Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As with all things in Dabi’s life, this situation started with hope, descended into embarrassment, and finally crash landed into bitter disappointment.

Hope: He’d been hired. Finally. After several months searching for work after the disaster of his old bartending job, he’d been accepted as a janitor on the night staff at a Paragon Productions INC office building. He’d never cared for the agency’s trashy reality series, but he would pretend to like a million shitty, contrived romances if it paid toward some financial independence.

Embarrassment: Getting into the building was a nightmare. Security and secretaries kept shuffling him around like he was some annoying interloper instead of a new employee. Their eyes lingered on his face: on the dark burns wrapping up his jaw and down his neck to match the marring under his eyes, all held in place by the glint of surgical staples he’d applied himself because he had no doctor to speak of. He knew that when they looked at him, they thought villain. Everyone did. He could make a child cry just by existing, and make heroes square up when all he wanted to do was pour a drink and go home. Bigoted asshats, he thought in return, but stayed stubbornly calm and pleasant because the only thing worse than looking like a villain was proving them right and losing this job. By the time he finally got through to the back offices he was already running ten minutes late for orientation. When he entered the room, his would-be supervisor looked at him with the same surprise, disgust… and weren’t those three new hires standing in the room, when there had only been three openings? Dabi realized, with a rush of white-hot shame, that no one had expected him to be here today.

Disappointment: The acceptance email had been a mistake; some sort of “reply all” bullshit that the hiring staff hadn’t double checked. The supervisor tried to let him down gently, but as much as his words were professional, his tone was irritated. He had a lot to do today. He didn’t want to deal with Dabi. Dabi should take the back exit so the higher ups on the main floor wouldn’t have to look at his ugly mug. Dabi snapped something rude at him (something about false professionalism, possibly just gibberish, he was too mad and humiliated to make sense even to himself), and left.

Dabi did not bother with pleasantness again when he stormed through the halls. If he had to rely on his face’s intimidation to make a quick getaway, that was fine by him. All the pencil pushers jumped out of his path. He made good speed all the way to the last stairwell, where a crowd of suit-wearing office types were yammering together with their latest to-go coffee orders. Dabi paused at the top of the stairs, waiting for them to move, but no such luck. They stayed stubbornly where they were, blocking the damn exit. Fuck them. Fuck these people and their paying jobs, and their ability to keep their fucking hair clean, and those fucking breakfast bagels that made his empty stomach growl at the smell. Fuck this morning. Fuck everything.

“Hey!” he barked, loud enough to make most of them jump. “Get out of the way!”

“Watch your tongue!” said the supervisor, huffing and puffing as he caught up. “You can’t speak to people like—”

“You didn’t hire me, so you’ve got no power over me,” Dabi hissed. He turned his glower back onto the suits, who gaped up at him. He forced all the seething authority he could manage into his tone and continued, “Some of us need access to the stairs and door. I’m done here. I want to leave. So scram.”

He flipped his hand for emphasis, and the suits scattered. He strode through the new opening, shoved the door open, and disappeared back out onto the streets.

“You’re back early,” Kurogiri said an hour later.

Dabi made a noncommittal noise as the bar door swung closed behind him. The digital jukebox sang soft jazz in the corner, and the dimmed lights made his head ache a little less. Dabi tugged his tie—borrowed from and tied by Kurogiri this morning—loose, then pulled it over his head and dropped it on the bar top. Kurogiri had been cleaning a glass but set it cautiously aside. His yellow eyes narrowed somewhat in the dense, dark mist of his face.

“It didn’t go well?”

“It didn’t go at all,” Dabi said flatly. “Administrative error.”

Kurogiri’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, Dabi—”

“Don’t,” said Dabi, turning away.

“But—”

“No. I’ll be upstairs.”

Kurogiri was quiet a while, but as Dabi opened the door to the stairwell he said, “When you come back down, you can have a drink on the house. I respect how hard you’re working to stand on your own, but you will always have an offer here.”

Dabi gave a noncommittal wave and closed the door.

Kurogiri was a nice guy, but he didn’t have the money to be paying Dabi anything. The bar was small, out of the way, and had little traffic. What nest egg Kurogiri did have was eaten up by taking care of Dabi and the rest of the misfits in the apartment upstairs, and even then there wasn’t exactly space for them. Dabi was one of seven charity cases Kurogiri had taken in: all of them formerly homeless, all of them trying (failing) to pay their share of the rent, and all of them, miraculously, able to play instruments. The others might be more or less complacent, but Dabi had dealt with one authority figure crumbling under pressure and had zero desire to let that happen to anyone else. He was going to pull his own weight.

“No, no, no,” Shigaraki said waspishly, his skin scarred and dried out, hair an unkempt white mop that swayed as he tapped a drumstick rhythmically against the coffee table. “You’re behind on the notes when we come into the bridge.”

“Am not,” said Toga. As usual her hair was tied into two messy blond buns.

“Are so,” snapped Shigaraki.

“Are not!”

“Are so,” muttered Spinner, scaled fingers plucking at the strings of an acoustic guitar that had almost an entire roll’s worth of duct tape keeping neck to body.

Toga hissed, flashing her sharp teeth. Spinner hissed right back, but lizard-ish as he was, he had an omnivore’s flatter teeth and wasn’t nearly as intimidating. Shigaraki hissed louder than both of them because he was a brat who needed to establish dominance at all times.

“Tut-tut,” said Compress in the corner, because the magician was indeed the sort of man who said tut-tut out loud. “You see, if we kept my idea and turned it into a solo—”

“Your violin doesn’t match the vibe!” said Shigaraki.

“Yeah, we’re going for more of a da-da-da-da than a whooooo,” said Toga, as if that made any sense.

Compress clapped a hand to his chest as if he’d been shot. “Betrayal from my own bandmates!”

Magne paused in brushing her hair to pat Compress’ shoulder sympathetically, but everyone could see her roll her eyes. “I’m sure they’ll need your violin on the next song.”

“Always the next one,” Compress sighed.

Magne grinned. She leaned closer as if to share a secret, but whispered far too theatrically for anyone else to miss: “Just think. The next time they come along asking for the violin, you could say no. Hold it over their heads.”

“Now, that’s an idea,” said Compress.

“Big Sis, no! Don’t give him ideas!” cried Toga, making to stand up.

“Sit your ass down and let’s do it again,” said Shigaraki. “If we can’t get this bridge to work, we won’t move on to another song at all.”

Everyone else groaned.

“We’ve been doing this all morning,” Toga whined, slumping over her electronic keyboard. One of the switches flipped under her elbow, and the preset Marimba tune started playing.

“And we’ll keep going until either you get the bridge right or Kurogiri goes to bed,” said Shigaraki.

They all groaned louder.

The last of their number, Twice, flopped onto his back on the floor, clutching a bass guitar miserably to his chest. This gave him a perfect, upside-down view of the door. He gaped for a moment before scrambling up.

“Dabi! What are you doing here? You should’ve stayed gone!”

“Dabi?” said Magne, baffled. “But you’re not supposed to be back until six!”

Spinner sent a horrified look at the window. “Have we been stuck on this all day? Wait, no. The sun’s still up. What gives?”

“Shit happens,” said Dabi.

That was all they needed to know. Twice and Magne looked tempted to console him. Dabi would rather jump out the window than suffer through that. He walked right past Twice, sat down at the coffee table, and pulled Shigaraki’s battered notebook closer.

“Which song has you stuck?”

“Things We Lost In The Fire.” Shigaraki tapped out the basic tune.

Dabi snorted. “Really? This one?”

“We were trying to get through it while you were gone. Can you really complain?” said Spinner.

Dabi could complain a lot, actually. The group’s songwriting sometimes pulled from their histories, and this one hit particularly close to home. He didn’t like the way Magne and Compress had stitched his drunken rambling into something coherent. It didn't matter that the kernels of himself were hidden inside words and a tune they'd been bouncing around beforehand; the 'fire' in the title still felt like a brand on his back. He’d get over it the same as he’d done the others, though. Repeating it over and over could numb it to unimportance.

“Sing through it with us,” said Shigaraki. “Toga always does better when she can follow the vocal lead.”

“Save us from the bridge! I hate the other songs, let’s stick with this one,” said Twice.

Dabi didn’t like the song, but he especially didn’t like the idea of talking about his morning and Magne was still frowning. He’d take the distraction.

“From the bridge or from the top?”

“From the top, and we can repeat the bridge if she doesn’t blend into it,” said Shigaraki.

Toga cracked her knuckles and poised her fingers over the keyboard, looking at Dabi expectantly while the others readied themselves.

“Things we lost to the flames,” Dabi began.

Shigaraki rapped the table again. “No, don’t read it. Sing it! We need to match the beats!”

Dabi rolled his eyes and started over. “Things we lost to the flames; things we’ll never see again—"

The song started slow, with a few somber notes out of the piano. As the words picked up so did the other instruments: drumbeat entering at the chorus, bassline sneaking in to join it. Spinner plucked at the guitar, more experimental than the others since they hadn’t really settled into the sound yet. The bridge did indeed have trouble. Shigaraki’s idea had the piano ramping up to emphasize the vocal switch, which sounded fine in theory but just would not work.

“Softer!” Shigaraki cried, fifteen attempts later and looking tempted to rip out his hair. “You’re competing with Dabi for sound! We’re trying to emphasize him, not drown him!”

“I can’t go softer! This keyboard’s old! It doesn’t have that kind of sensitivity!” Toga snapped back.

“Maybe if you used lower notes?” Magne suggested.

“No!” said Shigaraki. “Then you’ll drag it slower again! We’re going up right now! Up!”

“This would be so much easier if any of you actually had any education in music,” Dabi drawled.

“Shut up,” said Shigaraki.

“Maybe you should pay more attention to the lyrics instead of the sound,” Spinner grumbled.

“The sound is our fucking problem!” Shigaraki screeched.

“And it doesn’t match the fucking lyrics!” Spinner retorted. “This is like, a mourning song. Things have been lost in the fire. I get that you want the bridge to go ‘up’ or whatever, but the piano’s the wrong sound for it. Toga can work up the energy level but what we need is ‘bittersweet.’”

Shigaraki sent him a suspicious look. “Do you think you can manage that with a guitar?”

“I can try.”

“You’re just trying to steal my part!” cried Toga.

Twice plucked at a few chords of his bass and ventured, “Was I okay? Praise me, damn it!”

“You were fine,” Shigaraki said dismissively, too busy watching as Spinner tried the chords for the bridge.

“You were fantastic, Jin!” Toga shuffled around to Twice’s side. “You carried the whole song! You were the only good thing about it!”

Twice stuttered in happy embarrassment. Meanwhile Compress put his arms around Spinner and Shigaraki’s shoulders to say, “If we’re looking for a mourning song, you know there’s nothing more mournful than the wail of a violin—”

“We’re not using your stupid violin,” said Shigaraki.

“Are you saying that because it wouldn’t fit, or because I hid your drumsticks in a marble for two hours yesterday?”

“You and your violin are dead to me.”

“Maybe if you got an actual singer, the sound would work,” said Dabi, because letting them get complacent on that subject would be a nightmare. “I’m only filling in.”

For a moment they all went silent, simply staring at him, before turning right back to their conversations as if he hadn’t said anything.

“Wow, fuck all of you, too,” said Dabi.

He swiped one of the sandwiches Magne had put together and left them to their arguments to go stand out on the little balcony. There wasn’t much to look at—the balcony overlooked the dingy alleyway behind the bar—but Kurogiri had tried to spruce it up with a little flower box. The flowers had been crushed by errant elbows already and cigarette butts peeked out from under the petals, but at least they kept it watered. They tried. It was always trying, with them. Never succeeding. He really shouldn’t have expected anything different, this morning. Dabi shut his eyes tight and tipped his head back to face the overcast sky. If all he focused on was the slight chill of the air, and the scent of oncoming rain, he could pretend nothing had happened. Bury the shame, and the hope, and go right back to numb.

He loitered there a while, until Toga started whining about a text from Kurogiri (something about help bringing in some boxes?) and Twice shuffled out for a smoke. Dabi made to leave again—there wasn’t much room out here to start with—but Twice gave him a wan smile and said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to bug you about anything. You don’t seem like you’re in a chatty mood anyway. You never are, you antisocial loser!”

Dabi relaxed again. As overly friendly as Twice could be, he had his moments of shrewdness. They stood there in silence as the clouds grew darker, and might have stayed like that longer if Dabi’s phone hadn’t started buzzing in his pocket. Twice craned his neck to get a better look as Dabi pulled it out. If he was trying to figure out who was calling, he was out of luck; everyone with contact names in his phone were squabbling over music in easy earshot. Dabi didn’t recognize the number, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe some other company was interested in his resume. He’d dropped it off at more places than he could count. He clicked to answer and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Touya Himura?”

Hearing that name still felt like a knife to the gut sometimes. Dabi ground his teeth together before answering, “I actually go by Dabi.”

“Dabi, then,” said the stranger. “My name is Misty, and I work with Paragon Productions INC. Am I right when I’m thinking that you interviewed here for the janitorial position? You were in the office this morning?”

Oh, great, it was just someone calling to cover their ass. Maybe this was the person who’d sent him the wrong email, come to grovel before he could complain on social media. Dabi didn’t really want to hear it, but sometimes companies would fork out discounts or gift cards to smooth things over. He could suffer for something like that. He leaned further against the railing and said flatly, “That’s right.”

“Great,” said Misty. “I know you didn’t get that job, but I was hoping you’d interview for a different position with us.”

Wait.

“What?” said Dabi.

“You made an impression,” said Misty, as if that explained anything.

Twice had perked up at Dabi’s confusion, and tried to slip closer to listen in. Dabi switched his phone to the other ear and leaned further away from him, saying, “What kind of position are we talking about?”

“What are your thoughts on being on TV?”

Dabi gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Do you have any idea what I look like?”

“Yes? That’s kind of the appeal.”

“Wait, why are you laughing?” Twice whispered, still stubbornly trying to eavesdrop. “Not that I care! Who would want to talk to you?”

“What kind of show would find me appealing?” Dabi wracked his brain. Paragon didn’t handle any horrors or dramas; they went for game shows and reality TV. Was there going to be some ‘heroes versus villains’ team on one of their dumb games?

“Well,” Misty said innocently, “have you ever heard of the Bachelorette?”

Dabi could almost hear his mental record screech.

“What,” he said again, flatly as he could manage.

“When it comes to Bachelorette contestants we try to get a good variety, but this time we’re trying to find something… specific,” said Misty. “I only saw you for about thirty seconds, but that impression falls pretty solidly into the category we’re looking for. I can’t go into the details unless you sign an NDA, to prevent any leaks for our upcoming season, but I hoped you’d be interested enough to hear me out. It’s kind of last minute, and I know it’s not for everyone, but would you be interested in an interview?”

Dabi found himself stuck against the balcony door. He pressed a hand to Twice’s shoulder to keep him from crowding too much as he contemplated the idea. His gut instinct was to say no; people like Dabi did not appear on the Bachelorette. It would be like a cosmic joke. But… he did know something about the show. Toga and Magne liked to watch it whenever they had the chance, so unless he wanted to hang out in the bathroom or Kurogiri’s bedroom there wasn’t any way to avoid it. For all the contrived interpersonal drama and sappy romances, it was pretty tame. Disagreements were likely scripted, and it wasn’t like the audience was tuning in to think about anything political. Even the ‘hated’ competitors were shown in a fairly sympathetic light. If he were on camera his scars may be touched on, but they wouldn’t hold the focus. He wouldn’t be cast as a villain.

“Alright,” he said slowly, “when’s the interview?”

Misty might’ve sighed in relief; it was too soft to really tell. “how does ten in the morning sound, tomorrow? I’d like to get you in as soon as possible, but if that doesn’t work I’ll find something else to fit in your schedule.”

“Fine. Ten. Where do I go?”

“Just check in with one of the secretaries on the ground floor, and they’ll direct you up to me. Thanks again. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Dabi’s second visit to Paragon Productions INC was drastically different from the first.

Before he even reached the main desk, a secretary greeted him by name. She smiled at him overly sweetly, gave him a visitor pass, and then handed him off to a security guard; from there he was escorted into an elevator and up several floors. For the janitorial interview he’d been crammed into a small, uncomfortable chair in what amounted to a storage closet. Today he was sat down in a cushy swivel chair at a massive, empty table in a meeting room with a wall of windows giving a clear view of the downtown rooftops. The security guard even fetched him a bottle of water. Was this some kind of intimidation tactic? Five minutes of suspicion later, Misty hurried into the room.

‘Misty’ apparently matched her quirk. Her skin was pale blue but her hair hung like a sleek white curtain, tapering and fading out at the ends like the vapor coming off a waterfall. Dabi had seen something similar in his mother, during her decline: frost dancing in a haze off her skin, beautiful and painful. Thankfully his interviewer’s mist seemed completely benign. More unnerving was the fact that her eyes were completely white to match, so he couldn’t tell just where she was focusing.

“Sorry for the wait,” she said breathlessly, setting her papers on the table opposite him. “PR is a nightmare sometimes. I almost had to use my quirk to get away.”

Dabi gave a noncommittal grunt.

Misty sat down, sighed, and visibly collected herself. “Anyway. Good morning and welcome back, Dabi. I’m really glad you agreed to this interview, because one of my coworkers is pushing for another guy and I hate his guts.”

“You might hate mine, too,” Dabi pointed out.

“You can’t possibly be worse. Anyway, you had a reason to be mad, yesterday.” She pulled out a form from her stack of papers and slid this and a pen over to him. “Here we go: NDA, and then we can talk business.”

Dabi drew it closer and studied it. The form was basic and innocuous, only mentioning inner workings of The Bachelorette and its parent groups as applicable to the upcoming season. Sure. Whatever. He signed and slid it back. Misty shuffled it back into her stack, beaming.

“Fantastic! Okay, so, I want you to be one of the men on this upcoming season of The Bachelorette,” she recapped. “I mentioned before that some of our competitors play certain roles in the ‘story’ of the season. Mostly they’re assigned a few plot points, as it were, and then they spin it however they want. So long as they hit that mark, we encourage them to work without scripts as much as possible. Some people like the scripts so they have a guideline, while others wing it. It’s up to you how you’d want to approach it. What we’re looking for in your character, or plot marks, are twofold.”

She took out another page with several graphs and numbers. Dabi squinted but couldn’t make head nor tails of it.

“The Bachelor and its spinoffs are long-running shows, and have a very large following, so we tend to have a lot of flexibility in what we can do. That being said, we’re over two decades into this and we’ve gotten audience feedback that it might be getting stale. We’ve had a drop in viewership over the past seasons of both The Bachelor and The Bachelorette,” she said, pointing out specific numbers. the page must’ve listed seasonal metrics. “We’ve shaken that up in the past by throwing reunions, Bachelor Nation parties, and other spinoffs like Bachelor in Paradise, but we want to make sure that the originals hold their own. One of the biggest complaints we’ve tracked is that the show and interactions seem too scripted, so that’s we’re addressing. Your first role would be to act like the straight man in a comedy sketch: become the contrast that makes the rest seem genuine. You, as someone on the inside, would be critiquing the situation. Not cruelly, though. More like… showing reluctance or suspicion. Like you don’t fully believe in the possibilities but you’re going to give it a shot anyway. The more self-aware of the genre you are, the better. Our research shows that seeing a contestant touch on things that these naysayers also pointed out could forge a connection with those people, and ground the show enough to appeal to that wider audience.”

Dabi nodded slowly. Technically he was one of those naysayers. “I’m guessing there are limits on what I can complain about, though.”

“There are,” said Misty. She folded her hands atop the paperwork, suddenly much more serious. “First, you can critique the show’s genre as much as you want, but you can’t attack the crew for working on it, or the audience for watching it.”

“Valid,” said Dabi.

“Secondly, we fully expect you to have friction with the other competitors, but you can only express dissatisfaction with their actions. If it’s something they can’t change, like a mole or a quirk, you’re not allowed to pick at it. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” said Dabi.

She smiled with something like relief. Had their other option given her pushback on those things? What a dick. Dabi for one would find it refreshing to have someone rag on him for his bitchy personality instead of the scars.

“That role would also tie into your second function, which is to contrast with one of the other contestants,” she continued. “This is probably our biggest surprise of the season, so remember that NDA…”

She turned a thick folder around for him to see it better and flipped open the cover. Inside lay more stacks of contracts, but a photograph was clipped to the top.

Dabi snorted and shook his head. “Very funny. Who is it, really?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” said Misty.

“Seriously?” said Dabi. “You really expect me to believe that Hawks, the number two hero, notorious for never taking a day off, is going on vacation for several months to play around on a dating show?”

Because that was definitely Hawks and his annoying smirk in that picture.

Misty threw back her head and laughed. “See? You’re already a natural at this! For real, though, I have no idea why he’s here. When the application first came in, we marked it as spam!”

“How do you know it’s not?”

“Because Hawks himself showed up with Best Jeanist during a patrol to ask about it. It was the most surreal day of my life. Just… the number two and three heroes snacking on the candy at my neighbor’s desk while the producer scrambled for a contract.” She shook her head too, in mirth and disbelief. “He put in his application on late notice, too. I don’t know if he was hoping for next season, or what he was doing. But in case it was just a whim, the producers jumped to get him on this upcoming season and get all the contracts signed to make sure we’d have him. Any hero—especially the number two—is going to pull in a huge number of viewers. It’s left us scrambling to rearrange everything, though. Normally candidates are narrowed down six months in advance to make sure they can prepare properly, but right now? You’re down to two months.”

Dabi frowned down at the photo. “It sounds like you’ve got the pull for your new audience right there.”

“Ah, but your role would be something much more permanent,” said Misty. “We won’t have big names like Hawks all the time. People will tune in to see the hero, sure. But the hero’s presence will trick them into seeing you in the process. Those new people will see you, connect with you, and become invested. When they know that ‘grounding in reality’ will continue into future seasons, they might stay.”

“That’s assuming my face won’t scare them off,” Dabi scoffed. “Or is that the point? I’m the villain for your golden hero?”

Misty wrinkled her nose. “I’m not going to lie, that’s part of the angle some of the producers are trying to push. I’m inclined to let them believe it if that means they’ll sign with you, but it’s not why I asked you to come in. I’m more preoccupied with this.”

She pulled up a video on her phone screen and held it up. It depicted his less than stellar exit yesterday: filmed from the bottom of the exit stairs while he stood livid at the top. Huh. He looked properly intimidating from that angle.

“This,” said Misty, tapping the top of the phone, “is not a person other contestants can walk over. Not even Hawks. If we’re dealing with a big personality like Mr. Number Two, we can’t have people who’d fade into his shadow. You have presence. You’re visually striking, you know how to project, and you know what you want. That’s critical.”

Dabi didn’t quite know how to process that. Was this… a compliment?  “So you want me to be a rival? Is that it?”

“Not quite. Honestly, I don’t care if you interact with Hawks at all. I think you’ll balance him out just by existing. Hawks is flighty, where you can be grounding. Hawks is idealistic while you’re more in tune with reality. Things like that. Viewers can compare and contrast you, and with that kind of anchor it can stay The Bachelorette instead of The Hawks Show.”

Dabi snickered. “Has he got that big a head about it?”

“He seems to have a big head in general.” Misty shrugged. “So, you see why I want to have you on board, now?”

“I can appreciate your arguments, but I’m not sure whether I’m the person you need,” said Dabi. He sincerely doubted any viewers would view him enough of Hawks’ equal to manage a balancing act like that. It might be worth the trouble if it had good benefits, though. “What would I get out of this?”

“Okay, so now we’re getting into some nitty gritty details that you may not like. First and most importantly, as a contestant you wouldn’t be paid.” Just admitting it made her wince.

Dabi raised a brow. “At all?”

“At all,” she confirmed. “That’s the dealbreaker for most people. We’ve got twelve weeks of filming for the series, and more time beyond it for orientation for you, and then the reunion afterward. Contestants need to arrange to have that time off. Most of them quit their jobs to participate. You can’t expect to do any work remotely, because the cameras are running twenty-four seven and everything takes place in the Bachelorette bubble— you stay in the mansion or on the specific trail marked out for you on dates, and there’s no phones or internet. You don’t have contact with the outside world.”

“Damn,” said Dabi. “Why does anyone compete, then?”

“Some people really are there hoping for love.”

Dabi rolled his eyes.

“Perfect,” Misty muttered, before moving on: “Money starts coming in for contestants after The Bachelorette wraps. Past contestants get interviews, book deals, TV offers—it’s major publicity.”

“I thought those were the ‘wrong reasons’ to be on the show,” Dabi said dryly. He vaguely remembered Toga getting worked up over that.

“Please never use that argument on air. It’s just beating a dead horse,” Misty groaned.

“I’m no hypocrite,” said Dabi. “I certainly wouldn’t join for love.”

“You might want to fudge that a little if you don’t want the audience to hate you. Like, I’m not counting on it instead of I hate the idea.”

“You wanted me genuine, didn’t you?”

“You didn’t want to be made out to be a villain, did you?”

They stared each other down a moment, but Dabi gave up pretty fast. He leaned back in his chair, waving for her to go on.

“Okay. So, since you’re stuck onsite for the full twelve weeks, you’d need to bring anything you might need during that time. If you run out of anything you can request one of the producers to get it for you, but you’d have to provide the money for it. We’ll give you a packing list so you’ve got an idea of what to bring, but you’re only allowed two suitcases so it’s up to you how to use them. You don’t have to worry about food, though.”

Dabi straightened up again quickly. What was that about food?

 “Since we’re basically holding you hostage, we’re feeding you for free. The fridge and cupboards will always be fully stocked, and you can access them at any time—”

Dabi’s stomach chose that moment to rumble. It was very loud. Perfectly timed. He dug an elbow into it in a vain attempt to stifle it. Misty broke off, wide eyed. He glared, daring her to comment. She looked a little too happy about this.

“You know,” she said slowly, “lots of competitors gain weight during the show after eating so much…”

“Moving on,” Dabi growled, and she took the hint.

They delved further into Bachelorette minutiae. There were a lot. It was mind numbing. Dabi started to feel his eyes glaze over, and when he looked at the window over Misty’s shoulder he could definitely tell the sun had moved.

“So,” said Misty, what had to be two hours into the interview, “do you have any questions? Anything I didn’t cover?”

“Yes, actually,” said Dabi.

He drummed his fingers on the table, debating whether to chance it. The whole situation was ludicrous already, and there was no way he’d agree without this, but… Hell. May as well get it over with. He pulled the folder with Hawks’ picture out from under her hand. Her brow furrowed in confusion but she allowed it. When Dabi opened the folder he couldn’t see any signatures on top, but that was fine. All he wanted was the focus right now.

“Hawks isn’t just famous for ranking and his schedule,” he said, tapping the picture. “He’s also infamously cagey about his real name. But he had to use that on your contracts, didn’t he?”

Misty’s eyes narrowed, and she set a hand on the pages again to keep him from turning any over. “You won’t find it on any of these. We have a strict confidentiality agreement.”

“I want the same treatment.”

She paused. “You… what?”

“If I’m on this show, then any information shared about me will be under the name ‘Dabi,’” he replied coolly. “My name, and any history that isn’t on my resume will not be shared. You’ll still have enough to build your basic profile, and I don’t have to worry about the wrong people paying attention to me.”

Misty frowned deeper. “Wrong people? If you’re avoiding someone, then I hate to say it, but broadcasting your face on one of the most popular shows on TV may not be a great idea.”

Dabi gave a snort of laughter. “No one’s going to recognize this face. The name, though? That one’s a dead giveaway.”

Misty didn’t seem to know what to make of that, but dutifully wrote a reminder on her notepad. “We’ll still need to do a background check and have you sign with your real name, but I think we should be able to swing that. The network has worked with heroes even beyond this show. It should be fine.”

“Incidentally, you’ll dislike my background check.”

“Are you a murderer?” she asked without looking up.

“Nah.”

“Pedophile?”

“Fuck no.”

“Stalker? Embezzler? Convicted felon?”

“No to all,” said Dabi, but he wasn’t particularly bothered by the accusations; it sounded like she was throwing out the most outlandish things she could think of without believing any of them.

“Then why don’t you think we’ll like it?” she asked.

“It’s practically nonexistent.”

“Noted,” said Misty. “So, as long as we can guarantee your name requirement, can I consider you officially bidding for the position?”

“Well, I don’t have a job to worry about losing right now, and you’re asking me to go on a free vacation to complain and eat as much as I want.” He settled back in his chair and grinned wide enough to strain his staples. “That sounds like a good deal to me.”

“Then it’s official: you’re in the running to be on The Bachelorette. There are a few more steps to go through from here, though.” Misty handed over a printed checklist. “The background check of course, but there’s also two more tests. You’ll need to take a psychological test—we can set that up—and you’ll need an STD screening, too.”

Dabi scowled. “I refuse to have sex on The Bachelorette.”

Misty cackled. “Maybe so, but the test is a requirement. I hope you pass all of these, Dabi. It would be nice to work with you.”

He left the office with mixed feelings. It would’ve been nice to have a paid job offer, but that was still several months’ worth of food bills that Kurogiri wouldn’t have to pay. It wasn’t a gain, but it wasn’t a loss either. More like stalling. And maybe having his face out there would do some good in future job hunts. After all, Gang Orca had been voted one of the most villainous appearances and still got hero perks from random civilians; maybe being a ‘star’ could land him a pity job.

Wait, why was he considering this like it was an actual option? Sure, Misty had roped him in for multiple hours and seemed genuinely invested, but she wasn’t the only one involved. Her higher ups would take one look at his file and throw it out. There was really nothing to dwell on.

He shook his head and turned his mind to his other job leads instead.

He followed the checklist, though. Just in case.

Later that week, he completed the psych evaluation—an uncomfortable but not unbearable situation.

Two weeks later, he had results from the STD screening confirming him clean, not that he’d expected anything differently.

Two weeks and two days later, he got an email confirming he’d been accepted as a contestant. Immediately afterward he got a follow up call from Misty confirming that yes, he actually had the job and this wasn’t another false alarm.

He’d been accepted on The Bachelorette.

What strange alternate universe had he fallen into?

Chapter Text

“You can’t be serious.”

Expressions in the room ranged between jubilation and outright bafflement. Spinner turned his head discreetly to check for a hidden camera. Toga looked like she’d been given keys to the damn city.

“The Bachelorette!” she squealed, eyes sparkling. “I knew you were a romantic, Dabi! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it—”

“I didn’t take the job for romance.” Dabi shuddered at the thought.

“He’d need to have a heart for that,” Spinner grumbled.

Toga kicked his leg, and his yelp of surprise did nothing to dim her excitement.

“Tell me all about it,” she gushed. “Did you say yes because you knew Aiko was the Bachelorette this season? I know you saw her when she was on the Bachelor last year! She’s pretty but I didn’t think she was your type. What is your type? Ooh, no, don’t tell me, I want to be surprised when I see you on TV!”

“I’d be happier for you, but I’m mostly confused,” said Magne. “This seems really out of character for you.”

“Even Dabi deserves a chance at love!” cried Twice. “He’ll die alone in a gutter!”

“Someone must’ve blackmailed him,” said Shigaraki.

“Dabi, blink twice if you need help,” said Magne.

“All of you can shut up,” said Dabi. “I took the job because it’s a multi-month all you can eat buffet, and it might stop new employers from ‘losing’ my resume as soon as I turn up for interviews.”

“Employers are shitty like that,” Spinner grumbled. With his mutation quirk he had just as hard a time landing jobs as Dabi did.

“It’s still The Bachelorette,” said Shigaraki, pained. “Do you know how many people watch the fucking Bachelorette?”

“You’ll have to pretend to be in love with someone the whole time. Can you even manage that?” said Spinner.

“It might not be pretend!” cried Toga. She seized Dabi by the sleeve and started tugging. “Dabi, Dabi, what’s your love language?”

“His what?” said Twice. “Is he supposed to break into French? That’s it, he’s doomed!”

“No, his love language!”

“It’s how someone expresses their affections, and how they accept it from other people,” Magne explained, ever the peacemaker. “Some things mean more to others. Physical touch or giving gifts are different types of love languages. If you want to have a relationship with someone it’s good to recognize how they express it, or you may not understand how deep they actually feel about you.”

“Dabi’s is most certainly food,” said Compress.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Totally.”

“One hundred percent.”

“Fuck all of you,” said Dabi.

“I’m surprised you’d argue that point when you literally just told us you joined the whole charade for a buffet,” said Compress.  

“Fuck you in particular,” said Dabi.

“Just because you like food doesn’t mean it’s your love language,” said Toga, still tugging. “Come on! If somebody had a crush on you, what would they need to do to win your heart?”

The answer was knee-jerk: “That doesn’t happen, Toga.”

“But if it did!”

“It doesn’t.”

He’d been burned too many times—literally and figuratively—to believe in any kind of interest like that. He, Shigaraki, and Kurogiri—they knew each other’s secrets and clung to each other like survivors on a life raft. The other inhabitants of the apartment needed to tolerate him for their own sanity. No one outside this building had any reason to like him. He refused to open himself up to disappointment again. Any sort of want or affection had been buried as a teenager, and any time they dared rear their ugly heads he’d smack them back down. He wouldn’t consider what his love language was because it would never apply to anything.

“How do you expect to find love if you act like that?” Toga whined.

“I don’t.” Dabi caught his collar and used it to yank his sleeve back up before Toga pulled the shirt off his shoulder entirely. “I’m going to find soba, and eat so much of it they’ll have to roll me out when I don’t get a rose.”

“Maybe FatGum will watch and fall in love with you from afar?” Compress muttered.  

“Oh, please, that’ll never happen. FatGum has class,” said Spinner.

“Burn!” Twice howled.

“Dabi has class, too,” said Magne, scowling.

“Eh,” said Compress.

“Debatable,” said Spinner.

“You’re all just bitter because Dabi’s landed a date with a girl ten times prettier than anyone you’d ever find,” said Toga.

Compress reeled back. “Uncalled for!”

Shigaraki had been silent through most of this, practically vibrating with indignation. When Kurogiri opened the door from the bar, he burst out, “Kurogiri, tell him it’s a bad idea!”

Kurogiri stopped short so suddenly, the teacups on his tray almost spilled. “Pardon?”

Shigaraki jumped to his feet and pointed at Dabi like a toddler mid-tantrum. “Tell him he can’t do it!”

“I’m not sure that I—”

“I don’t care! Ground him!”

“Can Kurogiri do that?” Spinner whispered, and Compress shrugged theatrically.

Kurogiri carefully set his tray on the coffee table. “I understand your concerns, Shigaraki Tomura—”

“Great, so make him turn it down,” said Shigaraki.

“But,” said Kurogiri, “Giran has assured us that he’s made contact with the heroes, so our problems should be resolved before filming starts. Even if it takes longer, having Dabi in a location as secure as The Bachelorette’s mansion would keep him out of any danger.”

“You don’t really think—” Shigaraki broke off, glancing around at the other faces. “Kurogiri, he was safe before, too.”

Dabi’s spine went rigid. Toga hugged his arm tighter.

“The tragic backstory strikes again,” Compress murmured.

“Are you guys ever going to fill us in on that?” said Magne.

“No,” said Shigaraki.

Kurogiri sat carefully back on his heels, contemplating his answer. “Perhaps he was in a… semi-secure location, but he was unaccompanied and no one knew the danger existed. The danger now is very well known. The heroes will exterminate it at the root and follow anything that tries to escape. The doctor will be too busy with their attack to worry about assets he already thinks lost.”

Shigaraki was clearly not convinced.

“A thousand yen says they’re ex-yakuza,” Spinner whispered.

“No way, they were totally abducted by aliens,” said Twice. “What a stupid idea!”

“I think Dabi has weighed his chances, and is fully capable of making his own decisions,” said Kurogiri.

“Thanks,” Dabi said sarcastically.

“Dabi has always strived to move forward, and I’m proud of the path that he’s chosen.” Wait, what? Kurogiri turned to look at him, the dark fog of his existence flickering and yellow eyes narrowed with delight. “It makes me happy that, of all things, you chose to open yourself to the possibility of love.”

“I take it back, you’re dead to me,” said Dabi.

For better or for worse, Kurogiri’s opinion swayed the others. From there on it was no longer “are you really competing,” but “how are you going to do it.”

“You’re not getting past night one,” said Shigaraki. He picked up his cup with his pinky out, because otherwise his quirk might reduce it to dust; meanwhile Toga picked up a cup with her pinky out because she thought it was fancy. “You never look like you want to be anywhere. She’ll see right through you.”

“No, it’ll be week two,” said Spinner. “You don’t know for sure if she’ll actually get to talk to him on the first night. She’ll boot him once she tries to hold an actual conversation.”

“I’ll make it to week six, guaranteed,” said Dabi.

The men hooted and Toga made a shrill noise right next to his ear.

“Such confidence for a man uninterested in romance!” said Compress.

“You really do like Aiko, don’t you?” Toga cooed.

Dabi winced at the noise level. “I’m apparently the test run for a character type they want in the future. I figure I’ll have to get at least halfway through for them to get the research they need, but after that the Bachelorette can punt me whenever she wants. It’s just practicality.”

“Okay,” Magne said slowly. “But… Dabi, would you like to win?”

“Not a chance in hell,” said Dabi.

“You didn’t even think about it,” said Magne.

“I didn’t need to. The whole thing’s a sham,” said Dabi.

Magne pursed her lips. That was not a good sign.

“It really will look good on your resume, though! TV personality!” said Compress, gesturing grandly.

“God, no, don’t mention his personality,” Shigaraki groaned.

“Yeah, that’ll definitely lose him any jobs,” said Spinner.

Dabi took off his sweaty socks, balled them up, and threw one at each of them. Their shrieks of disgust were music to his ears.

“You should probably rein in that kind of behavior before you reach filming,” said Compress.

Dabi wanted to retort that he wouldn’t be working alongside anyone with their brand of stupidity, but stopped short. He’d seen the reruns. There would absolutely be a crowd of idiots involved.

“Ah, speaking of jobs,” Kurogiri murmured, while Shigaraki and Spinner kicked up a loud fuss. His fog eddied a bit, less the pleased billow of before and more of a stressful snap.

“You need me to cover the bar tonight?” said Dabi, just as quietly.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve got nothing else to do. It’s part of that hero work?”

“That’s right. It’s Giran’s last scheduled meeting.”

“Then I’d be an idiot not to help,” said Dabi. “Just tell me the time. I’ll do it.”

The bar may have been small and out of the way, but that was exactly why their main clientele liked it so much: vigilantes, underground heroes, and their informants met here for information exchanges at strange hours of the day and night. Tonight it brought Dabi down to the bar at almost three in the morning. He hadn’t bothered to dress up, or to switch the radio away from Kurogiri’s favored Put Your Hands Up! Radio show; it wasn’t like either of the clients would give a shit.

The first to arrive was Giran. He had gray hair, round glasses, and a permanent sleazy sort of expression. He also smelled eternally of cigarettes.

“Dabi,” he drawled, taking the latest cigarette from between his lips. “Long time no see. How’s the gang?”

“Sleeping like babies,” said Dabi. He pulled out a glass tumbler and turned for the alcohol. “Whiskey on the rocks?”

“You got it.” Giran settled himself on one of the barstools as Dabi prepared the drink. “I hear you got a new job, is that right?”

“I can’t think of anyone who’d be interested in that information,” said Dabi.

“Well, it’d be nice to know why I had to fake being a previous employer,” said Giran. He pitched his voice into a mocking, creaky tone: “That Dabi, such a nice boy helping at my family flower shop until I had to shut down!”

Dabi grimaced. “Never use that voice on me again.”

Giran snickered and accepted his drink. “Did it work? Land the job?”

“I did.”

“Yeah? Where’s it at?”

Dabi heaved a long-suffering sigh. “The Bachelorette.”

It was rare to get a look of such genuine astonishment on Giran’s face. He’d started raising his glass only to stall halfway through the motion and gape. Dabi gestured for him to get on with it. Giran’s expression cracked into a smile. He clacked the glass back down on the counter, threw back his head, and cackled.

This was when their second guest walked in. Underground Hero Eraserhead looked very much like he wanted to crawl into bed: eyes bloodshot, face unshaven, hair cascading in a mess over his capture scarf and the shoulders of his black jumpsuit. The scar under his right eye was new. He paused at the door when confronted with Giran’s laughter, as if debating whether he wanted to be here at all.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said after a while.

“Barkeep knows how to hit my funny bone,” said Giran, snickering into his glass.

Dabi ignored him and called, “What’s your poison?”

“Something non-alcoholic,” said Eraserhead. “Whatever’s easiest.”

Dabi put together a quick non-alcoholic cocktail, then retreated to the other end of the counter and pulled up a game on his phone. He couldn’t leave, but that gave them some semblance of privacy. The two other men sipped at their drinks for a while before Eraserhead broke the silence.

“Have you got the information?”

“That I do,” said Giran. “Locations of multiple Nomu factories and the good doctor running them.”

A year or two ago Eraserhead may have been more cautious about discussing that information in front of Dabi, but Dabi had been present at every one of his other information drops. By now he probably (rightly) assumed that Dabi was one of Giran’s associates and not a random bystander. Today his eyes flicked over to Dabi only for a few seconds before refocusing.

“How many factories?”

“All of them. Six total,” said Giran.

“Last time you said there were seven.”

“Eh, sort of. The seventh is in the package, but you won’t find anything there.” Giran looked innocently up at the bottles behind the bar. “Whole place went up in blue flames about ten years ago. Police determined nothing was salvageable.”

“Ten years?” Eraserhead said sharply. “Nomu have existed that long?”

“And longer,” said Giran. “You don’t think that kind of engineered monstrosity gets perfected overnight, do you? The seventh factory in Aomori was the first one. Masqueraded as a center for extreme quirk disorders, which explained why so many high-powered quirks were funneled into it so easily. One of the subjects decided to escape or die trying. That’s why it’s gone, and why there are so many now. Doctor went underground and scattered to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.”

Eraserhead’s grip tightened on his glass, and he glared down into the cocktail’s reddish depths. “We’ll investigate the old one anyway. It could still give us insight into the way the newer ones are set up.”

“Just be careful not to be too obvious. The doctor monitors that place in case anyone picks up on the oddities,” said Giran. “I’ve got the factory layouts recorded already, anyway.”

“You had someone on the inside?” Eraserhead guessed.

“I got my information from some very close sources,” said Giran.

Dabi wished he were anywhere else. Thankfully his phone pinged with a new email so he could pay full attention to that. It was a message from Misty about the production timeline and future transport. Why are you working at 3 in the morning, he sent back to her, without addressing anything she’d actually sent. Almost immediately she replied, Don’t judge me. Dabi ignored the clients’ haggling over prices to scroll through the list, and only looked up again when Eraserhead stood to leave.

“You know, I’m almost glad that the USJ was attacked,” said Giran.

Eraserhead turned back, eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“It gave me a customer, didn’t it?” Giran teased. The smile stayed on his face, but the mirth left his eyes. “I’ve had that information a long time, Eraser. A long time with no way to propose the existence of Nomu without drawing a big fat target on my back. Now, instead of me risking my neck against potential spies for the doctor, you come to me. I like that. My informants will like it, too. They’ll breathe easy once you’ve got the doctor in custody. Make it fast, will you?”

Eraserhead nodded and left. Giran waited a few minutes to make sure he was really gone, then sent Dabi a grin.

“We made bank, kid.”

“How much are we talking?” asked Dabi, stowing his phone.

“Enough for Kurogiri to replace that bar cooler he keeps complaining about, that’s for sure,” said Giran.

“Damn. Even after splitting four ways?”

“The Commission can fork out big bucks if it helps make things they don’t like disappear,” said Giran.

“The Commission itself, huh?” Dabi chuckled. “Ironic.”

Dabi slept late the next morning. It wasn’t like he had a job to get to, and he’d long grown accustomed to the noisy roommates. As long as the shades stayed down and they used the lamp instead of the overhead light, he could sleep long enough for Twice to panic about him going into a coma. Predictably this had consequences. On one occasion Twice and Toga had played a game to see how many weird items they could stack on him without him waking up (the answer was forty-six, but he was unsure what kind of items they were beyond the bottlecaps, stuffed animals, two coat hangers and a can of kabayaki), another time Shigaraki drew on his forehead with a marker (he’d gotten in the quintessential “idiot” before Kurogiri intervened), and on yet another occasion he’d slept straight through Magne literally tripping over him (Toga swore he’d flipped them off mid-snore). After the teasing he’d gotten yesterday, he really should’ve expected a prank to follow.

He came slowly into consciousness this time because the shades had gone up and a shaft of light struck him at just the wrong angle. The others were chattering already, and he could hear the faint buzz of the TV even though it must’ve been muted. He rolled over as if that could change the sun and realized there was an odd setup next to his sleeping bag. He propped himself up on one elbow, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he tried to make sense of it. It was a cardboard box scrawled on with black marker. Someone—presumably Twice—had attempted to write “Bachelorette,” misspelled, and scribbled it out multiple times before sticking with “Batchleret.” The box was held up with one of Shigaraki’s drumsticks, and in its shadow lay a can of expired tuna. It took almost two minutes for the context to click. Dabi snarled, snatched the stick (the box thudded down over the tuna can like a punchline), and threw it at whoever was closest.

“What do you think I am, a Looney Tune?” he snapped.

“You’re absolutely a Looney Tune,” said Shigaraki. He’d apparently predicted the reaction, because he was glaring from the other side of the couch like a shield. “No one with sense would be in your position and go on TV.”

“Ow!” said Twice, rubbing his back. “Watch where you’re throwing things! Great aim!”

“Come on, Dabi, get out of bed!” said Toga, picking up the box. She started breaking it down and tearing so she had one big slab of cardboard. “We’ve been waiting for you all morning already!”

Dabi flopped back down. He didn’t like the sound of that. “For what?”

“For the presentation,” said Magne.

“No,” said Dabi, wiggling deeper into his sleeping bag. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care.”

“Twice,” Magne said flatly.

“Got it, Big Sis! Do your own dirty work!”

Twice proceeded to heave Dabi out of the bag. Dabi growled but wasn’t really awake enough to give much resistance. Spinner balled up the sleeping bag and tossed it in the closet as Twice forced Dabi to sit down at the coffee table. The others stood around it like some terrible council; the TV screen was paused on a shot of the final three contestants of last year’s Bachelor; and Toga finished scribbling on the cardboard to place it below that screen as a sign that read OPERATION CINDERELLA. Dabi wanted nothing more than to throw himself off the balcony, but Magne had planted herself directly in his way and he didn’t envy his chances of getting past her. He resigned himself with a heavy sigh.

“Do we at least have coffee, or—”

Kurogiri slid him a cup of tea before he could even finish his sentence.

“Alright,” said Magne, slapping the broken tilt wand from the blinds against her palm. “You’re going on The Bachelorette for a number of different reasons, and whether you like it or not, all those reasons require you to do well. The better you do, the longer you get your buffet; and the more charming you are, the more of an impact you’ll have on people once you leave the show. You say you want a foot in the door for jobs, but if you’re an awkward mess on TV that doesn’t help you.”

“Plus, you might fall in love,” Toga giggled.

“Shh, honey, we’ve got to lure him into a false sense of security first,” said Magne, patting her head.

“Right, my bad.”

“As I was saying, you need to go and seriously woo this woman,” said Magne. “You’ll woo the country while you’re at it.”

“Bandwagon effect,” Shigaraki added. “If Aiko likes you, other people will, too.”

“That’s not to say you’re not someone’s type already! No matter what kind of person you are, there’s always someone out there who’ll find you hot,” said Magne. “Who knows, you might find them through this! But even if you don’t, you can still show the world how desirable you can be.”

Dabi, sitting on a threadbare carpet in staples and ratty boxers, did not feel desirable.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “so we’re pulling a con.”

Magne pursed her lips again. She rapped the wand against her palm a few more times before grumbling, “Sure. Whatever. It’s a con, if that makes you feel better.”

“If you want to beat a game, you have to know how to fight the boss,” said Shigaraki. “Toga. TV.”

Toga clicked the remote, and the Bachelor episode stirred back into motion. She paused it again on a closeup of a contestant’s face.

“This is the boss!” Shigaraki gestured grandly at the screen. “Your survival rests in her hands!”

“Her very well-manicured hands,” said Toga.

“Survival?” Spinner muttered, looking more and more like he wanted to leave.

Looking at Aiko kind of made Dabi’s eyes hurt. She was bright. Her long hair was pink, her eyes purple, her pupils pink as her hair and also heart-shaped, because quirk anatomy worked like that these days. She looked immeasurably hopeful in this shot; presumably only a few lines away from rejection.

“Aiko made it to the final three in the last season of The Bachelor and was popular enough with fans to make her the lead for The Bachelorette,” said Magne. “Her main appeal was her innocence, enthusiasm, and how much she wanted someone to treat her like a princess. Where other women were saying the Bachelor was their soulmate, Aiko said he was her prince. Appealing to that princess mentality is going to be the key to success here.”

“I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m not a prince and you can’t turn me into one,” said Dabi.

“She’s not actually a princess, either! It’s all about the attitude,” said Magne. “Making sure you hit that appeal is why we’ve called this meeting today. You need a game plan. First thing’s first, everyone: what about Dabi would give him trouble wooing Aiko right now?”

“Shitty personality,” Shigaraki said immediately.

“Hypocrite,” said Dabi.

“He swears a lot,” said Compress. “Not great manners for a prince.”

“People don’t look past his injuries,” said Spinner, tapping his chin.

“Ooh, ooh, definitely the injuries,” said Toga. “If you hug him wrong, he gets hurt.”

“He’s standoffish as a result,” Magne agreed. “People can’t hurt him if he keeps them at a distance, literally and figuratively.”

“The staples freak people out, too,” said Shigaraki.

“Excuse me for not having a fortune to waste on skin grafts,” said Dabi.

“His wardrobe is lacking,” said Compress.

“Extremely lacking,” said Toga.

“He has very low self-confidence,” said Kurogiri.

“I do not,” said Dabi.

“When Magne implied that one person among the billions on earth might possibly find you attractive, you rejected the idea,” said Kurogiri.

“What of it?”

Kurogiri gave a heavy sigh. “Case in point.”

“Okay, so let’s take it the other way. What are some of Dabi’s good qualities?” said Magne.

Thirty seconds passed in complete silence. Finally Twice raised his hand like a kindergartener and cried, “He’s really good at arson!”

Magne rubbed at her temple. “Twice, honey, I think that’s going to go under the ‘flaws’ category right now.”

“Why should it?” said Shigaraki, genuinely surprised. “Chicks love strong quirks.”

Compress slapped a hand against the coffee table. “There you go! Doesn’t call women ‘chicks.’ There’s a positive.”

Shigaraki went red and snapped, “Shut up. Dabi’s quirk is overpowered. Guys online complain all the time about how their girlfriends ditched them for stronger quirks. That has to factor in.”

“Dabi’s quirk is too self-destructive to show off easily, so we shouldn’t rely on it,” said Kurogiri.

Story of my fucking life, thought Dabi, propping his head on his palm and wondering if he could get away with zoning out for the rest of this mess.

“He has pretty eyes, though,” Toga piped up.

“Yes! He definitely does.” Magne pointed the wand at her. “Toga, if you’re writing these down, write that one in capital letters.”

“He’s our singer!” said Twice. “That’s a flaw, too!”

“Yes, yes, musically talented! Come on, people, we’re on a roll,” said Magne.

“He has a way of staying at ease even in tense settings,” said Compress.

“Yeah, he doesn’t rise to any bait unless he wants to,” Spinner grumbled.

“Exactly. Part and parcel with that is also his body language,” said Compress. “He has a certain performance to his movement. We know he moves slowly and doesn’t emote as much because of his injuries, but he disguises it more as an aloof kind of confidence. It can be closed off, but it also comes across as relaxed in the same moment. It’s an intriguing dichotomy, and one you could make use of.”

“Confusing, but we’ll take it,” said Magne.

“He’s incredibly reliable,” said Kurogiri, and at that one Dabi really had to laugh.

“Boo, you don’t get input,” said Toga, throwing the marker cap at Dabi.

“I’m literally the person you’re talking about.”

“You’re too biased. Shush.”

“Dabi makes good food!” said Twice, apparently still wracking his brain for anything remotely positive. “Worst shit I’ve ever eaten in my life!”

This launched the eternal debate of whether Dabi or Kurogiri was the better cook, which was always guaranteed to derail a conversation. Dabi tuned them out and drank his tea. He wondered if it was worth using his share of Giran’s windfall to buy better tea, or if he should just suck it up and keep with the affordable shit. He’d heard good things about Gold Tips Imperial. It probably wasn’t worth the price. He wanted to try it, though.

What might’ve been five minutes or maybe even twenty minutes later, Magne brought them all to order by tapping the wand on the coffee table.

“Back on subject,” she said. “Now that we’ve got strengths and weaknesses figured out, do we have plans on Dabi’s wooing methods?”

“He needs to be Sir Albion,” said Shigaraki.

This was obviously a gaming reference; Spinner nodded along while everyone else was lost.

“I’ll hazard a guess about that,” said Compress. “The answer to all the requirements—goals of the producer, wooing of Aiko, and accommodation of Dabi’s comfort—is for him to play the classic role of a ‘bad boy with a heart of gold.’ There’s a reason that trope is so old and well used.”

“That could definitely fit, but getting it to work in the confines of The Bachelorette could be difficult,” said Magne.

“Yeah, you only get a little time with Aiko so you have to make every minute count!” said Toga.

“Then he needs to give a very convincing performance,” said Compress, cracking his knuckles.

“Wait,” said Dabi, sensing danger. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No,” they replied.

What followed in the next few days was a terrible crash course in sex appeal. They overanalyzed how he walked, talked, or even breathed. He practiced bedroom eyes in a mirror so long he lost all concept of what he was even doing before Magne finally approved. Twice researched pickup lines so horrible Dabi was tempted to immolate himself on the spot. Toga drilled him on “Bachelorette essentials” because apparently lots of Bachelorette dates had recurring items like dancing and Dabi couldn’t dance for shit.

To top it all off they dragged him out on a shopping trip. The last one he didn’t contest too much; he only had two good outfits for interviews, and had hoped he’d get a job before his shirts frayed too badly so he could at least buy something that would match a uniform. Between the eight of them they knew where to find the best thrift shops, so that was a full-day, cross-town experience. It also helped that, when there were so many of them in the group, Dabi could point out distractions or get them arguing with each other whenever the attention got to be too much. Even better, no one objected to his preferred style (“It’s totally the goth bad boy look already,” said Toga; “It’ll work when the band debuts too,” said Shigaraki; “I’m not actually part of your fucking band,” said Dabi; Twice had patted his shoulder and shook his head with pity).

What started out as a pretty decent day became downright celebratory on their way back to the bar when, laden with bags and waiting for the crosswalk, they saw the headlines scrolling on the massive screen overlooking the intersection: NOMU FACTORIES RAIDED. Even when the crosswalk signs changed they stayed put, gaping at the footage above them.

“Last night, heroes across the country rallied for one of the largest operations in Japan’s history,” the news anchor was saying, barely audible over the crowd. “Underground heroes uncovered intelligence that the Nomu factory involved in the Kamino Ward incident was just one of many. The remaining six factories have now been raided and shut down, preventing any further development of these genetic experiments.” The screen changed to a clip of police leading a familiar, mustached man in handcuffs. Shigaraki took a sharp breath. “Doctor Kyudai Garaki, also known by the villain name ‘Daruma Ujiko,’ was arrested during the operation. He has confessed to being the mastermind behind the Nomu experiments. With him and his research now in custody, no one will be able to replicate the work. Information is not yet clear about how many people were abducted for his experiments or whether any were able to be rescued during the raids. Endeavor Agency has announced that there will be a press conference tomorrow to address public concerns.”

“Arrested,” Shigaraki said blankly. “Seriously? That guy’s finally…”

Dabi grinned wide enough to strain his staples and knocked a fist against Shigaraki’s shoulder. “Took them long enough, didn’t it?”

It took another minute for Shigaraki to react. He dropped his shopping bag and shook his fist at the TV, screaming, “Twelve years, asshole! Choke on the prison food and die!” He then punched Dabi in the shoulder, too.

Dabi jolted at the pain and snarled, “What was that for?”

“You knew about this, didn’t you? That’s why you agreed to go on that stupid show!” said Shigaraki. “You couldn’t keep me in the loop?”

“Kurogiri already told you Giran was working on it!” Dabi hissed. “Excuse me for not asking for their damn timeline.”

Shigaraki’s scowl faltered. “You don’t think he’ll get bail, do you?”

“With that kind of rap sheet? Not a chance,” said Magne.

Shigaraki took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “Which one was it? Which hero did Giran pass the info to?”

“Eraserhead,” Dabi grumbled, rubbing at his injured arm. If Shigaraki had dislodged any staples there would be vengeance.

“Eraserhead? The guy Kurogiri’s always talking about?” said Twice. “What does he matter anyway?”

Shigaraki nodded sagely, and Dabi had a bad feeling about that.

“Aha… so Eraserhead is number one.”

“What?” said Dabi. “No, that’s not how the rankings work—”

“He’s not number one on the charts, but he’s number one in my heart,” said Shigaraki, in that grave, halfway maniacal tone he usually saved for convoluted video game strategies and the tug-of-war of musical composition. “Do you think they sell Eraserhead themed cakes?”

“I thought you hated heroes,” said Magne, starting to smile despite herself.

“I’m going to make an exception,” Shigaraki replied. “For real, though. Eraserhead cake? We’re going to party tonight. If they can make Wash cakes they have to have an Eraserhead.”

“I doubt they’ll have official merch for an underground hero, but I do have a photo to reference if we want a cake customized,” said Compress, taking out his phone.

“Do that. Brilliant,” said Shigaraki. “We can get Present Mic cupcakes to go with it or something. Kurogiri’s going to cry.”

“Let’s get this party started!” Toga cheered, and they moved on from the crosswalk in much higher spirits.

Dabi glanced back up at the TV as they left, and averted his eyes just as fast when Endeavor’s visage took over the screen. No matter how much he saw of that flaming turd, today was a good day. He had new clothes, he had a plan to get a leg up in the world, and the big bad villain who’d haunted his nightmares for a decade was finally locked away. His obstacles were disappearing.

Yes, he thought as they ducked into a grocery store, life is looking better for me right now.

(He purposely ignored life’s trend of hope, embarrassment, and disappointment.)

There was one more hurdle before The Bachelorette really got into gear: the competitor profile. The result would be a two-minute video intro and maybe a paragraph of trivia on The Bachelorette’s website, but it still meant a camera crew would be descending on them. Maybe Doctor Ujiko was locked up, but Dabi still didn’t like the idea of showing off the inside of the bar—it could scare off the clientele they relied on. Instead, after dropping a line to Giran, he had an in at a larger, nicer bar downtown. When asked how he wanted payment Giran replied, “The laugh is enough.” Annoying, but Dabi did like free things. A week after the fall of the Nomu factories, Dabi met Misty and the camera crew at the bar.

“Dabi!” Misty called, jogging ahead of her group. “It’s good to see you! How are you holding up?”

Dabi shrugged. “Roommates are insufferable, but that’s nothing new.”

“I suppose being used to that will help you in the mansion,” said Misty. “Anyway, we’re going to try getting through this as quick and easy as possible—just get enough clips to show in the background of your introduction—so don’t feel pressured. We’ll put the mic on you, and then you just do your thing.”

All the disclosures had thankfully been signed in advance, so the only thing left was for them to pile inside and get their footage. This early in the day there weren’t too many customers, but that just made it easier for the cameras to maneuver around him as he worked. Pretend the cameras aren’t even there, Misty told him, as if that were even possible. Luckily, Dabi hadn’t needed coaching through stage fright. Being in front of cameras was… not right, but familiar. The cameras were less boxy, but they weren’t too far off from the equipment he’d seen as a child. Dabi fell back into his role easily: he didn’t stiffen up or look too directly at the cameras themselves, but made sure they had a clear shot of the drinks he worked on and angled himself so they’d get good footage when he used the martini shaker, because if he’d observed anything on TV it was that cameras loved martini shakers. When the crew asked him to turn, to pretend to be working the till, or to peruse the bottles on the wall, he did it immediately; no further instructions needed.

See, said a little voice in the back of his head, I can still do this. I’m still useful.

That kind of thought was a weed that sprang up alongside those pesky things like affection and need for validation, so he crushed it down quickly and moved on to the next drink.

“You’re really good in front of cameras,” Misty said an hour later. The words were a compliment, but her brow was furrowed in suspicion. “Do you have experience on TV?”

“Did you see that on my resume?” asked Dabi.

“No.”

“How about my background check?”

“No.”

He raised a brow, challenging her to press the issue.

“Just an observation,” she said, drumming her fingers on the bar counter. “The last few contestants took an hour just to loosen up, and it sounds like we’re done with all the shots in here already. I suppose you’re just a natural?”

Dabi shrugged, which clearly wasn’t an answer at all.

After their hour of allotted time in the bar passed they spent a little more time outside, gathering footage of him walking down the rebuilt streets and especially lingering around the new plaza at Ground Zero. One of the cameramen got on the ground for a more ambitious, angled shot of Dabi looking at the statue of All Might. Another crewmember suggested he strike the victory pose to match the statue and Dabi pretended not to hear him. When Misty and the director were satisfied with those, they had him sit on a park bench with the statue in the background, far away enough that any other passersby wouldn’t be caught on the boom mic, and here he was supposed to give his little introduction.

“I’m Dabi, I’m twenty-five, and I’m from Kamino Ward. You can probably guess how that’s going right now.” One of the cameramen snickered, and another crewmember elbowed him. Dabi grinned. “I’ve been working mainly as a bartender these days, but I pick up some odd jobs here and there. You could maybe consider this one of those jobs too, but—No?”

Misty was shaking her head.

“Not honesty, then,” said Dabi. “Okay. A TV show is a weird place to look for affection, but—Not that either, huh?”

“No dismissing the viewers,” Misty reminded him.

Shit. So he needed to be more convincing. Genuine. Connect to the audience. What did they want to hear? When he stomped down the idea of want himself, what kind of things were those thoughts actually whispering? Cautiously, he let it rise up. It was a nonsensical feeling; not surprising, when he’d never allowed himself to examine it. He had no idea how to put it into words, but… fuck it. Why not try?

“I have a problem with people being unable to see past the surface,” he said. “Even before my injuries no one wanted to engage with me beyond their initial assumption of my character, and after the injuries, no one even pretended to try. I want someone to take the time to recognize me under these scars. If they hate me for who I am, that’s fine. But if they could see me and l—and—and love me anyway, then—I want that.” Oh, fuck. No. He said the L-word. Reel it back in. Stomp on those thoughts, he knew they were bad thoughts. Back on subject. He shifted, uncomfortable but really hoping it didn’t come off that way, and said, “Maybe Aiko’s the one who’ll take the time to see me. I know that’s ironic when we have such little time on the show with her, but what else am I going to do? Give up on happiness? Nah. I’m a spiteful bastard. I’ll be happy even if I have to kick life’s teeth in to get it. Maybe I can make someone else happy, too. It’s worth a shot.”

That better be vulnerable enough. He glanced at Misty and found her smiling. Okay, so not a terrible intro. Workable. Good. He refused to bring up those thoughts again.

Eventually (somehow) it was three days until filming started and time to leave. Per Misty’s instructions Dabi made his way to the Kamino Central Station, accompanied by his two bags of luggage and every single one of his crazy room/band mates (Shigaraki had informed him that if he ever needed to refer to them on the show, they were the “League of Villains.” It was an absolute shit band name). The whole way, they drilled him on Bachelorette trivia like types of dates and rose ceremony decorum. Dabi kept his dead-eyed stare ahead and replied to all of them because they’d be even more annoying if he didn’t react. The station was packed with people even on a Wednesday afternoon. Dabi was all the more thankful for his bulky sunglasses, his mask, and hooded jacket; it kept the other travelers from treating him like he had the plague. He spotted Misty near a pillar, peering through the crowd and holding up a sign with his name on it. Before he could try catching her attention, Toga wrapped her arms around him.

“We’re going to miss you,” she mumbled into his coat.

“We’ll miss you so much!” Twice wailed, hugging him from the other side. “You better not come back!”

Dabi patted them on the back awkwardly. Toga sucked in a breath and leaned back to give him an overly wide smile. “You better make it far, because I’ve got plans for the hometown date! We’ll be here as your family, of course, and Compress found an Airbnb house for rent, so we don’t even have to worry about the bar. It’ll be great.”

It wasn’t worth saying he wouldn’t get that far; every time he said so she pretended she didn’t hear him. Dabi just grunted instead. 

“Try not to embarrass us too much,” Spinner mumbled, caught somewhere between joking and sentimental. 

“Don’t take any shit from anyone,” Shigaraki grumbled. “And if you’ve got free time, practice the songs. We put a notebook with the lyrics in your bag and you already know the melodies, so you’ve got no excuses.”

“Don’t worry about that, just have fun,” said Magne, patting his head. 

“Good luck,” said Kurogiri.

Last came Compress, who laid one hand on Dabi’s shoulder and pressed a marble into his palm with the other. He leaned in very close and said, “Just in case.”

Dabi looked down at the marble in suspicion. “What is it?”

“A phone,” Compress whispered. “I may not know the details of your tragic backstory, but I know the criminal underground well enough to guess. You said they’ll confiscate your phone, but keep the marble with you. If anything happens, break the marble, use the phone to send us your location, and Kurogiri can warp you out of trouble.”

Dabi rolled the marble between his fingers, unsure what to say through the lump in his throat. Luckily Compress knew him well enough to expect this; he simply backed off and tipped his hat in farewell. Magne convinced Toga and Twice to let go, and Dabi was finally able to leave. Since Misty wouldn’t recognize him right now Dabi stopped directly in front of her and said, “I’m here.” It took another second for her to realize he wasn’t some random stranger with All Might’s catchphrase, but when she did she beamed.

“Right on time, Dabi! Are you all ready to go?”

“All set,” he agreed. 

“Good! We’re taking the bullet train up to the location, and I’ve managed to get you in free alongside the crew- but you already knew that from the email. We’ve filled up almost an entire carriage. This way, and we’ll join them.”

She led him on to the turnstiles and scanned her phone twice to gain them entry. On the other side Dabi glanced back only once; the others remained where he’d left them, all waving except for Shigaraki, who mouthed, Songs! Practice! It would be the first time in ten years Dabi would be staying away from Shigaraki and Kurogiri. It shouldn’t have felt as daunting as it did now. Dabi gave them the shortest, most sarcastic little wave he could muster, and turned his back. 

Misty led him down several hallways to the correct platform, and here they found the crew. The crew was pretty obvious: they all clustered on one end of the platform, chatting easily with each other. Most wore lanyards that, while name tags and actual access equipment would come later, bore little rectangular pins in pink and blue (presumably markers of how many seasons of Bachelor or Bachelorette they’d worked on) alongside more miscellaneous ones like roses and “I heart The Bachelor.” Misty pulled one of those lanyards over her own head (two pink pins and one blue), and called, “Shion, have you got the lunches?” 

“Not yet!” Shion was covered in black fur, with cat ears and vividly white whiskers. Her ponytail whipped behind her like a second tail as she flitted from conversation to conversation. Finally she stopped beside the newcomers, phone at the ready. “What’s your preference, regular lunch or vegetarian?” 

“Regular for both of us,” said Misty.

“Roger,” said Shion, and hurried off. 

“Shion’s one of the sound workers,” said Misty. “She’ll probably be chasing you around with a boom mic later. She’s almost always with Prey, who—there he goes, he’s following to help her with the lunches—he’s one of the cameramen. Doesn’t talk much, but he’s nice. If you’re stressed, make sure he’s the one following you because he’ll conveniently shoot footage out the window instead of you crying.” 

“I don’t cry,” said Dabi, then, “What kind of name is Prey?” 

“It’s technically his old hero name. He’s also good with security.” 

Dabi groaned. “How many heroes are involved at this point?” 

Misty blinked at him in surprise. “How many? Well, we hire a lot of active ones for security. We’ve got a lot of dedicated fans, you know, sometimes a little too dedicated... and since you never know what quirks might come up, we have a wide range of heroes to counter any sort of situation. Most people coming on board get excited about possible autographs. Do you not like heroes?”

“No,” Dabi said flatly. “Not at all.” 

“Ah. Well, no worries! The security team works at a distance,” said Misty. “The only active hero you’ll have to deal with is Hawks.”

“Great.” 

“In the meantime...” Misty rummaged around in her bag before pulling out another lanyard with a singular rose pin. “Did you want to wear this? It helps us all keep track of each other on the way over. Besides, you’re officially part of the cast and crew, now. Welcome to the family!” 

Sure. Why not. He accepted it wordlessly. A chime overhead announced the train’s imminent arrival, and Misty gasped. 

“Here it comes! Okay, stick close, and we’ll get settled fast.”

The train glided into the station, and a mad rush ensued. People went out, people went in, and there was clearly a recognized order to the whole thing because everyone involved followed their steps like a terrible, many-footed machine. Dabi was thankfully caught up in the flow, so managed not to trip or run into anyone while boarding the train, stowing his luggage, or sitting down. Before he could even buckle in, Shion was back among them, with presumably-Prey following with towers of the station’s lunch boxes in his arms. 

“Two regular lunches?” Shion checked, but even before they replied she was setting the boxes in their laps. 

“Right as always,” said Misty. 

Shion winked and moved on. Dabi dared to open the box and found several rice balls with assorted sides. It wasn’t particularly fancy but there was a lot.

“How much do I owe for this?” he asked. 

Misty looked far too pleased with herself. “Nothing at all! We have permission to pay for all the crew meals with the company card, and with that lanyard you’re pretty clearly part of the crew.”

Dabi realized belatedly that Misty was the sort who liked bending rules. Of course she was, if she’d signed him on. Why had he expected different? 

Within ten minutes the train was loaded, doors shut, and off they went. Dabi leaned close to the window to watch the world speed by. He’d been on the bullet train before, but it was a very long time ago. For all the ease of traveling through Kurogiri’s quirk, it wasn’t exactly entertaining. At first Dabi marveled that this really was the better way to travel. Only a minute or so later he realized that a decade had not cured his motion sickness, and witnessing the high speeds made him far more likely to lose his breakfast than to manage eating his lunch. He leaned back hard in his chair and squeezed his eyes shut. The train had a very smooth ride. If he didn’t visually acknowledge it, maybe he could convince his stomach that he was still on solid ground. 

“So,” said Shion, who’d sat next to Misty, “who’s the newbie?” 

“Oh, this?” said Misty. “This is Dabi.”

“What crew is he in?”

“The main crew.”

“What?”

“We’re going to be filming him.”

“No way! Hey, you’re one of the bachelors on this season?”

Dabi cringed at the excitement in her tone. Luckily no one could see it through all his layers. “Yeah.”

“That’s so cool!” said Shion. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I know the producers don’t really like you talking to us during the show since it’s not what they want running on film, but we all know you’re only human. Don’t feel like you have to try ignoring our existence or anything. You can absolutely tell me if the mics make you uncomfortable or get in the way. I’m Shion, if you didn’t catch that earlier. This here is my buddy, Prey.”

She gestured to the man on her other side as she spoke. Prey would be easy to spot in the future. His hair was short and white with little black horn stubs poking out of it, and the drooping eyes in his deadpan face were intensely green. He did not appear injured or anywhere near old enough for any kind of retirement, which implied he’d left heroics freely. Maybe he’d been disgusted after recognizing it for the circus show it was; if so, Dabi might actually be able to stand him. 

“Now, we’re basically contractually required to ask,” said Shion, wiggling her eyebrows (her brows couldn’t be made out under the fur but her whiskers bobbed theatrically), “are you here for the right reasons?” 

“No,” said Dabi.

“Damn, that’s blunt. Why are you here, then?”

“Vacation and free food.”

“Oh my god,” said Shion. “Misty. I love him.” 

“Right?” said Misty.

Somehow blunt honesty endeared Dabi to the crew. Other members stopped by to introduce themselves and cheerily say hello. Dabi couldn’t have remembered them all of he tried. He did his best to ignore them and basically played chicken with his lunch for the rest of the train ride. When they reached the train station in Alderaan they all piled out of the station and directly onto a fleet of buses, which then ferried them out to a hotel near the city outskirts. The Alderaan Empire Stays was massive in size and massively expensive. It had a chandelier and a fucking marble floor in the lobby. 

“You’re sure I don’t have to pay for any of this?” Dabi checked, because dying in debt was very unappealing.

“Nothing at all!” said Misty. “The Bachelor series has an agreement with the Empire Stays company, so all the hotels you’d stay in on the show are theirs. The crew stays here the whole time, but you’ll only be here a few days until the show begins and you go to the mansion.”

Sweet. Dabi took a picture of the gargantuan lobby and sent it to the League’s group chat. He didn’t have a chance to respond to the influx of excitement and jealousy there, as Misty was leading him forward again amid the crowd of crewmembers. She escorted him up to his room to dump his bags (luxurious, he took another picture to really rub it in the League’s faces), then brought him back down to the lobby area and myriad hallways of the ground floor to introduce him to this person and that person who’d be involved on the show. Dabi’s response was to smile and nod, except he wasn’t smiling or nodding, just staring blankly ahead and wondering what kind of dinner was served in a place this fancy, while Misty’s conversation partners assumed he was playing it cool behind the glasses and mask.

As it turned out, one of the hotel’s convention halls had been transformed into a kind of buffet for the crew to all eat together. It was a gourmet buffet, though. It had steaks. How much had all of this cost? No wonder contestants weren’t paid, if all the cash went toward food and travel. Dabi loaded up his plate with full intention to go back for seconds, and was corralled to a table with Misty, Shion, Prey, and nine other people he vaguely remembered being introduced to. It should’ve been fine; he was flanked by the two people he knew best here, and the mood was light (Shion was recounting some kind of faux pas on the last Bachelor where a cameraman had accidentally knocked pictures off a wall during hometown dates), but suddenly all he could think of was how he had to take off the mask to eat. All his excitement about the buffet was gone, and he could feel his hunger wither away. He felt foolish. Of course he’d have to take off his disguise. It had only been a matter of time. Normally it wouldn’t matter—he only used it to make travel easier, to get back to the bar and apartment all the faster with minimal discomfort—but these people had been introduced to him like this. They expected normalcy under the mask. An eccentric or an introvert, sure, but someone normal. He knew too well the reactions once his scars became visible: the awkward silence, the averted gazes, the convenient absences in the future. And those were the polite reactions. It was stupid to linger on. He’d be parading his real self around for the entirety of the show, so they’d find out sooner or later. But for now, before the cameras started rolling, he didn’t want them to think of him differently. He ducked his head and didn’t take off the mask; just pulled it down enough to fit the smallest pieces of food between his lips. It tasted like ash. If anyone looked closer they’d see staples peeking up over the fabric. They’d see the seams of his scars. No one had noticed, yet. They kept talking and laughing, and the knot of anger and anxiety tightened in Dabi’s chest because the longer they failed to notice, the more of a mockery it felt like. Because they would notice, and they would react. It was all just timing. He hated suspense.

“Hey,” Misty said quietly, knocking their elbows together. “They’re bringing out desserts. Want me to grab you one?”

“No,” said Dabi.

“Oh! Um… are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he growled.

Misty fidgeted, clearly unsure what to do with this change in attitude, but he wasn’t willing to accommodate anyone right now.

Dabi couldn’t stomach more than half the plate. After dinner they tried to invite him to another schmooze-fest in the hotel bar but he declined. He retreated to his stupidly overpriced room with its commanding view of a garden that would make Versailles spit with envy, turned on a TV wide as he was tall, and laid down on a cushy bed with enough pillows to create a feathered avalanche. It was soft. The sheets smelled faintly of detergent. The suite held multiple rooms all furnished with handsome, matching dark furniture. He knew from checking earlier that there was a bottle of champagne in the minifridge. This was the lap of luxury and he was a shabby imposter. He’d known it before, but knowing and experiencing were two separate things. What was he doing here? What had possessed him to sign a fucking contract? Why had he thought it would be a good idea to show himself on TV and be reviled by the entire country? Sleep did not come easy. He tossed and turned, fretting and grumbling to himself the whole night. The bed was too soft. The pillows were out to smother him. Why the fuck did he sign a contract.

When eight o’ clock rolled around, he felt like a zombie. He dragged himself from the bed to stand in front of the massive window and squint into the sun as if the garden might hold some key to his suffering. It did not. He spotted a few of the crewmembers out walking, apparently refreshed after their breakfast. Shion was loitering by some rosebushes. Suddenly her ears pricked, and she turned up toward the sky just in time for a red blur to touch down beside her. Oh, right. Hawks was on the show too. The hero landed with his usual smug smile and fanning of his massive wings. Somehow he must’ve built a rapport with the staff already, because he high-fived Shion with a laugh before swanning into the hotel. The interaction took only a few seconds, but it had Dabi scowling. Of course the hero had it easy. What would life be like if Dabi was near that handsome? If he could connect with people that easily without them pulling away at the sight of him? Hawks would surely breeze through the show, while Dabi would be relegated to a side act. It was unfair. But that was nothing new. Dabi knew how to channel resentment: he turned it into spite. If the crew was going to be disgusted with him, fine; they sucked and they deserved to be tormented by his existence. He threw on his favorite casual clothing, heedless of the low neckline’s display of his scars, and strode out of the room with the kind of confidence that only came from being massively pissed off.

Off of the lobby on the ground floor, the crew had set up a photoshoot. All the contestants needed to come down to have their pictures taken, because it was apparently tradition to film the Bachelorette gazing soulfully at a collection of their images while hemming and hawing about who to send home. It made sense to give her some reference; if Dabi was faced with twenty-five people to make decisions on, he wouldn’t be able to keep track of them in his brain either. The photos would also be posted online alongside the contestants’ introduction videos. Hawks was currently the one being photographed, and he looked at perfect ease against the garish blue backdrop. Fucking poser.

“Dabi! There you are!” Misty hustled over to him from the check-in desk. “I didn’t see you at breakfast, but I’ve got an apple and some granola bars for you just in case. Is that, um…” She looked him up and down. “Is that what you want in the photo?”

“I didn’t come here to lie,” Dabi grumped. “You want me on the Bachelorette? She’s going to know exactly what I am straight from day one.”

Misty didn’t seem to know what to do with that, but settled on, “I guess that’s commendable. Seriously, though. Granola bar?”

He took the offered bar and stuck it in his pocket for later.

Shion jogged up to them and leaned to see past Misty’s shoulder. “Hey, is Hawks done? Curious said she still needed to talk to him about his flightpath.”

“Not yet, but I doubt it’ll be long,” said Misty.

Shion hummed and leaned back. Only then did she catch sight of Dabi’s face, and her wide eyes locked onto it. “Who’s this?”

“Don’t you remember me introducing you to Dabi yesterday?” said Misty. When Shion continued to gape, she elbowed her. “Don’t you, Shion? We spent the whole trip together, your memory’s not that bad.”

Shion turned her gaze to Misty, still rattled. “Ha! Yeah! Hey, can we talk over there? Privately?”

Misty made an ugly face but relented. “Fine. Dabi, I’ll be right back. The photographer will call you over once he’s ready for you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dabi grumbled.

The women moved off. In the makeshift studio Hawks spread his wings to full span. There was no way in hell that would fit in one picture. The photographer was just milking his chance to get footage of the number two hero.

“Would they just get on with it?” snapped someone from very close by.

Dabi looked to the side, then had to look up. The speaker was a wiry man who was tall now but would be taller still if he weren’t hunching. His hair was long with squared bangs covering his eyes, a squared chin beneath that, and weirdly squared teeth in a wide, displeased mouth.

“We get it. He’s a fucking hero,” the man spat. “Fanboy all you want on your own time, damn it. I have a conference call in an hour. I don’t have time for this.”

Dabi sensed a kindred spirit.

“They only need one shot,” he agreed. “All they need to do is stick him in the pose and click a button. Why—Fuck, why is he turning around?”

“We do not need to see his back,” the man hissed.

Even Hawks seemed nonplussed about why he had to face the backdrop, but the photographer was insistent. Fans all through the lobby were disappointed to find that Hawks’ back muscles were very much covered by his shirt, and his ass was practically nonexistent.

Dabi cupped a hand around his mouth and called, “Hurry it up! You’ve got twenty-four more of us to go.”

The photographer startled. He took a few more embarrassed pictures before dismissing Hawks. Hawks rolled his wings and ruffled his feathers as he trotted out of the makeshift studio, still grinning.

“Sorry about that,” he said, waving a hand and beaming particularly bright at Dabi and the stranger. “Maybe they’re going for more dynamic poses or something? Nobody really gave me a brief.” Dabi wrinkled his nose in disgust. The stranger bared his teeth. Hawks remained stubbornly upbeat. “Oh well. I’ve got a phone call of my own to make, so I’ll leave you to it. Break a leg!”

And off he went.

“Showoff,” Dabi grumbled.

“Peacock,” the stranger agreed.

Yeah, Dabi was definitely on the same wavelength as this guy.

“Next,” called the photographer.

That was his cue. Dabi nodded a farewell to his new comrade in agony, and walked onto the set. The photographer looked up and did a double take, face paling.

“Excuse me, but who—”

Ah, predictability. “Name’s Dabi. I’m one of the contestants.”

“You?” The photographer realized belatedly how rude that sounded and backtracked fast. “Not to say that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just—”

“Are you going to take my picture or what?” said Dabi.

The photographer took the out. He didn’t do much for direction; Dabi just slouched there with his hands in his pockets, keeping his neither-of-us-want-to-be-here-and-I’m-not-going-to-pretend-otherwise stare trained on the camera lens.

The photographer took three photos before pausing. “Could you maybe give us a smile?”

Dabi bared his teeth in a rictus grin.

“Okay, yeah, maybe let’s not do that,” the photographer said quickly. “Turn your head to the right… Yes, like that… Now hold it. Good.” One more click of the button and he nodded. “That’s all we need. You can go.”

Great. Dabi strolled right back out. The stranger was next for pictures and Misty was still absent, so he aimed his feet toward the gardens.

This was when Dabi met Daiji Sato.

Sato was a staple of the franchise: he’d hosted every single season and every single spinoff. When people thought Bachelor, they thought Sato. He was around fifty years old, hair graying at the temples, laughter lines deepening around his eyes, with a million watt smile ready to flash at any given moment.

Dabi had always assumed that Sato’s pleasant, peacemaker attitude on the show was engineered and that the man behind it must be a creep.

Dabi was very wrong.

“Hello!” Sato boomed, sounding downright delighted as he closed in fast from the elevators. “You must be Dabi!” His arms were wide as if he were coming for a hug, and Dabi instinctively took a step back. Sato took the hint. He redirected to a simple bow and bounced upright with a bashful grin. “My apologies. Please, if I’m anywhere close to pushing your boundaries, let me know. The last thing I want to do is make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Uh, sure,” said Dabi, who would be uncomfortable under any attention at this point.  

“As you may already know, I’m Daiji Sato, the host. Throughout the show you’ll always be able to approach the crew and producers if you need help or direction, but you can always approach me, too. Where crewmembers won’t be able to speak or act on camera, I’m not bound by those limitations. For now, I’m here to walk you through what’s going to happen on the first night.”

Dabi raised a brow. “You? Isn’t that below your pay grade?”

“We have a bit of a staff shortage, and I like to be involved,” said Sato. “Would you walk with me?”

He held out a hand to direct him, and slowly Dabi followed. They entered the gardens, and Sato was happy to guide him alongside the row of rosebushes.

“Tomorrow night, you’re going to meet Aiko,” said Sato, like it was the equivalent of meeting All Might. Dabi surreptitiously checked for cameras, but no, filming had apparently not started yet. Was Sato honestly that excited? “The most important thing you need to do is to make an impression. The very first rose given away is the first impression rose—very coveted—which would save you during the rose ceremony. You can make that impression during your entrance from the limo or during the cocktail party later on. If you don’t make a good enough impression, you’ll be in danger of going home on the very first night. That being said, we need to approve your impression—rein in the overeager, maybe help plan a little better, and to make sure you have the supplies you need at the right time. We’ve got the entrances planned out for everyone else, but I noticed you hadn’t submitted anything. What was your plan?”

Work what you’ve got. Right. He’d gone over this with the League.

“I’m going for a subtle approach,” Dabi replied.

“Subtle?”

“Subtle.”

Sato nodded, accepting but clearly confused. “Then it’s all down to implementation. How will you do that?”

“Posturing,” Dabi scoffed. He drew in a deep breath, weighing his options before deciding to go with the truth; it wasn’t like they couldn’t guess most of it from his appearance or the fragments in the background check. “I’m not comfortable with close contact. It can be physically painful sometimes, so I won’t be going around hugging anyone. If I already have to keep my distance, I’m going to embrace that. I’m not planning to do anything special, just say hello and walk like a prince.”

Sato nodded again, sagely this time. “Simplicity can be the sincerest approach. You’re sure you want nothing else during the cocktail party? In the past other contestants have had things like guitars.”

“No,” said Dabi. “What happens will happen.”

That was the politest way he could think to say I’m winging it.

Sato chuckled. “Very well. That means all the less work for the crew. There’s just one last thing I’d like to make sure you’re confident on.”

By this time they’d walked all the way to the edge of the garden, where a single lane road wound past the hedges. A limo was parked there with the back door propped open.

“I understand you’re from Kamino Ward,” said Sato. “City life is convenient, but with so much public transportation, we can fall out of other habits. How long has it been since you rode in a regular car?”

Dabi couldn’t actually remember. It had definitely been a few years.

“Your entrance is what will stick with viewers the most: your real first impression,” said Sato. “We don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and clumsy. You’ve got enough to stress about already. It’s certainly no requirement, but would you like to practice exiting the limousine?”

It was such a small thing, but very few people had ever paid serious, genuine attention to Dabi’s comfort. Dabi reconstructed his assumptions: Sato was a kind, sane man in a sea of hormonal sensationalism, and Dabi was going to cling to him like a drowning man to driftwood.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, if I’m going for subtle and trip on my way out, I may as well leave right then and there. I can just get in right now?”

“Exactly.”

Dabi ducked his way into the limo. The interior was dark, with an L-shaped bench on one side, a little bar on the other, and a mirror lined with cool blue lights on the roof. Dabi bounced lightly on the leather cushion closest to the door.

“So, uh, where in here would I be sitting?”

Sato propped an elbow on the door and bent to see him better. “You said that you’re uncomfortable with close contact. Do you have a wide range of movement, or is that painful as well?”

Dabi fidgeted. He didn’t like talking about his limitations. “It’s not painful, but… it can be irritating.”

“In that case, we’ll have you exactly where you are right now,” said Sato. “Last to get into the limo, and first to leave it. That way we can minimize any jostling. Is that acceptable?”

A little daunting, but, “Sure.”

“Wonderful. You’re already scheduled to be in limo number three, so you won’t be the very first. You can rest easy on that,” said Sato, falling into the supportive, patient tone he always used on the show. “At the very back of the limo—do you see the divide up by the driver?—we’ll have a crewmember riding with you there. She’ll let you know when to get out, so you don’t have to worry about timing, either. You will have to open the door, though. Let’s close it and practice, shall we?”  

Feeling foolish, Dabi closed the limo door. After a moment he popped it back open, shuffled a little, and got out.

“Remember, the driveway will be wet for a better aesthetic, so be careful on your feet,” said Sato. “Once you’re out, pause, and then walk forward to meet Aiko.”

“Was that an okay dismount?” asked Dabi.

“It could be smoother,” said Sato. “You could lead with your left leg and slide instead. Or would that be painful?”

“I can make it work.” Dabi reentered the limo and tried again. “Better?”

“Much smoother, but you still seemed a little uncertain of the action. It may need some repetition.”

So Dabi practiced getting out of a limo for the next half hour. By the end, he dared to think he’d get an A+ if he ever got tested on this shit.

He told the League as much hours later, after dinner was finished and Misty had bade him ‘enjoy your phone for one more night.’ Toga was thrilled to pieces that he’d gotten to meet “the Daiji Sato” despite having been guaranteed to meet him later on, Kurogiri was far more interested in the food situation (“you’re sure they’re feeding you properly? I can warp you snacks if you need any”), and all the others were happy to rag on the crewmembers’ bad manners and Hawks’ general existence. Partway through the call the contestants’ profiles were uploaded to the Bachelorette’s website, and they bullied Dabi into looking at them so they could hear his first impressions. Apparently Dabi and Hawks had kicked off a trend, because half the contestants were going by nicknames or wannabe-hero monikers; Shigaraki was particularly incensed by the one calling himself “Slidin’ Go” because who in their right mind names themselves like a Slip ‘N Slide, come on! The long-haired square guy from the photoshoot was apparently named Skeptic (fitting), and was a board member at Feel Good, Inc. That opened the floodgates for more teasing, because how could a name like that not belong to a porn company? They chatted late into the night, and it was a testament to how lonely Dabi was that he didn’t put up a fight when they wheedled him into one last song rehearsal. If all went well on the show, it would be literal months before he could see or talk to any of them again. He’d keep them on the line as long as they’d let him. He opened up the notebook to sing the words written in Magne’s flowery handwriting, and they got through Flaws three times before Kurogiri interrupted them.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it there,” he said, and Dabi could tell by his tone that he must be flickering with regret. “Toga has school in the morning, and she needs to get some rest.”

“I can skip!” Toga protested.

“No way. You told us you have a test tomorrow,” said Magne.

“But Dabi—”

“You’ll see me after six weeks,” said Dabi. “Even sooner, if they kick me off early.”

“And of course we’ll be able to see him every week on TV,” said Compress.

“I can’t wait!” said Twice. “I ain’t watching that shit!”

“Remember,” Spinner said seriously, “you’re a prince! Channel your inner Sir Albion!”

“Yeah, right, whatever,” said Dabi.

They all said their disjointed goodbyes, and the line went dead. Dabi stared at the home screen and its clock displaying two in the morning. He wasn’t ready to rest yet. It was too quiet. His nerves were still frayed. For lack of anything better to do he pulled up the Bachelorette website again and clicked through the profiles. Gathering information would be a productive way to waste his time, right? He lingered over Hawks’ profile in particular. The League had only looked through and mocked the basic listings; attempting to play introduction videos on a speaker call that was already going with so many people was a sure recipe for disaster. He still had no idea why Hawks had agreed to the show. Maybe this would shed some light on his reasoning.

The video opened with several shots of Fukuoka: some temples, the castle, late night food stalls, and then the city skyline. On the last shot the camera zoomed in, catching the hero’s shadow soaring past Fukuoka tower before cutting to a closeup of the hero’s face.

“Hey, what’s up? I’m Hawks,” he said, as if anyone didn’t know that already. He was leaned back in what appeared to be an agency office chair, perfectly at ease. “I know what you might be wondering: what’s a top hero doing, applying to The Bachelorette? Well, I’ll let you in on a secret.” He leaned closer, eyes twinkling, and cupped a hand around his mouth theatrically. “My sidekicks threatened to mutiny if I didn’t go on a vacation.”

Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me, thought Dabi, glowering at the screen.

In the video, Hawks pulled back again with a laugh. “Cruel, right? But they’ve got a point. Most of my life has been taken up by heroics: training, patrols, paperwork… and it was fine for the youngest hero on the charts to pull some extra weight to get his name out there, but I’m established now, and I’m not so young anymore. I’ve realized that I’m missing out on a lot of things. I’m trying to reevaluate what I want and what I’m supposed to be doing with my life outside the job. One of the things I want most is to fall in love. I want a whirlwind romance, and I want to dedicate the rest of my life to making someone happy.” His smile softened to something less heroic, more genuine. “Maybe I can find that here.”

Dabi stopped the video. He didn’t like honesty from Hawks. It made him feel like a sham, which was ridiculous because the entire production was a sham. He switched to YouTube instead and watched compilations of Hawks flying into glass and flubbing landings to make himself feel better.

Hawks was just some big, dumb bird. His reasons for joining didn’t matter.

No one’s reasons mattered.

Dabi could handle this just fine.

Chapter Text

On Friday night, it began.

Dabi had slept in, not only due to his long call with the League, but also because Misty had warned him it would be a long night. He got up just in time to catch the tail end of breakfast, and spent most of the afternoon flipping through TV channels. He found Bachelor reruns and ignored them because he wasn’t going to psyche himself out about this, damn it. The weird queasiness in his stomach was just because of the weird cold spaghetti he’d eaten for breakfast (why had there been spaghetti in the breakfast buffet? He didn’t know, he just ate it), and he was absolutely in no way nervous. Fuck, he was nervous.

Dinner was delivered to his room around five, and Misty came knocking at his door at eight. He was almost happy to see her. Almost.

“How are you holding up?” she asked without looking at him; she was too busy sticking a strip of duct tape to the top of his bag and writing his name on it.

“How bad can it really be?” Dabi said dryly, which was both a deflection and a cry for help.

“Not nearly as bad as most people seem to think,” Misty replied. “Most of the time you’ll just be sitting around the mansion. If you ever want directions on what to do you can always check in with me or the other crewmembers for a script, but if you just be yourself, you should be fine.”

“Being myself has almost gotten me shot in the past,” Dabi grumbled.

Misty laughed like it was a joke. It was not.

She straightened up to run a critical eye over his outfit. Kurogiri had altered some of his own clothing for an all-black ensemble which, while sophisticated, couldn’t escape the vibe of fancy bartender. All of Dabi’s formal clothing for the trip were bartender-ish; while shopping he’d only thought this can multitask for a future job instead of I’m going to look like a butler on TV. He regretted it immensely but there was nothing to be done about it now.

“It’s different from the other contestants, but that’s a good thing. It’ll make you stand out,” said Misty. “Do you mind if I—”

“Do whatever,” said Dabi.

He held ramrod still as she straightened his tie. It was horrible and he never wanted anyone near his neck again. Luckily she didn’t linger, just stepped back to admire her handiwork and said, “There we go, all set! Are you ready to head down?”

He was not.

“Sure,” Dabi said anyway.

Misty picked up his bags (apparently letting Dabi carry his own weight risked creasing his clothes) and led the way down to a lobby packed with Bachelorette crewmembers. She dumped his bags to the side among a cluster of other bags with similar labels, then herded him over to where the other men stood waiting.

“There you are,” snapped another crewmember. Like Misty her skin was pale blue, but her hair was purple, sclera black with green irises. In one hand she held a clipboard, the other pressed against a headset. Her nametag read ‘Curious.’ “Dabi, you’re in limo three with Gentle Criminal, Taro, Slidin’ Go, and Akira. Have you got everything you need?”

“I do.”

“And you’ve turned in all electronic devices?”

“He has,” said Misty, waving his phone.

Compress’ marble remained in Dabi’s pocket, but he didn’t need to advertise that. He stayed still while another crewmember set up his microphone and ran some tests, all while Curious was surveying the lobby and barking orders. The way everyone bent to her, she must’ve been the one in charge.

“Limo three is loading now,” Curious said a few minutes later. “Remember, you’re the last one in.”

The next few seconds were sheer chaos as the five contestants were all rushed to the limo outside. Misty might’ve said “good luck,” but Dabi was too busy wincing from his heavy landing as the limo door closed to know for sure.

“Welcome aboard,” said Shion, because with his luck it had to be Shion accompanying them. As the limo began to drive, Dabi did his best to ignore her and looked at the other contestants instead.

Gentle Criminal was a man who looked a little older than the given age range, his white hair slicked back and mustache perfectly curled. He’d gone pretty heavy on the eyeliner, which was probably meant to make his blue eyes pop, but really just exaggerated his nerves. He had one of the hotel floor lamps tucked in against his elbow.

Taro was nondescript as his name. Dabi didn’t know if it was his quirk or just extreme banality, but every time he glanced at the guy his eyes felt ready to glaze over from boredom.

Slidin’ Go was big, with the supremely squared chin and smirk of an off-brand cartoon hero, but the beady eyes of a dead fish. Dabi couldn’t look at him without feeling like he was being stared down by a particularly unnerving tuna.  

Akira’s eyes glowed red as a stoplight and his smile seemed practically glued on. He absolutely radiated “don’t talk to me.”

Okay. Three guys he couldn’t make eye contact with, and an old dude with a lamp. Dabi turned to Gentle.

“Uh… can I ask what the lamp’s for?”

Gentle sat up quickly. “Oh, this is for—oof!” His movement had banged the lamp against the limo ceiling, and he scrambled to right the lampshade. “Ah, excuse me! Nerves. Ahem. This is for Aiko. My mother always advised me that you should never meet a woman empty handed.”

“So.” Dabi stared at the lamp. It was garish, and the kind of expensive that actually made it look cheap. “So you stole it from the hotel to give to her.”

Gentle flushed and sputtered and finally ended with, “Yes.”

“Huh,” said Dabi, but his mind was running a mile a minute. Toga and the others had never gone over gifts. Was he expected to bring something? Was this a faux pas no one had told him about?

Too soon for his nerves but not fast enough for his stomach, they reached the mansion driveway. The limo slowed to make the turn, and Dabi tried to get a glimpse of the mansion itself so he’d know what he was getting into. The trees, the hill, and the dark night made it difficult. He did see a man in a suit outside with a guy in a security vest, though. The suit guy had very distinctive horns.

“Hey,” said Dabi, “do people from old seasons help out with this shit?”

“Most of the crew’s been around multiple years,” said Shion.

“I meant contestants.”

“Contestants?” Shion tipped her head in confusion. “No, if they don’t make it on their season, they either get sent to Bachelor In Paradise or get voted to be the next Bachelor. Why?”

“Because that’s definitely Ryuji from the last Bachelorette season.”

Everyone scrambled for the windows. Unfortunately the limo had bypassed Ryuji already, and all that could be seen was the lingering reflection off the security guard’s vest.

“You don’t think it’s really him, do you?” Gentle fretted. “I mean, there’s no reason for him to be here.”

“He’d be a cad to interfere!” boomed Slidin’ Go. Booming seemed to be his default tone.

“I mean, it’s the Bachelorette,” Akira said flatly. “We should expect dramatic twists.”

Taro said nothing, because talking might give him a personality.

The mansion finally loomed out of the dark, its windows aglow. String lights and greenery framed the edge of the forecourt, with an inner circle of flowers at the base of the central fountain. The stone pathway was indeed wet, almost black at this hour. Aiko stood beside the fountain, clad in a shimmering silver-white gown. This was not in any way a scene Dabi felt comfortable existing in, but the limo came to a halt and Shion said, “Dabi, you’re up.”

Right. Go time. He could totally do this. He opened the door as he’d practiced about a hundred times; slid smoothly out of the limo; paused just enough to straighten his waistcoat; then sauntered forward.

“Hey,” he said as he walked. “I’m Dabi.”

“Nice to meet you, Dabi,” Aiko said with a smile.

As he drew closer she opened her arms, clearly anticipating a hug (what was it with all these people and hugs), but Dabi held out a hand as if to shake instead. With some surprise she held out her own hand to match; Dabi took it casually, bent down, and kissed it. With his lips still brushing her knuckles he looked up at her through his lashes (the League had made him practice this angle a lot), and purred, “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Aiko’s face went almost as pink as her hair, and her eyes gave a weird sparkle that must’ve been related to her quirk.

“Oh! It’s a p-p-pleasure to meet you, too!”

Dabi grinned and straightened back up. He stepped around her, hands still clasped and not for a moment losing eye contact. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

“Yeah,” she said faintly.

Her hand eventually slipped out of his, but she kept her dazzled eyes on him all the way through the mansion door. It was short. Sweet. Got him out of dodge before he could manage to make a fool of himself. He patted himself on the back for decent execution. Sato waited in the mansion’s entryway, beaming.

“Very clever,” he chuckled. “You really are giving her the princess treatment, aren’t you?” Dabi gave a noncommittal shrug, but if anything Sato found that even more amusing. “Go this way to the left, and you’ll find the cocktail party. Get to know the other men first, and once everyone’s arrived, Aiko will come back in. Good luck!”

“Thanks,” said Dabi, and shuffled left. Another crewmember handed him a glass of champagne on his way through another hallway. Dabi hated the dryness of the drink but he did appreciate having something to do with his hands.

The interior of the mansion was full of dark, sumptuous colors. Maroon was most prominent, but he walked through other rooms painted emerald greens and purples. The decorations were wood colors and golds, with few but vivid pops of color. The main room of the cocktail party was a mustardy yellow, barely visible behind decorative folding screens. In the center was a large, squared coffee table, and around its edge was a brown leather couch in a horseshoe shape. Ten other men were already seated there with their own drinks, and three cameramen at different points in the room all rounded to watch Dabi’s entrance. It was pretty obvious that the other men hadn’t looked at the online profiles—one choked on his drink, most tensed, and one actually started squaring up. Dabi sneered and raised his glass in mocking salute, then went to the opposite side of the room to lean against a windowsill. If he angled correctly, he could glimpse the courtyard from here. There was Gentle, presenting Aiko with his floor lamp. Way too cumbersome. He could’ve at least tried a desk lamp instead. Aiko clearly had no idea what to do with it, which made Dabi feel a little better about not bringing anything himself. After Gentle came the rest of limo three, and when all of them were inside the limo left.

Dabi continued to ignore the party, watching the driveway for any sign of the next contestant. There was a lengthy pause. The courtyard stayed empty and no headlights appeared on the drive. Had there been such gaps between all of the limo arrivals? No, Aiko was starting to look around in confusion, so this must not be normal. Before Dabi could wonder too much about what was going on, the next competitor made his entrance from the sky. It happened in the span of a second: Hawks dropped out of the clouds in a rush of red feathers, pulled up just in time to avoid crashing into the pavement, and beat his wings to stop the motion just as fast. He made the whole thing look graceful. Aiko squeaked in surprise as the wind buffeted her hair, and gaped as he landed lightly in front of her. Hawks wore a suit not too far off the color of his hero costume, but it was patterned subtly in an almost tartan design that tied in the red of his wings and the black of his shirt better. He also wore a grin that oozed snobbery.

Stupid heroes. He was going to give someone a heart attack.

Hawks went in for the hug all the other competitors seemed so keen on, then waltzed into the mansion.

“Hey everybody!” he called upon reaching the party room. “Beautiful night, huh?”

Opinions on Hawks were pretty polarizing. Some of the men looked just as pissed about his existence as they had about Dabi’s, while others were clearly fanboys. Hawks took a seat at the end of the couch, right next to a competitor whose quirk had him literally glowing with excitement (Saito).

Outside, the introductions went on. The lamp was not the weirdest presentation. A guy named Tesla rolled up on a massively loud motorcycle, citing some ‘on a steel horse I ride’ joke while wearing a cheap crown. Someone named Teruo gifted Aiko two blue stress balls and bade her “squeeze my balls if you get nervous.” Someone unidentifiable appeared in a mascot costume. A guy named Tanaka did a theatric fall, roll, then snapped dramatically to look at Aiko and said he was “falling for you already.” The only other man with a combustion quirk, Hinote, made a pun about “the fires of love.”  Shitty jokes and puns seemed to be a staple. Maybe Dabi should’ve paid more attention to Twice’s pickup lines.

When all the competitors arrived, it was pretty clear the showrunners had picked out a wide range. They went from the loud, massively tall gym rats whose flexes could probably kill someone (Rappa and Muscular), to the small, delicate, and pale with a permanent scowl (Geten); a man with the head of a leopard (Hyouto), to a man with the head of a mouse (Miyashita); from the old-looking (Gentle), to the are-we-sure-that’s-not-a-minor (Saito); and from the slicked-hair suave politician (Trumpet) to the utter cartoonish (Slidin’ Go). If Aiko was trying to determine her taste in men, this was definitely the smorgasbord to figure it out with. They all settled around the room with their drinks, and were cautiously appraising each other through stilted conversations when Slidin’ Go suddenly boomed, “Aiko was gorgeous!” He leaned toward a man with bat wings and overlarge ears (Tobio), continuing, “And her smile! Wow!”

“Such a babe!” cried a man in a long coat (Teruo), just as loudly.

Everyone else realized again that this was a TV show and they were meant to show off for the cameras. They all began to recount how attractive Aiko had been during their entrances, overly loud and especially cheesy. Dabi shook his head in disgust and drank some of the dry champagne; maybe he didn’t want to get through this night sober anymore.

“Aiko’s on her way in,” called the crewmember who’d handed out the champagne. “Men, get on the couch or circle around the back of it so she can face you all at once.”

They all shuffled to comply. Dabi ended up standing right behind Hawks because no one else wanted to deal with the wings and he was a pathetically slow mover. He gripped his champagne glass tight and squinted at the feathers in suspicion. He’d seen them detach and fly around on TV before, and was sure they’d be part of some joke during the show. Hawks better not start any shit on night one.

Aiko peeked around the doorframe, almost as if she wasn’t sure of their reaction. She needn’t have worried. The contestants all started cheering and clapping at the sight of her; some of the ones on the couch shifted to give her a standing ovation (Hawks did not, thank god). Aiko’s face brightened and she trotted into the room with much more confidence.

“Oh, wow, thank you!” she cried.

The contestants clearly decided to play it up because they were now aiming all that cheesiness at her in the form of “You’re beautiful”s and “Thank you”s.

“You’re all looking pretty handsome, too,” Aiko giggled. “Come on, sit back down, you don’t have to stand for me.” When they settled she looked over them with a wide smile. “I can’t thank you all enough for being here. I know from experience that this can be stressful, but it’s also going to be a lot of fun. I really do think that I can find the love of my life here.”

Dabi wanted to gag. He held tight to his poker face and decided if anyone called him out on a less than stellar reaction, he’d blame it on Hawks’ feathers making him sneeze.

“Let’s kick this off with a toast!” Aiko raised her own champagne glass. “To my forever prince, and future husband!”

Okay, that was even worse.

All the men crowded in for the toast. It was like a mosh pit with everyone set on clinking their glasses to hers. For the first time Dabi was glad of Hawks’ existence, because he and Tobio stayed out of the crowd on account of their wings, so it wasn’t that big a deal when Dabi didn’t brave the elbowing either. He raised his glass at the periphery and fought the urge to chug it. Luckily this ended the cheap formalities and they disbursed into smaller groups. Aiko began to circle around these groups for conversation. Dabi realized that hanging back meant he’d inadvertently joined the wing club; he didn’t think any of the other groups would take well to him approaching, so he stayed put and hoped it would all be over soon.

“So, did you fly here too?” Hawks was asking, eyeing Tobio’s wings.

“I should have,” Tobio sighed. “It would’ve made an impression, at least. But no. With the nerves I was worried I’d mess up my landing.”

“Oh, I feel you,” Hawks groaned in theatric commiseration. “That’s just how it would go, isn’t it? The one time we flop, it gets caught on camera.”

“I wouldn’t say one time for you,” Dabi muttered. After all, he’d watched a whole compilation of Hawks’ flying mishaps just last night.

“Rude,” said Hawks.

Tobio laughed. They stayed on the subject of wings, mostly ignoring Dabi’s existence, until Aiko graced them with her presence.

“Hey, boys,” she said, sidling up alongside them. “How’s your night going so far?”

“It’s great,” said Hawks, eyes bright over the rim of his glass. “Let me tell you, the Hero Gala could take tips from this—way better hors d’oeuvres, and much better company.”

He winked. He fucking winked. People actually did that in real life? Then again, did The Bachelorette really count as real life?

Wait, back up. Did Hawks say something about hors d’oeuvres? Dabi’s stomach was tight with nerves so he didn’t feel up to eating right now, but that would surely change. He cast an eye around for food, only to realize Aiko was turning toward him.

“And what about you, Dabi?”

Oh, shit. What had they been talking about? Dabi fixed his attention back on her, doing his best to pull up those stupid bedroom eyes and the ‘sexy voice’ again.

“It’s better now that you’re here.”

Fuck. Shit. What was he even saying. He couldn’t be more lame if he tried. Except… wow. Her eyes were doing the sparkly thing again and she turned toward him as if drawn in. Hawks was staring at him, too, face blank in surprise.

“You’re a bartender, right?” asked Aiko.

“Usually.” Dabi shrugged. “I’ve dabbled in vigilantism.”

She clearly took that as a joke; she giggled and said, “When you’re making drinks, do you have any tricks? Do you, like, juggle bottles or anything?”

“I didn’t tend to work at flashy places,” said Dabi. Bars that cared about tricks and wowing customers for tips were a bad mix with his appearance. “I know a few tricks, though. I can show you later, if you’re so inclined.”

She smiled, biting her lip, and did a weird sort of swivel motion that brought to mind a cat prepping to pounce. “I’m looking forward to that.”

One of the crewmembers motioned for her to move on, so Aiko bade them goodbye and moved on to the next group. Dabi took a drink of his champagne specifically to avoid the two pairs of eyes ogling him.

“You really know how to turn on the charm, don’t you?” said Hawks.

“I never would’ve pegged you for competition, but I’ll have to look out for you now,” Tobio chuckled.

“Yeah, whatever. Mind your own business,” said Dabi.

As Aiko was chatting with Gentle, the free for all began. It started simple: Trumpet came up beside her, smooth as silk, and said, “Could I steal you away for a moment?”

“Sure!” Aiko chirped, and followed him out to the back patio and away from all the other contestants.

On the night of every rose ceremony, the cocktail party’s purpose was for the men to have their own short one-on-one conversations with the Bachelorette. It made sense to have that time with her before she made the decision of who to send home. In theory, it was simple. In practice, it was a nightmare. There was no order or schedule, just the men jumping on any free moment she had. Night one was a tame version—this would be an entire episode in itself, so the rose ceremony was pushed far later in the night than it would be in the following weeks, and they had to make sure those who hadn’t made their impression on entrance made their big impression here—but it was definitely an introduction to the chaos. The mood kept seesawing— the men would brighten up when Aiko appeared, and fall into quieter sulks whenever someone stole her away.

The conversations were as varied and ridiculous as the limo entrances had been. Trumpet had set up some kind of makeshift minigolf, so he had an excuse to press against Aiko’s back and ‘teach’ her how to knock a golf ball three feet into a hole. Hyouto had a small mountain of cookies for him and Aiko to sample, because he apparently owned a restaurant and cookie-baking was his hobby. Slidin’ Go busted out a guitar and gave a sincerely terrible rendition of an even more sincerely terrible love song he’d written, because singing good songs from the radio made for copyright nightmares. Geten used his quirk to make an ice sculpture in Aiko’s likeness and got pissy when she left for the next man without cooing long enough about the detail on ice-Aiko’s hair. Skeptic also used his quirk to make… men. Lots of strange, suited men that first startled them all into thinking an army of new competitors had arrived, except they were identical and brainless, and Skeptic used them to carry Aiko around in a palanquin (where had that even come from) while he sat beside her and typed angrily into a laptop that couldn’t possibly have a connection.

Dabi saw all of this from a distance and snickered to himself about the performances. If any of the League were here he’d laugh about it with them, how weird and desperate all these men were being. As it was, he had no one to talk to. He wouldn’t get the League’s impressions on all this for another month at least. The thought made him restless again. When he grew tired of standing, he sat on the couch. When he grew tired of sitting, he stood again. A crew member gave him another flute of champagne when he drained his first, and he forced down some food to make sure he wouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach. A few men were drinking heavily from nerves, tongues loosening and inhibitions lifting—Muscular ditched his shirt and suit coat to flex for the cameras and spoke at a decibel that should’ve been reserved for jet engines—and Dabi wanted no part of that.  

The longer Dabi sat alone, the worse he felt—alone, anxious, stupid. In an attempt to clear his mind, he started wandering anywhere he had access to. Crewmembers crowded the halls, so while they allowed him through for the toilet, they didn’t want him there otherwise. Muscular was being a total meathead and taking up the entire goddamn kitchen, so the only other place to venture right now was the back patio and its pool area. This was, admittedly, the focal point of the mansion in all the seasons Toga and Magne had made him watch.

The pool was massive. Blue lights illuminated it from underwater, sending a glow across the stone floor around it and revealing the massive stone arches standing on the opposite side like a truncated aqueduct. Three cement spurs jutted from each of the long sides, with massive lanterns set upon them for aesthetic. More lanterns led up into a stone gazebo swathed in red damask curtains, where Aiko seemed to be pulling people to sit on overly cushy outdoor couches. Turning the other way found another horseshoe-shaped outdoor couch with vividly blue cushions, facing a fireplace that had been built into the side of the house. It was no ordinary fireplace, either; it was big enough for Dabi to duck inside it if he wanted, and apparently useless because the hearth and mantle were covered with still more lit lanterns. More men had come out here to talk, watching Aiko closely for their own opportunities. Aiko’s current partner, Hanzo Suiden, apparently decided fashioning things out of quirks was a good trend, because he reached out and formed a miniature humpback whale from the pool water; it rose up and fell as humpback whales tended to do, splashing the patio floor. Several men backed up hastily to avoid getting their shoes wet.

You know what? I’m not getting paid for this bullshit, thought Dabi, and turned right back around rather than deal with that fiasco.

As he entered the party room again, he spotted Sato coming in through the opposite door. Sato was holding a small, square plate. He strode up to the coffee table, set it down, and without any other explanation walked away again. On the plate sat a boutonniere: the first impression rose.

All eyes zoned in on the flower. It was mildly terrifying, like a whole pack of sharks scenting blood at once. Whoever Aiko gave that rose to would be exempt from the rose ceremony and pass through to the next week. Needless to say, everyone wanted it.

“That’s the first impression rose. It’s so important. Everyone wants it,” said Slidin’ Go.

Dabi gave him an incredulous look.

…Yeah? If Dabi’s exact thoughts hadn’t crossed everyone’s minds, he’d eat his shoe. Slidin’ Go had no business stating such an obvious fact like that. Unless the producers had told him to? Maybe he was one of the men who’d accepted a script. Dabi hoped not. If he had to hear a fucking play by play of all the mundane things in this show, he’d quit. They should save that shit for the confessionals so the editing team could set it as a voiceover later.

Whatever the case, Dabi didn’t need that first impression rose and he was glad for it; that meant nobody’s jealousy would be aimed at him.

He sat down on the couch again, doing his best to ignore how, a few cushions down, Tobio was talking about the rose like it was the holy grail, and Hawks paid rapt attention as if it were a mission briefing.

“Whoever gets that rose is going to be a step ahead of everyone else here,” Tobio was saying. “Not just for tonight, either. It’s a trend. First impression winners tend to go far. Some of them even propose at the end.”

“Do you think you’ll get it?” asked Hawks.

“I think I’ve got a good chance.”

Aiko was coming back into the room beside Taro when Sato appeared again. The men tensed, ready for him to reclaim the rose or make an announcement, but Sato wasn’t looking at them. He had a crease in his brow.

“Aiko, could you come with me please? There’s something outside I’d like you to know about.”

Judging by Aiko’s frown this was not a scheduled event. “Oh? Sure, I suppose. I’ll be right back, everybody!”

The two of them retreated toward the courtyard and vanished from sight. Dabi twirled the champagne glass between his fingers, wondering what it could be. A problem in the casting? A problem with the staff? The mansion? The food? His thoughts were idle until a sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. Maybe his background check hadn’t fooled them. If they figured out who he was and where he came from, taking advantage of that could definitely start drama. Oh, god. What if someone had come here? What if he was here? This was bad. He had to move. Maybe if he stood near the door to the patio he’d have a head start on escaping. Dabi was about to stand when Hawks’ wings puffed out and he gave a delighted gasp. That excitement was not a good sign. It was doubly not a good sign if it was Hawks this excited, because he was a dumbass with shit taste in idols.

“What is it?” said Saito, already-wide eyes getting even bigger with intrigue. “What’s wrong, Hawks?”

“I dropped a feather when I came in here. I can hear them through it,” said Hawks.

That caught everyone’s interest. The men crowded closer, and Dabi found himself surrounded. Fuck. At least he had some kind of cover?

Hawks was quiet for a while, apparently listening in. He kept smiling though, something amused tinged with incredulity. “There’s a party crasher outside. The security team caught him— he was trying to sneak in with flowers, because he wants to vie for Aiko’s heart. Holy shit. It’s Ryuji from last season.”

All the members of limo three turned to look at Dabi. Dabi, for his part, wanted to cry. He’d catastrophized for nothing. He was safe. He met their gazes steadily, refusing to let anyone know that he’d been near panic a second ago.

“Do you think she’ll let him in?” Gentle asked worriedly.

“It’s happened before,” said Trumpet, though he seemed more amused than concerned. “There was a previous Bachelorette season where six more men were added in on the first night, just to throw things off.”

Meanwhile Hawks was still listening, and now started laughing in disbelief. “He didn’t just get here. He camped out in front of the mansion for a week waiting for her to arrive.”

“That’s dedication,” said Slidin’ Go.

“That’s creepy,” Dabi grumbled.

“Aiko said no to letting him stay,” said Hawks.

The men breathed a sigh of relief.

“And now he’s saying he won’t give up that easily,” said Hawks.

The men tensed again.

“Definitely a creep,” said Dabi.

“Aiko’s coming back into the mansion, but Sato’s staying behind to lecture the guy about boundaries and respect,” said Hawks.

More brownie points for Sato.

Aiko did indeed return within the minute. She paused in the doorway, confused by how they’d all grouped together again. Hawks gave her a smile of pure innocence; the other men either looked like they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar or fell over themselves to reassure her over the traumatic experience. Aiko was delighted with the attention. She played up the situation for more sympathy before selecting her next victim and leaving for the patio again. The rest of them settled back into the strained monotony of the cocktail party. The aspiring alcoholics wouldn’t stop toasting Aiko’s name, and Dabi realized that champagne wasn’t the only drink available. Rappa was boasting about all the different cocktails he’d downed over the last few hours. Dabi hoped the guy was drinking water too, or he’d be waking with a nasty hangover tomorrow. Soon the drinking craze spread, because what else did they have to do? They were several hours deep into a party with potentially several more hours to go, the sky outside the same deep black so Dabi had no idea what time it was. He really needed to invest in a watch. The only men not actively getting hammered were Dabi (a bartender knew his limits), Hawks (probably something to do with his quirk), Trumpet (he looked too much like a schemer to compromise himself), and Saito (was he really legal to drink? His online profile said he was, but Dabi couldn’t look at that baby face and really believe it).  

“So, who hasn’t talked with Aiko yet?” asked Tesla.

Several men mumbled about that, some of them raising their hands like kindergarteners. Dabi was far from the only one who hadn’t gotten any quality time with her.

“It’s getting late.” Hawks frowned at his watch, because he’d been smart enough to wear one. “When’s the ceremony supposed to start again? There can’t be much time left for you.”

“You’ve got to make your opportunities,” said Trumpet, who was far too relaxed. “Hop to it.”

“Yes. Hop.” Gentle looked vaguely ill. He clenched his hands atop his knees before standing. Aiko and her latest suitor had barely crossed the threshold when he marched up to them and said, “May I speak with you next?”

It worked, and Aiko happily turned back toward the pool with him.

“I forgot what I was going to say,” mumbled Saito, staring down at his drink. “I had a plan going into this, but now I’m nervous and I can’t remember it. What if I pull her aside and I can’t remember how to talk at all?”

“That’s simple, kid,” said Hawks. “You wing it.”

He bumped his wing against Saito’s shoulder as a punchline and startled a smile out of him.

“Sometimes plans are your downfall. They can box you in. It’s better to have a starting point, and remain flexible from there,” said Hyouto.

Huh. This was turning out to be weirdly heartfelt.

The supportive air didn’t last long. Aiko came back in alone. She stopped by the table and picked up the first impression rose. Everyone in the room straightened, suddenly restless. Even Dabi felt his heart rate kick up a little bit, and watched with full attention.

“I’ll be right back,” said Aiko, and returned to the patio.

Well, then. The lamp must’ve worked.

In her wake all conversation dried up. Dabi could practically hear the others’ disappointment.

Saito slumped. “There go my chances…”

“You still need to go for it,” said Hawks. “Not getting that rose kind of sucks, but you want to make sure you get another rose by the end of tonight, right? I mean, there’s how many of us here, thirty?”

“Thirty-two,” Trumpet corrected.

Wait, what? Thirty-two? All the research the League had done placed the starting group at twenty-five!

“Exactly!” said Hawks, completely unaware of Dabi’s confusion. “People are going to leave tonight. Potentially a lot of people. You need to make sure she keeps you around. If you don’t leave any impression on her at all, there’s no reason to keep you.”

Saito rallied under the encouragement, but Dabi felt suddenly cold. He was guaranteed to pass, right? He’d exchanged maybe five lines with Aiko in total; it wasn’t much to build any impression on, and he didn’t have the flashy entrance to rest on either. If this were a real competition, he’d be out. It didn’t matter since it was a contrived spectacle, but the audience wouldn’t know that. Could the producers kick him out based on audience feedback? If Aiko was really looking for love, would she rebel against the producers’ choices? Maybe Dabi should try to talk with her tonight. Just to cover his ass. Give the League something more to boo about. Yeah, he wasn’t scared of being punted so easily, it was just a formality. He was fine.

Having talked himself up, he stood and made for the patio. He’d waylay Aiko even before she came back indoors. Or, that was the plan. The moment Aiko parted from her most recent conversation, he made to step toward her, only to for a blue giant with one eye and two horns (Minotaur) to shoulder past him to take advantage of it instead. There went his opportunity, and his drink. Fuming, Dabi trailed behind them with an empty glass. Except when Minotaur parted from Aiko’s side, some skinny guy with gun muzzles for fingers (Victor) ambushed her from the opposite end of the pool before Dabi could reach her. Curse his staples and his slow movement. He didn’t want to run anywhere because 1) he didn’t hustle for anything outside emergencies, and 2) ripping his seams open for something stupid was the last thing he wanted to do on the first night. But luck was not on his side. After Victor came a guy with a Venus flytrap for a head (Chomper), and then somebody with a weird metal helmet (Hard Head), and after that a shark mutation (Sharkyonara, who the fuck let him think it was a good idea to call himself Sharkyonara).

When Sharkyonara finally got up, Dabi realized Saito was standing next to him for a turn, too. They met each other’s eyes. Saito looked panicked but stayed rooted to the spot. The kid had manners. Shit. Dabi heaved a sigh and gestured for him to go first. Saito sent him another look that promised eternal gratitude before scampering off to Aiko. Dabi felt like a chump, but denying him would’ve been like kicking a puppy. Besides, it would be fine, right? Saito might even repay the favor and keep Aiko in one place so Dabi could have a chance to talk before any other idiots tried to intervene.

To Dabi’s relief, Saito kept it short. In only a few minutes the two of them stood and moved back toward Dabi and the door. This was his moment. Dabi sucked in a breath, mentally preparing himself (he didn’t have a plan either, this was going to suck), but then a sound echoed out to them through the open doors: the distinct chime of a fork against a glass.

“Oh!” Aiko perked up. “That must be Sato calling us together again. We’d better hurry up!”

“What?” Saito glanced between Aiko and Dabi, surprised. “But you haven’t—”

“I’ll meet you back inside!” said Aiko. She hiked up her dress and hurried back in.

“Oh my god,” Saito whispered. “I am so sorry.”

“Eh.” Dabi shrugged, keeping his internal screaming very internal. “That’s how it goes.”

Back inside the party room, Sato was indeed calling them to order.

“I hate to break up the party, but it’s time,” he said.

Aiko stood next to him and looked over them all. “Tonight has been so much fun! I’m so lucky to have all of you here, but I have some decisions to make. I’ll see you at the rose ceremony.”

Sato escorted her from the room.

“I am so going home tonight,” Victor groaned.

At least you got to talk to her, you ass, thought Dabi. He’d have to find some petty means of getting back at him.  

Curious leaned into the room and called, “Everyone come this way! Let’s get you set up for the rose ceremony.”

