Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keigo stops moving, hand halfway posed to key in his door code. The door to the apartment unit right next to his own closes by itself, Blueflame Villain Dabi paused in the middle of stepping away from it. 

They stare silently at each other; Dabi forgoes pulling his face mask properly into place. A distant part of the hero recognizes that it’s only because he’s out of feathers that he even runs into the villain. Runs into the villain at his second apartment, his safehouse that the Commission knows nothing about. 

Because of course. Why not? 

Keigo picked this place out after months of extensive searching, under the noses of the Commission and civilian fans alike. It’s a nice building, he really likes it—modest on the inside, yeah, but he doesn’t need much, and it’s in a neighborhood rough enough to be securely private by nature, full of passersby who mind their business and keep their mouths shut. 

He’s rather attached to this place, not too keen on being forced out because of this burnt villain. He wishes he could have stayed ignorant. If he’d had enough feathers to fly through his balcony window like usual, he never would’ve met Dabi here—here, where Keigo is featherless, almost completely unarmed before an infamous villain.

So, in other words, Keigo’s luck is absolute shit.

He has one quill left in his coat, dagger sized, and there’s still Dabi’s ill-matched quirk to consider. Keigo is vulnerable and exposed and a little pissed that today might be the last anyone ever hears about the No. 3 Hero Hawks. 

They continue to stand frozen, staring at each other. Surprisingly, Dabi doesn’t look murderous, but pained. Not like he has an injury—Keigo should be so lucky—but something is making him hesitate. 

“Tell me I’m being pranked,” the villain mutters, looking up and down the hallway. It’s empty, thankfully. Keigo knows he has exactly one neighbor, having relatively consistently sensed other people only in the unit directly beside his own. Seeing Dabi come out of said unit is horrifying, but the fact that he has yet to attack gives Keigo tentative hope that the rest of the League of Villains isn’t about to come out behind him. “This cannot be real.” 

“What the fuck.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. Part of him still hopes this is a hallucination induced by his exhaustion, and he doesn’t want to give it power by interacting with it. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Hero?”

“Me? I’m not a wanted villain! I can actually afford to—”

“Okay, cut that classist shit out right now, Birdbrain.” 

Keigo whisper-shouts, “There’s nothing classist about being able to write my government name on a lease without heroes swarming the building to take me out!” 

“Sounds definitional to me,” Dabi sniffs. “The fact that villains can’t find anywhere to safely live directly functions to induce and/or worsen poverty, thereby serving as one mechanism that pushes folks toward criminalized means of—”

Keigo does not want to hear his own beliefs reiterated by a villain, no matter how pleasantly rasping and podcast worthy his voice is. “You are not seriously trying to argue with me about—”

“Not only am I arguing with you, but I’m also correct. Look at me; I obviously speak from experience. You can’t dismiss what we both know is—”

“Is beside the point when the real question is what the shit are you doing here?” 

Before Dabi can snark something in response, a large man with a shock of white hair pulls open the door and shouts, “Aniki, you gotta—oh, shit. You’re still here.” 

He had bumped into Dabi, posed as if to run down the hall and nearly taking Dabi off his feet, but the pair catch themselves rather easily. The door drifts closed again. 

“I mean,” Todoroki Natsuo continues, entirely too casual, “not that I’m not glad I caught you before I had to go to the store myself, but why are you still—” Dabi points, directing his attention so that the college student cuts himself off with an eloquent, “Oh, shit.” 

Keigo is standing very still. Todoroki Natsuo pinches his lips together like he’s trying to suck the words back in. He does so with his back to the villain, almost as if in an attempt to shield him from view, which is ultimately what gives Keigo back his voice. 

“Dabi,” he asks, voice reedy and thin, “why is Todoroki Natsuo calling you bro?” 

Said man pulls a face. “Gross, you’re like a fanboy fanboy, huh? I can't believe you recognize me.” 

“Is it so strange to recognize my coworker’s kid?” Keigo frowns. Natsuo looks so much like his father. 

“The bastard himself hardly recognizes me, so yeah, it is.” 

Keigo can’t respond to that before a woman sticks her head out the door. There are specks of red interspersed with white in her loose braid, and so, naturally, Keigo’s stomach crawls up to take residence in his throat once more. 

