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Hospital coffee is irredeemable. The hunched-over figure took another sip and sneered at the burnt aftertaste, reaching up to wipe a small trickle that escaped through painfully cracked lips. His beady red eyes roved aimlessly around the over-bright basement cafeteria before returning to his table. Irritated—more than usual, that is—the man tapped a chipped nail impatiently against the unpleasantly sticky tabletop. Dabi would owe him for this. He hoped whoever his right-hand man was visiting in the hospital above was worth it.
Mind circling around creative ways he could take his frustration out on Dabi after the other man was done, he didn’t even realize someone had approached his table until a lunch tray was placed down in the spot across from him. His head shot up—way up, to take in the near-giant looming over his table.
“Mind if I sit here?” the strange man said affably, squatting down awkwardly to bring his face into range.
The young man was roughly his age but several inches taller than him and twice as broad, though the way the man’s white coat was pulled taut across thick shoulders indicated his large size was pure muscle. Lit from behind with sickly fluorescence, his face and hair nearly as pale as his coat, the strange man appeared nearly other-worldly.
Coat. White coat. Oh.
“Sorry, doctor,” Shigaraki mumbled into his coffee, starting to rise. “Table’s yours.”
“Don’t feel like you have to leave on my account, doll,” the man said with an exaggerated wink. The cafeteria chair groaned as he sat down across from Shigaraki, flimsy plastic straining under his bulk.
Shigaraki froze at the unexpected words as the doctor began to eat, seemingly oblivious to his table mate’s internal struggle. Flinching away from benign slate eyes, Shigaraki looked down awkwardly at his own hands, knuckles chapped and paper-white where they gripped the paper cup of coffee. One of his sleeves had slightly ridden up, exposing the full-sleeve tattoo that marked his profession. Shit. Shigaraki hastily pulled it down, and adjusted the neck of his shirt too for good measure, before looking up at the doctor to ensure the ink hadn’t been noticed. Small red eyes met gray, and Shigaraki knew he’d been made.
But the doctor didn’t react other than to give a pleasant smile. “So are you here for yourself, or visiting someone else?” The strange man popped a chip into his mouth and Shigaraki followed thick but surprisingly dexterous-looking fingers as they brushed crumbs from around plush lips.
“What?” Was this doctor making casual conversion? People didn’t just make casual conversation with Shigaraki. People gave him a wide berth in the streets; children screamed and ran the other way; sane adults knew not to come up to him and definitely not try to talk to him. “I’m not telling a stranger that.”
“My name’s Natsuo. There, I’m not a stranger anymore.” The doctor—Natsuo, whatever—drank some of his own coffee and grimaced, before flashing a devastating sheepish smile. “And what’s your name?”
“Tenko,” Shigaraki whimpered, before breaking into a coughing fit. Why did he give his name—his actual name?
The stranger half-rose in his chair, arm reaching out towards Shigaraki’s back, but mercifully restraining from actually touching. “Are you okay?”
Shigaraki coughed once more before taking a deep sip of now-cold coffee. “Peachy,” he choked out rudely.
To his surprise, the other man just laughed at the reaction. A big laugh, head tipped back, guileless and open, warm and welcoming. Shigaraki looked around furtively to ensure it wasn’t bringing unwanted attention to their table, but he found the corners of his mouth turning up against his bidding.
The doctor had just sat back down and picked up his sandwich again when a soft buzzing made the large man freeze. Mouth twisted in good-natured displeasure, he fished a cellphone from his coat pocket.
“Dang it,” he said. “They need me on three.” The stranger peered over at Shigaraki and narrowed his eyes in quick contemplation, before fiddling with his phone for a second and passing the device over.
Shigaraki held the phone gingerly between two fingers and looked at the doctor in irritated bemusement. “What?”
“For your number. So we can continue this conversation.”
What conversation?! Was Shigaraki taking crazy pills? What was going on? And an even better question—why had he already started inputting his information into the blank contact form the phone had been opened to? Why was the contact name ‘Tenko’ with a kissy-face emoji next to it?!
“Thanks, Tenko,” the man said, taking the phone back with another wink. “I’ll talk to you later.”
