Chapter Text
Family. It’s a small, unassuming word— uncomplicated. it sounds exactly how it looks.
But then it doesn’t.
The first thing about family Keigo learns is this:
Never trust appearances.
It takes three times his Mother calls him into the living room with a gentle coo, only for Keigo to be met with a snarling demand of his Father, for Keigo to learn to pretend to be asleep.
He vows it to be the last time he’s too slow to lean his lesson. It isn’t the last time, but slowly, he adapts. Changes. Grows.
By the time his pants all reach mid calf and his voice begins to drop, the word family changes its meaning once more.
A foster home. A completely new territory— new rules to follow, new rhythms to carefully calibrate to, new words to shy around. Keigo has his wings, his old Endeavour plushie he’s really too old to carry around, and the barest sense of normal social life.
The other kids, varied in age, watch him from the corners of their eyes. Assessing. Analyzing in a way Keigo knows all too well. His own eyes scan each of their faces, guesses what makes them tick by the curve of their brow. Keigo’s eyes find each potential hiding place, and each potential weapon.
He’s 14, then. Never attended school. No goals, or dreams, or support— just survive. Keigo knows how to survive.
But then he’s 17. And then 18. Still in the foster home. He watches the kids he never quite connected with slowly fitter away— either finding other placements, or going out on their own, or starting their own premature little families.
At 17, Keigo knows how to hold a conversation; to smile and shake hands, to talk about simple things like the weather and whatever half-tuned-out nonsense sport played on the television last night. He knows how to use his feathers to wash dishes and straighten bedsheets. He knows how to survive the world beyond the four walls of the foster home.
But he doesn’t go. If you asked, he couldn’t say why, but he can’t.
Not that he hasn’t left. Keigo goes to school, and the convenience store, and he picks up odd jobs wherever he can. He saves up his scraps of money in a jar aptly named “the future”— vague, because Keigo doesn’t know what he’s saving for, not really.
At 18, Keigo blinks awake one morning to find he’s the oldest kid in the house— that he isn’t a kid anymore, at all.
And yet.
At 18, Keigo is lead out to the front porch by the lady who runs the house. She’s shrewd, and stern, but she’s always had a soft spot for him— for better or worse.
Anyways. The front porch is one of he only places that’s usually deserted, where they can speak without being interrupted.
And it isn’t just them.
Standing at the base of the stairs, dressed in a white button up and khakis, is the number 2 Hero. Endeavour. The man who Keigo still keeps a plushie of, tucked under his bed.
Keigo freezes, jaw slack and eyes wide as saucers.
Evidently, the past has caught up to him. Endeavour knows what Keigo used to do— how he’d steal and deceive and cover for the man he once called Father. How he was a weak child, helpless to his Parents’ every whim. How he followed through, even when he knew it was wrong.
And now Keigo is 18. He can be sent to prison for his crimes, and he will. That's what the number 2 Hero is here for.
“Keigo Takami?” Endeavour greets him, his voice low. Commanding. Keigo would feel small, if he didn’t know what it was like to feel even smaller.
He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Endeavour steps up to be on the same level as them. Okay. Now, Keigo feels small. But he isn’t about to fight his fate.
“I’m interested in those wings of yours.”
Oh. Oh?
Keigo hadn’t expected that. Somehow, the realization that Endeavour is here to make use of his power instead of shipping him off to prison, is a bit disappointing.
“Yeah? For what, exactly— your cat stuck in a tree?”
His voice is chipper, upbeat in a way he’s perfected. Endeavour bristles, but doesn’t show any reactions outright.
“You joke, but I’m here because I think you could be a great hero. You could surpass me .”
Keigo blinks, the cool summer breeze hitting his face, brushing back his blonde hair.
“That’s… a lot.”
Something flickers behind Endeavours eyes. Like he knows this is a lot, and it’s some kind of test.
So Keigo straightens up— like he used to when he’d face his own Father, but this time is different.
“But maybe you’re right. So whaddaya want from me, Boss?”
And that’s how Keigo ends up packing one very time suitcase, and moving out of the orphanage.
He has to re-learn what the word family means to him all over again.
The Todoroki’s are, in a lot of ways, the same as the foster home. The same cold, distinct separation. Keigo has his own room for the first time, but he doesn’t like it. Without the faint sound of other breathing, other bodies shifting and tossing, he finds it incredibly difficult to sleep.
Endeavour introduces him to his children one by one.
Touya, his eldest, doesn’t meet his eye when he shows up one day like the peasant-turned-princess he is. Touya does, however, stare Endeavour down for a solid few seconds, looking eerily alike a cornered animal.
The sight of him alone is enough to make Keigo uneasy. Dyed black hair, piercings, loud tattoo’s that just scream danger. But then his blue eyes glaze over— the same ones as his Fathers, but much softer. Tired, Keigo thinks, and then he chastises himself for letting the observation lodge in his chest like a splinter.
The other three are okay— Fuyumi shakes his hand with a cheery smile, Natsuo shoots him an awkward wave, and his youngest, Shoto, offers a shy nod.
After a day that starts slow and ends much too fast, Keigo lays in his soft bed and stares at the ceiling.
The room is empty, because Keigo simply has nothing to fill it with. He’s in a soft bed because of his wings. He can fly without being arrested because Endeavour sees something in him.