Dread settled into Dabi’s stomach. It shouldn’t. It wouldn’t make sense to kick him off this early. There was no point worrying when he’d be safe anyway. He followed the others into the room dedicated to the ceremony, its walls, drapes, and floral decorations all red as roses themselves. The contestants were guided into two rows, the back row standing on a low support so they could be seen behind the first, but even with that shortening the line, the room’s size forced them into a corner in an odd V formation. This left the red rug (basically a red carpet bridging the hardwood between themselves and where the Bachelorette would stand) empty, and on its other side stood a wooden side table with a silver platter atop it. The roses lay there in a little mound. Sato took up his place a distance from the little table and clapped his hands as if to work out the nerves. When the crewmembers were satisfied with the contestants’ positions, they gave him a thumbs up. Sato cleared his throat and started.

“Welcome, everyone, to your first rose ceremony. I’m sure all of you know how the rose ceremonies work, but please allow me to refresh you. When you hear your name called, step forward to accept the rose. Gentle, you have the first impression rose, so you have nothing to worry about tonight.” Gentle did indeed look relieved. Sato continued: “The rest of you—if you don’t hear your name called, you’ll go home immediately. Good luck to all of you. Now, without further ado…”

He held out his hand, and Aiko emerged from a smaller side room. She stopped at Sato’s side, looked over the contestants, and released a nervous sigh.

“Thank you again for coming, everyone,” she said. “I’m so blessed that so many of you have put your lives on hold for this. It’s a lot to ask, and I couldn’t be more grateful. But I have to say goodbye to some of you tonight. It hurts, but… I’m here to find my true love.”

She cast her eyes down to the rug in what was probably an attractively demure look for the audience, before picking up one of the roses. She held it to her chest and looked over them again, studying every face before saying, “Trumpet.”

Trumpet smiled easily, as if he’d never considered failure. He strode forward to meet her.

“Trumpet, will you accept this rose?” said Aiko.

“I will,” he replied.

She pinned the rose to his lapel, and they hugged briefly before he returned to the line. Aiko gathered herself again, picked up another rose in the same fashion, and said, “Hyouto.”

And so it went. Men were called forward, agreed to the rose, hugged, and left again. It was not a particularly speedy process. Dabi knew that in the final cut dramatic, suspenseful music would be playing in the background, and the many cameras would be zooming in on any contestant’s face that showed even a shred of anxiety. Dabi was safe from that, at least; the scars covered up anything easily discernible in his expression. He sure felt that pressure, though. It clogged his throat. He wasn’t sure if he’d manage to speak to accept the rose once he was called. If he was called. Of course he was going to be called.

“Hawks,” said Aiko.

Hawks stepped forward, the bounce in his step betraying his excitement.

“Will you accept this rose?”

“Of course.”

He hugged her and returned to the line. His eyes flicked from the rose to his wing, and his feathers puffed out just slightly. Was he pleased? Oh, no. Was he actually invested? What if he’d applied last minute specifically because he heard Aiko was on this season? Was this all going to go down in a hero scandal? Dabi had a terrifying vision of Hawks trying to start beef with him over pursuing the same woman. This was horrible. Why had he joined again? Right, the food. All Dabi needed to do was close his eyes and think of the endless buffet that would no doubt start tomorrow.

Aiko kept calling names until there were only two roses left.

Oh shit. Oh shit. They were getting down to the wire now. Was Dabi actually going to get cut? He hadn’t even gotten to the fridge yet!

Pick me, pick me, pick me, for the love of god pick me.

“Hinote,” said Aiko.

Fuck.

The only other combustion quirk. Were the producers suddenly reluctant to have two of the same quirk on the same season? What a shitty reason! Combustion quirks were a dime a dozen, and if they could accommodate two musclebound idiots like Rappa and Muscular at the same time, why couldn’t they move on this?

Hinote gathered his rose and his hug and returned to the line. Sato stepped forward.

“Gentlemen, Aiko,” he said, “it’s the final rose for the evening.”

Aiko picked up the last rose, and took an extra-long time deciding. Dabi could feel the cameras on him, waiting for him to sweat, waiting for him to break—

“Dabi.”

Oh, thank fuck. Dabi took only a second to reel in his relief. He slid through the space between Akira and Hyouto and walked up to her.

“Dabi, will you accept this rose?” she asked.

“I will,” said Dabi.

He held still as she pinned it to him. Instead of a hug like the others, she made a slight, hesitant motion with her hand. Aha. Dabi’s lips curved in a grin. His entrance had paid off; he’d established something unique. He took her hand again. He didn’t kiss it this time, but she flushed again as easily as if he had.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

He squeezed her hand lightly before turning back to the line. The other contestants hadn’t missed the interaction. Geten looked pissed. Hawks’ shaggy brows were raised with interest. Once Dabi had returned to his spot, Sato took the floor again.

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry if you didn’t receive a rose tonight. Please take some time to say your goodbyes.”

That was kind of laughable this early in the show—they’d only known each other for a few hours—but all seven of the rejects turned to hug other contestants and beg for condolences. One by one they approached Aiko again, who gave them one more hug before sending them out the door. More cameras were waiting to ambush them in the hallways and garden, of course. Once they were all gone, the crewmembers gave the remaining contestants new glasses of champagne and they all crowded up to Aiko again.

“This is quite the handsome bunch!” Aiko teased. “Congrats on making it through—it was so much fun to talk with you tonight! Cheers to all of you, and cheers to love!”

The men all cheered and did their horrible mosh pit impression again.

“This is going to be so much easier when there are fewer of us,” Dabi grumbled on the outskirts.

“Oh?” Hawks had hung back again too, and looked at him with amusement. “You’re that confident that you’re sticking around that long?”

Dabi met his gaze like a challenge and said, “I am.”

He wanted to add something like “try to keep up,” but that would’ve been asking for trouble. Let Hawks go start his drama with other contestants.

“Okay, and we’re breaking up for confessionals,” called Curious. “Men, space out. Aiko, you’re with Sachiko. Curator, Ritsuko. Dabi, Prey—”

She went on listing cameramen, but Dabi didn’t have to search for his. Prey popped up near his elbow almost fast enough to have been a teleport quirk.

“This way,” he said, voice as tired as his eyes (and boy did Dabi relate right now).

He led Dabi back out of the room, into a side garden of the mansion. Misty and Shion awaited them.

“Congrats on making it through!” said Misty, though she in no way appeared surprised. “This is the last thing you’ve got to worry about tonight. We’re going to have you talk about your thoughts on certain parts of the night, but you’ll talk to us as if you’re still in the moment, okay?”

“I don’t have many thoughts to give,” Dabi muttered, leaning against the post of a small bower.

“That’s fine,” said Misty. “We’ve got a lot of men to pick soundbites from, but we’d rather have too many than too few available for editing. Let’s start it off with first impressions. We’ll be getting Aiko’s impression of you, but what did you think of her?”

“Well, she didn’t—”

“Present tense, please.”

“She doesn’t seem to care about what I look like,” Dabi said flatly. “Either she saw our profiles in advance to prepare herself, or she genuinely didn’t care. I’m not holding my breath, though. Some people act normal when they only glimpse me and think this shit’s just a quirk, but when they come closer and realize it’s an injury they’re disgusted. Our introduction was short. She may not have looked closely.”

Misty nodded slowly. “What else about her? Beyond her reaction to your looks, did anything stand out to you? How she looked? How she acted? Anything that you liked?”

“She does look beautiful,” said Dabi, not because he felt particularly intrigued by her, but because she matched up with the look most people tried to emulate. “You don’t get to be the Bachelorette without meeting some kind of beauty standard. She’s… uh… bright. Kind of makes it hard to look at her sometimes to be honest. And she’s positive. The world is shit. Keeping positive these days is a talent, so I guess that’s admirable of her.”

That, or she was sucking up to the cameras.

“Take us back into the party. Did you have any thoughts on the other men?” asked Misty.

“I still can’t believe Hawks is involved,” Dabi snapped. That was way easier to talk about than Aiko. “If he actually wanted to get into a relationship, he should have no problem doing it on his own, I don’t care what he says. He’s got no business being here. Now we’re all stuck with a jackass hero who’ll hog the spotlight.”

“Any others?”

Dabi paused. “I am… still confused about the lamp. But clearly it worked.”

“Me too, honestly,” Misty mumbled. She cleared her throat and said louder, “What were you thinking about when you were trying to get one-on-one time with Aiko? Tell us as if you’re still experiencing that moment.”

Dabi heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. He tried to picture himself, and the words that would later be overlapped by the footage of the evening. Tried to match them up. “I think Aiko liked my entrance, but it wasn’t much. I need to talk to her if I really want to make an impression. The first impression rose is already gone, but I don’t care about that as long as I get some kind of rose. Problem is, all these idiots keep cutting the line and grabbing her first.”

“And Saito?”

“Ah. Saito. How am I supposed to say no to that face? I let him go.” Dabi’s mouth quirked toward a smile. “I’ve given away my weakness now, haven’t I? Fucking puppy eyes. Should’ve kept that a secret until at least week three.”

“What did you think about all the drinking going on?”

“I think the atmosphere got to them, and some of them should’ve switched to water much earlier. I’m surprised no one stripped or jumped in the pool. Or, well, stripped more than Muscular did.”

“And what were the thoughts in your mind during the rose ceremony?”

He sure as hell wasn’t about to admit to the truth.

“I never got any time with Aiko beyond my entrance, so I have to hope that she felt a connection with me based on that,” he said instead. “Otherwise I’ll be sent home on the very first night, and even if I do sort of expect that, I’d really rather it not happen.”

“Are there any other comments you want to give on the night in general?” said Misty.

“Yeah, it was stressful and it went way too long,” said Dabi. “What time even is it?”

“Four in the morning,” said Shion.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Technically it’s three fifty-eight in the morning,” said Prey, checking his watch.

“I refuse to be awake at three fifty-eight in the morning,” Dabi snapped.

Prey’s eyes remained fixed on the watch. “Technically now it’s three fifty-nine.”

“I want to go to bed,” said Dabi. “Where are the beds?”

Misty laughed. “Don’t worry, confessional is over so we’ll be bringing you back so you can sleep.”

“Back? Wait, we’re leaving?” said Dabi.

“You guys are nowhere near coherent enough for house rules and figuring out where you’re sleeping,” said Misty. “You get to crash back at the hotel for a little while, but then you’ll have to be up by ten to be brought back to the mansion.”

“What about breakfast?”

“You’ll get brunch when you come back.”

Dabi didn’t particularly like this plan—it meant far more driving than he’d appreciate, and travel time would be spent awake—but followed them out of the mansion and down the driveway. Thankfully they didn’t have to wait for contestants this time. Instead of boarding a limo, Dabi followed them into a black van; a small fleet of such vans were parked at the bottom of the hill, presumably the transport for the crew. Once more crew members filled the other seats, they were off. Dabi closed his eyes to tune out the noise and the ride as a whole, and was thrilled when they finally pulled in to the Empire Stays.

The big group of labelled luggage remained in the lobby, guarded by more crew members in security vests. Dabi moved toward the bags (he needed pajamas and a toothbrush pretty desperately) and noticed that several bags were missing. Damn. When Sato said, “you’ll go home immediately,” Dabi hadn’t realized that meant sending people off to the trains at four AM.

“We’ll set up a wakeup call for you in the morning—or, well, later this morning,” said Misty. “Keep the label on your bags since you’ll need that for the rest of the show, but otherwise have a good rest.”

Dabi grumbled an acknowledgement and returned to his hotel room. He changed into comfortable, loose clothing and moved to put away the formalwear. He paused, though, plucking the boutonniere from his lapel. What was he supposed to do with this? Roses were reset each week. He couldn’t wear it again since he wouldn’t have earned it for the upcoming week, and he’d never seen anyone on the previous shows displaying vases or hoards of previous roses. It seemed wrong to lose, since he’d stressed over it so much earlier tonight, but what was the point of keeping it? It would never show up again. Basically useless.

Dabi shrugged.

He tossed the rose in the trash and didn’t give it a second glance.

Natsuo needed a distraction. Just not too big of a distraction.

He wanted some kind of show on in the background as he studied; it would give him some ambient noise, make the apartment feel a little less empty, and give him some semblance of the passage of time. It was a weird way to keep himself accountable, but he’d use whatever worked. He just needed to make sure it wasn’t something he was actually interested in. Documentaries tended to work, though he had fallen down a rabbit hole after one about crime lords in the Criminal Age.

“Shit,” he whispered, remote held loosely in one hand as his trusty documentary channel played the intro for the Criminal Age.

He wanted to watch it. He wanted to watch it really badly. The problem was, he had an assignment due in two days, and Fuyumi had begged him into agreeing to family dinner (sans Endeavor) tomorrow night. He had to get everything done tonight. Soon there would be reruns, right? It would get put on some kind of streaming service, right?

“Goodbye, Nana Shimura,” he groaned, flipping the channel away from the beaming, buff, now-deceased superhero. He didn’t like heroes on principal, but Nana Shimura had kicked ass without any regard for ranking. He could respect that.

He tried another documentary channel, and found it dominated by a recap of the most recent hero ranking ceremony.

The next channel had a special on Best Jeanist’s new fashion line, with the pro-hero in almost every shot.

The next channel was devoted to Endeavor. Natsuo booed and threw a piece of popcorn at the screen. His father’s visage didn’t register the food bouncing off of it, of course.

Natsuo tightened his grip on the remote and started channel surfing at high speed. News, news, heroes, heroes, heroes, cartoon for toddlers, heroes, heroes, infomercial, heroes, fucking Endeavor, heroes, heroes, heroes— There was only one channel that didn’t explicitly cater to hero worship, and it was the goddamn Bachelorette. Whatever. At least he didn’t have to look at Endeavor’s fiery beard anymore. He tossed the remote aside and pulled his textbook and notebook into his lap.

Natsuo hated his current Biology course. The professor was a nitpicky disaster of a man who liked to throw them off with trick questions to the point a study group had formed simply to figure out what he was actually asking on the homework. To make matters worse, they couldn’t always figure it out. Two weeks ago the professor had lambasted them about everyone getting a question wrong, only for him to realize he’d written something different than what he’d meant; red-faced, he’d still tried to blame the students. You can’t do anything right and it’s all your fault: Classic Endeavor-style teaching. Natsuo would’ve ditched the course if he didn’t need it for medical school.

Every few questions he had to stop and take a deep breath. He’d look at the TV and reassure himself that the happenings there were much more ridiculous and enraging than the papers in his hand, refocus, and go back to homework. On his third glance up, he caught sight of some very, very blue eyes that were not Endeavor’s.

Onscreen there was a man slouching on a couch, scarred and pierced and surly. Natsuo had the distinct feeling that he’d seen that pose before, too. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. His textbook hit the floor as he scrambled for the remote again. He pressed the button to pause but the TV didn’t react. Shit, this was regular TV, not streaming. For lack of a better option he cranked the volume back up, and cussed when the camera switched to Hawks in the confessional.

“My thoughts on Dabi?” Hawks said, loud and clear now. “I don’t really have any. Everyone’s acting like he’s scary, but he’s just sitting in a corner. Maybe he’s shy. Or maybe he’s worried about the other people. I mean, did you see how flowy Tanaka’s shirt was? What if that got caught on a piercing? That would suck.”

Firstly, Natsuo thought, What is Hawks doing here? I thought this was sacred space away from heroes.

Secondly, Natsuo thought, Dabi? Like cremation?

It wasn’t a pleasant name, but it made an ugly kind of sense. When the camera returned to the party and Dabi could be glimpsed again in the background, it was clear that all those scars were burns. Bad ones. The guy was basically stapled together. What kind of quack doctor decided that was a solution? Where were the skin grafts? The bandages? Why had Dabi decided to do reality TV when he looked like he belonged in a hospital bed? Whatever doctor had attended him must’ve been talented to keep him alive with the sheer extent of the scarring, but piss poor when it came to recovery. Why did those burns look so old? Had… had Dabi just lived like this?

“What the fuck,” Natsuo whispered, dragging his hands down his face.

He stilled again as Dabi returned to the screen, in the confessional himself so the subtitle appeared: Dabi, Bartender, Kamino Ward. He was grumbling about other men getting in the way. He looked largely uninterested in what he was saying, eyes somewhat unfocused and trained on something behind the camera.

I know you, whispered a voice in the back of Natsuo’s mind. I know you!

He didn’t. He’d known someone else with blue eyes, someone else who slouched and complained and averted his gaze. But he couldn’t help but lean forward, drinking in the similarities and trying to find Dabi in the background when the cameras moved on.

Natsuo made a resolution to watch The Bachelorette as long as Dabi was there.

His homework remained forgotten on the floor.

Chapter Text

Dabi decided the next morning (or would it be the same morning?) that this was turning out to be a pretty shitty vacation. He was a loser stuck with bigger losers, and he was dealing with it on only four hours of sleep. When the competitors gathered in the hotel lobby for the last time, he looked around at all of them with a glare that told them, in no uncertain terms, that if they tried to talk to him he would not be responsible for the consequences. Curious had them all pile into the limos again, and this time they arrived at the mansion in full sunlight. Without the twinkle lights and tinted floodlights, it looked a whole lot more like a big house than the weird fantasy vibe it had the previous night. The contestants were ordered to stay in a group in the driveway until all of them had arrived, at which point Sato came out of the mansion to greet them… along with a flood of cameras and boom mics.

“Welcome back, everyone!” called Sato.

The contestants began to clap and hoot with excitement. Dabi kept his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face.

“Come on inside and make yourselves at home,” Sato continued. “Once you’ve had some time to explore, I’ll bring you all back together. The mansion is yours!”

Most of the men rushed in. Dabi followed with far more dignity. Since most of them were bumbling around the ground floor, he set a hand on the wrought iron railing and climbed to the second floor to check out the bedrooms. The contestants had to share rooms: two bunk beds to a bedroom, but they were somehow luxury bunk beds. How was there a market for that? He went from room to room until he found a lower bunk marked with his name, and discovered he was sharing with Akira, Teruo, and Curator. They seemed pretty low maintenance, so he opted not to try switching anyone’s names around. He stood on the bedroom balcony to look over the pool, and when enough of the men were out gaping at the water, he went down to explore the rest of the place.

Dabi thought he’d spent his childhood in a pretty sizable house, but the Bachelorette mansion put it to shame. It had multiple floors, multiple fireplaces, multiple pools, courtyards, and outbuildings. If they were stuck here for the entire filming process that was a good thing, but it was still overwhelming to find himself lost.

Brunch was great. Dabi arrived in the kitchen to find the center island laden with fruit. So much fruit. Could so much fruit exist in the same place without ripping the fabric of the universe? Dabi didn’t know, he was too sleep deprived and too busy hiding bagels in his pockets.  There were also doughnuts, soups, grilled fish (no thanks), rice, vegetables, and (ugh) natto.

The kitchen itself was pretty nice, too: very big, its island counter large enough to host a family dinner. The fridge was also big, but not hugely. Not something that looked like it could support the twenty-five remaining contestants. He really should’ve curbed his expectations. Dabi opened it up, wondering if maybe it was deeper than it appeared, only to find that the shelves extended past the door’s width. There were two doors, the other was just patterned to match the cupboards. When he flung that one open too, he found the fridge deep and fully stocked and wide as his wingspan. He could almost hear angels singing.

“Fuck yes,” he whispered.

With his stomach full he went on exploring. He found the rose ceremony room again, and continued on into the side room because why not. He kind of regretted it. It was a small space, set up like a weird shrine: all the contestants’ framed pictures staggered on multiple levels atop a table with candles scattered among them. He already knew an array like this would exist, but he hadn’t expected it to look so much like a funeral altar. He half expected to find a voodoo doll or an urn.

Needless to say, he noped out of there pretty fast.

He wandered out to the patio next. Like the rest of the mansion, the main pool was transformed by the bright sunshine. A few contestants sat with their feet in the water. Teruo had stripped to his boxers and jumped in fully. Others chatted from their seats on the patio chairs on the opposite side. Dabi had no interest in a potential pool party, and made for the cocktail room doors.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawks’ head turn. It was unnaturally fast, something that instantly shot adrenaline through Dabi’s veins. What had he seen? Was there an intruder? Dabi whipped his own head about to follow Hawks’ gaze but found only more patio chairs and an empty wall. Nothing strange moved in the shadows. Perplexed, he turned back around, only to find that Hawks had refocused on his talk with Tobio. What had just happened? Dabi shook his head and took another step forward, only to catch sight of the sharp movement again. He met Hawks’ gaze head on this time, and the hero’s expression was so intensely, blankly different from his usual smug confidence that it felt like a threat. What business did he have, staring Dabi down like this? Dabi sneered, as wide and unhinged as he could manage.

Come on, feathers, he did his best to project without words, if you’ve got a problem with me, do something about it.

Hawks didn’t rise to the bait. His wings ruffled with annoyance before pressing closer to his back, and his attention slid back toward Tobio. Dabi scoffed. He reached up to scratch at his neck, and there—there it was! Hawks was looking again! Realization flooded through him, giddy and incredulous. It was the staples. The sunlight kept catching on his staples. Dabi turned his wrist to test it, and even across the pool he could see Hawks’ pupils dilate. This was gold. He had no idea how he was going to take advantage of this, but he knew he would.

“Hey you! Dabi, right?” Teruo clambered out of the pool, grinning far too wide for comfort. “Want to join me in here? Everybody else is a wet blanket, but I bet you’re—”

He faltered, looking at something near the door. This couldn’t be blamed on shiny staples, so Dabi turned to look again too, and found Shion there, mouthing, “I will KILL you.”  When she noticed Dabi’s gaze she pretended innocence.

“The fuck?” said Dabi, eloquently.

He got no explanation, because Sato leaned out the door next to her and called, “Gentlemen, if you’d gather around?”

Teruo grumbled about being wet, but he really should’ve anticipated some kind of activity. They all returned to the party room and took up their spots around the couch.

“Welcome again to the mansion,” said Sato. “Now that you’ve had the chance to look around, I’d like to talk to you about this upcoming week. As always, there will be three dates. For this week, that’s two one-on-one dates, and one group date. Remember, if you don’t get a rose on the one-on-one date you will be sent home immediately; you’ll need to have your bags packed before the date, just in case. As for the group date, there will be one rose available, and Aiko will give it to the person she admires most on that date. There will always be three dates a week, even if the date format is different, and they will always happen on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with the date card arriving the day before so you have time to prepare. Rose ceremonies will always occur on Saturday. For this first date, I have the date card ready.” He pulled a white envelope from his pocket and set it down on the table with a flourish. “I’ll leave this with you. In the meantime I hope you have a wonderful week, and I hope to see you all at the rose ceremony.”

He waved and departed, because apparently that’s what hosts did. As soon as he was gone, Slidin’ Go dove for the card. He stood up to open the envelope and paused for effect. Once he was sure everyone was watching him on tenterhooks, he boomed, “Hinote!”

Hinote did a fist pump in victory, and the men on either side of him patted him on the back.

“Love is everywhere. Heart, Aiko,” Slidin’ Go read aloud.

Heart, Aiko? Seriously? That was the sort of thing maniacs like Toga wrote on cards. Dabi’s sister had been in the ‘heart’ phase when she was twelve. Dabi hated this show.

On the plus side, that seemed to be all the excitement they had planned, and the contestants were released again to do whatever they wanted. Most of them changed into swimsuits to hang out in the pool and hot tub; Teruo continued in his boxers, because at this point why bother changing. Dabi made to follow them out, but Shion said, “Please tell me you’re not getting in that pool.”

“What do you care?” Dabi snapped.

“You have staples in your face! You are full of open wounds. Do you have any idea what kind of horrible infections you could get from that water?” said Shion.

That was… not the kind of scolding he’d expected. Most people were upset about him ‘contaminating’ others by existing near them, not about his own health.

“I think I know the dangers better than you do,” said Dabi.

“Good!” Shion adjusted her grip on the boom mic. If it were an animal she’d have strangled it. “At least you’ve got a good idea of your limitations. I asked Misty for some pointers about what you need, and she basically gave me nothing. Er—she does have reason to share with me, though. I’m part of the first aid staff, too. I’ve got a healing quirk.”

“Okay,” Dabi said slowly.

“Yeah,” said Shion, wincing with embarrassment. “I should’ve mentioned that earlier. I got kind of mad that she didn’t give me a heads up.”

That put a few things into perspective. Her weird reaction to Teruo and her rudeness at the hotel, anyway. Dabi thought over it a moment, decided he didn’t really want to deal with it even if it were kinder than anticipated, and said, “Yeah, whatever.”

He spent the rest of the afternoon on a patio chair, watching the others for any forming alliances or seeds of drama. There was much to be had.

Sharkyonara and Hanzo Suiden quickly formed a water-based rivalry, because Hanzo Suiden could make sharks out of water but Sharkyonara countered that with “Well, I am a shark in water, top that,” and it was apparently grounds for eternal hatred. Tesla boasted that his quirk could beat out both of theirs, only for Geten to snap that they were all small fries and he could take them all out in a matter of seconds; he screamed and gnashed his teeth at anyone who dared question him, and his competition resolved to keep their mouths shut. Hawks and Tobio seemed joined at the hip due to their wings, but had invited Miyashita and Hyouto for some kind of mutation quirk support group. Rappa and Muscular had sized each other up—they were both musclebound idiots occupying the same level of the Bachelorette food chain, and surely only one would survive—and decided to figure out who was the toughest by challenging each other to tests of strength. They were loud and sweaty and refused to shut up, and even the previously unruffled Trumpet looked annoyed as he tried to read his book. Saito had no enemies and was welcome in all groups because he approached everything with such wide-eyed wonder that no one believed he could be a danger, and also because everyone liked talking about themselves to such a rapt audience.

Around five in the evening, more food arrived. The producers had ordered pizzas of all kinds because apparently that was the way to kick off a party. Dabi wasn’t particularly intrigued until he realized that these pizzas came with many packets of seasonings. He swiped several packets of “VOLCANIC Crushed Red Pepper Flakes” and bided his time. When he vowed to be petty, he always followed through.

Victor had loaded his plate and taken it to the dining room, only to get into a loud argument with Hard Head over who Aiko supposedly liked more. It was a dumb topic since they’d met Aiko only once and gotten the equivalent of maybe twenty minutes in her presence. It was doubly dumb since Victor had been so convinced he’d be sent home last night. The rose must’ve gotten to Victor’s head, because now he abandoned his plate to stomp toward Hard Head and menace him from up close.

Dabi took the opportunity.

He ripped open a pepper packet, peeled up the cheese on Victor’s pizza, and dumped the spice onto it before covering it right back up.

A gasp came from across the table. Hawks sat there, his own slice of pizza stalled halfway to his mouth as he gaped at Dabi. “Did you just—”

“Nobody’s got any dietary restrictions,” Dabi said innocently. “I checked.” Victor was still busy being a brat, so Dabi dumped another pepper packet into his food. “He thinks he’s such hot shit. Well, you are what you eat.”

“Don’t do that!” Hawks hissed, standing up.

“I’m just adding a little spice to his life,” said Dabi, now four packets and two slices in.

Hawks snatched the fifth packet out of his hands. “Don’t.”

Dabi raised his eyebrows and pulled a sixth packet from his pocket.

Hawks scowled. “If you even think—”

Dabi kept eye contact as he tore the packet open. Hawks had apparently given all the warning he wanted to, because now he darted around the table. Dabi cussed and backed up fast, but Hawks wasn’t called the fastest man alive for nothing; he was up in Dabi’s face in the blink of an eye.

“Hand it over! If you’re not using that for yourself, I’m confiscating it!”

“Piss off!” said Dabi, twisting to keep the packet out of reach.

The staples worked in his favor tonight. Hawks clearly didn’t want to touch him, so resorted to dancing around him like a basketball blocker and trying to grab it out of his hands. Past the red feathers, Dabi spotted Victor storming back to his seat. Hawks caught sight of his grin and whipped around.

“Victor, don’t eat that!”

“Keep your beak out of this, you pigeon,” Victor spat.

“Excuse you?” Hyouto growled.

“You heard me!” said Victor. “Overgrown rat with wings, that’s all he is.”

“Watch your mouth,” said Tobio.

“Watch your mouth,” Victor mocked, dropping into his chair again. “Watch your own mouth. You’re only here for the quirk quota.”

Damn, Dabi had done this to be petty, but he’d actually picked a good mark.

“Still—” Hawks tried, but it was too late.

Victor took a big bite out of his pizza. The result was near instantaneous. He went red and spat out the food.

“What the—It’s spicy! Why’s it so spicy? Where’s the water?”

The drinks were near Hyouto and Hard Head. Neither looked inclined to help. Hawks sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sent a feather to fetch a soda, and while Victor chugged that he sidled in next to the man and planted one hand on the table. He wasn’t very tall but in this position he did a good job of looming.

“Hey,” he said, with zero levity in his voice, “you shouldn’t talk to people like that, even if you hate them. It’s offensive.”

Victor sent him a surly look. “I don’t care what you think’s offensive.”

Hawks leaned in closer, eyes fixed and unblinking, and Victor cowered.

“Look at it this way, then,” he said, calm and quiet. “There are two cameras in this room that caught you saying that already. If you keep going, there will be more cameras. More publicity. More people will see you spouting slurs, on TV screens all across the country. That’s going to follow you even when you leave this show. Is that who you want to be for the rest of your life? The asshole from The Bachelorette?” He paused to give Victor a chance to respond, but the other man stayed silent. “If not, I suggest you control your temper and act like a halfway decent human being. Are we on the same page?” Victor nodded jerkily. “Good.”

He drew back, and Victor slumped in his seat. He shut that down fast. Dabi was impressed, until Hawks turned that sharp-eyed gaze on him next.

“As for you…” Hawks strode up to him and snatched the pepper packet from his lax grip. In an insane power move, he poured its contents directly into his mouth. He swallowed it down, muttered something about dry, then refocused. “I’d really rather not play hero on my vacation, so if you tried not to start any more shit, I’d appreciate it.”

Dabi could only stare as Hawks turned his back and returned to the table.   

Yeah, he thought faintly, no more shit if he’s involved.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. After the stress of last night and the limited rest, all the men went to bed early. Many of them grumbled about the perceived indignity of bunk beds, but Dabi had slept in a sleeping bag for ten years, and on thin hospital cots and metallic slabs in a laboratory two years before that. He went to his own bunk in the corner, settled down into the ridiculously comfortable bedding, and slept like a rock.

Dabi was woken the next morning by the sound of an incoming helicopter.

He floundered awake, looking around for the source, and found all the other beds empty. He staggered to the balcony. Nothing could be seen over the pool. That was a shitty landing place anyway. He staggered out of his bedroom, across the hall to the one on the other side with its balcony overlooking the courtyard. Yeah, there it was: one black helicopter descending from the clouds, with its propeller powerful enough to make the vegetation bow and Dabi’s hair fly into his eyes. It touched down in the driveway where the limos had been. The front door opened and out danced Aiko, followed by the other men. Damn, had Dabi been the only one sleeping in? He leaned his elbows on the balcony railing and watched as Aiko towed Hinote into the helicopter. The other men insisted on staying out in the courtyard to watch as the helicopter took off and disappeared into the sky. After that they milled around uselessly before heading back inside. Only one of them looked up at the house; Hawks caught sight of Dabi and raised a brow. Dabi snorted and retreated back to the bedroom.

Helicopters were unfortunately an effective wakeup call, so Dabi got dressed and headed down for food. Everyone else appeared to have eaten already. Dabi picked out what he wanted from the offerings in peace and turned toward the dining room. Rappa and Muscular blocked the doorway, aggressively posturing and growling challenges. Dabi wasn’t dealing with that this early. He turned toward the living room instead and settled on the couch to eat. This placed him among another group of competitors. Where everyone else had disbursed in search of entertainment for the day, Chomper, Trumpet, Hanzo Suiden, Tanaka, and Tobio had all opted to sit in the living room with cocktails. Tobio’s presence was a little strange; during the rose ceremony and all of yesterday, he’d been stuck to Hawks. Dabi had started to think of them as a winged set, but here he was alone while Hawks tortured people with his existence elsewhere. Weird.

“I wish I’d been whisked away on a helicopter,” Chomper was saying, despondent.

“What do you think the chances are of Hinote coming back?” said Tanaka.

“One hundred percent,” said Hanzo Suiden. “It’s the first date of the season. He could probably kill a man and she’d invite him back as long as it didn’t get caught on camera.”

As if the cameras would miss anything. There were three of them in the room even now, enthusiastically trained on the conversation. If Dabi so much as missed his mouth with the fork it would probably be aired and turned into a meme.

“Not necessarily,” said Trumpet, in the light sort of way that heavily implied he was plotting something.

Needless to say, the other men focused on him immediately.

“How do you figure?” said Hanzo Suiden.

“It could be possible that Aiko discovers something about him she doesn’t like,” Trumpet said, deceptively slowly. He was very good at steering an audience. “She could find him offensive. They may not ‘click.’ Or, perhaps… she could determine that he’s here for the wrong reasons.”

Really? They were really bringing up the wrong reasons in their first full week? Misty had begged Dabi not to use that argument at all, but he hadn’t thought they’d be beating that dead horse so soon. If they were doing it in the second fucking episode that probably meant they’d bring it up over and over again in the following weeks. This was going to be a nightmare.

Unfortunately, where Dabi was exasperated, the other men fixed on the wrong reasons like it was a hook and they were the dumbass fish.

“What do you know that we don’t?” asked Tobio.

“I suppose the competitor profiles went online so late, most of you didn’t get the chance to see them,” Trumpet mused. “The producers wouldn’t have wanted you to see them either, so you wouldn’t have been told they existed…”

“Wait, what was on the profiles?” said Chomper.

They were all literally leaning in to get the gossip. Was this real life? Could this be staged? Were they just playing it up for the cameras? Trumpet made a show of hesitant pondering, as if he might be regretting the decision to pin a target on someone, then said, “One of the things Hinote focused most on during his introduction video was the fact that he’s part of a band.”

Dabi’s fork stilled. A band? No way.

“Apparently he’s the lead singer,” Trumpet continued. “His band wanted him to keep practicing while he’s here, so he’ll undoubtedly try using that to impress Aiko later on. The band is attempting to secure a record contract, so the attention he’d get from being here would help their chances significantly.”

Hey, what the fuck? Another combustion quirk lead singer of a band? Was Hinote some kind of evil doppelganger? Actually, on second thought, Dabi would probably be the evil one. Whatever the case, he swallowed down extreme discomfort as the other men grew irritated and called Hinote a dishonest attention hog. Luckily Dabi hadn’t mentioned the League’s band status at all in either his intro video or the written information (Hinote’s written profile had only mentioned singing as a hobby; he couldn’t believe he’d missed this earlier), so no one was able to turn their sudden wrath on him. After all, saying “I’m only filling in” wouldn’t fly here any better than it did at the bar. He’d keep his head down as long as he could. Of course, he’d no sooner thought that than Trumpet caught his eye.

“What do you think, Dabi?”

Oh, shit. Trumpet probably heard him talking shit about Hawks and expected more shit talking to support his case. Dabi swallowed down another mouthful of eggs and said, “As far as I know the only musician here is Slidin’ Go, and he’s sure as hell not building an audience now that people have heard him.”

The others laughed. Good deflection.

“If Hinote’s here for the wrong reasons, he’s not the only one,” said Chomper. “Gentle’s got that video channel online. Being here will definitely boost his views.”

Gentle seemed too gentle to try taking advantage of anyone like that, but then again his nickname was Gentle Criminal. It was possible for him to be hiding some motives.

“Rappa’s a boxer, too. If he got popular, people would put him in more matches,” said Hanzo Suiden.

They went on naming contestants: Hyouto hoping for more customers at his restaurant, Tesla as an aspiring actor, Sharkyonara as a model, until finally…

“There’s Hawks to think of, too.” It was Tobio who said it. He reclined with the others at perfect, joking ease. “There’s no way he’s here for Aiko. You’ve seen his interviews, right? He’s all about the popularity polls when it comes to heroics. This is just another ploy for the rankings. I bet he wants to take over Endeavor’s number one spot.”

The words sounded almost distant to Dabi’s ears as he stared. In a way, they made sense. Dabi knew very well the kinds of steps a number two hero could take to beat the man in front of him, and moonlighting on a TV show was nothing compared to quirk marriages. But in the same interviews where popularity was mentioned, Hawks would also complain that he wished he weren’t so highly ranked, since it was so restricting and stressful. That kind of humblebrag had always annoyed Dabi, but it was accurate.

Looking at the rankings, it wouldn’t be hard for Hawks to overtake Endeavor. Endeavor had a large agency making arrests in his name, whereas Hawks had a small crew that mostly chased after a boss who did most of the work himself. He spent a lot of time doing things like modeling and carrying groceries for little old ladies that he could’ve been dedicating to making arrests and upping his numbers that way. He had the skill to back up the arrests; what he lacked in power he made up for in speed and precision. Sacrificing a little of the popularity vote and prioritizing arrests, or even just hiring more sidekicks to balance the work, would make him number one in no time. Hawks would know that very well. Taking literal months off to focus on a skill that was, to quote Shigaraki, already maxed out, wasn’t a method to increase his rank so much as tank it. Anyone who followed the charts in any detail would realize that.

If it were any other competitor making this argument, Dabi wouldn’t have cared. He’d have rolled his eyes, moved on, and waited for the show to end and Hawks’ fans to wreak vengeance. But this was Tobio, who had spent two days cozying up to Hawks and acting like friends.

Dabi didn’t like deceit.

He didn’t like people who pretended to be good, only to show their true, vile colors in privacy.

“If that’s what you think, you must be an idiot,” he snapped.

The other men blinked at him in surprise.

“What?” Tobio chuckled.

“Hawks has an undisputed lead in approval ratings,” said Dabi. “He doesn’t need to be on a show like this to beat all the other heroes in popularity. If anything, The Bachelorette’s the one benefiting. He doesn’t need their audience, but they want his.”

Tobio laughed again, clearly annoyed this time. “Then tell me what else he has to gain from this? He’s the number two hero. He could have anyone he wanted.”

“I’ve wondered that myself, and I keep coming back to the same conclusion,” said Dabi. “The only thing here that he has no access to otherwise is Aiko herself. There’s nothing else he could be gaining. He’s not getting paid, he doesn’t need publicity, there’s no clout here that he doesn’t already have. Aiko is literally the only differing factor. I hate it as much as you do, but as far as I can tell, Hawks has the most genuine reason to be here.”

Tobio scowled. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to take his side.”

“It’s not about sides. It’s about using your brain,” Dabi retorted.

“Why do you even care? You hate Hawks, and for good reason!” said Tobio. “He’s a hero. They’re playboys. Hawks is a narcissist who only cares about the spotlight. Seriously, if he was a real hero, he would’ve shut Victor down last night a lot better.”

“I hate two-faced bastards who suck up to people with the intention of stabbing them in the back much more,” said Dabi.

Tobio scoffed. “I suppose you’d know enough about being two-faced.”

The insult stung. It stung worse than it should, considering he was used to comments about his looks, but Misty had told him no one here should be targeted based on appearance. Maybe it was Tobio who’d given her pushback on that during the interviews. Of course someone would resort to that. Dabi was stupid for assuming they’d abide by the rules. But it was one thing to be hurt, and another thing entirely to let someone know that.

Dabi made eye contact and held it.

“Do you think,” he said coolly, “that you’re the first one to call me that?” Tobio faltered; Dabi’s calm had clearly not factored into his expectations, and the longer he stared unblinking, the more Tobio seemed to shrink back. “I’m sure plenty of people have thought it, too. At this point I don’t really feel anything about it. I do think it’s funny, though: you demand perfection from other people, while turning around and acting like the same bigoted asshat you were mad that Hawks wasn’t harsh enough on. I might even call that pathetic.”

A frosty silence descended in the wake of his words. Tobio couldn’t seem to come up with anything that wouldn’t make him look worse on the cameras, while the others suffered through the tension unsure whether they’d make everything worse if they tried changing the subject. Salvation arrived in the form of Saito barreling into the room. He skidded to a halt and said, “Hey, Dabi, you’re a bartender, right?”

“Why?” Dabi said flatly.

“Nothing, just…um… There’s a reason you don’t use a glass to scoop ice out of a cooler, right?”

Dabi glowered at him. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t, but someone else did, and I know there’s a reason but I don’t remember what it was,” Saito rambled.

“Because if you chip the fucking glass, you’ve got glass shards in your fucking ice cubes,” Dabi snapped. “Empty the cooler. Don’t use anything that was in there.”

Saito winced. “Okay, but they’re not listening to me. Could I get the professional to tell them that before they try putting it in their drinks?”

“Fuck. Fine.”

Dabi got up and circled the couch to help. As he did, he caught a glimpse of red. A feather lay on the floor at the back of the couch. Realization set in, and he fought the urge to cringe. Hawks could hear through his feathers. He’d listened to the whole conversation.

Well. At least he knew not to trust Tobio anymore.

Dabi shook his head and moved on.

Hinote’s one-on-one date went well, apparently.

Very well, since no one could seem to shut up about it.

He and Aiko had started their morning at the beach before helicoptering over to a ski hill powered by somebody’s ‘snowfield’ quirk, and finished out their date with dinner and a make-out session. Hinote heavily implied that it was a really good make-out session. Dabi had doubted that very much, except he started overhearing the crewmembers talking about it. Aiko was supposedly enchanted by the kiss to the point she’d rambled about it in the confessional, so now all the crew referred to Hinote as “the good kisser.”

Dabi wasn’t the only one to overhear it.

“So, um,” said Saito, Tuesday midmorning on the living room couch. “I hear you’re supposed to be really good at kissing.”

Trumpet, who was also on the couch, snorted in amusement.

Hinote grinned like the cat who caught the canary. “There is a technique involved.”

Saito looked tempted to sink into the cushions and never be seen again, but ventured, “Could you give me some tips?”

Tips? Really? Dabi wanted to scoff. But. He had no idea what made a good kiss. It wasn’t like he had much experience, and no matter how many terrible make-out scenes the League had made him watch or read in preparation for this (as important as kissing seemed to be, they’d all had mercy and refrained from making him actually practice), he still felt woefully inadequate. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he picked up some tips. He angled his head to hear better but otherwise didn’t look at them. He tried really hard to pretend he wasn’t paying attention. He doubted it worked, though; all the other men in the room were doing the same thing.

“First of all, you need eye contact,” said Hinote. “Like right now, between me and you. That, and you have to use your hands. Come in with your hands. Slowly, though. Not too fast.”

“Okay,” Saito said slowly. “Where am I going with the hands?”

“You just come in. Lead with this one,” he outstretched his right hand to cup Saito’s face, “the dominant hand, and play with the hair. Always play with the hair. And the other hand,” the left came up around the other side of Saito’s head, “use this one to touch the face. One hand hair, one hand face. Then pull her close, because you’re not just kissing.” Hinote leaned in, voice dropping low and teasing. “You’re kissing with your whole body.”

Hinote needed to back the fuck up. Saito was flustered and uncomfortable and if Hinote didn’t take a hint Dabi would punch his teeth in.

“That—that’s good, I’ll remember that,” said Saito, trying and failing to pull out of Hinote’s grip. “What about. Um. Tongue? What are you doing with that?”

“Very little tongue. It’s like a teaser. Just a little is good. Not—” He stuck out his tongue and waved it around. “You don’t want to get into that. Nobody likes a sloppy kiss. Don’t get sloppy.”

That was—no. Not happening. No tongue near Saito, thank you very much.

“We don’t need to hear about your tongue,” said Dabi. “I don’t need to hear about any of your so-called skills. Your date’s over. Move on with your life.”

“Someone’s touchy,” said Hinote. “Are you confident in your own kissing skills, Dabi?”

Truth be damned, Dabi replied, “I am.”

“Guys, guys, guys,” said Hawks, bounding into the room. “Tomorrow’s date card arrived, and— Hinote, why are you holding Saito’s head?”

“Lessons,” Hinote said innocently.

Hawks raised a skeptic brow. In any case, his arrival provided enough of a distraction that Saito managed to yank his head free and shuffled closer to Dabi on the couch. Hinote was disappointed to lose his test dummy and all the jealous attention, but didn’t have time to pout too much over it when Hawks was calling for everyone to come down for the card reading. Once all twenty-five men were assembled, he plucked the card from its envelope. This was apparently a group date, because Hawks read off a lot of names. When he read his own name, his wings fluffed up a little from excitement.

“I’m looking for life’s greatest treasure,” said Hawks. “Heart, Aiko.”

Dabi was thankful not to be part of the list. He didn’t know what this ‘treasure’ hunt would be, but he was sure it would end up a mess.

Hawks—current number two hero, highest approval ratings on the charts, the youngest Pro Hero on record, and the “man too fast for his own good”—was completely out of his element.

When the plan had first been set into motion and Best Jeanist got him signed onto The Bachelorette, Miruko had laughed. You won’t have any trouble with that, she’d said, and Hawks had laughed along because his acquaintances were split between embarrassed to be caught watching the show, or otherwise referring to it with a wary condescension. It was supposed to be easy.

“If we want this to work, you’ll need to stay at least until week eight, just shy of the hometown dates,” Tensei Iida had told him, shaking his head in disbelief because how could they possibly live in a world where a top Pro Hero’s life expectancy hinged on a dating show? “That’ll give us enough time to seize the Commission and get the trials going, while you’re very publicly out of the picture. You won’t get news updates during filming, so you’ve got a perfect excuse not to know anything and not take any action.”

“Paragon Productions always takes their security very seriously,” Best Jeanist added. “They take precautions against all kinds of quirks, and can be considered a specialized agency of their own. You wouldn’t be safer even in the middle of Endeavor Agency.” Here Endeavor had grumbled something about being more than capable of protective detail, but Best Jeanist was very good at ignoring him. “The perimeter will be secure, and you’ll never be alone with all the crew and cameras. If the Commission did take action against you, the Paragon guards would catch them; even if someone were to get past them, there’s no way for them to take action without it being recorded from every angle. With your help, we've formed a veritable mountain of evidence against them. Being caught red-handed in the middle of their trials would be tantamount to carving their own headstones.”

Hawks had agreed without question, firstly because he’d been trained not to argue with commands, but secondly because he really, genuinely trusted these people. So, he’d signed the contracts and then sat down to do some research on this Bachelorette thing, and that was when doubt set in. Best Jeanist hadn’t mentioned that the extreme security was due to rabid fans. No one had mentioned just high the viewership was, and the consequences of being on the show. The names of some previous contestants were spoken with spite even a decade after airing, and the absolute drama kicked up online by the fans was ridiculous. Hawks could trend online just by existing; mixing his fanbase with The Bachelorette’s would surely tank social media websites for a day or two.

So, Hawks had a few problems:

1) He was not on the show for the “right reasons.” He was joining in the hope that the Commission (which had literally bought him from his mother, taken away his name, and trained him hard enough that he wondered vaguely whether it was better to have been kicked around by his murderous villain of a father) wouldn’t be able to send an assassin after him for spilling their secrets to Tensei’s little mutiny club.

2) How much was his image going to suffer? Even if no one caught on to his real reason for joining, he could lose existing fans for “degrading himself,” gain haters for daring to tread in “Bachelor Nation” territory, and his name would forever be tied to the show. People turned their noses up at heroes like Uwabami for her TV appearances, and he dreaded having that happen to himself.

3) He had no idea how to pull off romance. He’d managed a few extremely discreet one-night-stands, but they’d been utilitarian. Completely unsentimental. You see, when a shadowy government organization owns you, you’re not exactly allowed personhood beyond what can be marketed for the image your owners want. Hawks was meant to follow orders, to stay up in the rankings, to work and work and work like the tool he was until he died. Affection of any kind was a distraction, a potential deviation from their control, and apparently a good chunk of his appeal was the idea of him being available even if he actually wasn’t. Flirtation was part of his persona but forbidden to be acted upon. He’d never had the freedom to pursue anyone. He didn’t even know where to start.  

4) There was a piece of him that really, really wanted this to work. Under the Commission he’d been expected to work until death or heavy injury got him recycled into another program, but Tensei and the other Pro Heroes’ ousting of corrupt Commission members would give him a new lease on life. He’d have a future. And love as a concept was really appealing. He wanted someone to hold his hand, listen to his complaints, laugh at his jokes, preen his feathers, and just… be there in his corner. A life partner. He wanted that giddy, all-encompassing feeling of falling in love, the way the movies and books portrayed it. He wanted to make someone happy and keep them. The Bachelorette had a pretty terrible track record when it came to permanent relationships, but lasting marriages had come out of this before. Aiko was pretty, excitable, and loved adventure; maybe they could build something together. He could only hope.

This was all one very long way of saying that Hawks was on his way to the first date in his life.

He suspected that dates were not typically accompanied by thirteen other men all vying for the same woman.

The group date limo brought them up alongside a large building with a sign like an old treasure map.

“Pirate Dinner Adventure,” Hawks read aloud, squinting at the letters. “Life of a Scoundrel? Is this a theater?”

“We’ll have to see!” said Tobio cheerily.

Tobio was still acting friendly with him, even after what he’d said yesterday. He didn’t seem to realize Hawks had heard. It… hurt a little, to think he’d found common ground with someone only to realize it wasn’t real. He’d dealt with that before, but a little piece of him had hoped being away from heroics would make the relationships here different. He really should’ve known better. The Bachelorette was based in superficiality. The hero side of him was all these people would be looking at. If nothing else, a life of disappointments had taught him how to handle new ones with grace. He turned his Commission-polished smile toward Tobio and said, “That’s true! Whatever it is, it should be fun.”

When they entered the building, they found it pitch black. Thunder rumbled from speakers somewhere in the depths, and light flickered before a spotlight turned on. Before and below them stood Aiko, dressed in a wildly inaccurate, overly sexualized pirate costume. She appeared to be standing beside a wooden ship’s mast, and made a big show of shading her eyes and looking around like she was searching for something.

“This is a story of love and heartbreak!” said a very familiar, very enthusiastic voice over the loudspeakers. “But it is also a pirate story! This is the story of Captain Aiko, in search of the greatest treasure in the world: love!”

Hawks put a hand over his mouth to cover a smile. “You can’t be serious…”

The other men cheered. More spotlights went on, and it became clear that Aiko was standing on a whole set made up to look like an old pirate ship. Two burly men in equally bad pirate garb charged her. She fended them off with moves that might’ve fooled an elementary schooler, knocking one to the ground and shoving the other off the ship’s side and into the water. Because there was, for some reason, water around this ship stage.

“She’s so talented,” said Chomper.

“So sexy,” said Sharkyonara.

Really? That was supposed to be sexy? Hawks must’ve been more out of touch than he’d realized.

Aiko flipped her hair out her face and called, “Come on down, boys! Welcome to my pirate ship!”

The stage lights went up, revealing that this was indeed a dinner theater. The men whooped and followed the path up onto the stage.

“Today I’m happy to introduce you to my crewmembers,” said Aiko, “pirates Selkie and Sirius!”

Pro Hero Selkie burst out of the water with a howl. He did a flip before landing on his feet and striking a pose. “Land or sea, Selkie is here!”

He also wore a bad pirate outfit. The irony had Hawks laughing. Pro Hero Sirius, also in costume, entered far more sedately from Aiko’s other side.

“You went a little overboard on the announcement,” she sighed.

Selkie drew his hands up to his face, grinned, and pitched his voice high: “Sorry!”

Sirius went pink and pinched the bridge of her nose. “The kids lied to you, Selkie. That isn’t cute.”

It was, though.

Selkie drew himself up to his normal tall, muscular height, and his tone dropped back down to business. “Men, today you’ll be learning how to be pirates! Normally I’d be hunting them, but we’re making an exception for you. At the end of your training, two of you will be chosen to compete for Captain Aiko’s heart!”

“First order of business,” said Sirius, clapping her hands. “Go get changed, then meet us back here on the ship. Aye?”

“Aye!” called the men.

The theater obviously had dressing rooms, and in these rooms were a huge collection of pirate costumes in all sizes. It was a little harder finding costumes for heteromorph quirks. Hawks had no wish to tear holes in the back of anything for his wings, but the only options he could find were too small, too large, or very blatantly for women. Tobio had snatched up the only dignified somewhat-fitting outfit for wings, and primped in front of the mirror. Hawks had almost resigned himself to going out bare-chested when he found something: a billowy white shirt, black pants, tall boots, and a sash to belt around the waist. Simple. Classic. Was he supposed to be a pirate, a vampire, or just something out of a period drama? It didn’t matter, he could fit his wings through it.

They returned to the ship, and Selkie directed them into pirate training. He and Sirius climbed up onto a long balance beam, armed with staffs that were heavily padded at both ends.

“You’ll come up here in twos,” Selkie instructed, “and try to knock your opponent down! Observe!”

He began to adjust his stance, but Sirius was too quick for him. One of the padded ends of her staff hit his stomach in a solid whack and he overbalanced, toppling onto the cushy mat they’d laid out. Sirius held the staff over her head in victory and called, “Who’s up first, Captain Aiko?”

“Tesla and Taro!” said Aiko.

The two men received their staffs and took up position. Taro’s existence seemed to revolve around not existing in people’s memory beyond the bare minimum, so while he didn’t go down immediately, he didn’t put up a fight for too long either. Not memorable in the least. Up next went Chomper and Tobio. Tobio flapped his wings for balance, but Chomper knew how to pivot his weight enough to knock him down regardless.

Then it was Hawks’ turn.

“Your wings are kind of an unfair advantage, though. Could you drop them for this round?” said Aiko.

Hawks smiled that same PR approved smile and said, “Sure.”

Selkie didn’t look happy. As a fellow heteromorphic quirk, he didn’t like the idea of stripping pieces of oneself to make other people happy. It was a painful and tricky topic to navigate. Hawks tried to lighten him up.

“I mean, I’m a Pro Hero going up against a civilian,” he said cheerily. “I’ve got to give them a little bit of a handicap, right? And I can just put the feathers back afterward.”

Selkie grunted, still displeased but not arguing. It was really all Hawks could hope for. He dropped most of his feathers so only his wing nubs remained, and hopped up on the bar. Facing him on the other side was Minotaur. He could hear the other men muttering about how bad a matchup it was for him, how easily Minotaur would be able to overpower him. They were pretty ignorant. Losing his feathers hadn’t been much of a handicap at all. Hawks had trained for situations where he was grounded. He’d trained with weapons like the staff, too. He wasn’t a power-oriented hero, but this wasn’t a match of power—this was a match of balance and speed. Hawks was the master of balance and speed.

“Begin!” cried Sirius.

In the blink of an eye, Hawks was in motion. Minotaur had no time to raise his guard before the staff hit him, once, twice—and then he fell heavily onto the mat. The men went silent. Hawks turned to look at them and grinned. “Who’s up next?”

Hawks could beat any of them. He could beat them blindfolded. He could beat them with his ears plugged. He could beat them with nothing more than the vibration of the bar under his feet and the feedback to the downy feathers of his wing nubs. The Commission had deprived him of far more in training, on far more occasions.

It surprised no one when he emerged victorious from this part of ‘training.’ Most of the other men simply fumbled or overbalanced on their own.

They moved on quickly. The next part of training was mock fights, complete with foam swords. Hawks took to this easily, too: he used feathers as swords all the time, and was quick to pick up the act. The third part was learning how to basically zip line their way down one of the rigging ropes by a handle. That one was weird considering he usually flew himself, but he took to that fast as well. Eventually they were all gathered back up, and Selkie and Sirius made their decisions.

“The two of you competing for Captain Aiko’s heart will be Hawks and Tesla.”

Hawks’ participation wasn’t surprising. He pretended nonchalance even while he could feel jealous gazes burning into his back. It was, again, nothing new.

“As for the rest of you,” said Selkie, “you’ll watch the performance from the Poop Deck!”

He pointed at the seating area. The closest section was a long bar table with a “Poop Deck” sign bolted to it. Wow.

They split up, losers to the Poop Deck and winners retreating backstage to learn their parts for an actual live performance. Hawks summoned his feathers back to his wings and flexed them, glad to feel whole and protected again.

“Are you alright?” Selkie asked quietly, while Sirius was busy coaching Tesla.

“Just fine,” said Hawks.

“Your wings aren’t damaged or irritated, are they?”

Hawks laughed. “My feathers have gone through much worse than a dusty floor, Selkie. If it was going to hurt, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

Selkie drew back, face thunderous. “Based on previous experience, you’ll understand if I don’t believe that.”

Ah. Hawks winced. “I don’t suppose you’ve been talking with Tensei?”

“I have,” said Selkie. “Sirius and I are in the reserve, the same as Endeavor.”

Great, so they were aware of the whole bought-by-the-Commission thing.

“For real, it’s fine,” said Hawks. “I take off my feathers to do my chores because I’m too lazy to do anything with my hands. It doesn’t hurt to take them off and on again. You haven’t maimed me.”

Selkie frowned. “If you do run into a situation that hurts, please let me know. You’re not alone in this.”

“Yeah,” said Hawks, averting his gaze. He wasn’t used to support. “Yeah, I know. Thank you.” Even if the Bachelorette relationships turned out horribly, he at least had the other Pro Heroes ready to help him. He shook himself out of his sudden melancholy and said, “Okay! What’s this part of the script about, again?”

The audience began to filter in and take their seats. Unsurprisingly a majority of them were children, tugging their parents along by the hand and pointing at the set with eyes full of excitement. From the shadows of the stage Hawks watched as one mother lifted her son up onto her shoulder to see better, smiling as he pointed and babbled about the rigging. It was nice to see, but it also left something bitter in his heart. Something like jealousy. Eventually all the audience members were seated and the pirate themed food was served, complete with little skull and crossbones flags.

“Places, everyone,” said Sirius.

Hawks and Tesla climbed the shadowy rigging, up to the crow’s nest to await their cues. The lights shifted, and fake thunder boomed through the speakers.

“Avast!” Selkie’s voice cried. “There’s danger on the high seas—the brave and beautiful Captain Aiko has been taken prisoner by rival pirates! Is there anyone who thinks they have the strength or courage to save her?”

“I’ll save you, my captain!” cried Tesla.

“Not if I get to you first!” Hawks called, per the script.

There was a beat of silence before he was recognized, and then all the kids started shrieking in delight. Hawks felt his smile widen. He did his hero work with the hope of making a better world, sure. But the idea that little kids could light up at the sight of him, the way he’d lit up when he saw Endeavor? That was a thrill.

Both he and Tesla gripped the handles on their ropes and descended to the stage. They took up their staffs and jumped onto the balance beam again. Tesla eyed him warily, gripping the staff with white knuckles. Hawks’ win was a foregone conclusion, but as Hawks moved in, he wondered… what if it shouldn’t be? He was a Pro Hero. Everyone already knew he was good at fighting and winning. He didn’t want to be the foregone conclusion, the expected the way Taro was; if he only did what he was supposed to, he was forgettable and people would only ask for more. People knew how he won. What if he showed he could be graceful in defeat? Keep them on their toes? Take advantage of the fact that the Commission had no power over him anymore and he was allowed to lose?

That last part was tempting.

What would it be like? To lose without consequences?  

As soon as that occurred to him, he knew he was going to do it. He didn’t make it easy, by any means. He and Tesla traded blows, wobbling amid the background music and Selkie’s play by play until Tesla got in a jab at Hawks’ stomach. Hawks let himself swerve, tucked in his wings, and fell.

“And Hawks goes down!” cried Selkie, to the cheers and wails of the crowd.

Hawks stood and propped his elbows on the bar, cupping his face with his hands to give the crowd a pouty look; with the assurance that he was uninjured and joking again, the kids went right back to cheering.

“There goes Tesla, up to untie Aiko!”

Tesla had sprinted to the other side of the stage, and clambered up a ladder to a second, smaller crow’s nest. Aiko was tied there to the mast, and beamed as he arrived. Tesla had some trouble undoing the ropes with his shaky hands, but eventually they were free and hugging, and… okay, kissing. Huh. Maybe this was a loss with consequences after all.

“Tesla saves Aiko!” said Selkie.

The two of them bowed and retreated.

At this point the actual play began. Hawks, Aiko, and Tesla left the stage, and the crew of Selkie’s Oki Mariner came up to take their place. Hawks followed the cameramen’s gestures to join the others in the Poop Deck area. The men clustered around Aiko, all determined to have her sit beside them. Hawks felt a twinge of annoyance. For one thing, he wanted Aiko’s attention; for another, Sirius was announcing a backstory and the Bachelorette members were being loud and obnoxious to the point of being disruptive.

“Let’s keep it down!” he whispered loudly. “The kids came here to see Selkie, not us.”

The other men didn’t appreciate the interruption, but Aiko put a finger to her smiling lips and waved for them to be quiet, like it was a game. Sullenly, they complied.

The play was pretty good. Oversimplified, sure, but the target audience seemed to be ten-year-olds. Sirius played a badass pirate captain hunting for her enemy, Whitewhiskers (Selkie), who had stolen her treasure (a gaudily fake jewel-encrusted necklace). They all had a passion for the performance that held the audience’s attention. When Selkie was bested, he aimed his ‘cute face’ at the audience and squeaked, “I’m sorry!” which prompted all the kids to howl. By the end of it Hawks found himself grinning and clapping along with the audience.

“Thank you!” Selkie boomed into a microphone. “Thank you all for coming! Let’s hear a round of applause for the crew of the Oki Mariner… and another round of applause for the contestants of The Bachelorette!”

Hawks and the others stood up and waved back at the audience. Aiko blew a kiss.

“Thank you all, and have a good night!” said Selkie.

The lights went up fully, and everyone started moving to leave.

The contestants doubled back to change in the dressing room. Hawks donned his clothes quickly, and while the other men loitered he left to wait at the gathering spot in the hallway. He’d hoped that would give him some time alone with Aiko, but it wasn’t to be. The only ones waiting for him were crewmembers. His wings drooped a little, but he ruffled his feathers and drew himself back up. Moping about it wasn’t going to help anything, and some members of the audience were still present. He didn’t want any kids to see their number two all moody and defeated.

It became pretty clear that the remaining audience had stuck around for a reason—they all started closing in on Hawks. The fastest one was a little boy with hedgehog spikes for hair, dragging his mother by the hand; it was the same child and mother Hawks had spotted before the play began.

“Hawks! Hawks!” cried the kid. “Can I get your autograph?”

“You sure can,” said Hawks, dropping to his level to see him better. “What did you want me to sign? And do you have a marker? Sad to say, I don’t have a marker with me today.”

The kid was prepared; he whipped out an actual autograph album and marker, and Hawks took it with a laugh. The first few pages had signatures from mascot characters and a few other lower-ranked heroes, with the latest entries being Sirius and Selkie’s. Hawks selected a spot for his own on the following page.

Hawks wasn't particularly good with kids, but he was very good with quick, superficial interactions. He was a hero fan (of Endeavor), and so were most kids who approached him; all he had to do was connect based on that, and kids usually did all the talking themselves before their parents pulled them away and the next kid arrived.

“So,” said Hawks, as he started writing, “who’s your favorite hero?”

“Gang Orca!” the kid said proudly.

His mother looked embarrassed. “Honey, don’t say that to the hero you’re talking to…”

Hawks snorted as he turned the swoosh of a katakana into a wing. “No worries, I appreciate the honesty! I’ve met Gang Orca, you know. He’s really cool. He’s a good choice.”

“He is! He has—teeth!” The kid bared his own teeth and made motions with his fingers like he was supposed to have more.

“And he takes really good care of them, too!” said Hawks, nodding along. “He’s only got the one set, you know.”

“Really?” the kid gasped. “Not like a shark? They don’t grow back?”

“No, he’s like a real orca! He didn’t even have baby teeth. He’s got the same ones his whole life! You’ve got just as many teeth as he does.”

The kid looked thrilled and bamboozled at the same time.

“Me next!” cried a little girl with purple scales, running up to them. “I want a picture!”

“Mom, I want a picture too!” said the first kid.

“Hawks, we’re going to need you for the confessionals,” said one of the identical crewmembers nearby.

“Just a second,” Hawks told her, then turned back to the kids. “I have to go here pretty quickly, so what if we got both of you in the same picture? That way we make sure we don’t run out of time?”

The kids eyed each other up before agreeing. They were, of course, not the only children who wanted a photo. Hawks ended up posing with seven different children in one picture, all of them complete strangers to each other but still thrilled to be within five feet of him. He signed everything they put in front of him and kept up with their rapid-fire questions. Meanwhile the two crewmembers started getting impatient.

Crewmembers Watts and Joules were identical twins. They had yellow hair, yellow eyes, and yellow nails that hadn’t been painted; they could run currents through their fingers. Joules demonstrated this by jabbing Hawks in the side with a faint zap like a static shock. Hawks squawked and clapped a hand over the spot.

“Fine, I’m going! I’m going!”

The kids groaned. Hawks handed back the last autograph (thankfully not messed up by Joules’ attack) and said, “Thanks for chatting with me, everybody. It was great to meet you!”

They bid him goodbye and returned to their parents. When Hawks turned back around he found that the other men had come out, and they all looked annoyed. Aiko was nowhere to be seen, but that was fine; if the crew and contestants weren’t making a stink about it, that must be planned. Watts and Joules took him aside to film a few boring confessional shots, and then dinner was served. They all sat at the empty tables to eat more pirate-themed food supplied by the theater. When they were all full and the daylight outside was fading, they were asked to change into formalwear for the evening (they’d all packed an outfit that morning) and ushered out to their next destination.

The after-party took place in what appeared to be an antique store turned parlor. It was one massive room cluttered with old furniture, clocks, pottery, folding screens, instruments, dolls, light fixtures, and more. Nestled in the middle of the chaos was another horseshoe shaped couch with a table in the center. The group date rose was already present, dead center on that table atop another square, silver plate. They all filed in to sit down, and crewmembers fetched them cocktails. Hawks was stuck sitting on the end of the couch again due to his wings, while Aiko took up the very middle. She raised her glass of wine like a toast.

“I had so much fun today!” she gushed. “With the costumes, and the crowd, and the heroes—I’m a big fan of Sirius! It was a lot of fun to see your personalities come through, too! I’m hoping to see a lot more of that in the future! Cheers!”

They all leaned in to clink their glasses together.

From there it was like any other cocktail party—they had brief one-on-one conversations with Aiko in the hope that she would give them the rose. The difference was that no one would be sent home tonight unless they royally messed up, and it was Aiko herself who normally selected who she talked to and when. While stressful, it was nowhere near the chaos of the pre-rose ceremony parties.

Hawks remained on the periphery in every sense. He sat back and sipped his drink, listening to the others while pretending not to. After Aiko had disappeared with Sharkyonara, Tobio made a big deal about how Aiko’s gifting of roses so far meant she didn’t have a type and so everything was up in the air—as far as Hawks was concerned, she’d only given out two, so that wasn’t anything to try making a pattern from yet. Chomper took offense to ‘types’ as a concept, Tobio took the response as a personal attack, and they devolved into a bitter dispute over… each other’s existence, really.

Somewhere in Japan, a store is probably being robbed right now, thought Hawks, massaging his temple as they sniped at each other. I could be out helping someone, but no. I’m stuck with this.

Tobio and Chomper quieted as Aiko returned, but as soon as she swapped Sharkyonara for Tesla and disappeared again, they were back at each other’s throats. Hawks drummed his fingers atop his knee, frowning. His feathers twitched and his skin itched for action. He’d never been so useless for so long. He wanted to pull out his phone, call his agency, and beg for an assignment—a robbery, paperwork, something—but stopped himself. No, this show was his mission right now. He had to stay here for eight weeks. Let the trials start and the Commission fall. Maybe the mission was just staying on board long enough, but Hawks didn’t do anything half-assed. When he wanted something, he fought for it. This wasn’t going to be any different. He was going to fall in love, damn it. Aiko wouldn’t know what hit her.

He stood and made an excuse before going to the bathroom for some privacy. The bathroom was just as cluttered as the rest of the building, its walls covered in mirrors of every shape and size. It made the room both larger and more claustrophobic at the same time. Not a good style to emulate.

Hawks braced his hands on either side of the sink and took a good look at himself in the largest of the mirrors. He lowered his eyelids and tipped his head a little. It was the sort of expression that sent photographers into a frenzy and his fans swooning, though to be honest his fans could swoon even at pictures of him caught mid-sneeze. This would’ve been good for a photoshoot, but right now it felt like an empty platitude. It always had been, hadn’t it? He narrowed his eyes a little more, angled his head another way, and it wasn’t any better.

Hawks had never believed in “the Smolder” before, but fuck if Dabi hadn’t mastered it. It shouldn’t have been hot. Any other time he’d seen someone try the stupid Smolder before, they’d just looked like idiots. He looked like an idiot.

Maybe, said a little voice in Hawks’ head, it’s because of actual attraction. Dabi looks at someone he likes, and the truth comes out. I can’t do it because I don’t feel that.  

Hawks shook his head to clear it. He could feel attraction to Aiko. He would. Just because he hadn’t felt any ‘love at first sight’ nonsense didn’t mean he couldn’t build something later on. That plan was difficult given the lack of time and so many other men vying for her at the same time, but Hawks had the advantage of a very well documented reputation. Even if he didn’t get much one-on-one time, Aiko had a good idea of who he was and what he stood for, and if she liked that she could keep him around. That was definitely cheating, though. Hawks didn’t want to get a free pass with all the work he’d done steered by the Commission. He wanted to start opening up, and he wanted someone to fall in love with him as a person. He needed to get her attention and keep it. Dabi’s Smolder at the cocktail party had completely eclipsed the other members of the group; Hawks needed a trick like that. But he couldn’t make the stupid Smolder work on his own face. Dabi’s had sent off a kind of come-and-get-me signal, where Hawks’ just looked predatory. It had to be his stupid bird eyes. Dabi’s eyes were a bright, fathomless blue, and his voice had been—

Hawks gave a full body shudder and smacked his hands against his face.

Okay, no, he wasn’t going to think about that anymore. He had to focus.

If he tried the Smolder, he’d just come off as a cheap knockoff of Dabi anyway. He needed a unique approach. The wings, probably. Everybody liked his wings. Even people who hated heteromorphic quirks were mesmerized when he spread out his feathers. Yeah, if he could subtly find the right lighting and angled his wings just the right way…

He left the bathroom after mentally talking himself up, and found that the mood around the table had grown worse. Chomper was apparently on his turn with Aiko, because Tesla sulked on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey,” said Hawks, “what did I miss?”

“I’m pissed off,” Tesla grumbled. “Chomper went and took Aiko while I was talking with her. Rude as hell.”

“Wait, we can do that on the dates?” said Hawks, surprised. “I figured date decorum meant we should wait our turn unless we want to be made out as the villains of the season.”

“In a perfect world, maybe, but everyone wants the rose,” said Tobio.

So cutthroat it was. Damn.

Soon Aiko returned with Chomper, and as he sat down she held out her arms toward Hawks. Hawks grinned, took her hands, and let her lead him away. From behind him he heard Tesla say tersely, “Hey Chomper, come over here? I want to talk to you.” Ooh, that wasn’t going to go over well. Hawks let a feather slip free to follow them. Aiko led him to the other end of the shop, to a smaller sitting area in the shadow of a large bookcase.

“So, how did you like the date?” said Aiko, sitting down on a dark couch.

“It was actually really fun,” said Hawks. He had to angle a bit to keep his wings from knocking the bookshelf over, but had enough practice with this that when he rested his elbow on the back of the couch and twisted toward her, it looked natural, comfortable, and a little flirtatious. “When people say ‘date,’ you usually picture a fancy dinner or a walk on the beach, but this was really creative. How did you come up with that?”

Aiko beamed. “I’m so glad you think so! I was a little worried about it, to be honest. Some people have a lot of pride, and don’t do well with silly things like costumes. I want to have fun with my husband, you know? So I wanted to make sure no one was a stick in the mud. But I was also worried about anyone feeling too embarrassed, which was why we asked for Selkie’s help. If someone as manly as Selkie can act all that out in a costume, you’d feel more secure, right? Oh, but I didn’t think about your relationship with him! I hope I wasn’t overstepping anything.”

“Not at all,” Hawks laughed. “You’re right, Selkie’s cool. We don’t talk much since our territories don’t have much overlap, but we respect each other. It was nice to see him again.”

“You weren’t uncomfortable?”

“No way! He was a lot more worried about my comfort than I was. A lot of people think he’s scary, but he’s actually pretty sweet.”

They left the subject of Selkie behind, and chatted more about the costumes and fashion in general. It wasn’t a particularly deep conversation, but it was a positive one. The light here wasn’t terrible, so Hawks subtly stretched his wings a little, and Aiko’s eyes did indeed follow the movement. A minute or so later, she rested a hand on his knee. That was definitely a good sign.

“It’s so much fun to talk with you,” she said, leaning in an obvious invitation.

Hawks leaned in to meet her, and they kissed.

Technically, it was a good kiss. Hawks had practice in kissing people, and clearly so did Aiko. But it wasn’t special. There was no zing, no sudden attraction, no excitement. There never had been before, but Hawks had purposely held back from previous partners; in the here and now, he’d been open to it. He’d wanted it. Hawks could feel his heart sinking even in the moment. Aiko didn’t notice. When she pulled back, it was with a smile.

“My handsome pirate prince,” she cooed, and leaned into his side.

Hawks smiled back, because that was what he’d always been trained to do in a crisis: shut down his own emotions and focus on reassuring others.

They returned to the group again. Aiko split off with a few more people through the night. Hawks kept to himself, letting his feathers gather the noise. He knew Chomper and Tesla had confronted each other and got increasingly mad about Chomper’s tone when he’d pulled Aiko away, except neither could agree on anything and nothing was resolved. He knew Sharkyonara was angsting about Aiko making out with other men on the show, despite that having been massively obvious in the job description. He knew that Tobio had made some kind of accusation against Minotaur, because Aiko pulled Minotaur away a second time with a determined expression on her face, and Tobio settled in the aftermath with a smug look. Tobio’s plan backfired, though. Just like at the rose ceremony, Aiko returned, picked up the rose, and left again without explanation.

“Well,” Hawks said dully, “that’s that.”

Tobio deflated, angry and humiliated. When Minotaur returned with the rose, his single eye shone with tears. They must’ve had a real heart to heart.

With the rose gifted, there was no other reason to stick around. They returned to the limos and drove out—the men back to the mansion, and Aiko to a rented house in a separate location. There was more passive-aggressive conversation during the drive, but Hawks spent most of it in his head.

Love at first sight was a laughable concept, but surely there should’ve been some sort of attraction? He’d done his research: everything about Aiko, from her personality to her looks, had only positives. If ‘the perfect woman’ had a checklist, she’d hit almost every box. There was nothing about her that should’ve been unappealing. Was something wrong with Hawks? Was he still subconsciously rejecting the idea of romance or attachment? That wouldn’t be surprising—sixteen years of conditioning didn’t fix itself overnight—but this was such a bad time for them to come up. In a perfect world maybe he could’ve worked through this with a therapist before jumping into a quest for affection, but if the Commission had gotten wind of him getting any form of healthcare outside of their control, the punishment would’ve been severe. He’d figure it out, though. He would.

The limo arrived back at the mansion well past dark, and the men trudged in. The crew specifically directed them in a roundabout path through the living room to reach the stairs, because other dateless denizens of the mansion had been gathered there.

“The triumphant return!” cried Slidin’ Go. “Who got the rose?”

Conversation began—some men complaining about how the date sucked or otherwise lamenting over how they didn’t get to go at all, others asking what actually happened, Teruo asking really specific details about what Aiko had been wearing…  Dabi tipped his head to look backward over the couch. His aloof boredom was unfortunately every bit as intriguing as the Smolder had been. Hawks met his gaze only briefly before Curious called, “Hawks, come over here a minute.”

“Hey,” said Hawks, strolling over and glad for the distraction. “Did you need help with something?”

“Yes, I’m hoping you can take care of a thorn in my side,” said Curious. “Apparently the Hero Commission has been trying to get in contact with you without success. It’s urgent enough that they’ve sent a representative here in person.”

In an instant, all thoughts of romance, his internal struggles, and any dim annoyance with the other contestants evaporated. Hawks was primed for a fight. He didn’t show it outwardly, though.

“I don’t suppose you let them in?” he asked, affecting the joking tone his fans liked so much.

“As a matter of fact, we did not,” said Curious. “The contracts are quite clear. No outsiders allowed on the premises, no matter whether they’re family or business-related.” She tapped a pen on the top of her clipboard, a sly smile crossing her face. “The producers did approve you to keep a cell phone in case of hero emergencies. I find it hard to imagine you’d forget about that, yet none of the Commission’s calls came through… I wonder if you’ve had something of a falling out?”

“I wouldn’t call it a falling out, but they weren’t pleased I joined the show,” Hawks laughed. “That representative is—”

“Gone.”

Hawks doubted any agent of the Commission would give up so easily, but maybe they’d realized they were tangling with Curious. She moonlighted as a journalist with a reputation for digging up blackmail, and the Commission had never managed to silence her in the past; that spoke volumes about how dangerous she could be. Maybe they’d decided avoiding her would be best for now, but Hawks couldn’t expect them to be patient forever.  

“I’ll give them a call right now and get them off your back,” he said cheerfully.

“Much appreciated,” said Curious, but she looked far more smug than relieved.

Hawks flew up to the roof of the mansion. Here, with no cameras present, he turned off his microphone and turned on his cell phone. He had thirty-six missed calls from the Commission. The sight immediately made dread pool in his stomach. Seeing even one missed call from the Commission could be bad news. Thirty-six, though… They would not be lenient. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as he dialed back.

The call was picked up before it even had the chance to ring.

“Hawks,” said his handler.

“Hey there,” said Hawks, clinging to his cheery act. “Looks like I missed some calls from you! Mind catching me up on what I missed?”

“Hawks,” his handler said again, firmer this time. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, chilling on a roof—”

“Don’t be smart with me. Why are you on The Bachelorette?”

Hawks did not reply. He’d been with this handler long enough to know that when she demanded answers like that, she’d steamroll straight into accusations. She didn’t tolerate interruptions. Sure enough, she continued without expecting a response: “You are compromising your integrity as a hero. You are leaving hundreds of people who rely on your protection for a shallow spectacle that will make you a laughingstock across the country. Your rank and reputation will suffer for this. You were trained to be a hero, Hawks. We didn’t spend so much time and resources on your education for you to turn away from the tasks that truly need your attention. What were you thinking?”

Okay. Second question. That meant permission to speak.

“I told you I’d sully my wings, if that’s what it took to keep people safe,” Hawks said firmly.

There was a pause. When his handler spoke again it was still angry, but with an undercurrent of suspicion. “What exactly do you think this reality show can do to keep people safe?”

“I have a lead on the Meta Liberation Army.”

Honestly the lead wasn’t his. Sir Nighteye was the one quietly investigating the M.L.A., but Tensei’s group had known Hawks needed an excuse for the show, and the ex-sidekick had agreed to let him use the operation as a cover. Hawks wouldn’t actually be doing anything beyond maybe poking at things for a reaction, all while Nighteye was taking real action in the background.

“They’re much more of a threat than we’d realized. They live up to the ‘army’ part of their name, if you catch my drift.”

“How many do you suspect to be involved?” asked his handler. “Tens? Hundreds?”

“Over a hundred thousand.” He let this sink in a little before continuing, “They’re also far more organized than we believed. They have ranks. Commanders. Specialized communications. Operation bases. I have reason to believe that the lack of villain activity around Deika City is specifically because the M.L.A. is uprooting potential competition. Their Grand Commander seems to be gearing up for some kind of move, and I want to get ahead of it before we have any disasters on our hands.”

“How does The Bachelorette factor into this?”

“Some of the M.L.A.’s commanders have been sent in as eligible bachelors. Yes, I know, ridiculous, but it might be an attempt to gather sympathy and visibility before the army actually takes action. It’s always easier to get someone to work with you if you’re a household name.” He knew that very well—presentation was one of the Commission’s biggest focuses. “As contestants, they’re stuck in here with me for weeks. There’s no better opportunity for me to get in with the highest level fast and gain their trust.”

Nighteye had specifically advised him not to approach Trumpet or the other commanders, to keep from tipping them off that there was heroic scrutiny on their organization. The Commission didn’t need to know that, though. By the time it became clear on TV that Hawks wasn’t cozying up to anyone, Tensei and the others would’ve already made their move. The Commission would be far more preoccupied.

Hawks leaned against a chimney, looking out at the distant glow of Alderaan’s skyline, and said, “We don’t have All Might to break up villain groups anymore. We need to do it ourselves, unless we want another reign of terror. Unless there’s something else that needs my attention more?”

His handler hesitated. The M.L.A.’s presence had been a threat even without the updated numbers, and infiltration missions were common assignments to the Commission’s various lapdogs. Hawks was in a good position. If they removed him, they wouldn’t be able to smuggle another operative into his place—Paragon’s producers and the massive audience would riot, and Curious had clearly already smelled blood with the Commission’s involvement. The handler may have called with the intention of using him against Tensei, but if the Commission wanted to salvage their reputation after Tensei's attack, they needed a big win. A win Hawks could provide.

“No,” his handler said at last. “Proceed with your infiltration. We’ll draw up plans to regain your ranking after you return to active duty.”

The line disconnected. Hawks watched the phone screen go dark, then dropped his hand to dangle at his side.

He didn’t like his calls or meetings with the Commission. At every contact he was reminded that they saw him as a tool, nothing more. For most of his life that had been fine, but once he started living outside of their immediate control, formed friendships, and got an outsider’s perspective on how messed up it all was… all he could focus on was how demeaning it felt. For weeks up to now he’d reassured himself that once Tensei’s plan went into motion, he’d be free, and the Commission wouldn’t be able to lay hands on him. He’d toyed with the idea of letting slip his real name on the show, as a way of reclaiming himself. He was human. The hero would no longer be his whole life. But the phone call had shaken him.

The same as there hadn’t been an instant connection with Aiko, there hadn’t been an instant release from Commission control. He was stupid to have hoped for it. The mansion and its occupants seemed suddenly divorced from reality. What did it matter, what he did here? He could pretend everything was fine on the show, but once it ended, he’d be right back in reality. The lights of Alderaan and the truth it represented felt like a joke.

Hawks slid down to sit on the shingles and tapped to open a game on his phone. If he had permission to have it, he was going to use it for a good distraction. Existential crises could be ignored in favor of getting a pixelated frog across a road.

Keigo Takami would have to stay buried for a while.

By Thursday, all novelty of the mansion had worn off. It was a big, dumb house full of big, dumb people with nothing to do. If Dabi had to go through multiple weeks of this bullshit, no wonder men on previous seasons had been desperate for dates. Did this count as Stockholm Syndrome?

They couldn’t watch TV or use phones because they had to remain focused on the show even when the show was doing nothing.

They couldn’t listen to music because that opened up copyright issues if it got picked up by the microphones.

They couldn’t leave the building or order anything in. They just had to deal with what already existed.

Dabi hadn’t cared, at first. He was a talent at eating as much as he could stomach and then sleeping like the dead. He was kind of a hermit anyway, so he’d expected to be just fine. But there was a limit to how much his stomach could hold, and to how much he could sleep without getting restless. He reflected that he’d done so well before because of the League’s constant presence, but now all he had were the other contestants and he didn’t particularly like any of them. He’d have to interact if he didn’t want to go crazy, though.

Most of the contestants spent their time in the pools and hot tub; they spent so much time in water, it was a wonder more of them didn’t have amphibian quirks. Dabi didn’t know what chlorine would do to his seams and had no wish to test it out, so he avoided the pools even when Shion wasn’t hovering nearby. Other contestants sprawled out on patio chairs or the indoor couches to guzzle booze and get wasted. This was Dabi’s idea of a bad time because 1) he didn’t like that kind of loss of control, 2) if he had any spare room in his stomach it belonged to food, and 3) drunk people tended to fixate on his looks. He avoided the drunkards as best he could. Rappa and Muscular were still competing with each other, with the latest manifestation being weightlifting. Dabi steered clear of them too for fear of being used as an extra weight himself (Gentle had already suffered that fate). There was a game room in the furnished basement, but all the board games they had required multiple players and there was only so long you could hit a ping pong ball against a wall.

Also in the basement was the book club. Apparently contestants had been allowed to bring books if they could fit them in their two-bag limit, and five of them—Skeptic, Trumpet, Geten, Miyashita, and Slidin’ Go—had brought the same book. Dabi still remembered his brief alliance with Skeptic at the hotel, so he wandered closer to eavesdrop. Of course, there wasn’t much to hide behind in the basement, so he was noticed quickly.

“Are you interested in joining us?” Trumpet said with a smile. “Please, come and sit down. I’ll let you use my copy.”

“Really?” Geten scoffed. “Him?”

“Why not? The book should be made available to everyone.”

Geten grumbled but didn’t argue further. Slowly Dabi sat down with them, and Trumpet slid his book over. It had a crimson cover, with a weirdly symmetrical black blood splatter. It was titled Meta Liberation War, by Chikara Yotsubashi.

Wait a second. Chikara Yotsubashi?

“This is Destro’s autobiography, isn’t it?” asked Dabi.

“It is,” said Trumpet, pleased that Dabi was already aware and probably doubly pleased that Dabi hadn’t phrased it as ‘the villain Destro.’ “Have you read it before?”

“Pieces,” said Dabi, somewhat uncomfortable. “Destro’s defense of the right to use quirks comes up a lot for me.”

It came up mostly for Spinner and Toga, really. For mutation quirks simply existing could be illegal; if Hawks weren’t a licensed hero he’d be arrested for flying or multitasking with his feathers. Other people with ‘undesirable’ quirks like Toga’s were pressured and denied the use of their quirks even at home until their health suffered. It was massively annoying to try defending them when the most popular and eloquent arguments came from a dead, bigoted terrorist.

“Wonderful,” said Trumpet. “Reading more about his life can deepen your understanding of the movement he fought for.”

Dabi made a noncommittal noise.

The others returned to their discussion on the tyranny of governmental control over quirks, and Dabi listened to it with half an ear as he turned the pages of the book. While the core of Destro’s cause—quirks being a human right, and protection of those who would otherwise be discriminated against or harassed—was good, it had been carried by violent, selfish people. Destro had mounted drastic actions that felt far more like revenge for his murdered mother than real attempts for progress. Dabi understood the need for revenge, of course; but he’d also had close-up experience with those he’d hurt in the attempt, and now the whole concept made him feel ill. He felt particularly ill about the fact that everyone in the group was talking about the movement in present tense. Not “Destro believed in this” but “per Destro’s teachings we must” sort of thing. Did the Meta Liberation Army still exist? Were they active members?

“So,” said Dabi, cutting into Trumpet’s soliloquy on unfair mandates, “when you look at a world where Destro succeeded and the Meta Liberation Army got what it wanted, what do you picture?”

“Free use of quirks,” Skeptic replied easily. “They are our bodies. Our abilities. They are ours, not the government’s.”

Trumpet nodded. “Well said. Liberation over regulation.”

“Less fearmongering,” Miyashita added. “Current regulations vilify certain quirks, especially if we can’t ‘turn it off.’ Mine doesn’t even do anything, but some people treat me like I’m subhuman because of it. I’m seen as illegal, or dirty, when neither is the case.”

“It’s shameful,” Slidin’ Go agreed. “The government may as well regulate our fingers or our teeth!”

All of this was well and good until Geten—short, pretty, pissy little Geten—said, “In that perfect world, all rank will be decided by the strength of one’s Meta Ability.”

There it was.

Dabi had known it, but hearing it said aloud poked that long-buried child, who’d cried and burned himself for the sake of some invisible goal he could never reach. He hate, hate, hated it.

“Oh, really?” said Dabi. “And what happens to people with weaker quirks?”

Geten scoffed. “Life has no value without strength.”

He thought just like Dabi’s dear old dad. Fucker.

“What a pitiful way to live,” Dabi growled. He slid the book back to Trumpet with a flick of his wrist and aimed all the animosity in his black little heart at Geten. “Roll over and die.”

Geten’s lip curled, but Dabi didn’t really care for his reaction. He stormed away, intending to leave the shitbag’s snarling and the rest of the book club’s nonsense behind. It wasn’t so easy. Trumpet seized Geten by the hood of his coat and dragged him to intercept Dabi at the foot of the stairs.

“What Geten means to say is that Meta Abilities should be better appreciated,” Trumpet said smoothly. “In the current world, people are forced to stifle their potential—even told to fear themselves, based on their quirks. Societal status is so bound up in this denial of ourselves that only heroes are able to act naturally and use their quirks. And who becomes a hero? Those who already have the money and connections to have attended a hero school. It’s a vicious cycle. Without the regulations on quirks, status would shift. If we can embrace ourselves, and embrace others, we can reform into a much healthier society. Geten worded it badly. We apologize for the confusion.”

Trumpet bowed. Geten did not.

Trumpet tugged at Geten’s hood again. “We are apologizing, Geten.”

“I’m not apologizing for shit,” said Geten, crossing his arms. “I meant what I said. Why should I grovel to him?”

“Because we are trying to uplift people,” Trumpet hissed through his teeth. “We are uplifting everyone—”

“We don’t need his sympathies. Look at him. He’s weak. Worthless.” Geten jerked his chin derisively.

“Geten—”

“Anyone strong wouldn’t have gotten those scars in the first place.”

“Is that what you think?” Dabi seethed.

Geten ignored him. “If Re-Destro wants me here, I’ll stay, but I refuse to bow to any trash.”

Trumpet looked just as tempted to throttle the man as Dabi did. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dabi beat him to the punch: “Don’t bother. I knew he was a self-absorbed shitbag from day one, and you trying to clean up his messes doesn’t change anything. Destro’s idea was good. The Army was shit. Anyone who thinks they can have their way by force in this world is shit. Only idiots think power trumps everything else.”

“I could kill you right now,” hissed Geten.

“Try it and I’ll roast you,” said Dabi.

“None of us are fighting,” Trumpet said firmly. “This is a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, let me clear it up a little.” Dabi pointed at Geten and said, “Fuck you,” pointed at Trumpet, “Fuck you,” spread his arms to encompass the whole book club, “and fuck everyone else who thinks their brand of bigotry is better than the old shit, too.”

This time when he stomped up the stairs, no one tried to stop him. He took some pleasure in the distant sound of Trumpet chewing Geten out, though.

He did find more books eventually. On the second floor there were two rooms, one on each end of the mansion, that were presumably meant to be communal—the large, marble-wrought bathing chambers on one end, and a small maze of parlor rooms on the other. In the parlor he found a small shelf with a slim selection of paperbacks. He turned aside Fifty Shades of Gray (because of course that was here), Lord of the Flies (yikes), and something entirely in French (did anyone here even speak French or was this some sort of pun about love languages), and found that literally every other book on this shelf was a bible. Why. Seriously, why. This show had Fantasy Suites in the later episodes to push premarital sex, why the fuck were they pushing bibles?

Having decided that all these options were beneath him, Dabi set out for another distraction. He didn’t find one. He was reduced to prowling the mansion like a zoo animal without enrichment.

Dabi wasn’t the only one going stir crazy. They all handled it their own ways, but Hawks handled it badly. The group date must not have gone well, because the guy wouldn’t stop fidgeting and flitting through the rooms as if something entertaining might be in the next one if he could only get there fast enough. He also had a phone. This was a source of great contention in the rest of the mansion. The producers had approved it in case of hero emergencies, but that exception didn’t last long. Dabi was gloriously there to witness the confiscation: he’d turned down one of the upstairs hallways in search of that bookshelf (he’d given up on taste, sue him) with Prey and Shion hot on his heels, only to find Hawks crouched there with the phone in his hands. Hawks had looked up with wide, panicked eyes, and cried, “It’s not for work, I swear!”

Wow. He really was a workaholic if that was his default.

Hawks winced. “I—I mean, this is totally for work! Big work call! Very business!”

They kept staring at him, clearly disbelieving, and Hawks cussed. He ducked into the closest bedroom and launched himself off the balcony.

“Oh, that little—” Shion chased him to the balcony and cried, “Get him!”

The security team descended, and Hawks put up only a halfhearted resistance before they forced him down to the poolside. Curious personally took the phone, saying something about ‘fielding any calls,’ which Hawks didn’t appear particularly happy with. The other men didn’t care; as far as they were concerned this was a win against favoritism. The entertainment didn’t last long, though. Hawks moped and kept searching through rooms, and everyone else was resigned to their previous distractions.

Around four in the afternoon, Dabi was eating his third croissant breakfast sandwich of the day (who cared if it wasn’t technically breakfast time anymore when there were croissants to be had) when he heard the distant ringing of the doorbell. He paused mid-chew. Who rang the doorbell during filming? The crew moved in and out with very little warning, and it wasn’t like anyone unexpected would be getting past security. Then he heard the hooting and hollering of the men in the other room and realized, oh, today’s Thursday. A date card had probably arrived.

Oh shit, a date card? He should probably be present for that.  

He left the kitchen, and found all the other men clambering onto the couch in the living room. Miyashita held the card; his eyes roved over them, and once all were present and quieting down, he said, “Trumpet.”

Trumpet smirked, and the men around him gushed with congratulations and jealousy.

Miyashita cleared his throat and read aloud, “Let’s get our love on track. Heart, Aiko.”

The other men tried to guess what this meant. Would Aiko take him to participate in a track and field event? No, that sounded like group date material, there was no way the producers would let Aiko do something so undignified as sweat. Would they be following animal tracks on a leisurely ‘hike’? Was it a reference to a railroad? Would they attempt to record a music track?

Dabi listened to it all and privately decided it was far more likely that they’d attend a horse racing track—that sort of thing was marketable, and if the show already had an agreement with the Empire Stays company, it was possible for them to have other collaboration partners. Besides, he’d accompanied Giran to defend from other gamblers enough to know that plenty of people attended the races for fun.

He turned out to be right, though he had to wait until Friday evening to get it confirmed.

Passing the time up until then was mind numbing.

He cracked open Fifty Shades of Gray. Every once in a while he’d stop, put the book down, stare at the ceiling, and ask himself, Why? Why am I doing this to myself? Except what else could he do to himself at this point? He was going to go insane. He reached the halfway point of the book and realized he had multiple other weeks of nothing to do, so he should really ration the remaining pages. He walked around the mansion. Exchanged barbed words with Geten. Had a weird stare down with Hawks when they both attempted to go through the same door only to find themselves facing each other. Tried desperately to avoid Rappa and Muscular but that was getting hard when their macho competition seemed to be taking them all over the house (he made a narrow escape before Rappa started bench-pressing the living room couch; Saito and Chomper, not so lucky, clung to each other and the cushions in fear of falling off). Ate some more. Contemplated misery as a concept and as a state of life.

Trumpet returned in the evening, which was nice because it was a sign the day was done, but also terrible because it had only been one day.

Dabi sat on the couch with a few others to greet and grill Trumpet when he came back in, simply for something to do. Trumpet and Aiko had gone to the horse racing track, won a bet, had a picnic on the grassy hill where he’d earned his rose, and danced to a private concert. It seemed kind of lame compared to pirate training, but whatever. Aiko could do whatever she wanted. Trumpet humblebragged about kissing Aiko, and most of the other men were grumpy about that even though it was extremely predictable. Once Trumpet had recounted his experience to everyone’s liking, they all trudged upstairs to sleep. Dabi, who’d been having an overabundance of naps, had a hard time falling asleep.

He did not have a hard time waking up again.

He jolted in bed at the sound of a crash and floundered upward.

“Oh my god,” whispered Teruo, eyes wide in grieved resignation and hands covering his ears. “Oh my god, why won’t they stop?”

“It’s literally three in the morning,” groaned Akira from the top bunk.

Curator made no comment, but cranked the knob on his mask so the hissing of whatever breathing apparatus it was apparently overpowered any noise coming in.

The noise was a lot of screaming. The culprits were Rappa and Muscular, but mostly Muscular. They seemed pretty keen on the limos outside, but as loud as they were Dabi couldn’t make out many of the words.

Dabi was livid. How dare they wake him up when he’d had so much trouble getting to sleep in the first place? If they went on much longer he’d reach full coherence and not be able to get a wink the rest of the goddamn night. He flopped back down and smashed a pillow over his head. A crack reached his ears anyway, followed by Muscular screeching in delight and Rappa goading him. Dabi rolled over. Facing the wall didn’t stop the sounds of their fighting from reaching him. He curled his fingers harsh into the pillow’s fabric and smelled smoke.

“I’ll break you like a twig!” Muscular howled, clearer than anything else.

You know what? Fuck this. Dabi threw aside his pillow and stood up. He stormed out of the bedroom. He passed a few cameras in night mode, walked straight through the open door of the bedroom opposite (all its occupants were awake too, and gawked at the trespasser), slammed his hands down on the railing of the balcony, and screamed, “Shut up!”

In the driveway below, Rappa and Muscular stalled to look up at him. Rappa had one hand fisted in Muscular’s shirt and another pulled back for a punch; Muscular had seized Rappa’s arm and shoulder in what might’ve been the first step of a wrestling move.

“My name means cremation, and that is not a wish, it is a promise!” Dabi seethed. “If you don’t shut the fuck up and go back to bed, I will come down there and burn all of your bones into ash! Do not fucking test me!”

This did not have the intended effect. Instead of being cowed, both men gained vicious grins.

“So there is another man in this place!” laughed Rappa.

“You can’t just say that and not deliver, you know?” cried Muscular. “Come down here and prove it, if you’re not just full of hot air!”

“Let’s have a fight to remember!” Rappa agreed.

Dabi was pissed enough to take the bait. He made to climb over the railing, only for Saito and Gentle to catch him by the arms and heave him back.

“That’s a dangerous prospect!” said Gentle, grip firm despite Dabi’s snarling.

“It’s not worth it! Do you want to be kicked out?” said Saito.

He kind of did, but Dabi made a concentrated effort to not burn the two nicest contestants in the mansion, and allowed them to drag him back to his own bedroom. More voices outside told him that the producers had finally gotten their shit together to break up the Rappa-Muscular stalemate. They’d probably just been waiting to get a reaction from other competitors before acting, the bastards.

The Rappa-Muscular competition was not ended, though. Not by a long shot. On Saturday Dabi crawled out of bed (still massively pissed off), to find the pair of them out on the patio, crowding each other and chest bumping as if their newest contest was to see who could knock over the other with no hands or kicking. They shit-talked the whole time with such foul language that the cameramen glanced at each other in worry that the footage they were taking would be completely and utterly unusable. Dabi must’ve started steaming, because Saito quickly redirected him back to the basement to hunt for a missing ping pong paddle that wasn’t actually missing at all.

Tensions were high as the evening and its rose ceremony drew closer.

Half the contestants decided to burn that off by creating a ping pong tournament, with two people to a team. Saito paired with Hawks, and this was difficult because Hawks’ wings moved to help balance, and no one really knew how to predict where those wings would go in the way they’d usually anticipate a stumble or twist; Saito took a few steps that got him accidental facefuls of feathers multiple times. Dabi stood to the side to watch, bored to tears but in no way ready to face that game when Minotaur could hit a ball hard enough to bruise an opponent on contact. Sato arrived in the afternoon, apparently keen to check in on everyone; he settled into a seat next to Dabi as Slidin’ Go and Geten took on Tobio and Hinote. Finally, sensible company. If only Dabi could think of a conversation starter.

“So,” Dabi said slowly, “what were you up to this week?”

“Oh, some family matters,” said Sato.

“You, uh, got a big family?”

“So to speak. I have my immediate family, but we’re very close with the extended members, too. We keep up with everyone. I’m very proud of them.”

“…What are they like?”

“You know,” Sato said kindly, eyes twinkling. “It might be better if you started this sort of conversation with Aiko.”

Dabi shrugged. “Humor me.”

Sato chuckled and pulled out his phone. He angled it so Dabi could see better and began to scroll through the pictures.

“I have three children,” he said. “All girls. My youngest is a graphic designer. She’s especially good with color coordination and simplicity; it’s amazing how much she can do with so little! See here, this is her with her first box packaging. Every time I see them in stores, I take a picture for her!”

Dabi hummed. The box looked pretty much like a box, but he wasn’t an artist.

Sato went on scrolling, talking about how his middle daughter worked as a magazine editor on a publication all the teenagers raved about, and how his oldest was both passionate about charity and extremely pregnant with what would be his first grandchild. He talked about his siblings and their children, where they went to school (one was apparently at U.A.) and what extracurriculars they were in. He said it all with warm pride. Dabi never would’ve cared about any of these people if he’d met them on the street, but he committed the strangers’ faces to mind because they meant so much to someone who’d been kind to him.

“You really love them, don’t you?” he murmured.

“Of course!” Sato laughed. “There’s really nothing better than participating in their happiness, even if it’s just by looking through their pictures.”

Dabi wondered quietly if his own father had ever done something similar; if he’d ever talked to a stranger about how much he loved his child without that stranger being a reporter or fan or someone else he could use for his own gain. Dabi knew the answer, though. He hadn’t been worth actually loving beyond what was convenient.

“It’s one of the reasons I’m on this series,” said Sato, eyes soft as he lingered on a photo of his wife embracing all three daughters at once. “It’s such a privilege to witness the start of someone’s future together. To see that happiness blooming. Not everything on The Bachelorette works out, but I’m so proud of the happy marriages that we do see. Even if a season ends without a marriage, the participants are richer for their experiences, and have a better understanding of themselves and what they want in the future. It’s a pleasure to watch you all grow.”

“I think that statement is more romantic than the show is,” Dabi grumbled.

Sato laughed.

Any further mushiness was interrupted as Sharkyonara and Hanzo Suiden decided to invent ‘ping pong blitz,’ which meant there were something like fifty balls in the air at once, quirks were unrestricted, and everyone was a potential target. Dabi made himself scarce, and Teruo sought shelter under the book club table next to him. Sato mysteriously evaded all attacks without moving, and found it all very exciting.

Aiko arrived with nightfall, and the rose ceremony began.

The men all assembled in the cocktail room in their suits; when Aiko arrived (this time in a shimmery black dress) Hinote was quick to give her a glass of champagne, and everyone else crowded in to see her.

“It’s been great starting to get to know everyone,” said Aiko. “Everyone I’ve had the chance to spend time with is really starting to open up to me, and I appreciate that so much. I’m here to find love, and I’m sure it’s here!”

They all lifted their glasses in a toast, Geten immediately jumped in to pull Aiko aside, and just like that the evening was kicked off. One of the crewmembers called Sato out of the room, and the contestants settled into the party.

Dabi felt pretty embarrassed about how frantic he’d felt last week, and now determined that he wouldn’t worry tonight at all. The first rose ceremony had confirmed he’d get through even if he didn’t do anything. He wasn’t going to announce that fact to anyone, but it gave him license to relax while all the other men fussed and worried over whether they’d get any time with Aiko. He leaned against a wall near the hallway door, away from most of the cameras and happy to sip on a cocktail. Proximity to the hallway meant it was easier for the crew to waylay him, though. Misty popped her head through the doorway and asked, “How are you doing? Do you need anything? Because I can run and get something if you need it.”

“So you still exist,” Dabi drawled.

“I got stuck on Aiko duty this week,” she groaned. “I know she’s the Bachelorette and the whole point of this is romance, but like… is there anything else she can talk about, or is she just bottling up all her conversation starters for the dates?”

“Wow, you must’ve suffered,” said Dabi, using a straw to poke at the cherry in his drink.

“I actually have you to thank for getting pulled back to mansion duty,” she said flatly. “Your little ‘cremation’ stunt freaked out the showrunners. I can guarantee you that the editing room will cut that out to be a lot more dramatic and violent than it actually was.”

“It wasn’t violent,” said Dabi.

Misty did not in any way look impressed. “You tried to jump off a building to burn their bones into ash.”

“They’re fine. I never got anywhere close to them.”

“Two other contestants had to drag you away.”

“Yeah, Saito and Gentle. Escaping from a newborn kitten probably would’ve been harder,” said Dabi.

“The audience doesn’t know that!” Misty hissed. “Seriously, Dabi. I told you some of the producers wanted to feature you as the villain to contrast Hawks as the hero. You’ve just handed that to them on a silver platter! If you don’t play up some remorse and keep cool for the rest of this, they’re going to hand your role to someone else and crucify you in the scripts.”

Dabi scowled and took a long sip of his cocktail. She made sense. He didn’t want to be the villain.

“I’ll work on it,” he grumbled.

“Good,” said Misty. “If you need advice or anything else, let me know. I’m on the mansion’s crew from here out.”

She ducked back out of sight. Dabi barely had time to wonder why she’d vanished so fast before he realized Aiko was coming his way.

“Could I talk to you for a second, Dabi?” she asked.

Huh. That was foreboding, but at least he didn’t have to chase her for one-on-one time.

“Sure,” he replied, and she led him away. He noticed some of the men watching and whispering among themselves. Mentally he groaned. Please don’t let this be some turning point of the episode. I don’t need anyone’s confessionals being about me.

They sat down on the outdoor couches. Aiko tucked her feet under herself and fixed him with a concerned pout.

“I just wanted to check in with you about some things I heard from the other men,” she said. “They said you got very angry last night and threatened to use your quirk on someone.”

“I did,” said Dabi.

Aiko blinked in surprise. “You did?”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” said Dabi. “I like my sleep. Hearing Rappa and Muscular screaming about how they were going to do lifts with the fucking limos at three in the morning and making a racket to match it? Yeah. That pissed me off. I don’t think anyone was able to sleep through that. I told them to shut up, and I already knew from experience that they don’t listen to polite requests, so I tried to speak their language. It wasn’t the appropriate response, and I regret it. I won’t be doing that in the future.”

“You’re pretty straightforward with this,” said Aiko.

“Is that really surprising?” said Dabi. “Clear communication and the ability to admit when you were wrong is pretty important to a relationship. What’s the point of me being here if I can’t even bring those kind of basics to the table?”

“Huh,” said Aiko. Then, again, “Huh.”

“Is that surprising?” said Dabi. He was beginning to think addressing it directly was a mistake.

“Honestly? Yes,” said Aiko. “I’ve only ever heard people talk themselves in circles trying to defend themselves, or trying to manipulate the other person into thinking everything’s fine.”

“That sounds shitty,” said Dabi.

“It is!” said Aiko, settling back into her usual enthusiasm. “Seeing someone upfront about it and promising they won’t do it again? That’s so refreshing. You’re really a nice person, aren’t you?”

“Eh,” said Dabi, and wobbled his hand noncommittally.

Aiko burst out laughing.

Okay. He’d salvaged that somehow.

Thankfully he didn’t get a chance to mess it up again, because Chomper came looking for Aiko and they quickly parted ways. Dabi walked back inside, feeling pretty good about the whole thing, until he spotted Sato. Sato was frowning. It wasn’t the teasing frown Dabi had watched on previous seasons, but sincere worry—Sato was talking to Misty, who looked equally grave. Something happened in the hallway, and Sato rushed off to address it.

“Why does Sato look so upset?” Dabi muttered, sidling up beside Misty.

Misty heaved a sigh. “It’s Curious. She’s a genius at thinking up points for drama, but some of her ideas feel like straight-up bullying. Sato doesn’t have control over the showrunners like she does, but he still fights any decisions he doesn’t agree with. She came up with one of those for tonight. Don’t ask me what it is, he didn’t manage to share before she started making her move.”

“Should I be worried?” said Dabi.

“Honestly? I don’t know. Keep your guard up just in case.”

Aiko soon returned to the main room to lounge on the couch in full view of everyone. This brought most contestants back in by default, but Dabi noticed some stragglers being pulled back in by the crew. Soon, all twenty-five of them were back in the party room. Gathering them all up like this couldn’t be coincidence. Did Curious want them to break early for the rose ceremony, or was something else afoot?

Sato stepped into the room. His troubled expression indicated that he’d lost whatever argument he’d had with Curious, but he quickly covered that up with a dimmer version of his usual smile. He tapped a fork against his glass to catch their attention.

“Good evening everyone, how are you doing?”

“Good,” replied most of the contestants, while Aiko chimed in, “Fantastic!”

“I have good news: it’s not time for the rose ceremony yet,” said Sato. “But I do have a surprise.” He paused, clearly not liking where this was going. “For Aiko to have the best chance at finding love, she needs your help.”

From the entryway walked Curious, dressed even more like a bartender than Dabi was. She carried a black box with a slot in the top, and a stack of folded cards.

“This is a ballot box. Each of you will vote for the one man you want sent home tonight.”

Hey, what the fuck? thought Dabi.

The men looked at each other in surprise. Aiko was flummoxed. The whole thing felt pretty below the belt. Bullying, indeed.

Sato powered on, still doing his best to pretend normalcy. “Maybe it’s someone you don’t think is right for Aiko. Maybe it’s someone you believe is too much competition. Whatever your reason, write that name down on the ballot and put it in the box. Hinote, Minotaur, Trumpet, you have roses, so you’re exempt from this vote. Everyone else in this room is fair game.”

He and Curious beat a hasty retreat.

“Guys, I’m so sorry. I had no idea about this,” said Aiko.

“No use crying over spilled milk,” said Trumpet. He picked up the cards and pens, and started handing them out.

The mood shift was unavoidable, though. Aiko left to apparently give them some privacy (and hang out with the rose people, ugh), and the rest of them hemmed and hawed over their votes.

“This is brutal,” Saito muttered, staring at his blank card.

“I was having a good time up to now,” Tobio lamented.

“It’s efficient,” Skeptic snapped, and he was the first to drop his card into the box.

The sound of paper hitting the bottom may as well have been the dropping of a bomb. In a way it sealed their fate: anyone who’d been hesitating resigned themselves to reality and started writing names down. Dabi didn’t have to think about his choice. He scrawled “Geten” and was the second vote in the box. As everyone voted, they broke apart into groups and wandered into other rooms again to whisper about who they’d tried to doom. Dabi kept his ass parked on the couch because they were bound to be regrouped in here again, and that meant he was stuck with the birdbrains again.

“Who’d you vote for?” asked Saito.

“Honestly?” Hawks leaned back, perched again on the end of the couch; he always sat sort of sideways there, and belatedly Dabi realized this was to accommodate his wings, not to sprawl like a jackass. “I voted for Muscular. For the life of me, I can’t see how a relationship between him and Aiko would work.”

Saito let out a breath of relief, as if he’d been afraid his favorite hero might’ve acted for personal gain. The kid was pretty deluded when it came to the reality of heroes.

“Why Muscular specifically?” asked Tobio, who’d mimicked Hawks’ pose on the other end of the couch to accommodate his own wings. “As far as I can tell, he and Rappa are just as fight-crazy and loud as each other. Why’d you pick one over the other?”

Hawks put a hand to his chin in one of those thinking poses paparazzi loved to get pictures of, and pointed out, “Rappa at least functions on an honor system. He challenges you to fight where Muscular ambushes so you don’t have a choice; he’ll fight hard but back off again, praise you for trying and encourage you to fight him again when you get stronger, where Muscular just goes rabid and tries to beat you into the dirt. Besides, Rappa might keep coming back to fights, but he can actually hold a conversation, where Muscular never gets off the subject at all. Aiko likes integrity, which Rappa has.” But Hawks winced. “That being said, I kind of wish I didn’t vote for Muscular. He and Rappa have been keeping each other in check, so if one goes, the one left behind will turn his attention on the rest of us.”

“I’ll be happy if they both leave,” Dabi grumbled.

Hawks snorted. “No more early morning wakeups for you, huh?”

Dabi shrugged, unrepentant.

“What about you, Saito? Who did you vote for?” asked Hawks.

“I didn’t,” Saito admitted. “I just drew a squiggle.”

“Damn, why didn’t I think of that?”

Once everyone had entered their vote, Curious took the ballot box away for counting. While that was being tallied, the crew herded everyone back into the room. After a few more minutes of discomfort, Sato made his reappearance.

“I asked you all to vote for the one man you want to leave tonight, and I have the results.” Sato pulled a card out of his suit coat and began to read: “With one vote, Geten.”

“I think we know who that’s from,” Miyashita muttered.

“With two votes, Dabi,” Sato continued. “With three votes, Rappa. With four votes, Muscular. And the gentleman with the remaining thirteen valid votes, who the majority of you want to go home right now… Hawks.”

This surprised literally no one. Hawks was obnoxious, and even if he weren’t, he was a Pro Hero—that was tough to compete with on any stage. Of course people would want him gone if they actually wanted to win. Hawks grinned at them all and said, “Wow, you guys really love me!”

“Hawks, as of right now, you’re going home,” said Sato. “That’s what the men want. But ultimately, this is about what Aiko wants. She’ll have the final say. Aiko, you can save Hawks by giving him a rose.”

Drama indeed. There was no way Hawks wouldn’t get a rose at this point. Dabi didn’t really care—as far as he was concerned, Hawks could take his obnoxious self all the way to the final week. But for all the others who’d actually voted for him, they probably felt cheated; they’d carry that resentment into later weeks. To fuel the theatrics Curious came back out and deposited the little plate with its rose just like at the last party. Aiko got up to stand beside Sato, who told her, “If you’d like to save Hawks, you can give him that rose. Otherwise, if you agree with the men, he can be out of here right now.”

Judging by that repetition, the producers probably planned a lot of dramatic confessional shots in between those lines. Dabi tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, because the paint was less predictable than the events unfolding down here.

“I know from experience that the mansion is a tough place to live,” Aiko simpered. “Not everyone gets along, you know? It’s kind of inevitable. And sometimes, even when you’re doing your best, it may not be perceived that way. So, while I appreciate everyone’s opinion, I’m going to give Hawks a rose.”

Obviously. Dabi didn’t bother to watch as Hawks stood up to get the rose pinned to his coat. He tuned out the competitors’ grumbling and Sato’s following words.

“Congratulations, Hawks. With that rose, you’re also safe through tonight’s rose ceremony. For the rest of you, it’s time. Aiko, if you’d come join me? We’ll see you at the ceremony in a few minutes, gentlemen.”

With the Bachelorette and host gone, Saito breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh my god,” said Hawks. “Saito, don’t tell me you expected someone to vote for you.”

“It could’ve happened!” said Saito, going pink.

“No it wouldn’t. You’re too nice for people to want gone, especially this early.”

They all poked fun at each other, some friendly and others passive aggressively. Dabi kept looking at the ceiling and bouncing his leg until they were finally called in for the rose ceremony. They assembled in the room just as they had last week. Sato and Aiko took the same places, and Sato gave the same rehearsed speech about who was safe already (four men, now that Hawks had a rose), and what they should do if they didn’t get a rose. Dabi didn’t even have to pretend to be nervous, because when Aiko picked up the first rose and looked them over, she said, “Dabi.”

Dabi strode up to her easily.

“Will you accept this rose?”

“I will.”

She pinned the rose to his lapel, they clasped hands briefly because handholding was a thing for them now, and Dabi returned to the group.

They went on one by one, and this time Dabi was content in watching the others’ reactions. Chomper opened and closed the venus flytrap of his head over and over with nerves. Tesla kept shifting his weight, as if Aiko might pick him faster if he were visible on one side or the other of the person in front of him. Wow Hinote could sweat a lot. The final rose went to Sharkyonara.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but if you did not receive a rose, take a moment to say your goodbyes,” said Sato.

The unlucky two leaving their number were Hard Head and Akira. They went around hugging whoever they’d been friends with, then went and hugged Aiko before being shuffled out. The remaining men all crowded around Aiko for what would be the final shots of the episode.

“Thank you everyone, for a great first week of dating!” said Aiko. “I’m looking forward to more dates. Let’s see what the future holds—Cheers!”

They raised their glasses in a toast, and then they were broken up again for confessionals.

Misty specifically did not have Dabi do any confessional time for the ceremony.

“This way we can’t give them something else to twist,” she said once they’d returned to the garden, with Shion and Prey nodding along. “What you said to Aiko is good. It’ll stand on its own. If we tried recording anything else, editing would manipulate that as you making excuses or putting the blame on other people. The other men will probably talk about you in their own confessionals, but the entertainment value is nil if you don’t give them the reaction they want. We just need to hold steady, and they’ll move on to different drama quickly.”

Dabi figured she had experience navigating this sort of thing on the show, so made no complaint. They stayed in the garden for a while so Prey could get various shots of Dabi looking dramatically at flowers and walking under the bower, because apparently overwhelming the editing team with footage of him being ‘soft’ might sway their opinions. Dabi didn’t have much faith in that route. He did not in any way look soft. Misty seemed satisfied, though.

Eventually he was dismissed and went back upstairs for bed. He passed a crewmember on the way who was carrying out Akira’s bags. That was efficient. The idea of a dismissed contestant lingering to pack and potentially start shit with the remaining cast was pretty unappealing, so it was good that they stopped it from happening at all. Teruo and Curator arrived shortly after he did. Teruo didn’t even bother to change right away; he flopped onto his mattress, clutching the rose to his face to smell it better.

“I love her,” he said dreamily.

Dabi sent him a skeptical look. Teruo had about the same amount of time with her as Dabi had, so maybe an hour’s worth of actual contact in a little over a week. It was way too early for anyone to be breaking out the L-word.  

“Don’t say things like that,” said Curator.

“But it’s true!” said Teruo, sitting back up indignantly. “She’s perfect! She’s sweet and beautiful—” Curator rolled his visible eye and turned away. Teruo turned his gaze on Dabi. “Don’t you agree, Dabi? Don’t you love her too, already?”

There was a camera sneakily watching them from the doorway. It didn’t matter that it was literally the first full week or what sort of logic should apply, because if Dabi said he didn’t love Aiko yet, the show would seize on it. It would be worse than the cremation incident. He opted instead for answering by not answering: “I think if you come on too strongly too soon, you might make Aiko uncomfortable. We only have a little time with her, but if you say that this early, she might feel like it’s insincere.”

“Oh.” Teruo leaned back again, contemplative. “I suppose that’s true.”

It didn’t stop him from humming and giving the rose goo-goo eyes, though. At least he was keeping it to himself. It made Dabi feel all kinds of awkward regarding his own rose. He’d fully intended to trash it like he had the first one, but if Teruo got wind of that, there would be accusations about Dabi’s reasons for being here. He glanced at Curator, since the man had struck him as a pretty clinical person; Curator had tucked his rose into his bag, in a spot where it couldn’t be crushed. They were both weirdly protective of the roses in their own ways. Dabi copied Curator and stowed his own rose in his bag, then climbed into bed.

His head hurt.

He hadn’t really anticipated all the mind games of coming here.

Natsuo was frantic.

A villain attack had left a portion of the city without electricity, including his apartment. His landlord had sent an email assuring that power would be restored by nine o’ clock tonight, but nine o’ clock wasn’t good enough. Episode two of The Bachelorette was dropping tonight, and Natsuo refused to miss it. The desperation kind of scared him, but the idea of letting those blue eyes slip away made something hysteric rise up in his chest.

They were not the same blue eyes as his brother’s.

Some stranger getting voted off a TV show wasn’t the same as the empty bed in the family house, the small shoes forgotten in the genkan, or the photograph of a blank-faced boy set atop an altar.

It felt the same, though.

Natsuo had let his brother slip away, once. He refused to let this go so easily.

Last year he’d seen a flyer posted outside the university cafeteria, advertising a gathering to watch The Bachelor as each episode came out. He’d taken a picture of it back then, not because he ever intended to watch The Bachelor, but because the host was Yukina Aiuchi and he’d been hoping for some excuse to talk to her. Volleyball and living away from campus had gotten in the way and his crush had waned, but he was glad to have it regardless. It meant he knew her major and had paid attention to who shared classes with her.

Natsuo hurried into the building in question right as class was letting out. It had been late notice, sue him. Yukina’s current class was a general one, which meant practically every second-year in the major was filtering out of the lecture at once, and the hallway was packed with people. Natsuo’s height gave him an advantage, but with so many people…  There! He spotted Yukina’s mousy brown hair and velvety ears in the crowd, near lost in the crush of escaping students. If he didn’t move fast she’d be gone, and he wasn’t such a big creep that he knew where she lived.

“Wait! Aiuchi!” he called.

She startled at the sound of her name, and her two friends paused too.

“Oh,” she said uneasily, as Natsuo hurried over to them. “Todoroki, right?”

Natsuo hated going by his family name, but now wasn’t the time to fight it. “That’s right. Sorry to ambush you like this, but I had a question for you.”

Yukina’s friends exchanged a sly look, but Yukina herself became flustered. “Oh! Um, well, okay? But I can’t stay long right now.”

“Because of the Bachelorette watch party, right?”

Yukina blinked in surprise. “You know about that?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” said Natsuo. “Can I join?”

All three of the women stared at him.

“Hang on a second,” said one of her friends, and turned them around into a huddle. Huh. That was awkward. Natsuo shifted his footing and glanced around for a distraction as the three of them broke into whispers. The other students gave them odd looks and wide berths. At five minutes into the hushed argument, with the rest of the class long gone, Natsuo could feel his ears going red in embarrassment. Was this really so weird? Was he really unpleasant enough that they needed a strategy meeting? Did they look at him and think of his pompous father? Shit. Well, there was one perk to being a Todoroki, and he wasn’t above using it.

“I can buy food for everyone,” he called.

The women looked up.

“What kind of food?” said one of the friends.

Natsuo’s mind blanked. “Uh… does everyone like pizza?”

“I like pizza,” said the friend.

 “I’ll need to check with the group chat to make sure everyone’s okay with it.” Yukina typed out a message on her phone, but even after her fingers stilled she frowned at the screen. “Can I ask why you’re interested?”

“I’m mostly interested in one of the competitors,” said Natsuo.

“Which one?”

“Dabi.”

They clearly hadn’t expected that.

“Dabi? Really?” said Yukina. “Not Hawks?”

Natsuo scowled. “If I wanted to see Hawks, I’d turn on any news channel. Dabi, he… He reminds me of someone.”

Somehow this was the right answer. Yukina pocketed her phone without waiting for a response and smiled.

“Good. The last guy who asked to join was just trying to get close to one of our members, not interested in the show at all.”

Good thing Natsuo hadn’t approached her before, then. Yukina’s friends kept texting the group to ask everyone’s preferred pizza toppings, and Natsuo ordered on his phone as the three of them led him off campus.

“We’ve got a pretty big group, but it’s not a big space. You might end up having to sit on the floor,” said Yukina, as they reached a building for student housing and started climbing the stairs.

“That’s fine,” said Natsuo.

“And my roommate’s kind of loud…”

“That’s okay.”

“And the TV’s not that great…”

“Aiuchi, you could live in a cardboard box, and so long as you have some kind of TV connection I wouldn’t care right now.”

Yukina chuckled, but still paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Just… be cool, okay?” she mumbled, and opened the door.

The first thing Natsuo saw was Pro Hero Mt. Lady, sprawled on the floor and stuffing her face with Jagarico sticks. Understandably, this shut down his brain for a few seconds. He hadn’t been expecting any heroes in such a normal place. This was made worse when Pro Hero Ryukyu came out of the bathroom in civilian clothing.

“Oh, so is this our new member?” said Ryukyu.

Mt. Lady looked up, and her boredom immediately evaporated. “Ooh, it really is a guy! Hang on, is that a Todoroki?”

“Uh,” said Natsuo.

“Please don’t mind us,” Ryukyu said with a gentle smile. “We’re here in town for a mission. We have our own lodging, but it gets a little lonely and Yukina was nice enough to invite us over—”

“You are a Todoroki!” Mt. Lady jumped to her feet and closed in, eyes glittering. “You must be, like, super rich—”

“Uhhhh,” said Natsuo.

“Snacks!” cried Yukina, flustered. “You found the Jagarico, but, uh, what about the rest?”

“It’s already set out, but everyone is holding out for the pizza,” said Ryukyu.