“Ah, good, you caught him,” Todoroki Fuyumi hums. “Did you tell him that—” Her brother looks at her with wide eyes, rapidly shaking his head. Dabi sighs and stares past everyone with deadened eyes. “Aiyah, I gave you one job, Natsu! Yacchan, you’re cooking dinner, so grab the ingredients for chicken karaage. I think you have the basics, but you make it a little different from me and I don't need your whining about—hey, are you listening to me? What—ah.” 

Maintaining eye contact, she tries to slowly go back inside. Keigo can’t blame her, but if he has to suffer this, so does she. He greets, “Todoroki Fuyumi.” 

She smiles mechanically back at him. “Pro Hero Hawks.” 

There's silence for a good minute. Then Keigo, more patiently than he thought he could manage, asks, “Anybody gonna explain why two of Endeavor’s children are playing house with the villain known for his desire to kill the man?”

Seconds tick by through molasses. Natsuo looks away, rubbing at the back of his head, and Fuyumi’s fake smile pinches in the corners. Dabi declares, “I am not doing this shit.” 

Fuyumi didn’t close the door when she stepped out in earnest, so Keigo had assumed there would be no more surprise arrivals. He is a fool. That apartment next door to his own is a clown car made for horror, each reveal worse than the last. 

Todoroki Shouto sticks his head out around the door jamb when Dabi tries to walk back in. 

“Why are you still here? You left forever ago to get painkillers. My dose is gonna wear off before you—” He cuts himself off, noticing Keigo. A terrible grin stretches across his face. “Are we neighbors? Oh, this is good. This is hilarious.” 

“Brat,” Dabi snaps, “don’t you dare. Go lay your ass down.” 

Shouto hobbles out into the hallway with the rest of them, bundled up in a blanket, probably for the way he’s visibly shivering though it likely doesn’t help that he’s also visibly sweating. Quirk overuse? Looks like a sprained ankle, too, and something is off about his left wrist. If there was a fight, shouldn’t it have been against Dabi? But—

Keigo cannot take this anymore. “What is going on here? Am I being pranked? Who the fuck is Yacchan? Why is Todoroki Natsuo calling Blueflame Villain Dabi his bro? How long have we been neighbors? Actually—who lives in this apartment? Please do not tell me you’re living with the children of the man you want dead, Dabi. How in the everloving fuck did you pull that off? Is this a quirk? A trap?”

“Do you not need to breathe?” Dabi demands. “Fuckin’ hell, man.” 

Keigo flips him off, looking at Shouto. “Why are you hurt, Shouto-kun? What—”

“I don’t like alcohol,” he declares succinctly. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Natsuo says, “I’ll do it for you, Otouto. Boy wonder got drunk for the first time—by himself so that no one could record the fallout for blackmail purposes—and then decided to fight a statue. Then, like anyone with a fire quirk, he attempted to use his quirk to get sober.”

“Yes, and it worked, so the end,” Shouto interrupts. Fuyumi catches him as he tries to stumble closer to Natsuo to shut him up. “The end, Natsu!” 

“Yeah, it would have been,” his brother smirks, dancing around to the other side of Dabi. The villain has his face in his hands. “Except he used his ice first, nearly went hypothermic, and tried to correct that with his fire until he was nearly hyperthermic. Finally sober and deciding to exercise the same level of genius he had been throughout the night, he came here instead of, say, to a trained medical professional.” 

“I came here for help so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed, which is why I didn’t go to your judgemental ass. You’re not even a professional yet, so—!”

“I am also not prone to panic at the slightest injury,” Natsuo interrupts, eyeing Dabi. “I wouldn’t have—”

Dabi swats at the back of his head. “Oi, you little bitch, I—”

“Boys,” Fuyumi snaps, “can we please shelve this for later? We have slightly bigger issues than your respective idiocy, self-importance, and medical incompetence.” 

They chorus a Sorry, Yumi in perfect synchronization, remembering Keigo’s presence again. Leaning against the door for balance, Shouto declares, “Guys, I have a great idea.”

