re found out. They need to move again. Keigo’s tired. It’s still cold; colder, even than it was a month ago when they first got here. He shivers fiercely and tries to bundle his wings around himself as tight as he can manage, but there’s no warmth left to save and even his feathers don’t feel comforting against his damp cheeks.

They’re heading out in the morning to find somewhere else to live, another place to hide. The thought of doing so in the snow and cold is a dreadful one. Not for the first time, he wishes they had a place they just belonged and never had to run from. Keigo cries himself to sleep that night and nobody says a word.

They’ve been moved into the new house for almost four weeks when he receives his first gift.

Gift is maybe a strong word for the doll chucked his way by his father, found by the older man in a swindled bag he’d snuck home before examining the rewards of their plunder on the empty living room floor. He grunts irritably upon finding the battered toy, clearly useless and not in good enough condition to sell by any means.

“Here.” It’s all the warning he gives before tugging the doll out of the knapsack and hurling it Keigo’s way, not watching to see whether or not he catches it. His eyes and hands are already in the backpack again by the time Keigo gets his own hands around the offered toy, heart rising in disbelief. It’s a worn out little thing, clearly beloved by someone else before making its way into his ownership through less than kind means. For a flash of an instant, Keigo almost feels a pang of guilt at taking the object from someone else who had clearly loved it so dearly- but he’s never had a toy, a real toy, before, and the sudden, unexpected joy he feels at the notion is unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

He owns something. It’s his and nobody else’s, and that feeling is new.

It suddenly doesn’t matter that the stitching in one of the arms is coming loose and the felt is worn thin in some places. Keigo holds the doll tight to his chest, arms protective, and can feel his wings fluff out behind him.

“Thank you.” He says quietly. Father only grunts dismissively, finally finding a wallet at the bottom of the bag, and quickly thumbing out the small wad of cash inside, pocketing the bills and shaking out the few coins as well. There appears to be nothing else of value in it as he tosses the small pouch to the side and keeps rifling, setting aside a few unopened granola bars and an apple.

Typically, this is when Keigo would choose to sit in a corner and watch in silence, a mere spectator to the display of stolen goods emerging from the bag like new presents in his father’s hands- but today he has a gift of his own and that’s more enthralling. Instead of tucking himself quietly in a corner, he looks down at the doll in his grasp. “Who is it supposed to be?”

He doesn’t expect Father to answer. Most often, Father ignores him entirely except for when he wants him to come with him.

But today his Father must be in a somewhat good mood over the day’s cache, because he glances Keigo’s way with tired, sunken-in eyes that make Keigo cringe just a bit, and uses his quirk to mentally tug the doll out of the boy’s reluctantly relenting arms. The doll drifts closer to the man as he squints, trying to make out the details on the doll’s worn-out features and clothing.

“Looks like Endeavor,” He shrugs after a moment, letting the doll drift back over and dropping it into Keigo’s waiting arms once more. “He’s a pro hero, sure you’ve heard about him.”

He has, in passing. Everyone’s heard of Endeavor. Keigo’s seen pictures of him in old newspapers and, glancing down at the doll he’s holding so carefully, it’s hard to compare the intimidating, enormous man he’s seen to the soft plush he’s holding,- but in this moment Keigo doesn’t care. He fluffs his wings again happily and nuzzles his face briefly into the soft flames stitched onto the top of the hero’s head, the fabric scratching lightly at his nose.

The darkness doesn’t feel quite so intrusive that night, even if it still scares him a little; he keeps his new plush tucked tight under his arm and tells himself he feels a little safer with a hero watching over him while he sleeps. Nothing hurts heroes; they’re invincible, safe,  and even if it’s just a toy, he feels protected with the flame hero defending him. A hero wouldn’t let him go hungry. A hero wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. A hero would be able to keep the potential monsters in the dark at bay.

Keigo keeps his wings curled tight around himself and his new ally, and dreams of what it might be like to be a hero too, untouchable and safe from harm, and standing next to his own hero as they face crime side by side.

It’s the first time in a long while that the little boy falls asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of belonging; of fighting beside a good-hearted, strong hero with a fiery quirk and feeling, for the first night in many, that he’s no longer alone.

Two months after turning five, he meets his hero in person.

He hates that it happens with his father facedown on the concrete between them. They’ve been caught red handed, the stolen bag having fallen from his father’s grip when the flame hero promptly cut his feet out from under him, blocking off the way with a wall of flame that had sent Keigo falling back with a terrified scream, and had Father wheeling around only for an instant before he was being thrown to the ground. Groceries spill out around them all over the pavement, enough to get them through a week without being hungry at least. Keigo can’t even look at it. He’s scooted back as far as he can go against one of the buildings on the left side of the street, Father laid out in front of him, eyes locked on Keigo’s even as he doesn’t bother struggling to get up. One of Endeavor’s heavy boots is planted in his back, the man scowling down at him in anger.

Keigo swears there’s flames in his eyes to match the ones over the rest of him. They’ve been caught. It took months, but even with the moving around, even with them trying to be careful and relying on Keigo’s feathers more and more to avoid being seen, they’d been caught. It seems so unfair, all that effort for nothing, but one look at his downed father is a sharp, hard slap of a reminder: thieves are bad. They are bad. And Keigo can feel his bottom lip and wings begin to tremble as he realizes what happens to bad guys.

No hero’s coming to save them, because they’re the problem.

Keigo’s stomach growls. He doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“Common thieves like you,” Endeavor’s scowl is sharp, his voice scalding and derisive, the man having been saying something to Father for some time now, but Keigo hasn’t been listening, too preoccupied with the way his heart is pounding fast and hard like a hummingbird’s in his ears. “Lack all honour and dignity.”

“We were hungry-” Father protests, almost angrily, but whatever further excuse he’s about to give is abruptly cut short by the flame hero.

“If you resort to stealing from others, you’re the lowest form of scum,” Endeavor spits, Keigo instinctively tightening his wings around himself, “Even basic villains show some form of drive, of self-reliance. There are always other options than theft, and if you’re not willing to seek them out, you’re not making any effort.”

It’s a scathing retort, one Keigo can see Father wilt under, his eyes still snagged on Keigo’s own. There’s something sad and desperate there that Keigo’s either never seen or never noticed before, his own amber eyes welling up without his consent at the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Keigo,” His father says evenly, and the boy starts, unable to recall the last time this man said his name while looking him dead in the face, like he was seen , “Go home.”

Keigo shivers instead, frozen in place under the weight of his father’s gaze and now Endeavor’s also, as though the man’s just noticing him for the first time. His eyes are piercing blue, and they pin Keigo like he’s just an insect on a corkboard, the little boy’s heart rate only accelerating. Keigo frightens under his stare, only pulling farther back.

“Go home,” His father prompts again, more firm this time, though there’s a wobble in his voice that Keigo catches before he can hide it, “Keigo, run- go back to your mother. Get out of here.”

Keigo can’t move. The man’s glare is too much, and he’s not even sure that he’d make it two steps without an enormous hand fisting itself in the back of his shirt. Is he even allowed to run? He’s a thief too, he’s bad too, just like his father. A tear falls free, rolling down his cheek. Its touch is a familiar one.

He doesn’t make excuses. There are none he can think of that the man would accept. He just stares and waits, terrified.

“This is the image you would set for your son?” Endeavor grinds out, the question directed to Keigo’s father, not him. “To see his father as less than nothing? If he doesn’t see you as strong, he’ll grow up to be just as weak, just as lousy. You’ve doomed him.”

“You don’t know that-”

“You’ve never taught him by example to be more than a drag on society.” The man’s words cut, and Keigo can see his father’s shoulders shudder. “What else would he know? What else do you think he’ll be?”

Keigo doesn’t have a chance to cry properly before the hero’s cold eyes are on him again, freezing the blood in his veins. “Since your father’s clearly never taught you anything about character, allow me: if you’re nothing but a thief, you’ll be nothing when you die. Nobody in the world will remember who you were, and you’ll spend your life locked away in a cell. You’ll just be a weak man with no conviction.” He says the last portion like it’s the worst offence of those listed, and Keigo shrinks back. “This,” Endeavor points at his father, “Is pitiful. Don’t let me catch you repeating it, or I’ll haul you in next. I don’t care that you’re a kid.” He narrows his eyes at Keigo’s terrified shivering, and jerks his chin. “Now get out of here. Consider this a warning.”

Despite the lack of room for argument in his tone, Keigo hesitates, wide eyes falling on his father once again. There is no connection between them except that of shared blood, no connection but shared, scant meals crouched in abandoned houses and occasional glances of acknowledgement and a worn-out hero doll that sits in Keigo’s corner back at the house.

His father meets his gaze with eerily similar yellow eyes, and only says one thing.

“Go.”

It’s the last word his father ever says to him as Keigo immediately springs into action and flees, leaving behind all of the food and his father, and a heavy portion of whatever childhood in him remained.

When he tells his mother, she screams.

He remembers that the most vividly, the scream that sounded like absolute agony, like she was in physical pain. The image of her sinking to the floor on weak knees, just screaming and screaming, and eventually the screams evolving into wailing and babbling about what they were going to do, and about how things were never supposed to be like this, and about many more things Keigo can’t make out. He hadn’t known what to do except curl up against his mother’s hunched back, pressing himself into the gap between her much bigger wings and against her protruding spine. It wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but she permitted it in the hours she continued her episode, Keigo too frightened and hungry and tense to do much more than clench his eyes tightly shut and press as close as he was allowed, as the simple contact was something he craved more than some food in his aching stomach. The warmth of another person fought back some of the snaking tendrils of nervousness that were coiling tight in his stomach. He hates when those tendrils come. It’s not too often, but they’ve been growing more regularly, and earlier he could feel them creeping in to tighten around his lungs and crush the breath from them, make him shake in panic and unexplained fear-

But no, the warmth had helped. He focuses on his mother’s shaky breathing and tries to steady his own, even though her back and shoulders jolt unpredictably as she continues to sob. He knows she isn’t truly crying over his father, but rather over something lost. That’s how he feels too; not remorse in losing a parent, but in losing someone when they have so little as it is. Father had been keeping them alive, Keigo knows. They were a unit bound out of means of survival, nothing more, but the loss still hurts and Keigo is really, very afraid of how they are going to eat now that Father is gone .

“We’ll be okay.” He offers, though he’s not sure his mother is even listening. He presses a small hand into her feathers and tries to mimic the preening gestures she’s made before on his wings, just softer. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We’re going to die .” His mother retorts angrily, scathing. Keigo shakes his head, pressing closer.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m not ready for that yet.”

His reassurance doesn’t seem to help as his mother ignores him completely, crying and cursing angrily when she tries to light a cigarette and finds her hands too shaky to do so. Keigo stays quiet in the whole situation, simply staying close  and trying to block out the rest. They’ll find a way to make it through this- they always do.

But that night he has nightmares of blue eyes that haunt him for days, and even though he’d tossed his plushie away in a small fit of nerves when he got home, it eventually reluctantly finds its way back into his arms at night, gripped tightly as they boy stares open-eyed into the darkness.

“I don’t want to be bad,”  He promises quietly, both for himself and anyone who might be listening. Maybe it’s more for the doll he’s holding than anything else. It doesn’t really matter at this point. “I don’t want to be bad. I’ll be better.”

The words fall on deaf and unhearing ears, but they hold a weight and conviction that Keigo carries with him long after.

He holds true to that promise, miraculously. Keigo’s not sure why it’s so important for him to prove, that he can be better than his father, than he can do better than the fallen man who raised him, especially when there’s nobody watching to prove it to but his mother, but he tries nonetheless. Maybe it’s because he can still feel the scalding burn of that hero’s gaze. Maybe it’s because he still looks for him around every corner. Maybe it’s just because for once in his life he’d been looked at and seen , and had someone tell him he could be more than anyone else had let him believe. Whatever the case, he knows he needs to try, and that’s why all of the theft stops the day after his father’s arrest.

Mother won’t go out and do it herself, either too drunk to do so, too deranged, or too inexperienced to do much of anything. Father never took her with him when he went out, and knowing how she can be when she’s relied too heavily on the bottle, Keigo understands why. She’s too brash and loud to be a thief, too clumsy when her hands are as drunk as the rest of her. She’s helpless like this, and Keigo does what he can to provide for them when she can’t do much either.

So he walks back and forth between soup kitchens even though it’s exhausting and hard not to spill, and tries to find odd jobs where he can. Sometimes people will toss him some coins or some food if he helps them carry their groceries, and those are good days. He likes being able to bring Mother back something warm and filling. She’s reluctantly appreciative as well, and it doesn’t take long for their dynamic to shift somewhat to something more mutual. There’s less shouting and more companionable silence, less curt, angry words replaced by gruff near-respect. It’s a transition that Keigo welcomes openly, being treated as an equal and less like a burden. There’s one day that he manages to bring home enough food for them both and still-warm yakitori from a vendor not far from their home, who’d given him the day’s leftovers, and she ruffles his hair in thanks. That simple gesture leaves the boy glowing through their humble meal and long after they’ve licked their fingers clean.

They’re going to make it. Keigo will make sure of that much.

Everything’s fine until he gets sick.

He’d been feeling sluggish and achy for a few days before the fever actually sets in, but when it does, it incapacitates him entirely. His mother finds him curled up on the floor that morning, shaking uncontrollably and near-delirious, weak and trembling, barely able to keep his eyes open. Everything feels like a hazy blur, his head swimming and limbs impossibly heavy.

They don’t have the money for medicine. Keigo knows that much, because he’s been keeping a careful stash hidden away in an old soup can, and even though he’s saved a fair bit since taking over his father’s role as the breadwinner, it’s not enough.

Mother never leaves the house, but that day she does.

At first, Keigo’s certain she’s left him, finally walking away. He’s too weak to protest when he hears the door close, whimpering quietly instead when the pressing amount of silence falls on his shivering shoulders. That ache in him grows so fierce, he doesn’t notice at first when tears begin rolling down his cheeks, instead reaching out a fumbling hand for a ragged plushie, and crushing it as tightly to his chest as he can, whole body rattling as he coughs.

The only clue he has that Mother’s returned is when he feels a roughened hand on his forehead, and a steady stream of cuss words. He’s so surprised, he forces his eyes open, blearily realizing that she’s holding something, face and hands still flushed red from the lingering spring chill.

“Sit up, brat.” She says, but it no longer sounds spiteful. “This’ll be cold soon.”

Keigo struggles to do as he’s told, being passed a spoon when he’s in a semi-upright position. He can’t hold it well enough, though, the utensil shaking violently in his weak grip, and his mother tugs it back out of his hand after a few moments. “Nevermind, you’ll just spill.”

He has no idea what she means and opens his mouth to ask, only to have the spoon shoved into his mouth instead, Keigo startling under the gesture and almost biting down on the metal in surprise.

It’s soup.

The broth is mostly flavourless, but it’s warm and nourishing and Keigo takes all that he can get, his mother giving him spoonful after spoonful. They don’t talk, not even after he’s finished the bowl and she goes to deal with the garbage.

But warm food in his belly isn’t enough. He gets worse.

In the days that follow, Keigo continues to shiver and tremble, his fever only climbing and condition worsening. Again his mother leaves. And again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t ask where she’s going. She returns every night without fail, often smelling like cigarette smoke, alcohol and night air. There are marks on her skin tonight, maybe bruises. He can’t quite tell.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, mouth dry and voice croaking. Mother looks up, and it’s then he realizes how tired she looks, how worn. Still, she shakes her head, tying her hair up and grabbing one of Father’s remaining shirts to shrug on over her own clothes. She’s not dressed warm enough for the weather; Keigo had woken up this morning wrapped in all of Mother’s clothes except the ones she’d been wearing.

“I’m fine, kid.”

She doesn’t sound it, but Keigo knows she’d never admit otherwise. She’s far too stubborn for that.

Mother has a bag with her that Keigo didn’t notice before. It’s small, too small to be groceries, and his heart sinks, but he’s still attentive as she shuffles over to where he’s huddled and sits on the floor beside him. Keigo’s eyes shutter closed, only to fly open again when Mother shoulders him into a weak sitting position, braced against one of her arms as she holds him upright in an almost-hug. She pulls something out of the bag, and Keigo protests weakly.

“We didn’t have ‘nough money for medicine.”

“Yes we did. Don’t worry about it.”

Mother pours the amber liquid from the bottle without missing a drop. If there’s anything Mother’s hands have ever been steady on, it’s a bottle. The spoonful of bitter medicine makes its way into Keigo’s mouth and he gags at the taste, but manages to keep it down.

Some part of him had whimsically hoped that he’d magically start feeling better the instant the syrup ran down his throat, but that proves not to be the case as the boy lets head droop tiredly, feverish and aching. He whimpers without meaning too, only to be surprised when Mother awkwardly places the bottle at her side and screws the cap on one-handed, before pulling him closer. Keigo ends up in her lap and curled against her chest, both of her thin arms around him. He shivers into her, can feel himself shaking and Mother trying to hold him though she’s inexperienced with the gesture. Eventually, she curls her wings around them both as well, tawny, rust-red feathers surrounding them comfortingly. Hers aren’t as bright of red as Keigo’s are, but the sight of them, large and full and protective is enough to put the boy at ease, looking up with feverish eyes and imagining for just an instant that his wings could ever be so big.

“Hold on, kid.” Mother mutters, sounding a little afraid. At least, Keigo doesn’t think he’s imagining the shakiness of her voice. “You said you weren’t ready to die on me yet.”

He’s not, he’s not, he’s not- and he tries to say it, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

The boy falls into a troubled sleep, and dreams of nothing for the first night in many.

Keigo heals. It’s a slow recovery, but he gradually regains his health as the days pass and strength slowly returns to his tiny body. His wings get their lustre back, his eyes lose their dullness, and when he finally makes his way back onto the street again, it’s a well-needed breath of fresh air. Maybe it’s his bird genetics, but Keigo has never enjoyed being cooped anywhere, and while it’s been hard to count, he guesses he’s been in the house for near to three weeks, maybe more. Mother’s been making all of their runs for supplies over this time, and it’s not something they discuss, but something Keigo appreciates. He might almost be proud of her, but he doesn’t say it. She doesn’t want the praise.

She’s still sleeping this morning. Keigo headed out early enough that the streets are still mostly quiet, but they’ll be getting busy soon. He’s missed the sound of traffic, of cars and people talking, and just noise in general that isn’t his own laboured breathing, or his mother cussing from the other end of the room. He’s missed the sounds of the city coming to life.

The boy perches up on a low wall, using his wings for balance. It gives him a fair enough view of the nearby streets without being up too high; short enough to climb, but tall enough to be worth it. If he were brave enough, he could fly up to any of the higher perches in the city and really have a vantage point, but heights terrify him and even if they didn’t, he’d never learned to fly. Mother didn’t know how, and even trying to teach himself, he’d only managed to get a few feet off the ground before seizing with panic and tumbling back down.

This is a nice spot though, easy enough to get to, and not high enough to really be scary. Sometimes the pigeons will perch there with him and keep him company, observing his larger wings with great confusion, but for the most part leaving him alone. He wonders if they’ll join him today.

He sits there for maybe an hour before the accident happens.

It’s all sudden, occurring in barely the time it takes to blink. Keigo’s made more aware of it by the sound than anything, tires screeching, people screaming, metal crunching in a sickening way that turns his stomach before he can even see what’s happened.

He jumps off the wall.

To be fair, he’s not thinking about it, and the movement he makes barely counts as flying. If anything, Keigo glides down to the scene, heart in his throat, though it’s no longer because of the height. In an act of control he’d be very proud of later, the boy sends a number of his feathers out to pull people from both vehicles, trying to get them to safety. The collision was in a high-traffic area, and somewhat hidden around a corner from oncoming vehicles. It’s not safe for pedestrians to be running out to help, and if another vehicle comes around the bend to hit one of the ones in the roadway, those people aren’t going to make it.

Keigo swoops in, angles himself at one of the buildings along the street and lands clumsily, unused to having to do so, before putting all his concentration into directing his feathers. Unbuckling seatbelts is a bit of a challenge when he has minimal visibility, but after a few terrifying seconds, he has everyone out and safely on the opposite sidewalk, where a group of pedestrians have gathered and crowd to help.

The effort leaves him with a splitting headache and a rolling stomach, but he smiles shakily when the deed is done. He’d acted like a hero- like a better person than a thief, just like Endeavor had wanted.

He allows himself a moment to be proud before someone points up at the roof of the building he’s standing on, and his heart sinks hard and fast. There’s three official-looking people standing on the sidewalk directly below him, staring straight up. One woman takes off her sunglasses and uses her hand as a visor to see him better.

Oh.

He probably wasn’t supposed to use his quirk like that.

Panic floods the young boy as he quickly flees, finding the fire escape down from the roof and racing through the streets to head home. He doesn’t even bother calling his feathers back to him, just leaves them there with the pedestrians and runs as fast as he can manage. He doesn’t want to be in trouble. He doesn’t want to be bad, he really doesn’t. He was just trying to help.

It only takes them a day for the officials to find him.

At first they only talk with Mother. Keigo can’t hear what it is that they’re saying, but Mother doesn’t look happy, her lips pursed. He thinks they’re arguing for a long while, and it scares him at first, because he’s certain that he’s going to be in trouble for using his quirk to save those people the day before.

They talk for a long time. And eventually, all the talking ends when Mother looks at him, frowns hard, and then sighs, nodding. He’s not sure what it means, but that’s when the woman official from yesterday walks over, her stiletto heels clicking too loudly on the floor, and crouches in front of him.

“Get up, boy.”

They talk to him instead.

They say they’re from a group called the Hero Public Safety Commission. They say they can make him a hero.

They say he’ll have a room to himself and enough food to eat, and they tell him Mother will be taken care of too.

It’s a dream come true, almost too good to believe. Keigo looks at Mother, but she’s not looking at him anymore, staring blankly at the wall instead, which means it’s up to him to nod on his own and take the strange woman’s hand.

The next few minutes are all a blur. When the tallest man pulls a stack of papers from his briefcase and asks them both to sign, Keigo watches one of the officials run the pen on a line, then his mother, and when the fancy pen is passed to him, heavy in his tiny hands, he takes a second to stare at it for how nice it is before putting it on the paper.

And like they did, he scribbles a little on the line before reluctantly handing the pen back, because it really is quite nice. He hopes his scribble is nice too, because he knows it’s not as pretty as the fancy, loopy one that the official left, but he tried to add a few shaky circles to make his match.

“Best of luck,” His mother says afterward, having helped pack up all of his few belongings in a grocery bag and lighting a cigarette. “The kid won’t fly. We’ve tried everything.”

“Not everything.” One of the officials argues, putting the paperwork in his briefcase instead. “Leave that to us.”

The tall official takes his grocery bag. Keigo hugs his Endeavor doll. Mother hesitates for a second, and then ruffles his hair, her roughened hand lingering on his cheek. Keigo blinks in surprise.

“Be good for them, brat.” She says, though it almost sounds fond. Keigo nods, offering a very small smile. He’s only ever wanted to be good, and now he’s going to be a hero. He can help save his mother. He’s going to prove to Endeavor that he can be good too, and fight villains just like him. He’s going to do his best.

Those are the thoughts he has as they’re driving away, Mother’s figure becoming more and more impossible to see out the back window of the car as his home gets further out of view. Things will be better now. He’ll make them better.

The boy smiles.

They do not let him keep his Endeavor doll. They do not let him keep his name. They give him a new one and do not let him respond to anything else. He is Hawks now. He hates blindfolds. He is more scared of the dark than he was before, but he is not allowed to say so.

He can fly. He doesn’t dare not fly anymore, not after last time.

The days pass, and all traces of Keigo pass with them.

“Takami Keigo doesn’t exist here- you left him behind. You’re Hawks now. Do you understand me, boy?”

“I understand.”

No he doesn’t. He doesn’t know why they won’t let him use his name. It’s been three years, he said it by accident when one of the other trainees in the cafeteria asked him his name, and it had appalled him how foreign it sounded coming from his mouth. He hates it here, hates it so much it hurts. Apparently it shows in his voice.

“Lose the attitude, no more of this nonsense. We’ve trained you with better manners than this.” Hawks bites the inside of his cheek so hard in an attempt to keep his expression neutral, that he tastes blood. He doesn’t flinch, knowing that there are repercussions for such a thing. “Try again.”

“I understand what you’ve said, and I apologize for defying your orders. Please forgive me.”

He tacks the last part on in an attempt to lessen any punishment he might receive coming out of this chat. The last time he forgot to ask for forgiveness of his actions, he was forced to wear his blindfold for a week, and they’d taken away all of his primary feathers. He’d been reduced to sensing his surroundings whatever feathers remained: the smaller secondaries and tiny fluffy ones that were much less effective for determining where walls were and how to avoid bumping into things.

“Your apology is acknowledged.” That’s a good sign. It’s not a promise of anything, but it’s good, he made a good call, he thinks. “Now tell me, child, what is your name?”

“I am Hawks.” He responds obediently.

“Say it again.”

“I am Hawks.” His Handler’s face twists into an annoyed scowl.

“With conviction, boy, or don’t bother saying it at all.”

A misstep. A twinge of nervousness pinches in his spine at the woman’s tone. He tries to reroute in a way that will appease her, adjusting his tone and body posture to look and sound more resolute.

“My name is Hawks,” He repeats, meeting her eyes. “Takami Keigo is dead.”

The woman clicks her tongue, but it doesn’t seem to be in annoyance. Hawks studies her face, notices that the tension around her eyebrows has relaxed, even if much of her face hasn’t changed. Another good move on his part, then. He’s been working more on reading body language recently and using it to manipulate his actions around others. His Handlers have said that he’s very proficient with it.

“That’s right.” She agrees, steepling her fingers. “I don’t want to have this conversation again; I’m sure this is the last time you’ll disappoint us with this kind of immature setback, correct? Or do you not want to be a hero?”

The correctional remark stings, but Hawks tries to accept it without letting his hurt show. He thinks of Mother, how gaunt and hollow she’d been the last time he saw her four months ago. Despite the Commission saying they would put her into a better rehabilitation facility if he could just reach the outcomes they’d set for him last year, it seems like she’s only getting worse. They’ve promised a personal doctor for her if he can beat all of his current times in each of his training modules by March, but he doesn’t know how he’ll get it done in only six weeks. Still, he’s beaten two of his records so far, and he can’t stop now. He has to be better, has to save her.

A coil of nervousness spikes in his stomach, and Hawks tries to quell it before it can get any worse. His Handler will hate it if he has one of his episodes right now on top of everything else. That would earn him a severe punishment for sure, and any kind of setback on his progress at the moment would be devastating. If they blindfold him again- there’s no way he’ll beat his records with that kind of hindrance. He won’t manage it.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” He guarantees, ducking his head respectfully and letting his wings droop in apology for good measure. His Handler buys it, gives a short huff through her nose and crosses her arms, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t let us down.”

When he’s fourteen, they tell him that his mother is missing. Just up and disappeared, that she must’ve realized the treatments weren’t working and took herself back to the streets. Hawks doesn’t know if they’re telling the truth or if they just got tired of housing her and dealt with it in one of two ways.

He never asks about it. He knows she’s gone either regardless.

It should hurt, probably, but he’s trained himself to be numb. The numbness protects him, it keeps him safe. Nothing hurts him anymore. At the very least, he tells himself that it’s one less way the Commission has any kind of leverage on him. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s pushed himself to the brink to provide for his mother. Now that she’s gone, it’s one less trouble on his plate.

His new Handler, Toshiaki, agrees with him.

“Having love for things is a shackle,” He tells the boy shortly thereafter, making notes about Hawks’ performance on his clipboard. The lesson is one he’s learned before, mentioned many a time although for whatever reason it seems to resonate stronger now. “It’s good you’re learning that young. Most people forget that, and it leaves them with a major weakness.” His grey eyes meet Hawks’ over the board, pencil halting. “Think of all the things your past Handlers made you accomplish for your mother’s sake. Think of the lengths you were willing to go to. They could’ve asked you to do anything, and you would’ve done it for her.”

“Mother and I didn’t love each other.” Hawks states, the comment simply a factual one, “We weren’t family.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Toshiaki replies, “Think of how dangerous love must be, then. Love, family- you’re very lucky to not have weak links like that. It’ll make it harder for people to target you.”

“What do you mean?” Hawks asks, blinking.

Toshiaki’s smile is cold. He drops the clipboard to his side.

“If you ever want to break a man, Hawks,” He tells him easily, “You don’t break his back or his legs. You break what he cares most about.” His Handler beckons for Hawks to follow him, the teen going obediently despite having no idea where they’re going or what will happen when they get there. “Keep that in mind.”

“Yes sir.”

He’s fifteen when he sees Endeavor again. The man passes him at a Commission-held event and locks eyes with him, but doesn’t say a word. He keeps walking like Hawks isn’t worth the time it would take to say hello.

He isn’t yet. But he will be someday.

Endeavor’s the reason the Commission had an eye out for him in the first place. He knows that now. They’d been watching for the boy with wings since the day his father was taken and Endeavor had mentioned him in his report.

Without him, he wouldn’t be here.

‘I’m going to build myself up just like you did. I’m going to make something of myself that will be worth your notice, just watch me. I’ll become a hero you’ll be proud to know.’

It’s an interaction that fuels him for months afterward, and one he never quite forgets.

They tell him to train harder. He doesn’t say no.

They tell him to pull the trigger. He doesn’t say no.

They tell him to infiltrate the League of Villains and Hawks says yes because saying no has never been an option.

He’ll corrupt himself before failing this mission. He’ll corrupt himself before letting anyone else come in harm’s way.

If there’s anything Hawks knows and understands well, it’s self sacrifice. It’s what his whole life has been built around.

And as much as he jokes about it, he’s never been good at taking what he wants.

After all, thieves are bad.

He could die here.

That’s his first thought as he stands at the opposite end of the boat dock, dark water quietly lapping at the wooden posts sunk deep into the sand below, the only sound between the two men as  they regard one another in silence.

The villain looks like he’s been born out of the shadows, falling in and out of vision against the blackened sky and waters, only becoming more visible when the fog begins rolling in over the ocean and towards the mainland. His eyes are piercing, pinning Hawks on the spot in a way that seems almost eerily familiar, like a scratch of deja vu that Hawks can’t trace, opting to dismiss as nerves. His stare is curious, not concerned in the slightest- he’s not afraid of Hawks, not afraid of the fact that there’s a high-ranking pro hero standing one hundred metres away from him with a feather blade in either hand and his own speculative eyes flagging him down.

In fact, of all things, the fire-user in question smirks, nonchalantly taking a drag of the cigarette in his left hand and blowing the smoke in Hawks’ direction, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well, well, well- someone’s strayed a little too far from their nest, little bird.” His eyes sharpen, noticeable even across the distance between them. “You’re in the wrong fucking part of town, hero.”

A thrill of fear or excitement goes down the hero’s spine- he’s not sure which, and he can’t help but rise to the challenge, smiling back.

“Actually, I think I’m right where I want to be.”

The arsonist scowls, dropping his cigarette to the deck and stomping it out under a heavy combat boot.

“You are if you’re looking to be roasted alive, Pigeon.”

“Maybe later.” Hawks takes a chance and walks closer, the villain’s blue gaze narrowing as he approaches, one hand coming up in warning. “Calm down, it’s not like you don’t have the upper hand here anyway. What harm will hearing me out do?” The hero sheaths his feathers and puts his own hands up, cocking his head. “I have a proposition for you, Dabi .”

The hero’s eyes fly open as he takes a ragged, lurching breath, unaware that they’d even been closed in the first place. His hands are clenched into tight, clammy fists that hurt to release, his wings are trembling, and he can hear himself gasping as he tries to regain some semblance of a normal breathing pattern, Endeavor eyeing him skeptically all the while. His gaze is like an iron weight on Keigo’s spine, crushing the smaller hero like a pitiful bug after this display, clearly unimpressed. Keigo understands now why Dabi’s stare had been so familiar that day on the docks- even before he knew anything, it was the same look he’d received from the pro hero the day his father was taken, and it’s the same look he’s receiving now. Endeavor towers like an oppressive figure even while sitting down, and it takes all of Keigo’s willpower to not shrink back from him while he tries to piece himself back together breath by breath, fighting hard to drag himself out of the wrenching grip of one of his anxious episodes.

Fuck, he wasn’t ready to look back on all of that. Glossing over it for the League had been difficult enough as it was, possibly the event that had caused the fractures and cracks in his resolve that had led to his episode now, but breaking down so many doors at once that had remained locked for so long... Okay, shit, he needs to focus but there’s too much going on in his head right now, and everything feels like too much, and the lights are too bright he left the windows open it’s too much and Endeavor is saying something but he can’t hear him why didn’t he close the curtains he feels like he’s spinning damn it why can’t he breathe-

Someone’s stroking his feathers.

Keigo shudders hard and latches onto the sensation like a lifeline, focusing on this one thing and forcing the rest of the world to fall quiet around him. A second later he realizes that his assumption was wrong, senses overwhelmed and making the feeling seem more intense than it is. There are no hands on his wings. However, there is one person in this city who has one of his feathers and is holding it right now, fingertips running over the barbs. The warmth and contact is instantly sobering, and Keigo drowns in it, keeps his hands braced on his desk as he tries to steady himself against the tides that are his nerves, threatening to pull him under again.

“None of that,” He can almost hear the arsonist in his thoughts, word for word in that peculiar, rough tone of his. “ Come on, Pigeon, it’s alright.”

It helps. When Keigo takes in another lungful of air, it doesn’t feel concentrated with shards of glass. The next is easier too, still shaky, but becoming gradually steadier.

‘You’ve got damn good timing, sweetheart.’

Keigo’s not sure what inspired Dabi to pick up one of his feathers, but as long as he’s not burning it like the signal they agreed upon, the winged man’s in no position to question it. Eventually the world comes back into focus again, Endeavor’s voice becoming a greater priority than what his feather is sensing, the latter falling into the back part of his mind while he tries to concentrate on the other hero in front of him. By the looks of things he’s been in a rant for a while now, Keigo only catching on partway through, still trying to level his breathing, but beginning to calm down nonetheless. His heart is still jackhammering, his skin feels uncomfortably clammy with cold sweat, and everything still seems just a little too bright and loud to take in properly, but he can manage it.

“-oes can’t allow themselves to fall apart like this. You’re talking about training my son, and yet you don’t even have enough discipline in your own training to keep your emotions in check. I would’ve thought that the Commission had done a better job with you than this.”

“Believe me, they tried.” Keigo croaks, looking up with a livid glare, now annoyed at not only the trigger the pro set off, but also how he’s handling it. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“And you’re weak. I want the best for my son.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Keigo spits back sarcastically, almost reveling in the shadow of anger that darkens the other hero’s face.

This argument has been a long time coming, and Keigo has no intention of holding back- especially not after the events that have transpired in the last few minutes.

“So immature,” Endeavor snarls, “The fact that you’re even in the Number Two position is beyond me. It’s not a spot you deserve.”

“Oh, and doesn’t that just piss you right off,” Keigo laughs humourlessly. He smiles, and it’s cold, it’s all cold, though the steadily building rage in his chest is nothing but fire. “That an upstart kid with no motivation took your number two spot in four years when it took you twenty to climb there in the first place.”

That’s angered him for sure. Keigo can see the red flush climbing the other man’s neck like a staircase, a vein in his throat becoming increasingly prominent. In the past, the winged man had drawn conclusions of similarity between the other pro and his two sons that Keigo was familiar with- but in this moment, they couldn’t look more different.

Enji Todoroki might share Dabi’s eyes and Shouto’s frown, but they do not share his anger. Their faces, their expressions couldn’t possibly be more different.

“You won’t keep it long,” Endeavor announces harshly, “Not when Shouto graduates. That ego of yours could afford being taken down a few pegs.”

“Likewise,” Keigo snaps, “And I look forward to the day it happens. Maybe that Midoriya kid could teach you a thing or two when he steals your spot- Shouto seems to think he’s got a lot of promise.”

He’s pressing all the right buttons today. Endeavor rises to his feet at the slight, shaking Keigo’s desk as he uses it to leverage himself upright. He throws a finger in the winged hero’s face, pointing at him like a disciplined child.

“That boy has no chance against my son. Shouto was raised to succeed in this field, he won’t fall short of first!”

Keigo’s anger cramps in his chest, twisting almost painfully, the hero biting his tongue to just barely keep himself in check. He stands as well, shoulders stiff, movements slow and rusted with rage.

“That’s all he was raised for,” Keigo points out sharply, “A fucking lamb to slaughter. You would have driven him into the ground if it meant getting your way, regardless of consequence.”

The other hero’s expression only sours further, rankled and furious.

“What are you going on about? I’ve done what I can to provide him the most secure future I can offer. I’ve provided him with more than most parents could. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my son’s future after putting so much commitment into ensuring it.”

Typical of this man to leisurely discuss the wellbeing of his kid like some kind of investment and nothing more. Keigo’s next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, heated and reckless.

“Funny, where was that logic last week when you almost killed-”

‘Fuck-’

That was too much, too passionate in the moment and said without enough thought- and Keigo can tell the instant he cuts himself off that he’s slipped up. He knows it the second the words are out of his mouth, but there’s nothing he can do to take them back. It’s all Keigo can do to simply stop mid-sentence and not go far enough to clap a hand over his mouth also, appalled at himself for the truth he’s partially spilled.

So much for eighteen years of training ridicule. 

‘If you come after him now because of this, I swear-’

Keigo goes to meet Endeavor’s gaze, hands clenched into tight fists, shoulders even more tense- 

And that’s when he notices something.

His training may have apparently failed in teaching the young hero to keep a stronger hold on his tongue, but it’s definitely taught him to know the difference between a person looking stunned or shocked and a person looking alarmed. After all, reading people has always been one of his greatest strengths.

However, it wouldn’t take a government-trained operative to take one look at Enji Todoroki and know he doesn’t look horrified or stunned. He looks shocked, yes, but also nervous .  It’s enough to throw Keigo for a loop until Endeavor doesn’t say a word, and-

And the winged hero’s blood goes cold.

“You son of a bitch ,” Keigo accuses slowly, tone so quiet it’s almost inaudible, “You already knew.”

Endeavor stays silent, just staring at him with those bright blue eyes that are far too familiar to belong in the face of a man he despises so strongly. They’re locked in an impasse, two men with a lit bomb sitting between them that neither of them are making any attempt to diffuse. 

Keigo’s stopped seeing fire as a threat a long time ago, and he doesn’t hesitate in fanning the flames, temper surging. “Are you kidding me?! You knew that was your son, you knew who he was and you just- you-” He lets out an enraged hiss, wings bristling, “You wanted Shouto in there! You wanted him to be there for that shit, knowing exactly who you would’ve been pitting him against!”

“A hero can’t let things become personal-”

“He’s not a hero!” Keigo snaps, slamming a fist down on the top of his desk. The pencils in one of the cups there rattle violently as he does so, near to tipping over. “He’s a fucking kid, Enji! He’s sixteen years old for God’s sake, the last thing he needs to be doing is helping his father beat the shit out of his own brother- ”

“ Don’t call him that! ”

It’s the first time in the whole argument that Enji Todoroki shouts, shouts with rage in his eyes and embers burning past his irises, the man towering at his full height and standing over Keigo like he means to intimidate him into the floor. It’s the first time Keigo’s ever seen him drop his pretenses this much, be this volatile without reining himself in. It’s the first time he understands even a sliver of what it would’ve been like to be on the receiving end of this man’s violent anger, and it’s in the memory of a red-haired boy who never got the chance to defend himself that Keigo stands up straighter, grits his teeth, and meets that smoldering gaze without fear as the man continues to rage. “That- monster isn’t family to him. That’s not his brother, and it’s sure as hell not my son.” Enji shakes his head, and for a moment Keigo can see genuine remorse in him, a brief flash like a passing glare of light. “Touya is dead, Hawks. Look at it however you want, but I lost a son- and you have no idea what that’s like.” Endeavor’s voice takes on a harsh tone, but his eyes become downcast, head sinking slightly. It’s grief, Keigo realizes. Maybe shame, but he doesn’t have the time to mull it over. “I raised that boy. He was the first of my children that I ever held, the first I ever called myself a father to. I named him, I watched him learn to walk, I was there when his quirk manifested. He was so weak,” Here Enji scowls, and Keigo would interject if he weren’t somewhat morbidly curious to finally get the full story from Endeavor himself. “Born with fire greater than mine and a body that couldn’t handle it. He needed to become physically  stronger, or those flames would eat him alive. I started training him young, trying to push his limitations and increase his threshold for power and control early. There wasn’t time to be soft with him, and Touya was already too soft as it was. All that power, and he had no ambition for it, no drive to learn to harness it. Fighting never came naturally to him, especially after my wife taught him to read. He was her favourite and they were so alike. Too alike. But Touya wasn’t born with a quirk that would allow him to be gentle, even if he wanted to be.” The man swallows hard, tilting his head, “It was only going to get stronger as he got older, and he needed to learn to live with it and use it; that fire had taken such a toll on his body even as a child, he never would’ve made it to adulthood otherwise.”

Fuck, it’s so hard to listen and not lose his shit entirely. Endeavor’s explaining this like the ends justified the means, like everything was done with good intentions, but Keigo’s heard too much to fall for it now. It’s hard to tell whether or not the other hero genuinely believed the whole time that he was doing either of his sons a favour, or if this is some kind of warped truth he’s managed to convince himself of to ease the guilt of the past, but Keigo can’t swallow sugar-glossed recollections when he’s seen the bitter stains this man’s actions have left on the two people he considers most important to himself in this world. Once upon a time, he might’ve at least believed him in his explanations around his oldest son. Before meeting Dabi, before knowing the true background of everything from him and Shouto, he would’ve taken the word of his hero without thinking twice.

But the fact is that intention doesn’t matter now, because he’s been there to see the scars left on the two Todoroki brothers that go far beyond the physical ones they both bear as monuments to this man. He’s shouldered that pain with them every time his eyes are opened once again to how much they’ve both been affected by their experiences in that house. Saying he was trying to help Touya become stronger doesn’t align with the fact that his eldest son, now in his twenties, can’t handle so many everyday things that have become associated with danger and threat because of him. Those little habits and awarenesses have become an integrated part of Keigo’s life by now as well, and the more pieces of the story that he uncovers, the more of them click into place and make sense.

You had to make him stronger because he couldn’t afford to be gentle?

Sunlight in the kitchen. There’s a mug in his hand that’s far too full of sugar, and laughter in the air that’s still sweeter. Someone else’s hands have preened through his feathers and it didn’t hurt, because with him it never does. That goes for more than his wings, really. Keigo’s spent so many nights under those hands, has memorized the planes of his body more through another’s palms than he has through his own observation, and not once have they left so much as bruises in their wake. Keigo knows how it feels to kiss every single one of this man’s knuckles, how they feel in turn scaling over the ladder-rungs of his ribs, the ridges of his hipbones, tracing the line of his jaw and sweeping softly over his cheeks-

He can’t straighten two of the fingers on his right hand because of you.

They were broken during a training exercise when he was ten, his ring and middle finger which have remained somewhat crooked ever since. Enji had made him continue fighting with them broken for another few hours before ending the session, and by then the damage had worsened.

He can’t hear doors slam because of you- he can’t leave his hair red because of you.

He can’t cry because of you.

He can’t sleep at night because of you.

He can’t remember his mother because of you.

Keigo remembers scared eyes when the arsonist had thought he was turning him away, how he’d trembled in his arms that day when he realized Keigo wasn’t letting him go, how badly he’d struggled with himself to explain how three simple words are debilitating in a way he can’t shrug.  It breaks Keigo’s heart in a million different ways.

He can’t tell me he loves me because of you.

“Just because you want to justify it doesn’t excuse the shit you put those kids through.” Keigo renounces coldly, frigid and unyielding, and raw. “They suffered in silence for years because of your agenda and a number two spot on a damned ranking board that just wasn’t good enough.”

You’re right, Enji Todoroki, I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child. But you have no idea what it’s like to wholeheartedly want someone who’s so starved for love they can barely stomach the taste of it.

God, he deserves so much more than that.

“ They were born to be the best,” Endeavor argues, Keigo unsure what point, exactly, he’s even arguing anymore. “They were both destined with the potential to be the greatest. I failed Touya; you can’t make a strong blade with soft steel, and I let him be too soft. He was too emotional- that night, the fire… It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let his emotions get the best of him. He went out of control, let everything become too personal.”

“It was personal.” Keigo snaps, “How could it not have been?”

“I need to do better with Shouto,” Endeavor continues, as though Keigo hadn’t interjected at all. “He’s the one who told you all of this, didn’t he? I’m not surprised he figured out the connection as well. How long have you known?”

The winged hero’s eyes narrow, and Endeavor answers for him before he can say anything. “That patrol- that was it, wasn’t it? The first patrol you joined us for during the summer. We ran into a few members of the League then. You were there for that incident; I always wondered if Shouto had recognized him then just as I did.”

He’s known since July. Oh my God.

Endeavor had been so pale coming out of that fight, Keigo had commented on him looking like he’d seen a ghost. It was that event that had led to his talk with Shouto and both Enji and Dabi avoiding him for two weeks straight, neither of them getting in contact. That had been the turning point for everything simultaneously falling apart and coming back together. That had been the moment that everything had changed.

And Endeavor had known this whole time.

Keigo feels like he’s going to be sick.

“How much did he tell you?” The man’s voice is curious, but not overly alarmed. There’s maybe a small hint of nervousness there, but not enough to be anything of weight. It only suffices to piss the smaller hero off even more.

“Everything.” Keigo grinds out, the taste in his mouth sour like bile, “He told me everything. All of it. Everything you did, everything that happened-”

“And you’ve been keeping an eye on me since.” Endeavor cuts him off speculatively, Keigo looking up sharply. “Did you think I didn’t notice? You stayed glued to us on patrols after that, always finding an excuse to be there. I knew you were trying to get closer to Shouto, I just didn’t understand why. I had a few suspicions after the mentorship offer came up, but I held my tongue, assuming it would be over before I’d have to do anything about it- but now,” He levels Keigo with a strong glare that the winged hero matches, ember for burning ember, “It all makes sense.”

Keigo doesn’t say a word, just waits for the other man to make his move, imaginary hackles raised. They’re in dangerous territory now; the winged hero can feel how the atmosphere of the conversation has shifted. This is a talk neither one of them ever expected to be having, least of all with each other, and Keigo’s suddenly realizing he has no idea what to expect from the hero standing in front of him now that all these secrets are laid out on the table.

Finally, the older man huffs, then sighs, looking down. His voice is gruff but honest when he continues.

“We all grieved for Touya after the accident. Whatever happened to him, it wasn’t intentional. When that fire broke out, I ran to save the other children because I had assumed he’d be fine once he got his flames under control, but the other three would’ve died if I hadn’t gone for them. I had no idea that his quirk would turn against him as badly as it did; we’d never seen it go to that extent before.” His eyes meet Keigo’s again, not looking for understanding, simply looking. “When they couldn’t find him or a body afterwards, they told us his quirk had probably burned him up entirely, cremated him alive until there was nothing left to find, and it seemed the most plausible answer at the time. The urn we have for him is filled with ashes from the house because we didn’t have anything else to hold onto.”

That bile’s creeping back up Keigo’s throat again, and he swallows hard to keep it down, trying and failing to not link this story with Dabi’s own, knowing full well what the actual case had been. “He’s been gone for years, Hawks. We’ve all said our goodbyes and accepted him as dead. Shouto’s accepted this,” He adds, as if to drive the point home, “This… Dabi isn’t his brother. He’s a villain, that’s all there is now. He can’t be blind to that. As soon as he starts seeing him as otherwise, everything he’s worked for will begin to fall apart. He can’t let it become personal, and I can’t fail him like I did Touya. He needs to learn to handle situations like these without getting emotionally involved, or it will ruin him. He has too much power to lose himself like that.”

Endeavor shakes his head, flexing his hands. Keigo notices the gesture, notices the latticework of scars across his skin. He wonders if either one of the Todoroki boys have ever had those patterns of raised tissue memorized, knowing what their fathers’ fists looked like better than their own.

“No son of mine would fall into villainy like that,” The larger man is saying, but Keigo feels like his head is swimming, hard to focus. “I raised him to be so much more than a monster; if this is what he’s chosen to become, he’s no longer a son of mine and he’s no brother to Shouto. He’s just another villain, and that’s all he’ll ever be.”

“You could’ve killed him.” Keigo says hoarsely. “I’ve seen the footage.”

“It’s my fault that he was brought into this world,” The other man replies, “If it’s my responsibility to take him back out of it, then so be it.”

This time, Keigo almost dry-heaves, bracing either hand on his desk and breathing in slowly to settle his rolling stomach. Holy shit. Holy shit , he can’t believe they’re discussing this so casually. In his peripheral, he can see Endeavor crossing his arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a conscience now, Hawks. I’ve seen your own record on file, and it’s nothing to brag about either.”

There are deaths in his book, yes. Commission-ordered killings that he’s mostly blocked out by now, walls built up around those memories to keep them firmly out. They’d all happened in his teen years when the leash around his throat was still so much tighter than it is now, and the Commission had been keen to test out their new toy. He’d been tasked with assassinations on a few accounts before ever getting out of that building, before his career had actually taken off.

They’d been testing him, Keigo knows. That was the only point of it, seeing how far they could push him morally and he’d still comply. They wanted to know what lengths he’d be willing to go to follow through with orders, what they could convince him to do. He hadn’t had an assassination charge since he was eighteen, a fact that he’s insanely relieved by because it’s something he doesn’t like to think of to begin with, remembering the blood on his hands and painted in his ledger, but it also sickens him to know they haven’t charged him with something like that since, because they don’t feel the need to test him anymore. They know what he’ll do. They know what he’s proven he’ll do. And he knows that’s exactly why he got put on the mission with the League; not just because he was trained in espionage, but because they had no doubt he’d sink a knife in the back of anyone who might jeopardize such a tentative mission, and wouldn’t hesitate to make that call if it came down to that or failing.

He remembers the conversation he had with the panel that day they were discussing the League, when Keigo had mentioned putting a team together to counter the villains, should the need ever arise. They’d given him casual clearance on the spot to take out Twice, Dabi, and Shigaraki all on the spot. Never doubting his loyalty, they’d believed without question that he’d kill any one of them to see this job done. There’s a good chance he would’ve. If things hadn’t gone differently, if it hadn’t been through his immersion into the League that he began developing his own sense of self over the last few months, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Would he have regretted it? Yes. Would he have hated every minute of it both before and after? Absolutely. But it wouldn’t have stopped him, because his fear of failure and repercussion was so much stronger than his fear of damnation at that point, that breaking orders felt like more of a cardinal sin than killing.

Commission word was gospel. At least, it used to be. He’s found restored faith elsewhere, now, but that doesn’t erase the demons of the past, no matter how hard he tries to block them out entirely.

He’s not like that anymore. At least, he’s trying hard not to be. But he’s not sure what it says that allying himself with a ragtag team of villains is what gave him a new sense of morality and drive to do the right thing.

“Maybe we’re all monsters, then.” Keigo says roughly, meeting Endeavor’s eye unwaveringly. “I’ve definitely earned that title, and believe me, I’ve lived through enough hell to feel at home there if that’s where I’m headed.” The winged hero grits his teeth and crosses his own arms, drawing himself up to his full height, though it doesn’t amount to much. “I have developed a conscience, though. Say what you want about it, but there’s so much I regret- I’m twenty-three years old and the list of things I’ve learned and now resent are longer than the list I appreciate. I’ve got a lot of people to thank for both sides of that. The point is, though, that I may be a monster, and I have done terrible, unforgivable things in the name of being a hero,” Keigo admits this openly, the confession hurting far less than he’d been expecting. Maybe it’s because he’s beginning to come to terms with the fact that just because this is who he was trained to be doesn’t mean he can’t be anything else. Maybe it’s because he’s grown so much over the last year. Or maybe, it’s simply because he’s beginning to understand that there’s more to him than Hawks, winged hero and Commission prodigy, the man with broken morals and a deeply coded nature to please and value the desires of others over his own..

Maybe it’s because he’s begun seeing himself as Keigo Takami instead. “But there’s nobody better to teach someone to be a good hero than someone who hasn’t been. Because I’ll tell you something; I was trained to kill my emotions too, to only run on practicality to get the job done. It’s crippling. It kills your humanity, turns you into something you won’t recognize and can’t stand to look at. It’ll twist you into being the very thing you’re trying to put an end to.” He narrows his eyes, wings folding in slightly, so they’re not taking up near as much space as they have been. His tone goes quieter, but if anything that makes it more dangerous, the sharp edge hidden under a thin softness. “I’m not letting that happen to Shouto. That cycle, that practice ends here. I’m not letting him go through that when he’s just started determining who he is. I’m not watching it happen again.”

Endeavor goes to say something, but Keigo cuts him off midway, wings ruffling in warning. “The first day of our internship, do you know what I taught him? To give people his name. I was told at five that I wasn’t allowed to keep mine and that it no longer existed. I lost so much of myself that way, I’m just now starting to work through it.” Endeavor scoffs, but Keigo’s not done. “Take it seriously or not, I don’t care. But he’s never going to lose that- his connection to himself and who he is beyond being a hero. Nobody will be able to erase that for him, nobody can take it away and reduce him to less than that because people already know him as Shouto, and they won’t let him forget.”

The winged hero takes a breath, chest feeling lighter when it heaves. Enji just watches him with narrowed eyes, not saying a word as the silence stretches thin and brittle between them, feeling close to shattering with every second that passes, and yet it only manages to grow more strained instead. Looking at his former hero, washed up and washed out, that golden haze of glory snuffed away to reveal something far more sinister and ugly is gut-wrenching in the worst possible way. Keigo can’t help but shake his head in disgust, thinking back to a little boy with blond hair and tiny wings, relying on an Endeavor toy for safety, and dreaming about fighting alongside this man to get himself through living in the slums, the brutality of his training, the extents the Commission made him go to. This was always supposed to be the end goal, and yet never in all of his years had he imagined it would end with this kind of conversation.

“You resent me.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” Keigo answers truthfully, bitter and piercing, “I do. I really do- because I looked up to you so fucking much. Even after that incident when I was a kid, I saw this hero who had told me to be better and I knew I was going to stand next to him someday, get to prove my worth. I wanted to make someone proud and I’d lost everyone who should’ve given a shit, so I decided that person was going to be you.” The winged hero narrows his eyes, tone poisonous. “I watched you for years , cheered you on. I figured if one hero could make himself a legend through his own grit, so could I. You were so fierce and dedicated, it was like nothing could stop you- I wanted that, I wanted to be like that. I wanted you to look at me someday and see an equal, not that kid who ran away from you on the street the day you dragged his dad in. You were my gateway to all of this.”

The words strip themselves from his chest, leaving Keigo aching, raw. The pressure of them resting there has been weighing on him for months, and to finally get the opportunity to say them is freeing, but comes with a debilitating consequence.

Keigo Takami doesn’t like being seen . Especially not by this man, especially not now. That was a right reserved for very few, and moments he hoarded and treasured closely. To spoil such a thing by shredding all his masks in front of Enji Todoroki is stomach-churning, but he doesn’t hold back.

He owes it to Shouto. He owes it to Dabi. And hell, as much as he hates to dwell on it, he owes it to himself.

Keigo can practically feel Endeavor’s temper surge again, and he knows if he were wearing his flames right now, they’d be wild with anger. He should be intimidated; Keigo’s a small man, not built for direct combat and facing the top pro hero alone while throwing everything this man’s worked for and done for the last twenty-odd years back in his face. But he’s not afraid.

“If it wasn’t for me,” Endeavor scowls furiously, “You’d still be scraping by on the streets like a gutter rat.”

“Better that,” Keigo replies scathingly, “Than trained to kill at thirteen.”

The older man grits his teeth, but wisely falls quiet again.

“You were my hero,” The winged man continues, slowly, deliberately, feeling anger prickle in his veins like needlepoints when he drudges up images of Dabi and Shouto’s scars, thinks about the horrified look on Shouto’s face when he recognized his brother for the first time all those months ago, and the fear he’s had to coax out of Dabi’s eyes after far too many nightmares. “You were my hero. You were a hero to so many people!” Keigo’s voice cracks, but he stands steady. “And yet it wasn’t good enough. You still needed more, and you abused your family to do it.”

Endeavor’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t be dramatic. There was never abuse , Hawks; that was never the intention.”

“The intention doesn’t fucking matter!” Keigo shouts, startling them both. He’s on a tangent now, though, chest heaving, and not inclined to stop. “It was abuse, there’s no question of that. You’re just as guilty as any of the other people you or I, or anyone else has had imprisoned for it. So cut the bullshit .”

That last part comes out so cold, Keigo can feel frost building on his lungs. It’s a growing, delicate layer, constricting and throbbing under his chest, just adding to the pain already there.

To his surprise, the obstinate man actually seems to be listening now, expression more serious and aware than it’s been in this whole conversation. He’s beginning to look pale, as though it’s just now setting in what Keigo’s saying, paired with what he knows.

And Keigo- fuck, he just wants to rage .

If he hadn’t been raised on the Commission’s tight leash of order and rigid structure, he’d be off the rails right now. Yelling in the face of an abuser is a minor offense compared to what Keigo could manage if he truly let himself go loose, but he won’t stoop to that level. He refuses to, and maybe it’s equal parts training and morality that keep holding him back, but there’s this twinging sense of bitterness in the back of his mind that keeps the line firmly drawn, that won’t let him go off in the way his blood is boiling to. He won’t let himself become any more like this man than he is already, won’t take any more pages out of his book than he already has.

Endeavor’s influence has already tarnished his persona as Hawks. He’s not letting him get his fingerprints on his character as Keigo too.

In the second it takes for Keigo to gather himself, his senses hone in on his feathers, catching, in particular, that one from across the city that he’s been ignoring since earlier in this mess. It’s still warm, and distantly Keigo can feel a patterned tempo against the barbs of the thing, steady and sure, and maybe a little distracting until he realizes what it is:

A pulse.

It grounds him enough to remember to breathe. Keigo takes a shaky, shuddering breath and relaxes the tension in his shoulders, breathing steadier when he tries again a second time. He focuses on Endeavor again and the rage doesn’t feel quite so all-encompassing, receding once more to a dull, angered thrum under his skin.

“How many people know?” The flame hero asks suddenly, voice low. Keigo shoots him a piercing look.

“About which portion, exactly?” He replies scathingly. “Everything you put your family through? I have no clue. Dabi? Just me.”

“And how many people are going to know after this?” The bigger man asks, this time an ounce of warning seeping into his tone. Keigo doesn’t answer, his stare sharper than glass. The silence between them goes rigid, so heavy it  feels the air is clotting in Keigo’s lungs. “Society needs stability right now, Hawks. Their faith in heroes needs to be re-established.” The man looks loathe to admit it, but he does. “They’re still shaken after the fall of All Might, and they need a strong Number One to look up to. Someone resolute. You’ve said for yourself that’s a position you don’t want; would you cripple the security of Japan like that just to drudge up     the past?”

“Don’t you dare try to make this a fucking charity act,” Keigo seethes, “It’s not the wellbeing of Japan you give a shit about. You’re right, I don’t want your damned position, I never have. I lack your ambition, ” He spits the last word venomously, “And dedication for that. But don’t you think for a second I won’t knock you off your pedestal without an ounce of hesitation.”

The temperature in the room drops by twenty degrees.

“No one would believe you.”

Keigo smiles. It’s not friendly.

“How much are you willing to bet on that?”

They fall into silence once more, the flame hero’s confidence obviously not as strong as he’d implied. Keigo looks down at his desk, rolls his shoulders and tries to steady himself even though the next words out of his mouth are strong; quiet, but strong and not veiled with their dangerous intent. “I swear to God, if you raise a hand on that boy again,” His eyes flash as he glances up, meeting Enji Todoroki’s gaze  and pinning him on the spot, “Or any of them- Rei, the other kids… I will take you out of that Number One spot myself.” The blond quirks an eyebrow, cocking his head, “By any means necessary. If you think I’m fucking kidding, just remember you’re the one who pointed out my chilling lack of ethics earlier. I’d keep that in mind.”

The implication seems to be a hard slap for the other hero who sneers, clenching his fists and releasing them again, smoke wafting from his palms. Keigo holds his ground, refusing to be intimidated.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Keigo slowly raises his wings, feathers rattling against one another as they all go sharp at once. He lets them spread to their full size, releasing a menacing grin.

“That’s a promise.” The winged man replies quietly, “And I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

The smoke from Endeavor’s palms stops rolling. Seeming to realize what kind of position he’s in the man makes a very small, reluctant step back, straightening his spine. Keigo counts it as a win. “Shouto’s not going anywhere.” He growls, “Not if he still wants to stay. There’s nothing you can say or do to influence that.”

He’s resolute in that much. Damn every lesson he’s had that’s tried to drill the opposite into him; Keigo Takami has found a family and he’s not letting them be stripped from him that easily.

‘Fuck any of you who tried to tell me love would make me weak,’ Keigo decides then, flaring his wings again in warning. ‘ I have never been willing to fight more fiercely, more ruthlessly, for anything in my life.’ Endeavor casts him a suddenly wary glance, finally seeming to take the winged man seriously. His brows furrow over concerned eyes, still angry but tempered enough to acknowledge how livid the smaller hero truly is, how likely he is to make good on what he’s said. The older man is weighing him, almost for the first time, really. He’s finally appraising him properly, not looking down on him or mocking, trying to legitimately take stock of this individual he’s overlooked for so many years. Keigo hopes that whatever he finds scares him a little. He hopes it makes him pause. ‘ They are my greatest strength, both of them. Not just Dabi, but Shouto too- and if I have to prove to you what it looks like to fight tooth and nail to protect them both, I will.’

Shouto’s teeth gritting whenever he makes a mistake, the looks of muted surprise he still shoots him when Keigo offers him a genuine compliment, his very small smiles when the winged man reaches out to ruffle the teen’s bi-coloured hair. His quiet comments, and stoic countenance, and the way he’s come to trust Keigo with pieces of himself, to collect like shards of shell in glass bottles and jars, offerings here and there that the winged man knows mean the world; shards of a world that has otherwise been too precious and endangered to share for risk of it being crippled and crushed by uncaring hands.

Dabi’s body shaking beside him as he comes down from another nightmare, trying to take in gasping breaths with his eyes clenched shut, that sharp expression of awareness when someone moves too fast out of his direct line of sight. The cut of his silhouette out on the balcony at four in the morning, a lit cigarette in his hand and his expression haunted, smoke curling around him like ghosts- the gradual relief that replaces it when Keigo finds him each time and coaxes him back to bed.

‘I’m not letting you hurt them again.’

Keigo’s phone goes off on the edge of his desk, screen lighting up as a text comes in, the winged hero barely sparing it a glance before doing a double-take, realizing it’s from Shouto. He picks it up immediately and reads it quietly, all but ignoring the fuming man across from him, a strained but fond smile gradually crossing his face.

Shouto: ‘Hey, I’m downstairs and ready for training whenever you are. 

I also brought lunch. Consider that an incentive to hurry,

 otherwise I’m eating without you.’  (Delivered 1:37 P.M.)

‘Chicken’s getting cold.’ (Delivered 1:37 P.M.)

“Sorry to cut things short, old man,” Keigo says, already beginning to message his intern back, “But it sounds like I have other obligations.”

Keigo: ‘Meet you at the coffee shop across the street- E is here 

and pissed. don’t come upstairs.’  (Delivered 1:38 P.M.)

His intern sends back a thumbs up and rolling eyes emoji immediately afterwards, Keigo pocketing his cell with a short huff of a laugh. He gathers his things, taking his time with tidying his workspace calmly, his rage burnt out to smoldering embers and smoke in his lungs. If it’s anything like the real sensation, Keigo thinks he might almost understand for the first time why Dabi smokes- he feels alive, and settled all at once.

The whole while, Keigo ignores Enji’s pointed glowering until finally leveling the other hero with a glance when he goes to walk to the door. “Thanks for stopping in, Endeavor. Hope you finish recovering from that minor inconvenience quickly.”

“I won’t forget this.” The older pro scowls, trying to tape together some semblance of dignity as he walks stiffly towards the door. Keigo shoots him a grin with a scalding glare to match.

“Believe me,” He assures the flame hero, tilting his chin in a cocky manner and waving the man away. “I hope you don’t.”

He’s quiet as he enters the bedroom that night, slipping through the door as quietly as possible and leaving it open an inch so he won’t wake the man in his bed with the sound of the latch. The moonlight streaming in through the slit in the curtains is the only source of light in the apartment, Dabi having left on the lights over the kitchen island for Keigo to come home to, but the winged hero’s long since put those out, padding quietly in the dark through mostly memory. He can just make out Dabi’s silhouette against the pillows and sheets, the villain silent and still, caught in a deep sleep. The space next to him is empty and inviting, though, and Keigo doesn’t waste any time shedding his uniform for a pair of loose capris, trying to pull back the covers and slip into bed as quietly as possible.

Even with his efforts, he catches the exact moment Dabi’s breathing shifts and those blue eyes blink open blearily, locking in on him instantly. The arsonist lets out a sleepy noise that almost resembles both a grumble and a hum before lifting one arm and taking a portion of the covers with it so Keigo can get better situated.

“Sorry,” Keigo whispers, curling in beside him, and sighing when the dark-haired man drops his arm again, letting the blankets fall around the hero’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Dabi doesn’t respond at first, just blinking sleepily.  He waits for Keigo to get comfortable before draping an arm across his back, between his shoulder blades and the bases of his wings, fingers reaching just high enough to press circles into the back of the blond’s neck with his thumb.

“Don’t worry about it.” Dabi mumbles, half-slurring. He’s warm; Keigo can feel the heat radiating off of him even where they aren’t touching, the winged man on his stomach and the arsonist on his side. It doesn’t seem like a fever, though, Keigo quite used to the  sometimes surprising amount of heat the other man throws. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary for the fire-user, and Keigo takes full advantage of appreciating that, folding one wing over them both to trap the warmth in and let it help ease the chill from his frozen skin. “You’re cold as hell.” The arsonist grumbles, almost on cue. To his own fault, the arsonist doesn’t move away from him even as Keigo chuckles slightly under his breath at the slight. 

However, he hisses sharply when the winged man snakes one arm out from under his head and mischievously slips it under the other man’s shirt instead, pressing a frozen hand flat to his stomach. Dabi flinches away immediately, trying to bat Keigo away and grimacing when the blond laughs properly, amused, the villain kicking at him. “You little - get your fucking icicle hands off of me, holy shit -”

They tousle for a moment before Dabi finally manages to get a hold of Keigo’s wrist and yank his hand away, trapping it with his own in the space between them as Keigo’s shoulders continue to shake, laughter spilling over. The look on Dabi’s face is now very much more awake than it was a moment earlier, and perhaps a bit exasperated, but it’s undermined by the softness in his eyes as he watches him, mellow and content. There’s no hunger in him right now, not for anything, and it’s a fact that Keigo revels in and enjoys, knowing he could help bring him this temporary peace at least.

“You’re home pretty late,” He says eventually, when Keigo’s laughter has died down, the hero’s heart feeling lighter than it has since this morning. Dabi’s voice is always somewhat rough, but it’s even moreso now, still raspy from sleep on top of everything else. It’s a comforting, pleasant sound in a strange way that he doesn’t quite understand, and doesn’t have the energy to question.

“It was a really long day.” Keigo answers quietly, catching the small flicker in Dabi’s eyes that proves he knows Keigo’s not telling the whole story, but the arsonist doesn’t pry. After everything that happened with Endeavor this afternoon, Keigo’s not even sure where he’d begin explaining things to the scarred man beside him, or how he’d handle it.  Keigo had tried to shut it all down when he’d worked with Shouto for the afternoon, building still-tentative walls around the dams that had been shattered so brutally, both with his own past and the Todoroki family too. Keigo can’t even imagine breaking the ice on some of these things with Dabi right now. Silence is easier at the moment. “Did you manage on your own alright?”

Dabi snorts like the question is a ridiculous one, yawning before answering.

“I was fine, Pigeon. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that; this is probably the safest I’ve been in years.”

He’s not wrong, but the comment reminds him of something that has him gently shaking his hand free of Dabi’s grip, Keigo reaching his fingers out and letting them slide across the scars over Dabi’s collarbones until they find what they’re searching for.

“I don’t even know where you managed to find some cord in this place,” Keigo smiles, carefully tugging the thick string, that he’d suspected he might find around the man’s neck, out from under his shirt. At its end is one of his feathers, still warm from the fire-user’s skin. Dabi lets him play with the necklace patiently, expression softer than usual. “I could feel it earlier, when you were holding it, but I didn’t really know what you were doing until I figured it out later.”

“And what gave me away?” Dabi asks, quiet and amused but curious as he shifts positions slightly, working to pull himself up enough to brace himself on one elbow.

Keigo looks up at him, folds one wing in and rolls over onto his side so he can observe him better. There’s thin streams of moonlight filtering in from beyond the curtains, and the city’s glow from below the apartment allows him just enough light to see as his eyes continue adjusting to the dark.

In the night, it’s easy to mistake Dabi’s scars for shadows. They’re easier to overlook, easier for him to hide when the staples don’t show and the darkness enfolds him oh so well. The arsonist knows it too; he’s less rigid like this, more relaxed like he can tell the eyes of the world aren’t on him, picking him apart piece by piece. He’s been like that as long as Keigo’s known him, and the winged hero wonders if there was ever a time that Touya Todoroki had been scared of the dark just like him when he was younger, or if he’d always grown up seeing the heaviest hours of evening as a safety net.

But even imagining him as Touya at all- trying to imagine this child Endeavor spoke of, with bright red hair and a soft countenance, who loved his books and only raised his fists as a last resort… Fuck, that stings. Yet there’s crumbs of him here and there, uncovered in everyday gestures and demonstrated casually when he gets his guard down, like pages falling out of cracked book bindings, coming loose and making themselves known. Dabi’s not a soft man. Not inherently, anyway, more rough-and-tumble, ragged around the edges- but sometimes that softness shows. Keigo’s beginning to see more and more of it as the days pass, catches the glimpses that others aren’t allowed access to. It’s a hard-fought for privilege, but one he’s never been more aware of as he recalls his conversation from earlier with the flame hero, how he’d admitted to trying to shatter that softness in his son like weak porcelain.

Somehow, despite those efforts, Dabi’s hands are gentle when one strokes down Keigo’s side, not entirely unlike how he’s seen the arsonist treat some of his favourite books, smoothing out the pages with a very similar gesture. The slight pressure is enough to make Keigo focus again, snapping out of his thoughts. He realizes then that he never answered the question, opening his mouth sheepishly, but nothing comes out.

“Hey,” Dabi’s voice is low in the large expanse of the room, and Keigo sinks into it familiarly, letting it settle somewhere in the back of his mind and maybe the marrow of his bones as well. He’s never been good at moderation. “Where’s your head at, Birdie? Looks like I lost you there.”

“Just thinking.” Keigo whispers back. He closes his eyes and releases a breath when Dabi repeats the gesture again, this time pressing circles into Keigo’s waist with his thumb. The winged man’s grip tightens around the feather still lying against his palm, feeling the barbs snag across his fingers and realizing, for the first time, that some of them are damaged, missing. Dabi used one of his preened feathers for this, one of the tattered, ugly ones he’d ruined trying to save him instead of the one Keigo had intentionally left behind.

For some reason, it suddenly seems heavier with significance.

“Touya is dead, Hawks.“

“I could feel your heartbeat,” Keigo answers suddenly, the statement almost to refute the echo of Endeavor’s voice in his memories just as much as to answer Dabi’s former question. He blinks and glances up, carefully slipping the necklace back under Dabi’s shirt and grinning softly again, “And the warmth of your skin. I can feel it now too.”

Dabi raises an eyebrow, lifting his hands from Keigo’s hip to adjust the cord around his neck slightly, a subconscious habit. He does so with his left hand, the one on which his knuckles are straight but his scarring stretches just a bit farther down his wrist than the other.

“That has to be weird.”

“Mm, a little but it’s not bad.” Keigo hums tiredly, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of the arsonist’s neck. He pulls him close, eyes fluttering shut as Dabi leans forward compliantly, lips brushing the hero’s temple. “I like having something of you with me too.” He strokes the villain’s cheek, tone turning teasing as he adds, “Maybe I’ll have to keep giving you a new feather every few days though, seeing as how they don’t stay responsive for very long.”

“I just fixed all of those feathers,” Dabi retorts, “Don’t go plucking them all out now.”

Keigo laughs, bringing his wing around them more fully. A few of his feathers catch in Dabi’s hair, falling over his burned and battered body with the gentleness of snow, and the arsonist gives a quiet huff of a laugh as well. The smile he gives is so precious, Keigo can’t help but frame his face in his hands, taking him in- runs his fingers over his scars, his cheekbones, his lips and meets blue eyes evenly, catching the curious, knowing glint there. “You sure you’re alright, Pigeon?” Dabi asks, and even though it’s a question, it’s not spoken like one. He knows he’s not completely there, knows he’s struggling. Keigo takes a long breath, lets it back out, feels the emotions that he’s been tamping from earlier in the day begin stirring again under his skin. Dabi watches him wordlessly, quiet and sound, his gaze unwavering but not uncomfortable for the winged man to be under. Keigo swallows hard, can feel his smile begin to falter despite his attempts to keep it steady and Dabi definitely catches the shift, subtle as it is, though he doesn’t make comment. Keigo tries to speak, tries to explain but can feel himself already clamming up. “I-” He clears his throat, taking another breath, “Today just… I can’t-”

The blond shakes his head, plastering on another smile, trying to wrangle himself together, emotions high. It’s all just… A lot right now, too much to have addressed in one day. All of his nerves feel raw, every piece of him over-observed. He’s not used to laying all of his cards on the table, but this morning really forced him to do so, and then shook out a number of the ones up his sleeves as well. It’s a little overwhelming to be frank, and the hero doesn’t even know where to begin in the mess of things without needing to backtrack or explain something else and he just… Doesn’t have the mental capacity for that tonight.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. Dabi frowns slightly and kisses his temple again, Keigo relaxing into his touch and the feeling of his lips brushing over his skin as the arsonist murmurs, “Easy, little bird.”