All he can do is hope that Endeavour isn’t wrong.
But of course, Touya’s room is right next to his, and the walls are thin. Keigo can’t sleep, and hearing the friction skin on fabric on skin at the ripe hour of 2– bitten back groans, muffled little whimpers— doesn’t help.
His eyes dart open the second the noises pick up, and there’s two voices in that room. One of them is the number 2 Pro Hero’s son, Touya. The other, Keigo isn’t so sure.
Keigo used to have to shield his ears from the sounds of glass breaking in the next room, and shouting, and the faint crackle of whatever television program his Mother used to stare at.
Now, he has to shield his ears from the sounds of Touya fucking some secret whoever.
He must be used to the room next door being vacant, because the person he’s with keeps making these noises that are just a little too loud. If Keigo listens hard enough— and he’s not, to be clear— he can hear it—
Gentle hushes, Touya’s low, gravelly voice whispering “Quiet, Baby, we’ve got a fuckin’ neighbour now,”
The person he’s with— a boy?— whines, the sound clipped when he’s presumably shoved into a pillow.
And then— oh. That was a particularly loud slap of thighs meeting thighs, a particularly loud muffled moan of ecstasy.
Keigo doesn’t know much about sex. What little he does is from books he’d dared to peak into at the library near the foster home— and even then, he’d felt embarrassed down to the bone about it. Keigo has been much too concerned with survival for the most of his life, and sharing a room with six other kids has prevented any real exploration of his own body.
So, maybe he’s a little curious about the boy who’d stared down his Father like he could beat him in a fight, even when he clearly couldn’t. He’s curious about Touya.
“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ needy tonight, ” Touya hisses, “ he leave you on read again?”
Okay, maybe he’s not that curious. Whatever dynamic is at play here, Keigo isn’t interested— he can’t pretend like he’s interested in anything more than Touya’s low groans, his heavy breaths, the energy he can feel coming from the wall in between them like it’s alive.
There’s a connection there. Keigo understands it less and less the more Touya brings up this supposed “he”. Actually, he thinks he understands less about people in general the more time he spends in this house.
He’s supposed to be training to surpass Endeavour, but here he is, not-listening-listening to this.
Jesus. Keigo needs to focus. He turns on his side away from the wall, wincing at the creak of the bedsprings.
A pause in the other room. A muffled curse.
No. Don’t stop. Keigo isn’t even there— God, he’s half hard, and he won’t touch himself, but he needs to hear them. Needs to know his presence isn’t changing anything. Keigo’s first survival instinct remains: blend in.
He all but stops his breathing, curls in on himself to take up less space, and chews his lower lip like it’s a piece of meat. The pair on the other side of the wall stills for a moment, but it’s short lived.
“ Don’t worry about the stupid bird,” Touya rasps, and Keigo can just imagine the feel of hot breath on the side of his face, words spoken to sweat-damp skin.
“ Fuck you.”
“I think you’d prefer if I fucked you.”
“Shut up and get to it then. If he wakes up you’re the one who suffers.”
“Doubt I’ll be seeing much of him anyways— he’s Dad’s latest remedy project.”
Oh. Right. That’s all Keigo is here. A “remedy project”, as Touya lovingly puts it. Endeavour wants someone to surpass him, from what he’s gathered. Shoto would fit but bill, but Endeavour is a firm believer in competition.
Plus, taking in an aged-out foster kid who’s potential would otherwise be wasted must be doing wonders for his reputation.
Keigo is a tool. He’s certainly not about to ingratiate himself with anyone. He shouldn’t be listening to Touya now— if he doesn’t get good sleep, he won’t perform as well whenever Endeavour starts him in a training regime.
Another loud slap of skin on skin. Another moan, this time punctuates with some kind of slurping noise, which Keigo quickly realizes must be a pair of fingers in his mouth.
Fuck. Since when did he start palming himself through his boxers? Keigo has never touched himself in his life— never had the chance, never thought it was worth it. He’s harder than his own thoughts could have ever made him, and god dammit this is not practical. Keigo feels like each little twitch of his palm is going to set off some kind of screeching alarm, announcing to the world that Keigo Takami is getting off on the sound of his Mentor's son having sex next door.
He needs to fucking sleep. Clearly this change isn’t good for him; clearly he should turn in and go back to the foster home where he’s still out of place but at least it’s in a way that’s familiar. He should confess to his transgressions— the list of which is evidently still being added to— and let himself rot in prison for the rest of his miserable life, right alongside his dear old Dad.
But then Touya and the boy in his bed stop bickering, devolve into pants and whines and ever-quickening bed squeaks. When the boy under him yelps and Touya makes a muffled noise in turn, Keigo wonders if it’s around a mouthful of flesh.
This is dangerous. Touya is dangerous. Keigo’s hand is slipping under the waistband of his boxers, freeing his pulsating erection. He’s careful to swipe what leaks out onto his hand to prevent it from dripping onto clean sheets. He’s careful to not make a single sound, despite how overwhelming this all feels.
They come just as Keigo gets a fist around himself. He almost whines out loud as they quiet down, respective breaths evening out.
The creak of a window.
“We should stop, you know,” Touya mumbles.
