Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Natsuo was walking home, still riding the end of exams high, when he spotted the man, limping badly and clutching his side.

Despite not having gone as crazy on the drinks in the end of term celebration as some of his classmates, Natsuo would still blame the alcohol for the series of decisions that followed. In truth, however, the moment he saw the blood running between those bone white fingers, he was stone cold sober.

He rushed forward just as the stranger stumbled into the corner of a building and began to fall. Barely registering the fact that the wall itself was crumbling under the guy’s hand, Natsuo caught hold of shoulders wrapped in a tattered coat and braced the injured man on his own chest.

There was a pause, as though the night itself were holding its breath. Then, the man growled in wordless warning and several things became clear at once.

First, he knew this guy. Not personally, of course, but as those unfocused, red eyes turned to him, he recognized the scarred face and dry, chapped skin. He was holding up most of the weight of one of the most dangerous and wanted criminals in Japan.

“Tomura Shigaraki?”

Second, Natsuo was about to die.

With the hand not clutching his bleeding side, Shigaraki was reaching for him, intent all too clear. If the villain had been in even slightly better health, Natsuo would be dust. As it was, he just managed to snatch up Shigaraki’s wrist and pull those deadly fingers away mere millimeters from his face.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m just trying to help,” he said, the words automatic as he wrestled for control of the limb.

Shigaraki paused in his struggle to blink at him, bleary and confused. “Who are you,” he rasped, suspicious.

Again, Natsuo’s mouth moved for him, “Natsuo Todoroki. I’m a medical student.” He threw a smile onto that like all of his higher brain functions weren’t going into a panicked scramble.

Natsuo pointedly ignored the furrowed brows and slack jawed look he got in return, like the villain was questioning his sanity. At least they were in agreement there.

He readjusted his hold on Shigaraki as he asked, “Can you make it just a little further? My place is right here and I’ve got a really good first aid kit.”

Likely on nothing but leftover adrenaline and pure bewilderment, Shigaraki hobbled into the building and up to Natsuo’s apartment, clinging to his jacket with four fingers in a nonliteral death grip the whole way.

While the son of the Number One Hero feverishly questioned all his life choices up to now, Shigaraki collapsed onto his couch without ceremony, splaying out in all his ruffled, bloody glory. Natsuo forced himself out of his head; he didn’t have the time or luxury to have a crisis about this, not while Shigaraki’s pallid complexion was taking a turn and his breath came in pained little puffs.

So, he grabbed his supplies, washed his hands, and got to work.

~-----~

Shigaraki’s eyes were drooping closed as Natsuo finished packing away the last of unwieldy supply kit, a half assed congratulations gift Enji (or more likely his secretary) had gotten in light of Natsuo’s acceptance into his school of choice.

Then the villain shook himself into some half state of consciousness and said, like this was some back-alley mugging, “Give me your phone.”

Natsuo side eyed him, a job well done making him overconfident enough to condescend. “Are you going to destroy it?”

Shigaraki’s glower of unadulterated, murderous intent would have been intimidating if Natsuo did not know exactly how vulnerable the villain was right now. That he was still conscious was impressive, but movement and then Quirk use would take a superhuman will and everything the guy had left.

“I could dust your face instead.”

Unconcerned, Natsuo just rolled his eyes as he stood to put the kit away. “I just finished patching you up, I’m not going to tell anyone you’re here if you don’t make trouble.”

Shigaraki assessed Natsuo through narrowed eyes. “Why not? I tried to kill you.”

“And now you’re threatening to do it again, yeah. You should work on that.”

Perhaps Natsuo’s tone was too flippant because Shigaraki was giving him a disbelieving glare. There would never be peace in the apartment if they didn’t settle this now.

So, the logic flimsy but true, Natsuo said, “Calling the heroes would just lead to a fight and get more people hurt.”

“Then why didn’t you just leave me to die?”

The very suggestion ran the wrong way against Natsuo’s nerves and his words were razor sharp as he snapped, “You were hurt. I could help. Now, stop asking stupid questions and get some sleep.”

Shigaraki went quiet a moment while Natsuo marched over to his bathroom and set everything in order, not looking at him.

It wasn’t until Natsuo had come back and gathered up the bloody scraps he’d used to clean the wound that the villain said, the words slow and uncertain, like he was bracing for an attack, “I don’t understand.”

Quiet, Natsuo crossed to the kitchen and tossed the scraps, a bit lost himself.

Then, he let his chin fall onto his arms at the breakfast bar in a full body sigh. “Look, I’m definitely going to regret this at some point, but I joined the medical field so I could actually help people, not so I could make moral judgements about them. So, right now, you’re not a Villain, you’re just human. Okay?”

Shigaraki’s eyes drifted to his blanket covered knees, deep in troubled thoughts, a slight frown creasing his brow. It seemed enough though as the villain’s eyes dropped closed and his breathing evened out only a minute later.

~-----~

Shigaraki was in and out of consciousness for three days, mumbling nonsense in a feverish, lightly medicated haze. Then his health took a drastic turn for the better and he became a nearly insufferable patient.

The news was playing in the background while Natsuo washed dishes and Shigaraki hobbled to the fridge. Natsuo almost reprimanded him, again, but Shigaraki caught his eye in warning and he decided it just wasn’t worth fighting over. If the guy couldn’t figure out why nearly tearing his stitches skulking around the apartment had been a bad idea the last couple of times he’d tried it, Natsuo’s reminder wasn’t going to do much.

Then the newscaster began gushing about Endeavour’s capture of several villains terrorizing a shopping district, the man himself surly as ever in every clip they showed. The lips of both villain and civilian curled in disgust at the same time and their gazes met by coincidence.

Shock flashed in those red eyes and Shigaraki’s jaw slackened, staring at Natsuo. As though nothing had happened, he returned to the dishes, feigning ignorance. Shigaraki, however, paused in his quest for snacks to search Natsuo’s face, curious.

“You don’t like heroes?”

“I don’t like that hero.” The hard words were out of his mouth before Natsuo could consider what he was admitting and to whom.

Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Are you one of those Stain followers?”

“No.”

The laconic response earned him something like respect as Shigaraki’s shoulders dropped their tension and he surveyed Natsuo with renewed interest.

He finally turned back to the fridge with a simple, “Endeavour is flaming garbage.”

Despite himself, Natsuo laughed.

~-----~

As though that was all that had been holding them back, they started to talk. It was slow at first, careful, but after Shigaraki dug out the collection stacked under Natsuo’s TV, they found interests in common: games, movies, things Natsuo would never have guessed in a million years Shigaraki would have liked.

Two nights in a row, they were up until early morning, debating time travel mechanics and which builds were best in a campaign.

~-----~

Finally, the day came where Shigaraki grew too restless to be kept still even a moment more. He shuffled awkwardly to the door, muttering something of a half assed, hybrid monstrosity between gratitude and farewell.

Natsuo wavered a moment, still unsure he wanted to dive any further into this business, but watching Shigaraki pull on his torn but now clean coat with stiff arms decided it for him.

“Wait a second,” Natsuo said, charging into his room.

He snatched up the bag he’d put together with a few rations, water, and some basic supplies to help manage the pain and keep the wound clean. He shoved it into Shigaraki’s hands without ceremony.

The villain gave him that confused, wary glance that had become commonplace whenever Natsuo acted like he was worth even the smallest act of consideration. He unzipped the bag slowly, peered inside, and began poking through the contents, suspicious at first but then simply confused.

“It’s not much,” Natsuo said as Shigaraki slowly zipped the bag back up again and shot him a questioning stare, “but it’ll help for a few days.”

Shigaraki searched his face for a long moment before the suspicion melted to something more uncertain and his eyes fell to the tile.

“I wish I’d met someone like you a long time ago,” he muttered, almost to himself.

The earnest words wormed under Natsuo’s skin and he shifted his weight, awkward.

Then, honesty begetting honesty, Natsuo spoke before he could stop himself, “You know, I’m surprised how nice it was having you around. I mean, you’re a terrible patient, but you’re nothing like I expected.”

Shigaraki’s eye flicked back up to him, debating something. Finally, he threw the backpack on his shoulder and held out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

Natsuo hesitated, remembering the intent of the request last time he’d heard it.

Shigaraki had the gall to smirk at that, a chuckle in his throat. “I won’t break it.” He made a great show of holding his pinky away from the rest of his fingers.

A laugh bubbled warm in Natsuo’s chest despite his best efforts and he handed over his phone without reservation. Part of him was still certain Shigaraki was about to prove himself a liar, but Natsuo was not nearly as bothered as he’d have thought. His father paid for the phone, after all.

The practiced ease with which Shigaraki held the device was fascinating and Natsuo was too caught up in the speed of his typing to care what he was doing before the phone was returned to him with a new contact, Human.

Natsuo raised an eyebrow at him, amused.

Shigaraki shrugged, scratching at his neck with a finger. “It was nice to be human for a while.”

Chapter Text

Natsuo liked to tell himself that he was going to give Shigaraki’s number over to the authorities, but he just hadn't found the right time. Whenever his conscience came to call about that he would appease it with promises that he wasn't going to see the villain again anyway so it hardly mattered.

Then their mutual favorite series released a new game with a two-player story mode and things went off the rails.

He had other friends he could have played with, of course, but Shigaraki the only one who was really on his level. After Touya died, Natsuo had spent every waking minute trapped in that house either studying or with a controller in hand, losing himself in a fantasy world for just a moment. From what he could glean off Shigaraki, they had that in common.

So, against all Natsuo’s better judgement, he somehow ended up with an S-Rank villain in his living room, both of them vibrating with excitement as the load screen appeared.

It should have been tense and uncomfortable, but Natsuo could not remember the last time he’d had so much fun. Somewhere in the middle of a slow side quest, Natsuo found a bug and spent most of the next half hour alternatively stuck in the wall or slinging across the map while Shigaraki howled with laughter.

They spent the better part of the week before the new term playing until they couldn’t see the screen and subsisting on nothing but takeout whenever Natsuo’s phone pinged with good-natured reminders from Fuyumi.

Somehow, it became a routine.

Shigaraki would show up at his place on alternate Friday nights and they would play something from one of their collections until either Sunday evening rolled in with the rude reminder that Natsuo had classes in the morning or Shigaraki was pulled away on League business.

Natsuo might have been unsettled about that if Shigaraki didn’t spend half his time complaining about his underlings' ridiculous antics. Between that and snatches of some of their more chaotic phone calls, Natsuo grew almost fond of Shigaraki’s band of misfits. Not that he’d ever want to meet them; one eccentric villain was plenty for him.

That this had become his life was baffling and if someone had told him months ago that he would become Tomura Shigaraki’s gaming buddy, he would have been seriously advising they seek help for their delusions. However, several months into the arrangement, he couldn’t imagine his life going any other way. That Shigaraki was easier to talk to than almost anyone in Natsuo’s life was normal and not reason for concern.

~-----~

“Rematch,” Shigaraki demanded with all the intensity of an Arthurian knight throwing down a gauntlet as Natsuo’s handle flashed in the fancy winner’s animation.

Natsuo, still high on his victory, smirked. “I’m happy to hand your ass to you again.”

Shigaraki’s answering smile was a dangerous, feral thing. “I’ll bury you this round.”

Both having jumped up to yell at the screen when Natsuo barely pulled off the win, they fell back against the cushions, neither noticing the perfect synchronicity they had developed, and restarted.