And just as suddenly as he’d appeared at Shigaraki’s table in the first place, the strange pale giant of a doctor was gone, as if he’d never even been there. Shigaraki stared down at his cold coffee.
What the fuck had just happened?
[Unknown Number]
Hey, you up? Wyd? I’m getting off right now
*off of work lol
Shigaraki squinted at his phone as it buzzed to life. He paused his game and picked it up, noting the unknown number. Who on earth would be texting him at… 2 in the morning? His cell number was unlisted, and the security software layer he’d installed was usually pretty good at weeding out spam.
[Shigaraki]
Who is this and how did you get this number?
[Unknown Number]
The handsome doctor from the cafeteria
…handsome doctor? What?
Oh wait. Shigaraki remembered, from several days earlier. He’d been half-convinced he’d hallucinated their interaction by that point. So what was he supposed to say in response? What did normal people text like?
Wait, why was the doctor calling himself handsome? Had the doctor been handsome? Shigaraki had never found anyone handsome before, but he did recall feeling oddly flustered. Was that the same as finding someone handsome?
Fuck. What was the doctor’s name? Was he allowed to ask? Or is this one of those things where he should pretend to remember? Screw it, maybe he should just forward the number to All-for-One and ask him to have their tech guys run it through the system. (But no, for some unknown reason he didn’t quite want his boss to know about this… handsome doctor. Yet, at least.)
[Shigaraki]
I have forgotten your name.
[Unknown Number]
Lol no worries, Tenko
It’s Natsuo
Right, Natsuo. First names already. Shigaraki couldn’t remember the last time he’d used someone else’s first name, nor the last time someone had used his—let alone his real first name. Hell, Shigaraki didn’t even know Dabi’s first or last name, and that walking ad for fire safety was his goddamned roommate.
Carefully, Shigaraki created a new contact for the doctor. Remembering how his own contact had been created in the other man’s phone, he added a similar emoji. And stared at it, unsure how it made him feel.
[Shigaraki]
Hello, Natsuo.
[Natsuo😘]
What are you up to?
Thinking about me?
[Shigaraki]
What? No?
I’m playing video games.
[Natsuo😘]
Alone?
[Shigaraki]
Yes?
Was this a setup? Was the doctor a plant by one of his boss’s enemies, someone trying to gain entry to their criminal syndicate? An undercover government agent? Or was he maybe an assassin, hoping to get Shigaraki alone and end him?
[Natsuo😘]
Wanna meet me at IO Arcade in an hour?
First round of tokens on me
Shigaraki should say no. He should tell his security team. He should find his bodyguards. He should not be going out alone at 2 in the morning to meet someone who is a complete stranger, who may or may not have nefarious motives, who may or may not even be a doctor named Natsuo. He most certainly should not say yes.
[Shigaraki]
Yes.
Five hours later, stumbling home under a slowly lightening sky, claw-machine plush tucked under one arm and the phantom press of lips lingering on his cheek, Shigaraki almost smiled.
Shigaraki hummed as he got dressed. Things had been going well.
Things had been going too well.
It was taking a lot out of Shigaraki to not ask All-for-One to run Natsuo through their hacked copy of the national police database. It was taking even more for Shigaraki to not sic his own subordinates on the trail, to follow Natsuo around and figure out whether the doctor was as genuine as he seemed. Hell, he’d even held off giving a name to his right-hand man, and Dabi lived with him.
He zipped up the lightweight black sweatshirt, examining his profile in the mirror to ensure the gun holster at the small of his back was fully hidden. The doorbell rang, and he cursed, checking the clock on his phone. Natsuo was early.
Rushing through the hall, Shigaraki nearly fell down the half staircase to the main level. But his hurry had been to no avail—Dabi had gotten to the door first. And opened it.
“...Natsuo.”
“Touya?”
From his vantage point behind Dabi, Shigaraki couldn’t make out his roommate’s expression. But the surprise and confusion on Natsuo’s face was clear as day. “You, uh. You know each other?” Shigaraki asked lamely, scratching his neck in discomfort.
“Um,” Natsuo hemmed, unsure of what to say.
