Thread by @AiraLoveisinthe

#endhawks

Somewhere along the lines, Enji convinces himself Hawks is a bit of a whore, who's sleeping around with every pro hero that as much as glances his way. He has his reasons to believe so, after all Hawks is an incorrigible flirt and everyone seems eager to fall his prey.

Everyone except Enji himself, of course. He has no time to play this little game of his (though Hawks tries, god knows how he tries), and though he has learned to respect and even admire his fellow number two, this is a side of him that Enji struggles to not judge harshly.

It’s not that he’s a bigot. But damn it, work is work, and being a hero, the best possible hero, is something so ingrained in Enji that he can hardly digest such a lack of professionalism. Isn't Hawks worried that his fleeting affairs could ruin his working relationship?

How can he be so shallow? And why, god 𝘸𝘩𝘺, does Enji have to witness apparently every single attempt Hawks makes to seduce someone? Isn't his own utterly depressing sexual life hard enough on him already, for heaven’s sake?

Deep down, he knows the unseemly sight of Hawk’s bedroom eyes shouldn’t be so aggravating to him, especially when they’re directed to someone else, and still. It stirs a whole baggage worth of emotions he’s nowhere near ready to unpack, yet.

And so he silently seethes, welcoming irritation over self-awareness, because despite how much he’s trying to better himself, that’s always been his way, his only way.
If only Enji knew how far from the truth his clouded judgment has taken him.

It gets to the point that one day, during a joint patrol, Keigo feels like it's time to correct him, because though funny at first, the old man is seriously starting to become a little too cranky and uptight every time the both of them happen on the path of another colleague.

Sure, Keigo could tone down the playful attitude a bit, and maybe bat his eyes a little less at Edgeshot before him, but c’mon, that’s his only way to vent the frustration that’s kind of literally eating him alive! It’s spring, for fuck’s sake. Endeavor-san could cut him a break.

But he has no idea of what that means for Keigo, obviously. Keigo knows as much. He’s been exceptionally cautious to not let anything slip, but it’s becoming hard. Especially when the very man who has his stupid bird heart in a chokehold looks at him in such a reproachful way.

As soon as Edgeshot ends their chitchat and bids his goodbye, Endeavor scoffs and huffs at Keigo, and Keigo is pretty sure the old man is on the verge of calling him out here and there and telling him he’s a hopeless fucking slut (which, welp, fine, he wouldn’t hate that much).

So, to save the situation before it truly creates a rift between them, Keigo sighs, dropping his head and placing his hands on his hips in frustration. 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵, he thinks, as his wings bat their discomfort.

"Huh, Enji-san. Not that it’s any of your business but… Well. I dunno what got into your head, but the fact that I flirt around a bit doesn't mean I'm fucking the whole hero department".

Keigo doesn’t glance up to see the disbelieving look the other is surely gracing him with. All he can do is add more quietly, as he clears his throat in a fist and scrunches his nose, like he’s actually embarrassed to admit that, in all honesty: "Hawks mate for life, you know".

Enji’s eyes widen. His nostrils flare. No, he didn’t know that. He had no goddamn idea.
He stays silent, though, and Hawks fidgets a little under the weight of his gaze, his bushy brows furrowed, cheeks flushed and eyes diverted with an uncharacteristically genuine grimace.

Enji’s flames flicker. He blinks through the heat on his face that he’s not entirely sure is coming from his quirk alone.

Hawks has never mentioned having a significant other. Enji is pretty sure he’d know, what with the fact that since Hawks moved to Shizuoka, they’ve been joined at the hip. They’ve been collaborating more often than not, and have even spent some of their off-time together.

Hawks is the closest thing to a friend he’s ever had, and surely by now, Hawks would have told him all about his life partner, if he had one. Enji also figures Hawks wouldnt be so eager to waste his evenings drinking with him if he were in a committed relationship with a 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

So, Enji concludes, he doesn’t have one. And if he doesn’t have one…
The realization downs on him like a guillotine.
Hawks is a flirt, he’s a player and a maddening naughty brat… but he’s also a virgin. And Enji is so, so fucking stupid.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Enji wants to apologize. Of course, he doesnt actually do that. He resorts to begrudgingly suggesting they end the patrol at an izakaya, which surely counts as something, given the way Hawks hurls a fist to the sky in a ridiculous imitation of All Might (or himself, hes not sure)

They end up slightly drunk on shochu and umeshu, sitting on the floor of a private room, but that’s hardly anything new. Hawks is the one who usually invites him, though, and the fact that this time was the other way around, seems to have put the bird in a weird high spirit.

He’s slouching, contently sipping his plum liquor whereas Enji is trying to maintain a proper seiza without swinging too much. Hawks giggles and slaps his arm with the back of a hand.

“Look at us! Ain’t it funny, the top two heroes of Japan sexually frustrated like a pair of squirming salmons”.
Enji grouches. What kind of comparison is that, even?
“I’m not frustrated, Hawks”.

“Sure you’re not, big guy. The last time you got laid was probably when ma boy Shoto was conceived, but ya ain’t frustrated, no sir”. Enji simply shifts in his seat. Hawks nearly loses his. “Oh my god, for real Enji-san?”
“Mind your fucking business”, he hisses through his teeth.

Hawks recovers enough to gawk at him.
“You’re unbelievable! You could at least do something about your situation! You could literally have anyone you wanted!”, he stresses.
Enji highly doubts that.
“You could as well”, he replies just to steer the conversation from himself.

Then he pours another glass of shochu, feeling like this talk strongly requires one.
“Have you even tried to search for a suitable…mate?”, he tries to ask.
Hawks bursts out laughing.
“What’s so funny?!”, Enji fumes. Here’s what he gets for trying to be considerate!

Hawks is literally on the point of rolling on the tatami floor.
“I already found my mate, old man!”, he wheezes, trying his best to recompose himself, going as far as drying a tear from a crinkled eye.
“Then why–...?”, Enji starts, confused.

Hawks’ smile widens. Enji knows better.
“He doesn’t want me”.

Enji’s brows set into a deep frown. He places the glass back on the table without taking a sip.
“He must not be the right person, then”.
“You don’t understand”, Hawks chuckles, uncharacteristically softly. “He is. He is everything to me. I can’t imagine ever loving someone else”.

Enji's throat burns, though the liquor stays untouched on the table.
“Have you… tried conveying these feelings?”, he can’t help but ask.
Hawks snorts.
“Have you?”, Enji insists with a glower.

“It’s complicated”, Hawks sighs, stretching his arms over the low table. “He’s not exactly emotionally available. And aside from that, he’s probably straight. Just my luck! Guess I’ll die a virgin, after all”.

Enji’s jaw juts out.
“You really sure it’s him?”.
“Yep”, Hawks replies, popping the P. Then he twirls a finger near to his temple. “My birdbrain knows. It doesn’t want anyone else”.

Enji takes some time to study his own hands clasped over his kneeling legs.
“If you’re so sure he’s your mate, you should try to pursue him”, he finally concludes.
“No way! I’d rather die a virgin for real than to be rejected by him!”.

Enji can’t wrap his (admittedly buzzed) head around the whole thing.
“Why on Earth are you so adamant you’d be rejected? It’s not like you to be so hesitant. What happened to the brat who said that when he wants something, he can’t help but take it?”

Hawks gapes at him like 𝘩𝘦 is being the unreasonable one.
“This is a whole different matter!”.
Enji grunts, unimpressed.
“You’re a pitiful sight”, he deadpans, making Hawks scoff in a huff, with a strange light dancing in his eyes.

“If I'm oh so pitiful, you could offer to punch my V card yourself”, Hawks sneers, giving a stinging poke to Enji's waist. Enji automatically engulfs Hawk’s taloned finger with his hand. For some reason, his mind takes longer than it should to process that he has to let it go.

“I can’t”, he mutters, eventually opening his palm. Hawks is taken aback by his tone.
“I know that, I was just jok–”
“You should be with the one who’d truly make you happy”, Enji interrupts him, seriously. “You deserve as much”.

Hawks stares at him, his usually droopy eyes open wide and golden. A pretty blush slowly creeps its way from his neck and Enji tells himself it's from the alcohol he consumed, it must be. Hawks finally lets out a shaky breath, dropping his cheek to his bent knee and hugging it.

“Not fair, Enji-san”, he says with a thin voice. He bites his lips. “This won’t do. This way, you’ll make me want to actually push my luck and court y–him”.

Enji blinks through his own alcohol haze. Then he grumbles.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you from the start! Are you slow or something, boy?”.

“Can I really?”, Hawks chuckles, and he sounds stupidly awed. Enji wonders if the bird really drank too much.
“Of course you can. He’d be a fool if he actually rejected you”. Not that he’s any less intoxicated. Otherwise, why the hell would he have said that?

But Enji doesn’t regret it that much when Hawks’ smile grows sweeter than the plum liquor he’s so fond of.
“I’ll be holding on to that, number one”.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

It's a quiet, sunny morning the next time they end up walking side by side. They’re not patrolling, but coming back from a press conference. They’re both dressed in civilian clothes, suits to be exact, though Hawks has long since discarded his blazer and has rolled up his sleeves

The salty wind of the harbor blows against Enji’s face, bare from flames. The smell isn’t the greatest thing, but still the air is somehow refreshing, after having to bear for hours with the stuffy AC in the conference room. He still hates having to deal with that kind of thing.

He’s about to reply to something Hawks said, when his colleague suddenly takes flight and hops down the balustrade that runs over the rocky beach below. Enji calls after him, worried that his wings might have sensed some sort of peril, though the harbor seems silent and peaceful.

And it truly is peaceful, because as soon as Enji leans over the railing, he finds Hawks crouching by the sea, with his sneakers discarded and dress pants rolled up, instead of fighting within an inch of his life or saving some drowning little girl.

Enji raises his eyes to the clear sky and counts to ten before deciding to proceed without the brat, instead of jumping down himself and bringing him back by the ear.
He hasn’t even walked a dozen steps when a stronger gust of wind tells him the bird has come back on his own.

Hawks taps his shoulder. He’s hovering in the hair, a hand behind his back in a childish attempt to hide something, and a tight smirk is dancing on his lips. Enji follows him with a frown as Hawks lowers to the ground, slowly, carefully, like he’s a predator ready to strike.

Enji shifts his weight on his feet and briefly ponders if he should be worried.
“Your hand, please”, Hawks demands.
“Hah?”.
Hawks raises his empty own expectantly, with his palm up. Enji huffs in annoyance but then places his hand over Hawk's smaller one.

Hawks lips twitch. Enji has no idea if in a suppressed smile or a grimace. And he has no time to muse on it further because the next second, Hawks is placing a perfectly rounded shard of glass in his palm. Enji is puzzled.

“What is this”.
“A gift”.
“It’s a piece of junk”.
“Ouch, Enji-san”, Hawks winches with a casual smile. But then his wings flutter just a fraction, in a way Enji has learned to decipher as anxious. Hawks tilts his head, his gaze becoming impossibly sharp. “You don’t like it?”.

Enji glances at the rounded shard in his hands. He strokes it with a thumb. It’s smooth and shiny and of a turquoise shade of blue that makes him foolishly wonder if perhaps Hawks went out of his way to retrieve it because he reminded him of Enji’s eyes.

With a noncommittal shrug, Enji pockets it, and Hawks... simply beams. It’s a strange sight. Enji has never seen him react in such a surprised and genuine manner. He looks radiant and a bit overwhelmed. Enji scratches his nape and goes back to walking on their path.

Hawks follows immediately, resuming to yap incessantly about this and that like he always does and earning only a few grunts in reply. Something feels different, though, and Enji can't place what exactly, as he throws a furtive glance toward him and finds him grinning like a fool

As they keep walking, Enji distractedly puts his hands in his pockets, and his right fingers brush the odd piece of glass.
If this is all it took to make his little bird so happy, he’d be more than ready to accept a whole harbor full of silly stones, for goodness’ sake.

END ❤️‍🔥

🔗TO THE TOP

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616

NOTE: Alright, I lied, that wasn’t the end. This is turning into something bigger than what I had initially anticipated, so well, buckle up, enhoes? This will be one hell of a ride. Leading to a happy ending, ofc. 💗

I’ve also decided that this story is set post-war. Endeavor and Hawks are still heroes, tho Enji has lost an arm (he uses a prosthetic one) and Keigo has half his wings + braces & prosthetics too. Formally they’re still 1 & 2, but this will change during the story… you’ll see 👀

Summary of this update:

Keigo is trying. He really is. He feels ridiculous, and conceited, and utterly, categorically hopeless, but every time Enji sighs and pockets yet another shiny trinket, his heart just about threatens to swell out of his chest.

Enji doesn’t always humor his courting rituals, obviously. He had almost dragged Keigo to be checked out for a hoarding disorder when he had tried (not too subtly) to convince him to gather some sticks together, and even Keigo has to admit that might have been a tad over the top.

Sweet Jesus, he doesn’t need a fucking 𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵, no matter how much his birdbrain screeches otherwise.

Enji had also roughly smacked from his fingers one particularly sparkly button that Keigo might or might have not risked his life to steal from a villain, all while roaring to his face “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”, and that shit had hurt, fuck it really had.

But then Enji had apologized, for real this time. He had pinched his tired eyes and fumbled for words, and in return, Keigo had reached out to briefly squeeze his stupidly big, gloved hand, in the hope to hide the shiver that had run through his own whole body and soul.

God, how much he loves this aggressively caring, incredibly oblivious son of a–

Truthfully, Keigo isn't showering him with courting gifts. Far from it. But it sure has happened enough times to deserve a raised eyebrow. And yet. For the most part, Enji simply gets along with it all and accepts the presents without as much as a protest.

And while that makes the birdbrain literally 𝘤𝘰𝘰 in delight, Keigo’s traitorous right-mind suspects it’s because Enji sees him as nothing more than a child, one he should indulge and not question too much while he plays his kiddish games.

The thought highkey hurts like a punch in the gut, but he figures it’s that or nothing at all.

And Keigo would take any exasperated roll of Enji’s eyes, any head shake and mocking sneer, any “Just get on with it” when he hesitates and Enji is already there, huffing and beckoning him with his outstretched hand to turn over the next piece of junk.

Because even though Keigo is almost sure that this whole courtship thing won’t get him anywhere, even though he’s already resigned to the fact that his bond with Enji will never evolve past their carefully constructed friendship, there’s still a part of him that simply 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴

And it’s harder to smother it now that he’s actively trying to do, well, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 about this impossible love of his. Hope is such a little bitch, he swears.

That’s why, silly birdie stuff aside, Keigo has figured that if he ever hopes to breach Endeavor-san’s thick-as-a-brick skull and make his very romantical intentions clear, he should also give a shoot to a more… traditional approach.

So, here they are, tonight. Dinner. On full-fledged chairs in a proper, up-to-sanitary-inspection restaurant. Not one of the many izakaya they meet on their patrols, but one fancy-ass expensive place, at least for Keigo’s KFC-based standards.

He’s still quite baffled, to be honest. Starry-eyed, sitting in front of his goddamn childhood hero and longtime beloved, while he tries to subtly wipe his (oh, for real?) sweaty hands on his pants, luckily hidden by the pristine tablecloth and the menu Enji is studying pensively

It hadn’t even been that difficult to convince the big guy, just a pleading “You know, there’s this one restaurant I’ve really wanted to try for ages… Please Enji-san, come with me? We deserve it after today’s fight! A small reward for our win. C’mon, it’s my treat, this time!”.

Enji had regarded him with the same furrowed expression that he’s now dedicating to the menu, raising his head from the statement a policeman had asked him to sign after the battle.

"You should save your money for more important things", he had answered matter-of-factly, causing Keigo’s ruffled and depleted wings to drop just a bit before he had caught himself mid-action.

Then, brushing debris from his burgundy hair, in a way that had no business looking so attractive, Enji had added: "I don't mind paying for the both of us".

𝘖𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘺, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘋𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺. Yet again Keigo had felt fucking spoiled like a petulant child, but well, progress is progress, right?

And since Keigo is trying, he really is, despite feeling like a fraud, he even went out of his way to dress up a lil bit. A nice tee, a pair of chinos that leave much less to the imagination compared to his loose hero pants, a coupla jewelry he received as a gift after doing ads.

He had almost felt confident, charming and ready to exploit it, at least until Enji had shown up, clad in yet another variant of his tight turtleneck & fitting slacks combo.

Combo that yes, makes Enji look sinfully edible, but that Keigo has seen so many times already that it could only mean he was alone in the endeavor (hah!) of making this night somewhat special. Figures.

At least, Keigo muses, studying Enji while he folds his menu and briskly conveys his order to a starstruck waiter, he should be thankful he can’t see the gloves of Endeavor’s costume peeking out from his sleeves.

After the waiter walks away, they fall back into their usual banter. The conversation is easy. It’s a well-rehearsed game, at this point, and Keigo doesn’t even refrain from lightly kicking Enji’s shin under the table when he says something exceptionally aggravating.

Keigo knows he can get away with the small snub. What he doesn’t know is that Enji’s fingers would overlap, when the big guy lowers down with a glare and grabs his ankle to stop him. Holy shit. Oh, fuck his life and this smoking hot mountain of a man, that is simply 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳.

It’s only when they’re well into their second course that Enji decides to pull out from the hat a topic that almost makes Keigo spit his mouthful (chicken, of course).

"So. Have you tried courting this boy of yours, yet?", Enji asks with a wave of his chopsticks.
Keigo chews slowly and swallows before replying, mostly to use the time to think of something appropriate to say.
"Uhm, actually, yeah. I've started to".

Then, possessed by his stupid birdbrain, because that’s the only plausible explanation: "But he isn't a boy, Enji-san. He's, uh, a bit older than me".
"A bit", Enji repeats carefully.
"Kinda", Keigo winces.

"Hawks", Enji calls him, and the inflection in his voice makes Keigo stiffen in his seat and his wings spring to attention.
"Yessir?".
"You said he's emotionally unavailable. And now you're telling me he's older than you". Keigo gulps. Oh god, oh god, oh god–

"You're not going after some good for nothing married man, are you?", Enji inquires seriously, and the relieved sigh Keigo tries to hold in risks to make him choke again.

"No, no, he’s not married", he waves a hand in denial, and then, as an afterthought, he adds: "At least not anymore", because fuck, it feels too good to remember it. Keigo is a terrible, terrible man, alright. But he’s already burnin’ in Hellflames, so who cares?

The scowl Enji gives him in reply doesn’t seem to agree. Keigo hurries to fill the silence with a chuckle and the first thing that comes to his mind.
"Besides, it's not like it changes anything! The fact that he was married".

Or well, maybe he should’ve thought it through better before opening his big mouth, because the look Enji’s giving him now is positively murderous.
"What does 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 even mean?".

"Well, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 that I'm a homewrecker, Enji-san!", Keigo huffs in reply. "May I remind you I wasn't even actively going after him before you convinced me to try?".
Enji makes a mocking grimace.
"I might be regretting telling you that. You seem to have some real bad taste, boy".

Keigo gasps, personally offended.
"You're not allowed to take your blessings back! Nope! Too late!".
Enji shakes his head with a sigh.
"Alright, alright", he allows. Then he throws Keigo a pensive glance.

"What did you actually mean, then?", Enji asks and Keigo hopes he’s not blushing when he replies.
"Ah, well…", he absentmindedly tries to push a strand of hair behind an ear, only to remember they’re now too short to do that. He lets his hand fall onto his lap.

"Just that he'd been married for the whole time I've had my eyes on him, so it's nothing new to me" he explains.
Enji seems to consider his words carefully.
"How long has it been going on, anyway? This crush of yours".
Keigo can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of this situation

"Now Enji-san, I wouldn't call 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 what I'm feeling for the love of my life, would you?".
Enji bristles.
"Whatever you want to call it, then".
"I'd call it devotion, after ten years. Give or take, depending if you consider young infatuation real love".

Enji’s eyes widen at that, big and so turquoise that Keigo thinks he kinda maybe wants to steal them for himself.
"Ten years?”, the old man repeats. “That… that would have made you nothing more than a child".
"I guess”.

"Keigo", Enji calls him again, by his name this time, and the genuine care in his tone is heart-stopping. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭?, Keigo panics. Enji is going after his throat, tonight.
"Hm?", he mumbles intelligently because he doesn’t trust his voice.

Enji leans slightly over the table, lowering his tone to a concerned rumble.
"Have you been… groomed by this man?".
Keigo jumps in his seat.
"Oh for fuck's sake, no! I’ve never even spoken to the guy before being well into my twenties!".
Enji slightly bangs a fist on the table.

"Then how can you say you've been in love with him for so long?!”, he protests frustratedly. And after that, with a whole other kind of nerve, “Wait a damn minute, have you been–".
"I'm not a 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘳, Enji-san! Jesus fucking Christ, you sure have a wild imagination!".

"It's not like you're giving me a clear picture!", Enji glowers at him.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵, Keigo thinks bitterly. After that, the silence seems to stretch for impossibly long, while yet another course gets delivered to their table.

It’s Enji that finally breaks the tension again. He sighs, leaning against his seatback and rubbing his forehead with a sorta sheepish look. 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘺, Keigo sneers internally, pushing around the food on his plate with his chopsticks.

"So how has he been responding to your… what's it called, courtship?", Enji makes an effort, and Keigo lets his wings and shoulders relax, because he will always, always meet 𝘩𝘪𝘴 big dummy halfway when he tries.

"Yeah, well… He's been sorta accepting it. Though I'm pretty sure he has no idea of that. He got a bit of a thick head", Keigo smiles fondly for a second, before it turns bittersweet. "I guess he's just being kind to me".

"What is it that you've been doing to court him?", Enji asks way too curiously, and Keigo has to tread this one cautiously.
"Oh man, uhm, you know. Bird stuff. Nothing serious. Only a coupla things to make my birdbrain shut up".

Enji pauses just long enough for what it takes for a waiter to deliver them a side dish.
"So he may have not realized your intentions at all?".
"I'm 99% sure of that", Keigo nods. Enji seems puzzled.
"Then what's the point?".

Keigo huffs a breath, again reminded that his hair is now too short to move it this way.
"It just… it feels nice, alright? To feel a bit closer to him. To see him accepting my feelings, even just out of courtesy. And besides, I gotta take it reeeal slow, or I'd scare him off".

Enji taps his index against the rim of his glass of water.
"Never pegged you for the type to fall for someone easily scared off like that. He sure sounds weak".

Keigo instantly goes into defensive mode. Protecting his man from his man himself. Ahh, the irony.
"He's not weak, okay? He's just…got a lot to deal with" he scowls with a pointed look. "And I'm sure the divorce isn't helping at all. I think you can relate to that, hm Enji-san?"

Enji sucks in a breath at the jab.
"I guess", he concedes, jutting his jaw out into that frankly adorable pout of his. Keigo swallows the last of his food.
"Can I ask you something, now?".
"Shoot".

This is risky. Oh, Keigo is playing with fire.
"Now that I’m thinking about it, your, err, circumstances are kinda similar. He’s been married to a woman for years and he’s only recently divorced. As I told you, I’m not even sure he’s ever thought of, you know… being with a man”.

Keigo forces the question in the open before he chickens out (and he had lotsa chicken tonight). “How would you like to be approached, if it were you?”.

Enji looks back at him with an indecipherable expression. Keigo might or might not be on the point of bolting up and outta there. Finally, Enji takes a sip of water from his glass and averts his eyes.
“I’m hardly the right person to ask for this type of advice, Hawks”.

“Keigo. Please” the birdbrain makes him blurt out. It’s always its fault, obviously. “You just called me that. I think we’re well past formalities and hero handles, no?”
Enji crosses his arms.
“Then drop the honorifics to my name”
“No can do!” Keigo chirps with a nervous laughter

Enji shakes his head.
“And I can’t give you an answer to what you asked. I highly doubt my situation is similar to that of anybody's”.
“Well, of course. It overlaps just in the things I mentioned", Keigo smiles smoothly.

“I’m not looking for a relationship”, Enji points out, and wow, that stings. “I can’t tell you how I’d rather be approached”.
“But you could try”, Keigo whispers dejectedly, lowering his gaze to his now empty plate.

He can feel Enji’s smoldering eyes burning holes into him.
“I need some more intel to work on, then”, he finally yields, and Keigo doesn’t even know if he’s happy or not about it. Are they really gonna do this? Yep, they are. Keigo is a genius and also a motherfucking idiot.

“What do you need to know?”, he asks nonetheless.
“I’m assuming that since he’s recently divorced, he went through a separation first”, Enji mumbles, scratching his stubble. “Was it for long? Was he close to his wife?”.

“Dunno about that”, Keigo says, you know, like a filthy liar. “But since they broke off, I guess there wasn't much love in the air, right?”, he tests his luck.
“Or it may have been a unilateral decision. He might still be in love with his ex and have just let her go”.

It’s a slap in the face. One aided by Prominence Burn, at that. Oh, why was he doing this, again?
“Yeah, he might”, Keigo agrees, hearing the concerning sound of his own heartbreak.

“Does he have children?”, Enji goes on, unrelenting.
“A couple”, Keigo concedes.
“Is he… is he a good father?”, Enji stumbles a little and Keigo's lungs stop working along with his heart.
“Why you ask?”, he wheezes with what he’s sure it’s his last, dying breath.

“Because depending on how much he cares about his kids, how old they are and things like that, he might or not want to get into a new relationship so soon after the divorce”, Enji observes, looking at him expectantly.
“Oh”, Keigo blurts out just because he feels required to.

Then, fuck his birdbrain, for real now, “His kids are grown-ups”, Keigo clarifies hopefully, making Enji cross his arms over the table and earning himself a withering look.

“Keigo, how old is this man, again?”.
“Age is a number”, he tries pathetically.
“Shouldn’t you be running after someone your age, though?”.

Keigo groans and hides his face in his hands.
“Enji-san, I think I already told you. There’s no one else for me. Can’t do much about it, at this point. I’m thoroughly fucked”. He peers at his tablemate from behind his fingers. “Or well, so I wish”.

Just like that, Enji fucking /blushes/ and he looks so unbelievably wrecked by the mention of sex alone that Keigo would very much like to jump him here and there just to see if he can bring out other similar expressions from him. But thats a big no for multiple reasons. Probably

Keigo feels ready to drop dead any time, now, so he bares his head for the final blow.
“Speaking of, you haven’t given me any advice about the gay stuff”.
“That I can’t help you with”, Enji predictably replies.

“‘S that so”, Keigo chirps with nonchalance, as he chooses his coffin, the epitaph on his headstone (Here Lies a Stupid, Virgin Bird) and digs his own grave.
And since he has nothing more to lose, Keigo decides 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘵, let's go out with style.

𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘙𝘶𝘮𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘦, he thinks, as he leans forward with a smirk, propping his chin on a fist.
“You could help me with the age factor, then. Tell me, Enji-san, how would you like a cute, nice girl my age to hit on you?”.

Enji’s face looks like it’s about to burst into flames.
“I’d much rather avoid that”.
“Really?”, Keigo chuckles. “Too young?”.
“T–That’s not what I mean”, Enji pinches his eyes shut, his voice hoarse. “Youth can be… a charming attribute”.
“Oh…?”, Keigo can’t help but coo.

Enji glances at the roof and blows a visible breath through his nose
“What I'm trying to say is that only recently I figured out I’ve never been much attracted to women. So I have no wish for one to hit on me and I have no clue how you should approach someone who may be straight”

What.
Wait a goddamn fucking minute, 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛?

The little bird who reigns supreme in Keigo’s brain starts to flap and spiral out of control, shrieking a string of profanities that all curiously end with the words 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦.

“I–I see”, Keigo mumbles through the absolute chaos in his head. “I mean, thank you for sharing this with me, Enji-san”, he offers lamely.

Then he clears his throat. He desperately tries to look as if the notion of 𝘨𝘢𝘺 𝘌𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳 hasn’t singlehandedly kickstarted his heart back into business and maybe added some years to his lifespan.

“Have you told anyone else? Your kids?”, Keigo asks, taking a bite from the dessert that was handed to him one soul-shattering revelation earlier.
Enji is sipping yet again his water, probably to hide the embarrassment this whole sharing thing is causing him.

“Just my therapist and Tsunagu. And, uh, Shouto, for now”, he mumbles.
“Shouto-kun!”, Keigo says affectionately, because he does have a soft spot for the youngest Todoroki and his sharp tongue. He tilts his head curiously. “How did he take it?”.

“As Shouto takes things” Enji shrugs, and just with that, Keigo can picture perfectly the image of cool, savage Todoroki Shouto and his deadpan reaction in front of his own father’s coming out.

Keigo snorts behind a hand because it really shouldn’t be this funny, but then Enji smirks a little in return and 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬… brush with death aside, this really might have been the best night of Keigo's life, after all.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

All the way back home from the restaurant, Enji can’t stop thinking about Keigo’s good-for-nothing, divorced, and arguably depraved old geezer. Or, the love of his life, as Keigo fancies calling the poor excuse of a man that somehow has managed to captivate him so thoroughly.

Granted, Enji knows nothing about the guy except what Keigo himself told him. Yet he can’t help but wonder how someone who sounds like such a walking disaster could end up charming someone who, on the other hand, is like… well, like 𝘒𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘰.

For reasons he’s actively trying to not dwell on it's making his blood boil, and Enji finds himself rolling his shoulders and having to regulate his body temperature more than once during his ride home. Still, his mind can’t help wandering back to their conversation.

In the end, he had agreed with Keigo over the fact that the best strategy with this frightened, flimsy man would have to be a slow and cautious approach. 𝘋𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, Keigo had called his particular kind of endeavor. Enji thinks it’s proper bullshit.

He had been on the verge of telling Keigo it didn’t sound like something worthy of his time, but before he could do that, the little bird had just sighed in resignation and said: "I've already waited ten years, I could probably wait for another ten if I gotta".

“But no more than that”, Keigo had cared to specify with a seraphic smile, because he really wants to get his hands on his man before erectile dysfunction can become a problem. Apparently, his beloved looks like someone who'd be a beast in bed, and Keigo'd much rather enjoy that.

The coughing fit that Enji feels rising rivals the one he had half an hour ago in the restaurant. His beaten lungs protest now as earlier at the specific mental image Keigo’s words had supplied.

𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?, Enji berates himself as he parks in front of his garage and drops his forehead to the wheel, but Christ, the truth is he knows the answer: Keigo was right.

Enji is sexually frustrated, especially lately after his brand new sexual epiphany. He’s frustrated and repressed and hungry to the point it hurts, and well…Keigo, with his stupid skintight pants that would have looked better off burned to ashes, doesn’t make it any easier

𝘕𝘰, 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘕𝘖𝘛. 𝘞𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, Enji wills his body to unwind. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, he scowls at his own face in the rearview mirror.

Keigo is too young, too tempting, too nice for his own good, and, as much as Enji hates the notion with a fiery passion… he’s also spoken for.
The reflection in the rearview mirror stares back at him with what looks infuriatingly like pity.

Enji gets out of the car and slams closed the driver’s door with more force than strictly necessary. He presses the tiny button that locks the vehicle with a grunt and proceeds to fish out his house keys, focusing on the safe, perfunctory motions he has repeated for half his life

The fact he has realized he may have wasted the same half of his life struggling to impersonate someone he's never been changes 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. So does the completely unnecessary thought that said realization has started to kindle alight as soon as he met one pesky little bird.

He simply won’t think about it. That will be his course of action. His therapist would likely not be on board with that if they knew, but well, it’s not like Enji has time to spare to explore his undisclosed desires or do some other kind of emotional stunt. Especially not tonight

The front door opens and the porch lamp lights up before he can even step on the walkway, and with a deep-rooted ache in his heart, Enji takes in the sight of his youngest son welcoming him home.

Shouto is staying with him for the spring break. Enji has mixed feelings about that; he thinks his son should spend the vacation with his mother. But apparently, Fuyumi has bribed him somehow, so here Shouto is, propped against the threshold with his arms crossed.

Enji might have described his expression as bored, if not for the glint in his mismatched eyes that promised slaughter. And not surprisingly, Enji had ended up on the menu.

“How was your date?”, Shouto says in lieu of a greeting, picking at his fingernails with his teeth. Dammit, Enji is too old for this.
“It wasn’t a date. Just dinner with Hawks”.

“So it was a working dinner?”, Shouto raises an eyebrow, obviously noticing the lack of Endeavor’s costume under Enji’s clothes.
“Not exactly”, Enji concedes, stepping inside to untie his dress shoes in the foyer.

Shouto closes the door and leans against it, his lips smugly quirking up into the hint of a smile.
“So it was a date”.
“We– We are 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, Shouto. Friends that have dinner together”, Enji argues stubbornly, and fortunately, Shouto seems to decide he’ll leave it at that.

Shoes neatly put back in their place, Enji enters his home and once again gets lost in the mechanical routine that has become his life. Keys and wallet in the bowl over the table, teapot on the stove, some food for the roaming black cat that sometimes graces him with her presence

It’s strange to do that under the watchful gaze of his son, and yet oddly comforting. Despite the oppressive guilt that has taken permanent residence in his core, Enji is glad that Shouto is staying with him for a few days. Really glad.

Admittedly, they don’t talk much when it’s only them. Usually, it’s Fuyumi that strives to fill the silence, or even Natsuo if he’s feeling content enough to complain out loud. But maybe, Enji thinks as he eyes an old scorch mark on the wall, the quiet should be their true solace

That’s another thought for his therapist, Enji guesses. With some luck, it will be enough to distract them from inquiring about his newfound homosexuality during the next appointment. He smirks at the idea, as he enters his walk-in wardrobe and asks Shouto to follow him.

Thanks to his help, Enji is able to pull off his sweater with no more than a muffled groan when the fabric catches a nasty bruise he earned earlier during his shift. It’s been a long day and he isn’t getting any younger.

Then, left in his undershirt, Enji starts to unlink the neural bond around his right bicep with practiced fingers.

Shouto studies him carefully as Enji removes the prosthetic arm from his stump. He even hands over a cooldown patch. Enji’s old, gruff heart flutters in his chest just a little. Then Shouto delivers his next blow.
“Did you know Hawks is gay, too? He’s been out for years”.

Enji sighs, exasperated. He’ll never live past the day his son is satisfied enough to not roast him. He almost regrets passing on a fire quirk to him. 𝘏𝘢𝘩, what a thought that is. He’s surely getting soft with age.
“I know that”, he replies, faking indifference.

“Do you, now”, Shouto deadpans, and Enji shrugs off the irreverent tone.
“Yes, 𝘯𝘰𝘸”, he counters back, feeling somewhat proud that he’s able to banter with his son without overheating too much anymore.

Enji carefully places the prosthetic arm back in its holder. He clears his throat. “I’ve been giving him romantical advice, actually”.

With that, he succeeds in making Shouto look genuinely shocked. A small victory, Enji supposes.
“𝘠𝘰𝘶 of all people?!”, his son gapes.
“Yes. I know it sounds unbelievable”, Enji snorts. “But that’s what friends do, right?”, he states with a rush of confidence.