The other man is quiet for a moment, “Yeah. Probably.”
“Spinners’ a good guy. I don’t want to mess that up for you.”
Another long pause. Keigo tries to steady his shaking hand, will his cock to soften.
“It was fun, while it lasted. But yeah, I’m thinking we go back to being friends.”
The bed squeaks, someone’s weight shifting off it.
“Hey,”
Touya’s voice breaks the dead silence of the night, so small and tentative that Keigo can barely hear it,
“We’re good, right? No strings attached?”
The other man laughs, light if a touch raspy,
“Do you even have to ask?”
Without another word, the window creaks shut.
Keigo hears the silence after in stark contrast to the bubbling connection from before. He hears Touya sigh, run his hands over his face. Hears him lay back, his thoughts taking up the mass of the room. Maybe even the whole house.
Keigo doesn’t get off that night, but he’s used to that. He’s used to being let down— not that Touya had any obligations to him whatsoever. No, Keigo is used to his own mind being his downfall, so it’s to be expected.
There’s something different about this time, though. The emotions— the shame, and guilt, and crippling fear settling just behind his eyes feel dangerously close to being alive. That’s something.
The next day, however, Keugo does wake up in an exceptionally foul mood.
It’s one of those days where he just wishes he was normal, and it’s all he can think about. The ghost of something he doesn’t know and definitely doesn’t understand lingers around every corner, taunting him. Chastising him for indulging in something he knows isn’t meant for him to be a part of.
He doesn’t see Touya. Keigo wakes up at 6am, and Touya is asleep until noon.
In that time, Keigo wanders the house. It’s mostly empty, mostly quiet. He wonders what family means to them— if it’s this empty, or if there’s something Keigo can’t see filling it to the brim.
Keigo looks at old portraits on the walls. The kids’ growing up before his eyes down a hallway. Touya has always been good looking, but when he started looking like himself projected on a human body he got hot.
Of course, Keigo stares too long. Of course he’s ogling Touya’s highschool graduation picture when the man in question decides to emerge from his room, wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants that hangs low enough on his hips that Keigo can see a faint trail of white hair leading to from his belly button (which is pierced. Keigo will think about that later.) to below his waistband.
He gulps, continuing down the hall like he didn’t just get caught staring at a picture of him and then, for good measure, staring at Touya .
Keigo huffs, forcing his head to turn in the opposite direction. It’s noon, and the house is still quiet, and Keigo doesn’t know where he fits here. If he fits here, at all.
Because this certainly isn’t his family. It’s just another life, and Keigo’s once again the puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit but gets forced in anyways. Where would he be, if not wandering the halls of the Todoroki estate? Still at the foster house. Still waiting for something that isn’t happening.
At least here he has potential for something more. If Endeavour himself saw it, why can’t he? Why can’t Keigo just take the win and feel good, for once?
He steps outside to the veranda, leaning on the edge of the railing. The grounds are quiet, save for the sound of a breeze sweeping through the surrounding forest, hitting his face. The chirp of birds in the distance. The faint city sounds.
The door slides open behind him, and then Keigo is very much not alone.
Touya’s presence isn’t insistent, necessarily, but he does demand attention with the flick of his lighter and a puff of smoke. And, well, he’s still only half dressed.
“It’s weird not being alone here all day,” Touya remarks, leaning on the railing beside him.
Keigo bites the inside of his cheeks, sharp canines breaking skin.
“Sorry,” he mutters, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He just stares pointedly out at the ground, almost picturing the siblings playing there back when they were young— round. Well fed. Happy.
Touya flicks ash off the tip of his cigarette, giving him a sidelong look.
“You are really uptight, aren’t you”, he observes. Keigo blinks, tries to loosen his shoulders like he’s taking constructive criticism on his personality.
“I don’t try to be. It’s just… weird. Being here.” He tries to reason, because certainly Keigo isn’t being weird because he touched himself to the sound of Touya having sex next door.
Touya doesn’t seem to buy his act, but at least he doesn’t say anything to give away that he knows.
“Yeah. Can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Nothing against you, it’s just— my old man. He’s really something.”
Keigo doesn’t know what to say to that, but it doesn’t feel like Touya really wants him to respond, so he lets the statement hang in the air.
That is, until Touya decides to continue after a few long moments of quiet.
“I’d apologize for last night, but somehow I don’t think you minded all that much.”
Keigo blinks. Wonders if he really heard that. Blinks again. Wishes he could disappear into the ground underneath them.
His hands raise to his face slowly, burning hot and trembling all over.
“Hey, I’m not judging— really, Birdie, it isn’t a big deal,”
But it is a big deal. Keigo touched himself, he’s not supposed to do that. He’s here for an actual reason, and he could be sent out just as fast. Keigo needs to be in control.
“It is, I just—“
“No, it’s not,” Touya asserts. Keigo shrinks in on himself, trying to remember all that he’s learned about dealing with other peoples emotions over the years. It dawns on him that he never learned how to deal with his own.
“Everyone does it. You were just… not super subtle.”
Keigo huffs, looking down at his hands. He’s not looking, but he can imagine the smoke curling around Touya’s head, softening his edges.
“I don’t.” Keigo says simply, because he has no real reason to lie. “Ever. I— I haven’t.”