‘Everyone’ turned out to be a group of Yukina’s classmates. Good. Natsuo didn’t know what he’d have done if it turned out to be a hero party. It was awkward enough that he was one man now outnumbered by eleven women. They greeted him with enthusiasm—wow, food really was the way to get on someone’s good side—and Natsuo was welcomed into the group. The only furniture available was a couch so thin he could feel its frame through the cushion when he sat down (no wonder other people chose the floor), some cheap mismatched chairs that looked like they’d been salvaged from upperclassmen moving out, and an assembly of seating cushions that likewise didn’t match. No one seemed to care, though. It was a relaxed atmosphere, and Natsuo found himself settling in easily. He caught up with the people he did know—his own classmates, and members of the women’s sports teams he’d met in the gym—and was introduced to the ones he didn’t. By the time the pizza arrived, he was feeling pretty good about his decisions.

“Everybody, quiet down! It’s starting!” said Kanoka, one of the volleyball wing spikers.

Natsuo leaned in instinctively. Mt. Lady and Yukina, who’d sat on either side of him, followed the movement.

“You, uh, really are interested in the show, aren’t you?” Yukina said nervously.

“Very secure in your masculinity! I like that in a man,” cooed Mt. Lady, who thought she was being cute by running a finger down his arm.  Ryukyu had perched on the arm of the couch, and swatted Mt. Lady without looking at her. Mt. Lady retreated with a pout.

The TV screen flashed to the title image of the show, and the host’s voice said, “Tonight, on The Bachelorette…”

What followed were a lot of out of context clips and soundbites. It started with Aiko rambling about how excited she was, atop video of her running around on dates and making out with multiple people. Hawks briefly appeared in a pirate getup and all the women squealed. But not all was sunshine and daisies in Bachelorette Land, because the footage took a turn for the dramatic: petty infighting among the contestants, shots of almost everyone crying or otherwise making expressions like their dog had died, Aiko sobbing about Do I actually know any of these people, and—wait, was that Dabi trying to jump off a balcony? They needed to go back to that! Ugh. No, the episode was starting for real, now.

It turned out that the viewing group was pretty critical of the bachelors on this season. As the episode played, they whispered among themselves how so-and-so was attractive for this reason, and so-and-so was lame for that reason. Their general consensus on Dabi after the first episode was that he could be suave, but mostly that he looked a little scary. Natsuo ground his teeth at that—so Dabi was injured! So what? What kind of shitty people judged a guy by what was inflicted on him instead of who he actually was?

Luckily their attitudes changed quickly. Dabi surprised everyone by jumping to Hawks’ defense in the ‘wrong reasons’ argument, and suddenly they considered him one of them. A Hawks fan. Kanoka, who had no opinion of Dabi’s looks but had disliked him because Dabi disliked Hawks, was particularly pleased.

The rest of the episode was something like a train wreck. Dabi was glimpsed reading Fifty Shades of Gray with a dead look in his eyes. Hawks purposely threw away his win on the group date; on the same date Tobio attempted to start a hostile takeover bid of the mansion, only to have his schemes flop before they could go anywhere. Gentle compared everyone in the mansion to different brands of tea, some of which were clearly insults. Rappa and Muscular were violent and annoying literally everyone except Aiko, and the only reason she stayed sane was because she had the bonus of not being stuck in the same building with them.

The last half was even more of a wreck, and that was mostly Dabi’s fault. The preview had painted him almost rabid, but the balcony scene seemed far more like the culmination of the entire mansion’s frustration with Rappa and Muscular. The burn your bones to ash line had the rest of the group muttering, but it caught Natsuo’s attention like nothing else.

Dabi had a combustion quirk.

Dabi was twenty-five, and had blue eyes, a familiar face, a combustion quirk, and scars from a devastating fire.

“Oh, wow, mood,” said Mt. Lady, who’d given up her usual seduction routine and now slouched on the couch with a stray pepperoni stuck in her long hair. “If people started screaming outside my bedroom window, I’d flip my shit, too.”

Ryukyu grimaced and rescued the pepperoni slice. “Don’t say that, Yu. You’re supposed to be a hero.”

“Okay, if two guys started screaming outside my bedroom window, I’d heroically flip my shit.”

Ryukyu gave a long-suffering sigh.

The show didn’t seem to know what it wanted to do from there. Other contestants ranted in their confessionals and voiceovers about how vicious and frightening Dabi was, and during the talk with Aiko there were a lot of aggressively dramatic zoom-ins as if Dabi was being put on the spot, but Dabi’s actions didn’t support it at all. He didn’t start any shit at the cocktail party. His talk with Aiko was frank but respectful. When he talked with Teruo, his words were thoughtful. It was obvious parts were cut out, as if they’d attempted to frame it badly, but there was nothing vicious or frightening at all. It seriously undermined what all the other contestants were saying. Dabi didn’t appear in any confessionals this episode, but even stranger, Hawks had no voiceover or confessional time during the ceremony either; he contributed only a disjointed soundbite of “It’s a little stressful in the house,” which could easily have been pulled from any other time in the week. The group loudly speculated that Hawks must’ve refused join the others in ganging up on Dabi.

“That’s so nice of him,” cooed Engineering major Kaori.

“Hawks is always so sweet to people,” said Kanoka.

“Ugh,” said Mt. Lady, which Natsuo related to much more.

Natsuo didn’t like heroes. Hawks was one of the worst, since he was so excited to work with Endeavor all the time. The one time Natsuo had met the guy in person, he'd lit up and commented that Natsuo looked just like his father; Natsuo had dearly wished to maim him for that. If Hawks had Dabi’s back, though… maybe he wasn’t all bad.

Chapter Text

“I have to admit something,” said Hawks, hands clasped between his knees as he sat in the confessional. “I am—” He leaned forward as if this really were a secret. The camera didn’t move, but the crew leaned in too, eyes bright with interest. Hawks’ eyes roved over them, taking in their rapt attention and drawing out the suspense before finishing, “—a workaholic.”

His answer was a collective groan as the staff members rocked back to their normal slouches. To the public perhaps this was a secret, but to the crew it was very much not.

Hawks spent a lot of effort maintaining his ‘handsomely clever and mildly annoying’ persona. He loved the attention. He loved being able to go out and save people. He thought it all worked pretty well until work hours ended and his coworkers expected him to disengage. Hawks did not disengage. He was very specifically trained not to disengage. He was meant to be a hero and a tool for the Commission, nothing else. After all, being a person and being allowed to relax might (gasp) start a scandal and impact his ranking. That wouldn’t do. He might’ve killed himself with overwork if other pro-heroes hadn’t decided to intervene.

After almost five years of heroics, he’d finally let slip a few details of his life to some other pros at a party. He tried to spin it so it sounded normal, but apparently failed miserably. Where had he gone wrong? Maybe when he mentioned his mother and her trick with the floating eyeballs; apparently other mothers didn’t keep a perimeter like she did. The questioning became more insistent, other pros began to hover embarrassingly close, and Miruko finally managed to break through his walls. Best Jeanist, also present at the time, had listened to the whole story, said something along the lines of “Like the cinch of ill-fitted jeans,” and promptly invited Hawks to join their mutiny club. Literally. It was a group of pros planning to oust most of the Commission’s leadership, spearheaded by Tensei Iida. Tensei may have been bound to a wheelchair but his determination hadn’t changed. Right now, somewhere in Tokyo, they were making their move. Arrests were being made and Commission members going to trial. It would be quiet but effective. The amount of evidence was ludicrously high, once Hawks had started smuggling information out of the Commission himself.

They’ll know you were the informant, won’t they? the group had asked, concerned for his safety. 

Ha, yeah, Hawks had replied, because he’d already made peace with the idea of an assassin.

Best Jeanist hatched a plan: since the Commission could send spies and assassins in secrecy, Hawks would be protected by dropping him directly into the spotlight. The Bachelorette was filmed in a secluded, heavily secure location with cameras running twenty-four seven and half the country tuning in to watch it every week. Nothing could happen to Hawks there without a massive outcry, suspicious evidence, or even more suspicious lack of evidence. Play along with his lackadaisical persona and the very real exasperation of his sidekicks, and the reasoning wouldn’t look suspicious at all to someone who wasn’t already involved. If the Commission believed he was still on their side and tried to use him against the mutiny club, he had the excuse of ‘undercover’ work against the M.L.A. commanders who’d inexplicably decided to join the show.

It was perfect.

Ridiculous, but perfect.

There was only one problem: he couldn’t be a hero here.

“My big goal in life is to make a world where heroes have time to kill,” said Hawks in the here and now. He leaned back again and winked at the camera. “With my trademark top speed, of course. My problem here is… now that I’ve got time to kill myself, I’ve got no idea what to do with it. All I’ve ever done is hero work, hanging out with heroes, and talking about heroics. That’s literally it. I’ve got no hobbies! I’ve been so desperate for something to do that I’ve been trying to bully my agency into calling me back for a job. Needless to say, they’re not impressed. The producers here aren’t too pleased, either.”

A few of the crewmembers stifled laughter and Hawks grinned. He wondered what footage they’d pair with this interview. Maybe it would be the shot of Hawks attempting to escape from the patio because I just need to check in with the agency, it’ll only be a minute, only for Misty to catch him by the ankle and heave him back down.

“I’ve realized my problem is that I fixate on things. So, if I want to stop going stir crazy for work, I need to put all my attention toward something else. I can imagine what you’re thinking: Hawks, you’re on The Bachelorette! Put all your attention toward wooing the lady! Except she has to split her attention between all of the contestants, so there’s no way in hell I’ll get all the attention I want. There’s only one conclusion.” Hawks steepled his fingers in front of his face, trying for a detective pose but grinning too wide to be convincing. “I need… to make a friend.”

A great friend.

A best friend (sorry, Rumi).

Misery loved company, right?

The first step of Operation: Friendship was to determine the best friend candidate.

Tobio was obviously out of the running. Maybe the relationships on this show weren’t real in the long run, but he at least wanted someone who could tolerate him, and not make him look like an idiot for trusting once the filming wrapped.

Hawks hung out with Saito a lot, but as nice as he was, Saito wasn’t best friend material. He idolized Hawks a little too much. It was awkward to try holding a conversation when the other person took every word coming out of your mouth as gold. It felt almost sleazy, like he’d be taking advantage of the kid, or something. Even Hawks’ high schooler intern wasn’t this impressed by him. If Hawks was going to have a friend, he needed someone like Rumi—someone who’d keep up with him and give as good as they got.

Dabi had immediately sprung to mind: he was a loner, sure, but he was quick-witted, stubborn, and not afraid to speak his mind. He would’ve been a great option if he didn’t give Hawks the stink eye every time he dared exist in the same room. He’d defended Hawks against Tobio, but only reluctantly. He didn’t like Hawks.

Gentle was similar to Saito; not nearly as hero-worshipping (skeptical of it, even), but nice and bumbling to the point Hawks felt kind of bad about it.

Hyouto wasn’t a very old man, but he was super old at heart, and sitting through one ‘conversation’ about menu pricing and employee turnover rates was all Hawks needed. No more. No, thank you.

Miyashita was definitely part of the M.L.A. contingent. That was super awkward. Hawks wasn’t going to touch their weird book club with a ten-foot pole.

Keeping himself occupied would’ve been so much easier if Hawks still had his phone. Curse his built-in, sidekick-induced reactions. If he’d been caught with a phone like that at his agency he’d have gotten a lecture from a sidekick or Tokoyami’s patented “I’m not mad, just disappointed” look, and he could deal with that. He had a lot of practice dealing with that. But here? Among strangers? Among enemies? With absolutely nothing to do? Operation: Friendship was a do-or-die mission.

He’d been monitoring the other contestants pretty much since his phone had been taken away. He’d sent out feathers, gotten reconnaissance, and physically moved in to test the waters in various groups. They’d all welcomed him in with fake smiles. Everyone seemed under the impression that Hawks’ civilized interactions with Tobio meant he was a dumbass blissfully unaware of Tobio’s shit talking, so they didn’t feel very threatened by him anymore. They seemed much more excited about how cameras liked him and anyone he sat next to; Hawks had no way of seeing the episodes at this point, but he was sure his reputation got him—and anyone in his proximity—a drastically higher percentage of screen time, and a lot of men seemed to be banking on that.

I don’t want to be used, he wanted to scream. Not by the Commission, and not by any of you either!

But he was a hero with a reputation to keep, so he gritted his teeth into smiles, made polite conversation, and moved on to the next group. Sunday was frustrating. Monday was unbearable. Tuesday was a black cloud, with the only silver lining being the date card. Tobio read off several names.

“Teruo, Trumpet, Geten, Hyouto, Dabi, Gentle, Taro, and Hawks. The fun starts at the pool, boys. Heart, Aiko.”

Teruo began to angst about potentially not getting any attention for himself in the group date, but Hawks was excited. This way he could observe the other contestants while they were driven toward a goal. Determination was definitely something he admired, and would be good in a friend; maybe they’d be more genuine while on task, instead of trying to weasel in on Hawks’ spotlight. He might be able to single out a friend option better that way.

He should also appreciate his own opportunity to spend time with Aiko. A very small part of him thought maybe the last group date was a fluke, that he did still have a chance to develop feelings for her. Most of him had given that up as a lost cause (why had he ever thought he was capable of romance when he was twenty-three years old already with no point of reference?), but every mission-oriented iota of him knew that he’d have to keep trying to woo her, romance or no romance. He had to reach week eight. Even if he didn’t feel anything, he had to pretend he did.

Wednesday morning arrived bright and clear. Hawks woke before the sun but forced himself to stay put, flexing his wings anxiously as he counted the minutes. Getting up too early might annoy the crew, or may even draw the ire of other contestants. Geten, snoring in the bunk on the other side of the room, was livid as a matter of principle; giving him reason to rage would make him even more unbearable. Dabi might threaten to jump off a balcony again. The memory made Hawks snort and bury his face in his pillow. If Dabi had really wanted violence, he’d have gotten it. Seriously, he’d been blocked by Saito and Gentle; it clearly didn’t take much to calm him down.

It was only at eight o’ clock that people started to move. His feathers picked up the sound of Skeptic entering the hallway, and that was Hawks’ cue to bounce out of bed and down to the kitchen.

“Do you even sleep?” Watts grumbled; she was stealing a doughnut from the just-completed spread of breakfast food.

“Trade secret,” Hawks told her with a wink.

“He sold his soul,” Shion joked, passing through the kitchen so she and Prey could set up to catch other competitors descending. “That’s why he’s so energetic so early. There’s no other explanation.”

“Or maybe I’m just excited for the group date,” said Hawks. His eyes zeroed in on Prey. “Did you get that one on film? I feel like Curious would like that line.”

Prey gave a jaw-cracking yawn and blinked down at his camera. “I haven’t turned it on yet.”

Hawks shrugged. He’d find another opportunity to appeal to the editors later.

In short time the more put-together members of the mansion had come down to join them. The crew backed off to film the competitors descending on the food. Most of them trended toward the traditional breakfast foods today, which Hawks could understand; after taking advantage of the sweeter options for over a week, it was nice to get back to more savory basics. Skeptic ate his food like the grilled fish had offended him personally. Gentle perused the furikake selections with the same intensity he used for his teas. Trumpet sipped his coffee with his eyes closed. The calm was briefly upset by Rappa and Muscular, who came down for protein shakes before heading out to their early morning workouts. That was another plus of the group date: Hawks wouldn’t have to deal with them for most of the day. Those two were insufferable. As the sun rose higher more people stumbled down. Dabi was predictably not one of them.

“Hawks, are you almost done?” asked Misty, poking her head in about an hour after Hawks had sat down.

At this point Hawks had been loitering with one last piece of rolled omelet on his plate, bored to tears but not ready to go change yet. He popped the omelet into his mouth quickly and said mid-chew, “Done now! What do you need?”

Misty grimaced at his lack of manners. “I’m going to get Dabi ready. You’re usually the first done, so I figured I’d get you both out of the way at the same time.”

“Works for me,” said Hawks, and followed her upstairs.

He stalled at the doorway to Dabi’s bedroom, because yeah, it may have been shared, but he could still give the man some privacy. Misty had no such hesitations. She picked her way through the mess of dirty clothes other men had thrown on the floor, and knocked at the frame of one of the bunks.

“Up and at ‘em, Dabi, let’s go.”

Dabi groaned from the lower bunk.

“You’ve got a date to get ready for. Come on.”

Dabi pulled a pillow over his head. Misty wrenched it away and tossed the blanket off of him. Dabi scrunched up like it was cold and cracked his eyes open to glare at her. It wasn’t menacing in the least. He looked like a disgruntled kitten.   

“Are you awake?” Misty said flatly.

“Fuck you,” said Dabi.

This was apparently all the confirmation Misty needed. She tossed the pillow toward Dabi’s feet and said, “Good. I’m here to give you and Hawks the rundown on what’s going on today. You remember what the date card said, right? The date starts at the pool behind the mansion. That means going in the water—” she grimaced, “—which means you need to dress for that. Once the date begins, you’re in date mode, so you can’t double back here if you forgot anything. Understood?”

“Got it,” said Hawks.

“Mrph,” said Dabi.

“Since you’re not going to be wearing shirts in the pool, we have a different mic system for you, too. It’s a waterproof mic pack that’ll go at the small of your back, but the microphone needs to be up by your face, so you’ll be wearing necklaces. I’ve got them here, and then the sound team will be rigging them up for you.”

She tossed one to Hawks. It was a thin rope and bead item, meant to fit fairly snug around his neck. He put it on right away as Misty placed a second one on Dabi’s head. Dabi kept glaring.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re supposed to be meeting the others in the cocktail room in about an hour,” said Misty. “Anyone not invited to the date is exiled from the pool and cocktail room area, so you won’t have to worry about any of them interfering. Get up, get dressed, and meet us down there, and you might have time for breakfast.”

That got Dabi moving. He was incredibly food motivated.

Hawks got dressed and went down to the cocktail room. By nine o’ clock all the group date contestants were assembled and equipped, with the others shuffled away where the cameras could pretend they didn’t exist in the same building. Curious looked over all the cameras to ensure everyone was set, then motioned silently for them to exit onto the patio. Aiko awaited them, sunbathing in a bikini on one of the lounge chairs. Teruo wolf whistled, and Hawks fought the urge to smack him in the face with a wing. Aiko didn’t seem displeased. She sat up with a smile.

“Hey, boys!” she said, and as she moved to stand, Hawks noticed the little plate with the rose on the table next to her. Apparently this date would be moving fast. “I wondered if you’d be up for a pool party?”

The answer was, of course, yes. Aiko wasted no time cannonballing into the water, and the competitors were quick to follow. After some consideration Hawks detached most of his feathers and left them beside the couch. They were waterproof, but his full wings were ungainly in a pool. It was sort of fun. Weird, but fun. Hawks had never had time to spend in a pool beyond training under the Commission, so cannonballs, bellyflops, and childish splashing quickly shot up on his ‘favorite things’ list. He was happy to make a fool of himself in the water, where others like Trumpet and Geten looked on from the hot tub, and Hyouto sunned himself on a chair. Aiko seemed to like it; she laughed at his antics and splashed him right back.

The only one apparently not enjoying himself was Dabi. Dabi hadn’t taken off his shirt to swim. He hung back in the shadow of the house instead, as if being within ten feet of water might be hazardous to his health. He didn’t call for attention or gravitate toward the others, just… stood there. Hawks’ mind was pulled in two separate directions.

Stay with Aiko, said the first part. You have a mission.

Invite Dabi in, said the other, more heroic part. He wants to stay on the show but won’t interact now. Something’s specifically keeping him away. Figure out the problem. Overcome the obstacle.

Hawks was about to wade out of the pool and indulge the second option when the crew busted out a water volleyball net. They divided into teams, and Geten and Teruo had started arguing over who got Aiko on their team, when Dabi called, “I’m staying out of it. You’ve got even numbers.”

If Hawks left the pool, there would be an odd number again and the arguing would start all over. Plus, he really did want to try aquatic volleyball. He sent Dabi a halfhearted glare but turned back to the net. Hawks turned out to be abysmal at volleyball, but every time he botched a save he laughed and Aiko gave him a high five anyway. Things were going well until he glanced to the side again and realized Dabi had disappeared. Where had he gone on a group date? It was only by Hawks’ nature that he considered ‘up’ an appropriate place to look, and spotted spiky black hair. Dabi had retreated to one of the bedroom balconies to watch them from above. He’d basically exiled himself from the date.

Something is very wrong, thought Hawks. Did Dabi dislike swimming? If so, this was about the worst date he could’ve been brought on. Shouldn’t one of the producers have known and intervened? Unless they’d done that on purpose. He wouldn’t put it past them.

As the day bled toward noon and the game ended, Aiko left the pool. She sent a considering look up at Dabi. Good. She’d pick up on the weirdness and bring him back into the group, so Hawks didn’t have to feel sorry for him anymore. Yes, this was great… all the way up until she picked up the rose and went back inside the mansion without explanation. All the other men saw it, and looked at each other in bafflement. Was it a pity rose? Surely even that would have some kind of forewarning?

The minutes stretched on, and there was no sign of Aiko. Hawks would’ve expected her to lean over the balcony to at least give them some indication that the date was over, but no; all he could glimpse was a few strands of Dabi’s hair over the railing. Frowning, he sent up a feather. The others quieted as they realized what he was doing. Hawks closed his eyes and focused… and only picked up one heartbeat up there. That couldn’t be right. He moved the feather to poke at Dabi’s side, and they heard a yelp. Hawks winced as his feather was seized in a searing grip. A moment later Dabi leaned over the rail, feather clutched in his fist and expression livid.

“What the fuck?” he snarled.

“Just checking on you,” Hawks called back. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a rose up there, do you, buddy?”

“Why the fuck would I have a rose?” said Dabi.

The other men began to mutter amongst themselves.

“You’re the only one not with the group, and Aiko left with it,” said Hawks.

Dabi frowned and disappeared again. A short time later he appeared at the patio door, arms wide. “See? No rose,” he said.

“I do see,” said Hawks, letting the feather tug itself out of Dabi’s hand and back into his plumage. “Did you see Aiko on your way down?”

“No.”

“Does that mean we’ve all been eliminated?” asked Hyouto.

Could that really happen? All eight of them at once? The thought made Hawks feel nauseous. He thought it had been going well. He’d been having fun. Had he not been charming enough? Maybe he should’ve stuck to the Commission’s values: prioritize the mission over comfort. Fuck. Was that really the best mentality?

“There seems to be some confusion out here.”

Hawks looked up and was relieved to see Sato approaching them.

“Just a little,” he said, keeping on his hero smile. No sense in letting anyone else know he was nervous. “I don’t suppose you could fill us in on what’s going on?”

“You see, gentlemen, Aiko has taken off,” said Sato. “She took the rose with her, so the pool party is over. But the race for her heart? That is about to begin. It’s your job now to find her.”

Oh. Oh. Hawks hadn’t failed. He stood at attention as if this were a mission briefing; at this point it may as well be.

“You’ll be divided into four teams of two,” Sato continued, “but unfortunately only one member of the winning team will spend the evening with Aiko. You’ll follow clues to find her, and remember—no quirks.” Hawks felt his wings droop a little. Of course. It would be far too easy for him to get this done flying. “Your team assignments and your first clue are waiting in the driveway right now. Are you ready?”

The contestants howled with bolstered spirits.

“Good! Now off you go! Time is wasting!” cried Sato, and they all took off.

Hawks was, of course, the fastest. He made it out to the mansion’s driveway first and found four small, colorful cars parked there, a silver bucket and lockbox in front of each of them. He ran for the red one (he was predictable, sue him), and snatched the paper out from under the wiper.

“Dabi!” he shouted. “You’re with me!”

While others raced to their vehicles, Dabi did not. Dabi came out at a pace that might’ve been called a stroll. Hawks clicked his tongue in irritation. Fine; he’d have to pick up his partner’s slack. That was nothing new. He knelt down to inspect the bucket. It was full of keys. Presumably one belonged to the lockbox, which contained the car keys. He studied the lock, its color and brand, and started sorting through the keys. Shit, why were there so many of them?

“The fuck are you doing?” Dabi demanded when he finally came level with him.

“Is ‘fuck’ all you ever say?” Hawks asked dryly, not looking up from his task.

“We don’t have time for that,” said Dabi.

Hawks snorted. “Well, unless you’ve got a better idea—”

“I do.”

Dabi snatched up the lockbox, wound up, and threw it on the ground with all his strength. It broke open, no key needed.

“Wow, that is a better idea,” said Hawks. He picked up the car keys and turned to toss them to Dabi, only to find him moving toward the passenger side. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Dabi paused. “Getting in the damn car. What do you want from me?”

“But aren’t you driving?” said Hawks.

“You’ve got the keys. You drive.”

“Dabi, I can’t drive. I sincerely do not know how.”

Dabi’s eyes widened. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Why would I?” said Hawks, exasperated. “I fly everywhere! It’s fast and convenient! I’ve never had to drive a car!” A terrifying thought occurred to him. “Wait, you can drive, right? They wouldn’t have paired us like this otherwise. Right?”

Dabi grimaced and didn’t answer the question. “Give me the keys.”

Hawks did, praying this wasn’t about to get him killed.

It was a small car so Hawks was already expecting a tight fit, but the situation was made worse when he realized it only had regular seats. There was no way he’d be able to cram his full wingspan in here without damaging his feathers and impeding the driver. With a sigh of frustration, he detached most of his feathers for the second time today and sent them into the backseat. He couldn’t get rid of them entirely, though; the little nubs of his wing bases remained, and those were hellish on regular seats. He buckled himself in and hunched forward to give them room. A go-pro was mounted on each side of the dashboard to get a view of their faces, and on Hawks’ side he found a cheap phone, a map, and a page with the first clue.

“Okay, here’s the first one,” he said. “Find your way to location number one, where you’ll make a quick change. Look for the flag, then proceed to the alley. Wow, that’s useful. Let me get the map open.”

Meanwhile Dabi was adjusting the seat and mirrors, mouth set into a grim line. The time he’d gained them with his lockbox-breaking maneuver wasn’t enough; the other teams all had regular drivers in them, and all three cars were pulling away. Dabi cussed, turned the wheel for a sharp turn toward the driveway… and ran over the bucket. It crunched and clattered away, and Hawks seized the armrest hard enough for his nails to bite into the leather.

“What was that?” he cried.

Dabi gripped the wheel tighter as if trying really hard not to be embarrassed. “My teacher learned his skills from Grand Theft Auto.”

“You’re joking,” said Hawks, but he didn’t respond. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” said Dabi.

Okay. Whatever. Hawks could work with this. He’d saved a family from a high-speed car crash when he was seven. He could do the same for himself now if needed.

Dabi brought them down the long driveway, slow and jerking as he got a feel for the pedals. Hawks made no further comment because it would be a good thing for him to understand how the car worked instead of veering into traffic like a crazy person. By the time they stopped at the entrance and its security check-in, the others were long gone.

“Go right,” said Hawks.

“Right?” Dabi scoffed. “Everyone else went left.”

“And everyone else must be a dumbass who didn’t look at their map, because there’s a section of town specifically circled on the map.”

Dabi obediently went right. “What kind of flag are we looking for, here?”

“Since they didn’t give any other descriptors, it must be something unmistakable,” said Hawks. “It’ll either be enormous, or have a specific Bachelorette theme. Don’t worry about not seeing it right away. This map’s taking us into Alderaan, so it’ll be a little while before we have to worry about spotting it.”

Dabi nodded shortly and kept his eyes on the road. Now that he was on the move, he was a decent driver. Slow and cautious of all road signs, but he wasn’t about to crash. They’d been driving ten minutes when the phone began to ring. Hawks answered it immediately and put it on speakerphone.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Aiko’s voice giggled. “Sorry I ran out on you, but this is all part of my master plan.”

She was happy. Positive. And they were on the move. These were all good signs.

“I don’t suppose you’ve been rescued yet?” said Hawks, dipping into a flirtatious tone.

“Not yet! I can’t wait to see you guys.”

Good, no one else had beaten them there yet.

“Great,” said Hawks. “We’ll see you soon, then.”

“Good luck!” She giggled again and disconnected.

They were still in this. He hadn’t failed. Hawks knocked his fist against the ceiling in renewed excitement and said, “All right! Let’s go, Team Hotwings!”

“Hotwings?” Dabi spluttered. “What are you talking about?”

“Your quirk is combustion, mine is Fierce Wings. Hotwings. It’s simple, it’s catchy—”

“This isn’t a hero team up.”

“I mean, technically—”

“Shut up before I crash this car on purpose.”

Hawks laughed, but shut up to let him concentrate on driving.

They didn’t have to go deep into Alderaan City, but it was enough for the streets to become crowded with other vehicles. The circled area on the map was a cluster of businesses. Hawks leaned still further toward the windshield, scanning the area. A flag, a flag, a flag out of place enough to be their sign…

“There,” he snapped, pointing up and to the right.

A white flag with a red rose fluttered just outside the entrance of an alley. Dabi pulled in, and they parked in what appeared to be the backlot of a restaurant. A few cameramen with Bachelorette lanyards stood near the door to record their approach. It was definitely the right place. Hawks jumped out of the car and entered the back door of the restaurant. He had to skirt through the very active kitchen to reach a side room marked by another rose flag, and in this storage room he found a row of hanging three-piece suits. Make a quick change, indeed. They all had names pinned to them, and he noticed that hangers with Trumpet and Geten’s names were empty. He hadn’t been the first here, and that sent a flash of irritation through him. He was supposed to be the man too fast for his own good. He was letting down his brand. The next one, though, he’d reach first for sure. He located the suit with his own name, and by the time Dabi arrived, he was already halfway through changing. Dabi made a big deal of grumbling and shielding his eyes. Jerk. Hawks was pleased to find that while the car had not been meant for avian quirks, the suit very much was. His baby wings flapped freely as he doubled back, searching for clues. As he did, in came Hyouto and Gentle. Both men seemed relieved to see him, but wasted no time chatting.

Hawks had no idea where to find the clue. He stepped out into the restaurant itself—very fancy, very bright, probably very expensive—but nothing stood out at the bar or among the tables. He could hear Gentle loudly asking the kitchen staff about clues, which was probably something they’d been forbidden from answering. He opened the door to two more storage rooms and a freezer and found nothing before his wings picked up Dabi’s approach.

Dabi had put on the suit but ignored the bowtie entirely and left several of his top buttons undone. Hawks had already noticed that Dabi seemed allergic to top buttons in general; no matter what he was wearing, it always showed off a lot of chest (or, in the case of that loose white shirt he liked so much, a lot of his chest or a lot of his stomach depending on how it fell). Hawks had a suspicion that it was meant to help his scars breathe, but it could get very distracting. Hawks’ eyes strayed down to that chest on their own before he forced himself back to business.

“I haven’t found anything,” he reported. “There was nothing in the room with the suits, nothing in the restaurant—"

“You didn’t find anything because you’re too fast,” said Dabi. “Didn’t you think to check the pockets?”

The pockets? Hawks patted a hand against the suit coat. There was something in the pocket. He pulled out a piece of thick paper, and there indeed was the next clue.

“If you want to win Aiko’s heart, you’ll have to lay it all on the line,” he read aloud. “Line, line, what does that mean?”

“Judging by the last clue, she means something literal,” said Dabi.

“Of course!” cried a voice behind them; Gentle was there with his bowtie askew. “A line! It must be the road marks in the alley!”

He ran back to the door with Hyouto on his heels. Hawks made to follow, but Dabi said, “Wrong line, hero.”

“Then what line do you think it is?” Hawks snapped.

“We’re in a restaurant,” said Dabi, as if he was talking to someone particularly stupid. “That’s not an accident. It has to be the kitchen line.”

Oh. That was kind of genius, actually. Thank goodness Hawks got paired up with a foodie this time. Dabi led the way into the kitchen and went straight up to the place all the receipts and orders had been pinned. Sure enough, another page with a rose picture was there among the restaurant items.

“My ‘best friends’ are waiting for you down the street. Head through the front doors and turn left. If you can’t find the flag, ask Sugawara for directions,” Hawks read aloud. He laughed. “I know exactly what that means. Follow me.”

Hawks had to pace himself to keep from leaving Dabi in his dust. Dabi seemed determined to saunter everywhere he went, race or no, but Hawks couldn’t be mad at him. Dabi was contributing, and did want to win.

There’s another obstacle, just like the pool, whispered the voice in Hawks’ head.

He didn’t have time to investigate it, but he didn’t try to force Dabi any faster, either. The camera and sound workers trailing behind them probably appreciated it too.

Hawks led him down two intersections, to the door of a jewelry store. Another rose flag fluttered in a flowerpot outside, far smaller than the one on the restaurant. On the drive Hawks hadn’t spotted the flag, but he’d sure as hell noted the storefront.

“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” Hawks singsonged.

Dabi rolled his eyes and pushed open the door. The clerk behind the desk clearly expected them, because he called out a greeting as soon as they entered.

“Welcome! If you’re looking for Aiko you’ve just missed her, but these are the necklaces she picked out. Which one did you want to give her?”

Upon the counter were four velvet busts, one bare and the other three supporting massive necklaces. Hawks kind of hoped those jewels were fake, because holy shit that was a lot of diamonds. Hawks glanced at Dabi for an opinion.

Dabi shrugged and said, “You’re the model.”

Ugh, whatever. Hawks turned back to the necklaces. Which one did he like best? Eventually he pointed to the far left, to a necklace with a slight undulating pattern like some kind of vegetation. It wasn’t as gaudy as the other two. The clerk sealed the necklace into a fancy red box and handed it over along with their newest clue: It’s time to put a spring in your step. Look for the rose. I’ll be waiting.

As they left, they saw Teruo and Taro running toward them; the camera crew had probably clued them in where the flags hadn’t.

“Time to speed up,” Hawks muttered.

“Spring must be literal again,” said Dabi. “Another shop?”

“No.” Hawks grinned and pulled out the map. “Spring is a street.”

They hurried off. Dabi’s pace was a little faster now, but Hawks suspected this was a bad thing. Dabi’s expressions were hard to read beyond his eyes, but his face seemed pinched. Stress? Irritation? Pain? Shit, thought Hawks, how far does the scarring actually go? Was it a physical limitation slowing him down? They had to find this next place, stat. This would be so much easier if he could fly them around.

To his great relief, they’d gone the right way. Ahead of them Hawks spotted a rose graphic pasted to the sidewalk before the dark doors to some kind of drinking club. He steered them through the doors, down some stairs… and into a wide, pale room. It was mostly empty. The wooden bar on the right side leant most of the color, beyond it lay a seating area centered around a television, and beyond that was what must’ve been the club’s main attraction: a massive metal security vault. For a moment Hawks thought they’d won, but the camera crew in this room wasn’t centered around Aiko.

“Hey there,” said Trumpet, raising a glass of booze.

Two simple words, and Hawks’ excitement was popped like a balloon.

“Hey,” he said, trailing over. “Looks like you were the first here. Where—”

“Where’s Aiko? On her date,” said Trumpet.

“She picked Geten over you?” Dabi sounded downright offended.

Trumpet chuckled. “Geten’s mastered the puppy eyes. Not much stands in his way when he deigns to use them. Even I’ll admit it’s cute.”

Dabi was definitely offended.

“In any case, he’s in the vault and we’re out here,” said Trumpet, “but we can still keep an eye on them. See?” He tipped his glass toward the TV, and Hawks realized it was a live feed of the date inside the vault.

“So we all race here and have to watch once we lose? Great.” Dabi shook his head in disgust, then doubled back toward the bar and sat on one of the stools.

The other men arrived gradually. Gentle and Hyouto came next, excited as if hoping they might stand a chance, only to fall into a depression when they realized it was too late. Teruo and Taro had clearly known that they’d be dead last, and trudged down the stairs with no hurry at all. They all sat down to watch the date on the little TV. Hawks watched with folded arms, face impassive. It was kind of torture, to hear Aiko giggling through the speakers and see Geten’s smug face. It felt like failure.

Hawks wasn’t used to failure. Disappointment, yes, but failure? He’d faced consequences for defeat and noncompliance early in the Commission’s training, and since then took every measure to avoid it. The idea of it dried out his mouth and threatened to make his wings pull in defensively. He wasn’t that scared little kid with no support anymore, but could this put him back in the Commission’s reach? This was the second date in a row where he’d let someone get the better of him. What if Aiko thought he wasn’t taking this seriously? What if he was kicked off the show on week three? What if he wasted all of the other heroes’ planning and messed up their coup against the Commission?

Holy shit, Hawks needed a drink. He went to sit at the bar, too. No bartender was in sight, and clearly none had been around since they arrived, either; the space in front of Dabi remained empty, and the other man was tapping a finger angrily.

“Fuck this,” Dabi said when it became clear that no bartender would be drawn by Hawks’ presence either.

He went behind the bar and started tinkering with the bottles as if he’d worked there before. Hawks cast his eyes back down, picking at the edge of his sleeve. Maybe once Dabi was done, he’d try poking around there himself. Maybe he’d just raid the bar of all its cherries. He was wondering to himself just where those cherries might be stored when an Old Fashioned cocktail topped with orange rind and cherries knocked against his knuckles. Hawks blinked up in surprise to find Dabi glaring at him.

“Stop looking like your dog just died,” said Dabi. “It’s not the end of the fucking world.”

He was up close with direct eye contact, and it was devastating. Holy shit his eyes were blue. Super blue. Gas flame on a stove, blue. They halted all of Hawks’ thoughts, so he just gaped like an idiot. Dabi gave a derisive snort and turned away to make a cocktail for himself. Hawks shook his head to clear it. He held up the glass in an awkward toast and mumbled, “Thanks,” before taking a sip. And that obliterated his thoughts for a whole new reason.

“This is the best Old Fashioned I’ve ever had in my life!” he cried. “What did you use in this, the blood of virgins?”

“It’s a simple recipe. You just need quality ingredients,” said Dabi, eyes fixed on where he was muddling the sugar, water, and bitters.

“So that’s a yes to the blood of virgins.”

Dabi scowled at him.

“Could I have one, too?” asked Gentle, hesitantly taking the seat next to Hawks.

Dabi bounced one shoulder in a dismissive shrug, but he did slide the next cocktail to Gentle. His long fingers moved on to making a third drink with brisk efficiency, and Hawks’ eyes stayed glued to them. The back of his mind, though, was running overtime.

Dabi was brusque, but he was kind. There was no need for him to have tried comforting Hawks or making him a drink, especially if he really hated him. Maybe hatred wasn’t what he felt at all. Hawks had noticed that Dabi kept his distance from everyone in the mansion—a few people like Aiko, Saito, and certain crewmembers were able to speak with him normally, but for everyone else he put up an aggressive front. Maybe he was just intimidated. Maybe he was like an alley cat who’d been kicked too many times and now hissed at everyone in case one of the passing strangers might be bad, too. It would make sense for him to react particularly badly to Hawks, since a hero held all kind of influence even off the show. It made sense for all of this to be self-preservation, with his truth shining through the cracks.

Smart. Witty. Kind. Unimpressed and willing to call bullshit.

This one! Hawk’s brain screamed. This one’s going to be the friend!

It was no one else’s business if the smile returned to his face and his wings perked up, or whether he leaned further over the bar to chatter at Dabi about how badass “Team Hotwings” was. Dabi made a big deal of grumbling, denying the name, and rolling his eyes, but saved his real stink eye for when Geten emerged from the vault.

With the date concluded, the contestants were rounded back up and driven back to the mansion by limo. The others must’ve been angsting hardcore about their results, because more cameras than usual awaited them in the courtyard to capture their return. Most of the men moped through the front door, but Hawks was in a great mood. He made finger guns at the nearest camera, mouthed, Target acquired, then spun around and sauntered after Dabi. That resulting shot probably had a seventy-eight percent chance of becoming a meme.

[Once the episode aired, it would indeed be trending on Twitter.] 

Dabi had a problem.

No matter what he did, no matter what halls he turned into or how many other contestants he tried to get lost in, he couldn’t shake Hawks.

He rolled out of bed on Thursday to find Hawks at the breakfast buffet, beaming at the sight of him and saying, “You like the strawberry yogurt, right? It’s over here on this side today.”

Dabi was eternally cautious. He picked up food and left to eat it on the move. He planned to swing by for seconds once Hawks was done guarding the kitchen, except Hawks followed him.

“Great weather today, right? Prefect for a swim, or a test flight, or even just lying in the sun. What’s your plan for today?”

Dabi didn’t have plans, but even if he did, he wouldn’t want Hawks to know about them. He sped up. Hawks had shorter legs, but a quick flutter of his wings caught him up easily.

“There’s not much to do around here, you know?” he continued, as if it were a perfectly normal and friendly conversation instead of Dabi speed walking an escape as best he could. “If you’ve figured out something cool, I’d love the tip. I mean, what else am I going to do? Get my wings wet? Join the freaky book club? No, thank you. Hey, have you tried that Gold Tips Imperial stuff?”

They crossed through the living room where several men lounged on the couch.

“Making my way downtown, walking fast,” Saito mumbled.

“Walking faster,” added Gentle.

Dabi flipped them both the bird as he turned into the next room. Hawks kept following, and he would not shut up. He chattered about everything from “I’m kind of glad I didn’t win on the group date because the idea of being locked in a safe honestly creeps me out,” to “somewhere in this mansion there is a candle that smells like something and I want one for myself,” and everything in between.

Why?

Seriously, why?

What had possessed the number two hero to chase him down like this? And why were the cameras following so closely? Why did the crewmembers look so gleeful? Was this a prank? He made an effort to look for feathers in front of him as he walked in case something waited to trip him up, but the longer he went with no other sign of strangeness the more nervous he felt. There was no plausible reason for Hawks to be doing this.

Dabi escaped only by grumbling about how he was going back to bed. Hawks looked disappointed, but apparently bedrooms were sacred space and he left Dabi alone. Dabi flopped on his mattress, stared up at the underside of the bunk above, and said, emphatically, “What the fuck.”

When he ventured out for lunch a few hours later, Hawks was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, smile creepily wide as he said, “Hey there! Did you sleep well?”

How had Hawks known he was going to appear there? Only a creep would camp out— No, wait, the feathers. He probably heard him moving through the feathers. Fuck the feathers.

Hawks tailed him again. When they passed Shion and Prey in the hallway, Dabi mouthed at them, What is going on? but Shion merely gave him a thumbs up and Prey didn’t react at all. Dabi tried the tactic of joining other groups, letting Hawks strike up a conversation with other people, and then leaving while he was distracted; this didn’t work, because Hawks was a genius at disentangling himself from discussions in a way that left the other participants pleased with the whole thing instead of offended. Cursed heroic schmooze tactics. Hawks sat next to him at dinner, too. The other contestants found it just as strange as Dabi, but beyond raised brows, no one said or did anything about it. They were too busy juggling Rappa and Muscular’s aggression (“Oh yeah?” “Oh yeah!” “Oh yeah?” “OH YEAH!” went back and forth across the table in escalating volume).

Dabi was rescued after dinner for a short time as he was pulled into the confessional. Almost as soon as the door closed, he glared at Misty and said, “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

Misty’s smile absolutely confirmed that she knew, but she played innocent. “Know about what, Dabi? Tell the camera what you’re experiencing that’s so confusing.”

Dabi refocused his scowl on the camera and said, “Hawks is stalking me and I don’t know why. I don’t know if I pissed him off. There’s no threatening involved. He’s just annoying as fuck.”

Misty looked very much like she wanted to laugh. “What possible reasons are there for him to follow you?”

“None. Not unless he’s looking for weaknesses, and he’s a Pro Hero, he doesn’t need that. I mean, seriously. He’s worked as a model before. This—” he gestured at his own face, “—is not competition.”

“You’re sure there’s no other reason?”

“Look at reality, please.”

Misty rolled her eyes and moved on. “Can you tell us about the tensions in the house?”

“Tensions?” Dabi scratched at his shoulder, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling as he contemplated that. “I suppose those exist. I kind of underestimated how petty all the guys would be—Trumpet keeps making these ‘innocent comments’ that get everybody at each other’s throats, people are shit talking behind everybody’s backs… but that seems par for the course on this show. I’d honestly be more worried if I wasn’t seeing that sort of shit yet. Nobody really considers me important enough to try targeting, so I’m not involved in it. Beyond maybe whatever Hawks is doing. Really the most annoying thing is Rappa and Muscular, because they’re so loud and you can’t actually get away from them. Even when you’re on the other side of the damn mansion, they’re—”

A thunderous crash interrupted him, and they all jumped. Rappa’s delighted howl left no illusions about the cause.

“Case in fucking point,” said Dabi.

He left the room to see what fresh hell had been unleashed upon the mansion, with the camera hot on his heels. Rappa and Muscular had been in the living room and somehow gotten physical. Neither appeared injured, but a very large, very expensive-looking vase had fallen from its pedestal and now lay in a thousand pieces. The other contestants and crewmembers flitted around them in a panic, but Hawks had planted himself directly between them, hands outstretched as if to physically keep them apart. Such a small man stuck between two juggernauts should’ve looked comical, but his spread wings told everyone who was in control here. There was no sign of his usual smile.

“This is getting out of hand,” he snapped. “Seriously, can’t you control yourselves?”

“This is a fight between men!” Rappa laughed. “Come on, Muscular! No holds barred!”

“If you want to show me you’re right, you’ll have to beat me for it!” cried Muscular, just as excited and sprouting muscle fibers outside his skin like some awful, pulsating mass from the dumpster of a butcher shop. “You ain’t right until you prove it with your power!”

“Can’t you just settle any arguments like civilized people?” said Hawks. “This can’t be the sort of thing that would impress Aiko.”

“Men are meant to rip each other apart with their own power! I’ll show Aiko just how much of a man I am!” cried Rappa, and lunged.

Muscular moved too, but a split second later they were sailing away from each other. A flurry of red feathers had caught them both by the shirt. Muscular thudded into the wall and the feathers drove deeper, pinning him in place. Rappa sailed straight out the patio doors with a howl.

“Gentle, get Curious and the security team over here,” Hawks said briskly. “We need to keep these two apart. I’ll try to deescalate in the meantime.”

“Right away!” Gentle dashed past Dabi in search of the main staff.

Hawks took off toward the patio, which was a good plan. Rappa could be reasoned with; if he could be talked down and then refuse to be baited, the whole situation would stall. Muscular didn’t like that at all. He snarled, tugging at his restraints, but the feathers held him fast. And maybe they would’ve kept him still permanently, if they hadn’t caught him by the clothes. Muscular roared, and his quirk went into overdrive. The muscle fibers increased, building on themselves until he doubled in size and the shirt ripped. He staggered free. The other contestants edged toward the patio and Hawks’ protection, bodies tense and eyes wide. Saito’s quirk had him glowing again in fright. Muscular grinned at their reaction and took a heavy step toward them.

“Hey!” Dabi barked.

He caught all their attention. Muscular’s grin widened and he changed course. The feathers wrenched out of the wall and attempted to catch him again, but were caught themselves and flitted uselessly under more and more muscle fibers. Muscular just kept getting bigger, ribbons of flesh peeling at the ends and swaying with his pulse to form something altogether hideous.

In his years on the street Dabi had witnessed bloodlust on people’s faces before, but Muscular’s was the most blatant he’d ever seen. He didn’t hesitate to light up. Bright blue flames erupted up his arms and licked his shoulders, crackling menacingly. He lifted his hands, prime to unleash a blast. He hoped he wouldn’t have to—he’d take Muscular down, but he’d probably take the building and everyone else down with him. He grinned his own unhinged smile and said, “Watch it, meathead.”

Muscular paused, but certainly wasn’t intimidated.

“You were talking big, last week!” he laughed. “What was that about burning my bones to ash? I’m calling your bluff. I’m gonna use my quirk without holding back! Will you take me on, or will you show me your blood?”

“Carbonized cells don’t regenerate,” said Dabi. “You tangle with me, and all your precious muscles will be permanently toast. You sure you want to mess with cremation?”

Muscular guffawed. “I’ll put you in your place, you little—”

He didn’t get anything else out. All the trapped feathers apparently figured themselves out at the same time, because zoom—off he went, flying sideways down the hallway and out the front door.

“Shit,” said Hawks, who was very much not on the patio. He stood just behind where Muscular had been, a sharpened primary feather in his hand. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? You’re okay?”

“Piss off, hero,” Dabi seethed.

His fire went out, and he shook out his hands to dissipate the heat. He turned on his heel before Hawks could try saying anything else, and stormed into the kitchen for a glass of water. His quirk burned hot, and hydration was good.

Luckily Hawks was a goody-two-shoes hero even off the clock, because he stayed with the crew as they sorted out what had happened and what actions to take. Dabi wasn’t pestered for the rest of the night.

The next morning, a pair of security guards patrolled inside the mansion instead of at its perimeter. They weren’t particularly imposing people—Rappa and Muscular would happily challenge them if so—but they wore subtle support gear with their uniforms that implied they were licensed heroes. They probably specialized in tactical captures and forced de-escalation. It made sense for them to be there after Muscular had gone on about “show me your blood,” but it was still strange to step out of the bedroom only to see one at the other end of the hall, monitoring Muscular as he snored.

When Dabi went down for breakfast, Hawks predictably tried to waylay him with chattering like, this rice is freshly cooked you should eat this one, and what’s your thoughts on natto? It was incessant. Dabi took his food and sat next to Skeptic at the table, glowering at Hawks and daring him to relive that morning at the hotel when Dabi and Skeptic were so clearly united in irritation against him. This gave Hawks pause; judging by his comment on “the freaky book club” earlier, he knew their M.L.A. leanings and wanted nothing to do with them either.

“Stop gawking. Either eat or leave,” spat Skeptic.

Hawks wrinkled his nose and backed off. That was like magic. Damn, if only he could hang out with Skeptic all the time.

Dabi sent Skeptic a betrayed look. “Why do you have to be a shitty social Darwinist?”

“Do you have a better plan to improve society? One that will actually work?” said Skeptic.

“You think that will improve society?” Dabi scoffed.

“The power junkies like Geten won’t succeed in the long run. It’s ‘weaker’ quirks with brains who’ll make use of them and actually make improvements.”

“You know that’s not better, right?”

“Fuck off, Dabi.”

When not seeking refuge in Skeptic’s shadow, Dabi spent his time barricaded in the bedroom because Hawks seemed allergic to the threshold. He napped. He watched from the balcony as Rappa got super annoyed with the security detail following him around the pool. He finished Fifty Shades of Gray without thinking, then smacked himself in the face with it because he was less than halfway through his required time on the show and now he had nothing to do. Maybe he could reread it? Maybe it was one of those that improved when he understood the foreshadowing…? His “inner goddess” said No.

When the Saturday cocktail party arrived he could’ve cried for joy. Finally, distraction. They all dressed up and descended to the cocktail room to await Aiko. They waited for a long time, too. It was long enough for men to start glancing at watches and meandering out onto the patio.

“Do you think something happened?” asked Saito. “Something during her ride over here, or—”

“I’m sure it’s just another tactic for the entertainment,” said Gentle, clearly unsure of himself.

Dabi’s eyes roved over the gathered competitors. It was hard to tell with so many of them scattered, but he couldn’t remember seeing Muscular tonight. The reason for that became abundantly clear when Aiko finally walked in, with Muscular close behind her. He held two empty glasses. That bastard must’ve intercepted her at the front door for extra alone time. He leered at everyone else as if to goad them into attacking him, and judging by the way tension ramped up so fast, many of the competitors were tempted to. Aiko pranced up to the group with a smile on her face as if she’d had the time of her life. How. How could she stand in Muscular’s presence without wanting to throttle him? Did Muscular act differently around her? He hadn’t thought the man was crafty enough for that.

Dabi didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

He resolved to talk with Aiko as soon as possible.

Once they’d all been given drinks and Aiko welcomed them officially to the party, the contestants tried to corner her with double the tenacity they’d had before. Dabi followed along doggedly as he had on the first night, and because 1) he started early, and 2) people still remembered that ‘burn your bones to ash’ line, he got his opportunity sooner. Aiko was wrapping up a fifteen-minute conversation with Victor on the outdoor couch when Dabi lost patience, walked straight up to them, and said, “Can I steal you?”

Victor didn’t appreciate that, but Aiko must’ve been bored to tears by his gun-muzzle-fingers maintenance talk, because she brightly said “Sure!” and hopped up to follow Dabi away. He took her to the gazebo since it seemed the most private place. The cameras following them in gave no illusion of real privacy, but he didn’t want the other competitors listening in. They settled on the couch, and Dabi gripped his drink tighter to ground himself.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Muscular situation,” he said.

Aiko put on her sappy, affected look. “I heard they caused a lot of trouble—”

Dabi held up a hand to stop her. “This isn’t to do with what happened last night, but in general. And it’s something you need to hear.”

She paused and nodded.

“Muscular’s actions in particular raise a lot of red flags,” said Dabi. “I’ve been seeing them from the start. He’s egotistical, violent, doesn’t get along with others. If you ended up with him at the end of this, it wouldn’t be a matter of if, but when he’d start to hurt you.”

Aiko drew back, brow furrowed. “Accusing someone of being abusive is going pretty far.”

“I’ve seen abuse firsthand,” Dabi seethed, “and I don’t want anyone to go through what my mother did.”

He had to stop and gather himself, or risk steaming through his seams. He didn’t want to talk about his mother. He’d never planned to talk about her to anyone, let alone air her existence on TV, but she had once been a girl blinded by the glamor of a man from TV, and had assumed so wrongly that everything would work out. Some people on the stupid Bachelorette were actually, genuinely looking for love, and everything he’d heard about Aiko said she was one of them; she played up her reactions, but her presence was genuine. If she was dumb enough to look for true love here, she might be dumb enough to choose someone who was actually bad for her, like ninety percent of the show’s final couples. When he looked up at her again, she looked back at him with real trepidation.

“My mother saw warning signs and thought they were temporary,” he whispered. “She thought they were things that could be worked out, and she committed to an egotistical, violent man who isolated her from any support system and beat her black and blue. If you see those red flags, do not get close to them. Do not allow them to happen. For some people they can be resolved, but you don’t want to take that risk with your life. People who find themselves affected by domestic violence can be scared to leave, scared to talk back, scared to do anything but take it—don’t put yourself in that position in the first place. And some people think an unhappy marriage can be solved by having kids, but as one of those kids I can tell you that it’s complete bullshit, because that just means you’ve got more stress and another victim to hurt. It doesn’t matter how rich, or handsome, or successful a man is, if he’s not a good person. You deserve someone who will love you. Someone who will not isolate you. Someone who will never hurt you. I don’t know who that is, but it sure as hell isn’t Muscular.”

Aiko gave a wan smile. “I need a prince.”

“So long as you’ve got a good prince and not a tyrant,” said Dabi.

Aiko bit her lip and nodded. “If you think that about Muscular… then Rappa…?”

“He’s violent for sure, but he’s got restraint. I don’t get the same kind of red flags from him,” said Dabi. “But I think if you aren’t willing to spar with him and be on a level that gives him a challenge, he’d get bored of you. He lives for the fight. You deserve more than being an afterthought, too.”

Aiko opened her mouth to say something else, but someone cleared his throat nearby. Hinote stood at the gazebo’s entrance, wine in hand.

“Aiko, could I steal you?” he asked.

Aiko sent Dabi a worried look, but Dabi only shrugged. “I said what I wanted. You can go if you want.”

“Okay,” said Aiko.

She hesitated, then held out her arms for a hug. Her expression was resolute instead of flirty, so Dabi leaned in to accept it. Thankfully she kept it light.

“Thank you for talking to me about this,” she murmured against his shoulder. “For opening up like that, even if it must’ve been painful. I really appreciate that you cared enough about me to worry.”

“Just remember that happiness needs more than that shiny first impression,” said Dabi.

“I will.”

She gave him a gentle squeeze, then left with Hinote.

Dabi stayed in the gazebo for a while. He sagged back against the cushions, wrapped his arms around himself, and closed his eyes. He felt raw after that conversation; like a live wire ready to spark at the lightest touch. Even the League knew only the basics of his family—they knew he hated his father and that he had siblings, but nothing else concrete. It was a topic he didn’t like dwelling on even on the best of days. Thoughts of his mother in particular would drag down his mood in an instant.

She’d been a kind person. She hadn’t been built for the harshness of that home, and struggled and broke under it. He couldn’t hate her for not being able to take the abuse, because that wasn’t something people were supposed to take. Dabi only felt guilt. If he’d been born right, she’d never have been hurt at all. It was his fault that his father hurt her. It was his fault that his father wanted other children. It was his fault that the home grew more and more toxic until his mother couldn’t even look at him for shame. He didn’t blame her for not loving him anymore.

“Dabi? Are you okay?” murmured Shion.

“Don’t talk to me,” Dabi growled.

“Okay, but I think you should know that you’ve got incoming at twelve-o-clock—”

Dabi opened his eyes and craned his neck. It was Hawks. Of fucking course the hero was trying to track him down. Dabi stood and left through the opposite end of the gazebo.

“Hey there, I wondered where you went,” said Hawks, speeding up to follow. “How was your talk with Aiko?”

Dabi ignored him. Dabi ignored everything as best he could as he stormed back through the mansion. Hawks was undaunted, of course. There was more yelling going on in the main room, but that wasn’t Dabi’s problem until the electricity surged. The lights flickered and a zap went through Dabi’s wireless pack; he yanked the microphone loose from his lapel with a snarl. He was tempted to rip off the rest of the mic setup, but that would’ve required getting under his clothes and he wasn’t quite willing to do that right now. Tesla had likely gotten spooked now that Rappa and Muscular were within twenty feet of each other. They had the security team to handle it. Dabi didn’t give a shit. Hawks hesitated, but apparently also decided the security team was enough, because he kept after Dabi.

Dabi was starting to climb the stairs to the second floor when he decided enough was enough. He whirled around and spat, “What the fuck do you want?”

Hawks faltered. “I—”

“No! You keep following me around like a creep,” Dabi seethed. “Is this supposed to be some kind of mental warfare? Because, newsflash, I’m not worth the fucking energy!”

“No!” cried Hawks. “It’s because I want to be friends!”

What the fuck.

“Why?” Dabi screeched.

“Okay, okay, consider this,” said Hawks, leaning his hip against the railing as if they were settling down for some kind of talk. “It’s boring as all hell in here, and you’re the most interesting person in the mansion. If we’re going to be stuck here for weeks on end, it would be nicer if we could do it with friends, right?”

They stared each other down in silence for a moment, then Dabi started to laugh. It was the sort of unhinged, mocking laughter that usually got him an elbow in the ribs from Magne, but no one was here to interrupt him this time. The sound echoed cruelly off the walls. He stepped closer, baring his teeth in a grin. He was taller than Hawks normally, but his place on the stairs only emphasized the difference; Hawks had to crane his neck to meet his gaze, golden eyes narrowed and wary, and Dabi felt in full control.

“Why would I want to be friends with a hero?” he asked, leering.

“Most people seem to think being friends with a hero is a bonus,” said Hawks.

“Well, I don’t,” said Dabi. “You want to know how my last interaction with a hero went? The fucker followed me to work and tried to force me into a fight because someone like me had to be a villain, and he wanted to raise his numbers for the fucking rankings. When he didn’t get what he wanted, he told my boss I’d attacked him anyway, and I got fired because heroes can do no wrong.” He fisted his hands to the point his nails dug into his flesh, and grinned wide enough for the staples in his face to pull. “The whole heroic institution is a game for money and an arbitrary number, full of government dogs chasing their tails for fame. All they want is power, and they use it to get away with anything. I don’t respect that. I hate it.”

Hawks’ brow furrowed minutely, and his tone was grave. “I can understand that.”

“Can you?” Dabi jeered. “What do you think of Stain, then, huh?”

“I think,” Hawks said slowly, “that Stain was a punk-ass poser who didn’t practice what he preached.”

That wasn’t what Dabi had expected. He blinked, flummoxed.

“Some of his ideas were good,” said Hawks, beginning to relax again now that he saw Dabi was thrown off. “You’re right, there’s a huge problem with people becoming heroes for fame and power and abusing the system. They give the whole job a bad name, and I’m sad to say I’ve seen it in action a few times. For every instance you see and report, there’s probably twice as many taking advantage in the shadows. We’ve also got a lot of other people joining for other selfish reasons, like wanting to be able to use their quirks legally. There’s people like Prey, too, joining for their health—he needs support gear to function, and as a regular civilian he wouldn’t be able to get it. But we can’t so easily say that anyone who gains fame and money shouldn’t be a hero—if a hero didn’t get paid, they couldn’t afford to go out and do all the protecting that people expect from them. Vigilantes come onto the scene and drop right back out so fast because they don’t have the pay and benefits that keeps them from starvation or severe injury. If you rely on the role, you have to make sure the people acting in that role can survive. Heroes should still absolutely be people with strong convictions working for the greater good, but if Stain really believed in that, why did he attack Ingenium?”

Dabi cocked his head, intrigued. “Because he was a false hero.”

“How?” Hawks challenged. “Because Ingenium prioritized quick rescues over the knock-down drag-out spectacles that heroes like All Might are famous for? Because he relied on teamwork with sidekicks who were just as respected and driven as he was? Because he worked to understand the so-called villains he came across and tried to break the cycle of villainy through community outreach and rehabilitation? When I look at the face of heroics across the past decade, Ingenium stands out to me as one of the cleanest, most genuine heroes there are.”

“He used his charities to launder money and used the rehabilitation to put pressure on former inmates. Made more villains out of the desperate to raise his rank,” said Dabi.

“False,” said Hawks.

“And you’re the authority on this how?” said Dabi.

“Because I heard straight from the HPSC chairwoman that the Commission falsified and planted that information,” said Hawks.

Dabi’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “What?”

“The Commission removes things it deems undesirable,” said Hawks.

It was a truth that Dabi knew very well but had never expected a hero to admit—not so freely, and especially not in a place like this.

“The Commission benefits from the production of minor villains. The more crime there is, the more heroes come up to fight it, which means more control for them,” Hawks continued. “Ingenium’s programs were a headache for them to start with, and when they got wind that he was planning to propose legal changes to cut both villain-origins and heroics-from-desperation, like allowing civilian quirk licenses and non-combat support equipment… they decided he had to go. It would’ve been convenient if Stain did their dirty work: remove the problem and discredit Ingenium’s legacy, all in one go.” He paused and gained a rueful smile. “They’ll find that it’s harder to get rid of Ingenium than they thought. Let’s keep this between you and me, but when the show ends, the landscape of heroics is going to look pretty different.”

Dabi studied him curiously. It was odd for a hero to be so critical of their own system, especially one that had risen so high and benefited from it. If someone confronted Endeavor with the idea of heroic corruption, the old man would probably rage about entitlement and disrespect, like a fucking hypocrite. Hawks seemed to be cut from different cloth, but…

“What do you think of the ranking system?”

“I think it’s good for heroes to be easily recognized. If people don’t know who you are, they’re less likely to trust you in an emergency,” said Hawks. “The ranking part of it? It kind of rubs me the wrong way. I don’t know that there’s a reason for numbers beyond idolization and forcing a competition.”

“What about hero recruits? Will your changes prevent literal children from being thrown into a fight?” said Dabi.

He expected hemming and hawing—Hawks had a high school intern tagging along on his jobs after all—but Hawks’ reaction was immediate. His eyes narrowed to hateful golden slits and he growled, “Yes.”

Wow. Must be personal.

Hawks smoothed his face back out into a blithe smile. “Sorry about that. Some people get into heroics too early. Way too early.”

“What about quirks?” asked Dabi. “Does someone’s quirk determine their potential?”

“Let me guess, you’ve been hanging out near Geten,” Hawks said dryly.

Stuck living with his father’s condemnation ringing in his head for twenty-five years, actually, but he’d let the hero believe it was Geten’s annoyance over two weeks.

“Shut up and answer the question,” said Dabi.

“Okay, okay. I think quirks can give you an advantage in some things, but they’re not the be-all-end-all that so many people seem to think,” said Hawks. “I’ve seen heroes that only rely on their quirks, and they’re the shittiest ones. Successful people rely more on smarts and flexibility. Nobody likes a one-trick pony.”

“What if someone was quirkless? Could they be a hero?” Dabi pressed.

Hawks raised a brow but replied, “They’d have to do a lot more legwork, but yeah. If they’re clever enough, they could definitely make it work. Have you seen any movies from before the advent of quirks? Because quirkless people can be pretty badass.”

“Oh, there you are!”

Dabi startled and looked down. Prey stood in the doorway to the other room, pointing his camera at them and presumably having been there a while; Misty and Shion were clearly new arrivals, hurrying past him with new sound equipment.

“Tesla shorted out everything,” Misty fretted. “We have to replace your microphones. What were you talking about? Curious is going to kill me if you talked about something important.”

“Nothing,” said Dabi.

“Good, I guess? Come down and we’ll get this fixed for you. Shion, where does this part—”

They paused to untangle the equipment cords. Dabi sighed and made to join them, but Hawks held up a wing to block him.

“I suppose a better answer to your question earlier is that I don’t like Stain,” he said quietly. “What I hate the most is how he only thinks in absolutes. It’s one strike, and then someone’s false and irredeemable, so he kills them off. There’s no investigation into why or whether they actually did something wrong, and they never get the opportunity to change. Because I believe that people can do that. Change.” He gave a sad smile. “Whether they’re willing to change, though… that’s a whole different ball game.”

His wing retracted again, and Dabi was free to descend the stairs.

“He’s not bothering you too much, is he?” Misty whispered as she set up Dabi’s bodypack; Shion fussed over Hawks on the bottom step. “I can get someone to run interference. He seems just as susceptible to Saito’s puppy eyes as you are.”

A clamor and more shouting echoed from the cocktail room, followed by, “Hawks!”

“Coming!” cried Hawks. He glanced at Dabi, but hurried out of the hallway with Shion still trying to fix the mic on his lapel.

“Or that could work,” said Misty. “Really, though. Are you doing okay?”

“Fine,” Dabi grunted. “Let’s just see what they broke this time.”

Rappa had flipped the coffee table. It lay upside down in a halo of broken glass and spilled booze, which a group of crewmembers was already trying to clean up. This most recent altercation had also torn some screens, punched a few holes in the drywall, and sent both Rappa and Muscular grappling out onto the patio, where they’d fallen into the pool. The other contestants and an army of cameras bore witness as they proceeded to whale on each other and security staff tried to pull them apart. With Hawks and his feathers intervening, they were able to separate them.

“I knew it could get heated here, but I never expected this,” said Gentle.

“Look at the bright side,” said Dabi. “There’s no way in hell Aiko can ignore them now.”

Because Aiko was indeed gawking from the gazebo.

Soon the two idiots were under control. The security team talked in low tones with Hawks about whatever they planned to do from here. Aiko vanished to presumably shed some tears in the confessional. With the cocktail room still being cleaned, the contestants gravitated to the outdoor couch instead. Dabi leaned against the wall next to the patio doors, hands in his pockets and eyes on Hawks’ wings, considering.

Hawks was not the same kind of hero as Dabi’s father. He’d known it before—seeing Hawks and Endeavor exist next to each other in an interview had proved that to the entire world—but he’d believed Hawks to just be a different brand of selfish. He still thought that, but Hawks seemed to be a self-aware, self-critical type of selfish, which made him a little more bearable. Dabi wasn’t fool enough to think Hawks had approached him without ulterior motives, but he’d been right. It was boring as all hell here. Hadn’t Dabi recently been thinking about how he’d dealt with boredom well normally because the League was around to bother him, and was suffering now because he hated everyone? Being able to mock the show freely alongside someone would make this infinitely more bearable. Hawks, though? What had he even meant when he said Dabi was the most interesting person here? Not the easiest to take advantage of, certainly— Saito and Gentle were leagues ahead of him in trust, and half the other contestants ahead of him in stupidity. Maybe he just wanted to have someone shitty stand next to him to make him look better. Hell if Dabi knew.

There was movement to his left. Prey had just stepped out onto the patio again, fiddling with the lens of his camera.

“Hey,” said Dabi. Prey paused and looked up at him, predictably quiet. “Is it true that you only went into heroics for the support gear?”

Prey blinked at him a few times before casting his eyes down again. He tucked the camera under his arm to roll up one sleeve, and Dabi realized that the odd segmentation around his fingers were mechanical joints. He wore support gear on both arms, slim and flexible but giving him the impression of a ball joint doll.

“I have a self-destructive quirk,” he said. He flicked his wrist for emphasis, and a shower of sparks the same intense green as his eyes rained from his fingers. “Without the gear and regular use, the energy builds up. If I’d waited longer, I’d have lost movement in my hands. It hurts.”

“And heroics was the only answer for you?” asked Dabi.

“Yes.”

“I thought there were programs for quirks like that,” said Dabi. “Ways to get support equipment even without heroics. Didn’t that kid in U.A. get one years before enrolling? Aoyama, or whatever?”

Dabi knew it was rude to keep pressing like this, but it was personal. At ten years old Dabi had sat in his father’s office, blisteringly angry at the spare support gear—if Endeavor could so easily commission equipment to stave off the harm of his quirk, why couldn’t the same for be done for Dabi? Why did he have to struggle through so much blood and tears if it could be changed? Couldn’t Dabi be fixed? Couldn’t the whole mad cycle end?

Prey rolled his sleeve back down, contemplating. “Programs for ‘defective’ quirks exist, but all the fronts go back to the Commission. Even if gear can be made for you, it won’t be given unless the Commission approves and issues you a license. That’s why villainy is rising, with Detnerat on the scene. The Commission declined my application.”

Dabi hummed a low, displeased note. As a child he’d been in a very privileged position, and Endeavor had a lot of sway; if his father had wanted to get him gear, the Commission would’ve bent to him. But no, Endeavor hadn’t given a shit. He had what he wanted in another child, so what would it matter what Dabi did?  

He was pulled out of his thoughts as Sato stepped out onto the patio. The host tapped a fork against his glass to gain everyone’s attention.

“Gentlemen, I’m here with some bad news,” he said. “The cocktail party is over.” The contestants looked at each other in alarm. Less than half of them had gotten the chance to talk to Aiko tonight, and many hadn’t been involved on the dates this week either. “She’s made her decisions, so we’ll be going straight into the rose ceremony. Take a few minutes, but then come join us.”

He doubled back into the mansion. The contestants followed, surprise turning to annoyance and outright anger; they fretted about their lack of opportunities and cussed Rappa and Muscular out for ruining the night. They assembled in the ceremony room again, and when all of them had taken their places, Aiko appeared with a resolute expression.

“I’m sorry to cut the fun short, but when I realized I’d made my decision, it felt cruel to draw it out for anyone,” she said. “I do want everyone to have fun here, but my real goal is to find my prince.” She picked up the first rose, looked over them all, and said, “Hawks.”

And so it began again. Dabi was called fifth this time, so he didn’t have to worry too much about possibilities. The other men were antsy. Minotaur loomed, breathing heavily so all the contestants in the row in front of him cringed at the feeling. Tobio appeared to be doing some kind of cramped wing display, but whatever seduction tactic it might be was eliminated by the lack of space; Sharkyonara wore an expression of great suffering as he was buffeted by the wings. Tesla sparked lightly, threatening to short out the equipment again.

Dabi’s expectations proved right: when Aiko was done with her selections, Rappa and Muscular remained rose-less. Tanaka was also unselected.

“Gentlemen, if you did not receive a rose, please say your goodbyes,” said Sato.

Literally no one wanted to hug Rappa or Muscular. Muscular didn’t even pretend to be friends with anyone, just walked straight to Aiko for his goodbye. Good riddance. Dabi didn’t expect to be addressed by anyone, and was unpleasantly surprised when Rappa turned to him. Rappa clapped a hand down on Dabi’s back—fuck that hurt—and grinned widely at him.

“Let me know when you want a real fight,” said Rappa. “I’ll take you up on it! A real fight to the death!”

Was this Rappa’s idea of an olive branch?

“I think not,” said Dabi.

Rappa laughed and made his way toward Aiko. After Tanaka had tearfully gained his hug and all three of the losers were out the door, the crew broke out the champagne again. How much champagne were they going to go through, exactly? How expensive was this shit?

Aiko lifted her glass and said, “Thank you, everyone! I had a lot of fun this week, and with some of the pressure gone, I’m hoping next week will be even better! Cheers!”

The men all crowded in to toast her. Dabi remained on the outskirts again with Hawks. Hawks turned his glass slowly between his fingers, smiling but appearing largely uninterested. Dabi took a deep breath and let it out again.

“How much do you want to bet Rappa and Muscular just start brawling as soon as they’re off the grounds?” he asked, tipping his head toward Hawks.

Hawks’ feathers ruffled in surprise and he returned the look curiously. “I suppose it’s pretty inevitable, huh? Once the crew drops them off, there’s nothing to stop them.”

“Yeah. Bastards,” said Dabi.

For a moment neither spoke, letting the others’ jabbering wash over them. Hawks held up his glass again, not to Aiko this time but toward Dabi.

“Team Hotwings?” he ventured.

It was such a fucking awful name, but Dabi had already resigned himself. He rolled his eyes and tapped their glasses together.

“Yeah. Team Hotwings.”

“How dare you,” Fuyumi fake-whined through the phone speaker. “The one time I’m not following The Bachelorette—the one time—you’re watching it?”

“Is it really that big a deal?” said Natsuo, voice pitched a little too high as he stuck the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner between the cushions of the couch.

“Natsu, I literally begged you to watch Bachelor in Paradise with me last summer. You told me that it was a deeply problematic charade.”

“Well,” said Natsuo, “in my defense, it still is.”

“But you’re watching it!”

“Okay, yeah, whatever. Why aren’t you?”

“Because all the other teachers at my school are watching this historical drama and we’re planning to attend the premiere party for the next season, but there’s apparently massive spoilers so if I want to actually attend and connect with anybody I have to watch all the episodes that are already out.”

“How many episodes are we talking?”

“Sixty,” Fuyumi groaned. “And they’re all over an hour each. I’m dying, Natsu.”

“Wow. Is it at least a good show?”

“It would be if the handmaiden would just say something already. She keeps tripping over things and crazy coincidences keep interrupting her, which would be cute and suspenseful if it only happened a few times, but it’s every episode. At this point I don’t even know if I want her and the prince to end up together. I just need her to learn how not to spill things on every nobleman she meets.”

Natsuo snorted. If even Fuyumi was criticizing a show, it had to be bad.

“Why are you watching The Bachelorette, anyway?” said Fuyumi. “Is it because of Hawks?”

“Why does everyone assume I want to see Hawks so badly?” Natsuo grumbled, poking the vacuum nozzle into the space behind the TV next.

“He’s the only new thing I can think of that they added. If you didn’t want to watch it before, I don’t know why you’d want to watch it now.”

“It’s—well—”

He didn’t really want to tell her the real reason. What was he supposed to say? I’m fixated on a stranger who looks like a charbroiled version of our dead brother? Yeah, no. Fuyumi loved the idea of family, but that just meant she got all the more anxious if someone brought up Touya’s existence. Even if Mom returned from the hospital, and even if everyone miraculously made up with Endeavor, Touya would forever be the moth-eaten hole in the fabric of their lives.

Touya would never get to come to family dinner. He’d never see how skilled Fuyumi had become at cooking, when as children she’d been relegated to vegetable chopping duty.

Touya would never get the chance to reconcile with the ‘changed’ Endeavor… not that Natsuo believed he’d try. Touya had been desperate for their father’s attention, but also been keenly aware and bitter of his flaws.

Touya would never be there to turn to if Natsuo or Fuyumi wanted advice, or recognition, or even an excuse to kick around a ball in the courtyard.

Their family could never really mend, because the hole would always be there. They had different ways of dealing with that. Fuyumi didn’t like conflict, so a lot of the time she’d pretend that hole didn’t exist—things didn’t hurt when you didn’t think about them, after all—but if she got the idea that Natsuo might try to fill in that hole with a stranger on TV, she’d be livid. She wouldn’t let anyone trample on Touya’s memory.

Best to go with a lie, right now.

“You know how I told you about Yukina Aiuchi?”

“Oh?” said Fuyumi, drawn out and teasing. “The Yukina you were paired with in that group project last year?”

Natsuo could feel his cheeks going red. He sucked up dust bunnies with extra vehemence. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god. Natsu. Are you going on a date?” she practically squealed. “Is she a fan of The Bachelorette? Are you going to watch it together?”

“It is not a date,” said Natsuo.

“That’s exactly what you’d say if it was a date.”

“Well, I’m not the Bachelor,” Natsuo huffed, “so I don’t go on dates with eleven girls at a time.”

Fuyumi paused. “Eleven girls? What?”

“Yukina’s part of a Bachelorette viewing party,” Natsuo mumbled. “One that I joined—don’t say anything, Yumi—but I’m the only guy and there are a lot of people. Including two heroes! That’s actually why I called you. I need a little help.”

“Anything!” said Fuyumi. “Are you looking for advice on how to talk to her in a group, or—”

“Cleaning, actually,” said Natsuo. “Usually they watch over at Yukina’s place, but I guess her roommate got really sick, so they can’t have it there this week. Everyone else either lives in small apartments that wouldn’t fit us, or they’re traveling and inside a hotel, and since my place is decently sized I offered to host. But Yumi, I’ve never had anyone over before except the other volleyball players, and they wouldn’t care even if I lived in a pigsty. What if Yukina and the girls are grossed out? What if I’m a bad host? What if—”

“Let me stop you right there,” said Fuyumi, amused. “Switch me over to a video call and let me take a look for you.”

Natsuo took a deep breath and switched the call format. Fuyumi’s face appeared on his screen, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Natsuo rolled his eyes very obviously before switching to the outer camera. He took her on a tour of the apartment, walking slowly to make sure the feed wouldn’t glitch for her.

Ever since the text of potential-cancellation had come through last night and he’d offered to host, he’d been hard at work cleaning. He’d scrubbed the place from top to bottom. He’d thrown out condiments from his fridge that were two years expired (how was that even possible if he hadn’t even lived here for two years?). He’d agonized over the angle of the couch. He’d bought enough snacks to feed a small army since that seemed the sort of thing Fuyumi might do, though in Fuyumi’s case she would’ve made everything herself.

Fuyumi hummed her appreciation. “It’s looking really good. Why can’t you clean up like this when I come visit?”

“You helped change my diapers. Convincing you that I’m cool is a lost cause,” said Natsuo.

Fuyumi laughed. “Fair enough.”

Someone knocked at the front door. Natsuo sent Fuyumi a panicked look.

“You’ll be fine,” said Fuyumi, calm but with the sort of expression that meant she’d mock him for this later. “Have fun! I need to check in with Shouto, anyway. He’s just texted me to ask what Girls Night is.”

“Wow. Good luck with that,” said Natsuo.

At the very least, he could always reassure himself that he was more put together than his baby brother ever would be. He said his goodbyes, ended the call, and made for the door as the guest started knocking again.

“Hey, handsome,” said Mt. Lady. She shouldered her way in without waiting for a reply, wearing a smug look. “Nice digs! Must be a nice place to… hang out!” She pounced into the kitchen area as if to corner someone, and her smug look dropped for something more perplexed. “Hang on, where is she?”

“Who?” asked Natsuo, closing the door.

“I—What—” Mt. Lady scowled. “Am I the first one here?”

They had over an hour until the episode began, so Natsuo wasn’t sure why she was surprised.

“Yes?” he said.

“Oh, that little—"

Mt. Lady whipped out her phone and started typing angrily.

“Okay,” Natsuo said slowly. “Well, the TV’s over here, and the snacks are on the table, so get comfortable, I guess?”

Mt. Lady was too absorbed in texting to reply, which was kind of impressive; she’d been a glutton the last time, and now didn’t even glance at the food.

The next arrival was Ryukyu, who looked at him with tired eyes and a buzzing cell phone as she said, “Yu’s the only one here so far?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” said Natsuo.

“Yes, but I think we put a little too much faith in that,” said Ryukyu.

The other members of the group trickled in, and all of them seemed to be in on whatever this misunderstanding was. They all seemed to find it funny. As long as it wasn’t making people upset and ruining the party, Natsuo shrugged it off. The culprit became clear when Yukina arrived.

“Hi,” she said when he’d opened the door again, eyes flicking around and shoulders hunched. “Um, nice to see you again.”

“Are you okay?” asked Natsuo, because she looked really uncomfortable.

“Fine! Never better!” Her face was going red. “You know, I might… need the bathroom. Yeah. The bathroom. Sorry.”

Natsuo moved aside and pointed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s that door on the left.”

Yukina nodded and hustled toward it, ducking as if trying desperately not to be seen, but his apartment wasn’t that big and heroes had good senses.

“There she is,” Mt. Lady drawled, leaning over the back of the couch. “Little Yukina, finally here. Did you get lost?”

“We know you left earlier than any of us,” said Kaori, grinning.

“I may have, sort of, lost track of time?” said Yukina.

“Right,” they all droned, then started laughing.

Yukina blushed even harder, which was really cute. Wait. No. Natsuo was supposed to be over this crush. He forcibly averted his eyes and went to carry out more food and drinks. Yukina gave up whatever act she’d been pulling and trudged over to sit with the others.

“Well, now that we’re all here, I have a proposal,” said Kanoka. Natsuo heard the zip of her bag opening and the shuffling of paper. He returned to the living room in time for her to hold up a stack of colorful pages with brackets. “To make this more fun, we should turn it into a competition for ourselves, too! I found these brackets on the internet. We fill in which contestants we think will make it to each week, and the more accurate we are, the more points we get. Highest score wins. We can also have a separate competition for the winner! I’ve got coasters with all their faces on them—”

“Why are there coasters with their faces on them?” asked Natsuo, and was ignored.

“—So, everybody pick your favorite and we’ll see who wins!”

“What are we winning, exactly?” asked Yukina, frowning at the papers. “Bragging rights, or…”

“I have two 3000-yen gift cards to Mister Donut,” said Kanoka.

Mt. Lady’s eyes lit up. “Holy shit, I want Mister Donut!”

“One can go to the point winner, and the other goes to the winner-winner. How’s that sound?”

It apparently sounded very good, because everyone made a grab for the papers. The drink coasters were the flimsy cardboard kind that would be ruined in a single use, but the printed images were high quality. The Hawks coaster was quickly damaged as half the group fought over him. Ryukyu took Hyouto and Mt. Lady took Hinote.

“No fair, you can’t take two,” said Mt. Lady, scowling at Yukina.

“It’s not for me,” said Yukina. “Natsuo gets Dabi.”

She passed the Dabi coaster up to him with no other fanfare—as if to say the sky was blue, grass was green, and Natsuo would be backing Dabi. He probably shouldn’t feel so grateful for it.

Mt. Lady and Ryukyu had an odd reaction to that. They stilled, glanced at each other, then reassembled their casualness in a way that felt a step off from what they’d been earlier.

“You really were paying close attention to Dabi last time,” said Mt. Lady. “Have you met the guy before, or—”

“He reminds Natsuo of someone,” Yukina replied, then began to panic. “I think. Um. I’m second guessing myself. Was that right?”

“It is,” said Natsuo.

“Who does he remind you of?” asked Ryukyu.

Natsuo hesitated. He picked at the edge of the coaster, looking down at Dabi’s vivid eyes and sullen expression. These people weren’t Fuyumi. They wouldn’t call him out on this. Mind made up, he turned to take a framed photograph off of the bookshelf behind him.

In the photo, Natsuo was seven years old. He was crouched down in a yukata, eyes wide with excitement and glittering with the light of a sparkler. Beside him knelt Touya. He could still remember this moment, in bits and pieces: how Touya had lit a flame at the end of his finger to light the sparkler instead of a match; how they’d both jolted with surprise when the sparks started flying; how it was so good to hear his laughter when he’d been so sad for so long. Touya had been even smaller than Natsuo. Looking at him now, he seemed impossibly young. Far too young to die, even when bandages could be glimpsed at the sleeves of his yukata like an omen.

Natsuo held out the picture and said, “He reminds me of my brother. Touya.”

“Aw, he’s cute,” said Yukina, smiling as she took the picture.

The others crowded in and voiced their approval as well.

“His hair, it’s so fluffy—”

“The blue eyes, too!”

“This is so unfair, why is every single Todoroki so cute—”

“What’s he like?” asked Yukina.

Natsuo swallowed a lump in his throat. “He was my favorite person in the world. Endeavor was a shitty dad, so if I wanted anyone to listen to me, or be proud or something… I went to Touya.”

Ryukyu studied the picture and said, “I suppose I can see some similarities between him and Dabi. What does Touya think about the comparison?”

“I bet he thinks it’s funny,” said Mt. Lady, laying back on the couch again. “Like, Look who it is, your evil twin—"

“He’s dead,” said Natsuo, before anyone else could reply. “He died a year after that photo was taken.” A hush descended on them, and he took the picture back from Kaori’s suddenly lax grip. “I’m not saying it to be, like, thinking Dabi’s him somehow. I know he’s not. But it’s been twelve years. And memories fade, no matter how much you loved someone. Seeing Dabi makes me remember Touya in motion again, if that makes sense.”

They all looked up at him with wide eyes. It made sense for them not to know what to say, because what could you say when someone dropped a bomb on you like that? Yukina was the only one who moved. She took one of the bracket sheets, wrote “Dabi” in the winning slot, and held the page out to Natsuo.

“I understand,” she said, all traces of hesitation or embarrassment gone. “My cousin died when we were little. I still miss her.”

Natsuo cracked a smile. He sat down next to her, she offered a pen, and they started filling in their choices.  

In the dorms of U.A.’s class 1-A, Mondays were “Girls Night.”

It wasn’t an official thing. No one had put up signs or made invitations. Shouto Todoroki liked to think he’d have noticed if they had. He’d noticed that the girls all congregated in the common room to do girly things and watch romantic reality TV on Monday evenings, but it wasn’t until he overheard Kaminari and Mineta talking about it that he realized it was a thing. Things with names were important, and since ‘girls’ was part of the title, he immediately sought Fuyumi’s advice.  His sister would always mercifully explain the mundane, where internet searches either assumed he knew the information already or tried to aim him at irrelevant scanty photos. This chat led him to a new discovery about his family: apparently Natsuo watched the same romantic reality TV show as the 1-A girls did, and it had netted him eleven new friends in the few weeks since the new season started airing.

“Ah,” Shouto had said, “this show must be very instructive.”

He wasn’t close with Natsuo, but he did know that his brother was the most socially adept of the Todoroki siblings. Fuyumi and Shouto were hermits. Natsuo was, as Jiro would say, “a Rockstar.” He would know the best ways to interact with people.

“I wouldn’t say instructive,” Fuyumi had laughed, but Shouto had made up his mind.

This “Bachelorette” thing was the key to making friends.

Shouto was very bad at making friends, so following Natsuo’s lead was the option with the highest chance of success.

Luckily for him, it was clear that “Girls Night” did not mean “Girls Only Night.” Kirishima had been with them from the start, after they’d decided help in touching up his hair dye counted toward the activities they were already doing, and Kirishima was a manly enough man that no matter how much girliness went on around him his manliness could not be swayed. Sato specifically baked for the evening and would sit on the couch and smile as the others swooned over his latest creations. Aoyama attended “for glitter and drama.” Tokoyami had also started attending “for context.” With four other boys already in attendance, Shouto didn’t think his presence would be out of the ordinary, but apparently he was wrong.

“T-Todoroki?” said Midoriya. “Where are you going?”

They’d just returned to the dorms from some extra training in Gym Gamma, and while they would usually go back up to their rooms to compare notes on their homework, Shouto had veered toward the lobby and TV. He stopped short, perplexed.

“I wanted to see the show,” he said plainly.

“That show?” Midoriya leaned to see the screen behind him, confused. “Really? The Bachelorette?”

“Is that weird?” asked Shouto, to which Midoriya grew very flustered.

“No! Not at all! I just—I didn’t think you were interested in that kind of thing.”

Shouto shrugged. “It will be instructive.”

“Instructive?” Midoriya puzzled over that before realization dawned and he went pink. “Oh! That kind of instruction! I didn’t— You were—Uh, wow! Okay! I thought you were pretty good at that already!”

At making friends? That was kind of him, but Midoriya was really good at making friends without even trying; maybe he’d misinterpreted his own skill at befriending Shouto as Shouto’s friendship talent. Shouto definitely still needed practice.

“I’d still like to study it,” said Shouto.

“Okay! Um, is—w-would it be okay if I joined you?” Midoriya’s face grew steadily pinker and his voice more shrill, and he scratched almost frantically at the back of his neck. “Honestly, I could definitely use that kind of instruction myself, I think! I’m—aha—pretty bad at it!”

Shouto gave him an uncomprehending look. “You? I thought you were a master at this sort of thing.”

Midoriya squeaked. “You think?”

Shouto nodded, but his brow furrowed. “I suppose even the masters need to practice basics. I’d be happy to watch it with you, but I haven’t gotten permission from the girls yet.”

“You can come over,” Ashido singsonged. She and the other girls were watching them over the back of the couch, presumably drawn by Midoriya’s floundering. They all wore smiles full of mischief.  

“Come on and join us! There’s plenty of room,” said Uraraka.

“I made a lot of extras,” said Sato, who looked just as amused but a little bad about it.

“Revelry in the dark,” muttered Tokoyami, which may have been a compliment or an admonishment, Shouto couldn’t tell.

“Thanks,” said Shouto, and went to join them. He sat next to Yaoyarozu, and Midoriya sat next to him.

“Glad you could join!” said Kirishima, grinning with seemingly every one of his sharp teeth. “You’re just in time, too. The show’s about to start. Do you want a swiss roll?”

Shouto did want a swiss roll. The swiss roll turned out to be delicious.

The group fell into a well-practiced spa routine. Kirishima pinned back his fringe to better accommodate a moisturizing facemask, as did half the other members. Hair was braided, makeup was gossiped over, and both Shouto and Midoriya were pulled into a pseudo manicure. Yaoyarozu trimmed, filed, and buffed his nails, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed in excitement the way they always were when she was getting carried away with friendship.

“Nail salons will trim your cuticles, but that can be a bad idea in our profession,” she rambled. “Cuticles are there to protect the nailbed from debris, so if you trim too much you’re liable for infection even if you aren’t plowing through practice fields or out on hero internships.”

“Really?” said Midoriya, all nervousness faded for intrigue. It was admirable how quickly he could latch onto and retain new information. “I never really thought about that, but then again I’ve never done much nail upkeep beyond trimming… It would explain why my middle school classmate was so protective of his… but his quirk, being such long fingers and nails, would presumably have created some kind of countermeasure to ensure health and use…” He descended into a stream of unintelligible muttering.

Yaorarozu nodded eagerly, thrilled by the attention. “You should also avoid soaking your nails! Nails are absorptive, so soaking puts them at risk for infection, and becoming flimsy and breakable!”

“—which explains why he refused to go to the hot spring—!”

Uraraka, busy clipping Midoriya’s nails, rolled her eyes in amusement. “You two are always thinking of tactics, aren’t you?”

“This sort of thing could be extrapolated for our hero work in the future!” said Midoriya.

Knowing him, he could absolutely turn nail care trivia into a viable strategy.

“That being said, moisturizing is key!” said Yaoyarozu. “You don’t want to soak your nails, but you do want to keep them hydrated. Here.”

She dabbed olive oil onto his nails. This did not seem typical but Shouto didn’t have enough experience with these things to know.

“Mon dieu! It’s starting!” cried Aoyama, and everyone’s attention shot to the TV screen as the speakers said, “Tonight, on The Bachelorette…”

 Shouto assumed the previous episodes had a lot more context, because the preview had him lost. It started with the Bachelorette having the time of her life and kissing a lot of people, then descended into violence and angst.

“Wow,” Midoriya whispered, as a massively muscled man closed in on a smaller one wreathed in blue flame, “is it always this violent?”

“They liked to hint at the possibility in other seasons, but…” Uraraka trailed off.

“But this time it’s real! I can’t wait for Dabi to grill their asses,” said Hakagure, invisible save for her pink pajamas and a massive assembly of barrettes.

“That would get him kicked out, ribbit,” said Asui, whose hair had been braided and pinned to the point it hardly looked like hair anymore.  

Huh. So quirk use was allowed. That made the situation a little closer to Shouto’s own. He settled in to watch as the episode began in earnest. It was strange but interesting. He definitely recognized Hawks, but the others involved had a carefully curated variety so it was interesting, if confusing, to follow.

When Hawks mentioned making friends, Shouto felt like his entire existence had been validated. This was why he’d come to watch. This was what helped Natsuo. He leaned in, eyes glued to the screen as Hawks began sounding out who in the mansion might be good friend material. It was a pity that Midoriya didn’t have his notebook with him, or Shouto might’ve asked for a pen and paper. He tried to note everything mentally instead.

And then Dabi came in. He didn’t appear to be a very nice person, but Shouto approved of how the man had no desire to be caught up in the pettiness that most of the other contestants were falling prey to. There was something… familiar about him, too. Something about the shape of his face. When Dabi turned his head Shouto was struck by the very distinct feeling that he’d seen that profile, and he’d seen it somewhere very, very recently. There was also, of course, the matter of the eyes. During a closeup of Dabi’s face (he was complaining about Geten being petty), Shouto caught both Midoriya and Yaoyarozu glancing between him and the screen. The only other people on TV with such blue eyes were Todorokis. Maybe that was why he felt a flicker of fondness for this stranger.

Then the group date happened. Since Shouto’s focus had already been attuned to Hawks and Dabi, he picked up the subtle signs even when they were only in the background of a shot, or when their backs were turned. He knew from experience the set of someone’s shoulders and the drawn quality to their face when they were forcing normalcy through pain; when Dabi was slow and lost them the race, Shouto had a good idea of why. He was also sure that Hawks had figured it out. The hero had been studying Dabi the whole time, accommodated without a word, and wasn’t at all frustrated that a pair of civilians usurped his title of “fastest.” There was a level of respect between them that didn’t seem to exist between anyone else in the mansion.

It reminded Shouto a little bit of how he worked with Midoriya: how easily Midoriya had picked up on what made him uncomfortable and what could actually make him smile.

It reminded Shouto a lot of how he worked with Midoriya when Hawks started tailing Dabi through the mansion (“I’m not here to make friends” was something Shouto would never live down).

His fondness grew stronger when Dabi spoke about his mother. Shouto also had a mother who’d suffered at the hands of her husband, and it was clear from the quiet fervor of his tone that Dabi loved his mother very much. Shouto understood that well.

But Shouto was indignant that no one had caught what Dabi and Hawks were talking about during the cocktail party. Something was apparently resolved between them, because they stayed close by each other the rest of the night and Hawks grinned in the confessional while rambling about how they’d talked it over and come to an understanding. They were friends now, and Shouto had no idea what the key to unlocking that official status had been. It wasn’t fair.

Shouto turned to Tokoyami and asked, “What kind of things does Hawks normally look for in a friend?”

“Bird puns,” Tokoyami deadpanned. “But all of us at the agency have bird quirks. If someone else tried it, it might come off as an insult.”

Their serious expressions in the stairwell clearly showed puns had not been involved. Shouto huffed with annoyance.

“Wow, though,” said Ashido, leaning back to crack her spine. “Dabi was giving me some major Todoroki vibes. All, like, I’m not making any friends, don’t follow me.”

He never would live that down.

“Oh, yeah, totally Earlyroki,” Kirishima laughed. “Did you guys see his eyes, too? So blue.”

“And his fire,” Yaoyarozu murmured. “Todoroki, if you’ll forgive me for asking… do you have extended family? Cousins, perhaps?”

“I don’t,” said Shouto. “Both of my parents were only children.”

He could see where they were coming from, though. There were a lot of coincidences going on. Dabi wouldn’t fit with anyone Shouto knew of in the Todoroki family tree—not that Shouto had much interaction with anyone outside his immediate family—but still…

But then the answer dawned on him. It came so clearly, so obviously, he wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before.

“Do you think,” Shouto said slowly, “that Dabi could be Endeavor’s secret love child?”

There was a moment of silence, then everyone started screaming.

Bakugo had to storm down the stairs and yell at them to shut up.

It was week three of The Bachelorette, and Shigaraki was going to punt Toga out the window if she didn’t stop screaming about it.

The League had assembled in front of the TV, just as they had on the previous weeks. Kurogiri had closed the bar early to sit with them, mist flickering excitedly. Spinner had made popcorn. Toga held her phone tight, ready to livetweet. Shigaraki had to unfollow her temporarily because she’d retweeted nothing but Dabi and Bachelorette every hour since the first episode dropped. He was going to go crazy if he had to see Dabi pull off his prince impression one more time. He wasn’t surprised that one started trending, though; the League had literally coached Dabi how to do it, but when they saw him kiss Aiko’s hand on TV they’d still lost their minds.

“What do you think they’ll be doing this week?” said Toga, smiling wide enough to show off her fangs and fingers already flying to type out a tweet. “Do you think Dabi’s going to have another fit? Do you think there’ll be a fight? Do you think we’ll see some high-definition blood?”

“If there is any blood, it won’t be near enough to make you happy,” said Spinner, scrolling through his own Twitter feed.

“But there could be blood!”

“I suppose there have been some bloody noses and scrapes in the past,” said Magne, “but even with Rappa and Muscular as they are, I don’t think it’ll be too likely this time. Dabi’s a long-range fighter. He’d burn someone before they got any chance to get him bloody.”

“I bet Saito would look good covered in blood,” Toga cooed, in that hazy-eyed, breathy way that told all of them that she was starting some kind of withdrawal.

Shigaraki slid the container of blood-infused doughnuts toward her on the coffee table and scoffed, “As if Dabi would let anyone mess with Saito.”

“He does seem fond of him,” Kurogiri chuckled.

“I suspect it’s the latent big brother instinct,” said Compress. Shigaraki glared at him, and the magician threw up his hands in surrender. “Not prying, I swear! Your tragic backstories are safe from me. But if Dabi thinks he’s hiding anything when he didn’t even make a peep that time Toga put those clips in his hair—”

“They were super cute,” said Toga.

“They were, my dear, but Dabi has a phobia of anything kind or inclusive, so the fact that he said nothing speaks volumes.”

On the other side of the table, Spinner gave a strangled gasp.

“What?” said Shigaraki, shuffling over quickly. “What is it?”

He peered over Spinner’s shoulder to find him looking at Dabi fanart. Naked Dabi fanart. Naked Dabi pinup fanart.

Shigaraki threw himself backward, hands over his eyes. “What the fuck! Why would you make me look at that?”

“I didn’t make you!” said Spinner.

“There’s not enough bleach in the fucking world— Put it away before Toga gets curious about it!”

“She’s the one who retweeted it,” said Spinner.

“I retweet everything Dabi-wise, especially the thirst,” said Toga, grinning wider as she scrolled. “It’s part of me and Magne’s master plan.”

“We’re compiling evidence,” said Magne. “When Dabi comes back, we’ll confront him with a literal mountain of proof that other people can be attracted to him.” She leaned closer to Toga’s screen with a pout. “Not that one, honey. That one has him at the beach, he’ll just say it’s unrealistic.”

“I’m still not sure if this will give Dabi a massive ego boost or make him consider faking his own death,” Compress said cheerily.

“The second one,” said Shigaraki.

“Oh, yeah, definitely the latter,” said Spinner.

Toga puffed out her cheeks. “Rude.”

“Dabi’s going to appreciate it so much!” cried Twice. “He’ll jump off a bridge from embarrassment!”

“He better appreciate it!” Toga slunk down into her beanbag chair (they'd dug it out of someone's trash and mended the holes with duct tape), and the grin returned to her face. “Now that he’s famous, everybody wants to learn more about him. All the other contestants have websites and profiles to find them online, but all Dabi’s got is that itty-bitty Twitter profile that he uses to lurk—”

“CrispyBacon23,” Kurogiri recited, nodding sagely.

“—but that doesn’t even have his name on it, and even if somebody does find it, all they’re going to see is one anti-Endeavor meme he accidentally retweeted two years ago. The people want to know him! So I’m stepping in as the ultimate Dabi authority.”

“What does that even—”

Shigaraki broke off as Spinner held up his phone so he could see Toga’s header. He recognized her handle (@StabbyCat) and her icon (a kitten holding a bloodied knife), but she’d renamed herself to “Super Princess Himiko (Supreme Dabi Expert).”

“I’ve been getting all sorts of questions about him,” said Toga, tapping away at her phone. “Somebody this morning asked about his toothpaste brand.”

“That’s weird,” Spinner said uncertainly.

“Hey, do you want to make it into a game?” Her eyes sparkled. “We can place bets on how many people ask whether his dick is pierced—”

“I don’t want to think about that!” Shigaraki screeched.

This apparently counted as raining on her parade; Toga scowled and flashed the pinup art again, and Shigaraki reeled back in disgust. He consoled himself with the knowledge that the scars were all wrong, so it wasn’t real. Thankfully the TV chose this moment to say, “Tonight, on The Bachelorette…” and everyone whipped around to watch, threats and disgust forgotten.

Shigaraki didn’t like The Bachelorette. Watching it for an extended period made him want to scream, reach through the TV and throttle these people while demanding how anyone could be so petty and stupid. During the last Bachelor season he’d waged war against Magne and Toga, attempting to mute the show or change the channel. Once when a contestant was being particularly melodramatic (the guy had returned after being dismissed to run his hands down a window to spook the other men in the hotel room, what the fuck) he’d threatened to disintegrate the TV entirely because it physically hurt to witness this shit. He wouldn’t actually have destroyed the TV. He and Spinner needed that for their games. He nearly got stabbed and magnetically launched off the balcony for the suggestion, though. He could just barely make it through this season, and the only thing keeping him sane was the knowledge that Dabi was suffering all of this up close and personal. It was always fun to laugh at others’ misfortune, and Dabi was enough of an ass to deserve it anyway.

The start of the episode was boring. Twice suggested a drinking game—take a shot every time you see Dabi in the background—but Kurogiri banned them from the alcohol. Probably for the best. The League was relaxed, almost distracted in their own side conversations… and then Hawks took an interest in Dabi. They quieted, watching with awe and disbelief. Like…  really? Dabi? Hawks wanted to stalk Dabi of all people?

“You know,” said Compress, amused but concerned, “when I suggested that a hero might take an interest in him, I didn’t actually think it would happen.”

They kept watching as Dabi tried (failed) to escape Hawks, as Dabi played chicken with Muscular (fuck, he better not have burned himself again), and as Dabi cracked open a little piece of his history.

Shigaraki did not like that.

Dabi was a private person. It had taken over a decade for Shigaraki to piece together the man’s history, and it had never been straightforward; it had all been cast-off comments, gravitating toward things out of character, seemingly random hostility, and mumbling nightmares, all tying themselves together into the framework of his old reputation and filling the gaps in terrible ways. For him to bluntly say my mother and I were abused like that rang alarm bells in Shigaraki’s mind. What kind of desperation had made him say that? Had the showrunners manipulated him? Had he been made to believe Aiko was in actual danger? She couldn’t have been; Muscular was cartoonishly bad in every clip shown of him, there was no way anyone would pick him. But maybe Dabi saw something different on the ground than they were seeing through a broadcast. Shigaraki glanced at Kurogiri. Kurogiri’s eyes were narrowed and his hands folded, but he said nothing.

Worse still, Hawks took Dabi’s vulnerability as a sign to close in. The following scenes were jumbled. Hawks pursued Dabi into the cocktail room just in time for Rappa to go on a rant and knock down more of the folding screens, and then—pop. Everything went black.

“I can’t believe Tesla broke all of the equipment,” said Hinote’s annoyed voice.

“I wasn’t scared,” Tesla said defensively. “Just. Startled. You know? That was loud.”

“Thankfully they were able to get all the power back on quickly.”

The cameras started up again, following the rest of the disastrous party, and Dabi was alone again. But then, weirdly, after the rose ceremony he stood willingly next to Hawks. They toasted each other. What the hell?

“Operation: Friendship is a success!” Hawks gushed in the confessional. “While all the mics were down Dabi and I had a good talk—” The image flashed to the two of them standing on the staircase in soundless footage, not hostile but definitely serious, “—and I think we have a much better understanding of each other. I think we’ll be able to get along now, which will do wonders for my sanity. This will be fun!”

The video switched to Dabi slouching in his own confessional in the garden, looking tired and annoyed. He bounced one shoulder up in a halfhearted shrug and said, “It’s less creepy this way.”

Spinner snickered. “I love how unimpressed he’s been with Hawks this whole time.”

“We knew he hated heroes already,” said Shigaraki.

“Hawks, though,” said Magne, as the episode closed out. “I never dreamed that Dabi and Hawks would ever be in the same room, let alone interacting with each other. Hawks really seems fond of him, too. It’s sweet.”

“Oh my god,” Toga whispered, as if she’d just had a revelation. “Do you think… Could Hawks be bi?”

“Absolutely not,” said Shigaraki.

There was no way in hell.

Chapter Text

“Dabi. Psst! Dabi!”

Dabi cracked one eye open. With Akira gone, he’d used the bedding on the bunk above his to fashion a curtain around his little sleeping area, like some makeshift four-poster.  It wasn’t perfect—a crack at the end let in a glimpse of sunshine—but the bed was angled in a way that kept his head fully in the dark. It was perfect for long sleeps when roommates and crewmembers insisted on flinging open the balcony doors every morning. It did not, however, keep him safe from those specifically looking for him.

“Dabi,” Hawks wheedled from presumably the doorway (neither he nor any feathers dared trespass in the room; small mercies). “Dabi, you’re going to want to see this. I swear you’ll think it’s funny.”

Dabi batted at the makeshift curtain and pulled it aside. The digital clock read ten in the morning.

“Brkfssst?” he slurred into his pillow.

Hawks laughed. “I’ll get you breakfast if you want. We can eat and watch at the same time. It’ll be great. But we’re going to miss it if you don’t get up soon.”

Dabi groaned and rolled over, weighing his choices. “It’s funny?”

“Hilarious.”

Dabi groaned again but gave in. Entertainment was scarce; he’d save his naps for another lull. He fumbled his way out of bed and pulled on some clothes.

If you’d told him a week ago that he’d be dragging himself out of bed to hang out with Hawks of all people, he’d have laughed. Then again, if you’d told him a few months ago that he’d be on The Bachelorette, he’d have laughed then, too. Following the establishment of their alliance (for lack of a better word), Hawks had kept on following Dabi throughout the mansion, but less in a pursuit and more in a self-assured “I belong here” sort of way. It was kind of infuriating how easily he could settle in. That didn’t mean Dabi accepted him easily, though. The whole of Sunday had been spent circling each other, asking things like “what coffees are available” when they really meant “why should I trust you.” They played a game of shogi with a kind of life-or-death intensity that sent other competitors veering away at the mere sight of them.

Despite the full day of sounding each other out, Dabi was still unsure just how to act around Hawks. The hero liked to play stupid and bubbly, flashing blinding smiles and taking everything in stride… but he could drop the act in a heartbeat, and face the world instead with a carefully blank face and eyes sharp and unblinking to the point that people were unnerved without him even doing anything. He was smart. Scarily smart. Trumpet may have been a mastermind pitting the other competitors against each other with a few stray comments, but it became clear that Hawks had the ability to do the same with far more brutal efficiency— he had the feathers to eavesdrop with and a mind that could retain every little slight or complaint. The only reason he hadn’t dragged all his competition through the mud was because either A) he had some integrity, or more likely, B) he was waiting for the most opportune moment. Ironically Dabi found that comforting: confirmation that his assumptions on Hawks’ motives were somewhat right, so he was at least a little predictable. The “Team Hotwings” nonsense was an alliance of some kind to help set up for future plans. If Hawks had really wanted genuine friendship Dabi didn’t know how he could’ve handled that. He could roll with this, though. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, and all that jazz.

And maybe it was nice to spend time with someone who owned half a brain.

And maybe Hawks could be amusing when he wanted to be.

Dabi would never admit any enjoyment to anyone.  

In the here and now, he finished clipping on the mic and battery pack. When he looked up at the door, he was puzzled to find it empty.

“Over here!” Hawks was waving from the couch on the balcony, and he certainly hadn’t been there before.

“Why are you there?” said Dabi, suddenly suspicious.

“Because we need to go up.” Hawks pointed skyward. “We’ll get our best view from the roof.”

“Where are the stairs to the roof?” said Dabi.

“If they exist, I haven’t found them yet,” Hawks said cheerfully. “Come on, everybody wants a chance to fly with me.”

“There’s a ninety percent chance of me puking on you even before I’ve eaten,” said Dabi. Hawks made an appropriately grossed-out expression. “What’s so important about the roof, anyway?”

Hawks’ grimace switched right back to excitement. “The roof gives us a bird’s eye, three-sixty view of the property.”

“And why is that needed?”

“Because we’re going into week four on the show,” said Hawks. “Historically, this is around the time the show permanently leaves the mansion and goes traveling across the country or even abroad.”

Abroad? Oh, shit.

“We’re not doing that, are we?” said Dabi. He hoped not. He didn’t have a passport.

“Nah.” Hawks flapped his hand dismissively. “Too many conflicting items. I guess some people don’t have the right paperwork, plus they want me to stay in the country for emergencies, plus they don’t want Sato leaving since he’s got a grandkid that could be born any day now. But just because we know that doesn’t mean the fans do.”

“So?” said Dabi.

“So,” said Hawks, smiling wickedly, “the Bachelorette mansion is a well-known landmark, and plenty of fans think this is their last chance to gatecrash.”

Oh. Dabi grinned, too. “They’re coming?”

“Dabi, my man, there have been three arrests just during the time I was trying to wake you up.”

“Fuck yes, I’m in,” said Dabi. He strode toward Hawks but paused in the balcony doorway. “Uh. How is this happening?”

“Well.” Hawks hopped to his feet. “There are a few different positions we could go with. I typically carry people in the ‘jetpack,’ the ‘koala,’ or the ‘princess.’ If I grab you around the middle with you facing out, that’s the jetpack. If it’s the same with you facing me, that’s the koala. Princess carry is pretty self-evident. What’s your comfort level?”

“I don’t want to see the ground,” said Dabi.

“Koala it is. Get over here.”

He spread his arms, but Dabi hesitated again. For one thing, koalas weren’t his vibe. For another, he’d thrown on a loose sleeveless tank top, and Hawks wore one of his black halter tops; that meant a lot of scar on skin contact. People didn’t tend to react well to that.

“Come on, come on, there’s another one coming in,” said Hawks, wiggling his fingers.

Ugh. Whatever. Hawks could see what he was getting into, and if the hero was repulsed and avoided him, it was all the better to get that out of the way now. He moved in and put his arms loosely around Hawks’ shoulders. Hawks did not care for that delicate shit. He hiked Dabi up for a better grip. Dabi’s stomach flipped. He let out a squeak he’d deny to his dying day, and clung on like a limpet as Hawks spread his wings.

“Here we go,” said Hawks, and that was the only warning before their feet left ground.

Dabi did not like having nothing under his feet. His nails bit into Hawks’ skin and he wrapped his legs around the other man’s waist in some last-ditch attempt at security, but in retrospect he needn’t have worried. Hawks had an iron hold on him, and was apparently well-versed enough in passenger reactions to chuckle somewhere near Dabi’s ear and proceed as normal. The flight up to the roof was blessedly short. Hawks landed them on the shingles near one of the massive chimneys. It took a minute for Dabi to put his feet back down, but he couldn’t bring himself to unwind his arms. His stomach kept churning, and his limbs felt like they were stuck in rigor mortis.

“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” he mumbled against Hawks’ neck.

Hawks only laughed again. “You’re actually a mild case. Some people scream and freak out about it.”

Dabi didn’t know if that was more dignified or not. He sucked in deep breaths, half choking on Hawks’ cologne, which wasn’t a bad cologne by any means, but when Dabi’s stomach got this weak it did strange things. Hawks graciously allowed this until he spotted one of the gatecrashers; at that point his grip tightened again and he shifted with excitement. “Look! There’s one of them now! Damn, she’s fast!”

Dabi forced his head up to look.

Past the initial privacy screen of small trees there was still more vegetation, making the mansion look something like a tropical oasis from the sky; presumably it gave the mansion’s real owners some security and peace, but it also created a no man’s land currently patrolled by the Paragon security force. Someone with a cheetah quirk and a pink, heart-studded shirt was sprinting through the greenery toward the mansion, and Dabi had no sooner noticed her than somebody in a vivid security vest plowed into her in a full football tackle. Dabi gasped, shocked and thrilled. The cheetah girl kicked him off, only for two more security vests to pounce from the other side.

“Holy shit, this has been going on all morning?” said Dabi.

“It gets better,” said Hawks. “Just wait until the confessors show up.”

And show up the confessors did. Within two minutes they saw a girl with a glittery “Trumpet 4Eva, Marry Me” sign who tried to use said sign as a weapon against the security team; a man in a tuxedo who used a gigantification quirk on the diamond ring he was carrying to turn it into something the size of a semi-truck, screaming “Aiko my love, I’m the only prince for you!”; and another woman wearing no shirt at all who, even as she was being towed away, howled, “Hawks I want your babies!”

“Yikes,” said Dabi.

“Oh, that one’s tame,” said Hawks.

“Seriously? Seems pretty invasive to me.” Speaking of invasive, Dabi realized he was still clinging. He tried to let go both quickly and subtly, but judging by Hawks’ amusement he only managed one of those things. Dabi pretended not to notice and instead asked, “If this has been going on the whole time, why didn’t I hear it? I know I’m a heavy sleeper, but that?” He gestured at the diamond. “That’s ridiculous.”

“There’s an insulation quirk affecting the mansion itself,” said Hawks. “Part of the ‘keep your head in the game’ approach the producers want. I mean, this is a pretty big distraction, and if they want us all thinking of Aiko twenty-four-seven, that’s not great. I noticed it on my morning flights, though—the roof’s not affected by the quirk, so we can see all we want.”

“Jackpot,” said Dabi.

“Exactly,” Hawks snickered. “Will you be good up here if I go get that food right now?”

Dabi waved him off. “Heights aren’t my problem.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Stay near the chimney, okay? And let me know if I miss anything.”

Hawks turned. The gap in his halter top was a perfect window to the flex of his flight muscles, and then he was gone in a flurry of crimson feathers. Dabi found himself rooted to the spot, staring stupidly at the place he’d been. Those had been some… very nice muscles. Damn. No wonder that hotel photographer had been so keen to look for them. Dabi felt kind of like a voyeur for seeing them at all.

That thought turned out to be the first in a line of mental dominoes that made Dabi almost dizzy with embarrassment. Dabi had been pressed up against a lot of muscle even if he hadn’t registered it at the time. Hawks had carried him up as easy as a twig. And Dabi had—his legs—shit. Dabi sat down quickly, face burning. He hoped to whatever gods might exist that no cameras had caught sight of them, because if they did and anyone tried to confront him about that position he was going to die. Just self-immolate and die. The League would mock him for life. Hawks’ fangirls would murder him for jealousy. It wasn’t worth facing. That wasn’t to say it had been bad. Sort of. Hawks was an attractive guy. It was objective, like the sky being blue; Hawks was hot and a majority of Japan wanted to bone him. If Dabi was going to act like an octopus, at least he’d done so with a hot guy who didn’t treat him like a biohazard (yet). Was this… a win? No, definitely a loss.

Before he could fall too far down the spiral of embarrassment, Hawks returned. He’d brought a picnic basket of food and drinks, but a swirl of feathers alongside him carried a lot more: sunscreen, a wide-brimmed straw hat, Dabi’s sunglasses, cushions from the patio furniture, and a massive parasol that might’ve belonged to one of the security tables at the bottom of the driveway.

“I figured we’d settle in,” said Hawks, propping up the parasol to shade them. “Did anyone else try to get in?”

“Nah,” said Dabi.

Right. Good. Awesome. They were never going to talk about how they’d gotten Dabi up here. He could rest easy. Dabi accepted his share of the cushions, slid on the hat and sunglasses, and settled in for a show.

Watching the gatecrashers was like a massive slapstick production. Each one of them was more ludicrous than the last.

A mariachi band attempted to assemble on the west end, only to be scattered by security. All were caught save for one rogue trumpeter—he piped rebelliously from somewhere in the trees until someone must’ve tackled him and a note went comically flat.

A burst of fireworks near the driveway tried to cover the approach of a man in a legit prince costume. He needed a distraction because not only was his outfit unsubtle, but he’d decided to protect himself from security by encasing himself in a gargantuan pink hamster ball. He attempted to steamroll over the guards, and found to his chagrin that three men could roll him backward from the outside much easier than one man could roll forward from the inside. 

A woman with a greenish dragon quirk made her attempt from the air, soaring down out of the clouds and circling in cautiously. Dabi and Hawks waved at her. She waved excitedly back and put on a burst of speed, only for a security guard with a jetpack to zoom up and sucker punch her out of the sky.

“Damn,” said Dabi, squinting as a teleport quirk zapped her out of her fall and onto a cushioned landing pad that had clearly seen earlier use. “These security guards mean business.”

“Yeah, you never know which trespassers are harmless and which ones are holding bombs,” Hawks said cheerfully.

“That’s dark,” said Dabi.

Hawks shrugged. “It’s happened.”

Dabi was tempted to ask if it had happened here on this season of the show, or if it was just Hawks’ life in general. He then decided it might be better for him not to know. It was far more satisfying to move on to the next hapless gatecrasher, cheering them on like athletes (“She’s going to make it, she’s going to make it—Ooh, missed her shot”) or booing their strategies (“you’re the third telekinesis quirk today, float something other than that stupid log!”). It wasn’t too different from when Dabi, Shigaraki, and Twice heckled people on the TV; watching a train wreck was always twice the fun if you were running commentary with someone. Dabi found himself relaxing. Smiling. This was actually a good time.

Shion and Prey managed to find them. They’d presumably tracked Hawks’ feathers fetching more refreshments. Dabi had no idea how they’d managed the climb, but the pair arrived sweaty and panting sometime during the afternoon.

“I hate you both,” Shion wheezed.

“Not too much, I hope?” said Hawks, holding out a fresh bottle of water and making a sad face so theatrical even Compress would be offended.

Shion only scowled and swiped it. They squeezed under the parasol too. They didn’t say much, preferring to catch Dabi and Hawks’ reactions on film, but they smiled along and Dabi caught Shion snickering a few times.

Eventually the daylight began to fade, Dabi began to crave something heavier than the sandwiches and snacks Hawks had flown up, and Shion got a text asking them to reconvene; apparently Skeptic would be returning soon (oh yeah, it was Monday, someone had gone on a one-on-one date) and there was apparently Skeptic-related drama in the mansion now so Curious wanted all the contestants present and petty in full view of half a dozen cameras. While Dabi stood and rolled his shoulders, Hawks flew all their gear back down to the patio.

“Could we get a ride, too?” asked Prey.

Hawks winked and obliged. A feather caught each of them by the shirt and hoisted them up off the shingles before sending them down the way he’d moved countless rescues before. With that done, Hawks turned to Dabi. Shit. Embarrassment hit again with all the force of a brick. This time people knew where they were and what they were up to, so there would certainly be cameras.

“No koala,” he said quickly.

“Okay, we’ll do a different one,” said Hawks. “Princess or jetpack?”

‘Princess’ was just asking for trouble.

“Jetpack,” said Dabi.

Hawks raised a brow. “Earlier you said you didn’t want to see the ground…”

“Maybe I want to see it now.”

They stared each other down for a while before Hawks gave up on guessing whatever he was up to. He circled around Dabi’s back and put his arms around his middle. Oh, fuck no. Not on a seam.

“Not there,” Dabi grunted.

Hawks loosened his grip and moved his arms. “Here?”

“Better.”

“You’re sure you want to do it like this?”

“Please just put me on the ground.”

Hawks harrumphed, and his grip went tight again. Moving, moving, moving, shit, shit, shit— They’d barely cleared the edge of the rooftop when Dabi’s brain decided fuck this and he went completely limp. Hawks wavered under the dead weight.

“Dabi? Are you okay?”

Dabi made… some kind of noise.

“Yeah, let’s get you down fast.”

The patio stone came up much faster than Dabi’s stomach would’ve liked, but Hawks cut the speed and they landed light as a feather. He tried to set Dabi’s feet on the ground, but Dabi’s body didn’t really want to cooperate.

“No? Okay, then we—wow, okay, we’ll go all the way down.” Hawks gently laid him out next to the pool and crouched by his head to peer worriedly into his face. “Are you good? You still conscious?”

“I just need to lay here a minute,” Dabi mumbled.

“Was it the speed? The landing?” Hawks fretted.

Dabi weighed his options before clarifying, “I get motion sick.”

“Oh.” Hawks looked genuinely guilty. “Sorry.”

“Don’t fucking apologize.”

He’d reacted worse than he should’ve anyway; he’d been stuck in trains and cars enough times that he could suck it up, but flying? That was new. He’d psyched himself out. After another minute of deep breaths, Dabi pulled himself together and pushed himself to his feet.

“Let’s get in there before they come looking for us.”

Skeptic’s date had apparently been ‘intimate yoga.’

People did that? Dabi could only imagine it being all kinds of awkward, but then again he had zero flexibility. It did not in any way sound like a thing Skeptic would’ve enjoyed, and the idea of the other man in yoga pants made Dabi want to cry laughing. Luckily everyone else in the mansion was hung up on this too, so when Dabi and Hawks walked in together no one noticed.

Insults were slung about Skeptic’s rude, businesslike attitude, which Skeptic returned by pointing out that the others were childish idiots. It all felt like manufactured conflict, like the house was full of piranhas desperate to rip someone apart, and had singled out the contestant appealing to the least number of people. By all means they could’ve ganged up on the biggest competition (Hawks) but they were cowardly little shits and Hawks would’ve eaten them alive. Dabi would’ve been fair game too, but Hawks’ interest had made him off limits; later on he was sure he’d be targeted for ‘hiding’ under Hawks’ wing, but that wouldn’t happen until easier marks were gone. Hopefully it wouldn’t reach that point at all before he got kicked off the show.

For now he sat back on the couch to watch the fallout, exceedingly thankful that he’d been super embarrassing but somehow gotten away with it.

On Tuesday Dabi woke early, to the sound of some crewmember’s water bottle hitting the floor right outside the open door of the bedroom.

“What is going on out there?” Teruo mumbled, still half asleep.

Curator made some kind of noise too, and considering that Curator was borderline allergic to drama and stupidity, that likely meant something was going on. Dabi pulled back his sheet-curtain and spotted several crewmembers assembled in the hallway with cameras. Curious was present too, smiling as she ticked things off her clipboard and other staff came to check in with her for a million other things. They didn’t seem interested in the bedrooms but faced the communal bathing room at the end of the hallway. The hell? Dabi stumbled out of bed and peered down the hall to see what had them all so focused. The bathing room door was open, giving a direct view to the running shower inside and Hinote rubbing suds all over his very naked body.

“What the fuck?” said Dabi. “I didn’t realize The Bachelorette was a porn.”

“Oh, they’ll probably only show him from the waist up,” said Hawks, who was leaning out of his own bedroom with eyes dull not from tiredness but more like exasperation. His loose pajama top went low enough to flash his collarbone, which was weird when he normally had high necks, collars, and hoods to obscure it.

“But… why?” said Dabi.

“To excite the viewers,” said Hawks. “The core demographic of the show is seventy-five percent women, between the ages of eighteen and forty-nine. The show’s for their fantasy as much as it is for Aiko.”

“Why Hinote? Why not—” Dabi gestured lamely at Hawks. Hawks was by far the fittest man left in the mansion and would probably excite a lot more people, but Dabi was loathe to say that out loud and to his face.

Hawks shrugged. “They asked me and I said no.”

Oh. Well, good for him on having some scraps of dignity and self-preservation.

“I suppose with you out of the way, Hinote’s one of the biggest showboats left,” Dabi grumbled.

