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He’s nearly at the top when he finally finds him, just high enough that the branches still form a web broad enough to nestle into, a structure that can just about still comfortably support his weight. Natsuo’s weight, that is. Shouto’s always been slighter; he could have climbed even higher if he wished. But he seems content here. At peace. Insofar as the latter is ever an option for him. For either of them.
He must have heard him wheezing and scrambling his way towards him but he might as well be deaf and blind for as much as he acknowledges his presence. Not a single word, no wave, no nod, his eyes never stray from the horizon in front of him. Natsuo can’t fault him for it. This far from the ground, there isn’t much foliage left to block the view. The mountains spread out in the distance like a stark, silent frame around their lives, the sun kissing them goodnight in soft pinks and oranges. The city is never quiet, but from up here it seems like it is, like there is no one left in the world but them and a couple of tattered, tired clouds.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
He settles in carefully, as close to Shouto as he can without touching him directly. And hopefully without crashing to his death. He’s not just taller and broader, he’s a lot less graceful too. He can mimic the way Shouto has fitted himself snuggly to the bends and curves of the wood behind him, but he will never look as naturally part of the scenery, as casual and unbothered by the threats and risks around him. Even with him arranged on a throne and Shouto cramped onto a tiny, filthy toilet, Shouto would still look more elegant. Perhaps that should make him jealous, should make him rage at the unfairness of it all, his deficiencies stripped bare next to his brother’s perfection, but all it does is make his heart ache with all the ways Shouto never got the chance to enjoy any of his many gifts. Or to even recognise them as such.
Endeavour valued the bluntness of a weapon, a flashy display that intimidates, the raw power that leaves others no choice but to cower in fear. He had no use for beauty or delicacy, for restraint, contemplation, a gentle soul. Those, he stomped out. Locked them away.
“How did you find me?”
How many minutes have passed with both of them just looking at the sky in silence, in their own, impenetrable spheres even as they are close enough to touch? How long until Shouto finally made use of his voice?
Perhaps it should have been him? Should he have broken the silence first?
“I went to your dorm when we couldn’t find you. You know, to look for clues and all. That green-haired kid who came to dinner at ours once” – why is he saying it like that? He knows his name perfectly well. Like he could ever forget it. – “told me that this was a place you liked to hide in when you were little. I never knew.” He says the last part like an afterthought, and he hates how fragmented his voice sounds, hollow cracks for accusation to creep into and weave its festering trap. Shouto is not to blame for this. And neither is he, yet it still it feels as though the weight of guilt lies solely on his shoulders. But it’s better this way. Shouto already has so much to carry. So many burdens Natsuo can’t help him with, exposed scars he can no longer try to shield from the world’s prying eyes.
“Ah. Yes. I told him about it once when he couldn’t sleep, I’d forgotten. Or I didn’t think he’d remember. It’s such a tiny, inconsequential detail.”
It’s not. Natsuo knows that, Midoriya knows that, everyone even remotely in Shouto’s orbit would know that and so would Shouto, if he didn’t move through people’s lives as though he expects to have no impact on them, as though he still hasn’t fully grasped that he is more than just a distant ripple. That that story about broken hands that tore themselves to bloody shreds on his ice but wouldn’t rest until he was freed wasn’t a one-way street.
“I don’t think he’s the type to forget.” Literally anything. “And he was worried about you too.” He tries for a smile. The kind brothers share. He’s not sure he’s getting it right, not sure he even remembers how to do that. It’s been so long since he had a brother he was allowed to see. A brother who died. But didn’t. And is still as lost to him as if he had. “I had to physically stop him from coming here himself.”
Shouto’s shrug leaves the twigs and leaves digging into his back rustling. “He does that.”
“He’s not the only one who worries.” He says it so softly he can barely just make out the words himself. He can’t tell if Shouto heard them at all. Or if they’d mean anything to him if he did.
Silence falls again between them; darkness won’t be long to follow. They should probably get down soon but Shouto doesn’t seem at all inclined to move. Somehow, Natsuo isn’t too keen on the thought either. The blinds are drawn on Shouto’s face even up here, where it’s just the two of them. How much worse will it get when they are back in the world?
