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Street lamps flash irregularly through the windows of your beat up car; streaks of yellow light that shine on the first aid kit laying open in the console, the garbage bag crammed down by your feet as you speed down the road.
The steering wheel is clamped in your sweaty palms, and while you’re trying to keep the ride smooth, your anxiety causes you to twitch the wheel back and forth, overcorrecting for the drift your split attention causes.
In the passenger seat is the source of your distractions - a hunched over body that remains deathly silent, barely reacting to any movement the car makes, or the muffled curses you bite back when you have to slow down or stop for changing lights.
“Just a little further,” you say into the quiet, the radio turned down low. “We’re almost out of the city, I promise.”
“Y’need to stop for gas,” is the slurred response; weak and whispery. “Too far to the next without a full tank.”
“Shit. Fuck! Okay, okay. Fuck! Can you..? I mean, are you okay with me going in?”
“Yeah. ‘S fine.” The body stirs, you catch a glimpse of hastily-bandaged flesh, the edge peeling back to show angry, burnt skin.
Touya is so clearly not fine, but fuck, you have him. You have him, and he’s safe if he’s with you, and you’re leaving the city. You’re going somewhere else, somewhere his stupid dumbfuck father can’t touch him, wouldn’t dare touch him.
Endeavor may be a powerful man, but you’re a little familiar with the criminal underworld, and you’ll use every tiny ounce of the weight your name carries if it means you can keep Touya safe. He deserves that much.
“Can’t believe you punched my old man,” he says after a few minutes, and there’s the edge of a wheezing cough in his voice. “Funniest fucking thing I’ve ever... seen.”
“I had to.” Your knuckles tighten on the wheel, pulse pounding harder in your ears as you recall the series of events that led to you physically pulling Touya along behind you, out of the house, away from the imposing man who was spitting blood on his expensive carpet. “I’ll fucking kill him. I swear to whatever shitty god is out there, Toya, I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Get in line,” he rasps, and you laugh, but it’s not funny.
God, you wish it was funny. You wish it was a joke; something to brush off and laugh about when you take him home again, but it’s not, and you can’t - you won’t.
The white anger pulsing through you, even now, an hour after the blow landed, makes you wish you could go back, and beat Endeavor’s stupid fucking face in. You’d take his Quirk, wrap your bruised hands around his neck, and give him the same burns that you can smell in your car; acrid, oozing flesh that needs more medical attention than you can provide right now. He wouldn’t survive long enough to fully appreciate the pain, but it’s the thought that counts anyway.
“I fucking hate heroes,” you whisper, tucking your face down into the collar of your sweater. It smells like tears and blood, and the sleeves reek of the peroxide you spilled everywhere in that first panicked rush to at least patch Touya up a little, but the pressure of it against your face gives you something to focus on aside from the road stretching ahead of you.
“I do too.” You pry your hand free, and reach across the console, blindly feeling for him, and when your fingertips prod his scrawny thigh, he stirs, moving his jacket to see what you’re doing. It takes a moment, but his fingers curl weakly around yours, even though it pushes a soft grunt of pain from his chest.
“I’m sorry.” Your voice is weak, too weak for what you’re trying to say. You’re pushing an elephant through the eye of a needle, but if anyone understands, it would be him. “I’m so sorry, Touya.”
“Keep driving,” is all he says, and squeezes your fingers a little tighter.
You try to keep your head down as you enter the gas station, but the old attendant’s focus lasers in on your swollen, red eyes, and the blotchy bruise forming on your cheek as you pass his counter, but no words follow you through the cramped aisles as you pluck bags from the shelves and pull drinks from the coolers.
When you bring your haul up to him, he smiles kindly, and you try your best to smile back as he places your items into a bag, takes the roll of bills from your hand to ring you out.
“I saw that you’re with someone,” he says, and you nod a little, eyes flickering to the glass doors. Touya is slumped in the seat, hidden from lights and eyes by his jacket, the one he left in your car the last time you took him out. “Are you safe, honey?”
