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“Cover, cover, cover!” Shigaraki yelled, smashing the buttons on his gamepad as if his life depended on it.
“I’m trying!” Natsuo bellowed, not taking his eyes off the tv screen. It was no use. A grenade hit him from his blind spot, killing his character.
“Fuck!” Spinner cried, followed by a much more colourful curse from Shigaraki. “Tell me you didn’t fucking die, Todoroki.”
Natsuo threw his controller on the sofa, stretching his arms above his head. “What are you gonna do? Fire me?” When Spinner only grumbled an unintelligible sound in response, Natsuo threw a glance at their other companion. Shigaraki was completely focused on the task at hand. A few locks had escaped his messy ponytail, but he didn’t seem bothered by his impaired vision. Natsuo smiled, noticing how long it had gotten.
A series of cgi explosions painted Shigaraki’s face kaleidoscopes of oranges and reds, and Natsuo forced his eyes away before Shigaraki could notice Natsuo’s gaze lingering. No artificial color could be as vibrant as those red irises anyway, particularly when they were staring up at him in challenge. “I’m grabbing a soda. Do you guys want anything?”
“Nah,” said Spinner, mashing buttons.
“Lemonade,” muttered Shigaraki without even glancing his way.
“Be right back,” Natsuo said. The elegant dining area was just one corridor away, but the short walk still made him feel uncomfortable. Everything, from the overly spacious but scarcely furnished rooms to the tastefully impersonal décor screamed flaunted wealth. It wasn’t a traditional Japanese mansion in the middle of the most technologically advanced neighborhood of Masutafu, but the intent behind it was the same. Belittling its occupants. Making them feel small. It didn’t help that Shigaraki owned the place, but nothing there matched his personality, aside from the gaming equipment tucked away in a corner of the huge living room.
Natsuo had never gotten the tour, considering how disgruntled Touya had been to see him again—cutting bridges with the past apparently included slamming a door on Natsuo’s face, even when the latter was on a job call—but since then, Natsuo had always stuck to that safe corner of the base every time he came by. Everywhere else just made him feel unwelcome, and Natsuo might’ve been used to that feeling, but not around the League. So if a scheduled call to check on Sako’s newest prosthetic turned into a gaming marathon with his brother’s boss, Natsuo had never protested.
Villains are humans too, his own boss had told Natsuo on his first day, and they get hurt as much as heroes do, but only one side gets access to healthcare. Natsuo had found that a sound argument even before learning of his late-brother-turned-villain’s fate. After all, Natsuo had learned first-hand, heroes were often as bad as villains, just not openly so. Life had thrown odder curveballs at him, and trying to mend a relationship with a brother he’d thought he’d lost forever was by far not the worst one.
Retrieving two cans from the fridge, Natsuo pointedly avoided thinking of the other, more selfish reason to still stick around Japan’s most dangerous crime syndicate. Sure, there was a certain appeal in having a secret his father would raise hell at... Natsuo ‘had a bright career ahead of him’, or so Enji had said once he’d bothered looking Natsuo’s way—and wasn’t that thrilling? Turns out, he wasn’t a failure! But Natsuo had stared at Shigaraki’s profile lit by a tv screen one time too many to pin his latest rebellion on a fit for his father’s attention.
Natsuo sighed, closing the fridge door. He was so immersed in his pointless musings that he didn’t immediately hear the furious buzzing nearby, muffled by a pillow as it was. That is, until the thing fell to the floor—Shigaraki’s phone, Natsuo recognized once he glanced that way. He called out to him, but only got a muffled grumble back. Shigaraki was no doubt too absorbed in his game to give a fuck about his still buzzing device, and Natsuo—
Natsuo hadn’t really meant to catch a glimpse of the screen.
Years of walking on tiptoes in his own house had taught him better than snooping around other people’s business. But Shigaraki’s lock screen was a blurry photo of Natsuo’s smiling face, obviously taken in secret, and Natsuo’s heart seemingly jumped in his throat and remained stuck there. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, it thrummed steadily in his ears, impossible to ignore, and that was the only reason why Natsuo was feeling faint, wasn’t it?
Fuck.
