Chapter Text
The meeting room was too bright.
That was Touya’s first complaint of the day, not that he ever kept them to himself. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, clinical and unforgiving, and the long-ass table that took up most of the space gleamed like it was trying to blind him. If Endeavor wanted him to be cooperative, maybe he shouldn’t have scheduled these dumbass strategy meetings at eight in the morning.
“I’m gonna burn this place down if that light flickers again,” Touya muttered under his breath, voice gravelly from lack of sleep and an intentional cigarette on the way in. He was slouched in his seat like the room personally offended him, legs spread wide, arms folded, and his hero jacket thrown over the back of the chair like he had somewhere better to be. Spoiler: he always had somewhere better to be.
Across from him, Hawks was already smirking. Of course he was. Keigo fucking Takami, Pro Hero Hawks, number three in the rankings and an insufferable feathered bastard, was seated with his arms lazily draped over the back of his chair, sunglasses perched low on his nose, giving Touya that look. The one that screamed “God, you’re predictable.”
“Aw, come on, Phoenix,” Hawks drawled, grinning like he hadn’t been seconds from a disciplinary write-up last week. “Don’t tell me the big, bad number two hero can’t handle a little ambient lighting. What happens if you run into a villain with a strobe light quirk, huh?”
Touya turned his head very, very slowly. “I will staple your wings to your stupid face.”
From the head of the table, Endeavor sighed. That was the fourth sigh in seven minutes.
“If you two are finished fighting,” he growled, voice low and flinty, “I’d like to begin the meeting so we can actually get something done.”
Mirko snorted so hard she nearly knocked over her bottle of water. Jeanist was massaging his temples. Aizawa hadn’t moved once since the meeting started; Touya was ninety percent sure the man was asleep with his eyes open, a true professional.
Hawks just laughed like Endeavor hadn’t spoken, unfazed as always. He leaned forward and propped his chin on one hand, eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on, Endeavor,” he said, and it always sounded mocking when he said it, “we all know you invited Phoenix here just to keep the temperature up.”
Touya didn’t even look at him. “I’m here to make sure the building actually collapses when I finally snap.”
Endeavor, jaw twitching, slapped a folder onto the table. “Enough.”
The room settled, reluctantly. Touya kicked his boots up onto the table. No one had the energy to fight him on it.
“As you're all aware,” Endeavor said, voice sharp, “the uptick in coordinated villain activity in the last quarter has forced the Commission to initiate more high-level response units. That means smaller, tighter teams of top-ranking heroes in field-specific assignments. You’ll be briefed on your assignments this week, but first, we’re pairing off.”
The room echoed with groans. Mirko cracked her knuckles. Aizawa might have woken up, it was hard to tell with that man.
Touya picked at one of the new burns on his arm with extreme disinterest. He had special cooling equipment to prevent his quirk from burning him, but it had broken in his last fight, which led to a couple of burns along his arms.
“This isn’t negotiable,” Endeavor continued, pinning the room with his signature death glare. “Each team will consist of two to three pros depending on skillset and mission requirements. Pairings were selected based on combat compatibility, specialization, and… temperament.”
Touya snorted, low and mean.“Temperament? So I’m getting paired with Jeanist or something?” he said, not even trying to hide the disdain. “Can’t wait to spend five hours listening to fabric lectures while I light his jeans on fire.”
Jeanist straightened his back and adjusted his high collar like a prissy little debutante. “Some of us actually respect the sanctity of the uniform.”
“Oh yeah?” Touya said. “Maybe I think that your ‘uniform’ should be on fire.”
“Enough,” Endeavor said again, more forcefully.
He pulled out a tablet and began reading down the list, the monotony of his voice almost enough to lull half the room into a collective coma. Touya didn’t bother to listen to the first half of the list.
He only started focusing once he began to hear the names of the higher ranking heroes, the ones he’d most likely be paired with.
“Miruko and Jeanist, Unit X,” he announced.