“Yes sir,” you mumble, hastily swiping your sleeve across your eyes. “That— that’s my brother. We’re, um, we’re going to see our cousin.”
“I see.” He glances at you again, and you can pinpoint the moment he notices the burn that fades under the collar of your faded black shirt - one of Touya’s ratty ones, stolen on some long ago sleepover. “Are you sure, dear? You don’t need me to call your parents?” Fresh tears gather on your lashes, and you smile, watery and bright.
“No, sir. We’ll be okay without them.” Comprehension dawns on his face, and you bite your lip as he turns from the camera, slips a few extra bills into his hand before he offers your change.
“Alright, sweetheart. You have a good night, now. The sun always rises on better days.” You refuse to cry as he winks, a tiny smile on his wrinkled mouth, but the tears are already spilling when he squeezes your hands in his weathered fingers. You can feel his Quirk - a wavering, soft thing designed to heal, and the tears dribble faster as it slips from him to you.
“Thank you. Thank you so much, sir.” You rush out to the car with your treasures, and you barely manage to close the door before you’re crying in earnest, muffling it with your hands since Toya seems to be sleeping.
You’re so tired, so very fucking tired, but the Quirk is already part of you, and you need to find a motel as far from this side of town as possible to take care of Touya properly, so you crack open an energy drink and chug the cold liquid as fast as you dare.
Touya only stirs when you pull away from the gas pumps, pulling the jacket down to peer at you.
“You were crying,” he mutters, and you smile, but you know it barely counts, even if he’s half blind and delirious with pain.
“It’s nothing, Touya. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get to a motel further out.” He hums, and closes his eyes, drags the coat back up to hide himself from the world.
The place you wind up staying in for the night is the one of the seediest fucking places you’ve ever laid your eyes on, but it has a bed and a bathroom, and that all you really need. Touya moves like he’s ancient, all his teenage height folded down in on itself as he limps from the car to the bed with your help.
“I need to get clothes for us,” you say, brushing back his sweat-damp, singed white hair. “And-and money, and—“ His eyes roll, peel open with herculean effort.
“Not yet,” he pleads, voice cracking. “Stay with me.” You open your mouth to protest, but any words you can find die on your tongue, so you lean down and kiss the still-smooth skin of his cheek.
“Okay. Sleep a little more, and then I’ll— we’ll clean the burns again and I’ll go out.” He groans, fingers tight around your own, and you settle down to wait at his side, hardly daring to breathe in case you miss some small sign that he’s worsening. The attendant’s Quirk hums in your body, sweet like melted butterscotch and hot chocolate, and you let it trickle from you to Touya. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing, and that’s all you can hope for.
You don’t sleep at all that night. You can’t fathom resting when Touya is suffering beside you, no comfort truly to be found when burns decorate him like poorly placed stickers on a notebook. The night crawls past you as you feed the old man’s Quirk into the burned boy sleeping at your side, and when sunlight crawls over his skin, he looks a little better, a little less death-bed ashen.
You cry in the shower you take as Touya continues to doze, and you cry again when he wakes and helps you tend to the wounds still present.
“You took a Quirk,” he says, and you don’t meet his eyes as you wrap bandages around his throat. “From who?”
“The gas attendant,” you admit, and he mulls that over, looks at the way your hands shake when you draw on the ability that isn’t yours and press it to his damaged skin for an extra dose of healing. You both know the Quirk that mends his flesh cost you more than many could bear to live with.
You did it for Touya, and that’s the only thing keeping you together right now. Everything you do, every risk you take from now on, it’s all for him. For both of you.
You think you can live with almost anything, as long as you repeat that to yourself. The news is on as background noise as you prepare to go find clothes for both of you, though, and a breaking story catches your ear as you finish brushing out Touya’s freshly washed hair.
“A man who worked as a gas station attendant in eastern midtown was found dead by customers in the early hours of the morning, presumably of a heart attack. While authorities suspect no foul play at this time, there is some evidence of a Quirk being involved. If you have any information, please call the line displayed below on the screen.”
