Work Text:
The first incident takes place the Wednesday after Shouto’s twentieth birthday.
Hawks texts him the video at the end of his shift. The caption is gibberish. Nonsensical letters and that deplorable cry-laughing emoji repeated a handful of times. The video is—
It’s a recording of Shouto. Shouto with his hair wet, still dripping from the shower. His chest, for unexplained reasons, is bare. He’s talking about how much he loves his fans and how grateful he is for them.
The comments, at a quick glance, range from god, he’s so cute to does he know what he’s doing to us?? to things that make Touya wish he had a quirk that affects memory. God, that’s his baby brother that people apparently fervently wish they could defile in varied and increasingly creative ways.
He taught Shouto how to ride a bike, helped him master his quirk, cheered so loud at his first sports festival that he went hoarse and both Tenko and Hawks wouldn’t stop laughing at him. And now he has to—
You know what, no. In his own hero career, he puts up with a lot of bullshit. Does the charity photo shoots that Hawks shamelessly pretends to fan himself over with no complaint, smiles at fans and signs their notebooks and t-shirts and, with as little peeking as possible, sometimes even their chests. He’s a good hero. He does the PR bullshit without whining. But this? It crosses the line.
Those school friends of Shouto’s are bad enough. Hanging all over him and bringing him home at two in the morning with his face flushed and lipstick smeared on his cheek and questionable purpling marks on his neck. And like. Touya is happy for him. He is. That he got to grow out of the horribleness of being born to someone who saw you as property instead of human. That he has people besides Touya who would take an unknown quirk to the chest for him. That’s all—great, really. It is. But—
He has an obligation to Shouto. Brotherly duties. And he’s not going to neglect them.
…
When confronted, Shouto tilts his head the slightest bit to the side, and says, “Oh, I just did it because my publicist said I should. You know, to bond with the fans.”
Touya stares.
Under his gaze, Shouto has the decency to flush a little. “Is that why people have been, um, rather vocal in my Twitter mentions?” he asks, poking at his croissant. He takes a tentative bite. “Because they’re attracted to me?”
God. Touya wants to bang his head on the breakfast table. They’re at a small french place that Hawks showed him. Shouto likes the sugary pastries and the décor, and—the deciding factor, knowing him—the stray cat that the owners feed regularly. “Shou,” he says. “The Japanese public is pathologically infatuated with you. It’s disgusting.”
“Pathologically infatuated,” Shouto echoes. Then, he laughs. “Nii-san,” he says. “Is this one of those things you get obsessive about? Like that time you set Katsuki’s lunch on fire because you found out he was my first kiss? Well. Second, after Momo.”
Katsuki. Tch. The punk’s not good enough for Shouto. He’s loud and he’s brash and he insists on being the one to make Shouto food when he gets sick. All roles previously occupied by Touya in his life. He may admittedly have gone a little too far that one time he told the kid that if he was remotely fond of his dick he would make sure to keep it out of Touya’s baby brother, but—
Well. Someone needs to look after Shouto. Mom couldn’t do it for the longest time and Fuyumi still needs help with her own boundaries and Natsu’s so busy with school that Touya’s lucky to see him for more than twenty minutes at once every other week. So. It’s clearly up to him. Has been for a while now. Protecting Shouto’s honor, or whatever other ridiculous phrasing Hawks might use to explain it.
“I just—,” Touya says. “Someone’s got to look after you, kid.”
Shouto smiles, wide and bright like the sun. “Love you, Touya-nii,” he says. And then he stands up and presses butter-sticky lips to Touya’s forehead. “But I’m all grown up now.”
That—stings, admittedly. It makes Touya feel old. Like all that time snuck by him. Like he missed too much of it trying to prove he deserved their shitty old man’s conditional affection. Like he wasn’t good enough for Shouto, wasn’t what Shouto deserved. A home and safety and love, love, love.
“Does that mean I can’t worry?”
Shouto shakes his head. “I worry about you too, you know,” he says. “But I know you’re in good hands. Hawks is very responsible.” He winks, and Touya’s face warms.
Hawks is—the love of Touya’s life, maybe, if Touya were particularly inclined to such phrasings. He admits it, sometimes. When he’s a little drunk or tired enough that the shame about feeling anything at all has worn away. During times like that, he wraps both arms around Keigo, and confesses sappy things like, “I love you,” pressed into the crook of his neck.
But that’s hardly the point. “Don’t try to distract me, brat.”