“This one’s mine,” Shigaraki declared a few minutes later, already tasting victory despite the elbows being thrown between them, knocking both their coordination off.

His attempt to capture Natsuo’s arm and trap it against his side, however, did not stop Natsuo activating his special move. Shigaraki cursed as the screen lit up, but before either Natsuo could be proclaimed victorious or Shigaraki could dodge, everything froze. A connectivity error popped up on the greyed-out screen, front and center.

Natsuo turned his head, confused, only to find Shigaraki staring at sand running through his numb fingers. It took far longer than it should have for Natsuo to understand what had happened. One of Shigaraki’s pinkies, always so carefully held aloft, had come down on the controller, the five points of contact turning it to dust.

This reminder of the uncomfortably finite control Shigaraki had over his deadly Quirk was sobering and Natsuo had the sudden, desperate need to scoot away, his thigh still pressed against the villain’s. He remained still, however, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

Then he caught the furious but devastated look on Shigaraki’s face. Natsuo was almost sure for a second he was actually going to cry.

Trepidations forgotten, Natsuo hurried to pack cheer into his tone as he said, “Hey, it’s alright, it happens. Besides, I snagged my old man’s card last time I visited, I can get us a new one.”

Like he needed to prove it, Natsuo pulled out the misappropriated, black card and flashed it before him for emphasis. Shigaraki squinted at it, frown furrowing his brow. As he mouthed the characters, Natsuo realized his mistake a second too late. He snatched the card back like he could take away the memory as easily.

“‘Enji Todoroki’, but that’s,” Shigaraki trialed off, his eyes going wide in understanding. He sprang to his feet and backed away from Natsuo, his hands up and ready for battle as he hissed out, “You’re his son?”

Natsuo’s first instinct was to grab his phone and call for help, but it was on the counter, far out of his reach. The next impulse was to grab a weapon and fight, but anything he grabbed would be dust under Shigaraki’s fingers in seconds, as would he. Instead, he opted to take a breath and meet Shigaraki’s gaze with as much defiant calm as he could muster.

The very air was still around them, waiting. Shigaraki surveyed him carefully a moment, confusion starting to mar the threat in every line of his body.

Then he said, ever so slowly, putting the pieces together, “But you don’t like him.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Natsuo said, his jaw refusing to move as he spoke.

Shigaraki came down from his defensive stance and settled back on the couch in slow, careful movements, sitting sideways to fully face Natsuo. Were he not already too tensed to move, Natsuo would have jumped away, his sister’s fearful voice screaming through his head that he was being foolish.

Shigaraki drew him back to the moment, however, as he asked, “Have I leveled our friendship stats enough to unlock your tragic backstory?”

Natsuo could not believe that had come out of his mouth entirely seriously. There was a laugh in his own throat, but it died under that unwavering stare as Shigaraki waited for an answer. Natsuo blinked at him, uncomprehending for a moment.

Maybe it was the rapport they’d build or the gaming metaphor loosening his tongue, giving the illusion of innocence to the act, but Natsuo dropped his voice low and said, “He killed my brother.”

Shigaraki’s eyes went wide and he cursed low under his breath, leaning in to hear more. Natsuo did not stop talking for what seemed hours, Shigaraki’s seething but quiet support drawing the words and feelings out of Natsuo with more honesty than he’d ever shown to anyone.

When he had finished, Natsuo felt clean as he’d not in years, some poison that filtered constantly through his blood expunged for just a moment.

He did not even jump as four fingers dug into his shoulder and Shigaraki swore, “Ask. I’ll make him pay for this.”

The realization of exactly what he was being offered took a long time to filter through Natsuo’s peace, but it brought a strange, heady rush with it. Shigaraki would gladly kill his father, if he wanted that. Not for some grand goal to rid society of heroes, but just because he’d hurt Natsuo.

Barely more than sharp puffs of breath escaped Natsuo’s throat for a moment but they turned to a full body, hysterical laugh as helpless tears sprang to his eyes and began falling in a ceaseless cascade. Panic flared in Shigaraki’s eyes, the fingers of one hand dancing across the back of the couch and the other scratching at his neck, clearly lost for what to do.

Still laughing through his tears and more grateful than he could say, Natsuo pulled Shigaraki to his chest, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other around his back. His friend froze like he was waiting for an attack. Then, slow and careful, like it had been a long time since he’d even attempted such a thing, Shigaraki returned the hug with all the grace of a wet noodle.

“Thanks for the offer,” Natsuo said when he’d calmed down and pulled back, “but there’s nothing you can do.”

Shigaraki made a sound of protest in the back of his throat, but before it could fully resolve into words, Natsuo continued, “If you do anything, he’ll be a martyr. Then my siblings and I will never get any justice.”

Shigaraki grumbled a moment before, “Fine. Dabi called dibs anyway. But if he comes after me, I’m not wasting the chance.”

Natsuo winced, a shiver running down his spine. A fight between them would be messy and Natsuo’s feeling on the matter even more so.

Still, “That’s fair.” He shook the cloying thoughts and gave Shigaraki a teasing grin. “I wouldn’t want him to hurt that pretty face of yours.”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes with a snort. Natsuo could swear there was color in his cheeks though as he glanced away.

Natsuo jabbed his friend gently with an elbow. “Thanks for believing me.”

Shigaraki frowned at him, confused, as though the very notion were insulting. “What kind of dumbass wouldn’t believe that? Heroes are shit.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got experience with that most people don’t.”

He had not told the story to many, but each time he had been met with skepticism, his audience certain he was blowing things out of proportion or making it up for attention. Even Fuyumi was hard pressed to admit any fault of their father’s most days. She, like everyone else, was too desperate to believe in the lie that heroes were above such things.

Shigaraki said something rude about the collective intelligence of society, but Natsuo was too caught in the scar at his lip to really pay much attention. It was looking better, most of his skin was marginally healthier now that Natsuo had stocked some heavy-duty moisturizers in his bathroom.

When had he even started doing that? He couldn’t use it himself.

Natsuo jumped as Shigaraki snapped his fingers right under his nose. “You falling asleep on me?”

Natsuo shook himself, a flush trying to crawl up his own neck as he ripped his eyes away, wondering how long he’d been staring. The grey screen with its error message drew his eyes again and he sprang up.

“We should get another controller.”

Shigaraki stood with a truly evil grin on his face. “Yeah, let’s spend Daddy’s money.”

~-----~

Natsuo blinked himself awake, a comfortable weight on his shoulder and warmth puffing across his neck at even intervals. He froze as he realized he was still on the couch, Shigaraki’s head pillowed on his shoulder and his own arm around the villain’s back. Shigaraki’s hair was a wild mess in his face and his hands were in loose fists, one hooked on Natsuo’s shoulder and the other dropped by his side.

He nuzzled in closer, muttering something unintelligible in his sleep.

Natsuo let out a soft breath of amusement. He didn’t even remember nodding off.

He knew he should be more bothered by this situation, but he found his eyes slipping closed again, his cheek falling onto Shigaraki’s hair. He still smelled like Natsuo’s shampoo over his usual, chalky scent, like costume closets and unopened backrooms.

Natsuo was nearly asleep again when Shigaraki stirred. Then the weight and warmth were instantly gone and Natsuo lost track of what happened. His eyes flew open as a thump reverberated through the apartment followed by a litany of swears. Bemused, he looked over the edge of the couch to find a sleep addled Shigaraki righting his tangled limbs as he tried to pick himself up off the floor.

Natsuo heeded nothing of the warning glare his friend shot him, falling back across the cushions laughing, wishing he’d caught that on camera. Frazzled and irritated, Shigaraki stomped his way to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Though Natsuo smirked over the breakfast he handed the grumpy villain, he decided discretion was the better part of valor and left it alone. Still, weeks later, he would be smiling about the whole affair.

Chapter Text

Despite the cramped space, they had done well cleaning up his kitchen after the disaster they’d made of it. Though, honestly, it had been mostly Natsuo’s fault.

He’d gotten back from a grocery run, the bags still soaked from the rain, and slipped on the wet tile nearly taking Shigaraki down with him. In the chaos, one of the eggs he’d set out had smashed on the floor and Shigaraki’s whole hand had come down on a bag of rice. The bag itself had turned to dust, naturally, and the contents spilled everywhere.

Shigaraki had just finished stuffing all the rice into containers when the grating screech of a generic ringtone rent the air. They both jumped, Shigaraki nearly dropping his carefully gathered rice once more.

With a vicious tug, he pulled his phone out and answered with a sharp, “Can’t you morons–”

Natsuo could make out nothing in the jumble of sounds that followed, but it had Shigaraki throwing a palm against his forehead.

“Didn’t I tell you not to leave those two alone in a room together?”

There was grumbling from the other end of the line and then a chipper, high voice joined in.

With a long, irritated sigh, Shigaraki said, “Yeah, I’ll be right there. Don’t let them near any more explosives.”

Natsuo had so many questions, but Shigaraki was already shuffling around to the entryway, grumbling. Deciding to shrug it off, Natsuo bent and spent a moment scrubbing the very last bit of dust caught on the cabinet door.

With an approving nod at his handiwork, Natsuo finally turned the corner to relock his door only to find Shigaraki still standing against it, one finger drawing irritated red lines on the side of his neck. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of minutes since he’d answered the call, but Natsuo couldn’t help wondering exactly how long his friend would have stood there had he not come out of the kitchen.

Admittedly, Natsuo should have been expecting this. Shigaraki would grumble about not wanting to be touched and he certainly wouldn’t initiate himself, but perish the thought Natsuo ever forgot to hug him in parting or greeting.

He had, apparently, signed off on this new clause in their friendship contract by doing it once on a whim and any violation after had resulted in Shigaraki turning sullen and taciturn until the situation was rectified, the S-Rank Villain becoming little more than a snubbed house cat.

Natsuo tried to tell himself he didn’t find it the least bit endearing, but he also did not want to see his own sappy expression just then.

Shigaraki finally caught sight of him. His hand dropped as he snapped, “What?”

Natsuo only just managed to keep his laugh a quiet chuckle as he opened his arms. “Nothing.”

Predictable as the sun rising, Shigaraki did not move into his embrace but melted against him as soon as Natsuo got his arms around him. His hands, safely in fists, came up to rest against Natsuo’s back and a long breath left him in a quiet sigh, all the tension driven into him standing there going with it.

The flutter of his eyes falling closed ghosted against Natsuo’s neck and, not for the first time, he wondered exactly how infrequently Shigaraki must get affection, if at all. The thought had him pulling Shigaraki closer, smile fading.

Shigaraki tried to turn his head and catch a glimpse of his face, but Natsuo stayed stubbornly attached to his spot at his friend’s shoulder.

Giving up with shockingly little fight, Shigaraki brushed his knuckles up and down Natsuo’s spine in experimental little passes. Like many things about Shigaraki’s skills with people, it was awkward and unpracticed but genuine.

Natsuo’s amusement returned to him and he almost opened his mouth to say something when a loud, obnoxious message notification screamed from Shigaraki’s pocket.

Natsuo started but Shigaraki just groaned irritably and said, like an apology, “Those idiots need me.”

“Yeah, of course,” Natsuo said, trying to sound upbeat but falling flat. He pasted on a smile all the same as he pulled back. “It was good to see you again, Shiga–”

“It’s Tomura.”

“What?”

His fingernails were back at his neck and he was pointedly not looking at Natsuo, color darkening his pale features.

“We’re friends or whatever, right? Call me Tomura.”