“Was he an asshole?” Touya’s voice is deafening after the extended silence between you, and you jump, hands clamping down on his shoulders automatically. You can feel his Quirk - a scorching, angry thing tugging to be free of his frail body, to seat itself in the core of who you are and eat you alive from within—
You tear your hands away from him with a gasp, and he twists, wincing as it drags his damaged flesh against the bandages.
“What?”
“He was nice,” you blurt, eyes wide. Then, because the realization of what you nearly did terrifies you to the core, you cut across whatever he was about to say. “I need gloves!”
The next few days are much the same, when you reflect on them later. You leave the city in the afternoon after you eat takeout for lunch in the motel room, and you begin the trip to the next city over. It’s not quite as far as you’d like, to really get away from Endeavor, but it’s a step away from his home turf, and towards yours.
You acquire a pair of decent quality gloves for a cheap price that still makes you cringe as you hand over the cash, thinking of the meals you could stretch out with those dollars, but the gloves give you peace of mind when you touch Touya later on.
Your Quirk control is strong, but your current situation has you frazzled enough that years of rigorous training melts into a horrid little bundle of anxiety and panic.
Touya doesn’t say if he minds or not, but you catch him glaring at the smooth black fabric with dark eyes once or twice, even after you explain your worries.
Accidentally killing Touya with your Quirk is extremely low on your to do list. When you tell him that, he asks if that means it’s still on your list, and you laugh until you’re crying, sinking against his chest as he pets your hair in the warm darkness of another motel room.
“We’re just two fucked up kids with fucked up Quirks, huh?” There’s humor in his scratchy voice as he wipes your tears away. “C’mon, Prometheus, can I get you to smile?” The nerdy nickname makes you laugh to tears again, and you fall asleep in the bed together, your gloved hands tucked close around his neck while he traces circles on your hip and runs a hand through your hair.
You skip from motel to motel, and you see a lot of small, greasy diners as you go. The old man’s Quirk holds steady for a while longer, and the burns are scarred over within a week.
Touya stands in the bathroom of your latest rented room, trailing his fingers over the rough flesh of his neck, the bandages finally gone. There are irritated spots blooming further along his shoulders, and even up on his chin - scaly patches that feel feverish to the touch; his Quirk bleeding through and burning him. His hair is different now, too; dyed black and cut choppy - the best you could do on little sleep and using worn down craft scissors.
“Damn. Guess I’m not exactly the pretty one anymore, Prometheus.” He grins as he says it, but you see the look in his eyes, and it’s like there’s a knife pressed to your ribcage.
“You’re beautiful, Touya,” you say, coming up beside him. The glove slips off your hand as you reach up and touch the blurry handprints forever marring the column of his throat, line your hand up even though it’s nowhere near the same shape, and he exhales heavily, watching in the mirror. “If you want, though, I can- I’ll find a better Quirk. One that will fix scars.”
“No,” he says quickly, covering your hand with his. “Don’t go that far for me.” He cups your face with his other hand, studying you closely. “Promise you won’t.”
“Okay, Touya. I won’t do it.” He nods, satisfied, and leans down to press his forehead tightly to yours.
”Thank you.”
You both hear the unspoken word that lurks in the shadow of your promise.
“... yet.”
More weeks pass. You pull the few strings you know and manage to secure a shitty apartment in a shady part of town. The bed is tiny, and the heating doesn’t always work, and there’s no other furniture whatsoever besides a crappy little tv setup and a lumpy couch, but it’s yours, and the moment the door locks behind you, you’re crying.
Touya snickers as you scrub your eyes, but his expression is tight as he squeezes your hand in his own.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs, and you laugh wetly, squeezing back.
“Yeah. Holy shit.”
Moving in takes you all of ten minutes. You cram your food into the cabinets, the fridge, and you toss the two duffel bags that carry your lives onto the floor next to the bed, and that’s that.
You haven’t slept properly in days; too strung out and afraid that you’ll be found to relax, but when you lay down on the bare twin mattress, and Touya crawls in beside you, fitting his lanky body around you like he could protect you from everything outside just like that, you’re gone in moments, and you don’t wake until the next afternoon.
