#addywrites

I became a footnote in your life, but you were in the final draft of mine. As I watch the ink bleed off the page, I’m wondering how I was so easily erased.

“Denks. Please. You know I love Beth Crowley as much as the next girl, but this?”

Denki glared at Jirou from his upside-down position on his bed, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as she searched his battered wit for some sort of retort. The day had been too damn long. 

“You do have your own room, you know,” he muttered, devoid of any real heat. 

When did you become this cruel? We were really something, weren’t we?

Jirou arched an eyebrow at him. “What, and let you cry yourself to sleep listening to a heartbreak playlist over a boy who has the emotional range of an inverted blood blister? A boy who fucks your brains out and then treats you like shit? This is the boy you’re crying over?”

“You don’t understand,” Denki pushed himself into a seated position, scrubbing at his eyes. 

“I will never understand men,” Jirou sighed, her tone fond as she tossed him a hairtie to get his bangs out of his face. 

“Yeah well, I’ll never understand women. Are you and Momo still planning on living together over the summer?”

“She has an internship close by and it just makes sense to - no!” Jirou pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You’re not distracting me! We’re taking about you and our resident angry pomeranian.”

Denki chuckled, the shadow of a smile on his lips that faded instantly with his next words. “There’s nothing to talk about. He made that clear.”

How do I remember us so differently? We were really something, weren’t we? Or was it just me?

“Nope! We’re done with this.” 

Jirou stood swiftly, crossing over and slamming Denki’s laptop closed, silencing Beth Crowley’s beautiful, plaintive voice before the song could repeat again. Denki glared at her, twisting his bangs up away from his forehead and securing them with the tie. 

“I’m not letting you cry for one more minute over Katsuki fucking Bakugou -”

A knock sounded at the door and Denki flinched, shrinking deeper into his blanket pile on his bed. Jirou watched him for a moment, until she realized he wasn’t planning on answering the door at all. She patted his head before she moved to pull the door open.

“What are you doing here, earphones?”

Denki peeked up, his stomach twisting when he saw Bakugou, his hand still raised as if he meant to knock again. Jirou let out a long sigh of relief.

“Thank god. I don’t know what you did, but fix this before he plays this song again and ruins any chance I have at a hero career.” Jirou rubbed at one earphone jack, glancing over her shoulder at Denki sympathetically. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Denki muttered before Jirou ducked out of the room. 

She shoved Bakugou in behind her and slammed the door, leaving them alone. Denki had half a mind to turn the music back on, but not even Beth Crowley could fix this now. Katsuki stood in the middle of the room, taking in the sight of Denki on the bed, of the smudges of eyeliner under his eyes, and even the damn ponytail his bangs made over his forehead. Katsuki’s eyebrows knit together with concern before his eyes darted around the room again.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

That was his Kacchan. Always on alert for any potential threat, and missing the true issue right in front of him. Denki huffed, tugging the hairtie out and trying to hide behind his bangs once more. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry about it.”

“When the hell did you start lying to me, Sparky?” 

“You were mean to me, Kacchan,” Denki huffed, wrapping one of his many blankets around himself like that could hide him from how pathetic his words were. “And not just mean to me. You were mean to me on the same day that I failed our history exam and had to make up this week’s practical in place of lunch, and really it’s my fault. It’s my fault for thinking that just because you had your dick in my ass, you might stop hating me for maybe even two seconds. I should have known better.”

For once, he’d actually managed to silence the explosive Kacchan. Denki sighed, crawling out of his blanket fort and moving over to his dresser, staunchly avoiding his reflection in favor of dabbing makeup remover over the eyeliner smudges. He didn’t know why he bothered; it wasn’t like Bakugou was going to be impressed no matter what he did. Today had made that perfectly clear.

“I don’t.”

Denki paused, eyes darting to the mirror where he could see that Bakugou had turned to face him, even if he kept his eyes on the floor. 

“Don’t what?”

“Hate you.”

Denki let out a long breath through his nose, shaking his head slowly, and when he spoke, his voice came out darker, more bitter than he’d allowed himself to feel in years. 

“Yeah. Sure. I can definitely tell, especially when you call me dunce-face and volts for brains.”

And there was the real hurt, under the layers of Beth Crowley’s gorgeous vocals - because yes, Katsuki had listened to the songs Denki had sent him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that out loud any time soon. He had to keep some secrets.

But the hurt was real. Denki had taken his words to heart. Every venom-laced barb that Katsuki wished he could take back two seconds after he said them, Denki had taken to heart. Denki thought he didn’t believe in him? He thought he didn’t see?

“Fuck, Denki.”

A thrill ran up Denki’s spine at the sound of his name on Bakugou’s lips, giving him a shadow of hope. But he’d learned - he’d learned where he stood to Bakugou. He was a convenient fuck, but - 

“Denki, I like you. Fuck. Fuck, I like you. And I respect you. I’m damn glad you’ve got my back in a fight, you hit like a - a fucking power station. You’re an asset, Denki. You’re an asset, and you’re gonna be a great hero, and fuck. I like your eyes. I like your eyes, and your laugh, and I know I can be a bitch. I know I’m gonna stay stupid shit and you’re going to end up hating me in the end, because I am incapable of not pushing people away when I start to care about them. But I’m trying. I’m sorry.”

Denki turned, and horror twisted Katsuki’s stomach when he saw the tears in Denki’s eyes once more. How had he fucked up that badly? 

“Shit. Shit, Denki, I - fuck, what did I say? I’ve been practicing that speech, dammit. Yeah, I didn’t expect this to be the way I said it, but I’ve been trying for fucking weeks, and I’m - fuck, Denki, that’s about the best words I’ve got, and I don’t -”

Denki shut him up before he could ramble any longer, throwing his arms around Katsuki’s neck and kissing him hungrily. Katsuki was frozen for all of two seconds before he lifted the smaller boy off the ground, coming alive under his touch. 

“You could have told me -” Denki panted out in between kisses. “-that you liked me before you fucked me, you know.”

Katsuki snorted. “Oh yeah? When? Before or after you slipped your hand down my shorts during movie night? If I remember right, you didn’t give me much of a chance to talk…”

Denki let out a strangled moan, wrapping his legs around Katsuki’s hips. “Even then?”

“Even then, Sparky.”

---

Izuku ran a hand over his tired face, wondering just which god he’d managed to piss off today. Traffic was backed up down the block, which usually only happened if there was some sort of police situation. Which meant his car probably wouldn’t be moving for the foreseeable future. Which was perfectly fine with him.

He hated driving. Hated driving in inclement weather even more. His beat-up sedan had even more beat-up windshield wipers, which were working frantically to try to keep the downpour at bay long enough for Izuku to see the taillights of the overly-ostentatious sports car in front of him.

That car probably cost more than two years’ salary for Izuku. If he had a car like that, he definitely wouldn’t have it out in the rain and…was that hail? Izuku groaned, knocking his head lightly against the steering wheel as the line of cars crept forward before easing to a stop again. Of course it was hail. Because the gods hated him and thought his car didn’t already have enough hail damage.