It’s soothing. The winged hero threads his fingers through Dabi’s hair to keep him close, and that smile gradually loses its strain, falls into something a little more loose as they just lay there in silence, words not needed. The world is vast and it lays heavy on Keigo’s shoulders, but for now it seems less daunting with his partner there to hold him steady. He focuses on breathing, focuses on Dabi’s own breath ruffling his hair and the feeling of his fingertips dragging on his side again, soft and slow. Keigo would almost assume him to be lost in thought if he didn’t know the man better, didn’t know the simple weight of the gesture in itself, that he touches him so easily and with so much intention when he shies away from contact with anyone else.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Keigo says softly. Dabi pulls away just enough to give him a confused look, but Keigo doesn’t elaborate, simply coaxing his fingers through the man’s raven hair again and meeting his eyes firmly. For all the times he hasn’t heard it, for all the ways Keigo means it, for all the shit he’s been through and all the ways he’s almost never lived long enough hear these words- “I love you so much, and I’m so glad you’re here.”

Dabi blinks in apparent disarray, the winged hero taking the moment to steal a proper kiss from the burned man, hands on his cheeks again and tracing the seams of his scars. “You’re everything too,” He murmurs, repeating Dabi’s words from earlier that morning back to him, the lanky man glancing away in hesitation under the hero’s gaze and affirmances. Keigo kisses him again for good measure, knowing full well what the other man looks like when he’s getting shy under the attention. “I’m unbelievably happy to be yours. I’m damn proud you’re mine. And I’m so fucking thankful every day for all of it.”

Keigo shifts slightly out of the way as Dabi suddenly readjusts to be on his side again, frail body tired and beginning to shake from holding itself up, but he doesn’t have a second to spare before the arsonist is tugging him into his arms, Keigo grinning at the silent request. He allows Dabi to fumble him into a comfortable position, the villain’s chin resting on his head, Keigo curled against his chest, both of them shrouded in feathers and blankets, shadows and soft streetlight.

A kiss is pressed into his hair, a warm hand cradling the back of his head. Keigo smiles into the crook of Dabi’s neck, lets his own arms fall around the arsonist’s slender waist and over his back.

“You’re too good with words,” Dabi mumbles softly, Keigo able to feel the vibrations of his voice carrying through his throat and chest, “I never know what to say once you’ve spoken, Pigeon.”

“Don’t speak then,” Keigo replies, barely audible. Sleep scratches at the corners of his vision, indicating that this conversation will be cut short sooner rather than any time later. The cold has leaked from his frame, leaving behind only a pleasant warmth from the man beside him, the umbrella of Keigo’s wings keeping out the November chill incredibly better than they used to. The blankets probably help, as well as the sturdy walls and roof that don’t let any drafts through, aside from the window that Dabi keeps partially open whenever he spends  the night. 

Tonight’s no exception to that rule, the glass pane raised half an inch from the sill, distant sound from the city below acting as pleasant white noise as Keigo shuffles closer, giving a small sigh of contentment when the arsonist’s grip around him tightens accordingly. Dabi’s already got their legs tangled, shins hooked behind knees, ankles brushing calves, sheets caught all around. It’s perfect. “I can hear you loud and clear just like this.”

Chapter Text

Living with someone, Keigo is beginning to realize, takes some time to get used to.

Not that it’s bad. It’s different, trips him up in ways he hadn’t been anticipating, but it’s not bad. If anything, having someone there to come home to makes his penthouse birdcage of an apartment feel a lot more like home, and it’s nice to have a reason to look forward to heading back every night. There’s a softness and warmth associated with his place now that wasn’t there before, like slipping on a favourite sweater after a long, chilly day and feeling instantly more settled, happier.

Having Dabi around both rattles his life chaotically and eases it into a comfortable stillness more than Keigo’s known to be possible, and the dichotomy of such a thing is baffling to him. He thinks the same might be true for the arsonist in question as well, who’s beginning to accept this tentative peace for what it is and let himself remain in it, not trying to run at the first sign of safety. He’s becoming comfortable here, comfortable with a life that isn’t always nine degrees shy of peril and balanced on the edge of a knife blade. It doesn’t take much reminding, seeing the arsonist slowly becoming acquainted with this place and gradually establishing himself as a consistent part of it, that this is Dabi’s first time experiencing what home might feel like too, the scarred man just as much a stranger to the concept as Keigo is. Still, he tries and so does Keigo, and with time comes the building of a harbouring place, a shelter, a closed-off piece of the world that belongs to them and them alone, where trials can be shrugged away at the door and all thoughts of war and deception and struggle can be set aside for moments and slivers of something better. It’s a small start, but it’s theirs , and even that in itself is enough.

They’re closer now than they were before- Keigo’s aware of it in small ways that mean everything. They know each other better, not just in the information they’ve shared, but in the ways that don’t need explaining- the ways that only arise from having someone else at your side so often, you begin picking up things about them that you don’t even realize you’re noticing. All things considered, there’s a good chance it was inevitable. Keigo’s spent the better part of the last few weeks watching Dabi as the other man struggled to work his way back to moderate health, there to see him progress slowly and be present in case he needed him. He’s so tuned in to the arsonist’s physical cues by now, simply from keeping an eye on him as the other has fought to navigate life and recover- there was no way they could’ve gone through something like this and both have come out of it unchanged. It wouldn’t have been possible.

He knows Dabi’s been aware of him basically hovering around the injured man amidst this, that he’s at least had the grace to not call Keigo out on it, and simply take the winged man’s discreet caution in stride, same as everything else. Keigo appreciates that- this silent understanding they’ve come to that while Keigo’s trying to give him what space he can, circumstances considered, to heal and strengthen on his own accord, he can’t just step entirely away either. Dabi’s not used to being crowded and henned-over, and the winged hero tries his best not to push things that far- but Keigo’s seen too much, been there for too many scares since Dabi’s fight with Enji, to risk turning his head the other way for long. It’s not anything they draw attention to, really, a mutual awareness that Dabi’s only acknowledged on a handful of occasions, such as the time the arsonist urged himself to produce a small flame in his palm, the effort leaving him shaky but not in poor enough shape as to stop him from shooting Keigo a thumbs-up without even looking at the hero, indicating he was alright. Keigo just let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, finished signing the paperwork he’d been in the middle of putting his name on, and everything was fine.

So the days go, passing steadily, more quickly than he remembers them passing before. Maybe it’s because of how the seasons are changing around them, or just because there’s so much going on this year, but it feels like everything’s flying past at bullet-train speeds while the winged man stands stationary in the middle of it all, just trying to keep his footing.

As such, he’s surprised one night when he steps out onto the balcony, still too restless to sleep, and finds snow dusting the railing. Snow. It’s cold and light, and still coming down in his hair when he stares straight up into the night sky and wishes, suddenly, that he could’ve had one last fall of rain before winter set in. With the whirlwind way things are going, he wouldn’t mind stopping for just a moment to appreciate the sound of droplets on concrete and thunder rolling in the distance. It’ll be too late for that now, though, until the snow melts, and for whatever reason that knowledge feels similar to loss. He reminds himself that spring isn’t far off, just a few months of winter to bear- hell, even July feels like only a few weeks ago in his mind, his internship with Shouto only a few days, and yet it’s been so much longer than that. All of it has been.

The gentle whoosh of the glass door sliding open behind him is his first indication that he’s not alone at this crazy hour of night, Dabi coming into his field of view shortly thereafter as the arsonist goes to stand beside him, back pressed into the railing and arms falling lazily across it too. He tips his head up just as Keigo’s had been, breath leaving soft plumes of fog in the dark sky around them.

“First snow,” He comments unnecessarily, a small quirk of a grin tugging at his lips. “It’s early this year.”

“You seem happy about it.”

“I am,” Dabi casts him a glance, leaning further into the railing. “The cold makes it easier to use my quirk. Less backlash on my body afterwards for fevers and shit. Summer can be a bitch but,” The arsonist scoops up a handful of snow from the railing, the pile melting in his palm within seconds, “Winter’s got its perks.”

He doesn’t have to elaborate what that means for them- all things considered, this is a good thing for the burnt-out fire user trying to slowly stoke his flames into being more than lit candlewicks without turning himself into a matchstick and gasoline relapse. It’s a small blessing in disguise, and one Keigo will take, even if it means giving up his rainy days for grey clouds of a chillier nature.

And Dabi does continue regaining his strength, slowly but surely. That fever burns itself out in his veins while Keigo gets used to finding the milk in the wrong door of the fridge, keeping track of whose toothbrush is whose in the bathroom, and being dragged off to bed relatively consistently to maintain a somewhat better sleeping schedule than before. There are black hair dye bottles under the bathroom sink from when Keigo had to help Dabi touch up his roots, the red having come in more than the arsonist would typically have allowed, their clothes share the same hamper in Keigo’s room, and he’s starting to get used to finding books in all the random places in the apartment that Dabi has taken to reading in.

The ease with which he gets used to waking up beside someone every morning, with how he gets used to setting two plates at the table and fumbling around the kitchen as Dabi tries to teach him how to cook some basic things, and to saying goodbye before he leaves for the day- it should be frightening, but it’s not. If anything, Keigo loves it; he loves watching the transition as his home becomes theirs in the middle of this whole mess, and getting to see Dabi gradually sinking into the familiarity of it all as well, both of them handling this together.

It still isn’t easy. The gravity of the situation hasn’t been lost on them, and they still have to be fiercely careful. Keigo had been right about the Commission cracking down on him about Dabi being missing; with still no news on the arsonist, and Keigo tailoring his reports to constantly be leaving his superiors in the dark, it’s clear their patience is beginning to wear thin. The organization is hypervigilant these days, almost permanently on the search for leads, and it’s such precarious ground to not slip up on. Keigo can feel the pressure building, knows that at one point or another there’ll be a day of reckoning, but for now he does what he can to keep the Commission’s eyes off of him any more than they are, and tries to keep his head ducked.

Dabi helps out where he can with that. The arsonist’s back to working with him to inkblot his reports about the League, the two of them oftentimes sitting on the floor in the living room late into the night, coffee table between them and papers scattered around, marking up old reports with two pens Keigo managed to scrounge up. They write up lists of falsities, whole cover stories and plotlines, tangled webs with broken threads for the Commission to follow until they realize their efforts to disentangle a knot have only untied the leash for their prey to slip out of their sights. They take precautions too, even in the apartment, these changes having been Dabi’s idea.

“I’m going to have to start keeping the lights and things off for most of the day,” He says at one point, taking Keigo by surprise. He’s staring at the television in front of them, possibly the thing that gave him the idea in the first place. Keigo makes a sound of blatant confusion, the winged man pausing in the middle of switching channels on the TV to literally anything but the news station it had been on, “No really, think about it. With how close of an eye those Commission bastards keep on you and the fact that they own the building, it’ll only be a matter of time before they’ll notice if your utilities consistently start to double. I don’t think they’d put two and two together that quickly to realize I’m here, but,” The arsonist had shrugged, crossing his arms over his scrawny chest, now laced with new, but mostly healed, scars. “It wouldn’t take them long to figure out you’ve got someone else shacked up in the place, and that will immediately get their attention. It sounds extreme, but the less reason we give them to look into things, the better.”

It made sense- Dabi wasn’t wrong, even though it did feel like an extreme measure to take, yes. But the fact of the matter was that the Commission absolutely would have someone snooping into things if they caught even an inkling that something had changed in their protege’s life that they hadn’t been made aware of.

“You’ve got a point- we need to make it look like nothing’s changed.”

So, they’ve been careful, and continue to be. Dabi keeps most of the curtains closed during the day, and Keigo pays in cash for any items that people would immediately know aren’t for him if they checked his payment records. Life goes on like it’s business as usual, and as insane as it is, it seems to work . The Commission doesn’t bat an eyelash his way except to chew him out for a lack of answers they, themselves, can’t find. All things considered, it’s like they’ve caught themselves in the eye of the hurricane, and that’s a place Keigo wants to stay in for as long as possible, this safe zone they’ve established in the middle of rampant chaos.

He hopes it will hold.

For now, though, there’s a different priority on his mind.

“Hey, are we out of chives?” Keigo calls out without looking up, narrowing his eyes at the recipe on the screen in front of him before grimacing down at the frying pan on the stove. It’s absolutely nothing impressive, the dish he’s working on, but it’s food nonetheless that didn’t completely come out of a package, and that much is something to be proud of. That being said, he can’t even pretend it looks appetizing in the slightest, the picture in the blog post he’s reading looking far better than what he’s got prepared. Dabi hums as he passes behind him, filling up a glass of water at the sink.

“Ran out yesterday. It’s fine though, just grab those dry onion flake things and pour a little bit of water in the pan.”

Keigo reaches up to open the cabinet above his head and pull down the ingredients the arsonist suggested, trusting his judgement better than his own. Dabi isn’t exactly remarkable at cooking either, but he’s at least got the basics down, which is more than Keigo can say for himself.

“How much do I use?”

“However much you want. Use your judgement.”

That’s hardly a helpful answer. It’s such a Dabi thing to say though, and Keigo looks over his shoulder slightly to inform him as such, only to find the fire-user already there, the taller man placing his near-empty glass on the counter before slotting himself between the blond’s wings and wrapping his arms around his waist. Keigo leans back into him slightly, enjoying the warmth the gesture provides, still stirring the concoction gracelessly with a flipper and looking skeptically at the onions. No doubt, they’re not going to improve the aesthetic appeal of this dish at all. Some greenery would’ve probably been a nice touch. Dabi’s breath ruffles his hair. “Alright, not bad. Looks good so far, Birdie.”

It’s a stupid, simple thing to be so happy for a bit of praise over, but Keigo practically glows for it, shooting Dabi a flash of a grin, before shaking in a generous amount of onion flakes without bothering to measure, and choosing to trust he hasn’t fucked up. All things considered, the arsonist’s probably just making an effort to not be an asshole, but the words of confirmation from someone else are an ego-stoker either way. Keigo’s trying to contain his small surge of pride, but he can tell it isn’t working when Dabi gives a huff of a laugh, amused, and leans forward a bit more to kiss his cheek, tacking on a soft “Good job” before stepping away.

Keigo ruffles his feathers and stirs the dish again.

Their nights, when not dedicated to fucking with the most lethal government organization in Japan, are spent like this often nowadays. Keigo allows himself to just watch as Dabi goes about setting the table this time, familiar with the kitchen in a way that’s almost thoughtless by this point, going about the motions with ease. It’s still somewhat weird to see him in such a domestic setting; no fires to put out, no sharp words, no fights to win. His injuries have all healed relatively well, open wounds becoming scabs, scabs becoming scars, burns healing slowly on his damaged skin as well, to whatever degree they can. He’s quieter here; not even necessarily by speaking less, but like some raging, angry thing in him has fallen quiet over the last few weeks, beginning to settle and go still. He lives more quietly, and Keigo does too in whatever moments he can, here in these walls and with no eyes to see them. It’s a good change, something Keigo thinks might be healthy for both of them.

He knows Dabi’s not the only one healing in all of this, though Keigo’s scars aren’t physical and don’t show quite as easily. He can feel them though, silver and smoothing over slowly in his mind, where once he could sense the ragged edges of wounds he couldn’t quite remember acquiring, but had all but grown used to. They’re both growing through, with, beside one another, and the winged man treasures it.

That being said, he’s been quicker to grow in some ways than others. Dinner is bland . Keigo will be the first to admit that it doesn’t taste great, and he very clearly overcooked the sauce but his vegetables are under cooked, and the flavour isn’t quite there, but Dabi doesn’t complain. At one point he pauses to shake a bit of salt on the disappointing concoction, but other than that he stays quiet for a majority of their meal, focused on eating. Eventually, after ten minutes of strained silence on his part, Keigo drops his chopsticks and gives the other man a pained look.

“Let’s just order in.”

“It’s fine, Birdie.”

“No it’s not,” Moving to dump the rest of his own meal in the garbage, Keigo goes to stand, grabbing his plate, “I’m sorry, I really thought it was going okay-”

“Keigo.” He pauses as Dabi shoots him a look, the latter raising an eyebrow. “It’s all good. Trust me,” The villain points his chopsticks at his plate, “I’ve definitely eaten worse.”

The winged man runs a hand over his face in mild exasperation, falling back into his seat and more than a little stung with how poorly dinner had turned out. Maybe he was foolish for thinking he could handle something like this on his own- he’s twenty-three and knows more about picking apart sound vibrations through his feathers to decode verbal messages than he does using a skillet on a stove. And while Dabi genuinely doesn’t seem bothered, a part of Keigo that smarts about not having been able to do even this much properly bites at his nerves. It may not have been much, but he’d really wanted to do something nice for them both. The fact that it backfired so poorly sits like a dead weight in his stomach, rolling along with whatever small portion of supper he managed to choke down.

“I’m not really sure that implying my cooking is at least better than some of the things you ate while on the street is very confidence-invoking, Dabs.” Crossing his arms, Keigo stares at the offensive plate in front of him, trying not to let his level of upset read clearly on his face.

Dabi shakes his head, apparently in ignorance, simply taking another bite.

“You’re learning. Cut yourself some slack- besides,” The arsonist gives a huffing breath that passes as a small laugh for him, trying for humour when he seems to realize that Keigo’s more upset than he’s letting on. Either that, or he’s genuinely amused. “Worst case scenario, you can always fall back on… Canned soup.”

Keigo stares at him a solid moment, trying to determine whether or not Dabi’s being serious, before tipping back in his chair, and surrendering himself to just covering his face with both hands.

“Oh my God- ”

There’s rasping laughter from the villain’s spot.

“I ate it, didn’t I?”

“Dabi, you hadn’t eaten in three days , that doesn’t count.”

The protest that emerges from his mouth sounds frustrated even with Keigo’s attempts to veil it, though his aggravation doesn’t have time to grow. He hears something that makes him pause the litany of annoyed comments on his tongue, that cools his temper enough to fall quiet and just listen.

Dabi’s laughing .

The rasping sound grows louder until it eventually peels into something more full, the sound a rare one and so different from the quiet, chuffing laughs he sometimes gives when amused, or the short outbursts he manages other times. This is low and gravelly, not entirely unlike the sandpaper tone of his voice, scratchy but welcoming in a comfortable way to the winged hero who’s become so familiar with all things that just resonate his partner over the last few months- and this is definitely one of them.

Keigo cracks his fingers apart curiously to see the arsonist’s shoulders are shaking, elbows braced on the table. The overhead light above the kitchen table warms the black of his hair a few shades, adding some colour to his pale skin and accentuating his features with gentle, soft shadows. He really is stunning to look at in some rare, spectacular way, and seeing him sitting so close, wearing yet another of Keigo’s shirts even though he has his own here now, and not bothering to hide his crooked smile and laughter-shuttered eyes-

Keigo’s almost certain his heart trips and stutters at the sight, a warm and quiet joy falling over him silently in the wake of Dabi’s clueless amusement. He lets him laugh without interruption, memorizes the sight detail for priceless detail and doesn’t dare break the moment with words on his part in the few seconds he has to enjoy it. 

The disappointing meal goes forgotten between them. Its significance has suddenly paled in comparison.

“What’s with that look, Pigeon?” Dabi’s laughter inevitably dies out, Keigo not looking away even after those last few notes fade, but that teasing grin on his face still remains, eyes blue and bright even while he sobers. “It’s not often you end up speechless, can’t believe it was that easy.”

The hero’s hands have fallen from his face on their own in the midst of this, a subconscious gesture that he doesn’t bother to correct as he continues to stare at his partner a few moments longer, just taking in the sight of him- enjoying said sight while it lasts, letting himself indulge in this while he can, and finally, at length, admitting to it also.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Keigo says softly, a little wondrously and inarguably fond, a small smile of his own growing on his face, “I love when you laugh like that.”

The effect the comment has on the other man is instantaneous. Keigo can see the disbelief cross Dabi’s face like a hard slap, all the  remaining traces of laughter in his expression dying on the spot. He looks stunned, maybe doubtful and baffled, but definitely not amused anymore. It’s such a hard, immediate transition that Keigo himself is left reeling a bit, frowning slightly when he realizes that the moment of shock on Dabi’s face isn’t really very much of a moment after all. He stays like that, eyes wide at first, though he’s quick to fall into that cool, unfazed mask he wears far too well, nonchalance slipping over him like a second skin.

The arsonist speaks. His voice takes on that rasp again, but this time- where his laughter had felt so warm and alive, this tone just feels flat.

“Keigo, you don’t have to-”

“I mean it.”

“Let’s just- Nevermind. Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“Dabi-”

“ Kei. ” Dabi says firmly, almost a little sharp, looking down at his plate and reaching to pick up his chopsticks again and clearly hoping to end the short conversation there. Keigo stops him midway to reaching the utensils, undeterred, tangling his fingers in his own.

“Is that really so hard to believe?”

He knows the answer. He knows the answer instantly, and he hates that he does even before Dabi, stubborn as ever, simply picks up his chopsticks with his opposite hand and begins picking at his food that way, not tugging his hand from Keigo’s, but still not paying him much mind either. He hates that Dabi won’t meet his eyes now, the arsonist hellbent on ignoring whatever sensitive wound Keigo’s just poked at unintentionally. “Hey, I’m serious- baby, c’mon, look at me.”

At the winged hero’s request, Dabi’s shoulders drop ever so slightly, the villain conceding enough to look him dead in the eye as though to make a point, expression painfully neutral. Damn, he’s really going to make this a challenge. Slowly, Keigo’s wings droop over the back of his chair, the blond reaching out with his other hand to tip the villain’s face more towards him, hand lingering on his cheek. “Don’t go hiding, sweetheart.”

“Again with the pet names, huh?” Dabi asks roughly, deflecting, and Keigo frowns.

“You’re one to talk. But seriously, talk to me. Why are you upset? Is it because I said you were…” Keigo trails off before coming to a different conclusion when Dabi swallows hard, but doesn’t look away. Physical cues- he knows them better than his own. The hero sags a bit, voice quieting. “No, it’s not that,” He answers himself slowly, “It’s your scars you’re hung up on, isn’t it?” The hero’s fingers trail the seam of the one that works itself from Dabi’s right ear to the corner of his lips. Leaning into his touch just a little out of habit, Dabi starts avoiding his gaze once again, eyes turned downward. That action in itself speaks truths Keigo knows the arsonist won’t confirm out loud to either of them, and his heart sinks.  “Dabi, hey- I didn’t realize they bothered you so much, you’re always so stoic about it.”

“I look like a fucking zombie, Feathers,” The arsonist tries for a wry grin. “Not much to take confidence in.” He ducks forward to kiss Keigo’s temple, letting his forehead fall against the hero’s afterwards and dropping his voice into a distracting purr. “It’s all good though, I’ve got a pretty little birdie around who makes up for what I lack in that department.”

If it’s an attempt at a joke or compliment, it doesn’t land. Keigo’s frown only deepens.

“Don’t say that.” He says, drawing away and shaking his head. Dabi looks a little exasperated as he watches Keigo pull back seriously, though his grin takes on a hint of amusement again when he catches the winged man’s obstinance.

“Can’t argue the truth, Pigeon-”

“Fuck whatever truth that is,” It comes out more fierce than Keigo intends, fiery in a way that has Dabi blinking at him in surprise, the scarred man staring at him a moment before relaxing ever so slightly, finally letting some cracks show in his foundation and letting his head fall a little heavier into the hand Keigo still has on his cheek. “It’s not the truth to me.”

“Brave little bird.” Dabi muses softly, voice a low rumble. He offers Keigo a sliver of a smile, though it almost looks pitying.

The winged man knows he doesn’t comment often on Dabi’s appearance. In all honesty, he’d always been under the impression that the villain had more of an offence towards compliments than he did towards his scars themselves; after all, Keigo had just assumed, based on the villain’s actions-over-words mantra when it comes to affection that not vocalizing these sorts of things was more comfortable for him. He couldn’t begin to count the number of times he’d been made aware of Dabi’s eyes on him in a room, the villain staring when he thought Keigo wouldn’t notice, gaze slowly tracing the angles of the hero’s wings, his figure, the way his hands move, and how he walks, how the light looks in his hair when he stands under windows- Dabi’s always been one for admiring from a distance, and Keigo’s never assumed he should be any different.

He hadn’t ever considered, really, that the man might be this self-conscious. It didn’t seem possible, knowing Dabi who often seems almost larger than life. He’s so unshakable most of the time, so resolute and difficult to rattle, that it often manages to surprise Keigo when he sees those walls in the arsonist fracture and buckle, Dabi more honest with him than he is around anyone else. Even then, he’s never been an easily read hand of cards, and Keigo’s often left guessing with him.

But he should know better about something like this by now. It’s been a long time since Keigo’s been illusioned by those fierce blue flames and the careless demeanor Dabi wears so well- once all that is stripped away, he knows the man underneath is a lot more fragile. And Dabi’s scars are such a human thing to be naturally upset about, he wonders why it hasn’t crossed his mind more before. Maybe it’s because they’ve never occurred to Keigo as something ugly, maybe it’s just because Dabi doesn’t really draw overt attention to them himself. Either way, the realization shouldn’t take him aback in the way it does, because it seems a rather obvious thing, all the layers around them aside.

An uncomfortable weight on Keigo’s shoulders makes him want to talk about this more, but he can tell Dabi’s shutting himself away, closing everything off. It’s an instinct, a survival tactic, and Keigo thinks they’ve taken things far enough for now, farther than either of them intended to tonight. Instead of dragging the conversation out, he offers an easy grin instead, bringing their linked hands up to his lips and kissing the back of Dabi’s wrist, much to the other man’s chagrin.

“The bravest, yep. Have to be, to be dating a big bad villain. That’s just how it goes.” Keigo looks up then, eyes inquisitive, smile widening. “What do you say we skip this terrible dinner and just do dessert?”

Dabi snorts, breaking slightly out of his grim mood to cock his head and give Keigo a disbelieving look.

“That sounds responsible.”

“What the hell do we care about being responsible?” Keigo retorts, “There’s ice cream in the freezer and I’m grabbing spoons. Should I be grabbing one or two?”

The winged man stands up from his chair, dropping his hands away from the fire-user and heading towards the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder to meet Dabi’s eye, the villain still watching after him, a semi-amused look on his face. His expression softens when Keigo reaches into the drawer at his hip and pulls out two spoons, waving them questioningly, before miming dropping one back in the tray. “An answer any day now would be great, Hot Stuff. I’m not getting any younger over here.”

“How the hell you stay as fit as you do is beyond me.” Dabi grumbles, giving in and gesturing for the hero to bring his ice cream paraphernalia to the table, pushing his plate of half-eaten dinner away. Keigo laughs, the thin, prevailing layer of tension in the air melting away around them like frost. Dabi grins just a little as the blond continues to laugh, not chiming in again with laughter of his own, but still happy, relaxed. That’s all Keigo can ask as he grabs the ice cream carton from the freezer and chucks a spoon up in the air for Dabi to catch. The arsonist does so easily, twirling it between his fingers in a mesmerizing and distracting flash of silver, before reaching behind him to grab one of his books off of the window ledge with his free hand. It’s one of the ones Keigo bought him recently, he realizes, wings fluffing up happily at the sight, and the fact that Dabi’s apparently already started it if the bookmark placed a quarter of the way through has anything to say about it. The fire-user flips the novel open to the page he must’ve left off at, placing his bookmark to the side and reading quietly to himself as he waits for Keigo to get back to the table. The winged hero does so, sliding into his chair and placing the ice cream carton between them, propping his chin up on one hand. Dabi, distracted, stabs his spoon blindly into the open container, not even checking the flavour of dessert before popping the spoon in his mouth. Based on how his expression doesn’t change, Keigo guesses he must not have an aversion to strawberry.

“Read to me?” He asks suddenly, Dabi glancing up at him in surprise.

“Huh?”

“Read to me,” Keigo repeats, taking his own spoonful of ice cream. “You’ve started doing that sometimes, reading out loud when I’m around. It’s nice. Will you do it now?”

Dabi raises an eyebrow, lifting the book slightly.

“You’ve missed everything up to this point, it won’t make any sense.”

“I don’t mind,” Keigo says, sticking his spoon back in the container before nudging it Dabi’s way, slightly, “I just like hearing you read. I can figure the story out or not, it doesn’t matter.”

Dabi hesitates for a moment before putting his bookmark back in place, snagging another spoonful of ice cream. For a moment, Keigo thinks he’s just abandoned reading entirely, but then the dark-haired man flips all the way back to the first few pages, skipping the title page and index, and finally settling on the first page with real text. Keigo’s heart warms tenfold, the blond grinning softly at the gesture as the arsonist begins to read, low and gritty and calm, winding around them like smoke.

“Chapter one- If ever there was a reason to run…”

Keigo’s beginning to wish he’d had the sense to remove his jacket before all of this.

The heat being thrown from the boy’s fire is baking the room with each blast, Keigo sweltering in his heavy uniform, and trying his best not to show it. He knows it doesn’t matter if he were to or not- Shouto’s attention is definitely not on him, and therefore definitely also not on the sweat trails working their way down Keigo’s temples, and uncomfortably under the collar of his coat. As it is, he doesn’t dare move from his safe spot far from the teen’s flames, or tempt fate by moving around too much.

The last thing he needs right now is to get roasted.

Keigo shields his eyes with one hand, taking a step back to lean against the wall behind him and trying to keep his vision clear while the sharp light from his intern’s fire starts to burn out.

“Alright, okay, that’s looking great- let’s see you try that again a couple more times, and then go for the big move.” He directs, raising his wings a bit to have a leg-up on shielding himself if he needs to when the time arises.

“On it!” Shouto calls over his shoulder, already gearing up for another burst. Keigo grins at that, noting the confidence in his intern’s stance and the determined note in his voice that hasn’t wavered despite them doing this for the better part of an hour already. He’s a tough kid, that’s for sure.

It’s incredible to see how much he’s progressed in the last few months. Keigo notices it more steadily now that Shouto’s been passing milestones in leaps and bounds, and occasionally starting to shoot him proud grins when he does so. The winged hero’s not foolish enough to believe that’s all due to his teaching practice- sure. Sure, some of it is; he’s challenged the boy in ways he knows others haven’t, bringing a whole new set of perspectives to the table, but he knows a good portion of it is also just Shouto Todoroki’s own grit. From what the boy’s told him, it sounds like he’s the first teacher the youngest Todoroki has had that’s been having him focus on precision and moderation with his quirk as opposed to building up for more powerful attacks. And while, granted, they’ve had to work on stamina over the last few months to get to this point, Keigo’s goal has never been to teach him to level cities. That’s not the winged hero’s strength, and that’s not anything he has the expertise to pass on to Shouto either. No, this is something new for the teen- less emphasis on power, more on technique- and technique is definitely something Keigo knows a thing or two about the importance of.

Shouto practices giving a few more timed bursts of flame, letting the tongues of fire from his left hand curl and writhe in the air for about four seconds at a time before cutting it for a half-second, and repeating the pattern. He’s almost got it mastered by now, and all things considered that’s a huge improvement from when they started, the boy originally only using fire as a last resort and even then only using it explosively for a moment before reverting back to ice, safe in his comfort zone. The fact that he’s becoming as comfortable with the inferno portion of his quirk as he is strikes Keigo as one of their greatest accomplishments yet.

“Awesome Shou, well done.” Keigo praises from his side of the room, Shouto sending him a chin-jerk of acknowledgement for the compliment, keeping his eyes forward as his fire continues to roil and blaze. “Go for it whenever you’re ready.”

The teen gives another nod and a steadying breath before unleashing both elements of his quirk at once, visibly gritting his teeth and needing to plant one of his feet heavier behind him so as to not lose his balance, but the effect is exactly what they were both hoping for. A jettison of water shoots ahead of him, far more precise and narrowed than they’ve seen in the past, Keigo clapping from his place on the sidelines. From where he’s standing, he can see Shouto grinning too.

It’s definitely a success borne of an enormous deal of trial and error. They’d started by working both Shouto’s fire and ice until the boy could confidently ratio the two of them to one another, managing to use more of his firepower than his ice at a given time, and speeding up the melting process into a smaller stream of water than the geyser he’d set off at the building fire. The positions of his hands to change the size and direction of jet he was producing were adaptations from pointers Wisp had given him, both in person and from a few sheets of notes he’d been kind enough to put together and send Keigo’s way- and this newest development had been Shouto’s own idea.

“Using my flames continuously for long periods of time is very physically taxing- that’s why I usually just go for short bursts that are really strong,” He’d explained to Keigo, staring down at his hands in consideration, “Especially when I’m using less of my ice to balance out my body temperature, it’s easy to get overheated or tired. But-” He’d met Keigo’s eye then with his multi-coloured own, cocking his head. “I think I’ve got an idea that might fix that.”

“By all means, fill me in.” Keigo had grinned, and that’s how they’d found themselves in one of UA’s training facilities, killing time on a Sunday afternoon by trying to make water out of fire. Keigo’s agency didn’t have a training room that was equipped for fire quirks, and so the staff at UA had been lenient in letting them practice on-campus for this, deeming it safer than anywhere else, really.

“Try not to burn the place down.” Aizawa had warned them both flatly upon letting them in, voice perhaps just a little wry under that low monotone of his. Keigo shot him an easy smirk gesturing towards his intern.

“Come on Eraserhead, Shouto’s got better control than that.”

“It’s not Todoroki I was referring to.” The tired man replied without hesitation, turning around and not bothering to look over his shoulder. “But on the other hand, you never know with this class. Both of you stay out of trouble and don’t do anything worth expelling you for.”

Keigo had frowned after him as the teacher walked away, glancing back to Shouto in confusion.

“He can’t even expel me- I’m not a student.”

“It’s his way of showing affection.” Shouto had shrugged. They hadn’t spoken any more on the matter, though Keigo had found himself more than a little baffled.

For now, he watches with satisfaction and no small degree of pride as Shouto begins experimenting with his ranges. When the teen had first told him his concept, to use short bursts of fire with momentary breaks in between to give him some leeway in overusing his flames, Keigo had been cautiously optimistic. Shouto himself hadn’t been certain it would work, but he wanted to try. “It’s not much, but those little breaks add up,” He’d said, eyeing Keigo from behind the fringe of his bangs, “And even after I cut my power on my fire side, the flame doesn’t go out instantly. If I time it right, I might be able to have them continue burning for about a half-second at most after I stall my quirk, which means I’d still be producing a water stream- it would just be weaker for a moment until I pick it up again.”

The theory had been worth a shot. And looking at how well the technique seems to have worked, Keigo knows it’s also paid off. Shouto’s newfound ability might not be as precise as they’re hoping to get it just yet, the range still rather wide, even if it is starting to get closer to the jet-precision style Shouto’s hoping to achieve, but they’ll find a way to get it there.

The teen stops himself when he’s ready for a break, panting and sweaty, and turning towards Keigo with a small grin as he runs a wrist across his forehead. It leaves his hair poking up at weird angles, sweat plastering it in unnatural directions, almost childish for the typically reserved boy. It’s a funny thing to bear witness to, and the winged man grins back, going to say something about it, but is suddenly cut short before he has the chance.

“Todoroki!” A voice shouts from the doorway, startling both mentor and mentee as they turn, a head of green hair making itself visible as a boy runs in. The kid’s decked out in full hero gear as well, looking wide-eyed and excited, his smile bright. “That was amazing!”

“Midoriya. Thank you.” Shouto replies, surprised but not upset at the intrusion. If anything, he looks happy to see the other boy in that peculiar Shouto way of his, his expression softening somewhat but not giving much else away.

On his part, Keigo stands awkwardly to the side and waits his turn, knowing full well Midoriya hasn’t noticed him yet as the other boy prattles on about Shouto’s display, discussing techniques and theories for adjustments at a rapid-fire pace, compliments tossed haphazardly in the mix. Even Keigo, known for being one of the fastest men alive, is finding it hard to keep up with him, the blond chuckling quietly to himself as he watches Shouto endure the onslaught with the patience of a saint, just occasionally nodding his head and blinking every now and then, or adding a few considering hums where it feels necessary. Keigo’s not certain if he’s really hearing Midoriya or not- maybe he’s just used to this sort of thing by now, and knows how to play along accordingly.

“I didn’t realize you were the one who’d booked the training center before us!” The freckled teen exclaims after a heaving breath, offering his friend a sunny grin. “I would’ve offered to come spot you otherwise. Sorry about that! Are you just here training alone?”

“Not alone.” Shouto answers evenly, looking the very definition of calm beside the whirlwind of a kid beside him. Keigo can’t help but find himself humoured by their differences- they really are almost polar opposites. It’s endearing to see though, his intern with such passionate friends. Midoriya seems like a great kid from what little he knows of him, and to get to see him in person is a rare honour Keigo hadn’t really been expecting. Still, it’s one he gets as Shouto looks his way and Keigo offers an amused wave, Midoriya finally noticing the winged hero’s presence and immediately going tomato red with embarrassment.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to run in on your internship training or anything, I just saw Shouto in here alone and thought I’d say hi- sorry, that was awfully rude of me-”

“No need to apologize kiddo,” Keigo grins, making his way over to the pair of teens and finally, finally , getting to shrug off his coat. He can feel Midoriya watching him wide-eyed as he disassembles his wings momentarily to get the garment off, choosing to take the moral high road and not look the boy dead in the eye and catch him staring just to embarrass him further. He reassembles them quickly afterward with just a tad of fanfare that leaves Midoriya gaping and Shouto snorting under his breath at the little show. The hero tosses his coat to the side and then goes to stand beside his intern, nudging him with his elbow when he gets the chance. “I’m pretty sure you raised the temperature in here by at least fifteen degrees.” He jokes, before turning to face Midoriya, who still hasn’t managed to totally gather himself. “I’d been hoping to meet you formally at some point- wasn’t sure if I’d ever get the chance.” Keigo extends a hand warmly at the same time Midoriya chooses to bow, both of them standing there awkwardly until Midoriya shoots upright again, flustered, and shakes Keigo’s hand hurriedly instead.

“Nice to- pleasure to meet you in person, sir.” Midoriya rambles, looking to Shouto as though for help, the other boy choosing to just blink at him and not intervene like Midoriya was probably hoping.

“Oh God, please don’t call me sir. You’ll make me feel old.” Keigo teases, the teen immediately bursting into a flurry of apologies again. He really is amusing to be around, Keigo decides. He catches Shouto’s eye in the middle of all of this and grins again, enjoying himself immensely, but Shouto eventually reaches to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder and puts an end to the stream of words spilling from the other boy’s mouth.

“Midoriya.”

The green-haired student pauses, obviously deflating when he comes to the realization that he’s begun a long rambling spree. “Sorry.” He apologizes again, this time for speaking so much. Keigo shakes his head, resisting the urge to break the smile on his face with a chuckle, and focuses instead on an important matter, deeming it a mercy to Midoriya to maybe move this conversation along.

“We should look at getting you a support item,” Keigo suggests, turning back to the boy actually under his guidance and trying to find safe ground for them all, both Midoriya and Shouto looking to him in uniform surprise. “If you’re serious about exploring avenues like this for your quirk, it would be a good idea to look at some options. Supports are awesome, so long as you know how to use your quirks beyond them- you don’t want to become reliant on gadgets for your success, but it’s smart to take advantage of tools at your disposal.”

“I can send in a form after training today.” Shouto offers, glancing down at his hands, “I hadn’t put much thought into it, but that might help solve a lot of the problems I’m still working through.”

Keigo grins his intern’s way and gives him a small nod. In all honesty, the thought’s been on his mind for a while, but he was hesitant to bring it up until Shouto had proven himself capable of navigating the combination of his fire and ice without the outside help of a support item. It was easy to rely too heavily on tech when one got used to having it on hand at all times- he’d seen cases where heroes became useless the moment their support items malfunctioned. But Shouto’s resourceful and has already been determining for himself how to approach a number of the issues he’s faced with his quirk, without the outside use of such things. It’s an important skill, and one the winged hero’s proud his intern’s very strong in.

“I’m sure Hatsume would be willing to look into it for you,” Midoriya offers, piping up once more. The bright red flush that’s been lingering on his face for the better part of the last two minutes has begun to fade, and he seems more confident and sure of himself as he analyzes. Keigo watches the transition with interest, noticing a definite shift in the kid as he discusses solutions and looks to Shouto once more. “She’s incredible when it comes to this sort of stuff-” He cuts himself short then, as if on an afterthought, scratching at the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Just forgive her if she seems like a bit much, she’s got a lot of passion.”

“So I’ve heard,” Shouto muses, “Iida has mentioned Hatsume on a handful of occasions.”

Keigo watches quietly as the two talk, the winged hero completely out of the know over whatever the conversation’s about. He doesn’t mind- it’s nice to see Shouto interacting with a friend, to see him have inside jokes that Keigo doesn’t understand and stories he hasn’t heard. It’s not very often that he gets to play the spectator while Shouto’s attention is directed towards someone else. He’s reminded of the first day of their internship- and yet this is very different.

“Are you planning on staying to train much longer?” Midoriya asks, “Tokoyami should be here soon, and we were going to grab food afterwards if you want to join.”

Shouto immediately looks to Keigo for an answer, the winged hero cocking his head and stretching his wings, preparing to fly.

“I think we’re good for the day, kid. It’s a weekend after all- I’ll head back to the agency and leave you guys to it if you’re wanting to hang out.”

“You’re not going to come with?” Shouto asks, confused. At his side, Midoriya’s eyes widen dramatically, glancing over to Keigo in a way that indicates he wasn’t expecting the invitation to extend to the winged man as well. He gets it- it’s one thing for Shouto, disillusioned by the grandeur of hero status, to invite the number-two ranking hero in all of Japan to have lunch with them, but for Midoriya, it seems to be a lot to handle.

Keigo’s not quite so full of himself as to make the reaction an ego boost, but if anything Midoriya’s surprised and slightly panicked expression only makes him even more hesitant. He doesn’t want to ruin their get-together, and it’s pretty clear that even his presence is going to throw things off a bit, like it or not.

He would’ve liked to get to know Midoriya a bit better, at least, but it’s beginning to look like this might not be the best time. The hero’s about to turn down the offer, already wondering if he should maybe be grabbing lunch for himself and Dabi too if he’s on his way home, when another presence makes itself known.

“Hawks!”

It’s Dark Shadow that calls his name before his former intern does, Tokoyami standing in the entryway to the training room, looking a little surprised to see the older man standing there. Keigo offers him a wide, genuine grin, happy to see the boy. It’s been a long while since he last had the opportunity to catch up with Tokoyami.

There’s confusion on his face until he notices Shouto, and Keigo can see the realization being made.

“Shouto, Hawks.” The raven-headed teen greets, shaking out of his wordlessness and stepping forward, “I hope we’re not interrupting your training?”

“Not at all.” Shouto placates, Keigo letting him handle whatever words of politeness the situation calls for while he crosses the room to meet his former apprentice halfway.

“Tsukuyomi,” He says happily, greeting the other by his hero name. When he’s near enough, Tokoyami offers him a friendly handshake that Keigo forgoes, throwing an arm over the teen’s shoulders instead and walking him back to where the other two students are gathered. Tokoyami takes the botched handshake in stride, Dark Shadow chasing after a few of Keigo’s loose feathers while its master simply walks with the pro hero easily. “It’s good to see you again- how have you been holding up lately?”

“Very well, thank you,” Tokoyami answers, before barking at Dark Shadow to not eat the feather it was apparently on the verge of catching in its mouth. Keigo hastily returns the feathers he’d been letting the creature chase back to his wings, not entirely eager to have any go missing unnecessarily. “And yourself? Shouto says you’ve been busy the last few months.”

“No more than usual,” Keigo lies breezily, Tokoyami granting him a flat look that he quickly pairs with an equally flat comment.

“That’s not reassuring.”

Keigo almost winces at his tone, wry and disbelieving. Based on the side-eyed glance Tokoyami gives him, the teen’s message is clear- and Keigo can’t blame him for it. Keigo’s always busy, and from what Tokoyami’s seen of him from his internship with the hero, he’s also a man that goes at a pace that doesn’t allow others to keep up. The blond rubs at his neck with his free hand, a little chagrined at the memory of their internship. All in all, he knows he hadn’t done Tokoyami any damages, but in comparing the work he’d put in with his first intern compared to how he works with Shouto, he knows he was severely lacking in some areas.

“I’m doing alright,” Keigo replies instead, trying again for a more involved answer. The effort seems to catch Tokoyami’s notice, the raven-headed boy falling silent to let him speak with his undivided attention. “Things are kind of crazy right now, but I’m doing okay. Better than I have been in a while, actually.”

He shoots a grin Tokoyami’s way, content to leave it at that, and eventually the hero-in-training nods, breaking his gaze.

“I’m glad.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, “You sound happier.”

That catches Keigo off guard.

“Did I not before?”

“You did,” Tokoyami says calmly, eyes still fixed forwards, “And you acted like it. But things were always perfect with you, and it never seemed genuine.” His former intern blinks, cocking his head, “The fact that you answered that question honestly proves for itself that you’re doing better than you were.”

Damn. Keigo hadn’t forgotten how clever Tokoyami could be when the situation called for it, but time had made him lose perception of how sharp that wit was.

“You got me there, kid.” He admits, humbled, and when Tokoyami glances at him again, his look is kind.

“I appreciate your honesty.” The raven-headed boy comments, before gesturing towards Midoriya and Shouto, “Will you be staying to watch us train, or is your afternoon busy? Midoriya and I were planning on getting lunch after this, and you and Shouto are very welcome to join.”

“I’m not sure,” Keigo laughs, humoured, “I’ll stay to watch you guys, but Midoriya looked a little scared at the idea of me coming for lunch. Shouto’s going, though.”

“You should still come with,” His former intern suggests, Dark Shadow nodding eagerly over his shoulder, “It would be nice to catch up. And Midoriya would be thrilled, don’t be doubtful of that.”

It’s a nice sentiment. Keigo grins, clapping Tokoyami on the shoulder and releasing him when they reach the other students, dropping the conversation with a promise to think about it.

“Hey Tokoyami, Are you ready?” Midoriya asks cheerfully, beckoning the other boy over. Keigo watches as the teens chat amongst themselves, a silent wallflower once again as they stretch and Shouto finishes catching his breath, gratefully taking the bottle of water Midoriya passes his way from a bag he brought in. The hero takes a seat along one of the walls, grabbing his coat from the floor and laying it out in an area where he won’t be an inconvenience, pulling out his scribbler of training notes, and the sheets Wisp sent him. He might as well do some more brainstorming and review some things while he’s got the time.

Keigo begins absently flipping pages as he hears the heroes-in-training begin sparring, occasionally glancing up to watch, and making small notes for himself in the scribbler quietly, shuffling through pages for reference, having to focus hard in some spots to read Dabi’s heavy and somewhat messy writing in the latter sections that the arsonist had worked on.

‘He must’ve written this portion right before he fell asleep,’ Keigo decides, amused but patient as he tries to solve whatever the smeared-ink scribbles on the paper are supposed to mean, occasionally swapping over to Wisp’s sheets to give himself a break. It’s easy to kill time like this, wrapped up in his work and cheering the kids on, his attention divided between both. If it weren’t for his phone ringing adamantly in his pocket only half an hour later, it could almost have been relaxing.

The hero curses softly under his breath at the disruption, shucking his things off his lap to stand, stepping out into an adjourning hallway in hopes of not distracting the students. His lock screen shows a familiar number and contact name, the hero’s heart sinking a little as he hits the ‘answer call’ button and rounds a corner into another empty strip of hallway, further from the training room. It looks to be empty, unsurprising on a Sunday, but Keigo immediately sends out a few feathers to guard the nearby entrances he can locate to ensure nobody gets close enough to hear.

The line comes to life.

“Hawks,” Toshiaki begins, his Handler sounding annoyed right out the gate, “Were you planning on sending in those villain reports anytime soon, or are they just going to walk themselves to my office at some point?”

“Good afternoon to you too,” Keigo fires back, managing to keep his tone perky despite the very strong urge to roll his eyes, “And I just got them finished last night. I’ll make sure they get to you tomorrow morning- didn’t realize they were that important to you.”

God, how is it that their conversations always leave him with a headache? He can already feel one coming on. Keigo rubs at his temples and stifles a sigh, not inclined to make whatever chat this is more of a lecture than it’s already bound to be.

“Of course you wouldn’t think that,” His Handler gripes, “You’re not the one who has to deal with the backlash when you don’t get the shit done that you’ve been asked to do. The Security Council’s been on my case for a week about these documents.”

The winged hero opts to hold his tongue at that, having to count to three to remind himself that snapping a retort would be a very bad idea. He doesn’t deal with backlash? That’s a joke.

“I’m sorry,” He offers instead, the words tasting bitter on his tongue, though they sound genuine in comparison, “I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you. I’ll do better going forward.”

“Please.” Toshiaki agrees, clipped. Keigo rolls his shoulders, “And as a sidenote, check your attitude sometime in the near future. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but you’ve managed to piss a lot of people off around here with this sudden rebellious phase you’ve gotten yourself into over the last few months, and you know there’ll be repercussions if you keep pushing buttons.” Keigo’s mouth goes dry at the insinuation, his feathers bristling behind him. He’s absolutely aware of what that means, heart pounding uncomfortably in his throat. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it seems like you’ve been testing boundaries wherever you can lately- brushing off calls, questioning orders, becoming indignant. Hell, don’t even get me started on this whole internship thing you’ve got going on with Endeavor’s kid.”

He’d been wondering when that would be brought up. In a way, it’s almost relieving that they’re finally trying to use this against him, because he’s been watching and waiting for that shoe to drop since the day he took Shouto on. “That entire situation was a whole PR pain in the ass, and you definitely didn’t make it any better with whatever dogfight you just had with the Number One hero not too long ago. Endeavor’s agency reached out, and they’re cutting almost all relations with yours. What’s up with that?”

“Big man’s got a temper.” Keigo answers shortly, still on-edge about the repercussions comment. Toshiaki gives a hard sigh, clearly frustrated, but decides to move along.

“Whatever. Someone else can deal with that shit- I’m supposed to let you know that the Commission wants you to start doing some paperwork on your time with Endeavor’s brat. Progress reports, basically, some general check-ins.”

Keigo frowns and falls silent, leery of where this is going.

“On my intern? What of him?” He asks tentatively, testing the waters. He’s just been rebuked for being too pushy when it comes to orders, but this isn’t a situation he’s idly sitting by in without more context. His Handler makes a noncommittal noise on the other line, which has Keigo’s wings twitching nervously rather than relaxing at the casual nonchalance.

“We should know more about him, is all. The kid’s been taking up a lot of your time over the last few months, and seeing as how you’re an asset of ours, you can’t blame anyone for wanting to know whether or not it’s been a good investment.”

The implication is obvious: Keigo’s time is the Commission’s time, and any of it that he’s spending on things other than what they’ve told him to are minutes he could be putting towards something else. No doubt this is also a move to lash out at him for going against their wishes and taking Shouto as an intern in the first place, reaching to grapple away whatever power he has over the situation. The hero bristles further in aggravation, doing his best to keep his voice level so his temper won’t resonate through the call.

“This internship hasn’t impeded any of my mission work or outside duties from the day I picked it up,” Keigo argues, tossing a jovial note in his tone just to keep up appearances while he makes a dig at getting more information, “So, why the sudden interest? From what you were just saying, nobody was overly excited when I took Shouto on to begin with- I’m just confused why the higher-ups want to hear more about him now, and what, exactly, they’re wanting me to do.”

“God, Hawks, loosen up. They’re just curious; the kid’s got a big rep for someone his age, and he’s got the potential to surpass Endeavor. Forgive them for wanting a little insight.” Toshiaki snaps in irritation, and maybe once upon a time, his sharp voice would’ve been enough of a warning for Keigo to fall back and take up his orders without question, but those days are becoming few and far between, and the shift does nothing but make the hero even more suspicious.

This isn’t the first time recently that he’s been asked about Shouto. It’s the first time he’s had a directive about him, but a few weeks ago one woman had asked him how his internship was going, and he’d only made a polite comment about it going well. Another representative had inquired about if Shouto was being very responsive to his teaching approach only a few days beforehand. It had been an odd question, and one that had made him nervous, somewhat foreseeing this coming.

The Commission’s planning something. He’s being left in the dark over it for now, but Keigo’s willing to bet anything that there’s something going on behind the scenes that’s working as the motive of this new request. He’s not sure if it had anything to do with Endeavor, or if the Commission is maybe just interested in roping Shouto in as a potential recruit through him, but this is more than a curiosity case and the fact that they’re trying to mislead him by writing it off as nothing tells him all he needs to know about how little he’d probably agree with whatever’s going on. “It’s not like they’re asking for much- just a few scheduled progress reports here and there to keep tabs on how things are developing. It’s a pretty easy thing to accommodate, Hawks.”

Progress reports. There’s the tripwire. It’s the second time Toshiaki’s said that as if to push that this is no big deal, trying to guilt-trip and undermine him. Sure, it might start off as simple progress reports, but Keigo knows as soon as he agrees, their requests are going to snowball. The hero scowls and begins thinking on his feet. There’s no way in hell he’s letting the Commission get their claws into his intern for any reason.

“I can’t send you any reports.” He denies, cutting Toshiaki off when the other man begins to protest angrily. The hero leans against the wall behind him, fanning his feathers slightly, “No, I’m serious. UA has an extremely strict privacy policy over their internships this year. I think it has something to do with the number of attacks the school has seen in the last few months, and how compromised the safety of their students has been. They can’t take any more risks than they have to with the kids this year, not with this crazy influx of villains and the League still on the loose.”

“Like policy has ever stopped you from doing what we’ve needed you to do in the past.” Toshiaki snorts dismissively, but Keigo’s not done pushing.

“Toshiaki, think. UA’s always been big news, but especially this year with everything going on. If I end up with a lawsuit over leaked information, my mission work is all as good as fucked. There’s no way I’d be able to continue the League case if the media caught hold of a story like that- there would be cameras following me everywhere, and it would only be a matter of time before shit hits the fan. We need to be smart here,” Keigo reasons, already creating a mental note to get Aizawa involved in this as soon as he has the opportunity to speak to the other man in person. Call him superstitious, but he’s not risking discussing any of this over email. Maybe it’s because he’s tracked enough paper trails in his line of work to be smart enough not to leave one. “I know it’s not ideal, but I’m trying to help.”

His Handler goes quiet for a second, then two, Keigo’s heartbeat loud in his ears. When the man finally speaks, he sounds livid.

“Fine,” Toshiaki grunts, Keigo’s body sagging in relief, eyelids falling over his eyes and hand instinctively drawing his phone away from his mouth so his small sigh won’t be picked up, “I’ll take the message up the chain and ask what they want us to do. Maybe there’s a loophole we can work around or something.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Keigo replies, voice chipper even as his expression remains unchanged. Dear God, that was close. There’s an anxious stirring in the hero’s gut that won’t settle, gnawing and carving at him from the inside out; something’s really not right here. “Anything else, or was that it?”

“Any developments with the League situation, or is that still a shitshow case?”

“Still nothing to report on Dabi,” Keigo clicks his tongue as though in annoyance, “There’s been a few leads, but so far everything’s come up short. At this point, I’ve got no clue if they’re hiding him somewhere or if he’s dead, but I’m starting to wonder if he’s just out of commission either way. It’s been weeks, and he’s been a key player for the League in the past- you’d think if he was back to strength or available, they’d have put him back in the field by now.”

Keigo has to hand it to them- the League’s cunning as hell. Compress had been the one to offer to start spreading rumours about the fire-villain’s whereabouts and status through the underground to throw off the Commission and give Keigo enough material to chase. Within days, both the hero world and the villain’s underground had been rampant with misleading suspicions about what had happened to the elusive A-rank villain, who’d seemingly disappeared out of thin air after his fight with Endeavor. A fair number even suspected he was dead, burned alive by the power of his own fire following the battle, leaving nothing to find. The story was almost too eerily similar to the one that the Commission had fabricated to cover Touya’s ‘death’, and Keigo couldn’t help but wonder if Compress had been at the root of this particular myth, knowing Dabi’s backstory and deciding to bring it back to some form of light once again. He wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if the masked man had done this intentionally to haunt Endeavor from a distance, like history repeating itself a second time over. “Other than that, I’ve met up with a few of them here and there- mostly Twice, but he hasn’t let anything slip yet. I’m betting he’ll be the best chance for that though, he’s the most trusting and that dual-personality thing he’s got going on makes it hard for him to keep secrets.”

“Keep going to him, then,” Toshiaki agrees, Keigo giving a hum of acknowledgement to confirm he’s understood. He has met up with Twice a few times, actually, that much isn’t a lie. He’d figured it would be best to keep up some kind of appearances in case the Commission decided to look into things and discovered his reports weren’t accurate to his movements. As such, meetings with Twice had become a kind of compromise, giving him some kind of activity to follow for his reports and a means to catch up on things with the other man in person. More often than not, so far, their meetings have consisted of card games in shady places, not doing much more than chatting. Shigaraki and Spinner have been all but absent in the winged man’s life over the last month, Spinner too easily identifiable to meet up without being caught, and Shigaraki keeping his distance for what Keigo assumes to be a multitude of reasons. Compress and Toga have been more present, but even that’s been limited, the two doing occasional supply runs or finding ways to get Keigo and Dabi information, but mostly working to keep the rumour mill in the underground constantly moving. “We need to start getting a solid read of what’s going on- though the fact that they’re working so hard to keep this under wraps and not show their hand makes me think they’re fucked at the moment. That guy was one of their best players- offense, defense, long-range- you name it. If they’re feeling threatened right now and haven’t been showing him off to prove he’s alive and they’re strong as ever, then he’s either not in fighting shape, or they’re trying to cover their asses and are scrambling to get him replaced.”

‘Bullseye ,’ Keigo thinks with a small grin, glad that his Handler has blindly let Keigo guide him exactly to the conclusion he wanted him to get to. At least three-thirds of the trick to manipulation is setting up the outcome you want directly in front of a person, and letting them come to it by appealing to their rationality like it’s their own train of thought.

“You might be onto something with that,” The winged man throws on his best considering tone, knowing full well that the comment is just to boost the other man’s ego and confidence, and idly double-checking his feathers again to make sure nobody’s within hearing proximity, “I’ll keep looking into it and try digging a bit more with Twice. That might be why the others have been so scarce as well- maybe they’re reeling.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Toshiaki replies in a way that suddenly sounds significantly more certain, as though the man has become an expert on this topic now within the last minute, following Keigo’s acknowledgement of his thoughts. The hero can hear the very slight, smug edge in his Handler’s tone, and it’s worth smirking at all over again as the winged man rolls his eyes, stepping away from the wall to pace a strip of the hallway quietly. ‘Oh, that’s almost embarrassing. You’ve had a hand in training me, you should be smarter than this.’

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Keigo offers, “I’ll keep you posted on what I find.”

Toshiaki says his own brief farewells and the line goes dead, Keigo’s hand still holding the phone up to his ear for a few moments even after the call has ended, quickly analyzing everything they discussed and filing it away for later.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like the sudden notice that the Commission’s taken in Shouto, and how he’s being left in the dark over it. All that combined with the confrontation he had with Endeavor a few weeks ago isn’t going to be doing any wonders for him anytime soon.

Endeavor. Does he have anything to do with this? Keigo’s not sure how many ties the older man has to the Commission but, considering how they handled the Touya situation, the winged hero’s sure there’s not an abundance of ill-will between them. Is there a possibility that the fire-user is working through the Commission to try and take his son back through ulterior means and with the Commission’s assistance, or is there something else at work here?

‘Fuck, I don’t know what to do with this.’ Keigo chews his lip for a moment in consideration, rubbing at the back of his neck. He still hasn’t brought himself to tell Dabi about his run-in with the villain’s father as it is- he knows he should have, knows that he’s going to need to find out at some point, but he’s been doing so much better lately and Keigo hasn’t wanted to risk jeopardizing that when the arsonist’s finally starting to physically recover from his own incident with the flame hero. He’d been afraid that dumping all of this on him would only set Dabi’s condition back even more, but he’s not going to be able to keep him in the dark over it for much longer. Dabi already knows something’s happened that he hasn’t filled him in on, and he’s willing to bet that if he doesn’t come clean soon, the former Todoroki will begin asking questions.

He needs to know. Yes, he needs to know in any case, but if Endeavor’s potentially making a play to force Keigo to drop Shouto’s internship… Damn it all, he might need all the help he can get.

Keigo pockets his phone, running his hands through his hair and mentally putting everything to the side for now. Inarguably, there’s not much he can do about any of it at this exact moment. But he needs to talk to Aizawa about all of this, and he needs to talk to Dabi, and-

And he should go back and finish helping Shouto train, because the kid wanted him to stick around, and he’s still standing out in an empty hallway, doing absolutely nothing.

Keigo pulls himself together and puts work on the back-burner, re-entering the training room and watching from the doorway as the students continue proving their talents, completely unaware of the hero’s intrusion.

“Can we try that again?” Midoriya’s asking, Shouto nodding his assent before sending multiple prongs of ice rocketing up from the floor. The green-haired boy begins dashing between them, using each pillar like a springboard as he hops quickly between Shouto’s icicles, gaining momentum and height as he does so. Dark Shadow flies after him, the villain in this scenario, as it would seem, chasing Midoriya through the ice and forcing him to jump and dodge in a spontaneous pattern to both evade the creature, and get in a position to attack him.

At one point, when Dark Shadow almost reaches the freckled boy, Shouto leaps forward to hold him back with a plume of fire, the creature shrinking back from the light.

“Watch your back, Midoriya-”

“Fourty-five more seconds,” Tokoyami calls, holding his phone and timing the exercise. Their easy collaboration and teamwork has Keigo grinning warmly and with intrigue, taking up his former seat against the wall, and putting his notes aside. Midoriya makes a leap with his arm outstretched, eyes aimed upwards, and it’s then that Keigo realizes the ultimate goal of this little challenge. High up on one of Shouto’s ice pillars rests on of the boys’ jackets, difficult to reach, and guarded by Dark Shadow.

The beast lets out a blood-curdling noise and dives on Midoriya, forcing the small boy to duck out of the way of its attack, using tendrils of green lightning to direct his fall away from the creature and towards a different pillar.

Keigo frowns, cocking his head. For someone so analytical, it’s an odd approach for Midoriya to have just jumped for the thing and blindly hoped that Dark Shadow wouldn’t try to intercept him, but-

“Now, Todoroki!”

Without hesitation, Shouto unleashes his fire again, lighting up the room. Dark Shadow, lured directly into his sight, takes the blast head-on, immediately falling back with a cry of surprise. Almost instantly afterwards, steam floods the jungle of ice, coming off the icicles in enormous plumes and completely shrouding the pillars for a few crucial moments. Keigo watches in amazement as he loses sight of Midoriya in the artificial fog, the boy dropping back down to the floor only a few moments later in the midst of all this confusion, still crackling with green energy, and with the jacket clenched in his right hand. He shoots Shouto a triumphant grin before turning to Tokoyami to hear their time read out loud.

Keigo isn’t listening to that portion, too amazed by the amount of progress all three students have demonstrated. Tokoyami and Shouto he’d already acknowledged, but even Midoriya is in a completely different ballpark from the last he’d seen of him during the Sports Festival coverage.

“That kid’s going to make one hell of a hero someday,” Keigo murmurs to himself, still wrangled in his own surprise, offering all three a proud smile and round of applause when he sees them turn his way as if instinctively looking for insight. Shouto grins in return, Tokoyami ducking his head in acknowledgement, and Midoriya goes red all the way up to his ears, fumbling with the coat for a moment and nearly dropping it. He doesn’t though, recovering his hold on the thing, and offering Keigo a bashful smile afterwards, actually meeting his eyes, which is an improvement from earlier.

“Awesome job, kids. That was great.” He nods to Midoriya, curious, “Was the fire and steam thing your idea?”

“Huh? Oh- yeah,” Midoriya answers a little nervously, “We haven’t really tried it before, but Todoroki and I had talked about it a while ago and this seemed like a good time to try it out.”

“It was excellent planning. Way to play to your strengths, all of you.“

The students all exchange worn out but proud looks, Keigo chuckling softly to himself, and rising to his feet. “Now, if you guys are all done for the day, why don’t you go ahead and get ready to head out. You’re going to want time to shower and change before grabbing food.”

“Are you coming with us?” Midoriya pipes up to ask, and this time he sounds hopeful, even if still a little shy. The winged hero’s grin broadens to a winning smile, gathering his notes and papers, and arranging them back in the shoulder-bag he brought with him.

“Lunch is on me today- you three have earned it.”

The look Shouto shoots him is worth all the trouble he’s gone through for the kid this afternoon alone, and Keigo smiles back. He’ll shield him from it all as best he can for now, at least until he has more answers and can get Aizawa involved- in all respects, it’s probably best for the teen to stay in the dark until they know what’s going on.

‘Worry about that later,’ Keigo chides himself, heading to wait outside for the boys, and pulling up a map on his phone for that one restaurant he remembers Tokoyami liking while they were interning together, and getting the coordinates established in his GPS. ‘For now, just give him what you can. That’s all you can do.’

It somehow takes him six hours to get lunch with the kids, get them back to UA, and then get himself back to the apartment- and by the time he does, he’s aching to get indoors, certain his feathers would be frostbitten if it were possible.

“Hey, Dabs- I’m home.” Keigo announces, stepping in off the balcony and shaking out his wings. He pulls the sliding door shut behind him, tugging off his visor and gloves, and rubbing at his arms through his coat to try to ward off the lingering chill of the early December air. The lights are on in the kitchen, but it remains otherwise empty, Keigo glancing around in surprise. The winged hero takes a step forward, glancing around for a familiar head of dark hair and blue eyes. “Dabs?”

No answer.

Eventually his wandering feet take him to the living room, where he finds the other man poring over a series of papers and documents scattered around the coffee table, a forgotten cup of black coffee sitting on the floor by his feet. He’s focused so intently that he doesn’t seem to notice Keigo approaching, repeatedly running his thumb across his lower lip in thought as he reads. Keigo smiles softly, Dabi startling as the hero slides a hand across his upper back to rest on his shoulder, stepping close. “Hey there, handsome.”

The arsonist looks up in surprise, moreso at the comment than at Keigo’s sudden appearance, but Keigo pretends not to notice, instead taking a seat on the couch next to the fire-user and picking up one of the other files he has spread out, flipping it open, “What’re you working on?”

For a moment, Dabi doesn’t answer. Keigo can feel the other man’s eyes on him as his own scan the document in his hands, until Dabi eventually gives a small huff and settles, attention turned back to the paper mess in front of him.

“These were all unsolved case files,” He says eventually, pointing to the one Keigo’s holding, “That have been piling up from the Commission. You haven’t had much time for looking into stuff like this lately.”

No, he definitely hasn’t. Keigo scans the page until he reaches a typed-out line reading ‘WHEREABOUTS: UNKNOWN’ under a villain case summary and notices that Dabi’s scrawled a note beside it in pen ink- a name and location listed one after the other. He blinks.

“Is this…” He begins, picking up another document. This one has the same treatment, though it’s missing the location, but at least has a name tagged to the previously unknown culprit of the incident report. Keigo looks up. “Are you… You’re selling them out for me? It’s not going to hurt your cause at all?”

Dabi snorts, taking a sip on now-cold coffee and shrugging, picking up his own file to avoid meeting Keigo’s eye.

“Just the assholes. I don’t know who was responsible for all of this shit and there are some that I can’t let you turn in, but if it’ll help get the Commission off your back, I can help you rope up some of these bastards.” He shakes the stack of papers in his hand in example, before dropping it in Keigo’s lap. “Like this guy. Always cheats at cards and hasn’t made good on a single promise he’s made to Shig since starting to work under him. Also,” The dark-haired man scowls in a way that almost has to be painful with his staples, though if it is, he doesn’t draw attention to it, “Toga said he’s been a fucking creep to her before, making comments and shit. If you guys don’t take care of him, I will- and if that ends up being the case, there won’t be anything left of him to find.”

Keigo nods, glancing through the file, and setting it to the side.

“I’ll gladly pass that along. Any others?”

“I’ve got a stack for you. These ones,” Dabi gestures towards a smaller pile, frown twisting thoughtfully, “Are all ones we don’t want getting caught. We might be able to pawn some of their incidents off on the people I’ve given you to turn in though, and make the Commission think they’re solved cases. Other than that, have at ‘em.”

Keigo looks over to him, seeing that focused look on the scarred man’s face again, and smiles fondly. He reaches out and uses two fingers against the villain’s chin to turn Dabi’s head towards him, the latter raising an eyebrow questioningly at the interruption until Keigo leans in to kiss him warmly, fingers splaying out across his jaw.

“Thank you.” Keigo murmurs, appreciative to find this burden, at least, lifted off his shoulders in the midst of everything going on right now. Dabi gives a low hum in return before nudging him away, jerking his head towards the kitchen.

“Dinner’s on the stove,” He says, taking the files from Keigo’s hands, and putting them back in their respective piles, “I got a plate put together for you in the fridge, but take more if you need it.”

“You’ve already eaten?” Keigo asks to double-check, stomach growling from his flight home. Dabi gives him a knowing smirk.

“I’m good, Pigeon. The rest is for you- go eat.”

Keigo’s smile grows tenfold, the winged man kissing him again despite Dabi’s empty, grumbling protests, before standing up.

“What would I do without you?”

“Starve, apparently,” Dabi sarcastically calls over his shoulder without looking up, gaze locked on another folder as he reads. Keigo rounds the couch, intent on getting changed out of his uniform and into something more comfortable- but he hesitates for a moment behind the other man as he goes to walk past, lingering inexplicably. Driven by impulse, he quietly steps close again and stoops over the back of the couch to drape an arm across Dabi’s chest, resting his cheek in the crook of the arsonist’s neck and shoulder. The fire-user brings a hand up to skim Keigo’s arm thoughtlessly before settling his own overtop, interlocking their fingers where Keigo’s hand lays. He’s getting used to these quiet gestures of physical contact, Keigo realizes suddenly, Dabi not even surprised by the action, when Keigo’s likely become somewhat notorious for doing things like this quite often. “You alright, little bird?” The villain asks, raspy and sidetracked, by still attentive even now.

“I’m all good,” The hero answers softly, opting to put away the day’s revelations and his need to talk to Dabi about Endeavor for another time. He can procrastinate a little longer, right? The world’s not going anywhere. “Just give me a minute.”

Dabi gives a nearly-silent, amused huff, his voice low and warm when he speaks, squeezing Keigo’s hand once before releasing it to trail his fingers up and down his arm.

“Take your time, Pigeon; I’m not complaining.”

It’s a kind invitation, and one Keigo takes full advantage of, resting like that for a few minutes before going about the rest of his routine and walking away like he’d initially intended.

-

-

-

Had he known what the events of the next day would bring, he probably would’ve held on longer.

Chapter Text

If looks could kill, Keigo’s certain he’d be dead nine times over by now.

Of all the calls to get first thing in the morning, he hadn’t been expecting to be called in by the Commission today. They’d cancelled his patrols for a rescheduled meeting with a few of his superiors at two o’clock, and informed him of the change last minute as he was busy going about his morning routine, barely making it to answer his cell when it had gone off in the middle of him brushing his teeth.

“You’re getting called in?” Dabi had asked, scowling, and Keigo had just shrugged, reaching past the arsonist to grab a bowl from the cupboard.

“It’s not like that’s uncommon, Hot Stuff. It’s probably just a check-in that they’ve decided to bump up or something, nothing serious.”

Dabi handed him a spoon from the drawer by his hip, that irritated look not leaving his face.

“I hate having to watch you deal with this bullshit. And don’t try to play it off, it’s going to stress you out wondering what this is about until you get there.”

Keigo shot him a reassuring smile and gripped the arsonist’s shoulder as he walked past.

“It’s fine, Dabs. I’ll be in and out of there no sweat- I’m used to handling whatever they can throw on my plate.”

The fire-user hadn’t looked certain, nursing a cup of coffee and watching Keigo move about the rest of the kitchen with a small frown. Eventually, Keigo’d had enough of his concerned silence and allowed himself a laugh, reaching up to press a kiss to the arsonist’s cheek. “You worry too much. Seriously, baby, this is standard.”

Or so he had thought. He’d quickly been proven otherwise upon getting to the facility, but then again, of course if there’d be a day when everything would go to shit, it’d be a Monday.

Nishimura’s office is a place he’s certain was designed with intimidation in mind. The woman herself reminds him of a predator with those steely, unblinking eyes of hers, and the theory checks out all the more when he finds himself standing in the middle of the room, her desk ahead of him, conference tables on his sides, the door to his back, and attention on him from every angle. It’s like being caught in a snare trap and feeling a pack of wolves closing in.

“Hawks,” Nishimura begins, less of a greeting and more of a directive for who she’s speaking to, “It’s been brought to my attention that we might have a problem.”

Blunt as ever. Keigo shifts his weight on his feet, trying to get a read on the situation. He puts on an easy grin for convenience, and slips his hands in his pockets.

“Alrighty, anything I can fix?” He asks brightly, compliant. Nishimura raises a manicured eyebrow.

“Indeed.” The woman replies coldly, appraising him, “Tell me- how are things going with your intern, Shouto Todoroki?”

Keigo freezes, not long enough for anyone to notice, he hopes, but long enough that his fingers twitch in nervous surprise in his pockets. Oh God, is that what this is about? He hadn’t expected the Commission to go after Shouto so hard right out the gate- hell, Toshiaki just asked him about those reports yesterday, surely they can’t be pushing this already?

He thought he’d bought them time with the story he sold his Handler while the boys were training- did the ruse not work, or are they pushing anyway?

If this is about Shouto, they’re getting way too adamant for things to not be suspicious. The hero sets that notion on the back of his mind and nods amiably.

“Fine,” He says, going for nonchalant and unbothered, “Same old. He’s a nice kid.”