Touya’s eyes bore into him, little daggers with dull edges. A leaf falls from a tree and lands itself in Keigo’s hair, but before he can pluck it out Touya is already raking his fingers through the golden locks, freeing the leaf in a quick, sickeningly domestic motion.
“Interesting. What are you, some kind of purist?” Touya muses. Keigo shakes his head,
“No. I just— I’ve never had the chance to, sharing a room with six kids and all that. I just always thought it wouldn’t be worth the effort of finding a hiding place.”
Another drag. Another plume of smoke. This time, Keigo watches as it swirls around Touya like some warning aura. It’s ridiculously hot.
“So you’re super repressed, is what you’re saying.”
“18 years strong. It’s how I stay God’s favourite.”
“I don’t know about that one. Living here is a divine punishment.”
“It’s not a foster home. And it’s not—“
Keigo tries to stop himself, but the words flow from his mouth before he can bite them back and contain himself,
“It’s not like being between shacks, on the run. It’s not termites and trash and two-sizes-too-small clothes.”
He’s not used to being so open. He barely knows Touya, barely knows this place— Keigo is a guest here. A guest who’s practically weeping into Touya’s arms about how sad and angry and horny he is, and how he has no clue what to do with those feelings because he was never taught.
Saying the words out loud after holding them in for so long should feel like a weight off his chest. Touya eyes him for a while like he thinks so, anyways. Like he’s expecting the dam to burst, and all of Keigo’s secrets to come rushing out in a tsunami.
That doesn’t happen. If anything, Keigo reinforces the dam. Never trust appearances ; Keigo will uphold the one lesson his Parents gifted him with for the rest of his life. Even if he has to be the untrustworthy one.
He shudders, rubs his arms up and down like he’s cold.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
Touya clicks his tongue, inhales another lungful of smoke,
“Don’t be. It feel good?”
Keigo doesn't look at him so Touya can’t see his eyes gloss over with tears. It didn’t feel good, but…
“Yeah.”
Touya laughs, the sound punchy and sharp and not very humorous. Keigo is a bit taken aback— just when he thinks he understands people, someone like Touya throws him for a loop.
“No, you feel like shit. I can tell. Don’t lie to me, birdbrain.”
Keigo doesn’t like that. Why can’t he just let him lie? It’s not like they’re friends or anything— Keigo doesn’t owe him his past. The callout makes his blood hum to life, the faint arousal in his lower stomach churning and seething into something much more prickly but equally hot.
“Who’s boyfriend are you sleeping with, anyways?” Keigo deflects
Touya scoffs,
“No one’s. Tenko is just my lovesick best friend who wants a good fuck every now and then, and he’s making little to no progress with his guy. So I’m here.”
Keigo’s stomach tightens with something strange and bitter, and this is so foreign to him; bickering. He never thought he’d see the day. He’s warm all over and annoyed as hell and fuck— Keigo is 18 years old and hasn’t touched himself. It’s dawning on him now that that might be why he gets hard at the slightest stimulation.
Understanding why doesn’t make it any less embarrassing when an obvious tent forms in his pants.
Touya has mastered the art of making his inner world his outer world, too. He’s decorated and bedazzled his body with various shiny jewelry. His stance, his expressions, the way his clothes fit him— they all paint a clear picture as to who he is.
It’s admirable. It’s fucking hot. If Keigo’s brain was a little bit less hormone muddled, he’d peel back the layers and get to the mushy centre he knows Touya is protecting. But Keigo is too aroused to think.
Touya makes a small, disgruntled noise, flicking out his cigarette. He doesn’t go back inside, though, he stays leaning on the veranda railing with Keigo, despite the look of vague discomfort on his face.
“So, you’re never even touched yourself?” Touya muses half-heartedly. Keigo tenses, acutely away that the conversation has returned to his growing boner.
Goddamnit.
“No— I fucking haven’t, okay? It’s not a big deal.”
Keigo snaps. He hates how raw his hands feel, how each time he shifts his pants rub on his throbbing dick. He hates that he should listencto his body— the practical thing to do would be to just rub one out so he can actually focus on his training instead of Touya’s bare torso.
“Jesus, okay,” Touya says through gritted teeth, scratching the back of his neck. He’s grinning. “I just— it’s weird. Was I— were we the first thing that made you…?”
Keigo tugs on his hair, makes a noise of frustration to the ground, forehead resting on the edge of the railing. He’s never allowed himself to express this freely, but Touya seems to just instinctively know what buttons to push.
“No— I didn’t— I didn’t even—“
He screws his eyes shut, hunching in on himself. This is awful. This is the single most humiliating experience of his life. Why the fuck is he so hard?
Touya’s hand finds his back, patting gently to encourage him. It feels like condescension.
“Poorly baby, couldn’t even get his rocks off being a freak. What are we going to do with you?” His voice is laced with cruel amusement, raspy from smoke and overuse. Fuck, he’s hot.
Keigo stiffens, muscles coiled tight like a spring. He stands, shakes off Touya’s hand,
“Not your problem,” Keigo mutters, quick and sharp, “I will not be tuning in to the next performance, just so you know.”
“Sure you won’t, birdie,”
Touya calls after him as he retreats back into the house.