“I can’t wait to see Tobio’s face when he realizes he got passed up for this,” said Hawks.

Dabi gave a snort. He glanced back at the crew, realized this clamor wasn’t about to go away anytime soon, and decided to get first shot at the food along with the early risers. He pushed off of the doorframe and made for the stairs. When Hawks realized where he was going, his wings flitted with excitement and he made to follow.

“Oh-ho, so you are capable of getting up earlier!”

“Shut up, birdbrain.”

“It’s the early bird that gets the worm, you know.”

“And it’s the second mouse that gets the cheese.”

“I don’t think that applies here.”

“Ugh.”

The regular crowd was already downstairs: Gentle steeping a large pot of tea, Hyouto and a few members of the book club seated at the dining room table. The breakfast buffet was spread out already. It was the same selection as it had been since the start of this terrible ordeal, and if Dabi had to eat this one more time he was going to scream. Normally he wouldn’t complain, but his life these days sort of revolved around food, so letting that go wrong would have disastrous consequences. He bypassed the breakfast spread to rummage through the fridge instead. Hawks kept after him, eyes wide with interest.

“What are you up to?”

“Cooking,” Dabi said shortly, as he pulled eggs off the shelves.

“Are you… good at cooking?” asked Hawks. Dabi turned his sleep-deprived glower on him, and Hawks held up his hands in surrender. “Just asking! I’ve never seen you in this part of the kitchen, and I know I can’t cook.”

“Don’t lump all of us in with you,” said Dabi.

Hawks hopped up to sit on one of the empty counters and watched in silence as Dabi set to work. It was a quick, easy process, making what basically amounted to several open face sandwiches. Dabi moved almost on autopilot, piling up more and more food.

“You’re fast at this,” said Hawks, impressed.

Something occurred to him, and Dabi looked at Hawks with more interest. Hawks clearly noticed this shift; his head cocked to the side in question.

“Do you want to see my fastest dish?” asked Dabi.

Hawks’ head tipped to the opposite side now, clearly recognizing that there must be a catch but unsure what it could be. “Sure?”

“Cool.” Dabi plucked another egg out of the carton and held it out. “Ready?”

“Uh, ready.”

Dabi gave a brisk nod and burst into action. He rapped the egg on the edge of the pan and cracked it into his free palm, which was already superheating. The egg crackled for a fraction of a second before he deemed it cooked, then he clapped that palm to his mouth and knocked it back like a shot. He turned back to Hawks and said, “There. Fried egg.”

Hawks reeled back, wings poofed and hands to his head like his brain might explode. “What the hell? You just—You really just—”

“Yep,” said Dabi, popping the p.

“But you—”

“Uh-huh.”

Hawks stayed quiet a little more before squawking, “Is that sanitary?”

“Probably not, but it is fast,” said Dabi.

“Oh my god.”

Dabi snickered and turned back to his many sandwiches. He’d gotten into a rhythm and ended up making too much for himself—not enough to have fed the whole League, but certainly a few people. Food like this was shitty warmed up, so there was no saving it for later. He piled what he wanted on his own plate and called, “Food’s free to whoever wants it.”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Hawks snatched one up and took a bite. His eyes got big. “Holy shit. Can I hire you as a personal chef?”

“You have low standards,” said Dabi. He didn’t feel like sitting with the book club crazies, so circled the counter and sat on one of the bar stools there.

Hawks scooted down to sit on a stool, too, still chewing. “You really don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“It’s a compliment—"

Meanwhile Gentle took an appreciative look at the food and said, “Thank you, Dabi. It would be rude just to take, though. I don’t suppose you’d like some tea in return?”

Gentle was not-so-subtly a tea aficionado, so whatever he had to offer would presumably be either really good or really weird. Dabi wasn’t very discerning with tea varieties, though.

“Sure,” he said, because he could probably choke anything down.

Gentle looked downright excited. He hustled back to where he’d been brewing, poured out a cup for each of them, and presented it with all the excitement of a dog who’d heard the word ‘walk.’

“Here you go! This is a special tea, Gold Tips Imperial! It’s by far the highest quality black tea I’ve sampled to date, and is indeed my favored brand!”

Oh, the expensive stuff. Dabi accepted his cup with a raised brow. He’d wanted to try Gold Tips Imperial but never got around to it between the time new cash rolled in and the show started. There had never been an opportunity, and besides, Compress was a sneaky tea thief. Dabi took a sip. He paused, taking in the flavor, and as it registered, his brow furrowed and his lip curled.

“How dare you?” he spat.

Gentle faltered. “Um, excuse me?”

“How dare you give me this?” Dabi hissed. “How am I ever supposed to go back to the cheap shit, now? Fucking hell. Leaf water’s got no business tasting like this.”

Gentle’s expression cleared. His eyes downright sparkled. “So… You’re someone who understands!”

Hawks looked between them with mild concern before sampling the tea himself; after that he clearly understood. “Damn. I’m more of a coffee guy, but I’ll have to move this into my drink rotation. Where do you get this stuff?”

This was apparently the perfect opportunity for Gentle to ramble on about tea stores, water quality, steeping, and temperature. It all went over Dabi’s head as he grumpily nursed his tea. Seriously, he wasn’t being paid to be here. How was he going to afford fancy tea back at home?

The rest of Tuesday was sort of a blur.

Dabi languished on the outdoor couch while most of the other men were swimming; this meant that Hawks could be sociable with other people instead of Dabi even if they were sitting next to each other, which 1) gave Dabi a break, 2) gave Dabi more opportunity to observe Hawks, and 3) had great entertainment value. Hawks and Sharkyonara were talking about weird behind-the-scenes nonsense they’d run into during modelling shoots. Of course, Dabi could only take so much of “the photographer added baby powder to my makeup to make me less shiny, except he added so much I ended up in a sneezing fit,” or “oh yeah one time they had me pose in jewel-encrusted underwear and it bruised my ass,” before giving that up as another Bachelorette-adjacent nightmare. He zoned out well past the time Sharkyonara departed for the pool and his eternal water rivalry again. Eventually the sun hit a point where it was shining directly into his eyes, and being too lazy to shift positions, Dabi flung an arm over his face.

“Hey Dabi, what are you thinking about?” asked Hawks.

“I’m at that age where there’s only one thing on my mind,” Dabi droned.

“Taxes?” Hawks said brightly.

“Entropy and the oncoming heat death of the universe?” guessed Skeptic, not looking up from where he was typing on a laptop that still didn’t have a connection.

“How Kinder Eggs are still banned in the United States?” said Gentle.

“The dichotomy of good and evil?” said Saito.

“The meme goes ‘murder,’ but I’m more concerned by your answers,” said Dabi.

“In my defense, taxes are hard and I hate doing them,” said Hawks. “I like to have paid them, but the whole sorting and filing…”

“I’ve never actually tried a Kinder Egg,” Gentle mused to himself.

Dabi craned his neck to look over the back of the couch. “Hey, Misty—”

“No,” Misty said flatly from the doorway. “No, I’m not ordering Kinder Eggs for you idiots to test whether you can choke on the toys inside.”

“Spoilsport,” Dabi muttered.

Misty opened her mouth to retort, but something caught her attention back in the mansion. “Dabi, come here!” she hissed, waving frantically.

Dabi didn’t particularly want to move. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, but didn’t elaborate, just kept gesturing with increasing frustration.

“Must be a confessional,” said Hawks.

Why would they want a confessional on a day where nothing was happening? Ugh. Whatever. Dabi dragged himself up and slouched over to her. Misty ushered him inside with a big grin. Dabi cast around for any sign of Prey and Shion, but the cocktail room was empty and they weren’t heading for the garden.

“What’s this about?”

“The date card is here,” said Misty. “You probably didn’t hear the doorbell since you were all so far from the front of the house. It’s sort of a subtle thing, but people with neutral or good standing in the group read the date cards—anyone controversial gets held back because the producers want to build up suspense and get their internal monologues. If you read the card, you’re cementing your position in the audience’s subconscious.”

“Are you still trying to do damage control about the balcony thing?” Dabi groaned.

“You don’t need it so much now that you’ve covered it with Aiko and started hanging out with a hero who has a well-known moral compass,” said Misty, “but alliances early in the competition can fall apart fast in the later weeks, and you want to make sure you have a good foundation in case Hawks turns on you later.”

The idea that she also anticipated less than honesty from Hawks’ intentions soothed him somewhat, but Dabi still said, “I still don’t want to read the stupid card.”

“Would you rather have a confessional gushing about your reaction to the card’s message? Because that’s what’s coming if you don’t read it yourself,” said Misty.

Dabi grimaced. “Where’s the card?”

It turned out to be sitting on a stool on the front porch. Dabi picked up the envelope and sulked back to the pool patio, where he lifted it in the air and called, “Date card.”

“With feeling,” Misty coached from behind the door.

“Date card,” Dabi repeated, louder but with no more enthusiasm.

The others had more than enough excitement to make up for it. They scrambled out of the pool and hot tub, converging in a loud, dripping mess that quickly soaked the couch cushions. Dabi eyed the puddles reproachfully. Maybe that was why Misty had volunteered him. There was no way he was sitting back down in that. He turned his eyes back to the envelope, flipped it open, and pulled out a cardstock square written on in black marker. That was a lot of ink. A lot of names. Dabi started reading them off—was this the entire fucking mansion beyond himself and Hawks?—and each competitor clapped or cheered or was otherwise goaded by the men around him.

“Boys, let’s get our head in the game,” he read, and tried not to grimace too obviously for the cameras. “…heart, Aiko.”

They all broke into more noise as they speculated on the event or otherwise praised Aiko for picking them. With the attention lifted, Dabi turned and flipped the card at Misty.

“Is Aiko even the one who writes these out? I swear this is the same handwriting that was on the last season.”

“Don’t spoil their fun,” said Misty.  

And so, on Wednesday over half the mansion left early in the morning. The building was weird in the wake of them. Echoey. It was abrupt enough of a change that Dabi didn’t like it, even though he usually appreciated peace and quiet.

Oh well, this is what I suffer ‘Team Hotwings’ for, he reflected, and made non-alcoholic cocktails for him and Hawks to drink as they sat on the living room couch and debated the damages of the “Plus Ultra” mentality of today’s heroics. They were both united in the idea that striving to be better was always a good thing, but the “Plus Ultra, Go Beyond” theme of surpassing limits recklessly tended to lead to career-ending (and life-ending) injury to the bright-eyed idiots who ascribed to it.

“I’m fully aware I’m being hypocritical,” Hawks said partway through the afternoon, gesturing with a half-empty glass heavy with condensation, “but running yourself into the ground constantly and killing yourself for some ever-shifting goal is just— That’s what it is. It’s killing you. I recognize that’s a shitty life, that’s why I went crazy and came here in the first place. My intern, Tsuykuyomi—or Tokoyami? You might know him better that way—he’s competitive, but he’s definitely one of the more cautious in his class… On top of that he’s got Eraserhead as a homeroom teacher, and if that guy could strangle the concept of ‘Plus Ultra’ he’d do it in a heartbeat! But every once in a while the kid comes out with some crazy self-destructive, overachieving bullshit and gets startled when my sidekicks flip out on him! He’s only sixteen. It even freaks me out a little.”

“Well, this is the class with All Might as a teacher,” Dabi pointed out. “He’s the posterchild for overachievement.”

“Ugh, All Might. He’s Spiders Georg,” said Hawks.

Dabi choked on his drink. “What?”

“He’s an outlier and shouldn’t have counted,” Hawks said breezily.

Dabi coughed a few more times before managing, “Hypocrite.”

“Hey, I just said I was aware of that,” said Hawks. “Besides, I try really hard to make it seem effortless. For All Might, it actually is. I say this with all respect, but the man is a freak of nature.”

Dabi snickered, but sobered quickly. Of course All Might was a freak of nature. Endeavor had spent half his lifetime chasing after his shadow and snarling about his exploits; Dabi was very aware of All Might’s skill.

“Do you think they’ll make an actual effort to rein it in?” Dabi asked, rather than dwell on the past. “Even people outside of heroics are starting to get uncomfortable with the recklessness. You remember the last U.A. sports festival, right? With the green kid?”

Hawks snapped his fingers repeatedly, eyes squeezed shut. “I know his name, I know I know his name, but all that’s coming to my brain is ‘finger-breaking-kid.’”

Dabi snorted again. “It’s accurate.”

“It is, but it feels kind of cruel to refer to him that way. Tokoyami says he’s got a great strategic mind, and most of the class looks up to him.”

“If he had such a great strategic mind, why’d he end up breaking all of his fingers?”

“In his defense, he didn’t have anything else to work with. He salvaged robot parts and land mines in the first leg of the competition, coordinated well with others in the second, but during those one-on-one fights all he had was an empty ring and an opponent. There’s not much to work with, there.”

“That’s U.A.’s big flaw,” Dabi scoffed. “All they focus on is power types like All Might and Endeavor. The entrance exam and sports festival let musclebound idiots through while keeping out strategists and supports. It’s all flashiness over finesse.”

Hawks raised a brow. “How do you know what U.A.’s entrance exam is? That’s not public knowledge.”

“I have my ways,” said Dabi.

His ways were mostly Giran, spying on the school to sell information to parents desperate to give their hero students an edge.

Luckily Hawks had no opportunity to pry further, because they were both distracted by the sound of the front door opening. In came a cameraman… and another cameraman, both of them walking backward into the living room so they could catch the entrance of half of today’s dating prospects.

The men were wearing sports jerseys. Stupid sports jerseys. They were bright pink with “Bachelorette Beaus” written on them in shiny red lettering. It was professionally done, but garish enough to look exceedingly cheap.

“Hey, what’s with all the long faces?” asked Hawks. “Actually, why are you even here? Isn’t the date supposed to go late into the night?”

“We lost,” Gentle said glumly.

“Wait. You mean you’re out?” said Hawks, shocked.

“Out of the date, anyway,” Saito sighed.

“We were divided into two teams for a basketball game. The winners got to accompany Aiko for the rest of the night. The rest of us…” Gentle shook his head.

“Damn, that sucks,” said Hawks. “Do you want to join us? We can all be dateless losers together.”

“That makes me feel great about myself,” said Saito, but it was more tired than sarcastic. He and Gentle sat down with them while the other men grumbled and dispersed in search of more sympathy. “What were you talking about?”

“The follies of excessive self-sacrifice in the youth,” said Hawks.

“He’s a hypocrite. We know,” said Dabi.

“Okay?” Saito said slowly.

Dabi made to take a drink, only to realize he was nearly out. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. “I’m getting myself another drink. Any requests?”

“Oh! Let me watch,” said Hawks, bouncing up after him. “I’ve got to figure out how to do these.”

“Don’t you have the money to go to bars already?” Dabi grumbled, but didn’t fight it as the three of them trailed after him to the kitchen.

“Money, yeah, but time? Hell no,” said Hawks.

They leaned over Dabi’s shoulders to watch as he made his non-alcoholic cocktail again, asking questions about the mixing and the ingredients. It felt claustrophobic, and their clueless questions were grating. Dabi half considered setting his shoulders on fire to make them back off, but fire so close to all the booze was a bad idea.

Just pretend they’re Twice and his doubles, he thought to himself as he stirred the drink.

“Hey,” said Hawks, eyes glinting in a way that heralded a really bad idea, “what if we made a little competition? Saito, Gentle, we can try making up new cocktails, and we’ll see whose tastes best. Dabi, could you be the judge?”

Dabi was going to say no, but he caught sight of Saito and Gentle’s cautious interest. The idea had pulled them somewhat out of their date-induced misery, and Dabi was a stupid sap who couldn’t stand their kicked puppy looks. Fine. He’d do it. But he’d grumble about it the whole time.

“This better not be some half-assed attempt to poison me,” he said.

“And be so obvious about it? Not a chance,” Hawks laughed. “Okay, you sit down and look the other way.”

“I can’t even watch?”

“We might try picking up cues from you. This makes it fair.”

“So I’m walking to my death blindfolded. Great,” said Dabi, and took his drink to the living room again. He nabbed a sandwich on the way, because he was sure he’d need something to get whatever new tastes out of his mouth. He had no faith in them, honestly. With little else to do in the house the bar was stocked with all sorts of wild and daring ingredients to spruce up drinks, and even actual bartenders could get those wrong. This was going to suck.

After about fifteen minutes the three emerged again, carrying a tray with three drinks. The first one was lurid blue, topped with so many chunks of pineapple, lemon, orange, and cherry all skewered with fancy little umbrellas that the actual surface couldn’t be seen. The second looked like a whiskey neat, with… pickles? A shitton of pickles and an orange slice, all jabbed together with colorful plastic swords. The third seemed to be a whiskey sour of some kind, with a heavy layer of white foam. Dabi eyed them all dubiously.

“I need you all to know that I have no trust in any of you,” he said.

“We’re well aware,” said Hawks.

Dabi heaved a sigh. “Which one am I trying first?”

The others looked faintly ill, so Hawks jumped in first. He held out the umbrella monstrosity and said, “I call this one the Blue Meanie.”

“That’s already the name of a drink,” said Dabi.

Hawks frowned. “Okay, then… the Mayday?”

“That’s also already a drink.”

“Then the Hawks Skyhigh Special! You can’t tell me that’s already taken.”

Technically it was, by one of the hero-themed bars near Kamino with absolute shit taste in drinks. Dabi didn’t mention it, though; best to keep the suffering short. He plucked out one, two, three umbrellas and what felt like a whole fruit cup’s worth of garnish, before he was able to take a sip. It was bad. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a vain attempt to scrape off the taste and said, “I can taste every single syrup that you put in this monstrosity.”

“And that’s a thumbs down!” Hawks cheered. “Come on, who’s up next?”

Saito nervously presented the pickle glass. “I, um, call this one the Average.”

That… sounded safe. The drink itself looked safe. It was probably not safe at all. Dabi set aside the pickles and swords, and took only a small sip. He was glad for his foresight, because holy shit that was strong. He coughed, and wheezed, “I think you just gave me paint stripper.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” cried Saito. “I thought if I put a bunch of similar things together they’d blend or something—”

Hawks took the drink, sniffed it, and recoiled. “Whew! I think that’s strong enough to take out an elephant. Look at you, Saito, you devious little bastard. Taking out the competition.” When Saito looked genuinely distressed, he hurriedly continued, “That was a joke, I know you’d never do that.”

Dabi washed down that trauma as best he could with his sandwich and drink, and when he was certain he’d lost as much of the taste as possible, turned to Gentle.

Gentle held out the foamy drink. “I suppose I’ll call this one Clouds in Paradise?”

Dabi braced himself and took a drink. Huh. Yeah, that was a whisky sour. Sort of traditional, but with a spin—was that blueberry flavoring in there?

“Interesting,” said Dabi. “Your portions could be better, but mostly you should look at cutting back on the egg white. It’s a nice texture but you don’t want so much that you’re tasting straight egg white.”

“Oh! I’ll keep that in mind!” said Gentle, seemingly baffled.

“Am I hearing an actual compliment?” Hawks gasped.

Dabi scowled. “They all sucked. Yours sucked significantly less.”

Gentle puffed up his chest in pride. Saito took a sip of the Average and gagged.

Overall, the date was easily forgotten.

Saito and Gentle stuck with them through the next day, too, in much higher spirits. Gentle unearthed a puzzle from somewhere (god only knew where; Dabi had scoured the mansion for entertainment and seen nothing remotely like a puzzle until now), and they took over the book club’s table in the basement to assemble it. Dabi paid far less attention to the jigsaw pieces and far more to glaring over Saito’s head at the spot Geten was prowling like an angry cat. Dabi was, after all, a simple man with simple, spiteful pleasures. Eventually the hollering of other contestants told them a date card had arrived, so the others hurried upstairs. Dabi followed much more slowly, matching steps with Geten and not dropping the glare at any point; he wouldn’t put it past the rotten little shrimp not to dump their partway-completed puzzle on the floor. It was quickly turning into a hostile staring contest. Fuck Dabi’s dry eyes. He was saved from humiliating defeat by Sharkyonara running past and clipping Geten’s shoulder in the process. Geten stumbled and chased Sharkyonara like a man on a quest for vengeance.

Teruo had the date card. He flapped it excitedly as the other men filed into the living room, and even before they’d all sat down he was ripping it open. He held it up, and his smile faltered. Not for him, then.

“Hawks,” said Teruo. “Love is in the air. Heart, Aiko.”

“Look at you, getting all the dates,” said Tobio, leaning toward Hawks. “What is this, now? Two group dates and now a single?”

“I must really be lucky!” Hawks said cheerfully, but didn’t look at him. He’d been snubbing Tobio so politely recently that it went over most of their heads, Tobio’s included.

“Ah, well,” Tobio sighed, “maybe the rest of us will get lucky soon.”

As far as Dabi was concerned, this was just more blatant favoritism. Whatever. He wasn’t interested in going on dates himself, and Hawks leaving for a day would be a nice respite.

He was engaging, but clever.

Too clever.

Hawks’ one-on-one date started early on Friday morning.

Luckily for the crew he was an early riser and punctual to the extreme, so it was easy for them to get him prepared and ready at the mansion doors before most of the men were even coherent. A limo pulled up with Aiko already inside, and Hawks wasted no time getting in and giving her a hug.

He’d been chosen for a date on every one of the three available weeks, and as far as Hawks was concerned, this was great news. If Tensei and the others were monitoring this, he hoped they were proud. And sure, maybe he wasn’t cut out for romance, but friendship was a great alternative, and Aiko was pretty cool. She wasn’t best friend material like Dabi was, but it was still fun to hang out with her, so Hawks was still looking forward to whatever activity she’d picked out.

“So, what are we doing?” he asked.

“Well,” she said teasingly, “it’s in the air…”

“I got that part from the date card. There’s only so many things that can go up in the air, though. Hot air balloons, planes, kites… or maybe me specifically?” He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed.

“Everything else is secret! You’ll see it soon.”

The limo drove them out to an airstrip, where a helicopter awaited them. Hawks had flown in helicopters before, so he accepted his headphones and mic and boarded easily. It took them up into the sky, and they marveled at the ground below. Hawks got to see this sort of view all the time, but it was cool to have someone along to see this angle too. It made the experience… fresh, almost. He filed away the idea of bringing Dabi up to a tall roof to get a similar view without the motion sickness.

Eventually the helicopter descended to land on a great strip of green grass alongside an amusement park.

“That’s right,” said Aiko, catching his eye. “Today we’re going to Mandalore Park!”

Holy shit. Hawks had never been to an amusement park. When Aiko reached for his hand he accepted it without hesitation, and they dashed across an empty parking lot and under the Mandalore Park sign. From the entrance he could see the merry go round, the bumper cars, the rails of the roller coaster undulating overhead… but it was weirdly empty.

“Now, you’ll have to remind me,” said Hawks, as they slowed beside a shooting game, “isn’t Mandalore Park supposed to be famously busy? Can’t help but notice we’re the only ones here.”

“That’s because we’ve got this place reserved all to ourselves,” Aiko said proudly.

Oh. That felt like he might be missing out on some of the experience.

“That being said,” Aiko continued, swinging their joined hands back and forth, “I know this was supposed to be a one-on-one… but it’s actually a group date.”

Hawks blinked in surprise. Since when was it a group date? Unless the helicopter had flown them in circles, there was no way for the other men to have gotten ready and traveled here to meet them. Aiko leaned to see past him and called, “Come on out!”

A chorus of shrieking met their ears, and from around the corner dashed a crowd of children ranging between five and twelve years old. Aiko shrieked right back and held up her hands to high five the kids running headlong toward them. Hawks copied, and started to laugh as more than a dozen kids loudly greeted them.

“I hope you don’t mind!” Aiko giggled. “I heard you were good with kids on the first group date, and I figured, if we’ve got a reservation, we can let someone else have fun with us!”

“I like it!” said Hawks, but he was panicking a little bit. His interaction with kids tended to extend twenty minutes at maximum, so going past that he had zero faith in his ability to keep them engaged. Having them tag along for the whole day sounded like a potential nightmare. Maybe, if he kept them all entertained by each other…

“I’m glad we have all of you along!” he called to the kids. “This should be a lot of fun!” They all cheered. “I’ve got a secret for you before we go, though.” He looked left, then right, exaggerating the motion before leaning in and cupping his mouth: “This is my first time at an amusement park!”

The result was incredulity.

“What?”

“No way!”

“Right?” said Hawks, relieved that the kids were latching on. “So I don’t even know where to begin! I bet you’re all experts. Can you show me how this all works? What are the best rides?”

Their excitement spiked again as they all babbled about their favorite attractions, but they brought themselves to order quickly. They had a mission now, and were determined to see it through.

The first destination was the merry go round. They all scrambled to find their favorite animals to ride, but more importantly they picked out the two ‘best’ seats for Hawks and Aiko.

“Aiko gets this one,” said a little girl named Usagi, who appeared to be the ringleader; she pointed at a white unicorn with an undulating purple mane, a golden crown, and glittery trappings to match. “She’s the princess, so she has to have this one.”

Hawks was directed to a shimmery, blue-green thing that might’ve been a seafaring dragon; it was reserved for him because it also had a pseudo-crown (because he was supposed to be a prince) and it wasn’t as princess-y as the other option. Sitting was weird, but he tucked his wings as best he could and gripped the pole as other kids scrambled for their own seats. He sent out a few feathers to help a dark-haired girl who was determined to get onto a too-tall tiger, and turned to the other girl next to him (Makoto, currently sat astride a giraffe) to say, “Hey there! Nice to meet you. I’m Hawks.”

“I know,” Makoto replied, shaking his hand gravely. “I watch you on TV all the time.”

“Oh, on the news?”

“On The Bachelorette.”

“Really?” said a girl named Ami, craning her head around from her seat on a large white rabbit. “My mom doesn’t let me watch it.”

“My mom likes to watch it with me, so she doesn’t mind,” said Makoto. “Hawks, you said you wanted a friend. Is Dabi being a nice friend to you, or should we tell Aiko to scold him?”

Hawks burst out laughing. “Oh, no, he’s a great friend! He made me breakfast the other day, you know. He’s really clever, and really funny. It’s nice to talk to him.”

Makoto nodded again, just as gravely. “I knew he was a nice person already, but Mom didn’t believe me.”

“Yeah.” Hawks’ smile settled into something a little more genuine. “Yeah, he is.”

“Is everyone ready?” Aiko called from somewhere behind them.

The kids shouted in agreement, and the merry go round began to turn with a happy, jangling tune. Hawks knew from observation how these things were supposed to work, but he was still startled a little when his steed began to rise up and down on its pole.

“How do you like it?” asked Ami.

“It’s faster than I thought it would be!” Hawks laughed.

“But you like it?”

“I do!”

Encouraged, once the ride ended, the kids towed them one by one to their favored attractions. They nearly burst his eardrums on the pendulum ride, which sent his stomach swooping and his wings fluttering; he had to pin his wings in tight for the swing ride to keep from interfering with the spin; they got dizzy on the waltzer; slid down massive slides; then they moved on to the games, where he knocked over stacks of cans with a ball to win little plush toys for all of them.

The cameras held back for the most part. They seemed concerned about getting run over by the kids, or having their little guests try to monopolize the screen time; Usagi managed to catch hold of Prey’s camera and commandeered both device and operator to ramble at length about how unfair it was for her not to be allowed to get Pikachu face painted on her cheek and how one of the boys was unable to get a butterfly painted on his own; Prey nodded along and recorded her argument just as seriously as he’d recorded anything else on the show. Prey was kind of a sucker, though. When the crew decided to abandon him to the children’s whims, it suddenly gave all the other operators a lot more mobility. Hawks wished they hadn’t.

“Let’s get some of you together,” said Curious, ushering Hawks, Aiko, and several of the little girls onto a bench beside a flowerbed. “There, perfect. Now, you’ll ask for advice.”

What kind of advice were they supposed to be getting from children? Probably just some cutesy fluff to make the audience find them more heartwarming. It felt painfully staged, though, and the girls kicked their feet, clearly impatient to get back to the fun.

“Okay, so,” said Hawks, looking down at Usagi (her face paint was now Miruko’s crescent moon on one cheek and a cat on the other), “what advice can you give me for dating Aiko?”

“Buy her cotton candy,” Usagi replied, with all the confidence in the world.

Hawks had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“What about you two?” asked Aiko, leaning in to look at the other two girls. “Do you have any advice? Do you have boyfriends? Girlfriends?”

Significant others? Really? These kids were, like, seven years old. Did kids really date at seven years old?

“My mom says I’m too young for dating,” said Makoto.

“My sister says boys have cooties,” said Ami.

“One time a boy kissed me on the lips, but it was gross,” said Usagi.

That was more like what he expected.

“Also, cotton candy is wrong. You should get Aiko some mochi ice cream instead,” said Ami.

“What flavor is best?” asked Hawks.

“Strawberry! It’s pink, too.”

“Cotton candy is pinker, and better!” cried Usagi.

She and Ami got into an argument over the superior treat; Makoto looked down at the new plushy-Present Mic in her lap and walked it through the steps of the Macarena. Aiko failed to engage them in anything else that the producers could find useful, so Hawks and this gaggle of girls were shooed away in favor of sitting Aiko down with an older kid and another that looked barely old enough to manifest a quirk. Usagi didn’t mind losing the spotlight, instead seizing Hawks’ hand and towing him toward another ride because, “You have to ride the teacups, you’re not allowed to leave without riding the teacups!”

The other kids unanimously agreed. As they went to board the teacups, Ami asked, “How do you like it here? Since it’s your first time?”

“I’m enjoying myself,” said Hawks, and for the most part he was. Sure, he was always in the camera focus and couldn’t let his perfect-hero façade drop, but the kids had no concept of acting (or even propriety) and were genuinely excited to show him all the things they liked; when Usagi practically pranced into a bright pink teacup, smile wide enough to split her face, Hawks found himself smiling more genuinely, too.

“Good,” said Ami, settling in with them.

“I’ve got a question for you, though,” said Hawks.

“About Aiko?”

“No, about somebody else. See, I made this friend…”

“Dabi?” said Makoto.

“You’ve got it,” said Hawks. “I’ve just learned that he gets motion sick. If I brought him to an amusement park like this, can you think of anything I can do to make sure he has fun, too?”

“Make him eat crackers,” said Makoto. “Don’t eat greasy stuff, but do eat crackers. That helps motion sickness. There’s also medicines and acupressure bands.”

“And he can close his eyes!” cried Ami, putting her hands over her own eyes. “His head, too, he should keep it straight and only go forward!”

“But the teacups! He has to ride the teacups!” said Usagi, genuinely distraught.

“Spinny rides are the worst for motion sickness,” said Ami. “My daddy always gets super green on spinny rides.”

“But—"

The ride chose this moment to lurch into motion, turning all the cups slowly in a circle. Usagi gripped the wheel and turned it painstakingly slowly, so they rotated at the speed of a snail.

“See?” she said. “You can go slow!”

This was clearly killing her. Hawks nodded wisely anyway and let his hands settle on the wheel, too. “Yeah, that’ll do wonders. So, if this speed is okay for my motion-sick friend, then what should I, the man too fast for his own good, be doing for myself?”

Usagi bared her teeth in a grin, and the others lunged for the wheel. They spun the teacup so fast, by the time the ride stopped even Hawks felt dizzy.

The group reconvened for a late lunch of amusement park food, and from there the excitement wound down. The younger kids were running out of energy while the crew checked their watches for some incoming checkpoint.

“We’re wrapping up,” said Curious, as she waved for Hawks to join her and Aiko. “Let’s cap off this section of the date with the two of you on the roller coaster.”

Hawks almost wanted to laugh. He’d barely seen anything of Aiko during their ‘date.’ He didn’t mention that, though, just followed dutifully as the older kids were roped together to go on the ride with them. Hawks and Aiko were seated in the front car, with only four kids tall enough to make it onto the cars behind them. There was a small camera stuck onto the front to see Hawks and Aiko’s faces, so when it started climbing its hill, Hawks fully anticipated some kind of heart to heart. Sure enough, when it crested the hill and stopped, Aiko turned to him and said, “Thank you so much for being such a good sport about this. It’s so nice to see you doing so well with the kids, and so nice to have fun with you like this.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” said Hawks.

Aiko giggled and leaned in for a kiss, which Hawks accepted easily. He didn’t expect a spark, and didn’t feel one. Luckily there wasn’t time to linger, because the car jolted forward and they broke apart.

“Oh my god. You’re supposed to raise your hands, right?” said Hawks.

“Yes! Raise your hands!” said Aiko.

“Raise them! Raise them!” cried the kids behind them.

Soon all of them were chanting it, flinging their hands up as the roller coaster gained momentum, only for their voices to change into a scream as it entered the plunge and started twisting corners. When the ride eventually coasted to a stop, Aiko gave him a smile, and that was it. The crew split them up.

“So?” Joules asked later, having pulled him aside to film his confessional next to a bundle of colorful balloons. “What do you think of the date?”

“It’s been fun, for sure, but I don’t know that I’d call it a date,” Hawks said honestly. “I didn’t spend much time with Aiko. That’s what the second half of the date is for, though, right?”

Yes, part two of the date was something he was nervous about. It was one thing to be on a group date, to strategically pick your moment to shine and have a short talk with Aiko afterward, but this was a one-on-one. Her focus would be on Hawks alone for the whole rest of the evening. The knowledge filled him with dread. He’d watched a few episodes of previous seasons before coming, and the one-on-one dinners got personal. Super personal. Like, I’m still suffering the consequences of my shitty parents’ bad decisions, I’ve been coping with the suicide of a loved one, or even I was assaulted, type of personal.

If you stepped back and looked at it, it made sense. All of the competitors were gunning for marriage by the end of this, and they had so little time to forge the connection for that. Of course they’d want to share with her why they acted the way they did, to make her understand and to trust her with their vulnerabilities. They didn’t have the leisure of saving deep thoughts for later dates because those might not exist. It was all or nothing.

Just because it made sense didn’t mean Hawks had to like it. He hated it. He’d been groomed since childhood for stealth, speed, and recon. While he hadn’t specialized in it, he did have some spy training, and that had compounded with the can’t let anyone know you’re the son of criminals or you’ll be blamed for their actions and the keep all joy to yourself or the Commission will stomp it out, to the point his default reaction to anything was to keep real feelings locked down way below the surface while he distracted other people with annoying, fakey quips. He had trouble switching that for anyone. He trusted Rumi with his life, but even when it had only been her, nonjudgmental, safe and alone at her apartment, he’d struggled to open up about what he really felt about the anti-Commission coup and what they’d done to him. Once he did, terror had stuck in his throat because what if the Commission was right? What if she suddenly hated him? His fears had vanished when Rumi cupped his face in her hands and told him very seriously that she was going to kick the ass of everyone who’d ever hurt him.

“That’s a lot of people,” he’d chuckled unevenly.

“Yeah, and I’m vengeful as fuck,” she’d replied.

But Rumi was a hero who dealt with crazy shit on a daily basis, and she’d known Hawks practically since his debut. Aiko was a stranger, asking him to perform vulnerability for faceless millions.

It felt like an insult.

It felt like a threat.

It felt like something he was going to avoid like the plague.

Hawks was a pro at turning interviewers around; tonight would be no different.

The second part of the date took place in the city. Hawks was fed some dinner, put into a suit, and brought to the doors of a theater. Aiko awaited him in another shimmering dress (seriously what had her fashion budget been), and eagerly led him inside. She brought him into an ornate room lavish with decoration: it looked like the Sistine Chapel, a cathedral, and an old opera hall had all been mashed together. Beneath the gleaming chandeliers sat a single small table with two chairs, the carving and embroidered cushions just as elaborate as the rest of the room. Some sort of noise echoed in its deepest corners; Hawks was tempted to send a few feathers to check it out, but he couldn’t do that easily when he had multiple cameras and Aiko’s attention fully fixed on him.

“I’ve really been looking forward to this,” Aiko said as they sat down. “You’re sort of an enigma, you know?”

“Am I, now?” said Hawks, smiling the way he always had whenever the last hundred professional reporters had made the same statement. “Personally, I consider myself something of an open book.”

“You seem that way,” Aiko agreed, “but you always keep the subject on other people or your work, never about yourself. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to do this one-on-one with you, so we can focus on you without any distractions.”

Ah, so she’d be a little harder to fool. That didn’t mean she was any match for Hawks’ determination, but he was also in a different position than usual today. On previous interviews he’d been the star, and no one dared push too hard in case he might leave. Aiko was the star now, and if he didn’t participate in some of the push and pull, she’d boot him off the show.

“What’s your background? Where did you come from, to get where you are now?”

“If you’re looking for a step-by-step on how to become a hero, I’m afraid I can’t give that to you,” Hawks laughed.

“Where were you born, though?” Aiko pressed, leaning closer.

“Fukuoka, born and raised,” Hawks replied. “You can probably blame that for my hero name. I watched the Hawks baseball team on TV all the time as a kid, so it must’ve done something to my subconscious. I didn’t make the connection between the team and my name, though, until a year after my debut. A reporter asked why I’d named myself after them without going all in on the baseball theme, and I felt so dumb.”

Aiko laughed. “Aw, that’s kind of cute! What did your family think of that? Where are they now?”

Well, one parent is in prison for murdering people, and the other is chilling in a penthouse on the funds she got after trafficking me.

“No idea,” Hawks said brightly. “I’m guessing this will come up later on, though, so I’m going to just… shoehorn this in here before anyone starts thinking it’s important. My family isn’t in my life anymore. There’s no point asking about them.”

“At all?” said Aiko, blinking in surprise.

“At all,” Hawks agreed. “I don’t associate with them, or their memory.”

“Oh.” Aiko’s expression fell as she assumed the worst. “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Hawks would accept that apology. He deserved one for having dealt with the Takamis.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” said Hawks. “It’s been a long time, and it’s not like I have any good memories of them. I know that family is really important to a lot of people here—to you especially—so I know it’s weird for me to be so dismissive of them, but it’s the truth that they don’t impact my life anymore. I don’t make choices with their example in mind, and I don’t get teary eyed over not having relatives over for holidays. This is my normal. I don’t miss them. So… I’m sorry, but if we end up together at the end of this, you won’t be getting any new in-laws. Plenty of friends, for sure, but no in-laws.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got more than enough relatives to share with you,” said Aiko, though she still looked a little ashamed at bringing up his parents’ supposed death. “Is that what made you want to be a hero?”

Hawks hesitated. In a way it was, but he didn’t really want to focus on ‘oh, poor Hawks, his family tragically died’ and get that linked in with his reputation. It wasn’t honest, it made him out to be a victim, and if anyone started feeling empathy for his ‘poor parents’ he’d probably vomit. The truth was a much better alternative.

“Actually, it was Endeavor,” he said.   

Forgive me, Endeavor, he thought, but didn’t feel too guilty because Endeavor’s PR manager would probably cry for joy after this aired.

“Endeavor?” Aiko echoed in surprise. “You do seem to be working with him a lot recently, but he seems more like… an acquired taste? Most people gravitate toward All Might, even now after he’s retired.”

Yes, public opinion was still divided on Endeavor. Most people didn’t believe he’d earned the Number One spot, and while he’d powered on with the relentless protection of his territory, he hadn’t had a big victory for the public to rally behind. Frankly, it pissed Hawks off. So what if Endeavor wasn’t All Might? No one else could be All Might, and his reign had always been an unsustainable mess anyway. The smash-happy Americanophile had spoiled them, and the citizens of Japan needed to put on their big-kid pants and realize that other people could protect them, too. The Commission hadn’t even needed to suggest it before Hawks had been proposing joint missions with Endeavor, hoping to steer the older man into better PR habits and/or endear the public to him by Hawks’ own presence. Endeavor wasn’t a perfect person—perfect people did not exist. He was grumpy. Proud. Awkward. But the qualities Hawks had admired since childhood were still there.

“I think that Endeavor is a lot more relatable than All Might,” said Hawks. “All Might was good at what he did—there’s no question about that—but he had a horrible effect on heroics. So many heroes looked at the huge difference in power between him and themselves, and they gave up. They fell into the habit of saying things like, ‘I’ll never be that good,’ or ‘if something’s too difficult, All Might can handle it.’ And for a long time he did, all alone, which is probably one of the reasons he burned out and had to retire the way he did, but that’s a whole different subject. Where everyone else became complacent, Endeavor never stopped working to improve. When everyone else said ‘there’s no point trying,’ Endeavor said, ‘I’m going to bridge that gap.’ His hero name is really fitting for who he is as a person: he takes stock of the situation, sets his goal, and works for it. He’ll work himself to the bone, but he’s also not dumb enough to go it alone—the Flaming Sidekickers are there to help him, and as much work as he puts in himself, he’s also very proud of his agency’s work. He’s a man who never gives up. He knows his limitations, but he still pushes them to get stronger. He’s incredibly thorough and reliable on the job, and works with such speed and precision—” Hawks coughed, realizing he’d been rambling. “—But that’s all what I admire about him professionally. I wasn’t smart enough to discern that sort of thing as a kid. He made me want to become a hero because he saved me.”

Aiko’s eyes widened in delight. “He did?”

He could almost see the story being written in her (and the audience’s) mind: big, scary Endeavor carrying a little baby Hawks out of whatever rubble his parents presumably died in. It still wasn’t a very flattering picture for Hawks, but, whatever.

“That’s right,” he continued anyway. “It was a long time ago, not a very important fight, and he’s done so many rescues, I doubt he’d remember. But it meant the world to me. I remember seeing him—” He lifted his eyes to the chandeliers, so dim compared to that hero he’d seen so long ago on the TV screen, burning over the headline of Thief Takami Apprehended. “—And I remember thinking he was so bright. It was like, all of a sudden I could breathe. I had hope. And I started to wonder if I could be that shining light for someone, too. I wanted to be like him. That’s why I wanted to be a hero.”

He didn’t mention that Endeavor never laid eyes on him as a child; he’d be surprised if the man knew he’d existed at all.

He didn’t mention what Endeavor had actually saved him from.

He didn’t mention how the Commission had taken advantage of his admiration.

“That’s so sweet!” Aiko cooed. “It makes so much sense, now, why you’re so excited to work with him!”

“Team ups with Endeavor are like a dream come true,” said Hawks. “I wish I could go back in time and tell myself it would happen.”

“Do you think of Endeavor like a sort of father figure?” asked Aiko.

Hawks barked out a laugh. “Oh, god, no! Look, his approval is great in a professional capacity, but he’s already got kids of his own. I don’t want him to be looking at me like somebody he needs to protect. I’m a hero too, you know? I like that he takes me seriously that way.”

“Would you like to be a father someday?” said Aiko, tipping her head with a smile.

Hawks? A father? No way. He was too young, too dumb, and in way too deep shit for that. “Hawks” and “father” didn’t belong in the same sentence. But that was not an acceptable answer.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said instead. “I don’t have an example to go on, but I like the idea of having a family. I’ve been so work-oriented, I’m having some trouble remembering that I’m, like… allowed to want these things. But yeah. That’s a really appealing future.”

“So you are looking for a family at the end of this?” said Aiko. “For marriage?”

In a perfect world Hawks would be head over heels in love, and even then he’d have preferred the beginning of a relationship instead of a proposal. Things that mattered so much shouldn’t be rushed.

The mission came first, though.

“Of course! That’s the reason I came,” he lied. “Everyone in the mansion is hoping to be your husband, you know.”

“I do have a lot of potential princes to choose from!” she giggled. She picked up the rose and twirled it between her fingers, looking coyly at him over the petals. “I’m really excited about our future. Hawks, will you accept this rose?”

“I sure will,” said Hawks. “Thank you.”

They kissed again to seal the deal, and Aiko pinned the rose to his lapel.

“I do have one more surprise for you,” Aiko said when she pulled back.

“Another one, really? After all that?” said Hawks.

“This way, follow me.”

They left the table with its food untouched, and entered another set of doors to find a crowded auditorium with a concert already in full swing. So that was what he’d been hearing earlier. He didn’t recognize the singer, but she had a nice undulating voice, and the instruments of the band behind her soared with her tone into something that was really pleasant to listen to. He’d have to figure out who this band was later and check them out when he wasn’t on a Bachelorette-induced lockdown. Aiko led him down to the open area before the stage, where a block had been rigged up for them to stand on—not as high as the stage itself, but propping them above the rest of the audience. Aiko put her arms around Hawks’ neck, and they moved in a slow, rocking dance.

It was about as comfortable as kissing her was: not bad, per se, but Hawks felt out of place dancing alone on a box in front of a crowd, with the space wide but not wide enough to stretch his wings, and Aiko’s arms catching at his smaller feathers in a way that felt a little uncomfortable.

It just… didn’t fit.

She kissed him again, because that seemed to be the prerogative of one-on-one dates. The music swelled like it was supposed to be particularly romantic, and the audience cheered and took pictures.

Hawks smiled along and hoped the date wouldn’t last too much longer.

Thankfully it didn’t.

They’d arrived to the concert in full swing, so it ended shortly after they appeared and they left with the crowd. Aiko disappeared somewhere for a confessional, but Hawks gladly boarded the limo that would take him back to the mansion. It was a much slower process than travel by helicopter, so he set out late and arrived even later. The sky was fully dark, stars obscured and security staff moving sluggishly. It was late enough that no cameras tried to follow him through the mansion’s front door. Most of the lights on the ground floor were out, with only a few left on for the crew’s sake. It was sort of eerie but also sort of calming, like the ghost town of his agency when all the sidekicks had gone home. No one was around or recording, so there was no need to put up a front. Hawks paused in the entry hall and stretched, wings quivering wide and arms overhead with a muffled groan. Ugh. It was good to be done with that date. He rubbed at the back of his neck, sending his hair out of ‘fashionably windswept’ and more toward flat-out ‘rumpled.’ He should really take a shower but couldn’t bring himself to care that much. His roommates would just have to deal with his amusement park stink and the cologne on top of it.

He was about to trudge toward the stairs when he heard a clatter from the kitchen. He paused and sent out a feather. If a crewmember had gotten tangled up in equipment or something he was still awake enough to lend a hand, after all. When his feather picked up grumbling, he perked up. It was much better than a crewmember.

Dabi was in the kitchen.

Dabi was in the kitchen making cookies.

If Hawks hadn’t seen him cooking already the sight might’ve stopped him short, and as it was it still felt a little strange… but mostly it was funny, because Dabi had fumbled while removing them from the oven and lost a third of them onto the floor. He tossed the tray onto the stovetop with a rattle, threatening to send the rest of the batch flying, and stooped to pick up the mess with curses under his breath.

“Need any help with that?” asked Hawks.

Without waiting for a response he speared a cookie with the feather and let it hover in front of Dabi’s face. Dabi sent him an acidic look and plucked the cookie away again.

“No. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“At this time of the night? Nah.”

Hawks leaned his hip against the counter, sending more feathers zooming around to gather the rest of the fallen food. Dabi followed the movement with narrowed eyes.

“So?” Hawks drawled. “What’s up with the midnight snack? You like your sleep so much, I would’ve thought you’d sleep the whole night through.”

“I should be,” Dabi snapped. He stomped on the pedal for the trashcan, and with the top flipped open, the feathers surged to dump their loads. Dabi had already gathered a few cookies himself; he held one out over the bin in his fist. “I would be, too, if Curator’s mask hadn’t sprung a fucking leak.”

“Wait, what?” said Hawks.

“It’s a high-pressure monstrosity that won’t stop squealing.”

Dabi vented his frustration by obliterating the cookie with his quirk. He opened his hand and ash fell down into the trash. He proceeded to do the same with the next one, too.

Hawks barked out a laugh. “Does he know?”

“He’s sleeping right fucking through it.”

“And you didn’t wake him up?”

“What, and have him crush me on instinct? His quirk turns him into a giant sperm whale. I would die,” said Dabi. He burned up another cookie and took in a deep breath. He sent Hawks a scowl and, in a voice loaded with sarcasm, asked, “How was your date?”

“Interesting!” said Hawks. “We went to an amusement park. I’ve never been to one of those, you know? But more than Aiko, I was hanging out with a bunch of little kids she’d invited to go with us. They were all excited to show me their favorite rides. Usagi was a little whirlwind, Ami had great taste in food, and Makoto was weirdly smart for her age. They all had great ideas for you, though, if you ever want to go to a park like that. It sounds like you’d need to avoid spinning rides, but—"

“What?” said Dabi.

Hawks faltered. What made him stop wasn’t the volume—the word was in Dabi’s regular tone, maybe even quieter—but the look on Dabi’s face. For a man with limited expressions, he was doing a very good job of looking confused, even lost about it: furrowed brows, mouth agape, eyes wider in… wariness?

“What?” said Hawks. “What part did I lose you at?”

“You asked about me,” Dabi said slowly, “on your date.”

“Yes?” said Hawks.

“It was your date.”

“You’ve mentioned! And the opportunity arose, it was a relevant subject—”

“I’m not a relevant subject to your date.”

“You were!”

Dabi rolled his eyes and turned his back to look at the trash again. “Even if for some inconceivable reason I was relevant, you still shouldn’t have brought me up.”

The line of his shoulders was tense, and Hawks got the horrible feeling that he’d messed up badly. He shifted uneasily, excitement draining for concern.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” he asked. Dabi didn’t reply, which basically screamed yes. “I’m going to be honest, I’m not really good at the whole… friend thing. Didn’t get much opportunity for it as a kid, so I’m great at superficial things but completely lost on anything deeper. The only people I’m friends with outside of here are people who have to put up with me all the time, so that’s what I tried to do here, but—just tell me, okay? If I’m crossing a line. My other friends are heroes, so we’ve all got weird boundaries and I don’t know how to gauge what’s normal. If you tell me something’s uncomfortable for you, I won’t be offended. It just means I’ll make sure not to make the same mistake in the future.”

He held his breath as Dabi faced him again.

“Are you really smart, or are you just really fucking dumb?” asked Dabi.

“I’d like to say smart, but honestly it’s probably the latter,” said Hawks.

Dabi scoffed and tossed the last bad cookie into the trash. “Should’ve figured. Don’t bring me up on your dates, but otherwise just forget it.”

“Roger!” said Hawks. “By the way, are the cookies up for grabs? They smell really good.”

“I didn’t make them just for them to go stale,” said Dabi.

So, yes. Hawks was going to be fluent in Dabi-speak by the end of this. He eagerly took a cookie off the baking sheet. After a bite he coughed and fanned at his mouth.

“It—It’s good! Really good! It’s just—like chocolate lava!”

“Why the fuck did you eat it right now?” cried Dabi. “They just came out of the fucking oven!”

Meanwhile Hawks was still trying to make sense through the molten cookie in his mouth, too stubborn to spit it out but unable to chew properly when it was this hot. “’Cause I—haaaahhhhh—I’m a dumbass! Just covered that!”

“Fucking hell,” said Dabi, but the discomfort had eased out of him.

A burned tongue was worth that. Probably.

Dabi didn’t know what to think about Hawks.

He’d accepted the ‘Team Hotwings’ bullshit for the past week, with the full expectation that it was a temporary alliance meant to curb Hawks’ boredom and/or set him up for better opportunities to take over the mansion later in the show. Hawks’ most recent actions did not match with that mentality at all.

Why the fuck had he asked about Dabi on his date?

It didn’t make sense.

You could argue that talking nicely about being friends with poor, ugly Dabi might win brownie points with Aiko, but what was the point? Hawks was a hero! Everyone knew he worked well with people and had a decent personality already! He had multiple years of public records and interviews backing that up! This sort of tactic might get him chummy with Aiko for, like, two minutes. Maybe. There were way too many risks involved to be worth it.

For one, it broke The Bachelorette’s big rule of “everybody focuses on Aiko all the time.” He’d been distracted on the date where he was meant to be acting like she was the center of the universe. If Aiko got any indication that Hawks was bored or not simping over her twenty-four-seven, she could easily kick him off the show, hero or not; other men had been sent home for less.

Talking about Dabi was also a distraction from Hawks himself. The one-on-one date was private time that most men desperately wanted to themselves, to build their relationship as fast as possible. No one talked about other competitors on the one-on-ones unless 1) the bachelorette specifically asked about them, 2) the other contestant was a jackass and she refused to acknowledge it otherwise, or 3) they were trying to actively undermine the other men. Dabi fit none of these categories. No, Hawks had asked how to make Dabi comfortable in an amusement park. What did that even matter, unless Dabi was going to be pulled along to an amusement park himself?

Oh no, Dabi thought on Saturday afternoon, staring down into another cup of Gold Tips Imperial. What if he really does want to be friends?

This started up a whole new chorus of mental whys.

The League had spitballed a bunch of ideas, but when it came down to it, Dabi had zero appeal. There was no reason for Hawks to genuinely want to interact with him unless— Oh. Stockholm syndrome. It was just a matter of isolation and worse options. The exact same reason Dabi was putting up with him. Yeah, that made sense.

But Dabi was a nobody, so he had a lot more freedom with this sort of thing. Hawks had a massive audience who would be hanging on his every moment on the show. By genuinely interacting with Dabi, Hawks was making him part of his heroic brand. In a way that made a safety net—anything Hawks did would be held accountable by his fans—but on the other hand that was a whole new tightrope to be walking. Dabi thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t a woman; Hawks’ fangirls were vicious toward their ‘competition’… though maybe they’d been forced to settle down after he went on a dating show.

So, in recap… Hawks was genuinely looking for friends. That friendship would just be limited by The Bachelorette’s parameters and his own PR approval. It would likely be a safe but short interaction. Once Dabi left the show, they would never interact again.  

Understandable.

Dabi could manage that.

Yeah.

Just… live in the moment.

Dabi set down his cup with a kind of finality that made the others around the table—Hawks, Gentle, and Saito—look up at him. Dabi fixed his gaze on Hawks and said, “So, on week one you told me not to start shit, but…”

Hawks eyed him suspiciously. “But…?”

“But… do you know what happens when you set a ping pong ball on fire?”

This caught his attention. Hawks sat up, eyes bright with interest. “What happens when you set a ping pong ball on fire?”

Dabi grinned and beckoned them to follow him away.

The trick had been shown to him by Giran, who was ironically far more of an arsonist. Dabi had been expressly forbidden from showing it to the League—too much risk of destruction and Kurogiri’s wrath—but everyone here was adult enough to be amused and the show would never air it for risk of kids trying to mimic at home.

“Gentle.”

Dabi tipped his head at the corner cupboard and the fire extinguisher fixed to it. Gentle did a double take, confusion furrowing his brow before remembering Dabi’s quirk and realizing this might get out of hand. He retrieved the extinguisher and hurried down after them.

In the basement Dabi dug in the cupboard, sifting through multiple containers of ping pong balls before locating the old brand he’d spotted in the “ping pong blitz” disaster. He plucked a single ball from the collection and shut the door. Back by the table, he held the ball up in front of Hawks’ face and turned it so he could see all its angles.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” said Hawks.

Doubtful.

Dabi held it away again and lit his quirk in one finger. A split second later, the flaming ping pong ball flew from his loose grip. Dabi ducked under the table to escape the consequences of his actions, and the others instinctively followed; they crouched on the floor, gaping as the ball rocketed around the room, ricocheting off walls and ceiling and leaving scorch marks. Luckily nothing actually caught fire and the ball’s flight didn’t last long. It lost integrity and burned out, leaving a scant coil of ash on the carpet. For a moment all was silent. Then Hawks started laughing.

Dabi had discovered a lot of things about Hawks over the past week.

He’d learned that Hawks’ favorite food was yakitori, but he leaned heavily toward chicken no matter what dishes were available to choose from.

He’d learned that Hawks liked to wear jackets because 1) he got cold easily, 2) the high collars were easy to hide behind, and 3) big pockets meant he could collect things like shiny rocks and bottlecaps without anyone being the wiser.

He’d learned that pictures in magazines were wildly inaccurate. Photoshoots showed Hawks with an expression of perfectly crafted, snide satisfaction. In reality his eyes would scrunch up a little, and his smile went crooked and almost too big for his face.

Dabi learned now that when Hawks thought something was really funny, he laughed with his whole body. He threw back his head, the sound loud and raucous and not dignified in the least. He went practically boneless, lolling before flopping to the side as he started running out of air.

For a moment Dabi was captivated.

“Oh my god,” laughed Saito. “Dabi, I think you broke him.”

“I guess that’s one way to beat a hero,” said Dabi, shaking the sense back into himself.

Hawks wheezed.

Gentle heaved a relieved sigh and set down the fire extinguisher. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought that would be much worse.”

“I can’t believe it did that!” Hawks scrubbed tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Do they all do that?”

“Not always, and not the new ones,” said Dabi.

A creak on the stairs announced someone else approaching, and without thinking they all sprang again into action. When Sato reached the landing, he faltered when he saw all four of them standing in odd poses around the room. If Dabi could sweat properly he would be, in his place standing on the ball’s ashes.

“Hey,” said Hawks, leaning to cover a scorch mark on the wall. “What’s up?”

“I was coming down to let you know we’re all starting preparations for the rose ceremony,” said Sato. His eyes lingered on the abandoned fire extinguisher. “Is everything all right?”

“Peachy,” said Gentle, hand against an askew picture frame.

“Oh, it’s great,” said Saito, glowing in a clear giveaway as he sat on a marred chair.

“We were just chatting,” said Hawks.

Dabi only shrugged.

Sato looked amused. “If you say so. I’ll take this back upstairs. I’ll see you later tonight, gentlemen.”

He retreated again with the extinguisher. Gentle and Saito sagged in relief. Hawks shot Dabi a grin, like Natsuo had so long ago when they’d gotten away with a prank. Dabi wasn’t faced with that kind of conspiratorial look much anymore. He felt his lips twitch toward a smile, but covered it up with a cough.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The rose ceremony opened without drama.

At least, no drama Dabi was caught up in. Skeptic was still suffering. The other M.L.A. members had finally risen to his defense, which initially made the others back off, but then the other half of the mansion got pissy about it. Like, how dare anyone back up such a square bastard?

It felt like a civil war waged between toddlers.

Hanzo Suiden took every opportunity to splash them, even going so far as to try manipulating drinks to ‘accidentally’ surge out of their glasses and onto expensive suits; this was thwarted by Geten freezing those drinks before impact, switching their trajectory and unfreezing them to splash Hanzo Suiden’s own suit. Minotaur kept near-trampling people, to which Slidin’ Go used his quirk to slide and check them quickly and subtly enough that it looked like an accident. Victor got quirkist again and Miyashita loudly called him out on it. Others tried to attack Skeptic on other things, and Trumpet verbally eviscerated them with a smile on his face. This wasn’t to say that Skeptic was defenseless—he backed Tobio into a corner at one point and just sort of loomed, which was a pretty effective tactic based on the nervous flitting of Tobio’s wings.

Aiko didn’t notice any of this, since they all pretended innocence every time she came in to pick someone out.

Dabi enjoyed the chaos from a distance with Hawks, sipping at his cocktail and snickering at anything particularly childish. Hawks was also amused, but when Chomper started snapping his maw-head aggressively at people, he decided that was enough. He sent Saito into their midst to loudly question what was going on and pretend stupidity when the others tried awkwardly to explain away their actions. It worked spectacularly—the fighting soon broke up with everyone feeling vaguely ashamed of themselves—but Saito returned to them with a somewhat sour expression.

“I know it works, but it makes me feel so dumb,” he mumbled.

“We appreciate your sacrifice,” said Hawks.

As the night went on the crowd circled, getting louder and drunker as the room heated up. Dabi didn’t know if it was Hinote losing control over his quirk after one glass too many, or the fact that someone had closed the doors for once. Whatever the case, Dabi had a headache. He sidled away from where his group had fallen into conversation with other competitors, and went out onto the pool patio. The night air was cool and refreshing, with the party dulled by the doors behind him. It was an immediate improvement. Dabi gave a sigh of relief and watched the eddying of the pool, happy to slip into the calm.

Movement in the corner of his vision made him turn his head. A small red feather was floating along the ground. It brushed against his ankle, rose up along his leg, and spiraled playfully down his forearm before pausing over his knuckles. Dabi blinked at it in surprise. It didn’t move further, just hovered. Was this some sort of signal? He stepped back and craned his neck. Hawks was in the thick of the crowd, still smiling and chatting with the mutant quirks. He seemed fine. Dabi frowned back down at the feather. He turned his wrist to touch the barbs, and the feather seemed to take this as permission; it flipped upright like a pen and brushed its quill light over his palm. It took a moment for him to realize it was writing out a message.

“C-A-N—I—D-U-N-K—T-O-B-I-O—I-N—T-H-E—P-O-O-L-?”

Dabi snorted. “The fuck?”

The feather moved again: “T-A-L-K-I-N-G—T-O—M-E—L-I-K-E—A-N—I-D-I-O-T.”

Oh yeah, he could hear through these, couldn’t he?

“What’s he saying?” Dabi asked softly.

“T-R-Y-I-N-G—T-O—T-E-L-L—M-E—M-Y—F-L-I-R-T-I-N-G—I-S—W-R-O-N-G—S-A-Y-S—I—N-E-E-D—T-O—B-R-I-N-G—F-O-O-D—I—A-M—N-O-T—A—B-A-T—H-E—I-S—S-O—C-O-N—”

The feather paused.

“Condescending?” Dabi suggested.

“Y-E-S-!” it scribbled excitedly. “I-F—I—W-E-R-E—F-L-I-R-T-I-N-G—B-Y—Q-U-I-R-K—I—W-O-U-L-D—D-A-N-C-E.”

“I’m sure your fans would love that,” said Dabi.

“T-H-E-Y—W-O-U-L-D—N-O-T—I—S-U-C-K—A-T—D-A-N-C-I-N-G.”

Dabi gave a bark of laughter. He had no idea how Hawks was managing to carry two conversations flawlessly like this, but he wasn’t complaining. It felt... special, almost, to be part of a secret side conversation like this. Dabi wasn’t used to being special or having real attention. He purposely ignored the irony of having the Number Two Hero’s attention now, when he hadn’t wanted it. The slight rasp of the feather over his skin was weird but pleasant. It was temporary, but genuine.

Yes, he decided, as he watched the feather spell out more complaints, he could allow himself to enjoy this for the short time it lasted.

“Oh, hey, Dabi!”

Dabi closed his hand around the feather and tucked it into his breast pocket before turning. Aiko was on her way back from the gazebo with Chomper, and seemed excited to see him alone.

“Do you want to talk while you’re already out here?”

“Sure,” said Dabi.

He somewhat dreaded this. Was she going to ask him about Hawks’ date? Was she going to try dragging him into more manufactured drama?

Since no one else was outside at the moment she had them sit on the outdoor couch.

“How have you been this week?” she asked as she settled in.

“It’s been uneventful,” said Dabi. She didn’t need to know about any of the mansion shenanigans.

“I missed seeing you on a date this week, so I’m glad I can catch up with you now,” said Aiko.

Thankfully she didn’t ask about Hawks at all. She asked about bartending instead. Dabi was perfectly happy to tell her about the worst cocktails he’d ever had to make, and Aiko returned this with some of her favorites.

“I’m actually running out right now,” she said, twirling her glass with its dregs of alcohol. “You know what I could really go for? Sex On The Beach.”

The fluttering of her eyelashes and tone of voice made it very clear that the cocktail choice was not a coincidence. Luckily Dabi didn’t need to worry about coming up with a witty response, because they were interrupted.

“Excuse me,” said one of the producers, holding a large bouquet.

“Oh!” Aiko’s eyes lit up. “That’s so beautiful! Thank you, Dabi!”

“That’s not from me,” said Dabi.

Aiko had taken the flowers, but faltered. “What?”

“It’s not mine,” said Dabi.

The producer was already swiftly retreating, so they couldn’t demand any answers from them. Aiko scrambled for the card and read aloud, “You look beautiful tonight. Love, Sharkyonara.” She looked up at Dabi in horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry…”

Well, this was awkward as hell.

“It’s not like you chose when to have them delivered,” Dabi pointed out. “It’s probably the showrunners trying to start shit again. Don’t worry about it.”

Aiko looked relieved. Of course she would be, when another contestant could’ve so readily accepted the conflict, but it really wasn’t her fault. No, the fault belonged to Sharkyonara, who swanned up to them with full confidence and a knowing smirk.

“Aiko, could I steal you?”

“Uh…” Aiko looked between Dabi and the bouquet.

Dabi raised his glass and said, “I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t look particularly pleased, but Aiko stood and left. Hawk’s feather stirred. It floated free of Dabi’s pocket and on the back of his hand wrote, “W-H-A-T—A—D-I-C-K.”

Dabi snorted and took another sip of his cocktail. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get back at him.”

The feather didn’t respond but stuck to Dabi’s elbow as he stood. Dabi walked back inside and returned to the kitchen. He threw together a Sex On The Beach, checked the clock to confirm his timing, then walked back out. Aiko and Sharkyonara were in the gazebo. He strolled up to them at perfect ease, and their conversation broke off. Aiko’s eyes were wide in foreboding, Sharkyonara tense. Dabi ignored him entirely. He held out the pinkish drink to Aiko and said, “Here. You mentioned you were running out.”

“Oh!” She took the glass and sipped at it. “It’s good! Did you make this?”

Dabi nodded. “I’ll make you another if you want.”

“That’s so sweet of you! Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.”

Dabi backed off. Aiko kept sipping happily, completely oblivious to Sharkyonara’s glower. Dabi smirked right back, barely resisting the urge to flip him off.

Hawks awaited him at the patio door, eyes bright with amusement. “Wow.”

Dabi shrugged, still grinning. “If Sharkyonara’s so excited to barge in on other people and make Aiko think of the wrong person, he should have a taste of his own medicine.”

Eventually Sato appeared again. He stepped into the cocktail room, held up a glass, and started tapping it with a fork as he had every other week. Unlike every other week, the glass broke. It cracked cleanly in half, spiling its contents, and he wobbled to keep the broken part from falling. Once it was balanced, he began to laugh.

“Well,” he said, “that’s certainly one for the blooper reel!”

“Wait, there’s a blooper reel?” Hawks whispered.

“At the very end. Not very long,” said Dabi, who had already resigned himself to being on that footage.

Misty hurried out with a garbage can for the broken glass, and a new intact one for Sato to take. Sato held this up to the competitors in a joking toast and said, “Thank you for your attention, everyone! It’s time for the rose ceremony.”

For the fourth week in a row, they all lined up in the rose ceremony room. Dabi took his spot, put his hands in his pockets, and waited as everyone fussed around him. When everyone was assembled properly Aiko appeared to stand next to the table and its load of roses.

“Thank you for coming, again,” she said. “I need you to know that if you don’t receive a rose tonight, it’s not because you’re not incredible. It’s been so wonderful spending time with all of you, and you’re all princes in your own right. I’m just looking for the one who’s right for me.”

She called out names. Dabi didn’t worry at all, and was justified when he was the tenth name called. Hawks was brought forward right after him, and preened happily over the rose again. To the others’ displeasure, Skeptic was not sent home tonight. Instead, the two men without roses were Minotaur and Curator. Minotaur cried massive crocodile tears from his single eye, reached out his arms, and picked up practically his entire row in a crushing hug. It was not appreciated by anyone caught up in it. Curator was far more bearable in his goodbyes; he touched Teruo lightly on the shoulder as if he were worried about disease, and might’ve nodded to Dabi but that was impossible to tell when the mask encapsulating half his head and entirety of his neck had him locked into position. Aiko hugged them both and sent them out of the room, at which point the others were free to crowd around her again.

“I can’t believe we’re already done with the fourth week!” she said. “We’re really getting into it, and I’m so happy with everyone who’s come this far with me! Let’s have a fantastic week five! Cheers!”

They toasted and broke up for confessionals.

“Okay,” said Misty, when she, Shion, and Prey had gotten Dabi back to the garden, “you didn’t have a date this week, but we want you to stay fresh in the audience’s mind. You reading the date card earlier helped with that, but we also want to have a bunch of sound bites to work with. So, could you tell us what you think about the situation surrounding Skeptic?”

“Skeptic’s situation is just the same old thing,” said Dabi, rolling his eyes. “It happens every single season. When there’s a big group of people in the mansion, they get their unity by ganging up on someone. They decide that they need a common enemy to throw the microscope off of themselves, and it makes them feel more powerful or secure doing it. Sometimes the target is a real asshole who deserves to get booted off. Sometimes it’s just someone who’s made an innocent mistake, but the rumormongers take advantage of it and make them out to be villains when they’re not. I’m surprised I haven’t been targeted for it yet.”

“Do you think Skeptic deserves this targeting?” asked Misty.

“Not for the reasons everyone’s using,” said Dabi. “So he’s blunt. Big fucking deal, so am I. Being straightforward is a virtue. So he calls them idiots? Yeah, that’s because most of them are. But he’s part of that shitty book club. Fuck all of those bigots, I want them all out of here as fast as possible. Why were they even allowed in?”

“Hell if I know,” Misty grumbled, shaking her head. “I wasn’t involved in hiring them, and the showrunners don’t seem to care about their political leanings. The Bachelorette’s not supposed to be political, so we’re in dangerous waters for that. Don’t worry about it yourself, though. It’s a matter for the producers to fix, not you.”

“Somehow that’s not comforting.”

“Moving on, you’ve been spending a lot of time with Hawks this week,” said Misty. “Can you tell us more about that?”

“Hawks said he was looking for friends, and after much deliberation, I’ve decided he might be actually telling the truth.” Dabi wrinkled his nose in disgust. “He’s still a hero, which I resent. He’s also still annoying as all hell. But he’s not… terrible, to spend time with. I can’t actively feel my sanity slipping around him the way it does around some of the other idiots here. I’ll probably be stuck with him for the foreseeable future.”

“So we can confirm that ‘Team Hotwings’ is official?”

His grimace grew worse. “Don’t fucking call it that. Team Hotwings. What a stupid fucking name.”

They went back and forth with a few more questions, then finally dismissed him. Dabi went back into the mansion in time to run into Hawks in the entrance hall.

“Did they ask you about Tesla in your confessional?” Hawks asked as they climbed the stairs together. “I can’t tell if there’s actual trouble brewing around him or if Watts and Joules just have some sort of electric rivalry with him.”

“The crew might still hate him for shorting out all the equipment last week,” said Dabi.

“Yeah, that could definitely be part of it. That must’ve been expensive,” said Hawks.

He was walking with a bounce in his step, glancing down at his lapel and the boutonniere every so often, and despite himself Dabi asked, “Why are you looking at it like that? You’ve been fixated on the rose every week.”

“Oh!” Hawks looked suddenly sheepish. He glanced around to be sure no one else was monitoring them, then curled in his wings. “It matches, see?” he said, pulling at his lapel so the rose brushed against his feathers. “Red and red. I don’t know. I thought it was cool.”

It wasn’t an exact match, but it was close enough that Dabi could see the comparison. It was something of a relief to know that Hawks wasn’t obsessed with Aiko (and therefore a danger to all 'competition') as he’d first assumed. That had been clear based on his chattering about the date, but still. It was good to have it confirmed again.

Dabi entered his bedroom—just him and Teruo left, now that Curator’s luggage had been removed—and this time, as he stowed away the week’s rose, it wasn’t with awkwardness or resentment.

Red like feathers, he thought, and tucked the rose into his bag with far more care than he had on the previous weeks.  

Natsuo was having a crisis again.

He was having too many crises, and they were all because of The Bachelorette. Specifically because of Dabi.

He’d kicked off the last viewing party insisting that he knew Touya and Dabi were two separate people, but then Dabi had gone and dropped the bombshell about his mother. It hit Natsuo hard enough that his mind almost tuned out to static. He barely got through the rest of the episode, and after everyone else left spent the evening sitting on his couch with one hand cradling his head and the other clutching the stupid coaster with Dabi’s face on it. Dabi’s mother was a big coincidence, and there were too many little coincidences piling in on top of it. His age, his eyes, his quirk, his body language, even sometimes the sound of his voice rang alarm bells in Natsuo’s head. After that night, Natsuo stopped rejecting it. He started observing. Cataloguing. He pulled up previous episodes on his streaming service and tracked Dabi through all of them again.

Touya had died in the fire on Sekoto Hill. His death was confirmed when searchers found his fractured jawbone in the ash.

Legally, Touya was dead.

But Dabi was here. With his jaw all scarred and stapled, who knew if he’d had an injury there before? Maybe his quack doctor had given him reconstructive surgery.

One might ask if maybe Dabi was a more distant relative instead of Touya; the blue eyes and fire quirk would place him irreversibly on the Todoroki side of the family, but Natsuo knew they had no extended family that age, and no matter the eyes or the quirk, Dabi had the Himura face and build. Everything about him screamed Touya.

But Natsuo wasn’t the kind of person who relied solely on hunches. He started to research.

As far as the internet was aware, Dabi had been born from the fucking limo at the opening ceremony. There were no records of him. Nothing reliable, anyway. He was distinctive enough that plenty of people online claimed they’d known or interacted with him for clout, only for their stories to break apart under rational questioning and resulting in the same defensive, mud-slinging cesspit of social media that happened around all celebrities these days. All reliable pictures of him were screenshots or gifs of him on The Bachelorette. All other pictures were supplied by ravenous fan artists; they’d latched onto Dabi at first as a rejection of Hawks’ hero, then doubled in popularity when “Team Hotwings” debuted last week. The shipping crowd was moving in fast, much to Bachelor Nation’s displeasure.

Dabi’s profile on the Bachelorette website was barebones: hometown, occupation, and a little blurb with a lot of romantic fluff that really boiled down to “I like naps and there’s no way I’m going to win this.” The introduction video was something to go off of, though. After scouring the internet Natsuo figured out which bar in Kamino Ward Dabi had been filmed working in, and on Wednesday night he went there. He sat at the crowded bar, confirmed yeah that’s definitely the angle the camera was pointed at, and was trying to figure out how to discreetly ask about Dabi when the half-drunk woman nearby solved the problem for him. She leaned over the bar and shouted above all the music and chatter, “Hey, so, like, does Dabi work here?”

The bartender, a woman with purple hair, a telekinetic quirk that was rattling multiple martini shakers for her, and the dead eyes of a person who’d been asked this question way too many times, said, “No. He did a demonstration here once, but that’s it. I don’t know where he worked.”

A dead end. Shit. Natsuo got a drink, wandered through Ground Zero and the rest of Kamino Ward, and returned to his apartment past midnight with no leads.

Following up on the alias “Dabi” didn’t get him much information, either. It wasn’t the sort of thing normal parents would name an unburned infant, and if it was a nickname it was pretty vile.  Maybe it was a pseudonym for an underground hero, a vigilante… or even a villain. Hero forums did have some buzz going: someone near Osaka was convinced that a man resembling Dabi had coordinated with vigilantes to take down a chapter of the Creature Rejection Clan, but there was no hard evidence to back it up and the mystery vigilante had never given his name. Vigilantes were hard to get interviews from, and the few that did stick around to chat, like Pop☆Step, didn’t seem to know anything. When asked about Dabi, the Crawler had apparently replied, “Oh yeah, he’s cool,” before zooming after a purse snatcher, and now the forums were warring over whether he meant Dabi was cool as a TV personality or as a fellow vigilante. It was a nightmare to sort through.

To make matters worse, everything Dabi-wise inevitably led into Hawks. They were always being compared or forced together. This was frustrating, because other people’s investigations into Dabi’s existence would derail into passionate odes to Hawks’ hairstyle and his abs. Natsuo did not give a single shit about Hawks’ abs. He could appreciate that Hawks brought attention to Dabi—his fangirls were scarily thorough in their own investigations on anything from Hawks’ wing-care routine to the exact spot in whatever city he’d taken a selfie in most recently, so surely in their crusade to “protect and support Hawks-sama!” they would dig up something solid on Dabi, too—but that didn’t mean he had to like their fawning.

For all the dead ends, though, Natsuo had one solid lead.

The photo had surfaced on Twitter: Dabi laying on his side in a sleeping bag, looking particularly disgruntled, with a can of kabayaki set on his face. “46” had been scrawled at the bottom left corner in the garish red of a touchscreen editor.

The picture had sailed all over the internet, because as far as anyone could tell, it was the only photograph of Dabi that existed outside Bachelorette staging. Natsuo had seen it edited, filtered, gif-ed, and more. A few crazy people claimed they were the ones who took it, after a “steamy night” (how could it have been a steamy night when Dabi was taking up the entire sleeping bag in daylight and was clearly mad about the canned eel sitting on his face?). A few others claimed it was their property, because they were close friends with Dabi, or were photographers, or were a hundred other things that made no sense. None of them had a convincing explanation for the number or the kabayaki. More rational people had concluded this was a behind-the-scenes picture from one of the Bachelorette crew members, with an inside joke. Natsuo had done a reverse image search, and determined that the first instance of it hitting the internet was under the Twitter profile of someone with the handle “@Stabbycat.” To make things better (or worse), they’d named themselves “Super Princess Himiko (Supreme Dabi Expert).”

At first glance, he hadn’t had much hope. Himiko, or whatever her real name was, was clearly a die-hard Dabi fan. She’d retweeted almost every Dabi fanart in existence. In between the retweets she kept a steady stream of commentary and Dabi trivia, with no hesitation on calling out other users for inaccurate information. Natsuo had seen a hundred profiles like this, all run by people who were self-important but mostly uninformed. Regardless, he sent her a direct message, asking, What’s the story with the 46?

The next morning he got a reply: loooool Dabi sleeps super hard so Jin and I decided to see how much we could pile on him without waking him up! 46 things total but Compress says it’s “not quantifiable” because everything we used was different.

The kabayaki was one of those things? Natsuo checked.

Yeah, lmao!

That was a weird explanation, but it was at least a little plausible. Time to investigate a little further.

How do you know Dabi?

We live in the same building! Don’t let his prince act fool you, he’s secretly three raccoons in a trench coat.

They kept talking back and forth. Luckily Himiko was an oversharer, so all Natsuo had to do was hint in a certain direction before she leapt onto the subject. He learned a lot of things about Dabi.

Dabi liked strawberry flavored things.

Dabi was a great singer but adamant that he wasn’t actually part of their band.

Dabi was a good cook with a penchant for soba (hot soba, he could get heated over that).

Dabi ‘reeked’ of big brother energy and mysteriously knew how to tie a fishtail braid without anyone’s instruction.

Dabi liked to watch volleyball when he had control over the TV, despite not knowing much about volleyball at all, and lingered on the broadcasts of university matches.

Dabi had flipped his shit while watching the final rounds of the U.A. sports festival.

Again, it was little things adding up. Not everything matched Natsuo’s memories—how could they, when there were twelve years’ worth of new experiences to shape them—but it fit, and the cherry on top was when Himiko directed him to Dabi’s Twitter page. CrispyBacon23 had only a single anti-Endeavor meme, which really shouldn’t mean much, but Natsuo spent an extended time looking at the badly photoshopped image of a “for really big mistakes” eraser being applied to Endeavor’s flaming face, and thought, Yeah, this is in character.

But for all the matches, and all the little details, Natsuo was left with one question.

Why?

The fire of Sekoto Hill could be explained. Natsuo knew Touya had problems controlling his fire when he was emotional. The jawbone he could blame on Dabi’s extensive injuries. But if it was an accident, if Dabi was Touya, then why had he never come back? Why had he never reached out to any of them? Why did he let the family believe he died? Natsuo could try blaming the quack doctor for that too—someone who thought stapling a burn victim together was a valid treatment probably wasn’t on good terms with the law—but Dabi wasn’t being prevented from contacting them. Himiko was self-sufficient and free to roam anywhere and talk to anyone she pleased, and she made it clear that Dabi and all her other friends were the same. No one was holding Dabi back. He had a Twitter account. He was on national fucking TV. If he wasn’t doing something, it was because he didn’t want to. And that… that hurt.

Maybe he lost his memory in the accident, Natsuo thought desperately, but that was wrong. Dabi hated Endeavor, knew how to tie Fuyumi’s favorite elementary school hairstyle, tried to find Natsuo’s volleyball matches on TV, and got mad about Shouto being a dumbass with his quirk. That all indicated a Touya with his memories intact.

Maybe it’s because of Endeavor, he thought next. It was valid. Endeavor was an abusive shitstain who’d cast Touya aside as soon as it became clear his little genetic experiment didn’t work the way he wanted. Maybe Sekoto Hill had been a breaking point. Maybe Touya had looked up at whatever hospital ceiling and felt humiliating reality crash in, that he couldn’t reach the unrealistic expectations that he’d carried from birth. Maybe he realized Endeavor would never look at him no matter how much he begged, and decided that if Endeavor wouldn’t come to him, he wouldn’t go to Endeavor either. That didn’t mean he had to be dead, though. It didn’t mean he couldn’t leave a note for the people who did love him. Natsuo would’ve taken his secrets to the grave.

But he didn’t tell me.

He always told me everything.

Did he really not want to see me anymore?

Thinking about this was a new form of torture.

Did this make him like Fuyumi? Desperate for a reunion with someone who’d hurt them and looking for all kinds of excuses for their behavior? No, Natsuo decided, he was much more vindicated. If Touya had hurt them, it was because he was running from pain, not because he’d sat down and actively decided to abuse his family. They had failed Touya, not the other way around.  

If Dabi was Touya, Natsuo wouldn’t lose him again.

If, though. It was still an if.

For all the signs, Natsuo couldn’t find one that said point blank who Dabi was. Until he got that confirmed, all the other evidence was circumstantial.

Natsuo couldn’t tell anyone what he was doing. Fuyumi? She’d kill him. Shouto? He’d probably just think Dabi was Endeavor’s secret love child or something. Mom? Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. Endeavor? Get real. He wasn’t close enough with his team or classmates to be comfortable sharing his secrets with, so ironically he turned his focus to a stranger. He and Himiko messaged a lot, even beyond the subject of Dabi. She understood (to an extent) his fascination and was thrilled with the idea of her friend having fans. Learning more about her and their larger friend group would be good in the event that he confirmed Dabi’s identity and tried to get back in contact. It would be easier to connect with Dabi if he could already connect with his life.

In the meantime, it was back to The Bachelorette.

Yukina had shyly asked if maybe the viewing group could keep coming over to Natsuo’s apartment to watch, which was fine by him. Fuyumi was thrilled because now he had a recurring reason to keep his place clean (“I’m going to come visit one weekend, and I’m going to see your shelves dusted, and I’m going to cry,” she told him very seriously over the phone). Shouto had texted him out of the blue with, “Thank you for the recommendation. It is working.” Natsuo couldn’t remember recommending anything to him recently, to which Shouto elaborated, “The Bachelorette. Also please care properly for your cuticles because I don’t appear to be.” Natsuo decided this must be related to the “Girls Night” thing Shouto had been asking Fuyumi about last week. It was weird how everything in his life seemed to be revolving around this show.

Just like last week, Mt. Lady was first to arrive, but unlike last time the rest of the group arrived before she even entered the apartment. Ryukyu arrived in full hero costume: Natsuo heard the college students ooh-ing and aah-ing over it before they came into view in the apartment hallway, and when Ryukyu did appear from the stairwell she looked embarrassed with the attention.

“It’s not that cool. I’m way sexier,” Mt. Lady pouted next to Natsuo. Her skintight getup had apparently not garnered the same attention from the women.

“Has Yukina arrived yet?” asked Ryukyu.

“Take a wild guess,” said Mt. Lady.

Ryukyu gave a disappointed sigh.

“Is Yukina okay?” asked Natsuo, with a flicker of concern. She’d acted weird last week, after all.

“She’s fine, just a coward,” said Kanoka.

No sooner had she said this than the door of the opposite stairwell opened and Yukina walked through. She stopped short when she realized they were all looking at her.

“What?” she squeaked. When no one immediately replied she backed up to hide behind the stairwell door and said, shriller, “What?”

“Nothing,” said Mt. Lady, in the wheedling way that said it wasn’t nothing at all.

Natsuo looked around at them all suspiciously but was distracted from whatever drama this was by the ping of his cellphone. Natsuo dug it out of his pocket to find that Himiko had messaged him.

“Everything’s set up the same as last week if you all want to come in,” he said, texting a reply. “The food should be here soon.”

They all filtered into his apartment and started setting up for the episode. Kanoka unrolled a big chart filled in through week three and said, “Okay, anyone who had Rappa, Muscular, or Tanaka passing through last week, you’ve lost your points.”

“As if anyone thought Rappa and Muscular were getting through,” Mt. Lady scoffed.

“They got through the first few episodes, didn’t they?” Kaori said defensively.

“How they did, I’ll never know. Their muscles and lung capacity were their only redeeming features,” said Mt. Lady.

“I’m pretty sure someone’s said that about you before, too,” Kaori grumbled.

“Excuse you, I also happen to have fabulous hair!” cried Mt. Lady, flipping it over her shoulder to make a point.

Ryukyu had been passing behind her and got the full brunt of this hair whip. She paused only long enough to make sure nothing caught on her claw-and-wing headdress before continuing toward the kitchen. “I see you’re humble as ever, Yu.”

“I’m positively pious,” said Mt. Lady.

Everyone else snickered.

“Anyway, this means Nozomi is officially out of the running for the big end prize,” said Kanoka.

Nozomi, a very tall basketball player, tossed aside the drink coaster with Tanaka’s face on it and groaned, “But he was the perfect, bland man! I was sure he’d have a tragic backstory and everything! I knew I should’ve gone for the other guy.”

“Which other guy?”

“The one who’s even blander. Super bland. Practically invisible.”

“You mean Taro?” asked Natsuo.

“That guy!” said Nozomi. “He could’ve won me the grand prize Mister Donut gift card. Aiko wouldn’t even have noticed him to send him off.”

“She has to call their names for them to be accepted to the next week, though,” Natsuo snorted. “One of these days she’s just going to forget him entirely and he won’t go through at all.”

“Details,” said Nozomi.

Yukina bit her lip to keep from smiling, tucking her own coaster with Taro’s inscrutable face back into her bag. “You really never know who’ll win these things.”

“Love is ever a mystery, isn’t it?” Kanoka said meaningfully. “Unless, you know, it’s staring you in the face?”

Yukina went pink. When a knock sounded at the apartment door she leapt back up, stuttered, “That must be dinner! I’ll get it!” and sped off. Wow, she was fast.

Natsuo was distracted again by another message from Himiko. She’d sent him a picture of “Spinner’s” guitar, which was a sad sight even for Natsuo, who didn’t know the slightest thing about instrument upkeep. He suspected there shouldn’t be so much duct tape, and it seemed to be taped on at a weird angle besides. He was trying to come up with an appropriately sympathetic response when Mt. Lady leaned in, resting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping arms around his bicep.

“So,” she purred, “what have you been up to this week, sweetheart?”

“Not interested,” Natsuo said flatly.

“Oh, poo,” said Mt. Lady, snapping out of the seduction routine again.

“Why do you even try?” asked Natsuo, not even looking up at her.

“Well, I had this master plan,” Mt. Lady said vaguely. “Who are you even texting?”

“Her name’s Himiko.”

“Himiko?” said Ryukyu.

The surprise in her tone made Natsuo look up, and he found almost everyone looking at him like he’d said something shocking.

“Yeah?” he said slowly. “She’s a friend.”

“Just a friend?” said Mt. Lady.

“Yeah?”

“Then we’re not too late.” Mt. Lady sent Ryukyu a smug look. “Operation Envy might be running itself at this point!”

Ryukyu gave a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Envy, Envy, Envy!” the other women chanted.

“Is this a hero thing?” asked Natsuo.

“It may as well be!” Mt. Lady laughed, prancing away. “Where’s the popcorn? This is going to be a show.”

…Obviously? They were all here to watch a show in the first place?

Natsuo shook his head in bemusement and carried on.

Yukina came back with the takeout boxes, and they all dug into their food as the clock counted down to the episode. As Natsuo scooped up a spoonful of curry, he asked, “Kaori, you were looking at selling a guitar, right?”

“Yes?” said Kaori, confused. “Why, do you play?”

“Himiko’s in a band, and they need a replacement,” said Natsuo. “It sounds like their guitarist’s one got damaged in transit. They tried fixing it, but all the duct tape is compromising the sound.”

“She’s in a band?” said Mt. Lady, far too over the top to be genuine and staring straight at Yukina. “What does Himiko play?”

“Piano,” said Natsuo, not sure why any of this needed so much attention.

“Piano is… a particularly pleasing choice,” Ryukyu mumbled, also looking at Yukina.

Yukina was going pale, eyes wide and frantic at whatever threat pianos were supposed to be.

“I—I play flute!” she said quickly.

“That’s… cool,” said Natsuo.

Was she looking for a band to join? Natsuo didn’t know Himiko well enough to ask if they were accepting new members, and besides, the “League of Villains” didn’t sound like the sort of group Yukina would enjoy anyway. Another ping from his phone brought him back to earth, and he turned to Kaori to ask, “How much were you asking for that guitar?”

“Honestly, at this point I’ll just give it away,” said Kaori, who was also looking at Yukina now. “Do you think we’ll ever get to meet Himiko? You could bring her to the watch party next week, if you want.”

Yukina looked even more panicked.

“Okay,” said Natsuo, with a flare of protective annoyance. “First, Himiko’s already got a group of friends to watch this with, so no, she’s not going to be coming here. Secondly, why are you ganging up on Yukina? Are people shit talking instruments other than pianos or something? Because flutes really are cool. I sure can’t play one, that takes talent.”

“That’s not the point, but it’s sweet that you’re trying to stick up for her,” said Mt. Lady.

“I don’t like the look on any of your faces,” said Natsuo, because the rest of them looked just as gleeful as Mt. Lady did. Yukina alone had her face buried in her hands.

Luckily, the TV chose this moment to say, “Tonight, on The Bachelorette…”

The preview started as it always did, with Aiko prancing around with all her suitors in a way that would normally make grannies angrily shake their walking sticks, but in the TV context would make those same old grannies coo over her like it was something special to be cheating on so many people at once. She made out with exactly five men before the preview angled for the angst again. Most of it Natsuo didn’t care about—people ganging up on Skeptic, Geten screeching, vicious attacks on a basketball court—but overlaid with the sound of Aiko crying and the words oh my god, oh my god is he okay, was the shaky image of Dabi, unmoving on the ground next to the pool, head turned away but Hawks hovering frantically over him.

Oh no. Oh no.

“We’d know if they were actually injured, right?” Natsuo asked, mouth dry, as the preview ended and the episode began. “It would be on social media or something?”

“Not really. They try to keep it hush-hush until the episode airs, it’s super annoying,” said Kanoka, but she was too fixed on the screen to notice his very real worry.

Luckily his fears were baseless. Very early in the episode it became clear that Dabi was not injured. Hawks had taken him flying somewhere, and Dabi was just very motion-sick, so Hawks let him lay down and hovered in guilt, not panic. The "oh my god" phrasing came from a kitten-weak tackle on the group date and had nothing to do with Dabi at all. Natsuo felt stupid for imagining the worst, and mentally swore vengeance against whoever put together such misleading previews.

On the plus side, motion sickness was one more item to add to the tally of Dabi is Touya.

Silver linings, right?

Ironically, Dabi had a lot of screen time despite not being on dates this episode. When the camera wasn’t fixed on other dates or the Skeptic debacle, they were focused on Dabi lounging on patio chairs with Hawks, or Dabi judging Hawks’ impromptu cocktail contest, or Dabi making Hawks literally roll with laughter under a table in the basement. It became clear that this was a narrative choice. The producers had backtracked; instead of the villainous portrayal of episode two, they were trying to build Dabi into a warmer presence. Why? Hawks, of course. Tying in with Dabi’s sad slump at the pool’s edge at the beginning of the episode, Hawks took the time on his one-on-one date to ask for advice on how to be a better friend and accommodate someone with motion sickness. Hawks clearly liked Dabi, and the show liked Hawks. Ergo, Dabi needed to be ‘worthy’ of his attentions. Supporting each other raised both of their appeal to the audience. It felt… deceitful, though, somehow. Natsuo couldn’t say unearned because Dabi definitely deserved a better reputation than the one his looks and the producers had forced on him earlier, but he didn’t like the way it came about.

Why did Dabi always have to come as a set with someone more important?

Why is Touya always, always overshadowed?

 “I wish I’d gone on that date with Hawks,” said Kanoka. “He looks like such a good kisser.”

“He was so good with the kids, too,” said Kaori.

“And the kissing,” Kanoka sighed; she clearly had a one-track mind.

“I bet that’s the sort of thing Natsuo wants to do with Himiko,” Mt. Lady said slyly.

Natsuo turned to give her an incredulous look. He had no idea what Himiko looked like or how old she was, and certainly wasn’t attracted to her.

“Th-that’s enough!” said Yukina, blushing even worse than she’d been before. “You’re making him uncomfortable!”

“Are we? Or are we making you uncomfortable?” said Mt. Lady.

Yukina looked at Natsuo. “Does it make you uncomfortable when they talk about you and Himiko like that?”

“It does,” said Natsuo.

“There,” Yukina said firmly, glaring at Mt. Lady. “Please leave it alone.”

Mt. Lady threw up her hands in mocking surrender. “Sure, whatever, but it doesn’t change facts.”

Yukina huffed out an irritated breath, and Natsuo was even more lost than before.

As the episode closed out Kanoka shook her head and marked down the results in the main chart. “Minotaur and Curator supporters, you’re out.”

“So, none of us,” said Ryukyu, checking over her own chart.

“It’s not fair,” Nozomi groaned. “I want Mister Donut.”

“Pick your next round results better, and you’ll win the points prize,” said Kanoka.

“Or we could get some donuts on the way out, tonight,” Ryukyu suggested. “There’s a Mister Donut a few blocks from here. I saw it while I was flying.”

This captured everyone’s attention.

“Do you want to come with us?” asked Kaori. “It’s on our way back to campus, but it’s out of your way…”

“Nah, I’ve got my own snacks here,” said Natsuo. “Besides, that grand prize gift card is mine. Can’t get too sick of donuts too fast if I want to enjoy my winnings.”

The others howled in delight. Before long they’d gathered their things and left for the night.

Natsuo pulled a nondescript blue notebook from his bookshelf and set it on the coffee table. He wouldn’t be able to really go in depth on his analysis until the episode (and therefore pause abilities) went onto streaming services in a few days, but he could write down his first impressions. He’d been tracking all his progress in this notebook, to be sure he wasn’t missing anything. Of course, he’d need a pen. Pen, pen, where had he put… right, he’d left it in the kitchen next to the grocery list. He doubled back and froze in the doorway.

“Yukina,” he said awkwardly. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

Yukina stood next to the trashcan, paused as if she’d been dumping her waste from dinner, but she must’ve been there a while. Everyone else had finished cleaning up well before they’d left. She looked up at him with an expression of abject misery.

“It’s not a bad thing!” Natsuo said quickly. “I just thought you’d gone with the others—”

“Are you talking to her about Dabi?” she asked.

It took a moment for Natsuo to make the connection. “Himiko? Yeah, that’s how I found her in the first place. I—whoa, what’s wrong?”

Yukina looked dangerously close to tears.

“It’s okay,” she said in a wobbly voice. “It’s—it’s perfectly fine! It’s just— Kaori’s right, I’m a coward. I don’t like to think about it that way, since everyone looks at me and goes, ooh, Yukina, she’s a mouse, she must be so quiet and timid, and it’s true, but more than anything I think I was complacent. When you joined the group I thought it was common ground, and something that could be a special connection or something, so I could start working toward it at my own pace, which everyone says is really the pace of a snail instead of a mouse…”

“I’m… not really following,” said Natsuo.

“I like you,” Yukina choked. “I really, really like you. I’ve liked you since that group project.”

Wait, what? Natsuo’s brain bluescreened.

Yukina?

Liked him?

“But you were so cool, and so bright, and I couldn’t figure out how to approach you again without embarrassing myself!” Yukina really was crying now, and her hands flew to her face in a desperate attempt to stem the tears. “I sat on it and pretended I had all the time in the world, as if you’d actually be interested, which was so presumptuous of me! There’s so many people who admire you, and I was just—I’m just—I’m so sorry!”

And she ran.

Natsuo’s brain was too caught up in the implications of her words to react properly, so by the time he cried, “Yukina!” and gave chase, she was already flinging open the front door.

She really was fast. Natsuo followed her down the stairs, out the building, and was halfway down the street outside by the time he caught up to her under a streetlamp. He caught her by the arm and said, “Wait! Please!”

“It doesn’t matter!” she sobbed. “We can just forget it, and—”

“I like you too!” he blurted.

Yukina gaped at him. “W-what?”

“Since the group project!” Natsuo was panting, heart in his throat and brain still mostly sidelined, but his silly little heart was happy to pick up the slack. “You were really cute and smart to start with, and then you chewed out Suzuki on improper handling of the chemicals, and basically wrestled him into the safety shower the same day after he didn’t listen to you. You were really embarrassed about it, but honestly it just made you cuter!”

“B-but that was—”

“I wanted to join the Bachelor viewing party last year for a chance to talk to you, but I was afraid that you only interacted with me during labs because you were assigned to,” Natsuo bulled on. “And then when I joined this season, you were suspicious because someone else only joined to talk to one of the other girls, so I thought that was a quiet way of turning me down before I could ask anything.” Yukina had stopped struggling to stare at him. Gingerly, Natsuo released her arm and took her hand instead. “Yukina, you’re really empathetic, and you may be careful about your relationships, but you’re really driven, and it’s a lot of fun even being in the same room with you. I really do like you.”

Yukina wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “Really? Since the group project?”

Natsuo sagged a little in embarrassment. “Yeah. I’m… seriously dumb when it comes to emotions.”

“It looks like we’re both dumb,” she laughed. “Both of us at the same time… and here we are, a year later…”

Natsuo squeezed her hand a little tighter and said, “So, from one dummy to another… can I take you on a date?”

“Yes,” she hiccupped, nodding furiously. “Yes, absolutely!”

She launched herself into a hug, and Natsuo returned it, hardly believing his luck.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, he had a girlfriend now.

Shouto had the time of his life at today’s Girls Night.

He and Midoriya tried facemasks this time around; it felt weird to have his hair pinned back, with air breezing across his forehead in a way it normally wasn’t able to, made all the more obvious with the cooling of the sea algae-infused “mud” of the mask. Or maybe it was charcoal-infused. There were a lot of infusion options in the bottles Yaoyarozu had brought out.

“This will gently remove dead skin cells and dirt, and unclog your pores while hydrating your skin!” Yaoyarozu informed them excitedly.

“Plus your skin will feel super silky smooth afterward,” said Hakagure, presumably rubbing at her face, but Shouto could only see the many hair ties around her wrist to judge by.

“It feels weird, but I’m sure I’ll see the effects!” said Midoriya.

Shouto was pretty sure he could feel the effects even now. After twenty minutes he was instructed to peel away the mask, and after he did, he rubbed at his cheeks. Oh. His skin did feel smoother. He kept on rubbing absentmindedly as The Bachelorette started, probably not paying as much attention as he should.

As per last week, his watching the show was justified by Hawks and Dabi being very good friends. Most of the other people in the mansion seemed like absolutely terrible friend choices. Even Bakugo on his worst days was better than some of them. This episode had all of those other people arguing about things that Shouto truly couldn’t bring himself to understand or care about, and when he said as much out loud, Uraraka patted him on the back and said, “You’re going to have a far more peaceful life that way.”

He wasn’t sure if this was truly a compliment.

In any case, this episode confirmed that, while Hawks was very attentive to Dabi’s needs, Dabi reciprocated in kind even if he refused to admit to it. Even Tokoyami seemed surprised by the genuine laughter Dabi dragged out of Hawks.

“Fumikage,” whispered Dark Shadow, lingering in the shadow behind Tokoyami on the chair, “have you seen that face on Hawks before? I don’t recognize it.”

“No,” Tokoyami said slowly, “I don’t either. Maybe the sidekicks…”

He lowered his head and started texting with seemingly great urgency.

The rest of the group were far more interested in Dabi’s petty move during the rose ceremony. When he gave Aiko the drink, Hakagure hooted with excitement and Ashido threw a fake punch at the screen, crowing, “Take that, cheater!”

The rest of the episode was dedicated to Skeptic’s haters, who Shouto really, truly, did not care about. He turned instead to Midoriya and asked, “Do you think Cementoss is capable of creating a face mask with his quirk?”

Midoriya tapped his chin, eyes shining. “I’ve heard of cement masks, but I think that must be just a nickname. Unless it is a real cosmetic, in which case, Cementoss can manipulate any cement-based material he touches, so if there’s enough of a percentage it’s entirely possible. Of course, with so many quirks in the world, it’s entirely possible for a real cement mask to be applicable.”

Shouto turned to Kirishima next. “If you were using Hardening, would a cement mask be a good option for you?”

Kirishima blinked in surprise. “Maybe? I’m not sure exactly what my pores do during my quirk. It might just slide right off.”

“Ah, but Cementoss is able to turn the cement into a more liquid form,” said Midoriya, talking even faster in excitement. “He’s able to capture opponents inside the cement, so in that case it wouldn’t really slide off—”

Kirishima turned more fully toward them, intrigued. “You’re right! Do you think it’s possible that he could turn that into a skincare routine?”

“Cementoss is very careful about the molding of the cement to ensure his opponents aren’t injured from it, but if he tinkered with the fluidity… and then it would also be a matter of the target, like yourself, if that manipulation will even have an effect on your skin…”

“Oh, look!” said Uraraka, who hadn’t quite kept up with the conversation. “Hawks is back on!”

It was typical during the Bachelorette end credits for the top of the screen to show something funny that hadn’t made it into the episode; on the last one it had included several competitors asking just who Taro actually was, without realizing that Taro was standing behind their couch. On this episode, they were treated to footage of Dabi cooking an egg in his own palm and Hawks freaking out about it. Half of the group laughed; the other half turned to give Shouto a considering look.

“Since we're on the subject of quirk applications... Todoroki, do you think you could…”

Shouto stopped rubbing at his face and pondered. “I’ve never tried, but it’s feasible.”

Ten minutes later found them all in the dorm kitchen, Shouto with his left hand over the sink as he tried to cup an egg (harder to do one-handed than he’d expected) and cook it with his quirk. It was messy, and the first three attempts—undercooked or completely blackened—lay under the faucet.

Dabi must have tremendous precision, Shouto marveled. That’s rare in civilians. I wonder if I could write him a letter asking for tips on how to control my left side…

As the egg bubbled, his classmates whooped.

The sound of the front door opening cut through their excitement. Most of them jumped. Shouto’s quirk went hotter in surprise, toasting the egg past the point of edibility. They all looked over with guilty expressions as Aizawa entered the kitchen.

He took in their wide eyes, and the burned eggs.  

His face went through the five stages of grief.

He clearly decided he didn’t want to deal with this.

“Clean up after you’re done,” he said, and shuffled away.

They collectively sighed with relief. The pause did give Shouto a moment of clarity, though, to ask, “These aren’t Bakugo’s eggs, right?”

Chapter Text

Dabi was pretty sure there was something wrong with his ears.

It was early afternoon on Sunday, week five of the hell that was The Bachelorette, and his treacherous ears seemed to be telling him that his name had just been read off of a date card.

His name alone. 

As in, a one-on-one date.

“Lucky!” Hawks crowed beside him, thankfully not elbowing him the way other contestants had done to previous one-on-one announcements, but buffeting his back lightly with a wing to make up for it. “Your second date, and it’s all to yourself!”

No way. Fuck, everyone was looking at him as if it were true. Gentle was the one reading the card this time, and he seemed far too pleased to announce the hint: “The sky is the limit. Heart, Aiko.”

He held out the card with a flourish, and Dabi took it by reflex. He looked down at the stark sharpie lettering, and yeah. That was his name. This still didn’t seem right.

“At least it’s not Hawks again,” grumbled Tobio.

“It’s about time you got a date,” said Saito, as the group broke up and left the living room. “You’ve only had one, right? That group date?”

“And he never got any face time with Aiko during it,” said Hawks. “He wasn’t in the pool while we were swimming, and Aiko wasn’t around during the car chase, and in the end only Geten got to hang out with her at the end of the date. Usually you get those little cocktail parties at the end of the dates, but he missed out.”

“I think,” said Gentle, still weirdly proud but also minorly worried, “that you might be the man with the least amount of time spent with her.”

“Even your talks during the rose ceremonies are short,” Saito agreed.

Were they trying to make him nervous or something? Good luck with that—he’d finish out this week, get kicked off on the next, and be free to reap any of the show’s benefits he’d managed to catch for the foreseeable future. But no. They seemed… concerned.

“You all seem awfully worried about me, considering we’re all supposed to be after the same woman,” Dabi grumbled.

“Just because we have the same taste doesn’t mean we can’t be civil about it,” said Gentle, offended.

“Try telling that to all the previous seasons of this show,” said Dabi.

“How they stayed sane with all that backstabbing, I’ll never know,” Hawks sighed.

“I don’t think they stayed sane at all,” said Dabi. “Look at fucking Ryuji from last season. Camped outside the mansion when he wasn’t invited this time.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“Minato from three seasons ago hopped a fence in a foreign country where he didn’t speak a word of the language to chase down his crush on foot, after she’d already rejected him.”

“Yeah, well—"

“That Katashi guy told all the other contestants on his season that he knew where they lived and he’d come after them after the show.”

Hawks shrugged defeatedly. “At least you’re not on any of those seasons.”

No, all things considered, this season was going pretty well for him.

They all hung out on the pool patio today, since the weather was good. Gentle and Saito entered the pool for a game of water volleyball, which Tesla had been banned from in case of accidental electrocution. Trumpet, Geten, Teruo, and Victor sat in the hot tub. Dabi wanted to be as far away from them as possible while still being in the shade, so he picked out one of the patio chairs further down to lounge on. Hawks took the sunnier chair just beside him and stretched out on his stomach, feathers ruffling happily in the warmth; he looked ready to be relaxed. He was in fact so relaxed that he didn’t even lift his head to take a drink of his cocktail, just stuck the straw through the fabric slats of the chair and sipped facedown. Dabi shook his head incredulously at the sight, but otherwise tried to relax as well. It was hard.

Fuck, he hadn’t thought he’d get a one-on-one. He was expecting another group date, something that could easily sideline him without being too overt about keeping him out of the picture. So he didn’t spend much time with Aiko! He liked that! He liked to keep his interactions short and sweet, to minimize suffering all around. But no. A one-on-one. What was he even supposed to talk with her about?

While he wallowed in his angst, some of the conversation from the hot tub drifted over to him.

“I wish it was me, you know?” Teruo was saying dejectedly. “I thought I had a connection with Aiko, but the longer I go without a one-on-one, the more I doubt what we have.”

“It’s certainly difficult, isn’t it? You only know what you have with her, so there’s no way to gauge how far along she is with the other men,” said Trumpet, serenely as if he were just saying it to make the cogs in his petty little machine go, instead it being any real sentiment of his own.

“Dabi, though?” Victor grumbled. “There’s no way Aiko’s built up anything big with Dabi.”

“On the contrary, she seems fond of him,” said Trumpet. “It was only after she talked to him that she started taking Muscular and Rappa’s actions seriously, after all, and he very easily escaped any judgement on his own actions for that night on the balcony…”

“There’s no way she’d fall for him if she knew what he was really like. He’s no prince here in the house,” Victor said waspishly, and Dabi quietly agreed.

“No, but clearly he has some charm regardless,” said Trumpet. Dabi subtly opened an eye and confirmed that Trumpet was nodding at Hawks.

“Yeah, well, Hawks isn’t trying to marry him,” Victor scoffed.

“This date’s a Hail Mary,” said Geten. “She’s taking him on the date so she can see for sure that he’s a loser and kick him off the show with a clear conscience.”

“That has been a dating method in the past,” said Trumpet.

“That still doesn’t make me feel any better,” said Teruo, sulking still lower in the tub. “It sucks to see your girlfriend with another man.”

Wait a fucking second.

Dabi sat bolt upright. “What?”

“What?” said Hawks, blinking up at him in surprise.

“Girlfriend?” Dabi hissed.

Hawks glanced at the hot tub, realized what Dabi was talking about, and chuckled. “Yeah, girlfriend. We’re all going on dates with her, aren’t we? That makes her our girlfriend, and we’re her boyfriends.”

He said it like it was logical.

It was not.

“But we’re not—”

Dabi faltered, catching sight of a camera. Fuck. He couldn’t deny relationship status without getting into hot water. Someone who wanted to be on this show would be over the moon about confirming Aiko was their girlfriend, and Dabi had to keep up his stupid, nonsensical act. He threw himself back down in his chair. The force was enough that the chair’s back clicked through its settings fast enough to go nearly horizontal; he clutched the arms as his stomach lurched, and tried very hard to pretend that had been on purpose. Judging by the muffled snort, he didn’t pull it off. Hawks pushed himself up and leaned over to get a better view of him. He looked amused.

“You seem a little flustered by that.”

Dabi sagged against his chair and grumbled, “In my mind, we’ve been competing for the chance to be with her.”

“Yeah, in the end she’s looking for a proposal,” Hawks pointed out. “The winner gets to be her husband. So, in the leadup, as she’s dating us to see if we’re husband material, we’re her boyfriends.”

“It still feels presumptuous,” Dabi muttered.

Hawks’ smile widened, in something akin to fondness. “You’re surprisingly innocent about these things, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” said Dabi.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing!” said Hawks.

“I’m not innocent about a damn—”

“Look out!”

Dabi drew up his legs quickly, just in time for the volleyball to hit where his shins had been. Water droplets splattered over them; Hawks squawked and flapped indignantly, knocking over both of their drinks.

“Sorry!” called Slidin’ Go, who did not look sorry at all.

“Learn how to fucking aim,” Dabi snapped back, and kicked the ball so it rolled back into the pool.

Hawks bemoaned the beverages, but at least he’d been distracted from that embarrassing “innocence” topic. Dabi kept his mouth shut, and his eyes more firmly on the game in case of other stray balls.

He couldn’t ignore the date forever.

Dabi woke up on Monday at seven in the morning, which felt downright obscene when he’d been sleeping in so regularly. Misty escorted him down to the entry hall to await his ride, and in the meantime Shion did a thorough check of his microphone. While she was grumbling to herself about potential frayed wires, Dabi squinted at his reflection in the hallway mirror.

Right before coming onto the show he’d splurged and sat down in a salon to get his hair dyed. He’d followed all the tips they’d given to make it last as long as possible, but he was smack dab in the middle of their “four to six weeks” estimate. He was pretty sure it was faded, but couldn’t tell for sure in this lighting. He hoped the roots weren't too visible. Should he have dyed it again before the one-on-one? Fuck. It was too late to worry about that sort of thing.

They drove him out in a black van. Misty sat in the backseat next to him, tapping at a checklist on her clipboard that was really just a horrible wall of ink.

“Okay, this is your first one-on-one,” she said, “so you need to know the etiquette. You told me you researched the show, so you know that you’re going to meet with Aiko to do an activity, then there will be dinner, and if you get the rose there will be a shorter after-dinner event. I’m here to coach you through the nitty gritty details. You’re not going to have a full day with Aiko. We’re on our way to the big event, and you’ll be filmed all the way through it. This usually lasts from morning to the afternoon, but is almost always finished while the sun’s still high in the sky. Dinner happens after dark, but you don’t get the chance to just stand there and be awkward with each other—we’ll pick you up, feed you, and get you changed before dropping you off for dinner—”

“Wait,” said Dabi. “You’re feeding me before dinner? Is this a whole other meal, or are you deliberately trying to ruin my appetite? Because that’s not going to work.”

Misty sighed. She laid a hand over one of his and said, in a tone one might use on a grieving widow, “You’re not allowed to eat any of the food at the fancy dinner.”

“What?” said Dabi, incensed.

“The ‘dinner’ is the time for you and Aiko to have a heart-to-heart. If you’re eating during that time, all the microphones will pick up is the sound of you chewing and cutlery on the plate,” said Misty.

“But—But it’s dinner.”

“And that’s why we’re feeding you beforehand. Look at it this way, it means you don’t have to worry about spilling anything on your nice clothes.”

Dabi drew back to fix her with the full force of his stink eye. “So what? So I get slop to fill me up and then have to go however many hours just sitting there, taunted by plates of good cuisine for however long it takes Aiko to feel good about herself?”

Misty had no business looking so amused. “You don’t miss out on your fancy cuisine. You just eat it early, and then have a talk without distractions when an identical plate gets filmed.”

“I will be very distracted,” said Dabi.

“You’ll have already eaten the exact same thing—”

“And you will be denying me more of it. Unless it’s a fish that’s actively looking at me, I am going to want to eat it,” said Dabi. 

“Oh my god,” she groaned.

They didn’t get much further in the discussion before arriving at their destination. The van pulled up outside a wide, empty stretch of grass, and in its center sat a helicopter.

“No,” said Dabi.

“Yes,” said Misty.

“No,” Dabi repeated.

“It’s a yes if you actually want to go on the date,” said Misty. “Are you scared of heights?” She looked suddenly very concerned.

Dabi grimaced. “It’s not the heights, it’s the movement. Does the helicopter have a barf bag?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “It sure does.”

“Ugh,” said Dabi. “Well, then. Look forward to the worst date of the season, I suppose.”

He hoped he wouldn’t actually vomit on the Bachelorette, but at this point anything was possible. He left the car, and Aiko cheered at the sight of him.

“Dabi, over here! Over here!” she called, waving, as if he could’ve been going anywhere else.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Dabi said as he came level with her. “…what are we doing, exactly?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there!”

They boarded the stupid helicopter, along with a cameraman. They all got bulky headphones to drown out the machine’s noise, and up they went. The helicopter flew them on some kind of scenic route, and Dabi hated every minute of it. His saving grace was that Aiko was far more preoccupied with the window than him, and jabbered on about everything she saw, so she didn’t see him grimacing. She’d interlaced their fingers at the start, so as long as he squeezed her hand and hummed in the right tone, she was perfectly happy and he could concentrate on keeping down bile.

Eventually the helicopter brought them over downtown Alderaan and touched down on a helicopter pad atop a thirty-story building. Aiko happily led him out, and Dabi happily returned to solid concrete. Wind cooled the sweat on his face and made him feel leagues better. As they descended from the pad he looked around for whatever had brought them here of all places—a rooftop picnic, a door into the building, who knew—and spotted some strange contraptions by the roof’s edge: two sets of wooden steps with bright rigs above them, all anchored by thick yellow cords. Two sets of steps. Two people on the date. Oh, god.

“So,” Aiko wheedled, brushing her windblown hair out of her face, “we’re going to rappel off this building.”

“Shut up,” said Dabi. He shouldn’t have said that, but it was instinct. Luckily Aiko took it playfully.

“Do you think you can do it?”

Fuck it. “Yeah, I can do it.”

“Can you?” she giggled. “Because I’m not sure if I can.”

Then why the fuck did you plan this date? Actually, she was probably bluffing. This was a ploy, to see if he could be the prince-type who’d take care of her. She could probably handle it just fine. It was a test.

“You can do it,” said Dabi, because the League had coached him in attempting to boost his date’s confidence. “We can both do it together.”

Bingo. Her smile got wider and she practically skipped over to the rigs.

“Hey there, I’m Koichi, and this is my friend, Kazuho,” said a young man by the rigs, wearing an All Might sweatshirt and a guileless smile; clearly one of its operators. “We’re here to get you strapped in and make sure you know how everything works! It’s a little windy, but that’s just fine!”

Dabi and Aiko were outfitted with complex harnesses, gloves, and helmets topped with little cameras. With that done, cables were threaded and clipped into the harnesses, and they made for the steps. Aiko’s pace was sluggish.

“Is this wind normal?” she asked. “I mean, look at this!”

She gestured up at the ropes bobbing in the breeze.

“Haha, yeah, it is a little windy,” said Koichi, but that was all the response he gave it.

As they ascended the stairs, Aiko gave another giggle. “I feel sort of like I’m walking the plank!” And at the top step, as they peered over the edge, the sound garbled in her throat. It may have been something like, “Oh, god.”

“You good?” said Dabi.

“Great!” she squeaked. “Never better!”

It was a long way down. Definitely a deadly drop.

“Okay, turn around,” said Koichi, reaching for Dabi’s harness. “Stand on the edge facing us—that’s it—and now lean back.”

Dabi obeyed and, following Koichi’s encouragement, shuffled his way from the top to the side of the building. The soles of his boots squeaked lightly on the glass, and in its reflection he could see the hazy image of the skyline behind him. That being said, it wasn’t too uncomfortable. The harness supported him sturdily in his weird squat position, and he had full control in letting out the rope to descend. His motion sickness was always worse when someone else was driving, since he couldn’t brace himself; here, at a slow pace, no turns, and full power over his movement, he’d be just fine.

Aiko was not fine. She shivered on the roof’s edge, and when she looked down, she blanched and turned her head back fast.

“Oh, god, oh god, oh god—”

“You’re doing fine,” said Kazuho. “Come on, just lean back—”

“I can’t,” said Aiko, voice shaking as much as the rest of her. “I’m freezing up. I literally can’t.”

Seriously? Dabi gaped as Koichi and Kazuho tried and failed to cajole her onward. This woman could take a helicopter ride without breaking a sweat, but this caused a breakdown?

“I can’t do it,” she hiccupped, and fuck, was she crying? “I’m sorry, I can’t. Why did I look down?”

If there was one thing Dabi knew about himself, it was that he was weak to tears. He’d always been a crybaby himself (until his tear ducts got burned, anyway), but when he saw someone crying in front of him he’d snap immediately into big brother mode: he’d be raring to give someone a knuckle sandwich for mocking his little brother’s lack of quirk, or rushing to comfort Toga after another unrequited crush. This apparently worked with acquaintances and not just family or friends, because he could practically hear the switch flip in his brain.

“Aiko, look at me,” he said firmly.

“I—I can’t—”

“I’m not asking you to look at the ground. Just look at me.”

Warily, she looked over her shoulder.

“Keep looking at me,” said Dabi, calm and sure. “This is safe. You’re in good hands. You can do this. Trust yourself, and lean back.”

“What if it’s not safe?” she mumbled.

“Sato never would’ve sent you off to a place he didn’t think would be safe. Do you trust Sato?”

Sato wasn’t here, and as far as Dabi knew the host wasn’t involved in date choices, but he was still a pillar of safety that she’d relate to; if Sato fought Curious for the men’s comfort on this season, he’d likely done the same for Aiko when she’d been a contestant. Sure enough, she seemed to settle and said, “Y-yes.”

“Exactly,” said Dabi. “Lean back just a little bit.”

She started to, but froze up and curled back in on herself. “What if there’s an accident? What if the rope breaks?”

If the rope broke, Paragon Productions and the people running this rappelling business would be fucked for life; they wouldn’t chance faulty equipment on anyone, let alone someone so public and on camera. That wasn’t the kind of reassurance that would work on Aiko, though.

“If you fall, I’ll catch you,” said Dabi.

“How?” Aiko whimpered. “You’ve got a combustion quirk, not wings.”

“That never stopped Endeavor,” Dabi said wryly.

Some of her nerves faded for awe. “You can do that? Fly with fire?”

“I can and I have,” said Dabi. Technically he couldn’t keep himself up for long, so it was less flying and more a controlled fall, but it would do the job. “I’m right here with you. You don’t have to be afraid. Are you ready to try?”

Aiko pinched her eyes shut and nodded.

“Good,” said Dabi. “On your right-hand side there’s a side rope. Hold that. Yes, that one. Hold on to it below there. Now kick your legs out a little bit.”

Aiko tried to lean and Kazuho tried to help guide her feet, but when her heel met open air she floundered and squawked.

“Look at me,” Dabi said sharply, catching her attention again. “You’re going to do well. Once you’re on the side, it’s much easier. Come down to me.”

Aiko sucked in a breath and slowly, surely, put herself over the edge. It took a little more guiding for her to get her feet planted and to figure out her line, but eventually they were side by side and both in position.

“Let’s go down together,” said Dabi. “Right foot first. Now left. Now right. Kick your knees out a little more. There you go. You’re doing it.”

Aiko breathed heavily. She glanced down again and moaned.

“Look at me,” he said again. “Just focus on my eyes right now, okay?”

“They’re r-really blue,” said Aiko.

“Thanks,” said Dabi. “Now, while I’ve got your attention, I’ve got some questions for you. I heard you had an older sister. What’s she like?”

“She—she’s a teacher.”

“Cool. Is she teaching little kids, or an older class?”

“Kindergartners.”

“And you had a twin, too, right? You joined the last Bachelor season with her. How’s she doing?”

“La Brava? Ha! She—she says we both dodged a bullet. The Bachelor was a dick.”

He kept his full attention on her and his voice very calm. In turn she kept eye contact, and without any visuals on the ground and her mind somewhat divorced from the activity, she started to calm down. She allowed herself to get in the rhythm of the descent. Her color improved, and her smile made a comeback. They talked about her family, about how she liked a certain specific kind of chocolate cake (Toga liked it too; he mentioned that and Aiko seemed thrilled by Toga’s existence), and then they rambled about a recent televised singing competition. Around halfway down, with her fully back to herself and having fun, Dabi broached the subject of the date itself.

“Can I ask why you chose rappelling when you seemed so scared of heights?”

Aiko laughed. “It’s kind of stupid, in retrospect. I’ve always been scared of heights. Planes and helicopters are fine because someone else is in control and there’s some kind of floor, but taking it into my own hands? That’s terrifying! But there are so many things I feel like I’m missing out on because of it. I thought maybe if I forced myself into it now, I could try working through it. It, uh, didn’t go so well at first.”

“You’re doing just fine now,” said Dabi.

“Yeah, I am!” To emphasize it she hopped, rappelling down a little faster. “It’s actually pretty fun! How are you liking it?”

“It’s good.” And belatedly, because he remembered it was a date and he should be attempting some form of romance: “It’s got a nice view.”

It couldn’t be more obvious that he wasn’t talking about their surroundings, and Aiko was evidently pleased. They made it to the bottom with no other problems, where another camera crew and rappelling experts awaited them. They were freed from the ropes, and when Dabi turned, he found both of Aiko’s hands up for high fives. He obliged. But then she pinned his hands in hers, and leaned in.

Oh, shit.

Oh, no.

She was coming in for a kiss, and Dabi had seen enough Bachelorette lip-locking sessions to know he wasn’t about to risk his staples; one or both of them would be injured, he’d be awkward, and she’d be grossed out. He caught her face with their joined hands to stall her and pressed their foreheads together. Her eyes glittered in delight.

“I really did have fun,” he said, forcing his voice back into seduction mode. “We should do it again sometime.”

And then he did kiss her: just a peck on the corner of her mouth, which he drew back from fast to make sure she didn’t try anything. He sent her as sultry a look as he could manage, then backed off.

Aiko was ushered away, and only once she was out of sight was Dabi escorted into the building they’d rappelled down. Predictably it was another Empire Stays. Misty brought him through the lobby and down another hall to a small, staged seating area for his confessional.

“So,” she said as he sat down, “How did you like the date?”

“It was much better than the helicopter,” said Dabi. “I think we… bonded? I don’t know. We talked about her family. I feel like that’s some kind of progress.”

“Did you have fun?”

“I guess?”

Misty gave him a flat look. “You’re really selling this.”

“She was scared to shit most of the time, that’s not a great experience,” said Dabi. “She recovered, and that’s good. I can respect her for trying to overcome fear like that, but as a date? It felt a little weird.”

Misty held her head in her hands and muttered something about bullies in the editing room. Dabi leaned back in his seat, disgruntled. Like, yeah, rappelling sounded cool, but the reality had just been walking backwards in a harness. The view had gotten boring halfway down, and most of his time had been spent coaching Aiko through her panic, not looking around. It was a let-down, really. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had a different partner along for the ride. He briefly pictured himself rappelling down the building again, but this time with Hawks flitting around in the air next to him and jabbering about the sort of views he had on patrols. He’d certainly been flying long enough to know what interesting things to look for at a great height.