“Why so clipped, Hawks?” Nishimura presses, raising an eyebrow and steepling her fingers over the desk. Keigo shrugs, folding his own arms across his chest. Fuck, this is quickly getting into dangerous territory. He tries his best to keep a chill demeanor, looking calm and open as ever.

“I’m not being clipped.”

The Commission woman purses her lips in unamused disbelief, a few members of the adjourned meeting mumbling to one another under their breath. The hair on the back of Keigo’s neck stands up straight on end.

This is not about to go well.

“You were told to start making reports on the boy’s progress, were you not?” Nishimura asks, making a point of examining some of the papers on her desk. She meets Keigo’s eye over the rims of her glasses when she glances up once more, speculatively. The winged hero cocks his head, as if in confusion.

“I told Toshiaki, I can’t-”

“Can’t because of UA policy,” Nishimura cuts him off, studying her papers once again, “Yes, so I heard. How inconvenient. Or, rather,” When she looks his way again her stare is pointed, sharp. “Perhaps it’s quite the opposite.”

“You’ve become quite fond of the Todoroki boy,” Someone else pipes up, a balding man with squinting, leery eyes and a shirt collar that almost reaches his chin. Keigo immediately dislikes him. “Some would say your actions as of late have inspired a lack of confidence in your fidelity to this organization. We did not train you to forgo orders, and you’ve done so on multiple occasions with this intern of yours.”

Keigo bristles in warning, temper surging.

“Shouto has nothing to do with the Commission,” He retaliates, bitter and fuming.

Nishumura pushes up her glasses and meets him unflinchingly.

“Not anymore,” She informs the room, unbothered, “The Commission’s taken an interest in his potential. We want him; and if you want to prove that this child hasn’t become your main priority and swayed your loyalty from us, you’ll do as you’re told.”

This can’t be happening. Keigo doesn’t even have to think. He just speaks, because at her words, everything in him goes defensive and the thought of not taking a stand is abhorrent.

“No.”

The woman’s eyes flash dangerously, and the rest of the room goes silent and still.

“And what do you mean by that?” She asks slowly, all eyes on him. Keigo straightens his spine, drawing himself upright and refusing to be daunted by the number of glares directed his way.

He shouldn’t be doing this- they won’t tolerate it if he does. They’ll find some way to tighten the leash around his throat if he fights back, and yet he can’t stay silent; he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror if he accepted this, even under a ruse.

“I’m not letting you take him,” Keigo says bluntly, tension radiating through his neck and shoulders, “I don’t know why you’ve latched onto the idea of him all of a sudden, but he’s not an auction animal- you can’t just cast your bid on him now that you’ve decided you want him.”

“We can propel his career, give him an early start-”

“Shouto doesn’t need an early start,” Keigo responds coldly, turning on the man who’d raised his voice. He’s worked under this guy for nine years and still doesn’t know his name. The man in question blanches at his tone, leaning back in his chair, “He doesn’t need your intervention. He’s already built himself a reputation, and you know as well as me he’s not going to have any problems getting his hero career off the ground when he’s in the field.” The winged man stands his ground, wings rustling behind him. His heart is pounding hard and fast in his chest, racing frantically as the trained portion of his brain tells him to shut up, to agree to what they say and figure out some means of sabotaging it later, to duck his head and follow orders, and not cast so much as a sideways glance at anyone in the room. But instead, Keigo swallows dryly and refuses to balk, clenching his fists, and not letting his emotion read anywhere else on his person.

If there’s ever been a reason to refute a direct order, this is it.

The meeting room has gone deadly quiet, not a word being spoken amongst its members. Then, Nishimura sighs, leafing through the papers in front of her and shaking her head.

“You’ve gone obstinate on us, Hawks.”

Keigo knows that tone, knows what it’s a prelude to. He stiffens, tries his best to look unfazed even as he feels his palms begin to sweat. Toshiaki warned him- he’d told him to watch his step, and Keigo hadn’t listened. But fuck it all, if he’s dug himself in this deep, he might as well commit.

“It’s my duty to look out for people,” He says, coldly, “You’re not putting that kid through the same shit you did with me.” Nishimura looks up sharply, expression incredulous, as if she can’t believe he’d have the audacity to talk back. “You’re not getting your hands on him. He’s been through enough.”

Nishimura gives a hard, humourless laugh, setting her papers aside to study him properly, an exhibit on display. Keigo meets her stare evenly and with resolve, even with a sickened feeling in his stomach that he knows exactly where this is going.

He can’t give in though- he can’t. For Shouto’s sake, he’ll take whatever consequences he gets, but he can’t see the kid become another case like him. He won’t.

“You say it like this organization hasn’t given you everything,” Nishimura snaps mockingly, raising an eyebrow, “Or, had you genuinely forgotten that’s the case?”

‘Not everything,’ Keigo thinks, clenching his jaw, ‘You’re responsible for much, but you haven’t given me everything.’

“Hawks.” Her tone is cold, obviously catching his expression. A few members around the table shift uncomfortably, one coughing under their breath. Keigo slowly shakes his head. “We made you. You’d be nothing without the Commission.”

It’s brave of her to state it so boldly, so inarguably, as though she expects not to be challenged on it. Keigo doesn’t feel like lying down and taking the hit quietly today, even as a wave of nerves surges over him.

“Not nothing,” Keigo denies softly, proud of how strong he keeps his voice while saying it, drawing his shoulders back. There’s a collective astonishment beginning to cloud those around him, “I wasn’t nothing. I was someone before I was Hawks- I was a child, and so is my intern.” The winged hero stands as tall as he can manage, even under the crushing weight of the number of eyes on him right now, and the debilitating urge to fall silent and overlooked. He raises his voice instead. “He doesn’t need you, and I’m not helping you get a hold of him.”

Everyone falls quiet.

The silence is oppressive. Keigo does his best not to fidget under it, feeling the press of its weight on his shoulders and spine and refusing to wince. He’s breathing harder than he’d like, his one tell in this situation as he meets Nishimura’s eyes over the table and holds them, pinned on the spot. Neither one of them blink and the clock on the wall ticks almost too loudly as it counts the seconds that pass, both waiting for the other to make a move.

It’s like staring down a snake and waiting for it to strike. Eventually, the snake in question leans back in her seat, still not breaking Keigo’s gaze, and letting her expression go entirely blank.

“Is that so?” She asks coolly. Keigo raises his chin bravely. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Hawks. I expected better from you.”

Keigo’s heart is thrumming double-time in his chest, the winged man itching as though there’s a guillotine hanging over his head and he’s just waiting for the drop.

“I can’t apologize for that.”

“More’s the pity.” Nishimura says curtly, almost disappointed. “What a setback. And here, I thought you’d been taught to leave these obstinate fits behind you. That’s not how Hawks would act.”

“I act however I choose to,” Keigo retaliates sharply, the comment immediately setting off alarms in his head again. Nishimura raises an eyebrow at him, looking like he’s stepped right where she wants him to.

“Exactly the problem,” She announces, “Because you’re not speaking as Hawks right now, are you?”

Keigo’s blood goes cold.

‘Takami Keigo doesn’t exist here- you left him behind. You’re Hawks now. Do you understand me, boy?’

‘I understand.’

“I’m not catching what you’re saying.” Keigo backtracks, everything in him seizing painfully. Fuck, he hopes this isn’t going  where he thinks it’s going. It’s been so long since they’ve tried using this against him, she can’t possibly be meaning-

Nishimura rises from her seat, casually dismissing the rest of the gathered officials, and clasping her hands in front of them as they all file out in a sea of black suits and unnerving cooperation. Within moments the room is cleared, the shuffling of chairs and dress shoes on tile having stopped altogether. Nishimura’s eyes are piercing, rooting Keigo where he stands.

“Take a seat.”

Keigo does as he’s told, taking the seat nearest to him. The woman walks back behind her desk and sits once more as well, smoothing out her skirt and removing a piece of imaginary lint from one sleeve, before calling in three other people with her earpiece.

“Send Ito, Toshiaki, and Ogawa to my office on floor thirty-seven. We have a situation here that needs to be addressed.”

Keigo fidgets, fighting to keep his cool and not make a move for the door- it’ll only make things worse if he does. Nishimura’s expression is cold as she picks at her nails, then swivels her attention to her laptop, where she begins working on a document, the clacking of the keys enough to make Keigo cringe. “Effective immediately, new restrictions. Expect more assignments to be put under your name by the end of the week. I’ll have your new dietary chart finished within a few minutes. You’ll be expected to upkeep it and report as such on a weekly basis for the next four months. Clearly, we’ve been too lenient with you as of late.”

Those are ridiculous demands to make, but this time Keigo holds his tongue. All things considered, they could be significantly worse.

Three men walk into the room simultaneously at that moment, clearly the individuals Nishimura summoned. Toshiaki meets Keigo’s eye and then swiftly glances away, his mouth setting into a hard, firm line. Keigo’s heart sinks. The other man had warned him to check himself and his attitude. It’s not like Keigo was in any position to agree to what was being asked, but he knows his Handler at least attempted to make an early intervention.

It’s a bit late for that now, though.

“You called us in?” One of the other men asks, familiar but in the kind of way that leaves Keigo wondering where on earth he’s seen him, trying to remember. He has a forgettable face, and yet the winged hero is certain they’ve run across one antoher before. The third man is one he’s met before as well, come to think of it, taller than his two counterparts and silent, though his grey eyes look dismal. Everything about him radiates grief in a way that has Keigo cringing in his seat, trying to recall the last time they would’ve crossed paths.

“Indeed. Hawks has made some alarming relapses in his behaviour, and needs a reminder of where he stands.” Nishimura explains simply, snatching Keigo’s attention again as he swivels to face her, his own sense of alarm beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. She glances at him almost degradingly, brows furrowed. “He’s overdue for reconditioning. He’s becoming flawed again.”

Reconditioning. Re-

‘Shit.’

Throwing caution to the wind, Keigo lunges to get out of his chair, suddenly remembering why these men seem familiar. It’s been years since he saw them last- not since his last assassination charge, which he’d refused to follow through with and had faced consequences for later. He was eighteen at the time, and after denying, he’d been put through some ‘reconditioning’ bullshit that had left him stone cold and empty for almost a week thereafter. They’d put a gun back in his hand the next day and he hadn’t even hesitated to pull the trigger, gutted too fucking hollow to give a damn.

There’s no way he’s going through that again.

He’s stopped short in his tracks as his feet freeze in place underneath him, Keigo’s breaths coming in sharp, heavy gasps. He meets Toshiaki’s eyes, recognizing the other’s quirk instantly as the man forces him to stay in place, looking five degrees shy of pained.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.” His Handler reprimands shortly, Keigo shaking in his strain to free himself from the older man’s power.

“Running, Hawks? Come on, now.” Nishimura tuts in irritation, not even sparing him a glance as she finishes the document she was working on, and sends it to the printer behind her, the thing whirring to life. She’s enthralled by the screen in front of her as she distractedly starts working on something else, waving a hand at those gathered, “Begin whenever, just don’t draw this out too long- or head somewhere else if needs be. I’ve got another meeting at five and I don’t want to be disrupted.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The dismal-looking man replies, even his tone sounding agonized. Keigo wants to lean as far away from him as he possibly can, but Toshiaki still has him standing still, and movement is impossible. The man’s washed-grey eyes meet his, misery instantly crashing over him in a wave.

‘I can do this,’ Keigo thinks to himself, gritting his teeth in determination, and trying to keep his head, ‘I can do this, I can fight it-’

The other man’s hand falls on the back of Keigo’s neck at the same instant the grey-eyed official starts to speak, and just like that, it’s all over from there.

He doesn’t remember leaving the building. He doesn’t remember walking up the stairs to his apartment. Everything’s a numb blur up until he stumbles in through the front door and realizes that he doesn’t usually enter this way.

It’s not like it matters.

Hawks trips over his own feet as he works the door shut behind him, clumsy and blank-headed, barely aware of his own actions. Why are the lights on? Did he forget to turn them off before he left? He must have, it’s just like him to make stupid, careless mistakes. He’ll have to remember to be better.

The fact that he hasn’t felt anything in what must be hours now is starting to bother him. The Commission made him like this and the Commission knows best, but still it makes him nervous in a way he doesn’t understand. His anxieties are beginning to weigh on his chest like an immovable boulder, but he tries to convince himself he’s overreacting. They did this to make him better. He’s flawed and ruined and the Commission is trying to fix him.

But even though he knows they’re helping him, he can’t help but still feel fear creeping up his spine at just how hollow he is, can’t help but be scared. His Handler’s words are still ringing loudly in his ears, reminding him over and over of all of his flaws. He needs to do better. He needs to understand that he’s broken.

He’s definitely feeling broken now, and it’s beginning to terrify him.

The sound of pages rustling snatches his attention, and Hawks turns slowly, his head feeling heavy and stiff, too out of it to acknowledge that the noise could potentially be an intruder or a threat. He doesn’t even raise his wings to defend himself, nearly paralyzed stiff, afraid and emotionless, and barely able to process what’s around him.

There’s a man sitting in his house. He’s sitting under one of the living-room lamps, which eases one of Keigo’s concerns, because he knows he didn’t turn on the living-room light before he left, which means he didn’t accidentally leave it on, and that the man must have done so instead. That means he didn’t make a mistake here too. That’s good. His Handlers would like that.

He watches the man. The title of the book he’s reading is covered by one of his hands, splayed out across the cover. He can’t see his arms because he has sleeves down to his wrists, but there are scars running down across the backs of his hands, and staples pierced through the skin there. The scars continue running up his throat and part of his face as well, bruise-purple against the pale skin Hawks can see, somehow a complimentary colour under the warm glow of the living room light. He looks peaceful. His eyes are blue, and they’re beautiful.

‘So pretty,’ His mind supplies, before something clicks and a name comes to the forefront of his mind, resonant. ‘Dabi.’

It’s as though the name fractures something in him, because a surge of memories flood him then and familiarity settles, reminding him that this man is no stranger. In his memories, he knows he’s special. He knows he feels strongly for him, that in his memories he acts nothing like the shell he feels himself as now-

Feelings. He feels so much with him, he knows he does, because it’s all coming back to him now. What if-

Without saying a word, the hero throws his coat to the side and strides over to where Dabi sits, cross-legged on the floor. He glances up from the book in his hands at Hawks’ approach, blinking tiredly. Is it late? It must be late. Hawks didn’t check the clock when he came in, and can’t be bothered to do so now when he’s starting to feel the fear within him building and threatening to bubble over. He needs to do something about this now, needs to feel anything because his lack of emotion has him terrified.

“Hey Pigeon. How was work?” The arsonist greets, turning his page, eyes scanning the next. He doesn’t get very far, though, before Hawks is already pulling the novel away, ignoring the villain’s confused look in favour of settling himself in Dabi’s lap instead. Before the scarred man can get a word in, he’s kissing him roughly, hands on either side of his face, lips demanding, fingers tugging at his hair. Dabi lets out a brief noise of surprise before folding into the onslaught, taking the other man’s fierce kisses in stride and without complaint.

There’s nothing.

The realization hits Hawks like a hard slap, the winged man trembling in horror and fear as it sinks in. No- no, this can’t be right, there has to be something. There has to be; he needs to feel something right now to feel safe, and this is the safest place he can be, and it’s Dabi- he should be feeling so many things right now.

‘No, no, no, no, no-’

There’s nothing.

He’s just doing something wrong, he has to be. Hawks becomes more insistent, his kisses fierce and borderline desperate. It’s this action that spells disaster for him as Dabi blinks in shock at the unexpected force of his lover’s attention, eyes catching Hawks’ for the first time since the man walked in.

Instantaneously, he notices.

There’s nothing.

Dabi’s larger hands come up to catch the blond’s wrists as he pulls away sharply, studying Hawks’ expression with a meticulous eye that makes Hawks think he should feel vulnerable and exposed right now, if the numbness in his chest weren’t so strong. “Hey, no- no, hold up. What’s going on, Birdie?”

He’s already managed to fuck up. Hawks tries not to wilt under the weight of that knowledge, though it roils in his stomach. He’s already doing things wrong again; maybe his Handlers had a point, maybe they were right. The urge to pull his wings in tight around himself is a strong one that he ignores, because it’ll just get him in more trouble if he does so. He doesn’t want to get yelled at again, doesn’t want to be told once more how insufficient he is- especially not to Dabi, especially not with him -

“Do you not want this?” Hawks asks, and he hates how small his voice sounds, wishes that he could actually feel something akin to hatred for himself right now, if only as an alternative to the crushing weight of emptiness within him. Dabi lets out a low huff, shakes his head slightly before looking him in the eye again.

“Feathers, there are a billion situations where I’d love where this is going, but something tells me this isn’t one of them.” The arsonist drawls, letting one hand drift down from Hawks’ wrist to his hip, and beginning to press gentle circles into the skin there with his thumb. The pressure isn’t bad, the gesture one that Dabi makes so often it’s almost second nature- but Hawks jumps under it at first, instinctive to keep hands off of him that he didn’t expect to be there, just in case. Dabi catches the movement, falling silent, Hawks shrinking under his blue eyes as the arsonist draws his hand back a bit. He tries placing it on Hawks’ waist slowly a second time, and it doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming, the arsonist warming his touch ever so slightly as he does so. He just holds it there though, light and cautious as though testing the waters, and part of Hawks aches at the loss of those pressed circles, even if he’d likely shy away from them again. It’s a loss of familiarity, a loss of some kind of norm they’ve built around themselves that Hawks knows he’s ruining. He wants to apologize, but his tongue feels leaden, and he looks away instead, ignoring Dabi’s gaze as the fire-user tries to navigate what’s happening. After a moment, Dabi’s tone softens as he adds, “And I don’t think you really want this either- I can tell by your eyes. “ Clearly that’s not the only way he can tell, but it’s the reason he chooses to mention. “You’re not... C’mon Keigo, what’s going on?”

Keigo.

Keigo Takami.

That name is all it takes for silent tears to begin rolling down Keigo’s face; just two, one for each eye as he glances up again. Dabi stares at him for a moment, looking bewildered and stunned, before hesitantly wiping the offending tears away with his free hand and cupping his cheek. “ Kei -”

He shatters.

Dabi’s quick to catch him when he crumbles, arms around him so quickly, he doesn’t have the chance to fall. The tears are an open stream now, Keigo not doing anything to hold them back as they race the curve of his nose, his cheekbone, his jaw. “Keigo- hey, Pigeon, talk to me.” Dabi cajoles, sounding worried. He reaches out and tilts Keigo’s head up so the winged hero will look him in the eye once more, though after doing so, it only takes him another beat to come to a realization. The fire-user’s eyes flash, his voice going cold and hard. “ What did they do? ”

Keigo shakes his head wearily, numb, not even feeling the tears still falling anymore. He’s hollow- he has to be, because it feels like all of the emotions have been gutted out of him entirely except for whatever horrible empty feeling it is that’s the driving force of all of his tears. 

“Keigo, I’m serious. What did they do?”

‘They’ve stripped me of everything- you don’t understand, there is nothing-’

His lover’s hands are warm, and Keigo tries to give a shuddering breath, his foundations cracking slightly as he feels Dabi try to wipe away some of his tears again with one thumb, the tender gesture only making him cry more. 

Dabi’s unwavering though, and eventually the hero finds his voice despite how rusted his mouth feels to open.

“It was my fault.” He whispers hoarsely, throat tight, “It was all my fault, I knew what they’d do if I was disobedient. They warned me. They warned me, I didn’t listen, just like everything else-”

Dabi’s eyes are confused as he tries to understand, cocking his head with his eyebrows drawn low.

He’s just upsetting him. He should have known better.

Keigo’s hands latch into the soft fabric of Dabi’s shirt and hold fast, trembling. “Please,” He says desperately, choking on a sob. The emptiness is swallowing him whole, he’s certain of it. His breath begins to quicken, “Please, I just want to feel something, it’s so numb, I shouldn’t be this numb- I always feel so much with you, please- ”

Understanding begins dawning in those blue eyes as he breaks off on agonized sob, Dabi gathering him close and tight in his lap, hushing him softly. Keigo continues to weep, the arsonist pressing his cheek into the blond’s hair and letting the smaller man soak his shirt with tears while he rubs at the back of his neck with a warm, soothing hand. Keigo can’t remember the last time he broke down like this at all, let alone in front of Dabi who’s taking this remarkably well, all things considered, the fire-user beginning to murmur to him quietly in that low voice that often reminds Keigo of smoke and embers.

“Shh... You’re alright. I’ve got you, Angel, it’s okay.” Dabi shifts slightly, and a second later Keigo can feel a soft kiss on the crown of his head. The arsonist’s tone is awkward as he tries to fumble out reassurances, his concern  palpable, but he doesn’t ask any more questions, just tucks the winged hero better into his arms, stroking his hair, running his nails up and down the smaller man’s spine, occasionally ducking his head to kiss the tears from his cheeks, and speaking quietly the whole while.

The whole thing is terrifying. Keigo feels like he’s clawing desperately in his chest to snag some kind of feeling and hold onto it beyond the black hole that seems to be voiding everything he can get his hands on, erasing everything he is. He can’t feel anything beyond the crushing weight of nothingness  on his ribs, that keeps shredding at him and leaving him sobbing harder and harder, scared and overwhelmed, and somehow feeling dread despite feeling absolutely nothing all at once. His hands shake where they’re fisted into Dabi’s shirt, the arsonist still trying to calm him even though Keigo can scarcely breathe, let alone hear what he’s trying to say. Based on how tense the villain’s arms are around him, Keigo knows he’s only scaring Dabi too, and the knowledge does nothing but make him more miserable. He’s hurting him with this, and he can’t make it stop- he’s hurting him because he can’t do anything right, because he, himself, isn’t right. There’s something wrong with him, there has to be, his Handlers warned him and he didn’t listen.

Keigo is worthless and Hawks is broken, and he doesn’t know who he wants to be anymore. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know , and he shakes violently because of it, hating himself more than anything because the only version of himself with value is the version of himself he’s most despised.

Keigo is nothing, means nothing, and that’s exactly why the Commission tried to cut that name out of him so long ago. He never should’ve tried bringing it back; he knew this would happen if they found out. 

“God… Holy shit, Pigeon, what the fuck did they do to you.” Dabi mutters, and this time Keigo can tell it’s not a question. The arsonist just sounds equal measures gruff and appalled, keeping the hero gathered as close as he can, and nuzzling into his hair. “Okay- Shhh… I’ve got you, Keigo- it’s going to be okay now, just breathe.”

“I can’t-” The winged man chokes shakily, taking in gasping, heaving lungfuls of air, trying to catch his breath and failing miserably as it comes and goes too quickly. He’s hyperventilating, can’t slow his heart rate enough to stop because he’s just so fucking scared, and everything is too much and there’s still just nothing , and- “Dabi- Dabi, please, I can’t- Please- ”

He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for in particular, aside from being saved from all of this. He wants it all to stop, and distantly he’s aware of Dabi cussing under his breath again at the sound of Keigo pleading so brokenly, the arsonist’s voice uncharacteristically fractured. A moment later, the man gives a heavy, unsteady sigh into Keigo’s hair, his next words said into the crown of Keigo’s head, strained and tense.

“Pigeon, can you lose your wings for me?”

At his request, Keigo immediately stiffens. Doing that now is unfathomable. Without his wings he’s vulnerable, weak, defenseless, worthless-

The arsonist runs a hand up and down his back, voice sounding near to cracking, yet still so full of fire. “Kei, I know you’re scared- I know they make you feel safe, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I had any other ideas,” Dabi presses a few kisses into his hair, whispering a few quiet assurances before adding, “But we need to get you grounded; trust me Birdie, I promise you I won’t let anything happen.”

Keigo wars with himself for a long while, until eventually the crying and laboured breaths become too much, and he begins letting his feathers fall one by one to litter the living room floor, sobbing worse as they continue to strip away and feeling completely and utterly helpless when the last one settles. His hands tighten in Dabi’s shirt.

“Don’t leave me.” He asks tremblingly, unsure if he means it in general because of how bad this is getting, or just in particular now that the comfort and defense of his wings are gone. Dabi shakes his head and kisses Keigo’s temple before adjusting him in his arms to pick the smaller man up, made lighter by his hollow bones and lack of otherwise heavy plumage. Keigo misses his wings already, wishing he could curl himself up in them.

“Not a chance.”

The villain carries him across the apartment, Keigo’s arms thrown around his neck, face buried in the crook of the taller man’s shoulder. He doesn’t look up again until Dabi sets him down carefully, finding himself on the counter of the bathroom sink as the arsonist rolls up the sleeves of his shirt until they’re up past his elbows, and moves over to the bathtub to mess with the settings on the showerhead. His choked sobs sound horrible and strangled in the additional amplification the bathroom provides, and Keigo muffles them as best he can, hating the noise, but unable to stop. Preoccupied with trying to hack away at the numbness encroaching on him and threatening to send him into an even worse wave of tears, Keigo tries to steady his breathing to no avail, shoulders shuddering hard even when Dabi finally stops fiddling and turns the shower on, the sound of water drumming against the basin of the tub serving as a form of white noise that helps block out the looped sound of his Handlers’ voices in his memories and adds a layer of sound over his crying. Dabi steps in front of him again, taking Keigo’s tear-streaked face in his hands and kissing him, softly, slowly, on the forehead. “It’s okay,” The arsonist lulls again quietly, standing close enough that Keigo leans into him, head tucked in against the other man’s shoulder. “Shhh… My brave little bird- we’re going to figure this out, I promise.”

“I’m not being very brave right now.” Keigo whispers, aching, almost too soft to be heard over the sound of water. Dabi brings him into a somewhat cradled embrace, one hand remaining on the back of the hero’s head while the other wraps loosely around his middle.

“You’re selfless,” Dabi counters. The villain presses another kiss in his hair, taking a deep breath and exhaling quietly. “And you’ve always been selfless- you live in a world that’s been fucking you over since you were born, and you still manage to see enough good in people to keep fighting for them. There’s no greater bravery than that.”

Keigo releases a rattling breath into Dabi’s shoulder, clenching his eyes shut and just breathing him in, Dabi giving him a moment to gather himself to whatever extent he can before drawing back slightly. Keigo misses the loss of his steadiness and warmth as soon as he pulls away, but the arsonist isn’t going far, just stepping back to pull his shirt over his head. The action reveals the scattering of newly healed scars littered across his skinny frame, Keigo letting the other man assist in getting his own shirt off. Though he’s still not sure what they’re doing and he feels too numb to care, Keigo takes the liberty of shucking off his uniform trousers as well while Dabi tests the temperature of the water in the shower. He keeps on the compression pants he’d been wearing underneath his costume though, noticing that Dabi hasn’t made any move to change out of his sweatpants, the hero crossing his arms tightly and wishing again for his wings as he stares at the tile underfoot. A gentle touch on his arm signifies Dabi’s presence beside him again, but Keigo doesn’t look up, ashamed to let the scarred man see the tears still building and slipping from  his eyes when he’s trying so hard to soothe him.

Dabi’s not easily misguided. Keigo furrows his brows and tries to swallow down the pain in his throat when the arsonist skims his fingers over his cheek, warm and sure, and light as smoke. Even with his best efforts, another tear escapes, rolling down his skin in plain sight of the arsonist, who gently thumbs it away before slipping something over Keigo’s head and settling it around his neck. Keigo’s fingers immediately come up to find a cord, the single feather now resting against his sternum a small comfort even just by sight alone. It doesn’t matter that it’s one he preened out ages ago, and that it won’t work to his control anymore, and that he can’t sense anything through it. It’s familiar, and warm from where it’s been laying against Dabi’s chest, and suddenly that’s all that matters, the hero running his thumb along the barbs and relaxing just a bit. When he manages to glance up again, Dabi’s watching him carefully, the arsonist offering him a soft look, before testing the water again and stepping into the shower. It’s strange to see him without his necklace, now hanging from Keigo’s own neck- but it’s even stranger to see him sit down in the tub still half-dressed while the water’s running from the shower overhead, and beckon Keigo in too.

In a better state of mind, he probably would’ve asked questions, but as it is Keigo just halfheartedly steps into the tub as well, moreso to chase after the security of being near his partner than for want of sitting in the shower. He’s at a loss for whatever it is Dabi’s trying to accomplish here, but nonetheless he manages to sit down under the gentle spray of water as well, limbs feeling far too heavy and everything in him torn between aching and feeling more hollow than his bones. Dabi waits for him to settle before reaching forward and tugging the smaller man so he’s sitting between the villain’s knees, Keigo’s back pressed to the arsonist’s chest. Almost instantaneously, Keigo’s aware that the other’s kindled his quirk under his skin, making his body warmer than usual for the exhausted hero to lay back against, his arms beginning to warm up around Keigo’s waist as well.

If this is his plan, it makes sense that Dabi wouldn’t want him to have his feathers in here. Keigo never showers with them on- he doesn’t have many ways of oiling them well, aside from the natural oil they produce as they grow in, but it’s not terribly reliable and getting them waterlogged is a pain in the ass.

The rest of it he doesn’t understand, but he’s not going to complain. He just wants to lay still and breathe, or wait until he can feel something again. He’s tired- he can feel it weighing on him, and the ache in the back of his throat has increased tenfold. At the very least, the shower will make it more difficult to tell if he’s crying.  Dabi rests his head on Keigo’s shoulder, the hero turning his own towards him wearily, sick of crying, and sick of feeling like a shell, and desperate enough for whatever contact he can receive as comfort that he finds himself relieved when that the scarred man’s words are spoken right against his temple, Dabi not shying away from the proximity.

“Close your eyes, Kei.” He murmurs. Keigo does as he says, following orders obediently, not wanting to get in trouble- 

Wait, no, that’s not right. This isn’t the Commission. He’s safe here; he’s at home, and Dabi isn’t going to let anything else hurt him. If anything, having the arsonist at his back serves as a replacement for the wings he can’t have around himself right now. He’s being protected, and the Commission can’t reach him here. His Handlers can’t reach him here.

Their quirks and words take longer to wear off, but Keigo closes his eyes under the shower stream anyway, trying to mimic the rise and fall of Dabi’s breathing patterns behind him, forcing himself to slow down. It takes multiple tries before he has any kind of success, but before he can really do much about it, he’s blinking his eyes open again, distracted as Dabi reaches out to pull the shower curtain closed better, restricting the amount of harsh light coming in to a dull, softer light that’s far less abrasive. Keigo hadn’t even realized it was bothering him much until the arsonist put an end to it, his arm coming around Keigo again immediately afterward. For whatever reason, the subtle light makes the setting they’re sitting in feel much less awkward- relaxing, even, as Keigo leans against Dabi more, curling into his warmth and enjoying the dimmed atmosphere that isn’t quite so overwhelming. This time, when he closes his eyes, it feels almost easier to breathe for some reason, the ache still lingering in the back of his throat, but not as painfully. “Focus on the water.” The arsonist directs, the sound of his voice giving Keigo something to latch onto.

Focus on the water? 

The hero tilts his head back a bit, letting the shower come down unhindered on his face, his shoulders, his chest. It’s not terribly hot, still cool enough that there’s barely any steam in  the room at all, and it probably would’ve even felt only a degree above lukewarm if Dabi weren’t there to ward off the chill. Keigo’s never bothered changing the showerhead settings since he moved in, but now the water coming down is lighter, more dispersed and soft, heavier than mist, but still gentle as it falls. Taking another breath, Keigo feels his shoulders slump as the water runs rivulets down his skin, and while this time the ones on his face are mixed with a new batch of saltwater tears, they’re not pained. “What does it feel like?” Dabi prompts quietly, his grip around Keigo’s waist tightening slightly as the hero breathes again, a little shaky but steadier than before.

“ Rain ,” He manages on an exhale, some of the tension and fear in his stomach melting away as the droplets keep coming down. The numbness remains, but it doesn’t feel as heavily oppressive, not as debilitating. Keigo reaches behind him to blindly cup a hand around the back of Dabi’s neck, the arsonist leaning forward just a bit to press a kiss into Keigo’s wet hair. God, that’s exactly what it feels like, as though winter’s given way just for a night and allowed for one final downpour mid-frost. “It’s just like rain.” 

“That’s right, Pigeon.” Dabi mumbles into his hair. “Take another breath for me?”

Keigo does, keeping it mostly even this time, one of the arsonist’s thumbs stroking lines from the hero’s waist to his hip. He can feel Dabi give a sigh behind him, likely relieved if his thinly veiled tone of voice has anything to say about it. “That’s better, little bird. Try again.”

For a while, that’s all they do, just sit in silence and breathe. Keigo loves the feeling of the water running over his limbs, soothing wherever it touches, but it doesn’t distract him from the sensation of Dabi’s heart still beating fast and hard in his chest between them. With one hand still cupped around the back of the villain’s neck, Keigo tangles his fingers in the dark hair at his nape, tilting his head so he can speak into the arsonist’s skin. It feels necessary- like if he can’t talk to him face to face, he has to do this at least.

“You’re scared.”

His voice sounds flat and dead and tired, worn thin and brittle. Dull . That’s the word he’s looking for. Like when his feathers lose their sheen when he’s sick and all they remind him of are cardboard cutouts- part of him and yet so drastically not. Now his voice is doing the same thing, and he hates it, but he can’t bring himself to do much of anything to solve the problem.

It sounds wrong.

“Not as much as I was.” The arsonist replies dismissively, but not denying Keigo’s comment. There’s no point in doing so. They’re both painfully aware it’s the truth.

“You don’t have to be scared.”

“Don’t worry about it, hero. Let’s just focus on you for now.”

The pretend-raindrops come down around them. The noise on the walls and floor of the tub is nice. Keigo blinks wearily, tries to swallow around the imaginary cotton in his mouth  and ignore the ache in his eyes.

If he felt emotionally drained before, he definitely is now.

“I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault, Kei.”

Yes it is. It is , and he doesn’t understand that. Keigo lets out the tiniest bit of a whimper before he can help himself, cutting it short when he realizes what’s happening. He doesn’t manage to do so before Dabi hears him, though, the fire-user sighing quietly again, and turning Keigo over in his arms, making the hero lay more on his side while the arsonist holds him, so he can actually see his face. “Keigo, look at me.”

The blond hesitates to do so at first, afraid he might be met with annoyance, which would be more than he can take right now- but when he does glance up, Dabi just looks tired too, tired and sad. His hair is damp and more flat than usual, droplets raining down his face, and he doesn’t bother trying for a smile, not with the position they’re in. Keigo’s thankful of that, thankful that he’s being honest in the only way he knows how. Suddenly, he’s met with the irresistible urge to touch , and so he does, bringing his hand to Dabi’s cheek and keeping it there, the arsonist letting him without any complaint. “It isn’t your fault, Birdie,” He says at length, repeating himself before furrowing his brows in a way that almost has Keigo shrinking back, until the arsonist asks quietly, voice a low rumble. “Why do you think it is?”

Why? Because he brought this upon himself, because he knew they’d do something like this if he didn’t stop pushing against them, and now they have, and he’s dragged Dabi into this mess with him. He shouldn’t have fought back so strongly, or maybe he should’ve just been quieter about it- either way, he knew it was coming. He ran into this trap. The blame’s on his shoulders.

The hero takes a long, shaky breath, retracting his hand, and centers his focus around the warmth of Dabi’s palms and the simple comfort of him keeping close.

“When I first came to the Commission,” Keigo croaks, closing his eyes again and giving up all of his reservations entirely, “I couldn’t fly.”

He lingers on that note for a moment, not filling the silence that gapes like an angry empty space immediately afterwards, but Dabi doesn’t make any attempt to jump in. The arsonist lets the silence stretch around them until Keigo begins to realize he’s not going to say anything, simply waiting him out. Keigo sags into the other man as the quiet begins to take on a different meaning, no longer an empty, open stage demanding to be filled with answers,  and more of an offer to listen, regardless of whether or not there’s words to say. “I was… Scared of heights. Scared of falling. I never learned how to fly properly before they took me.”

One of Dabi’s hands moves slightly upwards to press warm circles in the spot between where his wings would be if he had them on right now. Keigo shivers under the attention, continuing to murmur against the arsonist’s collarbone. “I wouldn’t fly afterwards either. They got frustrated, tried everything to make me do it, but nothing worked. I was too afraid. So, one day,” Keigo explains numbly, subconsciously trailing his fingers across the seam of one of Dabi’s scars repeatedly, “They clipped them. My wings, I mean. Didn’t even tell me, and tossed me in the same training simulation- I don’t know if they did it at night and just managed to not wake me up, or if they gave me something to keep me out, but I had no idea they’d done it. Just, all of a sudden- I couldn’t even get off the ground anymore.” It’s weird that the memory isn’t evoking any feeling from him- his emotions were why he hadn’t told this story to many in the first place, heavily repressing this experience deep down where it wouldn’t hurt to touch. In a way, that made this case ideal for getting it off his chest. “They kept shouting at me to fly, and I kept trying to say I couldn’t- it was a rinse and repeat cycle of that for about a week. I was horrified. Cried myself to sleep at night at first because I thought something had happened and I’d never get the chance to fly again.”

The last part comes out whispered before Keigo can help himself, more caught up in the thralls of the memory than the way in which he’s telling it. Dabi doesn’t interject, but he can tell that fact does something to him, because the arsonist pauses unknowingly in the soothing gestures he’s making on Keigo’s spine, his hands faltering for a moment in anger, before resuming the practice again. When he does, the temperature’s elevated just a bit, like he’s reining both himself and his quirk in. “This one day, one of my handlers made me follow her out into the yard. A cat had gotten a bird and was playing with it while it tried to get away. I wasn’t allowed to save it- she wanted it to be a lesson. I remember trying not to look, but she pointed right at it and told me birds with broken wings aren’t worth saving. If they can’t fly, they’re useless. And then she made me go train and I still couldn’t get off the ground.” Keigo swallows dryly. “I grew in new feathers a week later and that’s when I realized what the problem had been. I haven’t stopped flying since.”

He hadn’t dared stop flying since- because he’d decided, at fire years old, that while he was afraid to fall, being forced to never leave the ground was so much scarier. He’d never had an appreciation for flying until the option had been taken from him.

“And my Handler- a few days later she called me into her office to ask why I hadn’t flown before when I could now. I tried to tell her I’d been scared, but she corrected me and said Keigo had been scared to fly. The hero they were making me, Hawks- he could fly just fine. That’s why I wasn’t allowed to use that name anymore. Hawks was better than Keigo- they were fixing me, making me better. Keigo was weak and useless just like that little flightless bird- he wasn’t worth saving. I did everything they wanted me to do after that, never challenged them.”

There are tears rolling down his face again, and Keigo isn’t sure why. It doesn’t feel like they should be stemming from anywhere- these are just facts, but the numbness is still heavy, and the tears still flow.

“This is why I was supposed to drop my old name. Whenever I have a weakness, whenever something bad happens, it’s always because of me still not being able to drop that stupid name, still not wanting to drop it. They’ve proven to me a million times that the worth I have is as a hero. Keigo is nothing- they’ve given me everything as Hawks, and that’s who I should appreciate being, but- I don’t know what I want anymore.” The hero takes a hard, shuddering breath, almost breaking down again when he feels Dabi’s arms tighten around him, the arsonist pulling him close under his chin. “I got punished for challenging them today. ‘Hawks never did that’, that’s what they said. I’m getting punished because I’m acting like Keigo again, and I knew what would happen, I knew what they would do and I fought back anyway, but… They said Hawks wouldn’t have done this. I don’t even know what that means- that’s still me , isn’t it? Or am I just one or the other- maybe I am just Keigo now, maybe I’m losing that hero mantle, but I don’t even know who I want to be; I feel like my identity has been stripped and replaced too many times, and I don’t know which one fits better on me anymore. I’m so confused- ”

“ Pigeon ,” Dabi finally interjects, cutting the hero off firmly, Keigo not realizing he’d been working himself up so bad until he stops talking with a quiet sob- oh, he really is crying again, he hadn’t noticed. “Fuck, what did those bastards-”

The arsonist falls silent as though reevaluating what he’s about to say, his angry tone falling through as he takes a long breath, his voice tempered and trying hard to gentle as he breathes out, “Nevermind, we can talk about that later.” Dabi rests his cheek against Keigo’s head, the hero keeping his face hidden, turned in against the villain’s neck. “But listen to me, Feathers,” Despite his attempts, there’s still a note of anger laying under his tone, but it rumbles pleasantly through his throat and chest, Keigo able to feel the vibrations himself from where he’s laying against him, “Your name is Keigo Takami. Your hero alias is Hawks. You’re twenty-three years old and easily one of the worst damned cooks I’ve ever met in my life.” 

‘Wait, what?’ Keigo thinks, barely having time to compute that last bit before the arsonist is continuing, awkward at first, but picking up speed. “You’re barely tall enough to reach my chin and yet you take up most of the bed. You have this… weirdass habit of putting dirty glasses by the sink and then leaving used silverware in them instead of putting anything in the dishwasher. You don’t take sugar in your coffee.” His arsonist says wryly, voice softening. “You like when I wear your clothes- your wings go all fluffy whenever you’re happy, and you always ruffle them up when you see me in your shirts. It’s fucking adorable.”

“I didn’t know I did that.” Keigo says quietly, a little taken aback. Dabi leans in to kiss his head, just above his ear.

“All the time. That’s part of why I started doing it,” The fire user informs him, almost sounding amused. “What else- you like rain, obviously. Sunrises too. You write with your right hand, but drink your coffee with your left- I think you’re just used to doing both at once. Your favourite colour is blue, your favourite blanket is that fluffy grey one on the bed right now. It’s the only one in the house you carry to different places. It was in the living room yesterday. Sometimes,” Dabi reaches for one of Keigo’s hands and lifts it up, carefully maneuvering his arm so he can press his lips to the inner skin of the blond’s wrist, “You’ll kiss me like this for no reason, on my wrist instead of just kissing me normally- and I don’t really get it, but it’s nice.” 

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest, and the hero draws back just enough to look Dabi in the eye properly, moving his hand to be cupping the arsonist’s cheek once again and offering him a weak, watery smile. Dabi brings his hand up over Keigo’s and gently kisses his wrist a second time, leaning into his palm. “And when I kiss you , you like it when I’m soft and slow, even though you,” The fire-user gives him a knowing look paired with a very small, knowing smirk, “Usually lead with the opposite.”

He’s not wrong. Keigo tries to give a stronger smile, realizing that the ache in his throat has subsided. While tears still linger on his cheeks, they’re not the continual stream they were before, and it feels like a heavy weight has been lifted from his chest.

“Can you kiss me now?” He asks quietly. Dabi leans in at the request, his nose brushing Keigo’s cheek, forehead pressed to his temple. It’s almost ridiculous how relieving the contact is, how much the simple gesture instantly makes him feel calmer, more settled. And yet, all his mind can think is ‘ safe ’.

“Don’t have to ask that twice.” The fire-user murmurs, lips finding Keigo’s a moment after. The kiss is soft and short, the second that follows unhurried and chaste- a clear gesture of comfort more than anything. It stirs up that feeling in Keigo’s chest again, the hero too relieved to be feeling anything at all in the numb cavity between his ribs to bother caring what it might be. Eventually, at length, Dabi pulls away, giving a heavy exhale, and meeting Keigo’s eyes. He plasters back the blond’s soaked bangs with one hand and kisses his hairline briefly, his next words fierce when spoken. “You’re a goddamn miracle,” The scarred man mutters against his forehead, Keigo bringing his arms around him in a tired, loose embrace that quickly tightens. “Fuck anyone who doesn’t see that. Keigo, Hawks- I don’t give a shit. There’s just you.”

“What if that’s not enough-” Keigo begins softly, only to be cut short.

“It is.” Dabi’s voice is firm, certain, but Keigo grimaces anyway, trying to hide his reaction by ducking his head. “Hey, none of that,” His arsonist chastises, but Keigo just shakes his head.

“It won’t be,” He says numbly, glancing up to meet Dabi’s eyes, “It’s never going to be, because it’s not what they want.”

Those blue eyes flash.

“What do you want?”

Keigo sighs dejectedly, wishing his head didn’t feel like it was stuffed with cotton and rocks.

“I told you, I don’t know.”

A muscle in Dabi’s jaw tics, and his eyebrows draw low.

“Like hell you don’t. What do you want ?”

Always coming back to what he wants, aren’t they? It’s like a broken record, and Keigo can feel frustration rising in him.

“I don’t know ,” He insists, raising his voice, “And what does it matter- who I want to be isn’t who I should want to be, and nobody in that place is ever going to want me like this-”

He’s released his arms around Dabi’s middle to gesture to himself, but the arsonist catches his wrists as he goes to do so, effectively cutting him off a second time as Keigo fumbles and falls short in surprise.

“ I do!” Dabi snaps, and upon seeing the stunned look on the hero’s face at his outburst, the scarred man slowly releases a heavy sigh, reining himself in and abandoning his hold on Keigo’s wrists to take his face in both hands instead. He slumps visibly, the strength of his voice weakening a considerable amount. “God, Pigeon, do I ever. So much, it scares me sometimes. I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.”

He’s shaking- his hands are, at least. Keigo can’t tell if it’s because he’s upset or if there’s another reason, but he’s distracted by the water coming down around them, how it’s tracking sluices down Dabi’s face, dripping from his hair, his chin, his eyelashes. It doesn’t serve to dampen the fire in his eyes at all, present as ever.

The arsonist traces Keigo’s eye-markings with his thumbs, achingly gentle, and the hero has to bite his lip under the inexplicable pressure the gesture puts on his chest, like there’s a wall somewhere within him and something building up behind it, trying to force its way out.

“I’ve said it before,” Dabi mutters, hushed and low. He holds his gaze steadily, “There’s nothing wrong with you. Fuck it- yeah, you’ve got flaws. You’ve got weaknesses, and shit you’re trying to work through, and you’re still figuring yourself out. So is the rest of the world, hero. That’s just how it works.”

A moment later the water stops, Dabi reaching behind himself to shut it off, and for a single second, the sudden lack of sound is almost grating- but then the arsonist’s free hand finds the back of Keigo’s neck, the other falling across his waist, and suddenly he’s being drawn close once more. Keigo settles into the embrace with exhausted relief, looping one arm around Dabi’s lower back. “You’ve just started piecing yourself together,” the fire-user says quietly, raspy and familiar, “Don’t let them break you now.”

It’s reassuring. Keigo’s not sure why, because doubt still lingers in the back of his mind and finds itself leaching on his weary confidence, but Dabi’s words hold weight, and they push back the darkness over his thoughts like candles fighting shadows. 

He hasn’t noticed that he hasn’t responded until Dabi’s fingers find his hair, and the arsonist speaks again. “Hey, you got that, Birdie?”

“Yeah,” Keigo whispers hoarsely, giving a nod and a small sigh when Dabi begins stroking through the blond’s tangles, “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Good.” The arsonist gives a long sigh as well at that, kissing the top of Keigo’s head as he exhales. His hands are no longer shaky where they rest, the tension in his wiry frame quickly starting to collapse as though his energy has been stripped just like Keigo’s own. It’s then that Keigo finally realizes what a disastrous pair they must look, both sitting drenched in an empty tub, holding fast to one another like their place on this earth is dependent on the others’ grip, Keigo’s eyes likely red and bloodshot from crying so profusely and Dabi looking worn down to the bone. They’re a mess- Keigo is a mess, and yet somehow he can’t bring himself to draw away or move from where they’re sitting, instead pressing as close to Dabi as he can to glean some of his warmth as goosebumps start settling on the hero’s skin.

Dabi speaks again, and this time the words are so quiet and muffled, pressed into his hair and almost hidden, that Keigo nearly misses them. 

“What was that, Dabs?” He asks wearily, leaning into him for support. The arsonist brushes his lips against Keigo’s head once more, before pulling back just enough that the winged man can hear him. 

“ I love you. ”

Oh. Oh-

Oh holy shit, he actually said it.

Keigo gives a sound that resembles a strangled, wet laugh, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms-  a last-ditch effort to look semi-presentable- before offering his arsonist a watery grin. 

“Of course you’d get around to saying it when I’m an absolute mess,” He teases softly, surprised by the amount of warmth in his own tone, and scrubbing a little harder at the tear tracks on his cheeks. Dabi stops him after a moment, unfazed, kissing the corners of his eyes even though his skin must taste like salt, and he probably hasn’t looked this devastated in the whole time Dabi’s known him.

“There’s just you.” Dabi repeats again, firm. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed that the arsonist doesn’t say it again, that one sentence that’s been so hard for him to get out, but Keigo couldn’t care less. He doesn’t catch himself moving until his mouth is against the villain’s own, Dabi giving a small noise of surprise at the sudden kiss before melting into it softly. The winged man’s hands come up to stroke along the lines of his scars, kisses passionate but nothing like the desperate event they were earlier; no, this is different, and even though Keigo knows he’s not completely back to normal, he can feel something burning like embers in his chest, no longer the hollow shell he’s been for the better part of the evening, and finally somewhat alive. 

“ Keigo.” Dabi murmurs between kisses and half-snatched breaths, repeating his name over and over like a quietly adored mantra, raw devotion in every syllable. It’s addictive. He could stop hating anything if Dabi spoke of it the way he is now.

“If you keep saying my name like that,” Keigo manages eventually, slightly breathless and humming into the next kiss he pulls the arsonist in for, “I’m not going to have any choice, but to tell the Commission to go fuck themselves and that I’m dropping Hawks entirely.”

“If you’re trying to dissuade me, that really wasn’t the way to do it.” Dabi retorts, though he draws back at Keigo’s wry comment, eyes scanning over the hero’s face in an analyzing way. Keigo lets him take in his fill, lets him study his eyes, his expression, and watches as the arsonist’s features soften just a bit, put at ease by whatever he finds. “There’s my Pigeon.”

He leans in to kiss Keigo again, but doesn’t give either of them the opportunity to make it more than a soft, short thing, pressing his forehead to the hero’s a moment later, “How’re you holding up, Feathers?”

“Better,” Keigo murmurs, framing Dabi’s face with his hands, fingers resting gently where his staples lie, “Not one-hundred percent yet, but a hell of a lot better than I was.”

“Alright,” Dabi acknowledges, releasing a slow breath. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.” His lips brush Keigo’s once more in the barest mimicry of a kiss, but fall away shortly thereafter, the fire-user breaking composure just enough to mutter a punched-out, uneven “ Fuck ,” under his breath, eyes clenching shut as the rest of his body sags with any released tension it was still holding. Keigo hushes him softly, keeping close.

“I’m okay, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” The arsonist agrees hoarsely, sounding like he’s convincing himself of it now. One of his hands rises to his own chest to grab for something and then stills, falling away- and it takes Keigo a moment to realize the arsonist had been reaching for his necklace, which the hero is still wearing. Hurriedly, he goes to take it off but Dabi stops him before he can get the cord over his head, gently tugging the thing free from Keigo’s fingers and letting it settle around the blond’s neck again. “It’s fine.” He whispers, kissing Keigo’s forehead, “You’re going to be fine.”

The other man allows himself another steadying breath, one of his thumbs tracing the line of Keigo’s jaw before Dabi suddenly pulls away on an exhale and jerks his chin. “We should get you out of here before you get cold.”

Keigo nods tiredly, letting Dabi help pull him to his feet, guiding him out of the tub and finding towels for them both to dry off with. When he passes one off to Keigo, the scarred man leaning back against the bathroom counter, Keigo lets the cloth settle around his shoulders, but makes no immediate move to use it. Instead, he ducks in under Dabi’s arm as the arsonist begins towelling off, his lover quietly falling still as Keigo steps in to drape his arms around his waist again.

“Thank you,” He murmurs, softly pressing a kiss to the skin just under Dabi’s collarbone. 

‘I’m alright, I’m alright, I’m alright I promise. Please don’t be scared anymore.’

The arsonist watches him for a moment before looking down on him with a small smile, the kind that Keigo knows is reserved for him alone. The fire-user doesn’t say anything in return- just drops his towel on the counter behind him, and lifts a portion of Keigo’s to start drying the blond’s hair instead, careful not to tug. The gesture says more than words ever could.

Keigo closes his eyes, letting Dabi take care of him for now, leaning his cheek into Dabi’s palm as the arsonist brings one hand up to hold his face steady, the other continuing to work the towel through his damp tresses. He curls in closer with a sigh as it falls lower, drying his neck and shoulders, Keigo beginning to fall asleep in the arsonist’s arms as the other man continues his ministrations silently. Eventually the fire-user seems to notice how much of Keigo’s weight he’s holding up, though, Dabi chuffing quietly, his breath warm by Keigo’s ear, and his grip tightening to help keep the hero upright.

“Tired, pretty bird?”

Keigo nods, spent in all ways that are manageable, longing to have today be over and done with. He blinks slowly as Dabi stands up straighter and Keigo’s forced to keep his own feet, wincing a bit under the harsh brightness of the bathroom lights on his exhausted eyes. It’s a short-lived annoyance, put to rest by Dabi taking both of their towels and murmuring “Come on, Kei,” one of the arsonist’s arms tucking in around his lower back and gently directing him towards their room. The winged man stumbles his way gracelessly down the hall, Dabi following closely behind, a steadying hand on his hip. They finish drying off with the towels Dabi brought with him after getting changed into different clothes, Keigo sitting on the edge of the bed and worrying the sheets between his fingers. He watches as Dabi finishes patting down his arms with his own towel, mindful of his staples, before glancing over Keigo’s way while in the process of running his hand through his hair. He regards him curiously for a moment. “Don’t wait up, Pigeon. Get some sleep.”

“I’m tired, I just… Don’t know if I can sleep yet.”

Dabi snorts at that, heading over to Keigo’s closet to look for something.

“You were falling asleep on me five minutes ago, what do you mean you can’t now?”

The hero doesn’t respond, and at his silence, Dabi turns around to face him again, questioning, but upon seeing the way his partner is sitting, curling in on himself again, Keigo trying to keep his fists from clenching in the bed covers, he drops the point. Instead, the arsonist’s mouth falls into a flat, understanding line as his eyes run over the slope of Keigo’s raised shoulders, noticing the tension growing there again. He pulls a hoodie down from its hanger and closes the closet door, walking back over to where Keigo sits. “Easy, baby.” The villain urges, pulling the hoodie sleeves over Keigo’s arms and helping him shrug it on, the blond shuddering. The fabric is soft and well-worn, though the sweater itself is a bit too big to fit him well, and there’s no hole in the back like most of Keigo’s clothes have. It smells like smoke. Keigo inhales deeply, grounding himself before the growing apprehension in his gut can force him into spiralling a second time, trying to cut the sensation off at its first indication.

“Do you want to reassemble your wings again?” Dabi asks, clearly an afterthought, splaying a hand across Keigo’s back as if to draw attention to the fact that something’s missing. But Keigo shakes his head, looping his arms around Dabi’s neck and laying back on the bed, coaxing the arsonist to follow suit. Dabi smoothly allows the blond to tug him forward so he’s hovering over him, not even blinking at the motion. 

“They can wait until morning,” Keigo replies honestly, dropping his gaze, “I’m safe here without them. Just- stay close?”

“You know it.” Dabi answers, solemn and sure. He presses a kiss just above Keigo’s right eye as if swearing on the matter and leaves a second on his temple, before using the arm still pinned under the hero’s back to hoist him further up on the bed, making proper room for them both. Keigo’s fingers tangle in black hair, stroking through it instinctively, hooded blue eyes catching amber and swallowing them whole, the arsonist humming quietly. “You find the whole contact thing comforting, huh? I’ve been noticing that more lately- not just tonight.”

At Keigo’s affirmation, the scarred man gives a small nod of his own, considering. “Alright.”

He sits up just enough to arrange Keigo’s knees on either side of him before, to Keigo’s surprise, simply sprawling out on top of the hero, his head resting just under the smaller man’s clavicle. He’s warm as ever, the pressure of his weight oddly reassuring. Keigo’s body relaxes back into the mattress and pillows beneath him as they both get comfortable, Dabi working a hand under his shoulder and the other pressing familiar circles into his hip, Keigo’s own resting across his back and buried, still, in the villain’s hair. He makes a pass through it, nails scratching lightly at the fire-user’s scalp, Dabi nestling his head deeper into Keigo’s chest as the action continues. “Let me know if this isn’t helping.” The arsonist mumbles, low and rumbling. Keigo embraces him tightly, still stroking through the villain’s damp hair, closing his eyes and matching Dabi breath for breath.

It’s hard to tell how long they lay there for, silent except for the sounds of the city thrumming with life from below the hero’s window, even at this hour. Keigo’s content with the lack of sound, able to focus better on the little things that matter the absolute world to him right now, like the texture of Dabi’s hair between his fingers and the rippled scars on his back under Keigo’s palm, and how, for just a few sparing moments, everything else can be turned away in favour of something worth holding on for. Gradually, he notices the arsonist’s breaths begin to slow, patchwork body sinking into the throes of sleep as Keigo lingers behind, feeling the circles Dabi’s pressing into his hip become clumsy and slowed before ending entirely, Keigo forgoing combing through Dabi’s hair in favour of just holding him, afraid to wake the man again. He can feel his own anxieties quelling in his chest and falling dormant, urged to stillness by this momentary pocket of peace they’ve surrounded themselves in- secret, special, theirs and theirs alone. His senses are returning to him now in a slow trickle, finding their way through small cracks and fissures in the damning shell his Handlers’ quirks and words have forced him into, the hero finally beginning to feel himself as though thawing, finally, after being frozen through. 

‘Don’t let them break you now.’

They won’t. Keigo’s certain of that much, now that he’s started getting his wits about him again, now that it doesn’t feel like the world’s coming down around his head. Their shadows still linger in the corners of his mind, laying like a tint over his thoughts, and whispering insecurities from corners and crevices that he doesn’t have the strength to examine right now, but they won’t break him. They’ve tried, and undoubtedly they will continue to try, but he’s stronger than that. He’s managed hardships before, and he’s not alone in them now.

And damn, is he lucky to have had Dabi here. The hero adjusts his hold on the fire-user ever so slightly, heart panging in his chest. He can’t imagine what kind of shape he would be in right now if he’d had to go through this alone again, but he certainly wouldn’t be like this, mellow and calming, and slowly coming back into himself with trepidation, but coming back nonetheless as the seconds fly by. The height of his anxiety has passed, dwindled down to nothing, and the emotionless state he’s been locked in earlier has been set alight to kindle himself again and smoke out the voices in his head

Yes, he is going to be okay. Even if not entirely yet, even if he’s still grappling with everything and exhausted from the fight, he’s going to be okay.

A hand strokes softly up his side, startling Keigo out of his thoughts, Dabi’s voice heavy and rasping with sleep, the villain not even raising his head or opening his eyes. Were it not for the gesture, Keigo would never have assumed him to be awake. “Go to sleep, Angel,” He says drowsily, drawling and breathing deep. Keigo lets out a long breath, strokes through his hair again and gives a small sigh when the arsonist moves the hand now resting on his ribcage and slips it under the hero’s sweater, letting his fingers run directly over the rungs of his ribs. His skin is warm against Keigo’s own- warm and welcome, and enough of a coaxing measure to have the blond relaxing even further, swimming on the edge of sleep. “You’ve been through fucking hell.”

Keigo wants to thank him again- legitimately this time, but his eyes are too heavy and his tongue feels leaden in his mouth. There’s a lot to thank him for, too much for him to fathom stringing together the words right now. That will be an ordeal for tomorrow, along with whatever explanation he can offer the arsonist as to what happened. He deserves that much, especially for handling everything so well without context. 

He wants to thank him for it. Instead, the words that come out of his mouth are those of a different kind that he should have said earlier anyway.

“I love you too.” Keigo murmurs quietly, raw and genuine, stripped to the core. Dabi caresses his waist again, slowly, delicate, and Keigo’s eyes fall shut as well, finally giving in and allowing himself to doze away in currents. His consciousness fades to the tempo of the arsonist’s thumb painting brushstrokes across his skin as it sweeps across the ridge of his hip bone, lulled and comforted and still.

‘Someday there will be brighter tomorrows.’ He thinks.

And when sleep extends its reach to take him, Keigo Takami goes willingly, counting it as a blessing.

Chapter Text

Morning light spills out over the covers of Keigo’s bed like the sun itself has sloshed across his bedroom, warm and pleasant in combat to the noticeable chill in the air and the stiffness the winged man can almost feel in the shafts of his bone marrow. His head’s been stuffed full with cotton, his mouth dry, body sore. Keigo grimaces at the sensation, gradually becoming reacquainted with the aftereffects of the reconditioning that rendered himself so numb the night before.

‘Fuck, I’d forgotten how bad that used to be. Holy shit.’

Miraculously- or, perhaps thankfully is the better word- it’s mostly worn off by now. Keigo knows that much, because it no longer feels like every portion of himself that he’s managed to build up has been gutted and shredded, the forceful emptiness that had overturned him now lulled down to a meek whisper, like an aftertaste to something overwhelming. Everything feels more or less normal once more, exception given to the fact that he physically feels like he spent the last night drinking himself into a stupor. His whole body aches , and the winged man groans quietly, blinking his eyes closed and trying to convince himself to take initiative and get out of bed even though there’s no way in hell he’s in any state to want to return to work after yesterday’s shitshow of an afternoon.

The concept definitely lacks incentive, but before he can force himself through the disappointing routine of fighting his way free of his blankets and getting ready to look his superiors in the face once more, he’s reminded he’s not alone.

The arms around his waist go unnoticed until Dabi moves behind him, the other man’s gentle sigh of breath ruffling Keigo’s hair and stilling him all at once. Until the arsonist had stirred, he hadn’t even remembered he’d slept without his wings, a fuzzy memory of the night before giving him a recollection of falling asleep with Dabi in his arms and his feathers littering the living room floor, discarded. It’s not a common practice, not something he makes a habit of doing often, and so Keigo tries to imprint every detail of this into the recesses of his memory while he still has the opportunity to do so, before anything can disrupt this tiny little sliver of perfection he’s seemingly been awarded for the previous day’s trials.

Now this- this might very well live up to being called miraculous.

‘ He must’ve gotten us both into bed sometime after I passed out,’  Keigo realizes silently, aware that he’d fallen asleep on top of the covers last night, and they’re pulled up over him now, keeping whatever heat in they can with the window cracked open a half-inch. It’s not as cold as it could be, with Dabi’s chest pressed flush against his back, rising and falling, soft and slow, Keigo glancing down at one of his sleeved arms to confirm he’s still in the other man’s sweater. The closeness is a welcome one, secure and comforting, especially after yesterday;  Keigo cringes to himself at the fragments of memory that are coming back to him in bits and pieces. The whole event feels washed out and jumbled, like he was wasted when it happened. That’s not the case- he knows that wasn’t the case- but he also knows he was in shambles for hours, completely shattered, totally broken- and that alone is enough to feel an upset, sickened twinge in his stomach.

But none of that now, not in a moment like this. This much, this minute he has, is pure at the very least, and something worth holding on to. Here, wrapped in the embrace of the man he’s beginning to love more than the colours of the sun at dawn and the wind under his feathers, more than storms and smoke, tangled sheets and more tangled heartstrings- he is home. 

Home, he thinks, is a very good place to be right now.

‘ God, he’s a trooper. ’ Keigo muses, a little proudly, recalling how well the arsonist had handled things when it had all gone sideways- and apparently kept an eye on him through the night, if their current position has anything to say about it. Keigo’s amazed he slept through the whole evening, let alone through being shuffled around like absolute deadweight cargo. ‘ I must’ve been out cold ,’ He realizes flatly, unimpressed with himself. Granted, considering the circumstances, he has to cut himself some slack. His body had been completely drained by the time they’d turned in, both mentally, physically, emotionally- he’d needed the rest.

And, maybe he still does. Keigo’s contemplating drifting back to sleep, wondering if he can spare ten more minutes, lulled by the rare winter sunlight and softly stroking his fingertips down the length of Dabi’s arm, when the gentlest sensation of a kiss being pressed to the back of his neck has him choosing to stay awake. Keigo smiles quietly to himself, letting his eyes fall shut before turning over in Dabi’s arms and immediately nuzzling close. He ducks his head under the other man’s chin and allows his lips to brush the column of the arsonist’s scarred throat, a tender thing, soft and sweet, while Dabi sighs again, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head.

“Morning, Pigeon.” Dabi murmurs, voice still husky from sleep, low and warm like embers in the ashes of a flame just recently burnt out. Keigo just hums in response, melting entirely into the fire-user when the hand resting on his back starts tracing lazy tracks up and down the base of his spine. The lingering ache in his body begins to ease and give way when the arsonist silently activates his quirk a bit more under his skin, his touch warm enough to work at the tension knots in Keigo’s back, but not hot enough to burn. It’s a guard against the chill of the morning air coming in through the open window, the curtains fluttering and flaring in the slow breeze that reaches them occasionally, surging through the room as an unwelcome but curious guest. The wind is quick to enter and feel anything it can get its invisible hands on, much to the hero’s displeasure, but Dabi takes a second to pause and tug the comforter better over the smaller man, letting it gather and settle around Keigo more than himself, the fire-user not needing the extra blankets to stay warm. “You feeling better?”

Keigo nods into Dabi’s chest, the winged hero freeing one of his arms from being trapped between them, and slinging it loosely over the arsonist’s waist.

Damn, he could easily get used to mornings like this- they definitely wouldn’t leave much to be desired.

If the looming notion of having to head in to work weren’t such a dark spot in the horizon of his day, this could almost be idyllic.

“Your Handler messaged your phone earlier.”

‘Speak of the devil.’

Before Keigo can really groan properly at the news or ask for his phone, wherever it ended up, Dabi’s running his hand up the hero’s spine again, Keigo closing his eyes once more in an effort to enjoy this and put off the inevitable, “Relax, Birdie. You’re not heading in today.”

That gets his attention fast.

“Dabi, I can’t just-”

“Commission orders,” The arsonist cuts him off, succeeding in shutting down Keigo’s rambling protests, “At five-o-eight in the fucking morning, no less.” This portion is said in an irritated grumble that leaves little question as to how the scarred man knows about both the message and the time it came through at,  “Apparently they’ve cleared your schedule for the day so you can finish ‘reflecting’, whatever the hell that means.”

Keigo knows exactly what that means.

“They think I’m still under the effects of the quirks they used on me yesterday,” He explains, opting to hide his face in the length of Dabi’s collarbone leisurely, the arsonist ruffling his hair, “They last longer when you don’t have interaction that can stimulate emotional responses other than what they want you to feel.”

“Were you feeling how they wanted you to feel last night?”

“Yeah,” Keigo mumbles, “The Commission doesn’t really pull their punches.”

The arsonist’s hands stall to a halt where they lay.

“Don’t have interaction- so they want you alone at home with nothing to do and nobody to talk to, so you stay in your head like that?”

“You got it.”

Dabi lets out a profane streak of curse words that leaves Keigo grinning wryly into the other man’s scarred skin, pressing a soothing kiss where his lips can reach, noticing that the fire-user’s body temperature has climbed dramatically in the last few seconds. “Calm down, Hotshot- it’s over and done with, I’m good now.”

“You weren’t good,” Dabi near-hisses into his hair, adjusting his grip on the hero to hold him better. Keigo’s amusement fades at the grim seriousness of the arsonist’s tone, tightening his own arm around the taller man’s waist, “You were a wreck, Pigeon, and I had no idea what-”

Dabi cuts himself off sharply before Keigo gets the chance, his momentary silence troubled. When he finally speaks again, his tone has a hardened, dangerous note to it. “Did they hurt you any way else?”

“Physically? No, they’d never risk that now. I’ve got too much of a media image, people would notice.” Keigo assures him softly, “I was lucky to have you here, though. That’s the fastest it’s ever worn off.”

“You’ve gone through this shit before?”

“A few times, yeah,” Keigo nods, still a bit weary, especially now that they’re talking about this in length. He would’ve probably liked a coffee first, but there’s something inherently comfortable in having difficult conversations while still sleep-warm and wrapped up in bed. It’s a bit easier to be honest this way. “Moreso when I was younger. They call it ‘reconditioning’, haven’t done it since I was eighteen. It’s a bitch- messed me up pretty bad for a while when I was still in training. It’s basically-” The hero pauses, struggling for a moment to find the right way to describe the experience, “Imagine- It’s a lot of gaslighting, a lot of manipulation. You’re forced to listen to a group of people picking you apart for hours on end, talking about all of your flaws, your weaknesses, ways you’ve let them down, ways you’re a disappointment. And the whole while, some asshole with a misery quirk is making you feel like absolute shit, which totally makes everything go to your head.” Keigo explains, giving the scarred man a second to digest all of this before adding, “And then, once they know they’ve got you starting to believe everything they say, another guy locks your emotions in and amplifies them so they’re even worse, completely overwhelming. Once that happens, you’re screwed. The quirk forces you to continuously feel whatever emotions you were feeling at the time it was activated, but amplifies them so they’re a lot stronger and prolonged for periods of time.”

Keigo yawns in an attempt to lighten the intensity of the mood, rubbing at the small of Dabi’s back when he notices how stiff the arsonist is, Dabi still not having said a word. “On your own, it’s near impossible to shake off. If you don’t have anything there to provoke strong enough emotions to counteract what you’re being forced to feel, you basically just have to wait it out until it wears away. When I was younger, they’d keep me isolated so I wouldn’t have any distractions- the last time this continued for about a week, and it left me shaken for a lot longer than that. I guess they just assumed that sending me home would do about the same thing- after all, as far as they’re concerned, I’ve got nobody in my immediate circle- I would’ve been more isolated here than at the facility, even.”

It’s a harrowing thought. Keigo shivers to himself and can only partially blame it on the December cold, thankful, not for the first time, that circumstances worked out the way they did to have Dabi staying at his place while this was ongoing. If he’d been stuck like that for days on end, confined in his head the way he had been-

Holy shit, it could’ve ruined him.

It takes a long while for Dabi to find his voice, and when he does, it’s almost unfamiliar to Keigo in how frigid it is.

“I swear to God, I’m burning that place to the fucking ground.”

Were it anyone else, Keigo would assume the statement to be one of empty threat and angry dramatics.

With Dabi, he knows better.

“ No ,” He argues firmly, hearing Dabi’s breath seize, the man’s hand still careful on the back of his head, but fisted tight in his hoodie, where it once rested against his spine, “You can’t step in on this one. This is bigger than one man, Dabs- you can’t win this with a fire quirk and a raging vendetta.”

He can feel Dabi’s temper surge without even seeing the expression on his face, the man’s next words only confirming his suspicions.

“They’re going to keep hurting you, it’s not going to get any better.”

“I’ll manage it- this isn’t your fight to win.”

“How? How are you going to manage it? They’ve got you by the throat, Keigo, do you really think they won’t do worse if you start resisting this too?”

“I’m not getting anyone else involved, it’ll just create even more liabilities. Let me take care of it.”

“Pigeon, I can’t just keep sitting back and doing fuck all while they-”

Keigo doesn’t give him the chance to finish. In a sudden flurry of motion, the hero throws his body weight to roll them over, Dabi falling into stunned silence as he finds himself on his back, Keigo hanging over him.

“Where are you right now?” Keigo demands, almost snapping. Dabi only blinks up at him, evidently still computing what’s happening. “You’re here . I am okay, because you were here,” Some of the frustration leaks out of his voice, weakening considerably as he adds, “If you hadn’t been, I would’ve been fucked.” Keigo takes a deep breath, taking the time to push Dabi’s hair back out of his eyes so he can see him better, his point an important one. He gentles his tone a little, no less adamant, but reining in a bit, one hand cupping the arsonist’s face, “If you go anywhere near that place, they will kill you. Even worse, they might capture you, and if they do that, they’ll do their best to break you in two days and keep you alive for two hundred.” The hero’s voice shakes for a moment before he can steady it, and Dabi visibly swallows hard at the sound, brows furrowing. “I’m not in that kind of danger. I know it’s hard to watch, but this isn’t a situation you can fix; there’s no one person you can fight and beat to change it.”

‘ This isn’t like Endeavor .’

He doesn’t say it out loud, but his brain instantly makes the comparison, knowing full well how Dabi thinks, acts, operates. He’s a one-man force with an insane amount of power, but one man alone isn’t going to be enough to tackle the Commission. Motivated anger won’t win them a war, here.

“Feathers-”

“They’d trained me into submission until I met all of you,” That’s enough to move Dabi to silence, the arsonist falling short on words as Keigo reminisces, a little fondly, “I’d forgotten what it was like to fight back, until they threw me in the pit with a group of anarchists and rebels, and I remembered what it was to have a voice and a reason to stand for it. Putting me on that mission was the worst mistake they ever made.”

Keigo offers him a smile, running his thumb across the scar under Dabi’s right eye, mindful of his staples. “I’m going to survive this.” 

There’s a dubious glint in Dabi’s eye that won’t fade even as the other man hears Keigo out, stubborn and upset, and burning fierce as ever. He’s wildfire in men’s clothing, always has been, and it’s moments like these where it’s easier to see those flames of unpredictability roiling under the surface of his skin. In a way, Keigo can’t blame him for being so angry- if their roles were reversed, he’d probably be indignant in the same way. All the same, his smile falls a little as he takes up a serious tone, determined to talk him down. “Sweetheart, please- promise me you’re not going to go looking for a fight.”

“Someone needs to do something,” The arsonist retaliates heatedly, “Kei, they can’t keep doing shit like this and getting away with it.”

“They won’t- not forever. That’s what we’re doing all of this for, isn’t it?” Keigo asks, clarifying his point when Dabi’s look goes somewhat confused, “The League, my part in it- it’s for all of this to change, to take apart the old system and rebuild something better.” The hero sits back slightly, fingers slipping to grasp the arsonist’s forearms in a loose hold, Dabi’s own hands having come to rest just above either of Keigo’s knees at some point in this conversation. With the blankets having fallen away from them in a crumpled heap, the lingering heat in the other man’s palms is a welcome one, though Keigo has to fight not to shiver when he finds himself subject to the rest of the bedroom in its chilly entirety. Granted, all notions of staying warm and curled up in sleep and tangled embraces have long passed by now, the hero fully alert and awake at this point. He squeezes Dabi’s arms gently, pinning the arsonist’s gaze with his own, “Someday, I hope things will be different- but I can’t lose you now for a slim chance at freedom.” He lets his grip slacken and fall away, watching storms brew unrestrained behind Dabi’s eyes, “It’s not worth the risk, and it never will be.” 