“No, you don’t, Frostfire. You’re hungover and high, none of your ideas are good.”

Shouto resists all efforts to shuffle him back inside, insisting, “No, Aniki, this one is great.”

“Okay, so this Aniki thing is universal. Cool.” Keigo wishes he could cry. Why couldn’t it have been the League? All three of Endeavor’s children living here, being so friendly with Dabi, feels a bit excessive. 

Shouto tilts his head in confusion. “What else should I call—”

“This is your fault,” Fuyumi hisses, slapping a hand over her youngest brother’s mouth and glaring at Dabi. “You overdosed him on Advil!” 

The arsonist grumbles, “What happened to shelving this for later? I only gave him a little extra ‘cause they were expired! I didn't have the doctor here to give me an alternative,” Dabi gestures at Natsuo. “Besides, I do that all the time and I'm fine!”

Natsuo blinks several times in quick succession. “Excuse you? You're what?”  

“Don't act like you’re some paragon of health yourself, Yacchan!” 

“Guys,” Shouto interrupts, pulling free of his sister, “my idea. Can’t we argue about Touya later?”

“Touya?” Keigo repeats it in case the kid is confused about who he’s talking about. Shouto seems out of it enough to give Keigo the flimsiest sense of hope. “You mean Dabi?” 

“You can’t call him that yet.” Dabi frowns but doesn’t disagree. “You have to earn it, like us.” 

“Todoroki Shouto,” Dabi frowns with full-body incredulity. “What the fuck? You don’t gotta earn shit from me, kid.” 

Keigo would be confused, except he’s been confused so long that it’s meaningless now. Dread pools thickly enough in his stomach to color his vision. “How did you earn it?” 

“It’s because we’re—”

Three sets of hands come flying to cover Shouto’s mouth as he attempts to dodge and block. His mobility is limited by the consequences of his drunken mishaps, but his siblings are sympathetic enough regarding the injuries that Shouto escapes their grasping. Dabi catches him, one scarred hand over his mouth and the other arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

He glares at Keigo, snarling, “You ask way too many questions. Can’t you see the little heathen is fucked up right now? He’s not fit for an interrogation.” 

Shouto pouts, apparently not at all worried about being restrained with his back to a villain. His brother and sister are similarly unbothered—in fact, they look relieved, picking Shouto’s fallen blanket up off the floor. Keigo absolutely cannot relate. 

“Okay, no. Someone needs to tell me what’s going on. Answer quickly.” 

Keigo can have heroes here in minutes. It should have occurred to him earlier, but he isn’t really in the habit of calling for backup. Furthermore, he doesn’t have enough information. Depending on the actual dynamics here, any potential backup he calls could be dealing with up to four hostiles, and the slightest hesitation before arresting the children of the No. 2 Pro Hero would bite them all in the ass. 

Horrified, Dabi yelps, “You nasty freak—did you just lick me?”  

“Yes,” Shouto answers grimly, tongue sticking stiffly out the whole time, “and it was awful. Your salve concoction is on my tongue.” 

Dabi and the older Todoroki siblings make identical faces of disgust, which means no one can stop Shouto from continuing, decreasingly comprehensible but Keigo can translate, “Touya is our eldest brother. He’s still Dabi to you, but you get it.” 

Shouto then uses Dabi’s sleeve to clean said salve concoction off of his tongue. Dabi snaps out of the frozen despair he and his alleged siblings share upon deciphering Shouto’s announcement in order to scrub the saliva out of his sleeve and into Shouto’s hair, cursing at him. “You are so fucking gross, you hellsent—”

Keigo nods, “Oh. Okay. You’re siblings. Endeavor only has three children, but the four of you are siblings. Sure. The eldest of the Todoroki siblings wants his father dead,” he shrugs. “Naturally.” 

“If the old man got to kill Touya, then it’s only fair that Touya gets to kill him back,” Natsuo fiercely returns. 

“I’m too young to have blood pressure this high,” Fuyumi breathes.

Dabi groans. Shouto blinks sleepily from where he’s sagging increasingly against him. “Of course you just expose our secret and sleep through the consequences.” 