The phone kept buzzing, and Natsuo couldn’t tear his gaze away from the revelation in that simple grainy picture. He remembered the moment it had been taken. He was talking to Toga. Touya was skulking nearby, pretending not to be keeping an eye on them, as they nursed glasses of soda and chatted about mindless things like boys, crushes and the soul-crushing weight of not being good enough. Toga had offered to impersonate his father to post online pictures of him in All Might merch, and the proposal had been genuine and candid enough to prompt a full-bodied guffaw out of Natsuo. He’d barely avoided spilling his soda onto his awaiting white hoodie. Not one of his suavest moments, but one that had nonetheless been immortalized by sneaky fingers on a mobile shutter.
Traitorously, his heart wouldn’t stop beating wildly against his ribcage, even as he considered pretending he’d never caught a glimpse of Shigaraki’s in turn.
It was a steady plan. No one else was in the kitchen with him. Shigaraki and Spinner were still busy with their game. No one would be the wiser. Not especially Shigaraki. Natsuo could just walk out the room, leave the phone where it was, and go about his life the same as before.
Easy peasy, right?
Except… Except Natsuo couldn’t pretend. He’d never been a good liar—something Fuyumi prided him for, but a skill he always ended up cursing at times like this. How could Natsuo ignore the way his stomach knotted with nerves? Sure, Shigaraki might’ve allowed him to stick around, mutely passing him a gamepad like it was no big deal, but Natsuo had assumed it was to piss off his brother. The two of them didn’t get along that well. They were always snapping at each other, at least when Natsuo was around, and often… because Natsuo was around. And sure, maybe Natsuo had entertained the idea that his odd, unconventional relationship with Shigaraki could be called friendship, during late night conversations—Touya nowhere in sight to justify Natsuo’s presence at the base. But this?
Shigaraki was always watchful, that much Natsuo knew. Those vibrant red eyes of his were always cataloguing, staring people down, filing observations for later. What Natsuo had never expected was for them to have been focused on him. Following him, lingering, paying attention. His stomach flipped again. Or keeping private memories of his smile through pixels on a screen.
Natsuo… wasn’t that special, was he? He certainly wasn’t used to the spotlight, or the warmth curling in his belly.
Natsuo was, perhaps, a little bit screwed.
“Oi, what’s taking you so long,” grumbled a familiar voice, making Natsuo jump out of his skin. It was far too close for him to smoothly tear his gaze away from the incriminating phone.
Scratch that, Natsuo was definitely screwed.
Belatedly, Natsuo thought that maybe he could’ve still played it off. Cracked a joke, or maybe even pretended that his discovery wasn’t as axis-tilting as it felt. But Natsuo’s mouth had a different agenda. “Am I your lockscreen?” he blurted without thinking.
Realization dawned on Shigaraki’s face, and Natsuo waited with bated breath for the moment it would be game over, to borrow from one of Shigaraki’s favourite expressions.
It never came.
What spilled from Shigaraki’s lips instead was an equally unfiltered admission, perhaps even more incriminating than his. Evening the odds out. “You weren't supposed to see that.”
That, more than anything else, was what finally made the tension melt out of Natsuo’s shoulders. He could relate to that feeling, if nothing else. Just for how long had he lied to himself about his crush, trying to squash it against a far-off corner of his conscious mind? His father would’ve called him a coward. Natsuo simply called himself a realist. Reality had a weird way of making you reevaluate your convictions, Natsuo thought.
The phone buzzed again, and Shigaraki stalked off to snatch it back, holding it gingerly with four fingers. “It’s been blowing up all day,” he grumbled, nose scrunching up. On screen, a small box displayed 16 unread messages and 7 missed calls, all from the same contact, crudely labeled Lieutenant Bootlicker.
Natsuo hadn’t really meant to see that, either, but a laugh was already bubbling up his throat as Shigaraki wiped away the notifications. He pushed it down.
Shigaraki stared consideringly at the mountain of pillows the device had fallen out of before clicking his tongue and turning the vibration off altogether. “Fucking corporate leeches.”
So screw him if he ever uttered the words out loud, but Natsuo found him adorable.