There are several beats of silence between them before either makes a move, Dabi eventually breaking the quiet with a sigh. His hands slide up Keigo’s thighs as the fire-user pulls himself into a sitting position, immediately tilting his head to press a series of kisses along the winged man’s jaw. Keigo bows his head just enough to feel the arsonist’s dark hair ruffle and fan out against his cheek, letting his eyes fall shut as the ministrations continue, Dabi’s mouth warm on his skin. His fingers thread themselves through the other man’s hair without thought, travelling by touch alone and taking root there, if only just to keep him close. Eventually, at length, the arsonist draws away, though Keigo’s hold on him doesn’t allow the lanky man to go far, the arsonist settling for pressing his cheek to the hero’s, his breath hitting Keigo’s ear as he speaks. His staples are cool to the touch, but Keigo doesn’t mind, simply holding him more tightly, and being mindful not to move in any way that might hurt him.

“I’m not losing you either.”

It’s a statement, a fact, not something in question, and not a tone to challenge. There’s still an element of danger in the scarred man’s voice that reminds Keigo of the stomach-dropping sensation he gets when first falling into a dive when he flies- of the split-second, heart-stopping disorientation one feels when losing their balance on a step, caught between tumbling backwards and catching themselves at the last minute.

It’s a tone of danger, yes- but it’s danger drawn from a fear of that unknown, a fear of that fall, a fear of that precipice moment between safety and risk, and knowing that what happens next is out of your control.

It’s a fear of staring a government organization in the face and knowing a one-man shield, no matter how strong, will not be enough to save them.

Dabi’s afraid, and that is not a common occurrence- but he’s afraid now, afraid of what he might not be able to prevent, and afraid of simply standing aside to let it happen. That’s something Keigo can empathize with. “I could’ve lost you yesterday.”

“I told you, they didn’t-”

“That’s not what I mean,” Dabi interjects, “You said yourself, there are worse things than dying. I could’ve lost you , Feathers- you were a fucking husk when you came home last night,” His voice drops an octave, turning his face just enough that his lips brush Keigo’s skin as he adds, “I’ve never seen you on the brink like that.”

This time Dabi does pull away properly- and at the look on his face, Keigo wants to just tug him in and kiss him senseless, until he loses that ghostly expression of concern that he wears so thinly, a nearly-translucent sheet over his features. He knows it won’t settle the arsonist at all, though, especially as Dabi’s eyes darken, the dark-haired man shaking his head. “Fuck it, Pigeon, whatever it is they were trying to get you to go along with- just do it. If it was that they noticed you were giving tailored reports, or that you weren’t telling them the truth about something to do with us- just give them what they’re after. If we’ve got you on the inside and know what they’re looking for, we can find a way around it- but there’s no way in hell you’re going through that again. We’ll be fine even if they know a bit more about what’s going on than they used to.”

It takes Keigo a second to understand what he means- but when he figures it out, he realizes the miscommunication that he’s never addressed.

“Dabi, this wasn’t about the League,” The winged hero explains clumsily, caught a little off guard by the villain’s assumption and the fact that he apparently hadn’t told him the most crucial part of this whole situation, “Or my mission, or any of it. The Commission’s after Shouto .”

And God, if that deadly look in the arsonist’s eye doesn’t sharpen tenfold.

Dabi doesn’t say a word. He stares at Keigo for one beat, two- blinks slowly, and then gives a long, steady breath.

“Why.” The arsonist asks lowly, barely audible and fierce as hell. His voice is more a frostbitten growl than anything else.

‘ Well, that was fucking chilling. Holy shit. ’

“I don’t know,” Keigo answers truthfully, keeping his voice soothing. Damn, and he’d just talked him down, too, “They just decided recently that they want me to start informing them on his progress and everything, but I don’t know what’s going on or why they’ve decided this so suddenly.”

Dabi gives another long sigh and a nod, clearly fighting to keep his composure reined in, which Keigo appreciates to some degree. While he’s not a fan of how prone the arsonist is to bottling in his emotions, he knows the other man’s trying to stay levelheaded and keep moderately calm. Moderately calm, all things considered, is impressive, given the circumstances.

“Fuck,” The villain curses, a single word, spat like it tasted foul in his mouth on the way out. He breaks Keigo’s gaze then, studying the bedsheets around them, and the planes of sunlight and shadow caught in the folds. “Fuck, we just never get a break, do we?”

He says the last part almost wryly, but it’s with a sarcastic kind of honest, angry humour that has Keigo combing through his hair again, though he, too, feels the sting Dabi’s referring to, and winces before he can help himself. 

“I’m sorry- I know it’s just one thing after another these days.”

“You apologize a lot for things that aren’t your fault, Birdie.”

“This one might be,” Keigo swallows dryly. This time, he’s the one avoiding eye contact when Dabi glances at him again, speculative, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for awhile.”

The arsonist stays quiet, Keigo struggling to find his voice. “I… had a run-in with Endeavor a few weeks ago that didn’t go well.”

Dabi’s eyebrows shoot up incredulously, the shift in expression something Keigo might have found comedic were the circumstances any different. “He came to my office- it was the same day as that morning you helped me preen my wings after… Everything.” They don’t need to talk about that incident- Keigo doesn’t care to think about it much, “He was out of the hospital, and wanted to talk about my internship with Shouto. Apparently he wanted reinstatement over his training, because I wasn’t a sufficient teacher.” The winged hero releases a heavy breath, Dabi sitting deadly still and silent as he listens, mute, “We had an argument; it got pretty heated, and…”

Here he trails off, hesitant to continue, but Dabi’s gaze is unwavering and Keigo grimaces, stroking through the arsonist’s hair again, and finally just deciding to get it over with. Dabi’s not going to give a shit about verbal delivery, especially not with the information he’s about to dump on him, but he drops his tone into a gentle one anyway, hoping to be somewhat comforting. “He knows who you are. He’s known since July, back when Shouto figured it out.”

Keigo watches as the implications of that unfold for the fire-user, Dabi’s shoulders stiffening, his eyes shuttering momentarily at the news. There has to be  a million things running through his mind right now, Keigo knows, and he’s in no position to disrupt the train of any of them. It’s a lot to take in, a blow that comes with a lot of baggage they, unfortunately, probably don’t have time to unpack. He’s not sure Dabi would want to anyway, knowing how unlikely it is that the villain would care to begin delving into just how many ways this makes his whole family situation even worse. Keigo understands- maybe not to the same degree, but he understands- as a fellow son whose father had done him no justices.

He can’t say his father ever willingly put him through a window and nearly cost him his life while knowing full well who he was facing, but he knows what the taste of betrayal is, and he knows it only goes down harder when it has the metallic tang of shared blood in the mix. It burns. That’s not something Dabi’s unused to, though, particularly when Enji Todoroki is involved.

The arsonist doesn’t say a word for a long while, his gaze distant, before he finally gathers himself to speak.

“So, he knew when…” Dabi doesn’t finish that statement after he sees Keigo nod, just closes his eyes and visibly clenches his jaw. His hands are shaking where they rest with what Keigo assumes to be rage, the winged hero softening the touch of his own and gently caressing the other man’s cheek, trying to act as a support. “He wanted Shouto there.”

“I know.” Keigo answers softly.

“He wanted him to-” The arsonist cuts himself off, sounding halfwise strangled. “Holy fuck- ”

Sliding an arm around the villain’s waist, Keigo draws him close again, pressing his lips to Dabi’s temple.

“I know,” He says again, holding the fire-user as he trembles in silent, unspeakable anger, his skin warm and only growing hotter, even through the layers of Keigo’s hoodie. “I’m sorry baby- I should have told you sooner, I didn’t mean for this to all come down at once,” Keigo murmurs, apologetic.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dabi asks, strained, every part of him tense as a bowstring. It’s like holding stone, save for the fact that he’s still quaking, and Keigo does his best not to flinch at the livid note in the villain’s voice, reminding himself he’s not at the root of it.

“It was so soon after the fight,” Keigo explains quietly, “You were just starting to get better- heck, even over the last few weeks I didn’t want to risk it; I had no idea what your reaction would be.”

At first, there’s only silence- until Keigo goes to apologize again, and the arsonist speaks up.

“It wouldn’t have been good. My reaction. You did the right thing.”

It’s clipped, but immediately afterwards the arsonist sighs, and with that exhale goes a portion of his anger, slowly, slowly, slowly ebbing and being coaxed into settling enough for him to ask, “Alright. So what do you think this has to do with the Commission wanting Shou?”

The strained, tight note in his voice holds even as he tries shifting gears. They’re not talking about Enji. Keigo gets that message loud and clear, catching how quickly Dabi’s dismissed that whole portion of this revelation in favour of returning to the original topic at hand. He’s not going to argue the transition.

Keigo bites his lip, mulling it over in his head.

“With how quickly this has all happened in succession- your dad trying to take Shouto back, me refusing, the Commission making their move, me refusing- and them having the ability to potentially force my hand…Is it coincidence? All of this happening now- unless… Well, maybe it’s not, but still-” The hero is so caught up in his thoughts, dwindling off, that he doesn’t notice Dabi pulling back to study him in confusion until the arsonist finally pinches his hip to get his attention.

“Hey, Pigeon- more thinking out loud, if you could,” Dabi drawls, tapping Keigo’s forehead with one knuckle, “I can’t read what’s going on in here.”

The fact that he’s willing to take a jab at the hero proves Dabi’s already in a better mood than he was a moment ago.

“I’m wondering if there’s any possibility that the two events could be related,” Laying it out, Keigo frowns, trying to work the pieces together in his head, “Endeavor was so adamant about taking Shouto back- it completely pissed him off to be turned away- and he’s got weight with the Commission, being in the Number One spot. There’s a lot of people there who he could negotiate with that I don’t hold any sway over, not with the Commission’s leash around my neck. He knows about that too; it was his tip-off that got me recruited in the first place.”  Keigo runs a thumb along his bottom lip in thought, which quickly evolves into rubbing his chin, “What I’m getting at is if there’s any possibility Endeavor might have gone to the Commission after not being able to change my mind. Nishimura said something about my loyalty belonging to Shouto instead of the Commission recently, and how I needed to follow through with their requests for reports on our training and his progress if I wanted to clear their concerns,” He meets Dabi’s eye again and finds the arsonist listening attentively, his eyebrows drawn low as he tries to dissect Keigo’s points, clearly following where he’s going with this, “If he was trying to say to me originally that I was an insufficient teacher, and now the Commission’s asking for reports on Shouto’s progress and really getting adamant about wanting him- is there a possibility he would go to the Commission to make his point and get Shouto back? Is there anything he could’ve offered them, or, hell, would he go so far as to offer Shouto to the Commission as a candidate for the program so long as he’s guaranteed to be involved in his training?”

The ideas are coming to him as he speaks now, the hero on autopilot and rattling out possibilities and potential connections as soon as they start mapping out in his head. It takes Dabi a second to digest all of this, but eventually the arsonist starts to shake his head, looking doubtful.

“I don’t think he would.”

That comes as a surprise. Keigo blinks, cocking his head.

“No?”

“No, I seriously don’t think he would go that route.” Dabi purses his lips, thinking it over. “Listen, if the son of a bitch is anything like I knew him to be, I can guarantee you one thing: he doesn’t like to share,” Dabi meets Keigo’s eye again, a glint of anger still burning in the blue, but not as wildly as it was before, “He’s been hellbent on being the best as long as I’ve been alive- he literally had us for that reason alone, to take a spot on a leaderboard he didn’t think he’d reach. That’s why Shouto was always his fucking masterpiece- he was going to be his key to victory. I don’t think he’d let anyone else step in to help him achieve that; he wouldn’t risk Shouto being taken from him again, or risk losing out on that dream.”

The arsonist seems dead certain as he rules through Keigo’s conclusions, his next words only confirming his certainty. “If the cases are related, it’s not because he’s gone to the Commission for help. He’s too prideful of a fucker for that. He won’t share his victory with anyone.”

He’s got a point. Keigo deflates a little, backtracking to square one, and starting to go through his list of potentials again- “But that doesn’t matter right now.”

Keigo glances at the arsonist, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

“It doesn’t?” 

He’s astounded that the villain would think so, but Dabi’s always thrived on unpredictability, and this time is no exception. Dabi shakes his head again, shrugging.

“What the hell’s the point in worrying over whatever the motive is? You don’t know anything for certain now, and you’re not going to know anything more than you already do if you think the same shit over a million times,” Dabi critiques, raising an eyebrow. “The real question is what you’re going to do about it.”

“What I’m going to do?” Keigo parrots, not having gotten that far yet. 

“Well, yeah. What I’m hearing, is that the Commission wants Shouto for some reason,” Dabi clarifies, wrinkling his nose, “And you’ve basically indicated you’ve got two options- you can either follow orders, in which case they’ll try to make a move to recruit him, which is obviously not on the fucking agenda. Or,” The arsonist cocks his head just a little bit in consideration, brows furrowed, “You keep resisting them, which keeps Shouto safe, but means they’ll keep coming after you for it. That can’t happen either. So,” Dabi resettles his hands on Keigo’s waist, voice taking up a hard edge again, one of defiance, “What’s the plan?”

The plan? He doesn’t have a plan, and he says as much.

“Regardless of what I do, there’s not going to be a good outcome,” Keigo answers, dejected by the grim reality of their situation, “It’s just a point of picking the lesser of two evils. It’s an impossible choice.”

“Pretty bird,” Dabi replies, with a fierce, unexpected grin- neat and tidy, and sharp as hell, “We’ve been doing the impossible since day one.”

He’s not wrong about that. The winged hero shoots him a knowing grin, weak but a grin nonetheless, and mulls over his options, trying to map them out. There has to be some way they can tackle this- but if he’s got Endeavor coming at him from one side, and the Commission coming at him from the other, it’s going to be a nightmare to keep Shouto shielded from everything.

“I can’t tell which is the better way to go,” The hero admits, furrowing his brow, “On one hand, I want to protect Shouto from this as much as possible, so of course I’ll take whatever they throw at me- but to be honest,” Keigo sighs quietly, a small breath of a thing, far too aware of his limits, “I know I can’t keep this up forever. I’ll take it as long as I can, but even I know it’s only a matter of time before they manage to find some way of incapacitating me entirely. I want to think I can fight back no matter what, but I’m only human.” He meets Dabi’s eyes, processing out loud. “I can’t protect him if they push me past that limit- and they will, if I don’t give in. But I can’t let them take him either; that’s what the whole notion of fighting this is for, and if sparing myself means handing him over, then the effort of keeping the Commission off my back is pointless.” 

Dabi nods, hearing him out and waiting on him expectantly, as if ready to hear the hero come up with a clever ‘However…’ on the spot. That’s Keigo’s strong suit, after all.

But there isn’t a ‘However’ moment. There’s no stroke of genius, there’s no sudden plan. His head’s full of static, white noise and blank pages, and no ulterior options. 

He’s got nothing.

After a few more minutes of racking his brain and coming up empty handed for answers, Keigo sighs, dropping his head against Dabi’s shoulder in irritation, and feeling the fire-user rest a hand on his lower back again, wordlessly, leaving him room to think. Even the silence seems too heavy after a few minutes though, and the hero finally shatters it, when it all ends up being too much. 

“Babe, can you do something for me?” Keigo asks softly, nuzzling into the crook of Dabi’s neck and jaw, the arsonist giving a low, “Yeah?” that still sounds a bit off, though Keigo knows the sharpness isn’t meant to be directed towards him. The hero snuggles close, running his hands up Dabi’s sides, and grinning tiredly into his neck. “Please,” Keigo requests genuinely, slumping against him, “For the love of God, can you make breakfast?”

The question is enough to have Dabi chuff in amusement, the arsonist a little taken aback, but good-humoured about it nonetheless.

“You just dumped a load of family-related problems on me, and now you want me to make breakfast, Pigeon?”

“It’s better than me dumping a load of family-related problems on you and then me also being the one trying to make breakfast.” Keigo points out, not moving from his spot. His words are muffled, but Dabi gives another wisp of a laugh regardless.

“I’ll agree with you on that, actually.” The arsonist runs a hand up Keigo’s spine again, in mimicry of the action he’d been making earlier. He presses a few light circles into the base of the hero’s neck before asking in a quieter tone, no longer teasing, “You didn’t eat last night, did you?”

No he hadn’t. After voicing as much, he feels Dabi nod, the dark-haired man nudging him off his lap, “That’s what I figured. C’mon Birdie.”

Keigo shoots him a winning grin as the arsonist shuffles his way off the bed, grunting as he stretches his arms and makes his way to the kitchen. The winged man is quick to follow, only a few seconds behind as he takes the time to shrug off Dabi’s hoodie and hang it back up in the closet, before making his way down the hallway. Dabi’s got the coffeemaker started by the time he gets there, in the process of putting away the box of filters, and the smell of fresh dark-roast immediately has the blond perking up.

“You’re the best,” Keigo calls over his shoulder, wandering into the living room to deal with his feathers. Putting them together into wings again isn’t that much of a hassle, an action he can easily do without any serious thought. It’s almost like muscle memory, and when he finally has that familiar weight hanging off his back again, he gives a strong sigh of relief, giving his wings a few test beats and checking their balance before stretching his own arms above his head, and making way for the kitchen once again.

“Got your wings put together?”

“Mhmm.”

It’s almost like a dance, the way they’ve learned to work around one another. Keigo steps in around the arsonist to grab a few teaspoons and the creamer from the fridge, greeted by the sight of two mugs already sitting on the counter by the time he gets back to the coffee pot again. He tugs the sugar canister over and begins preparing Dabi’s coffee first, dishing two spoonfuls in one cup, and pouring a heavy dose of cream in the other.

“Behind you,” Dabi warns, running a hand across one of Keigo’s wings as he steps behind him to make some space on the kitchen island for them to eat later. Keigo finishes pouring each of their coffees, passing Dabi’s off to him with barely a glance, the arsonist taking it from him while wholly preoccupied with something he’s found while cleaning.

“What’s this?” Dabi asks with a frown, holding up a sheet of paper from the counter while Keigo steps around him once again to hop up on the island counter. He’s not paying attention to what Dabi means, at first, fanning his feathers and adjusting his wings while he sits. It feels good to have them put together again, safe and close and strong. He ruffles them happily before letting them hang over the marble, the tips of his longest feathers only hanging a short ways off the ground on the other side.

Then he sees what his partner is holding. Keigo bites his lip.

“New dietary restrictions. They’ve done this before- something about altering eating habits to promote more obedient behaviour.” Keigo explains, holding his mug between both hands and appreciating its warmth, running his fingers repeatedly across the ceramic. Dabi eyes him dubiously, the fire user dropping the sheet, and casually swinging a frying pan out of its respective drawer, stalking over to the stove with new conviction.

“That’s bullshit. Pass me the cooking oil.”

Keigo smiles at the annoyed tone in the other man’s voice, using a few feathers to pull a half-used jug of cooking oil from the pantry, and setting it down by the stove without a word, the arsonist rummaging through the fridge. A second later, he’s pulling out a styrofoam package that looks suspiciously unlike breakfast food, though Keigo quirks an eyebrow in interest.

“Is that chicken?”

“Yep.”

“Dabs, it’s nine in the morning.”

“And?” The arsonist pours a decent amount of oil in the pan before starting the burner and reaching for a cutting board. Keigo observes in bewildered amusement as the taller men gets to work cutting the chicken into bite-size cubes, significantly more confident with the task than Keigo would’ve been.

“We can’t just eat chicken for breakfast.”

Dabi shoots him a scathing look.

“If we can eat icecream for supper, we can eat chicken for breakfast.” He argues flatly, clearly a jab at Keigo’s botched meal a few nights previous, “Just tell those assholes you work under that it was tofu or some shit.”

Keigo laughs, a genuine thing, his first in over a day. At the sound, Dabi glances slightly over his shoulder towards him, a small smile of his own generously spreading across his face, though Keigo doesn’t get much of a glimpse of it.

Keigo can tell by the stiffness of the arsonist’s gestures and the tension in his lean frame, that he’s still mulling over everything they’ve discussed, but he doesn’t draw attention to it. Hopefully, having something to do with his hands will serve to calm the arsonist down a bit. Worst case scenario, Keigo might have to replace his frying pan if the fire-user ends up accidentally melting the handle, but it’s a very small price to pay if it gets the man out of his own head somewhat. Regardless, he’s getting breakfast out of the deal, and it’s one less breakfast in his life he’s ever going to have to cook, so he’ll take what he can get.

Taking a sip of his coffee, the hero takes a moment to lounge in the kitchen’s general warmth and raises his wings a little to catch whatever heat the stove might be throwing, quietly enjoying himself- or, trying to, at least.

There’s still the question of what to do running through his mind-

And there’s still something else they need to address.

“Thank you, for everything you did last night.” He broaches, trying to go for casual and nonchalant, staring down at his coffee, “I know I mentioned it earlier, but I never properly thanked you for it.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Pigeon.” Is Dabi’s immediate response, distracted as he reaches for the seasonings cupboard, fumbling out a few jars while barely looking at what he’s reaching for. Keigo ignores the happy little sensation he gets in the pit of his stomach when he realizes Dabi’s been here long enough to memorize the spice cupboard. It’s a stupid, silly thing to be happy over. “I didn’t do much more than calm you down.”

“You did a lot more than that.”

“I made you sit in a shower with your clothes on.”

“You told me you love me,” Keigo says quietly, glancing up. Dabi freezes over the stove, chicken sizzling loudly in the pan, cutting the silence between them, “Did you want to say it, or did you just feel like you had to?” 

For a moment, Dabi doesn’t respond. Keigo lets the quiet build and grow between them, before the arsonist sighs, turning down the heat on the stove and turning to face the hero. Keigo watches him wordlessly as he approaches, the villain eventually taking Keigo’s mug out of his hands and setting it to the side, coming to stand between the hero’s knees and letting his hands drift to the winged man’s hips, contemplative. 

He looks conflicted. Keigo can read it on his face, clear as day- the hesitation there, the way he’s torn and probably, knowing him, irritated that he’s torn to begin with. It takes him a long while to formulate any kind of response, but Keigo’s not a stranger to waiting out these kinds of silences. He doesn’t push, but he doesn’t take back the question either.

“I may be a bastard, Pigeon, but I’m an honest bastard.” Dabi answers at length, finally meeting Keigo’s gaze evenly, if not a little stiff. Keigo, listening, runs a hand up the length of one of Dabi’s arms and settles resting it just above his elbow while he waits for the other man to speak and elaborate a little better. Dabi lowers his eyes again for a moment at the gesture, working his jaw. Keigo watches as the scarred man struggles to find somewhere to rest his gaze uncomfortably- the countertop, Keigo’s hand on his arm, the chipped blue mug on the counter, back to Keigo, this time staring at a place higher up on his shoulder-

Eventually, the winged hero reaches out his other hand and places it on the arsonist’s cheek, drawing his eyes directly to his again. Dabi, catching what Keigo’s trying to do, grimaces slightly but doesn’t look away a second time. “I meant it,” He mutters slowly, almost as if admitting defeat, “You needed to hear it, but I meant to say it.”

“But it’s still difficult.”

“Yes.” He’s unapologetic in admitting it, blunt and honest. 

“Okay.” The hero nods, offering a smile, pride warming it over like sunlight. He guides the arsonist in for a kiss, grin only growing tenfold as it turns into two and then many, breakfast forgotten for now, “That’s a damn good start. That’s-” Keigo breaks away on a small laugh, catching his breath with Dabi’s face framed in his hands, marvelling at the joy bubbling and overflowing in his veins, a champagne supernova. After yesterday, it doesn’t feel so easy to take for granted- and after everything they’ve tackled this morning, he’ll take whatever little rays of light he can get. He laughs again just to hear himself do so, just to watch Dabi’s eyes flicker across his face attentively, taking in every detail, “That’s a hell of a fucking start, sweetheart.”

“It’s just a start, Feathers.” Dabi reminds him, apparently not quite as thrilled by this development as his partner, and still in a somewhat bad mood from earlier, “Still got a long way to go.”

“You’re trying ,” Keigo exclaims, shaking his head, that smile never leaving his face, “Dabi, I don’t care if you’re ready tomorrow, or seven years from now, or never,” The hero captures the villain’s lips again, and when he finds his voice to speak once more, it’s ten degrees shy of confessional, “Nobody’s ever put any effort into loving me before you- sure as hell, nobody’s ever fought to do so like you have either,” Keigo’s thumbs trace the seams of the other man’s scars without thought, close enough that when he exhales, he can feel the warmth of his own breath on his fingertips, “I’ve already told you I don’t need the words. That hasn’t changed.” Dabi gives a small nod of understanding at that, “But the fact that you’re willing to try means so much.”

The arsonist’s look softens at the reassurance, even as his gaze falls downwards.

“You deserve to have it said, though. You damn well don’t hear it enough.” He rumbles quietly, meeting Keigo’s eye for only a second before switching tactics.

Dabi kisses him. It doesn’t take him much of an effort to close the distance between them, not with Keigo so close as it is, but he tugs him closer anyway, using the grip he’s got on Keigo’s waist to pull the other man nearer to the edge of the counter before ducking in. It’s a powerful kiss, strong and surging, and full of promise; in it, Keigo can taste all the words the other man can’t bring himself to say, an inexplicable mix of sunset hours and midnight shadows, saccharine and dark molasses, every quiet moment they’ve ever spent, and every moment Keigo knows they’ve wished to spend like this.

‘I love you,’

The hero strokes his thumbs across the arsonist’s cheeks again before looping his arms around the scarred man’s neck. He deepens the kiss, Dabi easily following suit and kissing him again, again, again with a lazy, unhurried kind of passion that has Keigo’s blood slowly warming in his veins. Fuck, he loves it when the arsonist treats him like this, and the other man damn well knows it, taking his time, thorough and steady. It’s nice, being made to slow down once and awhile, to be brought into stillness and made to appreciate every passing second with a new awareness for what it means. Keigo’s wings rustle almost subconsciously behind him, the hero releasing a small gasp into Dabi’s mouth when the arsonist slides his hands down Keigo’s legs, finding a better position to hold them from so he can settle the hero’s limbs around his waist. He’s in no rush as he does so, the villain’s touch lingering, hands still hooked under the backs of Keigo’s knees until the blond crosses his ankles behind him and tugs Dabi’s hands his way once more, the taller man smirking at the sudden move of authority.

Keigo doesn’t humour him with a comment, simply sinking into the next kiss that comes his way, and directing Dabi’s arms around him until his scarred hands are on his back, fingers splayed out.

“That’s better,” Keigo murmurs when he gets the chance, breathless and returning his own arms to their position over Dabi’s neck, planning on saying more, but only falling into a low, contented hum when Dabi gently drags his fingers through the tiny feathers closest to the base of his wings. The arsonist steals the sound like a thief who’s earned his reputation, swallowing it greedily with his mouth on the hero’s own. Keigo would sooner be damned than protest.

‘I love you.’

“Someday,” Dabi states in a quiet rasp, lips brushing the corner of Keigo’s mouth even as he speaks, “I’ll make sure-” He falters for a moment, distracted, managing kisses between fragmented portions of sentences that leave Keigo only partially focused on what he’s saying, until the arsonist gathers himself enough to finish the rest of his statement against Keigo’s temple, chest heaving slightly, “That it doesn’t seem like a novelty.”

And isn’t that an endearing thought- waking up to drowsy, fumbling kisses and getting a half-asleep “I love you,” every morning; to have arms come around his waist when he’s least expecting it and have the words murmured over his shoulder at random intervals, spoken in passing, in fleeting moments and with everyday gestures that have no reason for celebration or particular significance. To be surrounded by statements of love in small ways, until he forgets what it was ever like to long for them- to have the opportunity to return the favour; to be able to turn around at any given point and kiss his arsonist’s cheek, head ducked low as he reads, and to leave whispers pressed to snared fingers at night, the words themselves lost to the shadows and haziness of sleep, but their intentions always remembered for the number of times they’ve been said.

“I don’t think you understand,” Keigo answers, hushed, “Loving you will always be a novelty.”

The hero leans into the arsonist’s chest as Dabi’s breath hitches audibly, the winged man letting his palms run down the slopes of the villain’s neck. He goes lower, sliding his hands down his sides, gentle over his scars and even more careful where his staples lie, Dabi shivering under his touch.

“Kei…” He murmurs huskily, falling into the kiss Keigo offers with a kind of starving hunger that has the hero pressing his fingers between the ridges of the arsonist’s ribs just to hold them both steady, noting with satisfaction that his bones are significantly less pronounced than they were when the villain first began staying with him. 

‘ Look at you,’  Keigo thinks softly, ‘Oh sweetheart, just look at you.’

He’s healthier than when they first met- stronger, less brittle and fragile like he could crack or shatter at any moment. It’s an improvement that Keigo’s noticed subtly over their months together, but something he can especially appreciate now, the arsonist so much more confident in his interactions with him, and so much more grounded in general. He’s always reminded Keigo of the flames he wields so well, but the difference now is as profane as comparing a flickering candle to a steady source of light, no longer matchsticks and damaged wicks, a breath away from burning out. Even looking at how he’s handled the morning’s information, and yesterday’s events, he’s come so far from the scarred, broken man Keigo had found when he’d first been assigned this mission- the beaten dog who’d been kicked one too many times, and was no longer afraid to bare his teeth to bite, who’d go off unpredictably because rage was a better outlet than fear, and with whom the thought of intimacy was unfathomable, reserved for a life he’d killed off far too young, and far too early. 

Dabi’s hands slip up under his shirt, unknowing of the thoughts running through the blond’s head, Keigo giving a light sigh at the sensation of the man’s palms gliding up the length of his spine and letting his wings fall back to droop lowly over the countertop, only sagging more when the arsonist finds his feathers again. He’s always gentle with his wings- that’s one thing Keigo’s picked up after their many months of this. They can be clumsy and passionate, grips desperate and actions rough, and yet the arsonist’s hands always manage to gentle the instant he reaches for Keigo’s wings, without fail. Whether the habit is instinctive or intentional, Keigo doesn’t know, but it’s one thing he can count on without question.

The hero keens quietly as Dabi threads his fingers through his feathers, losing himself in the deep kiss the dark-haired man draws him in for, and tipping his head back with an open gasp when the villain breaks away to press his lips to the blond’s throat instead. 

 ‘I love you so much.’

“You might want to turn off the stove,” The hero murmurs pointedly, hands tangling fiercely in the other’s hair. His voice ends on a small hiss when one of the arsonist’s kisses devolves into a sharp, stinging bite that Dabi soothes with a second kiss over the same spot a moment later, “Breakfast is going to be waiting a while.”

Dabi crooks an amused smirk against the column of his neck, his breath warm when he releases a huff of a laugh, teeth grazing Keigo’s skin again, but with a lazy, lack of intention this time around.

“All that talk about me making breakfast, and now you’re not even hungry, Pigeon?” The arsonist teases, the words barbless despite their sarcastic air. Keigo tugs on his hair enough for the other man to glance up mischievously; Keigo puts on a sly grin in response, this time being the one to leave the arsonist with a burning kiss, and looking down on him with hooded eyes.

“Hungry? Baby,” The winged man muses, chidingly, with a growing smile and a ‘you-should-know-better’ tone, dropping into a whisper when he says his next words against Dabi’s lips, “I’m fucking starving .”

Dabi chuffs, humoured, admitting Keigo a kiss that’s far too short for the hero’s liking, the arsonist stepping away a bit to turn off the stove before returning to where the blond still sits, waiting impatiently.

“Well,” Keigo slips off the counter as Dabi murmurs, reaching to grab the scarred man’s hand and tugging him away from the kitchen, towards the hallway, “Let’s see what we can do about that, then.”

“Gladly.” The hero says quietly, distracted with pulling the other in for a heated kiss.

Later, Dabi will probably tease him for the number of walls he’ll stumble into while walking them, backwards, to his room.

Keigo won’t be of any mind to care.

Golden.

Under stronger sunlight, when the summer days are long and bleeding into autumn, that’s the colour Dabi’s skin takes; burnished bronze over porcelain, watercolours over pale paper. Keigo’s lost hours in the past, tracing shapes into the unscarred patches of his skin and marvelling at how a man so prone to darkness can possibly glow so warmly when caught in sunshine.

But in the winter, when the sun’s touch is weaker and more cool, just as it is now, he’s all silver.

That’s all Keigo can think of, blissed out and settled, so very aware of every square inch of his arsonist’s skin against his own, scarred and not. There’s silver in the peaks of his shoulders, in the hills and hollows of his sides, in the ridges of his cheekbones where the light chooses to linger and really, Keigo can’t blame it.

He’s seen the same thing with statues- has seen that same effect in pictures of ancient marble, over stone faces that hold the illusion of softness and limbs that would be cold to the touch. They, too, capture light just like this- wear the highlights and shadows of the living as though that will change their state, and make them tangible forms of flesh and blood, instead of ageless, pale, and cold.

There’s very little that his lover shares in common with those statues. He shares none of their flawlessness, none of their coldness. He will not last beyond a single lifetime-

But fuck if he doesn’t wear light better than any of them.

Dabi’s breath is shaky as he releases an exhale against Keigo’s temple, pressing a kiss to his forehead and gently pushing the blond’s hair back from where it’s plastered with sweat. Keigo smiles up at him tiredly, warm and content, stroking a hand up one of Dabi’s biceps and closing his eyes as the other rests his forehead against Keigo’s own.

“I’ve missed this.” The winged man murmurs softly, catching his breath and clumsily bumping noses with the arsonist as he carefully unfurls his wings out from underneath himself, splaying them out across the mattress and basking in the afterglow. Dabi kisses him after a moment of watching, a docile, tame thing, languid and slow.

“So have I, Pigeon.” He whispers back, reaching out to coax his free hand through the feathers of one of Keigo’s outstretched wings, the hero all but entirely melting underneath him and giving an audible sound of protest when the arsonist carefully draws away a moment later, not wanting him to leave already. Dabi hushes him softly when Keigo instinctively reaches out for the villain, gestures still tired and fumbling, “I’ll be right back, pretty bird,” The dark-haired man promises, pausing to brush his lips to the inside of Keigo’s knee before slipping away. Keigo’s eyes drift shut again, hearing the other man’s footsteps slowly become muffled as he leaves the bedroom and wanders through the apartment. The loss of his warmth and scent and presence is a sore one, but the fire-user’s good for his word and returns a few minutes later, the bed dipping under his weight. Dabi’s already cleaned himself up, but he helps Keigo do the same now, leaving a glass of water on the blond’s nightstand and passing off a washcloth to the hero. Keigo offers a mumbled, hazy ‘thank you’, the sentence quickly falling apart into a soft hum when Dabi sprawls close and tucks him into his side, gently nudging at one red wing until Keigo moves it out of the way. He compromises by raising it long enough for Dabi to get settled in bed again and for him to have tugged Keigo close before the hero drops it around the arsonist’s shoulders, letting it settle between Dabi’s back and the pillows behind him, the other falling across them naturally like a sheet. 

There’s something reassuring about having them both curled up in his wings like this. Keigo basks in the sensation while he can, knowing full well that beyond them, beyond this room, there’s still a world out there that needs fighting and fighting for, but for now, it all can wait. 

Fingers comb through his tangled hair, and the hero’s body goes slack, sinking into relaxation and not fighting the urge to rest, eyelids flickering as he presses his cheek into Dabi’s heated skin and lays a hand on his chest. The fire-user doesn’t say a word, not uncommon in these kinds of situations, but he holds Keigo close, simply resting with him in silence- there’s a generous amount of intimacy in that action alone, more than words would have the ability to describe, really, and Keigo knows it, hears it, understands. At one point, the arsonist’s fingers brush lower than the ends of the hero’s hair and, instead, run along the cord around the blond’s neck, Dabi’s necklace still hanging around Keigo’s throat from the night before. He hasn’t asked for it, hasn’t reached to take it back. Keigo should probably return the little trinket, knowing that the weight of it is so much more important to the villain than it is to him, but all he can think of is the softness in Dabi’s eyes when the dark-haired man had seen it on him as they laid in Keigo’s bed, exchanging kisses and murmured words in the same breath. The arsonist’s fingers had been light as they’d traced down the single feather lying across Keigo’s sternum, warm and gentle, even as they pressed softly into Keigo’s skin, the arsonist having laid his palm flat over the little red feather and held it there.

For now, though, it doesn’t seem to be missed and so Keigo doesn’t offer to give it up. He nuzzles closer as Dabi resumes coaxing his fingers through the blond’s hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp on occasional intervals. 

It’s peaceful, even when the arsonist breaks the quiet to ask,

“When you talk about how you want things to be for us in the future, do you mean it?”

The statement is crass, but Dabi’s voice is simply mellow and inquisitive when he speaks up, enough for Keigo to know that regardless of the poor wording, the question isn’t an accusatory one. The hero lets his eyes fall shut, giving a small smile and silently directing one of his feathers to tug lightly at a chunk of the villain’s hair, making a teasing point.

“Yes, I mean it.” Keigo answers warmly, only to blink one eye open when Dabi’s hand slows in his hair, distracted, “Dabs?”

“I know it’s something you want, Pigeon, but what I mean is whether or not you’re serious about trying for it,” Dabi continues slowly, his fingers dropping to allow his thumb to skim the blond’s cheekbone instead, “Us having a place and everything. Actually trying to have a legitimate life together after all this shit hits the fan. Are you serious about wanting that and finding a way to make it work, or is it a pipedream?”

Keigo knows what he’s getting at. It’s one thing to dream about the future, but it’s another entirely to lay out the groundwork for those dreams to become plausible, and their case is a particularly difficult one. Still, the hero nods shortly after the question is asked, barely needing to think it over for the amount of time he’s been considering it already, tucking his wings in tighter around them.

“I’m serious about all of it,” Keigo answers, “I’ve got no clue how to make it happen, but if there’s any feasible way to make it a reality, I’ll be fighting for it.” He glances up, amber eyes meeting blue. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

Dabi presses a kiss in his hair and resumes combing through it when he realizes he’s stopped, the fire user seemingly a little lost in thought.

“I haven’t. If anything,” The arsonist adjusts his arm around Keigo’s waist with a small sigh, shifting a bit to get more comfortable, “I want it more, after being here. It’s hard to imagine going back to how things were. Not being like this, how we are now-” He turns his head slightly to look at Keigo again, just holding his gaze for a moment, before dropping it to study one of the pale scars on Keigo’s arm. They’re mostly old, training scars and healed-over injuries from past missions. None of them are recent, and yet Dabi’s eyes scan them slowly as though observing them for the first time, like he hasn’t memorized the shapes and placements of these marks almost as well as he has his own. “We talk so much about this ‘someday’ of ours like we might actually get it, but Pigeon,” He sighs again softly, kissing the spot just above Keigo’s right eye, “I don’t want to get my hopes up if it’s not something we’re actually going for. I already care about it more than I should.”

The last portion is said closer to a husky whisper, low and confessional, and the arsonist doesn’t protest when Keigo reaches up to pull him in for a kiss, able to taste the longing on his lips. “I don’t want the same things I used to,” Dabi murmurs, “The things I was aiming for, what I prioritized- it’s all starting to shift.”

‘Cigarettes. My old man six feet under. You .’

Keigo sits up a little.

“When was the last time you smoked?” He asks suddenly, coming to a realization, doing the math. Dabi smirks at him as he begins breaking everything down out loud, “I haven’t bought you a single pack of cigarettes since you’ve been here, and I didn’t notice Compress bringing you any in his supply runs-” Keigo blinks at him, stunned. “You haven’t-”

“Not since I ended up here,” The arsonist confirms, a little wryly, pushing some of Keigo’s hair back behind his ear. “Figured getting that someday was going to be hard enough without me wrecking my body any more than I already have.” Dabi shrugs nonchalantly, though Keigo catches the very tiny glimmer of pride in the other man’s eyes that goes unvocalized. “If there was ever a time to knock the habit, this was it.”

Keigo’s flabbergasted. It takes a lot to stun the hero to silence, but this is one of those moments, the blond’s jaw hanging open just a bit, knowing very well that his eyes are open in the epitome of shock. He struggles to piece together his words for a second, Dabi meeting his stare evenly, the other man eventually shrugging again. “It’s not a huge deal.”

Yes it is. Just like their conversations in the kitchen, where he downplayed both of those events as well- it’s important to Keigo. Even if Dabi doesn’t want to own up to it, to make something of what he deems to be nothing, Keigo sees the angles he doesn’t. The fact that he did this on his own, without help, without giving off an inkling that he might’ve been struggling, the fact that he did it of his own volition and drive- it is a big deal. 

Keigo Takami has been learning to take things for himself over the last few months. He’s been learning to make choices for himself, to reach for what he wants and claim it simply because he wants to. He’s been learning to take what he wants, little by little.

In his own way, this is Dabi taking things for himself too, taking hold of a future he wants and trying to take steps towards reaching it. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. All in small ways that are starting to make an impact. Pushing his boundaries, testing his comfort zones, making attempts where he previously wouldn’t have- 

Pressing his lips to an unscarred patch of the arsonist’s skin, Keigo reaches up to cup his cheek, Dabi more than willing to let the smaller man pull him closer.

“I’m so proud of you,” Keigo whispers, Dabi’s arms tightening around him at the words. The arsonist’s head ends up buried in the crook of his neck, hair tickling Keigo’s throat. He wants to elaborate, but there’s too much to explain, too much to mention.

“I can’t give you a home like this,” The fire-user says, his words somewhat lost in Keigo’s shoulder, but not so much as to not be understood, “And we’ve got a long way to go before we can get there, but there are things we need to take care of first before we’ll even get the chance.” Dabi draws away enough to look at him, then, Keigo holding his gaze steadily. His hand is still on the fire-user’s cheek and he makes no effort to move it from that spot, staples pressing into his palm, a few strands of dark-dyed hair lying trapped under his fingers. Dabi’s eyes are wildfire, nothing new, but the embers in his tone render a branding certainty in his words that leaves Keigo almost believing he could speak the future into fruition with determination alone, if he had half a mind to, “We deal with the Commission first- we find a way to get Shouto out of the equation and get those assholes off your back, and then we figure the rest out from there. That’s the first obstacle to face right now.”

“What about everything to do with your dad?” Keigo asks gently, not necessarily wanting to lead him back out onto this branch, but knowing it’s unavoidable, especially not with the news he’d dropped on the other man this morning. Dabi visibly clenches his jaw once again, that flame in his eyes flickering, a candle in the wind. Some of the tension in his shoulders returns to him then, a subtle shift, the fire-user unconsciously twitching uncomfortably, just cocking his head a few more milimetres to the side, moving his arms, the muscles in his back tightening and easing, unknowing that Keigo’s feathers are picking up every tiny movement.

He averts his gaze. That’s his biggest tell of all, and it’s the last he gives.

“Fuck him.” Dabi mutters quietly, bitterly, all nails and sharp teeth and quiet anger, “Fuck him for all of it.”

He takes a heavy breath, and Keigo stays silent, just watching. It’s comparable to observing a volcano from a distance, and waiting for it to suddenly show signs of erupting, even if there’s no direct indication it’s at all active. 

At length though, Dabi shifts his hold on Keigo again, preens through some of the feathers on the wing the hero has spread over them, and simply falls back in on himself, a potentially larger terror collapsing back into scarred skin and bones, no more than a man. “I hate him so much.” It’s not a loud statement in tone, and yet it speaks volumes. The arsonist combs Keigo’s feathers softly, “I hate what he’s done, and that he’s still getting away with it. He needs to be stopped, but,” 

Keigo’s heart sinks in his chest at the hard conviction Dabi conveys, but the other man surprises him, suddenly, when he turns his head enough to kiss the hero’s wrist. That’s Keigo’s habit, and despite the villain doing this twice the night previous, he wasn’t expecting him to keep up the gesture. “He can wait.”

“What?”

“The old man’s not going anywhere. He’ll get his day,” Dabi explains, maybe a little brusque, but not shying away, not faltering, “I’ll make sure of that. But I can take care of him a week, months, years from now if I have to.” His voice drops earnestly, the arsonist leaning into Keigo’s palm, brows furrowed decisively, “But if I need to be taking care of anyone right now, it’s you. This shit you’re going through isn’t about to pass over or wait for when we’re ready to face it.” The arsonist’s smirk is one that reads ‘devil-may-care’ louder than Dabi could’ve said it, only softening when he scans over Keigo’s shocked face, expression receding into something a little more serious. “Shifting priorities, Pigeon. I already told you, I’m not watching you walk through this on your own.”

Keigo can’t help himself from reaching up to catch the arsonist’s mouth with his, feathers ruffling on their own accord, Dabi giving a shiver under them, hands caressing.

‘ I love you.’

‘ I love you.’

‘ I love you.’

This time, when the words come to mind, Keigo’s not sure that it’s himself he’s imagining saying them.

“It has to be Shouto,” Keigo determines eventually, breathlessly, meeting Dabi’s eye and holding it fast, “Between those two choices we talked about- I need to get him away from the Commission before I can make any kind of intervention for myself.”

A light gutters in Dabi’s gaze, and Keigo can see he’s about to start arguing, but the hero presses forward, an idea slowly starting to fall into place, “I’m not just saying that to be noble or self-sacrificing,” Keigo assures him quickly, “I’m serious, it’s the best move. If I can get Shouto out of the Commission’s reach, it’s one less thing they’ll have at their disposal to keep me in line. I need to get him in the clear before anything. It’s the best chance I’ve got.”

“You don’t think it’s better to let them think they’ve got him and then find a way to sabotage them from the inside?” Dabi asks, playing devil’s advocate. He’s back to sounding worried again, but Keigo shakes his head, pieces starting to fall into place one by one. The hero sits up a bit, gaining some mental equilibrium and picking up speed.

“No- no, I can’t do that; if they have him at all, they’ll use him to strangle control over me at every moment. I wouldn’t have an opportunity to fight for either of us if he’s directly under their thumb, and every superior in that place would know it.” Keigo bites his lip, glancing up at the arsonist, “He needs to stay out of their reach entirely, or they’ll have me pinned, just by having access to him. It would be like willingly handing them a loaded gun and then trying to figure out a way to turn the tables after they’ve put it to my forehead.”

Dabi nods slowly, clearly beginning to see the winged man’s point, though he still grimaces at the thought.

“That won’t keep them from coming after you though- if they know you’re sheltering him or finding ways to keep Shou out of their plans, those fuckers will just crack down on you even harder.”

That much is a predicament, yes, and yet-

‘ Wait-’

The last piece clicks.

“No, they won’t,” Keigo says slowly, a plausible solution coming to him, “Because it won’t be me getting in the way of them taking him.”

‘Fuck, I had meant to get a hold of him yesterday, but when everything happened-’

“I’m not following, Pigeon.”

The winged hero kicks off the sheets that had been slouched across his lower back, much to Dabi’s surprise, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Dabi, I’ll keep up the act,” The winged hero exclaims in a rush, “I’ll pretend to be following orders, just like they want me too, just like I’m doing with the League mission- shit, I’m going to have to warn Shouto about all of this, he needs to know not to agree to anything if they come to him personally with offers-”

“Feathers,” Dabi interrupts impatiently, trying to get him back on track, “Who is going to be preventing the Commission from getting Shouto?”

Keigo shoots him a wide-eyed look of excited determination, berating himself for not realizing it sooner.

“His teacher,” He explains hurriedly, spurred into frenzied motion in an attempt to find his phone, Dabi eventually tossing it to him from his nightstand when he figures out what he’s looking for, “His homeroom teacher at UA-” The blond looks up sharply from pulling up the contact he’s looking for, hands shaky with adrenaline, smile triumphant, “Shouta Aizawa.”

Chapter Text

All things considered, not squirming under the degree of scrutiny he’s being subject to is an achievement in and of itself.

“Well, it certainly looks like someone had fun.”

“I’d argue with you, “ Keigo admits, sheepishly, “But I don’t think there’d be much point.”

There wouldn’t be. The evidence is too strong to say otherwise, and Kasumi’s smirking at him like the cat who caught the canary, instead of the makeup artist who’s got the winged hero in a styling chair. 

To be fair, a modeling gig being dumped in his lap on his first day back wasn’t exactly what Keigo had been expecting when he’d been told he’d have more work coming his way. He’d been anticipating more paperwork, greater demands on his current mission, a higher quota for addressed cases on patrols... What he hadn’t been prepared for, was any kind of event that would involve him needing to take his shirt off to pose in front of a camera, and that devilish expression Kasumi’s got on her face tells him everything he needs to know about just how obvious that fact is.

The woman stands there for a few seconds, four feet away from his chair and just observing from a distance, before letting out a sharp, robust laugh that seems too large for a person her size to possibly contain. Kasumi near doubles over, hands falling just above her knees as her rounded shoulders shake in amusement. “God damn, Chickie,” She huffs, wiping at her eyes dramatically, though Keigo doubts she must really touch them at all, seeing as how her eyeshadow doesn't budge. She reaches down to toss her makeup kit on the counter, products and brushes rattling around inside, “When they told me you were taking a day off, I assumed I’d get you less covered in bruises than usual.”

“In my defense,” The blond in question protests, electing to heavily observe the corner above the door instead of anywhere in Kasumi’s general direction, for sake of his own dignity, “I had no idea my first day back would be a photoshoot.”

“No shit .” His stylist is still laughing when she reaches out for Keigo’s jaw and tips his head to face her again, moving it side to side to get a better look at the marks over his neck and chest. The hero lets her with a small grin falling over his face, tolerable even when she whistles and cuffs him lightly over the head with one hand, her multitude of bracelets jangling on her wrist. He genuinely likes Kasumi. She’s eclectic and loud and vibrant as hell, with those bold pigments of hers and her hair a new shade of the rainbow every few weeks- it’s in bright blue braids right now, and she’s got gold eyeliner on to match- but she’s fun. Better yet, she’s got the patience of a saint, a sense of humour that could bring concrete to break a smile, and a damn good heart. 

Plus, she’s a fucking godsend in the makeup industry, and he that’s something he could use right now.

“Sorry,” Keigo sighs, pained but still wearing that grin, rubbing at the back of his neck and trying not to shiver. At the very least, Kasumi could’ve tossed him a salon cape to put on by now, but it seems like she’s enjoying being malicious this morning, “I didn’t mean to make your job any more difficult today-”

“Sorry? Honey, what the hell are you apologizing for?” Kasumi asks, some form of offended. It’s hard to be intimidated by her, even as she waves a makeup brush in Keigo’s general direction with a firm hand. Kasumi’s one of those people who feels larger than life. She’s shorter, even, than Keigo, with soft features and mischievous eyes. Everything about Kasumi is unapologetically round and curvy, all the way down to the shape of her hands and the warm, spiced-wine tone of her voice, and she holds herself with a kind of confidence that’s impossibly contagious. There’s this motherly air about her that Keigo can’t help but lean into just a little bit whenever they talk, gleaning off of her easy amiability and mama-bird nature. It seems genuine. She seems genuine. That’s hard to come by in a place like the Commission, but Kasumi stands out in a lot of ways, this one notwithstanding. “I’ve got two babies of my own,” She’d told him shortly after they’d first met, months ago by now, when she’d first been hired on as his personal stylist. Her hand hadn’t wavered in the slightest as she talked, putting eyeliner on him at the time, telling him about her family at the equivalent speed of a train. He’d been in no position to do anything but listen. “Well- not so much babies anymore. The oldest boy’s in college already, and his brother’s not far behind. But they’re not my babies any less.”

So she’d told him about her family, and how she’d learned to do professional makeup in her thirties after her boys were born, and how her husband was an accountant. And then, somehow, they’d ended up talking about her parents, and how they’d met, and the classic romance story they’d had as by-chance lovers from two different countries- her mother an African-American exchange student on a four-month internship in her university program, and her father working the till in his parents’ grocery market two blocks down from where she’d been staying.  “She moved here after that internship to be with him,” Kasumi had explained proudly, “And we’ve all been here ever since.” Then she’d pulled away and cocked a hand on her hip, frowning. “Do your eyes not take well to eyeliner, Chickie?”

Keigo had winced in apology, his eyes already beginning to sting and water, even as he was trying to blink away the building wetness before any tears could potentially streak down his cheeks and make a mess of the work she’d done so far.

“They’re just pretty sensitive- eyeliner’s always the worst for some reason, but it’s not a problem. I usually just make sure to blink lots-”

“Honey, you should’ve said something,” The older woman had clucked, already pulling out a makeup wipe and tilting his chin slightly, “C’mon, let’s get that taken off. You don’t need it anyway.”

Keigo’s been fond of her ever since.

He’s not a fan of photoshoots- he never has been, but Kasumi makes the whole thing so much more bearable, especially in moments like this where they can tease one another back and forth and Keigo doesn’t feel like a servant or a god, just another kid under this tiny woman’s wing for her to joke around with. It’s a nice change from his usual routine at the Commission, and almost welcomed simply for the comfort of being around Kasumi after such a shitty day when he was here last.

For now, she’s still facing him with that makeup brush in hand, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in an elegant arch, “Don’t you be apologizing to me for having some fun.” Kasumi sets down her makeup brush on the counter, and begins pulling some other things out of her bags, shooting Keigo a glance out the corner of her eye, lips tugging into a slightly concerned frown. “Especially not when I know you didn’t book that day off yourself.”

Keigo’s hesitant to meet her gaze again, wings drooping imperceptibly, sitting back a little further in his chair. He was hoping she wouldn’t have known about that, or at the very least that she’d just assume he was taking a day. 

Kasumi doesn’t know any details about the Commission. She doesn’t know what goes on here beyond citizen surface-level, solely a stylist and in no way involved with the rest of the system- but she has eyes and ears. Even without knowing what kind of monstrous organization she’s working for, she’s been starting to show some suspicion about how his superiors in the HPSC act with Keigo, and it’s obvious she’s starting to realize things may not be as clear-cut as they seem.

“What did they tell you?” He asks softly, Kasumi turning around to lean against the counter. She’s got her arms crossed, bracelets jingling again as they settle, eyes sweeping him again.

“That you were taking a day to reflect on your behaviour lately.” She says flatly, uncomfortable and trepidatious.  At length, she breaks away from the counter entirely to step forward and take his hands in hers, a line creased above her brows. “I don’t know what that means, but it just doesn’t sound right.” She adds quietly, squeezing his hands gently. The rings on her fingers dig into Keigo’s knuckles a bit, but he doesn’t mind. “I know you can’t talk about it, but are you okay?”

That’s one of their few rules. He doesn’t tell Kasumi anything about his involvement with the Commission beyond what the general public knows, and she doesn’t ask. Keigo wants to keep her in the dark about who she’s working under for as long as he possibly can- she needs this job, he knows that, and she’s not in any kind of position to change what he’s dealing with. He doesn’t need anyone coming after her either, thinking she might have information on him should everything go to shit as some point. The less she knows, and the longer he can make sure her bills keep getting paid, the better.

“I am now,” Keigo offers a genuine smile, cocking his head, “Things were rough for a day or so there, but it’s over with.”

“Mm.” The sound Kasumi makes is most probably a displeased grunt, the stylist squeezing his hands again and patting his cheek, “Well, at the very least, I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

Keigo laughs at the resumed grin that’s come back to Kasumi’s face, teasing and impish, the older woman wagging her eyebrows at him before going to open some of her kits. “And to see you acting your age a bit. They work you too hard around here, don’t think I don’t see it. You’ve got the rest of your life to be working an office job until you’re dead on your feet.” She selects a few products from her bag, and takes out a large brush, using it to tap Keigo’s jaw lightly. “Chin up for me, Chickie.”

Keigo tilts his head up obediently, letting the stylist get to work. Kasumi’s efficient as ever, confident and well-versed in her practice as she begins working on his facial makeup first, whistling yet again when him tilting his head gives her a better view of the hickies scattered down his throat and collarbones. 

“You can stop making a production of this any time now,” Keigo comments with his eyes closed, amused, hearing a snort from above him.

“Where would the fun in that be? Speaking of which, do you have concealer?”

“No?”

“Well, you should be investing in it if this ,” Kasumi leans back for a moment to wave her brush around in a gesture that approximately points to all of Keigo, though he gets what she means, “Is going to become a habit.”

The hero rolls his eyes dramatically, scoffing and raising an eyebrow with a wry grin.

“But I have an excellent stylist who could just use her quirk to glamour them away for me.”

“Temporarily,” Kasumi stresses, tapping him none too gently on the nose with her brush before switching it out for another one, “And I’m your professional stylist, Honey, not your at-home one. I can get you covered up for shoots, but for everything else you’re on your own.” She gives him a serious look, “People around here seem to care quite a bit about your image, Hun. I wouldn’t go poking a sleeping dog if you don’t have to.”

She’s got a point, and Keigo knows it- and should probably be taking this more seriously than he is.. He really is lucky that he’s got Kasumi in his corner- if it were anyone else, he might’ve been ratted out. Since his debut, his Handlers have stressed the importance of his image as not only a reflection of the Commission, but also as a marketing asset. “People like things that look attainable, even if they’re not,” Toshiaki had told him once, after one of his debut interviews, “It’s like lottery tickets- the rationale that the winner likely won’t be you doesn’t matter when there’s still that possibility of other outcomes. The same thing goes for marketing heroes. It’s easier to make a crowd love you when you’re young, attractive, and don’t have any strings attached. Even if they know you’re out of their league, it still gives them room to hope.” The man hadn’t shown an inkling of humour when he’d begun laying out the ground rules that day. “No rings- it doesn’t matter if they mean anything or not, people will read into them. No relationships- if the media catches wind of anything like that, you’ll be fucked. They’ll never give you a moment’s peace, and you’ll be stuck trading out your hero rep for a column in a gossip magazine.”

Toshiaki had met his eye then, unwavering. “And I don’t need to remind you about how love can fuck you over just as easily. Like I said: on your own, you’re untouchable. Don’t go getting attached to anyone or doing anything stupid.”

Keigo had just smirked easily, shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.”

He’d been so confident, then. He’d also been so wrong.

“I’ll be more careful,” Keigo promises instead, now, offering Kasumi a grin, “You’re right, the last thing I need right now is more trouble on my plate.”

“Good call.” The stylist smirks, getting back to work, “You let me know if you need any help learning how to apply it properly.”

“Thanks, Kassie.”

They chat as Kasumi continues putting together his look for the day, Keigo doing his best to stay still and be as cooperative as possible, Kasumi working as quickly and cleanly as she can. They both know how much he hates sitting in a makeup chair, even if he tries to be manageable for the woman currently dousing him in highlighter. Sitting basically anywhere with wings for a long period is no slice of cake, and by the time she pulls away to give him a sharp once-over, looking for mistakes or places to fix, his wings are twitching like hell.

“Alright Chickie, I think you’re good-” She decides eventually, Keigo nearly giving a sigh of relief. He goes to stand, but she stops him before he can. “For face makeup,” She continues, before tipping his chin up, “But hang tight, I still haven’t properly dealt with these.”

The sensation of Kasumi’s quirk over his skin is something Keigo’s tried multiple times to put an explanation to, but finds himself falling short at every opportunity. In some ways, it feels like cold ice is smoothing over his throat, though it’s not quite as frigid as that. It’s softer, mild and tingling, like when he’s spent too long outside without gloves, and the tips of his fingers begin going numb. 

The fact that the cold is beginning to ebb tells Keigo that the marks are already fading. By the time he can’t feel it anymore, there won’t be anything left to notice- not healed, but illusioned away, covered up. Her quirk for the industry is, as always, why the Commission had wanted to take Kasumi on, particularly as a stylist for Keigo- she’s not a healer by any stretch of imagination, and Keigo knows that by tomorrow he’ll need to be more creative about keeping his neck covered, but for today anything there will go unnoticed, hidden under her glamours. It’s a trick that’s been incredibly useful for shoots when he’s come in scraped-up  and battered from patrols and missions in the past, though he feels infinitely more appreciative about it now.

“There,” Kasumi announces at length, drawing away, “ Now you’re done.”

“You’re the best,” Keigo thanks her gratefully, stretching his wings as he stands up from the chair and steps in to accept the proffered side-hug the shorter woman offers him, “You probably just saved my ass today.”

“Anytime,” Kasumi grins, warm, clapping him on the shoulder, “Go razzle-dazzle them, Chickie.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He grins, heading over to snag his first outfit for the shoot, tagged and hung up along the wall. He grimaces, lifting it in Kasumi’s direction. “Why the hell do they always put me in the ugliest fucking pants? Case in point, my hero uniform- you can’t tell me that looks remotely- ”

“Consider it a challenge to make them look good,” Kasumi suggests, cutting him off and  shooing him towards the door, “They’re waiting for you, go on now.”

“Ugh, fine. Keeping me responsible,” Keigo groans, folding the outfit over his arm and offering Kasumi a good-natured wave despite his genuine annoyance at what most of his day is looking to entail. He really does hate photoshoots. What an uncomfortable, vain waste of time.

That doesn’t stop him from saying his farewells to Kasumi and heading out of the studio to make his way to the shooting room, sighing heavily as he goes. It’s a pain in the ass, this job, but he wouldn’t dare refute Commission-issued orders so early after being punished, even if those Commission-issued orders are something as menial as this. His every move to protect Shouto right now relies on the Commission not suspecting an ounce of ill-favour from him, and if he wants to stay under their radar, he’d best make it look like that last round of reconditioning worked in the way they expected.

‘Obedient as ever ,’ Keigo thinks to himself, making his way down the hallway, counting each light above his head as he passes under them, ‘I’ll be obedient as ever. Isn’t that right?’  He passes by someone, an older woman with grey hair and a sour face, absolutely unremarkable except for the speculative glance she gives Keigo behind her wire-framed glasses. God knows how much of her life she’s spent in this building, just like him. He nods to her as he walks past, now counting security cameras instead of lights. ‘I’ll be the perfect soldier, just like you wanted.’

He counts nine cameras before running into a different face, this one familiar and located at the entrance of the room he’s supposed to be in. Toshiaki glances up from his phone for barely half a second at his approach, giving him a quick once-over.

“Good, you’re not late. Get in there and get that shit over and dealt with. Nishimura wants to brief you on your newest assignments around two.”

“On it,” Keigo assures him easily, following the other man into the shooting room with seemingly no apprehension whatsoever. ‘ You trained me to follow orders so well.’

“Hawks, we need you to stand over here-”

“-next time you need to have Kasumi put the eyeliner on- it’s too late to fix it, but-”

“Nishimura wants to bump that meeting back to three, so we have another hour-”

“- reports by the end of the week, it’s critical.”

“If you hadn’t wasted the last two days, you wouldn’t be as far behind on-”

Keigo apologizes when he’s supposed to, nods when it’s expected, agrees when it’s necessary and does as he’s told. It’s all so easy, falling back into line. He has been here a time or two after all.

The hero smiles, and not a person in the room suspects anything different.

‘ It’s such a shame, really, that you also taught me to bite.’

Keigo shivers as he tries to pull the collar of his jacket up a little higher around his face, his cheeks red and stinging from the cold, and the snow, and from flying through both. By the time his photoshoot and briefing with Nishimura had ended, he’d only had half an hour to spare before his next meeting, and had immediately taken to the skies to fly to the nearest bookstore to get there before closing.

The bookstore hadn’t necessarily been a critical stop on his way across the city, but it had been important nonetheless- important enough to make the trip, even on as limited time as he is. He’d been looking for two books in particular, so it hadn’t taken long; the hero had been in and out within only a few minutes, the novels wrapped up in a plastic bag that Keigo had tucked carefully into his jacket, so they’d be safe from the snow.

“Are you doing some Christmas shopping?” The woman at the till had asked while he paid, offering to gift wrap them for him. Keigo had startled at that, blinking and running the date through his head. He’d been acknowledging that they were, in fact, progressing steadily through December, but until that point it hadn’t really crossed his mind that Christmas was only a few weeks away.

“No,” He’d responded, a little surprised, “Nope, this just some light reading.”

“You’ve got versatile taste,” The cashier pointed out jokingly, “No favourite reading genre?”

“I usually just read whatever I can get my hands on,” Keigo had grinned, the truth an honest one, just not for him. Heck, speaking entirely honestly, he’ll probably never open these books. But one of them is the new sequel to the last book he bought Dabi, which the arsonist had just finished. The other is a hardcover edition of an old classic, one that Dabi already owns, and that Keigo’s seen him reread several times over. His copy is old and battered, read and reread to the extent that the cover’s torn and falling off and several of the pages have begun falling out. Dabi’s got them meticulously tucked into the right places and handles them delicately to avoid losing portions of the book. It’s in a rare state of fragility that makes one forget how easily any book, even one brand new, could come apart instantly in the fire-user’s hands, cinders and ashes and nothing more. If anything, Keigo’s willing to bet that it’s those same hands, capable of kindling paper with a subtle thought, that have been all that’s holding the thing together anymore.

In other words, the book’s been in bad need of replacing for a while, and definitely sooner rather than later. Keigo hopes this copy will be just as well-loved as the first, though he’s also hoping that getting it in hardcover will keep it in better shape than the last.

‘ Maybe he’ll read this one to me someday,’  The hero thinks quietly, smiling slightly to himself as he prepares to take off again. ‘I’d love to know why it’s so special to him.’ He makes sure the books are secure in one of his large, inner-jacket pockets, and ruffles his feathers, swinging his wings out wide to shake the snow off of them while simultaneously tugging down his visor. From across the street, he can hear a little boy exclaim, “Mom- look! It’s Hawks!” to which he turns to give a wave, shouting a quick, “Hey, kid!” before taking to the sky.

‘It’s so fucking cold.’  Keigo grimaces behind his jacket collar, the wind whipping around his head  and pelting his face with snow as he flies, ‘ If it weren’t such a safety hazard, I’d request a scarf- maybe I can have one of our designers work out a better face covering for me. Damn,’  He shivers violently, already frozen to the core and regretting that he isn’t just on his way home. The thought of having to make this flight back to his apartment after he’s done isn’t one he’s exactly looking forward to either, the hero’s mood flattened by knowing that changing into warmer clothes, eating dinner, and sharing blankets with a human furnace are all things he could be doing right now, but are, instead, all things he won’t be able to look forward to for what’s likely to be several hours. ‘ Fuck it, I need to drop to a lower altitude; I’m going to get frostbite if this keeps up.’ 

The hero banks sharply, flaring his wings and letting them catch the icy breeze as he tries to find a thermal. He’s flying as fast as possible, soaring as low as he dares to just clear over the roofs of the buildings under him, where the air is warmer, even if it’s still freezing. Weaving in and out between the taller buildings, Keigo navigates by watching the streets below, grateful when he sees a very specific grouping of towers come into view.

‘ Perfect ,’ The man pushes himself to fly even faster, the accelerated pace of his wings beating managing to help keep him a bit warmer, ‘ Looks like I’m not going to be late- and I even missed the rush-hour.’

Ten minutes later, Keigo’s touching down in the snow at UA’s entrance, enduring a quick scan at the gates before being permitted through. 

It’s almost eerie, being in the school after classes have been let out for the day. The halls are dimmed and dead silent, and Keigo walks them quietly as he seeks out the classroom he’s looking for, feathers twitching at every unexpected sound. He’s never been a fan of dead silence. It amplifies the noises of the everyday far too much, and as someone who’s undergone training for situations where a soft scuttle behind you or a quiet ‘thunk’ to your left could very well be the last sound you hear, it’s extremely unnerving. At one point, a series of flyers pinned to a bulletin board float and rustle as the furnace kicks in and warm air begins circulating through the vents, and the hero’s wings sharpen on instinct, the man jumpy with only the sounds of his own footsteps in the halls to keep him company.

High schools aren’t meant to be quiet. They’re supposed to be a cacophony of noise and movement, not still and devoid of sound. It’s an oddly stressful environment and if anything, the tension forming  in his stomach is only a foundation for much more stress to build on as Keigo begins counting down the classroom numbers he’s walking past, slowly getting closer to where he needs to be. 

He has no idea how this conversation is going to go. Really, he has no idea whether or not the man in question will even hear him out, especially if he doesn’t think Keigo’s suspicions and concerns are rooted in truth. This could be a fruitless attempt on his part. 

Nonetheless, he has to try.

Eventually, Keigo approaches a large sign reading ‘1A’, finding the door already open and light pouring into the hallway from inside. In a way, it’s almost ominous, but the hero steps up into the doorway anyway, blinking rapidly as his eyes get adjusted to the much brighter lighting. Just beyond the door, he can see a dark-haired man leaning hunched over his desk, brows furrowed as he grades papers with an intense amount of focus, his other hand drawn to his mouth to prop his head up, elbows resting on either side of the paper he’s correcting. It’s clear he’s either too preoccupied to notice the winged hero filling up the entirety of his doorway, or he just doesn’t care that Keigo’s standing there, the younger man awkwardly glancing around and bouncing on his heels a bit as Aizawa continues flicking his pen over the page with a kind of neat precision, gradually painting the whole document in red ink.

Based on what he’s seeing, he hopes, for the sake of Shouto’s grades, that it isn’t his paper the older pro is marking.

Eventually, after waiting for almost a full minute, Keigo clears his throat to get Aizawa’s attention, though the other man doesn’t even glance up.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” He asks instead, voice flat and low as he continues scribbling away on the page, Keigo almost feeling as though he’s been dismissed. The blonde pushes his visor back into his hair, rubbing furiously at his arms to try and get some heat back into them.

“I don’t know,” Keigo counters lightly, “Isn’t that the polite thing to do?”

“You tell me,” Aizawa replies, flipping the page and starting from the top once again. That seems to be the end of it as both men lapse into uncomfortable silence- or maybe it’s just uncomfortable on Keigo’s end. He gets the sense that Shouta Aizawa isn’t the type to be bothered by those around him clamming up, the other man looking entirely at ease as he works. Keigo lets him, unsure of whether or not he’s legitimately expected to wait until Aizawa’s ready to deal with him, like a troublesome student, or if he’s just waiting for Keigo to open his mouth and cut to the chase of why he’s here.

His questions are answered as the young man keeps his silence and his stance outside the classroom, Aizawa finally giving a long-suffering sigh and turning to face him slightly.

“Stop lurking in the doorway,” The grizzled man says, opting to stare at him with a slightly annoyed glance, the sentence an invitation if Keigo’s going to get one at all, “And tell me why on earth you requested this meeting through Todoroki instead of an email.”

That’s a valid question. Keigo unzips his jacket and tosses his gloves over one of the desks in the front row, awkwardly trying to find a place to stand where his wings won’t knock something over. Eventually he settles for grabbing one of the chairs at the students’ desks, and spinning it backwards so his wings aren’t trapped between himself and the plastic back. Aizawa’s raised eyebrow lifts higher as he watches Keigo go about making himself comfortable, not saying a word though the winged hero could swear he’s being openly judged.

Shouto’s told him Eraserhead keeps a sleeping bag under his desk for napping during class. It’s bold to be judgmental when a piece of trivia like that is an active part of your reputation.

“I couldn’t risk leaving a paper trail for this,” Keigo explains eventually, keeping his voice low, and crossing his arms over the back of the chair. When he’d first come up with this plan and was in the process of explaining it to Dabi, he’d immediately started looking for his phone to pull up Shouto’s contact. He’d felt a little bad for ditching the arsonist an hour later to get lunch with his intern, but he hadn’t wanted to leave any messages or emails that indicated what was going on- instead, he’d asked Shouto in person to tell his teacher they needed to talk. “Otherwise I would’ve just sent a note- but as far as anyone’s concerned, this meeting never happened outside of the three of us who know about it.”

Aizawa’s expression darkens imperceptibly, only continuing to grow darker when Keigo adds, “It’s about Shouto.”

“I figured as much.” The teacher’s voice is flat, but not without a strong, concerned edge to it. He puts his pen down, a subtle action that tells Keigo he’s got the man’s full attention. “That’s been a trend lately, coming to talk about Shouto.” Grey eyes narrow as Aizawa crosses his arms to match Keigo’s, seemingly casually, though everything about this conversation is reading as anything but. “I just had Enji Todoroki in here for the same reason.”

Keigo bristles in his seat, freezing up instantaneously. He can tell that his wings have flared dramatically at the news, based on Aizawa’s suddenly startled expression alone, and he lowers them quickly, mumbling an apology under his breath. Standing to right the desks he’s accidentally knocked aside with his poor reaction, Keigo takes a deep breath, shaking his head, and catching Aizawa’s scrutinizing look only when going to sit back down again. “Based on that response, I’m guessing his being here is an unpleasant surprise for you.”

“I haven’t heard a word from him in weeks, but he was pushing me for an exchange of internship maybe a month or so ago,” Keigo admits, put out, still focused on trying to flatten some of his feathers that got displaced when he ruffled them, mouth set in a firm line. “He wants Shouto back- doesn’t think I’m an adequate mentor apparently. I turned him down, but it still pissed him off. We had a pretty ugly spat. Did he come to you about it instead?”

Aizawa blinks slowly, appraising the winged hero sitting in front of him silently. After a moment, he straightens his spine, leaning back further in his chair and scratching at his jaw, a very innocent gesture after such a piercing stare.

“I’ll be honest,” The older man says gruffly, three notes shy of almost sounding confused, but not quite hitting the mark, “I was originally assuming that’s why you wanted to talk. Obviously that’s not the case.”

Keigo purses his lips, adjusting in his seat and shaking his head. 

“Not at all- I seriously had no idea. If Shou knows, he hasn’t said anything. When was this?”

“Last Wednesday.”

“And you turned him down as well?”

Aizawa snorts, a dry gesture Keigo could almost mistake for a sign of humour.

“If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here as a current mentor to one of my students.”

Keigo offers a small grin, tentative but genuine.

“Fair point, I guess.” 

The teacher regards him a moment longer before releasing a sigh, his expression impossible to read, one hand dragging through his tangled hair.