He peeked at his phone, nestled in the cup holder where it would stay until he got home. Which might be tomorrow morning at this rate. He hadn’t heard from Shouto yet today, but his boyfriend kept odd hours. Medical school demanded odd hours. An ache settled in his chest as he scrubbed weary fingers through emerald curls. Only one more weeks until Shouto’s school went on break, and he and Shouto could spend an entire month together.

It was days like today where Izuku really, selfishly, regretted encouraging his boyfriend to go to the best medical school in the country. Which happened to be halfway across the country. Izuku hadn’t been able to follow him - he had a job he loved here, students who needed him, his entire life had always been here. But dammit, he’d had a shitty day and he was allowed to feel miserable for himself for a moment, okay?!

He sniffled, rubbing a hand across his eyes and wincing when his eyes very painfully reminded that he hadn’t been able to get all of the glitter off his hands before leaving school for the day. They really weren’t kidding when they said it would get everywhere. Including - apparently - his eyes.

Well, at least he was already tearing up. It would make getting the glitter out easier. Izuku let out a frustrated whine, resting his forehead against the steering wheel as he allowed himself a moment to cry. It was to get the glitter out, okay?!

And of course the asshole behind him chose that moment to honk.

Izuku jumped, his foot almost coming off the clutch- which, the last thing he needed was to stall out right now - as he gave the blurry headlights behind him an exasperated look. Seriously? Who honks in a traffic jam in the middle of a goddamn rainstorm? Wiping the tears from his eyes - and smearing another resilient patch of glitter across his face - he straightened up in his seat; he just had to get through this drive, and then he could curl up in a bath and maybe talk to Shouto and try to forget this horrible day ever existed.

The brakelights in front of him flickered as the car began to creep forward and Izuku resisted the urge to flip off the car behind him as he shifted his car back into drive. He hated driving. Why did he ever let Shouto convince him to keep this car?

Because he wanted you to have a way to drive home so you didn’t get robbed on the subway again. He offered to buy you a nicer car. You said no. His inner voice reminded him snootily. How dare he want his boyfriend to be safe?

His car crept forward, his feet finding the perfect balance between the pedals to keep the car shuttering along, trying to fight the way his mind was attempting to drag him further down into his pity party.

The last thing Izuku wanted was for Shouto to feel like he couldn’t take care of himself. He didn’t want Shouto to feel responsible for him - he couldn’t be a burden.

Izuku was shocked back to the present when his car jolted, a tremor running through its shaky-but-dependable frame before Izuku’s foot slipped off the clutch and the car stalled out.

No. No no no no no. No, it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t have hit the car in front of him. He’d done the calculations in his head the entire time. He knew exactly how far his car extended in front of him, exactly how much wiggle room he had before he even came remotely close to the vicinity of potentially tapping another car.

For a moment, he sat there in stunned silence, listening to the increasingly-loud rainfall on the roof of his car. And…yep, that was definitely hail.

Because apparently the gods hadn’t tortured him enough today.

The very-expensive car he’d just rear-ended flipped its hazards on and Izuku felt his stomach drop into his toes. Okay. Apparently they were doing this here, in the middle of traffic - not like they had an option to get out of the lanes they were in anyway. Izuku tapped the button to turn his own hazards on, taking his time to try to salvage some semblance of dignity. He grabbed his wallet, already running the calculations for how much damage he possibly could have done to the very rich person’s very expensive car.

The lock stuck when he tried to open his door - like it always did - and Izuku took out some of his frustration in shouldering the door open. It popped free with a squeal, and Izuku stepped out into the rain and hail.

Of course he hadn’t brought his good jacket today.

The driver of the car behind him honked again, and really that was the last straw. Izuku whipped around, his hands trembling with exhaustion and desperation and an unhealthy amount of rage.

“Where the hell would you like us to go?! Honking just makes you look like an asshole, you know!”

The driver probably couldn’t hear him over the storm, but it did help quell some of the turmoil twisting his stomach into knots.

“Izuku?“

Izuku froze, that voice doing more for him than a weekend spent in his tub could possibly hope to achieve. He could literally feel the tension easing out of his shoulders - instantly being replaced by confusion.

He spun in place, nearly toppling over as his feet slid on the slick pavement. Getting out of the ridiculously-expensive car he’d just hit was a very familiar lithe figure, two-toned hair getting drenched immediately in the downpour. Izuku’s jaw dropped as Shouto closed the distance between them, collar of his coat tucked up against the wind and rain.

“Shouto?” Izuku wasn’t proud of the way that his voice cracked, crooked fingers reaching out. Was he dreaming? Was this some sort of stress-induced hallucination meant to protect what little sanity he had left?

Shouto reached him, taking his hands between his own, heterochromatic eyes sweeping over Izuku’s face, taking in the glitter streaked in his freckles like tiny stars, winking as the rain hit them.

“It was holiday arts and crafts day, wasn’t it?” Shouto murmured fondly, reaching up to brush a thumb over Izuku’s cheekbone, tracing a cluster of freckles.

“I swear those children have a superhuman ability to get glitter everywhere.“ Izuku shook his head, damp green curls falling in his eyes.

“If only you had a boyfriend here willing to take a very long bath with you and ensure that we find every last speck of glitter,” Shouto murmured, long slender fingers trailing down Izuku’s sides, leaving flickers of heat in their wake.

Izuku knew he had to be dreaming. Shouto couldn’t be here. He couldn’t have just rear-ended his boyfriend’s rental car in traffic during the worst storm they’d had in years on a Friday after he’d wrangled thirty kindergarteners all day and tried to stop each and every one of them from eating glue. That sort of thing only happened in rom-coms.

Granted, every day of Izuku’s life since he met Shouto had felt like a rom-com.

“What are you doing here?” Izuku whispered, committing this image of him to memory, standing soaked in the rain, looking like something out of every dream Izuku ever had for his future.

“I took my exams early,” Shouto murmured. “I caught the first flight out this morning.”

“And got the most expensive rental car they had?” Izuku eyed the scratched-up bumper on the car in question. He had no idea how he was going to pay for that.

“It’s not a rental; it’s my dad’s. Don’t worry about it.” Shouto wrapped an arm around Izuku’s waist. “I’m more worried about your car.”

Izuku shook his head; his car was the last thing he was worried about right now. “It’ll hold up. Just have to get it home.”

A clatter broke through the constant barrage of rain, and Izuku winced, glancing sheepishly over his shoulder. His fender sat haphazardly where it was half-attached to the frame of his car. He groaned, hiding his face against Shouto’s chest and drinking in the feeling of his silent laughter.

He’d missed him so damn much.

“Will you let me buy you a new car now?” Shouto asked softly.

“I can get that fixed, it’s not -”

Protests died in Izuku’s throat when he heard his fender give a final clatter as the entire thing broke off and fell to the pavement.

“…okay.”

---

Shinsou generally kept to himself since joining Class A. He’d told Aizawa that he had no intention of making friends - hell, he’d told his future classmates that before he’d even joined the class.

Not that some of them listened. They were all friendly enough - except Bakugou, but over the past year, even he’d found middle ground with Shinsou. They worked together well in training; they didn’t need to be friends. Honestly, Shinsou preferred it that way. Friends meant people around, and experience had taught Shinsou that the more time people spent around him, the faster they grew wary of him.