Keigo fumes all the way back to his bedroom. He’s still angry when he slumps back in bed and palms himself through his pants. He’s extra angry when he can’t fucking get himself off, despite how needy his body is.
His hand feels fine. Not as earth-shatteringly amazing as he’d hoped. Again, Keigo is letting his expectations control him— he knows how that ends. He knows he won’t ever get his way.
For an 18 year old, Keigo has lead an exceptionally full life— full of bad things, mostly, but things nontheless. Despite that, he feels so behind. Keigo just doesn’t have the experience Touya has. He doesn’t know his own body, let alone his soul.
So he thinks he’s allowed to spend the rest of the day in his room, alternating between staring at the ceiling and pacing in circles and trying, hopelessly, to satiate the mass of hormones and heat swirling low in his stomach.
It’s annoying. Keigo is used to being busy— at the foster home there was always something to do; cooking, cleaning, paper route, resolving petty squabbles, trying to cram as much knowledge into his own head as humanly possible at the library, tucked into a secluded corner.
Keigo never went to school. The foster home did the odd one-off lesson, sure, but when he moved in Keigo was just old enough of a dog that he couldn’t learn new tricks. At least, that’s what the lady who ran the house said— but she never really wanted him to leave. Not when she had her perfect little live-in maid.
Now isn’t exactly the time to sulk, though. Keigo will survive— he always does. He’s always willing to sacrifice all of his humanity, just to be the last man standing. He’s never questioned this philosophy before, because his parents taught it to him the hard way.
Stupidly, he’s now wondering if it’s worth it to survive.
Being the last man standing sounds good on paper, but Touya is playing music in the next room over. It’s loud, and angry, and Keigo finds it stupidly comforting in an uneasy sort of way. Touya shouldn’t comfort him. Keigo should be banging on the wall, asking him to quiet down so he can focus.
But, he supposes, he isn’t being productive in here anyways. So he lets the music play, listens to Touya tapping his desk along with the rhythm, humming softly. Listens to the birds chirping outside, too, but mostly Touya muttering to himself and— oh.
Keigo has never orgasmed before, and he had no idea what to expect, but it wasn’t this.
This is a gentle thrum of pleasure vibrating his every nerve. This is his lower body twitching, a foot planting on the mattress underneath him, his head lulling back and an involuntary noise thats somewhere between a moan and a sigh falling from his mouth as he spills into his hand.
The music continues, a little quieter, but Touya’s tapping ceases, and Keigo wonders for a moment if he was imagining it. If he needed Touya’s presence, in some way— to be talked through it via the tap of black-painted fingernails on wood.
Keigo pants through the aftershocks, sweat beading on his brow. He swipes a loose hair off his forehead carelessly, staring down at the mess he made of himself.
His head is quiet like that— for a few minutes, at least.
A knock on his door.
Keigo freezes, quickly tugging the blanket over himself.
“Takami? Dinner is ready,”
It’s Fuyumi. She doesn’t open the door. Keigo sighs, trying to steady his breath before replying.
“I— I’ll be down in a sec,” he says. He doesn’t sound like his usual cheery self. He sounds like he is the mess of hot, white come on his inner thighs.
Fuyumi doesn’t say anything else, and Hawks hears the floorboards creek as she descends downstairs. He peaks under the blanket on his lap like something will jump out at him from underneath— but no, it’s the same mess as he saw it last.
The blaze of his arousal fades, and the aftermath is empty.
Touya turns his music off. Keigo scrambles for a tissue to wipe his stomach clean, slipping back into his pants. In three minutes, it’s like nothing happened.
Well. Not entirely. If someone were to scrutinize, they’d see Keigo’s hair is falling out of place, a tad mussed. They’d see his face flushed from lingering heat and shame. They’d see his legs a little weak and stumbly, hear the unevenness of his voice.
Surely, no one would look that close, though.
Keigo steps out of his room confident of that fact.
Touya steps out of his room with a smug smirk, not even hiding how he looks him up and down. At least he’s wearing a shirt.
Keigo doesn’t acknowledge him further than a short nod. His wings betray him, though, flexing and fluttering. They head downstairs without any words exchanged. The energy seems to shift around them by the minute, so fast that Keigo can’t recalibrate quick enough.
And then they’re sitting at the dinner table.
It’s strange, being surrounded by people who are all so close but not knowing a single person in the room. It’s not like Keigo is a family friend— he’s basically a live in apprentice, chosen but not really wanted. Endeavour doesn’t say anything to him— or anyone, really. Keigo busies himself with empty small talk and Fuyumi’s easy smiles. He knows the look of someone barely holding themself together, so he feels like he knows her already.
“So Keigo, did you have a job back at home?” Fuyumi asks. Keigo tells her about his paper route— the days he’d get given cookies from old ladies and the days he’d get yelled at. Shallow stuff that holds no real meaning but keeps the flow going. This, Keigo knows.
He asks Fuyumi what she wants to do. She gives him a thin-lipped smile, but it reaches her ears and it’s real.
“A teacher. Primary school.”
Huh. The smile Keigo gives her in turn is genuine, too. Is this family?
“Cool,” he says simply, “I can see you being good with kids.”
Touya scoffs. Keigo turns to him, absorbed by his energy despite its uncharted territory. Keigo swallows and dares to speak— dares to seek connection in Touya, too.