Shouto pouts. “Nii-san,” he says.
“Besides, don’t any of your dumb boyfriends mind? Like—the purple one with insomnia?”
“Hitoshi,” Shouto corrects, in a tone of voice that implies he knows perfectly well that Touya remembers his name. “He’s, uh, he’s content to remind me in other ways that I’m—in a committed relationship.”
Which sounds like a weird sex thing Touya would like to know nothing about if he’s ever heard one. He makes a face. “Date someone decent for once, Shou.”
Shouto arches an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?” he indulges. “Like who?”
Touya draws blank. “Someone who appreciates you,” he says. “Who knows how special you are and how good you are and how much you deserve everything you could ever want.”
“I think you appreciate me enough for the whole world, nii-san,” Shouto says, easy and only a little bit teasing. “I know you—I’m not worried about anything. I have you, don’t I?”
And Touya’s chest, predictably, feels a little too warm even with his quirk, even when he’s fireproof. He reaches, and ruffles Shouto’s hair. “Stop trying to be cute,” he says. “Doesn’t work on me anymore.”
Shouto sticks his tongue out at him. “Yes it does,” he says, because he’s a giant brat.
Touya sighs, and ruffles his hair.
…
Cake. There’s cake. Shouto made him—a birthday cake?
“I helped,” Bakugou says, as if to assuage Touya’s concerns about the very real possibility of his kitchen being on fire.
“Me too,” Shinsou pipes up. Which—might actually be more cause for concern. Touya doesn’t put attempted poisoning past him.
Shouto looks excited, still. He’s got a little bit of flour smudged on his cheek, looks at Touya and says, “Happy Birthday, Touya-nii. Make a wish.”
It’s kind of—
Well. Keigo squeezes at his shoulder. “I think,” he says, “that maybe he has everything he wants already.”
(He’s right, of course.)
Touya blows out the candles anyway, lets Shouto take all the pictures of it he wants. It feels a lot like happiness.
…
It’s quiet, for three blissful weeks after. The best gift Touya could have asked for. Shouto doesn’t have any clothing malfunctions on duty for the media to unscrupulously exploit, and he stays off TikTok, Twitter, and Instagram. Small mercies.
And then, because nothing good in Touya’s life ever lasts undisturbed—
He posts another video. This one is of him playing with his cats. It’s kind of sweet, at first. Waving bits of yarn in their furry faces, scratching their chins, picking them up and tucking them inside his hoodie so they poke their confused little heads out and look up at him. And then—
One of them decides to crawl up Shouto’s leg, and Shouto flips the camera to record her daring trek. Except— He’s clearly only wearing leggings. Thin, tight, midnight blue leggings that end mid-thigh.
#ProHeroShoutoIsPacking starts trending barely twelve minutes after Shouto—probably without even thinking about it—uploads the video.
Touya texts him a Twitter screenshot of the trending tags, which are, in order under the aforementioned #ProHeroShoutoIsPacking, #CuteKitties, #Dynamight, #BunnyDeku, and, perhaps expectedly after the shit Keigo pulled at their last public event, #dabihawksiscanon.
Shouto
Packing?
Packing what? I’m not moving
Oh
Oh, never mind
Hitoshi explained
He thinks it’s funny since I don’t
Well, you know
Use it much the intended way for size to matter
Oh God
Wait, I didn’t mean to
You know, overshare
Sorry, nii-san
God, this kid—
it’s fine, Touya sends back. just, you know. be a little more careful.
…
At Touya’s next interview, supposedly a more informal, relaxed type of thing talking about balancing romance and hero work and finally making it into the top three, after mentioning his popularity and how being publicly linked to Hawks has influenced it and how he feels about carrying on his father’s legacy (ew), the interviewer asks him, “And your brother? How does he feel about this considering he’s also in the running for the top spots? Has he congratulated you?”
Shouto had woken him up at five in the morning just to yell about it. All I’m so proud of you nii-san and I knew you could do it Touya-nii and you’re great either way of course and I love you and oops Katsuki says I woke him up too, and then, after some grumbling on the other end, he and Hitoshi say congratulations too.
“He was excited,” Touya says, unable to keep the smile off his face. “He’s always been my biggest fan.” It’s true. There’s YouTube compilations on YouTube compilations out there of Shouto wearing his hero merch and excitedly rambling about how his favorite hero is his nii-san, even saying cheesy shit like he was always my hero, and it’s all very—
It’s good to know Touya didn’t fuck up in that regard. To have absolute confirmation. (He cried a little, the first time Shouto looked at him and said you’re my favorite like it was an unshakeable truth.)