It felt dangerous, like lighting a sparkler in a room of gunpowder, but there was a smile tugging up the corner of Natsuo’s lip as he said, “Okay, Tomura. Call me Natsuo. I hate that guy’s name anyway.”

Some wall that had been eroding between them crumbled to nothing and a devil-may-care smirk crossed Tomura’s lips.

“Well then, Natsuo, I’ll see you around.” And he swept out the door.

A pleased shiver ran itself down Natsuo’s spine and he had to fight the thought that he could get used to his name on that rough tongue.

Chapter Text

Tomura had texted him after his midafternoon class to meet at an out of the way ramen shop in the maze of pedestrian walkways winding up the hill. It was unusual, but a pleasant detour, especially since he hadn’t heard from his friend in a while.

The farther he walked, however, the less people he saw. Then he started to feel eyes on the back of his neck. Glancing over his shoulder, he found not a soul, the empty, cramped streets both oppressive and haunting. His steps quickened.

Then, finally, he turned a corner and found Tomura skulking about with his hood up, hands stuffed into his pockets and posture hunched.

“Hey,” Natsuo called out, waving, more of relieved than this small achievement should have warranted.

The feeling evaporated as the villain glanced over at his greeting with an excessive level of suspicion. The air was crisp and clear after the rain, but for all the tension around Tomura, the storm might have been about to break again any second.

“What’s wrong,” Natsuo asked, glancing around the deserted, near claustrophobic stretch of street again, uneasy.

“Why do you keep this up?"

The growling antagonism in that question left Natsuo at a loss. “Keep what up?”

Tomura's eyes narrowed. “In all this time I’ve been hanging around with you, you don’t brag to your friends about it and you haven’t called the cops or heroes. So, why don’t you finally tell me why you’re bothering with this?”

It took him a moment to run Tomura's hard expression through the context of the villain’s pervasive, and honestly justified, paranoia. Being wanted for something other than his utility, be it Quirk or influence, was uncharted territory, both unsettling and terrifying despite the desperate hope clear only in the aborted rising of his free hand toward his throat.

Natsuo had to swallow back a burning lump, somewhere between fury and an empathetic, agonizing pity, and focus. Knowing honesty and a blasé calm were best when dealing with Tomura in this state, Natsuo just shrugged.

“Because you’re my friend.”

Thoughts flashed rapid fire behind Tomura's eyes. Then, he stepped in so their chests nearly brushed, threat and challenge in every movement. Natsuo held his ground with a defiant tilt of his chin. Perhaps the move would have been intimidating a month ago or if Natsuo did not have the height advantage between them.

“Really,” Tomura drew the word out in mocking derision as though the two of them had been playing some game of wits and he was finally calling Natsuo out, “You're not just trying to join the League?”

It was inappropriate, but Natsuo laughed. Startled, Tomura drew back, confused and doubly wary.

Shaking his head and fighting to keep his amusement under control, Natsuo said, “No way. I wouldn’t be any use to you guys anyway, I’m basically Quirkle–”

A fist slammed into the wall beside Natsuo’s head and all humor died in his throat.

Fury blazed in Tomura's eyes, sudden and all consuming, and his voice was a rasping hiss, “Those are his words. You’re not worthless to me.”

The breath left Natsuo’s chest. It should have just been a throw-away line, a joke, but it was staggering how well Tomura knew him. Quirkless or worthless, the words were so much the same on his father’s tongue that Natsuo had never learned the difference, at least not when it came to himself.

That, even while questioning every action Natsuo had taken in regards to him until now, Tomura was willing to defend him with that level of earnest vehemence made the words hit with twice the impact. Chest light as he could never remember it being, Natsuo grinned so wide his cheeks ached.

Tomura started to draw back, alarmed, like Natsuo had just grown fangs and started salivating. Natsuo did not let him get far. He scooped Tomura into a hug, lifting his friend off the ground. An indignant yelp in his throat, Tomura caught the back of Natsuo’s shirt between thumb and forefinger, his arms clamping around Natsuo’s shoulders.

“See? Friends.” Natsuo plonked him back on his feet to punctuate the point.

The dangerous intensity in the air around him had dissipated and Tomura just blinked at him, still frozen in bemusement. Natsuo rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish and self-conscious.

“Sorry, I just,” Natsuo wasn’t sure where he was going with that but there was a truth that refused to remain unspoken so he said, “You mean a lot to me too.”

Uncomfortable on emotional ground as ever, Tomura glanced away, a finger scratched at his neck in absent little motions. “You sure you don’t want to change your mind about joining?”

Natsuo shook his head and started toward where he thought the shop might sit. “I agree with you that things need to change but the League wants change at any cost and that’s too high a price for me.”

“And the heroes are any better,” Tomura grumbled, sulking as he caught up.

“No.” The word came out more venomous than Natsuo had intended so he let out a breath and softened his voice as he said, “They want peace at any cost. Neither side considers what that means, but I see it every day and I don’t want any part of it.”

Tomura was quiet for a moment, mulling that over. They entered the postage stamp of a shop, found a seat at the edge of the bar, and ordered from the severe owner, a woman in her late sixties who still looked like she could bench press a car.

As her eyes flicked, unconcerned, over the obvious villain in her shop, understanding finally settled on Natsuo; this was an area of town that catered to a different clientele, where the good kids of Heroes did not go. He supposed he didn't fully fit that description anymore though considering who sat next to him, arm pressed against his where they leaned on the counter.

Tomura drew him out of his thoughts as he asked, like no time had elapsed, “So, what would you have us do?”

Natsuo took a second to process that then shrugged and shot him a playful grin, falling back into his earlier spirits, “That’s above my paygrade.”

Tomura frowned at him, undeterred by the levity, and almost opened his mouth to say something else. Natsuo beat him to it as something occurred to him, “Hold on, how do you know I haven’t told anyone?”

Tomura scratched at his neck with one agitated hand, like he had been hoping not to answer that. Still, he said, like it was perfectly commonplace, “The League has a list of potential targets to keep an eye on. I put you on it in case something happened.”

Natsuo really should have found that more concerning than he did. Still, he made a show of raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Tomura bristled. “Don’t make it weird. I just can’t have anyone snatching my only decent gaming partner before I’m done with him.”

It was about as transparent a coverup as Natsuo had ever seen and the fact the villain could not meet his eye as he said it further compounded the point. Natsuo couldn’t help his chest warming.

“Whatever you say, buddy.” Quick as a whip, Natsuo wrapped an arm around Tomura's neck and knuckled the crown of his head through the fabric for a brief second.

They were nearly thrown out for roughhousing. A generous tip soothed the owner's ruffled feathers, but she gave them warning glances for the next hour whenever they came close to breaching each other’s space for any reason. The food, laughs, and comradery were worth it.

Chapter Text

Natsuo came to coughing, his throat burning and his head throbbing. It was too hot and even through his wavering vision he could see nothing but the grey shapes of counters and desks in the lab through the smoke choking the air.

He covered his mouth with a sleeve and tried to claw his way forward, but he was stuck under what felt like a load of bricks, barely shifting as he moved.

What had he come into this room for again? The memories were hazy, some half-baked idea about a fire extinguisher coming through the miasma of panic.

He’d been in the main hallway, with its grand windows overlooking campus, when the cafeteria across the street caught fire in an unnatural blaze. Then the Resource Center beside it went up and three figures began running his way.

He hadn’t needed the campus wide Villain alert blaring from the speakers to know this wasn’t going to end well. He’d just managed to get behind a solid wall when the glass shattered in a concussive blast of heat and the lobby went up in flame.

Then it was a jumble, running only to find every exit blocked, the sprinkler system failing, ducking into the lab when he caught a flash of red in the cabinet, then something slammed into him and the world went black.

His attacker, a bloodied textbook, lay beside his head. Soot blackened the front, but he still recognized the cover, Bio Chemistry. He glanced over his shoulder as far as he could manage and found several shelves worth of them piled atop him, the shelving unit itself only held at bay by one of the granite top tables.

Dizzy with fear and a lack of oxygen, he coughed out a laugh; he’d always known this subject would kill him.

He tried to move again and found it just as impossible, the books growing ever heavier and digging into bruised flesh with a vengeance.

Panic began a steady, quick drum beat in his ears.

He was trapped.

Worse, this building was supposed to be empty after hours and no one knew he had come back to grab his notebook. The rescue crews and heroes would focus on the crowded cafeteria, sweeping the labs last, and he would die of smoke inhalation long before anyone found him, if the building didn’t collapse on him first.

Help wasn’t coming, but he refused to die here, would not let his mother bury another child in flames.

Gritting his teeth, he reached back and started shoving at the textbooks. It was slow going, the massive tomes resisting the little pressure he could exert from the awkward angle.

Then the ceiling gave an ominous groan. He glanced at it, but could see nothing in the gloom. The bare second’s pause let him hear something else though, running footsteps, growing closer.

He tried to shout for help, but got a mouthful of foul air for his troubles and lost track of anything but the coughs wracking his whole body, stomach rolling.

Then someone was shoving a mask against his face, clean air rushing around his nose and mouth, and a hand guided his to hold the little, metal canister. He choked down several lungfuls of the portable oxygen while his savior worked behind him.

The weight of the books was gone in an instant. He shifted his legs, nothing broken as far as he could tell, and caught a flash of familiar, ruby red eyes behind goggles and a mask.

“Tomura?”

Certain this was some kind of hallucination, he glanced behind him. The books were gone, just a pile of dust on the blackening tile.

Then the ceiling gave another groan and a grating screech as it collapsed in a cacophony. Natsuo tried to push off with his heavily bruised legs and knock his friend back, but Tomura had already stood, hands stretched high above him.

Debris that should have crushed them fell in a grey rain, harmless as it broke apart. Then Tomura was crouched again, hauling Natsuo’s arm around his own shoulders and dragging him to his unsteady feet.

The smoke was so much worse standing, stinging at Natsuo’s eyes. He shut them tight and instead focused on keeping his feet under him, trusting Tomura to lead him out. He was entirely lost anyway, certain Tomura was making his own paths through to the least damaged parts of the building Natsuo had not been able to reach behind locked doors.

At last, they burst through the rising heat, out into the clear, cool evening air and slowed to a stop on the hard surface of what must have been a sidewalk.

Those same hands that had pulled him out of certain death were gripping Natsuo’s shoulders and he chanced opening his eyes. His lashes were gritty and even cracking one open was not a smart move at the moment if he liked his cornea unscathed, but he had to know for sure he hadn’t just imagined Tomura coming to his rescue.

Indeed, the laser focus of those brilliant, red eyes swallowed the entirety of Natsuo’s vision and he had never seen anything so beautiful. He grabbed one of Tomura’s wrists, almost sure he was dreaming, still trapped and dying, but Tomura was solid and warm under Natsuo’s hand.

Three fingers traced across Natsuo’s cheek with a hesitant tenderness and then looped up to the side of his head. He flinched at the pain there, tacky blood smearing under Tomura’s fingers.

“You need to get that checked out,” Tomura said, grimacing, his voice muffled and distorted through his mask but unmistakable still.

Natsuo pulled the oxygen away from his face to speak, but a disbelieving laugh turned to a hacking cough in his chest. He bent near double; certain he was about to be sick. Tomura’s hands were gone and two people in matching uniforms were grabbing him instead, leading him away, his villainous savior nowhere in sight.

~-----~

Natsuo had mostly been ignoring the news droning quietly in the background of his mother’s room until several shots of campus on fire drew his eye. He frowned at the report, confused. This was old news by now, the Lurkers taking its spot only hours after the fact, having uncovered and arrested a fledgling Villain outfit.