So far, Class A hadn’t seemed to fear him, and he’d be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t a little desperate to keep it that way. He couldn’t remember the last time none of his classmates looked at him like he was lurking in the background, waiting to strike - ever vigilant, waiting for the day he decided to use his quirk against them.

He wanted to keep this peace with Class A as long as possible. He was almost...comfortable here. He didn’t want to lose that.

He’d also be lying if he said there wasn’t one person in particular making him feel comfortable. One human embodiment of fucking sunshine would be more accurate. Ever since Denki barged into his life during the Joint Training Sessions, Shinsou knew his dedication to keeping himself distant was going to fail. That ball of energy was going to wear him down eventually.

Which is why, when Denki appeared at his doorway late one night, Shinsou didn’t even think about turning him away. Especially not when Denki’s face lifted to his, and Shinsou saw tears streaking that beautiful, sunny face.

“Shin-I-please.”

The words stuttered out of Denki, his frantic eyes searching for something in Shinsou’s face. Shinsou didn’t know what he was looking for, but he stepped aside, letting the boy into his room.

Denki was trembling. Shinsou recognized the tension in his lungs, the way his breaths rattled in his throat. He’d had more than enough panic attacks in his life to know one when he saw it. But he didn’t have a single fucking clue what Denki needed to pull him out of it, so he hovered close by as the boy shuffled forward. He closed the door behind him, watching as Denki shoved his hands through his hair, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

“Kaminari,” Shinsou murmured, not wanting to startle the boy as he took the smallest step toward him. “You’re safe.” He needed him to know that. He needed the boy to know he hadn’t made the wrong decision in coming here.

Denki nodded, the movement jerky as those wide golden eyes locked on him. “I-I-”

“You’re okay,” Shinsou promised him softly, taking another step closer when the boy didn’t flinch away. “Here, let’s get you sitting down, okay?”

Denki shook his head, little sparks flying off him into the air around them. “Can’t. I-I can’t. I need-”

Shinsou stilled, wishing like hell he wasn’t so fucking bad at this. He didn’t know how to help. He knew what helped him when his attacks were at their worst, but he didn’t think Denki would appreciate being shoved in the back of his closet and covered with a blanket.

“What do you need?”

The boy didn’t answer, staring at the floor in front of him with those wide eyes shining with desperation. Shinsou swallowed tightly; he couldn’t even be sure if the boy heard him. He took another step, and Denki’s eyes shot up to meet his.

“Denki.” Shinsou spoke softly, fingers itching to reach for him, to give him something to hold on to, but he didn’t know if that was what the boy needed. “What do you need?”

Words were clearly hard for Denki right now, and his breaths continued to spike, a wheeze settling in around each gasp of air. Shinsou needed to get him calmed down, and fast.

“Show me. Show me what you need.”

Denki’s fingers flexed in the air between them, and he made a gesture toward Shinsou, almost...beckoning. Shinsou took another step, and Denki met him in the middle, trembling fingers coming up to tap the center of Shinsou’s forehead. Shinsou went cross-eyed trying to follow the motion, his eyebrows furrowing.

Was Denki telling him to think?

Denki let out a sound almost like a whine, his chest heaving as he curled his fingers in Shinsou’s shirt. “I-you-quirk.”

Shinsou went cold. Denki wanted...his quirk? He wanted him to use his quirk on him? Was this some kind of test? Did Aizawa want to test him? Did Class A? Did they think that all he needed was an excuse?

It wasn’t that his quirk couldn’t be useful in a situation like this. He’d used it to help Eri out of her bad spirals more than once. He knew he’d be able to help Denki, but if this was all a test, he could get kicked out of school. He could lose any progress he’d made toward being a hero - hell, it would ruin his one chance if he made the wrong decision here.

He should have said no. But he didn’t. He couldn’t, not with Denki’s panicked eyes locked on him, with those lips - usually sporting a blinding smile - quivering with each frantic breath. Fuck, he’d likely regret this, but he couldn’t - he couldn’t just let him hurt. Not when he could help.

“You want me to use my quirk on you?”

Denki let out a choked sound, his head jerking in a nod. “Pl-”

That soft, aborted noise was all Shinsou needed to take his mind. The panic faded from Denki’s eyes as Shinsou’s presence wrapped around him, though his breaths were still coming much too fast for Shinou’s liking. He forced the terror into the recesses of Denki’s mind, filling him with the cool, placid calm of Shinsou’s control.

“Denki,” he murmured, his voice quiet, staring into those blank golden eyes. “Breathe. Slowly.”

He could feel Denki’s panic raging at the corners of his control, but his body responded to Shinsou’s command, his breaths slowing as the minutes ticked by, easing back from the brink of hyperventilation. His eyes had stopped darting around the room, instead staring directly at Shinsou, attentive, a blank slate waiting for his next instruction.

It was worth it, Shinsou decided. Whatever came next, it was worth it to see the fear gone from Denki’s face.

When did he start caring so much about Denki’s mental state? Longer ago than he’d like to admit, that much was for certain. Denki was one of the only people he felt comfortable around, felt like he could relax. Like he didn’t have to be anticipating another attack every second of the day.

Denki was good. He was everything Shinsou had never admitted to himself that he wanted to be. Out of everyone in their class, Denki was good. Midoriya was too, but there was an edge to Midoriya that just wasn’t there with Denki. It was like the sun itself had fallen out of the fucking sky, grown legs, and dyed its hair gold with the last of its rays.

He was getting off track. He needed to be focusing.

“How does your chest feel?” Shinsou asked quietly. “Answer me.”

It was unsettling to hear the expressionless tone in Denki’s voice. The boy had a habit of emoting more than anyone Shinsou had ever known. To hear his voice flat, devoid of anything...Shinsou didn’t like it.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Denki reported.

Shinsou nodded, giving him another moment to catch his breath. The panic slid further into memory the longer they stood there, Denki’s fingers still gripped in his shirt, and by the time he let his control fade from Denki’s mind, there was no trace of the spiraling thoughts that had driven Denki to Shinsou’s door.

The process was always disorienting. That couldn’t be helped. But Shinsou tried his best to withdraw gently, to make the transition as easy as possible for Denki. The boy’s eyebrows furrowed as he blinked a few times, settling back into himself. His eyes raised to Shinsou’s again, and a small smile tugged at his lips. This smile was different - usually, he beamed brightly for all the world to see.

This smile was just for Shinsou. And it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Thank you.”

Shinsou shrugged, and the movement drew Denki’s attention to where he still gripped Shinsou’s shirt. He dropped the fabric with a nervous chuckle, running his fingers through his mussed golden hair, disrupting the perfect lightning bolt that Shinsou had studied when no one watched him.

“Happy to help,” he murmured.

“I, uh. I didn’t know if your quirk worked like that, but I couldn’t - nothing else was working, and it was getting so loud,” Denki mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“How do you feel now?” Shinsou asked, his own anxiety creeping up the back of his neck as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Everything’s quiet again,” Denki peeked up at him, awe touching the corners of his golden eyes. “You’re incredible.”

Shinsou didn’t know how to respond to that. He hadn’t even done anything remarkable. He’d used his quirk on a classmate, something that he’d promised himself he would never do outside of training. He’d taken Denki’s mind and held him under and -

“Wait. Where’d you go just now?”