Seriously? went a little voice in his head. You’re seriously thinking about Hawks on your one-on-one date?

Dabi shrugged that thought away. It wasn’t the same as Hawks thinking about Dabi on his own one-on-one. Dabi was certainly not going to talk to anyone about Hawks, and this wasn’t even a real date, as far as he was concerned. Dabi wasn’t falling for Aiko in the least. He was going home after week six. The taboos did not apply.

Eventually Misty was satisfied with her interview. Dabi was brought to a hotel room, where the crew had staged most of their equipment. He eyed the TV with longing, but Curious was somewhere nearby and no one was willing to bend the rules for him while she was on the prowl. He whiled away the time attempting to eavesdrop on some of the other crewmembers (there was some kind of trouble afoot with the H.P.S.C., but what it was exactly no one seemed to know for sure), until the hour grew late enough that they felt justified feeding him. Misty led him to the restaurant on the hotel’s third floor and snuck him into a booth in the very back where none of the other patrons could see him. It was nice that Dabi didn’t have to worry about being gaped at. Even better, the food was there and waiting for him. It was sukiyaki, already bubbling away in its pot. And it was delicious! The beef! The vegetables! The noodles! Especially the beef!

“Enjoying yourself?” Misty asked, amused, and Dabi had to pause with mushrooms in his chopsticks to mumble out, “Fuck yes.”

She snickered and left him alone to inhale the rest of the pot.

Once he was done they doubled back to the hotel room. Dabi changed into formal clothing, and once the sky outside the windows went dark, they set out for the second half of the date.

The hotel apparently had two restaurants, with the location on the top floor being the more expensive option. The far wall seemed to be made of glass to view the glow of downtown Alderaan, with the rest of the room garbed in browns and blacks for a darker, more intimate ambiance; it didn’t feel intimate at all with so many cameras trailing him and Aiko into the room, but the décor made a valiant attempt. Most of the floor had been cleared, leaving only one table and its two chairs left in its empty center.

Dabi was still stuck playing prince for the time being, so he made a point of pulling out Aiko’s chair for her and she settled in with a happy giggle. As Dabi sat down in his own chair his eyes immediately sought out the food. The sukiyaki had been so good, and maybe if he was sneaky about it he could get another bite or two. Honestly, letting that beef go to waste would be a crime. Except it wasn’t sukiyaki here on the table. No. It was fish. A giant, grilled fish with its head intact and its eyes there and looking at him. Eugh! Where was Misty? He needed to have some words with her.

Luckily Aiko decided to kick this date into gear before he could grimace too badly in front of the cameras. She took a sip from her wine, then set it aside—right next to the little plate with its rose—and abandoned most of her coy act to look him directly in the eyes.

“I know that we haven’t had a lot of time together, but when we have talked, you’ve been overwhelmingly honest and supportive,” she said. “You’re genuine and refreshing, and you admit when something’s wrong, but you don’t try bringing down the other men unless it’s something like Muscular, where you were sincerely worried for me. And that— When I try to put it into words, that’s exactly what you are. Sincere.” Dabi stared at her, disbelieving as she continued, “It means so much to me that you’ve put yourself forward that way, and I’m so thankful I was able to meet you at all. So… I want to return your sincerity. I want to learn more about you.”

“That’s…” Dabi paused, flummoxed. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, here.”

Because she couldn’t really mean that. It was preposterous.

“Humble, too,” Aiko said with a smile. “You know that bad people don’t admit they’re bad, right?”

“I can think of several cartoon villains who’d disagree with you on that,” Dabi said unthinkingly.

Aiko laughed.

Fuck, thought Dabi, and immediately went into distraction mode. “Have you tried the fish? I hate fish.”

Double fuck, now I sound like Twice.

“I haven’t!” said Aiko, prodding at the fish on her own plate with her chopsticks. “I wasn’t expecting it, to be honest.” She covered her mouth to whisper, “They gave me sukiyaki before coming here. Maybe they ran out of ingredients?”

“More like they didn’t want me eating anything else,” Dabi grumbled.

Aiko clearly put two and two together, and bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Well, that’s two new things I’ve learned about you so far: you like sukiyaki, and you hate fish.”

A trove of knowledge, really. Dabi kept glaring at his fish, trying to think of a safe topic of conversation, but his mind was blanking.

Talk about Hawks, you’ve put a lot of thought in that recently, said a voice in his head.

What the fuck, do not talk about Hawks, are you crazy, he thought right back.

Unfortunately, while he was mentally warring with himself, Aiko seemed to have settled in on an idea. Her smile dimmed into something resolute, and she said, “Back when Muscular had you worried, you told me about your mother. Can you tell me more about her?”

“No,” Dabi said flatly, but that wasn’t a good way of putting it, was it? He couldn’t just cut her off and shut her down. That was a one-way ticket to reality-TV-villainy. He needed to keep a decent reputation if he wanted to build any goodwill with this show. Fuck. He settled his hands in his lap and picked at a staple on the back of his hand. “I don’t… remember much of her. What I do remember, I can’t really tell what was her, and what was the fear.”

Aiko nodded slowly, brows furrowed. “You don’t spend time together anymore?”

“No. I haven’t seen her in twelve years, and for a year before that she refused to look at me because I was the embodiment of everything wrong in her life.”

Her brows furrowed deeper. “Is she still…”

“With my father? No. She’s out of his reach. Out of mine, too.”

Dabi had pondered that, once. Rei Todoroki was in a hospital now, and the approved guest list was short, but he’d spent enough time skulking around cities and playing vigilante that he could get into places when he wanted to. He could visit her. He just couldn’t imagine a visit going well. It was better to keep a distance. To not face her reaction, when she saw the wreck left behind of her flawed firstborn.

“Is your father still in your life at all?” asked Aiko.

Dabi scoffed. “The bastard thinks I’m dead. I’m inclined to let him believe it.”

“Dead?” she echoed, brows raised.

Dabi sent her a mirthless smile and dragged a finger along his chin, emphasizing the burns and the staples. “When people don’t want to acknowledge a truth, they don’t search very hard for it.”

Aiko looked troubled by that; as she should be. “Is there any family left in your life?”

They’d chatted about her own family enough, so clearly this was a big thing for her. Dabi shifted uncomfortably and said, “I’ve got roommates. They play the role well enough.”

“And… Toga, right? The one who likes cake?” said Aiko.

“Yeah, she’s one of the roommates.”

This was apparently a bad move, because Aiko looked scandalized. “Oh! You’re rooming with a woman? Were, um, you ever… together?”

“Ugh, no, gross,” said Dabi, physically recoiling. “She’s sixteen.”

“Oh!” Aiko’s mood improved, but she still looked confused. “Then, is she the daughter of one of your other roommates? Do you live with a family?”

“Nah, we’re all misfit losers,” said Dabi. “Toga’s parents were a couple of jackass bigots who shouldn’t have been parents at all. They abused her because of her quirk before kicking her out of the house. We found most of our roommates in gutters and cardboard boxes, but she was the first one who came swinging at us with a knife.”

Aiko’s eyes bulged. “A knife?”

“Yeah, one of those shitty little flip-out knives with daisies on the case, you know, the ones that’re useless for practically anything but getting the dirt out from under your nails?” Dabi could remember it like it was yesterday. He was pretty sure that Toga still had that knife. “Good for her, though. There’s a lot of sick fucks in the world, but most of them back off fast if there’s any semblance of a fight. She knew that and she wasn’t going to let anyone take advantage of her.”

“So you just… invited her to room with you after that?” said Aiko, lost.

“No, I told her to fuck off because she was in my lunch spot. Then she stole my fucking omelet.” Technically he’d grumpily shared it (Toga had been a starving, eleven-year-old mess at the time, he wasn’t heartless), but like hell was he going to admit to that. “And then she followed me home after work like a lost dog and the landlord practically adopted her. We’re not great influences, but hey, we’re better than a cardboard box.”

Aiko took a few moments to digest this, and then, weirdly, began to smile again. “She was like you, so now you’re watching out for her. If your roommates are your family, then do you think of her like a sister?”

“No,” he said quickly.

“No?” she teased.

“No. Look. Those losers will be watching this,” said Dabi. “You give them an inch, and they will take a mile. You cannot put those words in their heads. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do they like to tease you?” Aiko laughed.

“They’re annoying as all hell,” said Dabi.

Somehow this devolved into talking about the rest of the League. Dabi didn’t mention their names, but he did gripe about Spinner’s habit of sneaking around on ceilings, and on Compress’ many magical acts. He just kept rambling about them, because what else was he going to talk about? What if Aiko tried to ask him how he’d gotten the scars? Fuck that. Luckily Aiko beamed through his rant about Shigaraki’s gamer-takeovers of the living room. When he paused, trying to remember just what limited time event Shigaraki had almost destroyed a controller over, Aiko reached out and took the rose off its plate.

“I’m really glad that you told me about these people in your life. It’s clear from the way you talk about them that you care for them very much,” she said, twisting the rose back and forth between her fingers. “It clears up a lot of questions for me. There’s just one more thing I want to check. Please tell me straightforwardly, what do you want for me?”

Dabi looked her up and down. He imagined a younger version of his mother sitting in that chair, looking at a man from TV and wondering. He imagined Fuyumi. He imagined Toga.

“I want you to be happy,” he replied. “Love is a good thing, but it needs to be handled carefully, and you need to make sure that you’re opening yourself up to the right person. There are a lot of people in the world who don’t deserve you. So be careful. Put a lot of thought into your choice, and make sure you don’t have any regrets.”

The rose stopped its twirling, and Aiko smiled. “I won’t regret this. Dabi, will you accept this rose?”

Did that mean this was over? Dabi let out a breath and felt his shoulders sag in relief. “Yes. I will.”

She fixed the rose to his lapel, then turned to lift her glass for a toast. “Here we go… To the people we love, and to conquering fear.”

“Cheers,” said Dabi, and tapped their glasses together.

They drank, but only a little because time must be running out. Aiko set her glass aside again, took his hand, and said, “There’s one last stop on our date! Come with me!”

The hotel apparently had a miniature concert hall, because that’s exactly where Aiko took him. A show was already in full swing, with listeners bouncing along to the tune in an awkward little dance. Presumably the singer was moderately famous for The Bachelorette to feature him, but he was also a country singer. A bad country singer. He had more of a whine than an accent, and the lyrics were all basically about worshipping booze after a divorce.

“Do you like it?” said Aiko.

Dabi hated it.

“It’s great,” he lied through his teeth.

That was Aiko’s cue to drag him up onto a miniature stage in the middle of the audience for one of The Bachelorette’s quintessential embarrassing slow dances. He followed her up, accepted the embrace, and did the awkward little slow dance while avoiding looking at any of the surrounding people. He didn’t need to see anybody’s judgement right now. All kisses were strategically dodged by holding Aiko closer or pressing their foreheads together again. He couldn’t get away with it for very long, but thankfully he didn’t need to; his earlier rambling about the League had apparently taken up so much time that they’d been late to the concert, and the event ended before Aiko could try too hard to make out with him. They were separated again quickly. Dabi boarded one of the crew’s black vans and leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, relieved that it was finally over.

It was past midnight by the time Dabi was finally dropped off at the front of the mansion, and for some reason a camera and boom mic followed him through the doors. The reason was immediately obvious: Hawks was sitting on the stairs. He wore his pajamas—the loose tee and a pair of dark sweatpants—and his wings were curled in and head drooping as he appeared to be dozing off. When he heard the door opening, though, his head snapped up.

“Dabi! Welcome back!”

“What are you still doing up?” asked Dabi, yanking his tie loose.

“Hm?” Hawks’ eyes seemed caught on his hand for a moment before flicking back up to his face. “Well, obviously I wanted to see how it went. You were up to see me last week when I got back. I thought it might be nice to return the favor.”

“It wasn’t a favor, just a coincidence,” Dabi grumbled.

“Regardless.” Hawks stood and stretched. “Was it fun?”

Dabi shrugged as he started up the stairs. “I suppose.”

Hawks laughed, standing aside to let him pass and then following him up. “Don’t be so evasive. What did you do?”

“Rappelled down a building.”

“Really? How high?”

“Thirty stories.”

Hawks whistled, impressed. “Were there any people inside the building looking out at you? Because sometimes I get office workers waving at me when I’m passing by in the air, they get all excited when you wave back. Oh, or how about any funny passersby on the ground? Weird traffic maneuvers? Come on, what was the view?”

Yeah, Dabi reflected, Hawks would’ve been a much better partner for any sort of activity at a great height.

On Tuesday he slept in almost until noon. He was only roused by Misty ripping his blankets away again and telling him there was a date card to be read. He sulked downstairs, still in his pajamas and far from coherent, and listened to Hyouto read off fourteen names along with the hint: “Let’s bare our souls. Heart, Aiko.”

This had everyone very excited, and they all started guessing about what that hint could mean. Dabi couldn’t be bothered to try; he was too busy trying not to fall asleep on his feet and fall into one of the stupid folding screens.

“I wish I’d been called for the group date,” Hawks sighed beside him, but his expression was one of those carefully curated ones so Dabi didn’t really believe he was upset.

The rest of Tuesday was spent with Gentle regaling them with tea history, while Skeptic and Hyouto sometimes butted in to argue with him over supply chains.

On Wednesday most of the mansion was vacated again, leaving Dabi, Hawks, Taro, and Hanzo Suiden left to entertain themselves. Taro endeavored nonexistence somewhere, Hanzo Suiden practiced making animals out of pool water to better terrorize the other contestants when they returned, and Dabi and Hawks played cards. Where the cards had come from Dabi didn’t know; Hawks had apparently located them “here and there,” which Dabi was quickly learning had to be true. The cards were all mismatched, some of them bent and dirty, so he’d probably picked them up off the ground somewhere or otherwise stolen them from the production crew. They attempted Spoons, Crazy Eights, and Slap Jack, but it soon became clear that they didn’t have a full deck and all of these formal games were doomed to failure. Eventually they fell into a bizarre rendition of Go Fish.

“Do you have any kings?” asked Hawks, squinting down at his hand—of the seven cards he was holding, Dabi could tell from the backs that he had three from mismatched regular card decks, two were Uno cards, one was a Pokémon card, and there was a single bread-shaped one from a game mysteriously called Slamwich. Dabi grunted and tossed over his Yugioh card of “Gazelle the King of Mythical Beasts.” Hawks grinned and set this aside with his own copy of the King of Hearts, and said, “How about a four? Got any fours?”

“Go fish,” said Dabi.

Hawks pouted, took a card from their Frankenstein deck and added it to his hand. He surveyed his cards, then set one in front of himself and said, “I lay one card facedown and end my turn.”

Dabi slapped down an Uno reverse card. “Fuck your facedown card, it’s going to the graveyard.”

“Oh no it isn’t,” said Hawks, flipping the card. “As you can see, Kakuna’s special move is Harden! According to this…” He leaned in to squint at the fine print and read aloud, “If this Pokémon would be damaged by an attack, prevent damage done to this Pokémon if that damage is sixty or less. Ha! Your reverse card has no attack points, so my Kakuna reigns supreme.”

“Not for long,” said Dabi, tossing out a new card with the stylized image of an ugly rat jamming on an electric guitar. “My Rat-a-Tat-Cat rat eats your bug.”

“Are you sure?” said Hawks. “Because that rat looks way too sophisticated to be eating bugs. Look at his snazzy little shirt.”

“You know what I think you are?” Dabi retorted, and flung down a Cards Against Humanity card that read, Whining like a little bitch. “And you know what I am?” Down went another card: Pretending to give a damn.

“Oh, wow, fuck you,” Hawks laughed.

They were interrupted by the distant sound of the door opening. Were the others back already? Had they been playing stupid cards that long? While Dabi was distracted, Hawks swept all of the used cards onto his side and started arranging them into pairs for his own points. When Dabi opened his mouth to argue, Hawks held up his Slamwich card, which featured a masked burglar making off with a sandwich.

“I steal the game and win. Sorry, man.”

“Fucking cheater,” said Dabi.

The other contestants entered the room before he could argue any more about it. The new crowd looked tired and stressed. More so than usual after group dates, anyway.

“Hey,” Hawks called. “How’d it go?”

“It went quite well,” Trumpet said serenely. “For most of us, at least.”

“Oh yeah? What did you do?”

“Exotic dancing,” said Hinote, who looked downright ecstatic compared to the rest of them.

Dabi was gripped with sudden horror; clearly Hawks felt the same.

“I no longer wish I was on that group date,” said Hawks. 

Dabi sought out Saito in the crowd and said, “Really? Stripping? They made you strip?”

Saito made a face. “Why are you saying it like that? I’m twenty-one!”

“I think it’s still illegal for you,” said Hawks.

“I’m of age!”

“Illegal,” Dabi agreed. 

“If it helps, he was literally the least sexy thing there,” Hinote snickered. “The stripping robot.”

“Literally,” Saito mumbled, going very pink. “It was a robot costume. It was horrible.”

Hawks cooed and patted the cushion between him and Dabi. “Come here and let us comfort you.”

And Saito did. He plunked himself between them and sagged into the couch with his arms crossed and his face red as a cherry as the other men laughed. Dabi scowled at them.

They talked about having to learn routines. About going out in costumes like firemen, pilots, and road workers, and stripping down to shiny underwear in front of a whole club of drooling strangers. Some of them boasted that they’d been confident enough to drop everything onstage and give Aiko an eyeful. They talked about how they’d all been sent to give lap dances after routines were done to earn tips.

“The entry fees and all the tips went to charity, though,” said Saito, as if that made everything better.

The whole thing sounded horrific. Demeaning. If Dabi had been on that date, he’d have straight-up said No. He was barely comfortable with his body alone in front of a mirror; if he ever found someone willing to fuck him, he’d probably do it with the lights off so they couldn’t see just how ugly he was. He knew that he was on the extreme end, but surely the other men might have some self-confidence issues. The idea of being seen bare not just in front of someone a person might be attracted to, but displayed in front of a whole building of strangers? To be thrown into it with no prior consent and no time to mentally prepare? That made him want to vomit, and it hadn’t even been him facing it.

“Are you okay, kid?” asked Dabi.

“It was for a good cause,” said Saito.

“You know,” Hawks said gently, “just because something’s for a good cause doesn’t make the actions you took right.”

Saito shrugged awkwardly. “Teruo’s handling it a lot worse. I don’t know what it is, but he was a little… too into it? Like he was uncomfortable but putting up a front. And then at the after-party he got really drunk.”

Teruo was noticeably absent from the crowd.

“Where is he?” asked Hawks.

“He went straight upstairs,” said Gentle, sitting down alongside them. “I thought production wouldn’t like that, but they let him go without any fuss.”

“A camera followed him up,” said Saito.

“What about you? How are you holding up?” Dabi asked Gentle.

“I found it fun, myself. I’m trying to grow my video channel, so to me it was just another performance,” Gentle replied. “I can see where the discomfort would come from, though.”

“It was fun. Stop thinking so hard about it,” said Hinote.

Apparently their little crew was too much rain on the parade, because the others moved on in search of Taro and Hanzo Suiden. Dabi flipped Hinote off as he passed, and Hinote laughed. Soon it was just the four of them left in the room.

“You don’t have to feel bad about it,” Hawks was saying. “If you didn’t like it, that’s entirely valid.”

“I just feel… dumb.” Saito’s brow furrowed deeper, and his hands clutched tighter at his arms. “I didn’t feel sexy or excited about it. Just stupid. And used.” He drew up his legs and curled up tighter. “For a lot of the others it was fun, so that makes it worse. That makes me feel like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, or that something’s wrong with me that I’m not seeing it the same way.”

“It’s natural for everyone to have different boundaries,” said Hawks. “That ‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure’ thing applies to just about everything. Some people are comfortable walking down a city street in the nude. Some people are more comfortable restricting it to their home or certain situations. What one person’s scandalized about is another person's idea of fun. The act itself isn’t the problem so much as the consent—”

Saito balked. “This—this wasn’t sex, that doesn’t—”

“You were pressured into a sexually-charged activity you weren’t comfortable with. I’d say there’s a consent issue there,” said Dabi.

Saito sulked lower. “Can we… not talk about this? I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

Hawks chewed on his lip in worry, but changed the subject. Instead of horrible stripping he began to explain the card game he and Dabi had been playing, and particularly inventive moves they’d come up with. Gentle chimed in every once in a while with questions, but Saito didn’t. Saito stayed slumped on the cushions, eyes distant as he seemed to turn over the experience in his head. Dabi didn’t know just what he was thinking, but he seemed to be… coming to terms with it. By the end of the evening he unwound again and talked, but there was still a certain muted, pensiveness to him. He thanked them before going up to bed near midnight.

“I think he’ll be alright,” Gentle said quietly, once he’d disappeared up the stairs. “He just needs some time to process things.”

No shit.

When Dabi finally trudged upstairs to sleep, he had to squeeze past the cameraman in the bedroom doorway. Teruo was laying silent in his bunk, arms folded over his chest and expression blank. Dabi hesitated at the sight of him. He wasn’t close with Teruo. They passed in the halls and had to inhabit the same bedroom, but otherwise Teruo faded into the background for most of the Bachelorette experience. They weren’t anywhere near being friends. He didn’t know how to really interact with him.

“Hey,” Dabi said awkwardly. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Teruo replied.

That didn’t sound fine.

“You don’t want to… talk about it?”

“No,” said Teruo, and yeah, that made sense. Showing weakness in front of other competitors was equivalent to drawing a target on your back. Teruo had no reason to trust him. Still…

“Let me know if that changes at all,” said Dabi.

“Fine,” said Teruo.

Dabi climbed into bed, vowing to vet dates with Misty before agreeing to anything in the future.

Thursday was spent distracting Saito from his date again. He and Gentle really had shit luck when it came to their group dates. Dabi didn’t have much to contribute with, but Hawks had taken Gentle’s tea-talk from the other day and chattered about the drinks and desserts offered at the annual Hero Gala; this transitioned into talk about the Gala itself, the preparations, and all the extravagant outfits that heroes and celebrities showed up with. Dabi was already familiar with the buzz about that event—Magne, Toga, and Compress practically salivated over the bizarre fashions, and coverage would overtake the internet and publications for weeks even after the fact—but it was interesting to hear from an insider’s perspective. Entertainment reporters would gush about the colors and the hidden messages, but Hawks regaled them with tales of outfit-brainstorming and wardrobe malfunctions. He talked about celebrities tripping over the stairs. He talked about the staff trying and failing to help guests with their trains. He talked about the time one actress with an elaborate headdress had to practically tape that headdress to her skull to keep it from tilting and falling off, and got bald patches from the strain.

Dabi had been to the Hero Gala, once.

He’d been seven years old, hair split between red and mostly white, and desperate to be on his best behavior. Endeavor had stopped interacting with him as his quirk grew stronger; in those days he’d been lucky to catch the man going in or out of the house. The training room and office were off limits, so Dabi could only see him regularly when he deigned to join the rest of the family for meals. While interns were sometimes invited to the Hero Gala based on their performance or looks, children weren’t normally in attendance. The Gala’s committee had specifically requested Endeavor to bring him, because he’d been a focus of Endeavor’s PR in the past and the public wanted more of him. He was pretty sure he’d set a record for youngest attendee.

At the time it had been fun; there were a lot of flashing cameras, a lot of people thrilled by his attention, and everyone wanted to have him and Endeavor in pictures together. For the first time in months people seemed to care about him. Endeavor held his hand and even picked him up to navigate through the crowds. They sat together at their table without anyone in between them, and ate cheesecake that may as well have been made by angels. But no matter how good the food tasted, or how much other people fawned over him, Endeavor didn’t look at him. He would glance at most, then refocus on something else. Dabi had wanted to cry in frustration, because he couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. He’d praised Endeavor, hadn’t he? He’d been so polite, Rei would’ve been proud… but Endeavor was unmoved. The car ride home had been silent. They’d walked back into the Todoroki house with Dabi’s stomach tying in knots because he didn’t want to go back to normal. He didn’t want his father to go back to ignoring him. Even if it was just as a marketing tool, he wanted his father’s attention again. He remembered hesitantly wrapping his fingers around one of Endeavor’s larger digits, a silent plea of Please don’t leave me again. Endeavor had tugged out of his hold, pushed him toward Rei, and ordered her to put him to bed before storming away to his office. Rei had taken in Dabi’s face and averted her eyes. She’d known how the evening would turn out. Dabi cried, and the world went back to normal. No parties, no attention, no love. Normal.

The Hero Gala was a bitter memory after that.

Hawks made the topic seem interesting, but it still stuck like a thorn against Dabi’s mind. Dabi closed his eyes and rested his head on his folded arm on the back of the couch, doing his best to tune out the meaning of the words. He focused on the cadence of Hawks’ voice instead. Hawks had a nice voice. It lilted in a way that veered between playful and lazy, never quite smooth but carrying a distinct edge of levity. Had he ever considered ASMR videos? Of course there were ASMR videos, what was Dabi thinking? The man’s fans were rabid. There was no way they hadn’t put together some sort of voice compilation.

“And then, that one year the theme was Mythology,” Hawks was saying. “Uwabami wanted to do a gorgon-inspired outfit. Good for her, right? To pull her quirk into the theme? But she wanted to do the winged type, with to-scale wings! And I was like, honey, you’re in for a reckoning.”

His voice had started to get rougher with all the non-stop talking. Dabi frowned. He sat up, picked up one of the non-alcoholic cocktails he’d put together earlier, and held it out.

“Here. Before you go hoarse.”

Hawks broke off. “Oh! Thanks!” He didn’t take it, though. He leaned in and drank from the straw while Dabi was still holding it, then pulled back with a grin. “Refreshing! Where was I? Oh, yeah, the wings. Wings are heavy, especially those fake ones, so she ended up needing a harness under her dress… Except she was basing it off of this picture from a vase, which had four wings, making it twice as bad. It looked sort of like—"

He attempted to mime out Uwabami’s costume, but Dabi was too struck dumb to take it in. Had that drinking maneuver been weird? He felt like it was weird. He tried to make eye contact with one of the others to get their reaction, but Gentle was too caught up in the story, and Saito was avoiding his gaze with a very pink face. Dabi ended up blaming the whole interaction on Hawks’ laziness (he’d drunk booze through a patio chair, this wasn’t as weird) and set the drink aside again.

They were interrupted as the doorbell rang.

“Oh, here we go,” Dabi grumbled.

“Date card!” came a howl from the entrance hall.

“Date card!” came an answering cry from the pool.

Within a minute all the other competitors had flooded into the room. Dabi shifted closer to Hawks to keep from being elbowed by Slidin’ Go and scowled at the interruption. Hinote entered with the card, and read it out with relish: “Hanzo Suiden. Let’s ride off into the sunset. Heart, Aiko.”

The other men hooted and buffeted Hanzo Suiden in excitement. Hawks clapped along with the cheering, but there was a stiffness to the movement.

“What, were you expecting another one-on-one date, two weeks in a row?” asked Dabi.

“Of course not,” said Hawks. “It’s just my first week with no date at all. I know she’s got a lot of other people to focus on, but I can’t help but feel I must’ve done something wrong.”

Because he was invested in this, in a way Dabi most certainly wasn’t. Dabi shifted uncomfortably and said, “It’s not worth worrying about.”

This was an empty platitude, but he didn’t have anything else to give right now. Just thinking about the dates made him uneasy at this point.

Saturday and its rose ceremony rolled in fast.

Dabi put on his nice clothes, pinned the one-on-one rose to his lapel again, and descended to the cocktail room for the party with no worries whatsoever. Contestants who’d won roses during their dates were, by rule of courtesy, not expected to have individual talks with Aiko. They had no need to compete for another rose this week, so talking time was left to those who genuinely needed it.

Yes, Dabi was free to relax.

Spoiler alert, Dabi did not relax.  

It quickly became clear that this week’s rose ceremony meltdown belonged to Teruo.

He talked in an unstoppable flood, laughed too loud, eyes uneasily bright. He was downright manic, and it got worse when he started drinking.

“You should have more water,” Dabi told him point blank, early in the evening.

“I know what I’m doing!” he’d laughed, but did not.

He drank, and drank, and drank.

Dabi suspected that Teruo hadn’t liked stripping any more than Saito did, but instead of facing his frustrations and getting support, he was denying it and turning himself into a goddamn Molotov cocktail. Dabi, Hawks, Saito, and Gentle had attempted to corner him to try talking things through, but Teruo seemed to realize this and very much did not want to talk about anything. He slipped away from them and into the shitty dramatic groups.

“Man, Sharkyonara’s such a stud,” he laughed drunkenly two hours into the party, seated right next to troublemaker Hinote while Sharkyonara was out talking with Aiko. “Worst guy on stage, though. Did you see it? When he opened his shirt—” he mimed the movement, nearly spilling his drink, “—and I was just, like, fuck you, man, I hate you and your stupid pecs. But at least I wasn’t the robot!”

“How long until you think he explodes?” Gentle muttered, brow furrowed.

“Any fucking moment,” said Dabi. He seized the arm of a passing crewmember and hissed, “Don’t give him any more booze. His quirk makes him stronger the more embarrassed he is, right? I don’t want to see what he does with that, and I don’t think you do, either.”

“Oh, shit, he’s on the move,” said Hawks.

Teruo had stood up and stumbled away, slurring that he was off to get his one-on-one time. Except he didn’t go directly to the patio. No, he decided to go up the stairs and lean over the railing to call Aiko’s name, wander the other rooms, and only then made it to the patio.

“Okay, buddy, I think you’re ready to sit down,” said Hawks, taking his arm.

Teruo shrugged him off with a whine. “Don’t cramp my style! Come on, man, you’re a hero, you’ve got to let me have some time to myself!”

Hawks did not reply; Teruo had spoken directly into his face and Hawks reeled back, eyes bulging. The booze on his breath must’ve been killer.

“I’m going to jump in the pool!” cried Teruo, apparently recognizing where he was. “Saito, come on! Let’s go!”

“Be careful!” said Saito. “You’re going to—”

Teruo whooped, caught Saito around the middle, and threw them both off the edge and into the water. Saito emerged spluttering, and Teruo surfaced with another triumphant yell.

“Are you in your clothes in the pool?” called Aiko. She leaned out the side of the gazebo, astonished.

“Come on in, baby! The water’s great!” said Teruo.

He proceeded to pull off his sopping shirt, twirl it overhead, and toss it away in some move that must’ve been part of the stripping routine.

“I’ll get him,” Hawks sighed, sending out a feather, but a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Not necessary,” Curious said sweetly. “As other contestants, you shouldn’t tie yourself up with this. We’ll take care of it.”

“Will you?” Dabi said, suspicious.

Curious flashed him a smile that gave no reassurance. “This is production’s problem, not yours. Be on your way.”

They backed off unhappily. Shion pulled them into the kitchen and checked over Saito for any sign of injury from falling into the pool, confirmed him intact, then ran off to give Teruo the same treatment.

Teruo did not get better. Curious’ idea of ‘taking care of it’ meant a lot more cameras following his every stumbling move, and no actual assistance. He barely managed to crawl out of the pool, then wandered the mansion near naked with a towel on his head, bumping into doorjambs and dripping all over the floor. Sato had another argument with Curious and came to his rescue, leading him upstairs to change clothes and staying polite even while Teruo cussed and pushed at him.

Aiko was distraught.

“Am I even doing the right thing, here?” Dabi overheard her, near tears and leaning on Tesla’s shoulder in the other room. “What are all these people here for? Are they all here for the right reasons? I want everyone to have fun, but this is serious to me! I didn’t invite everyone here to party, I invited them to find my prince!”

“Oh my god,” Dabi groaned, when he and Hawks were alone in the kitchen hunting for more hors d’oeuvres. “She took them stripping. Why is she complaining about anyone’s actions when she’s the one who set the tone?”

“Don’t let her catch you saying that, or your rose will be forfeit,” said Hawks.

“Ugh,” said Dabi. “Teruo’s gone four weeks keeping himself together perfectly well. Shouldn’t she have realized there’s an underlying problem this week? It’s like she’s got us under a microscope as she’s guessing out the reasons why we even fucking breathe on a date, and then she comes back and she acts oblivious.”

Hawks looked very tired. He poked at the bruschetta plate and said, “In her defense, that’s going from focusing on one person to focusing a lot of us at once. It must be hard for her to keep track. And besides that… I think the producers have something to do with it.”

Dabi frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I mean Curious has been steering us all around in ways that keep Aiko from seeing a lot of the problems,” said Hawks. “On the stripping date she only saw them during the announcement and during the actual performance, not backstage where anyone was nervous. All the competitors are so intent on putting their best foot forward, they wouldn’t dare complain to Aiko for fear of being the odd one out, and getting dismissed from the show. It’s a tactic that ups the stress on the competitors to stir up more drama, especially when we get frustrated about how Aiko may or may not be reacting.”

“So you’re saying I’m playing into production’s hands?” Dabi grumbled.

“Something like that,” said Hawks, cracking a smile. “Just… remember that this place isn’t as straightforward as you might think.”

Because being straightforward wouldn’t get enough views or something, probably.

At least I don’t have to deal with this much longer, Dabi thought, and stuffed his face with food to forget the rest of this nonsense as best he could.

On the plus side, Saito got to connect with Aiko about the stripping date. He caught up to Dabi and Hawks afterward, still a little flustered but mostly pleased.

“I decided to channel my inner Dabi and be as straightforward with her as possible,” he reported. “I told her I wasn’t comfortable with the public aspect of the group date, and that I did like charity, but I prefer charity where I can feel like I’m doing the helping instead of somehow bribing other people into doing it. I think she liked that I was honest.”

“That’s great!” cried Hawks, bumping a fist against his arm. “I’m proud of you for sticking up for yourself.”

“Proud in a non-childish way,” Dabi added, before Saito could get sour about it again.

Saito chuckled unevenly. “Thanks. Hopefully that doesn’t come back to bite me.”

Eventually they were called in for the rose ceremony. The men all lined up in their rows. Teruo had sobered up a little; he was flushed with embarrassment, but at least he was wearing dry clothes now. Of course, it didn’t save him. Both Teruo and Chomper were eliminated. Both men hugged Aiko before leaving. Teruo cried about it. The remaining competitors gathered around for what would be Dabi’s last rose ceremony toast, and he raised his glass at the edge of the crowd with mixed feelings.

Honestly, he was sick of this place.

Sick of the drama, sick of the boredom, sick of waiting to see if someone was going to target him for something stupid. There were some good points, like the food and Hawks (never admitting that second one aloud), but they were fleeting things that he shouldn’t allow himself to get used to. He was ready for this whole farce to end.

“You seem weirdly calm,” Hawks murmured as they began to break up for confessionals. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” said Dabi, and took an extra-large gulp of champagne. “Perfectly fine.”

Natsuo was having the time of his life.

He was doing well in school.

He had a girlfriend.

He was ninety percent sure that his big brother was not dead but safely lounging around a mansion drinking cocktails, and he had a lead on where to find him later on.

Yeah, Natsuo had always believed he had shit luck, but karma seemed to be paying him back for all those horrible years. Even his other siblings were benefitting.

“So,” Fuyumi said over the phone, uncharacteristically nervous. “You, uh, watch the Bachelorette…”

“I do,” Natsuo replied with foreboding as he walked down the street. “Why, are you watching it now? I thought you had that super long series to get through first.”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to be watching The Bachelorette. She might want to gossip about it, and she was the deceptively shrewd type who’d figure out his real intentions in minutes.

“I’m not finished with it, but, um, I had an opportunity.”

Oh, wow, he could hear her blush.

“Opportunity?” he drawled, grinning. “And what kind of opportunity are you getting?”

“Okay,” said Fuyumi. “Okay, so, there’s this woman.”

“Go on.”

“She was a guest speaker at school, and we sort of… clicked?”

“Ooh, I see where this is going.”

“Shut up, Natsu. Stop smiling.”

“I’m not smiling,” said Natsuo, who very much was. “What’s this about the guest speaker?”

“So she— We’ve kept in contact, and she’s been watching The Bachelorette, and I thought, if we both like dramas maybe we could watch it together? Except— Natsuo, she’s gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so out of my league.” Natsuo laughed outright, and she whined, “Don’t laugh at my pain! She’s strong, and smart, and funny, and I always take way too long to text her back because my brain turns to goo every time I think too hard about that fact that it’s her.”

“Okay, so did she, like… turn you down?”

“No! She said yes, that’s the problem!” Fuyumi wailed. “We’re going to be next to each other. In the same room!”

“I’m not seeing the problem here.”

“I can’t be expected to function properly in the same room as her for two hours!” cried Fuyumi. “My brain will stop working! She’ll think I’m stupid! She’ll never want to talk to me again! You have to help me!”

Natsuo did his best to stifle his snickering. “If you’re looking for advice on surviving the show with your crush, I can’t help. I was just dumb. Straight up oblivious. Head empty, no anxiety.”

“Why can’t I be dumb, too?” she groaned.

“Look at it this way, being smart and self-aware will probably get you together sooner. I lost a whole year from being dumb,” said Natsuo.

“Not if I mess it up,” said Fuyumi. “That’s why I need help. Can I bring her to your viewing party next week?”

Natsuo faltered. “Wait, what?”

“If there are other people around, there will be distractions!” said Fuyumi. “When I short circuit, someone else will be able to talk to her and take the heat off of me until I recover! Plus,” and now her voice went sly, “that means I’d get to meet Yukina. If I don’t track her down myself, you’ll never introduce us.”

Oh, no.

“That’s not true,” Natsuo lied.

“You had a girlfriend for two years during high school and refused to let any of us meet her until you’d already broken up!” said Fuyumi.

“Well, that was a special case—”

“You didn’t even tell me about Yukina until you got drunk with your volleyball team last year!”

“Yeah, well—"

“Sakura, Reiko, Rin, Akari—” To his horror she started listing the names of all his crushes since grade school.

“Okay, okay, you don’t need to go back that far!”

“You didn’t let us meet any of them,” said Fuyumi. “I’m not missing my chance now!”

“You know this works both ways, right?” Natsuo said flatly. “You get to meet Yukina, but I get to meet your crush, too.”

Fuyumi paused. She turned this over in her head before grumbling, “Don’t give her the shovel talk, Natsu. Please. I need to win her over before anyone tries to scare her away with shovel talks.”

“You behave, and I’ll behave,” Natsuo said innocently. “That’s a good exchange, right? If either of us acts out, it’s mutually assured destruction.”

“Deal,” said Fuyumi. “So… can we come to your group next week?”

“Bring snacks and you’ll be fine. I’ll talk to the others today and let them know we’ll have guests,” said Natsuo.

“You’re the best!” cried Fuyumi. “Any specific requests? I found some new recipes for appetizers…”

“Don’t make it yourself, or you’ll give everyone standards,” Natsuo groaned.

“I need to get on their good sides somehow,” said Fuyumi.

“Goodbye, Fuyumi.”

“I’ll talk to you later! Enjoy the episode tonight! And say hello to Yukina for me!”

She hung up, presumably to look up the most complicated appetizer possible and practice making it until she could wow her crush next week. Natsuo shook his head in exasperation and stuck his phone back in his pocket.

It was an hour until the newest episode aired, and Natsuo was on his own snack run. He had a lot of snacks left over from previous weeks already, but he’d learned that Yukina liked Black Thunder bars. They’d only been dating a week, but Natsuo had resolved to be the best boyfriend. That meant stocking up on his girlfriend’s favorite chocolate bars.

His girlfriend.

He kept thinking it, but every time it felt new and euphoric.

Girlfriend.

He stepped into the 7-Eleven convenience store with what had to be a cheesy smile on his face, but the cashier and other customers didn’t pay attention. The other customers were attracting enough attention on their own.

For example, there was a skinny guy near the gaming magazines, white hair obscuring his face as he hunched over his phone.

“Ah, Eraserhead,” he said, low and super creepily. “…So cool.”

A man beside him in a mask and top hat whipped off his glove and put the back of his hand against white-haired-creep’s forehead as if checking for a temperature. A tall woman further down the aisle tipped her sunglasses down and looked worriedly over the frames to ask, “Who are you and what have you done with our band leader?”

White-haired-creep made an ugly, snarling noise. He yanked a magazine from the rack and smacked the top hat guy’s shoulder with it.

“Hey,” said the cashier.

“Sorry, sorry, we’re paying for that,” said a man with a gecko quirk and purple hair, speedwalking out of the bread aisle. He snatched the magazine from the creep’s grip and whacked him with it. “Do you have to act like a baby everywhere we go?” Then he turned to scowl at the top hat guy. “And I expected better from you.”

“Can’t imagine why,” said the top hat guy.

Huh.

Well, Natsuo wasn’t going to stick around long enough to get roped into whatever craziness that was. He stepped into the snack aisle and left the squabbling behind him. The only other person in this aisle was a high school girl with her hair in blond spacebuns, crouched down to examine bags of cookies. That was close to what Natsuo wanted, so he hovered awkwardly nearby as he studied the shelves for Black Thunder bars.

“Hey,” said the girl. She looked at him, holding two types of cookies (Crunky and Country Ma’am) up for him to see. “If you’re going to have a sleepover at your crime-uncle’s place with your loser bandmates, to watch another of your bandmates get wooed by a literal model on national TV, except it’s a forbidden relationship on a dating show so no one believes you about it and your band leader keeps threatening to break the TV because he says the show’s stupid and he’s a dirty rotten liar… which one would you pick?”

That was a lot to unpack right there.

Natsuo took a moment to think. A stupid, romantic TV show on tonight?

“You mean The Bachelorette?”

The girl’s apathy switched fast to excitement. “Yes! That’s exactly right!”

Natsuo nodded to himself and pointed back at the shelf. “I don’t really have a preference, but Country Ma’am comes in vanilla and strawberry. You could get that in honor of Dabi.”

The girl blinked in surprise. “Wait, you know that Dabi likes strawberries?”

She jumped to her feet and leaned in close, squinting at him. Natsuo leaned back to keep some semblance of personal space. Her eyes were sharp and yellow, with the unnerving ability to make him feel like he was under a microscope. Realization flashed through them, and she cried, “Wait! License to Chill?”

What the fuck? How did some random girl know his Twitter name?

Wait.

“Super Princess Himiko?” he gasped.

The girl shrieked with excitement and bounced on her toes. “Oh my god, it is you! I can’t believe it! And you remembered the strawberries—you really are Dabi’s biggest fan!”

“Oh, wow! I never thought I’d get to see you in person!” Natsuo lied. He had obviously hoped to meet her in person eventually during the post-Bachelorette stage of his “Find Touya” plan, but now? Here? At the 7-Eleven? Really? “Wow, you— In retrospect you’re exactly how I should’ve been picturing you.”

“Super cute, right?” she giggled.

“Yeah. Nice spacebuns,” said Natsuo.

In swept another person. This one was a man with a stitched-up scar on his forehead, face haggard and unshaven and voice really loud as he jumped between them and cried, “Who do you think you are? Toga, is this guy bothering you? I’ll kill him! Toga might be super cute, but she’s super off limits, buster!”

“Jin, don’t embarrass me in front of Dabi’s biggest fan!” said Himiko.

Did this guy really think Natsuo was attracted to her? Ugh, no. She was a high schooler. Shouto’s age. Practically a gremlin. Jin probably wouldn’t appreciate him phrasing it that way, though.

“I actually have a girlfriend already,” said Natsuo.

“Oh, then that’s fine,” said Jin. “No it’s not! You two-timer!”

“You have a girlfriend?” said Himiko, eyes sparkling as she shoved Jin out of the way. “How long have you been dating? Is she cute? What’s her blood like?”

“In order, about a week, very much yes, and I have no idea with no desire to find out,” said Natsuo.

“If it’s only been a week, no wonder you haven’t seen any blood!” she laughed. “How did you get together? Who confessed? How long did you like her?”

“Toga,” Jin whined, having immediately switched from confrontational to groveling, “Toga, no, stranger danger! Yeah right, you’re the most dangerous thing here!”

“Hey, guys,” said the man with the gecko quirk, peering down the aisle. “If we want to get to Giran’s on time, we’ve got to head out now.”

“Spinner!” Himiko gasped. “Spinner, look, this is the guy who’s helping us get you a new guitar!”

So that was the guitarist?

“Hope you don’t mind it being secondhand,” said Natsuo.

Spinner looked Natsuo up and down with new appreciation. “Really? Thanks. I thought Toga was making that up.”

“I would not!” said Toga.

“We’re late!” cried another voice, and white-haired-creep sped past the aisle. “Why did no one tell me we were late?”

“We’re not late,” said the woman with sunglasses, following more sedately.

“Besides, you were the one looking at a phone with the time clearly displayed on the screen,” said the top hat guy.

“Forget your solo!” cried white-haired-creep.

The top hat guy sped up, seemingly distressed. “Now wait a moment, we all agreed, the violin—”

“Let’s just get going,” said Spinner, clearly fed up with all of them already.

Toga pouted. “But my fateful Twitter meeting! Ugh. I’ll talk to you later, License to Chill!”

“Uh, yeah, sounds good,” said Natsuo. “Enjoy the episode.”

“I will!”

She ran off with the Country Ma’am cookies, towing Jin alongside her by the wrist.

Huh. Well, that had been something.

Natsuo bought his Black Thunder bars and set out back to his apartment. Most of the group was already waiting outside his door (he’d texted them that he’d be a little late), and they all looked up as he reached the right floor.

“Hi, Natsuo!” said Yukina.

She practically skipped over to him and kissed his cheek. She’d been doing that all week but Natsuo still went as red as he had the first time and mumbled, “Hi.”

“Aw, so cute it makes me sick,” Mt. Lady cooed. “Now open the door so I can eat some food.”

“Fine, fine, you bottomless pit,” said Natsuo, and unlocked the door.

They filtered in, chattering away, and Yukina tagged along with him to pull out the snacks.

“Just so you’re aware,” he said quietly, and made sure she saw him stashing the chocolate bars in the cupboard.

Yukina’s smile was blinding. Natsuo felt like he won the lottery.

“You remembered!”

“Of course! You said they were your favorite. I’m not pulling them out right now, though. Too much risk of Mt. Lady eating all of them.”

“She would,” Yukina chuckled.

When they’d returned to the living room to set out the food, everyone else had already taken up their usual positions and the TV was on.

“Ah, Natsuo,” said Ryukyu, “I’m sorry, but would it be possible for us to bring another two people next week?”

Nastsuo paused in the middle of moving the Sharkyonara coaster out of the path of a popcorn bowl. He blinked in surprise. He hadn’t anticipated someone beating him to the punch on inviting others. “Oh. Uh, sure?”

“Good.” Ryukyu sagged in relief, as if this had been weighing on her. “It’s one of our colleagues, and a teacher she met while volunteering at a school.”

Wait a second.

Natsuo sat back on his heels, fighting a smile. “A schoolteacher, you say?”

“Yes, she’s apparently infatuated,” said Ryukyu. “Our colleague was invited to watch The Bachelorette together, and now she’s panicking about making a mistake on their first potential date. She thought it might be better to have a buffer of other people to avoid any awkwardness…”

“Is the teacher’s name Fuyumi?” asked Natsuo.

Ryukyu blinked in surprise. “I—yes, she is. How did you know?”

“My sister Fuyumi asked if she could bring her new crush, who was guest speaker at the school she teaches at, to watch The Bachelorette with us for the exact same reason,” said Natsuo.

“Oh my god,” Mt. Lady laughed. “It’s another pair of romantic idiots!”

“Should we be helping them along?” asked Kanoka, eyes gleaming. “Yukina and Natsuo’s relationship worked out, so maybe if we—"

“Let’s not,” said Natsuo, at the same time Ryukyu firmly said, “No.”

“If you get Fuyumi too flustered she’ll drop it entirely,” said Natsuo. “She’s stubborn, though. She’s already made her first move, she’s not going to sit around doing nothing the way I did.”

“Our colleague is also a fearless and straightforward person, so I’m sure they’ll work it out quickly,” said Ryukyu. “Besides, if we tried to force her into anything, she might become combative…”

“Yeah, best leave that one alone and just enjoy the entertainment,” said Mt. Lady, waving a potato chip at them.

“If even you want to stay out of it, it must be bad,” Nozomi laughed.

Group is forewarned and looking forward to meeting you, Natsuo texted Fuyumi, then set aside his phone and settled in on the couch with Yukina leaning against him.

“Tonight, on The Bachelorette,” went the TV, and all other gossip broke off.

The preview followed the same pattern as every other week: Aiko went, “This is the best!” while clips cycled through of multiple make out sessions, and then Aiko went, “This is the worst!” as new clips cycled through of out-of-context drama. A lot of the contestants were shown stripping.

Oh no, thought Natsuo in horror.

He was relieved when the episode started, and right off the bat Dabi was selected for a one-on-one date.

Oh thank god, thought Natsuo, because 1) this would give him a lot more insight on Dabi as a person, 2) no one wanted to see their brother exotic dancing, and 3) if it was confirmed that the scars went as far as Natsuo suspected he would go batshit and find and murder that quack doctor himself. The date rescued him from all these possibilities.

Dabi did not seem to enjoy the date. He looked downright green during the clips of his helicopter ride. He was good at the actual rappelling part, though. He calmed Aiko down quickly and effectively, and all the women cooed over how sweet he was to support her.

Natsuo stayed silent, remembering that same tone in a younger voice back from when he’d first started gotten interested in volleyball. He’d tried doing some of the practice drills on his own in the courtyard, and he was so terrible at it that he’d nearly brought himself to tears because I’m quirkless I’m stupid I can’t be good at anything— and Touya had picked up the ball, fixed him with a calm eye, and said, We’re going to do it again, and we’ll get better.

Natsuo didn’t know what to feel about the dinner part of the date. Yeah, he got a kick out of Dabi’s expression when he’d looked at the fish, but then he’d gotten into family. Into Rei.

I don’t remember much of her. What I do remember, I can’t really tell what was her, and what was the fear.

Understandable. Even now Natsuo was having trouble figuring out the truth of her. It was hard to figure out what Rei liked, versus what she thought they would find convenient.

I haven’t seen her in twelve years, and for a year before that she refused to look at me because I was the embodiment of everything wrong in her life.

That… that sucked. And the worst part was, Natsuo could believe it. The older he’d gotten, the more Rei had been breaking down. He wanted to believe it was just time, just erosion after so many years of abuse, but Shouto had heard her. Every day the children seem to become more and more like him. Shouto’s left side sometimes looks unbearable to me, all I can see is his father. She’d burned Shouto because she’d seen Endeavor in him and panicked. In the end Touya’s hair hadn’t been that distinctive red, but he had the fire quirk, the blue eyes, the desperate drive. It would make sense. Natsuo hated it, but it made sense.

With my father? No. She’s out of his reach. Out of mine, too.

Not if I can help it, Natsuo thought, clenching his fists. He’d find Dabi and bring him back. Nobody was out of anyone’s reach.

The bastard thinks I’m dead. I’m inclined to let him believe it. When people don’t want to acknowledge a truth, they don’t search very hard for it.

So they’d missed something, at Sekoto Hill. Something that should’ve been obvious. A trigger, his escape route, maybe even the reason he hadn’t come back. Natsuo made a mental note to find the files on the incident. Maybe he could see something in retrospect that no one had thought important at the time. If Dabi was wording it like that, he must be bitter about it. There had to be something left behind.

All of this had Natsuo in a weird mood: grieving, vindictive, validated. Maybe that was what had him so off kilter with the following turn in conversation.

Apparently Dabi’s roommates filled in for family.

Dabi talked about Toga, and about the weird antics that the rest of them got up to. It was surreal, because Natsuo had talked to Toga. He’d seen the other roommates earlier today. They weren’t just a concept. So, those were the people who celebrated Touya’s birthdays? The people he confided in? His family by choice?

Maybe that’s why he didn’t come back, said a nasty little voice in Natsuo’s head. He replaced you.

Natsuo squashed that thought with extreme prejudice. He should be happy that Dabi had survived alongside people he trusted. He should be happy that Dabi had the chance to smile and feel safe around them. If for some reason Dabi couldn’t come home, or even if he’d simply chosen not to, Natsuo would never wish misery on him. He should be grateful to those roommates for supporting him.

The jealousy wouldn’t leave entirely, though.

The date finished out with a slow dance in a concert that Natsuo would never ever want to do for himself, and then charged on into the rest of the episode’s plot. That meant the stripping. The women loved that. Shirts were twirled over heads. Strange undulating dances were danced. Saito in a robot suit had shiny gray underwear to match, once he’d tossed the claw-hand-mitts away with everything else. Teruo took off everything and waved his ass at the screaming crowd. Natsuo had so much secondhand embarrassment that he tried to cover his eyes; Yukina tried to pry his hand away again, but she was falling over herself laughing so didn’t quite manage it. The other women cheered raucously, and Kaori leapt up and threw her hands in the air in wild abandon when Teruo pulled his stunt.

“Damn, how do I sign up to be the next Bachelorette?” said Mt. Lady, as onscreen Aiko got a lap dance.

“Why didn’t Hawks get picked for this date? He’d have been so hot,” Kanoka groaned.

Natsuo thanked his lucky stars again that Dabi had not been invited to this one.

The rest of the episode went downhill fast. For all his energy while stripping, Teruo made several missteps in the following cocktail party and got drunk. Even when Hanzo Suiden was taken on a date, the rest of the mansion was abuzz with critizisms of his behavior, and Teruo stepped it up during the rose ceremony to get absolutely wasted. Dabi was one of the people who tried intervening, but this attempted help from competitors was barely glimpsed by the cameras as Teruo staggered around. To cap it all off, Teruo was dismissed.

“Teruo and Chomper supporters, sucks to be you!” said Kanoka, marking down the final results in her chart.

Natsuo updated it against his own chart and frowned. He’d picked Chomper to go further, if only because he fed off of other people’s drama and the cameras liked that.

“Dabi’s still in the running,” he reminded everyone. “I can already hear Mr. Donut calling my name…”

The others burst into retorts about how their picks would get them the win instead, and Natsuo laughed at them.

He was going to win no matter what the points ended up being. He was ninety-nine percent sure he’d have his brother back at the end of this. That beat a donut gift card any day.

Face masks were back at this week’s Class 1-A Girls Night, with an important new addition: cucumbers.

“See, you put them on your eyes,” said Yaoyarozu, laying on the floor to demonstrate. “It has an anti-inflammatory effect that reduces puffiness and assists in cooling and hydrating the skin!”

“Hydrating really seems like the most desirable effect in most of these routines,” said Midoriya. His serious face was at complete odds with the pajamas he’d already put on, which were cheerily patterned with All Might’s distinctive hair tufts and the phrases “I am here!” “Detroit Smash!” and, scribbled by someone in permanent marker near his left ankle, “Shit!”

“But we came here to watch The Bachelorette,” said Shouto, looking down at the cucumber slice in his hand as if it had personally wronged him.

“Yes?” said Yaoyarozu.

“But if we have these on our eyes, we can’t see the screen,” said Shouto. Surely they’d considered that?

“Oh, don’t mind it!” said Uraraka, waving a hand. “No one’s going to test you on anything. We’re just casually watching. If you miss something, one of the others in the group will catch you up.”

“I’ve also downloaded the streaming service the episodes are being uploaded to, so you can watch it again at any time!” said Yaoyarozu.

Shouto pursed his lips, still glaring at the cucumber. Maybe there wouldn’t be a formal test, but he was still gathering data from the show for the optimum friendship techniques. He wanted to study it the first time around, and gain insight from his classmates if he had trouble interpreting anything. Doing this in the context of Girls Night would be the most efficient route.

“I’ll pass,” he said.

“Maybe later, then,” said Yaoyarozu.

As the girls turned away, Midoriya bumped his elbow lightly against Shouto’s arm and whispered, “My mom forgets to put them on her eyes at all, most of the time. She just eats them.”

He’d apparently stolen the saltshaker from the kitchen, because he tapped it lightly over the cucumber slice Shouto was still holding to add flavor. Shouto popped it in his mouth. It was tasty. Refreshing.

“Good idea,” he said.

He and Midoriya snuck more cucumber slices when the others weren’t looking. Uraraka, eternally hungry, was also a fan of this and moved closer to them to take advantage of the saltshaker. When Yaoyarozu noticed this she shook her head in fond exasperation but didn’t try to stop them. Shouto paused his cucumber munching only when the TV announced, “Tonight, on The Bachelorette…”

Shouto was immediately intrigued because Dabi was picked for the first excursion. He was a little less intrigued when it turned out not to include Hawks or any other contestant, but maybe this would be good coaching for more individualized friendship attempts and especially focus on girls. There were different rules to making friends with girls than to making friends with boys; Shouto wasn’t sure what they were, but the internet insisted that was true.

Dabi proved very effective in de-escalation. Had he taken a class, or was he just naturally good at it? Shouto’s goal was to become a hero who made people feel at ease, and Dabi nailed that. Aiko had gone from terrified to cheerful in a matter of minutes. Perhaps Shouto could bring this episode up with Aizawa and ask for help reviewing the key tactics used. The cameras surely hadn’t captured the full process, but he was sure it would be useful for future heroics.  

On a less professional note, he was intrigued by Dabi’s talk at the dinner. It had been clear in previous episodes that he and Dabi were similar—abusive father, a mother they loved dearly—but it turned out they were far more similar than expected.

Dabi’s mother had refused to look at him, because he reminded her of his father. The old memory of Rei’s phone call was still stark in Shouto’s head. He remembered how she’d whispered that Shouto’s left side was unsightly. That he looked like his father, and she couldn’t stand it. He remembered the terror on her face. He remembered the whistle of the tea kettle.

“Todoroki?” Midoriya said gently. “Are you okay?”

He looked at Shouto as if he could read his thoughts. He may as well have; Midoriya’s mind was quick, and he already had all the information to put together. By the seriousness of his expression he knew everything. Shouto took another slice of cucumber and pressed it lightly against his scarred cheek. It was cool and grounding. It beat the memories away, back into the shadows.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, and forced himself to listen to the show again.

He received another blow: Dabi had not visited his mother in a long time, and felt like she was out of reach. Shouto had been the same for years.

All of these connections welled up inside him, and Shouto was overwhelmed by a single, crystal-clear thought: Dabi is me. He’s just like me, in a different place. He had been impressed by Dabi’s skill with his quirk and his interpersonal abilities enough to wonder if it might be useful to reach out for tips, but now the need was intense and personal. Shouto wanted to reach out to him. He wanted to meet Dabi and say, We are the same, and I understand you. Reaching that kind of deep understanding was so hard, and something he’d hoped to figure out through this friendship process; even Midoriya, who’d listened and accepted his story without question, and his siblings who’d grown up in the same house, didn’t understand him on the level Dabi would. There were too many layers, too much hurt, too much trauma to unravel in anything but a bloody mess. But a mess had the experience to understand a mess. Shouto wanted very badly to be recognized. Maybe, if he could get in contact with Dabi, they could be friends. Maybe he could ask Dabi for advice, since Dabi would understand the baggage he carried while looking around at the world. Maybe he could encourage Dabi toward a reconciliation like the one with his own mother, since that had been such a good impact on his life.

Shouto watched a rose get pinned to Dabi’s lapel, and hoped.

“Does The Bachelorette accept fan mail?” he asked.

“Fan mail?” Uraraka echoed, head tipping in confusion. “Are you hoping for an autograph or something?”

Midoriya had caught on to his meaning immediately; his brow furrowed in determination and he said, “Let me check,” before whipping out his phone.

“They must,” said Jiro, toying with the end of one of her earjacks. “It’s such a big phenomenon, after all.”

“Even if they don’t have an autograph specialized contact method, you could look up the contacts they use for people who want to apply as contestants,” Uraraka suggested. “That would get it in front of someone, who’d send it on to the right place.”

“Or, if they don’t have a specialized address we could ask my—” Jiro went pink. “My, uh… That’s actually a secret. I’m not supposed to say anything about it right now. But, um, if you want a note passed along to the staff, I might know someone who can do it for you.”

“No need,” said Midoriya.

He held out his phone and they all leaned in closer to see it. There, on the Paragon Productions website, was a specialized address for fan mail.  

“Lucky!” said Uraraka, clapping her hands together.

“Lucky indeed,” said Shouto, almost baffled by how easy that was.

A sudden chorus of booing distracted them. One of the contestants had done something terrible, but Shouto had no idea what. A large group of them were in a room together wearing nothing but strange underwear. Saito was putting on a fabric robot costume. What— Oh. They were stripping. Shouto knew that much from weird ads on the computer.

Where’s the pole? he wondered idly, because there was supposed to be a pole involved, right?

“I don’t think I’ll be trying this method,” he said aloud.

Tokoyami choked on his apple juice.

“You’re attractive enough that you don’t even have to try this sort of thing,” said Ashido, as the show went to commercials.

 “Hey,” said Hakagure, leaning forward conspiratorially (based on the movement of her hoodie, anyway), “so, everybody, who do you think the most attractive guy on the show is?”

“Clearly the best guy there is Hinote,” said Ashido. “He sings, and let’s face it, he’s hot.”

“Literally,” Hakagure snickered.

Ashido held her hairbrush toward Asui like a microphone and said, “Who do you think is the most attractive man on The Bachelorette?”

Asui pressed a finger to her chin in her habitual thinking pose. “I’d go with Hyouto, ribbit. He’s nice, and seems very smart.”

“You’re both blind,” said Hakagure. “The prettiest man is very clearly Geten.”

“You asked for the most attractive, not the best looking,” Uraraka laughed. “Geten might be pretty, but he’s got a rotten personality. That outweighs his looks.”

“Does it, though?” Hakagure teased.

“How about you, Momo?” said Ashido, sprawling across Kirishima’s lap to present her hairbrush-mic to Yaoyarozu.

“Well, I think Gentle is very sophisticated,” said Yaoyarozu, going pink.

“Ah, tea fanatics! I should’ve known.” Ashido wiggled around to look up at Kirishima. “Kiri, your expert opinion?”

“Dabi,” Kirishima said firmly, with arms crossed and an enthusiastic nod. “It’s clear he cares about other people, and he’s always been honest and open with Aiko. That’s super manly!”

“Tokoyami, you next!”

“Pass,” said Tokoyami.

“Oh, come on!”

“It’s a conflict of interest,” said Tokoyami, as if the words caused him great pain. “You cannot make me say that my mentor is the most attractive. I will never admit to it. But all the others are so—! They’re just—!”

“Okay, okay, don’t hurt yourself,” Ashido giggled. “Todoroki! You next!”

Shouto accepted the hairbrush with great dignity and held it the way Mt. Lady had instructed them to hold microphones during her PR crash course earlier that semester.

“I believe,” he said, “it’s clear that the most attractive member of the show is Saito.”

Everyone’s eyes went directly to Midoriya. Midoriya had been mid gulp out of a water bottle, and promptly spat it back out.

“Oh dear!” cried Yaoyarozu, and quickly started materializing napkins to clean up the mess.

Midoriya coughed into his elbow in an attempt not to make anything worse. It sounded like he was hacking up a lung, and his face was very red. Was he okay? Shouto reached out and rubbed Midoriya’s back. Midoriya only went redder.

“S-Saito?” he wheezed. “B-b-but he’s so—short! And, and his eyes are so big, and his hair is so… curly! He’s just, um, super average?”

Not really. If one took a picture of Saito and overlapped it with Midoriya, the similarities were uncanny; not to mention, Saito appeared to exhibit similar behavior to Midoriya when he got nervous or excited. The idea of anything like Midoriya being described as ‘super average’ made Shouto feel some genuine offense. Midoriya was special. But maybe he was reacting this way because he realized those similarities?

Shouto frowned. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Midoriya squeaked. “I’m just surprised! I thought you might pick Dabi, or something!”

No, Dabi was someone Shouto wanted really badly to connect with, but he was also Shouto’s secret half-brother from some romantic tryst before his parents married. He did not find Dabi attractive. He was pretty sure there were laws against that anyway.

“I’m sorry,” said Shouto. “I hope this doesn’t make your family dinners awkward.”

“Family dinners?” Midoriya echoed, confused and suspicious.

Shouto nodded solemnly. “You don’t have a brother, so Saito must be a cousin of yours, right? You likely won’t see him much, but all the same…”

“My what?” cried Midoriya.

“Cousin,” said Shouto, because as far as he was concerned it was perfectly obvious. “He doesn’t share any resemblance to All Might, so he must be from your mother’s side of the family.”

“Wait, what was that about All Might?” said Kirishima, but Shouto ignored him.

“Did you know that Saito was going to be on The Bachelorette?” he asked instead. It might have explained how Midoriya was able to look up their contacts so quickly.

“Wait, he’s not— I don’t— Saito—” Midoriya was tongue tied.

Shouto tipped his head in confusion. Shouldn’t it have been a simple answer? Oh, but he’d made it awkward. If their roles were reversed and Midoriya had stated Dabi was the most attractive man on the show, then asked about his similarities to Shouto, that would be mildly irritating. It might indicate that he thought less of his classmate than the ‘handsome’ man on TV. Besides, there may be more underlying family issues; of all people, Shouto should’ve been sensitive to that possibility. He had made a social faux pas. He had to fix it. He set a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder the way he’d seen actors do in televised heart-to-hearts, looked him in the eye, and said, “Don’t worry. You’re very handsome, very talented, and enjoyable company, and I’m eternally grateful for your support.”

Fuyumi had recently coached him in positive affirmations. This should solve everything.

It did not.

Ashido howled. “He thinks you’re handsome!”

“Get him, green bean!” called Hakagure.

Midoriya looked utterly lost.

“It’s alright,” said Shouto, with gravitas. “I understand.”

“Understand what?” Midoriya spluttered.

“The show’s back on,” Tokoyami said dully, while Dark Shadow snickered on the seat behind him.

Shouto settled back in to watch, pleased by his recovery and wholeheartedly looking forward to writing a letter.

Chapter Text

As he had every week, Sato arrived on Sunday to present the first of this week’s date cards and advise them that, this time, it would be two group dates and a single one-on-one. The unusual part was that he didn’t seem to want to make his presentation today. All the contestants had gathered in the living room, and Sato walked through the door… only to make a face like a cat with a lemon and walk right back out.

“Oh, great,” Dabi groaned.

“What?” said Hawks. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“The last time Sato was upset about something, Curious came up with that stupid ballot box for us to vote each other off the show,” said Dabi. “She must’ve come up with something new.”

“What kind of thing should we be expecting, here?” asked Hawks.

“Needless drama,” said Dabi.

“Do… do we need to twerk?” asked Saito, horrified.

“Do we what?” said Dabi.

“Twerk. That was a thing on a previous season. Twerking competition,” said Saito. The memory, coupled with his recent stripping experience, had his eyes glazing over to save him from reliving anything.

“There was another season where the contestants had to write their own erotica and read it out loud,” said Hyouto with a shudder.

“But I can’t write!” cried Victor, wiggling his gun muzzle fingers. Those would make it difficult to hold a pen.  

“Wasn’t there another season where everyone had to share stories about how they lost their virginity?” said Hinote, looking vaguely interested.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Trumpet said soothingly. When the clamor had died down a little, he smiled and delivered a veritable bomb: “All those things you’ve mentioned are date activities. Not filler material.”

Everyone started babbling about increasingly horrible possibilities. Dabi rubbed his temple and grumbled, “Why are all their guesses getting more sexual?”

Sato came back in, realized what they were talking about, buried his face in his hands, and walked back out again.

“You’re making this worse!” Hawks called after him, trying not to laugh.

Finally Sato was bullied back inside by Curious and Misty—Curious grinning mischievously, Misty with her head bowed in shame—and took up his usual position at the front of the room.

“Gentlemen,” he started, before breaking again and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hawks snickered.

“Please just tell us,” said Dabi, because he hated the suspense.

Sato heaved a sigh. He dug deep into the depths of whatever show host professionalism he’d built over the decade he’d been doing this, and straightened up to proceed as if nothing were wrong.

“Gentlemen, I’m here to drop off the first date card, but I’m also here to share with you a challenge Aiko has come up with. It’s called ‘Operation WOWO.’”

“Whoa,” said Hanzo Suiden, forebodingly, like he’d understood a reference.

“This means man down, soldiers,” said Sato. “Stay off the lotion. Stop running the showers. Aiko wants to see which of you can hold out to the end of the week and be the master of your domain.”

First of all, there was no way Sato had picked that phrasing. Second of all, surely this didn’t mean what Dabi thought it meant.

“Oh,” said Hawks, biting back a smile. “Oh, so like, no more low-five. No more getting jiggy with it.”

“Who here takes long showers?” said Hinote, craning his neck to look at everyone with a wicked grin. “Who do we have to worry about?”

“Wait, do we start now?” said Tesla. “Or do we have time—”

Oh, god he had not just said that.

“It starts right now,” said Sato. “I hope you all did some self-care this morning.”

Ugh.

“And remember, men,” Sato continued, “if you fail, it is still a compliment to Aiko.”

Bold of anyone to assume Dabi was thinking of Aiko like that.

“No more letting your freak flag fly,” Hawks continued. “No more Friday night lights or Saturday morning balloon races. No more feeding the wild stallion. No more how do you like them apples. No more solo hockey."

“Oh my god,” Dabi groaned. “How many euphemisms are you going to torture us with?”

“All of them,” said Hawks.

Great. So no one was allowed to masturbate for the rest of the week. That would make tensions worse. Dabi wasn’t particularly active in that sense so he wouldn’t suffer too much, but how was this going to be policed?

The answer was Geten.

Geten was a little shit with a superiority complex just raring for some form of authority, and already worked as a dog for the M.L.A. It was obvious in retrospect that he’d rise to the occasion. Hinote lost the challenge even before the end of Sunday night (he’d sauntered into the dining room for dinner and simpered, “It’s a compliment”), and Geten laid into him. The joking air quickly turned to irritation, and it was a bad time all around. Geten also patrolled the bedroom hallway, jumping in to harass anyone who made noise as if they might be “tickling the pickle” as Hawks had most recently phrased it. It was loud, and it was annoying as fuck. Somewhere around the time Gentle wailed, “I was just rolling over!” Dabi proceeded to steal all the pillows off the other empty beds in his room and cocoon his head to the point he could have peace.

Predictably, he woke late the next morning. He ate an apple and one of the granola bars he’d stuffed in his bag for this sort of occasion, then dragged himself to the en-suite bathroom for a shower. It was nice to be the only one left, he decided, as he cranked up the heat. No more worries about anyone complaining about his shower time or trying to brush their teeth or use the toilet while he was in here. He had the whole room to himself. He could get used to that. He took his time under the spray, checking over all his staples to make sure they were clean and in place, then set to washing his hair. He pinched some hair between his fingers and pulled it down to squint at it. His fringe was long enough to glimpse but not quite long enough to get a good look at from this angle, though he was pretty sure it was faded. How bad were his roots?

He was filing away a mental note to ask Misty for hair dye when the glass door of the shower was yanked open. Immediately Dabi shifted to a defensive stance, eyes flashing and fire spitting from his hands… to find Geten framed in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” Geten spat.

Because apparently the gremlin was happy to cross all sorts of lines in his new crusade for chastity. And apparently the producers approved, because there was a camera behind Geten. Dabi’s fire hissed stronger, fueled by rage and mortification.

“Geten,” he said calmly, “get out, or I’ll rip off your dick so you never have a chance to use it again for the rest of your miserable life.”

He felt like a drowned sewer rat, but maybe the full force of all his injuries was intimidation enough, because Geten and the camera backed up fast.

“And stay out, you degenerates,” Dabi snarled after them, before shutting the door again.

He put out his fire and stayed under the water for a while, mourning his dignity. Geten had seen his dick. Of all the people in the mansion, Geten was the last person he wanted looking at his dick. Was his naked body on film now? Fucking hell. He hoped Hawks had been right two weeks ago, when he claimed they’d only ever show footage from the waist up. That limited exposure would be bad enough.

Once he pulled himself together, he left the shower, dried off, dressed, and descended to the first floor. Most of the men were out by the pool, but a few remained inside. Skeptic and Hyouto were arguing about retail or something in the living room, Taro was standing in a corner staring at the wall, and Hawks was sitting at the counter in the kitchen, drinking a glass of orange juice that may or may not have been a very diluted mimosa.

“Hey,” Hawks greeted, lifting the glass in greeting. “You haven’t missed much down here unless you wanted an extremely detailed history of stagnant wages in the restaurant and retail industries. Did I miss anything with you?”

“Guess I’m a porn star now,” said Dabi, sitting down next to him.

Hawks choked on his drink. “You—what?”

“They got me in the shower,” said Dabi. “Watch out, or you’ll be next on Geten’s list. I’m sure the producers would love to ‘coincidentally’ catch you on camera like that.”

“Wait,” said Hawks, horrified. “Geten barged in on you? In the shower? With a camera?”

“I took long enough for him to think I was…” Dabi paused and made a face. “Doing the five-finger shuffle.”

For once Hawks didn’t find it funny. He set down his glass with a heavy clack, said, “Hang on a second. I need to see a woman about some footage,” and left the kitchen.

A minute later Misty’s voice shrieked, “They what?” and a scuffle sounded from the hallway. “Prey! Prey, I need backup! That bitch—”

Hawks strolled back into the kitchen, sat down, and picked up his drink again to say, brightly, “I don’t think that footage is going to air.”

Judging by Misty’s rage, Dabi could believe that.

Thankfully her following rampage didn’t interfere with her other jobs, because she showed up on Tuesday with a plastic bag, a scowl, and an order: “If they try doing anything like that again, tell them Misty knows.”

“I’ll do that,” said Dabi, taking the bag delicately.

He didn’t know what exactly Misty knew, but he recognized dangerous territory when he saw it.

He made his way toward the stairs. Near the landing he spotted a stray feather on the ground. He kicked the air above it, causing the feather to buffet against the wall, and said, “Hey, Hawks. Get over here if you’ve got nothing better to do.”

He went up the stairs without waiting for any kind of response. Hawks had been out in the pool, but apparently decided that whatever Dabi might be doing was more interesting than splashing around by his lonesome. Dabi hadn’t even reached the top before Hawks was jogging up the stairs after him with a towel slung around his shoulders.

“And here I thought you wanted some alone time with your book,” he joked. “Should we switch that title to Fifty Shades of Boredom?”

“More like Fifty Shades of I’m-never-reading-that-shit-again,” said Dabi.

He entered his bedroom and beelined for the bathroom, only to stop when he realized Hawks hadn’t followed him in. Hawks regarded the threshold like it might somehow contain an electric fence.

“What are you doing?” asked Dabi.

“Should I be coming in?” said Hawks. “I mean, I get pretty overbearing, so I thought it might be better if you had your own clear space where you never had to worry about me—”

“Just get over here,” said Dabi.

Hawks skipped across the threshold and followed him into the bathroom. “Cool! What are we doing?”

“I’m dyeing my hair.” Dabi emptied the bag onto the counter: a box kit of black dye, chapstick, gloves, a brush, and a mixing bowl. “Normally I do it myself, but normally I don’t really care if I look like shit afterward. I need to make sure I get it all in one go, so I need a second pair of eyes.”

He took out his earrings, applied the chapstick along his hairline, then mixed the dye. Once satisfied, he pulled on the gloves and set to work. He’d been dyeing his hair since he was sixteen, so he had a pretty good handle on this. He started at his hairline and worked his way up through sections before catching his roots. He turned his head to check himself in the mirror, and it looked like he had pretty good coverage.

“Did I miss any spots?”

“Yeah, this little bit near the back,” said Hawks, eyes fixed somewhere on his crown.

Dabi brushed over the back of his head again. “Better?”

“I think you just missed it.”

Frowning, Dabi massaged his head with his gloved hands, mashing the dye everywhere he could. “Now?”

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t know how this hair dyeing thing works so I’m not sure. Hand me the brush? I can get it for you.”

“You’re going to get dye on your hands,” said Dabi.

“No I won’t! Look, there was another set of gloves with the kit. Here, let me…”

Hawks busied himself with the gloves while Dabi looked on with trepidation. No one had helped him apply the dye since he was a teenager, and that had only been after he botched it enough times to begrudgingly ask Kurogiri for assistance. He sometimes asked the League to check it over, but it was always just a thumbs up and move on sort of deal. Not whatever this was.

Dabi watched through the mirror as Hawks stepped behind him and dabbed the brush at the back of his head. The sight was utterly ridiculous: the Number Two Hero in swimming trunks, hair damp and chest bare as if ready for a photo shoot, tongue sticking out in concentration as he tended to an absolute wreck of a man. When he pulled back his arm to check his work, his right wing angled a little bit to match. Dabi’s eyes fixed on that wing in a sad attempt to distract himself. When he was small, his own hair had been a similar shade. It had been funny at first when his hair started going white during elementary school, but as the white began to eclipse it and everything else started falling apart, he’d found himself desperately looking for red, red, red— until none of it was left.

“You like my wings?” Hawks said innocently, stretching the wing in question on purpose this time. “I’m pretty partial to red, myself. Ever think of dying your hair red, too?”

He’d tried it once, before switching to black.

“No,” said Dabi. “It won’t fix what’s wrong with me.”

One of Hawks’ shaggy brows rose. “What do you think is wrong with you?”

“Just about everything,” said Dabi.

Hawks frowned and stopped working. His free hand came up to brush his knuckles against Dabi’s jaw, and he said quietly, “That’s a lie.”

For a moment time stood still. All that existed were Hawks’ golden eyes fixed on Dabi in the mirror, hand against his ruined skin, fervent words that couldn’t be blamed on any audience when a camera wasn’t present. It didn’t compute. People didn’t— No one touched Dabi, nobody cared, and sure, Hawks was playing at friendship, but the League didn’t do this shit either. Dabi’s thoughts were a mess. Embarrassment, gratification, shyness, craving, disgust—he didn’t want to face any of that, so he went with the best alternative: “You’re not getting dye on my face, are you?”

Hawks jolted back as if stung. “Oh, shit, I hope not! No, it was the wrong hand.” He settled back in to work on Dabi’s head as if the moment had never happened. “No worries on the color. I thought about dyeing my hair red to match my wings once, but a fan photoshopped a picture of me to predict what I’d look like, and ugh. Overkill.”

He kept on jabbering until he was satisfied with the dye, then hopped up on the countertop to keep talking as Dabi let the dye sit for twenty minutes and then rinsed it out. He acted perfectly normally, but Dabi was still rattled. What was that? Hawks had his moments of eloquence before, in the mansion and in previous interviews, but this weirdly targeted intensity had him thrown off. First the adamance about friendship, then the feather conversation, then the drinking out of glasses Dabi was still holding, now touching his fucking face— This. This was weird, right? Or was Hawks just like this? He was such a workaholic, no one knew how he’d actually act with friends or in a relationship. It was a big nebulous mystery that Dabi would never want to deal with normally, but fuck. He was stuck in it now. It wasn’t… bad, necessarily, but it was really confusing. When he started thinking about it in reference to himself, he started feeling emotions. That was dangerous. He didn’t want to think about how he felt about it, so he shut it all down into a mental box, but the more Hawks acted like this, the more fragile that box seemed. Shit.

Dabi was saved from emotional overload by a shout of “date card!”

“Must be for the group date tomorrow,” said Hawks, sliding off the counter. “Do you think you’ll get chosen for tomorrow, or for Friday?”

“Does it really matter?” asked Dabi, leaving fast.

Everyone else had already gathered in the living room. Hyouto held the date card this time, and read aloud, “Hawks, Saito, Hinote, Skeptic, Geten, Trumpet, Dabi, and myself. Let’s start things on the right note. Heart, Aiko.”

Wait.

Note?

Oh no.

“Sounds to me like there’s singing involved,” Hinote said smugly, leaning back and throwing his arms over the back of the couch. “That date rose is mine. Hope you all like making fools of yourselves.”

“It better not be singing,” Dabi grumbled. If he had to sing, the League would be on his ass about it. Would be become a target of derision if anyone found out he was in a band, even temporarily?

“I hope not,” Hawks agreed, perfectly oblivious. “If it really is singing, Hinote will be insufferable.”

Hinote was insufferable anyway. All through the rest of the day he sang, loud and taunting. They were his own original songs so the show wasn’t in any copyright danger; that combined with his obvious showboating attracted all the cameras like flies. Hinote treated this like his own personal music video opportunity. His singing voice wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t particularly good either. It was so standard and boring it was a wonder that wasn’t Taro singing. Maybe that just made him palatable for the mainstream music charts, though.

“He’s so fucking annoying,” Geten fumed, as Hinote struck poses on the opposite side of the pool. For once Dabi agreed with him.

“I already had the suspicion that he was treating this show as an advertisement for his music, but I never expected him to be so blatant about it,” said Trumpet, who also seemed mildly annoyed.

“Please tell me one of you can sing,” said Tobio. “Please, someone has to bring him down a peg.”

But for all their pride, all of the men selected for the date shook their heads. This was going to be a disaster.

As with all dates, they woke bright and early on Wednesday morning. Dabi dressed in the plainest clothes he had because he wanted no attention on himself. In contrast, Hinote dressed like he was headed to a rock concert and continued to be smug all the way through breakfast. With only eight competitors on the date, they were also stuck with his pretentious ass in the same limo on the way to the date. Dabi found an electrical knob next to his seat, so he and Hawks ignored the drama as best they could by flipping the colors and brightness of the lights on the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly mature, but it let them keep some sanity.

The limos drove them up to a gated-in university complex, specifically up to a building labelled “Music Academy.” Oh, no. Were they going to sing with a class of aspiring professionals?

“Hello, boys,” Aiko lilted from beside the door. “We’re here at a world renowned classical-music training center!” Dabi doubted it was world renowned, but he was willing to admit that he was an idiot and could easily be proven wrong. “Are you all ready to see what we’re doing today?”

When the men all agreed (Hinote obviously the loudest), she led them inside. Hawks fell into step beside Dabi as they walked down the halls.

“What do you think we’ll be singing?” he asked. “Classical place, classical music, yeah? How do you feel about opera?”

“I feel like someone’s going to regret putting me on stage, if that’s the case,” Dabi replied.

Hawks snickered.

They entered an auditorium with the stage fully lit. Someone was already up there and singing; at the sight of her, Hawks blanched. It was the vigilante Pop☆Step. She bounced around under the stage lights, scantily clad with pink pigtails that looked remarkably close to Kazuho the rappel assistant’s.

Hawks leaned closer to Dabi and muttered, “Do you think I could get in trouble for this? Because yeah, she’s a great singer and an idol, but she’s also very much a vigilante and vigilantism is illegal.”

“You’re not on the clock. Who cares?” said Dabi.

“The millions of people who will see me standing next to her on TV, Dabi! That’s who will—" He made a strangled noise as Pop☆Step’s song ended, and two men came to join her on the stage. “Right, well, at least if I get arrested for this I’ll be in good company.”

One of the men was Present Mic. The other must’ve been a civilian, because Dabi didn’t recognize that wavy blond hair at all.

“I’m sure you don’t need any introduction, but let me do it anyway,” said Aiko, hopping on stage with them. “These are my friends: the super-cute and super-talented idol Pop☆Step, the hero DJ Present Mic, and lastly the god of guitar strings, Kyotoku Jiro!”

“Oh!” said Hawks, clapping along with the rest of the contestants. “Like the U.A. kid in Tokoyami’s class.”

“Today we’re going to sing Pop☆Step’s hit song, Levitating,” said Aiko.

 “We’ll work with you to make sure you sound great, and don’t worry—” Pop☆Step struck a cutesy pose. “Aiko will be singing with you, too!”

The men cheered.

Present Mic clapped along with their enthusiasm, grinning. “Good to hear you’re all pumped up about this, listeners! Pop☆Step’s going to be training Aiko specifically, while Kyotoku and I help you get ready. Come along with us, there’s some practice rooms down this hallway.”

He and Kyotoku descended from the stage, and the men followed them out of the theater, chatting excitedly.

“I don’t know,” Hawks said quietly as they walked. “You could give me years of music lessons, but I don’t think even that would bring me up to Pop Step’s standards.”

“You’re saying it wrong,” said Dabi. “Her name is Pop☆Step.”

Hawks shot him a bewildered look. “Pop Step?”

“Pop☆Step.”

“Pop Step…”

“No, no, Pop☆Step.”

“I don’t understand what you’re doing with your mouth.”

Present Mic brought them to a practice room with oppressively white walls but a very large window into the garden. They were each handed a stapled copy of the song lyrics (complete with the musical notes that no one in the League, let alone Dabi, could actually read), before he seated himself behind a piano and said, “All right, listeners, let’s give this a whirl. We’ve got to figure out your pitches. Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” said Saito.

“Great!” said Present Mic. “Let’s start with the second part of the chorus, since that’s a little slower and you probably already know that tune. I’ve got you, you’re my starlight, I need you all night—”

“I’ve got you, starlight,” Saito repeated, off key.

“You’re my starlight,” Present Mic tried again.

“You’re my starlight, I need you all night, I’m levitating!”

“You, moonlight, you’re my starlight—”

Saito struggled his way through the chorus, but his voice was so unsteady it may as well have been going through a pinball machine. He was definitely trying, though. At the end Present Mic nodded, face inscrutable, and said, “That’s… special.”

Saito took the feedback with a laugh. Present Mic pointed to Skeptic next.

“Okay, you try the chorus next.”

“I’ve got you, you’re my starlight—”

There was no way he could be doing that badly on purpose. It sounded like a caricature voice for an old timey cartoon. The rest of the men absolutely lost it. Dabi had to clutch at Hawks’ elbow to stay up, he was laughing so hard.

Skeptic gnashed his teeth. “What are all you clowns looking at? At least I’m in the right key!”

When Trumpet tried the chorus, even he winced; he was so completely and horribly off key that Kyotoku straight up just said, “No.”

Geten couldn’t pitch his voice high without it cracking like a teenager—Present Mic rushed to tell him that his natural pitch would work just fine.

Hyouto’s attempt dissolved into an honest to god caterwaul. Present Mic and Kyotoku exchanged glances, as if wondering how they’d gotten themselves into this mess.

Hawks was next, attempting the first and faster lines of the song. He didn’t have a bad voice but it was definitely unpracticed (ironic when he wouldn’t shut up otherwise). “If you wanna run away with me I know a galaxy and I can take you for a ride. I had a premo-missi-mi—shit!” He smacked the packet against his face and went back to the end of the line, cheeks burning.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dabi told him as he passed.

“If I have to do any kind of solo, I’m going to mess it up and die,” Hawks mumbled into the paper.

“You guys just need to be romantic, you know what I mean?” said Present Mic, his smile a little bit forced. “Don’t think about it too hard! Imagine you’re holding Aiko’s hand and talking to her. It’s a love song! It’s a confession, not an execution!”

Dabi was up next. He looked down at the page and sang the first verse as best he remembered it from when Toga had blasted the song in the apartment. Present Mic and Kyotoku fixed on him immediately, exasperation vanishing from their faces.

“A little bit higher and a little bit faster than that,” said Kyotoku. “Like this.” He sang the verse himself, and Dabi listened intently. When Kyotoku finished, he said, “Let’s go through it together.” So they sang it in unison, Dabi trying to match that higher pitch.

“Yes! Yes! Good! Perfect!” Present Mic cried. “Okay, you’re set. Who’s next?”

When Dabi turned around, all the competitors were staring at him. Hinote was going red and practically vibrating with rage.

“Out of the way,” Hinote spat, striding forward. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Dabi stepped out of the way to avoid being shouldered, and returned to his previous spot near the back wall.

“You can sing?” Hawks whisper-yelled, once Dabi was back alongside him and Hinote was making his own musical attempts. “Are you sure you’re not the one in a band or something?”

“Sort of,” Dabi muttered, glancing to make sure none of the others were paying attention anymore. “I’m only filling in until they get a lead singer, though.” 

“Damn.” Hawks pondered that a moment. “Wait, but if you’re only filling in, you probably didn’t approach them. How’d you meet the rest of the band?”

“I live with them.”

“Oh. Must be a small band, then. How many of you are there? Just two or three others?”

“Six others.”

Hawks blinked in surprise. “Oh! And which ones live with you?”

“All six.”

“Do you mean like, neighbors in an apartment building?”

“No, we all sleep on the same floor except Kurogiri. He owns the place and he’s an old man besides. He gets the bed.”

“You have seven adults all living in the same home?”

Dabi shrugged. “Same apartment actually.” 

Hawks opened his mouth. Closed it. Open it again indignantly and said, “Okay, overlooking those numbers, how do you live in a single apartment with all six members of a band and only manage to ‘fill in’ with a voice like that?”

“Easily,” said Dabi. 

“Bullshit,” said Hawks. “What’s the real story?” 

“The last lead singer was a dick,” said Dabi.

Hawks’ suspicion turned into intrigue. “Ooh. Do tell.”

Dabi sighed and glanced at the others. They’d refocused to Hinote’s newest, bland-but-better-than-theirs attempt at the chorus. Just in case, Dabi retreated a few steps back into the corner of the room, and Hawks followed.

“Our leader’s name is Shigaraki,” he said quietly. “We’ve known each other a long time, which is why we live together. His quirk doesn’t suit his body. Dries him out, makes him itch. When he got stressed, he’d scratch past the point of bleeding. Kurogiri wanted to see if he could refocus the energy. Tried a lot of options, and drumming’s the one that stuck. He got stressed, or his quirk acted up, and he’d drum it out. But Shigaraki is also a perfectionist little shit, so he decided that not only was he going to drum something good, he’d do it in a band. Write songs. Get famous. The whole nine yards. So he pulled the League of Villains together.”

“The League of Villains?” Hawks echoed with a shit eating grin. 

“I said that Shigaraki was determined, not that he had taste,” said Dabi.

Hawks snickered. “Sorry. Continue.”

“So he’s got the band together, and I’m living a torturous existence, stuck listening to them bickering about their shitty songs. There’s Toga on piano, Twice on bass, Spinner on guitar, Compress on violin, and Magne with a trumpet. They’re still around. But the original lead singer was Mustard.”

“Mustard? Like the condiment?”

“Like the gas. He had a poisonous gas quirk, and a rotten personality.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good combination,” said Hawks, brows furrowing.

“It wasn’t,” said Dabi. “He butted heads with everyone the whole time, but it got particularly nasty while they were writing… fuck, I don’t even remember it anymore. Something shitty they’ve thrown out since then. They took a break, Toga tried to show him something on her Twitter or something, and he decided she was being too friendly with him. I heard shouting, so I came down to the bar to find the whole place filling up with purple clouds of poison.”

Hawks sucked in a horrified breath. “Seriously? Was it an accident or—”

“Definitely on purpose,” said Dabi. “I kicked the fucker out and told him if he’d ever show his face around there again I’d burn it off. Luckily the quirk’s effects weren’t permanent and everyone was okay, but they’ve been hesitant to trust anyone to take his place.”

“Understandably.”

“But they also wouldn’t shut up about stagnating on their stupid music, so I agreed to sing one song for their stupid cohesion or whatever, and now they’ve gotten complacent and drag me into all their practices.”

Hawks nodded slowly and said, “They haven’t been looking for any new singers, have they?”

“No, and it’s fucking annoying—”

“It sounds to me like they’ve suckered you into the role permanently.”

“It will not be permanent.”

Hawks tipped his head in interest. “Are you sure? The way you sing, it sounds like you’ve got practice. It doesn’t sound like someone who’s disinterested in what they’re doing. Do you really not like singing, or is there something else going on there? Are you not comfortable with the band itself? How big they want to be, or something?”

There was a white speck on the black of one of musical notes. Dabi scratched at it with a nail to avoid looking at Hawks as he confessed, quietly, “Shigaraki and I tried busking once, and no less than five people immediately called me in as a villain. No band will ever succeed with me attached to it.”

“That’s some straight-up bullshit,” said Hawks. He sounded genuinely angry.

Dabi shrugged. “That’s how it is in this world.”

Hawks looked ready to argue the point, but Present Mic called them all together to try harmonizing. Dabi didn’t know if it was better or worse to combine them, because no one’s individual flaws could be made out, but the whole sound was horrible. Once Present Mic and Kyotoku gave up on that, they started walking the contestants through a dance. Dabi did not like that one bit—if it were just singing along with each other, Aiko wouldn’t need them to know dance moves. Was this going to be a flash mob? He might just die.

Hours later Aiko and Pop☆Step entered the room.

“Sorry everybody, but I’ve got to steal Mic and Kyotoku,” said Pop☆Step. “We’ve got a concert to rehearse for tonight!”

“We’ll be tagging along to the concert, too,” said Aiko, rubbing her hands mischievously. “Not only are we going to watch Pop☆Step in action, but we’re also going to sing her song, Levitating, for her audience!”

Oh no, thought Dabi.

Oh yes, thought apparently everyone else, because all the other competitors cheered.

“In the meantime I’ll leave you to change into your new wardrobe. See you at the concert, boys!”

Aiko winked, then flounced out of the room, followed by Pop☆Step and Kyotoku. Present Mic, meanwhile, approached Hawks.

“Hey,” he said, quieter than he’d ever been on the radio show. “Hawks, can I see you alone for a minute?”

“Well…” Hawks glanced guiltily at the camera crew.

“He’s supposed to stay with the group,” said Misty.

“Does it help if I say it’s for business?” said Mic. “I need some info from Hawks about an investigation he was part of.”

Hawks clearly knew which investigation right away. He straightened, wings pulling in and muscles taut in a far more military posture.

“Please,” he said to Misty.

Misty glanced at the cameramen for input, but they only shrugged. She sighed. “Well, you were allowed emergency calls on your phone. I figure this counts, too.”

That was all they needed; the pair left the room quickly.

“I hope you’re all ready to see what a real singer looks like onstage,” said Hinote. “This may be your first time in front of an audience, but I’ve got more than enough… experience.”

Was that another euphemism? Whatever the case, none of the others appreciated it.

“I’ll destroy you on that stage!” Geten hissed.

Honestly, Dabi hoped so.

The others went back and forth—Hinote boasting with the rest of them arguing that he wasn’t nearly such hot shit as he thought—until a few more crewmembers returned with the uniforms they needed to wear for the concert. Dabi opened up his box. Put the flaps back down. Closed his eyes and pictured serenity, then opened it again. The clothes inside did not change. Fuck.

The uniform consisted of shiny black, nearly skintight material, clearly meant to mimic Pop☆Step’s costume but with blue accents and accessories instead of pink. At least they covered up more. Dabi hadn’t relished the idea of showing off his scarred legs. He’d just finished adjusting the belt when Hawks came back into the room. Whatever discussion he’d had with Present Mic, it hadn’t gone well; Hawks was smiling, but it was angled wrong, more like the photoshoot pieces than the crooked one Dabi had become familiar with. The weird attitude didn’t linger long though, because Hawks stopped short to stare.

“What are you wearing?”

“Uniform,” Dabi grunted, and chucked the last set at him. “Don’t think you’ve gotten out of it.”

Hawks fumbled to catch it, blinked down at the material, then laughed. It still wasn’t quite right, but it was closer to genuine. “Hah! Well, it won’t be too out of the ordinary for me. I’m used to wearing tighter flight suits under my hero costume.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, saying that in front of the cameras?” Dabi hissed. “Your fans will be rabid.”

“As if they won’t be rabid over this outfit already,” Hawks scoffed, and started taking off his clothes.

It was pretty clear that whoever designed these costumes hadn’t actually realized Hawks’ size; they’d probably looked at the baggy hero costume, thought, “he’s a speed hero, not power type,” assumed the photoshoots were photoshopped, and proceeded laboring under the delusion that he was built like a stick. This was very much not the case. Flying, landing, and fighting all took muscle, which pulled the fabric way tighter on him that it was on Dabi. Dabi was actually thankful for the bulky belt and frills, because ‘rabid’ would not begin to cover the situation if the fans could see Hawks’ ass right now.

“Can you even move properly in that?” Dabi asked weakly.

Hawks hummed and rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, the material’s stretchy, so it’s got enough give. We’ll be fine.”

Dabi somehow doubted that, but he kept his mouth shut as the crew rounded them back up.

The Pop☆Step concert was happening near downtown in a roped off street, with a temporary platform at one end. Audience members were packed in like sardines on the street and hanging out the windows of the surrounding buildings when Pop☆Step hit the figurative spotlight and kicked off her show. The contestants arrived via limo at the very end of the street, but even here where Pop☆Step was hard to see, the fans pressed in for a look; Aiko and a camera crew were of course awaiting them, so people likely knew what was going on right now. Aiko was aglow with excitement in another outfit derivative of Pop☆Step’s, also pink but not nearly as revealing.

“Looking good, boys!” she called as they got out.

Sure enough, the people around them screeched with delight and whipped out phones. When Hawks appeared, the screaming was almost enough to drown out the concert. Hawks gave them a jaunty smile and wave, and Dabi was blinded by camera flashes.

With all of them gathered, Aiko began to lead them toward the stage. There was no side path, they just went straight down the middle and the crowd parted for them.

“Let’s give it up for the bachelors!” called Pop☆Step, and thunderous cheering erupted around them.

This was hell. Dabi made sure to walk in the middle of the group, away from any stray hands and mostly shielded by the others when it came to his appearance. These people were here to enjoy a concert, not get grossed out. The competitors reached the very front of the stage and watched as Pop☆Step launched into another song. Basically it was free front row tickets. Most of them bounced along with the music, but Dabi stayed mostly still. The idea of going on that stage had him feeling sick. Yeah, sure, his face had been broadcast across the country by now, but there was a difference between that distant knowledge and the immediate reactions of people in front of him. He could pretend the first didn’t happen, but he’d always had trouble with the latter. That time he’d tried to busk with Shigaraki, he’d later found pictures of them on Twitter with captions like “Found Frankenstein’s monster lol” and it was stupid, but it had hurt so bad he never wanted to face that possibility again. How many similar captions would be making the rounds today? Would someone shout it at the stage?

“Hey.” The brush of feathers at his back drew him out of his thoughts. Hawks had leaned in close, a strange expression on his face. “You okay?”

“Fine,” said Dabi.

Hawks hummed. “Doesn’t look like it. I mean, if you were fine, you’d be moving a little bit. Look at you! Not even tapping your foot.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Really? Come on. Let’s work out the nerves.” Hawks wiggled to the left, clapped; wiggled to the right, clapped; and wiggled his eyebrows at Dabi in challenge. “Unless you’re… chicken to join me?”

“You’re the only chicken here,” Dabi scoffed.

Hawks kept up his awful dancing, adding in some head bobbing. “Come on, Dabi. Just focus on me.”

Look at me. Dabi had said that to Aiko just last week. It had worked on her nerves. Dabi looked at Hawks out of the corner of his eye, and Hawks’ grin widened. He may as well try.

Eventually the song ended, and Sato came on the stage.

“Pop☆Step, everyone!” he called, and the crowd roared its excitement back at him. “And now, for something completely different. Are you ready?”

The crowd cheered again. Shit. That was their cue. The contestants climbed on stage and divided into two groups of four, with Aiko between them. Microphone stands had been set up, and they shuffled behind these. Only once he was in place did Dabi look up, and his stomach jolted. There were so many people.

“I really hit the jackpot, here! Aren’t they all cute?” said Aiko.

Practically every girl present squealed. Dabi’s head hurt. He thanked his lucky stars that he wouldn’t be the first one to sing. Hinote was first to step up to the mic on the other side. He angled his head to give Aiko a sly look and said, “This song is dedicated to you, darling.”

Aiko giggled and the audience ooh-ed.

Without further ado, Hinote launched into the first verse: “If you wanna run away with me, I know a galaxy and I can take you for a ride—”

Tobio would be very displeased; Hinote may not be a great singer, but compared to the rest of them he sounded like perfection.

Partway through, Hawks stepped up to the microphone on this side and picked up, “Glitter in the sky, glitter in my eyes, shining just the way I like; if you’re feeling like you need a little bit of company, you met me at the perfect time.” He was almost drowned out by his fans in the crowd. They’d be happy to confirm that their favorite hero wasn’t the worst singer in the world.

The song bounced back and forth between the groups, a few lines each before moving on, with Aiko harmonizing. On the third bounce back, Dabi sang, “I believe that you’re for me, I feel it in our energy, I see us written in the stars. We can go wherever so let’s do it now or never, baby, nothing’s ever, ever too far—”

When it was Geten’s turn, he took one of the mics from the stand and carried it with him to sing next to Aiko, like some kind of private serenade. His voice broke at least twice. That opened the floodgates, because the next few men tried the same thing; when Geten backed off after his part, Saito did an odd dance up to her to belt out his piece. Hyouto didn’t try to touch her but made dramatic one-armed gestures at her throughout his turn. Skeptic did some kind of bobbing maneuver that might’ve been an aborted pop and lock. The whole thing really started falling apart around the second chorus as they began to forget the lyrics, realized they didn’t remember any of the dance moves they’d learned earlier today, and just decided to wing it. They got louder and more off key, but most of them looked like they were having the time of their lives. The audience waved their hands with the beat, grinned with the good notes, and winced at the sour ones. No verbal abuse, though. Easy crowd.

As Aiko sang the bridge, Hawks swung an arm around Dabi’s shoulder. He was the only one who’d stayed put with Dabi where the others had all gravitated toward Aiko, and they had only one microphone left in its stand so the maneuver was probably just to make it easier to share, but Dabi’s mood had bolstered. He slotted himself fully against Hawks’ side and put an arm around his shoulders, too. He felt Hawk’s laugh more than heard it over the crowd and the singing. Hawks curved a wing around him too, and began to rock them back and forth with the beat as the final chorus hit. Everyone present sang it together. Dabi had to force himself not to laugh through it. This… this was good.

“I got you, moonlight, you're my starlight; I need you all night, come on, dance with me, I'm levitating!”

When the song ended, the crowd burst into thunderous applause.

“Wow,” said Pop☆Step, trotting back onstage. “That was really something! Do you guys want to be my backup singers permanently?”

“Sorry, Pop, they’re taken,” Aiko giggled.

The contestants took a bow. Dabi and Hawks kept their grip on each other and bowed in tandem. Hawks’ wings fluttered with excitement, and his grin was blinding.

Yeah. That wasn’t nearly as bad as Dabi had been expecting.

The way group dates normally worked was that they would all go out to learn something, do something big all together, and then they’d gather again for a miniature cocktail party at some unrelated, fancy location, where the Bachelorette would then determine who would get the group date rose based on who’d stood out to her during the previous activities. For today their location was the wide, dark pool area of a hotel glitzy enough that Dabi was sure any of the chaise lounges were worth more than his own existence. Aiko had them settled down in another horseshoe couch with a table full of appetizers (the rose set innocently in the middle of all the plates), and their cocktail orders were brought in.

“So,” said Hawks, before Aiko brought them to order, “Dabi, why did you get a pina colada, and why are you trying so hard to make sure the cameras see it?”

“Because I know that there will be hundreds of people watching—Toga and Twice included—who will see it and immediately start singing the Pina Colada song no matter how much their friends don’t want them to,” said Dabi.

“Ah. You’re a real force of chaos, aren’t you?”

Dabi wiggled his eyebrows and took a sip of the cocktail.

“I never knew so many of you were so musical!” said Aiko, and that was their cue to pay attention. Aiko looked around at them all with a smile as she clutched her wine glass. “Thank you so much for being such good sports about this. I know it must’ve been nerve-wracking to get up on that stage when it’s not something you’re an expert in, but that’s okay. I’m not looking for perfection. My ideal prince is someone who’s adventurous and ready to have fun with me, so that’s what this was about. I’m so proud that you all committed and had fun. Here’s to you! Cheers!”

They all toasted. Dabi hadn’t even finished taking a drink before Hinote leaned into Aiko’s space and purred, “Can I steal you away?”

“You can!” Aiko said cheerily. She took his hand and followed him away.

“That fucker,” Geten growled, watching them go. “As if he hasn’t been trying to hog her attention all day anyway.”

“Hypocrite,” Dabi muttered.

“What was that?” said Geten.

“Has anyone else overheard his confessionals?” asked Trumpet, steering their animosity back to the ‘approved’ target. “I heard him boasting about having written a song for Aiko.”

“Oh, that would explain the guitar,” said Hawks, rubbing his chin.

“The what?” said Dabi.

“Guitar,” said Hawks. “I picked up on the sound of it earlier. Off in the direction they’re going, someone was tuning a guitar as we walked in.”

“You and your feathers,” said Dabi, shaking his head.

“He didn’t write the song for Aiko,” said Skeptic.

“Oh?” said Trumpet.

“The producers wouldn’t let him plagiarize someone, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” said Hyouto. “Even if they were letting theft slide, he wouldn’t be permitted to play someone else’s song unless they’d specifically paid royalties for it. Considering how much they must’ve paid to get Pop☆Step involved at all, I sincerely doubt they’d let him get away with anything like that.”

“Oh, it’s his own.” Skeptic tilted his head so one of his wide eyes could be seen through his bangs, his square smile widening menacingly. “Except his band teased the song before Hinote ever got here, and it was apparently dedicated to his girlfriend.”

“Wait, what?” cried Saito. “Where’d you get that information?”

“Anyone willing to research the competitor profiles the day of the first rose ceremony would’ve been able to track down his band’s website,” said Skeptic. “Details about the song and dedication were listed the night the profiles went up, but by morning it was removed. That says guilt to me, plain and simple.”

“How devastating,” said Trumpet. By his smile he’d been in on this information already. “So he knew he had something to hide… Was he still dating before coming here? Does he still have a girlfriend, even now?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he did,” said Skeptic.

Hyouto shook his head. “I don’t like to think about it, but after the last few days… I can believe that of him.”

“But that’s horrible! Doesn’t that mean he’s cheating on Aiko?” said Saito.

As if Aiko weren’t technically cheating with all of the contestants already. But that wasn’t Dabi’s problem. He took another sip of his cocktail so no one would expect him to say anything.

“The real question is, does Aiko know any of this?” asked Trumpet.

“How would she? She assumes the best of us,” said Hyouto, ears tilting back in offense. “She believes we’re all here for the right reasons, and being straightforward on who we are.”

Dabi leaned a little closer to Hawks and tipped his head to whisper, so no one would notice, “Right reasons again. That’s one. How many times do you think they’ll say it tonight?”

Hawks tipped his head to mirror him, a sly smile crossing his face. “What is this, a drinking game? Take a shot every time they beat the dead horse?”

“God, no, we’d die of alcohol poisoning,” said Dabi.

Sure enough, as the others kept talking, working themselves into a tizzy about how much of a dirtbag Hinote was, “right reasons” came up an obscene twelve times in seven minutes. A few times Trumpet glanced his way, as if looking for a chance to bring Dabi’s shit talking into the fray, but every time Dabi made himself busy with his drink. The fifth time this happened Hawks leaned even closer to him—not quite as close as they’d been on stage, but still pretty damn close—and guided his pina colada right back down.

“Didn’t you say this wasn’t a drinking competition?” he snickered. “I don’t want to be the only sober one dealing with this.”

Dabi snorted.

“Hinote’s actually been away for quite some time,” said Trumpet, looking down at his watch. “It’s rather rude of him to take up so much time, when we have such limited hours tonight.”

“Probably wants to make sure the rest of us don’t get a chance to talk to her at all,” Geten snarled.

“People have been skipped before on group dates,” Skeptic agreed.

“Stealing time is a viable, if loathsome tactic,” said Trumpet.

“Someone should go interrupt him,” said Hyouto.

“Yeah! Aiko was a contestant before, so I know she’ll understand,” said Saito.

They all seemed to agree, but then they all just… sat there. Like none of them wanted to be the one who actually did it. Wasn’t there a children’s book like this? Something about a bunch of mice going who will put the bell on the cat?

“Fuck all of you pansies, I’m going,” said Geten.

He stormed away after Aiko. A short while later Hinote sulked back to them, looking mildly annoyed.

“He’s such a rude little shit,” he said, sitting down in a huff and snatching his cocktail back up.

“Well, you were taking a while,” said Hawks. “The rest of us need time with her too, you know.”

“What’s the point? After that date, I’ll be the one getting the rose,” said Hinote.

Ooh, fuck him. The rest of them sucked at everything today, but Dabi hoped literally anyone else would get that rose. Put that little bastard in his place. Although…

“So, now that Geten’s setting the mood for the rest of the night,” said Dabi, “how much do we want to bet he gets Aiko so upset she calls off the rest of the evening without giving a rose at all?”

The others didn’t seem to have considered that.

“Perhaps I should’ve gone first,” Trumpet muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know what you’re scheming, but it’s not going to work,” said Hinote. “She loved my song.”

“The song you wrote for your last girlfriend,” said Skeptic.

Hinote sneered. “Where’s your proof, stick man?”

They dissolved into prickly drama again. This only paused when Aiko and Geten returned. Geten looked smug; when he made eye contact with Hinote he lifted his chin defiantly. Aiko seemed far more serious.

“Dabi, can I speak with you?” she asked.

That was sooner than he’d anticipated, but whatever.

Dabi set aside his drink and followed her away. They went to the opposite side of the pool, where the hotel windows glowed a dramatic blue, and a little grove of palm trees sheltered a bench from the other contestants’ view.

“Okay,” said Aiko as she sat down. “I’ve been hearing some conflicting information from the other men. It’s happened before tonight, but it seems to be coming to a head right now. I’m not really sure what to think. I know you’ve been so kind and honest with me through this journey, and I’m hoping you can help me figure out what’s going on.”

“Sure,” said Dabi.

Aiko sucked in a deep breath. “The first thing… is it true that you’re in a band? And that… that you’re looking for a record deal?”

Apparently the others had better ears than he’d thought, if they heard him talking during practice earlier today. Was this Hinote’s way of throwing the blame off himself?

“Yes and no,” said Dabi. “You remember the roommates I told you about before? They’re a band. They’ve got no musical training whatsoever, so a lot of them follow the vocals in a song for timing. While they’re looking for a lead singer, I’ve been doing the vocals for their practices. They’re nowhere near a record deal, and I wouldn’t be involved even if they did land one. So, it’s technically no to both your questions, but it does have some nuance.”

Aiko’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh, good. The way they phrased it… but moving on. Geten also said some things about Hinote. You see, Hinote just played this wonderful song for me, and said he’d written it for me. But Geten said that Hinote’s just recycling one of his existing songs, and that he even has a girlfriend right now, outside of the mansion. That just seems so strange to me, because Hinote’s always been very sweet with me, but the way Geten talked about him he seems like a completely different person. What can you tell me about Hinote?”

“Easy, he’s an asshat,” said Dabi.

Aiko leaned back in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. Pompous as all hell, and always showboating for the cameras. He’s spent the whole day shit talking the rest of us because he’s the only ‘real singer’ and nobody else should even bother to compete with him.” Dabi rolled his eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s not talented enough to back that up.”

“Oh,” Aiko murmured, frowning. “Has it just been today that he hasn’t gotten along with everyone, or…”

“He’s usually annoying but tolerable. At the mansion we can just leave the room if he’s too much,” said Dabi. “I don’t have any proof about recycled songs or girlfriends. Skeptic said he saw something about it on a website, but I didn’t see it myself so I’m not going to tell you point blank that he’s a cheater or a liar. I’m just going to tell you that I don’t like him and if those things were true that wouldn’t surprise me.”  

Aiko didn’t seem overly pleased with this information, but she wasn’t mad at him about it either. Her brow furrowed and she twirled one of her shiny bracelets as she thought over this information. She was opening her mouth for another question when someone interrupted.

“Hey, Aiko, could we talk again? There was something I forgot to say.” Hinote was back, leaning a little too casually against one of the palm trees. “I’d hate to end the night without finishing our conversation.”

Ugh, what a dick.

Aiko pursed her lips, having clearly thought along the same lines (she’d been a contestant once, so she knew what kind of faux pas it was to keep coming back and blocking others’ chances to speak), but said, “Sure, Hinote. We can talk. Dabi, thank you so much for your insight. I really appreciate it.”

She gave Dabi a hug, and Hinote was quick to take his spot. Dabi made his way back to the others.

“What are you doing here already?” asked Hawks. “I thought you’d talk with her a little longer. That wasn’t even five minutes.”

“Hinote came back and stole her,” said Dabi, sitting down.

“He what?” said Geten, practically vibrating with rage. “And you let him?”

“He told us that he was going to look at the plants near the windows,” said Hyouto, equally upset. “That slimy little…”

He stood up and walked toward Aiko’s little meeting spot. Damn. If even Hyouto was this worked up, they must’ve really spiraled on the conspiracy theories. In short time Hinote was back among their midst, exceedingly grumpy about someone else stealing his stolen time. He argued with the others again before moving away to ‘admire’ some other plants. This time Geten got up and planted himself between Hinote and any path toward Aiko, absolutely radiating menace. Hinote scowled and meandered along the windows at a distance from them.

“He seems kind of desperate,” said Saito, watching him. “Why is he acting like this, if he knows it’s going to make him a villain in the mansion?”

“Before now, he thought he was secure in his position in the house. It seems he’s realized how precarious his situation actually is,” said Trumpet.

“Yeah, he hinged his image on being a singer, only for Dabi here to show him up,” Hawks laughed.

“Present Mic must’ve ruined your ears with the background music, because that’s not what happened,” said Dabi.

“Please,” said Hawks. “Please, for once in your life, accept a compliment.”

“What is he doing now?” asked Saito, eyes still fixed on Hinote.

A hotel waitress had walked out onto the patio—presumably to take stock of their food and drinks in case anyone needed a refill—but been waylaid by Hinote. Hinote was doing that too-casual lean again, a smirk on his face. The waitress looked a little flustered. Hawks’ eyes narrowed and he sent a feather out to listen in. The others watched the feather’s silent approach, holding their breath. The feather settled in the shadow of a potted plant. Hawks was still and silent as he took in the feedback, but eventually gave a disbelieving laugh.

“He’s flirting with her.”

“Seriously?” said Saito.

Skeptic leaned back in his seat, wheezing with laughter.

“I must say, I never expected him to dig his own grave quite this effectively,” said Trumpet.

The other talks were quick; Aiko cycled through all the men, who returned to the couch to regale the others with how much they’d trash talked Hinote. Hinote kept his distance, every once in a while inching toward the meeting place, only for Geten to block his path again. The last man to get his talk was Hawks, and when he was done Aiko walked back with him. Ah, it was game time; the producers directed Hinote back to the couch, and everyone sat up straighter as Aiko sat among them. She picked up the rose from its little plate and held it close to her chest.

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you again, everyone, for taking the time to chat with me tonight. Some of the things you’ve told me are… a little hard to hear. But it’s something I needed to know, so thank you for looking out for me that way. When it comes to this rose… there’s one person who really stood out to me today, even if he doesn’t seem to realize it himself.”

Hawks gave Dabi an urgent nudge, as if to say, that’s you. Dabi elbowed him right back because that was ludicrous. Sure enough, Aiko turned away to the people on the other end of the couch.

“Saito,” she said, “I know that you had some concerns about the group date last week. This musical event was something that had been planned out pretty far in advance to make sure we had our guest star, so as much as I hoped to change it, I didn’t have that opportunity. But I’m proud to have shared the stage with you this time, and to have been there to see you smile for a performance that brought people happiness with your own effort, that you could feel comfortable with and enjoy doing. Thank you for giving me a second chance with this. I really hope you had fun today, and I’m hoping we can have more fun together in the future. Will you accept this rose?”

Saito’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, me?”

“Yes, you,” Aiko giggled. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yes! Absolutely, I’ll accept that rose!”

Aiko pinned the rose to his coat and gave him a hug. He held on tight, blinking furiously against tears.

“Eh,” Hawks said quietly. “Wouldn’t have been my choice, but that’s a good second option.”

Hinote fumed.

 With the rose given away, the group date reached its end. Aiko was escorted away for her confessional, and all the men were directed into the limo to return to the mansion. They did so gladly; as the doors closed and the limo moved off, the others turned their smug attention back on Hinote.

“What was that about no competition?” Geten sneered. “All that gloating, and you didn’t get the rose.”

“Talk all you want, you little buzzkill. I still have more game than any of you,” said Hinote. “I actually got a woman’s number tonight, and you’re all still scrambling around like losers.”

There was silence for a moment, then everyone blew up.

“A number? Someone’s number?” cried Saito.

“The waitress?” Skeptic hissed.

Geten was snarling again. “I can’t believe that the first opportunity you had to interact with other females—” Females? Dabi thought, affronted. He’s the kind of shitbag who calls women ‘females’? “—you came back with a girl’s number. And then you tell us about it? Try to rub it in our faces?”

“It mocks the entire process,” said Skeptic.

“It does!” said Hyouto.

“It’s disrespectful to us, and it’s very disrespectful to Aiko,” said Trumpet.

Disrespectful, disrespectful, how many times was Dabi going to hear that stupid word on this show?

“We’re all here for the right reasons, now I’m sure you’re not,” said Trumpet.

Hinote seemed to realize he’d crossed a line. Antagonizing other contestants was all well and good, but snubbing Aiko so obviously, with mics attached to hear your flirting and cameras catching every move, was a bad idea. He pretended maturity to try saving face. “You know what? I’m not engaging in this.”

“Not engaging?” Geten spat. “What, are you some kind of coward?”

“Your actions are very telling about who you are as a person,” said Trumpet.

And they all kept squabbling, Hinote trying and failing to back out of the hole he’d dug himself and the others determined to pile the dirt in on his head.

Oh my god. Dabi rolled his head to turn his dead-eyed stare on Hawks. “Is this what high school was like?”

Hawks gave a very false laugh. “I wouldn’t know. I never went.”

When they got to the mansion it only got worse, because Geten’s shouting caught everyone else’s attention, and soon Hinote’s sins were being screamed up and down the halls.

“I think I’m going to sleep on the roof,” Hawks said dully, head in his hands. “I’m in the same room as Geten. He’ll never shut up. My feathers will pick up everything.”

Dabi patted him on the back, glad that he didn’t have any super-hearing feathers of his own. “That’s rough, buddy.”

Hawks was having a Bad Time.

It had been easy to set aside, during the date.

Smile and move forward, compartmentalize and complete the mission without showing unease. He was very used to that. He’d almost been thankful for being able to fall back into his role so easily after his talk with Present Mic, but once the date was over, Geten had finally shut his trap, and everyone had gone to bed, his brain switched back into processing mode. It was horrible.

Mic had given him an update on the Commission coup.

It seemed to be going well so far. With Hawks’ specialized intel, they’d swooped in on the movers and shakers of the Commission’s darker dealings, pulled them out of power, and had almost all of them arrested. Trials were starting, though the sentencing wouldn’t be finished for a while. Since they’d been able to act so quickly and efficiently, they had access to a lot of files that the Commission would otherwise have attempted to destroy. Reviewing them was a slow and complicated process—many were redacted, others referencing files that the Commission seemingly had destroyed—but several of them contained worrying phrases that the heroes had been eager for Hawks’ input on.

“You weren’t the only one,” Mic had told him, when they’d settled in another soundproof room in the music building and set up Mic’s recorder.

That sentence was sickening.

Hawks had worked hard after the Commission bought him, for a number of reasons—if I’m good they won’t hurt me, if I’m good I get food and shelter, if I’m good I can help someone—and most were basic survival instinct, but there was one particularly stupid reason in his mind, too: If I’m good enough, no one else will have to go through this. It was a child’s folly. After all, he’d been bought to replace Lady Nagant. After Nagant’s betrayal and downfall, the Commission pulled back on some of his training; he wasn’t streamlined for assassinations the way she’d been, and spying specialties were dropped, too. His stupid little brain had interpreted this as a good thing. They’d seen the error of their ways, and only kept him in training for sunk cost fallacy and market manipulations, or something. Some little kernel in his brain insisted that if he worked hard enough and outshined anyone else, they wouldn’t even feel the need to bring anyone else into the Legacy Program.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

If he was so good and efficient, he’d proven that the training worked. Why wouldn’t they expand the Legacy Program?

“Were you aware of them?” Mic asked.

“No. No one but Lady Nagant,” Hawks replied, voice deceptively even. “I was meant to succeed her, no one was subtle about that. But I always trained alone. I never saw any other children or hero trainees in the facilities where they kept me.” But why would they have a uniform if it was just you, you stupid bird, why would they have the regimens in place, the training fields— “Do you know about… how many?”

“It’s difficult to get numbers.” Mic shook his head tiredly. “Twelve that we’ve been able to confirm. More that we’re still tracking down.”

“Where are they now?”

Mic winced. “We were hoping you might be able to tell us. Three of them were accounted for in the files. Two died in training accidents. The other one… took his own life.”

Hawks closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. How old were they, he wanted to ask. Who were they? Where are their families? God, please tell me they weren’t just thrown away. But he wasn’t the person working this case. The knowledge would do nothing for him but give him nightmares and a new weight to add to the guilt he carried around constantly.

“The other nine are a mystery,” said Mic. “The Commission’s files state that they were transferred into the Recycle Program. We’re still looking, but we haven’t been able to find any records of that program. Have you ever heard of it?”

“The what?” said Hawks.

“Recycle Program. It’s mentioned several times across their personnel files, in regard to the children specifically. It’s not a document disposal procedure or something, because it’s not used anywhere else, and the spelling… It must be something like Legacy.”

“No,” Hawks said slowly. “Was it listed on mine at all?”

“Just once,” said Mic. “When you were ten, there was an incident about… damaged wings.”

He hesitated, as if trying to find a gentle way of summing up that hell of a training exercise that had almost ripped the wings straight out of Hawks’ back.

This is why you listen to what you’re told—

“I remember,” Hawks said shortly.

Mic’s eyes were dark and sorrowful. Mercifully, he didn’t linger. “The notes stated that if your wings didn’t recover, you were to be sent into the Recycling Program. After someone with a healing quirk was pulled in, that was no longer necessary.”

“So it was a well-established procedure for anyone who dropped out of Legacy,” Hawks murmured. “It makes sense that they couldn’t send Legacy candidates back where they’d come from—it would be a breach of security. The Commission couldn’t risk anyone finding out about the program. My first thought would be that they might have designated orphanages to raise those children to work for them regardless, but that would’ve been named something like Rehome Project, not Recycle. I don’t like that word in this context.”

“I don’t like it, either,” said Mic. “Do you know of any other role that the Commission may have wanted to put them into?”

“There’s always the assassination squad, but if they were in Legacy they were meant to be flashy heroes. It doesn’t necessarily overlap,” said Hawks. He hesitated, then, “I think you need to talk to Lady Nagant. She understood the heart of the Commission and all its secret roles far better than I ever did.”

Hawks had always wanted to talk to Lady Nagant. He’d never had an excuse to do so— Tartarus wasn’t a place one could easily visit, especially with the paperwork. The Commission would not approve of him associating with a woman who’d killed the last H.P.S.C. president with the very skills they’d trained her in. He’d always wondered, though. What had she thought of the program? What kind of burdens did she carry, trying so hard to support the peace? When had she started to question things? How did she make the decision on her own to break free? The more Hawks had interacted with others, and the deeper he got into planning the coup, the more he wondered.

If Lady Nagant knew about the coup, would she be proud?

Nope, nope, that was a bad train of thought. No matter how much he’d admired her as a kid, she was in jail for murder. Hawks rolled over, as if the movement could rattle that thought out of his brain. It didn’t.

Did Nagant know about the Recycling Program? She’d snapped when he was around ten years old. Had she discovered it after hearing about his file? Had that been the tipping point?

Stop thinking about it, he thought viciously, and turned back over.

Yeah, he’d sort of imprinted on Nagant. The whole “she’s like me” realization had fed into a lot of abandonment issues and craving for affection, to the point his brain warped her into some pseudo-sister figure that might welcome him if only he could keep up with her. It was stupid. They’d never even met properly. The one time they’d seen each other in person it was just passing in a hallway while Hawks was leaving the medical bay. He’d faltered at the sight of her, clutching a splinted wrist close to his chest. She’d been dazzling: so tall, so cool in her dark hero costume, blue-pink hair swaying in a cascading ponytail. Not a word was exchanged; she kept on walking, and his handler pushed him forward, scolding him for getting distracted. There was no reason to think she might’ve cared about him at all, let alone gone rogue at the idea of him hurt. Honestly, if they met, she’d probably hate him as another one of the Commission’s tools. She might work with the other members of the coup, though. They weren’t the Commission’s dogs.