Perhaps that should’ve been the most worrying turn of events. Not a stupid photo. Yet, some part of Natsuo—a reckless, maybe even amoral part of him—couldn’t bring himself to care about logic and ethics, or the two-facedness of the people housed in a mansion too big for six souls. Perhaps it was the impersonal spaciousness of the place itself that made it so homey. Maybe it was the people who lived there. The only thing Natsuo knew for sure was that his heart grew bigger every time he was over, as if to claim some of that extra room for himself—feeling part of something, for once, and not wanting to give it up. Shigaraki’s dry humour and his no-nonsense attitude had nested themselves in his chest. They’d made Natsuo feel at ease from day one, never once doubting if he was welcome. Shigaraki was as straightforward as he was rude, and he never sugarcoated his thoughts for the sake of appeasing someone else’s feelings. That gave Natsuo an idea of why he’d let Natsuo stay, but it didn’t explain why he’d never said anything. About the picture. About his feelings.
Against his better judgement, Natsuo couldn’t help his curiosity. Perhaps testing Shigaraki’s patience wasn’t wise, but he had a good feeling about this. He had yet to be dusted, right? “What did you save my contact as?”
The effect was immediate.
Shigaraki glared, and there was that smoldering red-eyed gaze again, hot as liquid fire, staring at Natsuo as if daring him to drink it up. “I didn’t,” Shigaraki said, and had Natsuo not been looking at him closely, he might’ve believed the lie.
“Come on, a secret for a secret?” he insisted, pushing his luck. Shigaraki looked like it was taking him everything he had not to push five fingers on Natsuo’s still grinning face, turning his back on him to retrieve his drink, so Natsuo spoke up again. “I’ll go first. Your hair looks really soft, and it kinda makes me want to run my fingers through it. Especially now that it has gotten longer.”
Shigaraki fumbled in his attempt to grab his lemonade. His fingers slipped, and the can turned to dust, sending the contents spilling everywhere and making a mess. “Fuck!” he cursed, scrambling away on already wet socks. His mouth pulled in a displeased pout.
This time, Natsuo didn’t bother holding in his laugh. It was worth the jab of a pointy elbow in his side. Shigaraki was sporting the faintest dusting of red on his usually pale face, though, and the sight was so rare and unexpected, it prompted Natsuo to do something really, really stupid. He fumbled for his own phone, opened the camera app, and looped his other arm around Shigaraki’s shoulders in one fell swoop. Shigaraki yelped, but Natsuo didn’t give him the time to react before he crushed him in a tight hug. He pressed the shutter, and his phone gave a satisfactory click.
Natsuo released his hostage to check out the picture, and sure enough, Shigaraki’s face was a work of art. His eyelids were peeled back in surprise, his faint flush stark against the snow white of his hair. A lot more locks had escaped his messy ponytail, framing a startled but not hostile face. Natsuo favorited the picture before sending a copy to Shigaraki’s phone.
“What the fuck, Todoroki?” Shigaraki said, sounding strangled.
Natsuo’s eyes softened. “Maybe you can set this one as your lockscreen instead,” he said around a much smaller, but significantly warmer smile.
“I should kill you,” Shigaraki said, lacking bite. He looked embarrassed more than anything as his hand covered Natsuo’s grin. His pinky was tightly tucked against his palm, making it an empty threat. Neither of them pointed that out.
If Shigaraki didn’t wanna put a label on their relationship just yet, Natsuo could understand. He wasn’t sure of his own feelings, either, past the fact that he really enjoyed Shigaraki’s company. He thought Shigaraki might’ve felt the same, even if he didn’t seem to know it yet. Shigaraki had told him enough about his past for Natsuo to guess that change wasn’t always easy, and sometimes not even welcome.
Natsuo stopped pushing. “Alright, alright! Truce?”
“Fine.”
So when Shigaraki relented, retrieving his phone to examine the picture—the screen lighting up with the name The more tolerable Todoroki—Natsuo bit his lip against another grin. Shigaraki’s thumb hovered over the trashcan icon for a few seconds too long, and Natsuo pretended to be distracted by his own phone. That should’ve given him ample time to save the picture, if he so wanted.
“Are you two coming or what?” Spinner’s grumble carried from the living room, and Shigaraki only hesitated once before stealing Natsuo’s soda and gesturing with his head for Natsuo to follow.
Natsuo did, a pleasant warmth nesting in his belly.
After all, labels were for people with easier lives than theirs, and a home was more than just a mansion—it was a place of belonging.