“What do you want to do, Touya?”
A pause. The dinner table seems to die and reincarnate twice over before anyone even blinks.
Endeavour clears his throat, the sound saying more than any words could. Keigo wishes he hadn’t even asked.
“Oh I don’t know, probably something in marketing,” Touya says, low and sarcastic and dripping in venom.
Keigo tenses, guard instinctively rising. His shoulder rise a hair, eyes wide and scanning for danger.
Touya stares him down, effectively sending his body into stage two: dissociation. Mastering the art of going somewhere else in his mind has saved him more times than he can count.
“Cool,” he echoes his words from earlier, ignoring the prickles in the base of his spine and the daggers in Touya’s eyes alike.
The rest of fhe dinner passes like this: Keigo’s vacant stare is directed at his meal, but he’s long lost his appetite— not that he really had one to begin with. Touya curses under his breath when Natsuo kicks him under the table. Fuyumi asks Shoto about school, seemingly no longer interested in Keigo now that his facade has cracked.
“Dad,” Touya starts. Keigo’s mind is somewhere else, but his body instinctually braces itself,
“You’re a busy guy, huh? Let me train the bird. We’ll go through the basics.”
The words are a confirmation: Endeavour has no real intention of being a mentor figure for Keigo. Keigo is here to enhance the performance of Shoto. Keigo is here to make up for Endeavours recent dip in public approval.
But once Keigo can get over that— and it doesn’t take long, because he never believed he was some special chosen to begin with— he sees something else.
Touya is playing with him. Touya is trying to make him squirm.
Endeavour thinks about the prospect for a moment, and when he decides there’s no real harm to be done, be nods.
“Thank you, Touya, I’d appreciate that. Keigo, I’ve started a diet and workout plan for you, you’ll find the details in your room. I’m sure I can trust you to see to that in my absence.”
When Keigo swallows it feels like his mouth is full of knives. Is Endeavour saying he trusts Keigo more than his own son? Ouch. Keigo doesn’t know what to make of that, or any of this. He needs time. He needs to go back to his room and just listen to Touya breathe, instead of spit poison.
“O… kay.” Keigo says, a bit short on the uptake.
He’s going to need to get faster, if he wants to survive here. Much faster.
It takes time but he grows. Changes. Adapts.
On day 5 he finally knows how to do all the right things.
Wake up at 6. Work out on and off until noon. Watch Touya waltz into the home gym with varying degrees of skin showing, a knowing smirk on his face. Smile back even though he hates it. Work work work. Train train train.
Keigo notices things. Touya, for how frail his body is, knows a lot about combat. And he’s not weak, per say— his shoulders are defined, arms toned like he has some natural muscle but doesn’t put enough effort to maintain any bulk.
He still listens every night. Hears nothing, but listens. Honestly, the faint sound of Touya’s breathing is enough to make Keigo go to sleep hot and bothered each night.
It doesn’t help that Touya makes it his mission to get as close as humanly possible while teaching Keigo different combat stances. Tells him how he can use his quirk more efficiently with their legs pressed flush against one another.
“You’re zoning out.”
Keigo flinches, masking his thought with a strained smile,
“Was I? Sorry about that. Uh, what were we talking about?”
Touya presses closer. Keigo can smell his cheap cologne and his natural scent— something sharp and smokey with the faintest bite of spice. Keigo has become more familiar with it in the last few days than he’d have liked.
“Your wings. You ever tried flying?”
Keigo huffs,
“Never been allowed. Quirk use in public places is illegal.”
“This is private property. The grounds are pretty big.”
Touya’s got this light, lazy smile on his face like he knows he’s about to get Keigo hooked on something. It makes Keigo’s heart hammer in his chest, his mind wandering far from the task at hand.
His wings are massive. He could probably fly, if he knew the first thing about it.
“Maybe. I don’t— don’t think I’m ready for it, though.”
“It’s worth a try.”
That little exchange is precisely what brings Hawks to Sekoto Peak on the one week mark of him staying in the Todoroki residence. There’s a spot cleared out already. Training dummies that look worse for the wear— scorched with fire. Touya explains on the hike up that there had been a minor forest fire there— gestures to his scars as he talks. He doesn’t explain much about how or why the first started, and Keigo doesn’t ask.
Most people don’t like talking about their scars.
Keigo stands atop the hill. He has shirts that fit him now— they even have little holes tailored into the back, so his wings are free. He’s getting used to having a constant flow of hot water and a surplus of food.
He’s not getting used to Touya’s piercing blue eyes.
“Here we go. One small step for man, one—“
“Oh shut up,” Touya cuts off his lighthearted monologue. Keigo laughs nervously, wings spreading behind him.
“You majestic fuck,” Touya curses, the sound barley audible. He’s staring through Keigo, eyes tracing over every little feather as they twitch and flutter, like they can feel his gaze sinking into them.
Keigo huffs a small breath, looks at the ground, then glances at Touya once more for reassurance. When he gets a small nod, Keigo tentatively catches a breeze under his wings, flapping them to get it underneath him and—
oh.
Keigo is hovering. His wings lift him into the air and he doesn’t resist or wobble— they’re made for this. He’s made for this.