The accompanying headline, however, read, “Arsonist Villains Found Dead. League of Villains Expanding Territory?”

Natsuo just stared a moment before fumbling for the remote to turn it up.

“…already set fire to several buildings and fled by the time heroes arrived on the scene. The bodies were found this morning in an empty office building several blocks west. The cause of death has been ruled as shock from injuries seemingly inflicted by the Quirk of infamous leader of the League of Villains, Tomura Shigaraki.

“This has raised concerns from residents about increased League activity in the area and if this might be a calling cards for their territory. We have special correspondent, Ai Ishiyama, here to help us address these…”

Natsuo turned it back down, not interested in speculation when he knew so much more of the story. He hadn’t really thought about what Tomura might have done after he’d left campus, but torturing three people to death on his account would not have been high on the list. His skin prickled uneasily.

“Are you worried about that vigilante?”

Natsuo jumped, having nearly forgotten his mother was still in the room, lost in his own head. He could not for the life of him, however, follow her train of thought.

“Vigilante?”

She nodded, still smiling that tired little smile of hers. “The one who helped you out of the building. One of the orderlies showed me the video.”

“There’s video of that?” A hint of panic welling in his chest, Natsuo pulled his phone out and started searching.

Rei leaned over his arm to watch. Sure enough, one of the first results was a shaky, ten second video on someone’s phone with the title, “Mysterious Campus Vigilante Saves Student”.

Natsuo had to hold back a sigh of relief that his was the only clear face in the video. Tomura was just the back of a figure in a black duster, the edge of his mask barely peeking out under the hood. Natsuo looked far worse than he’d imagined though, his white hair gone a deep grey with one telling patch of red, blood caked down the side of his face and neck.

The clip also missed most of their interaction and focused on them just as Tomura’s fingers drifted to the blood on the side of his head. Then the paramedics rushed up to Natsuo, overcome by a violent fit of coughing, and Tomura ducked out of their way.

The villain watched him go a moment then slipped into a rolling cloud of smoke and disappeared. Natsuo couldn’t quite hold back a laugh. He hadn’t thought Tomura had it in him to look that cool.

“So, you two are close?”

Natsuo did a double take at his mother’s tone and that smile she’d been wearing since she mentioned a vigilante suddenly made so much sense.

“Mom,” he groaned, color rushing in a wave of heat up his neck. “It’s not like that.”

That playful knowing sparkled anew in her eyes. “The look on your face there says otherwise.”

He buried his face in his hands, trying to hold off an upheaval in his chest he didn’t know exactly how to classify.

She laughed; the sound quiet but earnest as he’d not heard in years. Even as her amusement settled something in him, bitterness twisted his gut. Enji had done this to her, made these little moments of genuine amusement a rarity.

He raised his head again, trying to keep his expression light, but she must have caught something of it, her own face falling. She took his hand between both of her own before guilt could strangle him, that icy Quirk chilling her skin in a bite neither of them truly felt, comforting as few things in the world had ever been.

“Vigilantism is dangerous, they’re almost as bad as villains, I don’t want you mixed up in all that,” she said, her voice soft, “but a mother’s greatest wish is always to see her children happy and you’ve been sad for so long, my Natsuo.”

Natsuo frowned over that, thrown from his own train of thought. “What are you saying?”

Her smile, amused by her own audacity, was the only warning he got before, “Even if it’s not ‘like that’ right now, if this person makes you happy, then your mother approves.”

He gaped at her, flabbergasted.

“But,” he spluttered, certain she must be joking despite all evidence to the contrary, “what if it really was someone dangerous?”

Her whole being took on a melancholic edge, as it always did when she spoke about the past, but still she said, certain, “You’ve always been strong. Maybe not like your father wanted, but you have a good heart and I know you can handle anything.”

Natsuo braced but was shocked to find his father’s dismissal and cruel, cold words did not reach out of the pit in his soul to smother him, as they usually did when confronted with praise. The ghost of that constriction was still there around his heart, but, for the moment, the memory of hard-won respect in Tomura’s eyes and his mother’s encouraging smile held it at bay.

The lightness in his chest became a laugh and Natsuo pulled his mother into a grateful hug. She returned the affection in kind, a contented sigh and the breath of a laugh on her own lips.

“Thanks, Mom. I really needed to hear that.”

~-----~

A knock came at the door. Natsuo sighed and let the couch suck him in just a little further. He had been let out of the hospital days ago with a prescription and a check in date, but was otherwise healthy. That didn’t, however, stop people coming by to check on him constantly, particularly his sister.

“The door’s unlocked,” he yelled, not feeling up to getting it himself. He heard it click open but didn’t bother pausing his game as he said, “Come on, Fuyumi. You’ve brought me enough to eat for a month. I said I was fine.”

Then someone fell onto the couch cushions beside him that was definitely not his well-meaning sister on her fifth visit in half as many days.

“You should be more careful; you could let in someone dangerous.”

“Tomura!”

Natsuo had never hit pause so fast in his life. He barely took in the playful smirk that had been so evident in Tomura’s tone before he nearly tackled him in a hug.

“You saved my life, thank you.”

Tomura had grabbed onto the back of Natsuo’s shirt in an eight fingered grip, clinging and frozen like a startled kitten. Then he relaxed with a low chuckle.

“Well, I wasn’t just going to let you die. Now, we’re even.”

Natsuo drew back, a giddy, disbelieving laugh still making itself at home in his chest.

“That’s how it was, huh? I guess I’ll just have to save you again; I liked having you in my debt.”

“Friends don’t need debts to help each other.”

Tomura punctuated that with some half-hearted insult under his breath, but he had crossed his arms and was not looking at Natsuo, as though this were some truly important point he’d been meaning to make.

The air grew heavy under things neither of them were willing to give voice and Natsuo set a hand on Tomura's shoulder. When Tomura glanced back at him out of the corner of his eye, he just gave a grateful nod to his friend.

Then the news broadcast came back to him and he couldn't hold eye contact, his own torn feelings on the matter twisting his expression.

"One thing though," he said, taking a heavy breath and hating how quiet his voice had become, "about those bank robbers, don't kill people for me, okay?"

Tomura was quiet for just a beat too long before he scoffed. "I was going to get rid of them anyway. It had nothing to do with you."

Natsuo did not call him on the lie. There were things he had been planning to say, a whole speech he had been practicing in the mirror about morals and murder, but he decided to leave it, not sure he was even ready to face the implications of it all. He shifted to lighter topics.

“Hey, did you see the video of the rescue? You looked pretty cool,” Natsuo grinned and added, just because he knew it would annoy him, “Mr. Hero.”

To his great satisfaction, Tomura’s lip curled in disgust. “Don’t call me that.”

Natsuo pretended not to hear that as he said, throwing a wistful hand over his heart, “A villain to the world but a hero to me.”

Tomura grumbled under his breath, glaring at Natsuo without any real heat before he huffed out an annoyed breath and conceded, “Fine, as long as it’s only you. I have a reputation to keep.”

“Only me, huh? That actually gives me an idea.” Natsuo held out a hand to Tomura, palm up.

Curious, Tomura complied, giving Natsuo his arm.

“Growing up as a hero’s kids, my siblings and I had to learn a bunch of codes in case we were ever kidnaped, but we mostly used them to talk to each other,” Natsuo said, more engaged in turning over Tomura’s wrist than in his explanation.

He tapped out the Todoroki children’s shorthand for Hero. “That’ll be your call sign. If you start with that, then I’ll always know it’s you.”

Frowning, like he didn’t think this was going to work, Tomura tapped the word clumsily back at him. Natsuo smiled, encouraging. “Pretty close, a little more practice and you’ll have it.”

Never one to be patronized, Tomura gave him a flat look and asked, “What’s yours?”

He tapped out a quick and easy Natsu.

They went back and forth with it for a few minutes as Tomura grew confident with both. Then he looked up at Natsuo, eyes gleaming. “Teach me more.”

“What?”

“You said you could talk with it. Teach me.”

Natsuo was admittedly rusty, but Tomura was nothing if not a fast learner. For all that his education lacked in other areas, Tomura did have a solid grasp of covert communications. Still, Natsuo managed to throw him off enough with the Todoroki modifications to Morse code that, more than once, he grumbled Natsuo was cheating.

Certainly, a few of their most used words, like danger, safe, and always, were symbols drawn in skin, a relic of the time before Natsuo could read, but it served only to help obscure it further from prying eyes.

As they had commandeered Hero for Tomura’s name, Natsuo suggested, laughing the whole time, that they use Touya’s joking substitution. Originally, it had been just for their Father, but Fuyumi had hated it and refused to communicate with either of them if they didn’t stop. Still, Scum worked well as a replacement for all Heroes, including the Number One.

Tomura found the greatest pleasure in the double entendre and found every excuse to tap out Scum are Scum.

Natsuo hadn’t even realized how much he had missed this. So much of his early years had been spent huddled up with Touya and Fuyumi, the three of them etching stories into each other’s skin, some of which he swore he could still feel to this day.

They had never gotten to teach Shoto and Fuyumi had not been as keen on code after the funeral. Natsuo had held tight to the memories of using it with his brother though.

Unquestionably, there had been those cold, terrifying nights as Touya sobbed in Natsuo’s arms while he drew constant, empty assurance into his brother’s shoulder, but it never failed to warm his chest remembering their father’s growing irritation with the noise as his children banged out jokes back and forth to each other across the house.

~-----~

It wasn’t long before the two of them could have near entire conversations without uttering a word. A toe to the shin was all that was needed for a request, a finger brushing against a neck could trade anecdotes. Natsuo had no trouble ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him he should not be so comfortable with those hands on his skin.

Chapter Text

Natsuo picked up Tomura’s fallen jacket to hang back up when something flopped out of the pocket.

He reached for it before he realized what it was. A disembodied hand lay there on the tile staring back at him like he was the one in the wrong place. Natsuo had never seen the infamous things up close and, morbid curiosity stronger than sense, picked it up.

Nausea rocked his world. Of course, he had seen the pictures of Tomura covered in similar ghastly adornments, but he hadn't thought they were real human hands.

He knew the texture of dead flesh though. In some distant, clinical part of his mind, Natsuo noted it was well-preserved despite its clear age.

Footsteps were coming closer as Tomura left the kitchen. Still bent over where he’d frozen, Natsuo turned his head inch by agonizing inch until their eyes met.

Tomura’s face shut down, locking away every emotion but a mild, melancholic irritation, as though it were some default. Natsuo had not seen that look since those tense days after he’d patched Tomura up that first time. He had not realized how much of a shield it was.

“I see you’ve met Father.”

The word was dry and sour on Natsuo’s tongue as he asked, “‘Father’?”

Tomura nodded, waiting for something.

It was too quiet as the moment stretched, Natsuo all too aware what was still clasped in his numb fingers. Had it been anyone else, knowing the hands were human and not just some bizarre costuming choice, Natsuo would have said they were trophies. He knew Tomura by now though; something far more sinister had to be going on here.

Swallowing down bile, he placed the hand back on the ground as though it might explode and crossed the distance between them, his greater bulk casting an all-encompassing shadow over the villain.

Tomura watched, wary, but crossed his arms, hands buried out of sight in a rare show of passivity.

The image of Tomura covered in dismembered hands flickered before Natsuo and his stomach twisted.