“I didn’t tell Todoroki about it. That’s why you wouldn’t have heard it from him.” Aizawa meets Keigo’s gaze again firmly, immovable. “His father’s problems aren’t his to shoulder, this included. Besides,” Keigo perks up as Aizawa’s tone softens just a bit, not quite as iron-and-nails as it’s been up to this point, “He’s happy with you. We’ve all noticed an improvement in him over the last few months. This internship has been a good one in many ways for him. Unless there were a legitimate reason for it, I wouldn’t make him switch.”

Keigo’s not so blind as to miss the fact that those words are high praise from the man sitting across from him, the winged hero grinning softly, a little proud. To his credit, Aizawa doesn’t call him out on it, though he doesn’t say much about it beyond that point either. Instead, he arches an eyebrow again, tugging an abandoned cup of coffee that’s been sitting precariously close to the edge of his desk back into his hand. “But if that’s not what you’re here to discuss, then why are you here?”

The mood instantly shifts. A sickened feeling worms its way into Keigo’s stomach, gnawing at him from the inside out. 

“It’s the HPSC,” He says quietly, glancing towards the classroom’s open door and discretely pinning a feather close to the doorframe to keep tabs on any potential passerbyers. Aizawa frowns in surprise, but doesn’t have time to comment before Keigo adds, “They want Shouto, and I think they’re trying to use my position of influence to forcibly recruit him.”

Silence.

Then, without a word, Shouta Aizawa stands up and shuts the door.

“Keep that there.” He demands, gesturing towards the door when Keigo goes to draw his feather back to him. The winged man looks at him in surprise, used to being the paranoid one.

“You really think any of your colleagues would sell you out if they heard?”

“We’ve had discussions about there being a potential traitor here before,” Aizawa scowls, taking a seat again, Keigo a little shocked, “I’m not taking any chances. Now. Explain.”

And so, explain Keigo does. There’s no way in hell he’d argue with the man staring him down, not that he really came here to argue in the first place.

“I still don’t know why they’re interested in him now of all times,” Keigo admits, after explaining the kind of information the Commission's been requesting about his intern as of late, and how they’ve made claims to want him as a recruit, “When I first took him on, it was against direct orders. They didn’t want me stirring up bad blood between myself and Endeavor- it looks bad for them when we fight. He’s at the top of the charts right now, and I’m the face of the HPSC. As the top two, it’s expected we at least try to get along. It’s been a messy situation since I intervened on Shouto’s part and dashed their internship back in October.” Keigo frowns, rubbing at his neck, “I got the silent treatment by the Commission for that for a bit, but suddenly it’s been a complete reversal. Shouto’s all they’re interested in, and they’re pushing hard to get him.” The winged hero tries to interpret Aizawa’s emotion behind those slate eyes, desperately trying to get a read of the other man, “I’m afraid for him. I know what the Commission will do if they get their hands on him-- Shou’s just a kid, and he’s been through enough as it is. If he wants to be a hero, I’ll personally see him through to the finish line for it, but the HPSC isn’t the route to go.”

Keigo knows he just landed this conversation in dangerous territory. What they’re talking about here- well, for all intents and purposes, messing with a government operation that’s meant to protect public defense looks bad no matter how you spin it, and that’s exactly what he’s about to suggest. Aizawa’s barely batted an eye at him in the last minute, watching him warily and digesting his words with a kind of silence that can’t be anything but unsettling.

“You work for the Commission,” Aizawa says slowly, almost as though examining him, “Why vouch against them now?”

“It’s not what it looks like from the outside,” Keigo warns him softly, “They… They’re not what they look like from the outside.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll weaponize him,” Keigo swears, voice falling into a quiet murmur, glancing towards the door again nervously out of habit. His feather hasn’t detected any movement in the hall, but with the potentially critical information he’s about to reveal, he doesn’t exactly want an unintentional audience. “It doesn’t matter that he’s a kid. If he signs any kind of agreement with them, they’ll have a collar around his neck for the rest of his life.”

The teacher’s brows furrow, a frown settling across his rough face. It’s clear he’s confused with what Keigo means, shaking his head.

“They can’t do that,” Aizawa reasons, trying to placate, but the winged hero’s not having it, desperate to make him understand.

‘Take me seriously. You have to take me seriously.’

“They can and they would,” Keigo argues, “They’ve done it before. And they will break any kind of humanity he’s got in him as long as it benefits them in the long run. They need loyalty in their order, not morality, and a powerhouse quirk like Shouto’s is too good for them to pass up.”

He can see the moment it clicks for the man sitting across from him, that he’s not just overreacting and drawing wild conclusions. Aizawa goes still in his chair, the older man staring him down with a new kind of cautious light behind those eyes, brows drawing even lower. 

Keigo gets the sense Eraserhead’s suddenly coming to realize what kind of person he might have sitting across from him in a blue, plastic classroom chair.

“You,” The dark-haired man says quietly, “Are not who you pretend to be, are you? The media image, the fanfare- it’s all a cover to hide something else.”

The smile Keigo offers him is a genuine one- not smug, not self-assured. Maybe a bit sad if anything, but a smile nonetheless.

“You’re sharp,” He commends, rapping his knuckles against the flimsy plastic of the chair’s back in contemplation. “Most people don’t notice.” 

Aizawa leans back slowly in his chair, appraising him in an entirely new way than he has before. Keigo can feel his gaze trying to strip him to the bone, probably reanalyzing everything he’s ever heard or noticed about the younger hero. He can almost see the gears turning in his head, pieces clicking together, questions being raised. At length, he speaks.

“How old were you?” Aizawa asks slowly, not needing to elaborate for Keigo to understand what he means. He’s picking up his mug now, as though to take a sip or simply have something to do with his hands. It’s likely the latter, if Keigo’s intuition has any merit.

“Five.”

Coffee spills across the papers on Aizawa’s desk when the mug slips through his fingers.

“ Five .”

“Yes.”

The confirmation comes out more quiet than Keigo intends it to, his confidence rattled. He needs Eraserhead to hear him out though, needs him to listen. “And I’ve been with them ever since. Eraser- they can’t take him. They’ve made me do…” The words choke themselves out and die on his tongue, which is maybe a blessing in disguise as Keigo clears his throat instead, avoiding whatever confession he was about to make, “They’ll ruin him.”

He can’t bring himself to go into more detail than that- not with this man, and not here. He’s entrusting Aizawa with this much to prove to him how serious this situation might be, but his history is his own. That’s something the other hero seems to respect as he simply holds Keigo’s gaze unblinkingly, body language reading as stunned even if his face doesn’t give much away. There’s coffee dripping over the front of the desk and onto the floor now, but neither men make a move to stop it or clean it up. The sound alone is enough for Keigo to twitch his feathers in annoyance, the rest of him impassive.

Aizawa raises his chin, speculating. Then his shoulders relax, the man letting out a long, slow sigh that has Keigo sitting up a little straighter in his seat.

“You’re not lying.” He acknowledges, his mouth twisting  a second later as something sharp flashes in his gaze, “I wish you were. For both of your sakes.”

“So do I.” Keigo agrees softly. Running a hand through his hair, the winged hero cuts to the chase, reassured with having Aizawa’s trust. “I can’t do much about my case. They’ve had me for eighteen years, and any evidence of the shit they’ve made me do is in their hands. There’s nothing I can do to prove any of it that they can’t just get rid of with a snap of someone’s fingers. My hands are tied that way.” Amber eyes meet grey as the younger man glances up, resolute, determined, “I can still save him though. But I’m going to need your help.”

It’s a tall order to ask- likely risky for both of them, not just Keigo- and a lot to dump on the other man all at once. That being said, of all the things Keigo Takami will ever commend Shouta Aizawa for, the first will always be that in this moment, he doesn’t hesitate.

“Alright. What do you need me to do?”

“I don’t have an exact plan yet,” It’s a sore thing to admit, but he really is in deep water here. Keigo rubs at his neck nervously, wings twitching behind him again, restless, “But anything you can think of to delay the process of him being recruited from going through. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m going to be forced to start giving progress reports on Shou within the next few days, even. I’ve already been punished for refusing to do that much and more recently- there’s not much more I can do to procrastinate this on my own. I need someone else to intervene, or I won’t be in a position to help him at all.” 

Something twinges in Aizawa’s expression at that, but Keigo moves on before the other man can comment, not wanting to get hung up on the small details of a much larger picture. “The fact of the matter, is I’m going to have to make it look like I’m actively trying to recruit him on a surface level. I can botch the reports and fudge whatever information they’re trying to get, but what I need you to do is throw up any kind of barriers you can that would prevent a recruitment from going through. Give me trouble, write letters of complaint about my mentorship- hell, cause a scene over breach of privacy if you have to. My name can take the hit, but what we need right now is any kind of deterrent you can offer,” Keigo shakes his head almost wryly, “The ideal case right now would be going to his legal guardian to do this, but I’m not convinced Endeavor wouldn’t throw him right to the wolves if it meant getting his son a headstart on the hero track. He’s not an option to turn to for preventing this and I wouldn’t honestly go to him to begin with, Shouto being his son or not. As someone who spends more time with him than even I do, you’re my next best option.”

Keigo sits back, having said his piece, and watches as the man across from him takes all of this in, nodding slowly as he makes a visible attempt to process. He’s also visibly pensive, though, clearly troubled and beginning to frown more and more as the seconds pass. A bubble of fear rises up in Keigo’s stomach at his prolonged bout of silence. “Is that manageable?”

The look he gets in response is almost scathingly flat.

“I’m an underground hero, Hawks. Raising hell from the background is my specialty.”

Keigo lets out a heavy sigh of relief as the older man scratches at his patchy beard, brows slowly furrowing again. “But this part about Endeavor- I take it he doesn’t know, then?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Keigo shrugs, unsure, “And I’d rather not get him involved at all if I can avoid it. If the HPSC reaches out to him directly and he agrees to anything on Shouto’s account, we’ll be fucked- but my bet is that they’ll try going through Shouto first. It’s him they need to get on board more than Enji, though his signature might count just as much as Shouto’s if they sign any kind of agreement with them- at least it will as long as the kid’s still a minor.”

Aizawa’s stare breaks from the coffee stains on his desk that he’d been observing religiously while Keigo talked, a sudden revelation seeming to come to him.

“Is that what happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” The question takes Keigo off guard, not expecting the conversation to loop back to him again after hastily sweeping his own circumstances under the rug.

“If you were five when they… When you joined the Commission,” Aizawa phrases sourly, like the comment’s got a bitter taste and he’s sidestepping some kind of bomb. Keigo doesn’t blame him- it’s a lot to make terms with and try to manage, even for someone as levelheaded as Aizawa who, to this length, seems to be the epitome of ‘disappointed, but not surprised.’ “You were a minor. Your signature wouldn’t have held up in a court of law for anything. Did they make a guardian of yours sign over consent in some way when they began your training?”

Keigo blinks.

“You know, you’re taking this awfully well.”

“ Hawks .”

“My mother signed,” The winged hero raises his hands in apology, though his point’s a valid one. He’s always taken Aizawa to be a suspicious man, but this is impressive even for him. To not question the lengths their own government’s system of defense will go to in the act of creating child soldiers, essentially-

Granted, what is UA but the fledgling ground? One of many schools cultivating the same potential for this organization to pick and choose their eventual candidates from? The students here will barely be more than children when they graduate, and Keigo’s not blind enough to assume that they won’t be filtered like the pick of the litter afterwards by the Commission when their final scores are entered. Keigo’s mouth goes dry at the thought, and it takes him a second to finish his sentence, mind reeling a bit, “She- It was a contract of some kind. They made her sign, right before me. I don’t think she wanted to, but it must’ve been necessary if they made her do it.”

“They might’ve needed a guardian’s signature in case she ever tried to take action,” Aizawa muses, “If her signing was legal documentation about her granting consent for you to be trained-”

“It would’ve covered their asses if she ever raised a fuss,” Keigo concludes, seeing where the older man’s going with this. “If they ask for it, do you think there’s any way we can keep Endeavor from signing Shouto over?”

“Not legally. He’s Todoroki’s only guardian who’d be allowed to sign off on him, with his mother hospitalized. Technically speaking, he can sign permission for anything and we wouldn’t be able to lift a finger.”

Keigo’s heart sinks hard and fast in his chest, his hope shot out of nowhere. His wings droop until his feathers fall over cold tile, the younger man slumping, defeated, in his chair.

“So that’s it? There’s nothing we can do but try to hold it off?”

“Until he’s old enough to sign entirely on his own-”

Keigo gives a short, bitter laugh.

“We can’t hold them off that long- that’s years we’re talking. We’ll be lucky if the Commission gives us a month to get our shit organized.” Dejected, the blond tiredly runs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to inhale slowly, wracking his brain. There has to be a solution here- there has to be,  they can’t just give in this easily-

“-But I have an idea.”

Aizawa says it hesitantly, but Keigo’s head still shoots up nonetheless, catching the older man’s cautious expression. “I’m not offering any guarantees.”

“Nothing’s guaranteed right now,” Keigo retaliates quietly, “We just need options . If you’ve got an idea, I’m all ears.”

The teacher sits all the way back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“As I’m understanding this, our biggest obstacle here is finding ways to throw off the Commission and prevent both Shouto and his father from signing an agreement with them,” Aizawa recaps, Keigo nodding as he follows, “And our greatest fear is any situation happening in which Endeavor could possibly sign Shouto over, being the only person with the authority to do so.”

“That’s about it, yeah.”

Aizawa gives a brisk nod, scratching at his jaw again, almost lazily.

“Then I suggest we replace his current legal guardian.”

The words don’t register at first. When they finally do, Keigo finds himself dumbfounded, staring at Aizawa wide-eyed and probably looking like an idiot with his mouth gaping open. He closes it quickly, trying to gather himself to no avail.

“You want to-”

“Strip Enji Todoroki of parental custody over his youngest son? Yes.”

Well, that’s definitely a route Keigo hadn’t considered pursuing to fix this. The lingering question of ‘how’ goes unsaid, but it goes answered regardless as Aizawa grunts quietly and goes to stand, walking the space behind his desk like a caged animal. “I’ll be honest, it’s a move that was already in the works, but this just adds a bit more incentive on when to follow through with it.” 

Keigo rises too quickly to his own feet, nearly tripping over the chair as he does so, his wings flaring out to catch his balance at the last second. He ends up disrupting the same desks he moved earlier once again, but this time he doesn’t bother putting them back where they belong.

“You’ve been trying to get him out of Enji’s custody?” He exclaims, stunned. 

“Not yet- not officially on paper, anyway.” Aizawa rubs at his chin, thoughtful and serious. His eyes are slate when they meet Keigo’s once more, hard like flint. “A friend of his came to me a few weeks ago with some concerns about Todoroki’s family situation. It sounds like he confided some alarming things to him during the Sports Festival earlier this year.”

‘That must’ve been Midoriya,’ Keigo deduces quickly, connecting the dots. It’s been awhile since UA’s Sports Festival- the other boy had held Shouto’s secret for a considerable amount of time before deciding to tell somebody. Granted, that’s probably for the better. Even when Keigo had taken Shouto on as an intern, he’d had hesitations against telling Aizawa the full story he’d been informed of. While he’d had a suspicion the other man would help, he’d known the move would’ve been a betrayal of Shouto’s tentative trust in him, and the teen hadn’t had a support network around him, at the time, that would shield him from the immense backlash that would come hand-in-hand with any aggressive action towards Endeavor.

Now, though, it’s a different story. Keigo’s interest is piqued, and the grounds of the situation are totally unlike how they were before.

“I’ve been doing some subtle digging,” Eraserhead continues, “Checking Endeavor’s public files in the hero database, trying to make note of inconsistencies or red flags in any of the pictures and documents I can find on his family- I haven’t found much, but with what my student has told me, I have plausible reason to suspect foul play.”

“You’re trying to put  a case together.” 

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Aizawa doesn’t bother denying it, just nods, crossing his arms. The winged hero’s next realization comes a moment later, when he notices that the teacher hasn’t made any mention of a rather critical part in all of this.  “You haven’t told Shouto yet, have you?”

“No. I wanted to get a sense of what we might be dealing with first before bringing it up with him.” Aizawa sighs, aging ten years in half as many seconds as he leans back against the chalkboard behind him, “But that’s what’s coming next. I can’t build a case on speculation alone and I need him on board with this before taking things any further. That being said, my concern,” He admits, aggravated, “With the Commission is that they may be after Shouto because of me.”

“Because of you?” Keigo’s about to argue that the older man’s statement doesn’t make any sense, but Aizawa continues before he can say anything else.

“I wasn’t bothering to cover my tracks or keep any of my research under wraps- I started looking into things even back in October when you first mentioned that Shouto had a tumultuous relationship with his father,” Keigo nods as he listens, this part not totally unsurprising. He’d thought that Aizawa might do some digging into the Todoroki family situation after their conversation about transferring Shouto’s internship over to the winged hero, but he hadn’t realized the other man had gone so far as to begin putting a case together, “To say that it might not have drawn attention, now that I’ve been more rigorous about it and have been drawing up Endeavor’s files at every opportunity for the last several months, would definitely be bold and likely inaccurate.”

“But what does any of that have to do with them wanting Shouto?”

“A lot, unfortunately. Just think,” Aizawa begins pacing again, Keigo watching him closely, still not on the same page, “If there’s a case against Endeavor, who’ll have custody over Todoroki? His mother’s hospitalized, his brother’s a medical school student, and his sister, Fuyumi, lives with their father. They don’t have any other surviving relatives.” The dark-haired man scowls, tugging absently on his scarf. “It’ll be a race to see who can get a hold of him first. And if I’m not wrong,” He cocks his head slowly, more decisive than speculating, “The Commission just decided to take their shot and jump to the head of that line.”

And Keigo freezes.

In fact, everything freezes. It all stops, because when he thinks about it, when he really thinks about it-

“Do you really think they would have noticed that?” He asks numbly, wings flared stiff behind him, “You looking into the database and everything? Did you leave that much of a noticeable trail?”

“Are you going to tell me they wouldn’t have?” Aizawa retorts, raising an eyebrow, “Because I’d be hesitant to believe it. After that much repetitive action, someone’s bound to have noticed something- and I don’t believe for a second, either, that they’re not aware of whatever it is he did to that family. Someone had to help him cover up all his loose ends, and if that’s the case, they’ll probably be more paranoid about anyone digging into the matter. If they helped cover him in any or all of this, they won’t want anyone looking deeper into things. It’s bound to raise some red flags- and there wouldn’t be a more ideal time,” A muscle tics in Aizawa’s jaw as his frown deepens, “To recruit a child than when his father’s facing a sentence and he’s got no other options. That much takes care of needing a guardian’s consent, too, if you’re right about that part.”

‘Fuck- is he on to something?’

“But if that’s the case,” Keigo asks, “Wouldn’t  removing Enji from the equation be counterproductive? That just opens Shouto up to more vulnerability- without a legal guardian, he’ll just get tossed into the foster system, and that’s as good as signing him over to the Commission anyway. They’d have him snatched up within minutes.” He notices his mistake a second after, pinning Aizawa with a quizzical stare. “Hold on- no, you said you wanted to replace his legal guardian, right? So, what’ve you got in mind?”

Eraserhead rolls his shoulders, crossing his arms.

“I could take him.”

Keigo just stares.

“I’m serious,” Aizawa continues evenly, not even raising an eyebrow at Keigo’s dumbfounded expression, “It was something I’d been considering even before today. Should we manage to take Enji to court and win, Todoroki will need a new guardian. But regardless, if we end up coming forward with a case at all, he’s going to be stripped of custody temporarily; it’ll only be for while he’s under review, but it’ll give us an opening to get Shouto out of there and sheltered from both situations.”

“Two birds with one stone,” Keigo muses, shaking out of his surprise and rubbing at his chin thoughtfully, “You think you’d stand a good chance to gain custody of him for sure?” 

“Like I said, there are no guarantees,” The dark-haired man cautions, “But we’d have a shot. Quite frankly, there are a number of factors surrounding the issue that go in our favour. If Todoroki agrees with it and the offer is approved, we could have temporary guardianship within a week.” He begins counting on his fingers, starting with the most apparent point, “Shouto already lives at UA for what most would consider full-time, due to the dorm situation. My acting in loco parentis would be almost an optimal solution- he wouldn’t have to move, all of his studies could continue, and,” Aizawa’s eyes narrow before stating his third point, his voice taking on a hardened edge again,  “As ironic as it is for this kind of situation, my status as a pro hero is likely to win some favour for credibility. It’s a backwards system, but it might work in our favour.” The teacher grimaces, fixing his gaze on the now-drying coffee on his desk as though that will save him the reminder that Keigo’s here to witness what he’s about to say next, “I hate springing this on him, but we need to act fast if the Commission’s involved in the way you think,” He sighs heavily, slumping ever so slightly, looking worn, “I should’ve told him about all of this sooner- I didn’t expect the case to escalate so quickly, and now he’s barely going to have any time to process and decide what he wants to do.”

“What other choice do we have?” Keigo asks softly, already knowing it’s a question without an answer, “I don’t like it any more than you, but dramatic situations require dramatic responses sometimes. You were trying to do the right thing, and this isn’t something you should’ve had to account for.” Aizawa nods in agreement, obviously not impressed but knowing the younger man has a valid argument, “The best we can do now is try to shoulder as much of the weight as possible and support him more than anything. There’s no sheltering him from it,” Keigo admits, his heart panging at the thought of having to break this news to his intern and knowing there’s no way to deal with it so the boy doesn’t have to be involved, “This was going to come to a head at some point, regardless of action on your part or not. It was really only a matter of time.”

Keigo sits down again, running both of his hands through his hair, feeling it muss up even more than it had been due to his flight over. “You said you might be able to get guardianship over him within a week? We might need that,” The winged man can feel the weight of the books in the lining of his coat and briefly recalls his discussion with the cashier earlier that very day, “Christmas is right around the corner, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s the next time when all of the students will be heading home long-term instead of staying in dorms. If we wait, Shouto’s going to be expected to go back to his father’s house for the winter break, and God only knows how that will go. We need to get him out of there.” Keigo releases a long breath, dragging his hands down his face and rubbing at his temples tiredly, eventually looking up to find Aizawa pulling out his phone. “So how do we go about this? I’ve set up social work cases before, but I’ve never been actively involved in pursuing and closing them, and I’m definitely not dumping this on you to handle by yourself.”

Aizawa glances up.

“The first step,” He informs him, “Is telling my husband we might have another kid in the house very shortly.”

“You’re married ?!” For whatever reason, this might stand to be one of the most surprising revelations in this entire conversation. Aizawa blinks at him flatly, pressing a few more buttons on his phone before bringing it up to his ear.

“How do you want me to respond to you being astounded by that?”

The call picks up a moment later, and Keigo does his best to politely tune out the conversation, trying not to eavesdrop, though he’s still thrown for a loop. The whole while, he’s sneaking glances at the disheveled man, who still hasn’t dealt with the coffee stain on his desk, who has a sleeping bag in his classroom, and hair messy enough to lose a small flock of birds in. Imagining him married is near impossible. 

Putting away his surprise, Keigo reaches to pull his own phone out of his pocket. He unlocks it to find Shouto’s contact, his thumb hovering over their last message thread, remembering how bright and quietly happy he’d been at lunch the previous day, totally oblivious to the storm on the horizon. Keigo shoots him a quick message, asking how the teen’s day was, before shutting off his phone and pocketing it again, his heart feeling heavy in his chest.

‘Fuck, kid, I’m sorry,’ He thinks quietly to himself, fighting the urge to rake his hands through his hair again while he impatiently waits for Aizawa to end his call, his feathers rustling behind him. ‘Things are about to go sideways really fast.’

He’s disrupted from his thoughts by Aizawa rounding his desk again, the older man reaching for his coat.

“Hizashi’s home with our daughter right now,” The gruff man informs him, looping his scarf better around his neck, ignoring the coffee mess on his desk and gesturing for Keigo to follow. Startled, Keigo rises to his feet and hurriedly pushes his chair in towards the desk he’d pulled it from, tugging his gloves back on and rushing to catch up to the other man. He shuts the classroom door behind him, jogging to meet Aizawa, who’s got a surprisingly long stride when he puts his mind to it. “You should relay your take on the Commission to him personally. We’ll need his help in this, and it’s better if he can get the details from you rather than rehashed by me.”

“That’s a good idea,” Keigo agrees, falling into step with him, “Is he meeting us somewhere, or am I tackling this one on my own?”

“We can meet him at the house now, if you’re not in a rush to fly off.”

“At the house?”

Aizawa meets his gaze levelly.

“There’s a train coming through the station in ten minutes.”

Keigo can’t help but stare at the older man, baffled by him once again. If there’s anything to be learned in being a hero, a major portion is how to both protect and appreciate your privacy. It’s not common for heroes to even tell other heroes where they live, both as a security measure but also for the sake of discretion, of having somewhere to take off the mantle and just live quietly where work can be shrugged away at the door. Keigo doesn’t have such a luxury, living in the Commission’s own apartment complex, but with Aizawa apparently having a family involved in the mix, it’s astounding he’d want to bring Keigo anywhere within a mile of the place- not to mention him inviting the younger hero into his home when he’s so secretive and guarded as it is.

“You’re alright with that?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.” Aizawa looks away once more, slouching his hands into his pockets, “And if we’re about to go up against the HPSC, I’m going to have to trust you with things much more critical than where I live. On paper, they could spin this to look like an act of planned treason if they desperately wanted to, and it’s not like heroes haven’t gone ‘missing’ before.” The older man states bluntly, casting a side-eyed glance in Keigo’s direction. While Keigo’s definitely heard of such things happening and knows they’ve never been officially listed as hits by the Commission, he knows exactly what Aizawa’s implying. “I’m not the one who works directly in their building where they can get a hold of him day in and day out. Are you sure you want an active role in this?”

Keigo scoffs, clicking his tongue in amusement.

“Eh, I’ve participated in worse. If we’re taking the train, though, I’m going to have to find some way to hide my wings, and maybe throw on a different jacket or something. Is there a bag or anything around here I could use to get rid of some of my feathers?”

Aizawa shrugs, a small grin ghosting on his face at the younger hero’s bold agreement and firm stance on the matter

“Lost and found?”

“Lead the way.”

-

-

-

He should really know better by now than to judge books by their covers. 

Distantly, Keigo’s aware of the door shutting behind him, the cold draft being cut off as Aizawa steps into the entryway as well, brushing snow out of his long hair and stomping his shoes on the mat. It’s lost on Keigo though, who’s too busy taking in his surroundings to really pay any attention to what’s happening at his back.

His first thought is that it’s warm- not even necessarily temperature-wise or due to the number of golden-toned lights brightening the porch; it’s the atmosphere of the place in and of itself that feels warm, and Keigo allows himself to bask in it a moment as he skims his eyes over everything in sight, mentally cataloguing almost all of his findings in surprise. 

Aizawa’s home is shockingly normal , not at all what Keigo had been expecting in the back of his mind. If anything, he’s subconsciously marked the underground pro to be a firm minimalist, living off of the bare necessities he needed and likely hiding out in some dark, one-roomed apartment to keep his cover. He hadn’t been anticipating bookcases of novels and alphabetized records in the adjoined living room, a shoe-rack to his left holding four different sizes of shoes, and a small collection of guitars hanging in racks along the neutral-coloured walls. There’s a basic tea set sitting on the ottoman between a leather couch and a set of worn blue chairs, clearly well-used, and plants growing in a multitude of sizes on most of the leftover available spaces Keigo can make out. What strikes him as almost the most baffling piece of this whole picture are the framed photos on the walls, not enough to be of particular significance, but shocking in that, for whatever reason, it had never occurred to Keigo that Aizawa was a man with a legitimate home and, therefore, people involved therewith. Even after finding out about him apparently being married, it had been hard to wrap his head around the image of him actually sharing a space with another person on a consistent basis.

“Are you done ogling?” The man in question asks, stepping up beside Keigo while in the process of removing his coat. He’s got his eyebrow raised in that trademarked way of his that means Keigo’s being judged, but the blond just blinks, turning to the house again.

“This isn’t what I was expecting.”

“I don’t think you’ve spent enough time considering my living conditions to have a basis on what to expect,” Aizawa monotones flatly, hanging his coat up in the closet to Keigo’s right, “And if you have, that’s concerning.” He jerks his head towards the closet. “You can hang up your coat somewhere over here and just leave your shoes on the mat. I don’t think we have enough space on the rack. I’ll be back in a moment, don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

With that, the older man leaves him to his own devices, heading towards what Keigo can only assume must be the kitchen, where he can hear someone else moving around. Keigo nods compliantly to himself, hanging up the jacket he’d taken from the school, and shrugging on his uniform coat once again. He also takes the time to tuck the hat he’d borrowed into the school-jacket’s sleeve, and frees a majority of his feathers from the duffel bag he’d dismantled his wings into, having to leave some feathers still removed so as to not knock anything over in the entryway. Feeling a little antsy, the hero hurriedly puts his wings together once more, feeling much more settled with their familiar weight at his back, and stoops over to deal with his shoes, only to be impeded by a small creature bumping its head against his shins and winding itself around his ankles, apparently not caring that it’s completely in the way of what he was trying to do. 

“Hey little guy,” The winged man says, reaching down to scratch at the grey tabby’s chin- because of course Aizawa would have a cat, that’s the one thing about this environment that’s made sense so far- before trying to relocate the persistent feline, who continues bumping against his hand for more attention, and insistently batting at his shoelaces whenever he tries to gently push it away. “C’mon, is this necessary?” Keigo grumbles, chuckling a bit despite himself when the little nuisance flops over on top of his left foot, paws batting harmlessly at the hem on his pants, tail flicking back and forth. “You’re dedicated, I’ll give you that.”

“Miso?”

An unfamiliar voice makes itself known from an adjoining hallway to Keigo’s left, evidently not the person making noise in the kitchen, then. Keigo perks up in interest, having known that there was at least one additional member in Aizawa’s household that he hadn’t been aware of, but not having any idea who the others might be. “I leave you alone for one second and… Where’d you run off to?”

Of all the people Keigo might’ve expected to make an appearance, the last on the list would’ve been a teenager, around Shouto’s age and with an unruly shock of bright purple hair that’s currently making an admirable attempt at freeing itself from the boy’s slouching black beanie hat. He yawns as he rounds the corner, rubbing at the impressive dark circles under his eyes with one hand and squinting as he peers out into the living room, not noticing Keigo in the entryway at first. “I’m too tired for this,” The kid mutters, taking a second to rub the back of his neck before turning to traipse the hallway again in the direction he just came. “Maybe she ran into the bathroom? Ugh , Miso, where-” Before he can disappear, though, he locks eyes with Keigo and startles violently, only barely managing to keep his hand steady enough to not slosh tea over the sides of the mug he’s carrying with him, clearly having not expected to find a stranger petting his cat in his house. “Holy shi- ”

“Hi,” Keigo greets, offering him a smile, and gesturing towards who he assumes to be Miso, “Is this your cat?”

The boy blinks at him, wide-eyed, but quickly falls into a blank expression that reminds Keigo eerily of Shouta himself, his eyebrows creasing into a low-drawn ‘v’ as he makes quick work of assessing the man standing in front of him.

“ Obviously .” He drawls, deadpanning and lifting a single hand to gesture at both himself, dressed very clearly in casual black sweatpants and an old-looking shirt, then at the mug in his hand, and then at the house around them, all a very roundabout way of saying ‘ No shit, I live here ’ without saying a single word at all. Keigo gets the hint, clearing his throat and scratching Miso’s head one last time before standing up straight, the little cat letting out a loud meow of protest when she notices her current giver of attention has been distracted.

“I’m, uh, here with Aizawa,” He says awkwardly, not entirely used to being received in such a way. 

“Okay.” The boy still sounds skeptical, but he swoops forward nonetheless to scoop up Miso with his free hand, the cat going limp and letting out a surprised-sounding ‘ mrrrrow ’ that evolves into a purr when the teen gets her properly tucked in his arms.

“He didn’t mention having a son,” Keigo mentions, trying to ease into actual conversation with an icebreaker. Under the boy’s stare again he realizes that the teen even has purple eyes, his pupils an unsettling, milky-white colour instead of typical black. Something to do with his quirk, maybe? 

“I’m a foster,” The boy explains shortly, Keigo almost kicking himself for how quickly the teen seems to recede into himself, on guard again. He narrows his eyes, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“That’s me,” The winged hero confirms, trying his best to look friendly, extending one smaller-than-average wing as though to prove his point. At the boy’s prolonged silence, Keigo eventually asks, “And you are?” 

“Shinsou,” The boy answers at length, the name striking Keigo as familiar, but not to the extent that it rings any bells. He tries to recollect whether or not he has any coworkers by the same name in the Commission, or if he can think of any heroes who would have that surname in the database. Coming up short, he decides to put it on the backburner for now, instead offering the kid a nod and another, admittedly tense, smile, wishing more than ever that Aizawa would come back. 

“Toshi? Did you find Miso?”

‘That’s not Aizawa.’  

Both the winged hero and the teen spin around at the sound of the voice coming from the same hallway Shinsou wandered from earlier, a young girl emerging with a tablet in her hands, paused on some kind of show. “I paused the movie for you- they just got on the Catbus and…” She dwindles off when she notices Keigo, her eyes going wide, immediately flinching away from the newcomer and drawing her tablet up close to her chest defensively. She looks near-terrified, and Keigo frowns to himself, immediately taking a decent step back to give her some room without question. It concerns him though, the blond observing as Shinsou, to his credit, doesn’t miss a beat in reaching over to ruffle the girl’s long, blue-grey hair, somehow managing to do so while also juggling his mug and the now-squirming cat simultaneously.

“Hey, thanks. I didn’t want to miss that part,” Shinsou comments easily, the girl glancing away from Keigo to look up  at the older boy almost frantically. He bounces Miso better into his grip, getting the kid’s attention, though it’s obvious to Keigo he’s putting on a show more than anything, making it look like the fidgeting feline is fighting more desperately to jump out of his arms and over to the girl than it actually is. “Miso was on her way to look for scraps in the kitchen again and got distracted. You want to hold her?”

The girl nods quickly, putting her tablet to the side and reaching out for the cat, who gets passed off to her without any more fanfare from Shinsou, the critter immediately butting it’s head against the girl’s cheek, purring loudly and chewing on her hair. She’s still watching Keigo with scared eyes, her movie all but forgotten for now, but she seems a bit more calm while holding Miso, the hero locking gazes with Shinsou and understanding the kid’s action here instantly. He was prepared for this reaction, or was at least expecting it might happen to some degree. That means it’s happened before. Possibly frequently.

There are a million red flags flying up in Keigo’s mind right now, glancing back down at the girl and finding that she’s stepped in behind Shinsou’s legs somewhat, watching him from behind the boy’s hip. This is a familiar picture, one he’s seen a million times. The frightened posture, the wariness learned too young, the immediate lapse into silence to avoid attention- 

‘Some kids hold cats, others have Endeavor dolls.’  Keigo thinks wearily, putting two and two together far too quickly. He wishes it weren’t so easy. The fact that he’s here over another similar case doesn’t ease the acidic, burning sensation in his stomach.

Shinsou’s got a hand on the girl’s head again, apparently a reassurance because she doesn’t flinch away this time when Keigo slowly crouches to be closer to her level, careful not to make any quick, unpredictable moves.

“Hey, kiddo,” He greets quietly with an even softer smile, cocking his head a little- and he can see it then, that calculating look in her eyes, trying even now to figure him out before he can do anything. He knows exactly what that feels like, catches the subtle movement of her arms tightening around Miso slightly almost before she even goes to do so, because it’s something he’s anticipating. Keigo keeps his distance, letting his voice go low and soft, nothing but inviting, his wings lowered against the hardwood floor to look less intimidating, and his body language open.

‘I see you,’ He thinks silently, ‘You might not know it, but I see you. We’re alike, you and me.’

“Eri, this is Hawks. He’s a hero, you’ve probably seen pictures of him.”

Keigo’s barely listening. He catches her name though, Eri, and is suddenly reminded of a briefing he’d been tossed after a long mission out of town, a file folder with only two pages in it: a summary of an attack on Kai Chisaki’s branch of the Yakuza, and the other a slim report on a girl they’d recovered, Overhaul’s weapon for quirk-erasing bullets. The file had been in his hands and out of them again within a minute, tossed to the side after a quick skim because there’d been too much to do and it had already been handled. More prominently, he remembers the meeting he’d had with Dabi a few days later, keeping his guard up while the two hashed out trustless information with one another, Keigo making a jab about the hero the arsonist had offed and Dabi snarling something about one casualty being less than what would’ve happened if he’d been dealing with Chisaki himself instead. Keigo hadn’t thought twice about the case since it happened- even in the moment, he’d been more curious about how Dabi’s hands shook slightly as he tried lighting his cigarette following Keigo’s remark about Snatch. Hell, his most prominent memory of that meeting is counting the number of cigarettes Dabi burned through, one after the other until his shoulders weren’t rigid and his hands had ceased their tremors, steadied by the smoke in his lungs and the watchless sensation that only a cold 4 A.M. on a rooftop in a dead part of the city will give you.

But now, paying attention to the girl that so many, himself included, have overlooked, he sees Dabi’s same tense posture, sees Shouto’s guarded caution in her gaze, sees his own younger self reincarnated where she stands. 

‘ I see you .’

A thought crosses his mind in her silence, Keigo sitting back on his heels.

“I don’t know about that, but I’ve definitely heard of you,” Eri freezes a bit at that like a nervous rabbit, but Keigo’s quick to continue with, “Deku saved you, right?”

At the sound of Midoriya’s hero name, Eri perks up slightly, nodding timidly, still choosing not to speak. That’s fine, she doesn’t have to. “He’s good friends with my intern, Shouto,” Keigo explains, “He might be more familiar to you as Todoroki.”

Familiarity crosses Eri’s face as she nods slowly, her closed-off stance loosening a bit.

“Midoriya talks about him often. He has pretty hair.” She smiles just a little, “He froze a puddle for me once so Creati could teach me to skate.”

“That does sound like something Shouto would do,” Keigo laughs, watching warmly as Eri begins slowly relaxing her hold on Miso, looking more settled and calm, and listening to him with interested eyes, “Has he ever shown you that he can make water?”

Eri begins shaking her head, but it’s Shinsou that cuts in with a baffled, “ What? ” that sounds equal parts flat and begrudgingly impressed. So he’s familiar with Shouto too- probably another student at UA, then? He knows he’s not in Shouto’s class, though, so there’s a chance his name’s familiar if he had an older sibling that attended and graduated as a lower-ranking hero, like Iida’s brother Ingenium.

Keigo begins explaining it to them, talking about Shouto’s effort to combine his ice and fire and the progress they’ve made. He can tell they’re both curious, even Shinsou listening intently despite his expression being carefully blank- but partway through his story about the fire incident, when Shouto had first attempted the move, he notices Eri’s no longer watching him directly but, rather, is staring at a spot just over his shoulder. His first thought is that she might be spacing out, or that she might be having some kind of flashback that he unknowingly triggered, but as his wings twitch nervously, he catches the girl’s eyes widening a fair amount and realizes it’s his wings she’s been staring at the whole while. Relief floods his system like water from a fractured dam, the hero tentatively flaring his feathers wide as Eri watches in delight, before pulling them in tightly enough around himself that he can bring one of them forward, within her reach.

He doesn’t usually let people touch his wings. That doesn’t stop fans from reaching out without warning, or his Handlers from anything, of course, but when he has the option he usually keeps his wings off-limits. This is a special case, though, and as he extends one between him and Eri, he does so willingly, offering her an encouraging smile when she glances back to him as if for permission.

“You can touch them if you want,” He offers, grinning as he ruffles all his feathers at once and Eri gasps, Miso leaning precariously out of her arms to bat at one of the nearest feathers with a white-socked paw. Hesitantly, the girl sets Miso down on the floor, the cat taking all of about two seconds to get her footing before attacking Shinsou’s ankle. Keigo doesn’t spare her much attention though, as Eri reaches out to very slowly run a small hand down his wing, blinking in surprise at the texture.

“They’re soft,” She says quietly. Keigo’s smile grows, and he releases one of his feathers, letting it twirl around her head, much to Eri’s amazement and wonder. The hero appreciates that she makes no attempt to grab it, simply following the feather with her eyes.

“Have you still not taken your shoes off?”

A disheveled-looking Aizawa emerges then, his hair tied back in a messy ponytail instead of a wild nest around his face. His tone comes across as annoyed, but there’s no irritation in his expression as he approaches the group from the kitchen, crossing his arms, Keigo nearly swearing he can see a hint of a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth when he looks down at Eri. “You have a problem with doorways.”

“Only around you, apparently.” Keigo retorts, rising to his feet again, and offering the kids another grin, Eri giving a miniscule, shy smile back, and Shinsou just blinking at him. 

“Dinner’s on the table for both of you if you’re hungry.” Aizawa informs his respective children calmly, tilting his head in the direction he came. Another figure emerges as he’s saying so, drying their hands on a dishcloth. His long blond hair is wrangled into a loose braid, a pair of wire glasses perched on his nose. It’s such an unfamiliar state to see the other pro in, that it takes Keigo a second to recognize who he’s looking at.

“Present Mic?”

“Hey, Hawks.”

The fact that his voice is relaxed and mellow, not the piercing and over-eccentric volume he’s heard from him before rattles Keigo more than it should. The older man offers him a slightly strained smile, ushering the kids to the kitchen. “I made yours with the alphabet noodles, Eri!” He calls over his shoulder after his daughter gives Keigo a parting wave, disappearing with Miso hot on her heels, Shinsou taking more time to gather up Eri’s tablet and say a quick “Hi” to Aizawa before following suit. There’s an excited gasp from the kitchen, and a very hushed but thrilled, “Thank you!” that calls back, both Aizawa and Mic sharing a knowing look, Aizawa shaking his head.

It both computes and doesn’t, seeing the two of them standing together, so absolutely opposite. Granted, Keigo can’t say much different for himself and Dabi, able to see a bit of themselves in this unique pair. It’s not really his place to comment either way, and he can tell they’re both waiting for it to some extent, Present Mic looking a bit tired and stiff but still smiling, Aizawa relaxed and expressionless, though his eyes are sharp.

“This isn’t your first time helping kids get out of difficult situations.”

It’s clearly not the response they were expecting. Out of the two, it’s Mic who, unsurprisingly, finds his voice first, the blond giving a long sigh and cleaning his glasses off on his shirt.

“No,” He confirms, mouth drawing into a thin, concerned  line, “We’ve been here a time or two.” The faint chatter from the kitchen proves that much for itself, and Mic glances back at the sound of it, his expression twisting into something veiled, but dangerous. 

Keigo gets the sense it’s not him that’s in danger.

“Shouta filled me in on everything you explained to him, but it would be good to hear it from you again, if you’re not in a rush to head out.” Mic explains quietly, low enough to not alert the kids, and hopefully low enough as well that they can’t hear the hard, chilling edge in his voice as well. 

“I’ve got time.” Keigo assures him, stopping to finally remove his boots and step out of the entryway, offering Aizawa a nod and Present Mic a humourless smile, “And a score to settle. So, let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

When Keigo finally lands on the balcony of his apartment with a fried chicken bag in one hand and his books still tucked safely in his jacket, it’s too late for dinner and far too cold to be outside.

The winged hero shakes his wings out violently as he touches down on the thick-ledged railing, sending snow flying and very nearly losing his balance off the ridge as his thick boots do little to keep traction while his bulky wings have him tipping all over the place, snow-logged and frozen. Semi-annoyed at the near-blunder, the hero quickly hops down onto the balcony itself, brushing as much snow as he can out of his hair as he pushes up his visor. If he thought earlier that it was a freezing day to be flying, he’s definitely thinking so now. The temperature had only dropped lower during his meeting with Eraserhead and Present Mic, and at this point, his face is entirely numb from the frigid wind and continuous pelting of snow. 

His apartment, however, is warm, and that’s the first thing Keigo both notices and appreciates the instant he walks in through the glass sliding door, rolling his neck wearily and letting his wings fan out behind him so they can start to dry.

Dabi’s not in the kitchen or living room when he takes a quick glance around, but a sink full of clean dishes proves he has been recently, Keigo grinning quietly to himself despite everything. The dark-haired man’s probably sitting in an obscure corner somewhere with a book in his lap, totally enthralled and lost to the rest of the world. The hero tugs off his gloves and leaves them on the kitchen counter, along with his visor, earmuffs, and bag of probably-now-cold chicken. It’s a disappointing loss that it will probably be soggy now, even if he tries to microwave it, but that’s a sad state of affairs he’ll deal with in a moment. Keigo takes a quick glance over in the living room and gives a frown when he realizes there’s no head of dark hair peaking up from under the lamp or from against the arm of the couch.

“Alright?” He muses out loud, a little surprised, “Guess he’s in the bedroom, then.” Keigo wanders over to the hallway, raking a hand through his hair and grimacing when it comes back wet from melted snow. There’s just no winning, tonight. Trust the weather to put him in a bad mood.

It’s glancing down at his hand in annoyance that makes him realize there’s light coming out from under the door for the hallway closet, the winged man cocking his head. Curious, he reaches out and pulls the closet door open just a bit before giving a small laugh, tugging it open the rest of the way and leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms and a legitimately warm smile. Dabi’s blinking up at him from the floor, wearing one of Keigo’s hoodies and surrounded by blankets he’s pulled down off the shelves to make some kind of makeshift, cozy sitting space. Lo and behold, there’s an open book laid out across his knees, battered and worn with loose pages and tattered corners. Keigo scans the place appraisingly, plastering on an expression that’s probably too amused to look truly impressed. “Wow,” He says eventually, stepping inside the closet as well and closing the door behind him. It’s a tight fit, with his wings intact, but Keigo manages to tuck them in closely enough that they don’t end up hitting anything. “Never took you for the interior decorating type, but I like what you’ve done with the place.” He gestures to the gallery painting that he’d tossed in here to collect dust, Dabi having unceremoniously chucked it up onto a stack of towels to get it out of the way from where Keigo had left it leaning against the wall. “Very homey.”

“For a pigeon, you sure do squawk a lot,” Dabi retorts instantly, deadpan, reaching for his wrist to drag Keigo down into the blankets with him while the blond laughs. It’s cramped enough that Keigo has to sit between the other man’s knees, his wings draped on either side of them to keep them out of the way, but somehow he’s feeling better already. “Is it still snowing? You’re freezing.” The arsonist eyes one of Keigo’s wings flatly, clearly noticing that his feathers are leaving damp patches on his blankets. “And drenched.”

“Snowing? It was like flying home in a blizzard.” Keigo jokes, scrubbing his hands against his cheeks to ward off the tingling numbness still lingering there. After a few seconds of watching this, Dabi tucks his bookmark into his book and sets it aside to rest on a light blue afghan, batting the hero’s hands away. Wordlessly, the fire-user cups Keigo’s face in his palms, sharing his warmth and smirking as Keigo sighs contentedly.

“We need to get you a heated blanket, little bird.”

“Why bother?” Keigo teases, only half-joking as he leans heavily against one of Dabi’s knees, the arsonist sliding one hand over to rest against the base of the hero’s neck. He just barely manages to hold in a pleased hum as Dabi raises the temperature radiating through his palms a bit more so the rest of the winged hero will begin to gradually thaw, “I don’t have any problems with this.” Grinning winningly at Dabi’s unsurprised huff, Keigo quietly gestures to the nest of blankets piled around them, “Speaking of which, what inspired you to make a reading nook out of the closet?”

Dabi raises an eyebrow.

“What reason would there have been to not make something out of the unused closet?”

“Touché.” Keigo admits, leaning forward to coax the arsonist in for a kiss, a gesture which, for all intents and purposes, takes no actual coaxing whatsoever, “However, you ruined my private gallery for that ridiculously expensive painting I’ve been showcasing in here.”

“I didn’t ruin anything. That painting’s ugly as fuck.” Dabi leans his head back against the wall behind him, glancing up at the corner of canvas that’s visibly hanging off the third shelf above them, “I have no idea what it’s supposed to be.”

“It’s abstract expressionism. It’s not necessarily supposed to be anything.”

“Why make it, then?”

Keigo glances up at the offending painting as well, brow furrowing.

“It’s supposed to convey emotion. Or induce emotion. Maybe both, I can’t remember.”

To be fair, he’s not an art person. Dabi doesn’t appear to be either as he scowls.

“The only emotion it induces in me is irritation.”

“Well, in that case, maybe it’s working.” Keigo assesses, pulling him in for another kiss and smiling softly when he feels the other man’s hands slowly drift to his waist, having to fumble their way in under his heavy coat to do so. It takes an effort on Dabi’s part, with Keigo’s jacket weighed down by his earlier purchases, still tucked away in the coat’s lining, and the scarred man doesn’t hesitate to make a point of it.

“Are you making a habit out of carrying around bricks, or what?” The arsonist asks, Keigo smirking and bumping his forehead against Dabi’s.

“Not quite.” The hero grins, carefully pulling the books from his coat and passing the bag over, pressing it into Dabi’s hands encouragingly when the arsonist shoots him a confused look. With a nod from the hero, he pulls the novels out of the plastic, his expression lighting up when he realizes what he’s holding. 

“Is this… You found the sequel?” Dabi glances up at him with bright eyes, and Keigo’s smile only widens, happy to see the fire-user excited over something- even if it’s just a trade paperback that Keigo wouldn’t have spared a second glance, had he not known its significance to the man sitting across from him. “I didn’t realize it was out yet.”

“The early release was today,” Keigo rubs at the back of his neck, gaze falling downward humbly as he feels Dabi’s eyes on him, “It wasn’t out everywhere yet, but there’s a bookstore not far from my office that had a few that weren’t sold out.” He reaches out and gently turns the books over in Dabi’s hands so the other one is visible now too, his feathers catching when the arsonist’s breath hitches at this close of a proximity, “And I know you have a copy of this one already, but it looked like it needed replacing, so…” He dwindles off as Dabi runs his fingers over the cover of the book so lightly, he’s barely skimming it, probably not hearing a word Keigo’s saying. The winged man lets him have a moment, just watching quietly as the villain very carefully leafs through the clean, unmarred pages, the hardcover novel cradled firmly in one hand. He handles it just as delicately as the crumbling copy he’d set to the side, Keigo grinning softly when the arsonist looks back up at him in disbelief.

“You remembered it?” Dabi asks quietly, Keigo cocking his head.

“Of course I did. It’s your favourite,” The winged man nods towards the discarded book that the other man had been reading only a few minutes before, “You reread sections out of it all the time.”

Dabi stares for a moment longer, before gently setting the novel down and winding his arms around Keigo’s waist, tugging the hero close enough to drop his head into the crook of his neck. He’s warm even without having activated his quirk again, and Keigo rests his cheek in the arsonist’s hair, running his hands up Dabi’s back and taking a great amount of comfort in simply leaning against him in silence. Damn, he’s wanted this all day. Coming home to this kind of peace is like taking his first breath in hours, and Keigo’s not taking the moment for granted. He’s got food going cold on the counter and his clothes are still soggy from his flight back, and he’s probably going to have to comb through all of his feathers later to make sure the barbs haven’t dried together in uneven clumps, but right now he doesn’t care.

The books were meant to be a thank you- a quiet sign of gratitude that Keigo had suspected Dabi might be more willing to accept than the words he’d offered him the day previous. The arsonist had only brushed him off then, arguing that he hadn’t done anything worth being thanked over, though all things considered, Keigo disagrees. He supposes they can let this be a compromise.

“Will you read it to me sometime?” Keigo asks eventually, Dabi tilting his head up a little in surprise. “Or, I mean- maybe just some of your favourite sections. That’s a really long book.”

Dabi gives a low, chuffing laugh, pressing a small kiss to the corner of Keigo’s jaw before drawing away.

“Maybe someday, Birdie.”

“What’s it about?”

“Revolution. A convict on the run,” The arsonist glances down at Keigo’s lips before tracking back up to his eyes, his own gaze softening. “Second chances.”

Keigo smiles softly, Dabi’s eyes flicking to his lips again at the movement before he can help himself. He’s cupping Keigo’s cheek with one hand a second later, the hero letting his eyes fall shut as Dabi’s mouth finds his yet again, the dark-haired man kissing him long and slow. Keigo ruffles his feathers, smoothing his hands up Dabi’s spine once more and winding his arms around the other’s neck. 

A selfish part of Keigo wants to pretend they don’t have things to discuss. He wants to pretend that they could just sit here, tucked away like any other couple and just be able to enjoy this without a bigger picture looming over their heads- but unfortunately, that’s not the case. It hasn’t gone unnoticed by him that Dabi’s avoided making  any mention of the Commission or Aizawa since the hero came home, though there have to be questions burning in the forefront of his mind. Keigo understands. He doesn’t want to break into any of this either. He’s tired and cold, and ready to wash the day away. 

They’re both being willfully ignorant, and the truth of the matter is that this isn’t a situation to be so simply ignored. It’s easier to pretend, though, and so, so tempting. Keigo has to force himself to break away with a heavy sigh, Dabi moving to kiss him again, only to stop himself and draw back with a small, reluctant shake of his head.

“We have to talk about it, don’t we?” He asks wryly, clearly already knowing the answer as he slowly leans back against the wall behind him. He closes his eyes for a full second, and when they open again to focus on Keigo, they’re hooded and quietly disappointed, despite the strained grin on the arsonist’s face, “We can’t put it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Keigo murmurs, his apology a confirmation in and of itself. Dabi pulls a grimace, sighing and running one hand down his face. It’s like he instantly looks more worn out than he did a moment ago, and Keigo frowns, knowing the last few days have been a lot to handle as it is. He tries to gentle the inevitable blow by adding, “It’s not all bad, though. We’ve got a plan, at least.”

“Pigeon,” Dabi grins humourlessly, “The fact that you made it this long without mentioning it at all proves it’s no cakewalk either. You always cut right to the chase, unless you don’t know how someone will respond. If you were coming with good news, I would’ve heard it by now.”

Keigo can’t argue that, and Dabi knows him well enough that lying wouldn’t sway his mind on the tone of this conversation. The arsonist just gives a heavy sigh, though, to mimic Keigo’s, and appears to be bracing himself, those blue eyes taking on a steely, prepared glint. “So, what’s going on?”

Keigo sits back, dragging a hand through his hair and mulling over how best to approach this. At his silence, Dabi pipes up again, voice hardened.

“Did something happen to Shou?”

That’s not the question Keigo was expecting him to pose, and it takes him aback at first until he finds his voice and assures the villain that’s not the case.

“No- no, nothing’s happened to Shouto. Or anyone- everybody’s fine,” Keigo rambles quickly. He can feel Dabi relax a little bit at that, the arsonist’s shoulders sinking just a bit from where they’d tensed. “It’s just… Some things have come up that we weren’t anticipating.”

“With the Commission again?” Dabi asks, confused, his eyes narrowing. Keigo pretends he doesn’t catch the spark of worry that lights the sweeping glance the arsonist gives him, as if checking Keigo over quickly to make sure he’s not lying about everybody being fine, the hero included. After what that organization had done to him a few days ago, Keigo can’t blame him for being cautious. 

“Not with the Commission,” Keigo says, catching the arsonist’s hands in his own and observing them where they rest in his lap. Dabi’s hands are longer and thinner than Keigo’s in a way that makes them look almost gaunt in comparison, the effect only emphasized by his fairer skin and prominent knuckles. Where Keigo’s hands are steady and firm, calloused from years of training and years of hero work thereafter, Dabi’s are near-skeletal, lanky like they never grew out of some stage of boyhood, and simply paused time there.

They’re delicate, not fighter’s hands at all, even if they’ve been forced to make fists too many times to count. In another life, Keigo thinks he might’ve raised wonders on a piano. For now, he brings Dabi’s right hand up to his lips and kisses the knuckles of the two fingers that lay crooked against his palm.

“This is about your dad,” He explains carefully, watching the arsonist’s expression shift from cautious to downright grey. He looks sickened, and Keigo quiets him softly, hushed and gentle.

“What did he do now?” Dabi’s trying to keep his voice steady and firm, but there’s a faint quivering note of either anger or fear there that speaks volumes despite its bareness, enough to have Keigo tightening his grip on the arsonist’s hands again, before releasing one to comb through Dabi’s hair, gently pushing it back.

“Nothing like what you’re thinking,” Keigo reasons, making sure to keep his eyes on the villain’s,“I mean what I said- everyone’s okay. He hasn’t hurt anybody.”

Dabi still sits rigid as he nods, jaw clenched tight. After the bombshell Keigo had dropped on him yesterday morning about Enji Todoroki, the arsonist has every right to be wound up over this new batch of news as well, wary and upset. Keigo just hopes he’ll take this as a good thing, and not yet another blow to the system. “Aizawa’s going to help deal with the Commission,” The winged man explains, starting off on a good note, “He’s got a plan to get Shouto out of their reach in the near future, so long as he’s okay with it. But,” Here Keigo swallows hard, taking a steadying breath, “His method is by getting Shouto out of Endeavor’s custody and placed under his own guardianship, hopefully within the next week.”

Dabi’s eyes widen in shock, the fire-user clearly dumbfounded as he opens his mouth to speak and no words emerge. Keigo waits for him to gather himself, the dark-haired man eventually blinking and shaking his head as though attempting to clear it.

“Out of custody- he’s trying to get him taken away?” Dabi repeats, still processing. At Keigo’s quiet nod of affirmation, the other man blinks rapidly, his brow furrowed as he tries to understand, “Can he even- can heroes even do that? Just take kids out of homes at random? And what do you mean it’ll only take a week? Is he just getting him permanently moved into that school or something? I don’t get how the fuck that bastard would just let him do it either, he wouldn’t give Shouto up that easily.”

The arsonist is clearly distressed as he tries to lay out the pieces Keigo’s put in front of him, but he’s also not getting the full picture. Keigo offers a small smile that’s half parts hopeful and empathetic, knowing this is going to be the real sink-or-swim moment for Enji Todoroki’s eldest son.

“Dabi, he’s not just relocating him; Aizawa’s putting a case forward. Against your father, I mean. He wants there to be a trial.”

There’s dead silence between them as Dabi freezes in shock, the arsonist physically recoiling back as though he’s been slapped hard. Seeing that he isn’t going to speak, Keigo continues, “One of Shouto’s friends came forward to Aizawa about Endeavor’s past abuse. Apparently he’s been trying to look into things discreetly for months, but that was the first real confirmation he had that there was something potentially incriminating going on.” The hero takes a deep breath, rubbing his thumbs along the backs of Dabi’s hands, mindful of his staples, “He’s been combing through the hero database and public files, trying to find information on Endeavor and your family- anomalies that would indicate a cover-up, or evidence that could work in a court case. After I talked to him today, he thinks that might be why the Commission’s after Shouto.”

“To keep his actions under wraps?” Dabi asks, sounding a little choked, the tightness in his voice almost unnoticeable below the sheer bitterness of his tone. Keigo worries his bottom lip between his teeth, his wings twitching uncomfortably.

“No. Not really, from the sounds of  it. If anything, Aizawa seems to think they’re preparing to snag Shouto into the organization without having to worry about any exterior loopholes. If Enji loses custody over the kid, he’ll be put in the foster system- neither of your siblings are in a position to take him in, and your mom would never be considered as a potential candidate. This is the ideal set-up for getting their hands on him and not having anyone else interfere.”

Dabi curses under his breath, though Keigo isn’t sure if it’s a delayed reaction to the news of his father’s case, or a response to the Commission trying to manipulate the situation to take Shouto. Either way, he can tell Dabi’s clenching his jaw when the other man meets his gaze again, blue eyes blazing with a mix of emotions that the hero can’t even begin to pick apart and label.

What he does know, however, and what he’s guessing Dabi’s putting together as well, is that this whole case is about to render an enormous tear in the arsonist’s plans to get revenge on his father.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dabi growls at length, fierce and simmering, tipping his head back and letting it hit the wall with a dull ‘thunk’ . Keigo squeezes his hands again gently, waiting for the arsonist to open his eyes and look at him once more before saying anything else.

“I know you told me that Endeavor could wait, but if this works you probably won’t get the chance to challenge him at all,” The hero informs him quietly, Dabi giving a short, seething huff, his entire expression stiff with tension, “Aizawa is aiming to get him jail time- there’s no way he’ll get life in prison over something like this, but we’re hoping if we can gather enough evidence about what happened to all of you, not just Shouto, we can get him put away at least as long as Shouto’s still in school. When he’s a graduated hero, he’ll be completely out of your father’s reach.”

“So that’s what- three? Four years?” Dabi grits out. His hands are starting to grow hot in Keigo’s own, and the winged man runs his thumbs over the backs of them again in quiet warning. The arsonist glances down at the gesture and quickly cuts off the heat in his palms when he realizes what’s happening, his eyes widening slightly. He swears again at the close call, before letting out a sound of frustration, curling in on himself imperceptibly, just enough to show his confidence isn’t as resolute as it appears. “What the fuck are four years in the grand scheme of things? I can wait that long, I’ll just deal with him when he gets out again.”

“A lot can change in four years.” Keigo murmurs, not wanting to challenge him outright, but also knowing the reality of things. This game they’re active pawns in is so dangerous- double-crossing the HPSC at every opportunity, taking a controversial stand against society, playing both sides of the table- honestly, who even knows if they’ll both still be around in four years. It’s a thought that has Keigo’s mouth going dry and his throat closing off at the very notion, but he shoves it aside for now, focusing on the present. Dabi meets his eye with a fractured look that proves he knows exactly where Keigo’s coming from, even if the hero didn’t say it out loud word for word. “I can’t promise what’s going to happen. Hell, he might not end up serving time at all,” Keigo admits, recalling his conversation with Aizawa and Present Mic, and how the two had expressed concerns about getting a biased judge.

“It’s not fair,” Mic had explained grimly, his usually positive countenance pulled into a troubled grimace, “But taking up a case against any pro isn’t easy. The fact that Endeavor’s the Number One right now is only going to make this more difficult. Even if we can prove he’s guilty of neglect and physical abuse, he might get away with just a slap on the wrist and minimal penalties. Hero work is tricky to tackle in court that way.”

Keigo can’t remember having stressfully run his hands through his hair so many times in his life. There, seated around a table in Aizawa and Mic’s spare-room-turned-office, they’d spent hours swapping concerns and plans for how to proceed, Aizawa short and practical, Present Mic the creative technical with a strong sense for finding loopholes and catching potential problems. Despite their bold differences, the two older pros had been so cohesive in their planning that Keigo had almost found himself running to stay caught up, the two men working through potential dilemmas and best courses of action as quickly and efficiently as clockwork. For all intents and purposes, Keigo might as well have been a wallflower, spare for the few times he had something to contribute that neither other men had already come up with. After enduring so much pressure to be the one carrying the brunt of the responsibility in most of his other current problems, it had been almost odd to be a bystander in this case, watching someone else forcibly take the lead and run with it in a way Keigo hadn’t necessarily been anticipating.

That’s not to say it hadn’t been relieving at the same time. Aizawa and Mic hadn’t been excluding him from the overall discussion per se- quite frankly, this was an area of expertise that they had experience in and Keigo did not. They mostly needed him for insight on the Commission, but when it came to legal matters, Present Mic was, surprisingly, the ringleader on the case.

“Shouta had a few… Interesting years after our time in UA,” Mic had explained to Keigo after the winged man had asked him about his knowledge in law, “He kind of fell off the face of the earth for a while there. As one of his best friends I figured he might wind up following his gut a little too blindly and end up getting in over his head. I had already been offered a position at UA and had the radio gig going on, but I decided to get my degree in law while I was at it in case he ever needed an attorney.”

Keigo had assumed he was joking at first, trying to imagine how the hell someone would manage all of that at once, and coming to the conclusion it wasn’t at all possible. He’d even laughed as Mic had given him a wink and a friendly grin after, only to be met with Aizawa raising an eyebrow when the blond had gone to make a cup of tea.

“He’s not kidding.” Aizawa had informed the winged man, Keigo frowning.

“About what?”

“Any of it. And if we do manage to get this trial off the ground, I’d recommend Shouto take him up on his offer to stand in as his lawyer.” The dark-haired man had kept his voice in a bored monotone as he spoke, shuffling through the pages of notes they’d made, scattered across the tabletop. Keigo had simply gaped at him in disbelief, not getting a second to digest this fact properly before Aizawa was already moving on. “Hizashi’s brilliant in court- he knows how to get people to listen to him, and he’s a strategic genius even if he doesn’t look the type. If there’s a loophole to catch or a way to bend anything we’ve got to our favour, he’ll find it.”

“Do you think we’ll need them?” Keigo had asked, clarifying when Aizawa glanced up his way in confusion, “Loopholes?”

“As many as we can get,” The grizzled pro had answered immediately, ducking his head again and making some more notes on one page, his hand smearing the ink as he writes, “We can put as much evidence forward on this as we want- odds are, they won’t be able to completely deny anything happened, but with Endeavor being such a highly ranked hero and public figure, making him face any severe consequences will be a nightmare. He’ll have a good lawyer,” Aizawa pauses in his note writing to shake his pen a few times, evidently out of ink, before tossing it across the table and grabbing another one. It apparently doesn’t bother him that half of his notes are in smeared blank ink, and the others are now going to be in smeared bright red, “He’ll have some important people backing him up. Not to mention, if the HPSC stepped in to help cover him in the past, they’ll want to keep this as under-wraps as possible. It’s likely that instead of facing an actual sentence, he’ll quietly offer some kind of settlement and try to have the whole thing swept under the rug.”

“Would he lose his license, at least?” Keigo inquired, not bothering to hide his frustration as he rose from his chair and stretched his wings, restless and worked up over this whole situation. Aizawa had taken a moment to read over his notes, biting the end of his pen in thought before answering.

“Suspended is more probable. With a reputation like his and how important he is in the hero world right now, no judge would want to be the one to cut the newest Number One hero out at the knees, especially not so shortly after All Might’s retirement.” The teacher mused, glancing up almost wearily. “And do you really want to be the third Symbol of Peace within half a year? People are already shaken up over transitioning from All Might to Endeavor. I can’t imagine the kind of reaction we’ll get from the public if we take Endeavor out as well.”

Keigo had grimaced, crossing his arms.

“I don’t want to be the top hero at all. If anything, I’d rather be somewhere in the top hundred, maybe, but nowhere near the top ten. Just well-known enough for people to recognize me as someone they can trust when they see me come to a scene? That would be ideal.” The winged man caught the interested glint in Aizawa’s stormy eyes, tilting his chin, “The Commission brought me up to be Number One. Getting Endeavor out of the way and putting one of their own puppets in the top spot would be almost too perfect for them and an absolute nightmare for me. But,” The blond shrugged, dropping his gaze to the floor, “We can’t let him get a pass on this. Endeavor, I mean. He needs to be held accountable for his actions, just like anyone else. Fuck being a hero and letting his position determine his judgement. I’d sooner deal with his place on that stupid podium than look up to him standing on it one more time after all the shit he’s done.”

He’d known it was the right answer when he looked up once more to find Aizawa studying him appraisingly. All too often, he finds his conversations with the other man feel like small tests of character, but he gets the sense that he’s slowly gaining Eraserhead’s respect the better they get to know one another.

“Those are the most probable outcomes. I suggest we aim higher than that.” The dark-haired man tapped his pen against the list of notes he’d just made, though they’d been too distant and messy for Keigo to read from where he was standing, “I’d like to see him get jail time. We probably won’t be able to reach for more than a few years at most based on the charges we’re looking to press, but ideally we could try to put him away long enough for Todoroki to graduate UA. Endeavor’s more likely to lose his hero license as well if he faces any kind of prison sentence. It’s easier to justify that way.”

Mic had come back around that time, and the conversation had flowed back into how to approach the situation from here, upon which Aizawa had volunteered to break the news to Shouto first thing in the morning. It still rubs Keigo the wrong way that they’re dumping all of this on him so quickly, but they don’t have much of an ulterior choice. There are external pieces in this mechanism that are moving with or without them, and if they want to give Shouto the best shot at not becoming a victim in this, they have to act fast.

That’s what Keigo continues to remind himself of as he watches Dabi struggling with the news himself, trying not to imagine what Shouto’s reaction might be the following morning. Then again, he thinks as he checks himself sharply, even if all of this is for Shouto, his intern can’t be his priority right now. He can’t be stressing about how Shouto will respond when the one person he’s having this conversation with is visibly not taking it well. Aizawa will make sure Shouto’s alright when he breaks the news to him- he knows him, and Keigo’s not the only person in Shouto’s court.

Dabi’s a different case altogether, and the hero feels a twinge of guilt as he reprioritizes, so used to putting Shouto first above everything. Dropping his hands, Keigo leans forward, still keeping a generous amount of space between them in case the arsonist doesn’t want to be crowded, but reaching out for him nonetheless. He runs his fingers over Dabi’s cheeks as a test, letting his thumbs brush the healthy skin under his eye scars before going to cradle his face between his palms. The arsonist crushes his eyes shut, seething silently, and when he opens them again, they’re just sapphire slivers, sharp and brittle. 

“Sweetheart…” Keigo murmurs gently, apologetic, “I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot.”

“I was supposed to beat him,” The villain’s voice is raw when he speaks, muttering lowly, “And I never could. Every time we trained, he’d wipe the floor with me.” Dabi takes a shuddering breath between gritted teeth, boiling over and shutting down all at once, “Being better than him was the only reason we were even made, and I’ve never lived up to it.” His next breath is even sharper than the last, and Keigo’s brows draw together in concern. He shuffles forward a bit, Dabi’s gaze locking on him as he moves, though the arsonist looks away with a hard grimace when he adds, “He knew I couldn’t do it. That’s why they had Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shouto. And I kept fighting him anyway, because that’s the only purpose in life I have ever had.”

Keigo can tell that the arsonist is working himself up again, and so it’s with the gentlest touch he can manage that Keigo turns Dabi’s chin to face him once more, giving the smallest of nods to prove he’s still listening. Dabi’s hands come up to wind loosely around Keigo’s wrists, and the hero’s reminded sourly of their delicate nature all over again, the knowledge hanging heavy over his head like a soaked blanket. “I need to- If I can’t win against him even once, even all these years later-” The arsonist cuts himself off as though he’s about to kill the words and go into one of his morosely silent episodes, Keigo worriedly debating whether or not he should encourage him to keep going. The decision’s made for him when Dabi snarls in frustration, speaking even more heatedly than before as though he needs to force the words off his chest, or he’ll never get them out. “If I can’t defeat him, then he’s still right- and what’s worse is that it means all of that ,” The arsonist hisses angrily, Keigo not having to ask what he means to understand what’s being implied, “Will have happened for nothing.” His voice spirals an octave lower, into something more inquisitive and genuine, less furious and more exhausted. “How the fuck am I supposed to drop that fight now when I don’t even know who I am without it?”

It feels like Keigo should have an answer for that. Seeing his partner in such a state, knowing how badly he needs something to hold onto, it feels like Keigo should know what words to say. He’s a hero after all, and what are heroes good for, if not saying the right things at the right times?

But he doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say, nothing of any substance, anyway. Keigo’s heart aches as he tries to think of something to fill the open silence, his lips slightly parted as though to speak, though nothing comes out. 

Seeming to pick up on the blond’s dilemma, Dabi sighs, his mouth pursing into a thin line. “I’m not expecting you to answer that. I don’t know either, Pigeon.” He says it dismissively, but there’s still an edge to his tone, unsettled and emotion-roughened. It’s that very fact that has Keigo tucking his wings in tight against his back and moving yet again, this time to properly bring his arms around the arsonist’s waist. He can feel Dabi sigh again as Keigo leans into his chest, the fire-user’s breath shaky though he hides it well.

“I’m sorry,” Keigo murmurs again, not because he’s apologetic for pursuing this, but because he knows it’s the best response of all the things he can say right now. Taking Enji to court is the right course of action- Shouto deserves security and a good roof over his head, and if all of this will also work to prevent him being dragged into the Commission somehow, Keigo will see it through without batting an eyelash. There’s no question about it, this is the best route they can take.

That doesn’t mean that seeing Dabi caught in the unintentional crossfire isn’t upsetting, though, and Keigo understands where he’s coming from. This isn’t really how either of them had anticipated this event working out, and while it’s a move forward on Keigo’s chessboard, it just set Dabi back several paces. “I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t think it was necessary.”

Dabi scoffs quietly, shrugging.

“Why the fuck not- what’s another sacrifice for Shouto Todoroki? I should be used to this shit by now.”

The bitterness in his voice has Keigo sitting up sharply, stiffening, and at the look on his lover’s face, Dabi’s own expression takes on a slight air of shame, the arsonist guiltily glancing away. Some of the rage in him seems to die out with that comment, though the jealous words still resonate in the air. “I don’t mean that,” He amends quietly, studying the blankets laid out around them, and then the scars along his arms, “I don’t. It’s not him I’m angry with.” The fire-user takes a long breath before pressing a short, light kiss to Keigo’s forehead, gradually reining himself in, “And I can’t be angry that he has a chance to be saved. I want him out of there, I just...”

The fire-user’s voice fades and he begins combing his fingers through the smallest of Keigo’s feathers, right near the base of his wings. The action has the hero slumping into the taller man once more, closing his eyes and relaxing entirely. Dabi’s arms tighten around him just a bit. “I’m tired of losing out and cashing in. It’s like it doesn’t stop.”

He says the last part in a near-whisper, like a confession or a prayer. Keigo knows it’s neither. He’s about to ask him more about it, but Dabi chooses that exact moment to shut off entirely, cutting things abruptly in that peculiar way he does when he’s had enough: a sigh, and a huff, and a wry statement that’s an absolute shift in conversation. “Alright, time to get out of here. I’m glad it worked out and everything, but you’ve got me soaked now, and this entire closet reeks like wet bird.”

The winged man frowns, concerned to see the arsonist brushing the matter off so suddenly when it was clearly bothering him a moment before. He opens his eyes as the villain stops playing with his feathers, already knowing he’s about to start retreating within himself.

“Dabi.”