Shinsou’s thoughts jerked to a halt as Denki grabbed his chin, tilting his head down to meet those eyes again.

“This is about what Monoma and those assholes said, isn’t it?”

Shinsou couldn’t quite breathe with Denki’s fingers on his skin. He could feel the shimmer of electricity under his skin, the power that Denki could unleash at any moment. But he wasn’t afraid. Not of Denki. Denki had never given him any reason to fear him.

“They’re far from the only ones,” he murmured, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Well screw them,” Denki insisted, gesturing with his free hand as he spoke. Shinsou had to wonder if he was even capable of speaking without moving in some way.

Usually, it was his hands, dancing through the air as he chattered away. During presentations, it was his foot, tapping against the ground behind the podium. In combat, he was always moving, as if the electricity that filled him sent him into overdrive.

The Energizer Bunny itself wouldn’t be able to keep up with Denki.

“It doesn’t get more heroic than using your quirk to help. Help someone out of a burning building, out of a panic attack, same thing,” Denki insisted.

“I don’t think that’s true…”

“Tell that to me about fifteen minutes ago,” Denki huffed. “Curled up on my bedroom floor trying to convince myself to get up, trying to convince myself to breathe, trying to convince myself to do anything. I couldn’t feel my hands, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t -” He took a long breath through his nose. “Like it or not, today, you were my hero.”

Shinsou stared at him, his heart throwing itself against his ribs in an attempt to exit his body. Denki smiled again, and Shinsou felt his own fear beginning to ease. This wasn’t a test. Denki had really come to him for help. Denki had believed he could help.

“So, want to tell me why you still look terrified of me?” Denki laughed sheepishly, his fingers falling from Shinsou’s chin. He could feel his skin tingling where he’d touched him. “I know it can be kind of freaky -”

“No.” Shinsou shut that idea down immediately. “No, nothing like that. I just…” Denki had trusted him. He could trust Denki in return. “I’m not...supposed to use my quirk. Outside of training. Not that I usually need to, but...”

“Says who?” Denki’s eyebrows drew together. “Everyone uses their quirks all the time! Sero literally made a jump rope out of his tape yesterday.”

“No one’s ever expected Sero to turn villain at the drop of a hat,” Shinsou muttered, taking a few steps back, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets and dropping his eyes back to the ground. He sat down on his bed, taking a long, slow breath of his own.

“Oh shit, you’re - you’re really worried about this, aren’t you?” He heard footsteps shuffle across his carpet before the bed dipped next to him, and the hairs on his right arm stood up, drawn to the electricity coursing through Denki. So close to him.

“Shinsou.”

Shinsou shook his head, staring at the fraying threads in his carpet. It was easier to stare at those than look at Denki, as he finally understood why people feared Shinsou. Seeing Denki look at him that way just might wreck him completely.

“Hitoshi. Look at me.”

Surprise snapped Shinsou’s eyes up from the ground, seeking Denki’s curiously. No one in Class A had ever called him by his name before. The implied closeness spread through Shinsou, awakening a hope he didn’t know he’d been shoving down. Denki held his gaze steadily, his lips pulled tight in the closest approximation of a frown that he’d ever seen on that handsome face.

“No one who matters is going to be afraid of your quirk. You know that, right? Everyone in our class thinks it’s awesome that you’re so crazy powerful. We trust you,” Denki insisted softly. “I trust you. I wouldn’t have come here tonight if I didn’t. Usually I just try and ride it out on my own, but I - I thought you could help, and maybe I shouldn’t have asked, but -”

“I’m glad you did,” Shinsou promised before Denki could continue too far down that mental spiral. “I’m glad I could help you.”

Denki’s eyes wandered his face, his expression softening. “How could anyone think you’re going to be a villain?” he whispered, the words ringing so loudly in Shinsou’s ears that he may as well have shouted.

Even his parents understood where the fear came from, even if they outwardly maintained that they didn’t agree. His entire life, everyone had understood where the fear came from. Everyone. There were those who thought his quirk was awesome, and were eager to list the different ways it could be used for villainy. There were those who ran from him anytime they saw him coming down the hallway. There were those who were nice enough, but always sat just far enough away, always were cautious never to answer a question he’d asked.

The spectrum ranged from outward aggression to quiet wariness. He’d never been faced with...complete acceptance from one of his peers. One of his...friends?

Shinsou blinked, ducking his head so Denki couldn’t see the way his eyes shimmered. “If me not using my quirk out of training makes people more comfortable, I can’t blame them…”

“I can!” Denki huffed, a little spark of electricity dancing on his fingertips. “Wait. Wait! Back up. Setting aside the fact that it’s bullshit that you’re treated differently from everyone else - you used your quirk on me even though you knew it could get you in trouble?”

Shinsou rubbed at the back of his neck, the tips of his ears flushing. He’d hoped Denki had missed that.

“I couldn’t…” He sighed, staring down at his fingers, laced together over his knees. When did his hands begin to shake? “You needed help, and I couldn’t...anyone else, I could have said no. Anyone else, I probably would have said no, but you...I couldn’t say no to you.”

Denki tilted his head curiously; Shinsou could feel those eyes on him and he swallowed the nerves in his throat, trying to resist the urge to flee. This was his room. It would be childish to flee from his own room, wouldn’t it?

“Why me?”

Shinsou had been asking himself that for weeks. Why was Denki different? The idea of letting Denki suffer when he could do something to help physically hurt him. He’d rather go toe-to-toe with Bakugou for a month straight than turn his back on Denki when he needed him.

Shinsou felt Denki shift on the bed next to him, turning to face him fully. Shinsou glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his heart pounding too loud in his chest. Dammit, was he going to have a panic attack now? He tried to go through the grounding exercises Aizawa had taught him.

Three things you can see.

Carpet. Mud tracked by the door. Denki’s untied shoelace.

Two things you can hear.

Bakugou shouting at someone outside. Denki’s breathing.

One thing you can feel.

Denki’s fingers, tracing over the back of his hand, nudging between his own long, thin fingers. A spark of electricity kissing his skin. The bed shifting as Denki moves closer.

Denki’s cheek resting on his shoulder.

Denki.

The ache in his chest loosening. His breathing beginning to even out.

Denki.

The soft gasp of Denki’s breath as he turned to meet him. Denki’s fingers tightening on his. The softness of Denki’s hair as he curled his fingers through it.

“Denki.”

“Hi-Hitoshi?”

His voice soothed the panic. The feeling of him, curling closer, gripping his hand like he thought he might slip away.

Shinsou had never felt so settled. So grounded.

Falling into Denki felt more natural than breathing.

Shinsou kissed Denki before he could talk himself out of it - before he was even fully aware he was doing it. The smaller boy shifted, climbing into his lap without a moment’s hesitation and meeting him with a soft moan. Shinsou welcomed him eagerly, touch sliding everywhere, memorizing the way Denki’s spine arched when he traced it.

Denki’s free hand - because his other still gripped Shinsou’s like he had no intention of ever letting go - tangled in his hair, unknotting the soft purple strands as he went. His fingers caught on a stubborn tangle and he pulled without intending to, drawing a broken moan out of Shinsou that had him tugging harder, pressing as close as he could.