“Is that so?”
Touya nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I couldn’t have done any of this without his support.”
The next time Shouto trends online, Touya only has himself to blame. It’s worth it, though. He doesn’t intend to ever feel ashamed of it. Of how much Shouto means to him.
…
The time after that—
Well. Touya is tempted to set something on fire just to dull the murderous urge. It’s a Saturday, and Keigo is still asleep next to him. It should be peaceful. Birds chirping and sun shining and the world carrying on without its heroes for a breath or two. Except, of course, it’s not.
The killing hit is the video. In it, Shouto doing one of those stupid, repetitive dances. He’s even dragged idiot number one and idiot number two into it with him, and, for reasons beyond what Touya is, for his own health, willing to contemplate this early in the morning, he’s wearing a ridiculously tiny, pleated, pink miniskirt. So is the purple one. Bakugou is scowling like an angry dog with his arms crossed over his chest. Touya thinks the song in the background might also be called miniskirt. He feels faint. He wants to lie down. He wants—
God. “Keigo,” he hisses, and Keigo gracelessly wakes.
He looks at Touya and asks with not-inconsiderable resignation, “Is it Shouto again?”
“Why the fuck is he wearing a miniskirt?” Touya hisses, and that surprises even Keigo enough that his eyes go wide and he takes the phone from Touya and squints at it. Idiot needs glasses at twenty-six. It’s kind of cute. In a distinctly myopic way.
“Is—is that a hickey on his thigh?”
Touya facepalms. He’s going to go gray young.
…
“Shouto,” he says. “You have to—you need to stop.”
Shouto blinks. “Why?” he says. “I don’t mind it. And I think my fans appreciate it. I’m close to ten million followers. My publicist says if this continues I might even surpass Katsuki in the rankings.” He sounds particularly happy about this.
At his side, the gremlin scowls. In a rare moment of kinship with Touya, he says, “I told him to quit it, but he won’t listen to me. The comments are vile. And Hitoshi thinks it’s fucking hilarious.”
Shouto makes a face. “They’re just—spirited,” he protests. “Surely they don’t all—,” here, he reddens. “They can’t all be serious.”
Bakugou sighs and rubs at his temples like this is a conversation he’s had too many times for his liking. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that people wanna fuck you, huh?” he hisses. “Goddamnit, Shouto.”
“But I don’t—I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s the kind of activity that requires mutual consent,” Shouto says. “And besides, with my quirk, I would be, um, particularly hard to force.”
“Oh my God,” Katsuki says.
Touya definitely agrees with the sentiment. “That’s not the point, Shou.” He kind of wants to make Shouto retire early and maybe move to a remote island where his smitten boys can take turns fanning him with giant palm leaves and feeding him fresh fruit. He just—he wants Shouto to be safe, to be cared for.
“But I have you,” Shouto says. “Don’t I? Nii-san and Katsuki and Hitoshi. And Momo and Izuku and everyone else. Why would I—why should I feel bad when I love you all so much? You take good care of me. The rest doesn’t matter.”
And, like—
It’s a cheap shot.
“You should still care, idiot,” Bakugou says. “Doesn’t make it okay for random extras to ogle you.”
Touya glares at him. If anyone’s going to call Shouto an idiot, it’s going be Touya. Certainly not some blond punk who couldn’t take directions and ended up in a committed relationship with his little brother despite Touya’s explicit instructions to fuck right off. He does have a point currently, though. Touya will concede to that.
“Ah,” Shouto says, like something has finally clicked in that place above the clouds where he likes to live. “Is this about parasocial relationships? Because Momo says we shouldn’t encourage those with our fans. For their health as well as our privacy and safety.”
At least his best friend can talk some (occasional and accidental) sense into him.
Bakugou huffs. “Dumbass,” he says. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Shouto doesn’t look especially bothered. “Even if you didn’t,” he says. “I would still have Hitoshi and Touya-nii.”
“Brat.”
“But you love me.”
“Doesn’t mean it gives you the right to abuse it.”
“But—”
“Brat,” Bakugou repeats firmly. “Spoiled, too. Your brother’s fault, I’m damn sure.” But he sounds unmistakably fond.
And maybe—
Maybe he’s not too bad. Maybe neither of them is. As long as they make Shouto happy.