“Why do you have those,” Natsuo’s question was too heavy for the air around them, falling at their feet and just barely heard.

Something flickered in Tomura’s expression before he schooled it back into that aloof, cold mask. Natsuo could see the cracks in it though, how it failed so miserably to cover up everything. Tomura had been waiting for this, hoping with all he had it wasn’t going to happen, but he was not surprised, rejection was not new to him.

“You’re shaking,” Tomura said, no inflection to the words, a simple observation.

Natsuo’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He was shaking, his skin too hot and too cold all at once. “Answer the question.”

“Sensei gave them to me, Father and Mother and the rest.”

Natsuo nodded. The jerky motion did not help the sickness churning in his gut. “But they’re not really–”

“They are.”

Ice his Quirk could not counter crept through Natsuo’s veins at the casual words.

“What happened to them,” Natsuo asked, the words like cinderblocks, stiff and bulky on his tongue.

Tomura was quiet, surveying him a long moment, those sharp, red eyes narrowed. He could not seem to parse meaning from Natsuo’s expression, however.

“Tomura.”

The softer tone got through as nothing else likely could have, some of the fight leaving the villain. He glanced down at his hand, tucked against his side out of Natsuo’s sight.

“I did.” The words were low, almost indistinct.

Though Natsuo wanted to deny the very possibility, it was far too easy to picture a tiny, confused Tomura watching in growing horror as his family fell apart under his fingers. The numb, empty tone of loss long since passed pervaded every word and the rigidity in his shoulders said very clearly do not touch me.

Natsuo’s jaw worked for a moment, but words would not come, the furrow in his brow deepening as his heart ached.

Tomura glanced back at him, searching and guarded. “Are you scared?”

A dry, humorless chuckle punched its way out of Natsuo’s throat. “Not like I should be.”

Tomura’s mouth twisted into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Natsuo barely heard the question as one thought began nagging at him. Tomura, the walking cemetery, he hadn’t even considered it before, but, “Tomura isn’t your real name, is it?”

Tomura blinked at him a moment, suspicion beginning to roll off him in waves. “It’s the name Sensei gave me when he saved me.”

Natsuo swallowed back bile at the devotion in Tomura’s tone.

Instead of giving voice to the words burning at him, he asked, “What was your name before?”

The villain opened his mouth to respond, brow furrowing when no words came.

Natsuo was just growing concerned when he finally said, “Ten… something. Do?” He mouthed his way through several more possible syllables before he landed on, “Ko. Yeah. Tenko.”

“Tenko Shigaraki?”

He shook his head. “That’s Sensei’s name. It started with the same sort of sound though,” he trailed off, quiet for a moment, before he said, “Shimura. Tenko Shimura.”

The both of them were quiet a moment, the words seeming to have locked their voices away, important in ways neither could fully define.

How little his friend actually remembered about himself was concerning, a walking mystery even in his own head, and that was to say nothing of the graveyard he carried around on his person.

No one had ever saved Tenko Shimura, they had just given a far worse fate to Tomura Shigaraki.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Tenko.”

He jerked back as though struck and snarled, “That’s not my name.”

Natsuo raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement and kept his voice deliberately even, “Fine. Tomura. Still, you didn't deserve to go through that.”

Tomura’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you.”

Tomura’s lip curled in disgust as he started to say, “You don’t–”

“You’re not a monster.”

The simple statement of fact drew Tomura up short, words dying on his tongue and his mouth hanging open a fraction. Then his expression began to twist and Tomura laughed, a crazed, unhinged thing.

He stepped around Natsuo to retrieve the hand and placed the grotesque ornament over his face, empty red eyes staring out from between the fingers. Natsuo’s stomach heaved in protest.

Triumph sparked in those eyes and there was something truly crazed in Tomura’s voice, still chuckling as he said, “Is this not the face of a–”

Without warning, Natsuo yanked him into a tight hug and held on like he could shield Tomura from everything that had gone wrong in his life. He could think of nothing else to do, but he was desperate to do something.

The hand fell to the floor and Tomura stood there rigid for a moment.

“What is this?”

“A hug, dumbass.”

Tomura wriggled, shying away. Natsuo tightened his arms, knowing Tomura would fight harder if he actually cared to escape.

“I can’t breathe, idiot,” Tomura wheezed.

Contrary to his protest, however, he did little more than settle his head in the now familiar spot at Natsuo’s shoulder. Natsuo loosened his hold to run a hand up the back of Tomura’s neck and rubbed the simple, comforting circles of safe into the skin. Tomura let out a long, slow breath.

His fingers were hesitant as he tapped out his call sign on Natsuo’s shoulder blade, like Hero meant something different all of the sudden.

“You don’t make any sense,” Tomura muttered.

They stayed like that a long few minutes before Tomura finally extricated himself and picked up the hand again, needlessly dusting it off.

He wouldn’t look at Natsuo though as he said, “I am a monster. The monster who’s going to destroy every bit of scum calling themselves Hero and tear down this rotten society.”

Natsuo grabbed his wrist as he made to put the hand back and said the words he wished he could have drilled into another self-destructive young man. “You don’t have to be what he made you.”

Tomura searched his face a moment before he yanked his wrist from Natsuo with a vicious tug. “Maybe this is what I want.”

Natsuo didn’t say anything as he put the hand back into his jacket with such care, but when the villain glanced back, he caught something in the look on Natsuo's face. Frustration flickered over Tomura’s features for a moment. Then he shoved his fists into pockets and slouched past Natsuo.

“Whatever. Let’s just watch that dumb movie.”

Chapter Text

A soccer ball slammed onto the study table in front of Natsuo, breaking his mindless staring into the void.

“I’m getting some people together, you wanna play? Tetseru swore she’s not gonna use her Quirk this time.”

Sluggish on his return to reality, Natsuo followed the line of the arm holding the ball up to his smiling friend, Whent, waiting for an answer.

“Uh, yeah, sounds good,” Natsuo finally managed, putting something like a smile back on his own face.

Whent tilted his head, brow furrowing in concern. “You alright, dude?”

Natsuo regarded him a moment. The exchange student was often odd and boisterous, but Natsuo had never met anyone so willing to roll with the punches. He could probably spill the whole story with Tomura and get little more than a raised eyebrow out of the guy.

Still, no matter how desperate he was to talk to someone, anyone about this, there was no way that would end well.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired.” Natsuo started to gather his stuff, averting his eyes.

Whent turned a chair around and sat, back to front, surveying Natsuo. “I think you’re lying.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Natsuo said, shutting his bag and making to stand.

Whent popped the ball down on his stuff and leaned across the table to put his weight on it.

“Come on, man. Something heavy’s on your back, let me help carry it.”

Natsuo debated only a second before he dropped back into his seat and groaned out a defeated, “I think I’m making a huge mistake.”

Whent sat back comfortably in his chair and waved an inviting hand for more. Natsuo struggled for a second with the tangled web of emotions and logic in his head, but his friend did not interrupt, patient and steady as ever.

Finally, Natsuo asked, “Have you ever gotten close to someone you knew you shouldn’t?”

Whent tilted his head, resembling nothing so much as a curious puppy. “Is this about video game guy?”

Natsuo chewed his lip and nodded, studying the little score marks in the table from bored and frustrated students gouging writing utensils into it.

“He's the one that pulled you out of the fire, isn't he?”

Natsuo's head shot up and he caught Whent’s knowing look.

“A vigilante, huh? No wonder you were keeping so quiet about him. So, he ask you to break the law or something?”

Being around him is breaking the law, Natsuo didn't say. Instead, he shook his head, running the fine line between lies and half-truths as he admitted, “He asked me to join him once, but I turned him down. It’s never been a problem.”

“That's definitely for the best; you’re too good a guy for what some of them get up to.” Whent leaned in as he asked, “So, what’s up?”

Natsuo scratched at one of the deeper marks in the table and breathed out a heavy sigh. “I just don’t know what to think. I've been ignoring a lot of the choices he's made because it's easier to pretend he's just who he is with me, but he's not just that. So, how do you reconcile someone important to you with,” he paused before he said something incriminating and settled instead for, “all that?”

Whent crossed his arms in thought a moment, starting at the tiled ceiling.

"I can't say I've ever been there, but I guess it's like any relationship; you have to decide if this is doing enough good for you that you're willing to work it out with him or if what he's doing is so far over the line it's better to call it, even if that hurts."

Natsuo hummed in noncommittal agreement, but Whent wasn't done. He jabbed a stern finger in Natsuo's direction and said, "But you don't owe him Jack because he helped you out, that's not how anything works. Got it?"

That drew the barest chuckle out of Natsuo and something in his stomach loosened.

"I'll keep it in mind."

"You better, Mr. Martyr," he said with an approving nod and a playful smile.

Natsuo's eyes drifted back to the table, brow furrowing again. "It's just a lot, you know? He never asks me for help or tries to drag me into that part of his life, but sometimes I almost wish he would just so I could say it's too much and make a clean break and not feel like I'm losing," Natsuo trailed off, not sure exactly where he'd been going with that.

Whent's understanding exhale drew Natsuo's attention and, with a great sense of foreboding, he caught Whent’s eyes starting to sparkle with triumph.

“Please, don’t,” Natsuo begged, leaning across the table to try and head off the yell he could feel building in his friend’s chest.

Whent settled for pumping a fist in the air with a quiet, “I knew it. Kazuma was saying you guys had to be dating with how often you ditch us to hang out with him, but I could tell it hadn’t gotten that serious yet. No wonder you’re so torn up about this. Did he finally confess then?”

Natsuo stared at him, taken aback. His thoughts had been so far from something so seemingly mundane, but his stomach went into a sudden free fall. Every sense called Tomura forward with such clarity: that devil may care smirk on his lips and mischief dancing in his eyes, scarred skin and lean muscle against his fingertips, his scent clinging to borrowed clothes, a soft contented breath against his neck, that wild and unbridled laughter.

Whent’s smile dimmed by degrees as he contemplated Natsuo. "Wait, are you just realizing you like him?"

“It’s not like that,” Natsuo said on automatic, the words thin and insincere.

Far too calm, Whent nodded with all the understanding and wisdom of a great sage. "It's a lot to take in and you're still figuring it out. I get it, man."

"No, I mean it can't be like that."

Whent shrugged, rolling his ball to the edge of the table and popping it into the air.

“You know, I don’t know how it is for you guys, but where I’m from,” Natsuo almost rolled his eyes at Whent’s favorite opener, but then Whent’s voice dropped to something more serious, “we don’t judge people for who they love. As long as you’re all treating each other right, you can be with whoever you want.”

Tomura was clearly rubbing off on him because Natsuo scoffed. “You say that like it’s so easy.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” The question lacked any judgement, just a simple inquiry.

Natsuo frowned down at his fingers curling and uncurling around nothing.

It wasn't even worth entertaining this line of thinking, but Whent's assurances had already loosened his tongue and the words came unbidden, “Because there’s a hundred reasons any sane person would say I shouldn’t be anywhere near him.”

“Like what?”

As though in answer, a dismembered hand blocking all but those red eyes came back to him and his stomach rolled again.

“You name it: dangerous Quirk, bad crowd, worse reputation, and if my dad ever found out,” Natsuo shook his head and had to swallow back the bile rising in his throat, anxiety soaring through the roof.

“But you don’t want to stop seeing him,” Whent filled in the unspoken but earnest truth behind it all.

Natsuo dropped his head onto his bag and buried it in the dark cocoon of his arms with a muttered, “Does that make me an idiot?”

