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“You ruined me.”
Keigo turned from the window at the sound of the voice but didn’t move from his bed, sitting cross-legged atop the hospital sheets. Enji filled the doorway, blocking the light from the nurses’ station, spiked hair kissing the top edge of the frame. Keigo was sure the hands hidden in the confines of his coat pockets were balled into fists.
“I ruined us both,” he corrected.
Enji frowned, looking away for a moment before stepping into the room. He didn’t make it all the way to the bed, choosing to stop halfway, in some kind of limbo with a clear escape route at his back. Keigo saw the guarded expression on his face but couldn’t blame him for it.
“I’m told you’re still under some kind of quirk-induced control,” Enji said.
“Apparently,” came the quiet answer.
“You don’t look...” Enji freed a hand to gesture in Keigo’s general direction, “...influenced.”
Keigo shrugged.
“Do you feel anything strange?”
“Nope. Feel just like my fine, feathered self,” Keigo joked with a half-smile.
Enji frowned at him more deeply. Shifting his weight, he finally seemed to come to a decision. Enji crossed the remainder of the room in long strides, only halting at the edge of the bed. Keigo craned his neck to look up—and up—wings shivering minutely at the oppressive figure beside him. Todoroki Enji never failed to make him feel small with his presence alone.
“You here to kill me?” Keigo asked, the infuriatingly insecure smile still in place.
A pained expression passed Enji’s face as he responded, “You think so little of me?”
Keigo’s smile faltered and dropped away.
“I don’t...” Enji huffed, “I don’t even know if I should be mad at you. I want to be mad at you.”
“You should be mad at me...” Keigo mumbled, looking down and picking at the fibers of his itchy blanket.
The bed dipped dangerously as Enji sat. Keigo pulled his hands back before they could be crushed, leaning away. Not that Enji would allow it. Heavy hands, solid, thick—bruisers, cinerators—enveloped his head, but he wasn’t afraid. Enji cradled him from cheeks to nape and tipped his face up up so Keigo had to meet his eyes.
“Do you know how f-fucking worried I was?” Enji whispered.
He curled wide fingers into Keigo’s unruly hair, stroking it back and gripping it to hold him in place, like Enji was scared he might somehow fly away at any moment. Shutting his eyes so Keigo wouldn’t see, he tipped his own head forward to rest against Keigo’s. Not that the smaller man’s sharp gaze could have missed the wet seams before Enji came too close for him to focus.
“S-Sorry... I’m sorry,” Keigo shuddered, body vibrating out to the tip of every feather.
“I don’t want to kill you,” Enji growled, “I want to tear you apart.”
Keigo choked on a near hysterical laugh. Enji’s fingers dug into his skull, flexing against his scalp, pushing just a little too hard at the tips, just enough that Keigo could feel all ten of them. It didn’t hurt.
“How could you ever think that I didn’t love you?” Enji demanded.
“Told you— I told you when we got together. I told you I didn’t want to be just another dirty secret!” Keigo whispered back harshly, “I told you and then I blinked and it was ten years. Ten fuckin’ years, Enji! Can you blame me?! And whenever I brought it up, it was never a good time! For this reason or that reason, for your family or your career or whatever promotion you had going on that week!” The words spilled from him in a frantic jumble. “So I waited, because that’s what you wanted, even if I’m no good at waiting... I waited for you even when I wanted to shout it from the rooftops that I loved you and I wanted you to do the same for me! But it never happened... I was never important enough to you, Enji...”
Keigo’s face felt dizzy from heat. He didn’t know if it was him or if it was Enji’s hands getting ready to blow him away.
“This is what you wanted,” Enji said quietly.
“This is what I’ve always wanted, just...”
“Just what?”
“I never wanted to hurt you,” Keigo attempted a weak grin. “I just—”
“But you did,” Enji cut him off, “And if it had just been me, maybe I could have forgiven it.”
Just as quickly as he’d felt overwhelmed with heat, Keigo went cold.
“Enji—”
“You didn’t just ruin me and you. You dragged my whole family into it. You dragged Rei into it.”
“Enji, please...”