“You could say that,” Dabi drawled, turning to look at Shigaraki. He indicated the visitor with his thumb. “Todoroki Natsuo, middle son of Senior Police Commissioner Todoroki Enji. And one of my younger brothers.”
“What?” Shigaraki’s mouth dropped.
“Well, technically you died seven years ago. So I’m considered the oldest son now,” Natsuo said lightly.
“You don’t seem overly shocked to see me,” Dabi retorted.
“You’ve been visiting mom. She recognized you on one of her good days. Doctors said she was seeing things again, but she was adamant. Besides, now I owe Shoto a thousand yen; he’s always been convinced you’d faked it.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Shigaraki wheezed out, looking at Dabi. “You’re brothers? I’ve been dating your brother? I slept with your brother?”
“Oh shoot, hey, Tenko, deep breaths, sweetheart.” Natsuo rushed over and grabbed Shigaraki’s hand, placing it atop his own heart. “Follow my breathing. In. Out. There you go, again.”
Shigaraki looked up into calm gray eyes and felt his panic ebb slightly. “Right. Hi. Sorry. I didn’t—”
“Hey, no worries.” Natsuo smoothed down Shigaraki’s hair and tucked it back behind dry ears. “We kinda skipped the whole ‘who’s your family’ and ‘what do they do’ and ‘are they on the same side of the law’ stuff. I’m not expecting it all to be smooth sailing—though finding you living with my dead brother isn’t something I’d planned for.”
“Fuck,” Shigaraki said, pulling slightly away to look over to Dabi. “Is this—”
“Weird as fuck?” Dabi raised an eyebrow, and it pulled the burn scars covering his face unpleasantly taut. “Yeah. He worth it?”
“I… think so?” Shigaraki looked over at Natsuo, who gave him a small lopsided smile.
He was surprised to find that he meant it. Natsuo was so fundamentally good that sometimes it made Shigaraki uncomfortable. There was no way the man had ever even so much as stolen candy from a baby—he ran free health clinics for homeless children on the weekends, for crying out loud.
And yet, Natsuo had never made him feel less than. Shigaraki had never come right out and said ‘hey, I’m the heir apparent to a large crime syndicate,’ but Natsuo had watched as he’d slipped off his holster and left it on the side table when Shigaraki had stayed the night. Natsuo had traced scars and full body tattoos with eyes and later dexterous fingers. But Natsuo had never asked, and Shigaraki was grateful for that.
Maybe someday they would have that conversation. But not today.
“I think so too,” Natsuo said, placing a small soft kiss on the angular jut of Shigaraki’s jaw.
“Ugh,” Dabi groaned, rolling his eyes. “Young love. Get the fuck outta here and let me wallow in my singleness alone.”
Shigaraki allowed himself to be tugged out the door, but mentally he was caught on Dabi’s words. Love?!
Natsuo had been running behind, coming to dinner directly from work—and he’d dropped Shigaraki a text ahead of time, so it’s not like Shigaraki had any reason to complain, and Natsuo was only going to be five minutes late. But Shigaraki had just gotten back from a week in the northern mountains dealing with some gigantic ally of All-for-One’s (gigantic headache was more like it), and he just wanted to see his… boyfriend? Partner? Lover? Ugh, gross. No, Shigaraki just wanted to see his Natsuo, damn it.
The restaurant door opened. Shigaraki watched his bodyguards snap to attention briefly before settling back down. He followed their gazes towards the door and he smiled.
“Natsuo,” Shigaraki said warmly, standing as the other man walked over to the table.
“Hey Tenko,” Natsuo said with a matching grin, dropping a quick kiss on his lips before sitting down. “You miss me, sweetheart?”
Shigaraki blushed and dropped his voice low enough that the bodyguards at the next table couldn’t hear him. “Always.”
The food was good, and the company was perfect. Conversation flowed seamlessly—flirty but decidedly real in a way that made Shigaraki feel seen as he’d never been before.
Natsuo was wrapping up a story about how he’d saved some child during his shift, and Shigaraki was once again overwhelmed by how positively good the other man was, when a disturbance at the front of the restaurant drew both of the men’s attention. Making their way into the restaurant were two masked men, the bird-shaped leather plague masks on their faces marking them as Shie Hassaikai members, and the guns in their hands making it clear that this was neither a friendly nor accidental encounter.