“Invite him to dinner,” the teen slurs. Keigo’s brain stutters again. “We’ve all seen his KFC commercials. He likes chicken, and yours is my favorite.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere when you’re not even gonna be awake to eat it, Shotouto.” 

“Touya-nii,” he whines. “C’mon, you know I’m a great judge of character.” After a brief staring contest—which Keigo, though technically not a contestant, wins due to the fact that he has not had a chance to blink since this nightmare began—Dabi sighs. 

“Natsu, raid the hero’s apartment for the first aid stuff. I have no hopes for his kitchen, but check the spices anyways.” While the comment is both unfounded and rude, unfortunately Dabi is correct to write off Kegio’s kitchen. “I'll make do with whatever’s here, Yumi. Hawks, minimize the heroics so that I don't puke up my dinner tonight, thanks. If I have to see this khaki atrocity in our unit, I’ll cremate you. Ah, and invite Miruko. She got any dietary restrictions?” 

Keigo demands sharply, “What do you want with Rumi?” 

“Good, so you are friends. And watch the tone, Birdie; I’m doing you a favor. You won’t survive this—”

“He means he wants you to be comfortable,” Fuyumi translates, noticing how Keigo stiffens. “He's not threatening you!”

“Yet,” Dabi clarifies. “You clearly wanna call some backup, but I would prefer this be a neutral zone. I like it too much to level the building. And Miruko knows Fuyumi,” he adds meaningfully, watching Keigo for a reaction he very carefully does not provide, “so she’s the least likely of your buddies to start a fight at the dinner table.”

“She’s hot headed—even more than you, Dabi.” She also, Keigo knows, has the fattest crush on the primary school teacher. He hopes that she has somehow, miraculously, kept that on the downlow. “You can bet on her attacking first and asking questions later.”

“Yumi-nee can let her in and explain,” Natsuo suggests slyly, “since Miruko has that major crush on her.” 

Cheeks glowing, Fuyumi denies, “She does not! She’s only come to my classroom a couple times, and it was always for the kids. She doesn’t—she’s not—ugh, shut up!”  

Dabi smirks, “She’ll be too distracted trying to flirt with you to deal with me, and I'll get to judge if she’s even worth your time.” 

“Touya, stop talking. Of course she’ll be more focused on you than on me—you’re a villain and I'm just some random teacher! She has no reason to look twice at me if you’re there.” She pushes up her glasses, the frames having slipped in her excitement. Her brothers open their mouths again, and Fuyumi adds, “And even if you’re not!” 

“If that's the case then she’ll fail the test immediately. If she’s gonna like you, she better fuckin’ commit.” 

Shouto mumbles, “Is that what happened with Katsuki? During his kidnapping?” 

Dabi barks a laugh and Shouto glares. “He passed, didn’t he? I even helped him escape.” 

“He was more angry about that than anything else. Said the burnt out husk coddled him the whole time and then helped him get out. Said you’re fickle and can’t commit to your cause.” 

“Well, he didn’t know shit about my cause, so I'll let it go.” 

“Made Aizawa ask me about it.” Dabi winces, and Shouto snorts, “You were muttering about frostfire, what did you expect?” 

“For the hero hopeful’s pride to help him keep his mouth shut. Guess I should've expected the little soldier boy to give a proper report, though.” 

Shouto laughs, “You're not very good at keeping your secret, Aniki.”

“And whose fault is that? All the extras who found out did so because of you.” 

His grumbling is all very lighthearted, clearly an old dance of theirs. Hell if this doesn’t paint the arsonist’s patricide mission in a whole new light. To reiterate: Keigo has the shittiest luck.  

“I think my life will be easier if I arrest you now.” 

“On what grounds? I haven’t used my quirk, so you can’t nail me on villainy, and all the rest of your evidence is flimsy and circumstantial.” 

Truthfully, Keigo doesn’t need much of anything to arrest him; Dabi is a member of the League of Villains, so simply laying eyes on him is cause enough for detention. However, the part of the hero that’s moved on from tensing for a fight is entertained by the way the villain strings together his thoughts, and the rest of him is too exhausted to rein in his curiosity. He wants to see how well he can keep up. 

That’s why he argues, “You just admitted to kidnapping—”

“No, I admitted to helping a kidnapped teen escape. Two completely different things.” 