Shouto stares at him, taken aback. He still can’t shake the stupor off, it seems. It’s kind of an endearing expression.
“What sort of advice would even Hawks need? I mean, he’s 𝘏𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘴”, Shouto remarks, and God help him, doesn’t Enji know 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

Enji considers how much he should disclose. He figures Shouto isn’t the type to go and gossip about other people’s business. He’s a respectful kid, Enji thinks proudly, though he doesn’t know how much credit he can take for that. Besides, Enji likes to be able to confide in him.

“Hawks is in love with a man in a, uh, difficult sentimental situation. He thought mine and this man's experiences could compare, hence why he asked my thoughts on how he should approach him”, Enji explains, gathering a change of clothes to take a quick shower.

When he turns back toward Shouto, Enji finds him standing still. An even stranger expression than shock is denting his son’s usual cool front. Enji would have called it disbelief or indignation if he didn’t deem those uncalled-for.

“What?”, Enji says to shake his son from his stupor.
Shouto blinks slowly, his eyes stern.
“Dad. Are you for real?”, he asks, using a harsher tone than what Enji was expecting.

It’s Enji’s turn to be taken aback. He scratches is nape.
“Yes, of course?”.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake”, Shouto mumbles, rolling his eyes and walking out of the room clearly done with him and their conversation.

Enji opens his mouth to reply but then clicks it shut. He doesn’t even have the time to half-heartedly yell “𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦!” after Shouto because the boy is already out of his sight.

Enji is puzzled to say the least. He doesn’t understand what brought their talk to such a sudden end, and his lips press together in a sullen pout. He thought he and Shouto were having some sort of bonding moment, here.

Maybe, Enji grumbles to himself afterward, as steam rises from his body and he keeps sulking under the jet of his shower, he’ll really have to talk about this with his therapist, after all.

Shouto, later, through text: You have some real bad taste.
Keigo: mhh dunno whatcha talking about, baby boy, but lemme tell ya: you sound just like your father
Shouto: *multiple puking cats stickers

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?t=QFwhM71xN59uOuJtWYhIaw&s=19

CW for mentions of blood and canon typical violence, I guess

Summary of this update:

The next morning, Keigo groggily wakes up with the certainty he has spent a frankly unnecessary amount of time tossing and turning and thinking about Shouto's not-so-subtle lil text.

He groans, rolling onto his belly and flopping facefirst into his pillow. He lets his wings spread and stretch to their full width, which admittedly is less than what it used to be, but most of the days, the good days at least, Keigo doesn’t regret the sacrifices he had to make.

Glimpsing at his phone under the pillow and realizing he’s still got time before his alarm is supposed to kick him off to work, he idly entertains the idea of catching another five minutes of sleep.

But looking at his phone has the unwanted side effect of reminding him how he lost said sleep in the first place, so, unfortunately, Keigo finds he’s more awake than ever.

God, he feels so stupid. It's obvious that Enji thought it a harmless thing to tell his son all about their /not/-date and that, along the lines, Daddy’s boy figured Keigo out like an easy, hopeless puzzle.

Keigo doesn’t find the fact that Enji said something to his son overly odd or bothersome. He knows his big guy is trying damn hard to be more open with his kids and that he’s also doing his best to include them in other aspects of his life that don’t concern hero work.

/Not that Enji-san has ever known what to do with himself besides being Endeavor/ Keigo snorts, rubbing his face into his pillow. At least, he supposes, he should be happy that Enji sees what they have as something more than a work relationship, enough to mention it to his family

It must mean something, right? Enji even called him by his given name, the night before, and this time, the sound Keigo muffles into his pillow suspiciously sounds more like a moan. Granted, Enji said it only to scold him, but ah, a bird could dream.

Or, Keigo /would/ dream about it, wetly and in great detail, even, if only he could go back to sleep and the offending weight of the phone in his hand wasn’t dragging him back to reality.

Right. The text. That little, troublesome thing. And the proof that Todoroki Shouto is way more clever than Keigo has ever given him credit.

/That/ is an unfathomable thing in itself. For how limited their acquaintance has been, Keigo has long since realized that Shouto inherited Enji's denser-than-a-neutron-star nature along with his fire quirk. Things simply…take a turn for the bizarre inside their pretty red heads

So, if Shouto among all has immediately realized what’s going on, Keigo’s intentions must be glaringly obvious. Oh god. He doesn’t know if this says more about himself or about the clueless hunk of a man he’s head-over-heels for.

Unless… Shouto said something to clue Enji /in/, or the old man himself had a sudden revelation during his recount of their evening together. Keigo shudders, his wings impulsively folding around him to cover and protect him. So much for a slow and careful courtship, huh?

He wants to write to Shouto again. He wants to fake indifference and indirectly grill him to discover how much his big ol’ daddy knows, but how should a bird go about messaging the son of the unknowing love of their life without seeming like a complete, creepy stalker?

And it's not like he and Shouto have ever had a real talk through text. Their convo history basically consists of Keigo unsolicitedly sending him silly memes and Shouto not understanding any single one of them. Again, the boy’s mind is… fascinating to say the least.

Keigo sighs, turning onto his back. His wings mildly quiver in protest but it’s nothing compared to the dread that’s slowly settling into him as he gets more and more awake and wrapped in his own thoughts.

Staring at the ceiling, he can't help but think about how he managed to acquire the number of every Todoroki (with one crusty exception he doesn't wanna think of) during the long hours spent waiting for a nurse, a doctor, anyone, really, to tell them all Enji was going to be fine

None of them had questioned his presence in the hospital waiting room. None of them had made him feel unwelcome or like a burden, despite his thin fucking patience and the injuries he refused to let anyone take proper care of before he made sure Enji wasn’t going to die on him.

And none of them had put Keigo back into his place when he had been on the point of roughly shouldering past the nurse that kept repeating to him “Immediate family only!”.

“He comes with us”, Fuyumi had stated instead, with eyes tough as ice and a smile soft as snow. “He’s the only reason Dad is still alive, after all”, she had said among the nods of her two brothers, and Keigo might have kissed them all on the forehead in other circumstances.

He…likes them. They’re all good kids, though he figures he shouldn’t call them that, since he and Fuyumi are the same age and the other two are just a little younger. In the few months he’s known them, Keigo has grown to respect them deeply for all their strengths and weaknesses

They’ve all learnt to work around their personal scars, and these days, standing tall near their father, they seem a lot more like a family. It makes Fuyumi look radiant. But Keigo finds way more blinding the grateful, broken smile Enji falls into when none of them is looking.

The first time Keigo had witnessed that, he had felt tears prickling in his eyes. For long-lost chances or what he’s not sure, but damn. He had felt proud nonetheless. And also like he’d been intruding all along into a kind of happiness that was never meant to be his.

With a much cooler head than the one he had the night before while being in close proximity of the hot human furnace that’s Endeavor, Keigo reconsiders each and every of his words.

Man, the big guy had literally swept him off his feet with some of the things he did and said. Keigo can’t still wrap his mind around most of it, especially the unexpected coming out and the admission that Enji doesn’t find a big age difference entirely off-putting.

Keigo wants to believe he could have a chance, albeit a small one. That’s more than he’s ever assumed he could get, and for a couple of minutes there, during dinner, during prolonged goodbyes in the crisp April night, Keigo had greedily dreamt of seizing it.

Even now, alone in his bed, his fingers itch to sink their talons into the prospect just as much as they’ve always longed to clutch impossibly broad shoulders and hold on for dear life as Enji finally, /finally/ claimed every part of him.

But then, the way Enji had implied being a good father meant putting one's kids first rudely intrudes any hope of fantasy before it can start to form in Keigo’s heart.

“I’m not looking for a relationship”, Enji had said, and isn’t that self-explanatory enough? Isn’t that the confirmation of everything Keigo already knows to be true about Enji, the father, the sinner, and not Endeavor the hero, /his/ hero, the one in the shining, spotless armor?

Keigo stares holes into the ceiling, pressing his phone to his chest over his blankets. His mind wanders dangerously to the day Endeavor had definitely ceased to exist in his mind as he cradled a dying Enji in his arms and his flimsy wings struggled to drag them closer to help.

“Touya”, Enji had repeated through spitfuls of blood and feverish hallucinations, and Keigo had almost been glad that crusty motherfucker was still free, alive and kicking butts, if it meant giving Enji another reason to fight for, despite it being self-hatred.

Keigo is all too aware of each of Enji’s shortcomings, now. He has dropped his rose-tinted lenses a long time ago, but that has made him fall harder, if anything. Wings too useless to brake the dive, soul too jagged to be able to do anything but recognize its broken kin.

Birdbrain or not, there’s really no one else for him, at this point. It should feel like a harsh life sentence, and it probably is, considering the high chance of isolation, but Keigo is way too willing to plead himself guilty. /I’m really going to die a virgin, aint I/ he winces

Not for the first time, Keigo wishes for a world where things were easier. A world where he didn’t have death on his hands, where the war didn’t take so much from them, where every step, every breath Enji was still obstinately taking wasnt solely dedicated to atonement and family

Something never meant to be his, Keigo reminds himself again, because what he used to have in his childhood should never be considered a family, and what he has become now is nowhere near being someone worthy of it.

Keigo rubs his eyes. Just to wipe the sleep off of them, obviously.
He figures the day he's able to create his dream group chat called "Dissing Endeavor-san" with Enji's children is nowhere near in sight, for the foreseeable future. Possibly ever, after all.

He smiles wistfully. /I would’ve been one hell of a good stepmom, though/, he thinks with a low chuckle, unlocking his phone and selecting Shouto’s contact once again.

Then he settles for simply sending the boy a link to a harmless conspiracy thing he stumbled upon the other day, and after that, he locks his screen and kicks the sheets off to start his day.

Keigo knows Shouto would be too busy diving deep into absurd theories to reply, anyway.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?t=MEqD1m9MQaPHwaIVmAJcew&s=19

Let's see if you can guess what the summary of this update is all about 🤔

Keigo ends up texting back and forth with a whole other character, later that week.

[leave me alone], he groans, interrupting the string of attachments Rumi has been sending him for the past five minutes straight just to mock him. Still, he cant help but tap the screen and swipe over and over again to longingly admire each and every one of the offending pictures

It’s the same photo all over again. A couple of different shots of the same scene, actually, but the one that stands out the most for its angle and quality has been reposted a thousand times already on both respectable papers and tabloids, not to mention on social media.

It went viral instantly, like a picture of the number One & Two heroes ought to after a big win, if only he and Endeavor still had the public favor on their side.

It's an incredible shot, too, for being one stolen in the midst of a fight. It looks professionally done, cover-worthy and all that.
And Keigo hates it with his whole self.

Like he’s watching a video instead of a photo, his mind rewinds the entire scene, vivid as if he was still in Hawks’ guise, flying over the battlefield with his heart pumping in his muffled ears and his feathers striving to find the right opening to strike a counteroffensive.

The conflict had been going on for hours. The villains had been unrelenting, brutal in their attacks and not as much as burned out as them. They had looked young and fresh, exactly like they had no damn war and a backlog of sleep to catch up on, the fuckers.

Hawks had suddenly felt too old for this shit. The left brake sustaining his wings had started to creak alarmingly after a bad hit, and he was straining to do something that had been as easy as breathing for his whole life. Flying, that is.

Beneath him on land, Endeavor had been doing somewhat better than him, thank goodness. But victory still seemed too far ahead and the both of them too worn out already. They needed a change of strategy. And a breather, perhaps.

That’s when Endeavor had flared a wall of fire to fend off his enemies and had yelled something at him, beckoning him to regroup.

His lordship the Flame Hero had been but a small matchstick on the street below, too far to sound comprehensible in the din surrounding them. So Hawks had dived right down, despite the ground being a mess of debris and fire, too rough for a smooth landing.

And god help him, his wings had wanted nothing more than a pause from flying, right that instant.

/Being weak sucks/, Hawks had thought with a grimace, locking eyes with Endeavor’s blazing ones, as he covered the last meters separating them and the other dimmed his flames on the side Hawks was approaching, like he’s started to do every time they’re in close quarters. Then…

Then Endeavor had raised his prosthetic arm, bared from the cover of his sleeve turned into shreds. He had offered it, like one would do for a falcon, and, caught in the frenzy of the battle, Hawks had perched over it without a second thought, as if that was his rightful place.

And so Endeavor had voiced his plan of action while Hawks had listened intently, propped forward with his wings splayed, gaze focused ahead of him already on the task.

That’s what the goddamn photo had captured and what Rumi has been driving Keigo insane with. His feathers bristle as he looks a the cute bunny sticker his supposed best friend has just sent him to play innocent.

[im never gonna trust you with a secret again]
[s not like you're gonna have any other secret crush for the rest of your pathetic life, so whatevs]
[WOW THANKS FOR REMINDING ME BITCH]
[anytime boo], and then, after a second, another picture that Keigo can’t help but gawk at.

It’s infuriating how much… they look good, if he has to be honest. Endeavor just on the right side of assertive and powerful for holding Hawks up like he weights nothing, and Hawks like a vicious, sharp-witted bird of prey ready to strike.

A duo to hold and behold. A pair of heroes that villains and aspiring criminals should beware of.
/So much for still being number One and Two only in paper/, Keigo thinks, flopping down on the outdoor chair on his balcony despite the bite of the night wind.

The photo had done a number on their still-recovering image, obviously. Things have been going better after the war and their crucial role in the final win, but of course, no one in their right mind has yet forgiven and forgotten all the shit Dabi had leaked about him and Enji.

Still, Keigo’s manager had been ecstatic over the unexpected good publicity, going as far as suggesting doing a whole merch line around the concept. Keigo had jokingly protested. Then he had mentally eyeballed how much space he has left in his Endeavor showcase.

Keigo drops his face in his hands, wings rustling in embarrassment as if the man himself had stomped into his apartment and caught him red-handed being a fanboy mess.

He’s grown out of the whole hero worship thing, for fuck’s sake. Keigo is a proper adult and Enji is his colleague, now. He can handle this whole thing maturely. No matter that a joint merch line with Endeavor has always been a wet dream of his, /holy crow–/

Keigo knows he's being ridiculous and egocentric much, and he knows he should find the pose rather overly dramatic, and yet… he and Enji had fallen into it in such a spontaneous manner that nothing can hope to dent the sheer beauty of it in his eyes.

No matter the angle of the shot, no matter the more or less grainy quality of the photo, they look… like they belong together. And Keigo’s heart aches at the mere thought.

The phone he discarded on the outdoor coffee table lights up with the notification of a new message and his traitorous eyes dart to it. This time, Rumi sent him a god-forsaken /meme rendition/ of the picture, and Keigo is about to bang his head against the screen till it breaks.

[this one’s especially noice], she wrote under it. [you look like a skrunkly pigeon pokemon or sumthin]
And then, unrelenting: [did daddy train you well, birdie boy? ya even sing at his command?]

God, Keigo hates that photo. He really does. So much that he wants a thousand copies of it stuck all over his flat in such a way that they might turn into his new wallpaper. He could consider seeing it on some shirts and mugs as well, actually.
[fuck u rumi], Keigo taps hastily.

[betcha wish ya had enough straight bones in you to do just that], Rumi replies right away, and Keigo can’t help but snort.
[same goes for you, you shitty lesbian. im a goddamn snack], he sends back, attaching a goofy bird sticker himself.

[mhhh you say you're a snacc but did the flame daddy taste you tho?]
[he. did. not. i said leave me alone]
[cant, ur a lost cause without me], she replies, and isn’t she right, after all? Rumi is all Keigo has. Ugh, the depression train he got on seems stuck in perpetual motion.

/I’m getting more pathetic by the minute/, he sulks, slumping with his legs spread and chin tucked to his chest in a pout. He’s starting to freeze and crave the natural warmth of a certain someone, but he can’t bring himself to get up just yet. It has been a way too long day.

A night heron croaks in the distance and Keigo would like to tell it to fuck off as well. His phone vibrates and lights up again.
[srsly now. whatcha gonna do about the hero ranking thing? you wanna ask endy to go with you??]
God, he wishes.

Keigo pictures Enji dressed in full gala attire, suit perfectly tailored to fit his larger-than-life body, buttons of his blazer straining just a bit to contain him. Deep blue or burgundy would look so good on his fair skin, a sliver of it exposed by an open shirt and no tie.

He imagines the big guy smirking confidently, cockily even, standing on the red carpet with one hand in his pocket and the other arm raised suggestively for him to take. Keigo shivers, and not because of the chilly spring night.

[i cant. itd be weird af], he writes quickly.
[would not. u just need to get ur head outta ur ass for 1 minute], Rumi predictably replies. Then, after a few seconds of the bubble speech appearing and disappearing: [you can invite him and go as friends, you know that]

Keigo sighs, raising his head to the sky. The stars blink back at him, endless and wise by now to the bullshit of men.
[I dont want to. I dont wanna go as friends, I wanna go in holding his hand and saying: screw you bitches, he's not your number 1 anymore, just mine]

Rumi takes a minute to reply. Keigo can picture her tapping her foot in frustration and shaking her head.
[you got it real bad, birdie]
[gee don't i know that]

Yeah, he knows, unfortunately. If only he could give up. If only he wasn't so stupidly in love beyond salvation. A tale as old as time, the stars mockingly remind him. He's just another Icarus doomed to fall, at the end of the day.

[wanna go with me then], Rumi proposes out of the blue, and Keigo's heart swells with affection. Why couldn't the both of them be boringly hetero and happy together?
[god yes. thanks buns, i love u]

[werent u calling me a bitch literally five minutes ago??]
[yup, you’re my bitch tho wink wonk], Keigo smiles to himself. [i'll treat you so right, babe]

[please dont], Rumi deadpans straight away, disgusted, and Keigo cackles. He's a lucky guy, after all, and maybe the fall won't be so ruinous. His wings are not made of wax and they have tons of support.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP (and ain't it funny that it's Enji's POV) (omg shut up Aira you slut)

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616

See ya tonight, mwah

Summary from Enji's POV:

Enji wouldn’t exactly say that Keigo has been avoiding him.
Hero work has been hectic for both of them during the past few weeks, and though they’ve met often enough during their shifts, Enji can’t help but think something is… amiss.

Like the lack of Keigo's usual nagging for having drinks together. Or of his odd gifts, at that.
Not that Enji is looking to get one. He’s not thrilled that his nightstand and even one of his office drawers are slowly getting filled with rubbish he cant bring himself to toss away

But, over the last months, he’s grown to expect the little presents, at least twice per week. And now that Keigo seems to be focused on more important things, Enji is left to confront himself over his pathetic self-importance.

He snorts through his nose, shifting uncomfortably in one of the chairs in Gang Orca’s agency hall, while he awaits for the last heroes to show up for a strategy briefing.

Hawks is, of course, fashionably late.
Enji doesn’t really blame him, he’s handling the most delicate part of the operation and setbacks ought to occur in their line of work. Still, Enji has never liked to wait.

Left on its own, somewhere along his self-awareness journey, his mind has taken a penchant for overthinking, and Enji must admit that’s never been his forte.

This time, his thoughts seem to be set on tormenting him about Keigo’s gifts. Enji hasn’t let himself wonder excessively about them, aside from maybe allowing the display of attention to stroke his ego a tad too much.

Except, to call them /gifts/ is a way too generous statement. Trash is definitely more accurate to describe the array of flattened coins, pebbles and even the couple of wilting flower buds that have started to decorate the bottom of Enji’s drawers.

Part of him suspects it’s a way to test his flammable patience. To see how much junk Keigo can dump on him before he loses his cool and throws a fit. If that’s the game his little bird is playing, Enji is determined to not let him win.

He is a new man, or at least, he’s trying very hard to be. He won’t let himself fall so easily for such cheap tricks anymore. Never mind that the way Keigo lights up every time Enji accepts one of his presents makes him feel like he’s already fallen all the way down to Hell.

Spotting red feathers finally making their way inside one of the agency windows, Enji wonders for how long he’ll be able to convincingly lie to himself.

Keigo immediately imposes his presence in the room, jumping down from the window sill and landing in the mids of the hall. He waves a manila folder, the information they were going after. Gang Orca and a couple of his sidekicks immediately gather around him to survey the report.

Keigo lets them take it over, not interested in meddling now that he did his part of the job. He appears tired, more disheveled than his usual wind-swept appearance. Still, he manages to wear it like a good look. As if anything could ever stand the chance of looking bad on him.

Enji's whole body is burning. Inside and out, like the sinner he is.
He can’t, for the love of god, take his eyes off him.

Keigo pinches one of his gloves with his teeth. Enji breathes in deeply through the heat that’s threatening to overwhelm him, and he can only thank years and years of training and restraint if what his mask of fire betrays is just a flicker of his yearning.

He must stop. This is getting ridiculous.
He’s a grown man, not a goddamn teenager with raging hormones and no sense of his surroundings. Fortunately, Enji is well past that, or he would have had a rather big problem stretching his skintight hero suit.

No matter how Keigo looks, peeling off his gloves without even meaning to appear so sultry – and Enji is terrified to imagine how unbearable the action would have been in that case. This is not the place nor the time to have these thoughts about his very much younger colleague.

No place or time would ever be right, Enji reminds himself, as he wonders back at Keigo’s 'true love', that good-for-nothing man. Older, divorced, /highly questionable/. It almost feels like a joke how close Enji could be to fulfilling his role.

It’s a sobering thought, one that works effectively to quell his desire. To be that man for anyone, that’s not a delusion Enji can find in himself to entertain; there’s a limit to how much hate he’s able to inflict on himself. It’s a bridge he burned too long ago to wish for it.

With a clearer conscience, it’s a lot easier to observe Keigo while his bare fingers travel and soothe his ruffled feathers. /Preening/, he had called it, one time Enji had been curious to know but not bold enough to ask. Luckily, Keigo is usually plenty bold for the both of them

Hiding a smile, Enji thinks back to their first meeting, their first meal together and the exchange they had just before the Nomu attack. From the very beginning, those fleeting moments had left a permanent mark on him, just as much as the scar he wears on his face.

He can’t help but consider how many things have changed, since then. Mostly good things, Enji is keen to believe, drumming his prosthetic fingers on his bent knee. So many of them directly or indirectly related to the presence of the winged menace in his life.

That much Enji won’t deny. It would be an unforgivable disservice, and he’s long past the point where he isnt willing to give credit when it’s due. He would be a very different man without Keigo by his side. It’s becoming a glaring red flag, one Enji is weaving with his own hands

And it’s so painfully obvious that even his children have started to notice, whenever Hawks ends up being a topic of conversation.

Fuyumi, bless her soul, is trying to be considerate. Natsuo is still obstinately oblivious, and Enji would laugh at the umpteenth evidence of their similarities in character if that didn’t make him also sad.

Touya, or well, /Dabi/, as he insists on being called, doesn’t really talk to him whenever Enji goes to visit him in prison. He usually spends the entirety of the hour glaring at him in silence through the glass cell, and Enji is more than willing to oblige the treatment.

A couple of weeks ago, though, Dabi had gone out of his way to show Enji how precisely he was able to repeatedly throw filed pencils at a photo portraying him and Hawks together. That damn photo in which Enji looks like the poor excuse of a falcon tamer.

Enji sort of begrudgingly likes it. He had asked Dabi how the hell he was able to get one, and his son had obviously noticed something in his tone, because from that moment on, throwing makeshift darts at photos of Hawks has become his favorite pastime, whenever Enji shows up.

Shouto, on the other hand, is a whole other kind of ruthless.

Enji suddenly remembers the talk they had just a few days prior. They had been carefully dancing around Shouto’s options after school, until Enji had had enough.
“You don’t have to come straight to me after graduation”, he had sighed. “Or… at all, for the matter”.

Shouto had just stared at him for a long, stifling minute.
“You don’t mean that”, he had finally said.
“I do”, Enji had rebutted, stricken by a new kind of resolve rising in him. “You should… pave your own path. I’ve done enough of that for you, over the last years”.

Then, feeling inspired – or more like he ought to fill the silence that was threatening to engulf them both: “You could go to Hawks’ agency for a time. I remember him saying he would have liked to enlist you, back in your first year”.

Shouto had snorted at that, something that had sounded suspiciously close to a derisive laughter.
“Are you being serious?”.

Enji had crossed his arms in reply, undecided if he should have felt offended on Hawks’ behalf or maybe on his own.
“Why not? He’s a more than capable hero. He could teach you one thing or two”.

Shouto had not dignified that with a response. Instead, he had raised a hand. He had hesitated just a second before patting Enji's shoulder in pity.
“You’ve got it real bad, old man”.

Enji had felt his heart jump in his throat at the comment. Yet he had pressed his lips shut and tried really hard to fake ignorance. So Shouto had just shaken his head and left him to his own demise.

Remembering that, Enji sort of feels like cardiac arrest is still very much a possibility even now. He lowers his gaze from Keigo to his own hands, and lets them rest palm up on his thighs. He flexes them, assessing the difference between his prosthetic and flesh-and-bones one.

He breathes in, desperately trying to ground himself. He feels like something is slipping from his control, and that those same hands he’s staring at don’t stand a chance to hold on to it. Enji’s very own body is betraying him like it's never done before, all because of…

Keigo raises his head from his preening, as if on cue. His keen eyes skim past the gathering of heroes around them, until finally they lock on their target. He tilts his head consideringly, groomed wings falling closed behind him.

Then his little bird flashes him an exhausted grin from across the room, and Enji finds that all he can do is fondly smile back.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?t=sIngyygNKnZHqexF7jigEQ&s=19

Summary of tonight's update 👀

Is it really flirting if you don't know wtf you're doing, tho

“Psst. Endeavor-san”
Enji blinks. Faint but unmistakable he heard it, despite Gang Orca’s voice demanding the attention of every pro hero in the conference hall. He sighs, casting a glance to his side. The brat has yet to learn to shut up while someone else is talking, it seems.

When he turns, Enji finds that Keigo isn’t looking back at him. Instead, his feathers are flexing slightly and his eyes are scanning the people closest to their spot in the back of the room. He looks restless, Enji notices, even more so than usual. Like a fidgeting hummingbird.

It's only when he’s deemed everyone preoccupied enough with Gang Orca's briefing that Keigo’s eyes meet his, and suddenly Enji can’t be bothered to be associated with any other of his fellow colleagues anymore.
“Hand?”, Keigo whispers, subtly raising his own as in a deja-vu.

This time, Enji doesn’t hesitate to place his into Keigo’s one, palm open and ready. And it’s only then, when the coolness of Keigo’s skin meets his natural warmth, that Enji realizes his little bird didn’t put his gloves back on.

Keigo’s slender fingers cup his much wider hand, and Enji is struck by the memory of Fuyumi’s excited gasp as she watched some corny historical English movie with far too many violin refrains and longing stares for his tastes.

What nonsense, Enji had thought, sulking on the couch next to his rather enraptured daughter. He hadn’t been able to appreciate the appeal of bare hands touching, then. What a hopeless fool he has become, now.

Keigo breaks into a conspiratorial smile, and draws something from one of his jacket pockets. Enji pointedly ignores the way his traitorous, beaten heart accelerates in anticipation. He doesn’t give a damn about the stupid gifts, he vainly reasons with himself.

The small trinket Keigo places in his palm weighs nearly nothing. Enji wonders what flavor of rubbish he’ll have to bring home today, but Keigo makes him close his fist over it before he has the time to recognize its shape.
“What is it, this time?” he asks, curious despite all.

“Earring”, Keigo mumbles into the collar of his jacket, just as Enji opens his hand and catches a glimpse of the piece of jewelry. It’s a small thing, with an encased, squared stone in a golden frame. A stone that suspiciously looks like ruby, if he ever saw one.

“Where did you steal this?”, Enji raises an eyebrow. ”For once, it looks like it might be worth something”.
“Don't sell it!”, Keigo hisses, distraught, attracting the attention of a couple of heroes right ahead. Enji stares at them till they’re intimidated enough to turn around.

Then his frown returns to the tiny jewel between his fingers.
It makes no sense to sell a lone, lost earring and Enji definitely isn't in need of the pocket money.
“I won't. I keep everything you give me” he reassures Keigo, whose eyes go impossibly wide in surprise.

“Y-You do?”, he asks, tilting his head.
The gall of this bird, Enji swears. After putting him through this pantomime for weeks, he still has the nerve to question his goodwill.
“Well, what else am I supposed to do with them? Are they gifts or not?”, he huffs, grouching.

“They are, they are!”, Keigo waves his hands apologetically. “It’s just that, uhm… I don’t know what to say, actually”.
“What a time to be alive”, Enji rolls his eyes.

Keigo chuckles good-naturedly. Then he scratches the point of his nose, in a way that Enji would have called sheepish, if he didnt know any better – the damn brat has no shame, he’s sure of it.
“You’re really the best, big guy” he says, and against that Enji can't hold his grudge

They fall silent again, afterward. Keigo buries his hands in his pants pockets and leans against the wall behind them. Enji crosses his arms, trying to focus once more on the instructions Gang Orca is giving, but his mind is elsewhere.

There’s still a visible uneasiness lingering in Keigo’s posture, Enji can’t help but notice. He didn’t either miss the dark circles dragging down his usual bright gaze, or the frequent rolls of his shoulders and wings.

Enji shifts on his feet, clearing his throat.
“You look miserable today”, he mutters hushedly.
Keigo smirks, briefly glancing up at him.
“My, thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself”.

The little bird seems suspiciously eager to let Enji’s poor comment slide without further teasing. He even takes a step forward, craning his neck to observe the schemes on the whiteboard past the taller heroes. Enji will have none of it. He stops him, holding him back by an elbow

“Is everything alright?” he demands, lowering down to speak to his ear.
Keigo stiffens. He fails to flash him another grin straight away. When he does, its a dazzling one, batting his eyes.
“Why wouldnt it be?”
Enji scowls.
“Because you’re smiling as you do when something is not”

Keigo’s grin falls. His breath hitches, and Enji is able to feel the exhale disrupting his flames. They’re so much closer than he realized, when he approached him to keep their talk private. He immediately drops the grip on his arm, as if Keigo were the one with a burning quirk.

Keigo straightens the fabric of his jacket where Enji’s hand left it rumpled. He swallows, and Enji follows the bob of his Adam apple. The flirtatious lilt in his tone sounds somewhat strained when he speaks next.
“Have you been studying my smile that accurately, Enji-san?”.

Enji would really rather not answer that. Besides, he’s the one doing the questions, here. He throws a quick, surveying glance at his surroundings. It seems like nobody is paying them attention, still. Good. He’s not done yet.
“Don’t derail the conversation, boy”, he scolds him.

“It’s not like it ever works with you”, Keigo shrugs. “I’m not distracting enough, I suppose”, he adds with a low chuckle, making Enji’s scowl deepen. He really must not feel like himself if his charming act has turned self-deprecating.

Enji sighs through his nose. He’s seen that look on Keigo’s face, before. He never wanted to witness it surface again, not on his watch. No matter what greater good required it.

“Is it about the mission?”, he asks, as quietly as he can.
Keigo winces. He averts his gaze, trying to cling to his untroubled front, but nothing can conceal the way his wings sag.
“Yeah, kinda…? I guess I’m not that used to it anymore. The whole infiltration thing and stuff”.

Enji’s flames blaze a notch brighter. That’s why he opposed Gang Orca’s strategy, in the first place. He wills his teeth to unclench to speak.
“We can still revise the plan”.
Keigo shakes his head stubbornly.
“No need. I can do it. I’m just cranky because I need my beauty sleep”.

Enji purses his lips. He ponders the determined glint in Keigo’s eyes and decides that he ought to preserve it, despite his concerns.
“I’ll trust your judgment, then”, he concedes reluctantly.
Keigo beams, tired but sincere, this time.

“Thank you”, he murmurs softly. For what, Enji isn't sure. Keigo should know that, at this point, he trusts him with his life and far more important matters. If he says he can do it, Enji has no reason to doubt otherwise.

Ever the brat, Keigo playfully nudges him with a shoulder, then. Enji doesnt retort because he's a mature adult– and he suspects that Keigo would fall to the ground if he did. He looks down at him reproachfully and finds him staring back with a chirpy, fond expression on his face

If he were a lesser man, Enji would have let the sight daze him into vain acquiescence. Its a close call as it is.
“Is there anything else?” he asks instead, leaning against the wall beside his little bird, whose russet feathers immediately swell in telltale surprise and distress

Enji knows them by heart, by now, except for how they would feel being stroked by his thumbs, captured by his wandering, avid hands. He crosses his arms again, tightly, as if the action alone could contain his disgraceful fantasies.
“If you don’t talk to me I can’t help you”.

Keigo huffs, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
“Look, it’s nothing serious. Just… my heart has been troubling me, lately”.
Enji’s eyes widen in alarm. Keigo’s nose wrinkles as he smiles, big and full of mirth at his expense.
“Not literally, big guy. I’m as healthy as I can be”.

Enji's jaw twitches. He’s not sure if it’s because he wants to sulk for being made fun of or because he wants to smirk back. Sulking is the safer option, though. The topic sort of requires it, too.
“Has your man been giving you problems, then?”.

Keigo sneers funnily, closing one eye.
“You could say that”, he answers, gaze evasively wandering to the front of the room where the killer whale hero is assigning tasks.

"Hawks", Enji calls him back to attention, impatiently. When he receives no sign of it he almost fumes. “Keigo”, he tries again, more coaxingly.

The exasperating bird turns his head back to him, at that. He quickly glances again in Gang Orca's direction, then bats his maddening golden eyes at Enji.
“Shouldn’t we be listening? It sounds important”, he feigns innocence.

Enji is this close to grabbing him by the collar and shaking the answers out of him.
“I already know what they’re talking about. I wrote the plan myself. I can fill you in later” he glowers, lowering his tone. “What did he do?” he inquires, probably more forcefully than he should

Still propped against the wall, Keigo shifts on his feet. He crosses his ankles, suddenly interested in studying his boots.
“He didn’t do anything”, he claims, shaking his head. “I promise”.

Enji isn’t buying it. He doesn't exactly have much faith in Keigo's man.
“If he didn't do anything then what is it” he hisses. “Spit it out. What’s the problem?”.
Keigo sniffs, temporizing.

“I’ve been… reconsidering some of the things you told me over dinner, the last time. You know, your pearls of wisdom?”.
Enji can't believe his ears.
“Have you changed your mind about him?”, he asks, and he deeply loathes the hopeful inflection of his own tone.

Keigo sways his shoulders and wings offhandedly.
“Not exactly. But I probably should give up, anyway. I just… I don’t think I stand a chance, after all”.

Enji feels his eyes burning, as if they're ready to ignite.
“Again with this?”, he seethes. Keigo snickers naively.
“I thought you’d be glad to hear it. You seemed pretty set on convincing me he’s no good”.

Oh, Enji is ready to fucking incinerate this man.
“/He/ is no good. Not you”.
Keigo's lips part. He blinks slowly, seemingly at a loss for words. Enji takes advantage of it and bows to his ear again, keeping his eyes straight ahead to make sure they’re not being overheard.

"Keigo, I’m not going to lie", he says through gritted teeth. "I don’t like the idea of you with this man. He doesn’t even sound like a decent person", he sneers. His hypocrisy is short-lived, though. "But you know him better than I do. And besides, I have no right to judge him".

Enji senses Keigo is on the point of squawking in objection at that, so he flashes him a warning look to keep him silent. Meeting those earnest eyes is all it takes for his anger to slip, though. The aftertaste of it feels caustic in his mouth.