“It’s nice up here,” he says, because he has to say something and also because it’s true. “But I’ll be honest, this is the last place I would have thought to look for you. I didn’t think any of us would ever willingly set foot here again.”
Somewhere at the far end of the garden, their childhood home lies cold and dark at their feet. He can’t see it from here, not without turning his entire body and risking his life, but his senses are too attuned to its presence not to be aware of it even at a distance. Even when it’s empty. Wherever Endeavour is currently hiding out, it isn’t here. If he’s even out of the hospital yet. Maybe he isn’t; maybe that’s why there’s no press to be seen down there. Fuyumi would know but Natsuo refuses to. Refuses to ask, refuses to let it seep back into his life. Maybe Endeavour will finally die and rot; maybe he’ll come out of this even more the fake, shining hero than before; it doesn’t matter. He’s past caring. He can choose to be kind, yes. But he can also choose who to be kind to. And he will not forgive how the world now sees them. How Shouto might never be free now.
“He never found me up here.” He says it like it’s a point of pride. And it should be. Every second of freedom a victory, a precious moment he stole for himself. A respite from all those things Natsuo failed to protect him from.
“Should have just stayed up here forever then.” He tries for a joke. It rings out hollow, its edges hard against the glow of the setting sun. Artificial levity cannot counteract the weight of everything around them, and it can’t even begin to touch what’s on the inside.
“If I’d tried that he would have eventually found me and I’d have lost it for good.” Shouto falls quiet like someone pulled the plug on him. He’s focussed on something in the distance now. Natsuo isn’t sure how he knows this since neither Shouto’s body nor his eyes have moved from their previous position, but he does. It’s a spot only Shouto can see, a time and place Natsuo has no access to. Because he wasn’t there for it even when he was. “And I was always scared my left side would end up setting it on fire if I stayed too long and forgot to be careful.”
His voice never loses that matter-of-fact tone. It shrinks, ever so slightly, but it’s only noticeable if you know where to look for it. And Natsuo does. He always looks, doesn’t dare to blink or breathe too loudly for fear of missing something, another precious fragment he can cling to, wipe clean from dust and neglect and carefully watch over, keep it safe in this shrine of guilt and love. Sometimes, he wonders if he’s doing more harm than good. Maybe he’s clinging to something that never was. Maybe he’s failing him like he failed Touya. What good is looking now when all that growth, all that suffering, all those wound he cannot heal happened while his eyes were shut?
He can read the nuances of his voice, big whoop, he’s not the only one. Midoriya could probably tell twice as much from half as many words. Maybe he’s the one who should be up here with Shouto. He wouldn’t sit there lost for words and comfort; he’d know what to say. Shouto would probably prefer that too. Someone who truly knows him. Someone kind. And cute, he supposes, if you’re into meddling awkwardness.
“You’re not like that. You’ve always had great control even when you were little.” He tries, even though he knows it’s not enough. Not what Shouto’s really worried about. “You’re not like him.”
“Touya thinks I am.” Natsuo’s too slow to reply. The name, that name, dragged out of nothing and slammed into his face like the reality he still can’t fully understand it is, cuts him in all those places he didn’t realise could still be hurt. He never came to see him. “He hates me.”
“He… he doesn’t hate you.” It’s not a lie. It’s not anything, just words pulled right out of his ass. He doesn’t know what Touya thinks or feels. Turns out, he doesn’t know him at all. Not even the name he’s wearing now. “He just has the wrong idea. If he’d ever really met you he’d—“
“Do you hate me too?” Would this question hurt more or less if there was any emotion in his voice, if he didn’t say it the same way he might ask about the weather?
“Of course not!”
“You can say it, I won’t be mad. I’d understand.” That’s the worst part. He would.
“Shouto.” He reaches out, gingerly, as though Shouto might up and run like a stray cat at the slightest provocation, and angles his face towards him. “I don’t hate you. I never hated you. There… there was a time when I resented you, just a little and for a bunch of things that were never, ever your fault but even then, I also loved you. And… and so does Touya.” He gulps around the words but they must be true. They must be. “He’s just forgotten it. We don’t know what he’s been through, how he… how he ended up like this.”
“Yes, we do. Because I was born.”
Tears are stinging at the corners of his eyes, biting salt and anger that he can’t let free. He has no right to them; he’s thought these words too many times himself. When he was too young to know better, certainly, but that doesn’t make them any less hurtful, any less destructive.