Those big hands, steadying hands, released him. Keigo felt brittle, like all the substance was taken from him, like an empty vessel that would shatter if it was dropped. Enji sat back and away, frowning down at him, with nothing but a look of disappointed sorrow.
“Don’t go,” Keigo felt his throat grow tight, constricting on every syllable.
He knew, he knew. This was what would happen. This is what he risked by telling the truth, but for just a brief moment, he’d allowed himself to hope. When Enji had grabbed him tight just now and held him close like he was someone that mattered. Like he mattered and what he’d done be damned. Like Enji could forgive him anything just because he really did love him.
“I wish you could have trusted me more,” Enji said.
Keigo pushed down a sob. He wouldn’t allow it. Not yet.
“I don’t know... how to feel about you right now,” Enji continued, “I want to be mad. I am mad. At you and not at you. I don’t know what’s you and what’s been done to you. I didn’t... didn’t know you felt so badly about me that a villain like this could use it against you. Against us.”
Keigo nodded numbly.
Of course. This is what he should have expected.
But still, it hurt. It fucking hurt.
“Not... not forever,” Enji said softly, “Just until this is all done. You understand.”
Keigo kept his eyes averted. “Yeah.”
Enji stood then. He reached out and passed a hand through Keigo’s hair, a soft caress down the side of his face. Keigo could feel the heat again, but only for a moment, fleetingly. It came and then it disappeared when Enji withdrew. Withdrew his hands, withdrew himself, wrapping back up in that coat and moving away from him.
Keigo listened to the weighty footfalls until they disappeared as well. When Enji was gone, only when he was gone, and that looming presence wasn’t hanging heavy in the room, only then did Keigo let himself feel it, the weight of what he knew he risked by giving up their secrets.
He wrapped his wings around himself, tight to shut out all the light, and he felt it all.
———
Enji dragged himself through the front door of his house, feet like lead weights barely clearing the threshold. From the kitchen, he could hear the sounds of a person moving about, preparing dinner. Probably Fuyumi. Enji hung his coat in the closet, and deposited his shoes neatly in the foyer. He made his way down the hallway, and was surprised to find Shoto, not Fuyumi, standing at the marble countertop.
“What are you doing here?” Enji asked, too tired to be properly polite.
“Fuyumi invited me for dinner,” Shoto answered, “She wanted to discuss a few things about Natsuo’s birthday.” His son flicked a look at him. A dare. A challenge. Did he know Natsuo’s birthday was coming up.
Did he?
Simultaneous pings of guilt and realization hit him squarely. Fuyumi had mentioned it only a few days ago. He remembered now, but he didn’t remember her saying Shoto was coming to discuss plans. He didn’t remember her mentioning plans for anything at all. Maybe she would tell him when it was all handled? Ask if him she needed help? Or maybe... their plans didn’t include him.
“Where’s your sister now?” Because she wasn’t in the kitchen chopping vegetables with Shoto.
“She ran back to the store. Forgot the shiso,” Shoto answered.
Shoto regarded him between strokes of the knife, a little knot of confusion drawing his eyes down . Calculating. Observing something.
“You look... disturbed. Is everything ok?”
Enji knew immediately that Shoto wasn’t asking if he was ok. He was asking if there was a problem. A villain. A threat. Was there something wrong professionally. Was there something they had to deal with as heroes.
He meant to lie, but before he realized what he was doing, Enji admitted, “I went to the hospital.”
Shoto’s brow shot up, knife stilling with surprise. At what, Enji wasn’t entirely sure. Could have been the act he’d just confessed to, because there was only one reason Enji could have for going to the hospital when he himself wasn’t ill or injured. Could have been the very personal nature the conversation had suddenly taken. In reality, it was probably a little of both.
“How is he?” Shoto asked.
Now it was Enji’s turn to be surprised. Shoto wasn’t shying away from the subject. Then again, his youngest had always been friendly with Keigo, so maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised after all.
“He’s...” Enji looked down, searching for words. “He’s well. Physically, anyway.”
Shoto hummed in consideration. “That’s good, right?”
Enji didn’t answer, choosing to grunt affirmatively instead.
“And the rest of him?” Shoto prompted.
“I’m honestly not sure,” Enji whispered, passing a hand over his face. “I really... I don’t know. He... seems fine. So completely normal, I can’t... I can’t even tell. I don’t... I—”
“You really do love him, don’t you?”