Mirko grinned, fist-pumping the air. “Hell yeah. Team Buff Bunny and Boring Blazer.”
“I will not respond to that name,” Jeanist muttered, defeated.
“Present Mic and Eraserhead, Unit Y.”
“Aw hell yeah, baby!” Present Mic crowed, elbowing Aizawa, who blinked once and exhaled like it hurt. “We’re back on the streets together! Time to vibe and annihilate!”
Aizawa looked like he was already regretting every life decision that led him here.
And then, Endeavor hesitated. Just for a second but Touya clocked it immediately. Here we fucking go.
“…Phoenix and Hawks. Unit Z.”
Silence. Utter, blessed, choking silence.
It was very quickly ruined by Touya’s anger, “What the actual fuck.”
Touya was already standing. The chair screeched behind him as it toppled over, flames licking harmlessly at his sleeves as his quirk flared in tandem with his rage. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re pairing me with him?”
Hawks, because he had a death wish, just said, “Hey, at least we match. Firebird theme, right? Our quirks work well together, yeah?”
Touya turned to Endeavor, jaw clenched. “This some kind of punishment, old man? Hm? Trying to teach me a lesson about teamwork or some commission bullshit?”
Endeavor’s expression was unreadable, which usually meant he was either suppressing disappointment or preparing to strangle someone in a hallway. Could go either way.
“It’s a strategic pairing,” he said. “Hawks’ aerial mobility complements your combat style. His speed offers coverage for your line-of-sight limitations. You both specialize in aggressive offense and rapid neutralization. Together, you’re-”
“I’d rather die,” Touya interrupted.
“-the most lethal combination on this roster.”
“Well, at least we’re lethal,” Hawks said brightly. “Better than being useless. Looking at you, Jeanist.”
“Is there anyone here that does not want to insult me today?” Jeanist looked completely and utterly done.
“Boys,” Miruko drawled, feet propped up on the table. “Either shut up and kiss or shut up and fight, I don’t care which.”
Hawks smirked. “You volunteering for referee duty, Mirko?”
She flipped him off without looking.
Endeavor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ll be expected to operate as a functional unit for the duration of the assignment cycle. That means joint patrols, intel debriefs, and coordinated engagement on all major missions.”
“I’m not coordinating anything with this pigeon,” Touya snapped. “He’s a corporate shill with a punchable face and a 50/50 kill ratio in interviews.”
“Aw, babe, you watch my interviews?” Hawks said, hand over his heart. “I’m touched. Jealousy looks cute on you.”
Touya’s flames sparked at his fingertips. “Say one more word and I’m roasting your smug ass.”
“Can’t roast what’s already smokin’.”
A blast of heat surged across the table. A red feather intercepted it mid-air and vaporised.
“ENOUGH!” Endeavor barked, eyes blazing. “You’re both acting like children. You’re top-ranking pro heroes, not schoolyard rivals. If you can’t handle being in a room together without threatening arson and homicide, then I’ll personally have you reassigned to sewer patrol in Hosu with no hazard pay.”
That shut them up. Mostly. Touya dropped back into his seat like gravity betrayed him, still glaring daggers at Hawks, who winked. The air between them sizzled with unresolved tension, and not the fun kind. The ‘I will end you in your sleep’ kind.
“Fine,” Touya said. “I’ll work with him. But if he starts shedding feathers in my general vicinity, I’m making a pillow out of his remains.”
“Deal,” Hawks said, leaning back. “Just don’t try to set me on fire. Again.”
Mirko cackled. Jeanist sighed like a Victorian widow.
“God,” Touya muttered. “This is hell. I’ve died. I’m in hell and it’s staffed by winged assholes and my emotionally constipated father.”
Endeavor didn’t bother responding, but the vein in his forehead throbbed visibly.
“Unit Z,” he said flatly. “You’ll receive your mission briefings within forty-eight hours. Report to Dispatch by 0600 Monday morning. Dismissed.”