“You should keep going, if he makes you happy. That’s everything that counts”, Enji forces out before he loses the nerve to say what has to be said – what he must remind himself, as well.

Keigo regards him with the oddest, most flustered expression Enji ever saw him making.
“You really want to see me happy that much?”, he wonders, a bit out of breath.
Enji frowns.
“Yes?”.
“Why?”, Keigo asks, bewildered.

“Because I care about you?”, Enji replies, perplexed, meeting wide-open eyes. Has he been so utterly inept in displaying his gratitude and affection? Hasn’t he made it clear enough? Maybe not. Maybe he should state it explicitly. “You are… a very important friend to me”.

Keigo takes a step back, looking like Enji just gave him a punch in the gut. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand, as if he’s feeling nauseous. Yet an indecipherable, wry smile takes over his lips, and Enji has no idea what to make of it.

For how much he has fallen into the habit of keeping track of Keigo’s smiles, he still has to learn to read most of them. Here is the irrefutable proof, this bittersweet, conflicted, and somehow still tender thing that threatens to melt Enji to his core.

The little bird nudges his arm again, with half the impertinence, this time.
“I’d really like to hug you right now, number one”, he sighs wistfully.
Enji clicks his tongue instead of saying something incredibly stupid like /go ahead/.

“I won’t be number one for much longer”, he reminds Keigo, who grimaces.
“I’m sorry about that”.
Enji heaves a visible, overheated sigh.
“Don’t be. I am not”.

Keigo leans against the wall once more. He lets his head rest upon it and peeks up at him.
“You’ll always be my number one, though”, he says, impossibly softly, so much that if Enji hadn't been so focused on his lips, there’s a chance he would have missed it.

And it probably would have been for the best if he did, because nothing good ever comes from Enji’s desire to be number one anything.
And that desire, now, is turning out to be all-consuming.

Enji’s throat sears, as he finally lets his personal inferno devour him. He wonders how it would be, to earn that spot in Keigo’s life, to strive to be worthy of it. He aches, lost in the pipe dream of being able to pursue something good, something /right/, for once.

And he writhes in his own hellflames for the unspeakable satisfaction of imagining how it would feel to hold Keigo, make him his, and truly be his first one and only.

It’s shameful, pathetic. It's everything Enji has never dared to contemplate before, during his quest for self-glorification, and it's also goddamn hilarious, because it's a goal he'll never be able to reach, no matter how badly he longs for it.

It's a fitting punishment for someone who's desired and demanded too much all his life, Enji figures. An unforgiving arrow planted in his chest by the most beautiful Cupid.
"Thank you", he replies honestly to his bird of prey, because he's nothing but willing to burn.

Then he looks ahead and clenches his jaw shut, because truthfully, he’s never been good at it. The play-pretend game, as Keigo calls his undercover work.

Enji has only ever been able to hide his feelings for as long as he could lie to himself, and he’s run out of lies, now. No more excuses to cling to.
He closes his eyes, savoring for the first time what it means to be completely, irremediably in love.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP (because now we're nearing the rock bottom 🥁 ba dum tss)

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?t=W4wlFa3Blw9nKFP2MUIMaQ&s=19

AYO, GUESS WHO'S GONNA UPDATE, TONIGHT? 👀

Cursed summary, as usual:

Keigo curses, as he accidentally knocks over an open jar with one of his primaries, and golden glitters scatter everywhere in the sink of his bathroom.

“Oh, c’mon”, he groans, already dreading the nightmare that cleaning such a mess will be. He’s lucky that, at least, he finished applying the foiled eyeshadow on his lids before ruining it for good. He supposes that’s the price he must pay for looking positively scrumptious.

Throwing a considering glance at the mirror, Keigo purses his lips cockily, then smiles bitterly to himself.
All things considered, friendzone is a look that suits fucking well.

"'S not like he really friendzoned you, though– don't give me that face and /don't you move/, or I'm gonna kick your flat ass", Rumi had tried to reason with him earlier that day, as she held his hand hostage and put black nail polish on him.

"/Excuse me/ my ass is perfectly fine!", Keigo had protested, earning a derisive sneer in reply.
"Kei, baby, your ass is virgin and horny, it's not fine".
Oh, that had been such a low blow.
"How dare you call me horny, you thirsty /rabbit/!".
“Hey, it’s spring for me too!”.

They had almost lost the thread of the speech – and ruined Keigo’s freshly painted nails – pointlessly bickering for god knows how long. Finally, Rumi had proudly declared herself just a feisty bunny with many gal pals and had seized Keigo’s hand once again.

"Anyways, what was I– ah, yes. I say it's not friendzone if Endy doesn't even know how you really feel about him".
"It's the same damn thing, Rumi" Keigo had pouted, already picking at his drying nails.
"'S not, I tell you", she had insisted, batting his hand away from his mouth.

"Yeah, maybe he sees you as a friend, but it's not mutually exclusive. I mean, he said he’s realized he’s gay, like, /yesterday/? Fuck, that’s a whole life of repression. And I dare any baby gay to not feel at least a tiny bit of something in front of such a yummy piece of twink"

Keigo had reluctantly smiled at the compliment, but it had been short-lived.
"He also told me he's not looking for a relationship. To my face", he pointed out. "If he wanted me, that's not something he would've said".

“Hon, it’s Endeavor we’re talking about. Who knows what goes inside that thick head of his”.
“Ugh, if only that was the only thick thing about him–” he started to whine.
"Wait, wait, I had a brilliant idea!”, Rumi rudely interrupted him before he could go off on a tangent.

“What if I”, she had paused for effect, “put nail polish on my prosthetics".
Keigo shakes his head and chuckles, remembering the disastrous result of Rumi’s impromptu nail art attack and how it had successfully distracted him from anything Endeavor related.

The effect had only lasted a few hours, sadly, and now here he is, worrying his lips and picking at his hair in the mirror. Somehow, he let Rumi convince him to wear it down for a change. He’s not sure of how he feels about that, except that it /tickles/.

Keigo scratches his lids, only to remember he lost the better part of the afternoon trying to absorb the knowledge of the internet’s makeup gurus and that he better not ruin the result, since he ran out of sparkly stuff to hide his sour mood and his possibly puffy eyes.

Enji couldn’t find a better time to stomp all over his heart than the night they have to attend the Hero Ranking Abolishment gala. If he fails to put on an easy-going mask and a reporter dares insinuate it’s because he’s losing his rank, Keigo swears he’s gonna flip the bird.

He’s so not in the mood for this shit show. He's…distracted, to put it mildly. Something unusual for him, his mind and feathers used to process hundreds of information per minute. He’s gonna trip over his feet on the red carpet if he doesn't put himself together, like, right now

Looking stubbornly in the mirror, still naked from the waist up, for he dreads the moment he’ll have to put his blazer and his facade on, Keigo tries to muster a convincing smile for the cameras that he’s sure will haunt him as the now officially former Number Two hero.

The smile barely reaches his eyes, and he wonders what exactly Enji saw right through it. A plucked, tired bird, Keigo snickers at his own reflection, then immediately winces, as if the big guy were right by his side to give him a clip round the ear and chastise him.

/No, thats not how he sees me/ Keigo relents. Somewhere along the lines, Enji has started to respect him. He’s grown to care for him and even wish for his happiness. All because, apparently, he’s a very important /friend/.
Keigo sighs, gripping the sink border and bowing his head

The heartfelt, matter-of-fact way Enji said it still fills him with warmth, despite it all. There was a time when Keigo couldnt even begin to imagine being this close to his hero – or anyone, really – but look at him now. Hes important. Cherished, even. Loved, if only as a friend

It’s better like this, he figures. He didn’t even get to confess his stupid, undying love, but at least he spared himself the humiliation of it all, though the sting of rejection hurts just the same.

No matter what Rumi says, Keigo knows that's what it is. He knew even before hearing the words coming out of Enji’s very mouth, that’s why he had already been on the point of dropping the whole courtship thing. He owes it to himself to not lose sleep clinging to unrealistic hopes

That’s not very optimistic of him, but hey, every birdie has his weakness. And his has always been one fiery, unreachable hero, just as much as he’s always been his strenght, too.

Keigo straightens up proudly, brushing glitter from his hands and grabbing from the counter some golden rings he decided to wear. Then he cards his fingers through his messy, wavy hair.
“You got this”, he whispers to his reflection, like he’s in some bad coming-of-age movie.

Friendship is just another form of love. One a lot more platonic than what Keigo had in mind, but he’ll make do. He’ll be a fantastic buddy, the best Enji has ever had – not that the competition is that high, he supposes with a wry smile.

That reminds him of the question he’s been trying to shove to the back of his mind in vain. Because if Keigo is such an important pal, and he’s sure Enji wouldn't bestow the title so lightly…then who else is the big guy gonna bring as his plus one to face this hellish gala with?

/Who was a better choice than me?/, Keigo broods shamelessly in his own narcissism. He wants to know and at the same time, he’s dreading it. He himself should’ve invited Enji in the first place, if he wanted to go together so badly, but fuck, he had a very good reason not to.

The whole ordeal would’ve hit too close to his fantasies, and Keigo would’ve ended up hating every second of it. Nope, he’s not into that kind of masochism, thank you very much.
Yet he can’t help but foolishly wonder. Did Enji even consider asking him?

Or rather, is Enji even gonna bring a plus one? /Maybe he'll come along with Tsunagu-san/, Keigo reflects. Wouldn't be strange. Or maybe with a sidekick, or his little hero-wannabe son, or… another friend. Possibly, another male friend. Or a male not-so-friendly date.

Keigo huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his joined hands. He’s spiraling like a damn idiot. What are his wings good for, if they can’t even brake this downward line of thoughts?
“You got this, you got this”, he mumbles in his palms, again and again, like a mantra.

Yes, Enji said he isn’t looking for a relationship, and Keigo may know better than anyone what an emotionally stunted old man he is, but well, things could change. Life is unpredictable, and love even more so. Enji could find it in a hopeless place, as a queen wisely once put it.

It might happen. In that case, Keigo will be fucking supportive. He can already see himself sporting the best man look and he almost breaks into hysterical laughter. The lady prez would be popping a vein if she knew that's what he’s considering using his undercover training for.

He’ll have to step up his game and pretend harder, though. Enji has become weirdly good at reading him. It would be endearing, really, if only it didn’t make his life ten times more difficult.

Keigo sighs, finally grabbing his backless jacket from the hanger over the door. He puts it on and ties it tightly around his waist, pausing to admire how it leaves his wings joints and most of his scars on display.

He’s proud of them. That hasn’t always been the case, his relationship with mirrors had been strained for quite some time after his fight with Dabi. He sees now that they’re not something he should hide, hence his bold fashion statement for the night.

His feelings, however, those are a whole other matter. He kinda hopes the saying ‘fake it till you make it’ is true and that one day he’ll be able to find them gone, replaced by pure and unpretentious friendship.

It’s a nice lie, one Keigo wouldn’t mind telling to himself as he'll spend his life by Enji’s side, faithful to a fault.
He’ll try his damnest to give Enji back even just a fraction of what he’s always been for him, albeit unknowingly. Its only fair if the tables have turned, now

He’ll be there for him. Through thick and thin, if he can’t aspire to ‘in good and bad, in sickness and health’. Keigo won’t betray the affection Enji is trusting upon him.

Over his shoulder, a familiar ghost stares back at him through the mirror, judging him harshly. Keigo swallows a knot in his throat, averting his eyes.
"Oh, shut up, Jin-san", he grumbles. "I'll be the best fucking friend ever, you'll see".

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

TO THE TOP 🔗
We're currently at 16k+, btw 👀 and I think we'll be nearing 30k at the end of this, so we kinda at a little over the half of it?
Next updates will be heavily plot driven, I CAN'T WAIT 😈💅

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?t=yBpZZexYEQ4IQsX2QfnwDA&s=19

IT'S GALA NIGHT PT. 1 and it's a 5.7k update because I have no self-control. You're welcome.

Summary of tonight's mess:

“Endeavor! This way!”, a cameraman calls to his right, and Enji complies. He allows them to take a few shots, then he rolls his shoulders, letting out a slow, controlled breath through his nose.

“Sir, what’s the name of your designer?” another reporter shouts from the crowd pressing down on the sides of the red carpet, right at the entrance of the Museum of Hero Legacy. They expectantly hold a recording device in his direction, and Enji throws a quick glance at his suit.

Of course that’s the first thing they’re going to ask him, Enji refrains from rolling his eyes. Instead, he replies with the name of the infamous queer designer Tsunagu had recommended him weeks ago, when Enji turned to him to ask for his fashion expertise.

Leaning over the recorder, he delivers the information off-handedly, unbuttoning the clasp of his pitch-black blazer. The flashes of the cameras immediately flare up, catching on the now fully visible embroidered scarlet lining and the sheer black fabric of his half-open shirt.

Enji keeps his head held high as the journalists roar in surprise and nosiness. He distinctly remembers a conversation he had with his first PR manager, decades before. He had made their life a living hell with the unapproachable way he used to hold himself in front of the press.

He’s grown out of the worst of it, he hopes, as he concedes a few more ambiguous replies. It’s not even close to being a full-fledged coming-out, but it’s as far as Enji is willing to go hinting at his personal life behind the mask of flames.

He’s at least 25 years too old to put himself out there like this, but Enji doesnt waver. He won’t let himself feel self-conscious, though he’s already dreading the headlines speculating on the potential mid-life crisis that brought him to wear such pretentious, revealing clothes

God, he didn't take more than a step out of his car and he's already grieving every life choice that led him into the spotlight, quest for the Number One position in the forefront of the regrettably long list.
This night is going to be a tough one. Good thing he came accompanied.

Turning back toward the service car, he gallantly opens the passenger door for his guest, and his breath gets caught up in his throat when his eyes fall for the second time on the sight before him.
“Dad?”, Fuyumi asks him, confused, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Enji blinks off the stupor and reaches out to help his daughter, his grown-up, strikingly graceful daughter get out of the vehicle. She places her tiny hand in his without hesitation, and with the other, she presses down on the bodice of her black dress.

Then she steps on the red carpet, flared gown swishing along with her every move. It mustn't be easy to walk in this thing, Enji frowns down at it. Yet Fuyumi had loved it the second she saw it, matching scarlet embroidery with Enji's own outfit included.

For good measure, he shifts her hand to the nook of his arm as he leads her on.
“Endeavor! Sir! Pray tell, who is your guest?”, another bold reporter cries from the sidelines, and Enji raises a brow at them.

“I would certainly hope you recognized the family traits in my daughter” he replies grumpily and Fuyumi sheepishly chuckles, touching again her pulled-up, red-streaked hair and averting her blue eyes. The press eats it up. She already has them all wrapped around her little finger

They’re causing quite the scene, but Enji doesn’t mind it that much. He manages a few tight-lipped smiles with Fuyumi by his side.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”, she whispers, gripping his forearm as they proceed.
Best idea he's ever had, if he says so himself.
“I am sure”.

Firm in his steps and resolve, Enji escorts his daughter toward the entrance of the gala hall.
He doesn’t go far, for he has to stop again for a couple of quick interviews, which he manages to not discharge too rudely, grounded by Fuyumi’s soothing presence.

It also helps that the questions aren’t as caustic as they used to be a year ago. They don’t hate him as much, these days. Winning a war does that, Enji figures.

He’s on the point of excusing himself from the umpteenth reporter when the focus of the whole runway shifts to greet the latest newcomer. Enji finds himself pathetically swept along, willpower windblown to smoke.

“Number Two! A smile this way!” a cameraman excitedly yells from Enji’s left, drawing the young hero’s attention. Keigo stops in his tracks as soon as he notices him. He blinks, sharp gaze running all over him and making Enji feel all the self-consciousness he quelled earlier.

Then Keigo’s shoulders sag and he shakes his head. He beams, finally meeting Enji’s eyes, and the smile he breaks into overshadows any flash that flares into the night.

If there was any oxygen left in his lungs, Enji thinks he’s burned it all, for Keigo is absolutely breathtaking.

He’s wearing a white, two-piece suit with golden and black accents running down his lapel and sleeves. The light fabric brings out the warm tone of his skin and hair, and leaves the liability of colorfulness all on his red wings.

For once, Keigo is wearing something tailored to fit him snugly, the mid-rise dress pants and the overlapped blazer clinging to his toned body, and Enji is consumed by the thought of replacing the strips of cloth encircling his waist with his own hands.

Then Keigo turns to pose for another shot, giving everyone nearby a flash of his naked back, and Enji’s heart stops in his chest.

He’s seen Keigo’s scars before, glimpses of them catching his eye during those exhausting nights when they were forced to share battered hotel rooms along with Tsunagu. Hes seen and silently cursed them, but not like this. Never like this, exposed for the whole world to deal with

Keigo laughs out loud at something a reporter said, then flaps his wings jokingly. He’s proud and exuberant, brimming with strength in front of the cameras despite his marred skin, and Enji adores every inch of his body and soul.

/Christ/, he passes a hand over his face, feeling heat rise all over it. He has to consciously will himself to not burst into flames and risk incinerating his brand new outfit, or he would never hear the end of it from Tsunagu.

At the slight rise in temperature, Fuyumi throws him an inquiring glance that soon turns embarrassingly knowing. She tightens the grip on his arm in silent support and Enji sighs, shutting his eyes. He’s a fucking disgrace.

“It’s okay, Dad”, she speaks softly, searching his face. Enji’s gaze drifts away. “Look at me?”, she asks of him, as if he could ever deny her anything, at this point.
“I’m sorry, Fuyumi”, he mutters, shame thick in his voice.

Her blue eyes, so similar to Touya’s, so similar to his own, hold a gentleness that neither of them has ever been able to muster
“I told you I wont accept your apologies over this” still she sounds stern, and Enji suspects she’s using her elementary school teacher's tone with him

“Besides, it’s nice to see you being this honest with yourself”, Fuyumi adds with a playful smile. “Fun, even”.
Enji stammers in unintelligent reply. Oh, all his children love to humiliate him, don’t they? It’s what he deserves, he supposes.

“Hey, Number One”, Keigo’s voice confidently carries through the crowd, interrupting Enji’s self-deprecating thoughts as if on cue. He’s always had a way to cut right through him with his sharp wit and unwavering faith.

How Enji could ever believe he wasn’t in love with this overwhelming little bird is beyond him.

He drinks in Keigo’s every feature as he approaches them. He’s done something with his eyes, too. Magnetic doesn’t even begin to describe the way they shine framed by gold.
Enji’s tongue feels impossibly dry in his mouth.

Fuyumi takes pity on him.
“Hawks-kun! It’s so nice to see you again”, she smiles, and her genuineness is contagious. Enji notices it dawn on Keigo’s face as well. It’s a good look, one he would never get tired of staring at.

Keigo reaches them with a final push of his wings. Then, still in mid-air, he takes Fuyumi’s hand and spurs her to do a half twirl, whistling in appreciation.

“Wow, Fuyumi-chan, you look lovely! The big guy couldn’t have chosen a finer plus one to bring along”, Keigo chirps as he lands, stealing a giggle from her, who by now knows better than taking his flirtatious manners seriously.

Enji fights off a fond smile before it can end up caught by some extremely lucky photographer. He nods in Keigo’s direction as a way of greeting, not keen to intrude on this particular interaction – and of testing his ability to speak, yet.

Somehow, before he could really notice it, Fuyumi and Keigo have grown surprisingly close. Enji guesses he has to thank his nearly deathly injuries for encouraging them to bond. And also the corny soap operas they both love to watch, apparently.

/I’ve fallen for a cheeky brat the same age as my daughter/, Enji berates himself. Despite Fuyumi’s implicit blessing, there’s no way in hell it’s remotely fine. Isn’t that one of the reasons why he can’t support the idea of Keigo with his man? He's the worst kind of hypocrite.

At least, he supposes, nobody except three of his oddly perceptive children need to be aware of it. Keigo first and foremost shall never know. Enji can’t picture their friendship surviving something like this, and he’s too greedy to consider ever letting go of it.

He’ll do whatever it takes to keep Keigo in his life. Close to him, and close to his family, too, even though Enji can see it’s unforgivably selfish of him to desire that after what Touya did, after what Enji’s own fire took away from him.

Keigo’s wings won’t ever be the same, and no matter how much his little bird enjoyed rubbing in his face that “my injuries are my own responsibility”, Enji knows he’s to blame.
It’s remarkable how he always ends up hurting the ones he loves the most.

He grits his teeth, imposing his eyes to steer away from Keigo’s back. Enji wont do him the disservice of considering him just another of his failures. Keigo is so much more than what he did to him. All of his family is. That’s why they fit together so well, he’s prone to believe

There’s something about the way Shouto looks up to Keigo, Natsuo agrees to go watching baseball games only if Keigo tags along, and Fuyumi is now hiding her mouth in barely-repressed laughter as the silly bird launches in the impression of a villain they took down a week ago.

It’s a kind of happiness that Enji doesn’t deserve to witness, but that Keigo drags him into way too easily. He’s not strong enough to refuse his encouraging smiles, Enji acknowledges reluctantly, while Keigo ends his frankly exaggerated tale and raises his eyes to him.

“Phew, that was a close call, right, big guy?”, he grins, swinging on the balls of his feet. “For you, obviously. I was doing peachy”, he wiggles his funny brows.
Enji rolls his eyes. His jaw aches for how hard it is to not simply smile back.

“Thank you for always looking after him”, Fuyumi says, unapologetically grabbing one of Keigo’s hands and squeezing it in both of hers. “I worry a lot less when I know you’re by his side”.
Keigo gapes, caught off-guard and flustered. Enji finally clears his throat.

“Fuyumi, I’m not some old geezer in need of a caregiver, yet”, he scowls.
“Dad!”, she cries out in outrage. “That’s no way of talking about yourself or your partner”, she returns the frown, reprimand loud and clear in her voice.

/We’re not partners/, Enji would like to remark, and not because his and Keigo’s agencies haven’t officially merged, despite their penchant for working side by side. In moments like this, forgetting his place is dangerously easy, and he must remind himself of it.

“Endeavor! Hawks! A team-up photo, please!”, he’s saved from replying.
Fuyumi steps aside, leveling him with a knowing look, then she immediately gets monopolized by another photographer. Enji zeroes in on the name and workplace hanging from the guy’s pass.

“C’mon, let her live her princess dreams without breathing down her neck”, Keigo chuckles, spurring him to confront their own gathering of paparazzi. Then he lifts from the ground to reach Enji’s height, leaning lightly over him with a hand on his right shoulder.

A red wing spreads behind him, but Enji doesn’t hug Keigo back. He keeps his hands to himself, god forbid he starts stroking the naked skin of Keigo’s hips like the disgusting, possessive old man he is. Hah, wouldn’t that be one hell of a photo?

After a couple of shots, Keigo is on the point of turning to face him and changing their pose a little when Enji hears his breath hitch. He twists around just in time to catch Keigo starting to stutter.
"Y–you… you…"

Keigo bats his striking eyes, dampening his lips just a few centimeters from him. The clicks of the cameras, the reporters, the whole crowd around them suddenly become but a trivial nuisance. Enji’s flames roar within him.
"Speak your mind, little bird, I don't have all evening".

He realizes a beat too late that he let the pet name slip. He bites back a curse. At least, Enji can thank the impatience in his tone for making it sound more paternalistic than affectionate.

If possible, Keigo looks even more constipated. The hand he’s resting on his shoulder clasps tighter, stare entirely focused on the right side of Enji's face.
"You pierced your ear. You're wearing t–the earring I gave you".

Enji does his best to recall his resolve to not feel ashamed. He shifts on his feet and hides a fist into the pocket of his slacks.
"So what?".
"It's just that–… You didn't have to", Keigo replies, almost timidly. Enji snorts.

"When have you ever seen me do something I didn’t want to do?” he points out. "Besides, it would have been a waste to let it sit in a drawer".
It's a poor excuse. Enji's an awful liar. And he’s probably really having a mid-life crisis, with a touch of brand-new gay panic, at that

Keigo swallows, Enji is able to tell only because they’re this close. Then he shifts, facing back toward the cameras, that hopefully didn’t catch much of what just transpired between them. His voice is low and full of something Enji can’t place when he speaks next.

"It looks good on you”, Keigo whispers, eyes focused straight on. “Really, /really/ good", he adds with a shaky huff, and god, how much of a big stroke that is to Enji’s vanity. He’s not going to forget the light blush dusting Keigo’s cheeks anytime soon.

They finish taking the photos in silence. As soon as the reporters free them to focus on another prey, Keigo lands and scurries off to retrieve a slightly starstruck Fuyumi. At the same time Enji spots another young, white-haired woman confidently making her way toward them.

She’s wearing a bronze, sparkly dress with a side vent that leaves her prosthetic leg exposed and nearly nothing else to the imagination. Her numerous bracelets tingle as she approaches.

“Yo, Endeavor”, Usagiyama greets him, propping an elbow on Keigo’s shoulder.
“Heavy”, Keigo hisses, nudging her away. She snickers and gives him a pinch on the cheek.
“You’re so gonna pay for leaving me at the entrance, lil lovebird. Weren’t we supposed to come in together?”.

Keigo snorts, fixing his jacket.
“Yeah, but you were taking forever to get your shots done. I got bored”.
“Aww, and you had better pics you wanted to be in. Ain’t it right /Endeavor-san/?”.
Keigo blanches slightly at her jab.

“Mirko”, Enji nods in acknowledgment, frowning. He’s always bewildered by their interactions. They look more like cat and dog than anything.

By his side, Fuyumi clears her throat expectantly. Enji begrudgingly proceeds with the introductions and observes with wary eyes as the rabbit woman immediately ropes his daughter into idle conversation, with a sly grin on her face and flick of her bob-short locks.

“You came with Usagiyama”, Enji observes, forcing his glare to leave the two girls and focus back on Keigo.
“Yeah?”, he replies, tilting his head. It’s such an innocent, birdlike gesture and Enji is entirely peeved by how much he finds it precious. He purses his mouth sullenly.

“I thought you would have asked that man of yours to come with you”, he tries to deliver with nonchalance. “I’m starting to believe he doesn’t exist”.
Keigo chuckles, biting his lips.
“Oh, yep, he really might be a product of my imagination. He’s too good to be true, after all”.

Enji scoffs, unamused.
“That remains to be seen”, he says, making Keigo's eyes glint with mischief as he leans in closer. Enji feels drawn by his gravity.

“Whatcha gonna do, Endeavor-san? Get in the way if it turns out he’s really not good enough for your standards?”, Keigo suggests, way too temptingly, and Enji tenses, lips pressing into a thin line.

He's never liked Keigo calling him Endeavor-san or Enji-san. The addition of the honorifics has always come off as more mocking, somehow, and Enji can't help but wonder how his name would sound if Keigo spoke it bare. Without all the pretense and the misplaced regard.

Keigo refused, though, and Enji figures it's for the best. Or he wouldn't be able to think of anything else aside from that particular kind of song coming from his little bird's lips.
“It’s not my place to offer anything but support” he replies, though his tone suggests otherwise

Keigo doesn't miss the chance to tease him further. His hand snakes to brush off non-existent dust on Enji’s blazer, fingers lingering to trace the lapel of it.
“Aww, and here I was hoping you'd be my hero and fight for my honor”, he smirks, peering at him from behind his lashes.

Enji breathes harshly through his nose. The still mind-blowing notion of having been Keigo's hero at some point in his life coils tightly within his chest, making it hard to resist the joke.

He knows exactly what they’re doing. They’re /flirting/. But Keigo would flirt even with goddamn rocks if they could talk, so it’s fine, right? Enji can have this. Just this, for however short it will last.

He takes Keigo’s wrist, stopping the bold hand and relishing in the way it feels swallowed by his own. His thumb hovers above Keigo’s knuckles, longing to graze them.
“Is that really what you wish me to do?”, Enji asks, lowering his tone and his mouth to Keigo's ear.

This close, Enji is able to appreciate the faint scent of his skin. He has no idea if it comes from a perfume or some kind of body wash, but it’s despicable how much he wants to tighten his hold on Keigo and taste the sweetness from his neck.

Just like that time during Gang Orca's meeting, Enji can feel his little bird stiffen in response to his proximity. It's an answer in itself, he supposes.
“Thought so, boy”, he sneers bitterly, straightening back up and letting go of him.

❤️‍🔥

/Holy shit/, Keigo thinks, as if it's the password to reboot his brain. What the hell was that? How was he even supposed to answer?, he blinks in a daze, watching Enji straighten his jacket and head back to fetch Fuyumi.

Scratch that, how is he gonna survive this night without revisiting the whole scene in his mind and popping an awkward surprise during some hero’s boring valediction? Keigo gulps. He can still feel the warmth of Enji's breath over his ear – and speaking of /ears/.

His eyes trail over Enji’s figure, as the man proceeds on the Museum stairway before him, proudly escorting his daughter like a king among peasants. Keigo’s attention falls again on the little jewel glinting on Enji’s right lobe, and his heart suddenly feels too big for his chest

Enji is wearing the lone survivor of the very first pair of earrings that Keigo bought for himself when he turned eighteen, to celebrate his agency’s opening and the graduation from the HPSC’s training nightmare.

He had chosen them in ruby, red like his wings, red like Endeavor’s fire that had always, always burned bright within him to remind him of goals, even when losing himself had felt far too tempting.

The other earring got lost during a fight, but Keigo had kept on cherishing that remaining, small accomplishment he managed to buy with his first paycheck behind his handlers’ back. A silent cry for freedom in a moment of his life where his cage had begun to feel too tight.

He thought it could’ve made a nice, meaningful present. A piece of himself that Enji would never get to know, but that Keigo still wanted to share with him. Not even in his wildest dreams he could’ve imagined that Enji would /wear/ it, to make a statement of his own, no less.

Of course, the intent behind Enji’s decision didn’t escape Keigo in the slightest. Neither did the sinful, total black getup that was surely the fault – or merit – of one of Jeanist’s designer friends.

The result of it all is subtle, but at the same time so unapologetically Enji that Keigo can’t help but sigh in appreciation. /I am watching, big guy/, he pines wholeheartedly, walking just a step behind his hero but still a step too far.

Is the universe trying to test his resolve to be just a friend to Enji? Is Enji himself testing it for some weird reason? Or is he just letting himself have some long-overdue fun, finally flirting back after a whole year of giving Keigo the stink eye or the cold (hah!) shoulder?

/He called me ‘little bird’/, Keigo remembers, covering his mouth with a hand and deeply missing the shelter that the high collar of his hero costume would’ve offered to his reddening face. Yep, this night is definitely going to be a /hard/ one.

He's peeking at Enji's back, daydreaming of sliding off his blazer to marvel at the red lining, and then of running his hands over Enji’s chest to admire just how exactly the sheer fabric of his shirt would catch on his nipples– when Rumi startles him, lacing her arm into his.

“You’re a stupid little bitch”, she deadpans, reading right through him.
“I am, ain’t I”, Keigo replies with a groan.

“Just go get your mans, for fuck’s sake!”, she hisses. “You two've been eye-fucking since we got here, it’s /pitiful/ to watch. Especially in front of the guy’s daughter– which /damn girl/, by the way. Do ya know if her ladyship fancies pussy?”, Rumi inquires shamelessly.

In retaliation, Keigo flicks one of her bunny ears. He’ll be damned if this slut scores a Todoroki instead of him.

Bickering hushedly to not draw the attention of the Todoroki pair in question just ahead of them, their group of four finally reaches the gates of the Museum of Hero Legacy.

Hosts welcome them in the atrium and guide them to the wing of the building where the main event is meant to take place. They pass a couple of exhibit rooms in their stroll, and Fuyumi excitedly points out a life-sized Endeavor statue, making Enji grumble.

Keigo cant deny Rumi has to drag him away from ogling it. He had no idea the Museum had such a thing. Dang, he's losing his touch. He should definitely come back here on an opening day to take a proper kissy selfie beside it– only to cater to his social media following, obviously

When they reach their destination, Keigo realizes it's not an indoor hall, as he first expected. His fault for using the invitation to swat flies, he guesses. He can't complain, though, for it’s a pleasantly warm June night, a hint of summer in the faint breeze rustling his wings

The voices and laughter of the other pros gathering in the garden reach him, and suddenly Keigo can feel it, vibrating in the air. This is the end of the hero world they’ve known. No more Commission to blindly obey to, no more rankings to chase and fight for.

It’s freeing in a way, Keigo thinks as he steps beside his very own Number One. That’s a thing that won’t ever change, at least. There’s no newly minted law, no fatal injury, no villain son or goddamn apocalypse that could ever hope to strip Enji of that title in his heart.

“Let’s go, big guy”, Keigo squeezes his forearm, passing him by. Ah, he /really/ would’ve liked to take his hand. He jokes instead, flipping to walk backward and flashing them all a grin. “Can’t be late to our funeral party, after all”.

Making his grand entrance, Keigo is able to fully appreciate the gaudy decor. He also notices round tables set in the inner courtyard for supper, while the staff kindly informs him that he and Rumi will share their seats with the former One and Three, along with their guests.

“We hope it's a pleasant accommodation, considering your close relationship”, the maître bows to them, and Rumi literally starts cackling in their face, earning a puzzled stare from Enji. Keigo swears he's this close to strangling her with a feather. She's an awful covert agent.

As if on cue, Tsunagu spots them as soon as they set foot outside, and Keigo has to do a double-take at the sight that starts approaching them.

Of couse Best Jeanist is wearing a full-fledged, high-fashion denim suit, /of course/ he is. Keigo sends a quick, amused glance to Enji and finds him already looking back with an ill-concealed smirk. Oh, Keigo could spend a lifetime worshipping the rare smiles on his lips.

Rumi strategically swerves Fuyumi away before she can be roped into the impending conversation, sending him one last pointed look. Keigo is almost positive he saw Fuyumi hiding a cognizant twinkle, but he has no time to stress about it further.

“Here you are, my friends”, Jeanist welcomes them with open arms. He ushers them toward their table, giving an appreciative nod to their outfits in the meantime. “Nice fabric you got here, Enji. It flatters you”.

Enji grunts his thanks and Keigo pouts jokingly.
“Aww, Tsunagu-san, I’m wounded. What about /my/ fabric?”.
Jeanist umphs behind the high collar of his blazer with what suspiciously sounds like a mocking smile.

“Keigo, you don’t need /this/ old man to tell you how good you look, I believe”, he replies, and Keigo presses his mouth shut in dismay. Goddamit, it seems like the whole world has him figured out except for the very object of his affection.

Fortunately, Enji simply looks back and forth between them with a frown on his face and not a single brain cell in his head.

They reach their table in amicable chatter, greeting the other pros that pass them by.
“Where is your guest?”, Keigo asks curiously, when he finds all their seats empty. Jeanist glances around in consideration, then waves a hand.

“He must’ve scurried off somewhere to cause a ruckus”, he concedes amiably. “You didn’t bring your hero son, Enji?”.
“I came with my daughter”, Enji answers, puffing his chest. Keigo has to consciously will himself to not focus on how adorably proud he seems.

Jeanist nods, amused.
“I’m sure young Bakugou will be pleased to pester her just the same”, he says, making Keigo wheeze and Enji deflate in resignation. What a hell of a party the six of them will make.