That thought led him right back down the rabbit hole of stupid, stupid, stupid—

This was going to drive him insane.

Hawks squeezed his eyes tighter shut and wracked his brain for distractions. He needed something easy to lose himself in. If only he had his phone. I’ve got you, moonlight, you’re my starlight… That song was catchy. Yeah, he could just keep repeating that in his head and enjoying the memory of all the men’s faces when they realized they’d have to say the word “sugarboo” onstage and on camera. He had to give them credit, though; once they were onstage and singing, they hadn’t hesitated with what lyrics they actually knew. It was funny, the way they mumbled some of the other words but “sugarboo” came out crystal clear on every chorus. They’d all had a good time. Dabi especially.

After they’d taken their bows, Hawks hadn’t had eyes for the roaring crowd. He’d fixed his gaze on Dabi: on the glint of light off his staples, on the faint little smudge of black dye on his temple, on the curve of his smile. Dabi had been aglow with excitement, and Hawks felt a little bit like he was hugging a human supernova. He’d gotten some softness and smiles out of Dabi before, but never anything like this. Maybe Dabi felt as if he’d done something to earn the praise for once; any other time he’d gotten a compliment he’d waved it off as being “not a big deal,” or “you’ve just got low standards.” He’d certainly done a lot today. He’d practically carried everyone through the song, the one decent thorough line everyone else was trying to match. They should’ve had him sing solo for more than a few lines. He had range. And when he sang clearly it was raw somehow, in a way that grabbed the heartstrings and yanked. When Pop☆Step returned to the stage, Hawks had halfway hoped she’d call for an encore.

He’d been happy.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling so at ease in front of a crowd. He’d almost forgotten all those other people existed.

Hawks drew his wings closer and focused on the memory of song, of the ringing of his ears and the echo of the speakers thudding in his chest and the warmth of another person at his side. Sleep came much easier after that.

Thursday morning dawned with much bloodlust. No one had forgotten Hinote’s antics. If he’d been a nicer person maybe they would’ve left it to a few grumbles, but at this point the men seemed ready for mutiny. When the next group date card came in and was read aloud, almost everyone turned to Hinote and jeered about how he wouldn’t get the rose on this one either. Like, that much had already been obvious. He couldn’t go on two dates on the same week. It was just reality. But they were determined to make it sting, and Hinote gave them the exact defensive response they were looking for. All the way up to Friday morning they played the game of “how much can we torment Hinote,” and when the other half of contestants left for their date, the remainder kept on going.

It reached a point where Hawks tried to step in—he didn’t much like Hinote either, but nobody deserved to be attacked to this extent—only for Hinote to tell him, “Get out of my spotlight, hero! I’m not sharing my cameras with you.” He seemed to crave the extra attention, negativity be damned. Hawks withdrew again, shaking his head incredulously.

Dabi had made himself scarce since the end of the singing date. He was probably wary about becoming collateral damage if anyone linked his talents to Hinote’s or drew any kind of comparisons. As far as Hawks was concerned Dabi had nothing to fear— he wasn’t being an ass to anyone or trying to make himself the center of attention, which was the real problem with Hinote.

Besides, if anyone started targeting Dabi they’d have to get through Hawks first.

He’d make that very unpleasant.

After his failed attempt at helping Hinote, Hawks set out to locate Dabi. He’d thought Dabi retrated to the basement, but found only Hyouto and Saito playing ping pong. The kitchen was empty. Trumpet was verbally sniping at Sharkyonara in the living room. There was no reason for him to be out by the pool…

Dabi turned out to be in the communal sitting room on the second floor, where no one else tended to spend any time. He was sitting on a couch next to the little bookshelf with its bibles, but the book in his hands wasn’t Fifty Shades of Gray. It was a notebook, with the words “Practice your scales” written in marker on the front alongside a cartoonish snake. Clearly the artist had been channeling Dabi, because the snake had a tuft of blue fire at the end of its stapled tail. Even more entertaining than the picture, though, was the fact that Dabi was humming. It was soft and a little disjointed, as if he were still figuring out the tune.

Cute, thought Hawks, and lingered in the doorway to keep from disturbing the moment.

Dabi kept on humming, brow furrowing as he repeated a few notes, then turned and patted around on the cushion next to him. He happened to glance over as he did this, and the humming stopped instantly.

“Aw, come on,” said Hawks. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“What are you even doing here?” Dabi grumbled, pulling a pencil out from between the cushions.

“Looking for entertainment,” said Hawks. Since he’d already managed to kill the mood, he didn’t hesitate to walk over and plunk himself down on the couch too. “What’s this you’re looking at? Clearly not Lord of the Flies.”

“None of your business,” said Dabi, using the pencil to scratch something onto one of the pages.

Hawks couldn’t see much from this angle, but the book’s contents all seemed to be handwritten, grouped in short paragraphs almost like… song lyrics? Ooh.

“What were you humming?” he asked, pretending ignorance. “Sounded catchy, but I can’t place it.”

“You wouldn’t have heard it before,” said Dabi.

“Try me,” said Hawks. “I’m interested in a lot more things than people realize.”

Dabi sent him a flat look that told him the man knew exactly what he was trying to get at. “My stupid roommates’ stupid lyrics. Now will you fuck off?”

Naturally he knew Hawks would not be fucking off; Hawks leaned a little closer, wings flitting in excitement. “Really? The stuff you help them practice with?” Dabi seemed placated by the phrasing—“your roommates’ thing” instead of “your thing,” even if it was a damned lie—and Hawks took that as a good enough sign to ask, “Can I see?”

“Don’t know why you’d want to. It’s all shit,” said Dabi, but passed it over. Hawks accepted with reverence.

The notebook was indeed a handwritten compilation of lyrics. Clearly someone had come up with it all beforehand, because the flowery writing was perfectly formatted and there was no sign of erasing or previous versions; the only marring on it was Dabi’s more linear hand on the side, suggesting slightly different wording to fit better with a tune that hadn’t been written down itself. The lyrics were clever, if sad. He read through songs titled things like Glory, and Things We Lost In The Fire, and Laughter Lines. He wished he knew what these words sounded like out loud, but he didn’t dare ask Dabi to try singing anything; Dabi’s shoulders were a little too tense for him to be willing to accommodate that.

“I know you said you’re only temporarily their singer, but have you ever helped write any of this?” Hawks asked instead. “Helped come up with the tune, or anything?”

“Nah, they do all of that,” said Dabi. “Compress and Magne come up with the words. Shigaraki’s usually the one with the beat.”

“Does one come before the other?” asked Hawks, genuinely curious.

Dabi shrugged. “Depends on the song. Sometimes it takes ages for them to agree on something to match one or the other. Sometimes they think them up at the same fucking time.”

“I suppose with so many heads being put together, there’s a lot of ways for it to go,” Hawks chuckled, turning the page. The next song his eyes landed on was called Doom Days, and the more of it he read, the more his smile widened. “Oh, wow. Were you checking off boxes for this one?”

“What?” Dabi frowned and leaned in to see which one he was talking about.

“The sheer amount of references,” Hawks laughed. “See, there’s portraits in the attic, that’s Dorian Gray. Blue pill, that’s The Matrix, right? Rabbit hole might be Alice in Wonderland. You’ve got Peter Pan by name—”

“Oh my god,” Dabi groaned.

“Multiple references to the apocalypse, including the fall of Rome,” Hawks continued. “The quintessential doing something until dawn line. Climate change, religion, politics, internet trolls… I’m just saying, you’ve managed to fit a lot into a song that seems shorter than the others.”

“It sounds better out loud than it looks on paper,” said Dabi. “And no, I will not be singing it for you.”

“Drat,” said Hawks. “Hey, do you guys do any covers? I’ve done karaoke with Miruko once or twice, but I bet it’s really cool to sing something with an actual band behind you.”

Dabi groaned again. “Shigaraki and Spinner are always trying to make us do covers of their shitty games, and Toga’s always after anime openings and the same pop music we’re already sick of from the radio.”

“I bet I can guess what kind of songs you’d like to cover,” said Hawks. He turned his gaze to Dabi’s face, and Dabi leaned away, eyes narrowed in suspicion. After a moment of study, Hawks nodded to himself. “Play with Fire.”

“The fuck?” Dabi spluttered. “Is that a play on my quirk?”

“Maybe Our Way Out or Shadow,” said Hawks. “I feel like you’d like things that are either super emo, rock, or the types that sound upbeat but unexpectedly rip your heart out of your chest.”

“I have no preferences,” said Dabi, like a liar.

“Or maybe you’re just a Pop Step fan,” Hawks said airily.

“Pop☆Step,” Dabi grumbled.

“—Considering you say her name right, and how well you pulled off Levitating on stage,” Hawks continued, ignoring him.

“I did not—”

He patted Dabi’s knee in a placating way. “Sure you didn’t.”

Dabi glared at him, but before he could argue further, they heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs. Dabi tensed again as if ready to dive for cover, but it wasn’t Hinote or the current let’s-hunt-Hinote squad. It was Gentle. Gentle reached the top of the stairs with his head bowed, and walked slowly into his bedroom. He was wearing some kind of makeup, and hadn’t even changed into his nice clothes for the group date’s little cocktail party. The date shouldn’t be anywhere near over yet. Hawks had a bad feeling about this. Both he and Dabi followed him.

“Hey,” said Hawks, as they crossed the threshold, “are you okay?”

Gentle looked up at them, and he looked bad. Defeated. Hawks had heard of other contestants having to leave early due to family emergencies, and really hoped it wasn’t the case.

“What happened?” asked Dabi.

“Ah,” Gentle said faintly. “Well. I’ve been— Hm. I’m leaving.”

“Why?” asked Hawks, moving closer.

Gentle tried to smile, but there was nothing honest about it. It just made everything worse. “Aiko has told me that she doesn’t love me.”

“Oh,” Hawks whispered, wings drooping. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, man.”

“Don’t be!” said Gentle, setting his suitcase on his bed. “She wasn’t cruel about it. In fact I think she was going out of her way not to be cruel. She told me that I’m a good person and she’s fond of me, but she isn’t attracted to me as more than a friend. She didn’t want to lead me on, so decided it would be kinder to let me go now instead of making me wait for the rose ceremony.”

“How is that better?” said Dabi, livid. “How is it better to single you out like that?”

“This way I can’t fall deeper!” Gentle turned his back on them and started to toss all his scattered belongings into the bag. Group dates weren’t meant to send people home. He hadn’t been prepared, physically or mentally. “This way I can go back home, and take the extra time to get my life back on track, to find another, truer love, to…" He stilled, one hand on the mess of clothes and the other atop the suitcase as if ready to slam it shut. “I’m not very good at anything,” he admitted quietly. “I wanted to become a hero, and I failed at that. I wanted to be normal, and I failed at that, too. Love is just another thing I’ve failed at.” His hands shook ever so slightly, then he turned to give them a smile that was determinedly even. “In the same vein, I’m also very bad at giving up! Perhaps Aiko isn’t right for me, but that just means I need to try harder to find the person who is. I’ve agreed to attend Bachelor In Paradise after this season wraps. It’s worth trying, isn’t it?”

Hawks was thrown off a little by the sudden change in tone, but if Gentle wanted to keep that veneer of normalcy, Hawks refused to be another blow to his pride.

“Yeah,” Hawks said instead. “It’s always worth trying. You’ll get there, Gentle.”

“Aiko didn’t deserve you anyway,” Dabi grumbled.

Gentle gave a watery laugh. “Thank you, both of you, for being my friends here. It’s been a strange and somewhat nerve-wracking journey, but with your help it’s been most enjoyable.”

The next few hours passed weirdly, almost divorced from reality. Hawks and Dabi helped Gentle track down everything he might have left throughout the mansion and helped him pack his bags (Dabi stowed a large supply of Gold Tips Imperial that Gentle certainly hadn’t brought or paid for inside one of the packed suit coats), and accompanied him out onto the driveway where a limo awaited him. Gentle hugged them both. He was a good hugger. Solid. Grounding. But then he was gone, and Hawks and Dabi were left waving at a limo departing through the gates and into the night.

Hawks felt tremendously guilty. He didn’t love Aiko, but Gentle had been enamored with her. Why was he here if he was stealing an opportunity from someone who had genuine feelings for her? He was cheating everyone involved.

The mission, whispered the voice in his head. Eight weeks. You have to make it that far. It’s not for yourself or just one person. The mission is for everyone the Commission ever hurt. You can’t let it fall apart.

The mission was far more important in the grand scheme of things, but Hawks was sick and tired of grand schemes. He didn’t like the people in front of him getting hurt, and he felt responsible for at least some of Gentle’s pain.

What if it’s Dabi next, he wondered with a chill. What if I ruin things for him, too?

The idea made him feel ill.

Dabi watched the gates with a pensive expression. Hawks had no idea what thoughts were running through his brain. They stood there in the dark for a long time that way, physically close but mentally miles apart.

When Saturday dawned, Hawks didn’t know what to expect.

With Gentle gone, Dabi had settled into a weird sort of calm. He seemed almost… happy about it.

“Goodbye,” Hawks caught him saying to the open refrigerator, with complete serenity. “I’ve appreciated your service.”

“Goodbye,” Dabi told his favorite patio chair.

“Goodbye,” Dabi said to the ping pong table.

“Dude, are you okay?” said Hawks, genuinely worried. “Were you, like, hit by a quirk or something?”

“Just wrapping up loose ends,” said Dabi, lounging on the living room couch with his eyes closed and hands folded over his stomach. He looked at peace. Like a fucking corpse, holy shit.

“Why?” asked Hawks, leaning over the back of the couch to look at him.

“Because I won’t be here much longer,” said Dabi.

For a moment they were both silent, Dabi creepily chilling and Hawks silently going what the hell. Hawks reached out and set a hand on Dabi’s head to check his temperature. Almost immediately Dabi’s face scrunched up and he swatted the hand away.

“Back off,” he snapped.

There was the snark he was used to.

“Why do you think you won’t be here?” asked Hawks. “Are you sick? Was there some kind of emergency?”

“This is week six,” said Dabi. He spread his arms like the words were some dramatic proof. They were not.

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly. “And?”

“And I’m not getting past week six.”

“Why?”

Dabi cracked open his eyes to glare at him. “Have you fucking looked at me?”

Hawks made a big show of looking him up and down, determinedly not lingering on the glimpse of his hip or the low neckline. Seriously, where had Dabi gotten all of these loose shirts? “Still not seeing what you mean, here.”

Dabi growled in frustration and sat up. “I mean, dumbass, that we’re halfway through the show. Aiko’s choosing who she’s actually attracted to from here, not who the producers and audience say would win sympathy or views.”

Hawks blinked at him for a moment, uncomprehending. “Do you… Do you think you got this far on pity?”

“Tactics,” Dabi hissed. “It was not pity, it was strategic marketing.”

“You think Aiko doesn’t actually like you?” Hawks screeched.

“Why the fuck would she?” asked Dabi.

Hawks buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god. You’re so fucking dumb.”

“Fuck you,” said Dabi.

“Fuck you,” said Hawks. “You’re making it through to next week. Shut up. Stop acting like you’re going to die.”

“I am not—”

“You are, you absolute drama queen.” Hawks sighed and flopped over the couch’s back to glare at him. “If this is because she sent Gentle home last night… Look, I know, it’s rough. Gentle was a really great guy. You are also a really great guy! But you’re two separate ends of the great guy spectrum, and you’re the closest one here to acting like Aiko’s prince. Her heart speeds up around you, you know? And her eyes do that whole—” He waved his fingers at his face to indicate the sparkles. “That’s not faked.”

Dabi did not look relieved. He just glared harder. “Quirks do weird shit.”

“Watch,” Hawks spat. “You’re getting a rose tonight. Don’t do anything stupid to try proving me wrong, just do what you’d do on any other week. You’re getting through.”

Dabi rolled his eyes.

The evening and its rose ceremony came in fast.

Aiko and Sato did their usual little greeting recapping the importance of the roses for whatever audience members hadn’t been following already, and the cocktail party kicked into motion. Aiko started breaking off to have her conversations, while the rest of the men grouped together to worry.

“It feels weird, now that Gentle’s gone,” said Saito, looking despondently down into his wine glass. “I keep randomly thinking of tea questions, but he’s not around to answer anymore. That’s not going to go away, is it?”

“He’s off the show, not dead,” said Dabi. “It’ll probably be easy for you to get his contact info after all of this wraps, you can ask him all that shit then.”

“It’s not the same. I miss him,” said Saito.

“Frankly, I think it was about time,” said Trumpet, whose own little group was close by.

Hawks fought the urge to bristle, and laughed, “Were you that afraid of Gentle as competition?”

“Not at all,” said Trumpet. “I only mean to say it’s about time for Aiko to pick up the pace in dismissing people. She seems to have held steady at around about two men a week going home, but if that’s the case she’ll need to be more aggressive in her choices in these later weeks. We can’t all make it to hometown dates.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Saito, a little more wary. “There’s still sixteen of us right now, in week six.”

“Only four of us go to hometown dates,” said Trumpet, nodding sagely. “Sometimes not even that many.”

Saito shuddered at the idea. “Oh, I hope I’m not next…”

Dabi took a drink of his cocktail, looking far more bored than concerned. Hawks watched him, wondering if Trumpet’s argument had anything to do with his sudden defeatism.

“Has anyone ever come into the rose ceremony certain that they’ll make it through? I’ve never been confident enough in myself to keep from worrying,” said Hyouto.

“I’m making it through tonight,” said Hinote. He wore a red suit tonight and a bunch of jewelry, extra flashy. “I can’t wait to talk to Aiko. I’m sure it’ll be the most important talk we’ve ever had.”

“Ugh,” said Dabi.

“Dream on,” said Geten at the same time.

The two of them glanced at each other, disgusted to be in agreement for once.

The talks went on. Hanzo Suiden used his past few weeks of practicing to form a much more complex school of fish out of the water in the pool in an attempt to wow Aiko. This annoyed Tesla enough that he blew the fuse on the string lights draped inside the gazebo—he claimed it was an accident—so Aiko had to have the rest of her talks on the couch next to the fireplace. Hinote chased after Aiko with a guitar and serenaded her with another one of his original songs, which was surely a marketing strategy. Geten spent his entire talk shit talking Hinote. Hinote knew this and was none too pleased, so the two of them ended up in the darkened gazebo snarling at each other over who was a liar or even stable enough to be in a relationship. Aiko had to leave her current talk in an attempt to defuse that fiasco, which meant Miyashita was sitting awkwardly alone on the blue cushions waiting for her return.

Dabi didn’t make a single move to put himself out there. Where the other men watched closely and at least twitched toward Aiko whenever she finished up with someone, Dabi was content to munch on stuffed peppers and listen in on Sharkyonara’s scathing commentary about the water-fish. The only one less motivated than him was Taro. Presumably. With Taro it was hard to tell.

Hawks was stressed.

Was Dabi just going to let himself fail? Hawks had told him not to do anything stupid, but what if he did nothing at all? What if he just let his chances slip by because of some random blow to his confidence, and Aiko let him go because she didn’t think he cared enough to put in the effort? Dabi was a very caring person, he just didn’t like people to know it. Surely Aiko could tell that already, but with so much drama and Curious directing everyone every which way, that could’ve gotten lost under all the stupid things…

“You should go talk to her after she’s done with them,” Hawks whispered urgently. “You’re good at calming her down.”

“If you’re so sure, why don’t you do it?” said Dabi.

Hawks wanted to strangle him.

“Wait,” said Tobio, wide-eyed. “Wait, is she—She’s leaving.”

Hawks whirled around. Geten and Hinote hadn’t really given Aiko a chance to talk, instead ranting and accusing each other; Aiko had apparently given up trying to be a kindly judge, because she’d turned around and walked away. She wasn’t smiling.

“Ooh, that’s a mad walk,” said Saito. “She’s super mad.”

“Pissed,” Skeptic agreed.

Geten and Hinote realized immediately that they’d fucked up. When Aiko made toward Miyashita again, Hinote ran to head her off.

“I’m so sorry,” he simpered. “I never wanted to put you in that position—”

“I need some time alone,” Aiko said briskly, and walked the opposite way.

Geten sulked out of the gazebo and into her path, like a schoolkid stubbornly not repentant about being sent to the principal’s office. He didn’t even get a chance to say anything before she veered away from him. Aiko stalked straight into the cocktail room. She radiated no nonsense, so everyone—competitor and crew alike—sprang out of her way. She went right through them and out the front door.

“Oh, shit, she’s seriously mad,” whispered Victor.

“What if that’s it?” said Tobio, wings folding tight with nerves. “What if she’s upset enough not to want to talk with anyone anymore?”

That might risk losing Dabi. Fuck.

“Let me try to bring her back in,” said Hawks.

He picked up a pair of champagne glasses from the kitchen and hurried after her.

Aiko was out in the front of the mansion, walking circles around the little fountain in the courtyard. When she saw him she paused, arms crossed and glaring, but it was more tired exasperation than real ire.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to,” said Hawks, raising the glasses in surrender. “I just figured it would be better if I came out instead of someone like Slidin’ Go. I’m sure his heart’s in the right place, but he doesn’t really allow for much deep thinking. I’ll just sit right here, and we can pretend you’re occupied so the others will stay away and you can process in peace.”

He sat on the front steps, placed the glasses beside him, and mimed zipping his lips for emphasis.

Aiko eyed him warily as if waiting for a condition to this. When he stayed quiet, she huffed and went back to her pacing. She circled the fountain three more times before crying, “It’s so ridiculous!” She threw herself down on the steps beside him and picked up a glass. “They’re like little kids, but like—vicious!”

“Yeah, kind of amazing how immature it can get,” said Hawks.

“They’re awful!” cried Aiko. She took a big gulp of champagne and glowered at the fountain. “I get it, you know? I was in their place once. But everyone always says it’s girls who are all catty, and boys are supposed to be low drama, and then this happens. Over nothing! At least the girls on The Bachelor had some good reasons to be upset with each other. It’s like the men here are all looking for the smallest excuse to rip each other apart!”

Hawks nodded along. “Like a big tank of piranhas.”

“Exactly!” She took another gulp, and when she lowered her glass this time misery had overtaken rage. “I don’t know why I expected better. I’ve watched seasons of The Bachelorette before. I should’ve known. Is it stupid of me to have expected better?”

“Not at all,” said Hawks. “It’s good for you to expect the best of people. It means you’re a good person.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” she muttered. “La Brava told me this was going to be a nightmare. I really should’ve listened to her.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s sort of a different challenge than before, right? You might’ve come into this thinking you knew what kind of pitfalls to look out for, but being The Bachelorette is different from being a bachelorette on a previous season.”

“Exactly,” said Aiko. “I didn’t realize it would be so hard.”

“I think it’s good that you went through the other challenge before,” said Hawks. “Yeah, being the Bachelorette seems pretty stressful, but no matter how bad it gets in the house, I can always remember that you’ve experienced it too, and you’ve been very upfront and understanding about that. A lot of other Bachelors and Bachelorettes seem to remove themselves from their pasts as contestants and place themselves on a pedestal. It’s nice, feeling like we can meet you in the middle here.” He tilted his head and flashed her a smile. “Maybe it doesn’t mean much from me, but I think you’re handling this really well. I’m glad I’m on your season.”

A faint smile returned to her own face. “You think so?”

“I do,” said Hawks. “Don’t let those guys in there get you down. They don’t want to hurt you, they just get caught up in everything and forget how it affects others sometimes.”

“That’s true.” Aiko closed her eyes. She took in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. “Whew. It’s nice to get some fresh air after that. Makes my head a lot clearer. Thanks, Hawks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Hawks, toasting with his own glass.

Aiko took a smaller sip of her drink and said, “Okay. I think I’ve made my decisions. I’m going to find Sato.”

Hawks’ heart shot into his throat. He valiantly did not choke on his own champagne as he sprang up to match her. “That’s great! Hey, uh, before you do that, though, could you speak with Dabi?”

Aiko paused, confused. “Dabi? Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… he’s got this skewed picture of himself,” said Hawks. He turned his glass in nervous fingers and hoped she didn’t notice. “It comes through in a lot of different ways, but once Gentle left, it seems like he took that as a sign that he was going to leave, too. Like, if Gentle couldn’t make it, Dabi couldn’t stand a chance either. I know that’s not true, but he won’t listen to me. I hate seeing him defeated like that. If you could talk to him, I think that might raise his confidence again.”

The soft smile returned to Aiko’s face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Dabi’s not leaving tonight. You two can keep hanging out. I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees how sweet he is.”

Oh. Well, that was great. Hawks knew that already. He just needed someone else to jam it through Dabi’s thick skull.

Unfortunately Aiko was content to sweep back inside without addressing it otherwise. Hawks followed after her, and within a minute Sato was tapping his glass to call them to order.

“Gentlemen,” he announced when he had everyone’s attention, “Aiko has made her decision. It’s time for the rose ceremony.”

“I thought you were going out there to calm her down!” Tobio hissed as the other men grumbled.

“I succeeded in the calming bit, but she was too determined to stop for anything else,” Hawks grumbled in reply.

They were caught in a bottleneck in the hallway, and before stepping into the rose ceremony room, Dabi clapped a hand on Hawks’ shoulder. He was wearing that stupid, resigned-bliss grin again.

“It’s been real,” he said, and moved off to his designated spot.

Hawks was offended. “It’s been real”? Seriously? That was his goodbye? If by some slim chance Dabi was sent home this week, the producers wouldn’t let them interact, just shepherd him out. That would’ve been the last interaction to cap off their entire friendship on this show. “It’s been real.” Downright offensive. Hawks deserved a little more than it’s been real. He took his own spot and glowered at the back of Dabi’s head, silently swearing vengeance. Vengeance would be difficult when he was actively trying to boost Dabi’s confidence, but he’d figure it out somehow.

When everyone was arranged to Curious’ standards, Sato came out onto the floor and recapped the ceremony process for the audience again. Aiko came out next, gave her own placating statement, and began the process of handing out roses. Hyouto was first. Then it was Taro. And third…

“Hawks.”

Hawks stepped forward as he had every other week. He stood before Aiko and gave her one of his particularly charming photoshoot smiles.

“Hawks,” she said again, “will you accept this rose?”

“I will,” said Hawks.

She pinned a rose as red as his feathers to his lapel, and they shared a brief hug before he returned to his spot. She kept calling out names until, right in the middle of the pack…

“Dabi.”

Dabi didn’t immediately react. Hawks couldn’t see his face, but he could sense the stillness, the slight halting of breath, and the overwhelming confusion. Knowing that Dabi’s scorn of the selection tonight wasn’t a pretext made it all the worse. After a moment Dabi moved. He walked out of line with his usual gait and stood casually before Aiko; anyone who hadn’t specifically been paying attention to him likely wouldn’t have noticed his hesitation at all.

“Will you accept this rose?” said Aiko.

“Yes,” said Dabi.

She gave him his rose, they held hands briefly—why had Hawks never thought of that, it seemed more sincere than any of the other men’s hugs—and he returned to his spot. The ceremony went on.

“Gentlemen,” Sato said at the end, “if you have not received a rose, please say your goodbyes.”

The two without roses tonight were Victor and Hinote. Hawks had no idea how Geten had scraped through this week. Victor seemed resigned to his fate, but Hinote was livid. He aimed all his ire into glaring at Dabi. Dabi, for his part, was still seemingly too lost in his own head to notice. It was a prickly goodbye for Hinote; there hadn’t been anyone so unpopular since Muscular and Rappa left, but no one wanted to seem mean in front of Aiko so they wished him well through gritted teeth. When Hinote got his hug from Aiko and disappeared out the door, all Hawks could think was good riddance.

“All right, everyone, gather round,” said Curious, as champagne was handed out again.

Hawks was going to be so sick of champagne by the end of this.

As usual Dabi stood near him on the outskirts of the group, this time with brow furrowed.

“I’m still here,” he said flatly. “What did you do?”

“You think I did something?” said Hawks.

“You obviously did. You’re the one who went out to talk to her alone,” Dabi snapped.

Hawks shrugged. “I won’t lie, I asked her to talk to you tonight, but she turned me down. Said she’d already made her decision. There was no influence on my part, I swear.”

Dabi frowned even deeper. “There had to be some kind of interference.”

“Is it really that hard to believe someone might find you attractive?” Hawks groaned.

Dabi gestured at his face, as if that were all the evidence needed. Again, it did nothing to convince Hawks of anything.

“You’re ridiculous,” said Hawks, shaking his head. He stepped closer though, and tapped his glass to Dabi’s. “Come on, lighten up. This is a whole new week with full exposure to that refrigerator you love so much. Yes I noticed that, and I’m not going to judge,” he added quickly. “Let’s just relax a little, okay? Have fun this week.”

Dabi didn’t look entirely convinced, but he went along with Hawks’ little toast, and really that was all he could ask for.

Natsuo was running late again.

It turned out that getting police reports about the forest fire surrounding your oldest brother’s death was harder than just going in and saying “hey I want a copy of the reports involving my brother’s death.” He ran into hemming and hawing, with the younger generation of officers being largely unmotivated but the older generation seemingly desperate to commiserate with him about how Touya was such a nice boy and it was such a tragedy for him to die so young. The divide between who’d seen the Todoroki family on TV twenty-four-seven all those years ago and who’d been raised in the current “don’t even comprehend the existence of my family” attitude of Endeavor’s had never been clearer. It had been a horrible week of back-and-forth calls, claims that the reports were in some storage facility not easily accessed, fees, and so much red tape it almost gave Natsuo nightmares. He suspected that he had an easier time than most people, though. While he had no attorney making his requests, he was an adult family member of the person mentioned in the reports; besides that, he was Endeavor’s son. Endeavor had been a big enough name even before his ascent to Number One that people visibly moved quicker to help. Natsuo would normally be bothered by that kind of favoritism and getting linked to a man he hated so much, but it got him the information so he kept his mouth shut.

Of course, it got him the information with a mere thirty-minute window before The Bachelorette’s latest episode was supposed to drop. Natsuo arrived to his apartment at a run, breathing hard with the report tucked under one arm.

“Wow, someone’s in a hurry,” said Mt. Lady, lounging against the hallway wall with the rest of the group.

“Is everything okay?” asked Yukina.

“Peachy!” Natsuo panted. “Is, uh, Fuyumi here yet?”

“Not yet. She and her date texted to say they’re running slower than anticipated. I guess her date got waylaid,” said Yukina.

Good. If Fuyumi were here she might judge him for being a tardy host, and especially judge him for the report he was holding. Natsuo hurriedly unlocked the door, and while everyone filtered in, he took his Dabi=Touya evidence notebook off the bookshelf, stuck the police report between its pages, and shoved it back into place.

Everyone else spread to their usual spots, giddy with excitement.

“So, who’s the coworker?” asked Kaori, leaning on the couch arm to pout at Mt. Lady. “You and Ryukyu definitely know who she is, and we know she’s bringing Natsuo’s sister, but who is she? Why haven’t you told us?”

“I suppose I worry about expectations,” said Ryukyu. “She’s a little… gregarious. I think it’s better for you to form your own opinion of her instead of judging on media biases.”

“Also it’ll be a lot more fun to see your reactions when she walks in,” said Mt. Lady, with an evil grin.

Natsuo had no idea who the date was. If she worked with heroes, especially coordinating two big names like Ryukyu and Mr. Lady while staying in friendly contact with them, she was likely employed at an agency. To be doing a school presentation, she was likely an office worker or a sidekick low in the hierarchy. Natsuo hoped really badly that it wasn’t anyone from Endeavor’s agency. The last thing any of the Todorokis needed was to have their father’s “professional” influence in their love lives.

They didn’t get long to ponder. Three minutes before the episode was set to start, there was a knock at the door.

“I’ve got it!” said Natsuo, and hurried over.

He opened the door to find Fuyumi, frazzled and holding a food container. “I’m so sorry we’re late!” she cried. “We ran into one of my students and his family and they wanted autographs, and then Shouto kept texting and I got distracted—”

“You’re not late, it hasn’t started yet,” said Natsuo, standing aside. “Come on in and sit down.”

Fuyumi came in, and behind her… Holy shit. That was Rabbit Hero Miruko. Her civilian clothes did nothing to hide her bulging muscles, and the grin she threw at Natsuo was sharp enough to make him want to run for the hills.

“Hey there, little bro,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Uh, same,” said Natsuo, and closed the door behind her as Miruko followed his sister into the party.

Don’t give her the shovel talk, Natsu. As if he could give Miruko a shovel talk! If he tried, she’d be the one burying him instead. How in hell had Fuyumi managed to land a date with Miruko? How was this match even happening? Oh, wow, his head hurt.

“Sorry to crash your party!” Fuyumi was saying. “I didn’t mean to take so long getting here. I brought food, if that helps?”

“Food always helps,” said Mt. Lady, scrambling over. “What have you got?”

Fuyumi popped open the container and everyone swarmed in. The room was filled with praise for her cooking, Kanoka whining again about how all Todorokis were way too pretty, and Miruko’s barking laughter as the other women shyly greeted her.

“Um!” said Yukina, face red as she came in close to Fuyumi’s side. “Hi! I’m Yukina, I’m dating Natsuo. He talks about you a lot. It’s, um, really nice to meet you!”

Fuyumi’s eyes lit up. “You’re Yukina? Oh my gosh, she talks about you so much, too! He was right, you really are cute!”

Yukina flushed even redder, but seemed far more excited about this than embarrassed.

“Guys! Guys!” Nozomi cried. “It’s starting!”

Panic ensued as everyone scrambled for their seats. Natsuo and Yukina had their regular spot on the couch, but Ryukyu and Mt. Lady gave up their own positions for the newcomers to be together and more comfortable. Fuyumi didn’t even have time to set down her container; she clutched it in her lap and leaned close to Natsuo to whisper, panicked, “I’m not up to date with any of this!” before quickly straightening back up and turning attention back to Miruko.

The previews would not in any way enlighten her. As always it started out with Aiko having a good time, with a sappy voiceover of her dreaming about her one true prince and how he had to be here, as clips cycled through of her cooking with someone on a one-on-one date, as several men in samurai costumes acted out scripts, and as several other men ran around in what appeared to be Pop☆Step cosplays. What on earth… There was no enlightenment for Natsuo either, because the preview went into its usual downward spiral, featuring several men crying, everyone ganging up on Hinote, Hawks on the verge of tearing his hair out, Dabi’s turned back as he tried to hide from contestants and cameras alike, and Aiko storming out of the mansion as voiceovers said things like “ooh that’s an angry walk” and “where is she going? Is she leaving?” At which point the screen went black and Aiko’s wobbly voice asked why she was even doing this.

“Ooh, drama,” said Mt. Lady, waving a Jagarico stick.

“I for one am looking forward to seeing what’s ruffled Hawks’ feathers that badly,” said Miruko, folding her arms behind her head. “How much do you want to bet it’s because of Dabi?”

Fuyumi gave Natsuo a panicked look and mouthed, who? Natsuo grimaced and waved at her like it was no big deal.

The episode kicked off with Operation WOWO.

Holy shit.

Correction.

What the fuck.

That was a thing? That they could impose? There was zero benefit to it beyond stirring up more drama and Hawks’ increasingly ridiculous euphemisms. Miruko howled with laughter with each new term; the other women looked torn between horror that Hawks was suddenly switched from a family-friendly to a sexual entity, and glee at the concept that he was knowledgeable about sex and sexual humor. To be fair it was kind of funny to watch the montage of Geten’s chastity crusade, up to the point of him barging in on Dabi in the shower. There was no video for it, just a shaky shot of the bedroom while audio (presumably from Geten’s microphone) played of Dabi threatening him into backing off. This immediately switched to a shot of a particularly peeved Dabi in the confessional, a towel around his shoulders dotted in the same black as his suddenly much darker hair.

Holy shit he dyes his hair, more proof, Natsuo thought with glee.

Oh no he’s alone on screen, he thought in the next second.

There was nothing else for anyone to focus on, as Dabi ranted about Geten being insufferable. Natsuo glanced to the side. Fuyumi wasn’t looking at the screen. She’d bowed her head to giggle with Miruko about something. She didn’t look up again until the show had moved on to the first date, which meant Natsuo could relax again. The date was spliced between the one-on-one and clips from the other contestants in the mansion receiving and reacting to the date card. The drama was palpable.

“Okay, hang on,” said Fuyumi, when the show went to commercial. “I haven’t really kept track this time. Hinote is the villain?”

“It sure looks like that,” said Kanoka.

“Lies! He’ll be the winner! I have a Mr. Donut gift card riding on this!” cried Mt. Lady.

“You know villain and winner aren’t mutually exclusive, right?” said Kanoka.

“And Sharkyonara and Hanzo Suiden hate each other,” said Fuyumi, brow furrowed in conversation as she started counting them on her fingers. “Tobio is a fool who might be another villain. Geten’s the WOWO police…”

“He’s in the book club with Miyashita, Slidin’ Go, Skeptic, and Trumpet,” said Miruko, head propped on her knuckles on the couch arm; she didn’t seem bothered by the recap, just watched Fuyumi with a faint smile.

“Trumpet’s the drama king,” said Fuyumi. “Gentle, Saito, and Hyouto are the nice ones who don’t get in trouble. Tesla is…”

“Shockingly bland,” said Mt. Lady, and the others snickered.

“Victor is…”

“A bigot who needs to leave already,” said Natsuo.

“Hawks is the hero, and he’s friends with Dabi.” Fuyumi squinted down at her fingers. “Who’s Dabi?”

“He’s Natsuo’s favorite!” said Yukina. “He’s betting on Dabi to win.”

Fuyumi looked at him. It was a perfectly innocent look because she didn’t know anything about Dabi, but it still felt accusing.

“He’s cool, I guess,” said Natsuo, trying to act innocent. “You don’t really need to know too much about him, Hawks gets most of the attention anyway.”

For once he hoped Dabi stayed well out of his deserved spotlight.

It was not to be.

He was on the group date, and it was singing. Despite all of Hinote’s bragging, Dabi blew him out of the water during practice. Everyone else sucked, but Dabi was amazing. No wonder he was in that League of Villains band!

“Holy shit,” said Mt. Lady, as they all gaped at the screen. “Can I switch my choices? Dabi’s hotter. Fuck Hinote. Let me listen to this man sing.”

“You’re out of luck,” said Kanoka.

“Natsuo, I’ll fistfight you for the Dabi coaster,” said Mt. Lady.

“Not a chance,” said Natsuo, not quite as firmly as he’d like.

Fuyumi was definitely looking at the screen now. She was seeing Dabi. She was hearing him. Clearly this was ringing bells for her too, because her brow furrowed and she seemed far more intent. Miruko didn’t notice that. She was too busy cupping her hands around her mouth to call, “Whipped!”

“What?” said Fuyumi, distracted.

“Did you see Hawks’ face when Dabi started singing? Totally whipped,” said Miruko. “He’s out there wearing his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see, like a doofus.”

“Really?” Ryukyu squinted at the screen. “I know he was being friendly, but I wasn’t aware he was giving anyone but Aiko romantic attention.”

“He hasn’t given her romantic attention in a while,” said Miruko, shrugging. “The first few weeks? Yeah. But every time he interacts with her now, he’s got his fan-face on. That stupid ‘look at me I’m perfect’ act—”

“Don’t make fun of him!” Kanoka gasped. “That’s just how he is!”

Miruko barked out another laugh. “Sorry, kid, but you fell in love with his customer service act.”

Kanoka was massively offended. Meanwhile the men on TV got onstage to sing a truly terrible rendition of one of Pop☆Step’s hit songs, coupled with even more truly terrible dances. It was kind of painful to watch, but at least they looked like they were having fun.

“You don’t think this is going to go badly for Hawks, is it?” asked Kaori, wincing at a particularly bad note from Hyouto. “I mean, this can’t be… great… for him…”

Miruko tipped her head, her smile getting a little softer. “The hero popularity charts might change a little bit, but nah, I think this show’s been good for him. He’s acting more like a person, you know? He’s always struggled with the weight of perfection and people’s expectations. I think this is letting him grow more into himself.”

Yeah, that smile as the song finished up was different than the ones Natsuo usually saw on Hawks. Wide, and uneven. Combined with Miruko’s words, yeah, he guessed he could see…

And then the show cut to a closeup of the left side of the stage: Pop☆Step bouncing a little too high for what her platform shoes should allow, Saito laughing but covering his face in embarrassment, and then Dabi and Hawks hanging off of each other. Dabi was grinning at the audience, but Hawk was looking straight at him, eyes bright and smile impossibly fond.

Huh.

Yeah.

He looked… lovestruck.

“Oh, no,” Natsuo groaned. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. Of all people Hawks, the number two hero, the number one biggest Endeavor fan, was crushing on his big brother? Fuck everything. The clip moved on fast enough that no one else had caught the view, but they all caught his words.

“Wait, what? What happened?” asked Mt. Lady.

“Uh oh,” said Miruko, grin turning vicious again. “Did somebody realize Hawks is after his man?”

Natsuo opened and closed his mouth, offended, before managing, “Dabi can do so much better than Hawks!”

“Excuse you?” gasped Kanoka.

Miruko just laughed.

Fuyumi looked between them, intrigued. “Okay, now I definitely want to know more about this Dabi person.”

“There’s really nothing else to say, you’ve seen everything important just now,” Natsuo said quickly. “Why are you still holding that box? I’ll put it away for you.”

He took the container and fled to the kitchen., where he forced himself to take deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Yukina murmured, following him in. “You’ve been tense all day.”

“It’s nothing,” said Natsuo.

Yukina frowned, unconvinced. “Is it your sister? It’s definitely a surprise that she turned up with Miruko…”

“Yes? No?” Natsuo sighed and set the container down near the fridge. “Honestly, I don’t want Fuyumi looking too closely at Dabi.”

“Oh,” Yukina said softly. “Because she might see what you see?”

Natsuo rubbed at the back of his neck and said, “Yeah. Everybody… We all treat grief different, you know? For Yumi, Touya’s memory is sacred, even if it’s fading. She won’t accept, like, supplements, or reminders that didn’t have anything to do with what he did when he was alive. If she realized what I’m seeing… I don’t know how she’d react.”

“I get it,” said Yukina. Her ears flicked as she concentrated, clearly thinking up a plan. “Okay. I’ll try to let the others know not to—Oh, no.”

One ear flicked up in attention. She suddenly went pale and ran back to the living room. Natsuo followed on instinct, and horror stuck in his throat as he realized what the others were doing.

“Natsuo knows everything there is to know about Dabi,” Kaori was saying. “He’s the reason Natsuo started watching in the first place!”

“He notes everything down, too. Here, this should cover everything Dabi-wise from the very first episode,” said Kanoka.

She was holding out the evidence notebook, and Fuyumi was reaching out to take it.

“Hang on!” Yukina squeaked, rushing between them. “Sorry, um, there’s something personal in there Natsuo was hanging on to for me, so could you please not look?”

“Ooh!” said Mt. Lady, lighting up. “Keeping secrets already? Naughty—”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” said Fuyumi, who had full control of the notebook now, oh shit— “These papers?”

“Yes!” cried Yukina, even though she had no idea what the papers were. “And more written down, it’s not just his record for the contest, he was helping me out with something else…”

“Yeah, let’s get that out of the way,” said Natsuo, and tried to snatch it out of her hands.

This was a bad move. Fuyumi wasn’t ready for it and fumbled. The papers slid loose and she managed to catch them. “Oh, no, it came out—” And then she faltered, taking in the bold “POLICE REPORT” heading.

“No need for you to worry about that,” Natsuo said quickly, and tried to tug it out of her hands.

Fuyumi did not let go. Her wide eyes had landed on the date.

“Sekoto Hill?” she read aloud.

“It’s nothing,” said Natsuo, tugging harder.

But Fuyumi was smart, and he could see the moment she made the connection: Touya’s death report inside Dabi’s evidence notebook, and the man onscreen with too-blue eyes.

“Natsuo,” she said, lowly. Firmly. “Why did you start watching The Bachelorette?”

Fuyumi didn’t often get angry. She spent all her time and energy trying to smooth over the other egos in her life, ignoring her own hurt and making excuses for everyone she ever met. But family was the thing she treasured above everything else. Touya was family. As far as she knew, Touya would never be able to defend himself again, so by god she would do it for him.

“I thought some of the people were interesting,” said Natsuo. “Can you give that back?”

She met his eyes, and he fought the urge to cringe away from her rage. “Define interesting.”

Miruko’s ears swiveled and she frowned. “Hey, Fuyumi, are you okay?”

Fuyumi ignored her. “Why is Dabi interesting?”

And maybe she didn’t get angry very often, but every time she did it left Natsuo feeling like a little kid who’d knocked over the laundry or tracked mud into the house. He knew from experience that an angry Fuyumi would never let anything go. Deflections and excuses wouldn’t work. It was the truth, or nothing. So Natsuo squared up, braced himself, and said the truth: “He reminds me of Touya. I think it is him.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Fuyumi snapped. She jumped to her feet, livid.

“How could you?” she screamed. “You loved him! How dare you try to throw him away?”

“Is it really so bad?” Natsuo screamed right back at her, gesturing at the TV, where Dabi was talking with Hawks. “Is it so bad of me to wish for a future where he had lived? Where he could’ve been happy?”

“That’s not Touya!” she cried, gesturing even more violently at the screen.

“If you would just look at the evidence—”

“I have, Natsu! I’ve looked at his shrine and its ashes every day for twelve years! They found his jaw! They proved it was his!”

“You don’t know that!” cried Natsuo. “Don’t you think if he could cover up Mom, he could cover up a fire—”

“Do not bring Dad into this!” Fuyumi snapped.

Natsuo threw up his hands in rage. “How can I not? It’s his fucking fault any of it happened in the first place!”

“It was an accident!” said Fuyumi. “That’s all it was! It was horrible, I know! It’s unfair! I know! Touya didn’t deserve it! I! Know! But there is no blame in an accident like that!”

“I can blame Endeavor as much as I want! He refused to help!” said Natsuo.

“That’s a lie! Dad ran into the fire that day to try to find him!” said Fuyumi.

“Maybe he did, but that doesn’t erase everything else!” said Natsuo. “It doesn’t erase the fact that Touya wouldn’t even want to come back if he survived!”

Fuyumi looked stricken. “Take that back.”

“I can’t!” Natsuo fisted his hands in his hair. Like Touya did to himself, went a little voice in his head, which made everything worse. “He had nothing, Yumi! He was isolated and ignored and hurting, and none of us tried to help him! We can all jump in now to say we loved him, but why would he have believed us? Why would he ever believe he mattered to us, when he died and nothing changed?”

Fuyumi drew herself up, shaking with rage. “What happened in childhood has nothing to do with this. Touya died. We have proof. Guilty consciences and blaming each other doesn’t change that. That man—” she pointed at the screen again, at Dabi uncertain and almost scared-looking in the middle of another rose ceremony, “—is not our brother. Pretending that he could be is an insult. I did love Touya. I still do. And I will never. Never. Let anyone replace him.”

She left.

She didn’t wait for a response, or try to retrieve her container, or give her date any forewarning; she just circled the couch, pulled open the door, and left. It was silent in her wake. Everyone else stared, baffled and scared to move, until Miruko hopped up.

“Well, let’s not all go after her at once,” she said sarcastically, and left the apartment, too.

The movement seemed to jar the others out of the sudden stupor.

“What was that?” said Mt. Lady.

“I am so sorry, I really thought the notebook was innocent,” said Kanoka, hands over her mouth.

“Are you alright?” asked Ryukyu, brow furrowed in concern.

“Sorry,” said Natsuo. “That was—” He took in a deep breath. Tried to exhale. It came out way too shaky, and a choking feeling was rising up in his throat. “Sorry, but can we end this early? I’m not in a great state to be a host, and I don’t want to make this any worse—”

“We’ll leave, absolutely!” cried Kanoka, seemingly desperate to make up for her blunder.

She rounded up the episode charts and coasters anyone had left out. The others quickly jumped in to help, giving him stuttered apologies of their own and hopes for him to feel better, but Natsuo couldn’t deal with them. He retreated to his bedroom, plunked down in his desk chair, and opened his laptop. Immediately the last visited page appeared: a video sharing site, with a specific video titled Touya Todoroki Compilation. The thumbnail under the “play” button showed the same blank-faced photograph that had haunted the household shrine for years. In the distance he heard the front door open and close, and then the bedroom door creaked.

“Natsuo?” Yukina peeked her head inside. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” said Natsuo.

Yukina slipped the rest of the way into the room. She stepped silently closer and sat down on the bed. The room was small enough that this left her well in reach, and in good position to see his laptop screen. He could practically feel her gaze burning into the side of his head.

“I’m sorry I didn’t act fast enough,” she said.

“It’s not your fault,” said Natsuo. “You didn’t know what would happen or what I was hiding.”

“Still, that was… a lot.”

Natsuo snorted mirthlessly. “No kidding. Talking about Touya around my family is like pressing a self-destruct button. It’s… it’s bad. Everyone refuses to talk about him.”

“At all?”

“At all!”

Natsuo hated it. The bitterness was almost overwhelming. He curled his hand into a fist next to the mousepad in an attempt to reel it in, but it was so hard when guilt and anger at Fuyumi’s words were tangling in with it. He’d yelled at Fuyumi. She was probably out on her way back to the train, bawling her eyes out. He hoped Miruko had caught up to her.

“No one ever talks about him. It’s like a taboo. He died, and his room was cleared out, and a shrine got put in there where it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, just like him all his life, and that was it. Every other year someone will say something like ooh, like what happened to Touya, and that’s all the depth it goes into. Just a mention of him like the boogeyman. We can’t talk about him because talking about him means we’d have to think of what happened when he was alive. All the things that led him to that point. Endeavor never cared about Touya. If I brought him up to Mom it might hurt her recovery. Shouto never even knew him, and Fuyumi—” He gestured tiredly at the door. “He was just— He meant so much to me, and I’m so angry that no one else got angry for him! They want me to forget everything that hurt him. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Yukina reached out and tugged lightly at the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Could you tell me, then?” she murmured. “Please?”

Natsuo gaped at her. She wanted to hear more of that mess? After that mortifying shouting match? She kept looking at him, steady and unflinching, and he averted his gaze.

“If I tell you, you’re not going to like what you hear.”

“I hate the idea of you hurting in silence a lot more,” said Yukina. “Tell me about him. About Touya.”

Natsuo took another deep, shuddering breath. “Okay. Okay.”

He turned the laptop so she could see the screen more directly. Yukina withdrew her hand and propped her elbows on the desk, so they almost bumped shoulders.

“We were kind of celebrities, once,” said Natsuo, and pressed play.

The video jolted into motion. It showed a small, redhaired boy with bright blue eyes, wearing an overlarge Endeavor themed shirt; he was running circles around Endeavor himself, shrieking with delight. He kept stopping to gesture grandly—probably acting out one of Endeavor’s missions—and on a particularly exciting one he threw himself dramatically onto the grass like the fall of some mighty villain. Endeavor threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh,” Yukina said softly. “I can’t think of a single time I’ve ever seen Endeavor happy before. It—” She hesitated, then said much quieter, “It makes him look a little like you.”

The scene changed. The same young boy, hair going white on one side of his head, was sitting with a girl in his arms. Fuyumi may have been younger, but she was big enough that when she leaned back on her brother he looked in real danger of being crushed. I have the best sister, Touya was saying. Everyone else says that too, but they’re lying. This is it. This is the best one. Right, Yumi? Fuyumi tilted her head back to look at him and giggled.

“That’s adorable,” Yukina whispered.

“Endeavor hit number two in the rankings pretty young,” said Natsuo, watching the video with a distant gaze. “All Might had already been up there a while, but heroics was all he did. Endeavor got married, and people went nuts over it. Then Mom got pregnant, and it was like everyone in the world wanted to know everything about them. Endeavor was happy to take the publicity. He was all serious back then, too, so having kids and a wife to round him out doubled his popularity. Touya… he took to it pretty easily. He was the oldest, and he liked the attention, so the cameras focused on him most. He had the red hair, too. That probably helped.”

The video clips kept changing. They showed Touya sitting on Endeavor’s shoulders near his agency; an older Fuyumi dumping a bedraggled flower crown on hair now split down the middle like a fluffy inverse of Shouto’s; Touya in a little suit shaking All Might’s hand at the Hero Gala, saying You’re cool but my dad is much cooler, to which All Might laughed in delight; Touya lighting a sparkler with his fingertip for a giggly Natsuo in a yukata.

“I told you that Touya’s quirk hurt him, right?” said Natsuo.

“You did,” Yukina said slowly.

“And I told you Endeavor was a shitty dad?”

“You did.”

Natsuo nodded to himself, eyes still on the screen. “Do you remember the hero Stormchaser? What happened to her kid?”

 “No?”

“They were public figures, too. Media was big on hero kids at the time. It caught some sick villain’s attention. He used the pictures and the interviews and shit to track down and kidnap Stormchaser’s daughter. It took them… four days, to find her? By the time they did, the daughter was dead. That’s why there are so many privacy acts and regulations about hero families. When Endeavor switched so drastically from showing us off to giving no information at all, everyone thought that was why. It was, partially. But it was also because he had something to hide.” Natsuo heaved a heavy sigh and turned to look at her fully. “Have you ever heard of quirk marriages?”

Yukina sucked in a horrified breath. “No way. You… a quirk marriage?”

Natsuo nodded. “Endeavor had this big goal of overthrowing All Might at the top. He realized he couldn’t do it himself, so obviously the next option was to engineer an heir to do it for him. Which is such complete, utter bullshit. By the time any heir would hit the field, All Might wouldn’t even be in the picture to fight. Even if he was, he’d be old and there’s nothing praiseworthy about beating up a nice old man the rest of the world loves. Look at it now, even: Shouto’s still in high school and literally being taught by the retired hero he was born to beat up. How did Endeavor even— God. Mom thought it would be fine, you know? Parents get excited when their kids have strong quirks, and she knew All Might would be out of the picture eventually. It all could’ve worked out fine, if Touya’s body matched his quirk, but—” He stopped short in sudden horror. He hunched over and pressed his hands against his eyes. “No. No, we don’t know. We can’t blame just one thing. Touya was fine. If Endeavor was a better father, then it all would’ve been fine.”

The video switched again, to a clip where Endeavor wore his hero costume and the recognizable scowl. Touya stood beside and behind him, completely dwarfed by the man; his hair was almost entirely overtaken by white, his hands fisted in a shirt that was strikingly not Endeavor themed, and his face was carefully, aggressively blank.

“When specialists told us his quirk would stay that way, Endeavor decided Touya couldn’t be a hero,” Natsuo whispered. “I get why, but— Touya knew about the quirk marriage. He knew about the heir bullshit. He knew from the start that he was supposed to be Endeavor’s perfect creation. That’s all his identity was built around. When Endeavor made his decision, he stopped interacting with Touya almost entirely. No training, no playing, just… thrown away. He and Mom told Touya he could do something else, but everywhere he went, he was Endeavor’s son. Heroics were expected. If anyone pointed out his quirk, or implied he wouldn’t be a hero for any other reason, all those stupid strangers would ever say was that it was a waste. Nobody showed interest in him doing anything else. He was a disappointment no matter what he did. And he knew what it was like to have Endeavor love him, so he was desperate to get that back. He started training on his own. The burns… Mom and Endeavor yelled at him when they saw them, so he hid them and treated them himself. It was awful. Just a big, awful spiral. They had me to replace him, you know? Because Endeavor still wanted his stupid heir and Fuyumi’s got an ice quirk. When I didn’t manifest a quirk, they had Shouto to replace all three of us. When the Stormchaser acts went into place and the cameras left, it got worse. Until then Touya got to keep up the act: be the proud son, be tolerated, have other people connect him favorably to Endeavor. When that went away it was like all the ties were gone.” Natsuo rubbed at his face, voice growing duller and duller. “When Shouto came home from the hospital, Touya lost it. He tried to attack him.”

“He what?” Yukina gasped.

He didn’t blame her for being surprised. That didn’t fit in with anything Natsuo had said before. It didn’t match the happily babbling child in the video or the caring big brother in the photos.

“He did,” Natsuo croaked. “Touya never actually hurt him, but it changed everything. Endeavor was so obsessed with his heir bullshit, he decided to isolate Shouto from all of us to keep him from being contaminated or something. And no one ever trusted Touya again. The more I think about it the madder I am, because he was eight years old. You don’t act like an eight-year-old is a villain! You see that sort of thing and you know it’s a warning sign and he needs help, it’s not a reason for fucking abandonment! If you’re the number two hero, you should be able to handle an eight-year-old! But Endeavor didn’t, and everything was horrible. Endeavor was beating Shouto to shit for training. Mom was getting beat to shit trying to protect Shouto. Touya kept sneaking out to Sekoto Hill and beating himself to shit. Nobody paid attention to me because I was the quirkless loser, and Fuyumi cried all the time because she could remember the family being happy once and she wanted to be happy again.”

 The video changed again. This time the whole Todoroki family was in the frame, sitting in what appeared to be an airport. Endeavor sat at the end of the row, arms crossed imperiously over his chest. All the children had gathered around Rei: little Shouto bounced on her knee, Natsuo and Fuyumi appeared to be racing a toy car and a plastic unicorn along the top of the seat to her right, while to her left, crammed between both parents, Touya (hair fully white now) was attempting to take a nap against her shoulder.

And what do you want to be when you grow up? asked the apparent interviewer, holding out a microphone.

Fuyumi looked tempted to curl in on herself. She glanced at the camera, then her mother, then fixed her eyes determinedly on the microphone and mumbled, A teacher.

A pro baseball player, said Natsuo, spinning the little car’s wheels against his opposite palm as he chattered, or a pro wrestler, or a pro swimmer, or a pro chef—

Shouto blinked his big, mismatched eyes and said simply, A hero.

Touya needed to be roused. He straightened grumpily. Endeavor gave him a pointed look, as if to warn him against answering the same as Shouto. Touya’s lips twisted sourly, and he said, A trophy husband.

Rei snorted. She clapped a hand over her mouth to cover her smile. Endeavor pinched the bridge of his nose but otherwise appeared resigned. Touya settled back as if the answer were perfectly innocent. Little Natsuo tugged at Rei’s skirt and said, Mom? Mom, what’s a trophy husband? Mom, why are you laughing—

In the here and now, Natsuo gave a broken little laugh of his own.

“Touya told me everything, the same as I told him everything. He knew when I got into trouble at school, or why I liked to play certain games. I knew what he was doing to train, and that he regretted ever trying to hurt Shouto. I know he blamed himself for everything wrong with our family. He thought if he’d just been born with the right quirk then we all would’ve been happy. Some nights he’d talk about how he was going to train to be so good, Endeavor wouldn’t have to hurt Mom or Shouto anymore. Other nights he’d ask me why he was even alive. I hate Endeavor for making him feel like that. I hate Endeavor for not giving the bare minimum support. It could’ve been so easy to change.” He dragged his hands down his face, watery eyes fixing on the screen while his fingers covered his mouth. “All this time, I believed that Touya died alone on Sekoto Hill. He asked Endeavor to come see some new technique, and Endeavor didn’t fucking go. The investigators said Touya must’ve lost control of his quirk and burned the forest down with him. But I think of those nights, and those questions… and I’m not sure it was actually an accident. It’s haunted me. I keep wondering what I could’ve said or done—”

“That’s not your fault. You were just a kid,” said Yukina.

“So was he,” said Natsuo. “He was only thirteen when he died. Do you know what it’s like to be chilling before class, only for the thought to randomly cross your mind that you’ve outlived your big brother?” He winced. “Ignore that. You do know. Your cousin.”

Yukina smiled softly. “Yeah. I get those thoughts, too. Sometimes I’ll see a wedding dress in a shop window and think how much she would’ve loved it, and then I remember that she’ll never get married. I’ll never see her in any wedding dress. It’s hard.”

“It is,” said Natsuo.

Yukina turned her gaze back to the laptop again. “I can see what you meant, when you said Dabi reminded you of Touya. Having watched Dabi, and seeing these videos now…” She paused, as the twelve-year-old Touya in the video did that very specific eye roll that Dabi did whenever other contestants were being particularly annoying. “It’s… almost scary.”

“This is just scratching the surface,” said Natsuo. “The amount of similarities I’ve found…”

“That’s what’s in the notebook?” said Yukina.

Natsuo swallowed down his nerves. “I—I know this doesn’t look healthy. If it were anyone else tracking all the similarities and doing research on it, I’d think they were just making things up in their grief. But I really do think there’s a chance that Dabi is Touya. The only thing I’m missing is someone flat-out saying it.”

Yukina nodded slowly and said, “Can you walk me through what you found?”

“Do you really want to do that?” asked Natsuo. “Really. It’s weird. I know. If you’re not comfortable…”

“It’s important to you, so I want to know,” said Yukina. She jolted, looking at the laptop again as Touya gave an eerily familiar laugh. “Besides. Um. There’s a possibility that you might have a point.”

Holy shit. Natsuo was so lucky to be dating someone so understanding.

“Have I ever told you that you are the best girlfriend?” he said.

Yukina grinned. “You could say it more often. So, where’s that notebook?”

Dear

Mr. Dabi, I

Dabi

I apologize for such lax formality but I do not know your last name

Mr. Dabi Todoroki

Dear Mr. Dabi,

I am writing to you after seeing you on TV, as I am sure many other people will be doing. Are you Endeavor’s secret love child, because if so we are siblings and that would be nice. In the sense of us being siblings, not in the case of Endeavor, because on that account I genuinely offer my condolences.

Shouto glared down at the paper. He had the suspicion that this was not the best opening paragraph. He was working on his sixth attempt at writing a fan letter to Dabi on The Bachelorette, but he’d never written letters to anyone beyond brief, soulless things like, “Dear tutor, my application has been accepted at U.A., I appreciate your instruction.” Even the letters he sent to Rei suffered from curtness; Rei had proudly shown off his letters to his siblings, and Fuyumi had reached out asking if he was okay because the messages apparently read like a report rather than genuine communication. He didn’t want to sound cold or aloof right now. He wanted to be engaging and familiar enough to spur Dabi into sending something back. It was difficult. If someone wrote a letter to Shouto assuming they knew everything about him he’d find it irritating and cast it away; likewise if it was fawning he wouldn’t like it much either. Dabi appreciated honesty and straightforwardness, as evidenced by the show, and Shouto likewise appreciated it. The balance, though, between straightforward and overbearing…

A leaf from the tree above him drifted down to land on Shouto’s notebook, and he swept it off automatically.

Rather than going directly to the dorms after class, he’d found a secluded bench on the school campus. He’d hoped that the fresh air and greenery might jumpstart his brain in the way that the indoors had failed to, but had no luck. He’d been out here at least two hours and made no headway. Shouto heaved a sigh of frustration and rubbed at his face. How was he supposed to become a hero if he couldn’t even write a letter?

“Oh, Shouto! There you are!” Uraraka was walking down the path. Judging by her flushed face and sweaty tank top, she’d been training in one of the nearby gyms. “We wondered where you’d run off to!”

“I was just writing a letter,” said Shouto, closing his notebook. “You were training?”

“Weightlifting!” She flexed her arms to show off burgeoning muscles. “My quirk might help by making things weightless, but I want to be prepared for all sorts of situations!”

“It’s a good idea,” said Shouto, nodding to himself. “One of my weaknesses is relying too much on my quirk. Once someone gets close to me I’m at a disadvantage…”

“You should come with us next time!” said Uraraka. “Kirishima’s really great with tips on how to use the equipment the right way, and it’s always more fun to do this sort of thing with friends. Besides,” she said, voice going sly, “Midoriya will be there.”

“Oh,” said Shouto, impressed. Having grown up with Endeavor he was sure he knew how to use all the equipment just fine, but Midoriya had a knack for finding good opportunities. It would be beneficial to follow his instincts.  “Then yes, perhaps I’ll come with you next time.”

“I figured that would convince you,” Uraraka giggled. “He would’ve been with us today, too, except All Might pulled him aside for a talk. No idea what it was about.”

“Probably a family matter,” said Shouto.

Uraraka tilted her head in confusion. Ah, right, Midoriya being All Might’s secret love child had an emphasis on secret. Things might get complicated for Midoriya if it became common knowledge.

“In any case, it’s almost time for The Bachelorette to come on. Do you want to walk back with me?” said Uraraka.

“Sure.”

Shouto stowed his notebook, shouldered his bag, and followed her away down the path. Uraraka was clearly in a good mood—she was humming that song Jiro had been playing in the kitchen last night, and she swung her arms to work out the positive energy. She may not have been as upbeat as he thought, though, because her swinging hands were clasped into fists, and her smile got a little wobbly, as if she were nervous.

“Hey, Todoroki, can I ask you a weird question?”

“Of course,” said Shouto.

If anything he felt honored that she was willing to ask him ‘strange’ things; people did not ask strange questions of someone they weren’t really comfortable with, right?

“It’s about what you said last week to Midoriya,” said Uraraka. “That he was handsome, and talented, and that you were happy spending time with him.”

“I remember that,” said Shouto.

 “So, you genuinely think all those things about him, right?” she checked.

“Of course,” said Shouto. “I wouldn’t say them otherwise.”

“Okay. Then my question here is… why haven’t you asked him out?”

Shouto froze.

Him? Ask out Midoriya? Was that possible? It had never occurred to him as something he could do. Shouto put a hand to his chin and frowned, mulling over the idea.

“You’re thinking pretty hard about this,” said Uraraka, like she was trying not to laugh.

“It bears thinking,” said Shouto. Weren’t there some game shows that let you call a friend on this sort of thing? “Excuse me,” he said, and took out his phone. He opened Fuyumi’s contact and texted, Can I date Midoriya?

The response was almost instant: YES!!! Oh my god, Sho, I thought you already were dating him!

Oh. Okay, cool. He had Fuyumi’s approval.

Shouto put his phone down, looked up at Uraraka, opened his mouth… and snapped it right back shut. Up went his phone again, in a bout of sudden nerves.

What do I do if he doesn’t like me?

Doesn’t like you? Fuyumi replied, what do you mean if he doesn’t like you? When he came to family dinner he looked at you the whole time! He was so sweet to you! Bakugo called you two lovebirds!

Shouto snorted. Bakugo also calls Midoriya a useless nerd, so I take all his words with a grain of salt.

That freckled sweetheart looked at you like you hung the moon. If you ask him out, I’m sure he’ll cry.

Midoriya would cry? Horror flooded through him. Was Shouto so impersonal that he could move someone to tears at the idea of spending more time with him?

“Uh oh, that’s not a good face,” said Uraraka.

“Uraraka, am I…” Shouto cast around for the right phrase. “…an ice prince?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a snort. “Uh, yeah. Sort of.”

Oh, no. He didn’t want to come off as cold and unemotional. Did Midoriya think he was like that, too?  He switched contacts and this time texted Natsuo, Can I ask you for help with something? I don’t think Fuyumi will give me an unbiased answer.

Natsuo took a little longer to reply. Shouto stood still, staring intently at the screen for the two whole minutes it took for the typing icon to appear.

Okay? Natsuo replied. If emergency call Yumi. OMW to watch party.

It can wait. Thank you, Shouto typed back.

Natsuo knew about these sort of things. He was good at making friends, and he had a girlfriend now. He would know what to do. Shouto gave a long sigh of relief and put his phone away.

“I need more training first,” he said.

“Um, it’s good that you’re focused on your goals—like, a lot of people find that attractive—but I don’t think strengthening your quirk matters much in this situation,” said Uraraka.

“A different sort of training,” said Shouto.

“Okay, Mr. Mystery,” said Uraraka. “Think on it, though, okay? I think you’d be really cute together, and—oh!”

She leaned in close. Shouto leaned away in equal measure, fighting the urge to encase his hot face in a block of ice.

“What?” he said uncertainly.

“You’re blushing! I didn’t realize you could do that!” said Uraraka. “It’s sort of faint. Does that have to do with your quirk?”

“I… believe so,” said Shouto.

Uraraka groaned with jealousy. “I wish I had the ability to cool my face down instantly. But no, I’m stuck with this.” She rubbed dejectedly at her eternally rosy cheeks.

“I thought people were saying you were cute like that,” said Shouto.

“Yeah, but you never really know, do you?” Uraraka laughed. “Sometimes friends tell little white lies to make you feel better, so…”

She kept on chattering as they started walking again, but Shouto had a whole new fear to cope with. He hoped Midoriya hadn’t lied to him at all, even if it was done in kindness. He hoped that if he tried to ask Midoriya out, his response would be real instead of trying to cushion any rejection. Midoriya was a very kind person, after all.

They rounded a corner, and the dorms came into view. Midoriya and All Might were sitting on one of the benches outside its doors. Midoriya appeared to be deep into one of his analyses, one hand on his chin and the other counting something down on his fingers. He was very focused. All Might had leaned in to listen, but something made him reel back and give a booming laugh. Midoriya blinked up at him, startled out of his thoughts. All Might leaned back in again, tapped Midoriya on the chest, then spread his arms wide as he delivered some highly optimistic input. Midoriya beamed.

Shouto quietly decided that Uraraka’s opinions were not universal truth. Shouto’s supposed blush was not cute. Midoriya’s smile, though. That was cute.

“Hey there!” Uraraka called. “Are you ready for the episode tonight?”

“Oh, hi!” said Midoriya. “Yeah, I think we were just finishing up.”

“We were indeed.” All Might pushed himself to his feet. “Remember what I said, young Midoriya! You are making great progress, but let’s not overwork ourselves.”

“Yes, sir!”

All Might chuckled. “I’ll see you all in class,” he said, and shuffled off toward the staff dorms.

“Good talk?” asked Uraraka.

“It was! He gave me a lot to think about!” said Midoriya. “How was training? And letter-writing?”

“Great!” said Uraraka.

“I’ve made some progress,” said Shouto. “It needs more work, though.”

Maybe he could ask Natsuo for help on the letter, too.

They went inside and found the rest of the group gearing up for Girls Night. Sato had made cake—everyone swooped in to claim a piece, but while they all raved about how good it tasted, Jiro didn’t eat hers. She just held the plate, tapping her fork against its edge nervously as she watched the commercials on TV.

“Is everything okay?” asked Midoriya, as he and Shouto sat down near her.

“Fine!” she said, a little high pitched. “I just… might know some of what happens this episode.”

“Already?” cried Ashido.

“How?” said Hakagure. “Tell us your secret!”

Jiro went pink and stabbed at her cake slice. “You know how last week I said I might have a contact? He’s on this week, so I know what happened. With what he was involved in, at least. I’m nervous to see how he’s going to be shown.”

“That’s so cool!” said Uraraka. “You have to point him out when he’s onscreen, okay?”

“Yeah,” said Jiro, cracking a smile. “You’ll probably be able to tell anyway, but sure.”

The TV chose this moment to say, “Tonight, on The Bachelorette…” and everyone turned their heads toward the screen.

Shouto was lost within the first ten minutes. He didn’t understand what Operation WOWO was. Judging by the raised brows and dumbfounded reactions of his male classmates, this might’ve been a blessing. Luckily this segment didn’t last long and was entirely forgotten afterward.

Shouto didn’t much care for Aiko’s cooking outing. The idea of cooking with another person had been ruined for all of class 1-A by Bakugo’s perfectionist rule over the kitchen. Shouto didn’t intend to use the cooking angle for anything if he could help it.

It was the second event that got everyone’s attention. Shouto was instantly intrigued because the date card listed both Dabi and Hawks. Everyone else was instantly intrigued because as soon as the hint was read out, Jiro straightened up and sucked in a breath. They all watched, spellbound, until—

“Pop☆Step?” Ashido screeched. “Pop☆Step? They really got Pop☆Step?”

“Present Mic?” cried Kirishima, as their heroic English teacher appeared onscreen. “He’s on The Bachelorette?”

“And—Jiro? Oh my god! Jiro, is that your dad?” shrieked Hakagure, seizing Jiro by the shoulders and shaking her.

Jiro laughed. “Yeah, that’s my dad!”

Everyone broke into praise and excitement. Shouto squinted at the screen. Kyotoku Jiro didn’t have his daughter’s dark hair, but they definitely had the same eyes. Also the same musical talent. This explained how Jiro had been so adept at teaching everyone for the school festival. They were treated to the sight of her father and Present Mic trying to teach a song and dance with only a few hours to spare. The best part of this, everyone agreed, was the fact that nearly none of the men onscreen could sing. The sheer contrast in Present Mic’s attitude alone was enough to make most of them howl: In the practice room Mic was trying his best to be supportive, but outside in a confessional with Jiro’s father he looked utterly defeated.

“They’re bad,” he said bluntly. “My god. Have they never even, like, practiced in the shower at home? How can someone be that bad? It’s a good thing they’re not on a singing competition.”

“They’ll make the audience cry,” Kyotoku agreed. “And not in a good way.”   

Later during the concert, the cameras had indeed zoomed in on Eri riding on Aizawa’s shoulders in the crowd; the little girl’s expression was perplexed and her hands covered her ears. The sight had sent Ashido rolling on the floor in a giggle fit. Midoriya looked close to laughing too, but he pressed a hand to his mouth to keep it in.

“Poor Eri,” he mumbled. “She doesn’t have standards, yet. I don’t think she knows how bad they are.”

Shouto didn’t have any definite standards either, but he didn’t think they were quite as bad as everyone else made them out to be. They were clearly enjoying themselves, at least. Dabi and Hawks especially were smiling, and… huh. That was an interesting face. While most of the others were occupied with Jiro, Shouto edged closer to the chair where Tokoyami was sitting. Tokoyami had a hand pressed to his beak, ironically similar to Hawks’ thinking pose as he watched his mentor with furrowed brows.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I haven’t seen that kind of expression on Hawks before. Have you?”

“No,” Tokoyami replied, equally quiet. “Hawks has… a lot of smiles. Some are more genuine than others. But I’ve never seen anything like this one. I’ve asked the other sidekicks, too, and they’re just as confused…”

“What is there to be confused about?” said Aoyama, who was sitting on the chair’s other side in a violently purple robe.

“What shouldn’t we be confused about?” said Shouto.

“I think he’s happy. It’s similar to a genuine happy expression, but it’s far enough off…” Tokoyami mumbled. “He’s so secretive, it’s hard to be sure of anything.”

Aoyama smiled. “Ah, mon ami, that expression is adoration. Hawks is in love.”

Tokoyami made a choked-off spluttering noise. Shouto looked back at the TV, where Dabi and Hawks were sitting a little too close on the couch at the after-party, and thought, Yeah, that fits.

Maybe he ought to send Hawks a letter for advice, too.

If Hawks intended to romance Dabi, they’d be relatives, after all. It might be good to start making the connection early.

Toga had reached a new low in her Bachelorette obsession.

Last week they’d gone to Giran’s place to watch The Bachelorette, because Toga had insisted that Giran was smart enough to see the “super obvious” forbidden love between Dabi and Hawks. Hawks. Just considering the idea was ludicrous. Shigaraki had agreed only because he hadn’t seen Giran in a while, and he was sure Giran would shut her down more effectively than anyone in the League could. This had not been the case. Instead of debunking shipping conspiracies, the League had been stuck watching Dabi reminiscing about them.

“He remembers my knife!” Toga had squealed. “I still have it, the one with the flowers—”

“He makes my quirk sound badass,” Spinner had said, fascinated.

“I knew he appreciated my magic tricks!” said Compress, pretending to wipe a tear from his masked face.

Shigaraki had downright shuddered when Dabi mentioned him on national TV. No name had been given, but everyone present knew who in Dabi’s life used gaming terms in actual conversation, and he soon had Magne and Twice poking at him in glee. To top it all off, Giran had watched it all play out with a silent grin, and when asked for his opinion on the Hotwings mess, replied only, “I’ll need some more research.”

Which meant he came over to watch this week’s episode at their apartment.

Kurogiri had propped open the balcony doors and forbidden Giran from smoking indoors, but that was kind of a moot point. Even if the cigarette between his teeth was unlit, Giran smelled eternally like smoke, and so would anything he touched. Shigaraki sat the furthest away from him, next to the wall outlet so he could play his hideously-battery-sucking mobile game in peace. He kept his eyes on the graphics as everyone settled into their spots.

“Okay, so, you have to see it this time,” said Toga, tilting weirdly in a way only her beanbag chair could allow without her spilling right out of it. “You have to see that Hawks is so totally into Dabi. The Team Hotwings ship is sailing, and I know you’ll be able to see it!”

“You don’t even know what’s happening this week,” said Spinner.

“I do so! The event was live, so pictures have already gone around the internet,” said Toga. “It wouldn’t matter anyway, though! All you have to do is look at Hawks. He radiates big crush energy.”

“Lies,” said Shigaraki, without looking up.

Toga blew a raspberry at him.

Giran chuckled. “I’ll keep my eye out for it, kid.”

“More importantly, this is week six, isn’t it?” said Spinner. “Back when he first told us, he said he’d make it this far, but then he’d get booted. Right?”

“That is correct,” said Compress.

“Do you think he’ll make it further?”

“I don’t know,” said Magne. “He definitely impressed Aiko, but he’s also literally the only man she hasn’t made out with. It was painful watching him try to avoid her kisses on the one-on-one date.”

They all held a moment of silence for that catastrophe.

“Maybe we should’ve gotten him kissing lessons after all,” Compress muttered.

“Oh yeah? With who?” said Shigaraki. “Were you going to lock lips with him? I sure as fuck wouldn’t. He probably would’ve burned anyone who tried.”

“I bet I could’ve wooed him!” cried Twice. “Ew, no, that’s like kissing your mom!”

“Something tells me even you wouldn’t have been immune to Dabi’s wrath for that,” said Compress, patting him on the back.

“What does it matter if Dabi doesn’t even like Aiko?” said Toga. “I’m calling it. Dabi’s going to leave, and Hawks is going to leave with him. Because they’re in love.”

She was getting weirdly giggly again.

“Dabi,” Shigaraki said flatly. “In love? Not likely.”

“He’s with Hawks all the time!”

“Because Hawks is a weird, famous stalker and Dabi doesn’t want to get mauled by his fans for the rest of his life.”

Toga looked tempted to argue the point, but Kurogiri walked through the doors and perked up: “It’s starting!”

Everyone leaned in closer as the episode started, and Shigaraki kept his eyes stubbornly on his game. According to the map there was a treasure chest somewhere nearby, if he could just… aha, there it was, hidden behind that 3D bush. He resolutely ignored the laughter and Spinner’s despairing groan at the announcement of something called Operation WOWO, because the name was downright stupid and he had no desire for it to take up any of his brain space. His time was much better used on hunting for character ascension materials. He managed to stay distracted for twenty minutes before Twice was elbowing him and crowing, “Music! It’s music!”

Okay, that had his attention.

Shigaraki set aside his game and watched as Dabi and a bunch of other idiots were shepherded into… a music school? With a pop idol?

“Oh,” he breathed, leaning closer. “This is an opportunity!”

“Is this the event you were talking about?” cried Spinner. “Dabi sang with Pop☆Step?”

“You’d have known days ago if you hadn’t blocked me!” said Toga with a pout.

“Maybe if you didn’t keep tweeting scandalous Dabi fanart I wouldn’t have had to block you!” said Spinner.

Magne clicked her tongue at him. “I thought we agreed, it’s all good and for the sake of Dabi’s confidence—”

“I’m still not convinced he won’t launch himself off the balcony at the mere idea of it,” Compress said cheerily.

“All of you shut up!” snapped Shigaraki. “There are professionals coaching them! We could learn tips!”

Because everyone with the vaguest interest in music knew who Present Mic was, and Spinner bragged about his idols enough for Shigaraki to know this Jiro guy was good at what he did. Unfortunately the show wasn’t interested in showing anything professional. The only things Shigaraki was learning was 1) the other men were shit singers, and 2) this Hinote guy was an asshole.

“I’m in a band, after all,” Hinote said snootily as they were escorted to the practice rooms, the third mention of his band in less than five minutes. “I’ve got talent and experience the rest of these peons couldn’t hope to have. Aiko will have no trouble picking out the real skill.”

“Oh, fuck, I hate this guy,” said Shigaraki, almost surprised by the amount of vitriol he felt just by looking at Hinote’s stupid, punchable face.

My band, Hinote said, over and over, his voice laid atop the terrible practice attempts. My band, my band, I’m so great and everyone else sucks, ha, ha, ha—

And then Dabi nailed his lines, and the pros teaching them looked ready to cry at the sound of talent. The clip switched to Hinote in the confessional, looking scandalized. Almost immediately it switched to another clip of Dabi retreating to the back corner, Hawks excitedly whispering You can sing? before they were treated to the downright thrilled hero in his own confessional.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know this before,” Hawks was saying. “I understand keeping some things to yourself, especially if people could target you for them here in the mansion, but that? I think there’s an angel on the premises. I’m dead. Holy shit.”

Toga made a sound like a tea kettle, whipped out her phone, and started tweeting like crazy.

In the show’s practice room Hinote shoved past the others for his own time in the limelight, but insult to injury, the episode obscured his actual singing to give his voiceover: “I don’t know what Dabi thinks he’s doing, trying to steal my date, but I’m not letting him get away with anything. That rose is mine!”

“Fuck you!” Shigaraki howled at the screen.

“Yeah, fuck you! You’re not even a good singer!” cried Twice, shaking his fist. “That’s a lie, I’d buy your album!”

And then there were costumes. Pop☆Step costumes, with little blue skirts attached to the belts. Shigaraki laughed like a hyena at the sight of them. Spinner covered his eyes in embarrassment.

“They could’ve been tailored so much better,” said Compress, sounding actually upset about it. “The way it’s falling on Dabi, look at the shoulders—”

“Oh my god, look at Hawks,” said Magne, fanning herself with a magazine. “All those muscles—”

“Shh, don’t creep on Dabi’s man!” said Toga.

“It’s bad tailoring!” said Compress.

Giran was quietly laughing to himself.

The competitors were taken out of the school and driven to a live concert.

It was at this point that Shigaraki felt concern.

Years ago, when it was just him, Dabi, and Kurogiri, and Shigaraki had gone all in on the drumming, they’d tried busking. It felt like the right thing to do. It was what people did in the movies to get experience and recognition, and buskers were a common sight on the streets of Kamino Ward in real life, too. There was no school to get into, no recitals to be had, no path for them to follow to success. Busking was their best bet. At the time Dabi hadn’t minded. He’d griped that he was only doing it because Shigaraki would be annoying otherwise, and he was a little weird about compliments, but when Kurogiri had praised his voice, he’d been contemplative about it instead of rejecting it. They’d picked out a spot between a train station and a park—somewhere with foot traffic but good getaway options if there was an impromptu villain attack—and went to work. For two songs, it had been great. They were two kids on the cusp of adulthood, feeling talented and powerful… until heroes showed up. Until people started jeering at them. Until they had to run, losing half of the little drumkit in their haste not to be arrested for their failure to look like the actors in those busking movies. Shigaraki was livid. What did it matter what they looked like, if they could play the damn songs?

Shigaraki was a spiteful person. When he saw the pictures and the ugly captions on social media, he threw himself harder into music, seething about the day when he’d show all of those fuckers that they didn’t know shit.

Dabi was a different story. He was the sort of person who aimed everything inward and decided it was his fault—everything I want is bad, everyone would be happier if I weren’t here, I’m a bad person who’ll drag everything down with me. Kurogiri had been trying to coach him out of that toxic mindset, but the busking incident reinforced it to the point Dabi refused to try again. He’d been smiling, before it went wrong. Later he claimed he hadn’t liked any of it. It pissed Shigaraki off on so many levels.

Would a live performance on stage bring back those memories? Shigaraki didn’t know. He found himself watching with bated breath, fingers twitching as his quirk itched under the skin. If anyone tried hassling Dabi, he’d enlist Toga and Giran’s help to track down the bastards and make them regret. If this stupid fucking show tried to embarrass him or set him up badly, Shigaraki would go and decay their whole fucking headquarters. Dabi was annoying, yeah, but he didn’t deserve that kind of shit.

For the whole concert, Dabi was with Hawks. Shigaraki didn’t know if that was a good thing. It meant a lot of camera time, but Hawks’ presence essentially shielded him. Anyone who tried jeering at the person Hawks was wrapping a wing around would be butting heads with the number two hero. Besides, hadn’t Pop☆Step been known to dropkick audience members who’d badmouthed her backup singers before? It should be safe. He hoped it was safe. He also hoped that Hawks would back off a little, holy fucking shit.

“They’re hugging!” cried Magne, delighted, as Dabi and Hawks rocked back and forth onstage. “Even with the scars, they’re hugging!”

“Dabi is smiling!” said Kurogiri, sounding close to tears.

“So is Hawks, damn,” said Spinner.

“Get yourself a man who looks at you the way Hawks looks at Dabi!” Toga wailed, typing madly on her phone.

“It’s not romantic!” cried Shigaraki. “Smiling at someone doesn’t mean romance!”

Toga ignored him. The date moved on, through the uneventful end of the concert and into the afterparty, where the sight of Dabi’s cocktail launched Twice into a recital of the Pina Colada song. Shigaraki groaned loudly and covered his ears. Dabi was drinking a lot of his cocktail. At one point Hawks caught his wrist and guided it back down, giving him a pout, and the way Dabi was looking back at him… that wasn’t intimate. There was no way Shigaraki would ever believe that was an intimate move.

“If Dabi thinks he can outmaneuver me, he’s got another thing coming,” Hinote said in yet another confessional.

The show went to footage of him and Aiko having their talk alone, where he “confessed” that Dabi was the real villain of the show, having hidden his own band and lust for stardom while Hinote had been upfront about his own circumstances.

“Fuck off!” cried Shigaraki, as drama ensued and Aiko wept over Dabi’s so-called crimes. “He’s a fucking hypocrite, use your fucking head!”

The rest of the League was booing alongside him. Luckily Dabi came in quickly and set the record… sort of straight. He was still claiming he wasn’t part of the League. Reality would sink in sooner or later. To their delight, Hinote didn’t get the date rose. The fact that Dabi didn’t get it when he’d been by far the best singer was pretty annoying, but at least he hadn’t lost it to an asshole. Hinote made even more of an ass of himself by bragging about getting someone’s number, and the rest of the mansion basically declared war on him.

The rest of the episode was much less exciting. The next group date had a bunch of men out at a film location, where they were dressed up as samurai and made to act out cheesy scripts with Aiko as the heroine. Halfway through her scene with Gentle, Aiko broke character to tell him he was really great but just didn’t make her horny or something. Gentle left in shame, and got a somber farewell from Hawks and Dabi at the mansion.

“Is Aiko a fool?” said Compress, who was way more worked up over this episode than the others. “Did no one see his acting skills? Gentle had all of those men beaten! They couldn’t act their way out of a paper bag! Why would she let him go on the date he handled perfectly?”

Meanwhile on the show Dabi seemed to have lost his marbles. The cameras followed him all around the mansion as he started bidding farewell to inanimate objects, after which it cut to a very concerned Hawks.

“He thinks he’s leaving,” said Hawks. “He thinks if Gentle couldn’t make it then there’s no way he could either. I can’t convince him otherwise.”

“Oh, honey,” said Magne, hand covering her smile. “Dabi. Sweetie. Why.”

“It’s completely in character,” said Shigaraki.

“It’s stupid, is what it is!” said Toga.

They went quiet again for the rose ceremony fiasco, and murmured in puzzlement as Hawks tried to convince Aiko to talk to Dabi.

That wasn’t thoughtful. Not at all. What was Toga talking about?

In the end Dabi did get a rose. Shigaraki wasn’t really surprised—surely they’d have gotten a phone call already if he was freed—but Dabi definitely was caught off guard. Hinote was booted off, and left the mansion with a voiceover of him ranting that Aiko would regret dumping him when he was rich and famous.

“Good luck with that! Your songs sucked!” said Shigaraki.

On the other side of the room, Toga clambered out of her beanbag and leaned into Giran’s space. “Well? Did you see it? What do you think?”

Giran hummed. They all watched as he slowly took the cigarette out of his mouth and grinned. “My opinion?”

“Yes!” said Toga.

“My opinion on Team Hotwings?” said Giran.

“Yes, yes, yes!” cried Toga, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Well,” said Giran, “I think Bird Boy’s looking for some seeds, if you know what I mean.”

“I hate you,” said Shigaraki. “I hate you so fucking much.”

Chapter Text

It was week seven of The Bachelorette, and Dabi was still in the mansion for some reason.

Was there bribery involved? He wasn’t sure.

What he did know was that Misty was acting weird now.

It started on Sunday, with the arrival of the date card. The hint had been something about first loves, and the man selected for it was Slidin’ Go. At first it seemed like Misty had wanted Dabi to read the card, only for Curious to redirect it so Miyashita did the reading instead. Then, when Dabi had been called aside for a confessional on his reaction to not being taken on the date (“I’m sure I’ll get my chance later on,” he’d lied), she’d been weirdly anxious but refused to tell him why. This may have been due to the fact that Watts and Jules were the assigned camera and sound workers instead of the usual Shion and Prey, so she wasn’t comfortable saying it in front of them. She then spent the rest of Sunday and Monday just looking at him from the hallways with something that might’ve been despair, but he couldn’t read her blank eyes well enough to know. It was impossible to catch her alone; there were always crew members or competitors, and while Dabi normally wouldn’t give a shit, he was convinced that it had something to do with why he was still on the show. Letting that information get out would surely cause some kind of terrible, dramatic fallout.

“You just have to wait for the opportune moment. It’s a patience game,” said Hawks, who had noticed Misty’s interest just as easily. “You don’t want to go over to her straightforwardly, even if she wants to say something perfectly innocent. There’s been rumors of contestants and producers getting romantically involved in the past. You don’t want to deal with that kind of lie.”

That did sound like a pretty horrible prospect.

In the meantime Hawks was happy to spend every waking moment in Dabi’s presence. This wasn’t exactly different from the last few weeks, but Hawks seemed to be radiating some kind of triumph after Dabi had made it through the last rose ceremony. He was extra smiley. Extra energetic. Stood even closer than before.

Weird.

The big opportunity to talk with Misty arrived on Tuesday.

Tesla was given the date card and read aloud, “Dabi, Hawks, Sharkyonara, Geten, Tobio, Miyashita, Tobio, Trumpet, Skeptic, Hanzo Suiden, and Hyouto. It’s game time. Heart, Aiko.”

“Another group date,” said Hawks, rubbing his hands together. “That should be fun! What do you think I’ll be? A game, obviously, but—”

“We’ve already done basketball,” said Sharkyonara, scratching at his dorsal fin. “Maybe baseball, or another sport…”

“It better not be a sport,” Dabi grumbled.

He wasn’t built for a lot of movement or speed. It would suck. He was pretty sure he’d only been brought on the ‘pool party’ group date because its main activity had actually been the car chase; hopefully Misty and the producers had taken his limits into account this time, too.

“Get over yourself. The date’s not being picked for you,” said Geten.

“I don’t see why you’d be eager to play sports with us. Aren’t you worried about ruining your pretty face?” said Tobio.

“I will crush you,” Geten seethed. “All of you.”

They squabbled a bit more before the producers broke them up for confessionals. As usual Misty took Dabi aside, but unlike usual they went past the gardens and into the outbuildings. They were almost in the trees and the patrol zone by the time they stopped in the shadow of a garage. Misty wrung her hands, then said, “Oh no! I think something’s wrong with your microphone.”

This was said in the kind of blatant, overdramatic tone that no one would ever take seriously.

“Oh,” said Shion, with the same stilted tone, “how terrible! I should replace that.” She turned off his microphone. As soon as the little light on it went out Dabi raised his brows. He was pretty sure that was against the rules of the show. “I’ll be right back with a replacement,” she said, and ran off.

“Ah,” said Prey. He was probably going for the same theatrics as the others but he always sounded so tired and monotone, it didn’t change much. “There’s a frog.”

“Uh… Good for you?” said Dabi.

“I need that footage,” Prey said dully. “The editing team likes it when we can get animal shots.”

And off he went, pursuing a frog that may or may not have been real along the grass line.

Dabi turned to Misty and said, “What the fuck?”

“I wanted to check in with you,” said Misty. “I got some new information, so I wanted to be on the same page, since this seems like a really big deal…”

“What kind of information?” Dabi said suspiciously.

“Well,” said Misty. Her voice was kind of shrill. “Okay, so, I was helping with research for yesterday’s one-on-one date. Aiko was all excited for some kind of ‘first love’ sappy stuff, so everyone not actively holding equipment got sent home to research their first crushes and early dates. I like romance, you know! If I didn’t I wouldn’t be working on this show. But the idea of me in a relationship? Sex? I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. Schoolgirls don’t accept that sort of thing, though, so when I was in school, I… made up a crush.”

“Okay,” Dabi said slowly. He didn’t see how any of this fitted in with him.

“I did a lot of research on celebrity children my age, and picked one out that seemed nice,” she continued, eyes wide like she was begging him to understand. “I found my old school supplies. I had this collage of him in the front of my binder, because I really wanted to sell it, you know? I did a lot of research, too. I knew just about everything about him. His mother’s maiden name, his birth date…” Wait a fucking second. Dabi eyed her with growing horror as she went on, “I must’ve been very convincing, too, because when that boy died in a fire, everyone walked on eggshells around me for years.” They stared at each other like two deer caught in each other’s headlights for a moment before she finished, “I know.”

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

She knew who he was. That was a power over him that he could barely comprehend at this point. Even the League didn’t— She could ruin him.

“So what fucking now?” he snapped, hackles up. “You keep me on another week because the drama’s too good? You want to be the ones reporting my tragic fucking backstory? You want to call in my fucking father? Because if you think he’d give a shit—”

“No!” cried Misty. “No, I just wanted to let you know that I know!”

“For what?”

“For you to feel comfortable telling me if you need something!”

“Like what?”

“Like if I should be telling the security team to be looking out for something specific!” said Misty, exasperated. “Look, just— You’re not dumb, okay? You hate drama! And the way that you… left… was really suspicious! That just screams interference to me, and when a kid’s involved, and those kind of injuries— Is something after you? Do we need to be protecting you from something specific?"

Dabi drew back sharply. “Don’t ask me that.”

“That is the worst answer you could give me,” Misty whined. She buried her face in her hands for a moment. “Okay. Okay, so, we’ll keep on going the way we have been for now, but if I see anything weird—”

“You work on the fucking Bachelorette,” said Dabi.

“—Weirder than usual, I’m going to check in with you to make sure it’s not something bigger,” said Misty. “You said at the beginning that people recognizing you would be a bad thing. I don’t know if it has something to do with your shitty dad—which, by the way, holy shit—”

“Can we just forget about his existence?” Dabi groaned.

“I want to make sure you’re safe. Emotions are all over the place and there’s backstabbing galore inside the mansion, but your physical and mental safety should never be in question,” said Misty.

Dabi gave a bark of laughter. Mental safety, yeah right.

“Fine,” he said. “But what’s the big idea, keeping me on another week if you’re not going to use that against me?”

Misty’s brow furrowed. “Keeping you on? Oh, I wasn’t involved in that.”

“Then who did Hawks bribe?” said Dabi, getting irritated again.

“No one,” said Misty. She seemed to understand, and a faint smile returned to her face. “Aiko chose you on her own.”

“Why the fuck would she—”

“You’re a lot more supportive than you seem to think,” said Misty. “If you weren’t around, she’d be stuck with a bunch of drama queens who are all either pushovers or lying through their teeth. I think she likes you—”

“She better not,” said Dabi.

Misty rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Even if I were in her place and didn’t like you, I’d find it valuable to keep you on, just as a standard. I mean, if you’re rational, what does her so-called prince look like compared to you? Plus you’re honest and you don’t start nearly as much shit as the others. She’ll probably want your input all the way up until she’s got her finalists confirmed.”

Oh. Well. He could sort of see why that might be a good thing.

“I’m still taking a space from men who actually like her,” he grumbled.

“It’s a two-way street,” said Misty. “No matter how much one person likes another, it has to be reciprocated to work. Aiko’s weighing all her choices. If others were let go, they meant less to her than your opinion and her idea of success with her prince at the end of this. Don’t feel guilty about any of it. You’re here for a reason.”

It still felt sort of shitty.

Since they seemed to have calmed down, Shion and Prey returned.

“Can I film you looking at the frog?” asked Prey, when he was back in earshot.

“…Yes?” said Dabi. “Are you telling me there was an actual frog?”

Prey nodded and reverently led them back to the spot where a little pond frog sat on the garden wall. How was Dabi supposed to pose with a frog? He settled for eyeing it cautiously as they went through the usual confessional process, and recoiled quickly with a cuss when it made as if to jump at him.

“Oh, that’s definitely going into the bloopers,” Shion muttered.

Dabi flipped her off.

Eventually they finished up and returned to the mansion. Hawks was leaning in the doorway to the garden, floating a feather in front of his own face for amusement. He likely heard them coming long in advance, but pretended to have just noticed them as they came into view.

“Well, you look properly contemplative,” he said, zooming the stray feather back into his wing. “What’s up?”

“We found a frog,” said Shion, patting Prey on the back.

“Nice,” said Hawks. While the crew left to regroup with Curious’ latest whims, Hawks fell into step beside Dabi again. “Misty’s looking much calmer, too. Did you get the chance to talk?”

“We did,” said Dabi.

“Care to share what it was about?” said Hawks.

“Personal things,” said Dabi. “But she did confirm that there wasn’t any foul play involved in me being here.”

“Told you,” Hawks sing-songed.

Hawks started chattering about his own confessional and how some of the crewmembers were stressed and bickering about shifted lighting equipment. Dabi didn’t pay too much attention.

A little piece of Dabi wanted to run upstairs, break open Compress’ marble, and use the emergency phone. He didn’t like the idea of being here so obviously if his identity had a chance of leaking out. Doctor Ujiko may have been in jail, but one man alone hadn’t made all those Nomu. There had been a system in place. Assistants. Customers. Those didn’t disappear as easily as the factory, he knew that from experience. And the mess it would all be if his family found out… Well. It was a good thing he was burned beyond all recognition. If he wanted to, he could have Kurogiri warp him out right now. But wouldn’t that just draw all the more attention to himself? The competitor who’d disappeared from The Bachelorette without a trace? People would ask why, and how. If he hadn’t caught the wrong people’s attention already, he’d catch it by leaving. Yes, staying was ironically the safest option. If he pretended normalcy, they may second guess their conclusions and move on. Besides, the Paragon security team was tough; he’d spent an entire day watching them take down all manner of quirks and infiltration attempts, and as far as he knew they were at it twenty-four seven. Based on Hawks’ offhand comment—You never know which ones have bombs—they must’ve been treating every single trespasser as a real threat. That was a massive boon for his safety, and if that weren’t enough, he was walking next to the number two hero, who had super senses and an overpowered quirk. There might not be a safer place to be in all of Japan right now.

He just had to lay low until the show let him go on its own.

Yeah, that sounded simple enough.

(It would not be quite that simple.)

On Wednesday morning the group date members were rounded up and put back in a limo to drive into Alderaan. Without Hinote around it wasn’t nearly as intense, but the other men were glancing suspiciously at each other as they made conversation, like they were searching out the weakest link to target for the week. The limo brought them to a large mall downtown. Being a workday the mall wasn’t very busy, but the people who were around eyed the crew with interest, and anyone who saw Hawks tended to perk up and wave. Hawks waved back but didn’t stop, since the crew was keen to get them all up the escalators quickly. A few fans trailed them to the top floor but had to stop as the area they entered was roped off.

Their destination?

An arcade.

Dabi had been dragged to arcades before, but this was a particularly big one. The overhead lights were dimmed, making the neon glow of the games all the more vivid; there was blinking, a rainbow flash from the dance machines at the end, the whirring of machines, high pitched theme songs and beeping from the games trying to tempt someone into playing them. Amidst the lights and the noise, Aiko waited for them at the entrance. The men hurried toward her, like it was a competition to see which of them could get a hug first. Tobio won, but he had wings. It was probably cheating. Dabi and Hawks trailed at the back.

“Welcome, everyone!” said Aiko. “This is our hangout spot for the day! Come with me!” As she led them deeper into the arcade, she continued, “I used to play at the arcade all the time. On weekends my friends and I would track down the taiko drum games. It was so much fun! But today I want to face my nemesis.”

She stopped in front of a claw machine. Its interior glowed vividly white, making the pinks of the boxed items inside and the anime girl decal on its window all the brighter. She put in her coin with a determined expression. Dabi could see why the crane was her nemesis. She sucked at it. She made her desired prize wobble but couldn’t get the claw to close on it. Eventually she turned to them with a groan.

“The crane wins again… Can anyone else beat it?”

Dabi cracked his knuckles and smirked. “I’ve got this.”

He hadn’t wasted weeks spending his roommates’ spare change with Toga and Spinner screeching over his shoulders to be intimidated by this. He sidled up to the machine and looked it over. The prize—some limited-edition figure from a magical girl show that he vaguely remembered Fuyumi liking as a kid—was located in a distant but reachable spot. He held out one hand, eyes still fixed on the enclosure, and said, “I’ll need four hundred yen.”

Hawks clapped it into his palm without hesitation.

The first coin was spent testing the claw’s range and closure. The next two coins he used to strategically knock the box closer, and the last coin he used to send it toppling into the hole. Aiko shrieked with delight, seizing him around the middle hard enough to make him wheeze and bouncing in place. 

“You did it! You did it!”

A bright flash startled them. Dabi turned to put her behind him, heart in his throat and ready for an attack… except it was just a camera. Among the regular crew stood a smattering of photographers and lighting technicians. The man who’d taken this picture had a sharply angled face and a pale gray pupil in his left eye; he lowered his camera with a smile and said, “Nice action shot.”

Judging by the others’ interest and the scattered gasps, the man was important.

“That’s right!” said Aiko, oblivious to Dabi’s embarrassment. “We’re here to have fun, but we’re also here for a photoshoot! The Tatooine Arcade company is going to take pictures of us for their new advertisements, and our Bachelorette alumni, Tokuda, will be helping us out!”

“Nice to meet you all,” said Tokuda. He seemed way too laid back to have ever been part of this madness. “By now I’m sure you’re all used to the TV cameras, so I’d like you to treat the photographers the same way and keep it natural. We’ll start out with a few group shots, as if you’re a group of friends coming into the arcade for fun, and then we’ll split up for more individualized pieces with Aiko. How does that sound?”

It sounded fairly painless, but of course the producers did not make it easy.

For the first picture, the men had to run into the arcade as if they were the hounds of hell being let loose on the games. Getting a good running shot was apparently very hard, because they had to do it multiple times. Dabi refused to run. He wasn’t going to rip a staple in a fucking arcade of all places. He strolled with his hands in his pockets, which Curious was not pleased by, but Tokuda found just fine.

“It shows a better variety of possible customers,” said Tokuda. “Getting every person doing the same thing in every shot can get boring.”

So Dabi had professional backing to be a stick in the mud. Take that, Curious.

After the running was over they all posed around Aiko, who struck her own pose with the Tatooine logo. They followed that up with group shots of them all holding up coins, and a few other odd gestures in reference to some other promotion Dabi didn’t know about.

“That’ll be good enough for the group,” Tokuda said at last. “Next is the individualized shots. Everybody spread out and find some games to play. We’re providing you with coins, so don’t worry about holding back. We’ll have photographers walking through after you, but don’t worry about looking at them unless they specifically ask you to. Keep your eyes on the games, and on your friends. We’ll get a few people with Aiko at a time, but we’ve got several hours set aside so no need to worry about not getting time with her, either.”

Just because they didn’t need to worry didn’t mean the other men gave up Aiko’s attention easily. Most of them kept crowding around her even after coins had been distributed, to the point Tokuda and the other photographers had to specifically coach them away for decent pictures. All the men seemed to want to press up against Aiko’s back to “teach” her how to work the machines or use some of the game props. It was completely predictable and cheesy to watch. Dabi rolled his eyes and retreated into the quieter corners of the arcade, with Hawks and a few crewmembers on his heels. In an attempt to avoid Geten’s own prowl, they found themselves at the far back wall, which was completely covered in gachapon machines.

“Holy shit,” said Hawks, craning his neck to look at the upper rows. “Look at all these! Is that… damn, it is for the Rainbow Rangers. Didn’t that stop airing when we were babies?”

“It’s old, but I guess the merchandise is still selling,” said Dabi.

Rainbow Rangers had come out with a mobile game last year; Shigaraki had downloaded it and cussed extremely loudly about the play mechanics. Dabi wasn’t about to share that information, though. He glanced at Hawks again to try finding another topic, and paused. Hawks was surveying the machines with his head cocked to the side, as if he were sizing up something totally alien.

“You’ve seen these before, right?” said Dabi. Gachas littered just about every other building, there was no way these could be strange to him.

“I’ve seen them, but I’ve never actually tried it,” said Hawks, shifting uncomfortably. “I always wanted to, but as a kid I never had the money, and as an adult…” He shrugged.

“Then I’d say now’s the time, hero,” Dabi drawled.

Hawks nodded, but his smile wavered a little. “How do we do it?”

“Simple.” Dabi knelt down and pulled out his arcade-provided coin purse. He fit a coin into the slot, then took the handle. “Feed in the money, then turn it.” He cranked the handle. The machine rumbled, and out rolled a round capsule. Dabi fit his nail into the seam and popped it open, revealing a tiny plastic frying pan with a pair of fried eggs and bacon inside. “There. Easy. Now you try.”

Hawks squatted down too, wings shuffling to keep from touching the floor. He fed in the coin, took the handle, then glanced at Dabi as if waiting to be critiqued. Dabi only raised his eyebrows. Hawks sucked in a deep breath, then gingerly began to turn the handle. The hesitance meant it took longer for him to turn it fully, and the machine growled throughout the process, but pop—out came another capsule. Hawks opened it with shaky fingers. Inside sat a miniature mallard duck.

“It’s perfect,” Hawks whispered. His eyes were overly shiny. “I’m going to name it Bill.”

“It’s… an English duck?” asked Dabi, perplexed.   

“Bill, like a beak,” said Hawks.

Dabi groaned. “I hate you.”

“I’m hilarious, you love me.” Hawks turned his new excitement to the rest of the machines. “Are you going to do another one? I’m going to do another one.”

“Knock yourself out,” said Dabi.

Hawks hurried back to the crew to ensure they had enough coins, and then they were off. Dabi had used gachapon machines before, but he’d never had the opportunity to sit there and keep going after getting one or two prizes. It was fun, seeing weird pictures on the machine and finding out which one he’d actually get. Hawks’ little squawks of delight didn’t hurt, either. Dabi amassed a pretty good collection by the end: the frying pan, a cat stuck in a sushi roll, the keychain of a character from one of Shigaraki’s video games, a velvet hamster holding a silver spoon, a Pikachu stamp, a Shiba dog making an ugly face, and a small army of miniature news reporters.

“I didn’t know you were so into TV personalities,” said Hawks, as Dabi cranked the machine again and out came his third Aorio Kuraishisu.

“I’m not,” said Dabi, glaring at the picture. Why was he getting Kuraishisu so many times when there were so many other options? “Twice likes Miyagi, so I’m going to get him a damn Miyagi.”

“Twice is one of the League members?”

“Yeah. He plays bass.”

Hawks nodded to himself before dropping down next to Dabi again. “Well, I think I can help! I’m lucky, see. Got every one of the prizes I wanted.” He popped in the coin, then clapped both hands around one of Dabi’s and started rubbing at his fingers, chanting, “Lucky, lucky, lucky…”

Dabi gaped. “What in hell are you—”

Hawks didn’t wait for him to finish. He let go, then guided Dabi’s hand back to the machine, settling his own fingers over Dabi’s atop the crank.

“Let’s turn it together,” he said. “We’ll get a Miyagi, guaranteed.”

As Dabi stared, he became very, very aware of their position. Hawks was close enough to have propped his chin on Dabi’s shoulder, his free hand light on Dabi’s hip and his left wing curled around him too. It was very close. Very intimate. It was the sort of position the other contestants had been trying to get Aiko into. It should’ve felt humiliating, but Dabi felt breathless with something much more like excitement.

“Okay,” he said, thankfully far more confidently than he felt.

Hawks flashed him a grin, and together they turned the handle. The machine rattled. The capsule that emerged did, indeed, contain Daikaku Miyagi. Hawks jumped back up with a whoop, exclaiming about his luck, but Dabi kept staring at the little plastic man.

Well, he thought to himself. That just happened.

Had that been weird? Who was he kidding, it was absolutely weird. Hawks’ actions just got weirder and weirder the more he thought about them. Maybe it was better for his sanity if he just let all of this slide. Dabi stood up to put away the capsules. Meanwhile Hawks was showing off his gacha prizes to the cameras.

“This one’s for my secretary, Robin; and this one’s for my sidekick Aero, and this one,” he held up a high-rarity gothic keychain, “is for my intern, Tsukuyomi!”

The crew cooed. When the episode aired, this Tsukuyomi kid was probably going to be really embarrassed.

Eventually they drifted back into the main area of the arcade, where most of the other contestants had finally broken off to games of their own. Sharkyonara was going crazy on the taiko drums; Geten had (fittingly) found a table flipping game; Hyouto was breezing through a difficult level of Dance Rush; and the rest of them were gathered around Aiko where she attempted to win snacks out of another machine.

Dabi’s eyes fixed on another game. “Say, if you didn’t have time for gacha machines, you probably haven’t played the games either, have you?”

“No. Why, did you have a recommendation?” said Hawks.

Did he ever. Dabi led him over to a row of large consoles with circular touchscreens and said, “Shigaraki’s obsessed with this one. It’s a rhythm game. Touch the screen when it lights up along with the music to get points.”

“Okay. What’s the goal?” said Hawks.

“To get points.”

“Just points to get points?”

“It’s a challenge anyway.”

“A challenge I’ll be happy to take,” said Hawks.

To say Shigaraki was obsessed with this was an understatement. Dabi had seen his fearless band leader break out gloves on top of his usual anti-quirk gloves to stop his own fingers’ grip from slowing him down. Dabi hadn’t expected Hawks to do very well, given that it was his first arcade experience, but he had clearly underestimated raptor reflexes. Hawks tapped, slid, and held the buttons seemingly at the speed of light, keeping fast with a tune that sounded accelerated straight out of a nightmare. When it ended the speakers cheered and the screen flashed “HIGH SCORE!” Hawks gave a delighted avian shriek, high fived Dabi much gentler than anticipated, and went on flapping his wings in excitement.

They rotated through other games—third person shooters, driving games, a slew of other rhythm games with different formats, and more—and finally ended up back at the crane machines, with Hawks begging Dabi to win him a prize from a very specific one.

“That’s the ugliest fucking cat I’ve ever seen,” said Dabi, glaring at the display.

The offender—a scraggly black cat keychain plush—looked grumpily back at him.

“I want it,” Hawks whispered reverently. “Look, look, its eyes are blue—”

“And the next one’s are yellow. This one? Really?”

Hawks gave him a pitiful look that did terrible things to his insides, so Dabi resigned himself and won the stupid cat. He consoled himself with the knowledge that the cat was a much better alternative than the Endeavor keychains two aisles over. Dabi refused on pain of death to engage with anything Endeavor-related.

“Hey, you two!” said Aiko, leaving her current entourage behind to approach them. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s great!” Hawks laughed. “Have you tried the gacha machines yet? Or the rhythm games?”

“Not yet, but I saw your reflexes on that Maimai Murasaki game, so now I want to challenge you to the taiko drums!” said Aiko, rubbing her shoulder like she was winding up for a baseball pitch.

“You’re on!” said Hawks.

They relocated to the long line of taiko drums. Aiko and Hawks took one of the two-person machines for a direct confrontation, while Dabi took the next drum down and tapped away on his own. It was a good thing he wasn’t too involved, because the pair of them went straight to the highest difficulty. By the time they were through, the crewmembers were clapping and Shion actually fetched them bottles of water.

“I reign supreme!” cheered Aiko, punching the air. “I’m still the taiko queen!”

Hawks hadn’t lost by much, and laughed along with her enthusiasm. Very quickly Aiko was pulled away to face Geten in a one-on-one battle game, and they were left again to their own devices. They’d tried most of the game genres already. Dabi was casting around in search of something new to entertain them when Hawks gasped, “Oh my god, it’s a purikura!”

He darted over to one of the photobooth kiosks at the edge of the arcade. Just looking at its vivid pinkness and the picture of the duck-faced girl throwing a peace sign on the side made Dabi want to turn back, but he forced himself to follow.

“Everybody’s got pictures from one of these,” said Hawks, flitting excitedly around it. “Rumi’s got a bunch at her apartment, and Mt. Lady said Team Lurkers wasn’t official until they all took pictures like this together!”

This was way more of Toga’s specialty, but…

“Do you want to do it?” Dabi mumbled.

Hawks looked like he’d been named number one on the billboard charts. “Absolutely!”

They slid into the booth together. It wasn’t very big, and they were both crowded by Hawks' wings; Dabi had no idea how all of Team Lurkers had fit onto such a small bench, but then again didn’t Edgeshot’s quirk let him fold up really thin? Hawks fed coins into the slot and leaned back against the greenscreen nervously as the kiosk screen declared its welcome message.

“I’ve never done this before, either. How does it work?”

Dabi didn’t have any experience with these. He’d just seen Toga and Twice making fools of themselves from a distance. “Well… we pose, I guess…”

“Okay, but when—” The kiosk screen flashed, accompanied by the exaggerated sound of a camera shutter. “Oh, shit, it’s already going!”

The screen was showing a countdown. It also happened to be suggesting poses, so they hurried to try matching the suggestions. It was something of a nightmare, rushing to match the timer, but on the plus side it meant they couldn’t overthink what they were doing. Finally the kiosk made a fakey jingling noise, and the screen switched to editing software. Dabi leaned in to see their results and grimaced. The first photo had them looking pensive, the second had them in panicked motion, and the rest had them missing their marks in a way that made them look downright stupid. Hawks didn’t seem to mind.

“Ooh, we can pick out frames and backgrounds!” he said, poking at the options.

The background of their pictures switched to polka dots, then to pastel stripes, and then he started fiddling around with the other options.

“You can make your eyes bigger! Do you want cartoon eyes, or—ugh!”

“What the fuck, put it back!”

They jabbed the undo button because ‘big eyes’ was godawful. It made them look like demented goldfish. They argued and snickered over other options for several minutes more, before Hawks was finally satisfied and printed them out. A table nearby had scissors for them to split the results, and soon Dabi was holding a little sticker sheet in his hand. The result was… well. Toga would be proud. The frame on every one of the little pictures was an array of bright pink roses (“we’re on The Bachelorette! Let’s keep the theme!”), interspersed with pale sparkles and stickers of lightning bolts and stars. Dabi’s eyes lingered on the fourth picture. Hawks had given them cat ears on this one; the booth had prompted them to lean in close to make kissy faces and flash peace signs, but neither of them had made the face and the peace sign wasn’t quite there. They had gotten close, though. Their heads were practically bumping. Dabi’s face didn’t give much away but his eyes were wide in panic at the countdown, whereas Hawks was delighted over his apparent loss of control. There was something about that picture, though. The tilt of Hawks’ head, the squint of his eyes, the wide smile…

Oh, went a sentimental little voice in Dabi’s head. Just, oh.

He’d never really considered that someone could be genuinely happy around him, and now he was looking at photographic proof. It made something stir deep down inside him, in that little mental box where he’d locked up all his wants and dreams. The idea of opening that box, though… of seeing and considering what was inside… that was terrifying.

Hawks was just weird, he decided. He just had to go with the flow on the weirdness, not question anything, and never take anything too seriously. It would all be fine.

“How did you like it?” asked Misty a few hours later, once the arcade section of the date had wrapped up.

They’d pulled Dabi away to the gacha wall again for a confessional. He determinedly did not look at the machine with the newscasters, and did not think about the phantom warmth of Hawks at his back.

“It was okay,” he said. “Can’t say I’ve ever been inside an arcade for this long. Normally it gets expensive quick.”

“What do you think about the photos? Are you looking forward to seeing your face on the ads?” said Misty.

“This face isn’t going on any advertisement. They’re not dumb enough to chase their customers away like that,” said Dabi.

“Lies and slander!” Hawks cried from the other side of the rhythm games.

“You’re biased, shut up!” Dabi called back.

Misty seemed amused. “How did you like the photoshoot aspect?”

Dabi shrugged. “Honestly, I barely noticed it was happening. I think that’s what Tokuda wanted, but I don’t know how much will actually be usable. Pretty sure Geten and that table flipping game is just going to be a big motion blur.”

Hawks cackled in the distance.

Eventually the confessionals ended too. The men were ferried out to a wooded park, with its greenery so dense it seemed to block out the very existence of the city around it. Deep in its shade they were brought to a little restaurant, where they were given what had to be the finest Hamburg steaks in existence. Dabi had zero capacity for making puppy eyes, but he attempted them anyway and Misty pitied him enough to wrangle a second helping. By the time night fell and they’d changed into their nicer clothes, he was near comatose on good food. The men were led now down a path lined with paper lanterns and into a seating area presumably owned by the restaurant, strung with more colorful lanterns to illuminate the outdoor couches. Aiko was already awaiting them, along with a coffee table and another plate with a rose atop it.

They all settled in on the couches and Aiko did her little welcome speech. Dabi didn’t pay a whole lot of attention, but automatically raised his glass when they started toasting. Aiko quickly departed with one of the others, and Dabi leaned back with his eyes closed. He was very full, and Hawks was very close and very warm, so he was dangerously close to falling asleep. The only thing that kept him awake and annoyed was the fact that Tobio was trying to make a move again.

Tobio’s argument was a little convoluted, but he seemed to have decided that Sharkyonara was a fitness obsessed meathead on the level of Muscular or Rappa. The reality was that Sharkyonara was a model whose career depended on his fitness, and swimming laps in the pool was probably the only decent outlet he had for his quirk and his energy in the mansion, but really. This was The Bachelorette. Who cared about reason? Hyouto was not taking kindly to this attack, and had started arguing, with a few of the others chiming in now and then to fan the flames. For once Trumpet said nothing, content to lay back and watch another man wreck himself on his own ego.

“Hey,” Hawks said quietly, leaning in with a serious expression. “What’s your honest opinion?”

Dabi opened one eye to give him a dispassionate look. “My opinion is that Tobio’s making mountains out of molehills, but I honestly do not give a shit about Sharkyonara.”

Hawks blinked at him, perplexed, then glanced at the others and realized what he was talking about. “Oh! No, different topic. The last one.”

“Wasn’t listening,” said Dabi.

“Clearly,” Hawks chuckled. “They were kind of, uh, ragging on my gacha prizes.”

Dabi opened both eyes now to glare. “They what?”

“So! Important question.” Hawks pulled out the gothic keychain and held it out for Dabi to see better. “Is this cool to give to a high schooler? It’s not, like, embarrassing? I’m the first to admit that my sense of style is skewed, so a second opinion would be nice.”

Dabi studied the quality molding, the blue-purple-black iridescence, and said, “I think it’s cool.”

“So if I give it to my intern, he won’t be groaning to his classmates that his dumb mentor gave him something cheesy?”

“It’s a gacha prize, of course it’s cheesy,” said Dabi. “Doesn’t mean it’s not cool.”

Hawks passed the keychain from hand to hand, smiling nervously. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Why are you acting like that?” said Dabi. “You know the kid, don’t you? You should already know what he likes.”

“Do I?” Hawks challenged. “He’s my intern. I like working with him, and I like to think we get along pretty well, but I’m not going to claim we’re friends. I’m not really good with this, you know? The friendly thing.”

Dabi turned to face him fully, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Hawks.

“You. Don’t know how to be friendly?” said Dabi.

“There’s friendly, and then there’s friendly,” said Hawks, flustered. “I’m not good at the important one! I’ve told you already, I don’t have a lot of friends. I can calm somebody down, and I can cooperate with other people in the office or on the field, but…”

“Isn’t that the first step of the second one anyway?” said Dabi. Hawks blinked in surprise, as if he’d never thought about it. Dabi rolled his eyes and continued gruffly, “Trust me, there are a lot of people in the world who haven’t even accomplished those steps. You’re a lot further into the ‘important one’ than you think.”

“Huh,” said Hawks. “I guess… I was trained to do those things, so I’ve only ever thought of them as being deceitful. Just… mission parameters. I always thought the intention was wrong.”

All of that wording made Dabi’s hackles rise. He watched Hawks a little more carefully. “Does it matter whether it started as a mission or your own selfishness, when you actually put in the work to acknowledge or help someone?”

Whatever existential crisis/enlightenment was happening here quickly got disrupted by Tobio leaning in and saying, “I heard the word deceit. What are you talking about?”

“Trials and tribulations of human existence and our connections to other people,” Hawks replied without looking at him. “Huh. You might have a point, Dabi.”

“I always make good points,” Dabi scoffed.

In what might’ve been a blessing and might’ve been a curse, the party didn’t last very long. Aiko didn’t even get through half of the group before coming back and saying she didn’t want to go on. No one got a rose, and everyone was mad about it. After Aiko vanished into the night for her confessional, the other men ganged up on Sharkyonara and especially Tobio for having ruined everyone else’s chances of a good night, as if they hadn’t been egging it all on themselves, too. Dabi didn’t get involved with that at all.

As far as Dabi was concerned, the day had been pretty good.

Thursday morning dawned with another disastrous attempt at breaking into the mansion.

This time it was a group of women in ninja costumes, who had a very detailed plan involving chameleon quirks. It all fell apart when the first one tripped and the Paragon security team jumped on their sudden weakness. Six different backup plans were started and thwarted, with the ninja numbers dwindling until the last one threw herself onto the grass in a tantrum and got handcuffed. This all happened before six in the morning.

Hawks may have only spent one full day of his Bachelorette experience watching that sort of shit go down, but he’d seen plenty of it during his morning flights. He’d hop up onto the roof, stretch a little bit, then launch himself into the sky to make the rounds over the mansion’s property. He felt a constant itch to fly farther, faster, but as long as he was competing he wasn’t allowed to leave. Watching gatecrashers had become his way of keeping sane before the rest of the mansion woke up. At least the property was big. He flapped and angled his wings for lazy rounds of the perimeter, over and over until the sun rose. Once it was decently high in the sky and warmth was creeping in, he started his last lap.

“Chin up, hero, it’s another day on TV,” he said sarcastically to himself. No one was around to hear him, and even if they were his words would be lost to the wind. It was freeing to run commentary for himself like this sometimes. “Will there be drama? Oh, yes. Will there be infighting? Of course! Will this all be worth it? God, I hope so.”

He flapped his wings harder, speeding across the full length of the property. The wind whistled in his ears, and for a moment he could pretend he was free again, ready to take on the world… but the pool patio came up much too fast for his liking. He banked, touched down, and tried to ignore the pent-up energy that made his wings twitch even as he folded them.

“Good morning,” he called, striding into the mansion.

He didn’t expect a reply. By this time some of the other competitors were awake and eating breakfast; they never really acknowledged the greeting, and as long as they were active the crew couldn’t chime in for fear of being caught on camera and getting chewed out by the producers. Hawks was already beelining for the coffee machine (he still mourned the absence of Gentle and his tea), when he was suddenly waylaid.

“Good morning,” said Tobio, sidling up to him. “Did you have a good flight?”

“Great flight, actually,” said Hawks, smoothly sidestepping him. “Have you taken any morning flights yourself? Really refreshing.”