“No,” he bites them back, straightens up as far as his position allows and grabs Shouto’s chin a little more tightly. “Because Endeavour decided his children were only worth as much as the extent to which they could be useful to him. He’s the one who discarded Touya, who didn’t spare him so much as a glance anymore once he realised he wouldn’t become his ultimate weapon after all. You had nothing to do with that.”
“Touya’s not the only one he discarded.” Shouto pulls back until Natsuo is forced to let go, his hand falling into his lap like the limp, powerless thing it is.
“You had nothing to do with that either. And it’s… it’s different for us. Fuyumi and I didn’t lose his attention, we never had it in the first place.”
“But you still resented me for it.” There’s no anger behind the words, no accusation. He’s merely stating a fact.
“Only when I was still too young to understa—“
“His little puppet. The one who grew up to be exactly what Endeavour wanted. That’s what he thinks I am.” Shouto lets his head fall back against the trunk, his eyes closing for just a moment. “Maybe he’s right.”
“He’s wrong. About what he said to you, what he… what he tried to do to you…” He can’t say it. He can’t even think it.
But as always, Shouto is braver than him. “He tried to kill me.”
“I… I know.”
“Midoriya?”
“Fuyumi. I don’t know who told her but what does it matter, fact remains he tried to… He hurt you, and I will never forgive him for that. No matter what.”
“He sent those villains after us too. He didn’t care if we lived or died.”
He doesn’t mean ‘we’. What he’s really saying is you, except he isn’t saying it, is too kind, too caring to say it, to drag him down into the same pain he is feeling even after everything. It’s not like Natsuo doesn’t know anyway. Another loss, another betrayal. And still, Shouto tries to spare him. To let him keep something, however small, of the brother he has now lost twice.
He nods. Takes care to avoid Shouto’s eyes. “He said as much in his broadcast.”
“I haven’t seen that.”
“Don’t watch it. It’s not worth it.” Natsuo would know. He’s watched it exactly 122 times so far, and he still isn’t any closer to an answer. “You got the live version, after all.”
“I’m sorry.” Whatever answer he was expecting, it wasn’t that.
“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I got to meet him.” Shouto shrugs. “I know you wanted to.”
Another cruel, unfair jealousy of his dragged to the surface. How does Shouto keep doing this? Just how much, how many times has Natsuo hurt him without noticing?
“Before all this, maybe. But now? I’m pretty sure I got the better end of the bargain.”
“He’s still your brother.” As if he didn’t know this, as if he didn’t lie awake night after night knowing this and now knowing what to do with it. Of course, Touya is Shouto’s brother too, but it’s different. Shouto was so young, he’d barely even remember him. Not like Natsou, who can still hear the sound of his voice, feel the rhythm of his breath evening out when he’d finally cried himself to sleep as clearly as if it happened weeks ago instead of in another lifetime.
“Yes. But it doesn’t feel like it.”
“I could say the same about you.” There’s something playing about his lips, like the ghost of a faint, almost amused smile. It only makes the words sting harder. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
His hurt must have shown.
“I know. It’s just… I hate it when you treat me like a stranger.” His throat is growing tighter and tighter with every word. “Even if you have good reason.”
“Well,” Shouto gives another little shrug, “you kind of are a stranger.”
“Ouch.”
“But,” that tiny, somewhat amused smile has returned, “you’re a stranger I’d like to spend more time with.”
The way he says it is so unlike him, almost cheesy and Natsuo can’t help but laugh, just a little.
”Smooth. You sound like you’re about to sell me a used car.”
“Pff. You’re not even allowed to drive yet.”
He goes back to staring into the distance. The smile is still there, though. Just the faintest trace, but still there.
“So, did that smoothness work on Midoriya?”
It’s like the opposite of Shouto’s moment of smoothness. He let the pause drag on for too long and then he dragged his words the same way. He might as well have fired a glitter cannon at a funeral.
“Huh?” Shouto’s head whips towards him, brows furrowed like he’s startled him out of what must have been a high-speed train of thought.
Well. No point in turning back now. Might as well go all in. How do they say always say at Shouto’s school? Plus ultra?
“You told him about this place when he couldn't sleep, eh? What happened there?”