“Would've never thought Bakugou-kun to be the type to take part in this kinda thing” Keigo raises a brow, flopping down his assigned seat. Jeanist flicks his hair in response.
“I had to drag him here, obviously. I'm trying to educate him in the social ways of a proper hero”.

Keigo shifts on his chair, adjusting his wings. On second thought, he feels slightly guilty for not bringing Tsukuyomi along. But then he realizes that for his little emo fledgling, a gala would've been a punishment, more than anything. He’s not a mentor as ruthless as Tsunagu.

“So, how are you people feeling, tonight?”, Jeanist inquires, more seriously. His keen gaze shifts to their former Number One, to whom the question is mostly directed.
“Fine”, Enji mutters, at the same time Keigo huffs: “Not nearly tipsy enough”.

Jeanist chuckles.
“Oh, Enji and I can amend that. Besides, we have something to discuss on our way to the open bar”, he pats Enji on the shoulder. Then, in a very deliberate afterthought, he turns back toward Keigo. He gives him a suggestive once-over. "The usual for you, dove?".

Enji's eyes flash in disbelief, soon replaced by simmering indignation. Keigo swears he can hear his teeth grind as the big guy shrugs off Jeanist’s hand and tries oh so hard to suppress a reproachful remark.

Keigo snickers, wings fluttering.
"Yep, Tsunagu-san”, he winks. “You know what I like", he doubles down, dipping his voice low and sultry.
The fuming look Enji shoots at them as he starts heading to the open bar on his own threatens to make global warming a problem again.

❤️‍🔥

Enji keeps his pace fierce and steady, but not enough to risk melting the soles of his dress shoes and the grass below in his wake.

Tsunagu strolls beside him, confidently, on his high heels. He looks excessively flippant for someone who could end up a burnt pile of fabric any minute. He’s lucky he’s nowhere near being a divorced father, so Enji doesn’t really have to worry about Keigo being into him.

"Come on, Enji, you needn't be this jealous", Tsunagu taunts him.
"I'm not–", Enji starts to angrily rebuke, then the realization hits him. That's what he's always been. Furiously jealous, every time he saw Keigo flirting with another man. "Fucking Christ", he groans.

Tsunagu regards him with a seraphic look.
"So, have you come to your senses, at last?".
Enji huffs, reaching the bar. He balls a fist on the counter. There’s no use lying to the very person who introduced him to the concept of his own sexuality, so: "Yes", he admits reluctantly.

Tsunagu hums, leaning with his elbows on the ledge beside him.
"That's good to hear", he comments, then waves at the bartender to catch their attention. "I’ve been watching the two of you crisscrossing for almost a year, now. Entertaining, I must admit, but also exhausting".

Enji clenches his jaw. He grips the counter, glad it’s not made of frangible, flammable wood.
"You're mistaken, Tsunagu. Keigo… he has his eyes on someone else", he confides, not caring to conceal the misery in his tone, at this point.

Tsunagu turns to him with a raised brow.
"Oh? And who would such a man be? He must be something else, if he managed to get our Hawks more smitten than you did".

Enji stutters, miffed by Tsunagu’s cold-hearted reaction. Hes on the point of retorting back when the bartender eventually reaches them. Tsunagu orders his cocktail and Enji follows right after for himself and Keigo– he also knows what his little /dove/ likes, thank you very much

As soon as the bartender turns to retrieve an ingredient, Enji leans toward Tsunagu. "That's just misplaced hero worship”, he hushedly grumbles. “Nothing more. Besides, he doesn't treat me any differently than he does with others".

The odd presents say otherwise, to be quite honest, but Enji has no way of knowing if Keigo doesn't gift the same brand of rubbish to, say, Usagiyama. And he sure as hell isn’t going to make a fool out of himself by asking.

Tsunagu waves his objections aside like they mean nothing.
"Now, now. He flirts a lot less with you than he does with anyone else, for starters", he points out, as if that’s something that hasn’t been driving Enji insane for months already.

"That’s because he knows better than to test me", Enji insists, knowing full well he’s the author of his own demise.
Tsunagu rolls his eyes. He thanks the bartender for their drinks but makes no move to shift back toward their table. He pins Enji with a condescending look.

"So, did Keigo tell you who this mysterious man is?".
Enji crosses his arms, pursing his lips.
"I don't know his name. Just some vague facts".

Tsunagu scoffs, pressing a hand against his own chest with mocking reverence.
"Wait, allow me to guess. Older than him, emotionally constipated, maybe somewhat thick-headed–..."
Enji’s eyes widen.
"How the hell do you–..."
"Oh dear god, Enji", Tsunagu’s smile falls in disbelief.

Enji feels like all the air is getting punched from his already crushed lungs.
"You are mistaken”, he repeats stubbornly, dread setting in his wavering tone.
Tsunagu shakes his head, muttering to himself.
“And here I thought you were finally ready to wear those jeans...".

Unsteady on his legs, Enji slumps down on one of the high bar stools. Pitying him, Tsunagu pushes the drink he ordered in his hands and Enji knocks it back in one go, trying to shut his brain from overthinking and attaching to any form of hope.

He can’t accept it. What Tsunagu implied is just /wrong/, utterly so. Enji refuses to consider any other explanation. And even if he were right–... no. Enji forces himself to calm down. Breathing feels somewhat more bearable with the burn of alcohol numbing his throat.

He could allow himself to feel love, desire, jealousy even, as long as those emotions could stay buried within him. They were dangerous enough on their own, without the threat of being requited. Enji cannot have them getting out of control. Wildfires are his worst nightmare.

He pinches his eyes shut. He made enough mistakes to last for a lifetime. Keigo can’t love him. Should never love him. This is just a big misunderstanding, that’s all there is to it.

There's no way in hell he's what Keigo offhandedly calls /the love of his life/. It would be the most ridiculous joke Enji has ever heard, if only it were remotely funny.
Because it is not. The mere idea is unbearable, instead.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

TO THE TOP 🔗
I'm pretty confident in saying gala night pt. 2 will make some victims 🥰

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?t=qq0mvFNhbvvNUjWSaBk8MQ&s=19

GALA NIGHT PT.2 🥂 Again, it’s 5.9k words because I am hopelessly devoted to enho
Summary of tonight's update – and mind you, IT’S HIGHLY SPOILERY. Click at your own discretion 🥲

Keigo takes a sip of wine, a dopey grin plastered on his face.
"It's your fucking fault for making a mess, the ranking system was working perfectly fine!", he listens without a care, as if he isn't the target of those harsh words.

On his behalf, a puff of smoke rises from his left.
"You ungrateful brat, don't you dare talk to him like–".
"Please Enji, let me", Jeanist interrupts, raising a placating hand. "Bakugou, you know you're speaking to the former Number Two, don't you?", he states sternly.

Bakugou grumbles, slumping in his seat
"/Former/, that's the right word. Fried chicken ain't it anymore"
"Fried chicken!" Rumi wheezes out a laugh, banging her prosthetic hand on the table and making the dinnerware rattle. Fuyumi neatly rearranges her forks without batting an eye

Keigo smirks, unfazed. He rolls the wine in his glass, leaning with an elbow on the backrest of his chair.
"Still, I went closer to reaching the Number One spot than you ever will, kiddo. Sorry I broke the system for you. Go cry about it".

The roar Bakugou bursts into as he stands with the clear intent of frying Keigo further makes some heads turn to their table. Jeanist rubs his forehead in dismay while he straps him to his seat, and Fuyumi, bless her heart, tries to rope him into small talk about culinary recipes

By Keigo’s side, Enji steams, crossing his arms. He ditched his blazer one or two courses before, and now he’s sitting there, only in his dress pants and see-through black shirt, perfectly oblivious to the leers Keigo has been sending his way throughout all their meal.

Keigo forces his eyes to stop tracing the way the golden chain Enji is wearing falls over his squished pecs. Why is the neckline of his cursed shirt so low? Keigo wants to have some words with Jeanist’s designer friend. Or maybe he should send them flowers, he hasn't decided, yet

"You're just fanning the flames, aren't you", Enji comments in disapproval, still focused on the argument between their tablemates. Keigo’s smile widens.
"Hah, a quirk pun! Tsunagu-san is rubbing off on ya, big guy".

Enji glares at him halfheartedly.
"You're drinking too much", he points out. "And quit messing with Bakugou. You're stooping to his level".

Keigo huffs, about to reply that he’s only pleasantly buzzed, but then he halts, in the midst of taking another sip. He grins against the rim of his glass. Oh, he can’t let this one pass, can he?

"Are you saying that I’m being a naughty brat, too?" he dampens his lips teasingly. "Tell me then, what's my punishment, Da–?"
In a blur, Enji snags the drink from Keigo's hand, moving it far away from his reach. His blue eyes flash wildly, his grip on the glass dangerously tight

"That's it, no more wine for you", Enji declares, downing it himself and slamming the empty goblet on the table, face looking exceptionally close to bursting into flames. Keigo swears he can see sweat glistening on his temples. He almost doubles down laughing.

“Aww, you meanie! You're no fun”, he quips, trying to reach again for his glass. Enji just moves it further on the table.
“You're plenty fun for the both of us”, he grouses dryly, making Keigo chuckle again and his lashes flutter playfully.
“Does that mean we come in a set?”

The look Enji sends his way at that remark strikes Keigo as strangely somber and pensive. He blinks again, now confused.
"What? Did I slur or something? I'm not that drunk".

Enji shakes his head and averts his eyes, still incomprehensibly grim.
"It's nothing, boy", he replies. Then, after a moment of reflection, he moves a couple of meat skewers from his plate to Keigo’s. "Eat these. And drink some water. Sober up, for god’s sake".

Keigo frowns but decides to leave it at that. He graciously accepts the food offer and he even makes a big show of chugging down a whole glass of water, in front of which Enji can’t convincingly suppress a smile. With the solemn expression gone, Keigo considers himself satisfied.

The rest of the dinner proceeds more or less in the same fashion. There’s never a moment of quiet at their table, not even when they all have their mouths full of fancy-ass food.
Keigo is pretty sure that’s the happiest he’s ever felt.

There, among his favorite people on earth – Bakugou included, he guesses – Keigo nearly gets overwhelmed by a sense of belonging that he never knew before the war. He laughs more than he eats – which says a lot – and he feels it reverberating in the hollow of his bones.

Is it bad that he's enjoying the night they're celebrating Enji’s purpose in life crumbling to ash?, he asks himself, peeking to his left like he's been doing all evening.

Oddly enough, he finds Enji rapt in conversation, leaning over the table to face one seat ahead, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to show off his impressive forearms and make a point about something he’s saying.

Keigo quickly realizes that Enji is lecturing a fed-up Rumi about the best oils to lubricate prosthetic limbs – she’s totally buying the wrong ones, how she can even raise a finger is beyond him – and he understands that maybe he shouldn’t worry about his Number One so much.

“I buy the same as Rumi for my wing braces”, he cuts in, though he doesn’t, just to see Enji splutter and get entirely caught up in his patronizing monologue. Rumi rolls her eyes so hard she must’ve seen god themself.

/This is it, this is my happy place/, Keigo thinks with an elated smile.

Not long after, dinner comes to an end, and they all glance up at Tsunagu as he stands up and excuses himself. Just like him, other heroes start to gather on the purpose-built stage to psych up in anticipation of their public speech or retirement valediction.

Keigo gets comfortable in his chair, propping a booted foot over his knee. He’s not going to join them, nope, not a chance. He’s not a fan of making big, moving statements in front of a crowd.

He doesn’t necessarily /hate/ doing them, but he’s pretty sure he already did his part at the hero billboard chart event a year and a half ago. He’s more than ready to step into the shadows and let other pros handle this type of thing, from now on.

Speaking of which... Presented with the opportunity to make a speech of his own, Enji declined, too. He’s now sitting back on his plush seat, fingers interlacing over his belt buckle, and Keigo bites down a jab about how relaxed he seems, absolved from his duties as Japan’s prime

“The perks of not being the pinnacle of hero society anymore”, Enji smugly confided to him some weeks before. Now as then, Keigo feels exceptionally full of affection for this socially awkward grump.

No costume under his clothes, no pretentious flames to mask his face, right in this moment, Enji strikes him as a man who has nothing to prove to anybody, himself included, and Keigo couldn’t love more that look on him.

Fuyumi seems to think the same about her father, for she leans over the table to whisper a witty remark to Keigo’s ear. He bursts out laughing, embarrassingly loud. At times, he’s convinced she’s the only sharp crayon in her family’s box, and the idea never fails to amuse him.

Enji shoots his endearing stern-dad-scowl at them, and, from up on the pulpit, Keigo draws out an exasperated sigh from Tsunagu as well.
“Sorry, sorry”, Keigo waves his hands and gestures to the former Number Three to go on and start with his speech.

Jeanists shakes his head and clears his throat, not peeved by his antics after all they’ve been through. He begins his oration about loss, hope and peace, and Keigo thinks, not for the first time, that he’s the /best/ of all them, and not only in the denim department.

Tsunagu concludes with a humble bow, and after him, heroes take turns to the microphone. The whole show is exceptionally touching and inspiring, it really is, but Keigo has the attention span of a bird, at the end of the day.

In the midst of it all, he quietly raises up and circles Enji to sit beside Fuyumi, taking Tsunagu’s vacant spot. He winks at her, and she beams at him, but then she encourages him to focus properly on the next valediction. He huffs yet complies, putty in her hands.

Unable to stay put for too long, though, Keigo fidgets in his seat, picks at his nail polish, takes a flower from the centerpiece and rolls it between his fingers.

When that bores him, too, he offers it to Fuyumi, who silently accepts it with the grace of a princess and places it on her lap.

Keigo grins. Oh, he loves her. He’s fond of Natsuo and Shouto too, but maybe because she’s the same age as him, maybe because he could always see a similar unyielding optimism reflected in her exceptionally beautiful eyes, he can’t help but feel a deeper connection between them.

He knows that indulging in such displays of affection will come to bite him in the ass in the form of cheap tabloids speculating about their relationship– like they’re keen on doing with him and Rumi, too, despite both of them being unapologetic about their incompatible sexuality

Unfortunately, being out and about since day one of their hero career has never managed to quell the press’ attempts to put them on the straight path, but Keigo doesn’t let himself care too much about what anyone else has to say on the topic.

/Except for one time, maybe/ he considers, throwing the umpteenth glance at Enji and finding him staring right back at him and Fuyumi. He’s caught off guard, and the reminder of the other occasion Enji had jumped to conclusions about his love life hits Keigo with full force.

He and Endeavor had been in line to grab a cup of coffee before one of their joint patrols. Having already signed down some autographs and posed for a couple of selfies, Keigo thought it a good time as any to check his phone, which just vibrated in his inner pocket.

He smiled as soon as he saw who the sender was and set to reply without hesitation. With his peripheral vision, he could make out Enji leaning slightly over him, brows furrowing down as he read Fuyumi’s name over the chat log.

“You two have been texting an awful lot, lately”, the big guy commented, paying for their order and taking both of their cups from the counter. He handed Keigo his own, not noticing a feather that quietly slipped a bill inside his wallet in payback.

Keigo took a sip of his drink, peeking up from his phone.
“Uh? Yeah, your baby girl is the best”, he replied casually, glancing down to tap ‘send’ on the latest message, but then doing a double take up as he noticed an expression close to nausea dawn on Enji’s face.

“Hawks, are you… are you interested in my daughter, perhaps?”, Enji asked him, with the same tone one would use after biting down a lemon, and Keigo literally spurted his coffee.

“Oh my god, Endeavor-san”, he coughed, dabbing his stubble with a handful of napkins. “Don’t you ever watch the news or read some magazines?”.
Enji fell into a sulk, never failing to make Keigo’s knees go weak with such a look on that unfairly attractive mug of his.

“Of course I do. What does that even have to do with anything?”, he shot back, causing Keigo to groan.
“Well, clearly you read and watch the boring ones”, he remarked, pocketing his phone and ushering him out of the coffee shop with a hand on his back.

As soon as they got on the sidewalk and out of earshot, Keigo cleared his throat, tapping his index nervously against the lid of his cup.
“I’m not interested in Fuyumi-chan that way, big guy. I’m– I’m gay as they come. Thought you knew”.

Keigo will never forget the way Enji’s eyes had gone impossibly wide at that.
“Ah”, he only said, stiffly. Keigo’s heart immediately filled with cold dread.
“Yeah, ‘ah’ is one way to put it”, he commented, unable to contain the quiver coursing through his feathers.

/I’m an idiot/, Keigo berated himself. Why did he blurt it out like that? And how did he never consider before the chance that Endeavor-san could be old-fashioned, if not downright homophobic? The thought sickened him more than nearly losing his quirk.

“I’m sorry if this makes things weird between us, somehow”, Keigo involuntarily cowered, wishing for the briefest moment that he could discard and conceal that part of himself like he could do with his wings.

It was only a fleeting itch, though. Nobody in his life had ever succeeded in making him feel shame. Not his wrecked mother, not his sociopath of a father, and he wouldn’t allow it then. Not even if the man before him was like the very sun incarnate to him.

He risked looking up at Enji, despite the ache in his chest. What he found jolted him. He had never seen so many emotions pass on Enji’s face all at once. Now Keigo understands it had probably been longing for something he never allowed himself to be.

“You have nothing to apologize for, boy” Enji replied quietly. “Just keep being your usual obnoxious self and we’re good”.
Keigo couldn’t help but break into a relieved laugh.
“That I can manage”, he had joked and Enji had smiled, then, wide and unrestrained.
“I’m sure you can”.

The memory makes Keigo’s cheeks warm and cramp in the effort to suppress an idiotic, smitten expression from taking over his face.

Just in time, the last oration comes to an end in a round of applause.
Keigo hears more than sees Present Mic snag the microphone and yell something about getting down on the dance floor, at which Rumi readily jumps up from her seat, ears twitching.

“You coming, birdie? Wanna stretch your chicken legs a little?”, she teases, making Bakugou cough in surprise and try to hide a snicker, still safely planted in his chair at her right.
Jeanist hums, combing his fingers through his hair.

“Since you find the idea of dancing so pleasant, Bakugou, I think we should go, too”, he says, not leaving room for arguments. Bakugou blanches and tries anyway.
“Wait a damn minute, I wasn't–”, he utters, but gets cut off by Rumi as she laces her arm in his and drags him up.

Keigo is almost sorry for him. Almost being the keyword.
“I’d feel bad for stealing Bakugou-kun’s thunder once again. Go ahead and have fun without me, I’ll join ya later”, he states, watching as Jeanist smoothly secures his pupil’s other arm and nods his goodbye.

Keigo smirks and wiggles his fingers to wave off Bakugou’s panicked grimace, then he quirks a brow questioningly at the still seated Todorokis, knowing full well they’re both too demure to shake their asses in front of everyone.

“What about you? Not gonna impress us all with your dance moves?”, he asks nonetheless.
Fuyumi blushes prettily and smiles.
“Maybe a slow dance later”, she considers, thoughtlessly patting Enji’s right hand that is resting on the table.

As soon as they both realize it, the spontaneous gesture makes father and daughter tense up, but Fuyumi recovers swiftly. She squeezes her dad’s hand with more purpose and the expression that falls on Enji’s face is priceless. He gives back a slow, tentative stroke with a thumb.

“I’ll try my best to not trip over my feet” he concedes, the waver in his tone almost unnoticeable. Keigo knows better, even without the aid of his quirk to recognize the telltale vibration
“Oh please, I cant imagine being able to hold you up if you did!” Fuyumi cries out in jest

Enji chuckles earnestly at that. Fuyumi's eyes light up behind her glasses, and it's nice. Too nice, even. So nice that if Keigo isn't careful, he could end up aching for this, this somewhat domestic simplicity he never had, and he suspects neither of his tablemates enjoyed much.

Sitting there with the man he loves more than anything and his daughter, Keigo can’t help but feel like a broken shard that somehow has found its place inside an even more shattered picture– and speaking of /shards/.

His birdbrain has been yapping "gift, gift, gift!" for a while, now. Keigo groans as he stands up, earning a questioning glance from Enji, which he waves off.

/This will be the last one/, he promises to himself. /A parting present/. Spring is coming to an end, after all, and so shall his vain attempts.

He'll just take a stroll in the yard, pick up a nice-looking pebble or a lost cufflink or something, and find a way to discreetly hand it to Enji while Fuyumi isn't watching.
It's a good plan, a solid one. Keigo almost pats himself on the back, until he sees /it/.

A discarded bottle cap.
It glints rose gold, lonesome on the black tablecloth by now mostly cleared from dinnerware. It came off from some fancy cinnamon whisky and it even has a little fireball engraved over it. Keigo’s heart rattles in his ribcage.

It’s the perfect, little, final gift.
His birdbrain screeches and he almost snaps back /I know, dammit/.

Keigo leans over their table, and hes ready to reach out, to hell with his stealthy plan, to hell with everything, he just craves to snag this shiny object and use it to cork up all of his unrequited feelings. Its right there before him, he just needs to extend his hand and then–

Then a fucking magpie steals it from under his nose, with the timing of some cursed looney cartoon.

Keigo caws in surprise, hissing a swear to the bird of ill omen. His hands itch, filed talons aching in his balled fists in the feral urge to hunt the thing down. He didn't even notice it approaching, his mighty feathers completely useless in his momentary hyper fixation.

"What was that?", Fuyumi laughs behind her hand, while Enji simply stares at him, dumbfounded. Keigo feels the blood drain from his face. He can’t believe he let himself get so wrapped in his mutation in public.
"Uhm, nothing. Just– just bird stuff", he staggers.

Fuyumi raises her brows, fascinated.
"Oh, really? I didn't know your quirk influenced you like that, it's so cool!". /Well, at least she finds it cool and not gross/, Keigo twitches. He can't stop feeling as if something rightfully his got wrenched from his soul.

Fuyumi doesn’t seem to notice. She clasps her hands together in excitement.
"You know, actually, we've been doing some bird watching with the kids at school, but I've never seen anything similar! Was that– was that a courting gift, perhaps?".

Keigo stills, air suddenly trapped in his throat. Fuyumi gasps, all starry-eyed. She tries, oh tries so hard to not peek at her father and spectacularly fails.
"Hawks-kun, could it be that you’re courting someone, too?".

Keigo can’t believe the surreality of it all.
/This can’t be happening/, his heart sinks, and he feels as if he’s 6 again, watching a car crash about to go down before him. This time, though, he has no way to stop it.

"W-What the hell?", a low whisper rises from his side. Keigo cannot help but turn to confront his demise, hopelessly attracted to Enji’s light like a flower, like a tragic hero with no purpose other than chasing what is bound to burn him.

A panicked look flashes in Enji’s blue eyes. A flick of flames skims over his cheekbones and then blows away in the wind. He clutches the armrests of his chair so hard that Keigo could bet scorch marks will linger there long after this moment is gone.

Fuyumi’s stare darts between them both, but Keigo doesn’t really see it. He opens his mouth to laugh it all off, or at least to come out with something convincing. He’d settle for and blurt out anything, really, but even his wit is failing him in front of the undeniable truth.

It’s all happening too soon, or maybe too late, either way too suddenly, Enji isn't ready, would never be ready and /hah/, goddammit, he's /so/ going to reject him before his very daughter and a courtyard packed full of heroes. Keigo shuts his mouth close.

Enji’s whole face crumples. His expression breaks into horrified recognition, and Keigo hates that he’s able to read him so well, that he adores each and every wrinkle around his eyes, because right now those eyes are swelling with dread and asking him to tell him it's not true.

There are lies that even Keigo doesn’t have the heart to say, though.
His lips tremble.
He takes flight.

❤️‍🔥

Enji grips the handrail of the fire escape stairs. It’s the last flight, the one that leads to the rooftop of the Museum. He has searched everywhere else, even in the exhibit room with that hateful statue of himself. His own face set in stone had looked down on him, tauntingly.

The roof is the last place he can think of. If Keigo isn’t there, then Enji would have to resign to the fact he has flown away already, without giving him the chance to explain. He isn’t sure Keigo owns that much to him. He isn’t sure about anything, at this point.

He takes the first step up, lit only by the glare of the emergency sign pointing him to the exit.

Part of him is still desperately trying to cling to the possibility he might have read it all wrong. He knows Keigo has been courting someone. Enji encouraged it himself, for god’s sake. And his cunning little bird had asked for his advice, his /blessings/, even.

Keigo wouldn’t dare play him this way, he thinks in the same thought he admits: /Yes, yes, he would/. Enji should know better than to underestimate him like that, by now.

He is not even mad, if not at himself, for falling into it. For allowing this dangerous game that brought them here, tonight. If only Enji hadn’t been so stubborn in his denial, maybe he could have stopped it before it got out of hand.

It’s wishful thinking, he knows that. He’s never had one bit of control over his relationship with Keigo. Enji started falling the first time he met him, swept off his feet by his effervescence. It’s mortifying to admit it, but he never stood a chance.
This was bound to happen.

Enji reaches the top of the stairs. He allows himself a brief second to drop his forehead against the cold surface of the door, before pushing it open through the panic exit bar. He doesn’t know what to hope for, as he scans the roof in search of the smallest hint of red.

He doesn’t have to look for long, though, and it’s no downy pin feather that grabs his attention. The sight of Keigo’s spread wings has always had the power to make him stop and stare. The days when Enji was able to tell himself that was only quirk admiration seem so far away.

He steps on the rooftop, letting the door close at his back. Keigo ignores the sound of it.

He’s crouching above the stone railing, back to him, head pointed to the horizon. The night breeze is gently ruffling his hair and wings, making him shudder now and then in his thin clothes, and Enji has to halt in his tracks to find the will to breathe and keep from reaching out

His little bird has always been partial to his closeness and warmth, from the very first moment they met. Enji had brushed it off as sensitiveness to the cold. He had brushed off so, so many things, he realizes now.

“Keigo”, the name stumbles from his lips before he has time to consider better.

Keigo doesn’t jolt at the sound of his voice. He’s surely heard him approach from a distance through his quirk. Enji is grateful that he didn’t decide to fly away before he could make it to him.

“Whatcha doing up here, Enji-san? The party is surely not that boring”, he says flippantly, but under his act, his tone cuts sharp like his feathers, as if he’s straining to keep it under control. Enji can relate.
“We need to talk”, he tries in vain to sound gentle.

Keigo props his chin on a hand, head bowing to study the courtyard below.
“Mhh, I dont think so. What you need to do is get your ass back there and ask Fuyumi-chan to dance”
Enji sighs harshly.
“She would give me hell if I did that”, he argues, then pauses. “She said she’s sorry”

Still obstinately giving him his back, Keigo raises his head to the sky. He clicks his tongue.
“She doesn’t need to apologize for being sharp”, he replies. “Your kids outsmart you, big guy. Congratulations?”.

Enji’s breath comes short.
“So it’s true”, he whispers through the nausea rising inside him.
“What do you think?”, Keigo scoffs, finally peeking at him from behind a shoulder, and Enji feels like he could choke on his bile.

"Keigo, this– you, me, this is insane", he snaps. "You should know that better than anyone".
Keigo hides his face behind a wing, turning back to look at the city before him.
"Because /I/ know you better than anyone, huh?".
He does. God help him, Keigo /does/.

"Then you should know I'm not worth your time", Enji presses on, earning a dry chuckle in return.
“Heard that one before”, Keigo bites back. “Not gonna lie, it’s been pretty fun to hear you talk down on yourself like that”, he says, though there’s no amusement in his voice.

Enji seethes. He wants to shake Keigo, open his eyes, urge him to understand. He'd go down to his knees and beg if that could make him.
“You– you need to move on”, he blurts out. “Find someone your age, someone who’d do right by you, someone better–”
“Enji, shut the fuck up”.

He does. His words wither in his mouth and his jaw snaps shut under the force of Keigo’s unforgiving glare. He finds repressed tears in there. Keigo blinks to keep them in check and Enji sinks deeper into hell.

“I can accept your feelings, or lack thereof. I /am/ accepting that. I’m doing my best, here”, Keigo mutters, his voice hoarse. “The least you could do is not invalidate mine”, he adds, and Enji’s whole face burns like he’s been slapped. Keigo averts his eyes.

“I’m not telling you to love me back. If ya can’t, ya can’t. Kinda already knew that”, he sniffs into the sleeve of his blazer.

“This is a bad time to say ‘I told you so’, I guess. I can’t really gloat about it, huh?”, Keigo tries to laugh, but the hollow sound of it digs a hole in Enji’s chest.

He has no idea. Keigo has no idea that he requites his feelings, but more than that, he’s /sure/ Enji doesn’t. Has been all along, despite Enji’s risible attempts to convince him to give a chance to this whole courtship stunt.

It makes so much sense, now. Keigo had never tried to court him before Enji persuaded him to go for it. Joke and flirt, yes, maybe test the waters, even, but not once like he meant it. And even after getting serious, Keigo had kept on acting awfully hesitant, very unlike himself.

“He doesn’t want me”, Keigo stated the first time Enji asked him about his so-called mate. The certainty of it had been etched in his sad grin, as that could be the only reasonable answer, and maybe that says more about Keigo than it does about himself.

Enji can admit he might have posed as gruff and unapproachable in front of most of Keigo’s attempts, but he also knows way too well that he wears his heart on his sleeve.

How could Keigo, awfully perceptive Keigo, never notice the attraction, the fondness, the different regard Enji has always, always held him in, even while struggling to admit it to himself?
It’s glaringly obvious, Enji realizes, feeling his blood boil in his veins.

His little bird is so smart, so keen, so quick to understand, and he’s also so impossibly blind when it comes to his self-worth. He grew up without affection, and isn’t Enji painfully aware of what that can do to a child, after all the mistakes he’s made?

Keigo is so used to not being loved that the possibility of being loved back never once occurred to him.
/He doesn’t even realize it, does he?/, Enji deflates, grasping something before his much faster partner, for once. It’s no consolation. Enji feels sick to his very core.

He forces his legs to cooperate and take him to the edge of the roof. He grips the stone railing, holds on to it for dear life as he casts a glance to his left at Keigo and finds himself unable to look away.

A gust of wind makes his little bird quiver, and his wings instinctively enfold to protect him. The movement draws Enji’s eyes to the muscles on his naked back, while the skin there breaks into goosebumps. His scars stand out in cruel contrast against it.

Enji doesn’t need the reminder. He already has to live with himself every day, after all. It’s nothing new, this path he’s about to tread. His endeavor is the same as ever: striving to be his possible best. And the fuel to it has always been self-hate.

He knows right then that if he doesn’t tell him, if he doesn’t correct Keigo, he’s going to play into his twisted assumptions and let him believe there’s anything about him that Enji doesn’t love with every cell of his undeserving heart.

He takes a breath.
“I am sorry”, he says, because he’s never had the right words, at the end of the day.
Keigo's wings sag. He hugs his knees.
“I know you are. I told you, I know you better than anyone”.
/You know nothing, little bird/, Enji aches in silence.

Keigo props his chin over his crossed arms. He stares into the night, and the smile that blooms on his lips is earnest and vulnerable. Then he looks at him unabashedly, maybe for the first time ever, maybe for the thousandth one. Enji has no idea because hes always refused to see

He’s staring right back, now. He wishes he could do so much more than that when Keigo lays his head down on his arms and sighs wistfully.
“And you know that I love you no matter what, right?”, he murmurs, like he’s telling Enji his biggest secret.

Maybe it is.
Or maybe it's just a nice delusion. Keigo is so young. So full of life and possibilities. It will go away with time, Enji is sure about it. He won’t cage Keigo inside the bars of his misery.
“It’s just hero worship”, he grits out. “You’ll grow out of it”.

Keigo’s expression hardens. He shakes his head ruefully, pressing his eyes shut. Then he straightens up, rising above the stone railing. He casts a last, quick glance down at him.

“See ya around, Endeavor-san”, his voice cracks just slightly over his hero name.
Then he leaps off into the night.

Enji keeps staring at the sky long after the outline of Keigo’s wings has disappeared. Below him, the gala runs its course among the echo of laughter and music. A slow waltz begins to flow and hes reminded of the promise he made to Fuyumi. He should go back down. He really should

If only he could remember how to breathe.
Enji leans on the balustrade, shoulders tensing and rising to his ears. The stone surface grazes his skin as he tightens his fist over it, but his flames have long since made his hands grow numb to such minor bruises.

He did the right thing, he’s sure of it. Nothing good would ever come out from entertaining the fantasy that he could be a suitable lover to Keigo. A /mate/, as his little bird called him, like it was something meant to be, above their control.

Maybe in another life, Enji concedes himself to wonder. One in which happiness could be within his reach. One in which he didn’t completely fuck up his chances at being a decent partner already.

His mind goes to Rei, to every time he failed and hurt her. And it goes to Keigo, to the way he said he’d love him “no matter what”. The juxtaposition viscerally revolts him. Enji thinks he’s about to throw up.

The door creaks open at his back.
“Dad?”, a tentative voice calls after him. Heels resound against the hard pavement. Fuyumi stops by his side.

“It’s been over an hour since you left”, she observes cautiously. “What happened? Did you find him?”, she asks, tilting her head to have a better look at his face. Enji doesn’t have the force to give her an answer. Fuyumi takes the silence as one.

She breaks into a sigh. Her tone is unbearably gentle when she speaks next.
“Dad, where is Hawks?”, she pleads, and Enji shuts his eyes.
Far from him, as he should be, he replies in his head.

A rare shudder runs over his spine and it’s only when his clenched fists become damp that Enji realizes he’s started crying. Vision hazy, he watches the tears he has no right to shed fall down on his hands.
What a pitiful sight.

He tries to shy away from Fuyumi. She doesn’t let him. She stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder, hesitation lasting just the time it takes for her to bite and release her lips. Then the same hand pulls him closer and she rises on the tip of her toes as best as she can.

Enji’s breath falters.
It’s the first embrace he has received from his daughter in decades and he didn’t earn it in the slightest. It’s just sympathy and a heart too good to deny granting it that are guiding Fuyumi, as she tries to encircle his shoulders.

And the worst part is that Enji is unable to resist any of it.

He grips her arm, fingers shaking. What has he turned into, hanging onto his only daughter like she’s his lifeline? But maybe that’s what he’s always done, always taking from Fuyumi and selfishly putting the weight of his wretchedness on her back.

Just an hour ago, she jokingly said she wouldn’t be able to hold him up if he fell. But that’s all she’s been doing all this time already, isn’t it?

A choked sob escapes his lips. Enji hates himself for seeking shelter in the nook of his daughter’s neck. She brushes the short hair on his nape, welcoming him like he has any right to be cradled.

“Oh, I’m so angry with you right now”, Fuyumi whispers, holding him tighter. “So, so angry”.
Enji couldn’t agree more.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP
Well, what can I say after this update? WELCOME TO ANGSTYLAND, ENHOES 😈 If you thought they were pining before, then I got news for you 🥰

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?t=gi_dEHDgj3iuPCd-QcxL3w&s=19

I went all out with my photoshop skillz for this one, because it deserved to exist in this world ✨

Please enjoy the summary of tonight’s update:

Also, just a note: this and especially the next update will be… steamy 👀 Something along an M rating, if I had to put a label on it? Compared to my art, I’m never too explicit when it comes to my writing, but y’all know this is an NSFW account, so… ┐(シ)┌

Sitting on a stool in the most isolated, unpretentious bar he could find to mope in peace, Keigo downs the last drops of his drink and crunches the half-melted ice cube that falls in his mouth like it personally offended him.