Whent’s sturdy hand dropped onto Natsuo’s shoulder as a reassuring weight. “I think that just makes you human, man.”

Natsuo hummed out a noncommittal agreement, all his brainpower focused on grinding through every reason he should never see Tomura again and ignoring all the reasons he did not want to examine for why he fully intended to anyway.

“You’ve never judged anyone for their Quirk or where they’re from or any of that. You measure them on their own merit. I respect that about you. But, with all that stuff you said,” Whent hesitated, the scuffing of his toes against the carpet giving away his troubled thoughts, before, “he wouldn’t hurt you, right?”

Natsuo shifted his head just enough to look at his arm where he could still feel the ghost of Tomura’s fingers dancing out messages. He couldn’t help the barest smile that touched the edge of his lip.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

Whent’s whole demeanor brightened and he flashed a thumbs up. "Then I think you should go for it.”

Natsuo’s laugh was edging toward hysterical as he said, “You really don’t know what you’re encouraging here.”

“Love, my friend, I’m encouraging love.” He punctuated this pronouncement with a great sweep of his hand, his spider silk Quirk drawing sparkling lines through the air to settle across the table.

Natsuo gave him the flattest look he could muster before he asked, “Why do I hang out with you?”

He patted Natsuo’s cheek and withdrew his hand just before it was swatted aside, laughing.

“Alright, enough doom and gloom, let’s play.” Whent bounced up, snatching up his ball and taking long strides toward the field.

Natsuo followed a few steps behind, thoughts far from resolved.

Chapter Text

Most people, upon waking to find an uninvited villain in their kitchen, would be spiraling into a panic. That Tomura Shigaraki had become so comfortable here that he hadn’t bothered messaging before barging in and making himself at home at Natsuo’s counter did not phase him, but the familiar bag of candies his friend was digging through jolted him awake on high alert.

Already knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer, Natsuo asked, “Where did you get those?”

Tomura glanced at him then down at the bag before shrugging. “Old lady at the end of the hall."

Natsuo held down on the instinct to panic that one of his neighbors had gotten close enough to see Tomura’s face. Mrs. Nishikawa was a sweet woman he sometimes helped with her groceries who liked to ask probing questions about his personal life and mentioned how single her granddaughter was at every opportunity, but she was harmless.

Still, "What did she want?"

A reedy chuckle puffed out of Tomura's throat and he shot an evil grin at Natsuo. "Something about thanking me and you being lonely.”

He popped the last candy into his mouth with unnecessary fanfare, like Natsuo owed him for the trouble.

Natsuo breathed a little easier. It was probably fine.

As the villain crumpled up the homemade bag and crossed around to throw it out Natsuo’s eyes flicked over his posture. It would not have been obvious when they’d first met, but Natsuo had come to know how Tomura carried his weight and the subtle ways he shifted when he was in pain.

He hadn’t seen any news about Tomura getting into a fight, but anything underground wouldn’t have reached the media anyway. It would hardly be the first time Tomura had come to him badly patched up after a scrap.

Natsuo asked, despite already knowing the answer, “Are you hurt?”

Tomura rolled his eyes. “It’s just a cracked rib, I’ll be fine.”

There wasn’t all that much to be done about that without a healing Quirk and it wasn’t as though Natsuo could provide that. Still, “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing,” Tomura grumbled, but pulled up his shirt without further prompting, showing off the bruising on his left side, around the fifth and sixth rib.

There wasn’t any distending of the skin, but, from the careful breaths Tomura was taking, the injury was not pleasant.

“Stay there,” Natsuo said, leaving him at the end of the counter.

Natsuo, ignoring Tomura’s continued insistence that he was fine, grabbed a gel ice pack out of the freezer and the sports wrap that had taken up residence in his junk drawer.

“You’re such a mother hen,” Tomura said, not making any effort at all to fend him off, perfectly content to hold the ice in place while Natsuo secured it loosely against him.

Natsuo should have pulled his hand back then and let Tomura drop his shirt. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the scar that had brought them together. It hadn’t healed as cleanly as he’d have liked but it hadn’t been the fatal wound it would have been without him and that, as his teachers liked to remind them all, was what mattered at the end of the day.

His fingers strayed to the rough skin and he traced the edges like some sacred cleansing ritual.

Midterms had fried his brain, however, and he went further, leaving the wound behind to trace the subtle change between Tomura’s oblique and abdominal muscles, forming their names on his lips without sound as though in a trance. These weren’t the bulging muscles of a hero or the sculpted tone of a gym rat, this was the hard lines forged by necessity, purely a survivor’s strength.

He had just mouthed out, “Linea alba,” when three of Tomura’s fingers settled hesitantly over Natsuo’s hand. He jerked on instinct as he was thrown back out of his head, fingers burning.

His eyes rose, nervous, to find Tomura watching him and Natsuo was struck for a second by that cautious but open look. It made this man who was rough at every edge softer somehow and, if his life had turned out differently, this might have been quintessentially him.

They were so close together, heads bent in so their noses nearly brushed, and Natsuo was going to do something very stupid if he stayed like this.

With the last of his flagging sanity, Natsuo turned and fled back to the kitchen as he asked, “You want something to eat?”

Chapter Text

Natsuo had been in class when the action had been happening live, but he walked out to see every television in the building turned to the continuing broadcast of rescue efforts in the aftermath. People were clustered anxiously around the screen, phones in hand, murmuring to each other.

Natsuo only caught a few scattered conversations:

“… three city blocks in one go.”

“Atomic put up a good fight before…”

“… can’t run long with that injury.”

The next image to flash across the screen was a short recap, the pulverized street looking almost tame in comparison to the devastation it would become. A lone figure was pulling himself from the side of a building, bloody and barely standing, but Natsuo would know him anywhere. His stomach dropped.

Tomura swayed a moment, head down and a crazed laugh beginning to silently shake his shoulders. A hero Natsuo did not recognize, sporting his own collection of bloody scrapes, was rushing Tomura with a ball of brilliant energy in one hand. Far from what the Hero clearly believed though, Tomura was nowhere near beaten.

Faster than those injuries should have allowed, he ducked the blow and, with a simple spin, got around behind his attacker. Then one hand clamped down on the Hero’s neck.

The image switched abruptly to Tomura struggling to move while a crying Hero in green with golden horseshoes adorning her costume blew into her hands like a horn. It almost looked like the battle had been won. Then Tomura, nothing but fury on his bloody face, slammed both hands to the ground. The world exploded and the camera cut out.

Natsuo barely paid any mind as it returned to the live feed, water gushing onto ruined pavement as rescue heroes crawled over the crumbling remains of several city blocks. Heart in his throat, he rushed over to a girl with compound eyes in one of his morning classes who was typing away on her phone with a frantic intensity from one of the couches.

“Hey, Samejima, did you see what happened?”

Her unblinking stare turned on him and she nodded. “A couple of rookie heroes got a tip that a villain was in the area. I guess they surprised that Shigaraki guy.”

She turned her attention back to the broadcast as Atomic’s photo took up the frame, front and center. He was barely older than either of them. Some message was scrolling across the bottom about his contributions to heroism, condolences for his family and friends, and a note to donate to some relief charity. Natsuo took it all in without absorbing a word.

“I can’t believe he actually killed one of them. It’s so awful.”

“Yeah,” Natsuo said, numb. “Do they know where he is?”

“Not yet, but they locked down the area a few minutes ago so I’m sure he’ll be arrested soon. There’s a taskforce and everything.”

Tomura’s face flashed on the television again and Natsuo turned to the doors. “Thanks. I’ll see you in class.”

He barely heard her answer as he burst out onto the campus mall. Striding with purpose into the city, Natsuo pulled out his phone, selected the contact, and stopped. There might have been a forcefield around the phone for all that he could get through.

He dug a hand into his hair with a harsh breath and clenched his shaking fingers.

He knew this was a bad idea.

A hero had been ripped apart; he should be handing this number over to the police. The image of Tomura, hurt and desperate enough to crumble a city block, would not leave his head though.

He hit call with numb fingers and held the phone tight to his ear as he walked.

“What,” Tomura snarled and Natsuo drew in the first proper breath he’d taken since he’d stepped out of class.

“Are you okay?”

Tomura laughed, the sound half crazed. “After that cheater got the drop on me? No. But I’ve been worse.”

Natsuo grimaced. “Are you safe at least?”

Tomura hissed in pain on the other end of the line, cursing a second later as something metal clanged off a solid surface. “Not for long. Hero scum is crawling all over and the rest of the League can’t get in without telling them the Doc’s not pulling me out. Bastard won’t even pick up.”

Natsuo nodded, grim but determined. “Alright, tell me where you are.”

Tomura scoffed, the usual derision not fully hiding the fear underneath it. “And what are you gonna do?”

Natsuo smirked to himself, more confident than he likely had a right. “Come on, being his son’s got to have some benefits. Who’s going to question me getting my drunk buddy out of a dangerous area?”

The relief and strangled hope in Tomura’s laugh sped Natsuo on.

“You’re insane, you know that,” Tomura asked, his amused tone holding something softer and heavier.

“That makes two of us,” Natsuo said, his own voice a perfect mirror.

~-----~

Natsuo slid, casual as anything, past two officers guarding a barricade while they belly ached about searching for a villain who had probably already teleported away. Then it was a matter of following the circuitous route Tomura had sketched out through the quiet streets.

He tapped Natsu along the wall of the old building beside him, scanning the shadows for movement. The hand that caught his wrist came out of seemingly thin air from a cut away section Natsuo would not have thought a person could squeeze. Tomura tapped Hero back to him and pulled himself out of the wall with difficulty.

Panic pounded in the sudden stuttering restart of Natsuo’s heart. He had never seen Tomura that badly injured, not even that first night they’d met.

Grimacing, he braced Tomura as the villain went boneless against him and tapped out, Where worst?

Tomura shook his head. None serious.

Natsuo frowned over him, pulling up his shirt and gently working his fingers over the skin in the lightest of touches. Tomura was not acting like he’d sustained only minor injuries, but he could indeed find nothing that wouldn’t wait until they were safely back in Natsuo’s apartment.

Then he brushed over an angry patch of red skin and agony raced up his arm. Both of them flinched violently.

Scum with pain Quirk, Tomura tapped out, a snarl turning his lip.

Staring in horror at several similar patches across Tomura’s stomach, Natsuo wanted to be sick.

There had been debates about that kind of Quirk being allowed in Hero work the past couple of months. Natsuo had a feeling he now knew why and, worse, Atomic’s death had likely silenced the opposition, at least for a while.

He was sure for a moment that Tomura’s shivering was entirely due to that horrible effect, but then he realized Tomura had lost the jacket he’d been wearing on the news, as though he weren’t already one of the most identifiable people in the country.

“Here,” Natsuo said, pulling off his own. “It’s not cold enough to bother me.”

They cleaned the blood off Tomura’s face and hands with a spare shirt in Natsuo’s bag before they set off.

Tomura clung to him, every step costing him. Still, despite the pain, he was sharp as ever, hunted eyes darting over the urban jungle to find and steer them away from threats Natsuo would never have seen.

Nearly a block from the end of the cordon, he tapped out a grim, Scum caging us in.

Natsuo saw nothing but Tomura beside him was preparing for a fight, muscles tensed and fingers flexing.

That was not happening on Natsuo’s watch. Though he didn’t doubt the villain’s stubborn resolve, Tomura was in no condition for combat. They didn’t have to fight though, just throw off the Heroes’ suspicion.