“I’m more of a night flier, myself,” said Tobio.

Oh, no. Tobio was following him, still wearing that fakey smile. He intended to have a conversation. Hawks really needed some coffee if he was going to deal with this. He poured out a mug, braced himself, then turned back to face Tobio with a renewed hero smile.

“So, what’s got you up so early? I usually don’t see you for another hour or two.”

“Well, we haven’t spent much time together in the last few weeks,” said Tobio. “We were pretty close at the start of this, but now you’ve been hanging out with Dabi all the time. I thought it would be nice to properly catch up.”

Something about the way he said Dabi’s name left a bad taste in Hawks’ mouth. He took a sip of coffee to cover a scowl and said, “Sure, I’ve got time,” because keeping abreast of any ridiculousness in this mansion would save him some headache.

Tobio happily led him back out onto the pool patio. They sat down on the couch by the fireplace to snack on a platter of diced fruit. Tobio started with innocent things—wing care, exercise, favorite games of the arcade they’d visited yesterday—but as suspected his real intention was to start shit among the competitors.

“What do you think of Trumpet?” he asked innocently, inspecting a strawberry slice.

“He’s smart,” said Hawks, popping a chunk of melon into his mouth. “Very well informed, very good at using information to his advantage. He’s a politician.”

“He’s definitely watched The Bachelorette before,” said Tobio.

“Of course he has,” said Hawks. “I think all of us have watched it, to know what we’re getting into. There’s no way Trumpet agreed to a TV appearance without researching what was expected and how it would impact him. That’s common sense.”

“But don’t you think he knows too much?” Tobio pressed. “He knows all the beats of the show. He’s made a specific strategy.”

“Yes,” Hawks said slowly, “a plan makes sense if you want to succeed.”

“But what is he succeeding at?” said Tobio. “He doesn’t want Aiko.”

Hawks raised a skeptical brow. Yes, the M.L.A. contingent seemed to be focused on making themselves visible and bringing new influencers under their sway (they’d tried to recruit Dabi and a few others into their book club meetings), but even quirk-obsessed radicals like them would find Aiko attractive. Aiko had the potential to be absolutely devastating in a fight. Her quirk was the inverse of her sister La Brava’s: La Brava could power another person based on the intensity of her love for them, whereas Aiko could use the intensity of other people’s love for her to power herself. Considering she had most of the country watching and fawning over her, that was a hell of a lot of power. If she’d been a villain or in any way trained for a fight, setting her up as the Bachelorette would’ve been horrible. As far as Hawks could tell, that combo of quirk and fame made Aiko a very attractive marriage prospect for anyone in the M.L.A. hierarchy.

“You know what I think?” said Tobio, leaning conspiratorially closer. “I think he’s going to make it to the final weeks and then drop out. I think he’s only here to become the next Bachelor.”

Having an M.L.A. Bachelor would indeed be a huge amount of visibility, but did they really want to tie up such a key member for so long? And would Trumpet be able to work with it effectively?

“I don’t think he’d like that,” said Hawks. “His key strategy is manipulation, which doesn’t really mean anything if everyone else on a show is already obsessed with you. The Bachelorette showcases him much better.”

It would be far more likely for Trumpet to be ensuring another M.L.A. member’s position as the new Bachelor while succeeding in marrying Aiko himself. Double the visibility, while keeping a new key influencer.

“You think he can’t be showcased as the Bachelor? Bastard would probably love all those women falling all over him. His ego’s definitely big enough,” Tobio said bitterly. “Besides, there’s no way he’s going to settle for someone like Aiko when he can get all those voters paying so much more attention to him a different way.”

“Someone like Aiko?”

Tobio startled. Hawks kept on eating, having heard Hyouto’s approach even before he reached the patio. Hyouto loomed over the back of the couch, ears pinned back in annoyance as he said, “That’s a very disrespectful way of referring to the woman you claim to be in love with.”

“I am in love with her!” Tobio said defensively. “I’m just saying, the way Trumpet is playing this, I don’t think he’s looking at her as a person so much as a steppingstone for his own fame. I don’t think he’s here for the right reasons.”

“I think he’s here for better reasons than you,” said Hyouto.

“What was that?”

Hawks was not interested in hearing anything else. He picked up the fruit tray and left. Up the stairs he went, bypassing other curious competitors and crew who were going in to investigate the commotion. He paused only in the doorway of Dabi’s bedroom.

“Hey, do you want any fruit?” he called. Dabi made a distorted noise that was probably no. “If you change your mind, I’ll be in the other room.”

He went to the sitting room, put the platter down on a table, and pulled one of the books from the shelf. His French wasn’t great, but the French language book seemed to be a pretty tame romance, so he settled down to struggle through it. After about ten minutes, a shuffle in the hallway heralded Dabi’s approach. He was bleary eyed and sleep rumpled, and didn’t appear to be entirely conscious. Hawks pressed his mouth shut, fighting a smile. He watched as Dabi plunked into another chair, fished out the remaining strawberries, then fell right back asleep. Like a big cat taking a nap in the sunlight coming in through the window.

Cute, Hawks thought again, but didn’t voice it.

They went on like that for a little over an hour—Hawks pretending to pay attention to the book and Dabi making soft little almost-snores—before a clatter from downstairs caught their attention. Judging by the accompanying laughter, the tensions must’ve dissipated a little. Dabi rubbed at his face and slunk away to attend to his morning routine, and Hawks made it through another two pages before standing to join him.

“What have I missed?” asked Dabi, looking marginally more awake this time when he stepped out of his room.

“Just Tobio being dumb and the others calling him out on it,” said Hawks. “He’s decided to target Trumpet now.”

“The fuck? Does he have a death wish?”

“Right? There’s no way he can take down Trumpet. The man is way too clever to get caught up in that mess. It’s way more likely that Tobio will dig his own grave.”

They found all the other competitors gathered on the couch in the living room; Tobio was hunched and scowling, Hyouto still looked displeased, and Saito was cautious, but everyone else seemed in good spirits.

“There you are,” said Trumpet with a smile. “We wondered when you two would join us.”

“Always the two,” Geten grumbled.

“Are we all gathered up for something specific?” asked Hawks, as he and Dabi sat down. “I didn’t hear anything about the date card.”

“It hasn’t arrived yet,” said Miyashita. “It should be here soon, though, and no one else had anything to do, so we thought we’d all chat while we wait.”

“It’s been most enlightening,” said Trumpet.

“It’s true!” cried Tobio. “Dabi, can’t you see it? Trumpet’s here to play the game and then abandon Aiko so he can become the next Bachelor!”

Dabi looked Trumpet up and down with a critical eye. “Don’t you have a political party to run?”

“I do, and I’m anxious to hear how it’s fared while I’m away,” said Trumpet. “We’re not in election season yet, but there’s plenty of prep work to be done. The other members have assured me that they can handle it while I’m gone, but I wouldn’t be comfortable spending another TV season away from it.”

“So if they asked you to become the Bachelor at the end of this, you’d say no?” Tobio challenged.

“That’s correct,” said Trumpet, shrugging amiably. “I’m sure the producers will understand.”

Tobio spluttered with rage.

A knock at the door marked the arrival of the date card, and Hawks jumped up for the distraction. “I’ll get that!” The envelope was set on the stool on the front porch; a camera in the courtyard recorded him leaning through the door to pick up the card, and two more cameras followed him back into the room. He took the card from the envelope and cleared his throat. “Tesla. Can you handle my curves? Heart, Aiko.”

All the men ooh-ed and wolf whistled, and Tesla looked extremely pleased.

“What do you think you’ll be doing? Modeling? Another photoshoot?” said Saito.

“If it’s more yoga, good luck,” Skeptic scoffed.

Dabi was disinterested in the conversation to the point that he’d crossed his arms and tipped his head back as if ready to nap right there. When Hawks sat back down on the end of the couch, the cushion jostled enough to tip Dabi toward him. Hawks held out his arms to catch him, but Dabi ended up balancing himself just fine; Hawks relaxed and let his arm fall over the back of the couch behind Dabi’s head.

“What do you think?” he asked. “What’s Aiko got up her sleeve this time?”

Dabi tilted his head and cracked his eyes open to look up at him. “Cars.”

“Cars?” Hawks echoed, confused.

“I’ve heard that line all over the fucking place,” said Dabi. “If you can’t handle the curves, get off the road. It’s in so many songs with the car as a euphemism.”

“Now that you say it, I can think of one or two songs like that,” said Hawks. “So, what about cars?”

“There are automobile museums, driving tracks, things like that,” said Dabi.

“Maybe Tesla will drive a Tesla,” Slidin’ Go snickered.

“I’d prefer a Ferrari,” said Tesla.

“Or a Bugatti,” Trumpet said wistfully.

They kept throwing out the names of expensive brands and talking about speed and engines, with Tesla getting more and more excited by the prospect of his date. Hawks sort of nodded along. When he flew all the time, cars had no appeal. Even when he’d been a child, shiny toy cars had seemed boring. So what if whatever car could go fast? What did that matter if it would always be stuck in traffic?

Hawks had been dropped from the conversation entirely when he heard a quiet, husky voice say, “You can’t handle the curves.” Dabi had rolled his head again to look at him, eyes narrowed in amusement. “You can’t drive at all.”

The expectation was for Hawks to pretend offense. They’d banter a little to entertain themselves until everyone moved on to a new topic, and the line would be forgotten quickly.

The reality was that Hawks looked down at him, and for a moment it seemed like the arm across the back of the couch was actually an embrace, that Dabi’s lean might actually be cuddling, and that the glint in those blue eyes was more than simple mirth.

During a drunken gossip session at Rumi’s house, Hawks had once watched the first episode of Ouran High School Host Club. He didn’t remember the names or much of the plotline, but he did remember a specific animation sequence with a row of lightbulbs lighting up one by one as each character realized an inherent truth. Right now, he felt like the last lightbulb had gone off in his own brain, and the whole row of them were shining a big, ugly spotlight on his own terrible, inherent truth.

He launched straight back up, said, “I think I heard something fall over,” and winced at the strained pitch of his own voice. He’d caught the others’ attention, but mostly he was aware of Dabi blinking slowly, confusedly up at him. Those metaphorical lightbulbs grew brighter. “I’ll go check up on that, be right back.”

He hightailed it out of there, clicking off the power of his mic pack as he went. No, no, no, no, no— He slid into the hallway bathroom and locked the door before the cameras got any bright ideas; they’d asked—and been rejected—several times to film him showering, he did not trust them not to try filming him piss. He braced his hands on the sink and looked into the mirror, just as he had on that first group date when he was thinking about the fucking Smolder (the first of those horrible lightbulbs, oh my god). He pointed at his frazzled reflection and hissed, “Do not do this to yourself! Dabi is a man on the fucking Bachelorette, with no extenuating circumstances! You are not falling for a straight man!”

Dabi being a man himself didn’t really matter much. Hawks’ clandestine one-night-stands had included both men and women, so he’d known the potential of attraction existed, but this one? Really? The Bachelorette and its family of shows were aggressively heterosexual. Gay men did not sign up to woo a woman like this. Hawks was bisexual, but he was also here on what amounted to witness protection. Dabi didn’t have that excuse; he’d signed up of his own volition and used his charm ruthlessly on Aiko. He had to be straight.

Yeah, Hawks wasn’t really attracted to him, right? This was a misunderstanding? But his treacherous mind pulled up Dabi’s visage again: the hauntingly blue eyes, the smirk, the piercings, the way he tipped his cute round face when he made snide comments, the drag of his voice, the singing, his laugh, his long fingers on a cocktail glass, the puff of breath against Hawks’ cheek and the warmth of his body when he’d pressed close for that fucking gacha machine—Fuck.

Hawks pressed his forehead against the rim of the sink and gave a miserable whine.

Okay, so, maybe he really liked spending time with Dabi.

And maybe every time Dabi’s stupid shirt rode up Hawks desperately wanted to touch him. 

It was nice to know he wasn’t broken, and was fully capable of romantic attraction. The target, though. That was infuriating. Was his existence just hardwired for disappointment? Why had he fixated on one of the few people guaranteed never to reciprocate?

He gripped the sink even tighter, looked up at his reflection again, and growled, “This is a mission. You can do this. Just… don’t think about it!”

He clearly hadn’t been thinking about it at any point up to now, so that should be easy, right? Right. He splashed his face with water, took calming breaths, and turned his mic back on before returning to the living room.

“So, is everything intact?” said Trumpet.

“What? Oh, yeah, everything’s fine,” said Hawks. “Turns out one of the crewmembers tripped and knocked against a wall. No one was hurt and no equipment was damaged.”

That, combined with his collected appearance, lost the others’ interest quickly. They went back to their discussion on cars used for heroes like support gear, and whether Tesla would be able to drive anything with a rocket launcher. Dabi was making a point to roll his eyes every time All Might’s “Allmobile” and “Hercules” were mentioned. Hawks sat gingerly beside him again, and took a stupidly long time to wonder if he should put his arms back the way they’d been.

Not thinking about his attraction was not easy. He’d never realized how close he’d been to Dabi before. Like, damn. He was downright clingy. How had he not realized he had this stupid crush sooner? How had no one else picked up on it? Holy shit. Was it normal to act like this with friends? Would Hawks act this way with Rumi? Scratch that, Rumi couldn’t be used as a standard for anything since neither she nor Hawks were normal themselves. Yeah, this had to be weird. It was definitely weird and everyone who cared about him had watched him act like a fool on TV for weeks now. The idea of facing Rumi and his sidekicks at the end of the show made him grimace.

Hawks did not put his arm on the back of the couch again.

Dabi didn’t seem to notice. He rolled his eyes extra dramatically and tipped his head toward Hawks to say, “The Allmobile didn’t have rocket launchers. It had anti-projectile bubbles, or some shit.”

Hawks couldn’t help the instinctive smile, or the quip, “You know a lot of hero trivia, for a man who hates heroes.”

Dabi slouched further down in what might’ve been embarrassment, and grumbled, “You try living in this hero-obsessed world without some of the bullshit rubbing off on you.”

Hawks’ first instinct was to make that into a euphemism. Luckily self-preservation strangled the words before they could form, so he only gave an uneasy laugh.

He’s straight, Hawks thought like a mantra. He’s straight, he’s straight, he’s straight—

I am not straight enough for this, Dabi thought with feeling on Friday morning.

There had been a mishap with the washing machine, some of the other men had pink clothing now instead of white, and now they were whining about the indignity of wearing anything of that color. As far as Dabi was concerned, the shirts were still intact and served their purpose well enough—who really cared what shade of red it ended up being?

“Do you know how much I paid for this?” Skeptic seethed, which, like, yeah. Dabi could kind of understand that aspect. But weren’t plain white dress shirts the cheapest, most common kind? Weren’t the super fancy ones dry clean only or something and therefore exempt from this mess?

“I can’t wear this! How is Aiko supposed to like me if I look like a wimp?” said Sharkyonara.

“I’m not wearing this girly shit!” said Tobio, and threw his in the trash.

“Guys,” said Hawks, as if he were in great pain. “Guys… you do know that Aiko likes pink, right? You know that if you wear pink, she’ll probably be really excited about the two of you matching, right?”

This only made their griping worse, because apparently matching Aiko’s color scheme meant the revocation of their ‘man card,’ or whatever. If having a man card meant having a stick up your ass and living life afraid that the slightest thing might taint your masculinity, Dabi was happy to say he didn’t need one.

Other than that, the day was uneventful.

They complained.

They laid around the mansion like slugs.

 They basically went stir crazy.

They drank so much to entertain themselves that they reached the week’s booze capacity early, and the crew had to go out and get new supplies or risk a completely sober rose ceremony. This meant a whole new stock of booze that didn’t match the brands from the usual supplier, and all the men rallied at the idea of something new.

“I hope you bought a lot of this shit, because it’s not lasting through tomorrow,” Dabi told Misty pointedly, as all the other men swarmed in.

“Please don’t drink too much,” Misty begged. “Please. Curious is probably drooling over the idea of people being fools on camera already.”

Ugh, that was right.

“Remember, we don’t want any Teruo incidents tonight,” he called after the others. “Let’s keep our critical thinking intact."

“I want to lose my critical thinking skills entirely,” said Hanzo Suiden. At least he was self-aware.

“It’s not like Aiko’s here tonight,” Tobio agreed. “Who am I supposed to be impressing? You?”

“You will never impress me,” said Dabi. “Don’t puke in front of the cameras.”

He wandered over too, though, to see what had been hauled in. It was cheaper booze than usual, and… weird varieties.

“I think I’ve heard Tesla talking about this one,” said Saito, picking up a vividly blue bottle labeled Kickass (Will Kick Your Ass). “He’ll be happy to see it when he comes back from his date.”

“What kind of cocktail works best with that?” asked Hawks.

Dabi had a vague recollection of the brand and a matching cocktail being advertised in one of Kurogiri’s magazines at the bar. He mixed up a few of them to his best recollection. Saito took one with a cheery thank you. Hawks accepted one too and looked ready to reply the same way, but second guessed himself and mumbled his thanks down at the drink instead of to Dabi’s face. He’d been doing that a lot, today: pausing halfway through his usual reactions and downplaying them. He seemed sort of flustered. Dabi wondered if someone had pointed out just how clingy he was, and whether Hawks was trying to reel in any potential embarrassment. The idea had Dabi annoyed. Yeah, Hawks’ insistence and clinginess had been irritating at first, but he’d gotten used to it, and without that chatter Dabi was finding himself annoyed by everything else. He took a sip of his own cocktail to distract himself and made an ugly face. It was sour.

They all sat around trying to waste their time. Dabi sat next to Hawks as usual, grumpily listening to the explanation of an old TV show—Hawks had never seen it, which everyone else thought was a tragedy. Saito attempted to explain its larger influences on pop culture, where the others shared inside jokes with each other. Dabi had seen some of it, and didn’t believe the show deserved the pedestal people put it on. When Tobio turned to him for his opinion (“the salesman character was the best, right?”), he only hummed disinterestedly.

Huh, he thought, as Tobio decided to ignore him. That felt weird.

He hummed again to test it, and kept on going.

“Is… is that a vocal warm up? Like, scales?” asked Hawks.

Dabi stopped short, because it was and for some reason he hadn’t noticed. “Fuck, I’m buzzed.”

He went back to inspect the bottles and balked at the label for alcohol content. He hadn’t remembered it being so high.

“So this ‘Kickass’ shit will kick our asses,” he informed everyone else. “Drink slowly and check the labels for anything else you’re pouring.”

“Yes, mom,” groaned Tobio.

Dabi flipped him off.

“And then the overprotective mother took over the holiday,” Saito was saying.

“Wait,” said Hawks, with the glazed over expression of a man who was bored to tears but trying really hard not to let anyone else know that. “You said that she took over the holiday before that.”

“She did,” said Saito. “And the next three holidays after this one.”

“And no one in the show predicted this to avoid the misunderstandings?”

“No, they didn’t really seem to have learned any lessons from the last few times.”

“Not even from when the overprotective mother took over and ruined however many dates, field trips, vacations—”

“I guess the overprotective mother trope was too good a selling point for the show.”

Hawks just… put a hand to his face. “How much does her overprotectiveness take up of the rest of the show?”

“Uh… a good fifty percent, I’d think?” said Saito.

Hawks was quiet for a moment, then stood up. “You know what? I’m getting drunk. What was the highest alcohol content back here?”

“That’s a bad idea,” said Dabi, but Hawks walked past him. “I said that’s a bad idea!”

“I’m a hero, ‘bad ideas’ is basically my job description,” said Hawks.

He returned with some abysmal cocktail that made his eyes water when he drank it, but at least he wasn’t trying to chug it. The same could not be said for the others. As night fell they drank more, becoming louder and more obnoxious.  It reached a point where Dabi was getting a headache listening to them. He stood up, set aside his empty glass, and left.

The pool patio was dark as it usually was during rose ceremonies, but tonight it was quiet and empty. The lanterns were lit, bathing the fireplace area in a faint glow and dappling light over the smooth surface of the pool. It was actually a pretty pleasant view, without the other idiots wandering out here to ruin it. The patio chair creaked a little as Dabi sat down and stretched out. He blinked tiredly upward and tried to pick out stars.

The peace didn’t last long.

Barely fifteen minutes had passed before someone else stumbled out. Dabi resolutely ignored them… until Hawks started clambering onto the chair, too.

“Hey,” Dabi said sharply. “The fuck are you— Hey!”

He swatted a wing away from his face as Hawks plunked down his full body weight.

“I don’t want to hang out with the others anymore,” said Hawks, and oof, he was definitely drunk.

“You smell like you took a bath in that Kickass shit,” said Dabi.

“I am pretty kickass,” Hawks said smugly, wiggling for a better position on a chair only meant for one of them.

Dabi closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How much did you drink?”

“Lots,” said Hawks.

“For fuck’s sake…”

“Do you want to know a secret?” Hawks asked, once he was wedged under Dabi’s arm as awkwardly as possible.

“Does it actually matter?” Dabi said dully. “I think you’re going to tell me a secret anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m going to tell you a secret.” Hawks’ wings fluttered. “You know this whole romance thing? It fucking terrifies me.”

Dabi blinked in surprise. “It… what?”

“Scares me to shit, man!” said Hawks. “Everybody’s all like ooh, you’re a hero, you get all the ladies, and all these other guys here hate me for it, but it’s the worst. ‘Cause, like, the ladies aren’t actually looking at me. They’re looking at a hero.”

“But you’re the hero,” Dabi said slowly.

“I’m not,” said Hawks, and the thread of desperation in his voice sobered Dabi immediately. “I’m not going to be a hero forever. I’m going to retire, you know? That’s all I want, to take it easy. The sooner I retire the better. The Commission didn’t want that, I was supposed to just die on the job or get recycled, like—” He glanced up and apparently noticed the horror on Dabi’s face, because he backtracked fast. “Wait. Fuck. Off topic. I will retire. We’re making sure of it. But that’s where everything gets scary.”

“Can we go back to the part about you getting recycled? Because that’s fucked up,” said Dabi.

“Dabi. Dabi. Dabs. I’m trying to bare my heart to you, here,” said Hawks. “Can we stay on topic?”

“You said you were going to die—”

“My heart, man.”

“Fine, but we’re talking about that later.”

“Good. Shit, where was I? Secret. Retire. Yeah, I’m going to retire. But I’m going to get old, Dabi. Someday I’m going to be old, and fat, and slow, and nothing like the guy on all the posters. I have to try so hard to make anyone like me already. What happens when I’m not useful anymore?” Hawks’ hand fisted in Dabi’s shirt, but Dabi couldn’t bring himself to care about any potential wrinkles when the guy looked so miserable. “Would y— Would anyone like me then? I won’t—I won’t have anything to give them. It’s so shitty, because I’m getting this new lease on life but now I have to worry about what comes after, and all I can do is lay awake at night just knowing I’m going to die alone.”

Damn, that was heavy.

Dabi settled back in against the chair, contemplated a moment, and said, “You don’t have to worry too much about that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because,” said Dabi, “I hate heroes, but I do like you. There’s clearly something more to you than the costume.” Hawks gaped at him, and Dabi tugged at one of his flyaway locks to make him stop. “Shut your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

Hawks’ mouth clicked closed, but the watery smile in its wake was hardly better. He clung tighter and ducked his head against Dabi’s shoulder. Dabi could feel his breath against the seam at his collarbone. It was weirdly pleasant. They laid like that a while, laughter still filtering out the windows and porchlights dancing on the pool’s surface. Dabi’s arm stayed wound around Hawks, and he pulled lightly at the other man’s hair, not to catch attention this time but more to examine the strands. They were soft. Was this what hair felt like when it wasn’t dyed and damaged? I’m drunk, he thought, but didn’t stop. I’m absolutely drunk right now. May as well embrace it.

“You know how you asked about my friends in the band?” he asked.

“Hmm,” said Hawks.

“Do you want to hear one of their songs?”

“Yeah.”

Dabi couldn’t remember most of the lyrics, but he knew enough to hum the melody, and he definitely knew the chorus. “I’ll see you in the future when we’re older, and we are full of stories to be told. Cross my heart and hope to die, I’ll see you with your laughter lines…”  

He could feel Hawks smiling against his skin, a stupid little thing that should’ve been ridiculous but really just made his chest swell in something like giddiness. Maybe it was worth coming onto the show, for this little moment of peace. Maybe he could just… stay here. Tangled up in a patio chair. Safe. Close. Happy. He let himself drift with the thought, but was jarred out of it when someone else perched on the edge of the chair, too. Saito? Dabi blinked up at him, barely registering the sad look on his face before Saito was stretching out alongside them.

“Hey,” Dabi grumbled, shifting in annoyance. “There’s not enough room on this damn thing for three people.”

“Don’t stop singing!” Hawks groaned, flapping his wings.

“Fuck off, one of us is going to fall right out!” said Dabi.

The chair creaked. They all wobbled precariously before managing to balance themselves. Hawks and Saito pressed suffocatingly close with Dabi in the middle; his staples twinged a little at the heavy contact.

“Sorry,” Saito whispered. He was completely sober. “Curious started wondering where you went. If they found out it was just the two of you out here, they might start trouble for you.”

Dabi blinked in surprise. A glance over at the patio doors showed a few other competitors peeking out at them. Prey stood next to the chair, determinedly filming the glint of lanternlight on water but ruining any other camera’s view of them with his position.

The safe feeling evaporated.

In its wake Dabi felt stupid. There was no room for intimate anything while he was in the mansion. The spotlight and the judgement had never left.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled instead, and made a point of keeping his hands to himself.

Hawks whined but didn’t dare do anything else for fear of falling onto the stone patio.  

Eventually the party wound down. Other men were going to bed, and Dabi was eager to do the same. When he started shifting, Saito quickly disentangled himself. Hawks was another matter entirely.

“Do we have to?” he said, as Dabi and Saito tried to heave him to his feet. “Do we, like, really have to?”

They managed to get him upright, but then he slumped right back into Dabi, planting his face against his collarbone.

“How drunk are you?” asked Dabi.

“Clearly not drunk enough. I’m still hearing my thoughts,” Hawks mumbled into his chest, before pushing himself back up. “Okay. Yeah, no, I’ve got this.”

Dabi quirked a brow. “Really?”

“Totally.”

He did not. Hawks could manage to stay upright just fine, but walking was out of the question. His balance was shot, and trying to straighten himself out was a lost cause since he had two more limbs flailing around with a lot of power behind him; he was really just steering himself further off course and getting more nauseous.

“Avian quirks,” Dabi grumbled, catching him under the arm again. “Always such lightweights.”

“My savior,” said Hawks, not entirely sarcastic.

Between Dabi and Saito, they got Hawks upstairs and back into his bedroom. Geten presumably tried to start an argument, but he was so drunk himself that the insult was completely unintelligible. Dabi returned to his own bedroom in peace, and was sure that was all the nonsense over with for the night until he noticed something red had followed him. There was a feather stuck to his sleeve. Dabi shook it off and changed into his pajama shirt. The feather drifted down… and a foot from the floor zoomed to the side and stuck to his ankle.

“The fuck?” Dabi muttered.

He yanked off the sock and threw it and the feather to the corner of the room. This did not save him. He’d just unbuckled his belt when the feather came flying back, this time plastering itself to the side of his knee. Dabi cussed and yanked down his pants. The feather tried to escape but he pinned it against the floor. It kept bucking up against the cloth no matter how much he tried to smother it.

“Hawks!” he shouted. “Control your fucking quirk!”

The feather paused. Dabi took that opportunity to wad it up in his discarded pants, bowl the clothes into the bathroom, and slam the door shut behind it. Good fucking riddance. He crawled into bed in his tee-shirt and boxers, unwilling to risk any other clothing disasters, only to feel something stirring between his shoulder blades. He gave a full body shudder and craned his neck. The stupid fucking feather was on his back. When had it— he didn’t even want to know anymore. He pulled the shirt so the feather came closer to his face, and hissed, “Go to sleep.” The feather wriggled indignantly but didn’t try anything further. Dabi moodily rolled over and tried to get some shuteye.

He didn’t sleep on his back, though. He didn’t know if it hurt for Hawks’ feathers to get crushed.

The next morning Hawks was weirdly chipper.

“Sorry about last night,” he said at breakfast, giving a downright dazzling photoshoot smile. “Normally I’m not that clingy. It won’t happen again!”

“How is he that cheerful?” grumbled Tobio, who was very visibly nursing a hangover along with the rest of the mansion. For once Dabi wasn’t the last one arriving for breakfast; Hyouto and Miyashita were still languishing upstairs while the rest of them sulked around the kitchen with the doors closed and blinds down.

“So gloomy,” said Curious, overly amused as she watched them from the hallway. “You need to brighten up a little bit, everyone.”

Because Geten was a masochist, he went to the big glass patio doors and yanked up the blinds, sending blinding sunlight flooding through the kitchen. Even Dabi, who didn’t have a hangover at all, had to squint at the sudden brightness. The others cringed and groaned, Geten included.

Hawks’ smile got a little strained before evening out. Oh, yeah. He was definitely hungover, he was just determined to power through it like nothing was wrong.

“Are you still feeling kickass?” said Dabi.

“I don’t think I’m going to drink at all today,” Hawks replied, aggressively bright. “No alcohol for me. No thank you.”

Yes, when the rose ceremony rolled in, all of the men eyed the booze with a little more caution. No one wanted to be fools in front of Aiko. Unfortunately Sharkyonara seemed to think it would be fun for Aiko to act like a fool while taking out competition in the same maneuver, and attempted to steer her toward the new booze… except Dabi and half the mansion immediately jumped in to warn her into caution. In retrospect the reaction was funny (“Tesla says this tastes really good, have a glass with me—” “NO!”) so that would likely make it to the blooper reel. In the meantime Sharkyonara was shifted to the lowest spot in the mansion’s hierarchy, and spent the rest of the night whining about how he hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t deserve this.

Saito was pulled early in the night to chat with Aiko, which he was wildly enthusiastic about. “I’m one of the first ones on her mind!” he’d told them, thrilled.

Dabi couldn’t see any rhyme or reason to the order Aiko took anyone beyond maybe proximity to the place she wanted to chat, but sure. Whatever. He wasn’t going to pop Saito’s bubble. He spent most of the evening raiding the hors d’oeuvres table and pointedly avoiding the alcohol in favor of sodas instead.

There was drama, because of course there was. Geten still seemed to think his manliness was in question regarding the fact that pink anything had been close to him. Sharkyonara and Hanzo Suiden’s rivalry seemed to have hit critical mass out by the pool, where the calm waters of last night were churning now under the seesawing pull of two different water quirks. Far more attractive to the cameras, though, was the fact that Tobio claimed he’d formed an “extra special connection” with Aiko during his talk with her that night. Dabi happened to be leaning against the doorframe out to the patio at the time. He looked outside, to where Aiko was making out with Trumpet. Then back inside, to where Tobio was claiming how special he was. Outside again. Inside. There was no way Curious wasn’t going to milk this discrepancy for all it was worth.

When Hawks was pulled, Dabi set aside their discussion to hiss at Geten over the back of the couch. Luckily their back and forth landed in a way that Geten was the one snarling at him when Aiko appeared in the patio doorway again.

“Hey, Dabi, could I speak with you next?” she said.

“Sure,” said Dabi, standing to join her.

He threw a look over his shoulder that said, Ha ha, she caught you in the act, and Geten flipped him off while Aiko’s back was turned. She led Dabi out to the gazebo again, and when she sat down on the cushions she clapped her hands together cheerily.

“It’s good to have a chance to talk with you again! It feels like it’s been forever since I saw you on Wednesday. How have things been in the mansion since then?”

“Almost everyone got wasted yesterday,” Dabi replied, because if Aiko was keeping him around for the truth, that’s what she was going to get. “What’s available right now is different from the usual booze, so everyone’s expectations were off. Hence why everyone panicked when Sharkyonara tried giving you Kickass.”

Aiko giggled. “Saito said you warned them all yesterday, but no one listened.”

Dabi shrugged. “Better for them to have figured it out yesterday than today.”

They made some more small talk—boring, innocent things—before Dabi decided to ask a question that had been bothering him all week.

“I’m genuinely curious about something,” said Dabi. “Why is Geten still here?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” asked Aiko, head tilting in confusion. Actual confusion. Really?

“Because I can’t see how anyone could possibly find him attractive,” said Dabi.

“That might be because you didn’t come here looking for a man,” Aiko giggled. “He’s been really great to me. He’s sensitive, and attentive, and sweet. Those are things I really enjoy about him.”

“Sweet?” said Dabi, incredulous. “Geten? Are we talking about the same person here?”

“I know that a lot of people don’t get to see that side of him. Is it really that hard to imagine that, though?” said Aiko.

“Honestly? Yeah. It is,” said Dabi. “It amazes me that you’re looking for a prince, and you’ve let so many other options go while keeping that one around.”

Aiko frowned. “What is your impression of Geten?”

Dabi hesitated. “It’s unpleasant.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Dabi really wanted to tell her the truth: he’s a self-righteous, power obsessed little asshat. But that wouldn’t go over well at all.

“He’s not a supportive person,” he said carefully. “He wants to be the first, and the best, and if he ever gets any indication that he’s not, he gets pissy and threatens people.”

“I know that he lost his mother about six months ago,” Aiko said softly, concerned. “I know people haven’t gotten along with him very well, but maybe he’s just struggling…”

Lost his mother? Dabi hadn’t heard anything about that, and there had been no indication… Whatever the case, that didn’t excuse M.L.A. propaganda. Maybe this required a different approach.

“Has he asked about your quirk at all?”

Aiko brightened again. “He did! He thought it was really cool! It’s such a turnaround from what I dealt with through school. As kids, La Brava and I were always overlooked because of our quirks.”

Dabi nodded slowly. “You know he’s in the book club, right?”

“I did hear that there’s a book club! I’m glad to hear that he is able to make friends with some of the other men here.”

“They’re all reading Meta Liberation War, Destro’s autobiography,” said Dabi. Aiko’s smile faltered, and he continued, “I recommend reading through that, or at least skimming some of Destro’s key points. Once you’ve done that, ask Geten about his ideal world. You may want to ask the other book club members about that, too. I think it’ll be eye opening.”

“Wow,” Aiko said quietly. “Wow, that’s… huh. Yeah, I’ll need to check that out. Thank you for telling me.”

“No problem,” said Dabi. For a moment they were both silent, staring at each other, and then he said, “I feel like every time we talk, it ends up being depressing. Did you try the purikura booths at the arcade?”

She had, and the memory cheered her right back up. They commiserated over editing options until Hyouto approached them for his turn. Dabi gave up his spot without a fuss, and was on his way back to the patio doors when he spotted red wings in his periphery.

Hawks didn’t seem to be having a good time tonight. Instead of going back into the party he’d remained on the patio, slouched against the cushions of the outdoor couch. His hand was up to cover the lower half of his face, eyes narrowed in thought.

“What’s got you so pensive?” asked Dabi, taking the seat beside him and cracking open his melon soda.

“Nothing,” Hawks said faintly.

Dabi raised a skeptical brow. “You do know that touching your face gives you zits, right? Get too thoughtful and you might mess with your modeling career.”

“As if they didn’t welcome me as a zitty teenager in the first place,” Hawks scoffed. He put his hand down, though, and leaned back. He wasn’t smiling. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You can ask, but there’s a seventy percent chance that I won’t answer,” said Dabi.

Hawks turned to meet his gaze, golden eyes sharp and searching. Dabi found himself straightening subconsciously. That wasn’t a sly or joking face. This must be serious.

“Why did you join The Bachelorette?”

For a moment Dabi just stared at him. When it finally sank in that he hadn’t misheard anything, he said flatly, “What?”

“Why did you choose to come here?” Hawks asked again.

“Why the hell are you asking me that now?” said Dabi. “We’re at the end of week seven. That’s week one sort of bullshit. Isn’t it already fucking obvious?”

“There’s a big difference between knowing things and assuming them,” Hawks replied, still weirdly intense. “Getting all the competitors on board takes a long time. Some men get chosen even before the Bachelorette’s identity is announced, so it’s entirely possible and completely innocent if what brought you here wasn’t Aiko to start with. You certainly stayed for her.”

“Then what does it matter?” said Dabi.

“I want to understand you,” said Hawks, and how could he say that with a straight face? “I want to know where you were when the thought occurred to you, and what made you sure that you wanted to apply. What is it about this setup that appeals to you? Was there something that stood out to you? Some detail that made you feel like you couldn’t let the opportunity pass?”

Externally, Dabi just stared at him.

Internally, he was panicking.

What was he supposed to say, the truth? The producers pitched it to me hoping I’d round out the selection, and I agreed because I’m a glutton? The main draw was the fridge and I don’t care who Aiko makes out with as long as it’s not me? Yeah, no. Not a chance. He’d thought about coming clean to Hawks after filming was done, if the hero kept any kind of contact, but looking into his eyes now… all he could feel was shame. Despite all Dabi’s assumptions Hawks was a kind and genuine person. His rambling last night and the introduction video stated his intentions well enough, and all his actions supported it. I want to dedicate the rest of my life to making someone happy. If Dabi told him the truth, he could only picture Hawks disappointed. Dabi would just be another liar taking advantage of other people’s goodwill. Another lame plot twist. Another disappointment. There was no way Hawks would associate with someone like that. If there was any chance of them remaining friends—hell, even acquaintances—after this, Dabi didn’t want to lose it. But what could he say that wasn’t a complete lie? What wouldn’t dig him deeper into—

Wait.

He’d just been thinking about the intro videos. Misty had PR approved Dabi’s rambling for The Bachelorette’s rabid fans; it might work here, too.

“Did you see the intro videos before we came here?” he asked.

“I did,” said Hawks, unblinking. “I like to approach a situation with as much information as possible.”

Oh. Great.

Dabi shuffled uncomfortably, trying to remember what exactly he’d said and how to expand on it.

“I’ve got… bad experiences. With this sort of thing,” he admitted. “I’m not someone who can easily attract another person. It’s even harder to keep someone after the initial connection. The more people look at me or talk to me, the more they realize what a bad idea I am. And I’m—I’m—”

He struggled with the words, eyes fixed on his soda bottle and throat clogged with shame. Hawks said nothing, but his eyes softened and he rubbed soothingly at Dabi’s back. Dabi’s shoulders hunched even more.

“I’m lonely,” he choked. “I don’t want— I didn’t ask to be like this. I know I’m a shitty person, but I— Fuck, nothing else has ever worked, so I guess I thought if we were all basically held hostage together long enough, someone might be able to see something of value in me.”

He gripped the bottle hard enough for the plastic to crackle, and he didn’t dare look at Hawks again. Hawks stopped rubbing his back. His hand moved to Dabi’s opposite shoulder instead, and drew him gently closer into a one armed embrace.

“It worked, you know,” he said. “I thought you were really cool from the moment I walked in.”

“Liar,” Dabi said automatically.

“Really,” Hawks insisted. “You had this… air about you. You know those old, pre-quirk movies? It was kind of like being a henchman walking into a bar and going, oh shit James Bond is standing in the corner. You had this gravity around you. It was intimidating. And then you did the Smolder," he gave an uneven laugh, “and it was obvious you were cool and ready to flirt. I was nervous about you at first because you were so obviously one of the front runners—”

“Stop,” said Dabi, recoiling. “You don’t have to make shit up, I’m not—”

“Dude, you’ve made it halfway through the show, you can’t still be insisting you’re not attractive.”

“I’m not—”

Hawks gave an irritated huff and stood up. “Come with me.”

“What?” said Dabi, squinting at him.

“Just inside. Come here,” said Hawks, and steered him away.

They passed through the cocktail room, crossed the hall, into the rose ceremony room to enter its side room. The pseudo altar with photos of the remaining men was up, its candles already lit. Hawks paid it zero attention. He went to the other end of the room, where a floor length mirror with heavily carved wooden frame was fastened to the wall. Presumably this helped Aiko primp for the actual ceremony in a way that let the camera get her full gown in the frame.

“Take a look,” said Hawks, stopping before it.

Dabi did.

He looked at the lanky, sickly man with an abuser’s eyes and the face of a mother who’d always turned away. He looked at the ugly texture and color of his scars, and the way staples tugged at his healthy skin like a badly mounted canvas. His dyed hair was a mess. His formalwear screamed of servitude. He didn’t know what Hawks expected him to see, because clearly they weren’t seeing the same things. Hawks was looking at him in the mirror, too, one hand still around Dabi’s shoulder and the other outstretched as if to present his visage with more fanfare; his expression screamed, See? See, I told you so, but what exactly did it apply to?

“I’m still in the dark, here,” said Dabi.

Hawks’ brow furrowed. “Okay. We’re clearly dealing with a lot more ingrained issues than I thought. When you look at yourself, what is it that you’re seeing?”

“Scars,” Dabi said bitterly.

Hawks nodded, undaunted. “Okay, and what past that?”

“What do you mean, what past that?” said Dabi, scowling. “That’s most of my fucking identity. I told you. People see this and assume I’m a villain.”

“That shows their own bias,” said Hawks. “There’s no reason to assume any of your scars are your fault. Villains don’t maul themselves for the aesthetic; they benefit a lot more from anonymity. The likelihood of you being a victim of someone else’s cruelty is astronomically higher. I’m sorry that so many people have assumed the worst of you without any evidence.” The scars were Dabi’s fault, though. Strangers were right. Hawks seemed to notice Dabi’s thought process, because his voice dipped down to something with far more authority as he said, “You are not what was inflicted on you.”

Dabi turned his head away. He didn’t know to deal with that statement. It felt like a solid whack against that mental box he’d stuffed everything into, but there was no way he’d open that up, because how would he deal with any of it? The semi-familiar feeling of Hawks’ fingers brushed his chin, and coaxed him back into looking at the mirror.

“There are a lot of stupid and cruel people in the world,” said Hawks. “A lot more of them have targeted you than is ever fair, because your hurt is visible and therefore easier for them to prey on. Those people will keep trying to hurt you for their own ends, but what they’re saying is a lie. They don’t know the truth of you. Their opinions don’t matter.” He held Dabi even closer against his side. “There’s a rule of thumb: it’s only a very small percentage of fans—or any population, really—that’s toxic. They’ll kick up a fuss that makes it sound like they’re all that exists, but the reality is that most people are kind and keep to themselves. For every horrible comment you’ve gotten, I can guarantee you that there have been dozens more normal people who’ve passed you on the street and thought things like Wow, his piercings are cool, or this bartender could be a hand model—”

“What,” Dabi said flatly.

“Good things tend to go unspoken,” Hawks carried on. “They should be shared more, but at least to start, I want to make sure you know what I’m seeing when I look at you.”

“Wait,” said Dabi, starting to panic. “That’s really not—"

“The man I’m looking at right now is incredibly handsome,” said Hawks.

“The fuck he is,” Dabi snapped.

“As you’ve mentioned multiple times, I’m a model. I know a little bit about this whole beauty thing,” said Hawks, “and you are handsome, whether you like it or not.”

“I’m burnt to shit.”

“And still attractive,” Hawks insisted. “Your scars are important because they impact your life, but they’re still only one aspect of you. For starters—” He paused. His brow knit for a moment, suddenly second-guessing himself as he’d done all of yesterday. Whatever his problem was, he promptly kicked it to the curb, because his eyes glinted with new determination and his fingers pressed a little harder as he brushed them along Dabi’s jaw. “For one thing, look at your face shape. You’ve got a really nice face—”

“I don’t like my face,” said Dabi.

“I told you, the scars—”

“It’s not about the scars.”

Maybe more of Hawks’ feathers had been out gathering info than he’d thought, because Hawks seemed to pick up on the it’s genetic and I hate the source issue. He moved on fast.

“How about your eyes?”

“I hate them.”

“Damn. That’s a shame, they’re stunning. But you did choose the piercings!”

“What about them?”

“They’re really cool on you, you chose well.”

“You’re biased,” said Dabi, eyes lingering on Hawks’ own pierced ears.

“I’m just knowledgeable enough to appreciate properly!” said Hawks. “They’re eye-catching without being too overt, and I like the style on you.”

“Yes, I’m aware you think I’m shiny,” Dabi grumbled. “That much was clear that first day at the pool.”

“Dabi,” Hawks said flatly. “Dabi, you realize that the entire point of piercings is to be pretty and shiny, right? To be attractive.”

“I got them for myself.”

“And they make you very attractive!”

“Objection.”

Hawks heaved a heavy sigh. “Okay. So, you refuse to acknowledge anything related to your head, then. Let’s look at…” His eyes strayed down Dabi’s neck, past his collarbone and the unbuttoned top of his shirt. He gulped. “Your. Uh. Chest?”

“Are you really going to try congratulating me on my tits?” Dabi said flatly.

Hawks’ face went red.

“Your hands!” he cried, seizing Dabi’s free hand by the wrist and waving it in front of his face. “Let’s look at your hands! Really nice hands, look at these hands.”

“Yeah,” said Dabi, unimpressed. “They sure are hands.”

“Really nice hands!” said Hawks. “Mine look all stubby in comparison. Look at this.” He pressed their palms flat together, and yeah, Hawk’s hands were smaller. This wasn’t surprising, considering he was a smaller person in general, but it was for some reason another poke at that stupid mental box. No thinking, no thinking, no thinking, Dabi thought desperately, and tried to focus on Hawk’s ongoing rambling instead. “These are, like, musician’s hands. I could see these on a piano or something. Really elegant.”

“I don’t play piano, though,” said Dabi.

“Yeah, but like, I could picture them there. Very nimble fingers. Very noticeable when you’re doing the whole bartending thing.”

“I don’t do anything with piano, though.”

“I know.”

“That’s Toga’s deal.”

“I know.”

“Then what the fuck do hands have to do with anything?” Dabi demanded. “And why are you still red?”

“You are making this difficult on purpose!” Hawks hissed, letting go of him.

“I am not!”

“Then clearly you don’t value my opinion.”

“On other things? Sure,” said Dabi. “But considering I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of other informed opinions stating the opposite and you’re well known to be a smooth talker, no. I don’t trust you on this.”

Hawks dragged a hand down his face, exasperated and angry. “You’re really just determined not to hear it, aren’t you? I could stand here for hours telling you that you’re hot, and you just won’t believe me.”

“Basically,” said Dabi.

“Okay,” said Hawks, “then we’ll go for the non-physical. All your actions so far on the show have been very attractive. I’m sure once this is all over with, you’re going to be swarmed with women desperate to date you.”

“Yeah, right,” said Dabi.

“Really,” said Hawks. “Aside from Saito and Gentle, you’ve consistently been the kindest, most genuine person here.”

“You’re clearly drunk again,” said Dabi.

Hawks scowled at him. “I’ve been drinking green tea all day, not a drop of alcohol.”

“Then something else is wrong with your head.”

“You care about people,” said Hawks. “You help them, even if it’s to your detriment. The very first night, even when most of the group was treating you like shit and avoiding you, and even though you hadn’t so much as talked to him, you risked your success to let Saito talk to Aiko.”

“I didn’t risk my success, I just made a mistake and let him go first,” said Dabi.

“You made that choice when anyone else in your position would’ve pushed Saito into the pool,” said Hawks. “Even after that, you started looking out for Saito. Defending him against Hinote’s horrible teaching examples, trying to cheer him up after bad dates… You did the same with Gentle, too, sort of took them under your wing. Even when you hated me you defended me against Tobio, and you tried cheering me up even though I’m sure at that point you just thought I was massively annoying.”

“Not that that’s changed,” Dabi muttered.

Hawks ignored him. “When Muscular got aggressive, you stood up and made yourself a target to keep anyone else from being hurt. You broached some really difficult topics with Aiko because you were actually worried for her more than you were worried about how you looked—”

“That’s common fucking decency,” said Dabi.

“Considering no one else stepped up to the plate, it’s not that common at all,” said Hawks. “At a glance it’s hard to miss, because you shrug a lot of things off and you can sound kind of gruff about it, but for anyone who’s tracking what you’re saying and what you’re doing, it’s so obvious that you’re kind and empathetic. You worry about other people. You want to see them happy. You’re supportive, but also protective and ready to defend someone. You know, when you talk about the people you love, you sound warm.”

Dabi’s heart beat faster. It didn’t make sense, it couldn’t be true, he’d never acknowledge it, but Hawks’ own expression was getting warm. Fond. What the fuck.

“When you talk about the League, you’ve got this little smile,” Hawks said softer, like he was sharing some silly secret. “Your eyes crinkle up a little, too. Even when you complain, just the idea of them makes you happy. Your laughter, too… and when you sang…” He turned his head to meet Dabi’s gaze directly instead of through the mirror. “You’re infectious. You’re smart, and passionate, and you challenge me. Most of the time when I’m in social situations I think too hard about the steps, and the process, and wonder if maybe I’m messing up… but with you I never feel that. I’m always too engaged in what you’re saying or doing to care. I like being here with you. Even when we’re bored, or annoyed by the stupid book club, I’m happy because you’re here.”

Dabi averted his gaze to the mirror again. His eyes were wide in panic, and he was— Fuck, was he really shaking?

“You don’t really know me,” he said, firmly as he could manage.

Hawks tipped his head, still smiling but sad. “Are you sure that you know yourself?”

Dabi didn’t have any time to organize the mess in his head, because someone cleared their throat behind them. Sato was standing in the doorway, looking apologetic.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’re about to break for the rose ceremony,” he said. “Would you please come back to the cocktail room?”

“Oh! Sure! Sorry, I didn’t realize it was that time already,” said Hawks. “Are you coming, Dabi?”

“Yeah,” Dabi mumbled. “Yeah. Just, uh, go ahead and find some seats.”

Hawks took the hint and departed. Dabi remained in front of the mirror for a few moments more, trying to gather himself. In the reflection he saw Sato step closer.

“I apologize again for eavesdropping,” he said, “but I’d like to add another informed opinion to the ones you’re considering. You really are a remarkable young man. One of the best I’ve seen in this mansion, and I’ve seen quite a few. I’m very happy to have gotten the chance to meet you.”

There went Dabi’s composure again, like a flimsy little house of cards.

“Ugh,” he groaned, face burning and looking at the floor, now. “You really are a grandfather.”

“Not quite yet, I’m not,” Sato chuckled. “Come on, now. Let’s join the others.”

He escorted Dabi back to the cocktail room, where Hawks had indeed reserved a spot on the couch between himself and Saito. Dabi plunked himself down between them and closed his eyes as Sato called everyone else together to announce the end of the cocktail party.

His emotions were kind of a mess.

This was a bad thing.

A very bad thing.

He determinedly did not think about anything Hawks had just said. It didn’t matter if it was supposed to be compliments. It just… wasn’t safe. He imagined a cardboard moving box rising up to encase the memory, flaps closing securely enough that the only lingering image in his brain was the Yamato Transport black cat logo. He then punted that mental image of a box into the mental box, and congratulated himself on a job well done. Or, at least, a job not combusted. He just had to put all of it out of his head, and he’d be fine. Nothing had happened. Everything was good.

By the time everyone was lined up for the rose ceremony itself, he still felt a little raw, but gave nothing of that lingering doubt away. He stood tall and unbothered, and when Aiko called him down for a rose (huh, so maybe she did want his opinion on the other men), he smiled and squeezed her hand as if nothing had changed. Hawks, of course, got a rose, too.

“Holy shit,” Hawks whispered, when Hyouto had come back into line with the last rose. “Holy shit, I’ve been waiting on this for weeks.”

Tobio had not gotten a rose. It served him right. He seemed a little shellshocked to be let go now when he’d been so much more annoying in previous weeks, but one hug later he was out the door. Following him was Sharkyonara, who clearly hadn’t been forgiven for the alcohol stunt earlier tonight. Last went Taro, who showed no emotion whatsoever about his failure.

“Why the fuck did she let Taro go and Geten stay?” Dabi whispered back.

“Geten at least makes an impression, I suppose,” said Hawks.

Idiotic.

Well, if Aiko wanted Dabi’s opinion on her final choices, he was ready and happy to tear Geten to fucking shreds again later on.   

The rest of the men got their glasses of champagne and gravitated to Aiko for the toast.

“This has been another amazing week!” said Aiko, raising her glass. “With every week going by, the more thankful I am that you of all people were able to join me here in the mansion, and I’m more and more sure that I’ll leave here engaged to the prince of my dreams. Thank you, everyone! Let’s have fun next week, too! Cheers!”

They toasted, and Dabi was glad to find that at least the champagne brand was the same. They all began to chatter, drifting a little apart again in preparation for the confessionals. Instead of directing them to their assigned crewmembers, though, when Curious stepped into view she had a phone pressed against her chest and a furrow in her brow.

“Hawks?” she called. “You’ve got a call.”

Hawks grimaced.

“Were you expecting someone?” Dabi wracked his brain. “An update on that situation with Present Mic?”

“No, they should have that one under control. I’ve got a suspicion about who it might be, though,” said Hawks. “I’ll be right back.”

He ducked out into the hallway to take the call. Dabi stayed at the edge of the competitor group in the meantime, glowering at the back of Geten’s head. Hawks returned quickly. It had barely been three minutes, but a lot must’ve been shared, and it hadn’t been good; his posture wasn’t the easy comfort of before, but a tense, brisk movement. His smile was artificial. He came up alongside Dabi again and said, “I have to go.”

“Go?” said Dabi, baffled. “What, like bathroom, or—"

“I’m leaving the mansion,” said Hawks. “There’s been an earthquake. A bad one. My feathers can find people who’ve been trapped, but timing is critical. I have to get there fast, so I’m leaving tonight.”

It didn’t feel real, for a moment. They’d been so wrapped up in the Bachelorette bubble that Dabi had forgotten things like natural disasters could happen, and that heroes may really need to be called in. “Hawks leaving” honestly hit him much harder than “earthquake.” He could feel his shoulders slump, and bitter disappointment burn in his throat. That was stupid. It was a good reason to leave.

Dabi averted his gaze toward Aiko and the others. “Shouldn’t you be telling Aiko about this first?”

“The producers can fill her in,” Hawks replied. “I wanted to make sure I could tell you directly. We’re friends, you know? I don’t want to leave you hanging.”

Oh. Dabi didn’t know how to feel about that. His stomach was doing something complicated. Hawks’ smile went a little more crooked, and he brushed a wing light against Dabi’s side.

“They’ve made exceptions for me already, this season. I’m hoping they’ll do it again so I can come back once the rescues are done. If not… well. I’ll make sure Misty can give you my number. It would be cool to see you outside of all this.”

Dabi didn’t feel much like joking, but he tried. “What, so you can drag me to those yakitori places all your sidekicks are sick of?”

“And the ramen places,” said Hawks, smiling wider. “And the market—we’ll steer clear of the sushi, don’t worry—”

His phone buzzed loudly in his pocket and all his amusement evaporated. He hesitated, though, like there was something more to say. Part of Dabi wanted to pin him down so he couldn’t go, but that was a selfish, stupid move. So he didn’t do anything.

“I’ll see you later,” said Hawks.

“Good luck,” Dabi murmured.

Hawks left quickly, without pausing to talk to anyone else.

Fuyumi Todoroki was a kind person.

That’s all anyone ever had to say about her.

She could toil for weeks on events, lesson plans, and office problems, but whenever it eventually succeeded, no one acknowledged her input beyond “that was very kind of you.” When asked to take on responsibilities for other teachers who were in a pinch, she always picked up the slack because she knew how hard it could be to find help, and that was “very kind.” When a group of students decided they wanted to create a low-key game club, they asked her to be their advisor because she was “kind” enough not to judge them for wanting to take it easy instead of joining competitions.

Fuyumi was kind, kind, kind.

She was overlooked, people rarely wanted to help her in return, and when she showed a genuine interest in anything, her peers and students always looked for excuses to escape conversation.

She was too kind, maybe. Bland. A doormat.

When these sorts of thoughts came in, she would fold her hands, prop up a smile against them, and do her utmost not to let anyone else notice. Everyone suffered a little bit, she told herself. She’d seen others just in her family who’d carried such heavy burdens they’d broken under them; she would not be the burden that broke anyone else. She carried on trying to make life easier for herself and other people at the same time. She was the kind person who put in far more than her share of the work, and the kind person that no one took seriously or appreciated, but that was okay. There were far worse things to be.

Fuyumi’s routine was almost set in stone. She woke up early; early enough to make sure both she and her father got breakfast, telling Dad to have a nice day before he left and she turned her attention to rounding up everything she needed for the day. She went to school. She made sure her classroom was clean and she had all her materials needed, checked in with the other teachers in the staff room to ensure she was up to date on anything else, and was there to brightly greet her students when they started arriving. School was long. It could be grueling. During breaks she retreated to the staff room again to keep up as best she could with a social life. After classes ended she stuck around to grade papers and check in with the president of the game club. When club activities finally wrapped up, she returned home to a big, empty house. Dad would be at work for several more hours. Mom was at the hospital. Natsuo was away at college. Shouto was at the U.A. dorms. She was alone. She made herself some dinner before moving on (sometimes, guiltily, taking her food with her) to Touya’s room, where she lit the incense and sat on the floor before the shrine to chatter away at Touya’s picture.

It was probably very unhealthy that her one confidant was a dead child.

It was probably very unhealthy that Touya’s blank visage gave her more support than almost anyone alive.

The cycle went on.

Wake up.

Make food.

Say goodbye.

School.

Club.

Touya.

Sleep.

But last month, the cycle broke.

The teacher in charge of coordinating a hero visit for the upcoming assembly had complained about having too much on her plate, and said, “Todoroki deals with heroes all the time anyway, right? She can take it.” The assumption that Fuyumi would do it sort of rankled. Her father might be Endeavor, but she wasn’t a part of heroics herself; even half the sidekicks at her father’s agency wouldn’t recognize her. Fuyumi took the responsibility, though, because her students were so excited about the visit, and a hero taking time out of their busy day at no charge certainly didn’t deserve someone to be dragging their feet on the school’s end. She coordinated everything by texting with the hero (on her personal phone, she really had no work-life balance) and wrestling space, time, and a guide out of the office workers (“it would be really kind of you if you’d be the hero’s guide, Todoroki, so there are fewer touchpoints”) before the day arrived, and with it came Miruko.

Rabbits were prey animals.

Rabbit Hero Miruko was anything but.

She wasn’t particularly tall, but he had a presence that rivalled Endeavor’s, eyes that flashed with energy, and a savage, cocksure smile. Her hero costume was tight in a way that probably made fans drool but kept those same fans at a distance because nobody wanted to tangle with those muscles. In a bad way, anyway. A lot of people would probably like to tangle with them in the good way. Not that Fuyumi would know. She kept her eyes determinedly on Miruko’s face as she greeted her and walked her inside.

Luckily, despite her less than stellar reputation, Miruko was very easy to work with. She was brash and loud, sure, but stayed on topic and followed all directions. She was the easiest guest Fuyumi had ever had to manage. Bizarrely, all preparations were done early, and they found themselves waiting in an empty room while the students were mobilized, chatting about anything and everything. It was so strange. Miruko liked dramas too, and seemed genuinely interested in Fuyumi’s opinion of some of the plot points. Fuyumi wasn’t used to being anyone’s center of attention; she blushed and tripped over her words and was all around an embarrassment to herself, but Miruko didn’t tease her for any of it. When Miruko was called up for her speech, Fuyumi watched from a corner of the auditorium, giggling along with the students at the hero’s jokes, and feeling a little bit disappointed that this was the end.

When classes resumed Fuyumi bade Miruko goodbye at the gate, and the regular cycle started up again. Class. Club. Home. Fuyumi skipped dinner. She sprawled on the floor in front of Touya’s shrine instead, and quietly told him, “I think I was happy.”

She kept laying there, marinating in loneliness, until her phone buzzed.

It was Miruko.

Miruko, who was watching the most recent episode of one of the dramas they’d talked about, and wanted her opinion of the main character’s latest blunder.

It was probably a little unhealthy, how fast Fuyumi’s heart shot into her throat and she scrambled for the TV. Very desperate.

The cycle shifted.

Fuyumi kept up her cooking, her work, and her visits to the shrine, but in between it all Miruko kept texting her. There was no specific reason for it. Sometimes it was about the dramas, other times about hero work, other times asking what Fuyumi was eating for lunch. There was no work to be escaped by passing it off on Fuyumi, no clout to be had by interacting with her, and Miruko wasn’t interested in using her to get closer to Endeavor (when asked about him, she’d replied, “Your dad’s kind of a dick, so nah. I’ll stay on my side of the city and he can do whatever old man stuff he wants on the other”) so maybe… she was genuinely interested? It was too good to be true, but Fuyumi’s heart had a way of running away without her brain. Soon she was letting thoughts creep in about how Miruko was very pretty, with her large velvet ears and eyelashes long enough that they should’ve been illegal. And maybe it would be thrilling if Miruko swept her off her feet. The day Miruko insisted on being called simply “Rumi” was the day Fuyumi almost died. They were friends! Real friends!

“Touya,” Fuyumi had groaned, hands over her red face, “I think I’m in love.”

And maybe her heart ran a little too far out of control, because when Rumi was talking to her about The Bachelorette (Hawks was her best friend, and she was doing her best to keep up with his shenanigans), Fuyumi had been daydreaming about them curling up together on the same couch with a warm drink and cuddles, and somehow, stupidly, suggested that they watch the next episode together. As soon as she sent the message she panicked. Friendly texting didn’t equate to cuddles! She’d overstepped her boundaries! But before she could try any damage control, Rumi responded with an enthusiastic yes.

It all culminated last week, with Natsuo’s Bachelorette viewing party.

It was supposed to be fun.

It was supposed to be the chance to have something like an actual date, and to meet Yukina and the rest of Natsuo’s friends.

But no.  It all dissolved into a shouting match, and Fuyumi stormed out. She left feeling horribly betrayed, but deeper than that… she was tired. Her determined stride slowed, and by the time she reached the crosswalk two blocks away, her steps were stumbling and she was fighting back tears. She felt like an idiot. She felt ashamed for fighting at all, let alone in front of Natsuo’s friends and Rumi. There was no way she’d ever be able to face them again. Everything she’d been excited for was ruined.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Rumi had caught up.

Rumi, who she hadn’t seen in person before today since the school event. Heroes had turbulent enough lives as it was, and Fuyumi had made it worse.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hating the way her breath hiccupped. “I’m sorry, that was so rude of me, you didn’t even get to see the end of the episode and I made everything uncomfortable, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t apologize to me. I asked you a question,” said Rumi.

“I’m sorry,” Fuyumi said anyway, taking off her glasses to scrub tears out of her eyes. “I’m really just—”

“Hey.” Warm hands cupped Fuyumi’s face and turned her to look straight into Rumi’s red eyes. She looked very serious, and her voice was very soft. “Are you okay?”

Fuyumi’s lip wobbled. “No.”

Rumi gave a curt nod. “Can I hug you?”

Fuyumi would love that, but she didn’t deserve it. “N-no.”

“Okay.” Rumi’s hands slipped down to her shoulders, and even if it wasn’t a hug, they were grounding. “Wherever you’re going, can I walk you there? You don’t have to talk to me at all about what just happened, but I don’t like the idea of leaving you on your own right now.”

She really was a good person.

“Okay,” Fuyumi said quietly.

Rumi nodded again, and they kept walking. The silence between them felt suffocating. Fuyumi’s conscience raved about how she must be making this so uncomfortable for Rumi, when Rumi had been so nice and deserved so much better. But if she tried to fill the quiet and pretend normalcy… she didn’t know that she could manage it. She might just break in the middle of a sentence and make everything worse. She couldn’t risk it.

Rumi followed her onto the train. Sitting there in silence was a little better—conversations on the train were rude, so the social etiquette wasn’t pressuring her anymore—so Fuyumi took the opportunity to take a deep breath, close her eyes, and try to piece herself back together. When they reached the train station closest to the Todoroki estate, the sky was dark with rain clouds. As they walked to the gates, drops began to fall, harder and faster until they were crowded below the overhang at the front door and the rain was downright pelting the street. Rumi squeezed water out of her long hair, ears turned back as she eyed the rain like it might be an enemy she could kick into submission. She’d brought Fuyumi home, so that was the end of it. It could be the end of everything. Fuyumi would walk into the empty house again, and sit in front of Touya’s picture, and… and…

“Do you want to come inside?” she asked.

“Huh?” said Rumi.

“Until the rain breaks?” Fuyumi said in a rush, because oh no couldn’t that have been used as a different kind of proposal? “Not for anything else, it’s just, I’d hate to have you stuck out in this weather when you went out of your way to help—”

“If you’re giving me an invitation, hell yeah, I’ll take it,” said Rumi. “Don’t be afraid to tell me to fuck off if you need space, though. I don’t mind.”

“I think I need the opposite of space right now,” said Fuyumi.

Rumi studied her, then nodded once more. “All right.”

Fuyumi fumbled to unlock the door and led the way inside.

Rumi’s feet were so big, only Dad’s slippers had any chance of fitting her. She scowled at the flame print on them but otherwise had no complaint. Fuyumi brought out towels so they could dry themselves off easier, and they moved further inside.

“Hawks would be so jealous right now,” said Rumi, the grin back on her face as she took in the traditional layout. “Free admission to Endeavor’s place. Where is the big guy, anyway?”

“He works late at the agency most evenings,” said Fuyumi. “I don’t think he’ll be back for another two hours.”

Rumi grimaced. “No wonder Hawks likes him. They’re both overachievers.”

“And you’re not?” said Fuyumi, with the ghost of a smile. “You are in the top ten, after all.”

“Ha! I put in a lot of effort, sure, but my entire life doesn’t center around heroics,” said Rumi. “I’d miss so many shows that way.” She looked around more critically now. “So it’s just you in here? Dad at work, brothers at school…”

“Yes. It’s just me. Me and…” Fuyumi shook her head. “Just— Just me.”

“Again, tell me to fuck off and I will,” Rumi said slowly, “but who is it that you were talking about earlier? A third brother?”

“Touya,” Fuyumi said quietly, toying with the edge of the towel slung around her shoulders.

“If that’s a bad topic, tell me. My ego doesn’t bruise if you snap at me a little bit,” said Rumi.

“It’s not, it’s just… It’s a tragedy. Most people don’t like hearing about him,” said Fuyumi.

“Try me,” said Rumi, with a wry smile. “I’ve got a lot of experience listening to tragic backstories these days, and it sounds like you’ve got a lot bottled up.”

Fuyumi fidgeted a little more before straightening up. “Okay. But, it’s the same for you. If it’s too much, or you’re uncomfortable, let me know and I’ll change the subject.”

“It takes a lot to make me uncomfortable,” Rumi snickered. “Do your worst.”

So Fuyumi led her deeper into the house. They navigated the maze of tatami mats and shoji doors until they came to Touya’s room. It was mostly empty. Fuyumi could remember easily where the unkempt bed had been; where the wardrobe had stood with its treasure trove of Endeavor merch; she remembered where the desk had been with its swivel chair, the creak of it as it turned and the way Touya would blink up in surprise when she’d come running in demanding he kick a ball around the courtyard with her and Natsuo. None of these things were there anymore. There was only the dark forbidding wood of the shrine, and a single small bookcase with the last of Touya’s belongings inside. The shelf felt as foreign as the rest of the room. The red toy car on top was actually Natsuo’s. The little action figures had been popular at the time, bought in the hope of distracting Touya from heroics, but he’d never been interested in any of them. The ball the siblings had played with was deflated. Otherwise all that remained were old school notebooks and novels.

Fuyumi lit the incense and knelt in front of the shrine. Rumi joined her. Touya’s photograph looked back at them.

“That’s him,” she said quietly. “Touya.”

“I can see the resemblance,” said Rumi.

Fuyumi smiled, but there wasn’t any humor in it. Touya had hated how much he looked like their mother.

“He was my big brother. The oldest. He used to be very popular with the paparazzi, but after he died in the fire, on Sekoto Hill… Now most people don’t realize he existed,” she said. “At the time, it was big. The reporters were relentless. One of them tried to corner me on my way home from school and asked me if I’d seen my brother’s corpse. What it looked like, once a boy with a fire quirk died of the same element.”

Rumi bristled. “They what?”

Fuyumi kept her eyes on the picture. Tried to keep the memory out of her head.

“When I told Dad, he was so mad about it. He and his agency declared war on the media for a while. They took down all the vile lies people were spreading… people who claimed they’d seen Touya that day. People who insinuated things about him. People who told gory stories, to get their fifteen minutes of fame. Dad fought them to protect us, and to protect Touya’s memory. He took down all the pictures of Touya and the rest of the family and scrubbed it out of his PR, to make sure no one could go hunting for stories later on, either. Now it’s like a gulf, there. He was so effective with it, it’s like Touya was never there at all. So that… That’s why no one outside the family talks about him. When it comes to inside the family, we don’t talk about him because it hurts too much.”

Fuyumi thumbed at the edge of the towel again, gathering her thoughts before looking Rumi in the eye and saying, “My family is messed up.”

“Normally I’d say everyone’s family is messed up, but…” Rumi glanced at the picture again.

“Mine’s a little worse than usual,” said Fuyumi. “My parents married for Mom’s quirk. Her family was poor, so the money… and with Dad being who he was, she thought it might be glamorous. Like being a princess, swept off her feet by a prince. For a while, at least in the beginning, it was true. When I was small, I remember that they smiled at each other in a way that they didn’t smile to anyone else. Dad… isn’t very imaginative. He knew she liked flowers, so he kept surprising her with bouquets. Sometimes he’d bring them home from work. Sometimes a delivery man would show up in the afternoon. Sometimes he would give the flowers to me and Touya, so we could ‘deliver’ them for him. She was always so excited about them. Sometimes she would paint the bouquets he gave her, and give him the painting like a return gift. He was embarrassed about it, since it was so much more work than he’d put in, but he used to hang them in his office at the agency.”

At Endeavor’s agency, he used to have an entire wall of the office dedicated to family artwork: crayon scribbles, crafts from school, and Mom’s paintings. It had dwindled almost to nothing now. Fuyumi closed her eyes against the thought and bowed her head.

“Dad wanted to marry someone with an ice quirk because he hoped that his children would be born with a defense against overheating. That was always the thing he was most frustrated with about himself—how hot his fire could burn, but how low his body’s threshold seemed to be to contain it. He thought that if he didn’t have that limitation he could’ve surpassed All Might, so he wanted to have a child who could do that in his place. It worked, with Shouto. But before Shouto was born, it was supposed to be Touya. Everyone knew what Dad wanted, and they were all on board with it: Mom got her family, Dad got his heir, and Touya and I got all the attention we could ask for. Life was good. But then Touya’s quirk started acting strangely. It started burning him. Quirk specialists realized that his firepower was already stronger than Dad’s, but he hadn’t inherited any resistance against overheating. He’d been born with a body like Mom’s. Cold resistant. He was even more susceptible to the heat and fire than Dad was. Even the simpler exercises were hurting him, so they stopped training. It was such an abrupt change, it was almost like no one knew what to do anymore. We were all uneasy. And then, suddenly, Mom was pregnant again.”

Rumi’s eyes narrowed.

“A new heir?” she guessed.

“An attempt at one, anyway,” said Fuyumi. “It was Natsuo. Things started falling apart after that. Mom and Dad got tense. Because that notion of an heir had been instilled so young, Touya couldn’t pull it apart from the rest of his identity. He would run after Dad and beg to train, since that was their form of playing before, and Dad would refuse because he didn’t want Touya to get hurt. Touya would keep pressing, and get confused and mad, so Dad started avoiding him. He stopped talking about work to him or bringing him to the agency, because he was trying to pull Touya away from heroics. All it did was create an isolation. Touya got all the more anxious to try reconnecting with him. We all tried to turn Touya into other activities, like toys and clubs and making friends, but that didn’t work.” She shook her head in grief. “Before the quirk diagnosis, Dad had told him that he existed in a different world from other people. That he was meant for greater things. That worldview clashed with everything.”

“A different world?” said Rumi, disbelievingly. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? Heroes are in the same world as everyone else!”

“I know,” said Fuyumi. “I think it was a confidence thing? But it backfired so much…”

“Did he ever get out of it?” asked Rumi.

“Not really. He made some strides toward it, but ironically the people we were pushing him to connect with were the same ones enforcing it,” said Fuyumi. “Every adult he ever met fawned over how similar he was to Dad, and asked if he wanted to be just like Dad when he grew up. Other kids all wanted to see his quirk or play heroes. Everyone held him at a distance while demanding a future he wasn’t supposed to have. It’s incredibly frustrating to recognize that now, but it must’ve been so much worse for Touya to be living it. It felt like he got more desperate, the bigger Mom got, and when Natsuo was born, he was so mad. I remember how he used to hold Natsuo’s hand and cry, because he was being replaced, and he didn’t want to like his replacement. If I’m right, there are pictures…”

She leaned to sift through the books on the shelf and pulled out a small photo album. A few flipped pages, and she found it. There was a photograph of little Touya, hair split down the middle between red and white. Baby Natsuo was bundled up in a striped blanket and being held so very carefully, but Touya’s face was screwed up in the kind of betrayal most children reserved for a full plate of vegetables.

“Touya was a really good brother, though,” she said, tilting it for Rumi to see. “No matter how much he wanted to hate Natsuo, he was still helping Mom change diapers and helping him learn to walk. When Natsuo got older they were almost inseparable.”

That, of course, made the present situation worse.

Rumi flipped through the album’s pages, taking in the nicer pictures: Touya, Fuyumi, and baby Natsuo all snoring among stacks of folded laundry; Touya and Fuyumi eating flavored ice balls with no problem while another hero’s child suffered brain freeze; Touya very seriously introducing a toddler Natsuo to an overly friendly stray cat.

“He was a good big brother to me, too, of course,” said Fuyumi. “Whenever I needed help he was always there for me, even when he wasn’t very good at making those little beaded keychains and didn’t understand the appeal of bedazzling a lamp. He always listened to me when I was upset about something at school, and he’d hold my hand if I got scared. We didn’t get along all the time, but I don’t think any siblings do. We… we used to fight, sometimes. Even though Dad wasn’t training with him anymore, Touya took it on himself to start training alone. I didn’t like seeing him hurt. He said I didn’t understand anything. And I suppose I didn’t. I wasn’t born for anything special. I was only born to cheer him on.”

“Don’t say that! That’s bullshit!” cried Rumi.

Fuyumi shrugged and kept her eyes on the floor. “It’s true. Mom told me, back when she was still… She’s better now. But I was never supposed to amount to anything.”

“That’s a lie,” Rumi insisted.

“It’s okay,” said Fuyumi. “I was hurt at the time, but I got over that a long time ago.” Rumi looked ready to buckle down for an argument, so she turned back to the picture in the shrine and continued, “Natsuo never manifested a quirk. Dad started worrying that he wouldn’t get the heir he wanted, no matter how many children they had. Touya thought that if Natsuo was quirkless then that meant he still had a chance, so he started training himself harder. Mom and Dad tried everything to stop him, but it didn’t matter if they begged or yelled, he just kept hurting himself. When they kept interrupting him at home, he started sneaking out to Sekoto Hill where they couldn’t catch him. There was this horrible tension all over the house, like we were living in a powder keg. It all blew up when Shouto was born. Touya refused to greet him when Mom first brought Shouto home. He was out training again that whole day, and when he came back in the evening, he was…” She began to shake at the memory. “He was smoking. Blistering. He was on fire, and he was in so much pain, but he argued with Dad to try getting his spot as heir back. He was begging Dad to look at him. When Dad said he had to stop, that he couldn’t be a hero, he tried to burn Shouto.”

“Wait,” Rumi said slowly. “Is that where he got—”

She raised her hand to touch the left side of her face, and Fuyumi quickly shook her head.

“No. No, Dad caught him. He never actually hurt Shouto. I don’t think he meant it, either. He was just a kid lashing out. It doesn’t excuse it, but it explains it. Dad separated Shouto from the rest of us after that, to keep him safe, and to start training. Touya never tried to hurt him again. He kept away from that end of the house. But it broke us. We’d all been drifting apart under the pressure, and with the physical separation, too, it all got worse. Touya felt like he had to prove himself, and isolated himself to do it. Mom tried to keep him in the house but he kept finding ways to escape and get burned. Dad was scared for him and angry because he couldn’t figure out how to fix it, and he took it out on Mom, who was already stretched thin with a newborn and three other children, and feeling guilty because she felt like she’d failed Touya by somehow giving him the wrong genes, and guilty that she couldn’t keep him safe, too. Touya would still listen to me talk about school, but he never talked to me about himself after that, and whenever I tried to bring up his injuries he’d just leave the room. I—I remember being ten years old and sneaking medical books at the library, because I wanted to understand what was happening to him. He was trying to treat burns himself that he absolutely should’ve been hospitalized for. Of course I went to our parents for help! But that just— I wanted to help him, but he hated that. He never trusted me again. The only one he talked to was Natsuo. Natsuo was that age where you think your older sibling’s the coolest thing in the world, and he was already overlooked for his quirklessness, so he connected to Touya easily and didn’t question anything he was doing. It ramped up again when Shouto’s quirk came in. Dad started training him, and it was harsh, like he was trying to make up for the time he’d ‘lost’ on the rest of us. Mom tried to step in because she thought he was going too far, and he got… rough with her.”

“Rough,” Rumi said flatly.

Fuyumi winced. “Yes.”

“Define rough.”

“He hit her,” said Fuyumi.

Rumi leaned closer, ears back and eyes harsh. “Does he hit you?”

“No!” cried Fuyumi, horrified. “No, he’s never hit me!”

“Did he hit Natsuo?” said Rumi.

“No!”

“Touya, then, or Shouto?”

“Touya, no. Shouto, though. Shouto, yes. For the training.”

Rumi leaned back again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Does he still—”

“No,” said Fuyumi. “No, they don’t train together anymore. There’s been nothing like that now, and Dad regrets all of it. He’s been working to try making amends.”

“Amends doesn’t change what happened. Are you sure you feel safe here?” said Rumi. “Because I will pick you and this shrine up and lug you back to Fukuoka if you need to leave.”

Fuyumi gave a broken laugh. “I appreciate it, but no. I’m good staying here. Family is all I have, and this is where the memories are. So I want to stay, even if it’s bleak sometimes.” She turned her gaze back to the shrine. “Touya died not far from here. His quirk ran out of control and burned all the trees on Sekoto Hill along with him. It was a training accident. Investigators found his jawbone in the aftermath, so we have proof that he died. No one could handle it. Natsuo resented all of us because he’d formed a kind of us-against-them mentality with Touya, so the rest of us were ‘Touya’s enemies.’ Dad turned all his attention onto Shouto’s training because it was something he could control. Mom snapped. Shouto walked in on her in the kitchen one evening, and she poured boiling water on his face. That’s where he got the scar. Mom was admitted to a hospital, and she’s been there ever since.”

“Damn,” Rumi whispered. “Your family is messed up.” 

“I know,” Fuyumi laughed, rubbing at her eyes again. “All my life I’ve been trying to make it better, but it never worked. It’s like I’ve got a bucket of water to put out a whole housefire. But I can’t not try, you know?” Her voice cracked. “I hate how we can never talk about Touya anymore. When they see the pictures and the shrine, all everyone else thinks about is how he died. If I try to talk to Dad about him, Dad starts talking about Shouto and how he’s going to make sure Shouto doesn’t suffer like Touya did. If I try to talk to Natsuo about him, it all becomes accusations, and he tries to use Touya’s memory like a weapon against the rest of us. I can’t talk to Mom about him, because I can’t bear the idea of her falling apart again. Shouto barely glimpsed Touya after being separated from us, so there’s no memories we can share. The only person who would’ve listened to me grieve is Touya himself. I hate that I can’t talk to anyone about the big brother I loved so much. I want to laugh with someone about the time I showed him a worm from the garden, and how he said worms were only less gross than fish because fish would eat worms. I want to reminisce about the time we made homemade mochi and he ate all the pink ones while Mom wasn’t looking. I want to talk about how his baby blanket had stars on it, and even when he was older he still loved star patterns. Touya was more than just his pain! He was alive, and he smiled, and no one seems to want to remember who he was.”

The tears were really coming, now. Fuyumi set aside her glasses and pressed her hands against her eyes. She didn’t know if she was hiding, or trying to stem the flow, or if she just didn’t want to look at how empty Touya’s face was in the shrine.

“That’s why when Natsuo said Dabi might be Touya, I got so angry. Natsuo was the only person Touya trusted. He loved Touya so much. And now he’s trying to replace him? Was the real Touya not good enough? He struggled with inadequacy so long when he was alive. Doing that to him in death… It feels like the ultimate betrayal. His memory is good enough! He was always good enough for me! I miss him so much!”

She buckled. Immediately dark, strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her in so she was sobbing against Rumi’s shoulder.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Rumi said gently, one hand rubbing at her back.

“I want to remember the brother I loved, not worry about his name being a trap,” she choked.

“You should be able to. I’m sorry you’ve been carrying this all alone,” said Rumi.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be,” Rumi growled. “You want to keep talking about him? I’m all ears. But if you don’t want to talk, just cry. Just fucking cry.”

So Fuyumi did. She cried the way she’d been too guilty to, back when Touya was freshly dead; all the ugly, snotty tears that a younger version of herself had crushed down into sniffles under her pillow while the rest of her family screamed and blamed and made everything worse. Back then she thought it would be horribly selfish to cry. She was sad, yes, but Touya was dead so her pain was nothing in comparison. Besides, as terrible as everything was, Touya was finally the center of everyone’s attention. She wouldn’t take that away from him. Not after everything he’d suffered. Even now, she felt guilty about making it all about herself when she was supposed to be explaining his presence in her life.

But Rumi held her tighter, lips against her crown to murmur it’s okay, let it out and other reassurances, warm and grounding and accepting.

So maybe it was okay.

Maybe she could grieve without hurting anyone else, or being hurt in return.

Rumi held her for a long time. By the time Fuyumi let up her grip on the back of Rumi’s shirt, the pounding rain on the roof had died down to a drizzle. Fuyumi led Rumi back to the kitchen and dug some leftovers out of the fridge, because by this time they were both starving. As the bowl rotated in the microwave Fuyumi felt like she should’ve been ashamed—surely she should’ve provided something much better for her guest—but she just felt empty, in a relieved sort of way. Like a poison had been pulled out of her.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “It wasn’t very dignified, but…”

“Dignity, shmignity,” said Rumi, clicking her chopsticks experimentally. “Heroes cry too, you know. Are you feeling any better?”

Fuyumi chuckled. “Much better. Thank you.” When the microwave beeped she pulled out the food and started dividing it between their bowls. She focused on the movement of her chopsticks as she said, “I do want to apologize to you, though. Genuinely.”

“Do not apologize for crying,” said Rumi. “That was some heavy shit you were dealing with.”

“It’s not for crying,” said Fuyumi. “No matter how much I was dealing with, I shouldn’t have snapped at anyone. Even if I was mad at Natsuo, that’s no excuse to make a scene in the middle of the watch party and embarrass him in front of his friends. I should’ve had a conversation with him about it later on. I still need to do that and apologize to him. I made tonight uncomfortable for a lot of people, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. It’s… it’s not the impression I wanted to give anyone. Especially you.”

Rumi hummed thoughtfully and rested her chin on her knuckles. She weighed her words for a while before saying, “This is going to sound pretty bad, but I think it’s cool that you blew up.”

“You what?” said Fuyumi, bewildered.

“You know that saying, if you stand for nothing you’ll fall for anything? You stood for something, and showed what you care about.” The grin returned to Rumi’s face. “That’s hot. And your reason to fight was sad, but very sweet. Circumstances weren’t great, but I liked seeing a new side of you.”

Fuyumi spluttered and turned around to hide the redness of her face.

The rest of the night grew steadily more lighthearted. Fuyumi found herself laughing at some of Rumi’s stories, and when the hero left, the rain was fully gone and Fuyumi felt more at peace than she’d been in months.

The following day was not so kind. She called Natsuo after work and apologized for her behavior. She refused to budge, though, from her stance that Touya was dead and this Dabi theory was cruel, wishful thinking. She didn’t even want to address that bit at all, but Natsuo wouldn’t let it go. He was annoyed from start to end, using phrases like “just because you don’t want to believe it,” and “I knew him best,” and the whole thing made her shake with anger to the point she wanted to throw her phone straight through the nearest wall. Of course she wished Touya was alive! And if Natsuo really paid attention to the person he “knew best,” he’d realize that Touya would’ve been hurt by this!

“Then I suppose you’ll have no trouble inviting Dabi to family dinner,” she’d snapped.

“I will invite him!” Natsuo snapped back.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

She ended the call, seething, and wished Rumi lived close enough for another easy hug. Texting her helped, at least.

The usual cycle of Fuyumi’s life went on.

On Monday night Fuyumi was alone in the house again. After dinner she sat on the couch, flipped on the TV, and fiddled with her phone until the speakers said, “Tonight, on The Bachelorette…”

She wanted to watch it for Rumi, if nothing else. Rumi had avoided any talk about the show after Fuyumi’s meltdown last week, but she didn’t seem to have many other people to laugh with about Hawks’ antics there. Most heroes had been pulled in for the earthquake response, but Rumi had been one of the fighting specialists asked to pick up the slack in regular districts. She’d already admitted to feeling guilty at every free moment that she wasn’t helping sort through the rubble, so a distraction would surely help. The show itself was fine. Fuyumi could separate it from Natsuo’s stubbornness. She set her phone aside to watch the first date—painless—but when the group date was announced with Dabi involved, she was tempted to pick it back up to distract herself. She forced herself to stay still as Dabi made his way through the arcade.

She could see why Natsuo was so willing to believe this was Touya. Dabi’s eyes, his face, the inflections of his voice… they were similar. But the last of Touya had been buried years ago. This was just a tragic coincidence. Resentment bubbled in her chest, but Fuyumi closed her eyes and pushed it back down. When she opened her eyes again, Dabi onscreen seemed to be looking directly back at her.

“It’s not your fault,” she told him. “My frustrations are just mine. You didn’t ask for this. You don’t know about it, and you don’t have any power over it.”

Dabi was just a stranger going through his own troubles. He didn’t deserve to be hated for something he had no involvement in. She studied him longer, building up his presence as a separate person in her mind.

Dabi, the Bachelorette contestant.

Dabi, who Rumi’s best friend was head over tailfeathers for.

Dabi, who got flustered by kindness and compliments, but seemed to melt so easily under Hawks’ influence.

Dabi, who… was even more flustered when Hawks pressed up against him for the gacha machines and the photobooths. And who curled up next to Hawks whenever possible, like a happy cat. And who looked at Hawks like he’d hung the moon.

Fuyumi dialed Rumi’s number, and as soon as it connected she said, “Be honest with me. Do they really think they’re being subtle?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Rumi roared with laughter.

Shouto was a day late in visiting his mother this week.

Normally he visited on Sundays, but there had been a villain attack that shut down some of the trains in that direction and all U.A. students had been instructed to stay on campus until the villains involved were caught. By the time everything was resolved the hospital’s visiting hours had long ended. Shouto had gotten special permission to visit after class on Monday instead. He would be missing The Bachelorette, but Midoriya, Uraraka, and Yaoyarozu had promised to watch it on the streaming service with him tomorrow instead. In the meantime, he supposed, they were free to carry on with their spa routines with the cucumber slices over the eyes. It would be a shame to watch tomorrow without Sato’s most recent baking experiment… but it was worth missing. He was hoping to get some advice.

Shouto’s mother was a good listener. On previous visits he’d opened up about his problems (anything from Fuyumi advised me of this but it seems to contradict what I see in the dorms, and why do people seem to genuinely prefer hot soba when cold is so superior, to more serious things like I’m worried about choices for my internship, and I’m embarrassed sometimes by how many social cues I seem to miss), and she would listen to him patiently before giving advice or reassurance. It wasn’t altogether different from getting advice from Fuyumi, but Rei never pushed for anything, never got overwhelming in her reactions… and there was something comforting about hearing things from her. He could feel small and dumb but safe about it, because Rei had a lot more life experience, had the ability to back up and look at things critically even while understanding the emotional cues, and was never ever impatient or annoyed by him. She was very supportive, and very wise.

Today he hoped to get her wisdom on two things:

First, he wanted help writing his letter to Dabi. He hadn’t shared his desire to write to the man with either of his siblings—what if they thought it was strange? What if they heard “secret love child” and immediately disregarded anything else he had to say? No, it would be a much better idea to ask Rei for her opinions. He would keep his suspicions of Dabi’s parentage to himself—he was sure Endeavor’s affair happened before they married, but maybe it had happened during their short dating period? Dabi was the same age Touya should’ve been, and yes, Touya was born early, but it couldn’t have been that far off. He didn’t want Rei to worry about Endeavor’s fidelity on top of the abuse, or have the potential of it eating away at her. No, he would just tell her that Dabi seemed remarkably similar to himself and he wanted to reach out. For this letter, instead of notebook paper, Shouto had come armed with expensive stationery: a single cardstock page, with a matching envelope already stamped and addressed to the Paragon Productions studio. He hoped that this challenge—no mistakes now, get out what you mean and go—would help him finally write what he needed, but if anything the page chilled him with its blank perfection. He couldn’t risk even a drop of ink out of place.

The second item he wanted an opinion on was how to sound out whether Midoriya was interested in him. This would be tricky. Normally he would ask Fuyumi, and he’d planned to ask Natsuo, but there was something weird going on between his siblings right now.

He suspected they’d had an argument.

A big argument, if even Shouto could pick out the clues in their separate conversations.

Both Fuyumi and Natsuo seemed to be deeply hurt by whatever it was, but for the life of him Shouto couldn’t determine what it had been about. It seemed to be related to The Bachelorette. Or his siblings’ would-be dates that night. Or the fact that it had rained last week. Or maybe he was off on the wrong tangent entirely.  

Maybe he’d ask Rei’s opinion on that, too. One of them may have visited while Shouto was away.

He was so caught up in his own family’s visits that he was taken completely off guard when he turned a corner and found Rabbit Hero Miruko striding down the hallway toward him. She looked mad.

“Ah. Hello,” he said, because he was sure he was supposed to at least greet a future colleague.

“You. Babyroki. With me,” Miruko snapped.

Babyroki? What an odd choice in nickname. He supposed it made sense, though.

When she put a muscular arm around his shoulders to steer him he graciously turned his feet to follow, with only the slight annoyance about being late for his visit. Miruko walked him into an empty room and closed the door. Only then did she release him and back off to an appropriate distance, but if anything she looked even madder.

“Do you in any way feel unsafe or concerned about yourself or any of your family members because of Endeavor?” she demanded.

Shouto blinked at her. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, is he still hurting you?” said Miruko.

Shouto stared blankly at her for a moment before the pieces fell into place. “Oh. You know.”

“Yeah, I fucking know!” said Miruko.

Shouto nodded along. He felt like he should be a little more concerned about the situation, but he felt very calm. Maybe that was what happened when you shared trauma with select classmates: it didn’t hurt as bad anymore when other people poked at it.

“I think I know what happened,” he said. “Natsuo brought up Endeavor being a terrible person along with a lot of other family issues that didn’t make sense to you and got really mad about it all, Fuyumi tried to argue against him, they both refused to talk to each other afterward, and Fuyumi explained things to you in the aftermath.”

Fuyumi narrowed her eyes at him. “Did somebody tell you this, or are your siblings just really predictable?”

“They did the exact same thing at family dinner with some of my classmates,” said Shouto with a shrug. “I suppose in that case they’re predictable.”

“Your classmates know?” said Miruko, getting angrier. “And nothing happened?”

“I asked them not to share it,” said Shouto.

Miruko made a hideous noise and pulled at her own hair. “My god— Look, just go back to the original question. He hurt you. He hurt your family. You’re scarred, your brother’s dead, and your mother’s in a mental institution, none of which would have happened if Endeavor wasn’t a massive asshole!” Shouto’s brow furrowed. He didn’t think this was a particularly tactful way to present those facts, but then again Miruko wasn’t known for sugarcoating anything, and her following words made it obvious that she really did care about it. “Are you just interning with him because you don’t feel like you have a choice? Are there are other people in with you during that time to make sure he doesn’t take it too far? Are you nervous at all about leaving the dorms and going back to that house? Because if you have the slightest even passing thought that this might be trouble, I will fight for you. I will roll up in the middle of fucking Shibuya Crossing and knock his fucking teeth out. I will get lawyers! So many fucking lawyers! I’ll sue the shit out of him. Just give me the word. I’ll protect you.”

She looked at him like she was some kind of hellhound raring to be let off its leash.

And Shouto… he wondered.

“Anything?” Miruko flexed her fingers desperately. “Anything at all?”

“No, thank you,” said Shouto.

“What?” she cried. “Why?”

“I made the decision to watch him,” said Shouto. “It’s true that I don’t like him. I don’t know if the day will ever come where I forgive what he’s done. But he seems to have realized that. He’s hit the top and seen that none of it mattered, because he’s alone with an empty title that he didn’t even properly earn. He’s realized that I’m an heir past the point where he can dictate where my life goes. He says he’s trying to make a change for what really matters. Just because he says that doesn’t mean anything will come of it, but we’re not in his control anymore. Fuyumi’s the only one at home, and she willingly stays there. He’s accountable to other people and institutions now for the rest of us, so his influence is heavily regulated. He’s not nearly as aggressive toward me even in the internship. In fact, Midoriya and Bakugo have pointed out that it sounds like I’m bullying him some days, instead of the other way around.”

“But don’t you want some kind of vengeance?” Miruko said desperately. “A comeuppance? Doesn’t he deserve some punishment for what he did to you?”

“I think what he’s living right now is a form of punishment,” said Shouto. “Besides, if I tried to take any action against him, I’d just be destabilizing society and preventing a lot of other people from being saved. No matter what his personality is like, he is a very good hero.”

“Forget society! What about you?” said Miruko.

Shouto shrugged. “If Endeavor was taken away, it wouldn’t make me happy. It wouldn’t change anything. The point of prison is to deter future crime, which in this case is useless because he’s already hit that turning point. Retribution doesn’t appeal to me. I’d always live with the guilt that more people could’ve been helped if I hadn’t done anything. My family would forever be angry at each other because they’d never get closure. Fuyumi especially would be mad. And I’d never get to see what his choice would be. When I picture that kind of future, all I can imagine is a public very angry at us and a lot of old wounds opened with nothing actually gained. So, no. I don’t want to take any action against him. I’ll just use him for my internship and move on with my life. Thank you, though, for offering. It’s more than anyone else has ever done.”

Miruko groaned. She flopped down in the closest chair and buried her face in her hands. Shouto edged closer, unsure what to make of this.

“I’m sorry if I’ve deprived you of an excuse to kick him in the face, but I’m sure you’ll come up with another one easily enough,” he said awkwardly. “He is. As you said. Uh. An asshole.”

Miruko groaned again and looked up at him in defeat.

“None of you want to do anything,” she said. “Fuyumi believes he’s changing and wants to give him the chance. Natsuo’s pissed as all hell, but he won’t do anything because he thinks anything happening to Endeavor would be used as ammo against you by the media. Even your mother didn’t want to take any action.”

“You visited my mother?” said Shouto, surprised.

“Just now.” She waved her hand like it was old news. “Had to make sure she was in here for valid reasons. It’s been over a decade, how was I supposed to know whether Endeavor was just trying to keep her out of the way? But no. She says the doctors are helping her and that she’s confident they’re working in her best interest, and she’s on schedule to be discharged within the year. She said she couldn’t see any benefits to going after Endeavor either. She’ll testify against him if any of you want to do anything, but she won’t put it forward on her own.” She sighed, resting her head on one hand as she looked up at him with a miserable expression. “I’m just so sick of being too late. I should’ve been there for you, like, fifteen years ago.”

Shouto quickly did the math in his head. “Okay, but that would’ve made you about twelve years old, so I don’t think you could really—”

“You know what I mean, you little asshole,” said Miruko. “Someone should’ve been there for you when it really mattered. When things could’ve changed.” Quieter, she said, “Someone should’ve been there for him, too.”

Shouto assumed that she meant Touya. He cast around, unsure how to tackle that elephant in the room, and said, “I’m sure he’d appreciate you trying to help once you learned what was going on. How long exactly have you known?”

“About your family? A week,” said Miruko. “Took me most of that time to get approved to come in here. Shit, since I talked to you already, I can cancel that appointment with U.A….”

“You work fast,” said Shouto, impressed.

“I may not be the fastest hero alive, but I can keep up with him,” said Miruko, lips pulling back toward her usual grin.

“How… is Hawks, by the way?” said Shouto. “Do you talk or just watch him on TV at this point?”

“He’s under contract not to talk to anyone.” She raised a brow, grinning wider. “What, are you watching him, too?”

“I am,” said Shouto. “He’s been a fascinating study, but I feel more strongly drawn to Dabi, and the most attractive man is Saito. Sorry.”

Miruko cackled. “I’m telling him you said that! He needs some holes popped in his ego sometimes, but I think he’ll agree with you on that: he’ll definitely put Dabi before himself.”

They chatted a little more about last week’s episode, and the whole time in the back of his mind Shouto thought, Really? Is this really happening? I am making friends with a hero? The show worked? Eventually, though, Miruko stood to leave. From somewhere in her hero costume she produced a business card and held it out.

“Here,” she said. “If there’s anything that doesn’t seem right to you in the future, just call the number on this card. I don’t have an agency, so you don’t have to worry about getting a secretary or something. I’ll get over to you as soon as I can, and kick whatever ass needs kicking.”

“Thanks,” said Shouto.

“Don’t mention it,” said Miruko. “Maybe I’ll see you at one of those Todoroki family dinners, soon? I promise I’ll be on my best behavior around Endeavor until one of you gives me the signal, but in the meantime, maybe you could bring your friend to help keep the peace?”

“My—wait—”

While he flustered (what exactly did Fuyumi tell her?), she laughed again and left with a jaunty wave.

Well, that hadn’t been anything he expected from today.

It was nice, though. Fuyumi was a timid person on the best of days. It was good that the person she was interested in was willing to step up and defend her and what she cared about, even if it was uncomfortable or doomed to fail against the number one hero.

Admirable.

He was sure Midoriya would do the same.

Wait a second.

Shouto heaved a heavy sigh and stowed the card away in his bag. He really needed to talk with his mother to figure out his thoughts. He left the room too, took a left, and walked past the wide garden windows to find his mother’s hallway and the familiar door with its plaque reading “REI TODOROKI.”

Rei’s room was not quite the same as usual. The walls were as pale as ever, the bed meticulously made, with a slim book of poetry on the table and a small bouquet of rindou flowers set atop the windowsill. What made it different was the easel and paints set up in the normally empty area of the room; it was set so that Rei could stand before it and look up, out of the window. The view outside didn’t match the indistinct wash of color, but she seemed pleased with it all the same. She looked back at the sound of the door opening, and a smile overtook her face.

“Shouto! What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I got permission to come, since I wasn’t able to get here yesterday,” said Shouto, shrugging the bag off of his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to go out of your way.”

“I wanted to.”

He stepped closer, intrigued, to get a better look at what she was painting. The canvas was fully covered in blobs of bright, cheerful color that didn’t really make sense, but that was alright. Fuyumi had shown him one of the home videos of Rei’s process: she would build the details of her work out of the background, and even now he could see that that some of those blues were refining into a field of rindou. She hadn’t painted in a long time, though. Maybe not since he was born. He’d seen the videos and a few old canvases, but never any sign of paintbrushes around her in person.

“You’re painting again,” he said, obviously.

“I am,” said Rei. “It’s been a long time since I did something good. They gave me some paints before, but at that point it was more of a drain than a hobby. Recently, though, I’ve been itching to paint the sky. The sight of the sunrise the other day… it was so gorgeous, I asked Fuyumi to bring me some supplies.”

The current canvas looked far too blue to be a sunrise, so he asked, “Where’s that one?”

“Right here, at the foot of the bed.”

Shouto leaned to see it, and was impressed. The picture was a vivid mix of orange, pink, blues, and purples to capture the clouds and the glow of the sun, realistic but a little too beautiful to be true.

“It’s nice,” said Shouto, because he didn’t know how to word any of that.

Luckily Rei understood. She smiled wider and said, “Thank you.”

“Did you show it to Miruko, too?” asked Shouto.

“She noticed it on her own, and seemed to like it,” said Rei. “Did you see her leaving?”

“She talked to me, too. About the same thing that she wanted to talk to you about,” said Shouto.

“Ah,” said Rei. Her smile dimmed. “Are you alright after that?”

“Yes. I think she was a little frustrated by how calm I was,” said Shouto. “What about you?”

He hoped Miruko hadn’t been so blunt with her.

“I think so,” said Rei. “It’s good to see that other heroes these days won’t accept that sort of thing. It makes me a little less nervous about you joining their ranks, knowing people are there who’d defend you.”

“Did other heroes know about the way he treated you?” said Shouto.

“Some,” she said vaguely, and did not elaborate.

The idea made Shouto frown. He would not be like those heroes who averted their eyes. He wanted to save his mother, and anyone else like her. The rest of class 1-A would be just as adamant, he was sure.

In the meantime, he didn’t want to spend their visitation time just talking heroics.

“What else have you been doing this week?” he asked. “Has it all been painting?”

“I’ve been reading,” said Rei, glancing at the poetry book. “Have you read any of Chuya Nakahara’s work?”

“I have,” said Shouto. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled an almost identical copy of the book from his bag. “I saw it here the first time I visited. I wondered what about it you liked. I thought maybe we might be able to talk about it someday.”

Nakahara’s poetry was good. It was lyrical and evocative, but it was also haunted by the recurring theme of a dead child. According to the forward, the poet had lost his own child young. When Shouto realized this, he’d been concerned; did it wear on his mother? Was reading that some way of punishing herself? Would it hurt her recovery? But the poetry book remained in full view in her room with no doctors confiscating it, its spine bent and its pages worn from being read so many times. For now Shouto opened his own copy, to the page marked by a pressed-rindou bookmark, and scanned one of the offending paragraphs.

Spring will come again, people say.

Yet I am heartsick.

Nothing will happen when spring comes;

That child will not come again.

“Did it hurt to read?” he asked.

“It did,” said Rei. “But I think it was a good pain.”

Shouto looked up at her, brow furrowed. “How?”

“I suppose it made me feel like I wasn’t alone in my grief.” Rei turned her soft eyes back to the painting, and began to refine the larger shapes in the middle. “For a long time, I felt like I didn’t have the right to grieve. After what I did to you. After what I did to him.”

Shouto ran a finger along the bottom of his scar. The memory played back in his head again: Unsightly, the whistling kettle, the fear in her eyes.

“I don’t blame you,” he said quietly. “I never have.”

“You should,” she replied, just as quietly. “Touya did.”

“But—”

“It’s okay.” She ran her clean hand through his hair with a sad smile. “There were terrible circumstances around it, but your father isn’t the one who scarred you. It was me. And I regret it every day, but I will never pretend that it wasn’t me.”

Shouto met her gaze and said, “That’s exactly why I don’t blame you.”

He’d never forgotten, after all, that right after instinctively lashing out, her first reaction had been horror at her actions: holding him close, and trying to heal what she’d burned.

She’d never tried to pin the blame anywhere else. She’d never berated him for listening in or walking in at the wrong moment, or having the nerve to just stand there during an attack. Training with Endeavor had always been you should’ve ducked fast enough, or this is for your own good, never ever admitting fault and always claiming some nebulous high ground. Rei had never shied away from telling him that parents can be wrong, I was wrong, and you didn’t deserve any of this.

She gave a slight huff of amusement tinged with disbelief, and her hand dropped to his opposite shoulder in a loose embrace. Shouto leaned into it. He watched her paint a little more before speaking again.

“I think… I’m in a good place. I have a lot of support at school. I don’t know how I’m going to interact with him in the future, but I think I’ve come to terms with everything that happened. I know the situation. So… if you would share with me what you felt, and why the poetry helped… I’d like to know.”

Rei didn’t respond for a while, but Shouto had no problem with that. When it came down to it they were very similar, and he sometimes needed to gather his thoughts, too. After several minutes, she said, “Touya knew the situation, too.”

“He did,” said Shouto, because that much had been obvious.

“Your father was very transparent with his expectations,” said Rei. “He told both of you that you were born to exceed him, and become his perfect heir. Those expectations were too heavy to place on a child. And you were both very smart little boys. But I think there’s a key difference between you, beyond your quirks. When Touya was very small, he knew a version of your father that had been snuffed out by ambition before you were born. When he pushed himself, it was for his own desire to be loved. When you were pushed, you knew it was for a dream that had nothing to do with yourself as a person. Your reasons and your desperation were from very different things. Touya had a chance to get away from it. I tried to convince him to go down a different path, but I could never word it in a way that didn’t hurt him. I remember what he said to me.” She smiled again, and it was so, so sad. “You’re a part of this too, Mom. And I was. My family sold me, and even when I argued that it was cruel to replace Touya with other children… I never had the spine to hold my ground on it. Touya knew what he was born for, what he was wanted for, and felt as if he were locked in on this course. I failed him in every way. I couldn’t give him the love or the understanding that he needed. I couldn’t save him from that path. And that path killed him. For years afterward all I could think of were the times we passed in the halls, or when he went off to school, or when he was small and trying to help in the kitchen, and I would ask myself, why didn’t I stop it then? Why did I accept those little moments of peace when I could’ve made that fight and helped him? What if he could be breathing now, if I’d just put aside that afternoon snack? It circled and circled in my head until all I could think of when I remembered his name was how much I wronged him. Why should such a terrible person be allowed to grieve the one they’d hurt?”

Shouto looped his arms around her in a hug, and her own arm tightened around him.

“Did you read Nakahara’s Spring Will Come Again?” she murmured.

“I did,” said Shouto. It was the same poem he’d bookmarked.

“The poem is mourning,” said Rei. “The first verse is despair. The knowing that nothing can ever be done. The child can never be saved. That’s where I was stuck for so long. But then you read the rest, and it’s the memory of the child at the zoo, and the child’s strong personality. It struck me hard, but it took many readings of it for me to realize that this was the love in the mourning. Touya’s existence wasn’t just his tragedy. Those moments of peace I’d wanted so much to sacrifice were the times when he was happy. They were precious. I’m still in the process of embracing that. I’m allowed to treasure those moments when he was just my little boy. When he smiled.”

She held her paintbrush away, and Shouto finally recognized the subject of her painting.

It was Touya, holding a bundle of rindou flowers and sat in a field of many more. He was only half-formed, but his eyes were blue as the flowers, and with the exuberance of his smile and the imagined wind through fluffy pale hair, he looked more alive than his actual photograph in the shrine ever had.

“I miss him,” Rei whispered. “For all the hurt, and all the fights, I would give anything to give him one more hug. To tell him I’m sorry.”

She closed her eyes tight, exhaled her grief, and looked at Shouto again. “I’m so glad that I got that chance with you.”

He was glad for it, too.

Rei steered them gently away from the subject again, instead asking what Shouto had been up to for the past week. He talked about his classes; how Aizawa had upgraded to a new sleeping bag with the legs sectioned out; how Koda had shown Shouto and Jiro tricks to have wild birds eating seeds out of their hands; and how Midoriya had spotted some rare All Might merchandise on a bidding website that was too expensive for his allowance to cover, so he’d been running all over U.A. begging to do other students’ chores in exchange for some extra money.

“I think I’d like to get it for him,” said Shouto, scrolling through the bidding site on his phone. “I have the money, and I don’t spend it on anything besides soba and maybe spare socks. Also, if he gets it, there will likely be a forty-five-minute soliloquy on the sculpting, accuracy, and background of All Might’s career at the time this is depicting.”

He held out his phone so she could see the item in question: a figure of All Might in his Young Age costume, cape billowing and arm pulled back for a punch, with a jagged speech bubble tacked to the base reading “SMASH!”

“You sound like you’re looking forward to a forty-five-minute soliloquy,” Rei chuckled.

“Some people have to pay for that kind of insight,” said Shouto. “I’m honestly surprised that he was only the fourth highest ranking in midterm exams.”

“This is the same boy who worked so hard to make a little girl smile at the school festival, right?” said Rei.

Shouto picked at his phone case, suddenly embarrassed. “I talk about him a lot.”

“You talk about all your friends, but I do feel like I have a better picture of him than anyone else,” said Rei.

She seemed amused, not at all displeased. Good. That gave him the confidence to forge ahead.

“These days, when I think of a real hero, I think of Midoriya,” he said. “He’s only a high schooler with a provisional license, but he’s done a lot already. Once he sets his sights on something, he will achieve it. It’s only a matter of timing. But as much as he says he wants to be the best, he doesn’t seem to care at all about rankings. He goes out of his way to help people, even when it can be frustrating and even if no one else cares. Midoriya is someone who brings people up with him instead of selfishly aiming for the top. He inspires our classmates not only by example, but by reaching out to us with real excitement about what we can do. Even when he’s talking about things I don’t understand, I like to listen because he’s so enthusiastic about it. Sometimes I’ll think I have him figured out, only to realize that his own goals are much different and much better than I expected. He got a thank you letter from the boy he saved at the training camp, and said that was his proof as a hero. Not an award or an accolade, just having made a difference to one person. And when Eri smiled for the first time, he was so happy that he cried. He is a very good person. Someone I respect. Someone I… I…”

He looked at the painting. At the poetry book. At the wall. He was so embarrassed he felt like he might combust.

“Someone I’d like to ask on a date,” he mumbled.

Rei laughed. “It sounds like you have good taste in partners!”

“You don’t have a problem with it?” said Shouto. “He’s All Might’s successor, after all.”

“It’s what matters to you that’s important,” Rei replied. “None of those things you just said have anything to do with All Might. Midoriya is his own person, and you are not your father. You don’t have to feel bound by that sort of thing.”

Shouto nodded slowly.

He’d known that already, but there had been some lingering doubt that only she could dispel. She was okay with it, though. She was supportive. His embarrassment quickly faded for intrigue.

“Do you think, then, that it would be good for me to buy this for him? I believe gifts are common in romantic overtures. Or would that be too much?” said Shouto.

“I think it’s good that you’re able to pick out something he likes so easily, and gifts are common in relationships, but I think this one is a little too expensive to start with,” said Rei. “Starting out too strong might make him uncomfortable. Something expensive might make him feel obligated to you in some way, or at least make him feel like there could be a power imbalance.”

Rei would know about that kind of situation better than anyone else. It was a good thing Shouto had gotten her advice.

“Maybe I can turn it into a bargaining situation,” Shouto mused. “I lend him the money and he can pay me back later, or maybe have him help me with some hero analysis outside of class in exchange... The figure is only available for another day, and I don’t think he’ll be able to scrape the funds together in time on his own. I don’t want him to miss out on it.”

Depending on how embarrassed Midoriya would get, Shouto might need to bring both of those options to the table to get him to accept the money. Otherwise Midoriya might insist on doing Shouto’s chores, and the idea of his crush doing his laundry made him want to sink through the floor and never be seen again.

“I suppose that’s fine, but be wary about it coming off as transactional if you’re trying to make the gesture romantic,” said Rei.

“I’ll do that as a friend, then,” said Shouto, and faltered. “I wanted to ask your advice on that, too. Everything we’ve done together has been friendly. I don’t know how to make something romantic. I don’t know if he likes me.”

“Has he given you any signs that he doesn’t?” asked Rei.

“Not that I can tell,” said Shouto. “I searched the internet for ways to tell if someone is romantically interested in me, but it wasn’t very helpful. Closeness and compliments were some of the main trends, but Midoriya is like that with everyone. It also mentioned rolling up sleeves, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. How do I figure that out?”

Rei was pensive for a moment. “I’m not sure I can be much help, there. My only experience with romance was through matchmaking, so while it seemed like a business transaction, it also left no room for doubt in anyone’s intentions. I suppose that’s what I’d advise: make sure your intentions are clear, while making sure that the other person knows that it’s an offer of affection, not a demand.”

“That… sounds simple,” said Shouto.

“But the execution is harder, isn’t it?” said Rei, still deep in thought. “Perhaps start small? Focus in a way that makes him aware that you’re paying specific attention to him, and subtly flirt?”

Subtle. Hmm….

Dabi and Hawks were subtle, weren’t they? And Aoyama said they liked each other. Maybe Shouto could study their subtleties and apply that to pursuing Midoriya. The Bachelorette really was the key to all his problems recently, wasn’t it?

“You know how I told you about Girls Night?” he said.

“Hm?” Rei blinked in surprise at the change in subject. “Oh, yes, with the face masks?”

“I’m hoping to write to one of the contestants on the show we’re watching,” said Shouto, digging through his bag again for the fancy paper and envelope. “He might be able to help. His name is Dabi. He’s… like me. I think. So I wanted to talk to him. But I haven’t figured out how. I intend to send a letter to see if we can be friends, but the words have given me trouble. Do you think asking for his advice in romance would be a good idea in a first contact? He’s also beginning a relationship, and is quiet about his attentions so it seems to set people at ease. Acknowledging his skill is a compliment and shows that I respect his opinion, but does immediately asking for his help make that friendship transactional?”

They talked over this for a while, but it didn’t become any clearer. Shouto’s lingering impression was that anything was passable if presented the right way, but there was no way to understand how to present to Dabi’s favor when he didn’t know Dabi’s preferences on anything. Writing a “let’s be friends” letter would ironically be a hundred times easier if they were already friends. Frustrating. He wished this was as straightforward as one of his school exams: one correct answer, cut and dried.

He spent long enough on the topic that The Bachelorette episode started. His phone buzzed a few times; Aoyama had apparently taken it upon himself to send “updates.” These held no context that would spoil Shouto’s later viewing, but tended to feature pictures of the contestants making silly faces while captioned with something in French, English, or something so abstract he wasn’t sure it was actually Japanese. While Rei was rinsing her paintbrushes, apparently done with her project for the day, another text arrived. This one was a zoomed in picture of Dabi, sprawling on a couch and looking at presumed-Hawks, who’d put an arm behind him. Dabi’s expressions were always understated, but he seemed soft and indulgent of whatever Hawks was saying. Aoyama had captioned it simply, Adoration.

Shouto shook his head, looked up, and… stopped. Even the breath stalled in his lungs, and for a moment he felt cold as if his right side had gone on overdrive. Rei looked back at him patiently, eyes crinkled and mouth turned up a little in fondness. It was soft and indulgent.

Weeks ago, Shouto had thought there’d been something familiar about Dabi’s appearance, like he’d seen that profile somewhere before. Now he knew why.

Dabi had his mother’s face.

Shigaraki did not want to watch The Bachelorette.

He really did not want to watch The Bachelorette.

Toga was forcing him to watch The Bachelorette.

“You don’t have to pretend,” she sing-songed from her beanbag chair. “I didn’t drag you in here!”

“There’s nowhere else for me to fucking go,” Shigaraki growled, eyes fixed determinedly on his game.

“I didn’t force you to take the front row seat,” said Toga.

“It’s the fucking floor,” said Shigaraki.

“I didn’t make you face the TV!”

“If I didn’t, I’d be looking at Spinner!”

“Please don’t make awkward eye contact with me,” Spinner said tiredly.

Toga twisted in her seat so she was nearly upside down, smiling evilly. She’d really missed her calling as a villain. “Even if you weren’t looking at the TV, you’d be paying attention to your game, not us. You’re just aimed at the TV so you can sneak looks when you think we won’t notice!”

“Subtlety is unfortunately not your strong suit,” said Compress, sipping his tea, and he was clearly talking to Toga. Obviously.

“Don’t be ashamed,” said Magne, stopping in her trek to the couch so she could ruffle Shigaraki’s hair. “It’s Dabi! We’re all watching for the same reason.”

“It’s quite natural that you’d be invested in his wellbeing, given how long we’ve known him,” Kurogiri agreed.

“I am not invested! I do not care,” said Shigaraki.

Spinner heaved a heavy sigh. “If this is about Team Hotwings—”

“If I have to hear that stupid ship name again, I’m going to disintegrate everyone in this room and then myself,” said Shigaraki.

“Hotwings,” Toga teased, waving her arms. “Hotwings!”

Shigaraki dropped his game and reached out, fully intending to disintegrate her stupid pink abomination of a chair. Unfortunately a dark warp portal opened up between them to swallow his hand, which flexed near the ceiling from a matching portal. Shigaraki snarled and yanked his hand back out, and the portals vanished.

“Manners,” said Kurogiri, unperturbed.

Toga cackled. “They’re in love, it’s canon.”

“I don’t think real life counts as canon,” Spinner muttered, and was ignored.

“We’re going to be in-laws to a hero!” said Toga. “I bet they’ll make out this week. Hawks will totally confess first. It’ll be great.”

“As nice as that would be, I don’t think that’s the case,” said Magne.

“Why not?”

“Well, Hawks is already out, and hasn’t said anything.”

They all went quiet for a moment. Hawks had indeed been sighted outside the Bachelorette mansion; he’d been on the scene of the earthquake recovery efforts mere hours after the disaster, dressed in his hero costume, working and making quips like he hadn’t been gone from heroics at all. Reporters and cameras had caught him only briefly, though. He would only give one or two cheery sentences before he was off locating the next victim. No one knew how he’d left the show or what to expect.

“You don’t think he broke up with Dabi, do you?” Toga said quietly.

“You can’t break up if you were never together,” said Shigaraki.

Toga stuck her tongue out at him.

The TV chose this moment to say, “Tonight, on The Bachelorette,” and everyone immediately pressed in to see the previews. Shigaraki didn’t pay it any attention. There was a new event in this mobile game and he was going to get one hundred percent completion on it. He only glanced up partway through the show when Dabi was announced for the group date, but otherwise tuned out until the date actually started.

Shigaraki hated Toga sometimes.

He was sure that if she wasn’t constantly going ooh Hotwings then he’d be able to see the stupid arcade date as the Aiko outing it was supposed to be. But no. He could only look at it and wonder how the show managed to have a miniature date between the contestants stuck inside Aiko’s mess. Because Dabi and Hawks spent the whole time together, doing toothachingly couple-y things like the purikura. When Hawks pulled his move at the gacha machines, practically draping himself over Dabi’s back, Shigaraki’s brain bluescreened.

“Oh my god!” Toga squealed. “Oh my god, it’s happening!”

“Get it, Dabi!” Magne whooped.

“So, Twice,” said Compress, very obviously holding back laughter, “how does it feel to be the excuse behind that flirting?”

“I’m the best!” Twice crowed. “How dare Dabi take advantage of me like that!”

Luckily for Shigaraki’s sanity, the arcade section ended quickly. This unfortunately led to other scenes with Dabi napping in Hawks’ presence, and later borderline cuddling on the couch. With every new instance Toga made another, shriller noise, and typed in her phone like her life depended on it. When a drunken Hawks tottered out to join Dabi on the nighttime pool patio, she reached a pitch that made Spinner wince and tuck a pillow around his head. The others weren’t much better. Twice and Magne leapt to their feet, and everyone sans Toga hooted at the TV like somebody was scoring a game winning point in the final match of a sports competition, when really it was just Dabi being drunk and touchy.

“Our baby boy is growing up!” Magne cheered.

“Kiss him, Dabi! Kiss him!” cried Toga.

“He’s actually got a chance!” said Twice. “He’ll ruin it! Push him in the pool!”

“You’re all crazy!” said Shigaraki.

At long last the show reoriented itself to its actual protagonist for the pre-rose ceremony cocktail party, and Shigaraki finally had a chance to relax. He was lulled into a false sense of security (the other contestants were accusing each other of being too tactical or too rude for Aiko’s company), until the cameras zoomed in on Dabi and Hawks being mushy on the couch. Dabi was admitting to loneliness and feelings of inadequacy. Since when did Dabi, Mr. I locked all thoughts of my past in a steel cage and drowned it in the closest river, Mr. I’ll never admit to any feeling beyond being cool as a cucumber or annoyed by idiots, Mr. I will fistfight the very concept of kindness and vulnerability, ever talk about that sort of shit? Even when Kurogiri had been dying to get him to open up, he’d never budged. Shigaraki half expected the League to coo at this uncharacteristic behavior, but this time they were very quiet, almost solemn. When Hawks gave Dabi a hug and reassured him, Twice wiped a goddamn tear from his eye.

“They’re so sweet together,” said Magne, with a watery smile.

“They’re perfect,” Toga agreed.

“It’s just PR,” Shigaraki grumbled. “They probably just bribed Dabi with some stupidly expensive dessert so he’d make Hawks look good and sympathetic.”

“Hawks doesn’t need any help with popularity,” said Spinner, affronted.

“He’s close to the Commission, isn’t he? Half their staff is arrested right now,” Shigaraki pointed out. “His agency has to distance him and make him likeable so they don’t drag him down with them.”

“You think helping dig people out of landslides isn’t likeable enough?”

“They must’ve filmed this before the earthquake was announced.”

Sure enough, it was only after the rose ceremony wrapped up that the footage became ‘rougher,’ the cameras pulling back so the equipment and crew could be glimpsed around the edges as someone called Hawks aside. The footage jerkily zoomed in on Hawks’ back as he stood in one of the hallways with a phone pressed to his ear, wings pulling tight and shoulders tense. This caught other people’s attention.

“Ugh, he’s got a phone again?” said Tesla, craning his neck to get a better look. “I thought he had that confiscated.”

“He doesn’t seem happy. Do you think something’s wrong?” Saito fretted.

As the competitors kept whispering speculations, Hawks hung up the phone and backtracked to Dabi. Their conversation couldn’t be heard. One minute Dabi was comfortable and leaning in, and the next, he’d withdrawn. They became awkward, and Hawks left. Next came a clip with the cameraman running after Hawks as the hero strode into the night. The lighting was bad—no one had time to set up lights in advance—but Hawks seemed to be doing his final confessional on the move.

“I’ve been called in for an emergency,” he said briskly. “Hero work. I kind of expected—Well, you can’t predict these things. In a perfect world I’d be staying here at the mansion, but I can’t just sit here if people are in trouble. It’s been fun, but…” He stopped at the edge of the driveway and gave the mansion one last, lingering look. Then his face broke into the polished PR smile and he chirped, “Maybe I’ll see you again, soon! Good night!” before launching into the air.

He vanished quickly into the dark.

“He’s gone?” said Hanzo Suiden in the rose ceremony room. “For real?”

“This is good news for the rest of us,” said Trumpet, in his own confessional against a backdrop of expensive vases. “Hawks may not have been going out of his way for Aiko’s attention, but he overshadowed most of the other men regardless. That’s what comes of being a hero. We’ll all have better opportunities now that he’s left.”

The clip switched back to the rose ceremony room, as realization flooded through the rest of the group and excitement rose.

“It’s about time he took off,” said Slidin’ Go.

“We’re lucky we didn’t have to confront him ourselves,” said Miyashita.

Geten just laughed.

“On the one hand it’s good,” said Saito, worrying at his lip in another confessional staged in a dark, draped room. “We’re here for Aiko, and I don’t think any of us looked at Hawks and felt like we measured up to his standard, so this gives us more of a chance to earn her affection. But still, I’m just sad. Hawks is a really great guy. A good friend. I don’t know what the mansion is going to be like without him.”

And then, as if for emphasis, it switched to Dabi.

Dabi stood in the garden as usual, but his shoulders were slumped in something like defeat and he wasn’t actually looking at the camera. He didn’t say anything. After a few moments of silence he just turned around and left the frame.

Oh, shit, thought Shigaraki, game forgotten. Was Dabi actually upset about this? Was that horrible Team Hotwings thing for real?

He kept trying to spot Dabi in the background again, but it was a lost cause. The cameras had fixated on Aiko, who tearfully reflected on the pros and cons of a hero on the show, how it was so noble that Hawks was going out to help people but also so devastating that she was being left behind. She ended up monologuing in the voiceover while cameras filmed her standing dramatically on a balcony, before it all faded to black.

Well, that was a depressing way to end an episode.