“Keigo.” Dabi replies in an even, almost imitative tone. He nudges Keigo off of him without warning and rises to his feet, taking the time to stretch and crack his back before heading for the door, only hesitating after he’s got his fingers on the handle. That’s when he seems to remember something, and turns around a bit stiffly, stepping towards the hero once more. For a second, Keigo thinks he’s coming to sit down again to continue discussing this, but the arsonist simply reaches for the stack of books he’d set aside, including the two the hero had given him, and jerks his head towards the entryway. “C’mon, you should get changed before you catch a cold.”

“Dabi,” Keigo repeats, rising to his own feet. He wants to work things out with him, wants to finish having a legitimate conversation about this, wants to find a way to fix the problem-

But one look at the arsonist’s face when he turns around again is proof enough for Keigo to know that a conversation is exactly what Dabi can’t take right now. Maybe he needs a break, or maybe he still just can’t work past internalizing when things get too intense, but he’s not going to talk, and Keigo won’t force him to. 

So he offers him a small, patient smile instead, and gently pulls one of the books out of the arsonist’s hands.

“Why don’t I read tonight?” The winged man suggests, much to Dabi’s evident surprise, “We can start that sequel. I’ll make tea if you find somewhere to sit- just give me a sec to change and heat up some dinner.”

For a brief moment, the arsonist doesn’t say anything, just stares at him quietly until eventually his gaze thaws and his shoulders slump, Dabi giving a tiny nod of assent.

“Okay.” He agrees softly, maybe a little thankful, maybe a little more relaxed. 

The villain doesn’t resist when the hero steps up to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t flinch away when calloused fingers come to rest against the side of his neck, or when he finds the hero’s temple pressed to his, black and blond hair tangling like interlocking hands. He doesn’t immediately step back when the hero reaches to push the door open for them.

“Okay.” Keigo promises, quietly leading the arsonist back into the dim light of the apartment and shedding off the weight of their conversation like it’s the darkness they’ll leave behind the closed closet door. He uses his feathers to shut it behind them when they’re both out in the hallway, Dabi paler than usual and Keigo feeling more worn.

Neither one of them mention it,  because there’s no point mentioning that which can’t be fixed- and it’s with that same tentative brand of quiet that they go about the rest of their evening, until sleep looks favourable to tiptoeing around what’s heard too loudly and can’t be said.

-

-

-

When Keigo wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night, the room still dark and morning still hours away, it takes him a few seconds to understand why.

Then he notices the tremors, feels the heat, hears Dabi whimper , and he’s immediately bolting upright, waving his hand around wildly in the general direction of his lamp, nearly smacking it off the nightstand in his attempts to both locate it and get it turned on. When he finally manages to do so, the room illuminating in soft, orange-toned light, he’s met with the sight of the scarred man beside him trembling violently, his hands clenched into tight fists and his eyes clenched even tighter, his breathing off-kilter and panicky. He makes another sound then that might’ve been a word if Keigo’d been paying more attention to it, shaking off his own sleep-haziness as he shuffles closer, noting how much heat the arsonist’s body is throwing as his quirk roils under his skin.

‘ Damn, this one’s bad,’ Keigo acknowledges to himself quietly, tossing the sheets and blankets off both of them in an attempt to help Dabi cool down a little faster before very gently reaching out to stroke the arsonist’s cheek, keeping his hand light but firm where it’s placed.

“Dabs- Dabi, wake up, love,” The winged man urges, his voice still raspy and low from having just woken up. Dabi twitches at the sound of his voice, the arsonist’s breathing laboured. Keigo speaks a little louder and continues stroking along his cheekbone with a bit more weight, still trying to ease him into consciousness instead of startling him awake abruptly. “C’mon, baby. It’s not real.”

Dabi’s eyes flutter for a brief second and then fly wide open, the villain jolting wildly as he wakes, terrified and disoriented, only for Keigo to brush his thumb over the healthy skin along his cheekbone once again. The arsonist flinches at the unexpected sensation, but does exactly what Keigo wants him to do, the fire-user’s blue eyes locking on Keigo’s amber a millisecond later, frantic and silently pleading, his mind clearly trying to catch up with what’s going on. “Shhh, hey-” The hero murmurs, hovering beside him while propped up on one elbow, Dabi’s face ghastly white and scared, even in this warm lighting, “It’s me; it’s just me, you’re alright.” Dabi gives a particularly harsh exhale at that, like the reassurance of another person standing by him is enough to punch the air from his lungs. Keigo can tell the other man’s about to start hyperventilating, still breathing too fast and too shallow, confused and scared, and the winged hero tries to prevent it as best he can, “Everything’s okay- try to relax, Hot Stuff, it’s safe now. You’re okay, I promise. It was all just a nightmare.”

To prove his point, Keigo runs this thumb across his cheek one last time, before sinking his hand into the arsonist’s messy hair, combing it soothingly and continuing to murmur soft words under his breath until he loses that wild, haunted look in his eyes. “It was just another nightmare,” Keigo repeats, whispering, feeling the temperature around them begin to drop as Dabi slowly starts to calm, his gaze gaining some clarity as he breaks his desperate stare with Keigo to glance around at his surroundings, gradually remembering who he’s with and where he is. Keigo offers him a smile when the arsonist’s eyes return to him again, much clearer than before, his body relaxing somewhat even if it hasn’t completely lost its tension. “That’s it, handsome. Come back to me- there you go,” He encourages him gently as the villain begins blinking rapidly and catching his breath, gathering his bearings slowly. Keigo runs a coaxing hand up and down the other man’s shoulder, glad when the arsonist focuses on him with total recognition.

“ Fuck ,” Is the first thing Dabi mutters shakily when he’s able to do so, chest still heaving as he properly catches his breath, his skin tacky with cold sweat. He’s pulled a couple staples in his cheek and droplets of blood are beginning to pearl around the metal, though it seems to be drying instantly due to the heat the arsonist’s body is still giving off and the lingering warmth of his staples themselves.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Keigo says softly, forgoing mentioning it for now in favour of cupping Dabi’s opposite cheek again and leaning in to kiss him on the forehead, now that the scarred man’s mostly grounded. Dabi lets out an unsteady exhale between them, his skin still unnaturally hot, but not in the way it was a few minutes ago, threatening to spiral into something worse.

“You shouldn’t keep doing this,” The arsonist breathes eventually, letting his eyes fall shut in lapsing relief as he sags tiredly against the winged man, Keigo more than happy to let him. His voice is a raspy croak, tight and overwhelmed, and Keigo continues playing with his hair, hoping he’ll eventually ease up enough to let himself rest properly, definitely still too wound up to even attempt going back to sleep, “Reaching out to wake me up like that. You’re going to end up branding yourself on my staples someday- or, fuck, I could burn you without even meaning to if I didn’t know it was you.”

He sounds absolutely miserable, and Keigo doesn’t miss a beat in carefully taking up Dabi’s right hand and pressing his lips to the inside of his wrist. Despite the arsonist’s concerns, this is one of the best ways Keigo’s found to wake him while in the throes of his nightmares, Dabi more prone to lashing out by simply coming to at the sound of raised voices or a hand shaking his shoulder. When he’s dreaming of his father like this, Keigo knows, it’s difficult to wake up and immediately stop seeing ghosts- and a hand gripped around a shoulder or a loud voice right by your ear when you’re that confused is absolutely more likely to be perceived as a threat.

But they’ve started getting a system worked out. Dabi will protest it almost every time, but it’s obvious that Keigo caressing his face is far less intimidating than anything else they’ve tried, and it’s a sure way for Dabi to be certain it’s not Endeavor he’s still facing when he finally wakes up.

“You’ve never done that,” Keigo reminds him, the arsonist pulling away with a far-away expression that has Keigo frowning and tipping the dark-haired man’s chin towards him when he notices Dabi is looking up at his wings silently, the look on his face quietly distressed. “Hey, listen to me,”  He presses, searching Dabi’s eyes intently, seeing the fracture lines there that have yet to be concealed or mended. “I can defend myself. Don’t think I would just sit there and let it go that far if it came down to that,” One of Dabi’s hands come up between them as the hero speaks, and it takes Keigo a second to realize the arsonist is fumbling for his necklace, his shaky fingers trying to find the cord around his neck. Keigo gently pulls it out from underneath the collar of his shirt for him and presses the feather into Dabi’s palm, his voice gentling as they lock eyes again, “But I don’t think you would ever lash out at me like that to begin with. God knows you’ve had better opportunities.”

The arsonist releases a heavy breath at that, closing his eyes and holding tightly to the feather now in his fist while Keigo brushes his hair back again, mindful to keep his touch soft. This is the most they’ve spoken since their conversation hours earlier, before the arsonist had shut down and they’d both gone quiet. It seems that this new episode has reset things for them, though, which Keigo doesn’t mind. The awkward, tense silence between them had been difficult to take, unnatural for them both when their home was usually so full of banter and small comments scattered here and there. Complete, dead silence isn’t a norm for them, and it’s been rubbing Keigo the wrong way for hours now, waiting for the glass wall between them to break.

When Dabi speaks again, it’s quieter, barely audible as his voice is nearly swallowed by the darkness all around.

“Accidents still happen, Pigeon.”

“Accidents can always happen,” The hero whispers, more aware of the fact than most, “That’s just one of the risks of being alive.” It registers, then, that they’re probably having this conversation for a few reasons, none of them being explicitly addressed, in typical, cryptic Dabi-style. Recalling their earlier discussion about Enji and dissecting what the arsonist’s saying to him now, Keigo gathers him closer, wrapping an arm around the scarred man’s back, “You’re not like him,” He murmurs softly. Dabi tenses under his hold, Keigo hushing him with a kiss on the fire-user’s temple, knowing he’s hit one of the other man’s points of worry right on the head, “Even if something were to happen, it wouldn’t be because you’re like him.”

“I have his anger,” Dabi counters, bitter, “And his fire. I’ve seen what those two can do when they’re combined.”

He absolutely has. He’ll be wearing scars as a testimony of it for the rest of his life.

Keigo wants to argue that Endeavor’s consistent rage and Dabi’s anger are two entirely different things, but he can’t find the words within him to properly describe the difference, and he’s not sure that a speech wouldn’t just fall on deaf ears anyway. “Just look at how I reacted earlier- fuck, even how I’m acting now, I can’t- it just never stops burning. This fire makes monsters of people,,” Dabi swallows in a way that looks almost painful, his eyes distant as he continues to ramble, “He made me just like him.”

“We’re not our parents,” Keigo reminds him instead of trying to argue, running his hand up and down the arsonist’s spine as he talks. When Dabi doesn’t answer, he continues, lips pursed, “I have my father’s penchant for lying and my mother’s weakness for anything self destructive, like a moth to a candle. We mirror them in ways we don’t want to, sometimes,” The blond blinks, thinking hard, “And it can be a damn hard fight to put their tendencies on a shelf and keep them from becoming our own. But,” Keigo sighs, his breath ruffling Dabi’s hair a bit as he exhales, musing out loud, “We’re not them. Even if we’re similar in ways we don’t want to be.”

Dabi doesn’t let go of the feather in his grip when he bunches his other hand in the fabric of Keigo’s shirt, close to his waist, holding fast and not looking him in the eyes. He’s not panicking anymore, but Keigo can feel the frustration and fear still burning in him, hotter than wildfire, the arsonist’s jaw set and his shoulders stiff. “If it’s any consolation,” Keigo murmurs, watching him, unobserved, “You’re just as much her son as you are his.”

That causes Dabi to look up at him sharply, Keigo giving a soft smile when the arsonist’s hard expression falters, the oldest Todoroki son morosely contemplative, though Keigo’s comment seems to be some kind of comfort.

“I wish I was more like her- cool and quiet,” Dabi admits quietly, closing his eyes and forcibly trying to steady his breathing, to force the rage in his chest to smother itself, “Mom always felt grounded, no matter what was happening-” He swallows hard, amending himself, “Well, until the incident with Shouto, I guess. She’d started spiralling bad a few months before that, but I remember her being so calm all the time, and it being a relief just to be near her after spending any time around our bastard of a father. We all went to her for comfort,” The arsonist winces sharply, reminiscing, his expression turning a little more wistful as he continues, voice dropping an octave. “She doesn’t feel as far away when it snows,” Dabi admits at length, almost distantly, sounding vulnerable and lost in thought as he rasps, “That’s the other reason I like winter. It’s not just because it makes things easier for my quirk.”

Keigo nods quietly, not sure why they’re talking about this, but not wanting to interject. Whatever the reason, it’s apparently something Dabi’s willing to open up about, and even if Keigo can’t quite make out all the connections, he knows this has something to do with their earlier chat. He tightens his grip around the scarred man protectively when Dabi gives a shuddering breath and tucks his face into Keigo’s collarbone, “If I’d tried harder to watch out for her instead of just the kids-” Dabi mutters lowly, his voice emotion-laden, “If she’d never had her breakdown and been sent away, things-” He breaks off on a curse and Keigo frowns as he realizes where this is going, planting a sympathetic kiss in his hair, already gearing up to talk him down. “Fuck, things could’ve been so different. We wouldn’t be dealing with this shit. She would’ve still been here, she would’ve taken care of everything with Dad-”

“You were still a child,” The winged man murmurs in response, patiently, “Younger than Shouto is now. I know it’s hard to put away the ‘what if’s’, but it wasn’t your responsibility to handle all of that.”

“Nobody else could’ve done it.” Dabi says in frustration, though he quiets when Keigo brings a wing up over him, soothingly.

“Nobody should’ve had to.”

The arsonist looks up at him painfully, shards of broken glass behind those pretty blue eyes that cut so easily when the veil over them is lifted. Keigo can feel each fragment pierce his heart in a different place, twisting upon entry and leaving splinters in their wake. 

A gaze that devastated can’t be anything but destructive in its power, but Keigo wasn’t lying when he said his mother inhaled self-destruction like air and he has her breath in his lungs. However, he doesn’t have her knack for seeking out self-indulgence in it, and there’s no satisfaction in the hurt he’s feeling secondhand. No, if anything the weight just isn’t uncomfortable, isn’t intolerable enough to warrant stepping aside and switching topics or trying to find a means to escape.

It’s familiar in a way that doesn’t feel like a threat, and it’s that very notion that has him wanting to stay and help more than wanting to turn and run, same as ever. ‘ Your darkness doesn’t scare me,’ Keigo thinks quietly, his stare unwavering from the fire-user’s own, even though it hurts, and especially because he’s certain Dabi’s waiting for him to look away, ‘And neither does anything else you’re offering. I know what I’m getting into, I’m not afraid to help you shoulder it.’ 

It’s what he wants to say, but then something shutters like a lens in Dabi’s gaze, having crossed some kind of invisible, vulnerable line, and Keigo simply speaks before the arsonist has the opportunity to throw his guards up completely all over again.

“I’ve got you,” He says instead, resolute and serious, and noticing Dabi pause at the sudden shift in his tone, “And I’m not someone you have to put things away for. If you can’t be strong right now, don’t be.”

Dabi’s eyes widen fractionally at that, his eyebrows drawn and pinched in a way that starts as stubborn and gradually becomes increasingly fractured, until it looks like he’s fighting the urge to cry even if he can’t, layers falling away faster than he can cling to them. Keigo gives him a small nod of encouragement as Dabi’s breaths turn shallow and uneven again, clearly against his will if his trembling reaction and slightly panicked glances have anything to say about it, the winged man running a gentle hand through his hair again and keeping up the soothing gesture as the arsonist wars with himself, fighting a losing battle that’s been pent up and raging behind closed doors for far too long. “You can let go,” Keigo says softly, Dabi crushing his eyes shut and tensing his shoulders up high, his actions jagged and rough until Keigo slides his hand from the scarred man’s hair to his cheek, Dabi falling still against his touch even as he continues to shiver as though cold, “You’re so strong, it amazes me,” The hero murmurs honestly, observing his lover’s face in the thin light and running his knuckles repeatedly along his skin. Dabi’s exhale rattles against his wrist, “You suffer things so quietly. That’s always baffled me, even back when we first met. I just assumed you were untouchable. It was like nothing could get to you.”

A muscle tics in Dabi’s jaw and Keigo smooths it out with his thumb, gently, “But that’s not the case. And there’s been so much happening lately, and- sweetheart, I know you’re struggling,” Keigo presses his forehead to the arsonist’s, taking a long breath, and feeling Dabi’s hand tighten in his shirt, “I know you hate to show it. But love, you can’t take much more of this.”

It’s this statement that finally has Dabi opening his eyes again, his expression raw and gutted, a million emotions at once as Keigo holds him steady.

“It feels like I’m falling apart,” The arsonist manages shakily, his voice a strained mix of scared and angry, weary and defeated, tense and frayed.

Keigo kisses him, just a short, soft thing that leaves his breath warming the other’s lips as he barely draws away, that typically fierce light in Dabi’s eyes burned down once more to embers and smoke.

“Fall apart, then,” Keigo murmurs steadily, fierce enough for the both of them, “Fall to pieces if you have to. I won’t let you break.”

And that’s the last straw.

As it turns out, Dabi comes apart slowly in the same way he does most other things: fighting as long as he possibly can while the fractures in his foundations become too deep and the pain becomes too much, until, suddenly, he’s giving a small, fragile gasp and the dam simply shatters.

Keigo busies himself with whispering sweet nothings and soft reassurances, keeping Dabi gathered close even as the scarred man begins to sob dryly, violently trembling and immediately trying to push the hero away from him in horror. It’s some kind of instinct, a desperate need to run, but Keigo doesn’t relent, despite the man anxiously fighting to get out of his arms.

“ No - fuck, I can’t- Kei- ” He manages between ragged, sharp breaths, struggling to rein himself in and losing by the second. It’s causing him to panic, Dabi trying to bolt from both his emotions and the man holding him, unwilling to lose face in front of him like this as though he can’t stomach being seen right now. The hero simply hushes him once again, aiming to prevent the other from shutting down a second time.

“Don’t,” Keigo murmurs, feeling the arsonist wrench against the winged man’s hold on him. “Shhh… Hey- hey. Sweetheart, breathe.” He drags a hand through the villain’s hair soothingly and risks pressing closer. Dabi stiffens sharply at the contact, freezing for a few moments before giving way and going limp, breath rattling as he crumbles and tightens his arm around Keigo’s waist, face tucked into the curve of his shoulder, “It’s alright.”

“I’ll get blood on your shirt,” Dabi protests, even though his voice sounds thin and he’s not trying to pull away from Keigo anymore. There’s blood pooling around his scars already, one drop slowly rolling down his cheek as his body tries to cry and consequently ends up tugging at his staples in the process. Keigo leans back just enough to snag a few tissues from the box on his nightstand, pressing them carefully along the scars under the arsonist’s right eye.

“I don’t like this shirt anyway.” The winged man promises, very gently brushing a kiss above his eyebrow. Dabi gives another hard, shuddering sigh that might be akin to crumbling relief, exhaling between gritted teeth and clenching his eyes shut as his shoulders continue to tremble. Very briefly, Keigo has a memory of the last time he saw the typically guarded man even remotely close to being in this kind of condition- Dabi’s feverish eyes the most afraid he’d ever seen them, the scarred man calling out for his mother and begging Keigo to leave before his father could find them together, scared for the people he didn’t think he could get to in time, and devastatingly appreciative when Keigo had simply sat there to hold him in the midst of it all.

This time isn’t much different, in many ways- though Dabi isn’t fever-delirious, and, as Keigo uses a few feathers to tug the comforter back up over them both, lying between warm blankets is much more comfortable than the cold press of the bathroom tile against Keigo’s knees. The hero wordlessly switches out the tissues against Dabi’s cheek, unfazed as the arsonist’s arm around his waist settles across his back instead, nestled between his wings. Fingers splay and press into his spine, silently looking for permission to stay there, to not be tugged away. It’s like Dabi’s afraid of accidentally letting go, like if he doesn’t have a hold on as much of him as he can, Keigo will simply slip between his fingers or pull just out of his reach. The blond’s heart twists at the quietly desperate gesture, resting his cheek in Dabi’s hair, his feathers rustling against the sheets as he adjusts the wing he has over the other man’s lanky frame, settling it more comfortably around them both. “Shhh…”

He’s not sure how long they lie there for, but by the time Dabi’s breathing begins to calm, the arsonist exhausted and emotionally burnt-out, Keigo’s beginning to drift on the edge of sleep, barely managing to keep his eyes open. He’s been running his hand rhythmically through Dabi’s hair for the last fifteen minutes or so, the arsonist’s staples having stopped bleeding a while before then, and now there’s just silence between them, Dabi’s head still pressed in against Keigo’s shoulder, Keigo’s legs tangled with his. Neither one of them makes any attempt to move or speak, just maintaining the soothing quiet of the night and the very fragile security they’ve managed to build in the middle of it, tentative and impermanent, but still standing for now at the very least. Distantly, Keigo can hear the late-night traffic stirring far below, a gentle purr of background noise from this high up that cleverly screens everything else, like the rest of the world has been partially muted for a gentle reminder that life is still moving on around them. 

“How are we doing, baby?” Keigo asks quietly, nuzzling into the arsonist’s hair and leaving a scattering of tempered kisses there. Dabi sags under his attention, not answering immediately as he simply turns his head in closer against Keigo’s chest and settles once again, more quiet than usual. A moment later, though, Keigo finds himself surrounded with soft warmth as the arsonist activates his quirk silently, the combination of the pleasant heat, the welcoming comfort of their bed, and his lover being close enough to hold causing the winged man to nearly fall asleep then and there. It’s with great effort to keep his eyes open and a small hum to wake himself up that Keigo rests against his pillow, awake but only barely, and yet still conscious enough for Dabi to finally say something.

“You should go back to sleep, Feathers,” The fire-user’s voice is cracked gravel and rust, as though he hasn’t spoken in a lifetime as opposed to an hour, “You’ve got patrol in the morning.”

It’s an obvious move to drop the question and put an end to all of this, but Keigo’s not going to let him shrug it off that easily.

“Not until later,” Keigo answers, correcting him, though not in any mind to care. He gently redirects his next statement back to the situation at hand, tentative but certain. “And I can stay up until you’re alright. A bad night of sleep isn’t going to kill me, considering my track record.”

He means it as a joke, something to lighten things up a little, but Dabi begins pulling away regardless when he mentions staying up for him, the fire user finally working his way out of Keigo’s grasp in the way he meant to over an hour ago.

“Don’t bother. I’m gonna go take a shower,” He mutters quietly, after raising a hand to his cheek, and then eyeing the dried bloodstains on Keigo’s shirt, his gaze darkening instantly. He won’t meet the hero’s eyes as he kicks free of the sheets, making another comment about Keigo’s shirt that’s spoken too low and rushed for him to catch. Keigo, saddened, watches him disappear like a wraith, the arsonist quickly fading into a dark smudge as he stumbles his way out of the bedroom and into the unlit hallway, not looking back. It’s only when the arsonist catches his hand on the bathroom lightswitch that Keigo gets just one more clear glimpse of him, his pale face illuminated for a single, stark moment. Dabi’s eyes are still haunted. Keigo’s tempted to draw him back and ask him to stay, to curl him back up in his wings and try to hide him from whatever repeated hurt keeps being inflicted on the scarred man, even if his father’s fists are no more tangible than memory. 

However, he stays silent instead, the bathroom door closing in a hurry and immediately cutting off the sliver of light in the hallway that had been present. Dabi needs his space- that has nothing to do with Keigo and everything to do with how the arsonist manages things, a trait Keigo’s more than familiar with recognizing and is gradually learning to understand. Dabi’s not one to run from a fight, but he’s the first to fly whenever he’s put in any kind of situation that could render him emotional, and he needs time alone to process and decompress in the same way Keigo needs reassurance.

Then again, the winged man considers as he gets out of bed himself, disassembling his wings to pull his shirt up over his head, he’s beginning to suspect that this flighty tendency isn't by choice. Keigo keeps replaying the feeling of Dabi holding him so tightly as though afraid he’d just walk away at any point as he makes his way to the kitchen, tossing his shirt in the sink and turning the tap. He’s watching but not really observing as the water goes down the drain in a torrent, head a million miles away.

‘ I don’t know how to help him.’

That’s the honest truth, the one that pangs hard in the hero’s chest and leaves him gripping the edge of the countertop as he hears the shower come on, just more running water in a different room, like the same scene he’s got going in front of himself. The water’s going down pink and red, and Keigo has to suck in a breath, closing his eyes and bowing his head over the sink.

He doesn’t know how to make this any easier, especially while knowing that undoubtedly, in the grand scheme of things, whatever he does to help Shouto will probably actually make things worse for Dabi in ways he hadn’t previously considered. Rehashing all of this now, dredging up old memories and wounds that never got the chance to heal- it’s all so sudden and Keigo knows how relentlessly they’re going to have to pursue this case if they’re going to put up a legitimate fight in front of Enji Todoroki in a court of law. While it’s all to save Shouto, and while there’s no question that something has to be done, it’s going to have the opposite for the young man currently isolated in Keigo’s bathroom, hiding from eyes that have seen him too vulnerable and running from breaking down any further. He doesn’t have the support network Shouto has, and there’s not going to be any justice for him in this. Not really, anyway. 

Dabi had been doing better. That much has Keigo biting his lip as he tries to figure out how to handle things from here on out, after seeing how quickly that tentative, fragile healing in him had been rocked by this mess. Progress isn’t linear- Keigo knows that, of course he does- and a setback for the other man isn’t exactly surprising, given the circumstances. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though, seeing him like this and knowing that even trying to give him a shoulder to cry on is too much for Dabi to take without shutting down all over again.

‘ He can’t do this alone, but he doesn’t know how to do this with someone helping him, either.’  Keigo sighs bitterly, though his frustration isn’t with Dabi so much as for him. It takes a while for the hero to realize that the water’s still running and that the stain on his shirt isn’t really coming out anymore. Keigo halfheartedly scrubs it with some dish soap for a while before giving up and deeming the old shirt not worth the effort, tossing it in the garbage bin and washing his hands abruptly, then twisting the knob on the tap once again, elbows resting against the counter.

The silence is deafening. He’s standing shirtless in his top-story apartment in the dead of winter, it’s probably almost three in the morning, and he’s fucking cold. He’d almost forgotten how poorly the heat really circulates up here, how easily these walls of windows that he loves for sunrises and sunsets leave the place feeling frigid when the temperature drops. 

Well, with Dabi around, he’s had the liberty of forgetting.

The hero closes his eyes and pushes himself up from the sink, walking back to the bedroom and climbing back into bed, not even bothering to pull on another shirt. The sheets are still warm, especially closer to where Dabi had been laying, and Keigo takes full advantage of that fact, sprawling out and waiting silently for the arsonist to be done in the shower, too restless to go back to sleep so easily now.

They’ve never dealt with things this way before. Typically, when the nightmares had come up in the past, Keigo would find the arsonist outside on the balcony, taking a drag of a cigarette and running his hands through his hair while the night air and smoke in his lungs worked hand-in-hand to soothe the demons in his head. Every time, it had been with willing relief that he’d let Keigo shepherd him back inside, the two of them sharing space and blankets, but rarely ever words when it came down to it. But that’s not how things are now- back then, the nightmares had been regular and recurring, sure, though always with the understanding that in waking hours, Enji Todoroki wasn’t remotely close at hand, not even as a topic of discussion. He’d been distant, removed, mostly, from Dabi’s life as merely a figure of the past whenever he chose to view him as such. But with this trial coming up, and with the knowledge that endeavor knows who Dabi is-

Now, his shadows are everywhere, day in and day out.

And the nightmares are back. And hell, Dabi’s even quit smoking. It’s all different.

Keigo’s eyes fall shut again wearily, his fingers twisting in his pillowcase for a bit of grounding support, just taking a second to breathe. All things considered, they’ve made it through worse. They’ll make it through this too, one way or another, even if the road’s a little rocky. 

Down the hall, Keigo hears the shower turn off sharply, the sound of running water cutting out as he’s drifting off again and beginning to doze. He only realizes the arsonist has returned again when he hears him come back into their room fifteen or twenty minutes later, trying to be quiet as he walks around the bed to grab his pillow.

“What’re you doing?” Keigo asks hazily, starling the fire-user whose motions jerk nervously when Keigo speaks and blinks his eyes open, the scarred man apparently not expecting him to be awake. Dabi frowns and looks away, gathering his pillow properly without really letting Keigo see his face.

“Sleeping on the couch tonight,” He says irritably. Keigo’s wings twitch in surprise as the hero sits up properly, mouth twisting into a frown. “You’ve got shit to do tomorrow, I’m not keeping you up with nightmares if they keep happening.”

Keigo’s heart aches a little at that, watching after him imploringly and a bit dumbfounded as the villain turns to leave, newly aware of just how raw this whole situation must be for him. It has to hurt; Dabi’s gone a full month- almost two- without dreaming of his father once, and to have that habit come up again now of all times with everything else going on has to be like rubbing salt in an open cut.

Without even thinking of it, Keigo sends a feather to hook on the arsonist’s necklace as he goes to walk out, gently stopping him in his tracks as he tugs it lightly. Dabi doesn’t even glance  at him- simply stops in his tracks and tilts his head slightly, stiff. “You need something, Pigeon?”

Keigo gives another light tug on his necklace, undeterred.

“Come back to bed,” He says quietly, coaxing, “Please. I’m seriously not worried about it.”

“Feathers-”

“If you have another nightmare, then we’ll deal with that one too,” The winged man interjects persistently, his gut instinct telling him rather strongly that letting Dabi walk out the door right now would be a bad move. “Just like we’ll deal with any that come after that.”

Dabi looks hesitantly over his shoulder, reluctant as hell but obviously cracking, brows furrowed and his eyes still just a little too sharp. He shouldn’t be alone right now, but that prideful streak in him is a mile long and the arsonist’s never learned the language of asking for help when he needs it. That doesn’t mean Keigo can’t offer, though. “Dabs, it’s alright,” the hero murmurs, drawing back the blankets on the fire user’s side of the bed, offering him another smile, this one a bit teasing just to lighten the mood a little, “Besides, I’d  sleep better with you waking me up every hour than I would sleeping without you at all.” His smile falters a bit, giving Dabi’s necklace one last small, hopeful tug before the blond calls his feather back to him silently, letting the scarred man make his own choices. 

Dabi lingers another moment before huffing quietly, turning his gaze to the floor, more defeated than anything. He makes his way back to Keigo’s side with a slow kind of crumbling reluctance, like he can’t help being drawn in under the hero’s wing once more as Keigo raises it expectantly, shutting off the lamp and keeping an arm outstretched to pull him in.

“If I wake you up again, I’m leaving.” Dabi mutters hollowly, tossing his pillow back on the bed and sighing heavily as he lies down again. He can hide his face as he settles with his back to the hero, still trying desperately to keep himself together, but he can’t hide the way he sinks wearily into his side of the mattress, his resolve splintering by the second.

“Sure you are,” Keigo murmurs, smiling an unseen, sad smile, and shuffling until the arsonist’s back is pressed up against his chest. He works his arms firmly around Dabi’s waist and folds a wing over him again, making it obvious the villain’s not going anywhere, nightmares or no nightmares. Dabi begrudgingly lets him, not saying a word about it, but very quietly leaning back into him a moment later, silently relying on Keigo’s steadfastness to support his own. Smile only softening at that, Keigo brushes a kiss to the back of the arsonist’s neck, regardless of the fact that he probably won’t feel it. “So stubborn,” The winged man mumbles fondly, nuzzling into the other’s dark hair, feeling him stiffen for a half-second at the gesture and then melt entirely almost immediately after. Dabi shifts slightly in his arms, releasing a breath that sounds steadier than before, his body gradually relaxing against Keigo’s own.  “How do you want me to help you?”

Keigo had half expected the question to be swallowed up by the darkness, but it resonates clearly between them, soft and unintrusive, open even as Dabi takes his time answering. After nearly half a minute of silence from the arsonist, fingers run through Keigo’s feathers slowly. They’re not shaky like before, and the hero keeps track of that as they gravitate to sliding down the arm Keigo has over Dabi’s waist, the arsonist not even hesitating as he lays his own arm overtop and threads their fingers together.

“Trust me,” Dabi’s voice is a husky, tired murmur, less rough around the edges with quiet appreciation, “You already are.”

Keigo nuzzles the arsonist’s hair again before ducking his head and pressing a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, tangling his ankles and shins with the Dabi’s own. They’re a jumbled mess of limbs and feathers, tangled fingers and synchronous breaths, skin and cotton and scars. The sheets have gone cold again under the press of the night air, and from the window, open just an inch, traffic’s still alive far below. Life’s going on around them and Keigo, Hawks, the man known for going too fast, doesn’t blink at the idea it might be passing them by, leaving them both behind. 

He’s not in any hurry to catch up.

“Mmmm… And I’m not going anywhere,” Keigo murmurs drowsily, hooking his chin over Dabi’s shoulder and pressing closer when the arsonist releases his hand briefly to reach behind himself, fingers snaring through Keigo’s hair. A moment later, the fire-user’s tipping his head up to look over his shoulder, meeting Keigo’s eye for just a half second before pulling the blond in to fill the bare millimeters of space between them. The kiss is one of the softest that Dabi’s ever offered him, light as breath even if its weight is unimaginable, and Keigo’s careful to keep it that way. Dabi’s rare streaks of vulnerability are all too often disguised in non-verbal ways, and Keigo will be damned before he shrugs one off so easily. He kisses him again for good measure after Dabi’s pulled away for air, just as gentle as before, this time pressing circles into the arsonist’s chest with his thumb where his hand rests, just below the scarred man’s sternum. It’s the same move Dabi always makes, probably without realizing it, when trying to soothe the hero: pressing calm circles into his hip, against his ribs, sometimes his cheek- and hell, if Keigo’s still not sure how, exactly, to comfort him through this, he might as well start in a language the other man can read. Dabi sighs against his lips, a bit more of that tension in him easing up, Keigo continuing the gesture even after the second kiss breaks and they’re left in soft silence and quiet understanding, still hesitant to move apart. Keigo makes up his mind for both of them and presses his temple to the arsonist’s own, able to feel Dabi sag a little with relief that he’s not pulling away. ‘There we go, sweetheart; it’s alright. If you can’t tell me which way to go, I’ll just match you step for step.’

Keigo uses a few feathers to pull the blankets up over them both better, and to also brush some of Dabi’s hair out of his eyes, watching the arsonist’s eyelids fall shut at the sensation of Keigo’s feathers coming to rest against the healthy skin of his cheeks. He’s so tired, Keigo can tell, beyond being physically drained, and the winged man kisses his cheek softly before gently coaxing him to lie down properly again, Dabi reluctant but eventually giving in. His arm falls over Keigo’s once more, a quiet request not to let go that the hero’s more than happy to oblige, even on the verge of sleep as he, himself, begins tumbling closer to unconsciousness by the second, knowing Dabi’s not far off either.

“I’m so sick,” The arsonist confides at length, in a near-drunken, honest slur that only sheer exhaustion can provide, “ Of seeing him everywhere, even in places and things that I know have nothing to do with him. I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder, just waiting on edge for the day it’s actually him standing behind me.” He goes quiet for a second before adding in a smaller, wearier tone, “Do you really think you can all win this trial?”

It’s not an accusatory statement, just one that sounds wary of being any kind of hopeful. Keigo mulls over his response before answering, torn between being encouraging and being honest.

“I think we have to try,” He says eventually, resolute, “For Shouto’s sake, at the very least. We owe it to him to try to get him out of there. But,” Keigo sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of Dabi’s own, “It’s more than that; it’s time to put an end to all of this. He needs to face what he’s done, and this… Fuck, I don’t know if we’ll win but I’d rather lose than see him go down as some kind of martyr. This isn’t my fight to call the shots on and that’s not my decision to make, but win or lose, society will know who he is. He can’t run from that, even if he escapes a sentence.”

Dabi gives a small, sharp nod at that, but doesn’t say a word more about it, the arsonist merely taking in a long breath and murmuring, “We should sleep.”

“Are you alright?” Keigo asks quietly, already knowing the answer. Dabi shifts slightly before settling again, his silence troubling but not unexpected.

“I will be.” It takes a second for Keigo to register the very subtle squeeze the arsonist gives his hand, “I just need to finish feeling it.”

“Stopping yourself from feeling it won’t work forever,” Keigo murmurs honestly, “It’ll still come back, love.” Dabi goes silent at that, his grip on Keigo’s hand tightening once more, enough to be noticable. The hero amends himself at the gesture, not wanting to risk stressing Dabi out again. “But that can wait for another day. For tonight, let’s just take it easy and try to get some rest.”

“This has been a fucking terrible week.”

“I don’t think it’s going to get any better, babe.” Keigo grins, smiling apologetically at the wry, flat tone of Dabi’s voice, the arsonist clearly fed up but no longer simmering. Dabi makes some kind of grumbling comment about the pet name that Keigo doesn’t catch, the winged man’s eyes falling shut a final time, lulled by the rising and falling of Dabi’s lanky frame as he breathes, gradually starting to slow as the arsonist stumbles into the embrace of sleep as well.

Chapter Text

The apartment is quiet as Keigo goes about his routine the next morning.

It’s the first time in a while that Dabi’s slept in later than him. Lately, the fire-user’s gotten in the habit of emerging from their shared room shortly after Keigo wakes up, apparently no longer used to sleeping on his own. Keigo’s no better, really, and typically he’d find the change in habit to be kind of endearing- but today he’d gone to lengths to avoid waking the arsonist as he carefully disentangled himself from the scarred man and the blankets around them both, leaving Dabi to rest. Heaven knows he needs it.

‘ At least he slept through the rest of the night ,’ Keigo thinks to himself quietly as he goes about preparing coffee, using his feathers to accomplish most of the tasks involved so he can avoid making noise by walking all over the apartment, ‘I don’t know what kind of shape he’d have been in if he’d had another nightmare.’

It wouldn’t have been good, that much is certain. The very notion had kept Keigo paranoid last night, even while unconscious- with his wing over Dabi, he’d been aware of every twitch and movement the other man made in his sleep, keeping tabs in case he needed to wake Dabi up before another nightmare could properly develop. It made for a short, fitful night of sleep for the hero, who was now dumping coffee grounds into the coffee machine with a heavy hand, trying to remember which thermos in the cupboard was largest. His diligence had at least given him peace of mind through the night, despite leaving him tired. Dabi hadn’t had any more nightmares and, through some cause of small mercy, he hadn’t woken up during the night at all, either. That much had been a relief to Keigo, who’d been somewhat forced to accept that a reprieve from everything is one of the best things he can really offer the other man right now, even if said reprieve only amounts to a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

It doesn’t feel like enough. Hell, it probably isn’t enough, not really. Not enough to make a difference for Dabi, who he knows is going to struggle with this trial if they actually go through with it. That particular choice is Shouto’s, but Keigo knows the whole ordeal won’t end with him, even if the trial doesn’t happen. There’s still the Commission’s goals to worry about, and the promise of eventual conflict with Endeavor that goes unsaid but not unnoticed. This is all going to come to a head at some point, one way or another, and Keigo would much sooner take the clean, legal option for handling it than any different route.

But that doesn’t help Dabi. It’s an understood notion that bothers him to the point of annoyance and frustration, Keigo quietly biting the inside of his cheek as he presses the start button on the coffee maker and steps back to lean against the kitchen island behind him. For all the healing this might do Shouto, it’ll pose the opposite reaction in the arsonist. He knew that much last night, but in the light of day it feels all the more glaring.

There has to be a way to help him through this, to still get him some kind of closure. That’s probably what Dabi’s looking for, even in his desire for revenge against the flame hero. A solid clasp to put on the end of a heartbreaking era, something resolute to bring everything to a sure finish. To be acknowledged, and make Enji atone for the atrocities he got away with so many years ago. It’s no wonder that letting someone else take the reins and stripping him of that opportunity for justice entirely is striking the villain so deeply.

After all, Touya Todoroki’s been forgotten before, and Keigo’s not all that sure that he’ll be remembered when all of this is said and done. His death had been swept under the rug like he never existed; without the chance to face the older man himself, Keigo wonders if that scared child who founded Dabi’s roots is starting to feel like a legitimate ghost for the first time, translucent and inconsequential.

Keigo’s a hero. He deals with situations like this on a daily basis- and yet, his hands don’t even feel tied so much as manacled, totally useless for reaching to do anything and always finding their limits at the end of a chain no matter which way he turns. 

‘ There’s got to be a better way to help him with all of this ,’ Keigo fusses again, flexing his wings in thought and glaring daggers at the coffee pot. It’s a wonder that the glass doesn’t shatter under the weight of his gaze, the blond eventually rolling his neck to stare skyward instead, counting the ridges in the raised popcorn ceiling. ‘ I’ve fixed worse problems, it shouldn’t be this hard. You were raised to manage this shit, come on.’

He wants to help him. No, actually, that’s an understatement; he’s never wanted to help anyone more, because this isn’t just some random person in need of saving- this is Dabi . And if Keigo’s always been willing to put his life on the line to bring strangers peace of mind, there’s no limit to what he’d give to ease the man he loves through these hardships with as little damage as possible. Hell, if Dabi asked for it, Keigo would fly to the stars and pluck them all from the sky one by one until the night was wholly dark and the arsonist’s world was nothing but precious light. 

‘I would give him anything,’ The hero rubs at his eyes wearily, giving a heavy sigh before reaching to run a hand through his hair, ‘ Absolutely anything. So why does it now feel like I can barely give him the bare minimum this time around?’

He isn’t met with an answer, unsurprisingly.

Groaning, Keigo pulls himself upright, reaching to pour himself a cup of coffee. The steam is warm against his face, the porcelain of the mug already heating up against his palms. Soon, it’ll be too hot to hold without using the handle, but he enjoys the warmth for now, cradling the mug loosely in his hands while sending a feather for creamer. 

“The days are getting shorter,” He notes out loud to the silence of the apartment as he stares out towards the living room windows, needing a change of thought. Winter’s been slowly settling in over the last few weeks, but he’s definitely been noticing it lately as the temperature’s started to drop and the weather’s lost its steady autumn chill, becoming increasingly more volatile. His flight home last night had proven that much, and there’s a healthy layer of snow out on the balcony from where the sky had continued to dump through the night, no trace of Keigo’s footprints remaining on the railing or floorboards from when he’d returned.

Today, however, is the first day he’s noticed that the hour is darker than it would usually be. It’s past sunrise by this point, but there’s still an underdeveloped colour to the clouded sky, shrouded to begin with by thick snow clouds that have him grimacing at the thought of more snow while out patrolling. They’re well and truly into winter now, though, and the late sunrises are starting to show more and more by the day. He can’t remember when the last time he got up early to watch one was. It’s a realization that stings perhaps more than it should, but it’s laced in the understanding that it’s a fundamental piece of himself that he’s lost as of late, a missing portion to his full puzzle of warped pieces and recently filled gaps that he’s been trying to web together.

‘One of these days, I’ll get up early,’ He promises himself quietly, taking a sip of coffee and walking out into the living room to better study the grey sky, amber eyes scanning the darkened horizon, ‘ Just to catch another one. It’s been too long.’

He will. Someday, when sleep comes more readily and doesn’t seem like such a rationed resource to be giving away so freely. Time too, for that matter. God knows he could do with more of both these days.

For now, he needs more coffee.

Keigo goes about the rest of his morning routine slowly, procrastinating heading out into the cold and nursing mugs of coffee between tasks. By the point he thinks to brush his teeth to avoid himself immediately going to pour another cup, it makes no difference- he’s already emptied the pot and has to brew a whole new one to fill his thermos for the day. It’s a miracle he’s not shaking with the amount of caffeine in his system that he’s harbouring right now, but at the very least he feels alert and much more awake than he had been an hour earlier. 

He’s going to need that energy. Shouto’s seeing him for internship work today, and Keigo knows it’s going to be a rollercoaster of an afternoon. If Aizawa’s broken the news to him about the case against his father, that means Keigo’s going to be dealing with the aftermath, like a solitary lifeboat in the hurricane of Shouto’s world.

“We should’ve just given the kid a day off,” Keigo mutters to himself, somewhat pissed off that it hadn’t occurred to him earlier. That said, maybe Shouto will do better out of dorms, where he’d likely be sitting by himself with the rest of his friends out on their internships as well. Time with the older hero might do him some good today. 

On the same note, though, he’s not going to be in any kind of headspace to be keeping an eye out for danger, that’s for sure. Keigo studies his reflection in the mirror, the bags under his eyes more prominent than usual, his hair a little too messy. He looks frazzled- with good reason- and all it takes is a late confirmation note from Shouto about their meet-up spot for the day for Keigo to shake his head, changing things up on the fly. He shoots a message to the agent in charge of scheduling his patrol routes and an email to Aizawa, outlining a short-notice change of plans for his and Shouto’s patrol destination. “To hell with it- we’re taking it easy today,” The winged hero sighs, eyeing his reflection once more before turning away, “I’m not taking him out crime-fighting after getting a bomb dropped on him.”

That decided, Keigo tries to wake himself up a little more by splashing some cold water on his face, procrastinating just a few more seconds before reaching for the hand towel and turning off the bathroom lights. He’s about to make his way down the hall to grab his jacket and head out, when he happens to glance over to the partially-opened door of his and Dabi’s shared room, and hesitates.

‘It feels wrong to leave him without saying something,’ Keigo thinks silently, biting his lip and mulling it over. He’s gotten used to saying goodbye to the other man every morning, and to just leave him without a word after such an intense night doesn’t sit well. Still, he doesn’t want to wake him, but he struggles at the thought of just walking out on him either.

Through the partially open door, he catches a glimpse of Dabi’s scarred back and a shock of dark hair against a background of white, noticing the other man shifting around though he doesn’t show any signs of having woken up.

Keigo settles for at least moving to hover in the bedroom doorway like an uncertain watchman, slowly running his hand up and down the painted wood frame as he quietly checks in on his lover. Just as he thought, Dabi’s still sleeping soundly, lying on his stomach with his face turned towards the window. There’s no sunlight to paint his skin this morning in the way Keigo’s admired in the past, though today, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it even if there had  been. All he’s paying attention to is the way Dabi’s chest still rises and falls in a slow and even way, calm and unhurried, though the arsonist’s  fingers are tangled fiercely in his pillowcase, a grappling hook searching for something steady to hold on to. It’s like he’s still looking for security even now, even subconsciously. Keigo frowns softly at the sight, troubled, tilting his head a little until it rests against the doorframe as well. 

The white sheets that he’d taken care to pull up around the arsonist’s shoulders when he’d first maneuvered his way out of bed have since fallen away as though in reckless abandon, pooling low across Dabi’s hips and back. For some reason, that’s the final straw that has the winged man shaking his head slowly with a low sigh as he leans against the open door and then eventually pushes it open the rest of the way, stepping into the room and quietly making his way to Dabi’s side. 

The arsonist’s expression is relaxed but not entirely peaceful. There’s still a bit of tension lingering on his face, not falling away as he sleeps, and Keigo takes it all in silently as he gently sits down on the bed next to him. It proves how tired he is, that the fire-user doesn’t wake at the feeling of the mattress dipping under Keigo’s weight, the hero reaching to carefully readjust the blankets over the other man once again, smoothing them out with a light hand. He runs his thumb along Dabi’s shoulder softly in a few repetitive strokes before brushing some of his hair out of his face, letting his fingers linger in coarse, dark-dyed strands that are such a sharp contrast to his own warm-toned skin. Dabi stirs a little at his touch but doesn’t wake, his eyebrows drawing in for a moment before gradually relaxing as the arsonist sinks back into the throes of sleep, not fighting his own fatigue. Keigo waits for him to settle again before very softly leaning in and kissing the fire-user’s forehead, slowly stroking his hair back once again before going to pull away.

“Nnmmm… I was enjoying that.” Dabi grumbles in a low rasp, taking Keigo by surprise. The arsonist sleepily opens one eye in a bleary, groggy way, managing a slow blink before looking up at him through heavy eyelids. He might be awake, but it’s only barely, Keigo decides, offering the fire-user a fond smile as Dabi’s left hand disentangles itself from his pillow to rest over one of the hero’s legs, just above his knee. His touch is sleep-warm but not feverish, fumbling and heavy, like his limbs aren’t light enough to move just yet. Blue eyes begin falling shut again already as Dabi, too tired to keep them open, releases a long sigh and leans further into his pillow as Keigo’s fingers fall into his hair once more, running through it coaxingly.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Keigo murmurs, grin only growing wider when he catches Dabi struggling to stay awake, the other man relaxing to the point of nearly dozing, before coming to with a small start again, blinking rapidly through half-lidded eyes. “You don’t have to be up yet.”

“You’re going to work?” Dabi asks instead, words slurring and bumping together like he’s drunk. Keigo answers with a quiet affirmative, mentioning that he’ll be on patrol, and to not expect him home until sometime that night.

“Shouto and I are patrolling this morning, and then I’ve got some stuff to take care of at the office- I have to write up another report on the League for the Commission,” He reminds the arsonist, running his knuckles down his cheek. Dabi reciprocates by nodding wearily and squeezing his leg slightly, working his head into a more comfortable position to look up at the hero before answering.

“Don’t worry about the League report,” Dabi counters lowly, voice gritty and slow and thick like dark molasses, an early-morning huskiness that Keigo’s more than used to by now, “I’ll take care of it, if you can look it over. We’ve still got all the older report drafts, so I can cross-reference them to write this one. Have you still got those notes and intel numbers lying around that you wanted to send Dusty’s way?”

“ Fuck- yeah, they’re here, I just forgot to send them off with Twice-”

“I’ll handle that too,” Dabi mumbles, breaking off on a yawn. His thumb runs a stripe across the ridge of Keigo’s knee as he does so, somewhat clumsily, “You’ve got enough shit on your plate as it is.”

“Thanks,” Damn, that’s such a relief. A small sense of ease works its way into Keigo’s chest at the thought of having two more items on his daily itinerary crossed off- he’ll still be busy, not that that’s anything new, but it really helps, “That would make today a lot easier, actually.”

“Hmmm,” The arsonist hums sleepily, an almost-amused sound of agreement as he shoots Keigo a smirk, closing his eyes again, “Not a big deal, Pigeon. You worry about taking care of Shouto right now, and I’ll deal with taking care of you.”

He says it in a wryly, a warm joke that’s still fringed around the edges with exhaustion and clearly not meant to be taken in any way other than was intended, but the comment still rubs Keigo the wrong way for some reason, catching exactly who the arsonist’s left out of that statement.

“How about I worry about taking care of you and Shouto both,” Keigo suggests, keeping his tone lighthearted, but noticing how Dabi blinks up at him again curiously, a slight frown beginning to tug at the corners of his lips, “And you can still deal with taking care of me. Speaking of which,” Keigo traces Dabi’s jawline as the villain still stares up at him, clearly a little put off by something he’s said, even on the brink of sleep, “I’ll have my phone turned on for the day; call if you need me to come home, alright?” He can tell Dabi’s about to start arguing by the look in his eyes alone, and Keigo ploughs through his next comment before the other man gets the chance, “Yesterday triggered a lot of stuff, and I don’t mind coming back if you shouldn’t be alone. If you’re afraid you’re going to have some kind of relapse or think you should have someone close by, let me know.”

It takes a second, but Dabi eventually gives a small nod of agreement, probably the more aware out of the two of them that such a precaution isn’t a bad idea. Keigo, glad to see that pride is being outweighed by rationality today, leans in to press a kiss to the fire-user’s temple, as though doing so will let him draw out all the painful memories of a past life now held in contention. Dabi rolls onto his side somewhat to see Keigo better, blue eyes hazy.

“Fine,” He reluctantly agrees at length, before his tone gentles a little, taking on that sleep-curbed sound again, drawling but soft, “Be safe out there,” Dabi requests, barely more than a whisper. It’s a sentiment he shares almost every morning, one Keigo’s come to expect. The hero flares his wings dramatically, propping his chin up in one hand with his elbow on his knee, giving a winning smile.

“Oh, c’mon,” He teases, self-assured and put together as ever, “When have I ever come back to you in less than one piece?”

Dabi snorts, rolling his eyes and closing them again, nestling deeper into his pillow.

“Don’t get cocky,” He warns with a small smirk, at least semi-amused, “And just make sure you keep that streak going.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll kick your ass.”

Keigo gives a mock gasp of surprise, disbelieving.

“Kicking my ass after I’d already had the shit beat out of me? You would never.”

Dabi chuffs, shoulders shaking slightly, though he doesn’t bother looking towards the hero at all as he answers.

“Like hell I wouldn’t, Pigeon.”

This is better. Keigo grins to himself as they banter, familiarity falling around him like a warm blanket. It’s clear they’re both taking pains to not really mention Dabi’s breakdown or the entirety of Endeavor’s trial, tiptoeing around either subject, but this is at least common ground that Keigo recognizes and is familiar with. 

“Well, in that case,” He leans over the other man, Dabi curiously blinking up at him once more as Keigo softly tips the arsonist’s face towards him, catching him in a kiss. He can feel one of the fire-user’s arms lazily snaking up to crook over the back of his neck, Dabi’s fingers winding in the hair at the base of Keigo’s skull, enough to tangle but not tight enough to tug. Keigo breaks away with a small laugh, “I guess my only option is to come back in one piece, then.”

“Damn right.” Dabi mutters, all bark and no bite. He pulls Keigo in again, but this time it’s just to chastely brush his lips over the hero’s own, mild and quiet.

“I’ll be home before dinner,” Keigo promises. Despite the arsonist’s concerns, he and Shouto shouldn’t be running into anything serious today. In fact, they’ll be lucky if they find any real skirmishes at all, with what he’s got planned for them. He sits up, Dabi’s hand falling to lay across the blankets as the hero goes to stand. Keigo readjusts the comforter over the arsonist’s shoulders again one last time, and Dabi huffs at him in fond exasperation as he does so, though it’s clear he’s already starting to drift off despite himself. “Get some sleep and take it easy today,” Walking over to his side of the bed, Keigo thinks to check the drawer in his nightstand for an extra set of batteries for his comm. He hasn’t replaced them in a while, and even if he and Shouto shouldn’t really encounter any problems, a dead comm is a dead comm regardless. Better safe than sorry. He finds a pack and tucks them into one of the pouches on his belt, distracted as he speaks, “Your books are on the second shelf in the closet if you go looking for them. I’ll try to remember to grab some better lightbulbs or string lights or something to put up in there too- it’s pretty dark for reading, I don’t know how that doesn’t hurt your eyes.”

“I’ve read in worse places, Pigeon.” Dabi mumbles tiredly, not even moving as Keigo rounds the bed again and ruffles his hair.

“You’re not in worse places anymore; we can afford some decent lights.” The hero argues good-humoredly, “And glasses too, if you keep reading in the dark like that.”

“...I don’t need glasses.”

“And some people don’t believe in miracles.” Keigo grins, pressing a parting kiss to the villain’s head. He’s rewarded with a hazy grumble for his efforts, but Dabi’s breathing has already started evening out into a resting tempo by the time Keigo finally leaves, saying, “I love you. See you tonight, Hot Stuff.” 

Whether or not Dabi is even awake to hear it, he has no idea.

Kawasaki, as it turns out, is just like Keigo remembers it being.

It had seemed almost a natural choice, to bring Shouto back to the city where they’d first started their internship. The last time they visited this place, they’d been in yet another state of turmoil, Shouto still hesitant and torn over his new internship with Keigo, and the winged man himself still trying to catch his footing with the double-quirked boy. Then, the peaceful streets had been full of autumn colours and gentle rain, sweet and kind, and desperately needed as they’d both sought common ground through hot chocolates and cold soba, finding places to sit in ugly restaurants and young girls in the street in need of saving.

That visit had worked a charm for them once, had been the icebreaker that had led to the rest of their internship going off with barely a hitch. Keigo’s hoping for a similar experience this time around, though he suffers a nostalgically silent train ride, Shouto once again a recluse within himself as Keigo had taken the seat beside him, leaving their bags to rest between their feet. He’d barely exchanged any words with his intern since he came to get him from UA, at which point Eraserhead had come to find him first.

“Kawasaki is a good place to take him on patrol this morning,” Aizawa had agreed when they’d had an opportunity to exchange greetings, the halls of the school bustling too loudly for anyone else to catch what they might be saying. That change was a welcomed one, Keigo having significantly appreciated the building more when it didn’t seem empty and haunted as it had the night previous, “It should be quiet. That said, keep him out of trouble, and still try sticking to the safer areas. Todoroki’s head isn’t in the right space for facing any kind of danger today.” The grizzled teacher had been firm about that much, softening a little when Keigo had asked how talking to the teen had gone, “He’s rattled. More than he’s letting on, I think. You know Todoroki- never an open book. He didn’t say much to me after I brought up the possibility of a case, but,” Aizawa had cocked his head slightly, speculative,  “He might be more willing to open up about all of it to you. See if you can talk to him about it at all, but don’t force it if he’s not willing. It would be good for him to turn to someone and get all of this off of his chest, but he’s also the type to shut down under pressure to do so.”

“So he hasn’t agreed to open a case for the trial, then?”

“No,” Aizawa confirmed, his expression darkening a bit, “And I know we’re on limited time, but another thing: don’t say anything to rush him on that call. This is a choice he has to make on his own, whether we’re involved, or not.”

“Of course,” Keigo had nodded, wholly understanding and more than a bit sympathetic. “Hell, I won’t bring it up if he doesn’t. My job for now is just to get him through today in one piece, I’ll let you handle the legal stuff.”

The older pro had given him a silent, appreciative nod at that, Keigo offering a grin in return that was less a sign of genuine happiness, and more one of mutual acknowledgement. Eraser had gone to collect Shouto at that point, and when Keigo had seen the kid, his heart had immediately sunk lower than he thought was  possible. Shouto looked like a mess barely held together, his eyes dull, movements stiff. He seemed as distant and guarded as the day Keigo had first tried interning with him, if not more so, the boy exchanging a “Good morning,” that had sounded flat and devoid of emotion, before saying no more, his gaze turned, unseeing, to the floor. They’d parted ways with Aizawa after Keigo had shot the teacher a concerned glance, Aizawa’s own brows knitted together in a small gesture of worry that he quickly smoothed out when he realized Keigo was watching him. This hadn’t, however, stopped the older man from staring after Shouto for a split second more before turning his own back, shuffling his way back to his classroom with his hands in his pockets.

The encounter hadn’t improved at all from there. They hadn’t spoken the whole walk to the train station.

Or while boarding the train.

Or during the actual train ride to Kawasaki.

Keigo had tried, at first. He’d made small talk, asking about classes, about whether or not Shouto had sent in a form requesting that support item they’d discussed, about how Midoriya was doing. It had started snowing an hour into their trip, and he’d even attempted asking what Shouto’s opinion of snow was, hopeful for some kind of response from him beyond one-word answers and curt replies. When the boy had just shrugged in a noncommittal way and turned towards the window, putting a silent, yet noticeable close on the short conversation, Keigo had simply stopped talking.

He couldn’t blame him for not answering. In all regards, it felt wrong to be trying to make casual conversation, knowing exactly what it was that he was avoiding bringing notice to, and what Shouto was very obviously still caught up in. The boy had pretended to be asleep, just like he had the first time they took this route, and Keigo hadn’t made any attempt to disturb the illusion. Instead, Keigo shrugged off his fleece-lined jacket and let it cover his intern like a blanket, the action not too difficult with most of his feathers in the duffel bag he had resting on the floor. Shouto hadn’t stirred. Keigo didn’t mind.

He’d pulled out his phone and read news articles by himself the rest of the way.

But even now, after reaching Kawasaki, Shouto keeps up his silent streak. He ‘wakes’ as the train begins to slow, coasting into the station, the teen passing Keigo his jacket once again with a small “Thank you,” that gets lost in the sound of other passengers rising to their feet and moving around, Shouto himself quickly becoming one of them. Even after they get off the train and have wandered through the station and out into the street, Keigo reassembling his wings and Shouto checking his phone absentmindedly, not a single word is exchanged between them. It’s not until long after Keigo’s decided to set a course for them, Shouto just following along without comment, that the teen finally speaks.

“Nothing’s changed.” Shouto pipes up suddenly, abruptly jolting Keigo from his thoughts. The winged hero, having been caught up in wondering what the hell to do or say when Shouto eventually broke his silence, hadn’t actually been prepared for the boy to speak, left reeling when he actually does so. At first Keigo assumes he’s talking about his situation with his father, that they’re finally going to have this conversation, but then he realizes Shouto’s looking around appraisingly, and he realizes that’s not the case. Glancing over at his intern, the older man takes a second to study him in quiet concern, not far off from how Shouto’s studying the street. His shoulders are set and the line of his mouth is firm, those blue and grey eyes cold and stoic, full of frost. He’s trying so damn hard to be brave right now, Keigo has to give him that. There’s barely an ounce of childhood in this kid, and today’s one of the days he’s pushing to show it, rigid like iron and just as strong, no amount of softness showing on his face.

Rigid like he’s expecting to handle this on his own, lacking softness because he doesn’t expect to get any. Apparently, that’s something the Todoroki family seems to have in common. When Keigo had last seen him a few days ago, Shouto had been all rare smiles and softly glowing pride, hopeful and steady and happy . Keigo had been willing to walk through hell and back just to keep that smile on his face- to see him keep making soft, wry jokes with Midoriya and to see him light up just a little bit whenever Keigo made an effort to talk to his friends. That lunch was the happiest Keigo had seen Shouto in a while, and it had been a change he’d wanted to protect like steadying hands around a flickering candle.

But he looks gaunt today. That gleam he’d taken up in his eyes as he laughed over soba and tea has been walled up behind stone and shale, aged beyond their years. They’re the eyes of someone who’s weathered countless storms and is now preparing for another. 

Keigo purses his lips, letting his gaze fall away and his hands slip into his jacket pockets. Iron or not, Shouto’s just a boy. Attempts and stances and curt words aside, he’s just a boy, and it’s something the hero will keep in mind even when Shouto himself can’t.

“What do you mean?” He asks, trying to get the teen to clarify his statement, even if just for an icebreaker. Their relationship hasn’t been this stiff in quite some time, and adjusting to it is no easy task, but Keigo’s patient nonetheless, waiting for Shouto to open up to him on his own time. He has to trust that he will, otherwise they’re not going to get anywhere.

“The city,” Shouto elaborates flatly, looking down the street with an expression that doesn’t spare any real emotion, except the tenseness around his eyes, “It’s like it’s exactly the same as when you brought me here before. Nothing’s changed.”

Keigo huffs an amused breath at that, bumping the kid’s arm with his elbow.

“Well, what were you expecting to change? It’s only been a few months.”

Something does change in Shouto’s expression then, a small shock of surprise as his eyes widen just a fraction. He shakes his head in slight bewilderment a second later, sending snowflakes flying every direction, most of them falling to land on his shoulders.

“It feels like it’s been years.”

In some ways, Keigo can’t disagree with him. It’s really only been half a year since he found out about Dabi being Touya, and even that feels like a decade ago, with all the things they’ve endured since then.

“Kind of, yeah,” Keigo admits with what’s almost a small sigh, glancing at his intern again from the corner of his eye as they walk, “You’ve grown a lot though, over the last few months. That might be why it feels like everything’s slow to catch up.”

Shouto doesn’t answer him right then, just watching silently as Keigo dispatches a few feathers to help a man carry his groceries up the stairs to his building, offering the stranger a small wave when he turns around to shout words of gratitude from across the street. Two cars and a woman walking her dog go past them before the teen finds his voice once more, sudden and blunt, just as it’s always been.

“Aizawa wants to build a case against my father,” Shouto states in an almost uninvolved monotone. The winged man beside him is once again caught off guard by him speaking, Keigo stiffening in surprise at how he’s bringing this up. Because Shouto had been making small talk about Kawasaki, he’d assumed it would take longer for the boy to get around to talking about this matter. The easy grin on his face falls as he listens solemnly, “For domestic child abuse. He came to talk to me about it this morning.” The boy meets Keigo’s eye then, finally, though his look is guarded in a way that hurts Keigo’s heart, and has him wincing internally, “He said you know about it.”

“We talked yesterday,” Keigo says, gentle but honest. Shouto nods, visibly swallowing hard and turning to the street again.

“Is that why you wanted me to ask him to meet with you?”

“No,” The hero raises a wing to shield them both from a spray of slush as a car comes around the corner of the street too quickly, dirty water spraying across his feathers. Keigo grimaces at that, but doesn’t complain. Obviously they have bigger things to deal with right now than the preening disaster he’s probably going to have to deal with later if his feathers continue getting soaked like they are now, “That was for something else. But he told me about him looking into a trial during that meeting.”

Shouto nods again. Keigo goes silent. Another car passes by, and neither of them say a word.

“I told him everything.”

It’s so quiet, Keigo almost doesn’t catch it, but he hears it nonetheless and turns to Shouto in slight surprise. Based on how the boy’s acting, he’d assumed he was in conflict about the matter and hadn’t decided whether or not to tell Aizawa anything at all. Shouto scratches at the back of his neck, adjusts his scarf, puts his hands in his pockets to mirror Keigo’s. He’s looking slightly in Keigo’s direction now, but not directly at him, somewhere just beyond his shoulder. “Everything that happened to me, at least. Not the rest of it. It was… Too much.”

“That’s understandable.” The older hero remarks, treading carefully. He guides them down a quieter street with less traffic, away from the popular retail centres and towards a row of lower-traffic stores and apartment complexes. Here, there’s fewer people mulling about, less pedestrians and general activity passing by. Hopefully, the quiet atmosphere will make having this chat a little easier for his intern, who he’s well aware has already had a hell of a day without having to hash out this same conversation twice in one morning.

“He said I can choose,” A muscle in Shouto’s jaw tics, the boy’s shoulders hunching up closer to his ears, “Whether or not I want to pursue a case. He won’t move forward without my say, but I know it’s what he wants me to do. He’s even offered to foster me throughout the whole thing. The paperwork’s ready to be sent off whenever I give the word.” Shouto swallows again, hard, and grimaces sharply, bangs falling in his face as he surveys the snow-melt sidewalk underfoot, “But I don’t know if I should.”

Ah, there’s that conflict Keigo was wondering about. The winged hero waits for Shouto to continue on his own, just giving him space to talk, though a heavy pound of worry is settling in his stomach. “If I go for it, this will affect my whole family.” Shouto takes a long, somewhat shaky inhale before continuing, “Fuyumi wants an actual family so bad- even if it doesn’t amount to anything, taking Father to court would mean that’ll never be a possibility. There would always be some kind of divide. And for all their problems, Father’s responsible for paying Natsuo’s tuition. He’s still got a lot of years left, there’s no way he could cover it on his own-”

Shouto falls silent at that, very obviously conflicted, and Keigo begins walking a little slower, sensing that they might need to stop and find an actual place to talk, soon. “And it just… He’s been better, he has been. He says he’s trying to be better and it’s not like he’s done anything recently-”

“Shou,” Keigo intervenes hesitantly, not wanting to overstep, but knowing it needs to be said, “It doesn’t have to be recent to be something he can atone for.”

The teen eyes him skeptically, but his stare quickly melts into hesitant understanding, knowing where the older man is coming from.

“I know,” He admits at length, quietly, “I think I’m just trying to talk myself out of it.” Shouto takes another shuddering breath, blinking rapidly and beginning to avoid Keigo’s eyes again. Seeing that his breathing is starting to become shallow and fast, Keigo stops dead in his tracks, expecting Shouto to stop and talk to him properly, but the boy just keeps walking, stiff and upset and clearly overwhelmed. Baffled, Keigo snags Shouto’s uniform with a few of his feathers as the teen walks right past him, forcing the youngest Todoroki to also slow down and face him properly.

“Kid, hey-”

“Is it selfish of me to want out?” Shouto asks abruptly, harsh and sharp, clearly not wanting a sugarcoated answer. The snow’s coming down heavy now, and has been for a few minutes at least, but even with it falling in a hard curtain between them, Keigo can make out the unmistakable gloss of unshed tears in the boy’s eyes that he’s been holding back for a while now, trying to hide. Shouto’s voice trembles, though he’s clearly fighting hard to keep it steady, not wanting to show how rattled he is. “It could ruin things for everyone, and he’s not near as bad as he used to be- I’ve only got a few more years to wait things out, and I’m already in dorms-”

It’s more of an immediate reaction than anything that has Keigo moving to pull the boy into a protective hug, firm and steadying. Shouto stiffens in his arms at the unexpected contact, stuttering into silence, all coiled up like a snake waiting to strike. 

“Breathe.” The older man instructs, Shouto immediately sucking in a hard breath as though he’d forgotten he was capable of doing so. He’s still tense, though, and Keigo’s debating pulling away, thinking he might’ve actually made Shouto’s nerves worse- but then he feels the teen very tentatively bringing his own arms up around Keigo’s waist, shaky and rigid and nervous, and all he does is tuck a wing in around him for good measure. “It’s not selfish to want out, kiddo,” Keigo assures him soothingly. The boy’s fingers are tightening in the back of his coat, white-knuckled enough that Keigo’s sure it would hurt if he didn’t have the thick padding of his jacket to protect him from Shouto’s wiry grip, “I understand what you’re saying, but you’re allowed to want out of a situation that’s hurt you- there’s no shame in that at all.”

Hell, he would empathize with that almost better than anyone. That’s not Shouto’s burden to bear, though, so he doesn’t mention it, but Keigo really does understand. It’s a conflict he’s experienced himself every time he thinks of how to break free from the Commission- how many people it might affect, whether or not Kasumi would be allowed to keep her position or be fired along with him, whether or not his Handlers would be punished for his actions, whether or not it would really benefit citizens for him to make that kind of scene and rattle their faith in Japan’s public safety organization. He understands the stressors, the sense of survivor’s guilt that comes with the notion of acting in your own best interest. It’s a hard path to walk, an even harder pill to swallow, but at the end of the day, it’s a choice that Shouto’s more than entitled to make. 

Shouto takes in another trembling inhale that has Keigo reaching up to comfortingly ruffle the boy’s hair, sending snow flying once again. The poor kid’s stiff as a board, clinging to him in a way that reminds Keigo achingly of Dabi. The subtle similarities between the two brothers have always been impossible to ignore, but they’re all the more fresh in Keigo’s mind for having seen the oldest Todoroki sibling in a very similar situation over this event last night.

“I don’t know what to do,” Shouto finally confesses into Keigo’s shoulder, voice shaky like he’s shivering, though Keigo knows it’s not the cold that has him so jittery, “I don’t want to mess up- there’s so much at stake.”

Keigo almost tells him that there’s no way he could mess up, but he bites his tongue at the last possible second, realizing that probably won’t help Shouto’s state right now, the hero reconsidering his words before speaking.

“I know, kid. It’s not an easy call, but we’re going to get you through this regardless of what you choose to do. You’ve got a lot of good people in your corner, nobody’s going to be letting you tackle this alone. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Shouto gives a heavy exhale that sounds something like hesitant relief, nodding against Keigo’s shoulder, but not pulling away or looking up yet. Keigo just lets him be, deciding then that he won’t pull away until Shouto does. Clearly, the boy needs this.

“What if I lose?” Shouto asks quietly, voice taking on a legitimately scared note as if he’s just now coming to a new realization that he previously hadn’t, “Hawks, I don’t- I can’t go back to him if I lose. If he starts getting bad again afterwards-”

Keigo strengthens his grip around his intern, holding him closer, and folding his wing in tighter around him. It takes a split second to settle the burst of anger that burns in his chest at the boy’s concerns, his anger stemming from knowing Shouto’s apprehension is well-founded. The very thought of Enji making a menacing gesture in his son’s direction has the winged hero bristling, having to fight hard to keep his feathers from ruffling in a fierce display.

“I swear to God, if you raise a hand on that boy again,” His eyes flash as he glances up, meeting Enji Todoroki’s gaze  and pinning him on the spot, “Or any of them- Rei, the other kids… I will take you out of that Number One spot myself.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“That’s a promise. And I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Keigo promises once again, knowing he’d sooner be damned than put Shouto back in that kind of situation, “If you decide to go through with it and somehow we lose, we’ll figure something out. Hell, if it comes down to it, I’ll find a way to take you in.” It’s that comment that has Shouto’s shoulders beginning to shake with more than nerves, Keigo pretending not to notice for his sake, “I’ve got no idea how that would work with my missions, but fuck it, if I have to I will,” He’s dead serious about it too, though he’s only able to imagine what kind of shitstorm he’d be under if the Commission found out. He’s not sure how on earth he’d manage to keep his connections to the League a secret from Shouto either, but that’s just not a priority right now, “Let him try to lay a hand on you then, and see what happens. Or we’ll find a loophole to get you into agency housing through your internship. I’m sure Aizawa would have a few cards up his sleeve as well for this kind of thing, I don’t think he’s got any kind of intention to send you back to your old man after finding out about all of this shit.” After hearing Shouto give another quiet sigh and very tiny nod against his shoulder once again, Keigo tries cracking a joke, just to ease things up a little, “Any bets that Midoriya’s mom would take you in?”

Shouto does spare a small laugh at that, but it sounds mostly miserable and choked, tightened by far too many emotions to organize.

“Honestly, probably if I asked.”

“Well, there you go. Problem solved.”

There’s a sound of weak laughter from Shouto once again, the teen seemingly amused at the very least, which is something Keigo decides is worth smiling for. He grins quietly, mussing up Shouto’s hair again and clapping him on the back reassuringly, voice taking on a softer, more coaxing sound, “It’s going to be okay, Shou. Just hang tight, we’ll get this worked out.”

Shouto gives a low breath and a nod, releasing his mentor in favour of swiping quickly at his eyes with the heels of his palms, the boy trying to compose himself. Keigo lets him take a moment, still somewhat shielding him from public view with the wing he still has curled around the teen’s shoulders. Shouto doesn’t seem to notice until he goes to take a step back, glancing up in surprise when feathers suddenly catch in his hair, his expression molding into one of appreciation when he realizes what Keigo’s been doing.