Enji’s eyes snapped up to find Shoto watching him carefully, taking in every jabbering word. He took a steadying breath, replying, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Shoto narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”
“I broke it off.”
“You did what?” Shoto snapped.
Enji scowled. “I ended it. For now at least. He—”
“Wow,” Shoto cut him off, “Wow... you’ve spent so much time and effort trying to convince us all that you’ve changed, but you’re still only ever thinking of yourself. Aren’t you, Endeavor?”
Flexing the fingers of both hands, Enji controlled his temper just like he’d been doing for the last ten years. Count to five, don’t say the first thing that comes to mind. Don’t yell. Keep your voice even. This is your son and you love him even if he hates you.
“Shoto, I—”
“Do you think Fuyumi, Natsuo, and I are just... completely blind?”
Shoto scowled and returned to his task. The blade sliced cleanly with every stroke as he hit the wooden board with one solid, angry thock after another.
“What do you—”
“Granted, I’m not always the best at reading people... and my brother can be a little slow sometimes... but Fuyumi? She’s sharp like the edge of a knife if you ever took the time to realize. In fact, she was the first to notice.”
“Notice what?” Enji spoke low and a little breathlessly.
“That it wasn’t my getting into UA, or using my left side, or reconciling with mom that started to change you. It was when you started teaming up with Hawks. When you started spending all of your personal and professional time with him, whether you wanted to or not. Because he made it his business to be around you. For some unfathomable reason, he idolized you like I idolized All Might—” Shoto paused, pursing his lips and considering his next words thoughtfully, “Thankfully though, I never wanted to jump in the Symbol of Peace’s pants.”
Enji sucked in a breath. “How long have you known?”
“Since high school. Probably halfway through third year. Fuyumi knew before that, though I don’t know for how long. Natsuo figured it out soon after I did.”
Enji gawked in disbelief, “Why didn’t any of you say anything?”
Shoto shrugged and turned away. He set aside the potatoes he’d finished slicing to pick up the green beans so he could top and tail them.
“Why did we have to?” he asked, “Hawks distracted you from us. He even made you more... palatable. You didn’t tell us, we just figured it out. It’s really none of our business who you sleep with.”
“Your mother—”
“He distracted you from her, too. It was for the best.”
Enji clenched and unclenched his jaw. “None of you... care that he’s the same age as your sister?”
Shoto set the beans down, planting both hands on the countertop and leveling him with a hard stare. “Did you care?”
Enji looked away. “It could’ve been perceived as... inappropriate.”
“Could’ve been perceived as inappropriate...” Shoto repeated carefully. “Yet you did it anyway. Because it was fine as long as no one found out. Right?”
“Shoto, I’m sor—”
“Let me ask you something,” he interrupted his father yet again, “Who do you think stands to lose the most from this?”
“You—”
“I’ll be fine. It’ll be a little difficult for a while. The media and the public will scrutinize, pity, and criticize me in turns. Maybe Natsuo and Fuyumi, too, but they aren’t as visible as we are. You’ll have to retire earlier than planned, and your reputation will suffer, but you’ve been investing your earnings for a long time now and you’ll never hurt from the drop in merch sales. So, I’ll ask again... who is going to lose the most? Their career—early in life—their reputation. The only work they’ve ever known, been groomed for since they were a child. ...and on top of it all, after being abducted, brainwashed, and forced to do something they would never normally do—have the person they love abandon them? Tell. Me. Who.”
Enji looked down at the expensive flooring of his expensive house, paid for by his many lucrative enterprises over the decades. Fortunately or unfortunately, Shoto didn’t seem to need verbal confirmation that his point had landed.
“Last question, then you can go stew,” Shoto said, scowling and gesturing angrily toward the hallway with his knife, “Are you going to do the right thing? Or are you going to do... whatever it is you’d normally do?”
Enji didn’t answer, still unable to look his son in the face. Shoto picked up his work, transferred it to the far end of the kitchen, and resumed. The conversation effectively ended as his son dismissed him.
When the dull sound of metal slicing flesh became too much, Enji turned away and retreated to his office.