“Your brother just said—”

“My brother is an unaccompanied minor under the influence of a regrettable cocktail of mild painkillers. His testimony doesn’t mean shit. It’s inadmissible.” 

Natsuo whistles, “Maybe you should’ve been a lawyer.” 

“He’s narcissistic enough,” Fuyumi mutters. Even Keigo can tell the dig is more a product of her earlier embarrassment than any ill will. “Loves to hear himself talk.”

Shouto glares, “If you try to use me against my brother, I'll uninvite you from dinner.” 

“I think that’s the least of his worries right now, Shou-chan,” Fuyumi sighs. “You guys sort this out. I have assignments to grade and I guess I'm making dinner since even without this whole Hawks business, Shouto looks rather… attached at the moment.” 

“Touya’s warmth is very nice on my ice side,” the teen allows. “And the cold is soothing for him. It’s mutual symbiosis.” 

“It’s fine,” Dabi waves her off, implicitly agreeing. “Grade your papers and prepare for your date; you know I'm used to this koala ice pack. Feathers, call the rabbit woman. I’ll make sure we have vegetables for her. Natsu, meds. Shou, one foot in front of the other—I’m not carrying you.” 

And then he goes. Fuyumi trails after him, nagging about his tone and denying, again, how Rumi—who is already on a first name basis, Keigo notes—doesn’t have a crush so there’s no reason to call a dinner that he’s forcing Hawks to make her attend a date. 

Natsuo smiles brightly, giving him a thumbs up. Keigo listens to the siblings bickering for a moment longer before deciding, fuck it. He doesn’t want to search for a new safehouse if he doesn’t have to. Resigned to his fate, the hero enters his unit with Natsuo on his heels. 

This chicken karaage better be so good.  

Chapter Text

“When did you adopt such a suburbia mentality?” Rumi asks, distaste obvious in her tone. Her background is loud over the phone—Keigo thinks she’s finishing up her evening patrol. “You want me to meet your neighbor?” 

Want is perhaps a strong word, so Keigo ignores it. “He—”

“Ugh,” she groans. “I’m not interested.” 

“Rums, not the point.” Keeping the details as vague as possible, he explains, “I met him in the hallway just now, and he invited me and—”

“Oh, let me guess: is he a bratty bottom? Am I your wingwoman? It has been a while since—” 

“Rumi. No. I—no.”

“Then is he pushy? Chickendick, I don’t wanna pretend to be your girlfriend. All it takes is one overly sensitive douchebag who can’t take a hint to sell the lie to the tabloids and then I’ll have to deck another pushy paparazzo. Is that what you want? Not like I care about popularity polls, but I don’t enjoy fighting people who are that far below my level.” 

Natsuo looks up from the first aid kit when Keigo groans, making towards the kitchen with a glance over his shoulder at the hero. He notes that Natsuo took the wound disinfectant and nothing else, despite Keigo’s extensive collection of pain medication. He didn’t think anyone was actually planning to give Shouto more meds—they probably just wanted to kill enough time to have the teen forget about it—so even though he knows his supplies are being filched for Dabi, the hero just waves Natsuo on. 

Keigo breathes. His shitty luck is going to take him to his grave. “Rumi, please come over to eat dinner with my new neighbors tonight. I have some surprises for you.” 

“I love surprises,” she laughs. “In that case, why not? I can be there in an hour. Should I bring anything?”

“Alcohol,” he immediately answers. RIP Shouto, but Keigo is an adult who knows his limits and needs something to calm his nerves. Hell, he might die tonight. “And an open mind. A very open mind.” 

He can feel her suspicious look in the silence. “Keigo.” 

“I cannot stress this enough, Rumi. Alcohol and an open mind. Open enough to rival the cosmos.” 

“Poetic,” Natsuo snorts. “But, yeah. Very necessary.”

“Oh ho, is that him? Your neighbor is with you now? Aww, I hope I haven’t embarrassed you, Kei-kun,” Rumi teases, voice mercilessly gleeful. 

“Yes, one of my neighbors is here with me now.”