“Woah— uh,” The breath is punched from Keigo’s lungs as he rises, wings carrying him higher, higher .
God, the view up here is incredible. Keigo takes a moment to look above the treeline, to the clouds and even further— because he can see this high. He can soar above clouds and he is free. This is who Keigo is, down to his DNA. Free.
“Okay up there, bird?” Dabi calls, watching with a mixture of his usual cockiness and maybe worry. Keigo can’t think about that, though.
“Yeah!” Keigo calls back, grinning ear to ear and readjusting his weight for a more natural position. “I’m—“
A strong gust of wind cuts off his words. Keigo’s wings give out, and he just as fast as the universe lifted him it now hurdles him down into the bramble.
Oh well. Good things have a tendency to be fleeting.
A merciful tree diffuses his momentum enough that the land doesn’t kill him, although it scrapes his body to shit in the process. Keigo goes down easy, though, lets the grass burn his skin, lets rocks and branches slice him open, painting the ground the same shade as his wings.
He takes a moment to lay there, eyes half-open, and think. Keigo closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of the sun beating down on him, the cool morning dew on his back.
“Shit,” Touya kneels over him, shielding his face from the hot light,
“You alive?”
Keigo’s wings jerk weakly, responding to a threat that’s in his head.
“Yeah,” He croaks in response, “it probably looks worse than it is.”
Touya helps ease him onto his feet. Hooks an arm around him to steady him. He’s got this weird look on his face, like for the first time since Keigo’s met him he’s actually thinking before speaking.
“You were doing good. Don’t let a little wind discourage you, birdie.” Touya mutters near his ear. The words should mean something, but Keigo can’t quite figure it out. His brain can only seem to process one thing at a time. and it’s pretty caught up in the sharp pain that shoots up his leg with each step.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Keigo chokes out. He’s aching all over but nothing feels broken— not really.
Upon further inspection back at the house, his left wing is broken in two places and as soon as the adrenaline has worn off, Keigo feels it. It’s worse than the fall.
Endeavour gives Touya a stern look for pushing him too far, and then Keigo’s routine changes.
Wake up at 5. Work out non stop until 9, or until the weight of the brace on his back gets to be too much. Read the textbook Endeavour left in his bedroom. Listen to the sounds of Touya existing beyond the interdimensional portal that the wall separating them is.
Keigo feels, for the first time in his life, like he’s caged. As a kid, there was never anyone to stop him from going outside and wandering. He never realized how badly he needed it until being here.
On the evening of day 14 Keigo finds himself in much the same position as the first night: unable to sleep, painfully horny.
He hasn’t heard Touya’s friend, Tenko, crawl in through the window since that first night. Keigo is both grateful for that and immensely frustrated. He has to remind himself that Tenko is actually trying to get into a relationship— Touya’s told him in detail about his and Spinner’s unbearably obvious feelings for each other.
Keigo just wishes. And wants. And there’s no time for that during the day, so he finds it increasingly difficult to sleep at night. Especially now that he’s stuck in his room.
The bed in the next room creaks. Keigo listens.
One creak turns to two, and then three, and then the soft thud of Touya’s head against the wall. If Keigo listens hard enough, he can hear uneven breaths, skin rubbing. He could ignore it, if he wasn’t so accustomed to being aroused at every little thing Touya does.
Keigo shifts in his mattress to press his ear against the wall, the mattress sighing under his weight. He should be embarrassed that Touya most certainly knows Keigo is listening to him jack off. But Touya’s laughter at his expense is clipped by a low, gravelly moan— that sound overrides all the sane parts left of his brain.
Keigo feels like a mouse caught in some intricately laid trap. Touya is putting on a show, and now Keigo is sucked in. That noise was the promise of many more to come, and Keigo, the desperate little thing he is, wants to hear every last one.
This is his. It’s a perfectly orchestrated symphony of faux-connection, but it’s his. Touya is moaning and whimpering for him. His reasonings are a little grey, but it’s clear he wants Keigo to hear. Keigo specifically.
Because this isn’t about sex— it’s about Keigo being perceived. He doesn’t feel invisible when Touya gasps out his name like an invitation. He doesn’t even want to, that’s how badly he wants Touya. Keigo is terrified of being seen, but he thinks he could take it if it meant he could pull those noises out of Touya’s throat.
Keigo hasn’t touched himself since that first day, but he does now. How was he supposed to resist?
It’s shameful, embarrassing— no, humiliating, but they devolve into two panting, needing creatures on either side of a wall. Keigo takes it slow, learning his body. He finds his particularly sensitive spots and twists his wrist on the up stroke. He listens to Touya work himself expertly while struggling to feel good.
Touya comes. Keigo would never forget the sound he makes when he does— choked, raspy, somewhere between a groan and a while. For a moment Keigo thinks he won’t get to— not now that Touya is stilled. But,
“ Don’t stop, Bird. I’m here.”
Fuck. Acknowledgment. That gentle encouragement makes him twitch and bite back a whine. Keigo pauses and catches his breath, debating on speaking. Briefly, he thinks he should pretend to be asleep, but,
“ Go slow. I think you owe me a good show .”
Keigo is acutely attuned to determine whether or not he’s needed— and he’s been needed before, but not like this.