No time to explain, he tapped out a quick, Idea. Trust me.

He pulled them to a stop and then backed Tomura against a wall. Tomura did not resist but his breath hitched and he stared at Natsuo with wide eyes. With a reassuring grin, he grabbed either side of Tomura’s hood and ducked into the shadow of it.

He’d seen this in a movie once and had intended just to hover there until the danger passed, but Tomura read a very different intent. He tilted his chin up to meet Natsuo’s lips in a clumsy but eager kiss.

Frozen in shock, Natsuo neither returned the pressure nor drew away and Tomura pulled back, a stilted terror to his movements as he shrank back into the hood Natsuo was still holding tight. His fingers tapped out something, but Natsuo could not focus on that, his eyes drawn down to Tomura’s lips as though magnetized, blood roaring in his ears.

Before he had even a second to think about this rationally, he cupped Tomura’s jaw and pulled him back into a kiss.

His lips were chapped, the jagged edges of broken skin rough and merciless, but, like Tomura himself, those lips softened and warmed under his touch. Then, Tomura dragged him closer by the back of his shirt and, head light and heart pounding, Natsuo fell into the heady rush of danger and desire without another thought.

When they finally had to pull back for air, both of them were panting heavily and a disbelieving laugh was bubbling up Natsuo's throat. He tangled his fingers in Tomura’s hair and leaned their foreheads together to ground himself.

Then Tomura flinched, drawing away from his hand, and reality crashed down on Natsuo again.

On Tomura’s cheek, fingers light as feathers, he tapped out, Pain where?

Tomura shook his head and his fingers danced over Natsuo’s back in a short, Scum gone. Move now. Then he was pulling Natsuo along.

The two officers Natsuo had slipped past earlier must have been reprimanded because the moment they were spotted one with electric blue hair called, “You there, stop. This area is under lockdown.”

“Sorry,” Natsuo said, an apologetic, guileless smile on his face as he handed over his ID, its Hero Commission seal stamped, near invisible, on his picture, marking him as blood relative to a Hero. “My friend had a little too much to drink. I’m just trying to get him home.”

The two looked it over a moment, passing it back and forth in a great show of authority.

Finally, the blue haired officer handed it back with a gruff, “You can come through but we have to see this friend’s face first.”

The other officer, skin riddled in odd bumps, was squinting at Tomura’s hooded head like willing the fabric aside would reveal him.

“I don’t think that’s happening,” Natsuo said, making a show of trying to pry Tomura off.

Considering all he had to do was stumble, bury his face in Natsuo’s shirt, and hold on, Tomura was selling the part well.

“This isn’t time for games,” Blue snapped. “There’s a dangerous villain in the area.”

“You really think that guy from the news hasn’t teleported away yet,” Natsuo asked, trying to strike the right chord between worried and a touch skeptical.

“That’s why we’re here. Now,” Bumpy gestured meaningfully at Tomura.

Natsuo did not have time to hesitate. He grabbed onto the first reckless idea that popped into his head and ran with it.

“I can prove he’s not some crazy villain.” Natsuo held out a flippant arm. “Grab my hand, dude.”

Natsuo caught the flash of red eyes, shocked and horrified, under Tomura’s hood and his grip tightened. Under the pretext of jostling him, Natsuo tapped out, I trust you.

“Come on, man, grab my hand and they’ll let us through. Then you can sleep this off.”

Natsuo kept talking so he wouldn’t flinch, rambling about the hangover his friend was going to have tomorrow. He had seen the Quirk in action a few times and while having a layer or two of skin Decayed off wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience, he was pretty sure he could carry this performance through it so long as it was slow enough.

Despite his inane chatter, all of his attention was on Tomura.

Time slowed as that pale, shaking hand rose with nothing to touch but an expanse of uncovered skin. Natsuo should have worn something with proper sleeves. Regrets for later.

Four fingers wrapped tight around Natsuo’s forearm, pinky ghosting over skin to give the illusion of touch. He was trembling so badly, however, it tapped down. Nothing happened.

All five points lingered on his skin in shock, but there was still nothing. No cracking, no flaking, not even a slight dryness.

Had the officers not been equally as invested in the proceedings, they might have noticed both he and Tomura pause, staring.

Forcing himself not to look for some Quirk negating Pro, Natsuo gathered his wits and flashed their audience a wide grin. “See? No villains here.”

Blue relaxed and turned back to the empty street behind Natsuo with a flippant, “You’re free to go.”

Bumpy still squinted after them, but threw up no fuss as they left.

Natsuo, too caught up in the high of escaping, barely noticed Tomura let go to stare at his own hand, dumbstruck and oblivious to anything else.

~-----~

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator up to the fifth floor that Tomura came to life again. If there were any warning signs, Natsuo did not catch them before his back slammed against the brushed metal.

“That was the stupidest thing you've ever done.”

The snarling villain in his face would have terrified most sane people, but Natsuo, helpless to stop it, just burst out laughing. He had abandoned sanity long ago anyway.

“Which part,” he choked out. It was an admittedly long list this afternoon.

The murderous fury drained from Tomura’s face. Then a chuckle punched its way out of his throat and both of them were laughing, just a pair of maniacs in the slowest elevator in Japan.

Chapter Text

The mundane act of standing under the shower's spray, watching the suds flow down the drain with the last of the grime from this very strange day, left Natsuo with a distinct sense of unreality, as though none of it had even happened.

Then, his conscience, so quiet of late, was suddenly screaming out and all he could see for a moment was Atomic’s face. Tomura in the next room, clean, bandaged, and forbidden from moving until the pain effects wore off, had murdered someone only a few hours ago and Natsuo had not only helped him evade justice but invited him to stay as long as he needed, zero reservation about it.

Gut churning, Natsuo shut off the water and snatched up the fresh towel from beside his phone.

It would be so easy to pick up the device and let someone know Tomura was–

The very thought was thrown out of Natsuo’s head with a bone deep, visceral disgust before he’d even fully formed it.

Tomura, his friend, agonized and leaning on him to do even so much as shuffle forward, was too prominent a memory to be brought down by the death of some hero he hadn’t known much about until that afternoon.

There was no point lying to himself now though. The vehemence with which Natsuo refused to turn Tomura over had deeper roots. His arm rose and fingers brushed his lips, the phantom press of skin there thrumming through his body in a steady pulse of warmth and desire.

Still, he frowned at himself in the mirror and dropped his hand. Friends was one thing, but this was a cliff into the abyss Natsuo was about to dive straight off. There would be no coming back.

If anyone ever found out, a line of people would be slavering at the chance to dissect him, heart, body, and mind. That was to say nothing of any enemies Tomura had among the villains or allies eager to press on his new, near Quirkless weak point.

It wasn’t just dangerous for him either. If the wrong people decided to make trouble, anyone associated with Natsuo would be fair game.

Such danger and attention from villains and the media was, depressingly, nothing new to Natsuo, however. The difference here would be that no side would protect him but Tomura, the two of them against the entire world. Heroes and police, his once protectors, would be hounding them without rest or mercy and there’d be a cell with Natsuo’s name on it, any chance at all for normalcy gone.

Giving into this wasn’t the smart move, not from any angle. Trying to imagine his life without Tomura, however, left the world a tilted, nebulous haze.

He got dressed and, still tousling his hair dry, found Tomura sat on the floor before his coffee table glaring at an open video game case. He glanced up and, as their eyes met, Natsuo’s world righted again.

He hadn’t been teetering on a cliff; he’d already jumped. Those anxieties, while rational and well founded, were little more than his last, denial riddled scrambling for a ledge or rope that wasn’t there.

"You're a glitch," Tomura informed him without preamble.

Natsuo was slow coming down from this world altering revelation and could not parse meaning from that.

At the questioning raise of his eyebrow, Tomura carefully set the game aside and picked up its case, one of the many that had made its way into Natsuo’s apartment and held no clear ownership between them. His face screwed up in concentration, he took hold of it with all five fingers. For a second it seemed fine, but then the grey waste of Decay turned most of the plastic to dust in a few short beats before it was released.

Growling in wordless frustration, Tomura slammed his fist into this largest of several piles Natsuo had failed to notice.

“Tease me with a new power for one cut scene? That’s not fair.” Tomura scraped ragged nails over rough skin, nearly ripping off one of the bandages.

Natsuo, gentle but leaving no room for argument, pulled Tomura’s hand away and settled down beside him.

“Maybe you haven’t fully leveled up yet,” Natsuo said, his fingers dancing through familiar assurances against Tomura’s wrist, “But that just means you have something to look forward to. Right?”

Tomura picked at the sleeve of one of Natsuo’s shirts with two fingers, lost. Though the sweater had always been a bit small on Natsuo, Tomura was swimming in it.

It made him look unbearably soft.

“I still can’t believe we pulled that off,” Natsuo laughed, nudging Tomura with his shoulder, not quite brave enough to do more.

Tomura smirked at him, amused. “You’re so stupid.”

Natsuo gave him his best Cheshire grin. “Only for you.”

Tomura’s mouth opened like he was about to speak but he was suddenly looking at Natsuo as though he’d never really seen him before and wasn't sure exactly what to do with him now.

Hesitant, those brilliant, crimson eyes traveled down his face. Natsuo’s heart jumped. The ghost press of Tomura’s lips on his from the alley was making his head spin. He was about to lean forward and test memory against reality when Tomura glanced away, a frown marring his features.

Then there was a finger on Natsuo’s arm tapping out, Did you mean it?

Yes. He didn’t have to think about the answer.

Tomura bit his lip, a second finger joining the first and then a third. His eyes flitted back up to Natsuo as he settled a fourth finger against his skin. His thumb still hovered in question and he waited, breath held and fingers starting to shake.

That was the question he’d been asking. A momentary stab of disappointment dredged up a far too familiar, grating voice in the back of his head yelling that of course Tomura only cared about that, not even a villain would want a failure like him.

Swallowing back the bile that rose with that, Natsuo forced himself to focus on the reality of Tomura. Whatever his feelings toward Natsuo, this was still his friend and he was asking for help. Even if the first time had just been a fluke, Tomura learning to use his Quirk better could only be a good thing and his logic from before was probably still sound; Tomura had used a lot of power today.

The grey, unrecognizable pile of dust was still in full view on the coffee table, but Natsuo forced himself not to look at it, not to think about it. With a nod, his free hand dropped down on Tomura’s thumb and, gentle and slow, he pressed the pad onto his own skin. Again, there was no crumbling or cracking, just warm, dry skin against his own.

Tomura’s smile was small but dazzling as he stared down at his hand wrapped around Natsuo’s forearm. Natsuo wanted to trace the shape of it but held himself back, the words and their doubts getting louder.

Then Tomura’s eyes were on him again and his head went silent.

He was looking at Natsuo the same way he always did when he wanted a hug but couldn't ask for it in words. Now, however, he had tilted his chin up, his eyes flicking down Natsuo’s face and back up again.

All the tension left Natsuo in a breath that was half amusement, half relief. He leaned in until their lips just brushed, teasing. Tomura’s fingers flexed on his arm like he was worried Natsuo might pull away as he tilted his head to one side and drew him in.

Then an itching, burning sensation started on Natsuo’s arm.

He hissed out a pained breath and Tomura jerked back like he’d been struck, knocking Natsuo’s hand aside. He froze and Natsuo traced the line his wide, terrified eyes drew down to the grey rain falling from Natsuo’s forearm.