Fuck. Shigaraki had known Overhaul was pissed after their recent deal had fallen through, but he’d figured it would blow over. All-for-One had said it would blow over. That’s what Shigaraki got for listening to his boss rather than his gut—and now his life was in danger. No, fuck, now Natsuo’s life was in danger.
His bodyguards were soon standing and a volley of gunfire rang out. Shigaraki reached to push Natsuo’s head behind the booth seat, other hand reaching for the gun he kept at the small of his back. In almost slow motion, Shigaraki watched as bullets found targets—his bodyguards both crumpled, though they took one of the gunmen down with them.
Then Shigaraki felt a pain, white hot and sudden, deep in his abdomen. He heard a scream—was it his own, or Natsuo’s?
“No, no, no,” Natsuo chanted manically, scrambling over Shigaraki’s slouching body.
The other man finished retrieving Shigaraki’s gun from his back holster, and flicked the safety off with trembling hands. The tender hands that Shigaraki loved, the skilled hands that saved people’s lives every day. The hands Shigaraki had hoped to never have to see like this.
Natsuo held the gun up and pointed it at the center of the remaining gunman’s chest. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, flinching as the gun fired. The bullet veered wildly off-course, but luckily directly upwards, lodging itself into the man’s forehead.
Quickly dropping the gun, Natsuo turned back to Shigaraki, who was staring at him with a look of saddened awe.
“Angel,” Shigaraki gasped wetly. “I love you.”
“No, stay with me,” Natsuo pleaded, holding his coat down against the rapidly-growing red blotch on Shigaraki’s stomach. “Tenko. Tenko!”
“My Natsuo,” Shigaraki choked out, before falling silent.
Natsuo tied the coat around Shigaraki’s middle and started chest compressions, praying that someone had called an ambulance. He knew the odds, knew that there was too much blood, that it was taking too long. But he tried, and didn’t let up until EMTs dragged him away.
Natsuo brushed off his knees as he stood up, looking down at the single white rose he’d left on the gravestone. He was the only one still there; All-for-One’s empire had unraveled after the shooting, and most former members had gone underground. Touya had dropped by the funeral briefly to pay his respects, but dipped as soon as it was acceptable. Natsuo didn’t blame him.
No, Natsuo understood. He wiped a speck of dust from his hand, just as he’d wiped his loose affiliation with All-for-One from his life.
Six months of dating the heir to a criminal syndicate—it had been exhilarating in some ways, but Natsuo wouldn’t miss all the worries that came with it. The late nights, dangerous missions, waiting for news. He’d put up with it out of love, and wouldn’t change a thing given a do-over, but he was glad to be putting that chapter of his life behind him.
The subway ride back to the hospital seemed longer than normal, but the bittersweet pain ached slightly less as he made his way up towards his mother’s room.
Todoroki Rei smiled at Natsuo before holding a finger to her lips and pointing at the chair beside her bed. Touya was passed out, head tipped back and snoring gently.
Natsuo smirked gently before taking the other chair. “How’s your new roommate?” he asked softly.
They both turned to look at the second bed in the room, newly occupied for the first time in years. Tenko slept soundly, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. The medical team had finally de-intubated him, deeming his breathing to be strong enough on its own.
“He was awake for a bit while you were at his bodyguards’ funeral,” his mother whispered back. “Asked for you, and for grape jelly, before going back to sleep.”
Natsuo just smiled softly. “He doesn’t even like grape jelly—that’s my favorite.”
“You found a good one.”
“Yeah,” Natsuo agreed.
He’d found a good one—and he was going to hold on to him. With All-for-One’s empire collapsing, Natsuo had no idea what Tenko’s future would hold. He just knew it would include him.
It was funny—when he’d been bleeding out, Tenko had called Natsuo an angel. But now, looking at the wan man in the hospital bed, white paper gown and ice-blue hair spread out in a messy halo around his head?
All Natsuo could think was, ‘takes one to know one.’