The cold goes immediately to his head. He grimaces, rubbing his eyes and making even more of a mess of his shaggy eyebrows.
“You good there, buddy?”, Keigo hears coming from the other side of the counter.

He can sense more than see the bartender throwing him a concerned glance, and he brushes it off with a laugh. He must be an odd sight, here, a sore thumb sticking out, donned in his flashy red feathers and no other remarkable feature.

This is not the place one would expect to find someone that uncannily resembles Hawks, the Winged Hero. But the joke’s on them, because this rundown, grimy bar on the outskirts of town is exactly where Keigo, plain ol’ Keigo, belongs to.
What a jarring thought, that is.

Keigo tugs down the hood and the sleeves of his most well-worn sweatshirt, resisting the urge to poke a thumb through the hole that’s inexorably expanding near the cuff of it. He shivers, longing for the sweet burn of another serving of alcohol, but musing on how wise that'd be.

It seems like the right night to make some mistakes, though, and Keigo still feels chilled to the bone after his totally improvised flight home.

He had shrugged off his dress suit the minute he landed on the balcony of his penthouse. He scrubbed his face squeaky clean from smeared makeup, carefully avoiding looking at himself in the mirror, unless he wanted to find his ghosts making a laughing stock of him.

He tried sitting on his fancy couch, TV set on some brainless program, elbows on his knees, hands joined to pinch the bridge of his nose. When that didn’t work, he started padding barefoot in the dark of his living room.
He stopped short before his Endeavor merchandise showcase.

“Hero worship”, Keigo mumbled, then felt a cackling, choking sound rising from the depth of his throat.
He couldn’t bear being alone with himself any longer.

So that’s how he ended up here, in this god-forsaken pub, late at night, nursing drinks and his open wounds.

Being in a public space is exactly what Keigo needs. There aren’t that many patrons aside from him, but even just the bartender would be enough. His training prevents him from breaking down in front of anybody. It’s eerily comforting, just as much as it’s depressing.

He knows he’ll have to deal with the pain, eventually. He’s never been good at it, much preferring shutting down like a bird faking death. Rumi almost detached her prosthetic arm and beat him with that, the first time he went into survival mode before her, after a bad day at work

The memory brings a genuine smirk along with it. It soon turns dangerously wobbly, so Keigo pinions it to his face. He istinctively peeks around himself to check if anybody noticed, features tightening into an flippant mask. Distress flutters right below it.

Turning his head, he meets the stares of a few clients. Keigo tips his imaginary hat in their direction. He hopes they’re drunk enough to think it a weird hallucination, come morning. They nod back, probably wishing just the same, so they can forget this miserable evening.

Then they all shift back to their cheap, mind-numbing drinks. They all let Keigo be, allowing him to exist unbothered in this space, without questioning further his presence. /All/ with the exception of one, stubborn soul, whose gaze won’t take dismissal for an answer.

Keigo’s hand travels to his mouth to cover the twitch of his jaw, as he finally lets himself get an eyeful of the stranger who’s been sending him glances all night.

He's a rather good-looking guy, or maybe it’s the shitty lighting doing him a favor, but Keigo doesn’t really care. He doesn't bother worrying if he’s in his twenties or thirties, nor if the sweat-stained tank top he's wearing is purposely one size too small to show off his body.

None of that matters, because the man’s eyes trail all over him. Keigo’s feathers bristle. He has had enough of him.
Keigo raises his empty glass and shakes it suggestively in his direction, residual ice cubes ringing like a summoning bell inside of it.

The stranger smiles in reply, and alright, he has a cute smile. Dimples and all. And he shows it off like he knows exactly that he does. Keigo never minded a bit of cockiness in a man.

Then said man raises and he's… tall. Very so. Keigo wets his suddenly dry lips. He watches the guy approach as if he was truly the bird of prey he got named after.
"You're Hawks, right?", the stranger asks with a pretty deep voice, and Keigo’s facade wavers.

He’s definitely not that good-looking up close but /fuck/. /Oh, fuck/. He has blue eyes. Keigo's legs buckle and hes almost sure that if he wasnt sitting, he would've gone down to his knees here and there
"Not off-duty, big guy" he breathes out, lips stretching into a shaky smile

The man hums in consideration, taking the seat next to Keigo. His noteworthy muscles flex, as he props his arm on the counter. Keigo stares. The man knows damn well that he’s staring.
"What should I call you, then?", he asks with a self-satisfied smirk.

Keigo breathes in. The stink of the pub, the sweaty, smoky scent of the stranger before him hit him all at once. /A cheap imitation/, his birdbrain supplies unhelpfully, but hasn’t Keigo, /plain, ol’ Keigo/ always thrived on discounted items, after all?

He's not so desperate as to offer his birth name that easily, though. It's still something he's not quite so comfortable sharing. The quest for reclaiming it has been a rollercoaster of emotions, to put it mildly.
"You could call me baby, perhaps", Keigo bats his eyes defiantly.

The man’s smirk widens.
"I definitely could", he quips back, and something in Keigo’s chest constricts. That's exactly how it should be. Easy. Fun.

"Can I offer you something?", still the stranger tries to give some kind of respectable front to their interaction. Keigo will have none of it. He bites his lips mischievously.
"Depends on whatcha had in mind. Or ya know, lower”.

The man’s blue eyes widen just a fraction at his straightforwardness. Then his lids grow heavy, his smile sleazy.
"You're a feisty one, ain't you?", he whispers to Keigo’s ear, making him shiver. "Such a pretty slut", he adds, squeezing his thigh.

It doesn’t take much more than a name quickly asked and soon forgotten for Keigo to drag him into one of the bathroom stalls.

It’s a tight fit, with his wings and this man’s bulk. Not that having room to breathe is of any consequence. They’re all over each other in a matter of seconds.

The man hoists him up and presses him against the stall’s door. He kisses him sloppily, hungrily and Keigo’s feathers swell as he reciprocates with all his might. A whimper almost escapes his lips while he does.
He’s so fucking sad. And so, so unbearably horny.

He doesn't even care when the zipper of his favorite comfort hoodie gets brusquely tugged open, probably for good. Keigo has no time to fret over it, for his hook-up immediately raises his tee and latches on his nipples, teeth clicking against the arrow-shaped bars piercing them.

“Cute”, the man briefly mumbles over Keigo’s spit-wet skin before sinking back in. Keigo swallows a moan and presses the back of his head against the bathroom door. He grits his teeth. He doesn’t feel cute. He feels goddamn lonely.

Keigo rakes his fingers through the man’s short hair, clipped talons grazing his scalp, while he grinds through their clothes and tightens his legs around his hips to keep them closer, impossibly so.

The man’s warm breath travels all over his chest and neck, but it’s humid, not stifling hot. His jaw is smooth and leaves no burn in his trail. His hands mapping Keigo’s body are wide, but neither scorching nor rough. It’s nowhere near enough.

Keigo feels driven to madness, as he grabs the man’s face once again to dive into a kiss and fails to find any of the heat he so desperately longs for. He keeps looking for it, though, rapacious in his strikes, too stubborn to give up when relief seems right within reach.

“Wanna get outta here?”, the guy pants against his lips, and Keigo suspects it’s mostly to take a break from his onslaught. He gives a curt nod regardless, tapping the hands on his ass to prompt him to let him down. His wings were starting to cramp in the restricted space, anyway

Once his feet are back on the ground, Keigo staggers out of the bathroom stall. His sweats are uncomfortably tight on the front and his legs unsteady, and he hides it by pulling along his poor excuse of a mate by the tank top.

“Bossy, huh?”, the man comments, as if surprised that Keigo isn’t willing to yield one bit of control. Keigo doesn’t lose breath voicing his scorn, or he’d get lost focusing on all the things this man regrettably isn’t, instead of everything he could possibly be.

He smirks charmingly, instead, leaning against the short row of communal sinks facing the stalls. The guy dampens his lips, leering at him, and Keigo thinks he could successfully convince himself to mistake his hunger for love, just for tonight.

“My place isn’t that far off from here”, the man offers, nuzzling Keigo’s neck. Keigo turns his head to the side to give him more access to it, and also to clear his thoughts from the smoky breath that clearly comes from cigarettes and not his flammable personality.

He wants to say yes. He wants to open his legs further and taunt this man to dare take him home, but his tongue stays trapped in his mouth. Keigo grips the sink border, fighting off the abrupt urge to hiss and push away who he was desperately clutching onto only a moment before.

He just needs his mind to shut up for one second, his heart to stop rebelling in his chest, and Keigo is sure that if he closed his eyes hard enough and rode this almost too perfect stranger till his thighs ached, then his wings could spring free from the chains anchoring him.

Oh, how liberating that would be, Keigo lets himself believe, though each new wet kiss placed on his skin feels like an unbearable lie.

He bets this makeshift mate of his wouldn't even realize what he’d be offered, if Keigo agreed to follow him home and give him his first time. Keigo is confident he could convincingly fake enough experience to fool pretty much anyone.

It would have worked with Enji, too, he suddenly thinks with a jolting breath. It accidentally almost did, until Keigo went and admitted he was stupidly in love with someone and wouldn't settle for less.

/What if I didn't tell him?/, Keigo can't help but wonder now, as stares holes into a moldy ceiling and lets some guy he forgot the name of suck bruises on his collarbones just because his blue eyes have looked at him with desire.

What if Keigo had faked his way into Enji's admittedly starved arms and tried to rope him into a shallow fuck, without ever letting him know just how meaningful that would have been for him?

What if Keigo had managed to convince him to use each other as stress outlets, no complications, no strings attached, for however long Enji decided to keep him by his side and put up with him for the sake of a nice distraction?

He could be in Enji's bed, right now. Or maybe not in his bed, but in a hotel room nice enough that he could pretend it was part of Enji's house, at least until he had to get up and pull his pants back on his sore ass as if he didn't care to stay and spend the night in warm arms.

Keigo could've settled for that. He would've fought tooth and nail against himself for a chance at it… if only once, back in a hospital room, he hadn’t promised with a creaky voice to a bedridden Enji to never, ever take undercover jobs that could break him again.

He lowers his head, sigh rustling the hair of the stranger, the /almost too perfect/ stranger still lavishing him with attention. Keigo briefly fists his short locks to catch his attention and nudge him away.

The man complies, albeit reluctantly, but doesn’t back off entirely. He strokes Keigo's inner thighs with his thumbs.
“So, what do you say? Wanna take this to mine?”, he tries to coax him with a smirk and the aid of his cute dimples.

Keigo looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since he set foot into this grungy bar, and realizes that his eyes are of a cobalt shade of blue. Not turquoise, not simmering despite their cool color.
It’s all wrong.

"I'm sorry, dude", Keigo smiles bitterly. "I'm not in the mood, actually".
The guy manages to look crestfallen only for a brief moment. Keigo is quite impressed by the way he brushes off the turndown, casually fixing his clothes and the bulge in his pants.

"No biggie", he shrugs and Keigo winces. Enji would never say something like that, not in a million years. "I'll give you my number, in case you change your mind".

/Not going to happen/, Keigo thinks, but still accepts the folded napkin that the man hastily scribbles and presses into his hand.
He could always make use of it to wipe his tears after he’ll wreck himself with his newest toy purchase, later that night.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP
SO, I'm really excited for the next update. I've been waiting to write it since the beginning of this fic 👀 There's little I love more than Enji being a repressed, pathetic man, and that is Enji being a repressed, pathetic, HORNY man 💦🔥

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616

This isn’t a slow-burn story anymore. This is a PYRE.

Summary of tonight’s update – 7.6k words of Enji being a sad horndog:

NOTE: might address this now as well as later. The dynamic I chose to portray in this fic is enho, and ngl, it’s my preferred one because hello size difference my old friend, why are you here it’s 4pm.
BUT I basically see every character as a vers, so hoen will be hinted, too 👀

Last but not least, lemme slide in a CW for dom/sub undertones and top drop, because ain't no way I'm passing the opportunity of making Enji feel guilty as fuck for wishing to give so much as a spank to his little bird - even if it’s just in theory 😌

Enji bows his head under the cold stream of his shower, blinking away droplets and raking his fingers through his hair. Steam rises from his shoulders and water takes away the grime and dried blood of an exhausting day of work, but leaves him shivering in its trail.

If only the difference in temperature could stand any hope to stifle the disarray of emotions surging through his body.

Enji kneads his eyes with his only hand, as if the motion alone could wipe away the memories stuck in his brain. It’s been two weeks since he last saw Keigo’s genuine smile, and there’s no waking moment when Enji isn’t thinking about it.

"Have you been studying my smile that accurately, Enji-san?", Keigo had dared to ask him before, and oh, if he had any clue. It’s been on Enji’s mind since the beginning of their erratic relationship, making his heart pound faster, his blood boil degrees hotter.

Fearless, impudent and so infernally blinding. And yet, not so much that Enji wasn’t able to recognize right away when that smile became staged, on the occasion it mattered the most.

Enji had no idea, then, that he could achieve the feat only because Keigo had never been good at pretending when it came to him. His little bird beamed at him the moment he took his glasses off at the billboard chart event, and neither of them was ready for the consequences of it

Now there's little that Enji loves more than seeing the always cunning light in Keigo's eyes turn startled and then earnest, whenever he realizes he can't hold back a heartfelt laugh. It's like witnessing dawn all over again, and Enji misses it already with his whole charred soul

He used to pathetically pride himself in being one of the few people who could bring out such rawness from Keigo. A safe haven for the bird of prey who trained all his life to turn every weapon in his arsenal into something sharp and purposeful.

And yet, there had been no ulterior purpose in the straightforward way Keigo had always looked at him. No carefully constructed front, despite his mission, his upbringing, and everything else at stake.

Before either of them could realize it, Keigo forgot how to be just Hawks in front of him, and Enji started to entertain the illusion of being someone capable of nurturing such trust.
How utterly wrong he was for daring to dream of that.

Enji drops his forehead on the cool tiles of the shower, exhaling a breath. Memories of the latest interactions he had with Keigo creep their way under his skin, just like goosebumps break all over it.

The next time Enji had started his working day knowing full well he’d meet his winged demise, he had been at a loss about how he was going to look Keigo in the face again; let alone properly operate around him, after everything that went down at the gala.

Turns out, it wasn’t something Enji had to worry about, for Keigo took the matter into his deft hands and decided that the best course of action would have to be acting like nothing ever happened.

Except, Keigo didn’t even meet his eyes, and Enji felt his nerves grow numb from the scorching pain licking up his arms.

He rubs them off, now, fingers working over his stump and trying to convince himself that the phantom ache he’s still enduring is just that: a reminiscence.
That’s all that his mind is filled with, apparently. Echoes and regrets.

He remembers a time when he prayed Keigo would behave more professionally during shifts, with less teasing and nonsense ramblings about yakitori versus fried chicken. These days, Enji would pay a fortune to hear him hum and muse on the pros and cons of his favorite meals.

He's nothing but a fool, though, for no amount of money could buy back the way Keigo used to unwind in his presence and look at him like he hung the sun in the sky. Enji never truly realized the extent of it, until Keigo started granting him nothing more than a passing glance.

It’s not that he’s avoiding him. He couldn't possibly, since they’re still working with Gang Orca on a major case. Keigo talks to him, joins him for patrols, he shares his quick-witted considerations during meetings and adapts to teamwork like he was born to be by Enji's side.

He even smiles, now and then, but whenever he does, it’s like he’s on the verge of handing Enji that damned Meta Liberation War book all over again.
Keigo is all business, and Enji hates it almost as much as he hates himself.

Enji slams closed the faucet of the shower. He’s left dripping and glaring at the bottle of shampoo that makes him recall how he used to scold Touya for opening his with his teeth, while he does just the same to work around his missing limb.

He massages his scalp as best as he can and tries not to stare when his hand comes off with a few white hairs stuck to it. Enji should be thankful for the mere fact of being alive to see his temples streaked, but he never learned how to take pleasure in the small victories.

He feels old, and spent, and detestable, and still, he can’t find the will to extinguish the spite that has been his sole motivation throughout most of his life. It coils within his ribcage, feeding off his insecurities and leaving in exchange the worst of cardinal vices.

Once more, he reopens the gelid water, and he shakes under the weight of his sins, as he’s reminded of the way Keigo had looked more than a week ago, when Enji saw him again for the first time after deeming his confession delusional.

Even now, to believe that Keigo could come into his life and claim any form of love toward him still feels like a lie. An unbearably beautiful one, Enji had thought, letting his eyes trail all over Keigo while he shrugged off his aviator jacket and hung it on the back of a chair.

Unlike he usually did, Keigo hadn't come to pester him when they gathered in the city hall for the weekly meeting with the police and the other pros of their district. Instead, he just nodded in Enji's vague direction and proceeded to take a spot as far from him as was acceptable

By Enji’s side, Burnin’ had sent them both a puzzled gawk, then wisely decided to keep her mouth shut. Enji breathed a sigh of relief through his nose. He wouldn’t have known how to answer her questions – and he taught her to be unrelenting during interrogations.

Part of him was still trying to process all that had happened at the gala. At that point, just a few days had passed since Enji thought it better to break Keigo’s heart at once, rather than watch his little bird slowly but surely fall out of love with the idea of him.

That’s the only reasonable outcome Enji could picture. He was, and still is, certain that his had been the most righteous choice, though the belief doesn’t make the arson in his chest any easier to bear.

Keigo deserves better than him. Enji has no doubt about it, and not because he’s under the wrong impression that Keigo is some sort of angel, that his wings are the only red stain on him.

He knows firsthand how ruthless his little bird of prey can be. Lethal, even, if given the right motivation and opportunity. Something Enji never found in himself to be, despite his temper and the challenging line of work he undertook.

Still, he’s convinced that the decisions Keigo had to make for the greater good aren’t comparable to the hurt Enji chose to cause solely to help himself.

/The hurt I’m still causing/, he had to remember that day at the city hall, as he watched Keigo hunch and sit backward on his chair, stubbornly turned away from him in a manner that could only bring to Enji’s mind the chill of a late spring night on a museum roof.

Just like countless times before, Enji hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from roaming every inch of him, longing to reach over the rift he created with his own two hands. As if to taunt him, Keigo suddenly arched his back, and Enji lost any trace of sanity for a hot second.

Would Keigo shiver, if he were to brush a trail up his spine, right between his wings and over the scars that were Enji's fault just like everything else? Would the hair on Keigo’s nape be as soft as Enji imagined it to be, if he were to sink his fingers through it?

Then someone called Hawks’ name, and it reached Enji’s ears, familiar as his own. He jolted guiltily while Keigo turned to his interlocutor, and, only at that point, Enji ended up spotting a faint line of bruises running down Keigo's neck and disappearing under his collar.

To his credit, his first reaction was concern. He immediately thought of a fight, of some villain able to gain ground over one of the fastest heroes of their time, enough to get a hold of him and risk crushing his windpipe.

But Keigo didn’t look roughed up, his wings were as full as they could currently be, and the self-conscious, peevish blush that bloomed on his cheeks when he eventually caught Enji staring, told another kind of truth altogether.

Enji is not proud of the way his flames went ablaze as realization hit him square in the chest.

“Boss”, Burnin’ had to hiss to remind him of his place, and for the first time in over twenty years of irreprehensible career, Endeavor, the Flame Hero, excused himself out of a meeting to breathe in some much-needed fresh air.

Not an easy task, considering how his mere presence made the air ripple and the temperature rise by a few noticeable degrees all around him.

Enji slumped on a bench in the smoking area of the city hall’s courtyard. He mused about the comfort that other people found in nicotine. He never deemed the idea alluring as much as in that moment, but he knew better than to test his wrecked lungs like that.

Then he found himself frowning down at some pigeons idly strolling around, and he put a halt to his thoughts before he could start questioning the truthfulness of birds mating for life, or bitterly considering how exceptionally fast Keigo was to hunt a good enough consolation.

Enji passed a hand over his face, stifling some of the flames that refused to stay put in his signature mask.
He had no right. No right to wonder, to judge, or feel the ugly roar of jealousy rise inside him when confronted by the claim of some other lips on Keigo's sunkissed skin

Enji made his choice. The /best/ choice, at that, and he would silently, /composedly/ deal with the consequences of it, whether he liked them or not.

Raising up to confront the rest of his day, he hoped that sheer strength of will would be enough to convince himself of it.
He, of course, had hoped in vain.

Enji stands in his shower and heaves a sigh. He watches it fog the glass enclosure, and after that, he's hit by the realization that the water falling down on his skin isn’t that cold anymore, and not because he accidentally turned the faucet in the opposite direction.

Enji’s shoulders sizzle and drop in defeat, as he admits that his will has long since become a risible thing.

Seeing Keigo almost every day meant watching the love bites on his neck slowly fade away, and dreading the moment they would be replaced by new ones.
The mere idea had made Enji feverish. He broke down far too many punching bags, back in his home gym.

One day passed, two, three slipped from his fingers, and on the fourth, he hadn’t been able to reign himself any longer.
“Stop this”, he snapped, suddenly turning to Keigo on their patrol route. The force of Enji’s glare, if not his words, made Keigo halt in his steps.

Keigo’s mouth closed shut, the summary of his latest reconnaissance mission forgotten. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, hands delving deeper into his pants pockets as the shadow of a frown fell over his face.

"Whatever do you mean, Endeavor-san?".
Enji physically recoiled. That name said in such a chilling, detached way felt like the one of a stranger.

He never particularly liked his hero name, to begin with. It wasn’t something Enji chose for shallow reasons like pleasure or vanity. It was meant to be a symbol, ever-present in the back of his mind and in the calls of civilians to remind him of his weakness. A commitment.

And right then it was becoming a wall, one that Keigo was raising between them.
“Stop acting like this, stop calling me /that/”, Enji spat, hands curling into fists.

Keigo’s lips twitched. A passer-by sent them both a quizzical glance, and Keigo instantly lit up in an easy-going, reassuring smile. Then he turned back to Enji, and, at long last, faced him fully.

His smile didn’t waver one bit, but the look in Keigo’s eyes became accusing and fierce. He took a step forward, lowering his tone.
“No can do, /Endeavor-san/. Sorry, but it seems like I still haven’t grown out of my hero worship for you”.

Enji sucked in a breath. He knew he deserved it, he /knew/, but seeing a sliver of Keigo’s true self, even one pervaded by resentment, made him lose all the composure he had left.

Enji ushered him into a side alley, none too delicately. Keigo complied, then leaned against the brick wall with a shoulder, unconcerned and trusting, despite the intimidating figure looming over him. It made Enji love him ten times harder, and also fall deeper into despair.

He fought against the urge to press a caging hand beside Keigo’s head. Instead, he kept his distance, and said through gritted teeth: “Is that how you want to deal with this? Behaving like a child?”.

Keigo clicked his tongue, unamused.
“Why not?”, he shrugged. “That’s how you see me, after all”.
Enji's vision swam with fire.
“That’s not true”.
Keigo scoffed, averting his eyes.
“Isn’t it?”.

Enji wanted to cup his nape. Drag his thumb across Keigo’s jaw to force him to tilt his head up to him, then stroke Keigo’s lips to wipe the sneer off his face, and show him exactly how he never thought about him as a child. Right there, against that wall.

He felt the burn of shame consume all the air inside his lungs.
“It’s not true. You know it’s not”, Enji deflated, flame mask blowing out at the same time Keigo pushed off the wall to stand right in his face, feathers swelling to make him look more menacing.

“Then stop treating me like I'm helpless. Stop trying to save me”, Keigo shot back, eyes flashing his plea. “That's not what I want from you. That’s not what you are to me, not anymore”, he stressed. “So don't try to tell me it’s hero worship. You don’t get to decide that”.

Enji’s resolve wavered. His heart felt raw, like it was being clawed out from his chest.
“Keigo. Please”, he could only manage.
His little bird shook his head in frustration.

“What is it that you’re really asking me, huh? To stop loving you?”, he demanded, though they both knew he had the answer already. Enji’s silence was only the confirmation he needed.

Keigo’s wings sagged. He looked crushed for an unbearable moment, but soon he hid it behind a taut scowl and the squared stance of his shoulders.

He pierced Enji with the final blow.
“That’s not going to happen, big guy. Deal with it”, then pushed past him to go back to the main road and his duty.

Enji’s overheated skin hisses in protest under the spray of the shower. Mist raises around him in waves, heavy and suffocating.
/Deal with it?/ How is he supposed to do that?

Where should he even begin to try to wrap his mind around a concept as surreal as Keigo loving him, despite everything his little bird knows about him? How can Enji simply accept the truth of it, when there’s not a single thing of himself he wouldn’t gladly turn to ashes?

He breathes slowly, trying to figure out whatever it is that Keigo sees when he raises his eyes up to him and breaks into the smile that makes Enji become the weakest of men and be thankful for it.

All of Keigo's declarations of love haunt him, dreadful and impossible to believe.
/He's everything to me/. /He's too good to be true/.
/Enji, shut the fuck up/, he recalls unexpectedly, and he has to prop a fist against the wet tiles, overwhelmed by the memory of Keigo’s voice.

The way he said it, dropping any hint of formality... nobody ever speaks to him like that. Nobody dares, he’s Endeavor, he’s the last Number One hero Japan will ever see. /You’ll always be my Number One/, Keigo had whispered softly with those same lips, and suddenly Enji is livid

Admiration, attraction, those were things he could forgive Keigo for, but it’s the faith that his little bird has always placed in him that takes the life out of Enji.

If love means anything to him, then it’s the way Keigo is never afraid to push his buttons or to stand up for his own self, calling Enji out on his bullshit and believing that none of that will ever cause Enji to slip and turn into the monster of his past.

Keigo trusts him, and not in a blind, naive way. His eyes of molten gold are far too sharp for that, and it makes Enji ignite with something much more consuming than wrath, pride, greed, or envy.

By now, the water batting down on him is of the same temperature as his blood: boiling.
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
It’s an argument that lost its power more than a year ago.

Enji is the only soul in his desolate, way-too-big estate, yet he grits his teeth in a vice to contain the groan that threatens to slip from him as he finally yields and wraps a hand around himself.

It’s despicable how good it feels to imagine a wet, naked Keigo there with him in that enclosed space. How /easy/ it is, for it’s not remotely the first time that the thought of him has bluntly intruded on his fantasies. Enji still remembers it vividly, the beginning of his ruin.

It happened right after his discharge from the hospital, while he was recovering as a result of the fight against the High-End Nomu in Fukuoka. He hadn’t known Hawks for more than a couple of weeks, then, and still the damn brat had left a more than significant impression on him.

Enji had been forced to rest, and so he was sprawled on his couch, an arm behind his head for a pillow and a scowl set deep over his face, as he stared at the ceiling and tuned out the nonsense coming from the TV program he had long since stopped trying to use as a distraction.

He was alone in his house and – now he can admit – even more lonesome. It was a time when his children still lived with him, but right at that moment Fuyumi had been at work, Shouto at school, and Natsuo spending time far from him more often than not.

Simply put, Enji had been off duty and bored out of his mind, and his hand had traveled down to his abdomen before he could really realize it. When he did, he caught himself idly playing with the hair growing near the hem of his sweatpants, luring him to dip lower.

He hesitated, faced with the chance of indulging. He almost never had time for himself like this, nor particularly felt the urge to entertain such whims. He was well into his forties, had sired enough kids to start his own hate club, and usually had other ways to let out steam.

That was a kind of fire that Enji was sure had gradually extinguished inside him with every passing year as he moved away from his puberty. Now he was too busy and tired at the end of each day to simply dust off his libido and get on with it.

Still, from time to time, he found he enjoyed the physical sensation in itself, without the need to focus on anything or anyone in particular; just the rehearsed movement of his hand, that right then was slipping under the band of his underwear.

He refused to think of Rei, anyway, though her arms were the only ones he'd ever known long enough to remember. He didn't find the thought of any other woman appealing, and he'd spent most of his life trying to convince himself it was only a product of his dedication to his goals

Only now Enji knows that the raging emotions coursing through him while he peeked at his classmates, his very /male/ classmates, during his teen years hadn’t been only misplaced envy.

That’s why he stopped short, breath ragged and eyes wide, when he became aware that somehow, somewhere, his plain imagination had started to conjure the curves of a lean, muscular back, unequivocally tinged by the color red.

Enji blinked, feeling mortifying heat rise all over his chest and face. It surely didn’t mean anything.

It was just the desire to punish Hawks’ insolence and put him back in his place, he tried to reason with himself. Hawks knew how to be so goddamn maddening, with his sharp tongue and teasing smiles, always asking for Enji’s undivided attention.

Undoubtedly, it was only a momentary slip. Caused by boredom and annoyance, and perhaps the tiniest amount of admiration for a fellow hero. A brat half his age, but so capable, brave, and ridiculously inspiring.

Thinking about him that way, it didn’t have to hold a deeper meaning. Yes, it wasn’t anywhere near appropriate for an endless number of reasons – the most notable being how Enji found himself craving for nothing particularly tame or gentle to happen between them.

But, maybe for the first time ever, as his wandering hand grew bolder, he felt too dazed by lust to care whether it was right or wrong to just let go of control.

It seemed like Hawks got off trying to get under his skin, so much that Enji found himself wondering how satisfying it would feel to give him a taste of his own medicine and take him down a notch. Just one, enough to put the little bird back where he belonged: right below him.

Enji shut his eyes, and the image of Hawks pushed into a mattress, endless chatting muffled in a pillow, rendered useless by pleasure and pliant by authority, took form behind his lids.

Enji’s breath hitched, his muscles tensed. He could almost hear it ringing in his ears, the tone Hawks would have, if the cheeky bird were to arch his back to take more and more of him, all while spurring him to prove how strong the Number One hero truly was.

It felt intoxicating. Enji faintly registered the smell of his couch getting singed, but he could not, for the life of him, bring himself to hold back. He moved his fist as fast and hard as he wanted to pound into Hawks’ welcoming body and way too soon he found he was on the edge

He imagined Hawks’ red wings trembling as Enji ground deep and spilled inside him, and it had never been so disturbingly simple for him to reach release.

It happened one time, and as soon as Enji regained a trace of sanity, he told himself that would be the first and only. The way his body struggled to come down the high of the best orgasm he ever had and his mind kept on spacing out for the rest of the evening cared to disagree.

Fuyumi had to ask him the same question three times, later during dinner. She stared at him with worry and suggested he called to reschedule his checkup sooner. It caused him to simmer in humiliation, but only hell knows that didnt stop him from envisioning Hawks again.
And again

Enji let his imagination grow more sinful with every new stroke of his thumb, every delayed climax so that he could enjoy himself for a bit longer. He didnt allow himself to think. Nothing except Hawks existed in those moments; Hawks and all the filthy things Enji felt like doing

Enji longed to grab his wings, hear him cry out in overstimulation and still beg for more, ever the glutton, ever demanding. He never imagined him to be the quiet type, his songbird.

He ached to take Hawks apart, rough him up so much that he would still feel it the next day, thank the heavens that he had a flying quirk, so that he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by limping around.

And he wished to learn the scent of Hawks’ sweaty body, to leave heated handprints on his youthful, firm skin. Enji wanted to watch him writhe to his heart’s content, spread over the linens of his futon in the Todoroki estate, like that could be his little bird’s rightful place.

When clarity eventually hit, Enji always felt crushed by guilt and a hundred degrees of shame.

/His little bird?/, he panicked, recalling his earlier thoughts. Hawks wasn’t /his/ in any shape or form, not to mention that said form was distinctly that of a man. And the way such reveries fit all too well within Enji’s possessive, controlling patterns made him physically sick

He was too scared to ask himself why he felt the urge to treat Hawks so harshly in his dreams, but to conceive anything more tender between them was equally terrifying.

Still, for all the punishing arguments Enji had with himself, when his eyes fell on a particular jewelry commercial, or his work phone pinged with a borderline flirty message, or he found a discarded pinfeather on the floor of his office, nothing seemed to matter except Hawks.

Enji couldn’t believe how he had managed to live for years without Hawks in his life, since now he seemed to find traces of him everywhere.
At least until Hawks disappeared, after handing him that cursed book, leaving him filled with haunting thoughts of him.

Where was he? What kind of dangerous game was he playing in the shadows? It never even occurred to Enji to question Hawks’ loyalty. Rather, every second he didn’t spend war planning or overworking Shouto, Midoriya and Bakugou, he used to worry about him.

It was a strange feeling for Enji. Not once in his life he had cared so much for the safety of another pro hero. For his children and Rei, yes, for his late parents, too, but Hawks wasn’t part of his family, nor was he a helpless civilian.

God only knew the extent of Hawks’ strength and selflessness behind the mask of his smile. Enji had long since realized how badly he misjudged him, when Hawks told him he dreamed of a world where heroes had time to waste and he could slack off, ranked 20th or even lower.

/Does he even know how to slow down?/, Enji found himself wondering. /I could make him/, he thought subsequently, getting lost in the idea of having Hawks straddled over his lap, while Enji impressed bruises on his hips to keep him still and shushed his whines with kisses.

Enji dropped his face in his hands, hunching in his office chair. He wanted to kiss him, now? Was there no end to this insanity? How could he think about such deranged things, when he didn’t even know if they would come out alive from the battle ahead?

He wouldn’t give into despair, though, not yet. Enji had faith in their plan, and even without Hawks physically by his side, he trusted him with this war, with putting his son’s life on the line, despite hating the prospect with his whole self.

Four months. He had only four months to ensure that whatever Hawks was doing, whatever risks he was currently taking, all that wouldn’t go to waste. Four mere months, to prepare himself and Shouto for the possibility that his child would have to fight way before his time.

Enji stared holes into the Meta Liberation War book resting on his desk. He stopped himself short from taking it into his hands and leafing through it for the umpteenth time.

He couldn’t wait for winter to break and burn until he saw Hawks again.
If only he had imagined under which circumstances.

Enji had been extremely grateful for the oxygen mask on his face, because otherwise, he wasn’t sure he would have found the will to breathe, even in the case both of his lungs had been in perfect shape.

He neither had the strength to worry about having in the same room the man object of his deepest desires and the woman who, at the time, still was very much his wife.

Touya was alive. He was alive and possibly broken beyond salvation and thus had decided to destroy the world along with him, as a parting gift to the father who failed him miserably.

Enji wished for hell to open up and swallow him already. Possibly while he cradled his long-lost boy. He was rather certain he didn't deserve such peace, though, and Hawks seemed set on denying it to him, with his encouraging smile covered by a mask but still bright in his eyes.

As Enji silently let Hawks pick up his tired bones and drag him into another risky plan, into another war altogether, he couldn’t help but wonder if his little bird had any idea that, in Enji’s eyes, he was far more radiant than his own flames.

He would follow him anywhere, Enji realized, as he looked up from the details of the strategy Hawks just handed to him, one that kept him far from both of his sons. A ploy that Enji loathed, yet a ploy that he would accept, because he believed in Hawks above everything else.

He realized something else, though, while he watched Hawks don his hero costume, pose as a shield between Enji and the people's discontent, and throw himself into action, heedless of the immeasurable damage made to his quirk.