As the rest of the room began to file out, Touya remained seated, arms crossed, seething quietly. Hawks stood and stretched, wings flexing behind him like he knew they were annoying. He looked down at Touya and grinned.
“Well, partner,” he said, smug as ever. “Looks like we’re stuck together.”
Touya stared at him with all the loathing of a man trying to ignite someone’s soul on fire through sheer willpower.
“If you call me partner again, I’m setting your wings on fire.”
Hawks gave a lazy salute, then turned and walked away, feathers fluttering in his wake.
Touya flipped him off with both hands.
Endeavor watched the whole thing in exhausted silence.
——
Touya slammed his apartment door hard enough to rattle the frame and maybe give his neighbor a heart attack. Good. Let them suffer. Misery loved company, and he was currently radiating the emotional equivalent of a dumpster fire in an active volcano.
He didn’t bother turning on the lights. He knew the layout, tight, clean, aggressively black and blue. The apartment was small, sharp, and modern, exactly how he liked it. Everything had a place, everything was intentional. No clutter. No softness. No wings, most importantly.
His jacket hit the floor the second the door shut behind him. Boots came off mid-stride, flung somewhere near the coffee table. His gloves followed, smoldering faintly when they touched the floor. He stomped into the living room and immediately lit a cigarette with a flick of his finger, dragging deep before blowing the smoke out in a single bitter exhale.
“Unit Z,” he muttered, pacing. “Unit Z, like this is a goddamn PowerPoint group project and I got stuck with the class clown who thinks he’s hot shit because he’s got a nice quirk.”
He kicked the side of the couch. It hurt, but he kicked it again anyway.
“To hell with that feathery little freak. ‘Fire Bird’. Seriously?” He took another drag, nearly crushing the cigarette, and exhaled through his nose. “I should’ve set the conference room on fire. It would’ve done society a favor.”
He was spiraling, and he knew it. Good. Let it burn. He stalked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and downed it like it was vodka and he was trying to forget a one-night stand.
The problem wasn’t just that he’d been partnered with Keigo fucking Takami. Okay, no, that was the problem. Full stop. But what made it worse was that Endeavor knew exactly what he was doing. Strategic pairing his ass. That man was trying to force some lesson out of him again, like he was seventeen and still doing underground hero work in spite of everything, still throwing middle fingers at Commission cameras, still-
No. Not going there. He slammed the glass down on the counter so hard it cracked.
“Fucking fabulous,” he muttered, tossing it into the sink like it personally offended him. “Next I’ll get fined for being ‘reckless with others’ or some Commission shit.”
He hated this. Not just the pairing, not just the bullshit pretense of “compatibility” that Endeavor had slapped onto this assignment like duct tape on a crumbling wall. No, he hated what it meant. Patrols. Briefings. Shared airtime. Having to look at Hawks’ smug little face every goddamn day for who knew how long. Being associated with him. Publicly.
And the media was going to eat it up.
Phoenix and Hawks, flame and feather! The Firebird Duo! Ugh. They’d probably get a fucking team name. The Commission would slap them on a poster together, smiling like best friends. Maybe they'd sell matching keychains.
He was going to vomit. Or combust. Or both.
Touya stormed onto the balcony and lit another cigarette with the embers of the last one. The city buzzed below, late-night lights smearing the skyline in neon and noise. He leaned on the railing, white hair flickering faintly in the breeze like the world itself was taunting him.
“Why him,” he muttered aloud. “Why that asshole. Why not Mirko? Or even Eraserhead. Hell, Jeanist. I’d take the denim man over feather-for-brains.”
He inhaled sharply. Let it out slower. Tried to breathe. Tried not to punch the railing.
The thing about Keigo wasn’t that he was just annoying. He was, absolutely, in a way that made Touya’s skin itch and his eye twitch and his hands spark involuntarily.