Shinsou couldn’t tell how long they sat there, exploring each other, breathing in each moan. He finally had to pull back when Denki’s free hand slipped under his shirt, curling against his stomach. He didn’t go far, resting his forehead against Denki’s as he fought to catch his breath.

“Does that explain it?” he asked breathlessly, drawn in by the laugh that swept through Denki’s entire body.

“Does that - does that explain it? That doesn’t explain anything!” Denki chuckled fondly, giving Shinsou’s hand a gentle squeeze. “But I’m willing to forgive you if you kiss me like that forever. Because holy shit, you seriously should always be -”

Shinsou leaned in to kiss him quiet again, cherishing the way Denki melted into him, feeling the last shreds of his panic fading away. There would be time for talking later. A lot of time, if Shinsou had it his way. Because things didn’t seem so scary when he had Denki Kaminari in his arms.

In this moment, it was hard to remember why he’d held himself at a distance in the first place.

--

---

The nightmares came each night, right as he attempted to lay his head down and catch a few hours of sleep. It always felt like it needed to be only a few hours, even though the war had been done for years. He couldn’t settle in one place long enough to feel...at ease.

Hange always teased him for it, singular functioning eye lighting up with unbridled care as they informed him that he would worry himself into an early grave.

It didn’t feel like it would be early. Not anymore.

He already felt like he had lived several lifetimes. The Underground, the Scouts, the War...each time, life molded him into someone new, someone he had to be. Strong enough to survive. Strong enough to lead. Humanity’s strongest soldier - he had to be strong enough to bring his friends home.

He didn’t have anyone he had to be now.

It was times like this that he really missed Erwin. Loss was nothing new to his life, but in a lot of ways, he still felt like he’d failed Erwin. Time and again, he’d wondered if he’d made the wrong choice with the serum. But Erwin had trusted him to make the right choice. So he had to have faith. Not like there was anything to be done about it now anyway.

Erwin had always been good at pointing him in the right direction. Whether he was dragging him out of the Underground or keeping him on his feet after a mission, Levi always knew he could turn to Erwin.

But that wasn’t what he missed most.

He missed being around Erwin. He missed the way Erwin looked at him like he was worth something. He missed the brief moments when they could be alone, desperate hands grasping for something to hold on to, something to remind them they weren’t alone. Erwin had chuckled at the fact that Levi always tasted like tea. And in the morning, he would always ensure he had a fresh cup.

But Erwin had been dead for years. And Levi had to make his own damn tea now.

He shoved his covers back, letting his bare feet hit the floor as his shoulders hunched. He couldn’t just stay here stewing. He’d make some tea and maybe finally take some of those medicines Hange had left to help with his sleep.

He probably should have moved out of the Scout headquarters when the regiment disbanded. But a few people stuck around, and honestly, he didn’t know where else he’d go. There was a whole world out there to explore, but standing in the majesty of it all made Levi feel small in a way he never had before. He wouldn’t even know where to start.

So he stayed - in these same halls filled with the same ghosts.

He shoved a shirt on before he padded to the door, running a hand through his mussed hair, trying to coax it into some semblance of organization. His undercut was growing out - he really should just bite the bullet and ask Hange’s help. Or Moblit - he would probably be a better choice than his partner. Levi would trust Hange with his life, but with a straight razor at the back of his neck?

Levi listened to the wooden stairs creak under his feet, sending the ghosts skittering back to their corners. He’d ask Moblit tomorrow. If he got around to it. Not like he really had much else to fill his days.

Levi passed the second-story landing and paused, looking out the window over the moonlit courtyard. Had he just seen a flash of movement in the shadows? He couldn’t have - no one was ever out this time of night. But there it was again, the swinging of a stall closing, a horse being tucked away for the night before a young man with broad shoulders stepped into the lantern light of the courtyard.

Levi let out a long breath through his nose. It had been almost a year since he’d seen him, but he would know the cadence of his walk with his eyes closed.

Eren.

Levi watched him move, hesitating near the edge of the lantern’s glow. His face caught the dim lighting, and Levi swallowed the tightness that had settled in his throat, turning away from the window, any thoughts of tea forgotten.

He hadn’t expected him to return. He’d never been gone this long.

In the years after the War, Eren made the former headquarters his home too - at least while he was around. He’d adapted to the world outside the walls far better than Levi, often going on trips with Armin and Mikasa to explore. This time, he’d gone alone, and he’d been gone eleven-and-a-half months. Not that Levi had been counting.

He laid in bed that night, sleep eluding him as he listened to the gentle creaking of the walls around him. He heard footsteps in the hallway as the sun started to creep over the horizon, and a door closing two rooms down. Eren’s room. So at least he was staying the night.

When the sun had fully settled in the morning sky, Levi pulled himself out of bed again. He moved silently past Eren’s room to the stairs, retracing his steps from the previous night but finally making it down to the kitchen. He chewed his bottom lip with his teeth as he made a cup of tea. What had brought Eren back this time? He made it clear every time he returned - Mikasa or Armin dragged him back; according to Eren, he’d spend all of his time beyond the walls. Too long living caged behind them. No other reason to come back. But there was no Mikasa or Armin to drag him back this time, and yet...and yet, he’d returned.

Levi made a second cup. Just in case the brat wanted it.

He left it on the kitchen counter before he took his own tea and headed out the backdoor, making his way across the vast, neatly-kept lawn toward the edge of the forest. He set his cup down on the small outdoor table he’d set up beside his chair, his heart heavy as he turned to face the stones.

Every scout they’d lost laid here, at least in memory. For most of them, the headstones were only placeholders, no body able to be reclaimed. But they had a place all the same, stone salvaged from the walls they’d fought so hard to be free of.

And then, there was the small grove where Levi had set up his chair. The four stones sat two apart, the patches he’d cut from their jackets set into small plaques on each headstone. Petra’s still lay empty, the patch pressed into the hand of a grieving recruit, given away under the guise of belonging to the friend he’d lost - his first of many such losses. Petra would have understood. She’d always been the kindest of them all.

And then, one stone sat apart from the others, stretching taller, the space in front of the stone wider and longer to accommodate the body that lay beneath. Levi cleared his throat, pulling his gloves on before he knelt, brushing the leaves from the top of the stone. The recent winds had kicked dirt into the grooves cut into the surface of the stone, and Levi took his time clearing each clogged letter.

Erwin Smith 13th Commander, Survey Corps It’s us who gives meaning to our comrades’ lives.

Levi took his time, cleaning Erwin’s stone to his satisfaction before he moved on to his squad, to Petra, to Eld, to Gunther and Oluo. They had a caretaker for the rest of the graveyard, ensuring no scout’s memory was forgotten. But this area was Levi’s. This area, only he was allowed to manage.

Only when each stone was pristine once again did he let himself sit. He slowly pulled his gloves off, laying them to the side before he picked up his cup. He let his eyes drift closed, listening to the whisper of the wind through the trees as the morning sun danced across his face. In moments like this, he could almost feel them with him again. His squad. The first time since he was a child that he felt like he belonged somewhere - with someone.

And now...now, he didn’t know where he belonged. All he was left with was the ghosts of his past.

And Hange and Moblit. Hange would never let him forget their presence, and he was honestly grateful for it.

And Eren.