“I told you?” If anything, Shouto looks even more perplexed now. “He couldn't sleep.”
“And how do you know about this?”
“I couldn't sleep either.”
“And?”
“And what?” It’s like pulling teeth with him sometimes. Does he really not get it or is he messing with him on purpose; it’s impossible to tell.
“And,” he tries again, “how is it you two were close enough while not sleeping, at night, to know you were both not sleeping?”
“I went to the common room and he was there because he couldn't sleep. As I said,” he adds, somewhat petulantly.
“So there's nothing going on between you?”
“Going on? We weren’t going anywhere, it was late.”
“I mean sexua— romantically.”
“No?” There’s something happening on Shouto’s forehead, a brief set of furrows in its perfection as his teeth dig into his lip. “I don’t… think so?” The digging intensifies. “But I have no experience with that, how would I know what it feels like…” He looks up at him, asks, with complete sincerity. “How does it feel?”
“Wha—what, that, that’s, uh, kind of personal…” Natsuo’s hand lifts in an old reflex of awkwardness – and collides with the branch behind him in a painful crack. Left to cradle his smarting elbow instead of his neck, he’s failing somewhat spectacularly at keeping his voice as cool and casual as he was aiming for. “And I think you’d find a lot of people would say dating your classmate, your… your colleague wouldn’t be proper anyway.”
A cold breeze fans out over his arm, just the right temperature to be pleasantly numbing instead of freezing, focussed precisely on the area that hurts the most. The ice extending from Shouto’s fingertips doesn’t reach him, never makes direct contact with his skin. It doesn’t need to. Shouto has perfect control; he’s helping him like it’s nothing, like he’s not even aware of the level of mastery that takes. Once again, Natsuo can’t help thinking that his talents are wasted on hero work.
He’s not like Touya. He doesn’t hate heroes. He just doesn’t much like them either. Their world never wanted him, it destroyed everyone he loved and now it might well take another person he cares about, chew him up and spit him out, leave him a mockery of everything he ever was or could have been. This world doesn’t deserve Shouto. And he deserves so much better.
He won’t tell him, though. Someday, maybe, but not now, when everything he’s been trying so hard to believe in is falling apart all around him. It would only make him sad, even sadder than he is now and what’s the use of that? It’s cruel enough that it had to happen just when he’d finally started to find his smile, a smile that fills even the filthiest, most undeserving world with light. If only there were a way for him to bring it out again, in spite of everything.
“They also said Touya was dead. That Endeavour is a good guy. Seems like they’re wrong about a lot of things.” Shouto’s face is as closed-off as ever. Natsuo has no idea what he’s thinking.
“Maybe so, but that only means they’ll be saying stuff about you too. People will talk.”
He doesn't want to be the one to point this out, he doesn't, Shouto deserves to have something for himself, something good, everything good but... But people are already talking so much and it's only going to get worse. How much more of that can Shouto take? His career, his every move will be under scrutiny. How much harder will it be when his personal life gets dragged into the limelight as well? And that Midoriya kid... He doesn't exactly seem like the most stable kind of person. More like someone who sticks his nose and neck into everything, whether it belongs there or not. Especially when it doesn’t belong there.
“What would you know about that? I don’t recall ever hearing any details about your relationships, from you or the press.”
“I'm not a hero, I’m not interesting enough to them.” He bites his tongue before he can add ‘or you’.
“You're still his child. That might change.”
“I doubt it,” he shrugs, even though Shouto actually has a massive, unpleasant point there now that Touya decided to release his ‘Behind the scenes with the Todorokis’. “But I’m not gonna talk about this with you either way.” He can’t decide whether he’s embarrassed about what he could tell him or of how little there actually is to tell but it’s not like that’s the point anyway. The point is that he shouldn’t be telling him anything at all, no matter how much or little.
“Why?” Nothing more, just a flat voice, a simple question.
Natsuo makes a show of winking at him. “You’re too young.”
“Fuck off.”
It’s almost funny how this is the first time tonight that he actually sounds his age. Natsuo tries to bump their shoulders together, which isn’t all that easy with the height and the distance and the way his elbow is still throbbing.