But worse than that, far worse, was that Hawks was slippery. Too good at smiling, too fast with a joke, always three steps ahead in the public’s eye and never easy to pin down when he got caught in a lie. Touya knew people like him. Had dated people like him. Had been hurt by people like him.
Metaphorically. Mostly.
Hawks was the kind of guy who played nice on camera, threw up peace signs for the paparazzi, and then turned around and stabbed someone in the back because it looked “cleaner than a frontal assault.”
The fact that people adored him just made it worse. Number three hero, Touya scoffed internally. How many backroom deals and fake-ass charity events did that take, huh? How many staged rescues and social media pushes? Touya had earned number two by throwing himself into literal hellholes. He bled for that rank. He burned for it. He didn't play politics, he didn’t charm the press, he didn’t shake hands with CEOs whose buildings collapsed on civilians.
But Hawks? Hawks could smile at a corpse and make it look like a photo op, and Touya hated him for it. And now they were partners.
His phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Probably mission briefings already, but he didn’t check.
Instead, he went to the bedroom, ripped open his closet, and pulled out his spare combat jacket, the one with the heavier plating and scorched marks from his last solo op. He tossed it on the bed, then yanked the zippers open on his utility pouches and dumped the contents out in a pile. Bandages, cuffs, smoke bombs, all the usual gear.
He dug through it like it owed him money.
“Need to change patrol routes,” he muttered. “He flies high, so I’ll stick to street level. Won’t need him for crowd control, I can handle that with- shit, where are my backup comms…”
He paused, then growled and threw a comm device across the room. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor.
The apartment was too quiet and way too clean. He needed to hit something.
Instead, he grabbed a pen and scrawled the word Hawks on a sticky note, then slapped it onto the microwave. He stared at it, then burned the corner of the note until it curled and blackened.
“That’s what’s coming for you, birdbrain.”
Another buzz from his phone. This time he did check.
Message from: Commission Dispatch Subject: Unit Z Joint Patrol Schedule Attachments: Route Plans, Priority Zones, Patrol Rotation (August–September)
He opened the attachment and immediately let out the most disgusted sound a human could make.
“Joint patrols scheduled 4x weekly. Debrief every Friday, HQ East Wing. Shared comms channel active 24/7. First mission is set for examination of a building tomorrow. Optional ‘team cohesion exercise’ scheduled for Monday at 6:00PM.”
Team. Cohesion. Exercise.
“Oh hell no.”
He responded with one word: REJECTED.
A minute later: Response from Dispatch: “Acknowledged. Team cohesion marked as mandatory. Refusal will result in disciplinary evaluation. Please review hero contract addendum 4C: ‘Partnered Protocols.’”
Touya stared at the message like it personally insulted his ancestry.
“You’re all cowards,” he told the screen, and then lobbed the phone onto the couch.
He stalked back to the balcony, lit another cigarette, and glared up at the night sky like it might burst into flames if he hated it hard enough.
There was a distant flutter of wings.
For a half-second, Touya squinted.
He swore he saw a shadow pass overhead. Just a flicker, but it was enough to piss him off.
He shouted into the sky: “If that’s you, Takami, I’m putting a fucking net over my balcony!”
No answer. He didn’t expect one. But he left the sliding door open just in case. Let him try it. Let him come fluttering down all casual like, “Oh hey, partner, just flying by!” Let him try that “aww shucks” routine here, in Touya’s personal space. Touya had fire. And no patience.
He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up into the wind.
Tomorrow, it all started. Missions. Patrols. Briefings. Being seen with him. Keigo fucking Takami, Number three hero and the Commission’s golden boy. The one person who could get under Touya’s skin with a single smirk.
He took a final drag and flicked the cigarette over the edge, watching it fall like a tiny, burning omen.
“God help me,” he muttered, turning back inside. “If I don’t commit a felony in the next week, it’ll be a miracle.” Touya cracked his knuckles.
Bring it on, birdbrain.