Hawks got deprived of his majestic wings, and despite all the remorse and sadness that the sight brought to Enji, for the first time, he became acutely aware of how much space those wings took.

And he discovered how /small/ his little bird truly was, without them to boast his persona. How slender and mesmerizing the slope of his neck was. How one of Enji’s spread palms could possibly be enough to cover his whole waist.

That should have put a rein to his twisted fantasies. Made Enji reconsider, because of how improbable, how difficult it would have been for them to fit together.
God help him, it didn’t change anything. It only made it worse.

Enji had never thought of himself as a depraved man, before. Sex had never been high on his priority list, neither particularly pleasurable for him, both in theory and in practice.

Hawks had turned that upside-down for good with only an ill-timed stretch of his back, which had allowed Enji to notice the profile of piercings adorning his nipples, even through the fabric of his full-body, stirrup flight suit.

Enji never locked himself in a bathroom so fast in his life.

He tried, tried so hard to splash icy water on his face and will his libido under control. His behavior was hardly appropriate, especially considering he would have to spend the night in communicating motel rooms with the cause of his turmoil.

Christ, they were in the midst of a mission, and there Enji was, studying the planes of the body of a twenty-something boy like Japan’s safety depended on it.

His resolve was embarrassingly short-lived when he came back to his room and found the adjoining door closed shut, Hawks safely tucked away in his own chamber and deprived of his enhanced senses, with no feathers to catch upon Enji’s overworked breathing.

Enji sat on his bed. He frantically moved his sweaty hands over his thighs, as his mind became untamable.

He wanted to knock on that door. Ask Hawks to let him in, maybe not even wait for an answer and barge in to catch him stripping off his flight suit. See his cocky smile turn flustered and progressively aroused, if Enji decided to step closer, rather than back away.

He would help Hawks take off his clothes. Perhaps slowly at first, then impatiently, because only Enji knew how much he longed to kneel and bite a mark on the perfect, small ass cheek he had been able to outline earlier.

Enji was simply sure Hawks would be as delicious as he looked. He craved to devour all of him, and so that’s what he’d do. Thoroughly. He’d get drunk on him, and in turn, leave Hawks shaking and incoherent.

Because that was exactly how Enji wanted him. So mellow that his little bird wouldn’t mind so much, when Enji started to work him out to accept more and more, until he was finally ready to try to take him.

Enji wouldn’t be completely merciless. He would force his way just a touch, to see Hawks struggle to accommodate him, never one to back down from a challenge. He would be a vision. Flushed, biting his lips, those same lips that Enji would soothe and claim without hesitation.

Oh, if he only could, he would have Hawks get used to it. He’d move him around at his leisure, make him grow so willing and lax and full around him that after having him trapped for an unfair amount of time, Enji would eventually need to slap him and demand: “Tighter”.

Enji sank his teeth in a fist to stifle a cry, as he got lost in the height of pleasure and the depths of self-hate. He washed his guilty hands, afterward, scrubbing them until they looked raw.

Enji couldn’t excuse himself anymore for wishing to do such degrading things to a friend, a cherished one, at that. A boy who used to look up to him, for fuck’s sake. A /young man/ that Enji was attracted to beyond doubt.
He felt utterly disgusting for it. He wept, that night.

Hawks noticed, of course. The next morning he stopped Enji in the hallway with a hand on his bicep, and studied his bloodshot eyes with his signature attentiveness.

He didn't pry, didn't try to cheer him up, though. He possibly didn’t even have the energy to do that, for Enji could see how everything they had to fight against out there and inside of themselves was taking its toll on his beautiful smile.

“I’m here for you, big guy. Whatever you need”, Hawks murmured quietly, selflessly, and that’s when Enji decided his madness had to end, because the answer to that question was something he knew better than to let himself have.

He moved forward. Pushed every distraction to the back of his mind. He dedicated body and soul to fighting, to helping Midoriya, to worrying that Rei, Fuyumi and Natsuo had all that they could possibly need; to watching Shouto become stronger and kinder than he ever hoped for.

He exhausted himself day and night, so that when he finally laid his aching body in bed, the only feelings that could visit him were mourning or hope for Touya. Enji welcomed those, for the first he was closely acquainted with, and the second gave him strength to carry on.

Enji allowed himself to linger on Hawks further than he should only when he heard him sigh or swear in the attempt to preen his regrowing wings. The way his feathers still looked brittle and charred, despite being newborn ones, dulled any desire to fondle them or their owner.

Enji had long since accepted that his hands were only capable of being rough and burning bridges, and so he resolved to keep them as far away from Hawks as possible.

He couldn't resist leaning into his touch, though, when in the end, the last threat yielded and the battlefield tilted under his feet. Enji felt consciousness slip from him along with those he thought were his final breaths, but yet again Hawks had refused to give up on him.

Enji didn't remember much about that time, just the delirious wish that Hawks would stop fussing around already and let him die while pressing his nose into his downy hair, because Enji's nostrils were full of Touya’s burnt skin and he had an eternity in hell to live with that.

He was ready to accept it. Would have done it gladly, for his remaining purpose on earth had been extinguished. He saved his boy. He didnt freeze, this time. He saved Hawks from Touya and Touya from his own self, and if there was any justice in the world, Enji figured that was it

Touya would probably curse him for the rest of his days for what Enji did, but at least he still had air in his lungs to do that, as loudly as he fancied. The idea made Enji smile as his eyelids fell closed. Hawks slapped him square in the face to keep him from fainting.

Miraculously, Enji made it out alive, after all. Far from unscathed, but still whole enough to keep doing hero work. He considered retiring for a while, he really did, yet he was all too aware that winning a war wasn’t enough to solve all the problems society was currently facing

And so he sat in his hospital bed for the third time in a matter of months, struggling to bear with phantom pain and watching Hawks butcher an apple in the vain attempt to imitate Fuyumi’s bunny slices. His little bird was surprisingly incompetent with a plain knife as a blade.

He looked oddly happy to do it, though, puny wings fluttering and legs crossed on Enji’s bed, so Enji let himself be fed.
“You won’t be able to get rid of me so easily”, Hawks replied to his earlier question, offering him a new slice, still pierced on the top of the knife.

Enji took it cautiously between his fingers, so it would stay intact, unlike the last two attempts.
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, Hawks. Just pointing out that you could finally retire and rest, if that’s what you wanted. Nobody would blame you for it”.

Hawks hummed.
“Isn’t that quite rich, coming from you?”, he pointed out, cutting off Enji’s protest along with another chunk of the apple. “Besides, this isn’t a world where heroes have time to kill, yet. I still gotta make myself useful”.

Enji scowled, trying to not focus on how much he hated hearing Hawks talk about himself in such terms. He didn’t want to argue, though, not right then, so he just popped the apple slice into his mouth. It was rather mealy. The smile spreading on Hawks’ lips looked so much sweeter

“Hey, Enji-san”, he said softly, making Enji’s tired, battered heart stutter. “You know how the saying goes: never change a winning team. And we’re one hell of a team, right?”, he observed, sounding almost hesitant. “What do you say? Wanna keep doing our best together?”.

Overheated and aching inside the walls of his shower, Enji recognizes that had been the moment when he finally found a new purpose in life, one worth chasing after. It was also the moment when he irreversibly fell in love, if only he had the courage to admit it, then.

He burns with the full force of it, now. It courses through his body, flows south with his blood, leaves him out of breath and begging for respite. There’s no rest for the wicked, though, and so Enji languishes, chasing ephemeral pleasure.

He hates it, as much as he hated when Keigo told him he’d mate for life, implying there had been nobody before and couldn’t be anybody after. All the fantasies Enji had about him suddenly felt that more ignoble, and somehow even more enticing.

“I can’t imagine ever loving someone else”, Keigo had the nerve to say to his face, making a fool out of him with that insufferable smile of his, and god, how much Enji can relate to that statement.

He longs to kiss it off Keigo’s lips until they’re red and swollen. To make him kneel between his legs, here in his shower, and toy with the possibility of choking him, just enough to make his throat sting, so Enji wouldn’t have to hear such endearing nonsense coming from him.

And yet, Enji is sure that Keigo would simply look up to him defiantly, and convey the same damned thing over and over again, with just the aid of his eyes.

It’s that picture that tips him off the edge. Enji roughly strokes himself through it, panting against his shoulder. It feels like it’s fire that is licking up his lungs and escaping his mouth. It could be, for all that it’s worth. He’s too far gone to care.

He slumps against the fogged tiles of his bathroom, then, spent and miserable. It’s no longer shame that eats at him, at least not the kind that used to arise whenever he ended up focusing on the fact that Keigo isn’t only too young, but also very much a man.

That had been surprisingly easy to come to terms with, as soon as Enji let go of the unreachable ideal he tried to mold himself after for most of his life.

And it occurred to him that, for all the feverish dreams he conceived, not even once he thought of Keigo as something different than who he is.

It never crossed Enji’s mind that the desire of bending Keigo over his office desk came from the need to admire his back and avoid seeing anything he might be lacking or sporting.

He realized that those parts of Keigo’s body dont matter at all to him, as long as his little bird would chuckle if Enji traced his sides, moan if he brushed those piercings on his chest and that his toes would curl if Enji were to travel lower with his finger to take care of him

He wants all of him, whatever makes Keigo this inexplicable mixture of beauty, danger, and hope. Enji wants to hang onto that body of his, bury himself deep inside him, and forget that being so close to anybody should be forbidden to a husk of a man such as him.

And he wishes to learn to hush the urge of controlling, of demanding all the damn time. To welcome the chance of pleasing Keigo before himself, to lavish every inch of his body, to take him into his mouth, and after that, spread him and slowly bring them both to insanity.

Or even let Keigo take the lead, allow himself to be vulnerable in someone else’s hands, for once. Watch Keigo do whatever he wants like a fallen angel, his personal demon bound to haunt him in his living hell, but whom Enji only wants to trust and surrender to.

Enji closes his eyes, hiding his reddening face behind a hand, though there’s no little bird there with him to witness it – and that is supposed to be a blessing, but it surely doesn’t feel like one.
Oh, he should have figured out a long time ago that he was done for.

Because once his hunger is sated, what Enji finds he needs the most is to tighten his arms around Keigo. Ask him to stay the night, /every/ night perhaps. Feel his stubble, hair and feathers tickle him until Enji would grow too sleepy to care.

Wake up in a bed he could call theirs, in a house not so lonesome anymore. Lose track of time watching the sun catch in his blond locks. Trace the marks around Keigo’s eyes and be able to do it gently enough to not bother him.

Then hear Keigo make his children laugh at the dining table, and feel not quite so out of place among them. Learn what kind of man he could become, if Enji let Keigo's smile save him through each new, hard day.

Be able to bicker with him for the most ridiculous things and fight animatedly for the most important ones, and never, ever raise a hand on him. Believe he could, and believe Keigo would trust him to.

And be the anchor Keigo could cling to if he ever needed comfort, understanding, grounding. Retire with him, one day, and finally have so much time on their hands that they’d both hate it. Grow old together. Let Keigo love him, and be brave enough to love him back as he deserves.

Enji shakes once again, cold under the stream of his shower.
The fire is gone, and yet he never learns.
He can't stop desiring what he can't have, what he should never have.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP
Yo, this thing is at 35k words of mutual pining already?? And y'all have been reading it??? Mindblowing

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616

Fuyumi be like: ME EXPLAINING TO MY DUMBASS DAD

Summary of tonight's update – 2.3k words of funny todofam drama😌✨

Enji chews slowly, quite unsure of the taste of the foreign dish before him. As he grew older, he found it harder and harder to adjust to unusual flavors, but today it’s of no consequence, since Natsuo once mentioned he never tried Italian food, and so that’s what they're eating.

Enji peeks around his dining table apprehensively, studying his son, Fuyumi and Shouto between one bite and the other. His relationship with his children is far less tense than it used to be, still to have –almost– all of them around him at the same time is a rare event in itself

They’re young, lead busy lives, and though Enji would like to see each of them more frequently, he can only accept that sometimes, some days, going through the strain of dealing with him is the last thing they deserve.

So he tries to not stress too much when Shouto prefers to stay in the dorms, when Fuyumi texts him she has to work late, or when she tells him Natsuo “couldn’t make it” to sugarcoat the fact he didn’t feel like showing up.

Enji appreciates the gesture, but in truth, he doesn’t need it. He’s far more content with letting them decide how and when they want to see him, and he'd rather they chose to visit out of their own volition, instead of due to some sort of obligation.

He hopes they understand it, that they don’t think he’s neglecting them again when he simply nods and doesn’t ask to reschedule. Giving them space is the only way Enji knows to show love without being overbearing, but it’s a fine line to walk on.

He wonders if there will ever come a time when the words to tell them just how much he cares would come to him and they’d be willing to listen. In the meantime, he resolves to watch Natsuo take another generous serving, and let some of the bitterness wither away.

It’s an odd thing, to be quite honest, for Enji to find the sight of his middle son soothing. Usually, Natsuo is way too guarded in his presence to let himself enjoy anything, and Enji hates to admit that the negative things they have in common far outweigh the positive ones.

He frowns and eats with more purpose, determined to like the food his boy seems to appreciate so much as to mumble “Thanks” when Enji nudges toward him some sort of condiment. He pointedly focuses on this small blessing rather than on the silence on his other side.

It’s a deafening thing, though, settling in the air around them and making every bite, every scrape of the cutlery they rarely use harsher than it should. Natsuo cleared his throat through it a couple of times, while Shouto hasn’t given a sign to notice or mind it too much.

Enji can’t say the same about himself, and yet his heart feels awkwardly warm in his chest, despite it being totally inappropriate, all because… Fuyumi is still mad at him.

Much like she’s been doing all evening, she stabs the food in her plate with a little pout that makes her cheeks look rounder and her nose scrunch up under her glasses, and Enji would really like to take her seriously, he truly would.

But he's suddenly reminded of moments buried in time, of harshly denied cotton candy due to dinners approaching, and of a tiny hand squeezing his angrily but not letting go, never letting go, and all he can do is not reach out to pinch Fuyumi’s face.

Enji suspects she would bite him, as of now, and that he’d find it even more endearing.
“So, what did the geezer do, this time?”, Natsuo finally breaks the silence, making Fuyumi raise her head from her meal. She briefly glances Enji’s way, scorn flashing in her blue eyes.

"Dad refuses to be happy", she states curtly, and Enji can only sigh at that.
“Fuyumi. Things are more complicated than this and you know it”.
The fork she drops on her plate clangs uncomfortably loudly. Her hand balls shakily over the table.

“What I know is that you’re a stubborn, stubborn man too busy clinging to self-loathing like it’s a comfort blanket to give yourself a chance”, she replies impulsively. Then she sucks in a breath. Her cheeks get rosy, her bottom lip wavers.

“I’m sorry, but I had to say it”, she adds, lowering her eyes with more deference than what Enji would like to see her bear. He swallows, trying to work around the emotions lumping in his throat.
“Don’t apologize”, he mutters hoarsely.

Shouto is having a hard time slurping his spaghetti with a fork, still, he’s loudly trying with all his might. He seems to like the food nonetheless. Enji is glad. He’s less glad when his son opens his mouth while he’s still swallowing his bite.
“Is this about Hawks?”.

Enji quite literally chokes on his glass of water. Natsuo looks in confusion at the three of them.
“Wait, what does Hawks have to do with anything?”.

Right. Enji didn’t find the time – nor the courage – to have that conversation with Natsuo, yet. He clears his voice in a fist and places his glass back on the table, steeling himself.

“Natsuo. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you”, he begins lamely. “You know how I’ve been trying to face myself and my shortcomings with the help of a specialist–”.
Natsuo groans before Enji can find a more roundabout way to continue.

His son points an accusing fork toward him.
“Cut the bullshit and get to the point, old man”.
Enji gapes and tries to form words one time too many, so Shouto decides to do that for him.

“Dad is gay and he’s in love with Hawks”.
Fuyumi covers her mouth in second-hand embarrassment, or maybe to hide something akin to schadenfreude. Enji sputters and reddens, splaying both of his hands on the table.

“I-I’m not–”, he attempts to say, but Shouto just levels him with a glance.
“What? Gay? In love?”, he asks uncaringly, tackling his pasta with a new fork technique.
Enji pinches his eyes shut.

He can feel Natsuo stare at him for an ungodly amount of time, probably while he puts together all the evidence that has always been in front of him. Finally, Enji glances up at his older son, right on cue to see him shake his head ever so slightly.

“God. This actually makes a lot of sense”, Natsuo mumbles to himself. Then he huffs and leans back in his tatami chair, crossing his arms. “So, what’s the big deal, again?”.

Fuyumi intervenes, and for once it’s not to his rescue.
“As I said”, she scoffs, “Dad refuses to give himself the chance of being happy”.
Natsuo scowls, pursing his lips.
“Well, it’s not like he deserves it”.

Fuyumi’s indignation is immediate.
“Natsu!”, she scolds him, while Enji silently exhales in relief. This he can operate.
“He’s right, Fuyumi”.

“Of course I am”, Natsuo points out bitterly. “Still, I don’t get it. Nothing’s ever stopped you from going after what you wanted, before. Even though you weren’t deserving of it”.
Enji wills his distress to relent.
“This is… different. And I am trying to learn from my mistakes”

Fuyumi lets out a frustrated noise.
“Then what better way to prove yourself than pursuing something good, for once?", she cries out, making Enji clench his jaw.

“This is not a game, Fuyumi. If I do wrong–”, he cuts himself off. “I can’t take that risk”. Not again. Not with Keigo, and not with everything Enji only suspects he endured in his youth. The thought makes him shudder in revulsion. He nudges his still half-full plate away.

Fuyumi deflates. Shouto stirs his remaining pasta somberly. The argument seems over, and Enji is ready to try asking his children about school, about anything really, just to move away from it, when Natsuo shifts in his seat and drums his fingers over his arm.
“Does Mom know?”.

Enji sighs harshly. He places his hands on his crossed legs, counting to ten to ground himself.
“She does”, he concedes with a stiff nod.

It had been surprisingly easy to write it to her in a letter, a habit Rei initiated herself when she first sent the divorce papers to him, punctuated with a wry: “I thought you might be too busy to put these forward, so I did it myself. I hope you don’t mind”.

Enji let out a long-repressed, heartfelt laugh at the implication she didn’t truly care if he minded or not. He actually thanked her for the trouble, with a note of his own, and so their correspondence began.

“And what did she say?”, Fuyumi asks, voicing the curiosity of her brothers as well.

Enji closes his eyes, recalling the way he traced with his fingers the words Rei sent him back. In his confession, he didn’t disclose the name of the man he found himself in love with. Still, Rei ended her letter with "please, tell Hawks hello on my behalf".

Enji breathes through his nose. He grips his knees in a vice.
“She said she would be happy to see me happy”, he admits reluctantly.

Fuyumi's lips soften into a small, bittersweet smile. Shouto raises his brows and then lets them fall, pressing his mouth shut in consideration.
Natsuo stares at him again, up and down, until his features set into a deep frown. Enji finds Rei's eyes piercing right through him.

“Then go for it”, Natsuo says challengingly, and somehow, for once, it doesn’t look like it’s because he’s ready to bet on Enji’s failure.

Enji’s eyes widen. He blinks slowly, taken aback. Mostly, though, he feels somewhat betrayed. He used to be able to always count on Natsuo to team up with him against himself.

He shakes his head fiercely.
“I can’t simply /go for it/”, he tries to argue. “There are– So many reasons why I shouldn’t–”.
“Like what?”, Shouto intervenes, genuinely nosy.

/You all/ Enji would like to say for starters, but he doesnt want to know how Fuyumi would react. She’s been bristling enough without the notion that part of what is holding him back is a sense of duty toward his family. She’d chew him like one of the ravioli she ordered for that

And Enji isn't sure he has the force to handle all of his kids going all out on him like this. Natsuo and Shouto and even Touya yes, he’s used to it. But Fuyumi has always been his sweet, kind girl. Enji may possibly be scared to face her as the assertive young woman she’s become

“I’m too old, to begin with”, he says instead, his tone so petulant that he surely sounds as if he might belong in the classroom with the children Fuyumi teaches to, despite what he said.

“Come on, Dad, you’re not that old” she rushes in to say, squeezing his clenched hand, and god, how Enji isn't worthy of the ground she walks on.
“/I am/ compared to– compared to Keigo” he grimaces. It’s difficult to speak his name before his children. It feels wistfully intimate

Natsuo shrugs, resuming to eat.
“He doesn’t seem like the type to care”.
Enji can sense the heat rising from his neck. He averts his gaze, trying to focus on anything that could distract him from this mortifying conversation.
“Well, /I/ care”.

“/That/ is what I’ve been trying to tell you if you only listened!”, Fuyumi cuts in, the hold on his hand unrelenting. “You care so much that I can’t believe you’d let it go wrong”, she adds with a softer tone.

Enji’s knuckles grow white with exertion under her cool fingers. Fuyumi pouts at the sight, so she decides to pull his hand over the table, palm facing up. She traces some of his calluses and scars and Enji lets her, though he has to grit his teeth to keep his lips from trembling

Fuyumi raises her eyes, then, and traps him with them. Enji could swear they’re ablaze.
“Isn’t this what you truly are, after all?”, she asks him with a tentative smile. “/Endeavor/?”.
Enji feels so taut he doesn’t recognize his own voice when he speaks next.

“I can’t afford to screw up another time”, he whispers his deepest fear, knowing full well how it sounds, echoing between the walls of the house that witnessed him at his worst, put into words in front of whom he longs to convince that he’s changed the most.

“Then don’t”.
Shouto’s matter-of-fact tone catches everyone off guard. Enji’s stare snaps up to him.
“Can’t be too hard to do better than how you treated us”, his son adds, making Fuyumi wince at the word choice and Natsuo hum smugly in approval.

“Besides, you’ve never been in love with Mom”, Shouto continues, laying his fork on his empty plate. “You said it yourself. This is different”.
/You are different/, Shouto seems to imply, daring Enji to prove him wrong.

Enji's lungs fail him, and he’s reasonably certain they’re about to collapse all over again.
“Shouto is right, Dad”, Fuyumi intercedes gently, sensing his turmoil. “Will you think about it?”, she pleads, searching his face.

Enji pauses, far too overwhelmed to talk. He looks around himself to find his children watching him expectantly, just like he asked them to, more than a year ago.
He doesn’t stand a chance against their honest gaze. He rubs his forehead to escape from it.
Then, finally, he nods.

Natsuo, later, through text: [dude… you really have shit tastes]
Keigo, to himself, staring at this phone, soul leaving his body: “God, are you fucking kidding me right now”.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP
Hope you had fun reading this update, cause I'll be back with my angsty bullshit in the next 🥰

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?t=OdjbVgS1Vfpgg_p31GzPcA&s=19

G'day everyone, how are we feeling about the summary of tonight's update? 🥰

Keigo isn’t deliberately ignoring his personal phone. He isn’t. He’s just taken to conveniently forget it between his couch cushions, below some work papers, or in the pocket of the leather jacket that it’s getting too hot to wear.

It’s easier, this way. He can focus on hero duty without jumping every single time the offending device chimes with the possibility of an olive branch and eventually always ends up disappointing him, or worse, annoying him.

Frankly, Keigo is tired of the pity party his few friends seem set on throwing for him. Yes, he might be heartbroken, but what of it? Its all on him and his stupid lovebird mutation. Hes gotten used to suppressing most of his feral instincts, he'll learn to live with this as well

Enji might be a colossal idiot, but he’s right: Keigo will grow out of it. Not of the love, yet surely of the pain. He refuses to feel this way all his life. He won’t let himself be miserable for the rest of it.

He’ll give himself another coupla weeks tops to whine about it, and then he’ll move on. Efficiently. Hawks wasn’t appointed the fastest hero for anything, back in his prime. He might have lost most of his signature speed, but he’s still the same well-oiled machine at his core.

That’s why he ends up fishing out his private phone from under a pile of clothes on his bed – that decidedly /doesn’t/ resemble a nest – when he hears it ding one time too many in a short while. His patience has finally run out.

He unlocks the screen, ready to give a piece of his mind to Rumi, or Jeanist, or whoever it is that decided to bother him with commiseration on his first day off in ages. Rumi’s last message welcomes him, still unread.

[i know u dont wanna talk about that flaming jerk right now, but please, take a look at this when ur ready], Keigo skims over the text preview once again, followed by a link that leads to god only knows where.

He’s about to swipe the notification aside without sparing it a second glance, when his attention falls on the actual culprit who made his phone ring. His heart sinks in his chest.

[Hello, Hawks-kun.], Fuyumi’s first words since the cursed gala night stare back at him. [Actually… Keigo. Could I call you that?].

Keigo takes a steadying breath. He worries his lips with his teeth and his fingers hover above the screen before he resolves to open their chat log. He sits on his bed, crossing his legs.

[hey fuyumi-chan. sure thing, whassup?]
Her reply is immediate.
[I don’t really want to meddle, but… well, it’s about Dad.]

Keigo shuts his eyes, feeling one of his eyebrows twitch. If she reached out to comment on his poor tastes, he’s going to end up on the news and not because of his hero work. “Pro Hero Hawks didn’t catch his fall” sounds about right for the title of a clickbait video.

[is he alright? not dead in a ditch or smth?], he taps in a haste, before he changes his mind.
[What? Yes, he’s fine!], Fuyumi retorts, and Keigo can easily picture the way she’s batting her big daddy-blues in confusion and distress.

It hurts more than he’d like to admit to shut her out.
[then i dont really wanna know anything else. sorry fuyumi].
He’s about to lock and forget his phone once more when the speech bubble jumps out again.

[Keigo, please.], Fuyumi counters quickly. [Give him time, would you? He’s gotten such a long way. He really is doing his best…]
[i know that. trust me i do], Keigo interrupts her strings of texts right before she adds:
[And he cares about you. Truly.]

Keigo pauses. He stares at those words until his eyes start to prickle. Then he lets himself fall back on his bed with a groan, his wings hitting the piled clothes and, as if on cue, the well-loved plushie that he still likes to place on the pillow or the nightstand for company.

He shifts toward the stuffed Endeavor in consideration. He sets it upright, then he nudges it on the head with a knuckle. “Dummy”, he whispers, before turning back to his phone. He clenches his jaw, pondering how he should answer.

[ahah i know that too!], he forces out a joke. [he told me once, can you believe it? i think he sees me as his bestie. or as his pet bird, im not sure].
The text bubble takes longer to appear, this time.
[I hope you don’t really believe that. That’s just… sad.]

Keigo chuckles bitterly. Enji did call him /little bird/, after all. And he accepted Keigo’s courting gifts, at least until he learned their true meaning. Maybe Enji never saw him as a child. Maybe he read one of those articles about crows handing presents to humans and liked it.

Keigo feels his throat closing off. He sits up in his poor excuse of a nest and his fingers hesitate over the keyword. He settles for honesty, for once. He thinks he owes it to Fuyumi, for indulging him and his puppy crush like it has any place in hers or her father’s life.

[look fuyumi, i appreciate what you're trying to do. you have no idea how much, probably] he admits wistfully. [but maybe i need some time too, u know? to get myself together a little. im all over the place right now] he lets out more than he should, before he can rein himself in

He immediately regrets it. He blanches, rereading his wallowing messages. He would have deleted them, if only Fuyumi hadn't clearly read them already.
[sorry. shouldnt be dumping this on you], Keigo resorts to backtracking, mentally berating himself.

Fuyumi is too kind to him, as always. She sends him a hugging sticker that has no business looking so inviting to Keigo’s supposedly hardened heart.

[I’m the one who’s sorry.], she tells him. [For overstepping. And you’re right, of course. You should think about yourself first and foremost.]
Keigo sighs, wings rustling in embarrassment.

[please dont apologize], he types, and after a moment of consideration, he adds: [girl, im just happy i could get to know you. you’re incredible. none of us deserves you]. He hits send and hopes it doesn’t sound as much as a goodbye as he fears this conversation might be.

Fuyumi is clearly of another opinion.
[Oh please, stop.], she replies, brushing aside the praises to herself and Keigo’s worries in one go. Then she pauses, ellipsis chasing one another as if she’s searching for the right words.

[I’m actually pretty selfish, Keigo.], she settles for. [I’m doing all of this because I’m thinking of myself.], she continues, making Keigo frown in confusion.
He doesn’t have to wait long to understand, though.

[I just want my family to be happy.], Fuyumi states, as if it’s the most obvious feeling in the world, and not the one thing Keigo is so starved of that for a crushing moment it feels impossible to breathe.

Then Keigo inhales sharply. His hand searches and finds the old plushie on his pillow on the second try, without even needing to look for it. It’s rehearsed precision, at this point. Muscle memory at its finest, even after all these years.

He grabs the little Endeavor, dangerously tight for a doll held together by worn-out threads and Keigo’s stubbornness alone, and he presses it close to his chest. His wings try to envelop him as best as they can.

[then they’re lucky to have you], Keigo manages to type with shaky fingers, lit just by the glow of his phone, inside the dark shell of the only embrace he’s ever truly known.

/It’s fine/, he tells himself. One can’t miss what they never had in the first place. And a family that would care for something as inconsequential as Keigo’s happiness is definitely not what life graced him with.

He presses his eyes closed and lightly taps his forehead with his phone, breath coming out hot and humid in the enclosed space between his feathers. He’s so focused on grounding himself that the vibration of Fuyumi’s next message startles him.

[You have me too. I don’t want to make this weird for you or anything, but I want you to know you’ll always have a place with us. No matter what that silly father of mine ends up doing. I care about you. A lot. Natsu and Shouto too, I assure you.]

Keigo blinks. He stares at the screen in consternation. There’s something rising inside his chest that’s making processing those words harder than any threat he ever faced.

[I just don’t want to lose you. Don’t fly away, alright?], Fuyumi adds, and Keigo has to cover his mouth with a hand to contain the painful sound that scrapes the inside of his throat.

It’s no use, though, because soon enough he’s gasping for air, drowning in all the unshed tears he held back for so long and that now are crashing over him, along with the certainty that there’s no way to push aside his deepest desires, this time.
And so Keigo chokes on them.

He wants to crash on the couch with Fuyumi, after work. Order greasy take-out and watch mind-numbing soap operas filled with family drama, as if what they’ve endured all their life isn’t noteworthy already, and then blow kisses to Enji’s inevitable grumbling about food crumbs.

He wants to keep finding new, creative ways to drag Natsuo to baseball games with him and Enji, and laugh at their spontaneous, loud rooting that turns self-consciously quiet as soon as they both realize that could be something they could bond over, if only they dared to.

And he wants to spend some time with Shouto, too, try his absolute worst to make Shouto grin like the teenager he deserves to be, and do something so completely idle and unrelated to hero work that they’d both end with whiplash from their childhoods – Enji be damned, for once.

He also wants to muster the courage to deal with Touya as Keigo, shedding his hero persona for good. And he maybe wants to meet Rei properly, move past the awkwardness and jealousy, and eventually reach a place where she could tell him all about embarrassing family memories.

Keigo wants the loud gatherings, the quarrels, the tears, the inside jokes, the birthday cakes he never had. And he wants to come home to Enji, hear his “welcome back”, inhale the scent of their laundry soap lingering on his shirt and mumble “I’m home” against his chest.

He wants all of that, more than he ever wanted anything for himself. He wants to belong. But he can’t, he won’t, because that family is not his to take, and all this time he’s only been chasing borrowed fantasies.

Keigo clutches his phone, wiping teardrops from the screen, thumbing those words that he knows damn well he has no right to long for.
/You’ll always have a place with us/, Fuyumi offered him anyway, and fuck, he loves her.

He loves Enji, with everything he's got. Always has, always will. There’s no growing out of this. Keigo isn’t fast enough to run from his feelings for him or this messed up family that still is unquestionably one.
Just not /his/ one.

He realizes he can’t read the texts anymore. He sniffs into his sleeve, a sob wrenching itself from him, followed by countless others that have him crushing his pitiful, stuffed lifeline and grasping at his own shoulders in the vain attempt to conceive any form of warmth.

His traitorous mind retraces every time he’s been close enough to bask in Enji’s body heat. Keigo greedily seized every opportunity to touch his back, his shoulder, his hand, to steal some of that delightful warmth for himself.

The ragdoll counterpart couldn't even begin to compare to the real thing. Keigo is not proud to admit he had to push it face down every time he touched himself and desperately groped his own thighs, hips and neck in the hope to spread Enji’s lingering heat all over his skin.

He trembles, now, fighting off the cold loneliness coiling within him. He wishes he could escape from it, like a bird migrating to milder horizons, but he’s all too aware that his inner sense of direction knows only one sun.

/Don’t fly away, alright?/, Fuyumi asked him, oblivious to the fact that Keigo couldn’t even if he wanted to. They domesticated him, apparently. He doesn’t mind his little cage half as much as he should.
[i wont. promise], he eventually replies.

[If there’s something I can do for you, just name it.], Fuyumi instantly writes back.
Keigo’s lips wobble.
[i dont know what to say]. /I love you so much/, he’d like to write. [thank you], he sends instead.

He hunches forward, then, exhausted from crying. He groans against Endeavor-san’s plush belly. It’s not big enough to muffle his frustration. It used to be, when Keigo was little. Now it’s only a faded stand-in for what could have been.

Keigo’s fingers linger on the doll’s face, before finally setting it aside on his nightstand. His attention shifts back to his phone.
[actually fuyumi, there’s one thing].
[Sure! Do tell!].

Keigo smiles to himself. She really is something else. Oh, Rumi better buy him at least three buckets of chicken tenders, next time they go out.
[do you fancy pussy, perhaps? asking for a friend].

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP
Congratulations! You went past all the mini-bosses and their angsty trials. Now, for the final boss, you get a Stinky Daberton in the next chap 💋

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616?s=20&t=FnYfgZX1N7wFUAUq7myg7g

Buonasera, are you ready for 4.3k+ words of confrontation between the two supreme Enji fuckers? 💀
Cursed summary of tonight's update, as per usual:

There’s a proverb, Keigo recalls, while he raises his eyes to take in the gates of the Naraka Medical Prison, that’s as old as people’s mistakes.
/Be careful of what you wish for/, somebody once said, and Keigo should’ve probably paid more attention.

He sighs and rubs his neck, passing a hand through the short-cropped hair on his nape. Some of it will never grow back due to the scar tissue that creeps its way up his spine like a snake, but Keigo has long since decided he won’t let himself fall to its constricting spires.

Funny thing about hawks is: they prey and feast on snakes quite regularly.

/I still prefer chicken, though/, Keigo thinks to himself, nodding to the therapist that’s escorting him inside the quirkless ward of the penitentiary, and trying his best to listen to the plethora of information she’s giving him without automatically weaponizing them.

He has to keep in mind that this is a courtesy visit. One Keigo requested himself, even if that happened months ago while he was still regrowing his wings, plastered on a painkiller cocktail and merrily sliding on the brink of an identity crisis.

A desperate part of him had been sure that seeing Dabi again after the trial – and seeing him imprisoned and powerless in face of Keigo’s own freedom – would have given him the answers he was looking for.