He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there, letting the nature surrounding him ease the tightness from his chest, when he felt him.

He could feel Eren approach even before he could hear him, but the younger man didn’t say anything, and Levi let his eyes stay closed for a few moments longer. He could hear Eren’s breathing - strong, steady. Reassuring. Eren was so full of life, even after everything they’d been through. Even after Levi thought he’d lost him for good.

But Eren found his way back. He always did, in the end.

The chair to Levi’s right creaked as Eren folded his long limbs into it. Levi couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Hange usually gave him a wide berth when he was having his morning tea, their chair staying unused. It had been years since anyone sat with him.

“The stones turned out nice.”

Levi’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze casting to the side to finally allow himself to look at Eren. He sat with his legs crossed casually, looking at home in the chair as if it had always belonged to him. In his hands, he held the cup of tea Levi had prepared for him, and something in the walled-up fortress of Levi’s heart began to crumble.

“I like how you set the plaques in,” Eren continued softly. “Those are their actual patches, aren’t they?”

Levi nodded, taking another sip of his tea. He saw Eren’s eyes lingering on Petra’s stone, could see the flicker of guilt in those emerald eyes. Out of the scouts in Levi’s squad, Eren had been closest with Petra. He’d been the last one to see her before she died.

“When did you get in?” Levi asked, seized by an almost-desperate need to distract the boy - no, the man. Eren hadn’t been a boy for a long time.

Eren blinked twice as he pulled himself back from his thoughts, giving Levi a soft, grateful smile. “Early this morning.”

“And how long are you staying?”

It was an understandable question. It was only natural for Levi to want to know how long someone would be sticking around the old headquarters. While Hange technically still out-ranked him, they left the management of the base to him. Not that there was much to manage. The Scouts didn’t exist anymore.

There was nothing unusual in him asking that question. And it certainly didn’t hint at a hidden desire to keep Eren around longer. But he had to admit, something about having Eren sitting next to him started to thaw the deepest parts of Levi’s soul.

He was like a fucking furnace.

Eren didn’t answer at first, taking a long drink of the tea before he set his cup aside. His gaze returned to the stones, and Levi saw the tired, weary expression lingering at the corners of his face. They’d never really talked about it, but Levi had to figure that Eren was just as fucked up about it all as he was.

“I think I’m back for good this time,” he said at last, his voice barely louder than the whispering winds around them.

Levi couldn’t hide the surprise as he looked up at Eren over his teacup, the last sip chilling in his cup as he forgot it completely.

He managed to bite back the unasked why. Eren had always wanted to see the world. Eren had a life to chase down outside the walls. He didn’t deserve to sit here and fade away within these haunted walls.

“Had enough of the wide wide world?”

Eren chuckled, running his hands through his hair - it had gotten longer. Levi liked it longer, even if watching him tousle it made his fingers itch. His hair looked so damn soft.

“Yeah, at least for now. Armin’s got his place set up with Annie on the coast, Mikasa’s abroad, and...traveling by myself just doesn’t feel the same. It was…” Eren rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating for a moment before he continued. “Lonely.”

Levi blinked; he should have expected that someone so vibrant, so full of life, would have trouble being alone. But the former headquarters wasn’t exactly the most exciting place to live. Levi could go an entire day without talking to another person if he tried just a little bit.

“I hope you don’t find it too isolating here,” he murmured.

Eren looked at him then, those piercing eyes seeing right through him, hitting the heart of his question without him even having to ask it. “How could it be isolating when you’re here?”

Levi snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to hide the way that question made him warm inside. He liked the idea that Eren might consider him worthwhile company.

And yet, he couldn’t help but make sure Eren knew what he was getting into.

“Yes, because I’m such enthralling company.”

Eren didn’t laugh - Eren didn’t even appear like the statement was that funny to him. He leaned forward a little, his hands resting on his knees, those eyes never lowering from Levi’s, holding his gaze intensely. Levi actually squirmed a little - he wasn’t used to someone looking at him for this long.

“I missed you, Levi.”

Whatever he had expected, it certainly wasn’t that. That damn brat. Always wore his heart on his sleeve. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He could be honest, tell Eren he’d missed him, tell him that he’d looked out to the stables each morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of Eren returning. He could tell him he wanted him to stay.

But he couldn’t hold Eren back. He’d spent his whole damn life wanting to get beyond those walls; he couldn’t lock him up behind them again. If Eren was going to stay, he had to choose it on his own.

Levi had no claim on Eren, no right to hold the boy back.

Boy wasn’t right, and he knew it. He’d known Eren for years, watched him grow into a passionate, dedicated young man. But there was a wildness in Eren - the same that ran through Levi’s veins once upon a time. When Eren was around, he could almost feel it again.

Erwin had always told him he needed to open himself up to people. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life isolating himself from people. If it weren’t for Hange, he would have disappeared completely after the war. But Hange never gave up on him, just like Erwin hadn’t. And now, maybe he could finally make it worth it.

As he and Eren sat there, talking as the breeze stirred the trees around them, Levi realized that maybe, just maybe...he was feeling at ease.

“I missed you too, brat.”

---

---

Touya slipped into the dockyard at the cover of night, a vice grip tightening around his lungs with each step he took. He’d warned him. He’d warned him. His father was not someone to be trifled with. Any promise, any bargain he would offer, came with strings. The type of strings that would wrap around your throat and string you up from the nearest tree - and then he would light you on fire for good measure, just to be an asshole.

And now he had Keigo.

Touya didn’t know how this had gone so wrong. Keigo hadn’t even told him that he was looking into his father again. Touya would have warned him away from it instantly - which, now that he thought about it, was probably why Keigo kept it from him. Keigo had always been insistent that he needed to stop living with the sword of his father dangling over his head, but he didn’t understand! He didn’t understand that it was safer to live with that sword, safer to spend every day of the rest of his life checking over his shoulder at every turn, than to try to face the man head on.

He would always outsmart them. He would always win.

He knew where his father would be. He’d brought Touya to these docks as a kid, to the last warehouse on the left. It was where his father stored his victims.

It had been a slow realization, when he was a child. His mother had given him the first clue - when he’d crawled in her lap at five years old, telling her how he wanted to be just like his father. She’d burst into tears, clinging him to her chest and making him promise he would never become his father. She disappeared less than a year later; Touya wouldn’t know until he was much older that his father had overheard him that night. He said their mother left them, chose to vanish into the night. Touya knew better now.

He’d never hurt them. But with the amount of time he spent away from home, Touya essentially had to raise his three younger siblings after his mother left. But he never doubted his father, back then. His dad was trying to do this all on his own - he did whatever he had to keep them happy and safe.

The day he became a teenager, his father took him aside - told him he was finally old enough to learn what his father did on his nights away from home. He took him to the docks, showed him his warehouse, showed him his collection. Trinkets, stolen from women that he’d killed and buried beneath the floors of the warehouse. A lock of hair here, a scrap of fabric torn from a dress. Touya still remembered the tears stinging his eyes when he spotted his mother’s wedding ring sitting among the collection. His father hit him for crying.

She betrayed us, Touya. Betrayed me. Anyone who betrays me deserves the justice I bring to them.