It’s in the waver of Touya’s voice, raw and rasped. Touya needs this— needs to hear Keigo come unravelled, too. And Keigo has never been one to disappoint— well, these days that’s a bit less true, but his point still stands.
He doesn’t say anything, just strokes himself the only way he knows how— clumsy, unco-ordinated, all wrong. Touya can’t see him, but he must know it’s a pathetic attempt.
“Jesus, you need me to go over there?”
Keigo’s breath catches. It’s an offer— and enthusiastic one at that. The wall doesn’t seem like such an insurmountable force anymore.
“No— I— I can do this,”
He doesn’t recognize his own voice, all thin and laced with nerves. Keigo can’t bare the thought of someone seeing him like this; he’s sweaty and flushed and so needy.
Touya is quiet for a little, but concedes,
“Alright. Bet you look real pretty, though.”
Keigo moans. Really moans, like he has nothing to be ashamed of. Like there’s nothing unusual about listening and being listened to through a wall.
He can hear Touya’s grin.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous. In a dumb blonde kind of way, but still. Without all that show, you’re pretty messy, Birdie,”
Keigo whines, tightens the fist around his cock. He’s leaking, throbbing, and so close.
Touya is quiet again for a moment, listening. Maybe he’s thinking about what to say— maybe he’s trying to be careful with Keigo.
Keigo doesn’t take to being seen as someone in need of care.
“Tell me— tell me what you’d do. If you were here.”
“I could be.”
“No I don’t— I can’t—“
“Okay, okay, yeah.” Touya takes a deep breath and— oh, he’s stroking himself again. Keigo chews his lower lip to ribbons in the moment of silent mutual pleasure.
“I’d— fuck. I think I’d suck you off. M’wanna make you feel things you’ve never felt before. Want you to look at me n’watch me make you feel good.”
Keigo’s close. His breath quickens and so does his hand, his body burning hotter than it ever has before.
Touya laughs, the sound almost fond,
“Yeah, you’d like that. Your come would probably taste so fuckin’ good— you and your diet plan,”
Fuck. That’s dangerously close to a real observation. That’s more than the way Keigo sounds when he comes. And, what’s more, Touya wants to taste him. Touya wants him.
It should have been obvious, but the realization has Keigo gasping soundlessly, eyes rolling into the back of his head.
“Fuck, yes—“ Touya curses, his own hand increasing in speed, “come for me, Keigo— just come already,”
The plea reaches through the wall, rings out in the otherwise deathly silent house. The house that Keigo is a guest in.
In this house, in this room, in this bed, Keigo is seeing white. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist, and Keigo can almost see Touya between his thighs, looking up with those piercing blue eyes. He can smell him. He can taste him.
The second time Keigo comes, it’s a vicious full body shudder decorated with a choked out whimper. It’s light behind his eyes and tingling in his toes.
It’s Touya’s voice, so close and so far and right in his ear, whispering,
“Yes— fuck, yes. There he is ,”
Keigo doesn’t know how to think. He vaguely registers the sweet sound of Touya coming a second time, and then silence.
And then a knock on his door.
Keigo opens his eyes, feeling worn and achy in the most pleasant way possible. He’s spent. What could Touya possibly want from him?
“Come in,” he croaks, not even bothering to clean himself up, or hide. Touya has heard it all, there’s no point in hiding from sight.
The door creaks open, and Touya is in much the same position as him. Wearing those plaid pyjama pants, belly button piercing on display, a bleary kind of contentment in his eyes.
“Hey there hero,” he greets him with a lazy drawl, shutting the door behind him. Keigo waves sluggishly, half expecting to be mocked but too blissed-out to care.
Touya doesn’t mock him. He presents a cloth, and when it meets Keigo’s skin he barely registers that he’s being cleaned. That Touya is the one holding it, wiping the come off his stomach so tenderly.
Keigo just watches. Awestruck, a bit uncomfortable but in the best way possible.
“There you go,” Touya says, like this is the most casual thing in the world. Keigo cant help himself. He reaches out, runs a shaky hand through dyed black hair. Touya’s eyes glimmer with something unreadable.
“You want to be alone?” he asks, and Keigo didn’t know he had any other options— that Touya would even consider being here, in this room with him, let alone intend to.
“No,” he warbles, tears threatening to fall. Touya wordlessly slips into bed beside him, and that’s that.
Only, it’s not so simple. Keigo’s head is quiet, until he becomes aware of it, and then he can’t shut it up.
But he sleeps. Next to Touya. Distinctly not alone. Keigo is used to his sleep being bothered by other warm bodies— snoring, muttering, the occasional walker. Touya sleeps dead quiet, breaths so shallow Keigo worries he’s died.
But he is warm. Very warm. Keigo feels like he’s spent his entire life freezing cold when he curls up to Touya, all warm and inviting. His room is empty and cold but Touya is everything. Everything Keigo needs.
Keigo hasn’t slept better in years.
He wakes up alone.
Beside him, the bed is so neatly made he wonders if he’d dreamt the whole thing, but his inner thighs ache and his right arm is a bit stiff, and the bed is still heated where Touya had slept.
Keigo doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean— what
any
of this is supposed to mean. How is he supposed to recalibrate for something so completely foreign? How can he go on just surviving now that he knows what it’s like to sleep next to someone?