“Excuse you, I’m a college student. If word gets around that I’m talking about my love life with some high school teenager, there goes my cool guy reputation. “
“Tell me more, Mr Nineteen. And to think I wasted my ice to heal a geriatric body like yours.”
“My brittle bones do appreciate the effort.” It’s a small smile, nothing more than a fleeting visitor on the quiet and stone of Shouto’s face, but it is there. “But I still don’t think getting involved with Midoriya now is a good idea.”
“You’re right.” “Shouto heaves a long, world-weary sigh that should feel way more out of place for someone his age than it does. Although it is weird for him to just give in like tha— “Bakugou is more my type anyway.”
“Baku…gou.”
“He was at that dinner too.”
“Yes, I… remember.”
“And suddenly, Midoriya doesn’t sound like such a bad option, huh?”
“You little shit.”
Shouto evades his punch effortlessly. Not that Natsuo put much force behind it to begin with. They’re still way too far from the ground and also, he can’t bring himself to be genuinely pissed. Shouto’s too cute when he’s smug.
“Too slow. Must be the age.”
“Watch it, or I will ground you.” He nods at the grass below them. “Literally.” Shouto makes a sound that for him, might actually be a chuckle? Which would only serve to up the cuteness. Massively. So that’s what people mean when they talk about the ‘baby of the family’, huh? “But seriously, that one?”
“Maybe.” Shouto shrugs. “I told you, I don’t know how it feels to like someone. But he does have an interesting personality...”
“And by personality, I take it you mean tits, huh?”
“So you do notice them on high school students, do you.”
“I never said anything about looking. Respectfully. Doesn’t mean you have to jump into things.”
“Why are you are being so weird.” Shouto’s not quite crossing his arms in front of his chest but he’s pulled them a lot closer to his body, his torso turning away from Natsuo as he grumbles to himself, for once sounding like a teenager who actually got to be one. “Why do you even care, it’s none of your business.”
“What, you're 16 now, it's only natural and... And I highly doubt Endeavour ever had that kind of talk with you.”
“No.” Apparently, even Shouto sounds undignified when he snorts. “Why? Did he have one with you?”
“Pfff.” Unfortunately, so does he. “Is that a joke? He was too busy keeping my lowly genes away from his perfect creation to worry I might pass them on. That is, when he didn’t forget about my existence entirely.”
Shouto nods, a slow, pensive gestures. “And he was too busy beating my quirk into me to waste time on using his words.”
There is nothing he can say to that. There are too many things he can say to that. He remembers the screaming. The sobbing. And later, somehow worse, the silence. When Shouto either had no tears left to shed or had learned to cry without making a sound. It’s the same silence now. And he has to fill it, no matter how.
“I’d doubt he even has functioning parts, if our existence didn’t pretty much disprove that.”
Shouto turns towards him, not moving his eyebrows in the slightest but somehow still giving the impression that he’s raising them.
“What,” he shrugs. “All that rage has to come from somewhere.”
Shouto gives another slow nod. “Maybe I should reconsider Bakugou then.”
Natsuo splutters. That was definitely on purpose. Definitely. “There will be no discussing your classmates’ ‘parts’, what the fuck.” He clears his throat, trying not to move around too much in his dangerous, dangling seat. “But I’m sure his are fine… in the functioning sense, I mean. Which does NOT mean you should be getting anywhere near them!”
“You can breathe easy.” Shouto gives him a sideways look. “If you can. I don’t think he’s all that interested in doing anything with them, functioning or not.”
“Hmm…” He shouldn’t be joking like this with his little brother (at least he doesn’t think he should? It’s not like he actually knows what it’s like to have a younger brother, even though he’s had one for most of his life) but… it’s so much better than the heaviness. Shouto, smiling and being improper… there’s something nice about it, something so unlike the stoic, perfect hero, even if he really shouldn’t be encouraging it… “Maybe he is the better choice then. I don't trust the vomit-head. I can smell the horniness there.”
“Vomit head?”
“Tell me his hair doesn't look like someone barfed on a cloud.”
“You really don't like him, do you?” He sounds hurt. If you know where to look.
“I'm just worried about you. I know he's a good kid.”
He is. It’s not like Natsuo doubts that. He’s done a lot for Shouto, arguably more than anyone, certainly more than him; it couldn’t be more clear that his intentions are good. But even good intentions can lead you to the worst places.