Touya didn’t see any justice in that dimly-lit warehouse. That was the first moment he’d truly feared his father. He’d tried to flee, stumbling into a dark corner of the room as far away from his mother’s ring as he could get, and that’s when he heard the dripping.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His nose wrinkled as an acrid scent overtook him. He whipped around to bolt, running straight into a pale, naked form dangling in the air in front of him. A brunette woman, strung up by her ankles, swung from a beam overhead. Blood dripped down her slackened face from the massive wound on her throat, mixing into her long, curly hair as it pooled on the concrete.

Touya screamed, shoving himself away from the dead woman and casting around for something, anything to use to defend himself. His father caught him before he could make it more than a few steps. He’d hit him again, for making so much noise, and then he’d dragged him home, making him swear that he would tell no one what he’d seen. If he did...if he did, the woman he’d seen would look good compared to what his father would do to him.

Touya hadn’t celebrated his birthday since. But he held his tongue - when his father realized his control was slipping, he would threaten his siblings. If he told anyone what he’d seen, it would be Fuyumi who paid for it. Or Natsuo. Or Shoto - perfect little Shoto who had already been through so much. Who had managed to get a burn across the left side of his face - Touya hadn’t been home the night Shoto got hurt, and his brother was silent about what had happened. But Touya knew. Touya knew it was their father, and he realized it didn’t matter if he kept his silence or not. They weren’t safe. His siblings weren’t safe, no matter what.

It took six months. Six months for his father to slip up. Six months for his father to relax in his control and overlook something. Six months to trust his son. And that spelled his downfall.

When Enji left that night, Touya sprung into action. He’d bundled his siblings up in their winter coats and walked them the four miles to the police station. He’d had to carry Shoto most of the way, and Natsuo had given Fuyumi a piggy-back ride the second leg, but they made it all the same.

The police had believed their story. The determined word of a half-frozen teenager clinging to his three smaller siblings was easy to believe - even when it was directed against one of the most prominent businessmen in town. They’d arrested Enji Todoroki that night, and though Touya hadn’t followed the details of their investigation, he did know that they’d managed to identify most of his victims, closing dozens of unsolved disappearances from the last twenty years. Digging their remains from the concrete under the warehouse. Giving their families whatever solace they could.

He’d tried to shield his siblings from the worst of it, but he could only do so much before they were all split up. With no family left to speak of, they’d been sent to different homes, and even though Touya desperately tried to find them, he’d had no luck, year after year. Eventually, he’d had to give up, focus on keeping his feet under him. Trying to make something of himself, something that his father couldn’t touch.

And then he’d met Keigo. And Keigo never judged him, taking the time to get to know him and slowly break down those walls. Touya had tried to keep him at arms’ length, tried to stop himself from getting attached. He knew better. He knew that getting attached only gave the world something to hurt you with.

But then his father escaped from prison, and everything changed. And Keigo learned the truth and still didn’t leave. And Touya let himself believe that he could have something, one little ray of light that his father couldn’t touch.

He should have known better.

He’d gotten the message from his father that morning. On his personal cell phone, because of course his father would have had his phone number. He could never keep anything from him. How long had he been watching him, watching them? Just biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to let Touya know that he would never be free.

He just had to hope he wasn’t too late.

Touya clambered up the shipping containers as quietly as he could, making his way toward the last warehouse on the left. The windows had been broken years ago by teenagers, eager to take some sort of honorable revenge on the serial killer who’d lurked there. Touya slipped into the warehouse through one of those broken panes, finding his footing easily on the metal catwalk.

A lone light glowed at the far end of the warehouse, and he could hear an eerie creaking drifting across the concrete floors. Touya’s stomach twisted as he moved forward as quickly as he could without alerting anyone to his presence.

He caught sight of his father first, a large hulking figure standing with his back to Touya at the far end of the warehouse. The mantle of flame that usually enshrouded him was dormant for the moment, which served to make him even more unsettling.

And then he moved.

As he stepped to the side, Touya’s heart stopped. Keigo hung by his wrists, the chain looped over one of the catwalk’s support beams. He was still wearing the shirt he’d been wearing when he left their apartment that morning, but it was barely recognizable, laying tattered on his shoulders. Gashes criss-crossed his chest, blood trailing over the sculpted abs Touya so often traced with his tongue. Feathers littered the floor, broken and plucked from his wings, which lay at awkward angles from his back - probably dislocated, if not worse. His head hung, blond hair mixing with blood on a mottled face, but he could see his lips moving, mumbling a response to something Enji had said. He was still alive. Now Touya just had to get him out of here.

He could melt through the chains. He just didn’t know how well Keigo could catch himself if he did it from above. The cleanest way to do it would be to deal with his father first - how quickly could he incapacitate him before his father started fighting back?

“Oh, but wait - I think we have a guest.”

Enji turned, piercing blue eyes meeting his son’s on the catwalk above them. Touya froze, a chill running down his spine. He should have known. He could never get the jump on his father, no matter how hard he tried.

“Come on down here, Touya.”

He couldn’t light the warehouse up, not with Keigo still chained to the catwalk. Instead, he dropped lightly onto the concrete floor below him, facing his father with squared shoulders. Golden eyes raised from the ground, widening with panic when Keigo focused through the swelling on his face.

“Touya, no!” His voice broke, his wrists jangling the chains above him. “No, get out of here, you can’t - !”

Enji cut him off, pulling one of the remaining feathers out of Keigo’s wings and incinerating it without a thought. Keigo whimpered, biting on his lip to try to silence the cry, and Touya took a step forward.

“Let him go.”

Enji turned, a wicked grin spreading across his scarred face. He hadn’t been scarred when he’d gone into prison - though, Touya supposed, prison wouldn’t likely be kind to a man with his father’s personality.

“My boy!” Enji boomed, turning fully from Keigo, his hostage forgotten. “So glad you decided to join us. I was just telling your pet here that it was only a matter of time until you arrived to save him.”

Touya took another step toward them, his fingers tensing into fists at his sides, blue flame licking at his skin. His father’s eyes flicked down to his son’s hands before his grin grew.

“Now now, Touya. There’s no need for that. I’m more than willing to let Keigo go.”

“Then do it,” Touya bit out, watching the blood slowly trickling down Keigo’s chest.

Enji glanced over at Keigo, humming thoughtfully, and Touya recognized the look that took over his father’s face. Enji never did anything without a reason. His victims had been people who wronged him, people who owed him something - people who had embarrassed him. Touya could feel the weight of his mother’s wedding ring where it hung against his chest, the chain heating along with his skin - a warning. His father certainly was willing to let Keigo go, but what did he want in return?

Touya probably should have been more concerned by his determination to give his father whatever he wanted. He would do anything, as long as it meant Keigo was safe.

Enji chuckled, the sound absolutely humorless as it echoed through the empty warehouse. “Well, son. I can’t do it without you.”

Touya’s jaw clenched, but all it took to break him was a glance at Keigo, his bronzed skin paler than it should have ever been. Keigo’s eyes were locked on him, wide with desperation as he shook his head. Touya watched those eyes flutter as Keigo’s vision spun, watched the lazy path the blood took across his face.

“Touya…” Keigo breathed, his usual strength gone from his voice. “Touya, no. Please, don’t listen to him, don’t -”

“Quiet,” Enji said sharply, flames flaring to life on his face, a warning clear in the action. “I’m talking to my son.”