“One of? Oh, you dog, don’t tell me—”

“Okay, see you in an hour, love you, bye,” Keigo hangs up. At least he knows better than to ever have her on speakerphone. He stares dead-eyed at Natsuo. “She’ll be here in thirty minutes.” 

“That’s good,” Natsuo grins. “Touya hates eating cold food, but he won’t start without all the guests.” 

“Lovely,” Keigo mutters. At least the suspected second in command of a terrorist organization is a good dinner host. Keigo only narrowly resists the urge to claw his own eyes out. Why is this his life? He doesn’t want this to be his life. “This dinner better be worth the beatdown Rumi is going to give me.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Natsuo dismisses. “I’ll put you in contact with the support group.” 

Keigo marches to the kitchen to pour two fingers of vodka directly into his mouth. “The what?” 

“Don’t drink on an empty stomach, and don’t drink when you're emotional.” Natsuo rises to take the bottle. He pours two shots but keeps them away from Keigo’s hands. “Wait until Miruko gets here.” 

Valid point; Keigo is not, and does not want to become, an alcoholic. That doesn't stop him from staring forlornly at the shots, though. “Is there actually a support group, or were you just saying that?” 

“Shouto really has told a lot of people,” Natsuo laughs, rubbing at the back of his head. 

“Define a lot.”

“Well, most of his class plus some other friends were all told out of necessity, you know, with the whole kidnapping thing.” He’s referring to the inaugural event of the League of Villains. The mass abduction of over a hundred individuals from a crowded mall, civilians and students like Bakugou Katsuki alike, all of whom were kept in unknown locations before being released at random over the course of three days, doesn’t seem like something to wave off as the kidnapping thing to Keigo, but what does he know? He lets Natsuo continue. “And Eraserhead also told Present Mic. The UA principal knows, obviously, because Nedzu-san knows everything.” 

Keigo wants to relax into the knowledge that Eraser and Nedzu are already on board with this Todoroki drama, but he can’t. He wants those shots even more now. He hopes, “And that’s it?” 

“No,” Natsuo laughs, laughs, like Keigo is a fool to have asked. “That many people found out and our world still didn’t end, so of course there’s more. Yumi’s the most cautious—no one knows from her, but I guess that’ll change with Miruko now—and Shouto takes the most chances by far. He figures out who he’s eventually going to slip up around within three conversations with them, and so far it’s been fine.”

“It’s been fine,” Keigo repeats, working his jaw. “How? Dabi’s okay with this? Ah, never mind. Of course he is—he lets you guys walk all over him. Let me rephrase. Why is Shouto risking so much?” 

Natsuo shrugs, but it isn’t as nonchalant as he’s probably going for—which Keigo appreciates, since he’s been entirely too fucking cavalier about this whole thing. “Shou worries that if Touya-nii ends up too isolated, he’ll do something he can’t come back from—like actually kill the old man.”

Keigo blinks for emphasis. “Is that not literally his whole thing.” 

“I mean, yeah, he says he wants to, but that’s more about the threat. He doesn’t want Endeavor to forget that there’s someone watching from the shadows, willing to dirty his hands if the geezer slips up. Touya would kill him for one of us, but Shouto figures if we can get enough outside support, especially from heroes, we’ll have more options. It won’t ever get to that point.” 

He hears the plea for what it is—Natsuo wants him to be one of those heroic outsiders providing options. It’s not a terrible idea, especially for the Winged Hero; certainly, helping Dabi now prevents a future murder. It doesn’t, however, excuse the terror the villain is causing now. Besides, who even knows if he’s worth the trouble? Keigo needs more time to think about it.

“Makes sense,” he pacifies. At the end of the day, mostly in hopes that this safehouse isn’t irredeemably compromised, Keigo wants to give Dabi a chance before anybody gets summarily written off. “We should call Fuyumi over here, though, before Rumi gets here.”

Natsuo nods, “Yeah, probably best that Miruko doesn’t see Touya until everything is settled.” 

When Fuyumi arrives moments later, Keigo does his level best to endear himself to her. He needs her to like him enough to save his life. Natsuo figures out what he’s doing immediately and mouths, I knew it! His sister is less believing of the rather obvious signs in front of her, though, and Keigo doesn’t want to take that risk. 