“Thank you.” Shouto says quietly, taking an extra few seconds to scrub the tear tracks from his cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders, finally meeting Keigo’s eyes again. The boy’s gaze seems more grounded and clear, now, like the storms behind his own eyes have let up, even if they haven’t passed entirely. “For everything. Not just today, but…”

Shouto goes quiet, glancing out at the surrounding street that had been temporarily forgotten up until now, it’s like he’s seeing it for the first time, with the way he scans it all to take it in, just further proof of how out of it he’d been this morning. “You’ve been a good friend, Hawks,” Shouto says at length, letting his hands fall back in his pockets, “More than you’ve ever been obligated to be as a mentor. I appreciate it more than you know.” He glances back at him them, cool and collected, and measuring Keigo’s response. The winged man blinks, the comment sparking a warm glow in his chest, though a part of it still sits wrong, falling flat. 

“Keigo,” The older pro corrects gently, after guaranteeing there’s nobody around to hear. Shouto cocks his head in confusion, not understanding, at first, what exactly he’s saying.

“What?”

“My name,” Keigo explains slowly, ruffling his feathers and letting them settle again, nervous for some inexplicable reason. Anxiety coils in his stomach and then dissipates as he  releases a long breath through his nose, settling, “Is Keigo. Feels like something you should know- I’ve kind of stopped going by Hawks around people I’m close with.”

It’s a slip up to mention that last part, but if Shouto notices the implication that he used to just go by Hawks in general, the boy doesn’t question it. His gaze softens noticeably as he nods silently, seeming to understand the weight of the gesture at the very least, not taking it lightly. “It only seems fair that if I get to call you by your name, you can call me by mine. I think we’re past the point of only going by hero titles to maintain professionalism.”

Shouto gives an amused huff at that, nodding in agreement, before offering him a hand of all things as though they’re meeting for the first time.

“Keigo. Thank you for telling me.”

The older pro offers his intern a genuine smile, one apparently warm enough to have Shouto offering him a tiny grin in return, some small semblance of steadiness having been developed around them in this mess. They shake hands clumsily, a decisive gesture that encourages them both to start walking again in unison, leisurely and far more relaxed than before, Keigo feeling like some kind of weight has been lifted off his chest, and Shouto looking somewhat less stressed than he was an hour ago. This time, their mutual silence doesn’t seem strained; they share it like two companions under the same umbrella.

‘I’m not going to tell him about the Commission today ,’ Keigo decides then, instantly shutting the idea down when it first comes to mind. Shouto still needs to be warned about the group  and their intentions, but that can wait for another day, maybe after the dust has settled a bit. It would be too much to dump on the boy right now, and for that reason Keigo holds his tongue and doesn’t say a word, figuring he can handle shielding Shouto from that revelation just a while longer. ‘ His world’s been rattled enough for one day- wait until he decides-’

“I trust your opinion more than I would most people,” Shouto pipes up suddenly, cutting off Keigo’s stream of thought. He blinks down at his intern, watching as something steely takes over his expression, resolute and stoic. Shouto meets his gaze firmly this time, not one to dance around a topic,  “So answer me honestly- what should I do?”

“What should you do?”

“Yes,” Shouto states, “If you were in my position, faced with a decision like this, what would you do?”

Keigo goes silent at that, wondering how to respond. From an outside perspective, as Shouto’s mentor and friend, his answer is easy. However, he’s more than aware that if he were in Shouto’s position directly, he’d find the matter a lot more complicated to tackle, and that, odds are, he’d be questioning the right course of action as well. Of course he wants to get Shouto away from his father if there’s any possibility of doing so, and with all the cards lined up for them to manage that and possibly get some actual justice for him, he doesn’t want to see that opportunity be ignored. But that’s a biased answer, extremely biased, and Keigo can’t push him to go through with it just because it’s what he thinks is right.

The hero gives a long-winded sigh, pushing up his visor to rub at his eyes, before taking a page out of Dabi’s book, for the first time realizing why it is that the arsonist asks him this question so often.

“Shouto, what do you want?”

The red-and-white-haired boy casts him a surprised glance, the question obviously throwing him off guard. Keigo doesn’t take it back or add anything else, though, simply letting it sit between them like an open door.

“Are you asking what I want you to say?”

“No,” Keigo clarifies, repeating himself, “What do you want . Not just while we’re talking, and not just whether or not you want there to be a case against Endeavor. When you think of the whole situation with your dad, your future, what you want to do with your life- what do you want?”

Shouto furrows his brows, frowning, the teen clearly stuck on answering the question as if it’s something he’s never put thought to, like it’s never been relevant. Keigo knows that feeling, and has to fight the urge to offer a somewhat sad grin when he recognizes that expression on Shouto’s face so familiarly, knowing that he probably gave the exact same look the first few times Dabi kept challenging him this way.

“I-” Shouto stutters, trying to collect his thoughts and string them into sentences, though it’s clear they’re not coming easily. “I want him to… Stay away. From mom, and us too. Fuyumi can do what she wants but I know Natsuo doesn’t like being around him- they fight every time they’re in the same room. I want mom to come home. I miss her a lot.” Shouto’s voice is clipped but genuine, Keigo hanging on to every word, “I don’t want him to be involved in my career as a hero. He’s too invested, and even if he’s not as bad as he was, I’m never going to be comfortable with him trying to be a part of that. Good intentions or not, I don’t care. I’ve put up with too much to just let him be a guide for me now.”

The last portion comes out a bit more raw than Shouto was probably intending, the boy’s voice bitter and cold. It drops a second later when he adds, “We’ve lost so much because of him. Some days it’s easier to ignore than others. I had the benefit of being young when everything happened with Mom and… And Touya, but the others…” The teen sighs, taking on a shaky note again as he tries to keep level-headed in the wake of his building frustrations. Keigo just listens, “Like I said, Natsuo probably resents him the most for it. Fuyumi’s willing to forgive if it means getting to put the past to rest, and I guess I understand. It’s her own version of closure, in a way, without needing to cut any more holes into our family than we have already. She’s always hated conflict.”

Dabi had mentioned something about that, actually. Keigo recalls their barely-coherent conversation when he’d first brought the other man home after his fight with Enji, Dabi fever-delirious and scared for his family. He’d told Keigo then, in the middle of everything, not to let his sister see him in the state he was in, or it would upset her. “ ‘Yumi can’t see me like this, ” Dabi begged shakily, trembling violently from the fever wracking through his body, blue eyes glazed and seeing ghosts in Keigo’s bathroom, “ It always scares her so bad… ”

“We all heal differently,” Keigo agrees quietly, thinking once again of the arsonist’s dashed plans for revenge against his father, compared to Fuyumi’s forgiving nature and Natsuo and Shouto’s cool isolation from the man in question, “For some people, it’s easier to just paint over the past instead of framing it as is. Your sister’s probably no different.”

“I don’t want to paint over it,” Shouto decides quietly, “And I don’t want to just let it be either. There’s been too much hurt. Not just by me, but by all of us. We were all victims in that house, even if he never raised a hand on ‘Yumi and Natsuo.”

There’s a certain kind of rigid practicality between them as they talk, this removed way of speaking being the only reason Keigo’s not feeling the urge to puke on the snow-packed sidewalk underfoot. He knows too much about the horrors committed within the Todoroki household and the longstanding effects they’ve had on several of the members involved therein, to feel at ease holding up a conversation about it now. The winged man allows himself a small grimace  before reining in his facial features, disgusted once again by the flame hero he once looked up to with so much admiration, wanting nothing more than to have followed in his steps to be successful. Now, he couldn’t be more happy to have absolutely nothing to do with him.

At this rate, it looks like Endeavor’s largely in the same boat. Toshiaki hadn’t been wrong when he’d said that Endeavor’s agency had essentially cut all ties to Hawks whatsoever. While it might look like a PR disaster, it’s definitely a development Keigo doesn’t take any issue with personally. The less he has to interact with Enji Todoroki, the less he has to bother with his bullshit, as well as the staggering amount of energy it takes to keep face around the older man. With where they’re at right now in possibly looking at taking him to court, separation is probably a good thing.

Shouto meets his gaze again, then, his blue and grey eyes definitive.

“Hawks- Keigo, I think I should-”

The boy’s cut off abruptly as a figure comes barreling around the corner, panting in the frozen air and slamming straight into the teen with the force of a woman sprinting full-tilt. Before Keigo even has an opportunity to react, Shouto’s been sent sprawling, sending up snow as he hits the ground shoulder-first, the wind knocked out of him in a hard gasp that results in a lingering plume of fog rising in the air. The woman, herself, hasn’t fared much better, having tripped over the boy when he’d fallen, and been sent flying as well, tumbling over the frozen concrete a ways and groaning where she lays. Her hair’s tangled around her face in a long, dark mass that’s obscured her face from view, but a second later she’s pushing it away with one hand as she tries to right herself, Keigo in the process of helping Shouto find his footing again, brushing snow off his intern’s back.

“Holy- are you alright?” Keigo asks concernedly after guaranteeing Shouto’s not too damaged, turning to look over at the woman again, “That was a nasty spill-”

His sentence falls short as he realizes that the woman is not only making an effort to get to her feet, but to run away from them , about to abandon the many bags she’d been carrying that are now strewn about in the slush and snow, slowly becoming soaked. “Woah, hey-”

She runs. It’s obvious that there’s a good chance they’re dealing with a theft case here, and once again, Shouto reacts almost faster than Keigo does, Keigo’s feathers snagging a hold in the back of the woman’s shirt while Shouto coats the walkway in ice, the thief slipping and tumbling down once again, only a short ways away. The ice makes it near impossible to stand up this time as the two heroes approach, Keigo opting to fly because he doesn’t even want to attempt keeping his footing on this icy disaster Shouto’s created out of the sidewalk. The teen himself is sure-footed though, as comfortable stepping across his ice as he is regular concrete.

“ No- ” The woman stares up at them both through her long hair, and it takes Keigo aback to see that she’s looking up at them with dark eyes, entirely black like there’s no pupil or iris whatsoever. He only catches a glint of them before they’re whisked away behind her hair, which falls back into place over them once again, completely shielding her face from view. It’s hard to get much of a sense of her beyond that, as she immediately braces her arms up around her head, body curling inward like she’s expecting to be attacked. “No, no, no,” She continues to babble, becoming increasingly more frantic. Somehow, in all of this, Keigo’s first grounded observation is that she’s severely underdressed for the elements, in only a long-sleeved shirt and ill-fitting pants, her visible skin gone red from the cold. He’s still got a feather hooked in her collar, and  he releases it now with the understanding that she’s clearly troubled and not likely to flee at this point. “Please,” The thief rambles, her voice muffled like her mouth is full, the woman kicking herself back in the snow as best she can. She’s not making much progress due to Shouto’s ice, the sight a saddening one, context or not. “Please don’t, I didn’t have a choice, I swear-”

Shouto exchanges a glance with Keigo and removes himself to check the bags that had gone flying out of the woman’s hands when she hit the ground, the teen reaching for them while Keigo carefully hovers closer to the frightened thief, hesitating when she flinches back even further. “Please-” She pleads again, voice getting more desperate, shivering violently from both the cold and likely anxiety too, if Keigo’s guess is any good, “Nowhere will take us in and it’s been getting so cold- they haven’t eaten in three days, you have to understand, please- ”

The winged man’s in the process of putting his hands up to look less threatening when Shouto steps up beside him again, his expression pinched and unnerved.

“...Hawks.”

He subtly opens one of the bags in his hands to let the older hero look inside, Keigo’s heart dropping the second he realizes what Shouto’s holding. It really is just a mixed bag of things, some of them loose and very clearly torn out of other kinds of packaging, others just small, individually wrapped items. But the issue that makes him ill is that they aren’t trivial. Personal hygiene items, travel-sized soaps and shampoos, socks and some loose underwear, maybe five diapers that have clearly been snagged out of a larger package. The other bag doesn’t prove to be any more heartening, as he discovers some food and toothpaste, a single jacket for an infant, and a pair of gloves. The whole while, he can make out the sound of the woman sobbing at his feet, but it isn’t until it registers that the hero drops to the ground, all too familiar with this scene laid out in front of him.

He remembers the feeling of that concrete under his own palms, hot with summer heat and wildfire instead of cool frost and ice, his knees scraped from falling down with a panicked cry. He remembers his father sprawled out, the bag of stolen goods dumped out across the ground with him, the tallest shadow Keigo had ever seen looming over them both. 

He remembers his father’s golden eyes locked on his own as he’d told him to run. 

He remembers Endeavor’s piercing blue when he’d told him to do the same.

He remembers his mother’s scream when he’d had to tell her father had been arrested. How hungry they’d been. How much they’d struggled to get by afterwards, with him gone.

He remembers Endeavor’s foot planted heavily on his father’s back, keeping him down after he’d fallen.

-

-

-

Keigo extends his hand.

“Here- can I help you up?” He asks gently, letting the thief brace herself with hesitation on his offered arm as she rises to her feet, Shouto glancing between them curiously as if wondering what he’s supposed to do in the middle of all of this. “There you go, careful.” Keigo warns, the woman clearly still afraid but knowing she couldn’t outrun them if she tried. She’s still keeping her face hidden behind her hair, tilting her head back and forth to have the dark strands keep shifting over her features, veiled behind a constantly moving curtain. Her arms must be freezing under Keigo’s touch, bright red with cold, her quirk clearly not one that defends her from the elements.

“Please don’t arrest me,” The woman asks, her voice thin, “Please, I swear we didn’t have a choice-”

“We’re not arresting you,” Keigo promises quietly, much to her surprise and Shouto’s too, as it would seem. The older pro can feel his intern’s eyes on him even if Shouto doesn’t say anything, the thief falling still at Keigo’s assurance, going statuesque in disbelief. “It’s okay, I just want to hear you out. You’re struggling, aren’t you?” The woman starts trembling again and Keigo tries offering her a smile, lifting his hands away carefully to give her space, “This stuff-”

“I stole it,” The woman blurts, clearly distressed and hoping such a confession will earn leniency, “I did, but-”

“But you needed it,” Keigo finishes, the woman falling silent in surprise. Keigo takes the bags back from Shouto and passes them over, the thief hesitant to close her fingers over the handles until Keigo presses them into her hands, “I’m not arresting you over a couple grocery bags of basic necessities. That doesn’t fix anything long-term.” He gestures towards the bags she’s now holding tremblingly, cocking his head, “If anything, that would just make things a whole lot more difficult for whoever you’re trying to provide for. I’m guessing you’ve got a family?”

It takes the woman a second, but eventually she nods shakily, slow and suspicious, shrinking away from him somewhat, doubtful that his intentions are truly that of merit. The inquiry seems to make her more defensive for some reason, but Keigo continues on, hoping she’ll ease up as he explains himself, “We can bring you supplies if you’re willing to show us where they are.” Immediately, it’s clear that the woman is on edge again. Keigo tries to keep his voice gentle and encouraging as he adds, “I swear, we want to help you. I’m well-versed in situations like this, I can help you get what you need- we just need to know what to get and where to bring everything.”

He knows he probably doesn’t look terribly convincing. Keigo himself would’ve been skeptical of anyone reaching out to him like this while on the street as well. The thief still stares at him in obvious distrust, not willing to take him at face value.

“You’ll just follow me,” She claims at length, a hard edge developing in her voice, “Even if I don’t want to tell you, and then you’ll get us all. Don’t think I don’t know your type, Hero.” She becomes increasingly more agitated, voice twisting into a hiss, “Why arrest one person when you can get credit for arresting four, right? Isn’t that how your stupid hero ranking system works?”

The sudden animosity takes Keigo aback, and for a split second it’s not this woman that he’s seeing, but his own mother, a bottle having just been pulled down from her lips, her eyes flat and deadened, spirit clearly hanging on by a thread. They share an air of dismality that Keigo’s all too familiar recognizing, a similar sense of desperation that has forced them to take up arms at all times, never willing to take a gift for fear of what might be hidden under the wrapping. But then the thief’s hair shifts again, and Keigo remembers who he’s actually dealing with. He can feel Shouto tense in surprise beside him as that dark curtain moves, and both heroes find themselves being stared down by not two, but eight piercing eyes, arachnid in nature. The woman’s fearful appearance is only heightened further by the dangerous-looking pair of mandibles emerging from her mouth, clearly the source of her muffled speech.

She’s got a mutant-type quirk. Some kind of spider, if Keigo’s guess is right.

Suddenly, why she’s in this position is starting to make a lot more sense.

“Some heroes you all are,” She spits angrily, well and truly on a tangent now, still caught up in the adrenaline of the moment, fear merging with rage to create an explosive scene, “We’re like sitting ducks to you- just another chance to increase your public standing with those fucking popularity polls. They count the number of arrests you make, right?” There’s a slight movement to his right, and Keigo can see Shouto’s gearing up to get defensive if he has to, though the boy’s clearly hesitant to do so, side-eying his mentor. The commotion has started to gather the attention of those walking by, a few people stopping to stare, or casting concerned and judgmental glances their way. Keigo subtly motions for Shouto to stand down, ignoring those walking past in favour of just letting the woman speak her piece. “Do you know how many of us there are that won’t be taken on for a job anywhere, because of how we look? Because of our quirks, things totally beyond our control?”

The woman scowls, taking a step back that Keigo doesn’t follow, “You’re not looking to save anyone, you’re just looking to profit off of those that have no means of helping themselves. We’ve seen your type too many times to count, I know what you’re after. If you’re planning to take me in, just get it over with- but like hell am I giving you the opportunity to snatch up my family too.”

It’s a powerful statement, raw with emotion and more firm than stone. In her words, Keigo’s reminded of the League’s ferocity, their same protective nature around their small, hodge-podged flock, their similar circumstances. He understands what she’s saying, has seen that same justified rage in Shigaraki’s eyes and mirrored, at one point or another, in the eyes of every other member of the ragtag group of villains as well. 

“There are a lot of things about hero society that need to be fixed,” Keigo says carefully, feeling Shouto’s curious gaze on him again, the boy clearly taking in his every word, “It allows the few to take advantage of the many, and has forced a lot of people to do terrible things in order to survive. Quirk discrimination only makes things worse on top of that.” He can tell the woman’s still itching to bolt, but regardless he tries appealing to her again, “I’m sorry you’ve been taken advantage of- I swear we’re not-”

“You’re really going to try to bullshit me and say you’re just looking to help? That you’re not looking to get something out of this?”

Keigo doesn’t answer. He’s not getting anywhere with this, and if she’s got enough of a bias against him that she isn’t going to be inclined to listen-

“...There are… Lots of bad heroes,” Surprisingly, it’s Shouto who speaks up at this, the woman’s attention snapping over to him instantaneously. Keigo silently lets him take the lead on this conversation, easing back, interested to hear what the kid will have to say as he glances over at his intern attentively. Shouto’s expression is stoic as he elaborates, “You’re right. There are many who do this job for the wrong reasons,” A fleeting image of blue eyes and red hair comes to Keigo’s mind at that, but he brushes it away quickly, banishing all thoughts of Endeavor for the time being until they can pick up their conversation about him where they left off, “They hurt people and call it justice. I’ve learned from several heroes who only care about outcomes and rewards instead of helping those who need it most,” Shouto cocks his head, the spider-quirked woman watching him intently, fixing him with all eight eyes. His scar’s on blatant display now, his own hair having shifted just enough to reveal the mark for the woman to see properly, “And I’ve been hurt by them too. Many… people I care about have been hurt like that.” Shouto’s eyes darken substantially as he manages to get those words out, the thief clacking her mandibles together slowly. Keigo wonders if it’s a subconscious habit, the way the rest of her face doesn’t change as she does so. It looks scary and menacing, even though he strongly doubts the intention is there, and he frowns slightly at the realization and his own bias, wondering what kind of hate this woman has seen for her appearance by others with less kind perceptions, “But Hawks isn’t a bad hero. If he says he’ll help, he means it- I’m saying that from personal experience.”

A glint of recognition sparks in the woman’s many eyes then as she continues to study the teen, her expression morphing into something unreadable but undeniably surprised.

“You’re Endeavor’s boy.”

“Shouto,” He corrects smoothly, Keigo unable to deny himself a little bit of pride in hearing that. It’s such a casually strong response, refusing that correlation to his father. The woman’s eyes narrow once again, assessing him, picking him apart piece by piece from four feet away.

“Why would I trust the son of Endeavor?”

“Because,” Shouto explains easily, not a hint of remorse on his face, “He’s one of the bad heroes I was referring to. I don’t want to be anything like him. Which is while I’ll ask again- can we help you?”

The woman doesn’t say a word.

Keigo’s on the verge of just quietly suggesting to Shouto that they continue their patrol and just let her be, when the thief juts her chin out, trying to look brave, her many eyes still suspicious and narrowed.

“Shouto. You say you’re different? Prove me wrong, then.”

It’s a challenge more than an acceptance of their help. Shouto turns slightly to look up at Keigo for a directive at her agreement, though the winged hero is still a little stunned at this turn of events, blinking in surprise.

‘Huh, alright. Guess that worked.’

“I guess- do you know where the nearest grocery store to your place is? We’re not familiar with this city at all.” Keigo suggests, ruffling his feathers to rid them of snow once again. They’ve been standing here long enough that it’s starting to pile up across his wings, and that’s not something he’s going to want to deal with later while trying to fly home. The woman gathers her bags a little closer to her chest, gesturing down the street with her chin. 

“There’s one not far. It’s not like we can carry much between the three of us, though, so I don’t know what you’re expecting you can really do to make a difference.”

Keigo smiles and extends his wings to their full height, letting the wind catch his feathers in a grand display.

“Feel free to lead the way,” The hero answers, confident as ever, “Trust me- we’ve got it covered.”

Chapter Text

The first thing that hits Keigo is the smell.

The supermarket hadn’t been busy, miraculously, and it had taken the three of them less than an hour to put together two heaping carts worth of groceries to ring up for the thief and her family. Keigo had taken the brunt of the load with his feathers as they’d walked the woman back home, through increasingly less-maintained looking streets and empty alleys. At one point Keigo had thought to ask for her name, and the woman had only replied with a gruff, “Kumo,” before readjusting the bags in her arms, keeping a wary and skeptical eye out for potential looters. No doubt that’s something she’s had to be wary of if she’s used to scavenging on her own, but with Keigo and Shouto flanking her, they hadn’t had any problems tracing their way back through the snow-covered city without confrontation.

To end up on the doorstep of an abandoned-looking building hadn’t been a surprise. Keigo cast it an appraising look as they approached, Shouto appearing much more skeptical and leery with trepidation as they followed Kumo’s lead. ‘ The kid’s probably never dealt with a situation like this,’ Keigo had realized then, beckoning his intern to step up beside him and keep close, ‘ Good moment for a learning opportunity. You can’t replicate this in a classroom.’

“This is it,” Kumo had informed them, knocking her boots against the steps to knock free any loose snow, before shouldering her way in through the door, Keigo and Shouto closely behind.

And that was when the smell had hit.

In a stomach-twisting way, it almost feels like stepping back through one of the doors of his many childhood homes. A cold flash of sweat prickles on the back of Keigo’s neck as he holds his breath and surges forward, ignoring the ghosts lingering in the corners of his vision. ‘ This isn’t where you’re from,’ Keigo manages to school his features into one of complete neutrality, even though there’s something about the instant slap of nostalgia that has his throat threatening to close off. ‘ It’s not the same- it’s similar, but you’re out now.’ As his eyes take their time adjusting to the dim light they’re under, he’s half expecting to blink and find his mother hunkered beside an empty container of takeout, or his father pawing through a stolen bag, tossing the garbage in one pile and the “useables” in the other. ‘ They’re not here, you’re not going back. You can leave whenever you want.’

This building is really no different than any of the ones he grew up in- hollowed out like the gutted remains of an animal carcass, relieved of anything nourishing and left with only the bones and skin to take shelter in. Making himself step forward down the narrow hallway is like crawling his way down the maw of the beast, but Keigo continues nonetheless, silently carrying bags with him in a small swarm. There’s a sudden brush of contact against the remaining feathers on his left wing, and the hero glances over his shoulder sharply, at first afraid of locking eyes with someone familiar, only to see Shouto pressing in close against the appendage, the boy looking a little unnerved now that they’re actually here. It’s obvious he’s rattled, and if anything, Keigo’s guess is that the teen had assumed they’d just be dropping the supplies off with Kumo and not actually following her inside the building. Keigo himself honestly hadn’t been expecting her to extend the offer either, but she’ll need help carrying everything, and it’s not like him to let a bit of discomfort keep him from doing what needs to be done. Their work here isn’t finished, past history be damned.

Subtly, the older pro readjusts the wing Shouto’s stepped closer to, and tucks it in over his shoulders instead, feathers draped against Shouto’s back as he tucks the kid into his side. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone that hadn’t caught the gesture, but Shouto shoots him an appreciative look out of the corner of his eye, a muscle in his jaw spasming with obvious tension. Keigo hopes he looks like a reassuring figure even with his own trepidations crawling up his spine. All around, it’s the same grimy walls, the same dirty floor, the same reek of unwashed bodies and old bodily fluids as well, the smell getting stronger as they continue further into the building. ‘Fuck, it’s really not any different than I remember.’

Beside him, Shouto moves to cover his nose with the cuff of his sleeve, the action an instinctive one. He catches himself before actually doing it though, as Kumo turns to look back at them both, the boy swiping at his nose as though warding off a sniffle, the bag in his hands jostling slightly as he does so.

“Down here,” She directs, herding them down a hallway to their right. At the end of it, like a light at the end of a tunnel, is a single door, the paint too cracked and peeled to determine what colour it had been previously. Keigo nods, waiting for her to take the lead again so he’s not walking into a stranger’s house unannounced, “Toru? I’m back, we’ve got company.”

There’s an audible amount of shuffling and dragging behind the door before Kumo opens it unceremoniously, bringing her guests in with her. The place is in a sad state of disarray, disheartening in the way that it’s clear someone’s tried to keep everything orderly and tidy, but there’s a persistent dinginess about the room that can’t be shuffled away into a dark corner and left there- it pervades the space, lingering all around. Keigo can see it so clearly, perhaps, because he knows to look for it.

And in the middle of it all, he sees a man. A horrified, distressed looking man with a swaddling of rags bundled into the crook of one arm, his other hand rising to cover his mouth at the sight of Shouto and Keigo.

“Oh no… Kumo-”

“They say they’re here to help,” Kumo tries to assure him, though her own voice still holds a strong, thin note of tension. Keigo steps forward, raising the bags in his own arms, and jerking his chin towards the others that his feathers are carrying behind him.

“Hey there- nice to meet you. I’m Hawks, and this is my intern Shouto,” The pro introduces himself kindly, dismissing his own apprehensions while cocking his head and trying to look approachable. ‘ Shake it off, you’re a hero and these people need you.’ “Sorry to barge in, but we are here to help. We grabbed some things for your family; Kumo said you’re on hard times right now.”

That much is obvious. The thick line of poverty is drawn under their noses like a neon sign, but Keigo avoids drawing attention to that, instead taking a moment to take in this new person. His intentions are to analyze the addition to their company, but it’s also an excuse to also give him something to latch onto, something to focus on so he can let his memories ease their grip. 

“Hawks- the winged hero, right?” Toru asks. He has a soft voice, very quiet. For some reason, that’s of interest to Keigo, who looks him up and down curiously. The other man is tall, definitely taller than himself, with shaggy brown hair that falls over his forehead in thick clusters, and a lanky figure that somewhat reminds him of Dabi. Or at least- Keigo corrects himself, wincing slightly- maybe more like Dabi when he first met him. Toru has the same emaciated figure that the arsonist had, lean beyond healthy, scrawny due to more than just a slight build. When was the last time this family had a decent meal? 

There’s no sign of what his quirk might be, but when the tall man takes a limping step forward that looks as unbalanced as is physically possible for a man not intoxicated, Keigo notices something else. He’s missing a leg from the shin down, a makeshift peg fill-in in its place as a prosthetic. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize it as a DIY job. “Nice to meet you, and Shouto as well. Thank you for offering this,” Toru murmurs, his voice sounding pained past the longing streak in it, “But we can’t take charity like this- we have no means of paying you back, and likely won’t even in the future.”

Keigo furrows his brows in confusion, mouth settling into a hard, thin line. They’re concerned about paying him back? Is this just a pride issue, or have they been told that by other people before? It would further explain some of Kumo’s animosity and disbelief in them and their legitimacy, that’s for sure.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Keigo says honestly, looking around and beginning to deposit the bags in the middle of what must be the living room. He can tell it’s chilly in here even with his coat on. They must not have heat. He’d have doubts about water and electricity as well, in that case. “I’m sorry if you’ve ever experienced that kind of manipulation in the past. But these are gifts, I promise.”

Toru’s eyes widen just a bit, and he glances at Kumo as if in shock, the woman stepping close to his elbow and opening one of the bags in her arms so he can see the contents inside.

“Toru- if he’s good for his word and if we ration properly, this could get us through a month without going hungry. Some stable nourishment might be what your body needs to start healing.” Kumo reasons, still sounding suspicious herself, but also desperately hopeful now that they’re actually within the walls of their home with bags of food all around. Toru’s free hand drifts to clutch the bundle of rags he’s holding to his chest more protectively, and it’s then that Keigo remembers the items in the bag that Kumo had been caught stealing in the first place- the diapers and the infant-sized coat. His breath hitches at the fleeting thought of whether or not either of his parents had ever held him so close when he was small. It’s a quickly dismissed thought, gone almost as quickly as it had emerged in the first place. That doesn’t stop the sound of his breath hitching from  catching Toru’s attention though, his gaze snapping back to Keigo’s. When he catches where the hero’s attention has been, his eyes dull even more, a sense of weight seeming to crush down on his shoulders.

“Tell me honestly,” The other man says firmly, weary, “Whether or not you’re just here to help. Don’t give me false hope. I’m too tired to play this game again.”

‘ Again.’ So, it has happened before. A muscle tics in Keigo’s jaw, and Shouto stirs restlessly beside him, agitated. Clearly, the boy caught the emphasis on that word as well. Keigo ruffles his feathers sharply, upset at the idea but trying to keep calm so that the edge of his anger doesn’t leak into his voice and cause any sense of suspicion for the two parents standing in front of him.

“I don’t expect you to understand the implications it has on us,” Toru continues, Kumo pressing into his side and also reaching a hand out to the bundle of rags, though her eyes flick around, looking for something else, “But at least have sympathy.”

Keigo’s heart twists sharply, painful and impossible to ignore like the hard lump in his throat.

“I was raised in a house just like this, growing up,” Keigo admits softly, much to the surprise of everyone gathered. He hadn’t really meant to say it, but the room goes silent and still when he does, Shouto in particular snapping to look at him with stunned eyes, “I have more than sympathy.” The blond reaches to raise his visor, clearing his throat awkwardly and glancing around. “We mostly just brought food, but you guys don’t have utilities, do you? Winter’s only going to keep getting colder- how many jackets and things do you need, and in what sizes? I can try to find some essentials if Kumo shows me where to go. Infant supplies too, or medical stuff. Those are both hard to come by on the street.”

At first, Toru and Kumo don’t answer, both exchanging silent looks that Keigo doesn’t want to interfere in. But of all people to suddenly break the silence, it’s Shouto who finally pipes up, the dual-quirked boy’s voice quiet and gentle but somewhat surprised.

“Hello.”

Keigo turns to look at him in confusion only to frown when he realizes the teen’s speaking upwards, his head craned back to stare up at the ceiling. Following his gaze, the winged hero startles upon finding  a young girl, maybe seven or eight at the oldest, staring down at them with eight glittering eyes. She’s clearly inherited her mother’s quirk, both with her abilities to climb upside down on the ceiling like a spider, and her rather telling facial features. She doesn’t have the mandibles that Kumo has, though, and on her back are a pair of gossamer-like wings, definitely not strong enough to hold her weight yet as they’re tucked firmly in against her spine.

He’s never heard of a spider with wings. He hadn’t even heard her in the room.

The girl doesn’t respond to Shouto, just stares at him like he’s a rare spectacle, and then turns her gaze to Keigo as well. With how silent she was sneaking up on them, he almost wonders if she’s mute.

“You can come down, Akarui,” Toru says coaxingly after a moment, “It’s alright.”

“They’re heroes,” Akarui retorts, glancing at her father, and proving to Keigo that she can, in fact, make noise, “I thought you said to hide when-”

“I know,” The girl’s father soothes, “I know I did, but it’s okay this once. This isn’t like last time.”

Keigo wants to ask what ‘last time’ means, but he’s too distracted by the gauntness of the young girl’s face, a hunger shining in his eyes that he, himself, recognizes. Shouto sets his bags on the floor, and offers his hand up to her as though to shake it, Akarui looking at him distrustfully before slowly reaching out and brushing his fingers with her own, the dual-quirked boy offering her a tiny smile of reassurance.

“You’re not scared of me?”

“No.”

“Why are you helping us?”

Shouto blinks.

“Because you need it.”

Akarui, seemingly won over by Shouto’s bluntness, makes another suspicious face, but delicately rappels down from the ceiling, slowly and carefully using what looks to be chords of silk webbing from her hands to make her way back down to the floor. She immediately steps away from them though, shuffling backwards until she has her parents at her back, eyeing the two heroes standing in front of her like she’s waiting for one of them to lunge forward and bite.

Neither one of them do, obviously, but it still feels like a tentative situation. Keigo’s in the middle of figuring out how to proceed when Shouto cuts through the silence again, lifting the bags he’s still holding. “Where would you like me to put these?”

It’s such an endearing, Shouto-esque thing to do that Keigo can’t help but smile, feeling the tension in the room snap as Toru quickly steps forward to help him, Kumo stroking her daughter’s hair before doing the same. As Toru steps forward, though, directing Shouto towards a collapsible table propped up against the least grimy wall in the place, he turns his back to Keigo and it takes all the willpower the blond has to not make a legitimate sound of horror as he realizes what the man’s quirk is-

Or, rather, what it was .

Sprouting from just below Toru’s shoulder blades are the absolutely shredded remains of wings , gossamer like Akarui’s, torn beyond repair. It’s difficult to even tell what shape they might’ve been before the damage, but Keigo guesses they must’ve been some variant of moth, light and fragile. Delicate. Gone.

Keigo knows what it’s like to be grounded. He can feel the colour draining from his face as he takes in the full sight of Toru’s ruined wings, feeling his own itch and prickle with discomfort. The last time he’d been forcibly left flightless and afraid to never touch the sky again, he was a child, still getting his wings beneath him. He can’t imagine going through that as an adult, losing that capability at an older age after getting so used to living with it. It would be like… Well…

Keigo eyes the other man’s prosthetic leg again, a frown deepening on his face. It would be like losing a limb. Toru’s lost three. 

He doesn’t avert his gaze fast enough for the moth-quirked man to not notice the attention he’s been giving to his mutilated limbs, the brunette offering him a sad smile and flexing what’s left of his wings in a weak flapping motion.

“I was lynched by an Anti-Mutant group of extremists a few months ago,” He explains, answering Keigo’s unasked questions, “My injuries kept me out of work, and eventually I was replaced while still on bedrest. Kumo’s been having a hard time finding places to take her while I’ve been healing, and we lost the apartment- couldn’t afford rent after my hospital bill.” He nods tiredly towards the bundle in his arms, “We didn’t know she was pregnant at the time either, so you can imagine how the last year has been.”

“I hear you,” Keigo murmurs apologetically, noticing how Toru’s gaze lingers with a saddened kind of light on Keigo’s own wings, his expression one of unsatisfied acceptance and possibly a small ounce of jealousy. He wants to say more, but sensing that he shouldn’t push things, Keigo turns to Shouto instead. “Why don’t you stay here,” He suggests to the boy, seeing as how he seems to be the one that Akarui’s more comfortable with between the two of them. If Kumo’s coming with one of them to get supplies, he’d rather have Shouto around the house than himself, “Help Toru unpack everything, and shoot me a message if you guys can come up with anything else to buy while we’re out, okay?”

His intern nods after a short moment of hesitation, Shouto’s eyes falling on Keigo and softening imperceptibly for a moment, though his mouth tugs into a slightly concerned frown. He doesn’t have to say anything for Keigo to know what’s going through his head- he’s running Keigo’s impromptu statement through his head again, not wanting to overstep by prying, but still curious and worried nonetheless. That’s a conversation for a different day, though, and Keigo avoids his concern in favour of setting all of his own bags on the floor, well within reach of the two. “We’ll be back soon, just hang tight.”

It’s gotten darker when they take to the street again, the clouds more dense, blocking out the afternoon sky. The snow’s still coming down in a heavy curtain, and Keigo offers Kumo his coat, but the woman refuses, eyeing the clouds herself before brushing her hair in front of her face.

“It won’t be a long walk,” She insists, leading him towards a shopping complex, though her shielded gaze is alight with concern when she glances his way. “Are you sure you’re alright with going to this much effort for us? You’ve done more than enough as it is- I chewed you out earlier, if you’ve already forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Keigo offers her a smile, a little strained, but genuine. The strain isn’t because of her, anyway. “You weren’t wrong to be defensive. I get where you were coming from.” His grin falters a little as they continue to trudge through the snow, his mind going back to a conversation point that he’d noticed earlier, “Have you had experience with those kinds of things happening, though? Akarui said something about Toru telling her to hide from heroes, and he made it sound like it’s something that’s been necessary in the past.”

Kumo purses her lips, crosses her arms, rubs them up and down in an attempt to ward off the cold. Keigo glances up at the still-snowing sky before releasing enough of his feathers to take his jacket off, offering it to her and reassembling his wings. “Here.”

“I told you, I don’t need-”

“I know you said you don’t need it, but you’re absolutely frozen and your family seems to be relying on you to be their sole provider right now. You can’t afford to get sick.” Keigo reasons, personal experience leaking into his tone and causing it to be firm, unwavering. Kumo, realizing he’s right, takes the coat after a beat and shrugs it on with a small note of gratitude. It’s way too big for her, but it’s probably the warmest article of clothing she’s worn in a while, Keigo not minding being cold himself for a few minutes if it means saving her from more trouble down the line.

“It has happened before,” Kumo admits at length, most of her face hidden in the tall collar of Keigo’s jacket. She seems more comfortable this way, with her mandibles hidden and her eyes just peaking out from behind her hair. Keigo makes a note to try to find her a coat with a similar collar on it if he can, “Heroes trying to take advantage of us personally. Mostly low-ranked kids who are new in the field and wanting to increase their standing by bringing in some easy arrests- that kind of thing. But last time,” she pauses briefly, her voice going colder, “We had someone come by the house,” Her eyes narrow, and Keigo can’t tell if it’s out of anger, or if she’s just collecting her thoughts. He side-eyes her and gives a nod, indicating that he’s listening as the woman continues, “I don’t think they were a hero per se, just some kind of associate. They were asking questions about Akarui, saying they had reason to believe we had a child that might be eligible for some training program, and that if we were willing to sign her over, we would all be cared for.”

Her voice is bitter as she says it, but that’s not what gets Keigo’s attention. The winged man trips over his own feet, stumbling on the snow-covered pavement in shock as he registers what it is that she’s just said, his train of thought coming to an abrupt halt. ‘ Training program? No, it couldn’t be- they wouldn’t… Shouto and I were circumstantial cases, they had reasons to reach out and recruit us both,’ His mind’s racing to make sense of this even if Kumo hasn’t noticed yet, the winged hero biting the inside of his cheek in thought. ‘Endeavor had tipped them off about me when he arrested my father, and they took me after I had illegally used my quirk on the street to save people from that crash. They knew about Shouto because of his connection to Endeavor and I. But this family… Akarui doesn’t seem remarkable in any way, and they haven’t seemed to have done anything that warrants HPSC notice.’ His stomach churns sourly as he connects the dots, suspicion forming in the back of his mind like a dark cloud. 

“A training program? Did they specify what kind?” Keigo asks smoothly, the hero sliding his visor back down over his face with a stiff hand. He takes a long, deep breath to settle himself, icy air burning his lungs in a way that’s not soothing so much as grounding, the shock to the system helping him to focus his thoughts and attention once again.

“Hero work, by the sounds of it,” That bad feeling in Keigo’s chest rankles even further, “Toru and I both thought it was a shady situation, and turned him away. We told him we didn’t have a daughter, and moved locations that night.” Kumo looks over at him, a bit of worry in her eyes, “It might sound stupid to you that we didn’t agree, seeing as how they were offering us all a new chance- education for the kids, a weekly allowance for us- but it can’t have been right. She’s only seven- I’ve never heard of kids being filtered into hero programs that early. Don’t they usually wait until they’re around sixteen for that?”

Keigo grits his teeth, working his jaw to temper the slowly growing burst of devastation eating him alive. So the Commission’s recruiting on the street, then. He’s wondered about that on several occasions, whether or not he was a rare case in having been swept up out of poverty and dumped in their intense training program, but that’s looking to potentially not be the case. And here, he’d always assumed they’d taken him for his quirk alone. Was it possible that he’d just been an easy target, no different than Akarui?

‘Is this where they get their cannon fodder?’ Keigo muses to himself, sickened, ‘ Picking through the gutters for kids that won’t be missed if anything does happen to them? If they don’t make it through training? And besides, who’d have listened to any parents claiming the Commission stole their kids? Everyone would write it off, and nobody would have the means to take them to court. Hell, even if they did, there’s that stupid fucking contract they have to sign-’

“Keep an eye out for more people like that,” Keigo says, unable to keep the frost out of his voice this time around, bile staining the back of his throat sourly, “There’s a chance they’ll come back and won’t be so inclined to take no for an answer.”

“You’ve heard of people doing this?”

“Yeah,” The winged hero scowls, setting this conversation to memory and letting it take up a space in the back of his head, available to pick apart at a later time, “And if you want my advice? Keep Akarui the hell away from them.”

They come back laden with just as many bags as before, and seeing Akarui go through them, curious and increasingly more excited, is the closest thing to experiencing Christmas that Keigo’s ever felt. He watches with a soft smile as Toru leans down to help the girl with the zipper on her new coat, Kumo preoccupied with getting the rest of the food put away and some of their other things organized. For now, his worries and suspicions about the Commission have been filed away, something to deal with, but not right now. Not at this moment.

It’s not like it’s anything he has the power to stop on his own, anyway. A one man army isn’t going to fix the shitshow that’s the HPSC, and Keigo already knows the struggle of trying to keep one kid out of their clutches. 

‘Shouto first,’ He thinks to himself quietly as the family goes about getting things in order, the mentor casting a quick glance over at his intern, ‘Shouto first, and whoever else I can save after. As many as I can carry. As many as I can hold out my arms to protect.’

Taiko, Kumo and Toru’s infant son, is currently being entertained by a rather awkward Shouto, who’s holding the boy with the stiff embrace of someone who has never been asked to hold a baby, and never expected to be. It would be a humorous sight if Shouto didn’t look ready to drop him and run every time the boy so much as makes a whimper, clearly out of his element. It’s good practice for him, though, so Keigo lets him flounder a bit, finishing setting up the solar-powered battery charger they’d grabbed to help the family with their lack of electricity. When he’s done, he calls Akarui over, fishing out the other thing that had been in the bag at his feet, something he’d specifically picked out for the girl on a whim.

“Hey, kid,” He greets as Akarui appears at his side, much friendlier than she’d been earlier, “Does your coat fit okay?”

“Yep!” She says, spinning around so Keigo can see, “I really like it. Thanks for all the stuff!”

Keigo grins down at her as she chatters, glad to see some life in the girl’s face, gaunt beyond her years. He reaches out to ruffle her hair, an action that’s become familiar since his internship with Shouto began, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he does so, some of the stiffness melting away though the anger is beginning to take a permanent residence in the back of his throat. ‘ Someday I’m going to shatter this system under my own hands if it means putting an end to all of this,’ Akarui’s eyes are wide and hopeful, used to being disappointed, but desperate to trust. Keigo’s own eyes looked just like that once. He wonders if they still do, sometimes. ‘ How could we have let things become so broken?’

“No worries,” He says easily, smiling enough that the tension in his voice is easily dismissed, “I’ve got something else for you.”

‘ I’m so tired of shit like this- corrupt heroes, corrupt government, the number of people being misused under both-’

“Is it something fun?”

“I hope so, kidlet.”

The doll isn’t an expensive one, isn’t anything overly special or eye-catching, but it’s a doll nonetheless and that’s all that seems to matter as Keigo fishes it out of the last bag by his feet, passing it over into Akarui’s waiting arms. Her many wide eyes light up in surprised delight as the toy is passed over to her, hesitant fingers reaching out to stroke the figurine’s long white hair with astounded reverence.

A toy. He knows how critical that can be for kids in her situation, how hard toys like this can be to come by when basic necessities become a thing of wishful thinking.

‘A better role model, though,’ He thinks to himself for a bit of solace, grinning as Akarui also takes interest in the fuzzy white ears protruding from the doll’s head, tracing them with her eyes and then with that same hesitant touch as well, like she’s afraid of staining them with her tiny hands, ‘ A better role model for her to look to than a ratty Endeavor doll.’

“Who is she?” Akarui asks softly, enchanted, not even sparing Keigo a look. The winged hero drops into a crouch closer to her level, ruffling his wings and letting them fan out more comfortably behind him as he points out the moon insignia on the heroine’s chest.

“This is Miruko,” Keigo explains, introducing the two, “The Rabbit hero.”

“Is she a friend of yours?” Akarui does spare him a glance then, holding the doll a little closer to her chest, though Keigo catches how she does so slowly and as though looking to him for approval. If she’s waiting for him to take the doll back, he doesn’t. Instead he offers her an encouraging smile, shrugging lightly.

“Kind of,” He agrees, if even just to keep the magic alive. He and Miruko don’t know each other well at all, if he’s being honest. Sure, they cross paths a lot at hero events and incidents out on the street every now and then, but other than that, it’s not like they’re close. That’s not to say that he wouldn’t like to get to know the heroine better- she’s got a lot of spunk, and the kind of personality that demands a certain level of respect the instant she walks in a room. They’d probably get along well, if he’d ever had the luxury of making friends. But the intricacies of all of that are too lengthy to explain to Akarui right now, so he just leaves it at that, “She’s really cool- brave and smart, definitely not afraid to stand up for herself or speak her mind. She’s a good hero, not one of those bad ones you have to worry about,” Keigo points to the doll’s very apparent bunny ears, grin widening a little when he sees Akarui flutter her own little moth wings in excitement, “And she’s got a mutant quirk, just like you and me, and the rest of your family.”

“Yeah…” Akarui says softly, mesmerized, fixing the doll’s hair again. When she meets Keigo’s eyes again, her own are glassy.

“There’s a lot of people out there who hate what they don’t understand,” The hero says gently, his tone softening significantly. Keigo cocks his head to keep Akarui’s gaze, as she glances away, “Sometimes they do and say terrible things because they think ‘different’ means ‘wrong’. But just because they think they’re right doesn’t mean they are.” He gestures at the room around them, catching as Akarui’s eyes flicker to look at her father- his missing leg, his wings, so like her own, torn to ribbons by vengeful hands. “This place you’re in now isn’t forever. When the day comes to let you explore life on your own and make your own choices, don’t let those people hold you back,” He instructs, remembering Kumo’s comment about a Commission agent on their doorstep, looking for a young girl to take into their training program. A memory sweeps over him then, his first face-to-face encounter with his own hero.

“This is the image you would set for your son?” Endeavor grinds out, the question directed to Keigo’s father, not him. “To see his father as less than nothing? If he doesn’t see you as strong, he’ll grow up to be just as weak, just as lousy. You’ve doomed him.”

“You don’t know that-”

“You’ve never taught him by example to be more than a drag on society.” The man’s words cut, and Keigo can see his father’s shoulders shudder. “What else would he know? What else do you think he’ll be?”

Keigo doesn’t have a chance to cry properly before the hero’s cold eyes are on him again, freezing the blood in his veins. “Since your father’s clearly never taught you anything about character, allow me: if you’re nothing but a thief, you’ll be nothing when you die. Nobody in the world will remember who you were, and you’ll spend your life locked away in a cell. You’ll just be a weak man with no conviction.” He says the last portion like it’s the worst offence of those listed, and Keigo shrinks back. “This,” Endeavor points at his father, “Is pitiful. Don’t let me catch you repeating it, or I’ll haul you in next. I don’t care that you’re a kid.” He narrows his eyes at Keigo’s terrified shivering, and jerks his chin. “Now get out of here. Consider this a warning.”

Keigo’s tiny hands that had trembled so violently in the wake of Enji’s shadow then are much larger and steadier now as he places one on Akarui’s head gently, offering her a kindhearted smile, soft with understanding.

“Don’t let them decide for you what your worth is and what you can do with it,” He says with conviction, “You don’t have to become a hero like me or Miruko to deserve respect and a good life. There’s a whole world of opportunities and options out there, and you deserve every one of them,” Akarui meets his eye again, her expression crumpling a little as the first few tears spring free, rolling down her cheeks. She swipes at her eyes almost angrily, sniffling and trying to stifle the frustrated tears, but Keigo doesn’t falter, his patience unwavering, “Being different doesn’t change that.”

Of all reactions, he wasn’t expecting Akarui to throw her arms around his neck, the amount of force she comes at him with very nearly causing Keigo to lose his balance. He rocks back on his heels, catching his other  arm around her out of instinct as the young girl buries her face in his coat, the hero being mindful not to crush her wings in his grip. She doesn’t say anything, but she also doesn’t have to. Keigo knows exactly what it is that she’s feeling, and he returns the embrace after a brief moment of surprise, holding her close. “It’s going to be okay,” He promises, quiet and kind, “I’m sorry that things have been so hard. You’ve been very brave.”

“I want everything to be normal again, like it was before,” Akarui whimpers, clutching the doll tightly and Keigo even tighter. He lets her without complaint, the winged hero making soft hushing noises as the girl’s shoulders tremble and shake, “I miss having a nice house and going to school.”

What is there to say to that? Keigo remembers the cold nights, trying to sleep all curled up in the corner while his stomach ached and the concrete all around leeched the remaining heat from his bones, a worse thief than his father. There’s no comfort you can give to someone in that position that will mean anything unless you’re offering them a bed and warm house with food on the table. Nice words don’t fill empty bellies.

“I know,” The hero murmurs, because understanding is one of the best things he can offer her right now, validation and empathy through shared experience. ‘I’m listening, someone hears you.’ “I know. It’s not fair.”

Akarui sobs.

Keigo holds her until her father quietly limps over and lays a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his expression pained. He locks eyes with Keigo then, somber and grief-stricken, and Keigo can feel his mouth pulling into a pursed, thin line, his heart twisting hard in his chest for the umpteenth time this afternoon.

These kinds of things shouldn’t happen. This is a family of good people, fallen on bad times because of hate, and left there to struggle by a society that couldn’t offer them a single glance, let alone a hand to help. Those who were supposed to look out for them have taken advantage of them instead. They’re hungry. They’re tired. They’re scared and hurt, and the whole scenario fills Keigo with unspeakable rage at the injustice of it all, the situation raw as a wound for him in so many ways.

“Akarui…” Toru says gently, his voice coming out at the end of a sigh, weary but still attentive. “Little Bug,” The man struggles to lower himself to the floor, hindered by his injured leg, but he manages, Akarui slowly pulling away from Keigo to face him. Her face is red and tear-streaked as she regards her father, Toru’s face going even more gaunt with sadness for a split second before he tries concealing it, but Keigo catches everything the other man can’t hide, releasing the little girl so she can stumble over to her father instead, still wiping at her eyes and taking shaky breaths. Toru welcomes her into his own embrace with open arms, pulling his daughter into his lap and cradling her to his chest like she’s no bigger than Taiko.

“Should we have said yes,” Akarui asks, too solemn for a seven year old, her voice thin, “When that man came for me? Things might have been better.”

A cold weight settles hard and fast in Keigo’s gut, but Toru beats him to answering, the other man shaking his head and resting his cheek in his daughter’s hair.

“No. Your mother and I wouldn’t trade you for the world, Bug. We could never have a home without you in it.”

Realizing that this is probably a very personal moment, Keigo quietly rises to his feet once again, stepping away after an appreciative glance from Toru. Keigo offers him a small nod of acknowledgement before wandering over to Shouto’s side, the boy still tending young Taiko, who’s equally unhappy as his sister if his loud sniffles and wails have anything to say about it.

The pervasive question of whether or not his own mother had wanted so strongly to keep him when the Commission agents had come, if she had missed him in their empty nest when he’d been taken, remains unanswered. ‘Stop thinking about your family, this isn’t the time.’ Keigo shoves the sentiment down hard, not willing to think about that for long as he takes in the scene in front of him, Shouto’s eyebrows nettled in confusion as he tries awkwardly bouncing the boy in his arms, trying to get him to stop crying.

“What the heck did you do to the poor kid?” Keigo teases, trying to lighten the mood a little bit. Shouto’s bewildered look speaks for itself as he turns to his mentor for help, blue and grey eyes alight with concern.

“I have no idea.”

“Relax,” The older pro huffs, studying the infant curiously, “That was a joke.” 

“He’s probably cold,” Kumo calls from the kitchen area, apologetic, “I know we bought him some blankets when we were out, but I haven’t come across them in any of the bags yet- do you mind holding him a bit longer while I look?”

Shouto looks like he’d sooner care to set the noisy baby on the floor and look for the blankets himself, but he holds Taiko nonetheless, leaning away from the boy’s flailing arms when Taiko’s had enough of having his needs ignored and takes matters into his own hands. He lets out a truly impressive screech, Keigo’s feathers ruffling slightly at the high-pitched keen. To occupy himself, Keigo picks up a random box from the floor that hasn’t been assembled yet, making himself busy before he somehow ends up with an infant being passed over to him instead. Then, an outrageously obvious thought comes to him, one he’s kicking himself for not mentioning earlier.

“Just warm him up a bit with your fire quirk,” Keigo suggests, somewhat amused and annoyed that both he and Shouto combined hadn’t thought of such a thing before now. The matter solved, the winged man turns his attention solely to getting batteries in the small space heater he’d pulled from the box, eager to get the whole room somewhat warmed up. It isn’t until a long pause from Shouto, another wail from Taiko, and then a very quiet, “What do you mean?” from his intern that Keigo looks over and realizes Shouto’s still just holding the freezing infant in his arms helplessly, a blank look on his face. The older pro blinks, setting both the heater and the batteries on the table and nodding towards Shouto’s left arm, currently hovering uncertainly in the air.

“Y’know, just warm yourself up so he can glean off of it.”

Shouto’s look isn’t any less confused at that, as he sits there, staring down at his hand.

“I’ve… That’s not something I’ve ever learned how to do.” He glances up at Keigo again, concerned. “I can regulate my body temperature but I’ve never done it while holding someone. Won’t I burn him?”

‘ What do you mean, you never learned how to-’

“Endeavor never taught you that?” Keigo asks instead of answering immediately, his own confusion taking precedent, just for now. Shouto slowly shakes his head, apparently baffled.

“We-” He catches himself, but not quickly enough to stop the word from falling out of his mouth like a verbal stumble, “I was only ever taught to use fire for combat. Father always said it was wasted on rescue. It’s too strong for that. I usually regulate by releasing flames, but I’ve never tried internalizing them.”

There’s no way Shouto’s fire is too strong to use gently. Keigo frowns at the implication, knowing for a fact that the kid’s brother projects blue flames like he’s just spitballing, and he’s never once left a burn on Keigo’s skin with his quirk. He’s never seen Shouto bring his own flames up to that kind of degree before, so if anything, his control should be easier to maintain than Dabi’s. But if that’s the case, why wouldn’t Endeavor have-

Oh. 

Endeavor never taught his oldest son how to do this trick either, Keigo realizes then, recalling his last conversation with the Number One. Enji had talked about Touya’s quirk like its strength was something he had to build up a tolerance to, like he had to subject himself to the ferocity of it if he were ever going to control it at all. He would never have encouraged him to cut it back, trained him to light embers under his skin instead of just raising wildfires and seeing how long he could handle the heat.

But Touya Todoroki, however- the gentle boy who wanted to read and hated to fight, and had a quirk that was a danger to him and everyone around him- he would’ve worked to find a way to make that fire gentle too. Something bearable. Something soothing instead of frightening.

Keigo swallows hard. Straightens his shoulders. Looks Shouto in the eye.

“It’s not too strong, I promise,” He says, leaving the heater and batteries on the table for now, and walking over to his intern instead. “And think of it more like stoking a few embers rather than building fires and directing them inwards. It’s…” He flounders for a moment, trying to find his wording. This isn’t his quirk, not even remotely, and trying to teach Shouto how to use it has always been a challenge, but particularly in this case, “You know how… Your quirks are like a faucet, right?” Dabi had explained that analogy to him once, trying to help the hero understand why it was that his powers got so out of control at times.

“It’s like a faucet,” Dabi had said then, cigarette smoke curling between them and up into the night sky. They’d been up a random rooftop in the middle of the city, both of them scraped up and jittery from a job nearly gone wrong, back when Keigo was first infiltrating the League and before they’d really gotten together. Dabi had shrugged off his jacket while sitting next to him in an attempt to cool off, and Keigo could feel the heat radiating off of him from three feet away. It was the first time he remembers noticing how fucking blue his eyes were, a thin ring of cerulean with his pupils blown out from the adrenaline. What he should’ve been more concerned about, at the time, was that they were being pursued half an hour ago, he’d nearly been shot, and he’d just seen this man put up a wall of flames between them and four other people that was hot enough to turn the surrounding concrete into sheets of obsidian-like glass. It had been an insane amount of power, faster than even Keigo had reacted, and infinitely more devastating in its consequence. “If faucets were turned by emotions, instead of by hand. One minute, you think you’re only turning it enough to let a trickle out, just enough to do what you need to do. Next thing you know,” He’d taken a drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes, and when he’d opened them again, the blue was starting to become more prominent, the adrenaline burning out in his body, “You feel afraid for a split second, and it’s all over. You might as well have cranked the fuckin’ thing and then busted a pipe along with it. Good luck reining it in then.”

“You lost control back there,” Keigo had inquired while the other was still in a rare sharing mood, sparing the arsonist a mutual glance. The dark-haired villain hadn’t lashed out until one of their pursuers had managed to take a shot at Keigo’s wing mid-flight, sending him sprawling across the parking lot. It had just been a graze, later assessed as a minor flesh wound that hadn’t even hit the bone, but had left him discombobulated and incapacitated enough to have been fucked if he hadn’t been met with the sound of heavy boots sprinting back across the lot, Dabi showing up in his field of vision out of nowhere. The other man had jumped over him in an attempt to get in a position to confront their attackers without having Keigo in the crossfire, and there’d been no warning before the world had simply exploded in a million shades of blue. It had been a spectacle unlike anything Keigo had ever seen. Dabi cut off his flames with an irritated, pained hiss only seconds later, but it had been enough, Keigo still too stunned to speak as the arsonist had wheeled around, dragging him to his feet and forcing them both to take off at a sprint, hauling ass before they could be spotted by anyone else. “Were you afraid then?”

Dabi had met his gaze evenly for a long while, taking another drag and looking away before speaking.

“I’m not afraid of anything, Pigeon.”

That hadn’t been true. He’d been lying then, and Keigo knows his tells well enough now to see, in hindsight, that Dabi had absolutely been scared. The memory only seems all the more jaded after how terrified he’d seen the arsonist last night, trembling and panicked, chest heaving with smoke building in his lungs as Keigo’s fingers had traced the gentlest lines across his skin, soothing, soothing, soothing, coaxing those flames in him to go dormant once again, assuring him they weren’t needed. Dabi is, in fact, scared of several things. He’s scared of his father. He’s scared of becoming like him, he’s scared of never being able to live without feeling his existence like a shackle, he’s scared of this fire his father passed down to him, the same that runs in Shouto’s veins. He’s afraid of breaking the faucet. Afraid of losing control.

He and Shouto have that much and more in common.

But Keigo’s seen what it looks like when Dabi loses control of his flames, knows what extremes it takes for that to happen. Hell, even last night he’d managed to rein himself in despite his fears that he might’ve lost control around Keigo while stuck within his nightmares, completely disconnected to the outside world. If he can manage that much, Keigo’s certain Shouto won’t go over the edge with this.

He takes Shouto’s arm between his hands, pointing from his fingertips to a spot halfway down his forearm. “Imagine that faucet, and that these boundaries are its limitations for activation. There’s no need to throw heat from the rest of your body if it’s not going to be warming Taiko up directly,” Keigo directs, Shouto giving a brisk nod to prove he’s listening, albeit with a bit of trepidation. “Now imagine twisting that faucet just enough to hear it activate, but not enough to have it release anything. It’s like… Turning the keys in the ignition without actually going anywhere.” He continues, giving him a second visual. Shouto nods again, looking a bit more confident. He sticks his arm out, far away from both Keigo and Taiko, and immediately his expression drops into one that Keigo recognizes as intense concentration, the dual-quirked boy wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes as he stares at his outstretched arm. Keigo gives him a second to collect himself and then carefully holds his hands out to test if there’s any warmth coming off of the teen, encouraged by the lack of flames bursting forth from his skin and a soft aura of heat radiating to meet his palms, still weak but still noticeable. “There you go, I think you’ve almost got it- maybe try for just a bit more,” He encourages his intern with a genuine smile, Shouto mirroring the look with a grin of his own, and easily upping the temperature of heat coming off of him, Keigo nodding in approval. “That’s it, good job. Do you feel in control enough to keep it steady?”

“I think so,” Shouto affirms, waiting a movement longer before very gently moving his hand to rest in the center of the young boy’s chest, Taiko easing his crying and letting out a loud cooing noise before wriggling around happily in Shouto’s arms, the teen’s smile defrosting more and more as he looks down at the quieting infant. “It’s working.” He sounds surprised, but pleasantly so, his eyes carrying a happy glint when they meet Keigo’s again. “Midoriya will be excited to hear about this.”

Keigo doesn’t have it in him to tell him where the origin for this idea came from, but he offers his intern a smile anyway, clapping the boy on the shoulder and leaving him to tend to Taiko, finishing up with the heater. After he gets the batteries in and turns it on, warmth slowly begins to circulate from the machine, helping to thaw all of the bodies in the room who are equally grateful for the new source of heat. At length, Kumo comes to stand beside him, crossing her arms over her chest. Her new jacket rustles somewhat with the action, the woman subconsciously hiding the lower half of her face in the collar of her coat. They’d managed to find one with a tall collar, just like Keigo had been hoping for, and Kumo had been hesitantly comfortable enough to push her hair back behind her ears on their walk back, somewhat revealing her eyes more as they’d retraced the quiet streets to her family’s home. It was a subtle change, a tiny hopeful gesture that had lifted Keigo’s spirits just a bit as he’d watched Kumo relax gradually while walking past civilians, at first tensing each time but slowly beginning to realize that nobody was going to stare. By the end of their trip, she’d begun to look around with more certainty, less inclined to duck her head when people had crossed their path, and more willing to look around at the scenery around her, observing the buildings, and the vehicles, and the snow still falling down.

“I owe you an apology,” She says quietly, observing Shouto and Taiko before glancing over at her husband and daughter, Akarui now only sniffling as Toru rocks them both back and forth, humming softly, “For my accusations of your character earlier today. Clearly I was biased to you trying to help us, and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. Especially considering your…” She hesitates on the next part, eyeing Keigo over with careful discretion before adding, “Circumstances. Did your family fall on hard times like us while you were a child, or-”

He should’ve suspected she’d ask more about this at some point. Keigo’s already shaking his head, crossing his arms to mirror Kumo’s stance, leaning back against the collapsible table and watching Shouto cautiously try to bounce Taiko in his arms.

“Not while I was a kid, no. They were impoverished before they had me, but having me definitely didn’t improve things.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling her this. In a way, it’s spilling out of him like an overflowing beaker, aching for someone to understand. If anyone would, it’s Kumo. “Dad was arrested for petty theft when I was five, and after that I had to take on the providing role for my family. Mom was an alcoholic, so it was up to me to take care of us both.” 

Kumo’s expression is a sad one. Keigo can’t bear to see it longer than he has to.

“And then you went and became a hero.”

“Yeah. Guess it seemed fitting.” He means to say it like a joke but it comes out flat, too bitter to be teasing. Kumo unfolds her arms to rest a hand on Keigo’s shoulder sympathetically, almost maternalistic.

“Thank you for not forgetting where you came from.”

He had, though. It’s easy to realize now, looking around and feeling the throbbing pain of this situation being too personal and uncomfortable in ways that make him want to turn away, to shield his eyes and not look back. It wasn’t until recently that he’d started acknowledging his past again, that he’d been able to open it up properly without flinching and immediately closing it away, shutting down any thoughts and emotions that ran in tandem with the memories he wanted to forget. It’s not that easy, now. Not since he’s started recognizing himself as Keigo again. His childhood is a part of him, whether he wants it to be or not.

And he hasn’t put much effort into addressing the problem that produced him. It had never felt like a priority. Maybe this is a chance to change that.

“I’ll start a campaign,” He says slowly, watching Toru and Akarui, and feeling a sliver of something painful in his heart melt away at the words, finally pulled free like a sliver he’s been ignoring for years, “Through my agency- aid for those in poverty. I’ve been ignoring my roots for too long. I’m not blind to what kind of a problem this is, but I haven’t done anything about it.” Taking a second to gather his thoughts he adds, “And you were right, about heroes taking advantage of people in situations like this. It’s not often that we see anyone taking initiative on providing aid because you don’t get much recognition for it. The route that earns you credit is making arrests, which is the way most heroes go. But that doesn’t challenge the actual problem. If they really wanted to reduce the number of petty thieves stealing for necessity, they’d target the source of the action, not the action itself.”

Glancing at Kumo once more, he finds himself facing a resolute woman with a bittersweet smile lingering in her many eyes, more felt than seen.

“You are a good hero,” She attests, nodding towards Shouto, “The boy spoke honestly. Raise that one up well. We need more heroes that know compassion for those that are turned away by society. We’d have fewer villains if the world were kinder.”

“I know,” Keigo says softly, that matter hitting home in more ways than Kumo could possibly understand, “And I’ll do my best,” He smiles though, an afterthought, observing his intern fondly, “But I have to give him credit: Shou’s already got a good heart, he doesn’t leave me much work to do on that front.”

“No,” Kumo’s voice is amused, muffled from both her mandibles and the tall collar of her coat as she watches the dual-quirked boy amicably allow Taiko to tug at his hair experimentally, the infant cooing and babbling as he tries to take up fistfuls of different-coloured strands, “I doubt you’ll find much of a problem with that at all.”

They part ways with Kumo and her family shortly thereafter, Akarui asleep in Toru’s arms and Taiko whimpering and pouting about being taken back from Shouto, the little boy reaching out to the teen with open, outstretched hands. It takes at least ten minutes for them to work their way out the door without Taiko beginning to sniffle and wail, and by the time they actually do manage to escape, the sun’s sinking low on the horizon, the dark fall of night only an hour or so away. They say their farewells to the two parents, with an offer extended from Keigo for them to stop by his agency if they need anything, before taking off into the cold night to catch their train home.

At the very least, it’s stopped snowing. Keigo feels worn to the bone, drained and exhausted and now a little chilly as the temperature begins to drop and his long, tired sigh creates large plumes of breath in the frosty air. He doesn’t miss the little yawn that Shouto tries to stifle as well, the boy blinking several times to wake himself up properly as they navigate their way back to the train station, the streets becoming more and more familiar as they go.

“Hey- awesome job out there today,” Keigo says at length after a few minutes of mutual silence between them both, proudly throwing an arm over Shouto’s shoulders as they walk down the street, late-afternoon traffic beginning to clog the city. It’s a good thing they’ll be taking the train back, otherwise they’d be held up even longer in trying to get back to their respective residences. On his part, Keigo’s looking forward to getting back to his warm apartment and relaxing for the rest of the night as quickly as possible, and as he casts the boy at his side a glance, he absently wonders if Shouto’s put any more thought into what his home situation might look like over the next while. He doesn’t get any direct answers, but Shouto’s looking up at him in that quiet, softly surprised way that he always adopts whenever Keigo offers him words of support, though tonight his mouth has quirked up just a little bit at the corners. The winged hero huffs at that, the sight a hard-earned one that he knows they’ve both scraped hard for over the last few months, “You’ve come a long way, kid,” He says fondly,  recalling the reclusive, standoffish boy he’d first been handed when they’d begun this internship. Shouto had been all fire and ice in personality just as much as his quirk, difficult to win over and a hell of a risk that had taken them both a while to work out. Now, though, he knows the boy’s grown under his assistance- thrived, even, with Keigo by his side, and it’s been a priceless journey the winged man has no regrets over, “I’m proud of you. You’re going to make a phenomenal hero someday.”

He ruffles the teen’s hair and Shouto ducks his head in a mild bout of humbleness, lightly elbowing Keigo in the side. It’s a teasing, close-knit gesture that has Keigo’s grin stretching from ear to ear.

“I’ve had a good teacher.”

“You’ve had an alright teacher,” Keigo admits, “But not a perfect one. That speech you gave Kumo? Getting her to listen to you so we could help her? That was all you. Kumo wasn’t going to listen to me; she had too much distrust and I couldn’t win her over.” He meets eyes with his intern again, his voice still kindhearted, but inarguably firm, serious, “That family’s got a chance now because of you. Heck, you as good as saved four lives today.”

He doesn’t understand, at first, why Shouto’s grin falters, a ray of sun flickering between fast-moving clouds.

“I still have to decide how to help my own family, now.”

Damn, he’s cutting right to the chase this time. Keigo falters into silence as the bi-coloured teen turns to stare straight ahead, pursing his lips, “And I don’t just mean Natsuo and Fuyumi and Mom.”

For a fleeting second, Keigo assumes he’s going to say something about Dabi. It takes him aback, because while he knows Shouto’s always been perceptive, he wasn’t expecting him to have put any thought into how this dilemma is affecting his estranged older brother.

“I mean, it’s definitely a complicated situation and everything, but-”

“You know you’ll be forced to take up the Number One spot if I go through with this,” Shouto continues quietly, Keigo lapsing into quickly-stunned silence, the words he was about to say dying unsaid on his tongue. He stares at Shouto mutely, his voice stolen as he realizes, first, that he had assumed wrong about where this conversation was going, and second, that Shouto Todoroki just casually mentioned him as family.

That last part is a little harder to wrap his head around.

Of course, Keigo’s gotten used to viewing Shouto as a younger brother over the last few months. Between his personal interactions with the kid and all of Dabi’s recountings of his experiences and stories with Shou, it was bound to happen at some point. But he’d never heard Shouto reciprocate the sentiment, and there’s something about hearing it out loud that almost has Keigo stopping in his tracks.

He doesn’t get time to mull over it, however, as Shouto ploughs forward, totally unaware of the emotional blow he just dealt the winged man walking silently beside him. “I know you’ve never wanted that role. You’ve mentioned before that you’d rather go down in ranking than up- and you heard the criticisms Kumo brought up about the ranking system today. If I do this and people know you’re involved, many are going to assume that you helped me take my father out of the equation just to get yourself up that last step.” Shouto adjusts his bag’s strap over his shoulder, fiddling with it needlessly just to have something to do with his hands, “I don’t want your reputation to take that hit- or to dump the additional stress of the position on you either. This isn’t what you signed up for when you took me on as an intern.”

Keigo regards him for a few long seconds, processing all of that, before making a clicking sound with his tongue and shrugging easily.

“Eh, I might not have signed up for it, but that doesn’t mean I’m shying away from it now,” The winged hero points out, tone gentling as he adds, “Don’t make your decision based on my account, kiddo. Taking on the Number One position honestly wouldn’t change much for me. Can’t really get much busier than I already am,” Keigo jokes, shooting Shouto a smirk. This grin is one that the teen doesn’t match, his eyebrows furrowing in slight concern. Keigo can tell he wants to pry into that, but the older hero moves along, not wanting to delve more into his personal life than he already has today, “Shou, if you’re making this call, do it for yourself, okay?” Shouto ducks his head a bit again, though this time it’s not out of humble embarrassment, “I know that might seem tough or selfish, but you’re the one who’s going to be impacted by this the most, no matter what you choose. It’s your future that’s being held in the balance, here.” Keigo steels his voice as he adds, “Everyone else involved in this shit are adults. We can take care of ourselves, no matter what you decide. Just choose for you, okay? Whether you go for it or not, just make sure it’s for you and not anyone else.”

The train station is well within view by the time Shouto pipes up again, catching Keigo off guard after the long stretch of silence they’d endured. 

“I…” Shouto begins hoarsely, accidentally bumping into Keigo’s arm after having subconsciously drifted closer to him for support. Keigo shoots him a look, and catching the slightly pale expression on Shouto’s face, he uses a guiding hand on the boy’s shoulder to direct him towards the right doors for their platform, though he slows down enough that they won’t be in the busy terminal as Shouto’s trying to speak. “I think…”

“You don’t have to make up your mind right now,” Keigo says coaxingly, a kind reminder. It doesn’t soothe. If anything, it’s the final push that has Shouto raising his chin with a forceful inhale, meeting Keigo’s eyes evenly as they reach the base of the stairs to the station, Keigo with one foot already on the first step.

“I want to go through with the trial.”

His voice shakes a little as he says it, but he’s resolute in his announcement as Keigo stops dead in his tracks with his hand still on Shouto’s shoulder, the station intercom making muffled noise in the building just ahead of them. A woman walks past on the other side of the divisive railing that separates the stairway, her coming down the steps and walking away before either of them find it within themselves to say something.

“Are you sure?” Keigo asks strictly, serious but not unkind, “Like I said, don’t make up your mind now if you’re just doing it because you feel like you have to, we can wait a whi-”

“I want to do it,” Shouto’s voice is stronger the second time around, the dual-quirked boy nodding slightly to himself, “If- If I’m making this choice just for me,” He does falter a little bit on that portion, guilt momentarily streaking his face, though it’s wiped away by cool impassiveness a half of a second later, “Then I want to go through with it. I don’t want to be there anymore. And you heard what Kumo said when she met us- when people see me, the first thing they recognize me for is being Endeavor’s son. His prodigy,” The teen grimaces angrily, clenching his jaw and stubbornly standing his ground, “If I don’t do something, I’ll be associated with him my whole life. I want people to see me and recognize me as Shouto. Not as an extension of him. That’s something I won’t be able to outrun unless I cut those ties for all of Japan to see.”