Something about heroism and purpose and the different stench of blood lingering on their hands, probably. Mostly, though, Keigo had wanted to ask Dabi how exactly he threatened his mother, or if a small amount of money had been enough to convince Tomie to sell her son once again.

Fortunately for them both, Dabi’s team of shrinkers deemed their new inmate too volatile to allow such a happy reunion so early in his sentence. Almost a year later and here they are, encouraging it for the sake of their patient’s mental health progress.

Skimming over all the papers he has to fill out and sign before proceeding, Keigo wonders if he should’ve worried more about his own progress in that department, before agreeing to meet the stinky fatherfucker who took most of his wings on a jealous whim.

He snorts to himself at the thought, then quickly clears his throat in face of the inquisitive look the psychiatrist sends him.
“I almost signed this as ‘Hawks’”, he covers up, gesturing to the sheet before him. “You know, professional deformation and all that”.

“We agreed on an informal meeting, Takami-san” the woman reminds him for the umpteenth time. “This is not about your hero work”
“Of course, doc” Keigo smiles effortlessly. If only she knew how difficult that distinction is for him, maybe she'd decide to lock him there for science

As he compiles the last of the forms, he wonders if Enji has to do the same thing, every time he comes here. He wonders if even little Shouto has to, or if he has to be escorted by an adult, and if that makes it any easier.

They all come to visit, Fuyumi told him so. Natsuo had even apologized, one day Keigo tried to pat away the weight dragging down his broad shoulders.
They met casually, one coming out and one coming to Naraka for business.

Keigo immediately recognized the kind of misery that stems from trying to deal with a wayward relative, so he decided that the interrogation he came for could wait the time to offer Natsuo a cup of coffee from the vending machine.

When Keigo placed it in his hands with a sympathetic clap on his back, Natsuo looked startled for a hot minute, then grimaced, muttering something about how Keigo "doesn't have to, after what Touya-nii did".

Sometimes, Natsuo looks so much like his father that Keigo has to bite the inside of his cheek to contain a smile, but in that specific instance, he had reminded him of Rei. Of how Rei had bowed down before him, apologizing on Dabi’s and her family’s behalf.

Keigo won’t deny that meeting her that way, and meeting her at all, had felt all sorts of awkward. It still does, as much as the knowledge that every Todoroki – with the glaring exception of the one truly responsible – feels somewhat guilty for the injuries he sustained.

He gets where that burden comes from, but he can’t, in good conscience, absolve them of it. It’s not his job to grant forgiveness. Only meager support, still Keigo will be damned if he doesn’t try his hardest to hand it out when needed.

That’s why he laughed off Natsuo’s apology until he could coax a reluctant smile from him. That’s why he plucked up his courage and decided to come here to face the personification of his demise.

Keigo wants to be a hero, no, scratch that, a /person/ able to help others. And not to prove that his wings, his /birth/ have worth, after all, but because he wants to believe that kindness can and will generate more kindness—enough to lead to his early retirement, with some luck

He used to dream of that with all he got: the chance to slow down in a world that wouldnt need heroes so much anymore. He used to fantasize about all the time he could finally waste—until Dabi grounded him and the realization that Hawks had no idea how to stop being Hawks hit him

It hadn’t been easy to look at himself in the mirror and question his own existence freed from the Commission and his shackles. He had always thought that the wings on his back were the better part of him, but he soon found that his drive didn’t burn down along with them.

So he met the remorse shining in various shades of blue and grey eyes with equal amounts of frustration and fondness. Nobody ever cared so much as to say or feel sorry for him, yet none of them had understood.

Being forced to confront his past and regrowing his feathers from scratch hurt like a bitch, but Keigo doesn't really hold a grudge against Touya Todoroki.

Granted, he doesn’t exactly have a soft spot for him either. Dabi looks too much like a walking reminder of what could have become of Keigo, had he let his unfortunate childhood shape and consume him.

Begrudging sympathy is the most Keigo can muster in his presence, but that’s okay. He’s not here to play the hero and save Dabi, after all, and he’s quite sure Dabi would rather eat his own foot than be saved by him.
That’s a middle ground they can meet upon, at least.

His wings rustle in light discomfort and Keigo takes a steadying breath, before saluting the therapist that just opened the last guarded door for him. She looks at him unamusedly and quite like she’s evaluating him in her head, and Keigo is so very glad he’s not the patient, here

He steps into the vestibule that faces Dabi’s chamber, designated for visits like the ones he regularly has with his family, due to the mild confinement he’s still under. It’s also to grant some privacy, the doctor had assured Keigo. He had smiled as if he believed her.

Another thing she was so kind as to warn him about is that Dabi knows he’s going to receive a visit, but not by whom. Keigo feels kinda insulted that she thought he'd buy this farce without realizing the end goal: putting Dabi to the test and dissecting their every interaction.

The armored door closes behind him with a harsh signal. Keigo studies his surroundings cautiously, by force of habit. He quickly gathers that his side of the room is bare, except for the security cameras in the corners and a stiff-looking chair placed in the midst of it.

He approaches it slowly, eyes on the glass wall separating him from who he once knew as a powerful villain and whom now Keigo isn’t sure how he should address anymore.

Dabi is laying on his bed, face to the ceiling and eyes closed, fingers interlaced behind his head. From what Keigo can see, his skin looks somewhat better, his hair less brittle. That’s the bright side of not being able to burn yourself to a crisp every other day, Keigo figures.

He’s wearing a prison jumpsuit, chalky and blinding as every other surface of his cell. White brick walls, white bed sheets, white furniture. Keigo suspects that if by chance a sane person ended up here, detention in such a sanitary clean space would change that pretty quickly.

Admittedly, though, Naraka’s living conditions score far better than Tartarus ones. After all, rehabilitation of mentally ill villains and criminals is the ultimate goal of this facility, not eternal damnation.

With sudden, painful vividness, Keigo remembers how, after Enji had pleaded for his son’s mental instability at the tribunal, a reporter dared to approach him to ask if institutionalization was Enji’s go-to solution for all his family problems.

The way the big guy had looked utterly heartbroken in front of the cameras shoved in his face almost made Keigo act against his own freshly acquired condonation.

In the end, the court deemed Dabi sound of mind enough to understand the gravity of the crimes he committed – his little stunt of a video backfired spectacularly, in that regard. Yet the judge still ruled on involuntary commitment in Naraka for the first part of his conviction.

Dabi will be serving some sort of sentence for all his life, but at least not in a god-forsaken hole. Many had protested and invoked Tartarus or capital punishment, but even without taking Enji’s feelings to heart, Keigo wouldn’t have been among them.

Despite, or maybe precisely because he had to shape his own feathers into bringers of death, Keigo has never liked to mistake execution for righteous justice. Neither imprisonment in Tartarus, especially for someone who can’t pose a major threat anymore.

Keigo wouldn’t bet on that last bit, though. Fuyumi told him Dabi got his drawing privileges revoked after some kind of incident involving makeshift darts. The glass wall separating them should be bulletproof, but seeing no trace of pencils in his room is surely a relief.

Keigo’s attention shifts from the desk to its owner, hearing the bedsheets rustle through the microphone. Still laying down and faking disinterest, Dabi clicks his tongue, probably wondering what game one of his siblings or parents is playing, since they haven’t addressed him yet

He evidently decides to find out, for he finally sits up on his bed to face his visitor. He’s ready to try souring their life for however long their family-bonding-time will last, Keigo can tell.
He’s not ready to see Keigo at all.

His blue eyes grow wide for a moment before narrowing down. They glare at Keigo, then linger on his wings and the brand-new prosthetics and struts he got post-war. Dabi's lips twitch in annoyance, like a kid who got his sand castle destroyed. Keigo barely contains a smug smirk.

“Yo”, he greets him.
“How the hell did you get here”, Dabi hisses, making it sound like he’s anything but asking. “They allow courtesy visits to immediate family only”.
Keigo can’t say he missed the sound of his snarky voice.

He grabs the backrest of the chair and turns it to sit down. It’s the most comfortable position for his wings, and he doesn’t care much anymore about the reproaches of his handlers that used to echo in his head, reminding him to behave even after his training program was over.

“Ah, well. I still have some leverage as the former Number Two, it seems”, Keigo smiles sharply. “Besides, Fuyumi-chan appointed me honorary Todoroki out of pity, so I guess I’m not that out of place, here”.

Dabi takes the jab with stoic stillness. He apparently decides to not indulge it. Keigo is moderately impressed, as he watches him stand up and pad barefoot in his immaculate prison to fill himself a cup of water.

“What do you want” Dabi hits him with the million-dollar question.
Keigo could shrug and lie out of his teeth. He could tell Dabi he’s here to play along with whatever his shrinkers are scheming. He could inquire about Tomie like he originally craved, but none of that would be it

The truth is, Keigo doesn’t know if he wants anything out of this meeting at all. Except, maybe, a glimpse into a distorted mirror.
He rests his chin over his arms, crossed on the backrest of his chair.
“Just to talk. For good ol’ time’s sake?”.

“Good old times, you say”, Dabi sneers, throwing away his paper cup with scarcely repressed irritation and turning to face Keigo fully. “Not once we had a conversation without an ulterior motive or something to gain out of it, so why should I listen to you?”.

“You get to stroke your ego by watching me rot in this cell”, he adds, and Keigo can’t even begin to explain how seeing anybody in a cage is the last thing he could enjoy – Dabi wouldn’t care to believe him anyway. “What do I get in exchange?”.

/Ain’t my wings enough?/, Keigo would like to bite back, but he knows better than to play this childish game. He waves a placating hand.
“I have a story about Endeavor-san that I’m sure you’ll find hella funny”, he offers with a smile. “What do you say?”.

Dabi simply stares at him, unflinching. He grips the backrest of his own chair, placed specularly to Keigo’s one. He drums his fingers over it and Keigo’s smile threatens to warm up just a bit. He’s so easy to read now that all his cards are laid bare.

Dabi drags his chair loudly and settles down, crossing his ankles and arms. He picks at the dead skin around his nails with false indifference.
“If you want to talk, just get on with it. The sooner you do, the sooner you can piss off”.

Keigo lets out a puff of air, swaying back in his seat.
“I don’t know where to start”, he admits. Honesty doesn’t come easy to him by a long shot. “I've been thinking about Bubaigawara a lot, lately”, he opts for. “Do you ever think about Snatch? Or the other people you killed?”.

Dabi levels him with a flat glance, in full Todoroki fashion. Keigo supposes they can’t bond over murder, after all.
“I won't absolve you of your sins, if that's what you're here for”.

Keigo decides to test his luck. He strokes the stubble on his chin consideringly.
“I don't think you have the moral ground to do so, Touya-san”.
The knee-jerk reaction is immediate.
“Don't you call me that”, Dabi snarls, body tensing as if itching to summon flames.

Keigo doesn’t waver at the display. The doctor warned him to use that ace cautiously, given how Dabi’s tolerance for the name has become awfully low, after the war and its consequences.

Nowadays, nobody in his family dares to address him as Touya, Enji first and foremost. They’re trying to respect Dabi’s grief, in any way he chooses to cope with the loss of the only thing that has fueled his determination to live for so long.

Unfortunately for them all, Keigo isn’t really a Todoroki.
“Hmm, why not?”, he asks, grinning seraphically. “Wasn’t it a nice name or something?”.
Dabi’s eyes flash with madness.
“You should know why better than anyone, /Hawks/”, he spits like it’s an insult.

Keigo ignores the not-too-tacit accusation in his tone. Still, he decides to relent his strikes a bit and redirect the conversation toward himself.
“Not really. I've been trying to reclaim my birth name, actually. You blabbing about it on national television sorta forced me to”.

Dabi presses his lips shut, jaw muscles twitching. The reminder of his glory days seems to ground him at least some. Keigo hopes the flock of therapists hovering in front of the security monitors are proud of his snake-charmer abilities.

He props his cheek on a palm. He watches Dabi emphatically.
“You know, people started calling me that without even realizing how difficult it was for me to hear it. But at some point, I just got tired of correcting them. Of letting it have so much power over me”.

It may have been even harder than watching his wings regrow, painstakingly slowly and crippled, but nothing had ever felt as freeing as being able to decide who he wanted to be, without any external conditioning.
And now, whenever Enji says his name, Keigo feels whole again.

“Your point?”, Dabi raises a brow at him, though Keigo is sure he got the intention behind his words. He chuckles earnestly.
“Point is, I’ve been Hawks for so long that I’d kinda forgotten what Keigo’s like. He’s a depressing little bitch, lemme tell you”.

Dabi blinks slowly, not giving a sign of sympathy or regret. Not that Keigo was expecting him to. Still, Dabi hunkers in his seat and shakes his head. It’s a far cry from how he used to act, driven and relentless like an arsonist.

Keigo wonders if it’s due to the drug regimen he’s on, or because there’s no wildfire he can’t summon to incinerate everything he’s feeling, now.

“I can’t cry since my tear ducts got all burned”, he told Keigo once, but he sure as hell wailed like a child, when in the end his father trapped him to the ground with a hand on his chest, mindless of the blue flames licking up his remaining arm and all around them.

“Enough”, Enji had pleaded, pressing down his palm, though he knew Touya wouldn’t listen, would never listen, now as before, until nothing would remain of him.

“There might be one way to stop him. Your son”, Aizawa had told Enji days before the conflict, calling out to him and Keigo on their way out of UA’s campus, after one of the last war-planning meetings.

Enji halted in his steps, turning to face Aizawa. Keigo gave them space, yet listened carefully to every word.
“I’m giving this to you in case the plan involving Shouto fails. I don't guarantee there’s enough left, but…” Aizawa trailed off. “This should be your responsibility”.

Enji’s breath itched, as he tightened his hand around the vial Aizawa just passed him. He gripped it so hard, and had continued to do that every now and then in the next days, deep in thought, so much that Keigo worried the tiny thing wouldn’t survive until the start of the war.

“I might as well kill him”, Enji opened up to Keigo, the night right before the battle. He was hunched on a couch in one of UA’s unused lounge rooms, nearly crushing that small auto-injector in a fist, and ignoring the surely bland tea Keigo just placed on the side table for him.

Keigo spared him the ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ speech. Instead, he voiced the only thing he knew he could offer, the one thing he was good at. His heart had felt as heavy and hard as ever.
“Ask me to kill him for you and I will, if it comes down to it”.

Enji had looked up at him, lost and crestfallen.
“What if I asked you /not/ to kill him, no matter what”, he choked out. “For me”, he added with a raw voice.
Keigo smiled sadly, knowing he would never run such a risk.

“That’s a promise I can’t make. Not even for you”, he admitted, dreaming of carding his finger through Enji’s hair, of climbing in his lap here and there, to try to take some of that burden away for however long Enji would let him.

“I know” Enji whispered back, dropping his forehead to his closed fist, as his shoulders shook in silent grief.
And the same somber tone overcame him, when he said: “That’s enough, Touya”, pulling out the quirk erasure vial he had hoped he wouldn’t have to use until the very end.

Keigo still recalls it vividly, Touya's blind rage. The unbearable heat, then something breaking inside him. The dread swelling in his eyes as he begged his Dad to not take /that/ away from him. His flailing panic at the idea of losing the sole thing Enji ever loved about him.

Dabi lowers his eyes to his hands. He interlaces them, resting his elbows on his knees. There’s something mournful in his voice when he speaks next.
“Touya ceased to exist the moment Endeavor took away his flames. I don’t have the slightest intention of messing with the dead”.

Damn, and Keigo thought he was an inveterate liar.
“Could’ve fooled me, with this corpse appearance you have going on”, he comments lightheartedly, gesturing to Dabi’s whole self.

He dismounts his chair, then, standing quietly and observing the man before him along with his own reflection in the glass wall.

“Why don’t we both rise from the dead, Touya?”, Keigo wonders, point blank. “You burned me to a crisp but I got up. I feel like a goddamn phoenix, right now!”, he exclaims theatrically, opening his arms and flaring his wings.

He lets them drop soon after, quirking his head in consideration.
"Huh. Maybe I should be the one to forgive you, after all".
Dabi begrudgingly snorts at his antics.
“I’d wipe my ass with your forgiveness. Give me my reward, now”.

Keigo grimaces. He puts his hands in his pants pockets, swinging on his feet.
"Well, so…”, he stalls, huffing out a breath. “I kinda confessed my eternal love to your daddy dearest and he rejected me".

Dabi stiffens, at a loss for words. And, maybe for the first time ever, Keigo finds him staring back with eyes as cold and piercing as ice.

“Ehhh, I really thought this would get a laugh out of you, scarface”, Keigo frowns, genuinely confused. “Or at least kindle some sort of sympathy. You know, as fellow outcasts”.

The ice breaks and Dabi springs up, chair cluttering to the grown behind him.
"Don't you dare compare yourself to me", he seethes in anger, frame shuddering with the force of it. The tip of Keigo’s feathers hardens in automatic reflex at the display.

He quickly releases his control over them, though, just as Dabi seems to come down the edge of his temper tantrum. He inhales slowly as he does, passing a hand over his face and then through his white hair. Keigo doesn’t miss the way he slightly tugs at it.

“He didn't reject you, you brainless pigeon”, Dabi mutters, eventually. He peers up at Keigo, not minding to conceal the bitterness in his glare. “You might be the only thing he cares about, aside from himself and precious little Shouto”.

It’s Keigo’s turn to be left speechless. He swallows, damping down the part of him that would like to believe those words. It’s selfish, and not fair to Enji’s efforts at all.

“You know that’s not true”, Keigo replies. “In so many ways”, he adds, trying to not sound too overwhelmed. “He’s never stopped thinking about you. He comes here every moment they allow him to”.
Dabi pulls a face, averting his eyes stubbornly.

“He does that just to feel better about himself”, he objects, making Keigo sigh.
“Dabi, he doesn’t do shit for himself anymore. He’s so focused on this whole atonement thing that I’m pretty sure he needs an alarm to remind himself he should go take a piss”.

Dabi rolls his eyes. Keigo taps an index to his chin and continues, unfazed. “Or well, he probably told his secretary to remind him, because he’s an old man with sausage fingers and he can’t use his phone to save his life”, he jokes, searching Dabi’s gaze.

They both know that’s quite the overstatement. Enji handles his technology just fine, even if his big thumbs do get in the way, sometimes. It gets a sneer from Dabi regardless.

Dabi raises his head to the ceiling, then. He exhales heavily, shoulders slumping as if in defeat.
“You wouldn’t be half as bad, if you weren’t a shitty hero”, he comments dryly, to Keigo’s disbelief.

He shifts on his feet, not sure if he’s allowed to take it as a compliment.
“If I wasn’t a hero, huh…”, Keigo muses. “Hey, do you think that if things went differently, if our childhoods weren’t so fucked up, we could have been friends? Like, in another timeline?”.

Dabi crosses his arms, unamused. Keigo waves his hands to paint a picture.
“We could have met in college. Because of one of those group projects students do, you know? We’d be in the same year because you’d have failed some courses or cuz I’d be too brilliant to stay in mine”.

“Then we’d have to do those study sessions somewhere, and you’d kindly offer to take me to your stupidly big family estate. And so I’d meet your dad and I’d become his trophy wife”, Keigo beams, making Dabi’s nose scrunch in disgust.

“I’d slide you so many zillions of yen in allowance behind Enji-san’s back. Wouldn’t that be a good life?”, Keigo observes wistfully.
Dabi presses his lips together, evidently affected by the idea, too, despite scorning the emotions it stirs.

“Sounds more like a nightmare”, he sulks, looking so much like his father that Keigo can’t help but snicker.
“I’ve been trained to detect lies, Touya”, he taunts him. “Or well, Dabi”, he concedes. “It’s up to you, in the end”.

Dabi turns, giving him the cold shoulder as he proceeds to pick up the chair he knocked down and shove it back under his desk.
"Don't bother calling me anything. I don't wanna see your stupid face ever again".

Keigo shoves his hands in his pockets for a second time.
“That’s a pity. Well, it’s not like you would’ve been my favorite stepson”, he grins. “Not happening, anyway, I guess”, he shrugs halfheartedly.

Surprisingly enough, Dabi looks and grins back. It splits his marred features in a grotesque way.
“I thought hawks were supposed to have a sharp sight, /Keigo/. But you’re so fucking blind it’s indeed amusing”, he states smugly. “I consider myself paid back”.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP
I can't believe this is already at 45k+ words and 15/21 chapters. Are you ready for things to FINALLY start looking up? Cause I'm not. I promise my happy endings slap as hard as my angst 🥹

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616

Summary of tonight's update (and of my life lately)

Will they won't they? 😔 You'll find out by reading almost 4k words from the Number One Dumbass' POV ✨

Enji focuses on slow, cooling breaths, raising his head and squinting at July’s heedless blue sky. It’s only eight in the morning and he’s already feeling like a scalding furnace, trapped inside the skin-tight fabric of his supposedly thermoregulating hero suit.

He refrains from pacing, rolling his shoulders to release some of the tension, instead. He occupies his itching hands by adjusting his left gauntlet, by testing the joints of his prosthetic right arm. Everything is perfectly functional as it ought to be. He checks it a third time

Finally, a shadow blocks the sun shining down on the airfield of Gang Orca’s agency building. Enji looks up again, similarly to the other pro heroes gathered for this mission, taking in the sight of his team leader coming back from the last reconnaissance flight.

Red wings flap and move the air, just shy of stoking Enji’s flames or blowing them off altogether.
He’ll be in Hawks’ unit. He’s the best suited to lead their charge, and Enji is way too aware the uneasiness hes feeling doesnt stem from having to obey who used to be his underling

He can’t let his personal feelings hinder the operation, though. It would be inexcusably dangerous, and he respects Keigo’s headship too much to allow it. Enji forces himself to stop brooding over to what degree he has been disrespecting him anyway, lately.

There’s a time and place for everything, even for guilt.

Keigo joins his hands to get their attention and recap their strategy. The clap is muffled by the gloves of his summer costume, thinner and not lined by fur. Enji has to try even harder to stop himself from wondering what else has changed under the cover of his oversized gear.

He listens attentively, standing alongside the other pros, all equipped with flying quirks or floating techniques. Even Keigo’s intern, Tsukuyomi, is present and ready to engage in the battle. Enji knows damn well the kid has been inspired by Keigo to take the sky, just like him.

There’s so much Hawks has been doing as a hero, helping and influencing others in that unassuming way of his, without even noticing half of the good he’s made. Without realizing how worthy of esteem and /way more/ he is. Enji clenches his fists, lest they alight with frustration.

Keigo ends his speech and dismisses them. Now all they need to do is stay focused and wait for Gang Orca’s signal to echo in their earpieces. Some heroes approach the edge of the airfield, preparing to leap right down on notice.

Enji’s feet take him to Keigo’s side before he can think better of it.

Tsukuyomi notices him first, or more accurately, he’s the first to acknowledge him. The boy nods politely at him, then sends a questioning glance toward his mentor. Keigo pays no mind to it, intent on searching his visors for spots to clean, with a boot planted on the parapet.

Enji is regrettably more accustomed to reading the wings of a bird than the face of one, but he could swear there’s something akin to exasperation in the way Tsukuyomi clicks his beak and communicates he’s going to dive from the other side of the building since it’s more shaded.

Keigo hums in approval and watches over the departure of his ‘fledgling’ – like he fancies calling Tsukuyomi – before resuming to wipe his glasses as if Enji’s proximity is of no consequence to him.
“Endeavor-san”, Keigo simply greets him, barely looking up from his task.

Enji swallows the lump in his throat.
“Hawks”, he says back. He hesitates just a moment before adding: “I’ll be in your care*”, formally, with a slight bow of his head, and he’s sure his tone betrays way more than what it's strictly proper to say presently.

Keigo raises his eyes at him, seeming a bit startled by the deference. He opens his mouth to answer, maybe just as conventionally, but then he lets it fall closed, as his perceptive gaze trails over every line etched on Enji’s face by age and bitterness.

Keigo must find something worth forgiving in the sight, because it draws a small, honest smile from him, possibly for the first time in weeks.
“Careful, old man. Fuyumi-chan might hear you” he quips, reminding Enji of the debate he had with his daughter about his need for support

Enji is too overwhelmed to think thoroughly before replying.
“Then maybe she’ll stop being angry at me”, he grumbles, transfixed by the way it makes Keigo bite his lips to contain his amusement.

“Dunno about that. Last time we talked, she called you ‘that silly father of mine’”, Keigo quotes sarcastically. “That was harsh”, he adds with an affected wince, and it’s ridiculous how much Enji missed hearing him joke.

It’s like fuel to his searing, aching heart.
“She said worse to my face. Natsuo and Shouto, too”, Enji admits, because it's true, but mostly because he would do just about anything to see Keigo smile again, better still if at his expense.

And Keigo obliges, easily, earnestly. He turns toward him, brows creasing in wonder. He chuckles breathily, dimpled grin half hidden by the raised lapel of his jacket, and yet brighter than July’s sun.

“Dang, I love your kids”, Keigo lets slip with unmistakable fondness, and Enji inhales harshly, visibly faltering.
There’s just so much he can take, he is only a man. Only a lonesome, single father, and moreover one remarkably terrible at it.

He can’t help but stare Keigo down, mask of fire in shambles. Too late, Keigo seems to realize the weight of his words. His eyes widen and he averts them, struggling to put back up the guard he was so careless as to let fall.

Then he self-consciously presses his mouth into his collar, like he does whenever he says too much and says it too openly – and damn him, /damn him/, he did. Keigo did say too much, and now all Enji can think about is trapping him by his side with a vow to the rest of their life.

He grimaces at the mere idea, passing a hand over his stubble, grateful that Keigo is too busy with his own brand of auto-commiseration to notice the way Enji’s skin is flaming, and not due to his quirk.

Eventually, Keigo clears his throat, taking off his weight from the leg he propped on the parapet.
“Speaking of your kids… I went to visit Touya, last week”, he states with a cautious flat tone.
It’s enough to give Enji whiplash and bring him out of his commitment reveries.

Keigo pointedly peeks at him to appraise his reaction. Enji does his best to keep in check the spontaneous uproar of overprotectiveness and disapproval that sparks at the sole mention of any sort of meddling with his son. He trusts Keigo’s intentions better than this.

“They let you in?”, he inquires, with only a hint of disbelief, once he’s sure his tone is as even as it can be. Keigo relaxes his guarded stance.
“His doctors suggested it, actually”, he concedes with a sway of his wings – his fierce, irreparably damaged wings.

Enji closes his eyes, heaving a torturous sigh. His flames flare with his exhale. He can do nothing but burn to his melting point for this unbelievable boy.
“You didn’t have to”, he mutters pathetically, like the old fool he surely is.

Keigo dismisses his concern with a wave of his hand.
“I wanted to”, he declares, and after that, he shrugs consideringly. “It was kinda therapeutic for me too, I guess”, he mumbles, fiddling with the visors he’s been holding all along.

He hesitates a second, then, dampening his lips.
“He still doesn’t believe you care about him”, Keigo remarks, suddenly trapping him with a glance. “That must hurt, huh, Endeavor-san?”, he asks softly. “What should a man do to be taken seriously, these days?”.

The implication strikes too close home and cuts at Enji’s very heartstrings, unmerciful and flawless like only Keigo knows how to be. There’s no accusation in his tone, though, only intolerable affection, and Enji bites down a curse.

He takes a step closer, to do or say what he doesn’t know exactly, but he can’t stand anymore to see that look on Keigo’s face and justify not acknowledging it. Keigo deserves at least as much, regardless of the fact that Enji can’t allow himself to reciprocate him;

because he hurt his family before, not unlike Keigo’s vile father; because he’s old enough that he could be that father; because he should focus on atonement and not second chances, and besides, he's no good at showing care–although it’s so easy, so frightfully easy to love Keigo

/His little bird/, who stands his ground even when Enji invades his space, who’s watching him with visors off, just like the first time they met, and now as then only sees the man Enji wants so desperately to be, despite or maybe in light of all his mistakes.

Enji is about to force out a reply, but neither he or Keigo find out what he meant to say. Gang Orca’s signal ends up ringing in their ears right at that moment.
Keigo crouches, pushing his visors on.
“Showtime”, he says, and doesn’t waste a beat to plunge into action.
❤️‍🔥

In retrospect, Enji thinks he should have taken the chance to apologize while he still had it, instead of bending the rules of the Japanese language at his will to maintain a semblance of professionalism–since his profession is what's putting his life in jeopardy, right about now

He blinks repeatedly, willing his vision to focus. He can’t afford to lose consciousness, trapped alone in the basement of a collapsed building, even more so near what suspiciously stinks like a gas leak.

Frankly, it’s quite the cosmic joke that his quirk, which he painstakingly trained for years and tried to better at the cost of everything else, is the very thing currently hindering his hopes of survival.
Just like his father, just like Touya.

/No/, Enji forces himself to stop that disheartening line of thought. He raises to his feet, holding his side and wincing for what hopefully are only bruised ribs. The last thing he needs is for one of his lungs to get punctured /again/ to make this all the more ludicrous.

He glances around himself, trying to assess the damage and locate the source of the leak. It’s frustratingly dark, though, and dizziness makes it hard to stand, let alone walk among debris. He can feel his head pounding already, and it’s no good.

He extinguished his flames as soon as he smelled trouble, but if he ends up coughing due to gas inhalation, not only he risks cracking his ribs further, he’s in danger of sparking a fire.

Enji remembers catching a particularly nasty virus from one of the children, once, and sneezing a little flame that had made baby Natsuo clap his pudgy hands and laugh in delight. His irritated eyes water instantly. God, he misses that laugh more than he misses fresh air.

He must get a grip. If he starts moping and wondering when was the last time he heard it, he sure as hell won’t come out of this mess alive, and he’ll miss any chance to witness it again. Not that the odds are in his favor, but maybe, if he had Keigo by his side…

“Endeavor”, Keigo’s voice cracks in his ear, right on cue. Enji startles, taken aback by his harsh pitch. He dropped the honorifics. He sounds pissed. Enji should not find it so distracting, right now.

“Here”, he rasps, bracing himself on a wall to stay upright.
“Finally”, Keigo barks over the unequivocal noise of his high speed. “You missed my last two calls. Report immediately”.

Enji sighs and briskly recounts his fight, down to the destruction caused by the two villains he was appointed to face and that he could barely defeat. He starts walking cautiously as he talks, searching for a breach in the thick cement. Keigo’s distant nagging spurs him to go on

“Give me your current position”, he suddenly demands, and Enji has no choice but to comply.
“South of the harbor, near the international dock”, he mutters. “Under what’s left of the plant we marked as the cartel’s trading point”.

“Under– You’re trapped and you’re telling me that only– Wait”, Keigo sucks in a breath, quick on the uptake as ever. “Orca reported a flammable gas leak there”.
Enji strains to sound collected.
“Yes, I noticed”.

Keigos hiss pierces through the device in Enjis ear.
“Im coming to get you” he states vehemently.
Enji grits his teeth. He /doesnt/ require a caregiver. And he would never forgive himself if Keigo put his own safety or the mission at risk because he was too busy fretting over him

“There’s no need. Focus on your task”.
“I’m boss today, you can’t tell me what to do”, Keigo snaps back. “And you asked me to take care of you”, he adds, his tone turning more frantic.

Enji sags against a pillar, pressing his nose in his arm. He tries to breathe evenly, but the air is getting ticker by the minute and his body is buzzing with restrained energy.
To hell with professionalism.
“You know damn well that’s not why I said it”, he mutters warmly.

“You’re swearing out loud, big guy”, Keigo remarks with panicked laughter. The fact that Enji’s usual, formal way of speaking slips only when tension gets the best of him goes unsaid.
“It’s fine, Fuyumi can’t actually hear any of this”, Enji snorts, despite everything.

“Yeah, yeah, but we still can’t disappoint her–/fuck/, get outta my way!”, Keigo snarls, making Enji’s flesh crawl at the abrupt, labored sound of battle.
/You’re the one swearing, little bird/, he thinks, resting the back of his head against the pillar.

He evaluates his options. There’s not much he can do, and even if he resolved to bite down his pride and wait for Keigo or anyone else to rescue him, he’s running out of time.
“Hawks”, he calls, closing his eyes. “I see an opening. I can handle it”.

The relieved huff resounding in his ear makes him grimace with guilt, but Enji’s not entirely bluffing. Even though he doesn’t see an opening right now, he’s going to /create/ one.

His prosthetic arm is partially powered by his quirk. It seemed like such a good idea when he had it done, as a way to preserve his fighting style. Currently, it’s lying limply by his side, a liability at best, a ticking bomb attached to his body most accurately.

Enji doesn’t trust his frenzied fingers to unlink it safely, lest they cause an accidental spark. And accidental is not what he has in mind.
Keigo seems to sense his suicidal plan from miles above.

“If you’re lying to make me ‘focus on my task’ I swear–”.
“/Hawks/”, Enji urges him again. Then, more softly: “Trust me”.
A beat of silence.
“Always”, comes the reply, unwavering and only slightly short-winded.
Enji finds himself grinning like a madman.

“See you on the other side”, he says, raising his hand to turn off the earbud.
“Oh, this ain't ominous at all!”, Keigo manages to cry out before he does. “Don’t you dare die on me, Endeavor! Ya hear me? Don’t you–”.

Enji steels his nerves, suddenly surrounded by silence.
He tightens his prosthetic hand in a fist and releases it, aiming it toward the floor to propel himself out, before firing his whole arm up at full force.
He hopes he learned one thing or two from Bakugou as his intern.
❤️‍🔥

A deafening ring drowns every noise around him. Enji’s eardrums thrum with the force of it, or maybe it’s due to his heart beating far too aggressively in his chest, as it struggles to remind him that he’s still alive, still breathing and functioning, despite the searing pain.

His prosthesis is in ruins, his nerve endings screaming just like when he lost his arm the first time. Enji distantly wonders if it’s possible to suffer from phantom ache due to the loss of an artificial limb. It surely feels like it.

He slumps to the ground, knees caving in. He props his back against a piece of concrete to remain at least seated. The summer’s sky mocks him yet again, blue and cloudless above the rising smoke.
He’s still whole, more or less. He decides to count it as a victory.

“Enji!”, it’s the first, muffled sound that eventually reaches him in the wake of the explosion, and what a sweet song that is. Keigo lands, stumbling on his feet to keep the momentum going and reach him faster. Enji wishes he would slow down so he could assess his state better.

There’s dirt caked on Keigo’s face, he’s bloodied with a cut on his lip and his jacket is torn in places. His wings are patchy; he used up all of his prosthetics and he’s down to his very own. He falls to his knees, removing his visors and headphones like they were offending him.

His sharp gaze immediately zeroes in to the damage on Enji’s metal arm and he scowls, muttering a curse. His gloved fingers travel all over Enji’s shoulder, none too gingerly, then start prodding him to turn and move this and that way.

“I’m fine, Hawks”, Enji groans, as his little bird keeps patting him down to make sure nothing vital is compromised and succeeding only in making Enji hurt more instead. “Keigo”, he tries again, and this time amber eyes snap up. “I said I’m fine”.

Keigo clenches his jaw and bores holes in his soul.
“Don’t scare me like this ever again”, his voice wavers with frustration and so much concern that it feels like another blow to Enji’s beaten body.