“Midoriya is way too shy for anything like that anyway.”
“The shy ones are the worst, trust me.”
Shouto cocks his head. “Do tell.”
Of course, this is what it got him. Should have nipped it right in the bud. Now all he can do is try to steer them away from where the ice is getting thin back to familiar ground. Whatever that means for them.
“Nope. Definitely not something I’m gonna talk about with my baby brother. And it’s not the right time for you to be in a relationship anyway.”
He can feel the shift in the air around them, can feel Shouto bristling without moving, closing himself off even further.
“My big brother tried to burn me alive. Whether or not I’m fucking someone doesn’t seem like much of a problem compared to that.”
“Shouto!”
“What, you can excuse murder but you draw the line at coarse language?”
“I draw the line at you being reckless with yourself. You’re young and vulnerable, it’s not a question of—“
“That’s not what they called me when they put me on that battlefield. I wasn’t too young to fight and kill for them or to watch my friends get torn to shreds. Funny how I was the perfect age for that.”
“I know, it was horrible, and you should never have been there in the first place but it’s not the same thing—“
“You don’t know shit. How about we pile a whole city’s worth of corpses up over there, then we’ll see who’s vulnerable. Of course, they wouldn’t actually be corpses. Just dust. Because that is all that’s left. Doesn’t mean they don’t scream on the way there, though, trust me.”
Natsuo’s teeth are tearing apart his bottom lip in a desperate search for words yet come up empty again and again, and again as the seconds tick by. What the fuck could he possibly say to that?
“What?” Shouto’s voice is steeped in irritation to a level Natsou has only ever heard from him around Endeavour.
“I’ve just… I’ve never seen you this angry.”
That seemed to give him pause. “I… I’ve never felt this angry either.”
“I guess that’s a good thing? For you to feel it, I mean.”
“Yes. Maybe.” Natsuo can see his throat bob in what little remains of the day’s light. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you, though.”
“It’s fine. That’s what I’m here for.”
“No.” Shouto shakes his head emphatically. It sends the leaves rustling and Natsuo into a brief flurry of panic that they might end up falling to their deaths after all. “No, I don’t want that, that’s not what I want you to be.”
“I’m just a stranger, remember?” He says it softly, the way he feels about it. It really is fine. If this is what Shouto needs to finally stop being kind, to feel his anger, then he’ll gladly play this part.
“A stranger who feels like home.” That’s the problem with Shouto’s matter-of-factness. When he ends up saying something like this, it knocks you right the fuck out.
“Shouto…”
“I came here tonight because I wanted to be alone. But I was also looking for you. I don’t know your new address so this was the next best thing. The place you used to be. I don’t care if that doesn’t make sense.”
It does make sense. It shouldn’t, but it does. Whatever bond, what buried memories this feeling stems from when they don’t have either of those things, he doesn’t know, but he’s felt it too. Being around Shouto makes him anxious. Guilty. Worried, constantly on the lookout for what to do or say or fix. But it also makes him feel… grounded. Calm in a way all those other feelings shouldn’t allow for. Like he’s reached some kind of destination even though he hasn’t even embarked on the journey yet. It’s the same messy, convoluted thing that ties him to Fuyumi, except that he and Fuyumi do have memories together. In fact, that’s all they have, a childhood that was just the two of them, left alone with only each other to lean on.
Truth be told, he did most of the leaning then. And he has no idea how to be the one that props the other up. How to be as strong as she was. Still is.
“Maybe that’s because we are a family, even after everything. Or at least we could be one. With or without them. Get back what we lost. What was taken from us.”
“Yeah. But neither of us really knows what that feels like either, do we?”
No, they don’t. Or at least he doesn’t. It might be different for Fuyumi. She remembers, more than either of them ever had a chance to forget. It doesn’t matter though, doesn’t change that all they can do is try. And even if it does, he’s too tired to care. Tired of trying to figure out what they should be to each other, what he should or shouldn’t know, what it is or isn’t too late for.
“It’s almost dark. We should get out of here.”
He only gets a shrug in reply.
“We don’t have to be up here to keep talking. How about we get something to eat? My treat.”
Shouto does seem to be pondering it over, but he still hasn’t said anything.
“I know this great soba place…”
“I’m listening.”