Keigo regards him quietly, takes in this boy-turned-soldier that he’s fought so hard to protect. He takes in the way his hands are balled up into fists at his sides, the fierce glint in his dual-coloured eyes, the bright scar on his face hidden somewhat behind his bangs, the way his shoulders are stiff with apprehension, but not with fear. He’s serious. He means it. And clearly, he’s willing to stand and fight for it.

“Okay,” The winged man agrees quietly, accepting his choice. He squeezes Shouto’s shoulder, one of the boy’s hands coming up to grip his mentor’s wrist with equal force, “Alright. We’ll get everything in motion, then.”

Shouto nods stiffly, swallowing hard, though that tension eases a bit as Keigo releases his hold to drop an arm over his shoulders, letting the teen lean into him as they take the stairs together, one at a time.

“I know it’s not in your route, but will you come with me to tell Mr. Aizawa?”

It’s a tentative request, one that Shouto makes without looking at him directly as though that would be too demanding for the hero walking beside him. He glances up in relief as Keigo drapes a wing around him as well, guarded subtly but fiercely by the hero’s arm over his shoulders and the feathers at his back.

“Of course, kid,” Keigo says easily, his own relief showing its colouring now that Shouto’s made his definitive choice. They can get him through this. They can get him out of there. Everything’s going to be alright. “I’m with you the whole way.”

The balcony door is unlocked as always when Keigo makes it back to his apartment, the night sky well and truly dark now as he works the sliding door open wearily, having just flown back from UA. His meeting with Shouto and Aizawa hadn’t been long. To be honest, his role in it had been minimal, mostly consisting of him standing by Shouto as he’d relayed his decision to Aizawa, the grizzled pro briefly discussing getting some paperwork sent off about getting Shouto moved in with him and Hizashi. All in all, it had maybe taken ten minutes to get everything organized and to say goodbye to Shouto, but the flight home had felt long while soaring through the cold on his own. He could’ve taken the train to avoid freezing his ass off, but the prospect of getting home more quickly by flying had been enough of an incentive to brave taking to the skies.

A surge of tiredness floods his body as he touches down on the balcony once again, releasing a long sigh and shaking out his wings. Another day, come to a close. Yet again, he won’t be watching any sunrises tomorrow. He’s too tired for that, even now.

It takes him a moment to realize Dabi’s in the kitchen when he first steps in through the balcony door.

Soft music playing from the Bluetooth speaker on the counter should’ve been the first indicator, but the hero, preoccupied with shedding enough of his feathers to be able to remove his coat, hadn’t looked over towards the kitchen before going about his task. He ditches his visor on the counter with a clatter, then his comm, before fighting with his boots and kicking them off of the mat by the door. It’s only after doing this and turning, reaching for the lapels of his coat that he realizes he’s not alone. Dabi’s standing over the stove, head bent as he mumbles along distractedly with whatever song’s playing on the speaker, clearly caught up in working on dinner. Keigo had assumed he would’ve already made food and eaten by now, but the arsonist must’ve gotten his message about being home late and decided to hold off.

Shrugging off his jacket and draping it over one of the dining-room chairs, Keigo steps softly across the kitchen and over towards the stove, pressing up against Dabi’s back and sliding his arms around the taller man’s waist. The nearly inaudible singing dwindles out at his touch, Dabi giving an acknowledging hum at his presence instead.

“Hey, little bird.” The arsonist says, a low murmur that threads its way into Keigo’s grasp and settles there, a gentle, safe thing to surround himself with. Dabi pauses in stirring whatever’s in the pan to glance slightly over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the winged hero behind him when he doesn’t get a response, “Long day, Pigeon?”

“You could say that,” Keigo answers quietly, exhausted but content, happy to be home. The unsettledness that’s been plaguing him for most of the afternoon begins washing away in ebbing and swelling tides, gently coaxing that rattled, constantly moving force in him to fall quiet and still. It settles into nothing as he takes in the scent of sandalwood soap and familiar laundry detergent from Dabi’s shirt, his fingers tangling loosely in the overwashed grey fabric. It’s grounding for some reason, that simple anchor, so he doesn’t move, staying tucked in along the lean muscle of the arsonist’s back, “We didn’t run into much trouble, really, but it was… Emotionally taxing,” Keigo pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts and dismissing the ones he doesn’t want to deal with just yet before adding, “Shouto and I went to Kawasaki.”

Dabi hums again, an obligatory sound of interest. He asks a few more questions about patrol that Keigo knows he’s only inquiring about for the sake of not bringing up anything more important, the two of them making mutually-permitted small talk as dinner continues to crackle and steam on the stovetop, the whole thing so casual in the wake of everything going on.

‘ He’s still avoiding talking about last night or what’s going on with the case ,’ Keigo notices silently, opting not to bring it up, ‘That’s alright. I’ll let him open up about all of that when he’s ready. ’

“You said you didn’t run into much trouble- does that mean you did and it was just easy to take care of, or were things pretty quiet?”

“Nah,” Keigo mumbles, closing his eyes and letting his wings droop behind him until his primaries are dragging on the floor, “Nothing happened. It was pretty quiet, aside from a family that needed a bit of help.” The memory of empty cabinets and the repressed longing and hope that had streaked Toru’s face when the two heroes had arrived with enough food to feed them all are fresh enough in Keigo’s mind to have him reaching up to press a docile kiss to Dabi’s shoulder, settling against his back again a moment later. “Thanks for making dinner,” He says appreciatively. Having a meal to come home to tonight isn’t something to take for granted- especially not after his unexpected immersion back into his childhood, able to feel the phantom pains of a permanently empty stomach like it were yesterday. He’s still filtering through memories when Dabi reaches one hand behind him to ruffle Keigo’s hair, the winged hero releasing a heavy breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding onto and sagging against his partner with renewed relief. If it’s a struggle in any way, to resume cooking with Keigo leaning into him for support, he’s not raising a fuss about it.

“Don’t get too excited,” Dabi warns with a slight frown in his voice that Keigo can catch even without seeing his face, unknowing to the thoughts being dispelled from the hero’s head, “I made it to fit this stupid diet chart thing the HPSC gave you, so jury’s out on whether or not it’s going to have any flavour, or if we’re better off just eating cardboard.”

Keigo grins at that despite himself, the knobs of Dabi’s spine pressing into his cheek. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but he’ll be damned before he moves.

“Like I said, they just aim to suck the joy out of everything.”

“Well, they’re definitely about to suck the joy out of dinner, that’s for sure,” Dabi complains, though he gives a small sigh as Keigo adjusts his grip on him slightly, the arsonist brushing his fingers across one of the arms the winged man has around his waist, “I... They’ve given you enough shit lately as it is.” He says gingerly, sounding almost a little humbled, “I don’t want to offer them any more reasons to come after you again.”

Keigo knows exactly what the other man is thinking of: the hero stumbling in, panic attacks on the floor, him sobbing about feeling numb and begging for help while the arsonist tries to hold him close, gentle out of fear, livid beyond words. Dabi’s still apprehensive about the Commission’s grip on him, and Keigo can’t blame him for it, not after the all-too-recent events they’ve endured together at the hands of those who swear to keep Japan safe. They’ve seen the ugly parts of the beast that most people have the luxury of never noticing, have seen down the maw of the monster that goes unnoticed by those who haven’t been given the lenses to see it at all. Keigo smooths his palm across Dabi’s stomach, sliding it up until it rests just under the arsonist’s sternum.

“That doesn’t mean you need to eat according to my restrictions, Dabs.” He offers easily, keeping his tone light, but not arguing the necessity to not push buttons where he doesn’t have to. His wings twitch at the memory of his last reconditioning, unnerved, but Dabi cuts him off from saying any more when he gives a disbelieving snort, shaking his head.

“Listen, I might not enjoy it but I’m also not standing around to make two different dinners.” The taller man teases wryly, managing to wrangle things into safer, more lighthearted territory. Keigo presses another small kiss just to the right of his spine for the effort, grinning a little when Dabi’s voice softens imperceptibly, warm in a way that could almost be written off as just roughness or scratchiness in his tone if Keigo didn’t know him better, “We’re both just going to have to grin and bear it.”

“Mmm. Less dishes that way.” Keigo muses, Dabi agreeing with some kind of affirmative that gets lost in the hero’s head as he distractedly realizes the oven’s on. “Wait, what’s in the oven?”

Dabi answers with some kind of disheartened, flat mumble that Keigo can’t make out, the arsonist’s mood immediately soured with that question. ‘That’s weird.’ Keigo raises his head a little with a frown, “Hot Stuff, I have absolutely no idea what you just said.”

“Salmon.” The dark-haired man mutters, a little louder this time, sounding disgusted with himself. Keigo blinks, brow furrowing as he thinks that through.

“You hate fish.”

“I know.”

“...But it’s on the diet sheet?”

“Yes.”

It’s such a small gesture, a quietly loving thing to do, but it means so much more to him then as Keigo tightens his grip around the scarred man’s waist temporarily, Dabi glancing over his shoulder at him once more.

“You,” Keigo states with a genuine grin, releasing the villain to step up alongside him and peck him on the cheek, “Are fantastic,” Dabi doesn’t turn his head away fast enough for Keigo to not catch the tiny grin that crosses his own face at that, but the hero chooses not to embarrass him by pointing it out, “I’ll make it up to you sometime. What do you want for dinner on Saturday?” He asks, moving away to set his gloves down on the counter beside his abandoned visor, his headset following a second later, “We could order in, or I could try my hand at cooking again, although I’m not going to promise any kind of results that way-”

“Do you work at all on Saturday?” Dabi asks instead of answering, glancing over at him and setting the heat on the stove to ‘low’. Keigo shakes his head, rolling his shoulders and leaning back against the sink.

“Not really. Tomorrow’s looking to be pretty booked up, but that’s not uncommon for Fridays- I’ve got a load of work to do at the Commission, and a meeting with Twice tomorrow night. I’m not sure how long that’s going to take. I’ll be free for most of Saturday; I’ve just been asked to stand by while police make a move to diffuse a potential situation with a Yakuza base not far from here. That’ll only take up a bit of the afternoon, though. Why?”

The arsonist glances at him again, his gaze deliberating and thoughtful, though he quickly turns away again, not holding Keigo’s stare for long. It’s a curious enough action to have Keigo raising an eyebrow, intrigued at this innocuous display of reticence. “You’re acting weird. Does the League need me for something on Saturday?”

“Not the League,” Dabi says, almost too quickly. He looks away sharply at his own urgency, clearing his throat with an awkwardness that Keigo finds comically endearing, “It’s just… Been a while since we’ve had a quiet day,” The dark haired man explains slowly, now pretending to focus on surveying the pan of rice and veggies that doesn’t need the amount of supervision it’s getting. He clears his throat again, “Optionally, I mean. You had the day off after the whole Commission thing, and we had a couple days after my confrontation with Endeavor, but when was the last time we just… Took a day because there wasn’t shit hitting the fan?” He looks over again as if gauging Keigo’s reaction before raking a hand through his hair jerkily and trying to play it off as nothing, “...Wasn’t there some movie you wanted to watch a few months ago, that we never got around to? And- I could teach you how to make sukiyaki for dinner, if you want.” The arsonist seems almost legitimately nervous now, Keigo watching him with increasing fondness, letting the other man stumble gracelessly around the point like he’s hellbent on avoiding saying the obvious, “It’s just an idea, it’s not a big deal if you would rather make other plans or do something else. You don’t exactly get a shit-ton of days off.”

“A date night sounds great,” Keigo agrees warmly, chuckling to himself as he notices Dabi gearing up to protest.

“I never said anything about a date ni-”

“C’mon, Hot Stuff.” Crossing his arms, Keigo can’t help but give the other man a teasing smile, knowing full well that Dabi’s just avoiding looking at him at all by this point, “Dinner and a movie? Sounds like a classic date night to me.”

Dabi doesn’t award him a response for that, the taller man pursing his lips into a hard, flat line. He’s jabbing at the food more than properly stirring it in his agitation and Keigo, taking a small amount of pity on him, pushes himself away from the counter and over to where the fire-user’s standing. Knowing that he’s still being ignored, the winged man ducks in under his partner’s arm, making it impossible for the arsonist to not look him in the eye with Keigo standing between him and the stove. Before either of them can get another word in, he’s reaching up to guide the villain in for a kiss, short and sweet and distracting enough to get Dabi’s attention. “I’ll have you know, I happen to like classic date nights.”

“You’re going to end up burning yourself if you stand with your back to the stove like that.”

“I’ve never had sukiyaki.”

“You take a lot of unnecessary risks, for a hero.”

“I’m looking forward to Saturday.”

“You still haven’t corrected the problem, Pigeon.”

Keigo huffs good-naturedly, rolling his eyes. He spins to face the stove properly before falling back against Dabi’s chest with enough force to have the other man releasing a punched-out exhale, instinctively bringing an arm up around Keigo’s middle to steady them both as he staggers.

“Problem corrected. Now, stop being impossible.”

“ I’m impossible?” Dabi asks, affronted, though his tone is amused even if he sounds winded. Not even a second later, Keigo can feel a subtle kiss being pressed to the space just behind his ear, then another a little lower, the villain adjusting Keigo’s wings a bit to stand more comfortably between them, ensuring that they won’t be pinned at all. “Sounds likely. And you’ll probably like sukiyaki- it was a comfort food for all of us kids, growing up.”

It’s a silent, cautious step towards talking about the arsonist’s family- not quite a dive into the deep end, but a hesitant pressing of fingers against a wound to test how sensitive the injury is under the skin. Keigo takes the spatula from Dabi’s hand, stirring it on his own while guiding the arsonist’s second arm around his waist as well.

“I had no idea you liked it that much. I can’t speak for the rest of your siblings, but did you know Shouto’s favourite meal is soba?”

He can feel Dabi stiffen just a bit behind him before slowly relaxing, releasing a long sigh that ruffles Keigo’s hair as he breathes.

“Hot or cold?”

“Both,” Keigo answers, chuckling at Dabi’s somewhat sarcastic, ‘Go figure.’ The arsonist shifts his weight between either foot before finding his voice again at length, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“I wasn’t aware of that, no. But trust the kid with a fire and ice quirk to be indecisive about hot and cold noodles.”

Keigo runs his thumb along Dabi’s wrist, pressing small circles there, and noticing as he gradually relaxes even further. The arsonist’s voice has taken on a somewhat curbed, weakened sound when he finally asks the question that must’ve been on his mind all day. “Speaking of indecisiveness, did he make up his mind about the trial?”

He tries to say it casually, but it’s obvious that it’s anything but. The arsonist’s voice is laced with premonition, a rigid note of unnerved disquiet. Keigo presses into his hand a little more firmly, keeping his own tone even.

“He said he’s going to go ahead with it. His teacher’s sending in that paperwork tomorrow morning to try getting him rehoused; it’ll be a few days before we hear anything more, but the wheels are in motion.”

Dabi goes dead silent at that, something that isn’t exactly unnatural for the other man, but in this moment it feels far more weighted. It’s obvious that he’s deep in thought, and still mostly closed off about the whole thing, probably not likely to open up any further if Keigo starts to pry. The blond’s heart sinks in his chest, reminded of his prior concerns, and feeling a guilty pinch in his stomach as he tries to assess what to say to make this any easier.

“I’m…” Keigo begins, with full intentions of offering some words of condolence that die on his tongue when Dabi begins tensing once more. ‘ Fuck, what the hell do I say?’  

He’s not doing this right, and shit is it ever painful. Suddenly, this morning’s fears are weighing on him at full-force once again and Keigo begins immediately pulling away, Dabi releasing him after a moment in what seems to be slight surprise, though he doesn’t protest. “I’m gonna go shower. Let me know when dinner’s ready?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dabi agrees quietly, sounding a little saddened. Or maybe he’s just mulling. Keigo can’t tell, but he rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly and makes his way down the hallway towards the bathroom, waiting until he’s out of sight before dragging his hands down his face. Keigo allows himself a whole five seconds to quell the crushing wave of emotions in his chest as he makes his way to the bedroom, checking his nerves at the door. ‘God, how do I help you?’

The hero snags a new set of clothes from the dresser, closing the drawers with a little more force than necessary and slumping his way to the bathroom. His mind’s running a million miles a minute and simultaneously only coming up with static as he goes through the motions of turning on the fan and letting the water slowly warm. As the steam in the room begins to build, Keigo sheds his feathers into a neat pile, working his way out of his uniform and tugging a new towel out from under the sink.

The spray from the showerhead is soothing the moment the hero gets under the water. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, smoothing his hair back from his face and washing away the day. It’s nice in a generic way, but after a few moments Keigo blindly reaches up to mess with the settings on the showerhead, letting out a long exhale when he feels the water coming down softer, more like mist.

 “What does it feel like?” Dabi prompts quietly, his grip around Keigo’s waist tightening slightly as the hero breathes again, a little shaky but steadier than before.

“ Rain ,” He manages on an exhale, some of the tension and fear in his stomach melting away as the droplets keep coming down. The numbness remains, but it doesn’t feel as heavily oppressive, not as debilitating. Keigo reaches behind him to blindly cup a hand around the back of Dabi’s neck, the arsonist leaning forward just a bit to press a kiss into Keigo’s wet hair. God, that’s exactly what it feels like, as though winter’s given way just for a night and allowed for one final downpour mid-frost. “It’s just like rain.”

Keigo rests his head against the shower wall, disheartened even under the comforting illusion of rain falling all around. ‘ You had me figured out so quickly,’ The hero thinks silently, ashamed, ‘ And you didn’t even know what was going on- but you figured out how to help me so quickly. How is it that I know exactly what you’re going through and can’t ever seem to think of the right thing to do or say about it?’

Caught up in his own thoughts, Keigo showers quickly and towels off even faster, tugging his clothes on with the speed of a man who goes through all of life too quickly, this included. He begins dressing quickly as well, only pausing when he realizes the pair of sweatpants he grabbed in a rush aren’t even his. They’re clearly Dabi’s, now that he’s had time to actually look at them, but he tugs them on anyway, letting the too-long fabric gather at his ankles and calves.

“How are you so lanky?” Keigo mutters to himself, catching his reflection in the mirror. He looks like a child in hand-me-downs too big for him, the hero grimacing at the sight. Bringing himself to change would be an effort though, so the hero just opens the bathroom door to let the remaining steam pour out into the hallway, and goes about the rest of his post-work routine, quickly going through his feathers to discard any damaged ones before reassembling his wings. He’s just finished taking a washcloth to some of his extremely dirty feathers when he hears a knock on the doorframe, Dabi standing in the entryway like a lost ghost. His entire stance radiates awkward hesitation, and Keigo cringes internally upon noticing it, the notion leaving a sour taste in his mouth. ‘We don’t tiptoe around one another like this- we never have . I don’t like it at all.’

The immediate afterthought of ‘ Then do something about it,’ comes to him in an almost mocking tone, the hero shrinking into himself with the knowledge that he probably won’t do anything for fear of failing.

“Hey. Dinner’s ready.” Dabi says by way of greeting, Keigo feeling himself nod out of instinct more than conscious effort, offering a strained smile.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

That’s not how he wants to respond. He wants to sit down on the floor and drag Dabi down with him, shake the other man until he just says the things that are currently leaving a crushing weight on his chest. He wants them to talk, to make things feel normal again.

But he also doesn’t want to make things worse. 

There’s a brief pause of silence between themselves that feels heavier than it should, suffocating in its pressing stillness. Keigo can feel the pressure of it like fingers around his throat, cutting off any words he could’ve thought to say to fill the empty space between them that keeps dragging on, waiting for the inevitable snap. It hits him as the calm before the storm, the breath before the plunge, dread climbing the ladder of his spine. ‘ You weren’t good enough,’ Keigo thinks to himself miserably, and for some reason the voice in his head sounds like Nishimura’s, pointed and sharp, ‘ You’re a hero, and he’s relying on you, and you’re just fucking everything up-’

“You’ve made me stronger,” Dabi confesses suddenly, a comment that takes Keigo by obvious surprise, though the arsonist’s tone indicates it’s not a new notion to him in the slightest. The noise in the winged hero’s head falls silent at the sound of his voice cutting through the self-deprecation, demanding his full attention or nothing at all. Keigo goes still, washcloth still in his left hand, though he clumsily lays it on the counter, meeting the other man’s eye and trying to prove he’s listening. Dabi clears his throat, a habit tonight, apparently, pointedly jerking his head in Keigo's direction like that’ll make tossing the words out to him any easier, “And I don’t mean with my quirk. Before you, I didn’t really believe there was any other strength worth having than that, but you’ve helped me become stronger in more ways than you realize. I wouldn’t be getting through this as well as I am if I hadn't had you with me this whole time.”

Dabi glances up once, meeting Keigo’s eyes before quickly looking away, studying the grain of the bathroom door with unnecessary focus, “I know I’m not easy to love,” He states bluntly, expression devoid of any particular kind of emotion, like a blank slate reading a piece of material it knows to be factual. Were he not dumbfounded by the statement, Keigo would’ve immediately begun to protest, but Dabi continues on before he gets the chance, “I make it a challenge sometimes. I push back whenever anyone tries to help me, or end up running away after letting them get too close. How the hell you put up with it is beyond me.”

The arsonist sighs and crosses his arms, stepping forward and leaning into the counter with his hip, dragging his gaze across the floor tiles in such a dismissive, careless way that has Keigo itching to tip his chin up to look at him properly. He doesn’t though, instead playing the statue listener in this confessional as the villain lays himself bare before him, no holds barred. “At the end of the day, it’s not like I want to run- not from you especially, I just… Fuck.” Dabi rolls his neck and visibly bites the inside of his cheek while trying to get the words out, all of them strained and filtered, watered-down wine and whiskey that lacks the strength they should. When he finally manages to force out a single sentence that looks almost painful to express aloud, it’s filled to the brim with hoarse nerves and tempered frustration, bent and hammered into an ugly truth. “I know you want me to talk to you about all of this, but I want to feel safe, Pigeon. Safety’s not something I look for in people. It’s always just been me. Heart-to-hearts aren’t my thing, I’ve always dealt with this shit alone.”

“Dabi…” Keigo murmurs eventually, patient but saddened, and feeling that tweak of upset again. He hadn’t meant to pressure the other man by accident, but he ignores his own feelings on the matter, about to make a move to reach for the arsonist, trusting himself to at least get physical comfort right if nothing else.

He doesn’t need to. Keigo can see the amount of effort it takes for Dabi to meet his eyes then, but the scarred man does so regardless, drawing himself up with silent resolve, that emotionless expression taking on a hint of thawing vulnerability. “I feel safe with you,” The arsonist admits lowly, all gravel and smoke and incredible fondness, tone gritty and gaze velvet, soft in a tentative way that takes a bravery of its own kind, “It might not seem like that’s the case and I probably suck shit at showing it, but the safest I feel is when I’m with you.”

Keigo’s heart twists.

“Is it actually safety,” He asks slowly, quietly, afraid of the answer, “When you feel forced to turn to me for my sake, and not your own?”

Dabi’s eyes widen into something like disbelief at that, Keigo already beginning to apologize as his partner takes on the expression of someone who’s just been slapped. “I’m sorry, that’s not the priority here. I just- I haven’t managed to do anything right over the last few days while you’ve been dealing with this, and it’s horrible to watch you go through something I started when I can’t even make it better for you- I’m sorry, if there’s a way to make things okay-”

As if deaf to Keigo’s rambling, Dabi uncrosses his arms, going so far as letting his fingers fall just below the hero’s shoulder, cupped around his arm and dragging downwards towards his elbow. It’s such a subtle prompt, a whispered invitation for closeness that says everything it needs to through fingertips on skin and not through words at all. 

“Come here,” Dabi requests anyway, as though the message weren’t already clear enough, his voice gentle but still rough. Keigo pulls the taller man into a grateful embrace, one hand instinctively tracking up and down his spine before he can help himself. Dabi exhales like he’s been holding his breath a thousand years, not wasting any time in taking the hero up in his arms either. His grip is tighter than Keigo’s own, but no less considerate, careful not to pinch his wings, which Keigo flares and then lets settle, spread out behind him. “You’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do, Feathers. Having you to turn to is… Hard to wrap my head around, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. It’s a work in progress, same as a lot of shit when it comes to me,” His fingers graze Keigo’s cheek as the blond releases a releasing a shaky breath, “So I’m going to get the urge to run, sometimes,” Dabi informs him quietly, cradling Keigo’s head with one hand when the hero turns his face in against his neck, the arsonist’s cheek pressing into his damp hair a moment later, “I can’t help it, Pigeon. It’s not easy for you to watch because you’re hardwired to save people- I know that, believe me. It kills you every time I get like this.”

Keigo doesn’t bother trying to argue. Dabi’s right and he knows it- every time the other man has to bolt and isolate, burying his emotions within himself until they can no longer be seen or felt, feels like failure on Keigo’s part. It’s unlikely that Dabi sees things that way, but every time he has to turn away from Keigo is a time that Keigo couldn’t help him in the way he needed- just another reminder that he doesn’t know how to help him properly. He’s trying to learn, and he’ll keep trying, but each time he’s witnessed the arsonist clam up and start to draw away from him, he knows he’s fallen short of the mark, and that hurts.

“You’re stressing about it again,” Dabi mumbles, jarring Keigo out of his thoughts. The fire-user kisses his head softly, rocking back to lean against the doorframe again, and taking Keigo with him. “Always such a hero, huh? Some things never change.”

Once upon a time, Dabi would’ve said those same words to him mockingly, but now they’re nothing but warm. The difference is only all the more marked as he continues, “But seriously, Feathers, I need you to listen to me,” The villain’s tone sobers up almost instantly, though he softens the firmness of it by saying his next words right into Keigo’s hair, nuzzling close like the minimal distance between them, pressed chest-to-chest, is still far too much to accept, “Trying to fix that part of me isn’t your responsibility. It’s not a shortcoming on your end, or something you’re not getting right. This is something for me to work through, not the other way around.”

Part of Keigo understands that. The rational portion, at least, understands. Dabi’s going to have to tackle this on his own terms if anything’s going to change. Nothing he can do will change that. A saying comes to Keigo’s mind, then- something about leading horses to water, but being unable to force them to drink. Dabi’s much the same way, though Keigo would sooner, albeit fondly, relate him to a stubborn ass than any kind of horse. 

That said, understanding doesn’t smother the desire in his chest to help, insufferable and devoid of rationality. Despite how close they are, despite how open this conversation feels, this could very well be Dabi’s attempt to pull away, to try fixing things entirely on his own again. The last time he got it in his head to do that, he almost wound up dead by his father’s hand. Keigo’s got no inclination to see that event happen twice.

“I’m a hero,” He murmurs, trying to come off as lighthearted, though he can tell it isn’t very convincing, “Just like you said. It’s my job to help with things like this, Hot Stuff. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to let you struggle with this all by yourself- I ran right into this for Shouto’s sake, I have to see it through, but I have to figure out how to help you as well.”

“Not here.”

The certain assuredness in Dabi’s tone as he says those two, simple words nearly has Keigo reeling back to look him in the eye properly, concerned now more than ever, but Dabi catches his mistake, grunting in quiet embarrassment as he amends himself.

“Damn, that sounded bad. Sorry. What I meant,” He clarifies, carding his fingers through the tiny feathers at the base of Keigo’s wings and giving a small sigh, “Is you don’t have to be a hero here. Not with me, at least, not over any of this shit we’re going through. Save that for the rest of the world, little bird.” 

Keigo leans into him again, closing his eyes and trying to accept what he’s being told. 

“Dabi, my choices are what brought this down on you out of nowhere- I was trying to save Shouto, and I didn’t think how it would affect you, and you’d been healing but now everything’s gone sideways; I can’t just stand back and watch you take it, now. I want to help you,” The winged man repeats quietly, adamant, “It is my responsibility, and I can figure out a way to help you both-”

“ Keigo .” Dabi cuts him off, interjecting before the blond can really go down that path, “You’re not listening to me,” By his brisk, sharp tone, Keigo almost expects the other man to lose his temper somewhat, annoyed by the hero’s obstinacy. As the arsonist begins pulling away from him, the action forcing Keigo to raise his head, his heart sinks even more. He hadn’t wanted this to become another argument.

Then Dabi huffs in annoyance and kisses his forehead, and he realizes arguing isn’t on the table.

“You don’t need to build me a solution,” The arsonist murmurs against his skin, “And you don’t need to fix what’s happening, or try to hold everything together enough to shelter me from what’s going on. I don’t need you to be a hero.”

Dabi’s hand moves from cupping his head to his cheek, the arsonist’s thumb running along the bridge of Keigo’s cheekbone, the blond staring at him in meek surprise, “I just need you to be here,” He says softly, an easy enough thing to offer, though he says it like it’s a tentative request, “That’s all. Not to take on everything yourself to keep me from running, but to give me something to come back to when I can’t run any further. Do you get it?” Dabi’s voice cracks just a little, the only indicator he’s giving for how much this is bothering him, “You’re not… A shield to hide behind or someone who has to fight my battles for me.”

Keigo releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as the scarred man caresses his face again, kissing his temple, his cheek, pressing their foreheads together and holding the blond as close as possible. “You’re my safehouse, Pigeon,” Dabi whispers, quieter this time, lower, more like confessing some kind of secret or trying to hide this small truth from the rest of the world, like it’s not anyone’s knowledge to know but their own. Maybe it’s not. “You’re where I find rest- find some peace , even in the worst of this shit-” His voice takes on a more aggravated edge that smooths itself out as he sighs lightly, taking a second, and it’s almost without thought that Keigo’s hand buries itself in the arsonist’s hair. Fingers snag in dark tangles as he carefully uses his grip to tilt Dabi’s head towards him for a proper kiss that’s all warmth and no hunger, though it’s long and deep, and leaves Dabi panting a short breath between them when they part. That one little breath makes it an effort for Keigo to not pull him in all over again, wanting nothing more than to kiss him sweetly and softly until he can see the the tension melt in Dabi’s expression and have them both smile, “I might be a runner, but I’ll come back to you every time,” The arsonist promises breathlessly, eyes still shut, “On my damn hands and knees if I have to. Even when it feels like I’m being distant or pulling away- I’m never going far.”

Blue eyes suddenly flicker to lock on amber, and Keigo offers Dabi a wobbling but genuine grin, somewhat speechless in the wake of all of this, especially given the arsonist’s typical avoidance of grandiose declarations. This is arguably the most articulate Keigo’s ever heard him be about anything this important, and he relishes it for the kind of precious moment that it is, proud and a little overwhelmed, yet reassured. “And just because I can’t turn to you all the time doesn’t mean you don’t help me in other ways. So please,” The dark-haired man mutters, gaining traction as he goes, “Even if you make fun of me for it, let’s watch movies I don’t give a shit about and make terrible fucking dinners just because we can, and we’ll do whatever the hell else you want to do- because I don’t care what we’re doing so long as we’re both there.” His voice weakens as he kisses Keigo’s forehead again quietly, achingly vulnerable, “And not just when the world’s going to shit; I want you when things are okay too. Having coffee with you every morning before you head out is the best part of my day.”

He says it almost in a whisper, Keigo having been combing his fingers through his hair and pausing at that. Dabi catches the frozen motion, giving a short little nod and taking a breath, “Even on the days where we barely say a word to each other, or when your schedule starts ridiculously early in the morning and the sky’s still dark. I like getting moments where things are okay .” Dabi explains, crushing out the words like they’re hard to say, but he can’t hold them any longer. “Times that are just ours and aren’t rooted in anything else. The bright spots make the dark ones so much easier to handle; Keigo, this whole shitstorm with Endeavor- don’t get me wrong, Pigeon, it’s still going to be hard to go through. We’re going to have bad days. There’s going to be times where I’ll be upset and angry at the world, and you’ll find it frustrating when it seems like I’m stepping further away from you instead of closer because of it,” Dabi continues, granting him an early warning. The arsonist winces at that, apologetic but blunt, not bothering to sugarcoat their circumstances. Keigo appreciates that, for what it’s worth. It’s good that they’re both aware of how this is probably going to look in the coming weeks as more and more of this case develops, “I don’t know how to go through this cleanly. There’s too much history for that, and this whole mess touches a lot of raw nerves that’ve never healed over.” Dabi drops his gaze, studying the bathroom sink. There’s not much to stare at, yet Keigo knows exactly what he’ll see- the shared tube of toothpaste they’re going to have to replace soon, said toothbrushes sitting in a cup by the tap, the stack of towels that Keigo had bought and set aside after Dabi started staying with him, these ones softer than the others. The antiseptic bottle that’s just found a permanent spot on the counter these days, instead of hidden in the cupboard, along with the first aid kit and Keigo’s hairbrush that he has yet to put away. The arsonist’s voice has taken on a strange note when he manages to add, “I can do it, though- I’ll get through this one way or another, but,” Dabi grimaces a little like his next words will be hard  to say, but that expression of hesitation falters a bit as he meets Keigo’s eye again, looking over all of his face before speaking, “I need you with me. Just to be here, and- and fuck, I’m going to need your patience too, and I’ll try not to test it, but Kei-”

“Hey,” Keigo interrupts, tugging lightly at the arsonist’s hair to get his attention, before taking on a casual, semi-teasing tone, softening his grip, “Now who’s stressing?”

Dabi huffs and closes his eyes, but doesn’t say a word, neither agreeing nor denying the hero’s statement. He’s starting to look worn again, weary and tired in Keigo’s arms, and for a split second, Keigo’s immediate reaction is to analyze how to ease that weariness away, how to shoulder part of the burden-

And then, he realizes. This is what the other man means by not trying to fix everything, but just standing with him. ‘You’re where I find rest- find some peace , even in the worst of this shit-’ 

Finding rest and peace doesn’t mean not being exhausted- sometimes it just means having somewhere to fall to your knees and take a breath.

‘He looks tired, because he knows he can be tired around me, ’ Keigo slowly comes to the understanding, combing the arsonist’s hair with a gentle hand. Dabi leans into the contact subtly, not taking pains to draw attention to it, but leaning into it nonetheless, ‘ This is what he’s getting at- he doesn’t need me to offer solutions to make things okay- he just needs me to give him somewhere safe where not being okay is fine.’

“That was a lot,” Dabi mutters at length, still keeping his eyes shut as he breaks the gentle silence between them with another embarrassed grimace, “I said it fucking weird, too, but I just- whatever. Forget about-”

Keigo quiets the dark-haired man with a soft kiss, shaking his head before the arsonist can finish that statement.

“It wasn’t too much,” He tells him honestly, Dabi visibly relaxing at the affirmation though still a little shy for giving away so many of his words at once, many of them more honest and straightforward than he’d typically be, “It was perfect- I needed to hear all of that, I think,” The winged hero makes another pass through Dabi’s hair, light as feathers, the taller man all but slowly coming undone under the combination of gentle touches and reassuring statements, “I wasn’t hearing you before, but I am now. I’m sorry you had to lay it out for me like this- like you said, heart-to-hearts aren’t exactly your thing,” Keigo says apologetically, Dabi slightly shrugging in a ‘ what else was there to do’ gesture that Keigo can read clear as day, “But it cleared everything up, so thanks. That said, you don’t have to ask me to stay and be patient with you- not now or ever,” Keigo brushes his lips against the villain’s jaw, Dabi’s arms tightening around him, “It’s not like you’re a burden to be there for- you’re my safehouse too, sweetheart.”

A sense of understanding seems to settle over them then, sheer and delicate, but whole. It goes unsaid, but is felt enough to notice. Dabi nods quietly at that, not responding but also not needing to as his eyes take on a proud glow, warm and unwavering at the assurance of bringing Keigo some kind of peace as well. It’s such a subtle change, but it’s a wonderful thing to watch develop and grow, Keigo grinning all the while.

‘ All this talk of safehouses and things… You say ‘love’ in such roundabout ways,’   He muses silently, welcoming the motion of being tucked in under the villain’s chin once again, nestling close like he couldn’t possibly find a better place to be. His hand falls from the other’s hair, fingers grazing over his cheek before resting against his neck, Dabi’s pulse a steady metronome against Keigo’s palm. ‘I don’t think it’ll ever stop surprising me. For someone who always claims he’s no good with words, you’re incredible at taking a single sentence and turning it into a million different variations. In some ways, that’s almost more special than if you’d just say it outright.’

Keigo tilts his head just enough to lay a kiss to the arsonist’s throat, then does so again, a little higher up. Dabi probably can’t feel much of anything as Keigo turns those two kisses into a collection, the hero dusting the villain’s scars with adoration, but he still makes a very small sound nonetheless as Keigo kisses the hollow of his throat. Dabi closes his eyes and tips his head back to rest against the doorframe, though not without pulling away the hand that Keigo has against his neck, the arsonist threading their fingers together and locking them tight. 

And this- this is perfect.

He was lucky today, having met Kumo and Toru while patrolling with Shouto, another pair struggling to make things work, getting by on luck and cunning alone. Their hardships, so very different from Keigo’s own, have reminded him to be grateful for the things he and Dabi do have. Even if they’re in a precarious spot, even if it feels like things are going to shit every way they turn, they’re still lucky. They have each other. They’ve got a roof over their heads, and enough food to eat, and clean sheets on the bed that’s big enough for both of them. They’ve got shared dreams, shared goals, and a chance at changing this corrupt system instead of just suffering under it.

They’re safe for now, warm and cared for, and able to have moments like this. That much, especially, is something worth holding close.

“Keigo…” Dabi breathes, the winged hero just hushing him gently and kissing him once again, squeezing the arsonist’s hand. Dabi does the same a moment later, reciprocating the gesture without question or thought, running his thumb over Keigo’s knuckles as he does so.

“You have no idea how lucky I got with you,” Keigo whispers then, Dabi stiffening slightly under his touch, though not tensing enough to indicate he’s about to pull away. It’s more an action of surprise than anything, something Keigo recognizes but doesn’t point out as he runs the fingers of his free hand along the seams of Dabi’s scars, the heel of his palm skimming his collarbone. “I’m thankful for it every day; you can say all you want that you’re not easy to love,” Dabi swallows hard, Keigo able to track the motion with his fingertips, “But that’s not true- not to me, anyway. Challenges like this don’t change that.”

Dabi manages to whisper a barely audible “Pigeon,” before Keigo’s coaxing him in for a proper kiss, the arsonist pliant under his touch, settled and quiet and willing to trust, “You can run if you have to run,” The hero says softly, catching Dabi’s gaze and holding it for all it’s worth, “I won’t walk away when you do. I know there’s a part of you waiting for the other shoe to drop- you’re too used to being turned away,” Keigo acknowledges gently, recalling that frightened look on his face when he’d thought Keigo was done with him after the incident with Endeavor, the way he’d been hesitant to accept Keigo’s embrace last night before clinging to him like he was terrified the other man would pull away- hell, even the fact that they’re having this conversation, that he’s asking him to stay and be patient with him is proof that there’s still some voice in his head questioning when Keigo will have had enough. Dabi immediately begins glancing to the side at the comment, avoiding Keigo’s gaze, only to close his eyes as though refocusing, staring at the winged hero once again when he opens them. “I’m not going anywhere,” Keigo says firmly, without a shred of doubt in his tone, “And we can do this your way. If you just need me to be here, then that’s something I can do.” He softens his tone a little as he adds, “Just remember you’re not in this alone, yeah? If I’m with you, then I’m with you,” The winged hero applies a bit of pressure to the arsonist’s hand again, Dabi giving a somewhat relieved-looking nod, his whole body going slack.

“Okay,” He agrees quietly, too quiet to be characteristic of him, though Keigo’s willing to ignore it for the amount of stress he knows has been on the villain’s shoulders the last few days- enough to rattle anyone, even Dabi. Hell, he’s weary too, and he’s an outsider on the fringe of this whole mess. Keigo catches his mouth in a soft kiss one last time, a gentle exchange before pressing his forehead to the arsonist’s cheek, his nose bumping the other’s jaw.

“If you’re kinda burnt-out on the talking thing, we can drop this and go eat dinner,” The hero offers with a small chuckle, making an attempt to lighten things up again, “It’s probably cold by now, but-” He moves to pull away, only for Dabi’s grip to tighten on his hand, keeping Keigo where he is. The blond hesitates, his thumb stroking Dabi’s throat again before he lets his hand slip up to his face, cupping it carefully while the arsonist moves slightly to press his cheek more surely to Keigo’s own. 

“I can reheat everything,” The scarred man mumbles, his eyelashes tickling Keigo’s skin as he blinks his eyes shut, giving a long exhale, “If that’s alright, I just… Give me one more minute.”

Keigo’s fingers move on their own to thread easily through the arsonist’s dark hair, stroking it slowly.

“You can have more than a minute,” He whispers, Dabi relaxing more and more under his touch with each pass. After a few beats, he’s sliding to the floor and taking Keigo down with him, his back against the doorframe and the hero still locked in his arms, “I’m all yours tonight, we’re not in any rush.” 

For a long while, there’s just silence. Keigo stays pressed in against the arsonist’s chest, more than content to linger and siphon off of the gentle warmth radiating from the taller man, his fingers still working soothingly through black hair as Dabi grinds his teeth. At length, though, his head drops heavily on Keigo’s shoulder, nestled into the crook of the hero’s neck, followed by a long sigh, and the arms around Keigo’s waist loosening slightly.

“Tell me more about Shouto,” He asks solemnly, reluctant but still inquisitive, “Whatever you want. If my life’s going to be thrown upside down over a trial for this kid, I at least want to know more about him than what I knew when I was still in the house with him.” The second half of this request comes out wry and humoured, almost sarcastic, though Keigo knows it’s laced with truth. He hums softly, making another combing gesture through Dabi’s hair before saying anything, collecting his thoughts.

“Fair enough. Let’s see- he remembers that you used to call him Shou. I called him that by accident once, and he mentioned it used to be your thing. He doesn’t have a favourite colour.”

“He used to like green.” Dabi mutters, the words barely audible in a detached kind of way that makes Keigo pause, the hero filtering that information and reconfirming for himself that Shouto had never said anything of the sort.

“Maybe he grew out of it,” Keigo suggests gently, Dabi snorting gracelessly.

“I assumed that’s how he latched onto that one friend of his. Kid looks like he’s growing a shrub for hair.”

It takes Keigo a moment to realize what he’s referring to, but when he does, the winged man lets out a laugh, cuffing the arsonist lightly over the head.

“Don’t talk about Midoriya like that. He’s done more good for Shouto than you can imagine.”

“I’ll be sure to thank him next time I see him, though I doubt he’ll appreciate it.” Dabi says flatly, wry and sarcastic again, prompting another laugh out of Keigo. Speaking of Midoriya gets Keigo’s mind working a different way, though, and he falls silent a moment later as he resumes stroking through Dabi’s hair, his tone gentling.

“I taught Shouto how to do your warming trick today. He’s trying to find different ways to use his quirk, things your father never taught him. He still doesn’t like using his fire to fight with,” The hero murmurs, leaning his head against Dabi’s own, “But he was thrilled to learn another way of using it to help people instead of hurting them. He’ll be a better hero for it, because of you.”

Dabi doesn’t respond immediately to that and Keigo doesn’t expect him to, knowing the kind of weight a statement like that has for the villain sitting across from him. But then Dabi’s hands shift slightly to hold him a little better, and he tucks his head closer into the curve of Keigo’s neck, and his words are clearer than Keigo was expecting them to be.

“I’m glad you’re giving him the chance to be mild with his flames,” Dabi says lowly, quiet, “It takes the monster out of them when that’s the case. He needs that.”

“He does- but if he’d had the chance to learn it from anyone,” Keigo rebuttals softly, “It should’ve been from you.”

At Dabi’s answering silence, Keigo gently works both hands into the fire-user’s hair, coarse and dark, rough like coal dust against his fingers and palms. Dabi’s own hands, scarred and delicate, with his crooked fingers and fire-calloused fingertips, slide up Keigo’s back, laying in a staggered line along his spine, one nestled in the gap between his wings, the other just below them. “I’m sorry the two of you never got that chance.”

“So am I,” Dabi answers quietly, this time without hesitation, “We all missed out on a lot because of him.” There’s a raw note in his voice that Keigo picks up immediately, the winged man murmuring condolences and soothing statements under his breath. Dabi doesn’t show any signs of losing his composure though, the arsonist releasing a sigh into the crook of Keigo’s neck before making a weary request. “Kei?”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re helping take Enji to court,” The eldest Todoroki son says, quiet but not timid, not by a mile. Keigo swears if words could be spun of iron, Dabi’s next would be sheer barbed wire, “Then for all of our sakes, fight like hell to make sure that fucker gets what he deserves.”

Chapter Text

Hey everyone, I hope you're doing well. 

Right out the gate, I'd like to preface this by emphasizing that this story is not on permanent hiatus or being left unfinished. I'm currently in the process of finishing up the next chapter, which I hope to release sometime soon (real-life schedule permitting). I want to offer a huge thanks to anyone who's stuck around or been waiting for me to post for the last few months. I know I've been really inconsistent with my last few rounds of updates, and while I'd been trying for a while to have an update per month, I started fizzling out partway through the summer. I have no idea what my posting schedule is going to look like from here on, but I can promise you guys that I'm going to try to keep things up and moving as best I can. 

To be entirely frank, the last year has been brutal. I started this series as a Covid project with the hopes that it would give a small handful of people something to look forward to, and a bit of hope when everything was going to shit. I had no expectation that it would grow to be what it is now, and for that I thank all of you. This has turned into a coping project for me as well over the last year and a half, and it's gotten me through a lot. But for the last half a year or so, my mental health's been on a pretty severe downward spiral, and over the last few months especially, it's been the worst I've experienced in a very long time. I had to give up writing for quite awhile because it wasn't serving as an outlet anymore, and I often used to sit down and then delete everything I'd managed to write because I didn't like a word of it. 

Trying to hack out another chapter for this story has been tough. There were times I debated dropping it entirely because I wasn't sure I had the motivation or energy to work on anything, and I didn't want to leave you all waiting on another update that wasn't going to happen. That said, I'm not a quitter and this is too important for me to drop. You guys have stuck with this story through a fucking pandemic, and I'm going to give you an ending for it one way or another.

A lot has happened over the last couple months in particular, and as of now I don't know what time I'm going to have for writing but I will be trying. I'm in a better mental space than I've been in for a very long time, and I'm not 100% yet, but I'm getting there slowly. I'll be trying to get to some long-neglected comments in my inbox over the next while and working on getting this next chapter up for you guys ASAP. And while I'm on the topic, I have an important announcement about Caged Bird:  there will only be 2-3 chapters left in this story. HOWEVER, this is because I still have a lot planned to happen in this book, and have decided to continue the next portion of the plot forward in a sequel book instead of making Caged Bird ridiculously long. Don't worry folks, I'm not wrapping things up out of nowhere and leaving an enormous amount of plotholes- I just want to do right by this story and not make it a monster to read and edit. Bird Set Free is going to be the sequel, and I'll have some announcements about when and where that's going to be posted as I finish wrapping up this first installment. There's also a plan on the table to completely rework and redraft Dark Side at some point, and to likely do a mass-edit of Caged Bird after I get Bird Set Free started. I'll update you all on the progress of that when I have a better idea of what that's going to look like. 

Anyways, once again a huge thank you to everyone who's stuck with me this long. I appreciate every single one of you, and I'm looking forward to coming back from this unexpected hiatus (hopefully with more content and a second book coming soon). As always, I hope you're all doing well, are staying safe out there, and have an absolutely phenomenal week. Best regards and wishes,

-Hence

Chapter Text

It’s cold, cloudy, and well past midnight by the time Keigo Takami, Number Two Hero and resident golden-boy for the HPSC, arrives at the charmingly abandoned warehouse for his scheduled meeting with one of the most dangerous villains in Japan.

To be fair, it’s not a bad place to meet. Keigo’s gaze is appraising as he takes in the run-down building with a practical eye, more than used to haunting places like this after his last few months of League infiltration and meetings with Dabi. There’s less windows busted out in this one than there have been in the past, and from above it didn’t look like the roof had caved in just yet. That means they’ll be sitting in less snow this time around than they were the last time they met up like this.

The hero moves his headset enough to rub at his chilly ears before sliding the muffs back into place, doing a quick perimeter check and sending snow flying as he flares his wings and surges upwards in one swift movement, landing gracefully along the roofline of the building instead of being stuck down below. On nights like these, it’s never a bad idea to have the high ground. Keigo knows this isn’t exactly a hotspot for local activity, but if there’s anyone skulking around that he either hasn’t seen or his feathers haven’t detected, he likes his chances better knowing that he’s almost indefinitely in a better vantage point than they would be.

That said, their location tonight is more remote than most have been, and even Keigo’s improved sight and heightened sense of perception with his wings can’t sense the breath, pulse, or warmth of any person within a remotely close radius. There’s nobody nearby- just a winged hero stooping on a pigeon-roost and wiggling his fingers within his gloves to keep them warm as he waits. Nothing to notice, nobody around but him.

And with that, Twice is late. 

Keigo sighs into the chilly night air, shivering slightly and shifting his weight between his feet as he crouches low to the roof, trying to keep his blood moving so he can somewhat pretend he’s not freezing his ass off. It’s a cold night for what’s almost inevitably bound to be a fruitless evening of solitaire and wasted time, no real information of substance traded over the table. Lately, most of his meetings with Twice have been for keeping up appearances with the Commission. Sure, they talk, but it’s typically about the little things- how Dabi’s doing, how the rest of the League’s doing, Keigo offering ay snippets of information that he forgot to send in his reports and Jin offering any tiny pieces that weren’t worth finding a way to inform him about beforehand. It’s all trivial, and while Keigo doesn’t necessarily mind spending time with the other man, he definitely preferred doing these sessions when the weather was warmer and he didn’t need to worry about sitting in buildings that had no heating system.

At least when he had first started meeting up with Dabi and it was this cold, he and the arsonist had been wary enough around one another that the fire-user had almost always had a bright hand of blue flames between them- a threat, yes, but inarguably warming nonetheless. 

Keigo had never once believed he’d look back on those moments as luxuries, but he could do with a pissed-off-flame-wielding-contact right about now. Granted, he’s always open to Dabi’s company but at this point he’d even be willing to tolerate Enji’s presence if it meant having some kind of heat source.

Keigo wrinkles his nose, disgusted with himself. He can’t feel his face. Damn, he really wishes he had a scarf. 

Finally, finally , as he’s trying to determine how to incorporate a scarf into his hero costume for the umpteenth time, Twice appears, slouching his way up the dimly lit street like a nonchalant civilian taking a late-night stroll. At first, Keigo doesn’t even realize it’s him- he’s not wearing his mask. Surely it’s to make him less recognizable, but Keigo can tell even from here that it’s beginning to strain the blonde man, Jin’s expression twitchy as though in pain. He raises a palm to his head as though suddenly stricken with a terrible migraine, his next step stumbling slightly as he glances around for any potential witnesses before slipping his way quickly into the warehouse. Keigo silently follows him, ducking in through one of the warehouse’s windows instead of entering in through the door, and using his wings to drop the few meters he has between the ceiling and the floor. Ahead of him, Twice is entirely distracted, hands pawing furiously through his hoodie pocket, the man muttering to himself. It’s obvious what he’s looking for so frantically.

“Back pocket of your pants, Jin.” Keigo calls, stepping quickly across the frigid concrete. His feathers ruffle and flare in an attempt to capture more heat to no avail, and it takes an effort for the winged hero to clamp them tightly around him instead in an attempt to simply keep his own body heat from leaking out .

Twice finds the mask in his back pocket with trembling fingers, heaving a sigh of relief as he grasps it in his fists and tugs it sharply down over his head, the mumbling cutting out almost instantly. He gradually steadies himself as he takes in a long, heaving breath, then another, finally turning and facing Keigo when he seems to have gotten himself back under control.

“Better?” Keigo asks slowly, carefully, not wanting to trigger the poor man by making any sudden moves or sounds. But Jin nods, collected within his own skin once again, giving him a firm thumbs up.

“ All good, man! Yeah, I’m fine. This is terrible! ”

Keigo offers him a smile, patient despite the cold biting at his nerves. He likes Jin, genuinely. Out of all the members of the League, Twice is the one he trusts most, Dabi aside. He’s got a good heart, had fallen into this group due to poor circumstances and a desperate need for family, and it doesn’t take a trained special ops agent to see that he’s not a violent person by nature.

“You up for a round? Lets go home!” Twice asks, holding up a battered pack of playing cards, true as clockwork. Keigo’s smile grows a little wider, the hero reeling in his tiredness to crack his knuckles competitively, raising an eyebrow.

“Aren’t I always?” Keigo replies, scrounging up a few crates to use as a table while Twice goes about finding a few chairs that had never been cleared out of the building. By the time they’re finished, sweeping dust off of the surfaces and arranging everything where they’re least likely to face a draft, they’ve got a rickety set-up for Twice to lay the cards out on, quickly readying the table for solitaire. Keigo sprawls back in his chair as the other man deals cards, quietly wishing he’d thought to bring coffee with him, or even tea… Something warm to drink while the evening progressed. Maybe not bringing coffee is a good thing though. He wants to sleep tonight.

“So,” The winged hero says to cut the silence and to distract himself from the cold, “How’re things with the League? Are you all holding up okay?”

“ Things have been fine, ” Twice answers easily enough, offering a shrug, “ Same struggles as ever but nothing extreme. Everything’s awesome! ” He sighs, passing a stack of cards over to Keigo, who sets them up in the proper form for solitaire, listening quietly, “ We’re okay. Winter’s always brutal for the likes of us, though. You would know that. Why do you care, huh?! ”

Keigo purses his lips, concerned.

“Anything I can help with? Food, supplies, anything?”

The older man hesitates and then shakes his head.

“Nah, don’t worry yourself. Give us your money! Toga and Compress have been making enough supply runs to keep our heads above water. We’ll be fine.” He cocks his head, shooting Keigo another thumbs up, “Spinner appreciates those blankets by the way. He hates them, why would you give him such a thing? They’ve been critical for him in this cold spell.”

That’s good to hear. Keigo smiles humbly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I’m glad to hear that- let me know if any of the rest of you need anything. I don’t mind going and getting things that are difficult for Compress and Toga to get their hands on.”

Twice thanks him, then tells him to fuck off, then tells himself to shut up, and then thanks Keigo again.

“No problem,” The winged man laughs.

They start the game.

Keigo’s never been a huge fan of solitaire. He’s not a huge fan of games in general, but for others he sometimes makes an exception. Twice is one of those people he doesn’t mind sitting down to play with, tolerating when the older man asks him to join in on solitaire, War, Crazy Eights, the odd round of Go Fish. It’s clear he doesn’t often get the chance to play with others, and Keigo doesn’t have the heart to turn him down when he brings a pack of cards to every one of their meetings. They’ve had some pretty serious conversations while each holding a mitt full of battered suits between them, that much is for sure.

Keigo goes first, but it's Twice who asks the first question.

“ So, speaking of how everyone’s doing, how’s Dabi these days? I hope he’s annoying the hell out of ya! He sounded better the last time he called.”

“He’s doing a lot better,” Keigo confirms, nodding and laying down a card, immediately beginning to strategize his next move, “Physically, I’d say he’s close to being back to normal, if he isn’t already. He hasn’t had an opportunity to work with his quirk for the last few months, so he’s going to be pretty rusty when he picks that up again, but he’s pretty much healed otherwise. Mentally, though,” The hero grimaces sourly, watching as Twice fumbles with his cards while looking for the right one to play, “I think he’s spent. There’s been a lot of shit going on recently, and it’s starting to get to him pretty bad. He’s keeping it together, but it hasn’t been easy.”

“Poor guy,” The masked villain replies after finally choosing a card, sounding sympathetic one moment and disgusted in the next, “ What a wuss! We’re all putting up with shit! It’s probably for the better that he’s been with you this long, then- or, at least, better for us. The dude doesn’t handle stress well.”

It’s almost mechanically that Keigo goes about building his rows of cards from there, barely needing to pay attention to what he’s laying.

“I’m not going to lie,” Keigo agrees carefully, “I think it’s been good for him. He’s a lot more settled these days, not near as high-strung and manic as he used to get. Less volatile. He’s… I don’t know, he’s healthier, I guess.”

“ Healthier is good, ” Twice commends, the statement clearly genuine, “ Eh, he’s always been terrible! Like that’ll ever change! ”

Smiling thoughtfully to himself, Keigo does nothing more but shrug, effectively closing the subject. He lays down a Queen of Spades in her respective column, flexing his fingers and rolling his neck in an attempt to ward off the cold.

“He’ll be alright. Dabi’s tougher than he looks.” Well, that is, barring the episode he had the other day, which Keigo quickly shuttles out of mind, refusing to bring it up. Moments like that are rare for the fire-user, and just because he’s been hurting doesn’t mean he needs Keigo airing his dirty laundry to the rest of the League. Hell, Dabi’s still strong regardless- it’s incredible he’d lasted this long without having a breakdown.

Twice nods at that in silent agreement, his counter personality not contradicting him this time as he lays a card of his own, already a few steps behind the winged hero, whose solitaire rows are looking far more impressive. After a few minutes of playing in silence, the hero finally pipes up again, cocking his head and leaning more into business talk.

“How are things beyond the immediate members of the League? Anything I should know about?”

Clicking his tongue against his teeth and sighing, the older villain shuffles through his playable cards listlessly, clearly not liking any of his options if his body language is anything to speak for.

“ Just peachy! What’s with all the questions, huh? It’s been alright, I guess. Tensions are starting to rise again, though. We’re all starting to notice it. ”

“What do you mean?” Keigo asks, intrigued. Twice takes a moment to lay a six of hearts down on one of his solitaire lines before continuing.

“ They’re all great people! No issues at all!  Shigaraki’s started having problems keeping everyone reined in, especially the newer recruits that’ve joined over the last few months for rep,” The older man explains, Keigo frowning in concern and laying a card of his own. Twice curses as Keigo finishes a row with the move, the winged man already winning by a long stretch, “They want a fight, and he’s been holding them at bay long enough that they’re getting antsy. Eh, they’re harmless. Wouldn’t hurt a fly! ”

That’s concerning news. Keigo runs his thumb over his bottom lip in thought, contemplative. Up to this point, he’s managed to convince the leader of the League to keep damages and attacks to a minimum. Originally, when he’d been double-crossing them for the Commission, it had been an attempt to win the heroes some time, to continue convincing the villains that their moment to strike hadn’t come yet for one reason or another, always informing them of problems, inflated or not, that would suggest they’d be getting into a fight they couldn’t win. Quite frankly, he hadn’t ever anticipated getting to this point, where the conflict and tensions were still rising and he was now sitting on the opposite side of the table. He hadn’t planned for this. None of them had- well, except for Dabi, who’d been the one to ask him to switch alliances in the first place. Granted, it would be bold to call that planning by any stretch of imagination. Keigo’s more or less certain it was a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment sort of deal, and even if it weren’t, Keigo knows for a fact that the scarred man hadn’t actually anticipated Keigo legitimately agreeing to join the League.

So now they’ve got a small army of angry villains itching for something to fight for, and no war in sight. And while he might be a turncoat, Keigo’s still a hero at heart; he doesn’t have any inclination to let there be a legitimate, full-fledged war. Not if he can prevent it. There’s too much at stake for that, too much destruction that would come about because of it. If he’s got a foothold in the villains’ organizations and plans, he’s not going to give up the chance to make sure that things don’t escalate that far. Keigo chews the inside of his cheek, mulling quietly while Twice plays his next set of cards, no longer focused on the solitaire. 

“If that’s the case,” The winged hero deduces at length, speaking slowly, “It’ll only be a matter of time before someone gets it in their head to challenge Shigaraki directly. If they think he’s not going to lead them to the victory they want and they begin to lose sight of him as an authority figure, someone will overthrow him to take his spot.”

That gets Twice’s attention quickly. The villain looks up, cards stilling in his hands.

“ You don’t think anyone would actually dare to try that, right? Shig’s a shrimp, they’d kick his ass no problem! ”

“I absolutely think someone would,” Keigo answers honestly, Twice stiffening across from him, “No, seriously. This could prove to be an actual problem. If anyone gets it in their head to overthrow him, it’s not only going to put your whole revolution in a tailspin because shifts of power tend to fuck with the whole system, but it’ll be the exact kind opening the heroes would need to break the entire thing apart. If they catch wind that the movement’s in a weak spot, they’ll be on it like sharks in bloody water.”

Twice shudders, apparently not a fan of the shark analogy.

All it would take is one person. Not even to overthrow Shigaraki, but just to try. That’s how ideas spread. A pebble tossed in water can cause just as many ripples as a boulder.

“He needs to reinforce his control,” Keigo states flatly, leaning back and crossing his arms. It’s probably his turn to lay a card, but the game between them has gone stagnant in the wake of this news, insignificant, “Or at least give them  a reminder of who they’re working under. As odd as it is to say, out of all the options on the table, Shigaraki’s the most stable leader at your disposal right now. We can’t afford to have him overthrown or taken out. The aftermath would be horrific.”

The villain across from him nods, contemplative behind his mask.

“I’ll run it by him- no way, do it yourself! But will that fix anything long term, or just settle things for now?” Jin points out critically, Keigo’s heart dropping. He’s right. It’s only a temporary solution to  a much bigger problem. At one point or another, they’re going to have to give these people something to fight for. Keeping them in check isn’t going to work for much longer.

They need to take things from a different angle. Sure, pulling the whole “scary villains doing scary shit” card was fine when they were first gaining traction and trying to make themselves known, but they’re beyond that point now and they actually have a following. There needs to be some direction- more than just being pissed off at the world and being up in arms over it because of one man’s vendetta against All Might. 

Keigo grimaces, rubbing at his chin.

“No, it won’t fix anything long-term. A show of power will quiet down any upstarts for the time being, but it won’t last. They need more than a check, they need an actual goal. Something tangible to work towards, not just this vague concept of overthrowing hero society because they don’t like it. That invites way too many loose cannons into the mix. When you keep up a vague mission like that, everyone’s going to think of themselves  as having the best plan for action. A whole movement of leaders. That’s where the trouble comes in.” Keigo looks up, grinding his teeth and studying his solitaire cards, the lines he’s made through strategy, each card in its specific place to form the whole picture. “You need to unite them. Remind them of that common goal, show them what you’re working towards. If they don’t see any progress, they won’t settle for following your lead.” 

Twice snorts then, slightly bitter.

“ Bold of you to assume we could unite them under one goal if we tried. When they joined our group it was because Shig was hellbent on taking out All Might and they thought he was their best chance at getting a chance to burn the world down. They were there for chaos, not for unity. World peace! ” The ashy-haired man raises the lower half of his mask just enough to light a cigarette from the battered carton in his pocket, raising the stick to his lips and taking a long, calming drag. Once upon a time, Keigo had hated the smell of smoke, burning cigarette papers and tobacco. It had reminded him unwillingly of his mother, back when his past was still something he kept in a fiercely locked box, far from the forefront of his mind. Now, the draft of secondhand smoke settles an itch deep in his chest, a comforting thing, despite what it once meant. Dabi hadn’t smoked directly across from him often, not after he’d found out how badly the smoke had irritated Keigo’s hypersensitive lungs, but the smell had always clung to him afterwards, in his clothes, on his skin. These days, Dabi smells less like nicotine and more like Keigo’s shampoo, less like smoke and more like the laundry detergent Keigo’s been buying for the last four years, known to him now, familiar. Still, Keigo doesn’t mind so much when his lungs burn with the urge to cough as Twice exhales, accustomed to this even if it’s been awhile. 

Oh, the subtle changes the last month and a  half have made. He wouldn’t notice them, in the wake of everything else going on, if not for moments like this.

“ They’ve all lived through different things,” Twice continues, leaning back in his chair. The loose, wooden legs of the thing squeak harshly against the concrete as he does so, protesting at the shifting of his weight, “ The only thing that unites them is hardship. They blame different people for it- trying to unite them against one person or another isn’t going to cut it.”

Once again, his alternate side doesn’t contradict him, Keigo mulling over this silently. He continues to observe the solitaire cards on the table, the stained and tattered edges proving the wear and tear that the deck has accumulated after travelling around in Twice’s pocket for God only knows how long. One of the cards has had a corner torn off and taped back together with a  few thin layers of scotch tape, ignoring the fact that the face of the thing has been worn down to such a faded colour, Keigo has to squint to even read what the suit is.

“They hate the system,” Keigo says slowly, still studying the card. It’s a two of hearts, he determines at length, “They hate what’s happened to them. Whether they ended up this way because of quirk discrimination, cyclic poverty, injustice by heroes- they might blame different people, but it’s the same system that’s been fucking them over in the long run.” His mind wanders to Toru and Kumo, Akarui crying herself to sleep in her father’s arms. He swallows hard, a sick feeling curdling in his stomach. “It’s affected a lot of people. Even the ones who haven’t turned to villainy have felt the crux of it in one way or another. Those who think they haven’t are just blind to what’s actually going on.”

“ You sound like you’re suggesting a coup ,” Twice notes, neither impressed or unimpressed, just speculative. It’s almost unnerving to see him acting so calm, when he’s typically lively and excitable to the nines. He must be taking this incredibly seriously.

‘ It’s been worrying him,’ Keigo realizes, the notion followed quickly by, ‘It’s probably been worrying the whole League. If they’ve been feeling their control over this whole thing slip, they’ve probably all been walking on pins and needles.’

In all his time working with them, Keigo’s reports and efforts have mostly been dropping intel. The plans from the Commission, how many new heroes will be debuting within the month, assignments that have been arranged between specific units that the League should know about, missions that they need to be aware of. He’s covered the League’s tracks the whole way as well, fumbling the numbers, muddying the waters, offering just enough truth to keep the Commission from being suspicious, but also more than enough falsities to keep the group safe.

He hadn’t put much thought into helping them organize everything else. That had been more or less their call, and so long as they hadn’t been planning anything devastating that would endanger the lives of civilians, Keigo hadn’t intervened. Sure, there had been times where he’d gotten involved to botch League plans before they could take off, had found reasons and excuses and ways to prevent certain motions from going through. But in the grand scheme, he’d been relatively uninvolved, focused on his own corner of life and trying to find a way to protect as many people as he could when the fallout inevitably hit.

This time, he knows, he’s going to need to step up his game. And he might actually have an idea for how to do so while keeping casualties to a minimum.

“The civilian attacks need to stop.” He says into the silence, firmly. Twice cocks his head. Individually, the League hasn’t taken part in anything like that since before Dabi was injured, and for the most part they’ve been doing a moderate job of laying low as well. But those who associate themselves with the League, the villains that carry their image and claim to be a part of their group- they’ve still been wreaking havoc for months. Some of the stunts they’ve pulled have been authorized, but a majority were just power-trips that the League hadn’t bothered to pursue and punish because they hadn’t caused any damage to the organization, and were overall petty flares of aggression. Besides, it wasn’t like the publicity was hurting them in any way. The hero world needed a reminder every now and then that they were still alive and kicking, biding their time for a better strike. 

Keigo knows, from the Commission’s standpoint, that those kinds of flare ups have merely been inconveniences. Sure, they were unfortunate. There’s been property damage and destruction, a few casualties, etc. But for the most part, all they’ve been seeing are low-scale attacks like robberies- clearly done for personal gain and not actually for the League itself. They were dead end situations, cases where a couple of villains knew that they could take advantage of peoples’ fear of the League by mentioning their affiliation with them, and use it to take what they wanted. For the sake of trying to track and take out the League, they would have been useless fights to engage in, to pursue, to track down the members involved and try to wring information out of them.

But for any civilians caught in the attacks, they would’ve been terrifying. To them, it wouldn’t have mattered if these upstart villains were truly being operated by the League or not- any mention of the S-ranked villain group, and they’d be scared shitless. 

“ I don’t think we’ll be able to unite everyone over that idea, ” Twice muses, his alter ego kicking in with a cheery, “ Great thought, hero!”

“Listen,” Keigo argues, wracking his brain and sitting back in his own seat, wings ruffling, “What the hell do you get out of scaring everyday people? They’re not your target, and their fear of you only blinds them even more to the problem actually at hand. If they’re used to turning to heroes for safety when your recruits are attacking them senselessly, they’ll never listen to what you’re saying.”

With his mask still slightly pulled up, Keigo can see clearly when the other man frowns, contemplative but not exactly in agreement.

“I mean, sure, but why would we care what they think anyway? Civilians aren’t what we’re supposed to be talking about- we’re talking about trying to get our own members organized.”

Keigo raises an eyebrow.

“You should care, because they might be your key to actually changing something,” He steeples his fingers, placing his elbows on the rickety table, “Society isn’t going to change itself for the demands of a bunch of convicts who they think are terrorists looking to harm the general wellbeing of the public. You guys might be villains, but they’ve made you villains , something everyone is afraid of, even the people who might’ve understood your case if they’d been told it in ways other than brute force.” The hero’s eyes are piercing as he adds, “That part is on you. If you’d tried winning them over in literally any other way than violence this might’ve been cleaner, but it’s a bit late to fix that now.”

Twice deflates a little at that, but Keigo isn’t finished. “Quite frankly, you need to make them relate to you. In the world we live in, most people won’t open their arms to change unless they can see themselves reflected in the reason why it’s necessary. We live with blinders on until we open our eyes to the perspectives of those around us. They’re never going to let you win if you present yourselves as a mindless, destructive organization with no discernible reason for them to get behind your movement.” He purses his lips, gaze falling down to the table, “But this society does need to change. This whole thing needs to change- and if you can find ways to show that you’re fighting for them and not out to hurt them directly, you might be able to sway more civilians to your cause.”

Twice sits silent for a long moment as Keigo rambles, at length piping up with a small, “ You’ve lost me. Sounds awesome, let’s do it! ”

Keigo releases a breath.

“Win the people over and unite them against the actual problem. It’s time to go after the HPSC.”

Jin stares. Keigo stares back, unwavering. There’s a long pause.

“ You’re serious. Hahaha, awesome joke! Tell it again! ” 

“Dead serious,” Keigo replies earnestly, calculated, “You really want to overthrow hero society? You want to change things? You’re not going to achieve that by dealing punches at the heroes, and definitely not by attacking the people they serve. To kill a hydra, you can’t just go for one head.” His tone darkens a shade, angry, “The heroes are just the enforcers. Aim at the ones making the rules, and you change the game.”

Jin sits quietly for another long minute, mulling over his words. When he finally speaks again, it’s with caution, but still with the interest of someone who’s listening.

“ That’s quite the challenge, Hawksie. You’ve got some big ideas. ”

“You don’t change the world by thinking small,” Keigo answers with a grin. Jin scoffs at that, humoured, giving a shrug.

“ Fine, I’ll play. I don’t like this game! Say we go for the Commission directly. What on earth would we do to bring them down? We’ve got an army of untrained, trigger-happy minions who’d storm the place and be killed on sight. What a plan! Bravo! ”

Keigo frowns, running his nail over his bottom lip. When he was younger, still in training and not yet a debuted hero, the Commission had run him through strategy drills. Posing situations just like this, asking him how he’d respond, what plan he would develop, what his course of action would be. Sometimes it was as simple as breaking into a building, other times as complex as managing an entire Yakuza bust on his own, relying on himself and nobody else to take out the members inside unfamiliar territory.

He’d never been challenged with diffusing a war, a violent revolution, something to this scale.

Then again, if he doesn’t, he’s not sure anyone else will be able to.

“No attacks,” He finds himself repeating, looking up at Twice once more, “Not just on civilians. No physical attacks on the Commission either. You’re right, you won’t win. Not by brute force, there’s no way.” Fleetingly, Keigo remembers the conversation he’d had with Dabi after his reconditioning, when the arsonist had threatened to burn the Commission down brick by brick for what they’d done. “You can’t step in on this one. This is bigger than one man, Dabs- you can’t win this with a fire quirk and a raging vendetta.”

No, violence won’t be the answer here. Keigo’s still certain about that much, as adamant as he had been that day. The HPSC would slaughter them, make it a spectacle and treat it like a victory for the free people of Japan. ‘ Look at how well we defended you,’  They would say, broadcasting the faces of the villains they’d brought to a sudden end. Keigo imagines the headlines, imagines seeing the League plastered on the news, imagines seeing Spinner and Toga’s mugshots, Shigaraki’s lifeless eyes. And Dabi… Fuck, he doesn’t even want to think about that. The very thought is sickening, but to most it would be a triumph. ‘ Look at how well we protect you.’

They’ll never stand a chance if things get that far.

“We need to rattle people’s faith in the Commission,” Keigo explains, determined, “Make them question the credibility of the system they’re under. This is the opportune time to do it, too.” The hero rolls his shoulders, crossing his arms, “This has nothing to do with the League, but we’re taking Endeavor to court. In a few weeks, the news will be out that the Number One hero is facing a trial for the treatment of his youngest son. We’re trying to get Shouto removed from his home.”

This takes Jin aback, the older man leaning forward in surprise.

“ Seriously?! No way, can you even do that?”

“Someone needs to do something,” Keigo says quietly, eyes falling to the table, “It’s too late to fix everything else, but we can help Shouto. And we can still use this to further the cause. Exposing the Number One while emphasizing the injustices of the HPSC could be huge  for us.”

For a long while, Jin stays silent, processing. Keigo gives him time to do so. He knows what he’s getting them into, knows what this might look like. It’s not what the League initially had in mind, but it might just help them win this thing.

Finally, the older man nods.

“Makes sense to me, but that’s not saying much. I’ll run it past Shig. This secret’s safe with me, Hawks! What exactly were you thinking we should expose about the HPSC in this plan of yours?”

If it hadn’t happened yesterday, the answer might not have occurred to him on the spot- but immediately, Keigo thinks of Akarui, her family’s fear of heroes, the way she’d hidden from him and Shouto when they’d wanted to help.

He thinks of the offer that had been extended for the Commission to train her.

The hero’s golden eyes are sharp as flint, he’s sure.

“You wanna make a real splash?” He asks, surprising himself with the amount of bitterness in his own voice, left unchecked even after he realizes how much there is, “I can think of a damn good place to start that’s sure to get some attention from the public.”

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