Touya brings you food in bed, and he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve drooled on yourself, or that your eyes are still barely open as he helps you get down some shitty packaged ramen. He smooths back your rumpled hair, and laughs when you yawn, complaining that he can see every tooth in your skull.
“Prometheus.” You hum, peel your eyes wider as you set the bowl down and look at him, his eyebrows furrowed. “This isn’t the best time for it, but I don’t think there’s ever gonna be a good time so I wanna say it now.” That wakes you up a little bit.
“What, Touya?” He sighs, harsh and slow, and then he blushes, actually blushes, as he takes your hands in his own.
“I love you,” he says, and you smile a little. You know he does. “Not just as... friends. Or family. Shit, I mean, you are my family, but I love you more than that, too.”
“Like,” you yawn again, tears prickling your eyes. “Do you mean ‘I wanna date you’ love you?”
“Yeah.” His ears burn pink, and it’s the cutest thing in the world to you. “I think... I think I have for a while. I’m just pretty fucking clueless about this shit, so...”
“Okay.” Your eyes are slipping shut again, the last wisps of the healing Quirk seeping into Touya. “I love you, too. Let’s go on a date.”
“Fuck yeah.” His voice is soft, hushed with awe, and you’re barely aware of him climbing back into bed, nestling right up close to you.
The date goes well. It’s just the two of you watching movies in bed with several takeout buckets set up between you and a six pack or two of cheap beer, but it’s the simple things in life that make it better.
At the end of it, Touya puts everything away and comes back to you, content to stand between your knees a while as you trace his features and kiss each scar you find.
Considering his Quirk had been used a lot within his odd jobs with criminals, there was no shortage of scars, fresh and healed, to pick from. You know there are more, and if he would let anyone find them, it would be you, but it’s too soon for that right now.
This is not that far from your usual routine, anyway. Even before he asked to try being more with you, you were touchy with one another, always holding, petting, and kissing. It was in your joint nature to physically connect, to love each other in lazy hands and secure embraces.
“You can always pick someone else,” you say against his chin after a while. “I won’t be mad if I’m not what you need.”
You know you wouldn’t be, and you know things would be much the same between you, even if he chose someone else. It was just the way of things - a truth that had not yet faltered. You and Touya loved each other, and if that meant giving him to another sometimes, you would.
“I know,” he says, runs his fingers through your freshly trimmed hair. “But, it’s you.” He takes your hand, presses it to his chest, right above his humming, living heart. “It’s just you.”
You sleep quite well that night, tangled around each other like the threads on a loom.
Even when you jolt back to awareness to find your Quirk can borrow other things - can steal nightmares of strangling hands and blue flames and your own face, disappearing into the fire with terror in your eyes and Touya’s name on your mouth, and he’s already awake, already pulling you in closer, promising you the sun, the moon, the millions of stars in the sky, his father’s head on a spike, anything he can possibly think of, you merely smile and kiss him, chaste with sleep and saccharine to silence his eager mouth.
“Just you,” is your request, and he laughs and laughs and laughs, even though no tears come to aid his hysteria.
You really are Prometheus, he marvels to himself. You stole him away, shed your own blood and the blood of others on his behalf, and here you lay, eyes glowing in the weak lights of the city beyond the window, asking only for what he can give you - himself.
If you want him, you have him. You’ve had him since that night you bruised your hand on his father’s mouth, since you kept vigil beide him, using a dead man’s Quirk to heal the ragged burns that have spread across his shoulders.
No, you’ve had him even longer than that. You’ve had Touya since you first met, bumping shoulders in a stadium, when he was supposed to be preparing for combat against his classmates. He was already yours, he just didn’t know it then.
He whispers as much into the curve of your neck, and you card your fingers through his hair.
The room is cold beyond Touya’s heated body, and you can hear an argument a few units over. You know you’ll likely need to turn to the criminal world again for any sort of safety net, but as you doze in Toya’s arms, you can’t bring yourself to care very much.
Wherever you are, as long as you have Touya, you’re home.