Touya took another step forward before his father’s patience could wear too thin. He needed to get Keigo out of here. Everything else was a distraction.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, keeping the shake out of his voice. He couldn’t be sure if his voice was shaking from anger, or from fear - with his father, he could never be certain.

Enji’s grin sharpened, his eyes narrowing very slightly. Touya had learned at a young age how to measure his father’s moods - how to read the slightest shifts in his energy. He had been hyper-aware since the age of three - he could never let his guard down around his father. He couldn’t slip. If he slipped, someone else would pay the price.

He stood with his shoulders squared, refusing to shy away from the danger he saw in his father’s eyes. He would not fail Keigo the way he failed his mother.

“Well, that’s simple,” Enji murmured, smiling with something almost akin to warmth. “Take your place at my side, and I’ll let him go.”

Touya froze, his blood turning to ice in his veins, and his father seemed to revel in the shock on his face. He turned back to Keigo, running a rough, flaming hand over the raw skin of one of his wings. Keigo cried out, the sound hitting Touya deep in his soul.

“Now we’ll see how much my son truly loves you,” Enji muttered, his voice dark with the danger that Touya had dreaded. His father was serious. There was no doubt in Touya’s mind that he would kill Keigo in a heartbeat if Touya didn’t agree to join him.

But he’d spent his entire life trying not to become his father. Sometimes, late at night, he would think he could feel his father’s rage, his father’s darkness, curling inside him. Then Keigo would roll over, take him into his arms, and show him exactly why he couldn’t become his father. Listening to Keigo’s breathing in the dark, Touya made the promise to himself, night after night, that he would not fall to it. He would not let his father dictate his life. He would not let himself become his father.

Enji was always convinced he’d return, always convinced Touya was destined to follow in his footsteps. And now, he had all but ensured it. He took the one thing that Touya had always managed to keep out of his reach.

“Unchain him first.”

Keigo shook his head fiercely, fighting against the chains as Enji approached him, energy seeming to flood into his limbs. Or was it desperation driving him forward?

“No! Touya, no, you can’t! Please, don’t - don’t do this! I’m not worth -”

Enji melted the chains in a quick blast of fire, dropping Keigo unceremoniously to the floor. He cried out as he fell into a heap on the concrete; Touya moved without thinking, rushing to his side. He dropped to his knees, ripping his hoodie off to begin trying to stem the flowing blood. Keigo grabbed at his shirt, his eyes desperate and pleading.

“Don’t do this. You can’t do this, don’t throw your life away for me. Please, please! Touya, I love you, please -”

Touya ducked his head to brush a kiss against his lips, clinging to his last chance at happiness. His last chance to have the life he wanted. But he couldn’t keep it. Because he had never deserved it.

He should have known. He was the son of a monster. He didn’t deserve a chance at happiness. Everyone could see it - everyone but him. And Keigo. Keigo had never seen the darkness lurking inside him. He was about to show him - the faith that Keigo had in him was misplaced. He had never deserved Keigo.

“I love you,” Touya whispered, resting Keigo’s hand over the hoodie pressed to his chest. “Keep this here. Help will come soon.”

“Touya,” Keigo’s voice broke, bloody fingers trying desperately to grip Touya's hand. “Please. Please, not for me. This isn’t you. This isn’t you, Touya.” When Touya pulled his hand away, Keigo let out a choked cry. “No! Touya, no, don’t do this!”

Touya stood slowly, every fiber of his being urging him to go back to Keigo, wrap him in his arms, take him somewhere far away from here. But he couldn’t do that. He knew he couldn’t do that. The only way to save Keigo was to embrace his destiny.

Enji grinned, an obscene sort of glee flickering through the flames on his face. “That’s my boy,” he held his arms open wide, clapping them against Touya’s shoulders. “We’ll call an ambulance for him once we’re safely away.”

Touya was going to be sick. His father had finally made him who he always knew he’d be. He let his father grip his shoulder, turn him heavily toward the door, his deep voice rumbling about some plan or another.

He glanced over his shoulder, looking at Keigo one last time while he still could. While he was still someone worthy of Keigo’s attention - someone Keigo could love. Keigo’s eyes were locked on him, tears mixing with the blood on his face. His lips were still moving, though he’d lost the energy to give his words volume.

I love you. Please. Please don’t leave me.

Touya leaving wasn’t what Keigo should have been worrying about.

All at once, Touya’s fist wreathed in blue flames, slamming into his father from behind, sinking deep into his back before his father could react. Enji’s body swelled into an inferno, his own flames surging to attempt to fight Touya off, to stop the inevitable he’d fought so hard to bring about. Touya could feel his father’s flames rending his skin, but he couldn’t stop now. Touya poured every last bit of his flame into his father, burning him from the inside out, listening as the man finally let out a tortured scream, his body glowing with the internal heat of Touya’s flames.

He finally let his father fall, watching as the mountain of a man sank onto his knees, his fingers scrabbling at his own chest like he could rip Touya’s fire out of him. Touya knelt down in front of him, his face impassive as he watched his father struggle.

Enji stretched out a hand for him; Touya smoothly leaned back, out of his father’s reach. Enji dropped onto his hands and knees, coughing blood onto the concrete floor below him. Touya leaned down, watching to catch each wheezing breath.

“I will never be you. And you will never hurt anyone ever again.”

Enji’s bloodstained lips curved into a smile, the flames flickering out around him, making him look smaller somehow. His hand fell heavily to the concrete as he began to slump, the fight going out of him.

“My boy….” he said faintly, another cough wracking his frame and splattering blood across Touya’s face. “You are my son. You are exactly like me.”

Touya watched his father go still, staring at him for a moment longer than necessary. He had to be certain. He had to know his father was dead.

His father may have forced his hand, but when the moment came, Touya didn’t hesitate. He’d always thought, when the moment inevitably came, he would at least hesitate. But he’d killed his father without a moment’s hesitation. What kind of person did that? What kind of monster did that?

“Touya…”

Keigo’s voice was faint, and it re-centered Touya’s world. His father didn’t matter. Touya surged to his feet, hurrying over and sweeping Keigo up in his arms. Keigo cried out with the movement, but Touya didn’t have time to be gentle. He needed to get Keigo to a hospital. That was what mattered. Keigo could tell him to leave once he was safe.

“I’ve got you,” he promised softly, unable to look Keigo in the eye.

When Keigo’s arms wrapped around Touya’s neck, Touya thought he might shatter apart completely. He hid his battered face against Touya’s shoulder, clinging to him like he still feared he might disappear.

“You aren’t him,” Keigo whispered insistently, his lips moving against Touya’s throat. “You saved me. You saved me. I love you. You are nothing like him.”

Touya wished he could believe that. Touya wished he could believe Keigo meant what he said. But he’d just shown himself to be exactly the same as his father. He’d murdered without hesitation, spilling blood and burned flesh over the floor of the same warehouse.

His mother’s ring felt scalding against his skin.

Promise me, Touya. Promise me you will never become your father.

He’d failed his mother’s memory and granted his father’s dying wish in one night. It was only a matter of time before Keigo realized exactly who he was.

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