/Ten years/, Enji thinks. /He’s been looking at me like this for at least ten years/, he realizes. /Even when no one else could care to/.
“That’s impossible to ask in our line of work”, he replies quietly.

Keigo’s shoulders drop in defeat. He heaves a heavy sigh, and a couple of blond strands move along with the motion. His hair is getting longer again, but Enji liked to be able to see more of his face when he was forced to cut it off, despite the reason he had to.

Enji doesn’t know what possesses him to raise his left hand and card his fingers through those soft locks to push them backward, but he finds he doesn’t care, when he’s able to fully appreciate Keigo’s lips parting in shock and his cheeks flaring red.

His hair is even softer than what Enji dared to imagine. Downy, like plumage. He ruffles it, unable to fight the urge to spread his palm over Keigo’s head. He’s so tired of fighting.
“Brat”, he says affectionately, giving in to a smile.

Keigo stills, fixating on Enji’s mouth. Then he bows to remove Enji’s hand, but he doesn’t let go of it. Instead, he holds it between his two own, barely enough to cover the width of it.

The fabric of both of their gloves separates their skin, and with jolting certainty, Enji knows he wants them gone. He wants every barrier still standing between them to turn to ash.

“I’ve had enough”, Keigo murmurs, gripping his hand.
Enji isn’t sure he’s breathing, at this point.
“Of what?”, still he manages to ask.
Keigo peers up at Enji from behind his pale lashes.
“Of feeling sorry for myself”.

He bites his lips, then, lightly sucking on the cut on the lower side. Enji has half the mind to reprimand him and then lean in to replace Keigo’s tongue with his own.

They’re so close that it would take nothing. Keigo’s fingers quiver over Enji’s knuckles, his wings flutter like he’s about to cross that distance once and for all. Enji just wishes he had both arms to finally catch him.

But then Keigo lets go of his hand. He stands up, brushing dirt off his pants.

“You know what, Endeavor-san? I like being your pet friend, after all”, he smirks, to Enji’s bewilderment. He has no idea what he’s talking about. “If you’ll still have me”, Keigo adds flippantly and Enji’s heart twists.

He doesn’t even have the time to process it all or to brace himself to try to get on his feet, when they both hear a call for backup buzz in their earpieces. Keigo immediately spreads his wings, drawing a surviving primary from his back. Enji sullenly sags in his seat.

“You good here on your own for a bit?”, Keigo inquires, already hovering in the air.
“Yes”, Enji replies, too exhausted to do otherwise. “I’ll send a request for extraction”, he concedes, making Keigo nod in approval.
Keigo pauses for a moment, then, tilting his head.

“What do you say we go out somewhere to catch up, after this?” he ventures, smoothing down his feathery sword. “I’m paying. For real, this time”.
Enji can only sigh at that.
“Alright”, he agrees.
“Sweet”, Keigo flashes him a grin. “I’ll text you”.

He’s gone in the next blink, quick and efficient as always. He leaves Enji behind with his ears still ringing, now with the echo of his words, rather than with the one of the explosions he caused to free himself.

The worst of it is that Keigo’s smile was genuine, this time, like he found the utter nonsense he was spouting incredibly funny. /Pet/, he dared calling himself so lightly, as if Enji ever treated him like one, or their recent falling-out could ever make Enji wish to abandon him.

Enji picks up the headphones and visors that Keigo cast off. They’re cracked and dented all over. Simmering in outrage and regret, he wonders how many years Keigo has spent walking through life with distorted senses, despite his quirk.

Though to be fair, if among the two of them there is one most deserving of the title of Japan’s blindest idiot, Enji thinks Keigo still ought to place second in rank.

He steams, furiously ashamed. He had been so sure that Keigo was on the point of kissing him, here on the battlefield, with no regard for the possibility of being caught by heroes, villains, or even reporters with their wandering camera drones.

It’s more than apparent, now, how conceited Enji was, for he should have known better than to expect Keigo would realize Enji was about to give in – welcome it greedily, even, like the starved man that he is – when Keigo doesn’t even begin to understand how much he means to him.

Enji isn't going to blame Keigo’s past, his wretched parents or the HPSC’s sickening educational program for this. It would be easier, and perhaps rather justified, but he hasnt been working hard all his life only to reach this day and wash his hands of his part of responsibility

/Isn’t this what you truly are, after all?/, Fuyumi reminded him, and rightly so, for hell shall frost before he doesn’t endeavor to do better and accept a challenge, no matter how overwhelming or unreachable his goal seems.

Sitting there on that pile of rubbles, as he holds Keigo’s visors and raises yet again his tired eyes to the sky, Enji understands he has had enough of feeling sorry for himself, too.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗 TO THE TOP
Hori would've called this last update "Enji rising" lmfao and it was about time he decided to take action, dontcha think?
Y'all have been big mad at him, so far... now get ready to facepalm yourself to death bc of the dumbest 2D chicken 💀

https://twitter.com/AiraLoveisinthe/status/1550228843335663616

The only reasonable reaction when Enji McFucking Todoroki decides to romance you 🥴

Lil update of 1.8k words to warm you up for what's to come👀🔥 Still from Enji's POV. See ya later tonight! #enho • #endhawks

They don’t go out to catch up, after the fight. Keigo ends up in the hospital, instead.

His injuries aren’t too worrisome, but he still has to take a couple of days off work to stay under observation. Enji goes to visit, once, just to make sure he’s properly resting. He catches him red-handed with a bag full of chicken nuggets and even more stuffed in his cheeks.

After coughing up a storm and swallowing the cup of water Enji hands him, Keigo begs and makes him promise to not ‘snitch’ on him to the doctors. Enji does it anyway, in a roundabout way, just to make sure the greasy food isn’t too dangerous for his recovery.

The rest of the visit proceeds uncomfortably, filled with an underlying tension that Keigo does his best to smooth out, even though he seems puzzled by the deeper-than-usual scowl on Enji’s face and the impatient stance he keeps on the too-little hospital chair.

“Big guy”, Keigo eventually yields with an inquiring smile. “Why are you angry at me?”.

The question jolts Enji out of his vexation, if only briefly. The sight of Keigo’s small, injured frame sunken in the hospital bed while he assumes he did anything to annoy him threatens to rekindle it with double the force.

“It’s not you that I’m angry with”, Enji replies, willing his tone to cooperate and his arms to unfold.
Keigo quirks his brows, evaluating him with skepticism.
“Right”, he finally relents, amenably. “Hope you can sort it out with whoever it is, then”.

Enji suppresses an amused, self-deprecating snort at that. He nods instead, taking a moment to let his eyes run all over Keigo’s face the way he wishes he could do with his calloused fingertips.

“I am trying” he concedes cryptically, causing Keigo to blink and frown, shifting awkwardly in his seat under the weight of Enji’s undivided attention. And it should be despicable to acknowledge it now of all times, but Enji is quite past denying that he enjoys making him squirm.

He doesn’t indulge in the visit longer than that, though. Keigo should rest, and Enji should know better than to be tempted to run his hand over the hospital bed sheets to see if the heart rate monitor would spike if he squeezed one of Keigo’s thighs.

Self-restraint has never felt so arduous to keep as now that Enji has made up his mind to pursue the one thing that, in his all-consuming greed, he’s always thought wasn’t meant for him.

As he sits at his office desk days later, rolling between his fingers the turquoise piece of sea glass that he can now appreciate as Keigo’s first courting gift, he wonders if it’s been just as hard for his little bird all along. Enji knows Keigo’s nature is gluttonous, after all

A knock on his window draws him out of his thoughts. Enji’s grip tenses around the shard of glass, fist pensively pressed to his mouth. Keigo hovers just outside his office, back in shape with his hero gear on and his replenished wings batting slowly as he waits to be let in.

Keigo could do that by himself, Enji is well aware he knows how to sneak in – but he has scolded him enough times to make it count, apparently. He gestures to him to come inside, before Keigo decides to breathe and scrawl on the window like the last time Enji tried to ignore him.

As Keigo helps himself in, Enji lowers his hand to his desk drawer. He casts one last glance at the sea glass, then places it back along with every other pledge of affection he surely hasn't deserved but is now determined to live up to.

“Hiya” Keigo’s informal greeting spurs Enji to look up. “Missed me?” the cheeky bird asks, leaning over the desk with both hands, donning the biggest, staged smile that ever graced his lips.
Enji is tired, so tired of pretending.
“Yes” he admits, sitting back in his office chair.

Keigo stares dumbly at him.
“Ah”, he blurts out, with what he fails to pass as an easy-going chuckle. “This is pretty awkward, dontcha think? ‘Endeavor doesn’t do that!’ or something, do ya remember that rad kid? Seems like a lifetime ago”.

Enji feels his eyes soften, the corner of his lips threatening to lift upwards. Keigo’s Hakata dialect has slipped through the conventional way he was taught to speak, as if his mind couldn’t process what he wanted to say fast enough to correct it before it left his lips.

“You surely babble a lot”, Enji comments, making Keigo laugh harder to dissimulate the surprised flinch his wings had at Enji’s fond tone.
“Ya noticing that just now? I must step up my game, then”, Keigo rebukes with a wink, and Enji can only shake his head.

He allows himself to fully take in the sight of Keigo, then; the youthful roundness of his cheeks, his expressive, messy brows, the markings around his mesmerizing eyes. Those same eyes that are yet again covered by a new pair of yellow visors.
This won’t do.

Keigo is still propped over his desk, so Enji doesn’t even have to get up to reach for his glasses and raise them.
Keigo’s whole body stiffens in respose, his smile faltering just like his voice.
“Whatcha doin’, Endeavor-san?”.

Enji purses his lips sullenly.
“Why do you keep calling me ‘Endeavor-san’. I thought you said we were past that”.
“I– Huh, well, I say lotsa stupid things, don’t I?”, Keigo stammers, while still trying to hold onto his flippant act.

Enji places the visors on Keigo’s head, combing his blond hair back like he’s seen the boy do countless times himself. Keigo’s eyes are open wide and attentive, and finally not hidden behind a mask, literal or otherwise.
Enji lets his hand drop, tracing the side of Keigo’s face.

“End–” Keigo starts to say for the nth time, but then stops, almost choking on his words. “Big guy. What are you–What are you doing”.
Enji’s thumb stops over his jawline. Over the burn creeping up from Keigo’s back.

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth”, Enji confesses, stroking the rough tissue with as much gentleness as he can muster, to quell the intrusive, possessive desire to map the extent of Keigo’s scars and brand him anew.

It’s a disruptive thought, one that almost makes Enji withdraw his hand – but then Keigo is lowering his eyes, turning his head to lean ever so slightly, so /tentatively/ in his caress that Enji could never deny him.

With hesitant fingers, Enji threads through the short hair on Keigo's nape and cups his neck – so lithe that encompassing it with just one hand looks far too easy.

As he does, he brushes one of Keigo’s earrings with a thumb. It’s not the same pair Keigo had when Enji first met him; he changed them sometimes after the end of the war, but Enji never paid much attention to them, figured it was just another aesthetic whim on Keigo’s part.

Only now Enji realizes the gem that’s encased in them is a turquoise. Just like the color of the sea glass.

“Keigo”, he sighs hoarsely. He lost so much time being an utter coward. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”, still he ought to ask, because he can only hope it's not too late.
Keigo shakes his head, maybe a bit too eagerly. Enji hums, outlining the shell of his ear.

If only they had more than a few minutes to indulge in this.
As if on cue, Enji’s phone vibrates with the notification of the impending meeting they scheduled with their sidekicks to conjoin patrol routes. Work, as always, comes first for the both of them.

“We should head downstairs”, Enji observes, retracting his hand.
He gets up, and Keigo automatically straightens as well, and Enji could swear he can see the gears in his featherbrain working overtime to try to make sense of what just transpired between them.

Enji won’t let him steam in the struggle. That’s his trademark.
“Come, boy”, he says, as he rounds his desk, causing Keigo’s head to snap up. He stops before him. “The faster we get it over with, the sooner we can come back to this”.

Keigo’s pupils dilate frantically and his left wing jerks open, almost knocking down one of Enji’s table lamps. An odd sound – a chirp? – escapes from his lips, and he clears his throat awkwardly to cover it up, as he forces his wings to stay closed and pressed to his body.

Enji observes with extreme fascination while Keigo’s face grows a similar shade of red as his feathers. A couple of them look ruffled up from his sudden movement, so Enji pets them back in place with his knuckles, without a second thought.

They quiver in response.
Enji is madly in love.

“Are you suggesting you’d rather hole up in here than work?”, Keigo tries to summon his flirty, teasing tone. “That’s mostly unprofessional, Endeavor-san”.
If Enji hears him calling him that another time, he swears–
“I’m not talking to you as Endeavor, now”.

Keigo inhales and bites his lips, containing a joke that, by the glint alone in those golden eyes, Enji is pretty sure would have made him furious. Smart bird.
“Enji, then”, Keigo ventures, breathless.

Enji nods in approval. He’s unable to avert his attention from Keigo even just the time it takes to glance at his clock, but he knows they’re running late.
“After the meeting”, he promises. “We can talk after that”.

Keigo quirks his head.
“Talk?”, he parrots, evidently confused.
“Yes. Talk”, Enji clarifies, struggling to contain his amusement.
Keigo blinks, then reaches for his visors in what Enji recognizes as an attempt to hide behind his walls again.

“Is that so?”, Keigo chuckles. “I was under the impression–”
“Of what?”, Enji interrupts him, snatching the glasses from his fingers and folding them on his desk. “Go on”.

Keigo gapes at his visors and then back at him, up and down.
“Enji, are you making fun of me?”, he asks in rapt bewilderment.
Enji can feel his lips twitch upwards.
“Perhaps”, he concedes smugly, making Keigo snort and shake his head.

For a fleeting instant, his expression softens almost imperceptibly.
“Well, that's fine” Keigo eventually drawls, stretching his arms and wings above himself, as he turns around to head for the door. Then, looking behind his shoulder with a smirk. “I can definitely show you fun”.

Enji closes his eyes to avoid giving Keigo the satisfaction of being watched while he struts out. His nostrils flare and his mask of flames erupts with the slow, heated breath he lets out.
The attitude on this brat.
Enji really ought to do something to rectify it.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Enji seems to reconsider, uncomfortably fixing his posture.
“If you’re concerned, though, we could set up a press conference or some kind of interview to announce our relationship. I know that your fanbase can be more… demanding than mine”.

Oh, Keigo isn’t going to survive this evening.
“Your fanbase is plenty demanding, number one”, he says breathlessly, taking a step closer. “And I speak as its main representative”.

Keigo falls into a bashful smirk, then. He antsily rolls his thumb ring around his finger.
“Actually, I was thinking more about your kids and Himura-san. Maybe they’d appreciate some… discretion. Or at least not to learn you’re back on the market through tabloids”.

Enji falters before pursing his lips.
“I’m not a piece of meat. I’m not ‘back on the market’”, he points out stubbornly. “And regardless”, he punctuates, sizing Keigo up, “I believe I’m already taken, am I not?”.

Keigo’s smile withers and dies. He sees how it is, now, to be on the receiving end of Enji’s relentless blow after blow. His hummingbird heart is way too flimsy to take it. So much for spending a lifetime trying to harden it.

He melts as knuckles find his face, warm and unfairly delicate. They nudge Keigo’s chin upward.

“You don’t need to worry about my family”, Enji states. “They already know. They’ve always known, apparently”, he admits with a note of frustration, probably directed at himself. “But I appreciate that you thought of them”, he adds with blatant fondness, stroking Keigo’s goatee.

Keigo can only nod in vague reply. It may be a first for him to feel as if he’s lagging one step behind. His whole perception of his relationship with Enji has shifted over the course of one day, and he’s finding it hard to live up to the title of man who’s a little too fast.

He allows himself to bask in Enji’s proximity nonetheless, as Enji himself inspects him again. Keigo has to resist the embarrassing urge to spin around to let the big guy admire his little dapper getup. He shifts his weight to the balls of his feet instead.

“Well, hello, you”, he blinks up playfully.
“Welcome”, Enji greets him hushedly. “You dressed up”, he observes, while his gaze drops to the flame-shaped pins clasped to Keigo’s collar with an amused expression that Keigo can’t exactly place.

For his part, Keigo seizes the opportunity to take in the navy blue t-shirt that clings just right to Enji’s chest and the light wash jeans that fit him way too perfectly to not be custom-made for his build.

His outfit still looks effortlessly put together, and for some reason, it scratches that same itching part of Keigo’s mind that’s decided to get hung up on homey footwear.
“You dressed down”, he rebuts, tongue darting to dampen his lips.

Enji throws a glance at himself, then a childish grin breaks on his face. It’s the most infectious thing in the world, and Keigo is blindsided by the impulse to know what it tastes like.
It only takes a flap of his wings, and he’s stealing a peck right from Enji’s mouth.

For a moment, Enji looks surprised, then his expression morphs into an entranced one, as if he’s about to chase and deepen the kiss. Unfortunately, he quickly puts a halt on himself. He lays a hand on Keigo’s shoulder, thumb grazing the fabric over his collarbone.

“Aren’t you hungry?”, he asks, in an obvious attempt to stay on track.
“Define hungry”, Keigo replies impishly, resting his palms on Enji’s abdomen, right above his belt. It makes Enji huff, exasperated and more than a bit affected. Keigo is delighted to feel his muscles flex.

“I won’t dignify that with an answer. Whatever I say, you’re going to turn it into something crass”.
It’s Keigo’s turn to flash a toothy grin.
“Don’t you know me so well”.
“I do”, Enji concedes, fingers snaking to pinch a feather, much to Keigo’s shock.

He shudders with his whole body and wings, yet again left in shambles by overstimulation. Keigo doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way Enji’s touch alone manages to trigger the most vulnerable part of him, and surprisingly enough, he’s not necessarily peeved by the notion.

If anything, he’s starting to fall in love with this game of trust they began playing before either of them could learn the rules. All Keigo knows is that he doesn’t ever want Enji to hold back.

In a soothing gesture, Enji moves his hand to Keigo’s nape.
“Come with me. The dining room is this way”, he says, ushering him further into the property.
Keigo is far too eager to keep close to his side.
“You’re not going to give me a house tour first?” he asks, only half-joking.

Enji’s thumb kneads Keigo’s skin where burns give way to hair. He seems partial to holding him there, and Keigo is silently relieved he’s not deterred by his scars.
“There’ll be time for that”, Enji replies, peering down at him.
It sounds like the sweetest of promises.
❤️‍🔥 +

Their dinner together doesn’t quite go as planned, and if anyone should be at fault, that would be Keigo.

It’s everything it ought to be, in that unnerving, proper way Enji was so strung up about for no possible reason other than to mess with him. Playing the perfect host, Enji guided him into a room lined with tatami, then invited Keigo to get comfortable at the chabudai and /wait/.

The big guy even took his dress shoes still hanging midair, promising to come back with a pair of slippers for him to wear, and as soon as he was left alone, Keigo had to rest – or rather bang – his forehead on the table to keep himself together.

Keigo is bad at waiting. It gives him too much time to mull over his emotions. He’s a man of action, of honed strategy over feelings, so he squirms in his appointed zaisu for the endless minute it takes for Enji to reappear at the threshold and hand him the cursed feet loungies.

They’re his size, though Keigo doesn’t remember ever talking about something so inconsequential to Enji. They also look brand new. Keigo can’t wait to stomp in them and consume them down to the sole.
He has to summon every bit of restraint not to hug them to his chest.

Next, Enji has the nerve to tell him to be patient while he finishes setting the table and plating up. Keigo protests he wants to help, but he’s politely hushed and beckoned to stay put in his seat.

So Enji leaves him with a mild pre-dinner drink in one hand and a remote for the TV in the other, as if either of those things could hope to keep Keigo’s itching mind occupied.

He still sends a few feathers in assistance—even if Enji seems to consider them more of a distraction, given the way he grumbles whenever they graze his cheek or tug on a string to inspect a very housewifey apron. What can Keigo say, his quills have always had a mind of their own

At any rate, if things threaten to go south rather quickly, it’s not because of the food. Or well, it’s exactly because of it, yet it’s not due to its taste.

It’s neither terrible nor exceptionally good, to be completely honest, but Enji evidently put so much effort into preparing this stew dish, which might be on the side of too hot for a summer evening, that Keigo’s entire being grows stiff as soon as it’s placed in front of him.

After mumbling to pay the customary respects, he grabs a spoon. Tentatively, Keigo brings up a mouthful, and when he tastes chicken in a meal he’s pretty sure usually entails beef – that’s it, his throat simply closes off.

Does Enji realize that no one has done something like this for him in so long, possibly ever?

Most of his life, Keigo has basically known only eatery or cafeteria food, and it would be a reach to consider cooking what his mother managed to scrape together with the groceries they didn’t always have the money to buy fair and square.

Keigo may be able to whip up something edible enough on his own, given the occasion and the time, but that’s exactly what he doesnt concede himself often. It’s too depressing to eat alone. And his time is better spent checking work emails, anyway, or trying food trucks in passing

What a smartass he was to lecture Enji on his cutting technique during their fight against the High-End Nomu when Keigo doesn’t even remember the last time he sat at his dining table to eat a fresh meal prepared with his very hands.

Way back then, he joked for the sake of it, and right now there’s a chance he might be projecting, but Keigo has a hunch that cooking isn’t something Enji himself habitually does. Which makes the bite Keigo is currently focused on slowly chewing that much more overwhelming.

He’s such a misfit, and one barely disguised as a normal human being, at that. Enji keeps shooting studying glances at him to appraise his reaction while he tries to eat, and it would be extremely endearing, really, if it didn’t make Keigo’s stomach shut in on itself even more.

Conversation. He must stall to not look like a completely rude guest while he convinces his digestive system to cooperate.
He forcibly swallows.
“It’s really good. Is it a family recipe or something?”, Keigo blurts out before he can give himself the time to weigh his words.

Enji’s expression darkens immediately.
“No”, he mutters. “We don’t have such things”, he elaborates, causing Keigo to lose his appetite for good.
“Shit, my bad, I–”.
“I’ve never really cooked before”, Enji briskly interrupts, confirming Keigo’s intuition.

“We used to employ a chef”, he continues, as if he needs to justify himself. “Among other resident staff. Then after Touya–... after Rei–…”, Enji stammers, shoulders hunching.
Keigo instinctively reaches out to graze his knuckles.

Enji pauses to stare at their joined hands as if they’re an alien thing, until he can’t seem to stand the sight anymore. He doesn’t withdraw, yet he raises his head up, looking every bit like the lost man who a spring ago in a hospital room Keigo got to fall all over again for.

Slowly, deliberately, Keigo interlocks their fingers, unwilling to shy away now as then.
Thus, “Tell me more”, Keigo urges him, clasping his hand tightly, almost painfully so.
Enji lets him. He averts his gaze, eyes growing distant.

“Gradually, our employees left, and I didn’t seek to replace them. I didn’t want unnecessary strangers around my home… all the while it was me who was turning into a stranger to my own children, to put it mildly”.
“What about them?”, Keigo interjects. Enji’s jaw twitches.

“They never… missed anything, I made sure of it. They ate and spent most of their time at school, and I still hired occasional help to look after them and the house since I couldn’t—I wouldn’t focus on anything beyond work and Shouto’s training” he confesses with no little shame

“But then Fuyumi grew up”, Enji adds, his tone subdued by the remorse of a man who missed the better part of his daughter’s childhood. “She’s always loved cooking, so she took over, especially in the kitchen”.
“How convenient”, Keigo remarks lightly, thumbing Enji’s hand.

Enji sneers to himself, full of bitterness.
“Clearly. And I made myself too busy to consider how unfair it was to burden her with it, on top of everything she was already doing to keep our family from being entirely dysfunctional”.
He shakes his head, then.

“At least she had Natsuo's aid. On the odd occasion I came home in time to show my face during meals or felt”, he winces, “indulgent enough to allow Shouto in their presence, I ate food they made without even questioning–… without treasuring any of it” he says, shoulders sagging

A heavy silence follows that stream of consciousness, one Keigo doesn’t dare to prod like he’d usually do. Distantly, he registers his palm getting warmer and clammy, clasped over Enji’s one.

It’s a lot to take in at once, but it doesn’t make Keigo’s grip waver in the slightest. He’s long since decided that it isn’t his place to judge, especially since Enji is already so proficient at playing the role by himself, along with that of the jury and the executioner.

The man in question heaves a sigh; it’s an arduous thing to hear. Something passes on his face, afterward, a fleeting thought that appears to take some of the wistfulness away with it.

Enji stirs the remaining rice on the plate in front of him.
“Now that I live alone, I’ve been trying to learn to cook with Fuyumi’s help. But to be honest, I’m not cut out for it. On most days, I simply rely on the agency’s mess hall”.

Keigo puts his spoon down. He’s a hero trained to recognize a losing battle when he’s faced with one.
“So this… you made all of this just for me?”, he manages to croak out.
“You don’t like it”, Enji deduces, downright sure of it.

Keigo hides behind his free hand the grimace he falls into. He’s so utterly relieved that none of this happened during the peak of his mating season. His instincts would’ve turned him into a feral mess – not that he’s scoring far better as of now.

“It’s not that”, he tries to clarify, wings rustling behind him, fingers twitching in Enji’s hold. “It’s delicious”.
“Then what is it?”, Enji probes, frowning skeptically.

Keigo groans inwardly. He’s full-on annoyed with himself, but partly with his host, too. There should be a limit to how much one tired, depressed man can look like a full-course meal and put in the shade the food he tried so hard to prepare.

He pins Enji with a straight-up ravening stare.
“Well, if you must know”, he sulks, “You look even more delicious”, he points out, causing Enji to blink in bewilderment.

He quickly grasps the meaning behind Keigo’s words, though, and as soon as the realization hits him, tension starts draining away from his form. An unnecessarily attractive blush rises in place of it.
“This is an awful pickup line”, Enji comments with a self-conscious huff.

“Shut up. My birdbrain is acting up”. Keigo rubs the chagrin off his face before peeking back at Enji to send him an appreciative leer, up and down. “And I can’t be that bad at courting if I managed to bag you”.

Enji raises his brows sarcastically.
“I doubt this is the accomplishment you think it is”.
Okay, that’s it; Keigo’s patience has run out.
“Let me decide that”, he counters, scrambling out of his seat and into a far more pleasant one.

Enji inhales sharply as soon as Keigo drops his weight in his lap.
“Boy”, he breathes out, hands hovering above the legs straddling him. “We need to clear the table, first”, he tries to reason, as if Keigo would let something like that hinder or slow him down.

“Leave it to me”, he replies against Enji’s stubble, lips prickling as he grazes his jaw.
He doesn’t even give the big guy the time to formulate a comeback when a heap of feathers scatters in the air and starts picking up pieces of tableware, bringing them to the kitchen.

Enji’s amused snort blows directly into Keigo’s ear, ruffling his hair. Keigo has no idea if that is the reason why goosebumps break on his arms or if it’s the “Neat trick”, which Enji concedes while his hands land on Keigo’s thighs that makes him want to preen at the praise.

He hides the impulse by grabbing hold of Enji’s face and demanding a deep kiss right away. Enji meets him without reservation, letting Keigo have his way, and breaking off only to have his say on the pace whenever it becomes too frantic.

It’s a bit frustrating, but it allows them both to indulge more in each other, so Keigo can’t be too mad about it. The faint aftertaste of their meal is still lingering between them and Keigo savors it from Enji’s mouth like he’s a desperate nestling.

“Where can I find some food containers?”, he mumbles after a time, nibbling Enji’s lower lip. There’s just no way he’s throwing away all their leftovers. He might feel too jittery to eat right now, but he knows he’ll be starving again in no time.

Enji needs a beat to refocus from their impromptu makeout session and process the question. It’s cute as hell.
“Top cabinet door, right of the fridge”, he finally says, hands moving to pet Keigo’s back. They stop right on top of his ribcage.

Keigo can feel them rise with him as he breathes in, their heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He closes his eyes to concentrate while he stores the food away, and when he reopens them, Enji is regarding him with a sort of awed look that makes Keigo feel even warmer.

“Leave the dirty dishes in the sink”, Enji instructs him, moving to trail kisses down Keigo’s throat. “I’ll get them done tomorrow”.
“Is that so?”, Keigo mocks his change of attitude, angling his neck to grant him better access. It makes Enji hum distractedly.

“Yes”, Enji mouths against his Adam’s apple, “I have my hands quite full, right now”, and as if on cue, his fingers slide to fit around Keigo’s waist almost too perfectly.

Keigo isn’t fully in control of the hoarse sound that rushes out of him or of the way his hips suddenly jut forward to chase friction. Enji nearly squeezes the life out of him to rein him in – or maybe to keep him exactly in place, Keigo can’t say for sure.

Either way, he’s about to taunt Enji for the rough treatment when he notices the feverish glint in his blue eyes, now transfixed on the narrow gap between his thumbs.
Fuck. It’s definitely the second option, isn’t it?

“I know what I said earlier, but…”, Enji audibly swallows. “We should take our time, perhaps”, he suggests, the digits digging on either side of Keigo’s navel at odds with his words. “Go slower”.

“Getting cold feet, old man?” Keigo quips, caressing the hair dusting Enji’s left forearm and the sleek metal of his prosthesis. He rocks his hips with more purpose and finds what he’s looking for quite easily. It’s too big a target to miss. “You don’t feel cold at all, though…”

Enji resembles God’s strongest soldier struggling to face his toughest battle.
“I’m saying this for you, you ungrateful brat”, he hisses.
The feathers Keigo sent off return to him in a scarlet whirlwind. Too bad for Enji that his wings are tinted of the same color as sin.

“How considerate”, Keigo whispers in Enji’s ear, nipping his pierced lobe and grinding down mercilessly hard on the whole length of him. It sends shivers of pleasure up Keigo’s spine.

The poorly-stifled groan Enji lets out comes off as hot and bothered in every sense of the term. He pinches Keigo’s waist once more in retaliation.
“I’m not joking, Keigo” Enji nags him, chest heaving. “The last thing I want is to make this unpleasant for you, or…or to hurt you”

“Bold of you to assume I’d ever let you”, Keigo scoffs, then grins wickedly. “If I did, it’d be because I enjoy that”, he adds, catching a flicker of desire in Enji’s eyes so quickly and painfully repressed by self-reproach that it makes Keigo relent.

He rests his cheek on his big guy’s shoulder.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, Enji”.
Enji averts his gaze, frowning.
“If you’re really set on going all the way, we could… I could…”.

Keigo stills. Then he distances himself just enough to study Enji’s face and discern if he heard right.
“Are you offering to bottom for me, kind sir?”, he marvels.
Enji flushes a shade as deep as his hair.
“Not with this attitude”, he grumbles.

Keigo can’t cut the eagerness out of his tone.
“Have you ever done that?”, he tilts his head, half intrigued, half unfairly jealous.
“No”, Enji admits hushedly. “I’ve never been with a male partner either”.

Keigo’s rush of possessiveness immediately gets replaced by sympathy. He rakes his fingers through Enji’s whitening hair, scratching his temple lightly, overwhelmed with affection for this 47-year-old man who made finding any possible fault in himself his rise and his fall.

Enji has no patience for what he’s biased to write off as pity. Keigo knows it well, so he clearly reads the wariness and embarrassment in the way Enji squints at him. For a brief, inestimably valuable moment, he decides to lean into Keigo’s touch nonetheless.

“And you’d be okay with it?”, Keigo asks, completely lovesick.
Enji takes his wrist, lowering Keigo’s hand just to bring it to his lips.
“I told you, didn’t I?”, he says, kissing his palm. “I want everything”, he states, searing Keigo with his eyes. “All of you, little bird”.

Keigo doesn’t care to fight the trill that rises from him when he reaches out to hug Enji to his chest with all his might. Enji simply shifts an arm around his middle to catch hold of him, letting Keigo latch onto him. He presses his mouth to Enji’s neck, breathing in his scent.

“I’d like to try that”, Keigo mumbles upon his skin, fiddling with the collar of Enji’s t-shirt to uncover more of it. “Really like”, he emphasizes to get the message across. “But not tonight. I’ve dreamt about this moment for half of my life and I know exactly how I want you”.

Enji sighs in his hair, rubbing his side.
“Expectations and reality are two very different things”.
Keigo snorts in the face of such a dramatic example of paternalism.

He interlocks his fingers behind Enji’s nape and leans his forehead against his.
“Let’s hear it, then. What’s the reality?”.
Enji bristles, pushing back like a stubborn animal to the charge.

“That you’re not experienced”, he asserts. “And that your build is perfectly average for a Japanese man, if not on the lightweight side, while–...”, Enji’s neck grows degrees hotter beneath Keigo’s palms, “... while nothing about me is average”.

Keigo has to willingly stop himself from licking his lips.
“So?”.
Enji’s face might as well be flaming.
“/So/”, he echoes Keigo snappily, “that has proven to be an issue enough to call everything off, before”.

Keigo blinks. A few times, as the notion sinks deep in his mind and pools low in his abdomen. Oh, he’s in big fucking trouble and there’s no other place he would rather be.

Keigo is positively salivating, throbbing in his pants and willing his thighs to unclench as he shrugs dismissively.
“Won’t be a problem for me”. He’ll make it fit if it’s the last thing he does.
Enji scowls at him, unimpressed.
“Don’t flatter yourself”.

Keigo refrains from rolling his eyes. It won’t help his cause, but maybe something else will.
“Enji, let me tell you a secret” he says, shifting his weight in his obstinate mate’s lap to relieve some of the tension. Either his words or his movements grab Enji’s full attention.

“You see”, Keigo starts coyly, running his palms on Enji’s chest. “I might be a virgin, but I haven’t been sitting around twiddling my thumbs. Actually, I’ve been sitting /on/ many things. Funny things”, he clarifies suggestively, batting his lashes. “Thinking about you”.

Enji’s heartbeat drums wildly under Keigo’s hands, doing its job to pump blood downward extremely efficiently. Its pulse reverberates through Keigo’s sensitive feathers, while Enji’s stare stays tense and alert, as if he’s being held up at knifepoint. Keigo smirks.

“You know, I like my toys on the big side”, he confesses. “Wanna hear about my favorite?”, Keigo asks, then sighs the truth above Enji’s lips without waiting for an answer. “It’s an unofficial Endeavor one”.

Keigo’s world tilts upside down in record time even by his very quick standards.
“Wha–?” he starts to say, suddenly having to bat his wings and grapple Enji’s t-shirt to avoid a close encounter with the moving floor below him, only to be cut off by Enji’s clipped tone.
“Bedroom”.

Keigo bursts out laughing, unceremoniously thrown over Enji’s shoulder.
“Just like that? No dessert?”.
Enji’s fed-up snort sounds more like a growl as he readjusts Keigo’s body while he walks, groping the back of his leg where thigh meets ass.
“You are my dessert”.

Keigo wheezes, in equal parts appalled and aroused.
There’s a witty retort burning on the tip of his tongue about bad pickup lines that he would’ve taken great pride in, if only Enji hadnt already carried him halfway through his house as if he weighed no more than a feather.
❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

🔗TO THE TOP
I'm so grateful to those who've kept on reading and leaving nice, funny comments. It's thanks to your support that I was able to get this far!
Now I'll take my time to write a satisfying ending. Please be patient with me for a bit longer! 🙏💜

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