As if in mockery of the drama, the credits footage showed Dabi getting spooked by a small frog.

“You know what this means, right?” said Toga in the sudden silence. “Hawks is off the show. We have to set him up with Dabi ourselves.”

“No we don’t,” said Shigaraki.

“You saw how sad Dabi was!” said Toga, gesturing at the credits. “He’s in love, so he won’t be on the show much longer, but he won’t reach out to Hawks himself!”

“Because he’s not—”

“It’s true. Dabi will never help himself,” said Magne, tapping her chin. “You see how he is with singing. It doesn’t matter if he wants it, he won’t go for it because he’s got that dumb inferiority complex. He’s convinced he’ll fail before he even starts.”

“So, what, we’re going to confess to Hawks for him? Because that is not going to go well,” said Spinner.

Toga blew a raspberry. “No way! When Hawks confesses, Dabi will confess to him, too. They’ve already had heart to hearts on the show!”

“So we’re tricking Hawks into confessing?” said Spinner.

“I believe we’d prefer the term encouraging,” said Compress, mimicking Magne’s conspiratorial thinking pose.

“We’ve just got to give them the chance!” Jin agreed. “Lock them in a closet together, that always works!”

“No, no, we have to invite Hawks over! That way we can meet him, too!” said Toga.

“We’ll have to make sure there’s enough food available to distract Dabi, otherwise I’m sure he’ll be upset with us for meddling,” said Compress.

“A family dinner! Brilliant!” said Toga.

“Do you think we can set up a time through Hawks’ agency? After the earthquake efforts are through, of course, but we need some way to send a message,” said Magne.

They kept discussing ways to lure Hawks to the bar, though as far as Shigaraki was concerned that was destined to fail. Kurogiri, clearly sensing this nonsense would go far beyond his understanding, quietly excused himself; soon the sound of the radio drifted in from his bedroom. Shigaraki had no bedroom of his own to retreat to, so simply flopped onto his side and hoped (vainly, desperately) that they’d get over themselves soon.

“Remind me again why I’m not supposed to make a Hotwings sideblog?” said Toga, scowling as she scrolled through Twitter again; supposedly evidence of the fans’ support would sway Dabi or Hawks to action.

“Because if we show something like that to Dabi, he’d be convinced that all the fanart even of him alone is just using him as a prop to make Hawks look good,” said Magne.

Toga groaned. “But there’s so much good art…”

“Please tell me you’ve only been seeing PG rated art for the ship,” said Spinner. “Please. Naked fanart Dabis on their own are bad enough.”

Toga gave her evil grin again.

Shigaraki banged his head repeatedly against the floor. Spinner patted his shoulder in commiseration. The others laughed.

They argued.

They planned.

Shigaraki wanted so badly to tune them out… and then realized there was another voice in the background.

“Everybody shut up,” he hissed, sitting up. “Kurogiri’s making a call.”

That definitely caught everyone’s attention. Magne quickly hit the mute button on the TV and they all went silent. Kurogiri had stopped talking, but they could hear the machine in his room predictably tuned to Put Your Hands Up! Radio.

“—And then of course you’ve got to watch out for the claws,” Present Mic was saying. “I always support the rescue of cats—it’s how my friends and I wanted to start off our agency back in high school—but it would be so much easier if they didn’t hate me. Thanks for the question, little listener! Now let’s put our hands up for our next caller, uh—Kurogiri from Kamino?”

Wait, what?

They all looked at each other, baffled.

“Hello,” Kurogiri said stiffly, and his voice echoing from the radio proved there was no mistake. “My question is… how is Sushi?”

There was a long pause.

“Sushi?” said Present Mic. “Sushi’s pretty good, but I’m not sure you should feed it to cats. I know there’s this thing about too much tuna—”

“Ah, no. I meant the cat. The cat named Sushi,” said Kurogiri.

“The cat?”

“Yes. Is he still with Nemuri?”

Another, longer pause. “Wait, how do you know about that?”

“Does Aizawa still go to visit him?” Kurogiri’s voice began to shake.

“Who is this?” Present Mic said sharply. “Wait, Kurogiri? Is that—Shirakumo?”

“I like your radio show,” Kurogiri said in a rush. “Good luck in the future.”

He hung up the phone. On the radio Mic was still talking— “Oboro? Oboro!”—and Kurogiri clambered for the dials, but his quirk was working on overdrive and he couldn’t get any of the settings to change. A portal opened up under it and the radio slipped out of sight. A moment later they heard it echoing around the bar.

“I’ve got it,” Compress whispered, and took off downstairs. Less than a minute later, it went silent again.

What was that, Magne mouthed.

Shigaraki waved for her to stay quiet and stood up. Kurogiri had his head in his hands, the darkness of his quirk flaring to hang like a fog in the bedroom. Shigaraki closed the door behind him and slowly sat on the bed next to him. He wrapped his arms around Kurogiri’s and rested his head on the man’s shoulder. He’d done something similar as a child: clung to Kurogiri like a ball and chain, terrified that he’d lose this person, too. Kurogiri’s basest instinct was kindness. If he could recognize something nearby as small, sad, or needing help, his focus would shift to it. He’d surfaced from the Doctor’s control when he heard Tenko Shimura crying; he surfaced now from the emotional nosedive, too. The fog eddied and began to fade.

“My apologies,” Kurogiri whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Shigaraki.

“I didn’t realize I would react that way. I didn’t think I would be recognized, even when I asked…” Kurogiri trailed off again.

Shigaraki knew some of Kurogiri’s history, though the details had been broad and most of the knowledge shared was more by way of fond reminiscing. He knew that at one point Kurogiri had been a hero student at U.A. High School alongside Present Mic and Eraserhead. They had once been close enough for Midnight to call them “the Three Dumbigos of Class 2-A.” He knew that there had been an accident. After they escaped the Doctor’s control, Kurogiri had never tried to make contact with his past for fear of the Doctor monitoring and locating them through those ties, but even now…

“Why did you do it?” asked Shigaraki. “You didn’t seem interested before, even after Ujiko got sent to Tartarus.”

“I suppose you could say that Dabi inspired me,” Kurogiri chuckled unevenly. “He’s… growing. Being brave. I thought perhaps I could be brave, too.”

Shigaraki nodded slowly. In a way, he supposed Dabi was being brave. Mostly he thought Dabi was being stupid, but if Dabi came back a little more willing to talk about (ugh) feelings, it would probably end up healthier for all of them. It would help them all move forward with their lives.

While Kurogiri and Dabi had living friends and relatives, though, Shigaraki had no one. There was no past for him to accept in order to move on.

It would’ve been nice, though. If there was anyone. Hana, or Mon, at least.

He had the League now. That was all the future he needed.

“With the world as it is now, it’s probably okay to do that,” he said awkwardly. He wasn’t used to being the one giving pep talks. “It’s okay if you want to meet your old friends again.”

“But what if they tell me I’m not the same person?” Kurogiri whispered. “The memories are there, but in those memories I acted so differently. Trying to be Oboro Shirakumo, Loud Cloud, again… It feels too strange. What if the doctor’s experiments really did kill that person? What if they look at me and don’t like what they see?”

“Then they’re losers,” Shigaraki hissed. “I don’t give a shit who Pro Hero Loud Cloud was going to be. Kurogiri saved me, and saved Dabi. Nobody else did that. It was you.”

Kurogiri’s eyes wavered in the fog of his face, and he sounded like he might be crying as he said, “Thank you.”

This wasn’t good enough for Shigaraki. He doubled down on his hug, wrapping Kurogiri up and squeezing like a particularly irate python.

“No matter what happens, I’ll still be here,” he said. “We’ll all be here for you to come back to.”

Maybe Shigaraki spent most of his time being immature with Kurogiri fussing over him like a parent, but it seemed reassurance worked both ways. Kurogiri held him back, and chuckled through evaporating tears.

“You’re getting better at the leadership role. I’m sure the rest of the League will appreciate your support in the future.”

“Shut up and let me comfort you first,” Shigaraki growled, and Kurogiri’s next laugh was a little brighter.

Chapter Text

Week eight of The Bachelorette arrived with a healthy side of misery.

Hawks was gone.

According to Misty, the earthquake had struck hard enough that there were collapsed buildings, flooding, landslides, and seemingly hundreds of missing people. It was a shitty situation, to say the least. Normally Dabi would be sat in front in front of a TV or checking his phone for news throughout the day, but this was the stinking Bachelorette. They had no TV, no phones, no newspapers, no nothing.

“No exceptions,” Curious said sweetly, and Dabi wanted to strangle her.

Hawks’ status as a competitor apparently held no sway this time. Even more frustrating, no one seemed to be worried about him.

“You do know he’s a hero, right?” Misty had said gently. “Hawks has a lot of training and experience with this situation, and he’s got a lot of support besides that. He knows what he’s doing.”

So Hawks was skilled. So what? No one was invincible. All it took was a single mistake—an infected scrape, shifting rubble, opportunistic villains… the dangers were endless.

The only person who seemed to understand his worry was Saito, who’d practically glued himself to Dabi’s side as soon as Hawks left. Part of him wanted to be annoyed, but he reeled in the frustration. Maybe other contestants would close in for insincere condolences, but Saito wasn’t that kind of person. He seemed to miss Hawks, and did his best to strike up decent conversation. He wasn’t Hawks, but Dabi could appreciate the company.

He didn’t realize how much strategy Saito was using until the kid got called for a date card.

Immediately after the card was read on Sunday (“Let’s kick it old school” or something dumb like that), Saito had turned to Dabi and asked, seriously, “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m an adult. I’m not going to shrivel up without attention,” Dabi scoffed. “Go have fun with Aiko.”

Saito was not convinced, and for good reason.

It turned out that his concern hadn’t been for Dabi’s loneliness as much as it had been to shield him from the other contestants.

When Dabi came downstairs on Monday it was much earlier than usual (he hadn’t slept well), and instead of the usual near solitude of his usual breakfast, the kitchen and dining room were crowded with all the other remaining men. The other competitors paid him no attention usually, but this time they seemed very deliberate about it. Like they saw him and wanted him to know they’d seen him to make the choice not to interact. Or maybe Dabi was just paranoid. He shrugged to himself and moved on. He picked up some egg atop rice, added furikake, and turned toward the end of the table, but Miyashita was effectively blocking it off while gathering a second helping.

“Hey, hand me some chopsticks,” said Dabi. There was no way Miyashita didn’t hear, but he didn’t respond or pass the chopsticks. Dabi waited for a few seconds in case of delayed reaction, then gestured at the display. “Hey. Chopsticks.”

Still nothing. Seriously?

Dabi rolled his eyes and made to round the kitchen island for a better angle, except Slidin’ Go quirk-slipped into his path. He made another fantastic roadblock, pretending total interest in the miso soup.

“Pass me some of the chopsticks,” Dabi said again.

Slidin’ Go gave no more reaction than Miyashita did.

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Big fucking lump,” Dabi grumbled.

He hip checked Slidin’ Go hard enough to get clearance to the utensils. Slidin’ Go hadn’t expected this, which sort of made sense because Dabi wasn’t near as big as he was; no one here knew that Dabi wrangled the overenthusiastic League members on a regular basis. In any case this was easy, because Slidin’ Go hadn’t turned off his quirk and therefore went slip sliding away toward the window. Miyashita made a spluttering noise. Dabi ignored them both. He took his needed chopsticks and took his food to the dining table. The others all looked at him as he sat down; Hyouto and Tesla with foreboding, the book club members with displeasure.

Dabi was getting some bad vibes, here. No one had looked at him this way yesterday. Was this extreme disapproval for his treatment of Slidin’ Go? It shouldn’t be, since anyone else would’ve noticed Dabi got spited first. Was there something off about Dabi’s appearance this morning? His clothes weren’t out of the ordinary so he wasn’t showing off any hitherto unseen scarring. If someone had snuck into his room to draw on his face, wouldn’t the men be amused instead of acting like they’d smelled something bad? Whatever the case, Dabi wasn’t particularly happy to be here. He started wolfing down his breakfast.

“You know,” said Trumpet, picking up the previous topic again, “I wonder about Aiko’s preferences.”

Oh, here we go, thought Dabi, and bowed his head even further over the bowl.

“Does Aiko even know?” Skeptic scoffed.

“She does seem to gravitate to certain people,” said Trumpet. “Those with distinctive personalities, and those with a certain kind of… integrity.”

Tesla puffed himself up with some pride at that. Geten, on the other hand, snorted, “Integrity?”

“Didn’t Tobio make a fool of himself already trying to claim he knew Aiko’s choices already?” said Skeptic. “Why are we trying to make fools of ourselves with it now?”

“Ah, but Tobio was trying to make those observations in the second week. We’re in the eighth now, with far more interaction time with Aiko and a better understanding of the men around us. I think this is a wonderful time for introspection,” said Trumpet. “Why, I might even be able to judge the winner at this point.”

“Let me guess: yourself,” said Hyouto.

“Hm, I don’t think I can say that,” said Trumpet, with the smarmy sort of smile that said, I could absolutely win this if I made the effort to do so. “Of course I’d like to believe so, but I’m not so self-absorbed to nominate myself.”

“Who do you think Aiko will choose at the end, then?” asked Hyouto.

“I do think you’ll be one of the final contenders,” said Trumpet.

“Me? Really?” said Hyouto, pleased.

“Of course,” said Trumpet. “You’re handsome, intelligent, and indulgent of her whims without letting her fall into the impossible. You would be a good match, and I’m sure Aiko recognizes that.”

Hyouto made a throaty noise that might’ve been a purr.

“I’m sure that Saito will also make it to hometown dates,” Trumpet continued. “He’s a kind soul, very encouraging to Aiko… but I don’t think he’ll make it any further.”

“Why the fuck not?” said Dabi, abandoning his pretended ignorance.

“I think he’ll fall prey to the very thing that endeared him to us all. He’s young,” said Trumpet.

Dabi shrank back a little at that. It was true, even in his head he called Saito ‘kid,’ fussed over any sexual content in the dates, and mentally argued with himself about whether Saito was old enough to even drink alcohol. He didn’t quite think of Saito as an equal adult. Had he helped enforce that kind of infantilization to the audience? Fuck.

“So what?” he said. “He’s old enough to be here. He’s passed all the requirements. I don’t see any reason why his age should be a problem.”

“There is such thing as too young,” said Trumpet.

“Not for only a year or so’s difference. Aiko’s young, too. Wouldn’t that make a good match?” said Dabi.

“Not necessarily,” said Trumpet. “They may be close in age, but in maturity they appear very different.”

“Maturity?” Dabi said flatly. “Are you trying to say Saito’s too immature for her?”

“As the facts stand, right now, yes. Saito is a fine young man, but he doesn’t have the depth needed yet for this. He can’t take care of her the way Aiko expects from her prince,” said Trumpet.

“There is no prince here,” Dabi snapped. “If anything, Aiko would be the naive one for expecting it.” Brows raised all over the table. Dabi realized a second too late that this was a very dangerous thing to say. It was an ‘attack’ on the Bachelorette, an instant red flag of reality TV villainy, and ammo for the other contestants in whatever drama they were so eager to start throwing. He could practically hear Misty facepalming even though she’d been dragged away on Saito’s date, and tried to fix it: “This whole ‘prince’ thing is an abstract concept. She walked in here knowing that none of us were princes. We’re actual people who could never meet that kind of imaginary standard. Princes are dreams, not husbands.”

“How dare you?” boomed Slidin’ Go, sliding back over to the table. “Are you trying to make fun of her opinions?”

“What? No,” said Dabi.

“You knew coming into this what kind of expectations Aiko had. Why would you come here if you weren’t willing to work for her?” said Miyashita.

“Look,” said Dabi, slamming his chopsticks down on the table, “Aiko’s tolerated some real shit out of this mansion that doesn’t match up to princely behavior. Adhering strictly to the dream is unrealistic, and I’m sure she knows that. She’s willing to compromise for the person who makes her happy. We shouldn’t be obsessing over and comparing each other to the idea of something we’re not. We need to show her who we actually are, and she’ll decide what she wants to live with for the rest of her life.”

“I love her, and she wants a prince, so that’s what I’ll be,” said Tesla.

“You’re going to just play a role for her until you die? That’s a recipe for misery,” said Dabi.

“I’ll be with Aiko! That’s not misery!” Tesla argued.

“She shouldn’t compromise for anything,” said Skeptic.

Dabi glowered at him. “Relationships need compromise from both parties!”

“Aiko is a beautiful, intelligent woman who deserves everything she desires,” said Skeptic.

“I’m not arguing against that!” Dabi snarled. “Compromise isn’t always a bad thing! It’s understanding! If you can’t do that and find common ground with each other, you’ve got no right to be in a relationship!”

“So Aiko can’t be happy?”

“That isn’t what I said and you know it, you little—”

“You just want her to drop her standards,” said Geten. “She’d never pick mutilated dead weight like you otherwise.”

Dabi reeled back in surprise and indignation. “Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

“You can’t get in the water, you can’t run, you can’t even keep up with a brisk walk. For anything she wants to do, you’d only bring her down. You talk about her like some child, not the fucking woman she is. You can’t give her anything that a trip down to a bar couldn’t already, and at least looking at the bar doesn’t make you want to puke. You’re an eyesore.”

“Geten,” Hyouto said sharply. “That’s too far.”

“Go on,” said Geten, eyes still fixed on Dabi. “Tell me. What can you give her?”

For the life of him Dabi couldn’t think of a single thing he could bring to a romantic relationship. It was true, he thought of Aiko as a whimsical girl making bad decisions. It was true that he had a rotten personality. It was true that he had no talent for anything beyond driving people away. It was true that he was ugly, in every sense of the word. But even if he knew he would never stand a chance at earning someone’s affection, he did have one thing he could give. Dabi stood up slowly, his expression of disgust unflinching. All of the others went silent under his gaze.

“I can give her a choice,” he hissed. “And I can do her the dignity of seeing her as a human being, instead of putting her on a pedestal like she’s infallible. How many of you can say you see her as she really is, instead of what you can gain from her?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and strode away, leaving his half-eaten breakfast behind him. Unfortunately he didn’t manage an escape. Geten followed.

“Do you think you’re tough shit now, after Hawks got you this far?” Geten spat. “Newsflash, the bird’s not here to protect you anymore. You’re alone now. It’s time for you to face reality.”

Geten kept following him. Kept insulting him. Called him things like an affront to nature, a parasite, an ass kisser, and a weak, talentless hack. Even when Dabi kept walking, Geten was still there on his heels.

The insults were all things Dabi was familiar with. He’d heard and even thought them to himself many times before. But for some reason they stung worse now than they had in years. It wasn’t new. He should’ve expected this. Why did it hurt? That mental box was rattling. Danger, danger, danger. He felt desperate, and his throat felt like it was clogging up, and how dare Hawks have lied to him in front of that mirror? Everything he’d said was so clearly false, but it had sent everything mentally out of place and suddenly Dabi wasn’t sure where his guard had gone. Of all the fucking times… He started tuning out Geten’s words in favor of crushing down harder on the lid of that mental box.

After four circuits of the mansion and another climb up the stairs, Dabi had enough. He stopped in the hallway, turned on Geten, and demanded, “Why do you care? If I’m such a shitty option, Aiko will get rid of me on her own. And if you’re such a strong fucking contender, why should my shitty track record matter to you? Why waste your time? Right now it just looks like you’re an insecure piece of shit who knows he’s bottom of the barrel, and you’re only getting through if you sabotage someone else.”

“I am not bottom of the barrel!”  Geten raged. “I’m twice the man you’ll ever be!”

“Then fucking act like it,” Dabi snapped, and slammed his bedroom door in Geten’s face.

Geten screamed something heinous on the other side, but Dabi didn’t really give a shit. He stormed across the room and plunked himself down on the balcony couch.

It was so dumb he could hardly fucking believe it. Going after another competitor like this was extreme self-sabotage. They’d been tailed by multiple cameras the whole time; when that footage aired, Geten’s reputation and all the goodwill the creepy book club had been trying to start around the M.L.A. would be trashed. If it aired, though. Someone on the production staff had a vested interest in Geten and the book club staying. Not a single one of them had been let go, no matter how bland or vile they’d acted in previous weeks. Geten certainly hadn’t come up with that story about a dead mother, and someone had been steering Aiko around to ensure she was never exposed too long to his less than pleasant personality. Another Destro sympathizer, and one in power… Dabi wondered again if maybe the M.L.A. wasn’t as dead as he’d thought. He didn’t like that idea. Whatever the case, Geten’s actions weren’t going to be reported to The Bachelorette’s audience, and certainly not to Aiko. He could only hope that she read that book, held strong against whatever manipulations occurred, and booted him from the show this week.

Dabi’s thoughts were interrupted by a light tap against the door.

“Dabi?” Trumpet called from the other side; Geten had apparently been driven off, because otherwise it was quiet. “I wondered if I might have a word with you.”

“If you’re here to try apologizing for Geten’s shitty behavior, you’re a little late for that,” Dabi snarled.

“I don’t think I could say anything to change that attitude, and no words can change the fact that was immeasurably rude.”

Rudeness was apparently a well-accepted trait, though, because Trumpet took this as permission to enter. He closed the door behind him, strode across the room, and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. He relaxed into the cushions as if nothing was wrong, folding his hands together in contentment.

“This is a lovely little spot,” he said. “A good view, a good angle for sun—”

“Cut the crap. What do you want?” said Dabi.

Trumpet’s mouth tipped into an amused smile. “I’m in a bit of an introspective mood. Looking toward the future, guessing at finalists, as you know. I wondered if you could tell me why you joined the show.”

“Ugh,” Dabi groaned. “What is it with everyone asking dumb first week shit like that lately? What does it even matter?”

“I can’t make decent predictions without the background knowledge,” Trumpet chuckled. “Humor me?”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “I’m a pathetic, ugly loser with no romantic prospects, making one last attempt at it in a place where someone’s with me in close quarters for long enough to register something beyond my staples. Didn’t you hear any of what Geten was saying?”

Trumpet nodded slowly to himself. “I see. In that case, why are you still here?”

Dabi bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think we both know that you’re not attracted to Aiko,” said Trumpet. “You care for her, of course! I’d never pretend otherwise. But there is no sexual or romantic attraction on your end.”

Dabi glared to cover his embarrassment. Had it really been so obvious? “What makes you say that?”

Trumpet raised his eyebrows mockingly. “For one thing, we’re in week eight, and you have not only not kissed her in all that time, but outright avoided kissing her during your one-on-one date.”

Dabi flushed. “Staples. Navigating that kind of shit can get awkward and painful.”

“You rarely hold her hand,” Trumpet continued. “The time you spend with her is very short, and trends toward admonishments more than enjoyable conversation. You tend not to laugh with her. You don’t sit or stand particularly close to her at any time, and you never take the initiative to get more of that time. There is no, shall we say, fire in you when you look at her. I don’t even see embers. Truth be told, you seem far more gratified to do those things with Hawks.”

Shit, maybe he was obvious.

Dabi leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “You may have noticed that the scarring goes a lot further than my face. Is it a crime now to be cautious?”

“If it is caution, no, but are we really going to be lying to ourselves?” said Trumpet. “This isn’t meant to be an accusation, just an observation. I don’t think that it’s healthy for you to stay here when you know you aren’t looking for Aiko as a wife.”

“And you care about my health?” Dabi said dryly.

“Of course!”

Bullshit.

“Listen,” said Dabi, “I already know your strategy. You do the stupid mind games, you act all sympathetic when you’re really just turning people against each other and against themselves. And I’m not going to—”

“Hawks isn’t coming back,” said Trumpet.

Dabi faltered. “What?”

“That’s why you’ve stayed so long, isn’t it?” said Trumpet. “You came for free meals and a halfhearted attempt at love, but Hawks is what made you want to stick around. You can lie all you want about Aiko’s attractiveness, and talk a big game about how The Bachelorette’s fame will make your life easier in the real world, but it’s all hollow without Hawks here, isn’t it?”

Dabi stared at him, speechless. Trumpet definitely had an in with the producers if he knew all of Dabi’s stupid secrets and motivations. Misty hadn’t told him, certainly, but how much exactly did he know? If he knew who Dabi was…

“I was somewhat perplexed by you,” Trumpet continued. “With all these days going by, I was sure that any minute, you and Hawks would be leaving together… but it never happened. I couldn’t understand why. There’s nothing left here for you to achieve, just more animosity as our numbers dwindle. Why put yourself through that when there is no prize at the end? And then it occurred to me: what if you hadn’t given yourself permission to let go of this? Maybe it hadn’t occurred to you, or maybe considering it felt like giving up. It’s clear that you’ve had to fight for everything you have, so the aversion to giving up might be a deeper issue, tied into your past troubles. It might seem frightening, or offensive. You may be worried about public reactions if you were to leave, and that’s entirely rational, but please think of the alternate options. It’s far more dignified for a man to leave the mansion early and with clear reasons, than for an apathetic man to reach the final weeks and break a woman’s heart. The public will hate you far more if you ‘lead her on,’ even if that’s not your intention. If you’re worried about Hawks’ fans instead, and whether they might claim that you’re stealing him away somehow… this is the perfect time to avoid that. If you were to say that you can’t focus properly on Aiko because you’re too worried about Hawks’ wellbeing at the moment, that’s very sympathetic. To leave now on your own would allow you the freedom to be with him outside the mansion, while also avoiding the idea of you forcing his hand; he left first, after all. That would give you the smoothest transition among the fans.” He straightened, planted his elbows on his knees to lean closer, serious and sympathetic at the same time. “You can go, Dabi. You’re allowed to leave. You’re allowed to be happy.”

Dabi just kept staring at him.

No one had ever given him permission to give up. It had always been scathing demands that he stop because he wasn’t good enough, or clamoring that he keep pulling whatever weight he’d taken on himself. To say that he could let go, that it was his choice, was… weird. It was all the more bizarre for Trumpet to be the one saying it. What the fuck. What even— This was absolutely a trap. There was no way this was goodwill.

“It would be awfully convenient for you if I did leave,” he sneered.

“It is possible for my convenience and your health to coincide,” said Trumpet.

“Yeah, no thanks. Go take your mind games somewhere else. I’m sure Tesla will fall for them,” said Dabi.

Trumpet’s smile shifted, away from blithe cordiality and straight into malice.

“You,” he said, “are an idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah, takes one to know one,” said Dabi, waving him off.

Trumpet stood and brushed off his sleeves. “I rescind my earlier statement. This isn’t about some misplaced compassion or strategy on your part. You’re just wildly unobservant, and I fear Hawks is the same.”

“What does Hawks have to do with it?” said Dabi.

“Wildly unobservant,” Trumpet growled. “When you do leave, I will be ready with a megaphone to say I told you so.”

He left, slamming the door behind him.

Dramatic, much?

Dabi remained on the balcony for the rest of the day, only coming down for food when he’d seen all the other competitors go out onto the pool patio. His mind was hard at work trying to decipher the deeper meaning behind what Trumpet had said.

He doubted that Trumpet (or whatever producer was in his pocket) knew about Dabi’s relation to Endeavor. Surely he would’ve mentioned that? Either in a “it must’ve been hard growing up with such high expectations” or a “people are waiting for you outside the mansion” sneaky sort of way. It was too big of a target for Trumpet to have ignored. So his identity was safe, even if his hiring interview details weren’t. That was a plus, he supposed.

Why had Trumpet hinged so much of his arguments on Hawks’ presence? Yeah, Dabi liked spending time with him, and yeah, Trumpet was trying to manipulate him using what he liked, but to that extent? Thinking about that particular topic was hard. It made Dabi agitated. When he lingered too long on it, his brain went into panic mode. He paced the bedroom with smoke on his tongue and heat roiling under his skin, shaky hands clasped behind him as he struggled to just… grasp the source of this nonsense. He felt like he was holding two pieces of a puzzle, but something was keeping him from putting them together. Maybe a sense of self preservation. He spat out a tongue of frustrated flame, and resolved to move on to a different topic.

Geten was a piece of shit, no surprises there. Trumpet and the producer were looking out for him and the rest of the book club, but was there another side that could thwart them? Misty didn’t have a lot of power, but she and Sato were both anti-M.L.A. as far as he knew. Maybe it was just a matter of bringing it to the right person’s attention. Maybe he could convince Shion and Prey to tail him, and get their footage directly to the editors without anyone else trying to review it? He doubted the editors had any contact with the competitors in the mansion, so surely they weren’t doing the cover up…

He wondered, guiltily, how Saito was doing. Had Dabi been disrespecting him by accident? He really hoped not. He didn’t know what kind of damage he might’ve caused without even thinking about it.

The Saito issue, at least, he could confront pretty easily.

Saito returned to the mansion that night with a face flushed with excitement, his arrival announced by the loud opening of the front door and the chorus of greetings from the other competitors in the living room. When he heard the noise Dabi slinked down the stairs and stood in the doorway to watch as everyone else drilled Saito for date details. He and Aiko had apparently gone ballroom dancing, focusing mostly on the quickstep.

“We got all dressed up for it, too,” Saito was saying. “She looked so beautiful. I was a terrible dancer, but then again so was she. It’s fun to fail at something together. I don’t think even the teacher minded, since we were all laughing so hard. The dinner was good, too, with the food and the conversation…” His smile was dimming though, as he looked around. “Hey, where’s—” and then his eyes alighted on the doorway, and the smile was right back up to full strength. “There you are, Dabi! At dinner Aiko and I were talking about books we’d read recently, and she said right now she was reading something you’d recommended to her! She said it was very enlightening.”

Aha, so she’d picked up his warning about the book club.

“That’s good to hear,” said Dabi.

Saito went on chattering about his date as easily as if Aiko had been reading a standard romance novel instead of a dead terrorist’s manifesto. Either Aiko hadn’t elaborated on the book, or he was purposely withholding that information from the book club. Hopefully the latter. If Trumpet or the others found out what Aiko was reading, they’d probably jump on the opportunity for more manipulation. Eventually, as they wore out all their questions, the other competitors started to break up for the night. Most went for the stairs while Saito beelined for the kitchen.

“I’m starved,” he said, as he passed Dabi in the hallway. “Real dinner was before the date dinner, you know, and I was too nervous to eat most of it anyway. Were you okay here today, Dabi?”

“Fine,” Dabi grunted, following.

“Any word on Hawks?”

“No.”

Saito heaved a sad sigh. “I thought as much. I thought I’d be able to catch a glimpse of the TV during my date, but the crew kept me away from it and no one was talking about the earthquakes. I think no news must be good news, though. If anything happened to Hawks, no one would be quiet about it.”

That was true enough. If something bad happened to Hawks, The Bachelorette might try to turn it into a new point for drama even if he wasn’t here. They’d hear about anything big. Dabi closed his eyes and mentally slotted that issue out of the way.

“I’ve got a question for you,” he said. “Different topic.”

Saito leaned back from where he’d been studying the inside of the cupboard, blinking in surprise. “Sure, I— Oh. This is serious, isn’t it?” Did he look that grim? Apparently so, because Saito closed the cupboard and mirrored his stance, attentive but wary. “What did you need?”

“I wanted to put things straight,” said Dabi. “Something the others said made me think I’ve been approaching this wrong, so—”

“What did they say?” said Saito, holding himself taller. He was close to a glower, but on his face— No. No, Dabi wasn’t thinking that way. Saito was mad. He was going to take it seriously. “Did they try to gang up on you? If they did, I’ll—”

“They did not,” said Dabi.

“That’s what you’d say if they did!” said Saito, looking even madder.

“Whining from a pack of idiots doesn’t mean anything,” said Dabi, trying to wave it off, but it was not to be.

“I knew it!” cried Saito. “I told them to back off, I knew they’d try something if you were alone… What did they say? Misty was with me on the date, but I’ll tell her about this. We can—”

“Look, just forget that shit, okay?” Dabi snapped. “That’s not what I’m talking about! This is my own fucking actions I’m talking about. Do I treat you lesser?”

Saito faltered in surprise. “Do you what?”

“Am I infantilizing you? Making you feel like I don’t treat you seriously? I feel like I need to—” Dabi hesitated, flexing his hands in and out of fists as he struggled to word it. “To look out for you, or something, I don’t know. I don’t want to be belittling somehow. If that’s what I’m doing, tell me. I’ll stop.”

Saito blinked at him for a moment, almost uncomprehending… and then realization hit, and he started to laugh.

“The fuck?” said Dabi. “Don’t fucking laugh at me, I asked you a serious fucking question—”

“I know!” Saito chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “No, it’s just— Even adults have big brothers, you know?”

Dabi drew back, flabbergasted. “What?”

“I don’t feel like you’re looking down on me,” said Saito. “It’s pretty clear that you don’t think of me as the same… caliber, I guess, as you and Hawks, but that makes sense because I don’t have the same hard experiences as you do. I am younger, and I can tell that you act the way you do because you’re concerned about me, not because you’re annoyed or think badly of me. It’s protective, not mocking.” He scratched at his cheek, suddenly sheepish. “I, uh, I’m an only child, so I was always kind of jealous of people with older siblings. I suppose I’m taking this a little too well, huh?”

“A little,” said Dabi. After another uncertain moment, he added, “I’ve got a pretty fucking bad track record with being a big brother.”

“You seem to be doing pretty good right now,” said Saito. “I’m glad to know you’d be fine with me giving any pushback, but I’ve been growing a little bit since coming here, too. I’d have told you to stop, even if I didn’t think you’d be okay with it.”

“Oh,” said Dabi. “Good.”

Saito nodded to himself. “Could you help me look through these cupboards? I was sure we had some chocolate snacks in here somewhere, but I can’t figure out where they went.”

“Sure?” said Dabi, and opened the nearest cupboard to look.

That went… better than expected. Dabi was pretty confused about how well that went.

The next day it became even clearer that Saito had enlisted himself as Dabi’s guard dog. He was the sunny sort of person that wouldn’t allow anyone to ignore him (or Dabi accompanying him), but whenever Geten or the others tried to take the conversation somewhere nasty or accusatory, Saito either steered the topic away or pushed back with his signature I’m-young-and-dumb-and-you-feel-even-dumber-behaving-like-that-in-front-of-me act. It was dramatically effective. No one had any ammo to throw at him, because Saito’s one flaw seemed to be the fact that he was too young and nice, and no one could turn it into an issue unless they wanted to look like a bully. He was not an acceptable target, ergo, neither was Dabi.

This is ridiculous, Dabi thought with wonder as Saito strategically shamed Hyouto for not speaking up against the others in his absence.

It was kind of Hawks-ish, but… not.

The thought sent a dark cloud over his mind. Dabi slowly settled into a sulk, and eventually excused himself. Saito was trying to help him; he didn’t deserve the brunt of his bad mood. Dabi trudged back upstairs again. He sprawled on his bed and stared up at the underside of the bunk above. He was the only one left in this bedroom. He hadn’t been bothered by the quiet before, but now it felt stifling, and it had permeated the whole mansion. He shouldn’t have felt alone, because while Saito wasn’t the same, he was technically filling in the role Hawks had been playing. Dabi shouldn’t have been bored, or uneasy, or grumpy about it. Did one person’s absence mean that much? What bullshit. Why did Hawks have to matter?

Since Dabi didn’t have anything better to do, he lingered on that thought.

Dabi didn’t often linger on feelings.

Most of the time that was a simple survival skill.

There had been a memorable incident pre-scars where he’d gotten so distraught he’d started crying blue flame; not only was it horrifically painful, it also wouldn’t stop. He’d only saved his eyes by blundering into the room where Rei had drawn a bath for Shouto, and dunking his entire head under the water. On other occasions he’d buried himself in dirt, sprayed himself in the face with a garden hose, and jumped headlong into the river next to his training course on Sekoto Hill. It was the big flaw of Endeavor’s teaching style, always turn up the heat, and never shutting it down; Plus Ultra in one of its most sinister forms. Being out of control like that was terrifying. Thinking of it even today sent a chill down his back. At twenty-five years old Dabi had far more control over his quirk, and emotions didn’t hit nearly as hard (fuck puberty), but he still filled up the bathtub in the en-suite bathroom before sitting down to contemplate this shit. Just in case.

What was Hawks to him?

Brightness, he supposed. He lit up a room literally and figuratively, from the gold of his eyes and hair to the scarlet of his feathers, the crooked smile, and the aggressively upbeat attitude. He was refreshingly honest. He walked the line between genius and absolute idiocy, but not in an irritating way. He was engaging. Patient. Observant.

He turned the idea around a little more.

If given the choice, would he hang out with Hawks or the League? This was practically the gold standard; the League was the only group of people he could stand. He found the question hard to answer, where it never had been before. He missed the League, but at the moment he was drawn much more toward the idea of Hawks.

To do what?

Exist, basically. Watching Hawks in the arcade was prime entertainment; Dabi wanted to see what other things he’d missed out on, and drag him along to those as well. He wanted to go to those restaurants and yakitori stands Hawks raved about, and see what the hero could show him, too. He wanted the understanding, and the partnership, and the closeness. He wanted that calm from Friday night, when they’d laid on the patio chair with golden hair under his fingers and breath against his neck.

Hang on. That went on a tangent.

Does that mean I like him?

Well, duh.

Like, attraction, like him?

Well, Dabi had just fantasized about cuddling him, and the sight of his back muscles that first time had nearly sent Dabi into cardiac arrest.

Okay, but would I kiss him?

Dabi took only a moment to consider that kind of outlandish idea before groaning and covering his face with his hands. It was a big, fat, fucking yes. Half of Japan wanted to bone Hawks, and Dabi was apparently one of them. Fucking hell.

He had a feeling the “oh noooo I’m in looooove” realization was supposed to be more of a bombshell, but really this just fit in with everything else he’d already been acting on; it was like popping up the hood on the car of his life and going “hey there’s an engine in there. I guess that’s what makes it go.” Mostly he was resigned and regretting his life choices. Like, sure. Hawks was a catch. That was the whole problem. High ranking heroes voted most eligible bachelor multiple years running did not fall for poor-as-shit washouts who’d flambeed themselves with their own fire.

All things in Dabi’s life followed the cycle of hope, embarrassment, and disappointment.

Hope: he had a friend. A friend he liked very much. Someone he was attracted to, who didn’t treat him like he was something ugly.

Embarrassment: The other competitors knew about his feelings even before Dabi did. That explained a lot of Trumpet’s phrasing from yesterday. Fuck, by this time all of Japan might already know. How many people were mocking him for the audacity of crushing on the number two hero?

Disappointment: Dabi deserved any mockery he got. His feelings would never amount to anything. Hawks had thousands of admirers and passed over them without a thought. Not cruelly, but… When the earthquake recovery was done and the hero was resting, he’d probably talk to other heroes. People who would give him an outside perspective, so he’d guess Dabi’s affections. He’d stay away from the show to escape any awkwardness. Those invitations to yakitori restaurants would dry up with everything else. Dabi would be alone again.

Nothing would change.

Except it would, because Dabi had never suffered a romantic broken heart before.

He kept his hands over his face, pressing hard against eyes that couldn’t cry but were still tempted. It was just like him to get attached to the impossible. He stood on legs that were not shaky, thank you very much, and crawled into the bath. Just as a precaution. He hadn’t caught fire but he could feel the embers of it lodged in his chest, radiating shame. He was so fucking stupid. If he was going to catch feelings, why hadn’t he done it for someone attainable? Idiot. The water started steaming under his heat as he wallowed in self-hatred.

What’s the point of being here? he wondered. He wasn’t dumb enough to argue with himself on that point: Hawks’ presence had put a rose-colored lens over the mansion, and Dabi had naively stuck around after he left because the place had still felt bearable. But Trumpet was right, there was nothing else to gain. The refrigerator was still there, but Dabi would have to pass the other competitors to reach it, and the food just didn’t have the same appeal anymore. He didn’t really like any of the other competitors beyond Saito, so spending all day every day around them sounded awful. He didn’t love Aiko. He wanted to go home and forget any of this ever happened.

Yeah. Yeah, I will.

He made to stand from the tub, ready to track down Misty and withdraw from the show immediately, only for another thought to occur to him: he didn’t love Aiko, but he didn’t hate her, either. If he left, he’d be abandoning her to the book club. If his suspicions about them were right, who else was here to challenge them? Tesla and Hanzo Suiden were goddamn pushovers. Hyouto would be easily drawn in by the anti-discrimination angle of M.L.A. politics. Saito would push back, but he had no real experience debating anything, and Trumpet was a master politician. They would slink their way into the finals, schmooze and mislead and cheat their way past everyone else. What if Aiko kept getting turned around by the rigged production team and ended up with three members of the book club on the final week? Dabi wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy. No, he’d stay. He wasn’t in here to win, so if his own reputation got trashed it wouldn’t matter. He’d make himself a big, annoying roadblock for those Destro-sympathizers. They would wish he’d walked away from this.

Dabi may have been terrible at processing most emotions, but he was always capable and ready for spite.

The other contestants realized this when he sauntered down for the next card reading, head held high and proud. No one but Saito looked particularly happy about his suddenly renewed confidence, and Geten was especially upset when Dabi started quarreling with him over dinner. The others shrank back, annoyed and confused. It felt great.

Dabi resolved to put Hawks firmly out of his mind and focus on Aiko’s wellbeing.

Predictably, this didn’t work any better now than it had at the start.

You see, on Wednesday morning, after Hyouto had been escorted out for his own one-on-one date, Dabi wandered downstairs for a snack and found a magazine on the coffee table.

Dabi knew very well that there hadn’t been any magazines available in the mansion before now; all of the available reading was stuck in the little bookshelf upstairs, or the copies of Destro’s autobiography being drooled over by the book club. If another competitor had brought anything they tended to keep their entertainment to themselves to keep it ‘safe’ from the producers, so no one had left anything laying out so obviously. It looked like a gossip rag, already wrinkled from someone flipping through it earlier. Dabi hated that sort of thing, but he was stuck without anything else to occupy him… He drifted closer, then recognized one of the smaller pictures on the cover: it was Hawks giving orders, one arm curled around a muddy child and the other gesturing to (presumably) other recovery workers. Beneath it was the heading “NEW BACHELORETTE DRAMA! Read more on page 12.” Dabi’s heart leapt into his throat and he dove for the magazine. From the date on the cover, this issue had been printed only a day ago. There was no way a competitor had brought it in. Maybe Misty or one of the crewmembers had left it out, to give him an update they weren’t allowed to give directly? He flipped to page 12, and found himself disappointed. The article wasn’t about Hawks.

“AIKO REUNITES WITH EX, Then DUMPS him for The Bachelorette,” was the headline. Most of the first page was taken up by a close-up picture of Aiko, in a moment of rare irritation. It seemed like her ex-boyfriend had given an interview claiming that she was still in love with him, that her affections for the previous Bachelor had all been fake, and that she’d only gone on The Bachelorette for publicity. It went on to say that the men on this season (featured with a group shot from the last rose ceremony) were being taken advantage of, and that it was such a shame because they were all well-intentioned and working so hard, especially the hero who was so bravely slaving away in the earthquake recovery (accompanied by a larger, cut-out version of the cover’s picture).

So, just mudslinging. No real news.

At least Hawks had been alive and active yesterday. Surely no one would set out the magazine like this if he’d been injured since then? It would be poor taste.

Who was he kidding, the whole magazine was in poor taste.

The producers had probably left it out in the open for the competitors to find and stir up drama over. Well, Dabi wanted no part in that. He rolled up the magazine so no passersby might be able to see the contents, then carried it up to his bedroom. He put it at the bottom of his suitcase, because no one dared hunt through each other’s luggage. There. Drama averted. He’d washed his hands of it. He was leaving his room when he glimpsed Saito walking down the hallway, brow furrowed as he read—

“What is that?” Dabi said sharply.

Saito looked up, then panicked. He hid the magazine behind his back and said, “Nothing!”

“What is that?” Dabi repeated.

“Nothing related to the show! Nothing real, anyway. Just a bunch of lies,” said Saito. Slowly, ashamedly, he pulled out the magazine again. The exact same issue as the one Dabi had just hidden. “You can read it if you want, but it doesn’t have any news. It’s just insults to make us all mad.”

“How did you get that?” said Dabi. “How do you have one when I just hid one?”

Saito blinked in surprise. “You’ve already read it?”

“Boohoo, Aiko’s an attention hog and she’s loved me the whole time. Yeah, I fucking read it,” said Dabi. “Bunch of fucking garbage is what it is.”

Saito’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I knew you’d be reasonable about it.”

“I tried to hide what I found to keep from making it a big deal,” said Dabi. “How many copies do you think are here?”

“Too many,” Saito muttered.

He was right. When they went hunting to destroy the evidence, they found that almost all the other competitors had gotten hold of their own copies, and those that hadn’t were quickly looped into the gossip by Trumpet.

“Poor Aiko,” murmured Miyashita, paging through another copy while he sat at the dining table for lunch. “I can’t imagine what a betrayal this must feel like.”

It would probably feel even worse once Aiko saw footage of all her romantic prospects poring over the stupid article. Majorly embarrassing.

“What do you all think of it?” asked Tesla.

“I think I want to be a better man than that guy was,” said Saito, giving the magazine a foul look. “It’s awful that he’d do this to her.”

“A complete fabrication,” Skeptic agreed.

“I don’t even know why we’re talking about it, that’s how dumb it is,” said Dabi, glaring daggers at anyone who looked ready to argue.

Trumpet linked his fingers together, expression pensive. Everyone else held their breath. Trumpet was the drama king, and unofficial leader of half their number. He could steer the mood and violence level of the mansion however he wanted, so his opinion now was important.

“You’re right,” he said. “Everyone here knows that the contents of that article are lies. We should keep this information to ourselves. Aiko will address it with us if she feels it’s important, but otherwise bringing it up may only hurt her, even if we’re intending comfort. We’ll dispose of the magazines and pretend we didn’t see them.”

That was surprisingly kind of him. Maybe all the drama tactics he could think of had too much risk of backlash. Dabi could only imagine Geten’s attempt at comforting someone going wrong.

In any case, they resolved for merciful quiet.

They gathered in the living room to wait for Hyouto’s return, quiet and foreboding—if the magazine had appeared in the mansion, would the producers have tried planting it on the date, too? The answer was no. Hyouto returned in high spirits, bragging about how he and Aiko had gone to a studio to make pottery on a wheel, then had dinner at some swanky restaurant before finishing it off with fireworks and a rooftop dance. There had been no drama at all beyond one pottery project flinging itself off the too-fast wheel and into a wall, and Aiko had found that one funny. He dimmed, though, at the lackluster responses from the group.

“Did something happen while I was gone?” asked Hyouto.

“We found a magazine with an article about Aiko,” said Trumpet, and gave him a copy. “Read it so you have context, but we’ve all agreed not to bring it to Aiko’s attention. If it’s worth her time, she’ll talk to us. If not, we’re all better off leaving it alone.”

Hyouto frowned as he read through the article. At the end he snapped the magazine shut and huffed, “This is garbage.”

“Exactly, so don’t dump it on her,” said Dabi.

Hyouto thankfully agreed.

They chatted and complained a while more—about clay, and the audacity of certain exes—and were getting ready to disperse for the night when Curious rapped her knuckles against the doorframe.

“Gentlemen,” she lilted, “you’re about to have a visitor.”

They all went quiet in anticipation. In the sudden silence the opening of the front door may as well have been a bomb drop. Aiko walked into the room. Her smile was gone, leaving a face that was just tired. Her mascara had smudged, and her hair was a little out of place as if she’d been pulling at it. She was carrying a copy of the magazine, too. On every other occasion she would sit in the middle of the horseshoe couch to demand attention, but this time she sat on its side, between Dabi and Saito.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if, um…” She brandished the magazine, and her eyes went bright with tears. She quickly dabbed at her eyes and forced her trembling voice to say, “I’m not sure if anyone else has seen this yet. It’s the first time I’ve seen it. Just in case, though, I wanted to— I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Oh, fuck the production team. Fuck all the producers on this shitty fucking show. Dabi glowered over Aiko’s head at Curious, who remained lingering in the doorway with a sly smile. This was her brand of cruel bullshit.

“The person who gave this interview was my last boyfriend, from before I went on The Bachelor,” said Aiko. “He… he’s someone who really… brought me to a bad place.” Saito reached for her hand; she dropped the magazine and wound their fingers together for support. “I never, ever want to be in the place I was, back when I was with him,” she said. “I’d never go back to it. And I need you all to know that when I’m here, I’m here for you genuinely. My prince is nothing like him. So please, if you read this, don’t be worried. I am here for the right reasons.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this,” Saito said quietly.

“I’m a lot more sorry that you’ve been given reason to doubt me,” Aiko hiccupped. “I want… to be open with you. I don’t want to hide who I am, and I want to make sure if we ever have any even imaginary problems we can address them.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dabi. He rubbed her back, warming his hand with his quirk in an attempt to soothe her. “None of us believed that shit anyway.”

“Sharing such private information about a relationship on such a public forum is reprehensible,” said Trumpet. “The person your ex is really shaming is himself.”

“A guilty person wouldn’t have come in to speak to us so candidly about it. We know you’re here for the right reasons,” said Hyouto.

They all took turns reassuring her, and by the end of it Aiko was smiling again. She gave them all hugs before the producers brought her out again, to spirit her away to whatever separate lodging she was staying in. In her wake, ten cameras all swiveled onto the men. What were they looking for? They’d gotten their juicy drama already! Trumpet seemed to pick up on whatever prompt this was, because he moved to the center and said, “It’s clear that Aiko is taking his situation seriously. She wants to have a relationship with one of us in this room, and she wants very badly for it to work out. I think we all need to look inside ourselves and remember that we are here for her, too, and we need to put her first. There’s no room for half-heartedness or lies from here on.”

He eyed Dabi in particular. Dabi held his chin up defiantly; he was here for Aiko’s welfare whether Trumpet liked it or not. The others seemed pleased by the speech at least, so they all broke up and went to bed.

Thursday was boring as all hell. A new date card arrived to announce a group date that Dabi wasn’t invited for. That was fine by him. He wasn’t here to woo or be wooed, and he was sure Aiko knew that.

Friday was also boring as hell, but more than made up for itself when the other contestants returned from the date.

“It was a lie detector test,” said Miyashita, who still looked rattled.

“A what?” said Dabi, flabbergasted.

“For the date, we were called one by one into a room with a polygraph and asked a series of questions,” said Trumpet. He didn’t look uncomfortable, but he wasn’t quite as smug as usual. “Some of them were innocent things, like whether we wash our hands—”

“I do wash my hands!” Hanzo Suiden said shrilly. “My quirk is water! It comes with the territory! I love water! I always wash my hands!”

The others from the group date did not react, so he must’ve been on this topic for a while.

“The operators also asked things like our preferences in partners and potential history of cheating,” Trumpet continued as if he hadn’t heard anything.

Well, that part made sense, but…

 “That’s heavy shit,” said Dabi. “Fucking polygraphs…” He was doubly glad he hadn’t been invited on the date.

“Our answers didn’t even matter!” said Slidin’ Go. “When they gave her the envelope with our results, she ripped it up and said it was okay because she trusted us.”

“It seems she appreciated our supportive response to the magazine article more than we’d thought,” said Trumpet.

This was all very suspicious as far as Dabi could tell, but the book club members glossed over everything as if the date had been picture perfect beyond the nature of the activity. Dabi would have to wait for the cocktail party to get the truth on that situation.

At around eleven that night, they went to bed.

At around three the next morning, Dabi woke up.

It was a sudden thing. He wasn’t sure what had woken him so fast or effectively. A nightmare, maybe? He kept his eyes closed and shifted his focus to his surroundings. The room was still dark, his pseudo-curtain still in place. There were no sounds from the hallway or the other bedrooms. But in the distance, through the open balcony door… there was the sound of a vehicle coming up the mansion driveway.

Next came the closing of doors—both on the car and at the front of the mansion.

Dabi’s breath froze in his lungs. Could it be Hawks? No, he wouldn’t have come back. Even if he had, he would’ve flown in… but maybe he’d stopped at the security point to be escorted in, just in case they thought he was a gatecrasher?  The odds were low.

Hope, embarrassment, disappointment.

The cycle was starting again. He couldn’t help it. Dabi rolled out of bed. He could hear someone coming up the stairs. He didn’t care if he was about to spook a crewmember, just flung his door open.

It was Hawks.

He looked small in the dark. The great wings at his back were gone, his hair and his hero costume streaked with grime. His eyes were empty as the rest of his expression. A chill ran up Dabi’s spine.

“Hawks?” he ventured quietly.

Hawks didn’t say anything, just stood there and stared. Something bad must’ve gone down during the rescue mission.

Dabi held the door open wider, stepped aside and jerked his head to invite him in. Very slowly, Hawks obeyed. Up close he was rank with sweat and dirt. Dabi closed the door behind him and guided him to the bathroom. With some convincing he managed to get Hawks to take a shower; while Hawks was stripping himself with all the speed of a snail, Dabi hustled to Hawks’ bedroom. His bags were still there. Dabi wasn’t about to try sorting through anything in the dark with Geten snoring somewhere close by, so he picked up the bags and dragged them into his own room. He could hear the water running in the shower. Good. Maybe the water would shock Hawks out of his stupor. At the very least, he should feel better clean. Dabi rifled through Hawks’ clothes before locating a set of pajamas he’d seen Hawks wear down to breakfast before and set these just inside the bathroom door for Hawks to change into. Unsure what else to do, Dabi sat on the edge of his bed to wait.

The shower went on a long time. When it finally stopped Dabi had to force himself to stay still. After some bumping around, Hawks emerged. His expression wasn’t quite so dead anymore, but it was still lost. It wasn’t a good look on him. Dabi shuffled back on the mattress and said, “Come here.”

Hawks crawled in after him. It took some maneuvering to get them both laying down and comfortable. If Hawks still had all of his feathers they wouldn’t have managed it even with the luxury space of the bunk, but his wings were reduced to crimson tufts. They stared at each other in the dark, close enough to share breath.

A long time ago, before the burns and before a certificate marked him legally dead, Dabi had huddled like this against his brother. It hadn’t been a pleasant time. Dabi would drag himself in and cling, overheating and desperate. He used to ramble, cry, ask things like why do I even exist. Thinking back on it, he hated himself. Natsuo had only been eight years old when Dabi ‘died.’ Eight-year-olds didn’t deserve to carry the hard truths of the family with all of Dabi’s fears stacked on top of it. Natsuo had handled it as best he could; he held onto Dabi just as tight and listened to everything he said. For Dabi, who had always screamed, inside and out, Look at me, look at me, I’m ugly and broken but please, please love me anyway, it meant the world. Natsuo had listened to his most shameful, poisonous thoughts, and still loved him.

Dabi didn’t cuddle people these days—it was kind of a health hazard—but mimicking Natsuo was the best support he could think of right now.

After a moment of hesitation, Dabi ran his fingers through Hawks’ hair. The blond locks were damp and tangled, and he tugged lightly to unravel the knots.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

Hawks didn’t answer right away. He averted his gaze, but he didn’t try to escape the fingers combing through his hair.

“You don’t have to be,” Dabi said gently. “It’s fine if you’re not.”

Hawks blinked rapidly. “I will be okay.”

So in present tense, no.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” said Hawks, then winced. “Not… not now. Maybe tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to talk about it tomorrow either, if you don’t want to,” said Dabi. “Talking just makes it easier sometimes. Don’t worry about it tonight.”

“Okay,” Hawks mumbled. “Okay.”

He drew closer and looped an arm over Dabi’s waist. It didn’t jostle or put too much pressure on Dabi’s staples, but he fisted his hand in the back of Dabi’s shirt like he was desperate for an anchor. Dabi shifted still closer and upped his body heat. He kept carding his fingers through Hawks’ hair and pressed his nose against Hawks’ crown. It was weird to get a whiff of his own shampoo instead of the regular cologne.

If an anchor was all Hawks needed, that was an easy thing to be.

Hawks slept like a rock.

Dabi thought that was a pretty good deal until the next morning, when he had a desperate need for the toilet. It took a full seven minutes to disentangle himself from Hawks’ grip. Once his business was done he peeked back into the bedroom—Hawks was still dead to the world—and thought, he’s going to be hungry. Based on last night Hawks was in no shape to face cameras or fake normalcy, so sending him down to the buffet was a disaster waiting to happen. Dabi went down to fetch food for both of them.

He stalled at the kitchen island. Bringing up some bagels and yogurt would be convenient, but it felt… impersonal. Very wrong for the current situation. What was a good comfort food? He knew Kurogiri made a mean omurice; that had been one of the only things that could calm down a twelve-year-old Shigaraki, back when they were newly escaped and freshly traumatized. Omurice had a similar power over Toga and Twice, too. Yeah, omurice would work. As he pulled out ingredients, some of the other men started filtering in.

“His bags are finally gone,” Hanzo Suiden was saying.

“Just now? After a whole week?” said Tesla.

“It’s not that surprising. Tonight’s the rose ceremony. If he’s not going to be able to make it to the cocktail party, he’s missed his chance already.”

“Good riddance,” Geten snorted.

Words could not describe how much Dabi wanted to hit him in the face with a spatula.

“You’re awful,” said Saito.

“So what? He was competition,” said Geten, loading his plate. “You can’t honestly tell me you’re sad to see him gone.”

“I am,” said Saito. “If he was going to leave, I’d rather him go based on Aiko’s choice, not based on something that had nothing to do with us.”

“In a way, though, this has everything to do with Aiko,” said Hyouto, who had padded in on silent feet and startled the rest of them when he spoke. “Hawks is a hero, and won’t always be tied down to one place as he’s been here. Heroes are always busy. They’re always being called away. I think it’s a good thing that Aiko’s had her eyes opened to that before she’s had to commit to anyone. If she’d picked Hawks at the end, only to find that he didn’t have the time to devote to her, she could end up miserable.”

“If Aiko made that choice, I’d be fine. But this isn’t Aiko making the choice,” said Saito.

Hyouto shrugged. “Time constraints are an unfortunate inevitability. If Hawks can’t abide by the terms of the show, he can’t participate.”

“Just shut up and enjoy the extra time with her,” said Geten, moving off toward the dining room. “Honestly, getting stuck with these wimps…”

“There’s nothing you can do about it anyway,” said Hanzo Suiden, following him out. “I, for one, am glad he’s gone. It’s hard getting attention when you’re sitting next to a hero.”

Saito scowled at their backs. He turned toward Dabi as if to demand his opinion, and faltered.

“What are you looking at?” Dabi grumbled, cracking the eggs.

“Where’d you get that?” said Saito.

“Get what?”

“That.”

Saito pointed, and Dabi turned his head to look. There was a little crimson downy feather stuck to his sleeve. How had that gotten there? Whatever. Dabi shrugged and turned back to his cooking.

“A bird in the night,” he replied.

It took Saito a minute to process that, but once he did, he beamed.

“Say hi for me,” he said, and carried off his own breakfast in much higher spirits.

Soon Dabi had two plates of omurice. He hovered over them with a ketchup bottle. Kurogiri always made designs with the ketchup—words, smiley faces, cute animals, and more, depending on who he was serving it to—so Dabi tried to do the same. Keyword: tried. He was not an artist. His attempt at making a bird was so terrible, he zigzagged over it to hide the evidence. That was fine, though. He had the second dish to get it right on. Spoiler alert: he didn’t. If anything that one was worse. He glowered at them both before deciding it didn’t matter. This was all going to end up mashed together in a stomach anyway. He picked up the plates and retreated back to the bedroom.

Hawks was awake. Dabi didn’t know if he’d woken up naturally or heard the other men complaining about him through the feather; whatever the case, there was a golden eye peeking through the makeshift curtain around the bed. When he saw it was Dabi, he perked up and pulled the curtain aside.

“Good morning.”

“Hey,” said Dabi. “Here. Eat.”

Hawks took the offered plate and blinked down at it. He tried and failed really badly to suppress a smile. “Aw. Is that a bird?”

“No. It’s ketchup. Now eat.”

Dabi sat down on the other bunk facing him and scooped up some food, only to freeze. Out from the bathroom bobbed three little feathers balancing a cell phone. Hawks took it and snapped a picture of the omurice.

“Really?” Dabi said flatly. He could feel his whole head heating up with embarrassment.

“Really,” Hawks chuckled, dropping the phone next to him. “I’m so glad no one’s had the chance to confiscate that from me yet. If I didn’t take a picture of this for posterity, I’d probably die.”

Dabi groaned. He didn’t argue any further, though, because Hawks had started digging into the food. He ate like he’d been starving all week. Dabi didn’t know how breaks or mealtimes worked in a disaster zone. Even if there was any rest scheduled, he had a suspicion that a workaholic like Hawks might try skipping them. Best to let him eat his fill without any nitpicking. He waited until Hawks slowed and leaned against the bedpost with a contented sigh before broaching that subject.

“You were kind of out of it last night,” Dabi said quietly. “Are you feeling any better this morning?”

“Yeah, just… processing,” said Hawks. “When I’m out in the field, I fall into a rhythm. Rescues, touchpoints, surveys— there’s not a lot of time to focus on much else. You slow down, and that could be a disaster. Somebody might be dying. So I just go, go, go, crash for sleep for a few hours, get back up and get right back at it. Even when I ran out of feathers I was searching with regular heroes on the ground. I only stopped now because they called off the search and rescue teams. People can only survive under rubble something like five to seven days unless they’ve got some miraculous resources to keep them going, and the last two days we hadn’t found anyone alive… so it ended. My routine stopped, and it feels like my body’s been doing all that on autopilot, and my head’s just catching up with everything that happened. It’s still settling, so I’m sort of…” He gestured vaguely at his head. “Normally after this sort of thing I take some time alone, focus on paperwork, stay at home or something to process in peace.”

This was a pretty shitty place to stay if someone wanted peace.

“You didn’t have to come back,” Dabi muttered.

“No, I didn’t,” Hawks said, with a faint smile. “I wanted to, though.”

Dabi redirected his eyes to the omelet, mouth suddenly dry. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said, very quietly.

For a moment it was silent between them, but a good kind of silence. Companionable. It felt like a missing piece had fallen back into place, and for all the insults and dramatics Dabi had suffered in the past week, he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it. Judging by how relaxed Hawks had become, he guessed the hero felt something similar. Hawks’ phone buzzed where it lay on the mattress, but he ignored it.

“So,” said Hawks, cutting out another piece of his omelet, “what did I miss while I was gone? Grand announcements? Embarrassing missteps? Fun dates?”

“The usual,” said Dabi. “Everyone’s pissed off at each other and hoping they make fools of themselves so Aiko can boot them off. It’s almost unbearable.”

Hawks looked up at him with a sharper gaze. “No one’s tried to gang up on you, have they?”

It was all petty nonsense, and sure, it had hurt, but Hawks was already dealing with the fallout of earthquake rescues. They didn’t compare. He didn’t want to put more angst on Hawks’ mind.

“They tried,” Dabi drawled. “But considering the other competitors have about the proficiency of a half dead goldfish, that never went anywhere.”

Lies. Lies, and more lies. But Hawks was perking up again so that’s all that mattered. Hawks’ phone buzzed again, insistent, but again he let it ring to voicemail. He seemed to be pretending it didn’t exist anymore. Had he sent that omelet picture to someone? Had he posted it to social media? Was there more exposure for the consequences of Dabi’s dumb crush? That would be horrifying. Embarrassment twisted in Dabi’s chest and he resolutely ignored the phone, the same as Hawks.

“I suppose you should know about one thing, though,” Dabi mused. “I feel like it’s going to come back to bite us somehow. One of Aiko’s exes gave an interview claiming she was here for attention and still in love with him. Bunch of bullshit. She was pretty torn up about it. It sounds like that ex was an emotionally abusive jerk, and the other men here have agreed to a truce not to talk about it anymore, but that was big on Wednesday. You should know about it so you don’t accidentally step on anyone’s toes.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Hawks, scratching his chin with a distant gaze as if he were struggling to remember something. “I think somebody tried to get me to comment on that.”

Dabi raised a brow. “What did you say?”

Hawks shrugged. “I didn’t. I didn’t even have time to comprehend what the reporter was asking before Fourth Kind jumped in. He was pretty mad about her being frivolous when we were actively digging people out of the ground.”

“Yeah, not great timing.”

“Not at all.”

Hawks’ phone went off again. Dabi angled his head to get a better look at it, and realized that the caller ID read H.P.S.C.

“Couldn’t that be an emergency?” he asked with a frown. “More details on the earthquake, or something?”

“It’s not,” said Hawks. “I know exactly who’s calling, and why. It’s my handler.”

“Your what?” said Dabi. The H.P.S.C. didn’t assign handlers to heroes, not even the number two; having lived with Endeavor, Dabi knew that much.

“Handler,” Hawks repeated. His expression pinched a little before smoothing out. “Do you remember that talk we had about Stain? How I said heroics is going to look pretty different after the show wraps?”

“I do,” Dabi said slowly, unsure where this was going.

“Yeah, that’s happening right now. Tensei Iida is leading a coup against the Commission and doing a really good job of it. The Commission was up to some really nasty shit, and Tensei’s got the proof. They’re going down.”

“Oh,” said Dabi. He couldn’t quite comprehend what that meant (like, of course the Commission was up to nasty shit, they always had been and other heroes knew about it; what was the difference now?), but a few things started to make more sense. “So that’s what you meant, when you were drunk.”

“Ah. Well.” Hawks coughed, face going pink. “I don’t, uh, remember all of what I said that night. What exactly…”

“You said you had a new lease on life,” said Dabi. “The Commission wanted you to work until you were dead or recycled, but now you have a future.”

“Exactly.” The embarrassment faded, but Hawks still seemed uncomfortable. “I’m sure you know that I was… close to the Commission, before.”

“Weirdly close,” said Dabi.

“Uncomfortably close,” Hawks chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t own my agency.”

Dabi tipped his head in surprise. “You what?”

“I don’t—didn’t—technically own my apartment, either,” said Hawks. “Or the clothes. Or anything else.”

“How the fuck do you not own your own clothes?” said Dabi. “Is this one of those shitty fashion subscription things?”

“The Commission sponsored me in everything, and everything I earned got funneled right back into their pockets,” said Hawks. “They spent money to get me going, so they could rake in all the cash when I did well.”

“Hang on,” said Dabi, “so all that merchandise in the stores, all those photoshoots and the sponsorships and all the celebrity appearances, you don’t get anything from those?”

Hawks gave a weak smile. “I had a really shitty contract.”

“I’m going to fucking murder them,” Dabi snarled.

“Rumi’s way ahead of you there,” Hawks laughed. “It takes the right people sometimes, I guess. To know it’s wrong, and to act on that knowledge. I’ve got a lot of support right now, so don’t worry too much about it. These calls?” He tipped his head toward the phone, which had started ringing again seemingly immediately after the last call ended. “They’re death throes. The Commission’s trying to dig themselves out of their own mess, and they think I’m still brainwashed enough to help them. Joke’s on them, though, because I’m the one who gave Tensei all the tea in the first place.”

“The tea,” Dabi choked, because that was not the kind of phrasing he’d expected in the middle of a deeply unsettling confession.

“The tea!” said Hawks, grinning wider. “Oh, man, I basically rolled up to the Iida house and said, hey, journalists have been begging for my tragic backstory for years but you guys get it for free! It was probably a good thing his little brother wasn’t around. Ingenium Jr deserves to keep some faith in humanity. But it became a rallying point for Tensei and all the people he was working with, got them proof and drive to make a move. One of the reasons Fourth Kind was so quick to act with that reporter is because they were all so adamant that I have a buddy at all times during the mission. Tensei and the others were sure the Commission would try to contact me directly while I was out of the mansion. It sounds like they tried, but Edgeshot and Rock Lock headed them off. Sucks to be them.”

“Damn. Maybe this shithole will be relaxing in comparison,” said Dabi.

Hawks wasn’t ready to face the others quite yet, and honestly Dabi wasn’t interested in that either. Instead he pulled the gossip magazine out of his bag again, and they sat side by side on his bed to read. Hawks skimmed through the Aiko article and agreed that it was nonsense.

“And not even original!” he said, almost offended. “I bet an insider from the show pushed this one through as a prop for the TV drama, because there’s nowhere near enough defamation for this magazine to pick it up otherwise. There’s no arguments! No sexual scandal! No rampant drug misuse! This is baby stuff.”

“Do you often get accused of sex scandals and drugs?” Dabi said dryly.

“Every other day, but it’s not like anyone believes it,” said Hawks. “I mean, seriously, when would I have the time? If I had extra hours in the day I’d be spending them napping.”

Dabi snorted. Hawks flipped on to other articles and went on chattering about the other topics.

“Mt. Lady vs Midnight Feud Explodes— That’s a lie if ever I heard one. They didn’t get along at first, sure, but they’ve publicly apologized and told the press multiple times that they’re not mad at each other. People are just weirdly into the idea of catfights. You know what the real scoop is? Midnight’s become Mt. Lady’s mentor. She’s put together bingo sheets of all the sexist bullshit she’s gone through in her career, and Mt. Lady marks them off as she runs into them. Every time she gets a bingo they go out for fancy all you can eat specials.”

“Ms. Joke Pregnant? Do you have any idea how many pregnancy and baby jokes she’d be spamming everyone with if that were the truth? My god. Logic, people.”

“Gunhead’s Secret Love Child? More like not-so-secret niece. I’ve met the kid, she’s really cute.”

Dabi chuckled and heckled at appropriate times, but he was glad that Hawks was reading most of the articles aloud instead of expecting him to keep up with his pace. Dabi didn’t look at the magazine at all. His attention was fixed on Hawks himself: on the way sunshine from the window shone bright through the gold of his hair like a distorted halo, on how his voice rasped a little from overuse but still plowed on with enthusiasm, on the relaxed slope of his shoulders and his warmth against Dabi’s side.

I’m in deep, Dabi acknowledged, with a little despair.

Mostly, though, he felt settled. Content. Maybe this was the closest they would ever be, but wasn’t this in itself happiness? Maybe, if he managed to keep his stupid feelings to himself, he could get more time like this. More time as friends, instead of everything falling apart.

The magazine ended with a horoscope. Both Dabi and Hawks were supposedly Capricorns so Hawks read the matching paragraph with great fanfare. It involved a lot of planets conjuncting and profounding each other, mixed with very generalized life advice and a specific warning to “curate your company,” which was pretty fucking impossible right now even if Dabi did put any stock into this sort of thing.

Hawks finally closed the magazine with a sigh, and looked at Dabi with a soft smile.

“Sorry for rambling so long. Now that I think about it, you probably read all of this already, so it must’ve been a little annoying—”

Dabi scoffed. “That trash? No. I read what potentially applied to me and then forgot about it. Besides, who else am I going to listen to right now? Trumpet? No thanks.”

“Still, it’s— You didn’t have to,” Hawks chuckled. “I really appreciate you sticking with me in here, and taking care of me both last night and this morning. I really— I usually don’t—” He shook his head ruefully. “I’m not used to being supported without being overwhelmed by it. The company really helped. It sounds a little silly, but I feel like I can breathe easier, now. Think clearer, after this week. So thank you.”

“I really didn’t do much,” Dabi said awkwardly, looking away. If he had to look at Hawks’ earnest expression much longer his dumb emotions might start acting up again.

“You didn’t have to do anything, though,” said Hawks. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Would it be weird if I hugged you?”

Dabi tensed a little. The only weird thing here was really how much he did want Hawks to hug him. It was a selfish craving, a bad idea, but his mouth replied before his brain could catch up: “It can’t be stranger than what’s already happened in this dumb mansion.”

So Hawks grinned and leaned in, and Dabi found himself wrapped up in an embrace. It wasn’t tight—not bad for the staples—but it was warm and secure, and holy shit, muscles, and Dabi was flustered and unsure where to put his hands. He looped them under Hawks’ wings, loose and awkward, and felt Hawks’ resulting laughter more than heard it. Dabi’s face was burning all but literally, made all the worse when Hawks turned his face into the crook of Dabi’s neck and inhaled deep. Dabi didn’t know what he expected to smell beyond B.O. and burn cream, but judging by the following hum, Hawks was satisfied.

Thankfully for Dabi’s dumb heart, the hug didn’t linger. Hawks pulled back with a much brighter smile.

Getting ready for the cocktail party and rose ceremony was actually fun. Dabi went through the preparations on autopilot, far more preoccupied with predictions on Hawks’ grand arrival.

“You’re wearing a pretty evil grin,” Hawks teased as he put on a tie. “Should I be expecting more spiking of pizzas tonight?”

“Nah,” said Dabi. “Just wondering how the others will react when you walk in.”

Hawks raised a brow, amused but not surprised. “You didn’t tell them I came back?”

“Saito figured it out on his own, but I doubt he told anyone else,” said Dabi. “How much do you want to bet Geten flips a table?”

“Trumpet would murder him,” Hawks snickered.

On his last venture out for dinner Dabi had left the bedroom door cracked open, and he could see at least one camera lens in the gap; when they left the room, they were swarmed by three more. Contrary to the contestants, the crew seemed ecstatic to have Hawks in the house again. Welcome back, a few of them mouthed, but didn’t dare speak too loudly when they were descending the stairs into the chaos. Dabi and Hawks entered the cocktail room at the last minute. All the others were present and talking amongst themselves. At first they barely glanced at their entrance, but when they spotted Hawks they did a double take.

“Hey, everybody!” Hawks called with a wave. “It’s nice to see you all again!”

The other men gaped. Slidin’ Go dropped his wine glass.

“Hi, Hawks!” said Saito, cheerily waving back. “Welcome back! I’m glad to see you in one piece.”

“Yeah, even villains get hit hard by natural disasters. We actually had a few helping us instead of trying to attack, so I wasn’t in much danger myself,” said Hawks.

Near the door, Curious cleared her throat. She was glaring daggers at Misty, who pretended extreme innocence.

“Everyone gather on the couch,” she growled. “Aiko is on her way in.”

They had no more time to react, just crowded together for the party to start. Dabi sat between Hawks and Saito, still grinning and eager to see the other men’s comeuppance. Aiko swept into the room in another shiny gown, but she faltered near the threshold and her face lit up.

“Hawks! You’re back!”

“I sure am!” said Hawks. “And you’re looking lovely as ever!”

She laughed. “Wow, this night’s already off to a great start!”

She gave her usual toast (with a lot more giggling), and the free for all began again. Skeptic seemed to have sensed real danger with Hawks back, so he quickly jumped in to take Aiko aside. Meanwhile Hawks made the rounds to check in with every other contestant, smiling like he had no idea they’d been talking behind his back and asking them to fill him in on everything that had happened in his absence. All of the men guiltily avoided Dabi’s eyes during these talks and none of them mentioned the arguments or the insults of Monday. That was fine, as far as Dabi was concerned. He was having a ball, seeing how uncomfortable they got when he took an extra loud sip of his cocktail.

Aiko, meanwhile, was not having a great night. She took a long time with each of the men she took aside, and while she’d started the party in high spirits, she grew more contemplative as the night wore on, and her mouth tugged into a sort of displeased frown. Dabi figured that was as much a cue as anything else, so while Hawks was chattering at Hanzo Suiden, Dabi went out to track her down. Aiko was sitting in the gazebo; she’d just ended her talk with Trumpet (who shot him a suspicious look as they passed each other), and judging by the fact that she was glaring at the ground, it hadn’t gone very well.

“How are you holding up?” asked Dabi, sitting down next to her.  

“I’m mad,” Aiko said quietly, hands fisted atop her knees.

Dabi nodded slowly. “Any particular reason, or…”

“I read the book,” said Aiko. “I understand why you were worried, now.”

Thank fuck. But it was a weight on her, now, and Dabi didn’t feel particularly happy putting it there.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s not a pleasant thing to deal with.”

“The lie detector test was supposed to help me figure out what’s going on with the book club. What they really think about Destro, and everything,” said Aiko, miserable. “But then that magazine came out. If I followed through with it, I’d forever be framed as that crazy woman who isn’t willing to trust anyone, and that’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to be cruel or oppressive. I don’t want to lose a real chance at love just because I’m caught up in potentials for hurt. So I threw away the results. It made a statement and they all felt better about it at the end, but I’m so frustrated because it could’ve cleared up so much and I don’t get that opportunity anymore. They’re all so good at turning the subject around and making me feel guilty for asking things. I need to somehow catch them in the act.”

When Dabi had first heard about that group date he’d been appalled, but now he felt kind of proud that she’d taken that kind of initiative. Damn, Hawks must’ve been right; the showrunners would’ve immediately been on board with the kind of drama a lie detector test would bring, but the producer in league with the book club must’ve specifically set up that magazine article to halt all progress in its tracks.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Dabi.

“I don’t think so. They’re wary of you and Hawks. They’re always on their guard, around you,” said Aiko. “If I find an opportunity, though, I’ll let you know.”

She calmed a little bit in his presence, so when Miyashita came to seek her out for his turn, she was refreshed. As Dabi left the gazebo, he heard her simper, “So, I’ve recently picked up this book…”

When he entered the mansion again, Hawks came up alongside him with his teeth bared in a terse smile.

“A lie detector?” he hissed. “The group date was a lie detector? What the fuck?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dabi. “You’re not her target.”

Hawks raised his brows skeptically but didn’t argue the point. Eventually he too was drawn away for a talk with Aiko, but Dabi didn’t mind. He lingered near the food with Saito, picking his way through a plate of glazed meatballs. He was having a great time: Hawks was back, there was good food, and the other men were being downright pathetic.

“It was some rather good timing on Hawks’ part, arriving after the group date,” said Trumpet, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I wonder if maybe Aiko wanted to confirm something with him specifically. About who exactly it is that he’s pursuing, here.”

Dabi pointed a little skewer at him as he said, “It was the end of the rescue shift. He didn’t get to pick his timing,” before popping the latest meatball into his mouth.

If Trumpet was going to try manipulating them with Dabi’s crush, good fucking luck to him.

“I wonder if perhaps he has someone on the inside, here at the show,” Trumpet continued, glancing back at the cameras. “Someone who may have arranged for the timing of that shift. I don’t think he was supposed to be allowed back…”

“That’s up to Aiko to decide,” said Dabi.

“Aren’t you worried?” said Tesla. “It’s Hawks. After next week, it’s the hometown dates! At least seven of us need to be dropped by then. He could be stealing your place in the final weeks!”

“I’m not worried about my placement,” said Dabi.

“Of course you’re not,” Trumpet grumbled.

Dabi ignored him. “If you’re really that worried, just step up your game.”

“You don’t even care that he’s potentially stabbing you in the back?” said Tesla.

“Hawks isn’t that sort of person,” said Saito.

“He’s a hero! Of course he’s that sort of person,” said Tesla.

Dabi rolled his eyes and picked up his plate. He left the squabbling behind and made his way toward the patio doors again. He’d wait on the outdoor couch and Hawks could meet him right there once he was done talking with Aiko. They could ignore the rest of the idiots inside, that way. The conversation? Hawks’ gacha prizes had still been in his bag; he seemed like the sort of person who’d make a big deal over presenting a little gift like that, so Dabi could ask how he planned to give it to his intern… Just over the threshold, though, Dabi stopped short.

There in the gazebo, Hawks was kissing Aiko.

“See?” Hanzo Suiden scoffed nearby, taking Dabi’s sudden stillness as a different kind of jealousy. “He never should’ve come back. He took your help and now he’s throwing it back in your face by making out with your woman. Right in front of us, too!”

Hanzo Suiden was a fucking hypocrite—all competitors were expected to make out with Aiko, and doing so in the gazebo was about as private as it could get around here—but Dabi couldn’t summon up much ire. He felt very cold, and very stupid. He’d already known that he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of his crush being reciprocated, but it hurt to see the confirmation so blatantly like this. And wasn’t that dumb? Hawks had been kissing Aiko every week, in every date and cocktail party since this whole mess started; for Dabi to only take issue with it now was hypocritical.

In the gazebo, the kiss broke apart. Hawks was smiling. Aiko was blushing and giddy. They looked good together. Two beautiful people.

Dabi kind of wanted to scream.

Instead of making a scene, he turned on his heel and went back into the cocktail room. He staked out a spot in the back corner to pick at his food instead, angled a little behind one of the folding screens. When Hawks came in a few minutes later he was waylaid by Hanzo Suiden; he didn’t seem particularly pleased with this and kept stepping toward the back corner, but the other men swarmed him. Dabi turned his eyes away and stabbed moodily at one of the meatballs. From his periphery he spotted the approach of a little red feather. It bobbed a lot more than the usual ones, as if its downy texture made it more susceptible to any breeze, but it did manage to reach his hand. Dabi sighed and turned his wrist so it could dance over his palm.

A-R-E-Y-O-U-O-K-A-Y-? it wrote.  

Dabi closed his eyes. It wasn’t personal. His feelings were his own problem.

“Fine,” he replied.

The feather wavered over his skin, as if it knew that was a lie but didn’t know how to proceed.

The sound of a fork against glass chimed through their midst, and Sato called, “Gentlemen, it’s time for the rose ceremony.”

Dabi and the other men gathered in the appointed room. Hawks stood in the row behind Dabi, so he took the opportunity to breathe deep and get ahold of himself. As always Sato called Aiko into the room, explained the ceremony for the audience, and stepped aside. The rose ceremony began. Dabi was the second man to get a rose. Hawks was the ninth. Normally when a man stepped forward to get his rose it was a quiet affair, but this time Aiko withheld the rose just long enough to say, “Most men who leave the mansion leave permanently. I think you’re the first man in the history of this show to come back like this… but I chose you last week, and I choose you now. Thank you for coming back.”

She also added a quick kiss to his cheek during their hug.

Dabi fisted his hands behind his back. Trumpet had been stationed just behind him; he leaned over Dabi’s shoulder and whispered, “It’s not wrong to want your own happiness.”

“Mind your own business,” Dabi hissed.

Trumpet leaned back again, amused. Hawks returned to his position, and then it was only Miyashita, Hanzo Suiden, and Tesla waiting for their names.

“Gentlemen,” said Sato, “this is the final rose for tonight. The man who gets this rose will be with us next week, but the men whose names do not get called will be sent home.”

Tesla bowed his head and Hanzo Suiden closed his eyes to brace himself; both were already prepared for defeat, but when Aiko looked at them, she called, “Tesla.”

For a moment everyone was frozen. Tesla? But that meant Miyashita would be going home. It meant that the book club would have its first loss.

Curious chuckled over by the cameras. “I didn’t catch that, Aiko. Say it again?”

“Tesla,” Aiko repeated, cool and clear without sparing Curious a glance.

Tesla hesitated, looking at the others as if waiting for someone to announce it was a joke. No one moved. With faltering steps he moved forward, and accepted his rose.

“Miyashita, Hanzo Suiden, I’m afraid you’ll be leaving the mansion tonight,” said Sato. “Please say your goodbyes.”

Miyashita was stunned; he barely reacted at all when the other book club members came to send him off, and when the time came for him to get his farewell hug from Aiko, Geten had to shove him in her direction.

“Amazing,” said Hawks, once both of the losers were out the door and champagne was being handed out again. “Of all the members of the book club to leave, I’d have thought it would be Geten.”

“Geten’s such a loose cannon, the ones with silver tongues have paid extra attention to keeping him in line,” said Dabi, with a savagely pleased smile. “They clearly didn’t think they had to worry about Miyashita. Aiko must’ve tripped him up with her questioning.”

Once she’d found an opportunity she must’ve pounced. Good for her.

“To love!” cried Aiko, raising her glass.

The men all raised their own glasses in a toast and agreed, “To love!”

And if Dabi’s attention during that toast was fixed on the man beside him instead of any aspect of Aiko’s existence, nobody else ever had to know.

Family dinner at the Todoroki estate was chilly to the point Natsuo was half-convinced that Fuyumi was using her ice quirk.

He arrived about thirty minutes past the time he’d originally estimated, but in his defense not all taxi drivers were as aggressively fast as Endeavor’s personal driver. Outside of train schedules he had a very skewed sense of travel times. When Fuyumi greeted him in the genkan, her expression was cool and aloof.

“Welcome home,” she said, and her tone didn’t have much warmth, either.

“Thanks,” Natsuo muttered. “Is Shouto here, yet?”

“He’s in the other room. Dinner will be ready soon.”

She turned and retreated to the kitchen without any more conversation. Clearly Natsuo still hadn’t been forgiven for his transgressions, and he felt a little resentful about that. He wasn’t the one who’d blown up in front of a bunch of other people.

Natsuo and Yukina had taken the last two weeks to nail down all their evidence of Dabi being Touya. They reviewed the show and rehashed the information Natsuo had gathered so far. It was incredibly validating to have someone outside of the Todoroki mess look through all the details and agree that it was scarily accurate. Yukina had also pulled through with a new lead: she’d tracked down years-old pictures of a younger Dabi and that white-haired guy from the convenience store (Shigaraki? He was pretty sure his name was Shigaraki), busking near a park in Kamino Ward. Other people had found these, too; the original posting comments were cruel and mocking, but Bachelorette and Hawks fans had angrily dogpiled them until the original posters had deleted the evidence mere hours after Yukina screenshotted it. It was weird, holding that evidence— to think my brother was a teenager too, he really was alive back then, too; torn between joy and the dark thought of maybe he didn’t come back because he was afraid we’d react like these strangers did. Touya should’ve known that they wouldn’t fear or hurt him. Then again, they should’ve supported him right from the beginning, and that hadn’t happened. They’d thrown Touya away, isolated him, mistrusted him over a single desperate tantrum before he’d reached the age of ten. Why would Touya assume they’d support him in anything when he’d been proved wrong so many times?

I hate this house, Natsuo thought bitterly as he left the genkan. I hate this family.

He didn’t hate all of them, of course. Mom, Fuyumi, Shouto… they in themselves weren’t bad, but Endeavor and his influence had poisoned them all a long time ago, and even two good people in this family together made something toxic. He hated that dark cloud pervading every conversation. He hated how his instinct in this house was to make himself small. He forcibly set all of that aside for now, though, and went searching through the rooms.

Shouto was seated in the living room, remote in hand and eyes fixed on the TV. It was set to the channel that would later show The Bachelorette, though at this point it was running a news segment.

“Hey,” said Natsuo, lowering himself awkwardly onto the couch beside him.

“Hey,” said Shouto, without taking his eyes off the screen.

He didn’t say anything else, but Natsuo didn’t really expect him to. Shouto was a person of few words; he tended to stay silent in eerie observation before making brief, off the wall comments that Natsuo sometimes struggled to follow. At first Natsuo had been annoyed with it—maybe from leftover resentment of Endeavor’s obvious favoritism—but he’d started to see the deadpan humor, the personality shining through, and also Shouto’s massive rebellious streak. The kid resented authority, Endeavor especially, and the first time Natsuo had witnessed it himself, he’d tried to give newly-enrolled-in-U.A. Shouto a high five. Shouto had stared at him with incomprehension, and Natsuo had quietly vowed that he was going to help support him. It was why Natsuo had started agreeing to so many of these stupid family dinners.  

“Is anything cool happening at U.A.?” asked Natsuo. “There’s a, uh, Girls Night you’ve been going to?”

“I’m missing it tonight,” said Shouto, eyes unblinking. “That’s alright, though. They’re trying perfumes. They make me sneeze.”

“Huh,” said Natsuo, who couldn’t really imagine how that would be interesting. “They’ve got, uh, coffee beans? For in between the different smells?”

“Beans?” said Shouto, very blankly perplexed.

“Yeah, like, to cleanse the nose palate or something?” Natsuo gestured vaguely, but he was starting to question his own knowledge when Shouto just stared at him. “They’ve got beans in cans in the stores where you can try perfumes on.”

“Beans…” Shouto said again, contemplatively.

Natsuo sneakily pulled up his phone to search for the function of coffee beans. Just in case he had it wrong. As the results loaded, his phone pinged with a message from Toga.

Dabi’s hot, right? Dabi’s totally hot. Shiggy’s just being mean.

I legally can’t comment, Natsuo replied, feeling ill. Please don’t ask me that one again. Please don’t say you think he’s hot. You’re too young.

You sound just like Shiggy, she complained. Don’t worry though, Dabi’s not my type. And in came a flurry of heart emojis. Hey, how did you win over your girlfriend again? We’re brainstorming plans to get Dabi and Hawks to confess to each other. Since Hawks left last week, it’s up to us to invite him!

How do you plan on inviting Hawks anywhere, said Natsuo.

We’ll namedrop Dabi at the front desk of his agency, duh.

Natsuo put his head in his hands. Of course they would. Have you considered that there are probably a hundred crazy fans plotting the same thing to lure Hawks to their own parties?

Okay, well maybe we’ll steal Dabi’s phone, Toga replied. We have a magician, it can’t be that hard.

Natsuo briefly debated the intelligence of his decision before texting, Or you could set up your party plans and I can drop him a line for you. I’ve got family in heroics and I’ve met him once, I think he’ll talk to me.

In came another barrage of hearts and sparkling emojis, although there was a dagger one near the middle.

That would be great! I knew you were a great fan, we all want Dabi to be happy! Shiggy said we’d never get in contact with Hawks but he’s just cranky because he’s wrong!

Natsuo grimaced a little bit. He didn’t really like the idea of reaching out to Hawks, even if he was sure the hero would snap to attention for any family of Endeavor’s. This would get him brownie points, though, right? Dabi would appreciate staying in touch with Hawks? The band would be happy to get their matchmaking opportunity? He hoped this would be good in the long run.

“Who are you texting?” asked Shouto.

“A friend,” said Natsuo.

He paused a moment as something occurred to him. If he was working like this to integrate Dabi back into their lives, wouldn’t it be a good thing to have another family member in the loop? Someone who wouldn’t judge? Shouto had secret love child theories about his classmates, he had no room to argue anything else as outlandish. And Toga was Shouto’s age. She seemed perfectly happy going on wild tangents and could keep up with just about anyone. Maybe they’d get along.  

“Her name is Himiko Toga,” he said. “I follow her on Twitter, but we’ve met in person once. I think she might be a year ahead of you in school. She plays piano in a band.” Shouto’s head tipped a little bit in interest. His classmates had set up a concert for their school festival, and while he’d only been on the special effects team, he’d been more interested in music ever since. “If you want to look her up, her Twitter handle is @StabbyCat. If you want to talk to her too, I think she’d be excited.”

Shouto pulled out his phone and started searching.

When Toga’s Twitter profile loaded, Natsuo regretted ever being born. The very first post on her page was a particularly risqué Dabi fanart; Toga had tagged someone named Head Villain @monpuppy with the message “SAY IT! SAY HE’S HOT!!” to which Monpuppy had replied, “STOP SENDING ME HIS FAKE NUDES!”

“Maybe don’t look at what she posts,” Natsuo said weakly. “Maybe just chat with her in the messages—”

But Shouto was squinting at the fanart. “There are some interesting colors in that picture. Do you think Mom might want to see that, for her own paintings?”

“Let’s go with no,” said Natsuo.

“Dinner is ready,” Fuyumi called from the other room.

Natsuo had never been so happy to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire.

They all gathered in the dining room. The table wasn’t particularly big, which made things a little awkward. The giant flaming trashcan that was Endeavor took up a whole side on his own. Fuyumi had strategically set everything up so that Natsuo and Shouto sat closest to him, while she sat on Natsuo’s other side; presumably this position would make it easiest for her to hush Natsuo if he tried to talk back. Natsuo sat moodily down, they all mumbled their gratitude for the meal, and then they dug in. The food was good—Natsuo would never deny that Fuyumi was skilled in the kitchen—but the atmosphere was terrible. Family dinners with Endeavor were always quiet. It had been enforced as children, and even now when Endeavor didn’t try scolding them for opening their mouths, breaking the silence still felt kind of like shattering a plate in the middle of the table. But Natsuo had a long history of ignoring discomfort.

“So,” he said as he picked up one of the gyoza, “how’s Midoriya doing?”

Endeavor twitched. At first he’d hated Midoriya, as the kid was not only All Might’s successor, but also apparently had the spine to backtalk him during the U.A. sports festival. Endeavor was kind of weird about him after accepting him as an intern, though. Mentioning Midoriya still got something of a rise out of him, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as before. On the plus side, it got a very positive reaction from Shouto.

“Ah,” said Shouto, perking up. “He’s training his third quirk.”

“He’s training his what, now?” said Natsuo.

Fuyumi choked on her drink. “His— Wait, three? Dad, did you know—”

“His quirk is uncertain. It’s manifesting in different ways,” Endeavor grumbled.

“It’s three quirks,” said Shouto. “He can fly, now.”

“Who the hell has three quirks?” said Natsuo.

“Maybe it’s just the two?” said Fuyumi. “Shouto, you said his mother’s quirk was summoning things to her, right? Maybe the two later quirks are just enhancements of that! Blackwhip to pull things to him, flying to distance himself?”

“No, it’s three quirks,” said Shouto.

“Well, if he ever wants to get rid of one of them, I’ll—” Natsuo scowled as Fuyumi elbowed him. “Yeah, yeah, that’s in poor taste with All For One around, or whatever. The guy’s in jail!”

Fuyumi gave him a severe frown before looking back at Shouto. “Midoriya’s part of your TV watch party, isn’t he? It must be a nice to relax as a group!”

“It is,” said Shouto.

“Do you and your classmates eat together a lot? Since you’re all together in the dorms, that must open up a lot of social opportunities! I didn’t get big meals with all of my peers unless we were at summer camp and cooking together. Do you all cook together, sometimes? You sent pictures of the dorm kitchen, but just because it’s there doesn’t mean you’re required to use it.”

“We do,” said Shouto.

“Wow, I’m almost jealous!” said Fuyumi, beaming. “Has Bakugo tried that mapo tofu recipe, yet?” Shouto shook his head and she bulled on, “Watch out if he does in the future, because he was excited about the recipe, but he was also talking about making it spicier! I don’t think your cold side helps with spicy heat. It was so nice to have him and Midoriya over for dinner, that time! You can bring them over again if you’d like, and if they’re interested.”

Shouto nodded solemnly. “I’ll check.”

Ah, the king of two-word answers.

Dinner went on like that, with Fuyumi largely steering the conversation so it all stayed safe and boring. Shouto’s answers were brief, as usual. Endeavor was mostly silent with his eyes on his food, which honestly was the best-case scenario. That left Natsuo to do much of the heavy lifting in the conversation, except it was obvious that Fuyumi didn’t like that idea. Normally she’d use the opportunity to try digging for information, but she didn’t want to actually learn anything from him today. She stuck to asking him for yes or no answers, and before he could elaborate on anything she’d quickly turn her false cheer to one of the others and power on to something totally different. It was annoying as hell, like she wanted to say they’d talked when they never actually did. Natsuo didn’t like feeling like a box checked off on a list. The longer dinner dragged on, the grumpier he got.  

“Thank you for the food,” said Shouto, once everyone had eaten their fill.

“You’re very welcome! Food always tastes better in good company,” said Fuyumi, still smiling as she started gathering up dishes. “Did anyone have plans for after dinner?”

“The usual,” Endeavor grunted, putting together a tray.

Based on recent observation he was going to bring an offering to Touya’s shrine. Since hitting the number one spot, he’d been giving that shrine more attention than he’d given the real Touya the whole time he was alive. Natsuo set his own dirty dishes on a tray with more force than necessary, rattling the stacked cups already there.

“Well, considering I didn’t get to go to my watch party tonight, I’ll be watching The Bachelorette here,” he said.

Fuyumi paused, voice and expression cool. “Good. I’ll also be watching it tonight.”

“Make sure you pay attention when you do,” said Natsuo.

Shouto and Endeavor had well-honed senses for danger after tangling with villains, and immediately sensed it now. Both of them tensed, looking back and forth between the two of them like they weren’t sure what was going on. Natsuo didn’t blame them. An angry Fuyumi wasn’t something any of them had practice with. She didn’t rage or shout this time, but settled back on her heels in fake calm and fixed him with an icy look.

“I could say the same to you,” she said. “I’m not the one seeing things that aren’t there.”

“Really? I think you’re just ignoring the obvious,” Natsuo retorted. “It would be easier if I were wrong, wouldn’t it?”

“I think it’s easier for you to run away from reality,” she snapped. “You not wanting something to be true doesn’t change the fact that it is.”

“Is this about Dabi?” asked Shouto.

Natsuo’s heart leapt into his throat. He and Fuyumi spun to stare at him. How had he known— Had he figured it out, too?

Shouto tipped his head again in fascination and said, “Opinions at Girls Night seem to be split fifty-fifty. Aoyama’s group says Dabi and Hawks are in love, while Sato’s group thinks it’s a ploy by the show to gain more interest.”

“Oh,” Natsuo said lamely. “Well, yeah, I guess… but Dabi can do much better than Hawks.”

Endeavor made a harrumphing sound even though he had no idea who Dabi was, because of course he played favorites with Hawks.

“Hawks is a very nice and talented young man,” Fuyumi agreed, far too passionate about it than she should be considering she was downright wary of him the last time Natsuo checked. She probably approved of his pro-Endeavor schemes. “He’s very sweet to Dabi.”

“No,” Natsuo whispered, squinting at her. “Are you a Hotwings shipper?”

Fuyumi went pink and crossed her arms. “So what if I am? I watch the show to see people fall in love. Dabi and Hawks have fallen in love. Why would it surprise you that I like that?”

“Dabi in love?” Natsuo checked, because what?

“He’s a good person who deserves good things,” said Fuyumi. “Your accusations have nothing to do with that reality.”

Oh, this was all horrible.

“I would also like to watch The Bachelorette,” said Shouto.

“I… will not,” said Endeavor. Thank god.

“Great,” said Natsuo. “Cool. Yeah. Let’s get out of here and stop talking.”

The cleanup went quickly after that, and they all moved on. Endeavor disappeared into the house to do his hypocritical shrine visit, and the siblings all moved into the living room. They all sat on the same couch: Natsuo on one end, Fuyumi on the other, Shouto right between them with full control of the remote. He hadn’t turned off the TV when they’d gone to dinner, only muted it. He clicked the volume back on, and then had to jab at the buttons to keep their eardrums from shattering at the commercial.

“WAAAAAAASH!” cried the number eight pro hero Wash, spewing bubbles from his lid while showing off a box of branded laundry detergent. “WWWWWWWWWWAAASH!”

“I hate this,” said Natsuo.

“At least he knows how to play to his strengths,” Fuyumi said pleasantly.

“Kaminari says he has a squeaky-clean reputation,” said Shouto.

Natsuo straightened immediately. “Shouto… was that a joke? On purpose? Holy shit, I’m so proud—”

“It’s true, Wash’s record is very clean. He’s a very upstanding hero,” said Shouto, as if he didn’t realize the pun at all.

Natsuo groaned and sagged back down into the cushions, but he caught Shouto smiling a little. U.A. was good for this kid. It was turning him into a prankster.

“Tonight, on The Bachelorette,” said the TV, and they paid full attention.

The previews were the typical Yaaaay I’m queen of the world switching to Noooo I don’t deserve this reaction. Would it kill the editors to switch it up a little bit? Dabi was only glimpsed in the second half, a complicated expression on his face as he walked away from Geten. He was not shown in any of the date clips. The preview ramped up on the drama with everyone accusing each other of being insincere or whatever, culminating in several theatrical zoom ins on the final cocktail party and a quick fade to black as the host claimed, “No one could see this coming!”  

“I bet everyone will see it coming,” said Natsuo. “Give us the context and it’ll be so obvious.”

“Very obvious,” said Fuyumi, with a mysterious smile.

Why did he get the feeling she knew something he didn’t?

The episode started out normally. Somebody was picked for a date, and the others were both supportive and wildly jealous.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Saito, fidgeting in his confessional. “I mean, I’m excited to go on the date, but that means leaving Dabi alone with everyone else. I’m scared that they might try to target him. I’m also scared that he’ll retaliate. I have no idea what I’ll be coming back to.”

Saito went off to his dancing date, and in flashbacks to the mansion there was indeed friction. Dabi did not seem to be in a good mood. He argued with the other men about Aiko’s tastes. The camera angles kept changing in a way that made it obvious that the editing cut up his actual words, so what came through was a jumbled statement that Aiko was too old for princes and really not that special. He scolded the others for putting her on a pedestal and stormed away. Trumpet then graced him with his presence on one of the balconies to give him sappy life advice, to which Dabi reacted aggressively.

“Okay, no way is Dabi getting that mad over a friendly talk,” said Natsuo, scowling at the screen as Trumpet gave his own whiny confessional about how Dabi just didn’t like anyone.

“After the other episodes, he doesn’t seem like the type to be offended by genuine concern,” Fuyumi agreed, leaning forward as if being closer to the screen might unravel the mystery.

The mystery was not solved, because the showrunners were assholes who wanted to make the others look good. Dabi slipped through the cracks for most of the episode. He wasn’t in a single date, not in a single background shot when the other contestants were complaining at the mansion, and only about a third of him could be seen in the frame during the magazine incident, even though he was sitting directly next to Aiko. He remained a complete nonentity until finally appearing at the cocktail party, bringing with him a sneaky grin and the number two hero. The other competitors freaked out.

“Hawks is looking pretty good, right now,” said Fuyumi. “The way Rumi was talking, I was worried he’d be exhausted from all the work.”

“Miruko told you he was coming back?” said Natsuo.

“They talked before he committed to returning,” said Fuyumi, with that sly smile again.

Whatever. A lot of people had probably seen it coming as soon as the host brought it up as unable to see coming. Natsuo remained thoroughly unimpressed with Hawks throughout the party, but when the cameras zoomed in hardcore on Hawks’ kiss during his chat with Aiko, while Dabi was right there in the background—

“Oh, come on!” said Natsuo, throwing up his hands. “Even if they aren’t into each other, that’s just rude!”

“Even if?” Fuyumi echoed. “Are you sure you’re not a Hotwings shipper yourself?”

“I don’t trust anything from Hawks,” said Natsuo. “I don’t care what kind of faces he makes or what kind of words come out of his mouth. He’s a charmer. He’s admitted it before. As far as I’m concerned, him joining the show was a tactical choice, and he’s playing some kind of game to break his association with the H.P.S.C.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” said Fuyumi. “Rumi’s pretty vague about the circumstances, but she thinks he’s being totally genuine when he’s interacting with other people on the show. She thinks it’s giving him room to grow, so he’s figuring himself out.”

“Okay, but can he do that somewhere else where he won’t hurt other people?” grumbled Natsuo.

The cameras weren’t following Dabi this time. He had no way to figure out what Dabi’s lack of reaction had meant. He was with Hawks at the final toast as usual, though.

“Why is everyone asking me what I think of Hawks being back?” Dabi said at the end, in his garden confessional. He sounded annoyed, but like, tired annoyed. “Why don’t you ask one of the others? I’m sure they’d be perfectly happy to— Why are you making that face at me? (bleep) off, I don’t need that face. He’s back, okay? Nothing’s changed. Stop acting like it has to mean something.”

Overly defensive. Fuck.

“Do you think—” Shouto started, then shut his mouth.

“Think what?” said Fuyumi, eager for a discussion. “That Hawks is only kissing Aiko so he can stay on the show with Dabi? That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Are you thinking that Hawks needs to have a straightforward discussion with Dabi to avoid stupid drama and potentially hurt feelings?” said Natsuo.

“Do you think,” said Shouto, “that Dabi looks familiar?”

In the resulting silence they could’ve heard a pin drop.

Both Natsuo and Fuyumi spun their heads to face him, but Shouto kept his own gaze on the TV and his expression inscrutable.

“Wait,” said Natsuo, “so you recognize—”

“No!” Fuyumi leapt to her feet, eyes flashing with rage. “Don’t start. Don’t drag Shouto into this.”

Seriously? She was acting like he was trying to get Shouto into drugs or something. Natsuo’s temper flared.

“I’m not dragging him anything!” he retorted. “He’s observant. I can’t help the fact that he’s seen the truth.”

“It’s not the truth, and you know it,” said Fuyumi.

“Look at him!” Natsuo gestured at the TV. “Look at Dabi, and then tell me it’s a lie.”

“I just did.”

“You’re not really looking!"

“If you want to see Touya, go to the shrine,” said Fuyumi. “It’s right there in the other room.”

“No,” said Natsuo. “He’s right here.”

Fuyumi shook with rage. She seized his sleeve and pulled. She wasn’t particularly strong, but she was determined, and Natsuo followed the movement to keep the seam from ripping.

“Wait a minute, what are you—”

“Be quiet,” she snapped.

She dragged him out of the room and down the hall. Endeavor was in their path; at the sight of him he wisely stepped into the closest room and out of their way, but watched them pass with much confusion. Fuyumi pulled Natsuo all the way down to Touya’s room and shoved him through the open door.

“There,” she said. “If you’re so desperate to see Touya, look at him.”

“What the fuck do you think I’m looking for out there?” Natsuo snarled. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“You need to stop and think about what Touya would actually want,” Fuyumi hissed. “What he would think, if he could see you now.”

Her eyes were overly bright. She blinked furiously and stormed back down the hallway. Goddamn Natsuo wished there was a stress ball in here, because he wanted to strangle something. Cussing under his breath, he took three quick strides toward the shrine. He picked up the picture of Touya and walked back out. He could hear the faucet running in the kitchen—Fuyumi had likely gone to vent her frustration on the dishes—which made it all the easier for him to return to the living room. Shouto remained in his previous position on the couch. He was curled a little tighter into himself, but kept his attention on The Bachelorette’s end credits. For this episode, the ending clip depicted a zoomed in shot of Dabi on his balcony; the camera must’ve been on the patio below, because it only captured his head, one arm folded under his chin with his free hand tapping atop the balcony railing. He might have been picking out notes for a song, or maybe counting something out.

“It’s the number of (bleep)s,” Tesla’s voice whispered. “He’s counting out how many (bleep)s he has to give.”

“That number is zero,” Miyashita snickered. “He doesn’t give a (bleep).”

“Not a single one,” Skeptic agreed.

They all attempted to smother their laughter as Dabi’s head angled to glare at them.

In the present, Shouto tipped his own head up to watch Natsuo’s approach. Natsuo pressed the picture into Shouto’s hands and said, “What do you see?”

Shouto held the frame delicately. He looked at Touya’s photograph, then up at the screen, then back down again. Carefully.

“I don’t think you’d be asking me if you didn’t already know,” he said.

Natsuo felt a sting like tears in his eyes. Relief. “But you do see it? You really see it too?”

“Yes,” Shouto said quietly. “I do.”

Shouto left the Todoroki estate in silence.

Normally Aizawa would be the one acting as his chauffeur to U.A., but he’d apparently had a meeting tonight. In his place was Present Mic, who was trying to tempt a stray cat into coming close enough to pet. The cat hissed at him, which wasn’t surprising. Even Aizawa hadn’t managed to get on its good side yet. Mic hastily straightened when he saw Shouto approaching.

“Hey, little listener! Are you ready to go back to the dorms?”

Shouto nodded.

“All right! Come on in, and we’ll get going!”

Present Mic unlocked the car, chattering away as they climbed into the vehicle. Shouto buckled his seatbelt in the backseat and balanced his bag on his lap, hands fisting tight on the strap. The engine rumbled to life and the windshield wipers squeaked, clearing away the first scattered raindrops as they pulled away from the curb.

So.

Now Shouto knew what Natsuo and Fuyumi had been fighting over.

The idea that Touya was alive and somehow right in front of them was surreal. Shouto felt stupid not to have recognized Dabi before. Looking at him with the knowledge… it was obvious. There was no way he couldn’t be Touya. Secret love child… What a joke. He’d been close, but so, so wrong. He’d known it last week, when he’d visited Rei—her face, Endeavor’s eyes—but it had still felt uncertain. His siblings’ reactions carved it in stone.

My oldest brother is alive.

It was a complicated thing to believe.

Shouto hadn’t known Touya very well. Endeavor had separated them very young. He remembered some things, though.

He remembered watching jealously as his siblings played in the courtyard, how Touya could juggle the ball with his feet and knees with perfect control while Natsuo flailed in attempts to steal it.

He remembered glimpsing it from windows a few times, when Touya limped his way back from bad days at Sekoto Hill.

He remembered blue eyes glaring at him from the ceiling, and a gruff child’s voice saying, “Let’s promise not to judge each other based on him anymore.”

Shouto had promised. It had gotten him a brother’s approval. And… he’d wanted that. Mom was always crying; even when the tears weren’t falling she was tired and sad, and even when he was small and dumb he had the feeling that he shouldn’t push her further than necessary. Endeavor was always hurting them; Shouto hated him. Tutors only fawned on him occasionally, in blatant attempts to suck up to his father. Touya had been thirteen (he’d seemed so old to Shouto at the time, but he’d been so young), and Shouto had craved recognition from him. He wanted a connection that didn’t hurt. He wanted to play. He wanted to smile like his siblings did in the courtyard. He wanted to show Touya his drawings, and have someone important be proud of him for something that had nothing to do with Endeavor’s suffocating expectations.

And then Touya had died.

And no one saw fit to tell Shouto this for almost a month. He and Touya had been separated, after all. They’d never been meant to meet. No one had expected Shouto to know him, or care.

He’d cared a lot.

“Todoroki.” Shouto raised his head. Present Mic was looking at him through the rearview mirror, brow furrowed and voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” said Shouto, just as quietly.

Present Mic’s brow pinched further. “Did something happen at dinner? If something interrupted— I can swing by and get you some food on the way, if you need it.”

“That’s not necessary,” said Shouto. Normally he’d leave it at that, but Present Mic had been… odd, for the last week. Anxious, and distracted sometimes. He didn’t want to give his teacher more to worry about. “An unhappy topic came up in conversation. I ate enough. I’m not hurt. I’m just thinking.”

Present Mic nodded slowly. “If you want to talk about it, Aizawa and I are always here. Hound Dog, too. It’s always nice to give my ears a workout instead of just my voice box.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Shouto.

He turned his gaze out the window to avoid any further conversation. They were stopped at a light, their surroundings starting to blur in the rain, but if he was right… He straightened quickly.

“Actually, can we stop for a second?”

“Why?” said Present Mic, glancing at their surroundings; he’d tensed as if Shouto might have seen some kind of danger.

“There’s a mailbox,” said Shouto. “I need to mail something. Please.”

“A— A what?”

“Mailbox.”

They stared at each other a moment, then Present Mic shook his head and muttered something about “Is this why he calls them problem children?” As far as Shouto was concerned, he had the reputation of being one of class 1-A’s more reasonable students (beyond the Stain incident, and the Kamino incident… had Dabi been caught up in the Kamino incident?) so Present Mic was indulgent enough to pull over.

“Make it quick. The weather’s getting worse,” he said.

Shouto nodded his thanks and ducked out of the car. The rain was indeed coming down harder now. Shouto ducked under the shop awning that housed the red, squared mailbox, and dug in his bag. He took out the expensive cardstock paper he’d been toting around for two weeks, laid it against the mailbox’s side like a vertical desk, and finally, finally, wrote out what he needed:

Touya,

I miss you.

Explanations could wait.

Accusations and arguments could wait.

Guilt, and trauma, and all the grudges of their family could wait.

This little message said everything: I recognize you. I’m thinking of you. I want to see you again. If Dabi missed them too, he would know it was reciprocated. He would know that Shouto, at least, would welcome him back at whatever pace he was comfortable with.

With shaking hands Shouto folded the paper, sealed it inside the envelope, and dropped it into the mailbox.

Dabi was standing in the apartment above the bar for the first time in almost nine weeks. He was not pleased to be there.  

“Why the fuck would you think I’m dating Hawks?” he raged.

“I told you!” cried Shigaraki. “I told you, there’s no way in hell—”

“This isn’t fair, he’s missing context!” cried Toga. “Twice measured him before he even got accepted to The Bachelorette—”

“The what,” said Dabi.

“He’s the same person, one shitty job won’t change that!” Shigaraki seized Dabi by the shoulder and leaned in close; Dabi leaned backward in the same measure so they nearly lost balance, but Shigaraki was too focused on his goal to care about the pettiness. “Hawks sucks, right? You hate him, right? If he showed up right now you’d roast him like a rotisserie fucking chicken, right?”

“Why are you treating this like a valid fucking threat?” said Dabi.

“Because he doesn’t want to admit the truth!” said Toga, smushing herself against Dabi’s other side. “And the truth is that you’re in love! Hawks is so stupidly in love with you, it physically hurts to watch!”

“It hurts because it’s a lie!” said Shigaraki.

“It hurts because you can’t stand the fact that they haven’t kissed yet!” said Toga.

The door to the apartment opened, and all of them froze. Magne stood in the doorway with a bag of groceries. She tipped her glasses down to give them a thoroughly disapproving look over the lenses.

“You made a double,” she said flatly. “You made a double, knowing full well that you’ll have to break his arm or something to make him disappear.”

“It’s not like that’s hard. He’s a twig,” said Shigaraki.

The Dabi double snarled and kicked him in the shin. “Who are you calling a twig, you little—”

“How did you possibly convince Twice to do this?” said Magne.

Twice peeked up from the other side of the couch, where he’d been hiding from the excitement. “In my defense, I was triple dog dared. I wasn’t bullied! And maybe I missed Dabi. Who would?”

Who indeed, Shigaraki thought, kicking back and forth at clone-Dabi’s ankles.

“Now, now,” said Compress, sweeping into the room, “if you kick him too hard, our dear double here may leave the party early!”

“This is going to suck so bad,” groaned Spinner, slouching past Magne as well.

Kurogiri lingered behind her with a disapproving aura that magnified hers by about a hundred. Shigaraki shrank back, surly.

“Where better to get a confirmation than the source?” he grumbled. “She just wouldn’t shut up…”

“This does give us a wonderful opportunity, though!” Compress rested an elbow on the back of the couch and leaned in where Shigaraki had just backed off. “Dabi, what would we need to do to convince you that you are hopelessly in love with Hawks?”

“You can’t,” said clone-Dabi. “You’re all insane.”

“He’s a version without character development,” Toga huffed.

“You really are in love, as far as we can tell,” said Magne, setting aside the groceries. “You’re with Hawks all the time on the show, he’s always looking at you with that special smile, and you’re so relaxed and open with him—”

“What show?” said clone-Dabi.

“The Bachelorette.”

“I’m on The Bachelorette?”

“Yes.”

Clone-Dabi was silent a moment as he processed through all of this. His irritation lifted suddenly, and he said, “This is a prank.”

“I knew it,” said Spinner.

“No, honey, it’s not,” said Magne.

“You’re all in on it,” said clone-Dabi. “You’re trying to get a rise out of me, to get back at me for eating Twice’s snacks or something—”

“You admit it! Scoundrel!” Twice gasped.

“—But the joke’s on you. If you’re going to try making me think something’s up, keep it within the realm of possibility. The Bachelorette? What a fucking hoax.”

“We have to show him the new episode,” said Toga.

“We must,” said Compress, far too excited.

“Yes!” said Shigaraki. “Then he’ll have his fucking context and tell you point blank you were wrong—”

“He’ll prove the truth by witnessing his own pining!” said Toga.

“Shall we all sit down?” asked Kurogiri, who sounded tired already.

They did, making sure that clone-Dabi was sat directly in the middle with the best view of the TV screen. He was highly suspicious of this.

“Any minute, now,” Compress chuckled. “Any minute, and you’ll realize your TV personality debut—"

“Who the fuck would care about my personality?” clone-Dabi muttered.

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki grumbled.

“You’re all over Twitter even when you’re not on TV!” said Toga, shoving her phone into clone-Dabi’s face. “Look at everything I retweeted!”

“Confidence-boosting test run number one, commence!” Magne cheered.

Clone-Dabi took the phone and held it at a more reasonable distance as he squinted at Toga’s tweets.

“How did you commission these?” he said. “Why did you commission these? Why the fuck am I nude in this one?”

“Stop scrolling while you still have your sanity,” said Spinner.

He did not. Clone-Dabi kept scrolling, brow furrowing deeper and deeper until finally he tossed the phone back into Toga’s lap, said, “I’m out,” and tried to leave. They all caught him and heaved him back onto the couch.  

“This has far too high an entertainment value for you to go so soon!” said Compress.

“We need our answers!” said Toga.

“I think it may be good for you,” said Kurogiri.

It was only the last one that kept clone-Dabi from kicking them off. He slouched instead and sent the TV his best murder look.

“Tonight, on The Bachelorette,” said the announcer, and the previews started.

“Look! Look! There you are!” said Magne, pointing.

“I didn’t see anything,” said clone-Dabi, which wasn’t surprising because the real one onscreen had barely been visible at all.

He went quiet when Saito talked about him, though, and when his original counterpart appeared during a breakfast argument, his eyes narrowed almost to slits.

“See?” said Toga, poking at his arm. “See?”

“This isn’t the real TV,” said clone-Dabi. “You set this up. That has to be another one of Twice’s doubles, bribed into acting. What did you offer me, some kind of fancy cake?”

At least he how easily he could be bribed.

“Twice, can your doubles even eat anything?” said Spinner.

“Well, yeah, it’s one of the reasons I thought I was a double for so long,” said Twice. “Maybe I still am! Maybe it takes more than a broken arm for me!”

“Whether you’re a double or not, you’re Jin, and we love you!” Toga cooed.

Twice made a happy spluttering noise.

“I don’t recognize any of these people,” said clone-Dabi. “Hawks is notably missing. Did you have trouble getting someone to impersonate him?”

“He left last week to help with an earthquake,” said Spinner.

“Convenient,” said clone-Dabi.

Okay, now Shigaraki was getting annoyed for a whole new reason.

“It’s the real fucking show!” he snapped. “You think we can put together this kind of production for a prank? You think I’d put all this effort into fooling you when I could be using it for a goddamn music video? What kind of budget do you think we’re hiding?”

Clone-Dabi turned to Kurogiri and asked, “Do we have any money for food this month?”

“It’s the real show,” said Kurogiri, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“Lies,” said clone-Dabi.

“It’s real because you’re dumb and they had free food,” said Shigaraki. He hated the fact that he was forced to defend Dabi’s own awful decisions.

“Wait, where are you?” asked Magne, two more TV dates later (and a lie detector later, what the fuck), because in the shittiest timing possible, the real Dabi had seemingly vanished from the show.

“Right here, where I should be, because there’s no way I’d ever be on The Bachelorette,” said clone-Dabi, and everyone else shushed him.

“He’s not off the show, we would know by now if he was,” said Compress.

“He’s pining offscreen!” said Toga.

“He’s just avoiding the others because Geten and the book club crew are annoying,” said Shigaraki.

The original Dabi made his grand appearance at the final cocktail party, leading Hawks into the fray. This time even Shigaraki was glad to see the hero.

“Oh my god!” cried Spinner. “He’s back? But when did he—”

“Yes! I knew his popularity would come in handy at some point!” said Magne.

“See? See? You’re together! You look so cute!” shrilled Toga.

“They’re not couple-together! Look at yourself and tell her this is friendship, maximum,” said Shigaraki.

Clone-Dabi blinked perplexedly at the screen. “That’s… a good likeness.”

“It’s the real deal!” said Magne.

“I’m back!” cheered Hawks, apparently sat in a new confessional. “Whew, this week has been busy! I came back here last night right after being dismissed from the earthquake efforts, and I’ve got to say, I was exhausted. I’m lucky Dabi let me bunk in his room, I needed some peace and quiet before coming back out into the mansion properly. It’s really good to see everyone, though, and I’m looking forward to talking with Aiko again.”

“You slept in the same room!” Toga screamed, and immediately started tweeting.

“No,” Shigaraki whispered, horrified. “No, no, no, you couldn’t—”

“Why is this a big fucking deal? I sleep in the same room as all of you dumbasses already,” said clone-Dabi.

“You don’t have palpable sexual tension with any of us!” said Magne. “You didn’t specifically invite any of us into your space, either!”

“He had his own assigned room, why would you do this?” Shigaraki groaned, letting his head sag into his hands.

“You don’t think they, like, made out or anything in there, do you?” said a flustered Spinner.

“Dabi, would you bang someone you’ve only tolerated for five weeks?” said Compress.

“No version of me has ever or will ever bang Pro Hero Hawks,” clone-Dabi said with a scowl.

“Thank you!” cried Shigaraki.

“But this version of you hasn’t met him!” Toga insisted. “Look! Look at the way you’re looking at him!”

The real Dabi was not looking at Hawks. The real Dabi was following Hawks around to other contestants, sipping obnoxiously from his drink and giving everyone the sort of I-could-ruin-your-life-by-tattling-to-this-authority-figure look Shigaraki recognized very well from when they were bratty teenagers. Shigaraki was about to point this out when Hawks turned around to whisper with Dabi between conversations, and not only did he lean in close enough that they were practically breathing each other’s air, Dabi’s expression didn’t budge at all from its amusement.

“I hate everything about this,” said Shigaraki.

Toga cackled. “Keep watching, Dabi! It gets better!”

Clone-Dabi remained silent as they watched the party move on. He seemed more and more bewildered the longer he watched Hawks and his original interact, and downright uncomfortable when Dabi refused to be swayed by schemers near the food. The coup de grace was Hawks’ talk with Aiko. As Hawks kissed the bachelorette, the camera zoomed in over her shoulder at Dabi in the patio doorway. His expression was carefully blank. Too blank. Busking-just-destroyed-my-soul-but-you-don’t-need-to-know-that blank. Realization slammed into Shigaraki’s head like a brick.

Oh, fuck.  

Dabi liked Hawks.

Dabi seriously liked Hawks.

Clone-Dabi picked up on it, too. His leg jerked as if his instinct was to flee, but he forced himself to remain on the couch with a similarly blank look. Onscreen, the original Dabi turned away in his own flight.

“Oh, shit,” whispered Spinner, hands over his mouth.

“No, Dabi, no! Come back! He didn’t mean it!” Toga wailed at the screen.

“Maybe Hawks will set things straight?” said Magne, but she too looked distraught. “I mean, there’s no way he’s after Aiko when he’s been making goo-goo eyes at Dabi this whole time.”

Hawks did not clear anything up. The rose ceremony happened. Aiko kissed him again while Dabi was forced to watch, and Hawks was all smiles as he swanned back to his spot. Shigaraki suddenly hated him for a lot more than the sin of being a hero.

“I’m seriously relieved that she picked me to stay around!” Hawks said in the voiceover. “After being gone the whole week, I thought I was a goner. I thought I might not even be let back into the building.” It switched to a clip of him in the confessional, dreamily looking somewhere past the camera. Out of seemingly nowhere, he said, “Did you know that Dabi makes a really good omurice?”

“You didn’t,” Shigaraki groaned, because of course the one time Dabi got a crush and went into support mode was the one time that crush was an insensitive bastard who kissed other people.

“Why am I not surprised?” said Compress, head in his hands.

And because this was the one episode that the producers weren’t using to push their stupid Team Hotwings agenda, they only saw Dabi in a short, defensive confessional and a glimpse of him at the toast. What was it with this show and its shitty endings?

“That was the worst!” cried Toga. “What even was that?”

“I really don’t know what you were expecting it to be,” said clone-Dabi. “It was the fucking Bachelorette, focused on the bachelorette.”

Toga swatted him. “It’s been as much about you and Hawks as it’s been about her! This isn’t fair! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Makes perfect sense to me,” said clone-Dabi. He stood and stretched as if completely unbothered by the whole thing, but his eyes were already on the door. “I’m out of here before you degenerates think you can try convincing me of anything else.”

He speed walked out and the others fumbled after him. Kurogiri heaved a long sigh.

“Not the outcome you wanted?” Shigaraki muttered.

“No,” Kurogiri said quietly. “I’m glad that he’s been brave, but I wanted him to be happy, too.”

After a moment of shared resignation, they followed the others down to the bar. Clone-Dabi was behind said bar pouring himself an exceedingly strong cocktail. Kurogiri joined him and eased back his grip on the bottle.

“I’m aware it’s a lot to deal with, but do you really want to be drunk in this atmosphere?” he chided.