“Fuyumi, listen to me very carefully. Rumi has the fattest crush on you—yes, it’s fine that I told you, she doesn’t even know what embarrassment is. You would make her entire week if you smiled at her, let alone went out on a proper date.”  

Adorably red faced, Fuyumi mumbles, “Please don’t—”

“It’s the truth, and I need you to remember that.”

“I get it. Just… don’t repeat it in front of Yacchan.” 

Weird, but fine. Keigo isn’t really planning on becoming gossip friends with Dabi of all people, so. Whatever. “More importantly, I need you to remember that I told you that when Rumi gets here and tries to remove my spleen for not warning her about Dabi. Please.” 

Her brow furrows, the extra color leaving her face. “Hawks, honestly, should we even—”

“We have to. I won’t keep this from her, and she should hear it from you.” He softens, “The best chance she has of getting over whatever anger she’ll feel will come from you. She’s hotheaded, but she isn’t a fool. Rumi knows when to sit down and listen, pushing her immediate reaction aside.” 

Natsuo tugs on his sister’s braid. “It’ll be fine, and if it isn’t, you’ll still have us and we’ll figure it out.”

And not to harsh on their moment, but Keigo interrupts, “Actually, if you don’t stop looking so anxious and stressed out before she gets here, Rumi will kill me under the suspicion that I’ve upset you.” 

She flushes at the implication—really, it should be more of a fact at this point, but semantics—that Rumi cares that much about her. Natsuo laughs, “You really make it sound like Yumi-nee is all that stands between you and your death.” 

Keigo does not laugh. He makes it sound like that because that is exactly what it is like.

Rumi’s signature, obnoxious knock resounds through his unit not a moment too soon. Keigo gestures at the Todorokis to stay put and marches over to the door. She doesn’t have any alcohol, but she did change out of her uniform into an athleisure outfit, so maybe she brought the requested open mind. 

Barring her entry, he says, “Okay, first, take this shot.” She doesn't hesitate. “Mm, this one, too, probably. Good? Okay. Rumi, you’re joining a support group with me.”

“Wha—?” He moves so she can see the room behind him and Rumi immediately drops her line of questioning. “Fuyumi! I didn’t know you would be here. You’re Hawks’ new neighbor?” 

Fuyumi lights up, then avoids eye contact. “Ah, Rumi, I—well, not exactly. His new neighbor is my brother.”

“Your brother?” Rumi tilts her head and Natsuo waves. “So you’re the new neighbor?” 

“Occasionally, but no. Yumi means our eldest brother.” 

As Rumi starts to frown, Fuyumi gestures to the couch. “You, uh, you might want to sit down, Rumi. This might be—a lot.”

Immediately, she bounds over to Fuyumi’s side, grabbing hold on her hands. “I’m all ears,” she smiles, twitching them for effect. “Lay it on me, Snowflake.” 

That’s Keigo’s cue. He goes to shower and change into more comfortable clothes while Fuyumi breaks the news to Rumi—a cowardly move maybe, but if she’s going to kill someone, it’ll be Keigo and then Dabi, and if Keigo is going to die, he’s going to be dressed comfortably when it happens. 

When he comes out, Rumi smiles darkly at him. “The only reason I have not removed your head from your shoulders is because Fuyumi said she wanted to be the one to tell me.” 

“If Rumi wouldn’t deck me for it, I’d kiss you,” he praises. “Fuyumi, you are my favorite Todoroki.” 

“Hey! What did I do to you?” 

“I don’t owe you a life debt, Natsuo-kun.”

“You’re exaggerating, Keigo-kun,” Fuyumi warns as Rumi coos over the way she pushes up her glasses. Fuyumi is wrong but suitably distracts Rumi; Keigo will take what he can get.

Fuyumi being his savior relieves a bit of pressure off of dinner—now that it might not be Keigo’s last meal, it’ll be okay even if the dishes don’t taste like heaven. The sentiment relaxes him enough that he can smile genuinely at his companions, shuffling them outside his unit. 

“Let’s see what your brother’s done now, yeah?” 

And what a sight it is. 