Several layers of skin, spanning much of the area between wrist and elbow, had simply dried up and were flaking off into nothing, blood oozing sluggishly off the abused skin.

Panic driving him, Tomura dragged Natsuo up in a hard, feverish hold that left no room for struggling, his own pain and injuries forgotten, and rushed them into the bathroom muttering out a half terrified, half furious stream of, “No no no no no!”

Natsuo paid little mind to what he was doing, however, too caught up in poking around at the edges of his ruined skin. It wasn’t pleasant, the nerves raw and exposed, but it had, at least, stopped spreading.

Then Tomura cursed violently over the loud slamming of metal on tile as the handle of Natsuo’s first aid kit became yet another victim of his Quirk. Before he could do more damage to himself or the apartment, Natsuo grabbed his shoulder.

“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Breath coming in short gasps, Tomura whipped his head around, eyes darting in crazed jumps between Natsuo’s face and his arm. A single, trembling finger tapped out the short demand for confirmation and Natsuo nodded, tapping an affirmative back with a reassuring smile.

Tomura went boneless, his back thumping against the wall as he slid down to the floor in a heavy heap, legs drawn up to his chest. His hands dug into his hair and he curled in on himself until his forehead touched his knees.

The deeply uncomfortable reality of his arm reasserted itself and Natsuo had to face the fact that he could do nothing for Tomura while he still needed looking after himself.

Washing and disinfecting with rote ease, his fingers developed a tremor as the worse endings to that scenario began playing in his head on nauseating loop. His arm completely gone, Decay eating its way up his neck and across his torso, erasing all traces of Natsuo Todoroki. His stomach clenched as his imagination conjured up in vivid detail Tomura, sobbing and pleading, helpless to stop what he’d started.

That near brush with death should have had him running for the hills but still all he could think of was Tomura. He really was in this too deep.

He settled closer than necessary beside his villainous companion as he popped open the fallen kit and nudged Tomura’s shoulder. “Can I borrow a couple of fingers?”

Tomura glanced briefly out of the curtain of his hair, eyes rimmed in red, before flinching away. Still, he held out thumb and forefinger, arm supported limply on his knee, and gripped anything Natsuo placed there.

Truth be told, Natsuo didn’t really need as much help as he asked for, but moving his wrist was not ideal from a comfort standpoint and giving Tomura something productive to do seemed wise.

The bandaging finally secured in place, Natsuo breathed out a sardonic laugh. “Well, that could have gone better.”

“I. Almost. Killed. You,” Tomura said, enunciating every word like Natsuo was some annoying toddler who didn’t fully understand the language yet.

“You skinned me at worst.”

Flippancy had been the wrong choice as Tomura finally raised his head to shoot him a sharp glare.

Natsuo gentled his tone, “Accidents happen. You weren’t trying to hurt me.”

Fury driving him to his feet, Tomura yelled, “Why are you so calm about this? Do you have any idea how easy it would have been to,” he cut himself off, fighting down a sob with limited success.

Natsuo jumped up and caught him as his balance compromised and his head swayed dangerously toward the wall. Tomura gave a pathetic attempt to pull away but Natsuo held tight to his shoulders, forcing Tomura to look at him.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be,” Tomura snarled, voice broken. Tears cascaded down his face as he blinked the wetness from his eyes in sharp, irritable motions.

“Maybe,” Natsuo cupped his cheeks and brushed the tear tracks away with his thumbs, “but you haven’t given me a reason yet.”

Tomura scoured his face a long moment, wet eyes darting between his like he could catch the lie there if he were quick enough.

“You don’t make any sense,” he muttered as the tension began to bleed out of him and he leaned into Natsuo’s touch.

The impulse too much to resist, Natsuo dropped a quick kiss at the crown of his head. He almost expected Tomura to tense at the simple gesture of affection, but he relaxed so suddenly they both nearly toppled over.

Huffing out a laugh at the turns his life had taken in only a few short hours, Natsuo lead them off to his room with a simple, “Come on, you’re exhausted.”

Tomura grumbled his protest, but he didn’t put up any resistance and was fighting to remain conscious the second he became horizontal. Bleary red eyes blinked up at Natsuo as he pulled the blanket around Tomura’s shoulders. Then a hand flashed out, snagging his shirt in a three fingered grip. With a fond chuckle, Natsuo let himself be pulled down.

A possessive arm wrapped around Natsuo’s waist as the blanket settled over both of them and Tomura dug himself into the pillows. Despite the sun painting the dying red stripes of early evening through the room, Natsuo, warm as he had not been in ages, found himself drifting off to the steady rise and fall of Tomura’s chest.

~-----~

The curtain he had neglected to shut the night before woke Natsuo with the hazy grey of early morning.

Tomura lay there beside him, curled up and still as though frozen in time, even his breathing gentle. Not wanting to wake him yet, Natsuo refrained from reaching out, instead tracing the lines his fingers wished to run.

The scars made faint rises and valleys in his skin, breaking up the smooth illusion the faint morning light tried to make of his face, and his hair was a charming mess, spread out now across his pillow and the side of his head.

Then Natsuo’s eye caught on the bandaging at his own wrist, a reminder of the danger Tomura posed, though unwilling. He rolled onto his back and considered the ceiling a moment, the edges of his missing skin protesting any movement. He’d gotten worse falling from his bike as a child, but that couldn’t happen again, he wasn’t going to chance leaving Tomura broken and alone in the aftermath.

He made a note to ask Professor Takei what kind of Quirk control techniques they taught to problematic cases at the pediatric clinic. It was a good place to start considering how unlikely it was anyone had ever bothered teaching any to Tomura, not after All For One got to him.

A finger against his bicep, tapping out a slow greeting, pulled Natsuo from his whirling thoughts and he turned his head. When his eyes met Tomura’s, sleepy but still that burning red, powerful enough to swallow whole galaxies in their depths, his heart melted.

“Hey,” Natsuo murmured as, with not an ounce of hesitation, he rolled back over and finally indulged his earlier yearning to touch.

Spreading his fingers out, he gathered the hair off Tomura’s forehead and, reverence making his movement slow and every strand of hair stand out clear for his appreciation, brushed it back behind his ear. Then he followed the curve of Tomura’s jaw around to test the fit of his cheek in Natsuo’s palm. Tomura’s eyes shut for a brief second, a tiny, blissful smile gracing his lips.

Bathed in soft morning light, this moment of utter perfection carved itself into Natsuo’s heart, integral to his being as breathing.

With a soft huff of amusement, he pressed his forehead to Tomura’s. “I know most people would say it's insane, but I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

Tomura drew back a bit to take in Natsuo’s face in full. The building tempest behind his eyes was a tumultuous whirlwind Natsuo could not fully parse, but Tomura could no longer look at him. He took Natsuo’s wrist between both his index fingers and pulled it away from his face, like the touch was too painful beside his roiling thoughts.

Nerves twisting his gut, Natsuo finally managed to ask, “What is it?”

His eyes flashed down to Natsuo’s arm and then away, grimacing.

“Why do you want this?”

It had the same flavor of asking why Natsuo wanted to be friends, but it spoke so much more clearly of a life lacking. He never failed to lash out when others reached for him and nothing in those eyes said he believed himself worth caring about.

If he had to spend a lifetime, Natsuo would erase that look.

World set alight and certainty roaring through his blood, Natsuo dragged Tomura into a kiss, mouths still rough with sleep. Tomura froze for only a second before he met him with every inch of that ferocity eternally burning in his heart.

Unable and unwilling to be held back, the truth slipped off Natsuo’s tongue in a breathless hush, lips still moving against Tomura’s, “I love you.”

Tomura drew in a sharp breath and pulled back to stare at him, eyes wide and awed but vulnerable as Natsuo had never imagined them capable.

Then his jaw set in a hard line and he growled, threat pulsing through every syllable, “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

The words were too big to say again, pressing on his tongue with their overwhelming layers of meaning. Instead, he took Tomura’s hand in his, not even checking the placement of those deadly fingers, and stared him down with all the determination his father had taught him from afar.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Tomura searched his face for a long moment, fingers twitching, as they often did when he was troubled. Natsuo waited, solid and undeterred.

Finally, “What’s one more pissed off Hero to me? I don’t care. It even sounds fun to rub this in that old man’s face. But,” Tomura paused for breath, steeling himself, “you have a lot more to lose here than I do.”

If Natsuo hadn’t already been thinking along those same lines the night before, he might have been caught off guard by the statement, adrift and at a loss. Now, he scoffed at the idea he cared more what his father thought than being whatever this was with Tomura.

“Don’t get me wrong, this feels a lot bigger, but it isn’t really that different to how it was when we were just friends.”

Thoughts flashed rapid fire behind Tomura’s eyes as they narrowed, ever searching for a knife to the back. “Are you just using this to get back at him for all the shit he’s pulled? I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Tomura.” He dragged Tomura’s reluctant fist up to his chest to press against the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I already told you the reason.”

His throat worked hard around a nervous swallow as his certainty in Natsuo’s duplicitous intentions wavered. “Tell me again.”

Natsuo leaned in so the only thing Tomura could see in all the world was him as he said, low and sure, “I love you.”

Four fingers gripped the fabric of Natsuo’s shirt with bruising strength and Tomura’s breath came in ragged fits and starts. Then, he shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded.

When he looked at Natsuo again it was with that blinding, single minded determination eclipsing all else as he swore, “Then, whatever it takes, I’m keeping you.”

Natsuo should have been scared by a declaration like that, especially considering the source, but this was Tomura’s brand of dramatics and, despite saying the most ridiculous things sometimes, he never failed to draw Natsuo in with them.

“Good, because I’m not letting you go,” Natsuo said, a giddy laugh doing its best to steal the steadiness in his voice as he dragged his boyfriend to his chest in a tight hug.

~-----~

True dawn, however, brought with it the alarm and its reminder that Natsuo still had classes. He offered to let Tomura stay, but the villain muttered something about reassuring the others he was alive and giving the doctor a piece of his mind.

Refusing to waste even a second while he had Tomura beside him, Natsuo grabbed his hand and wove their fingers together as his door shut and locked behind them. Tomura was back to only touching him with two fingers, his pinky and thumb holding tight while the others were straight between Natsuo’s.

Bold, Natsuo raised the back ofTomura’s hand and kissed it. The elevator opened while Tomura was still staring at him like he’d announced he was an extraterrestrial that could kill All Might with only the blink of an eye. He averted his gaze as they stepped in but walked so close to Natsuo as they left the building they were nearly stepping on each other. Natsuo did not care in the slightest, a deep contentment making itself at home in every muscle.

They might have made a strange sight had the early crowd not already cleared off to work for the day. As it was, the street was empty and Natsuo let their arms swing free while he stroked the back of Tomura’s thumb with the pad of his own.

When they reached the corner, Natsuo turned to him, arms open for a hug, but he beat Natsuo to it with gusto. Grabbing the front of his shirt, Tomura dragged him into a kiss so fierce they might have been about to part for weeks.

Natsuo fell into it gladly and stroked a soothing hand down the back of Tomura’s head. It calmed him instantly, the desperation turning slow and sweet. Finally, they pulled back.

“I’ll see you soon.” Tomura said it like a sacred vow and Natsuo had to fight a grin that was too wide to be anything but amused.

Still, he leaned in for one last brief meeting of lips. “I look forward to it.”

The warm affection in Tomura’s parting smile carried him long through the day despite its overdue assignments and irreverent teaching assistants.