Dabi has his teenage brother in a haphazardly homemade baby sling. Shouto is sound asleep on Dabi’s back, tied there with a blanket draped diagonally over his back and under one leg. There’s an ice brace around Dabi’s waist that Shouto is sitting on, and it’s slowly melting in the kitchen heat. The blanket is knotted over Dabi’s chest, its loose ends and Shouto’s arms dangling closer than Keigo is comfortable with toward the stovetop. Dabi’s neck stretches at an awkward angle to accommodate the tilt of Shouto’s head pressed into him, and one of his arms provides a stabilizing perch under Shouto’s knees. 

“Holy shit,” Rumi mutters. Keigo agrees. “Holy fucking shit.” 

Dabi looks over at them, using a fork to fluff white rice on the stove. “Dinner’s done. Neither hawks nor rabbits eat flies, so shut your fuckin’ mouths, wash your hands, and be seated.” 

Keigo and Rumi hesitate, glancing at one another. Dabi misinterprets their pause, sighing heavily. “My skin is quite literally stapled together. Nobody here gives a shit about whatever heteromorph fuckery you got going on.”

He turns his attention back to plating the food—food which smells very good, as promised. Natsuo and Fuyumi don’t look twice at their conjoined brothers, simply taking the plated dishes to the already set table. The last plate is handed off and Dabi freezes in the middle of turning off the overhead fan. 

Facing the heroes fully for the first time, he glares. “Actually—I do give a shit. Hawks, if you prefer raw chicken, you should’ve said something before I cooked extra servings. Miruko, he said fuckall about your dietary restrictions, so take out any hunger related anger on the bird.” 

Rumi, ever the fearless woman, throws herself into the seat beside Fuyumi. Eyeing the various vegetarian platters, she demands, “How do we know this is safe to eat?” 

Dabi starts smoking from his seams, eyes narrowed dangerously. Keigo guesses he should adopt a fighting stance, but he and Rumi both fail to so much as tense. He can’t stop staring; he knows Dabi and Shouto are just about the same size, yet their positioning makes the villain look impossibly soft and adorable. It’s discombobulating as hell. Keigo wants to take a picture. 

“It’s safe,” Fuyumi declares, cutting off what was sure to be Dabi snapping something awful in response to the insinuation he would place his siblings in harm’s way. “Niisan is a very good cook. But we understand if you don’t trust that! I know that it might be a lot, too much, even, for you to—” 

“Nothing is too much for me,” Rumi declares, “least of all anything this important to you, Fuyumi.” 

As he takes his own seat, Natsuo makes exaggerated heart eyes and dramatic hand motions in a mocking mimicry of the ladies that has Dabi cooling off, joining in on the teasing. Fuyumi and Natsuo’s resultant bickering wakes Shouto as Dabi tries to gently deposit him on the couch. 

“Touya-nii? There are heroes in your apartment,” he mumbles. “Oh, karaage? That’s my favorite.”

World weary, Dabi sighs, “You invited the heroes, Shou. And soba is your favorite.”

His eyes light up. “You made soba? Oh, I guess I can eat dinner, then. I’m not that tired anymore.” 

Natsuo smothers his snickers into his fork, already shoveling food into his mouth. Fuyumi swats at him, “You can’t wait fifteen seconds for them to come sit? You know he hates that you do this!” 

“And you know he lets us walk all over him, to borrow Hawks-bro’s words.” 

Keigo flees to Natsuo’s side with a hiss, dropping into the seat across from Fuyumi in hopes that sitting in the vertex between the caddy cornered siblings places him suitably outside of Dabi’s range. “Are you trying to get me cremated?” 

Taking the seat beside Rumi and across from Dabi, Shouto saves the day. “Itadakimasu!” 

Everyone’s plates are piled high with food—excluding Dabi who apparently has a small appetite. Keigo puts generous servings on his plate to make up for any insult the arsonist might have felt; Rumi does the same because she’s always got something to prove, an air of fearless daring about her. 

Staring Dabi down, she takes one bite and freezes. Looking directly at Keigo, she declares, “Yeah, I’ll join your support group. I won’t miss a single meeting.” 

And, halfway done with his serving of chicken karaage, Keigo can’t even judge her.