Chapter Text
One Year Later
December 25th, 2 hours since the start of the annual Todoroki Christmas party...
“Oh, the place looks absolutely beautiful, Rei,” Inko coos, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “You outdo yourself every year.”
“And you say that every year,” Rei teases, ducking her head bashfully all the same as she leans against the kitchen counter. The house is a riot of noise and colour, Christmas decorations strung on every wall and surface, and the kitchen is quickly being filled with an army’s worth of dirty plates and dishes as the younger attendees make quick work of turning Rei’s lovely dining room into a brewery. Natsu has already moved an entire sound-system downstairs in preparation for the party, and a sudden blast of deafening party music has everyone wincing before it gets turned down to a more bearable volume. Natsuo shouts out an insincere ‘sorry!’ that has Rei rolling her eyes fondly.
Usually, she would retire upstairs by now, but she’s found herself lured into conversation, as she allows herself more and more these days, with Inko Midoriya and Mitsuki Bakugo.
“But this year is different!” Inko beams. “There’s just something about it. The very best of Christmases.”
“Inko’s just thrilled our sons finally figured their shit out,” Mitsuki huffs, taking a swig of hot chocolate that Rei knows to be more brandy than anything else. It has the other women chuckling, and Mitsuki raises her voice as she continues speaking, “You know, after two long, long decades of being idiots and doing nothing about the very obvious feelings everyone else knew about!”
“I heard you the first ten thousand fucking times, let it go already!” Katsuki hollers from the living room. How the Bakugos manage to be the loudest in a thriving house party without even trying is almost a skill.
Mitsuki looks smug.
“Does he always swear so much?” Rei asks, because Mitsuki’s attendance at this year’s party has brought out an entirely new side to Katsuki that she’s always been aware of but never actually seen.
Inko snorts into her mug. Mitsuki's expression falls into something blank and unimpressed.
“You fucking serious?”
“He gets it off his mother.”
“Watch it, Inko.”
The three of them are laughing when the boy in question stomps into the kitchen, scowling between them before landing that fierce glare on his mother. His usual intimidation is lost to the Santa hat he’s had forced onto usually wild hair.
“You know I can hear you from in there, right?” he growls.
Mitsuki, a little drunk and entirely fond, gets him in a headlock and begins to repeatedly kiss his head in a gesture that somehow still manages to look aggressive.
“Don’t be such a hardass all your life, Kats,” she cackles as he begins yelling and trying to wrestle her off, but he’s the Number 2 Pro-Hero – if he wanted to fight back, he could. It's actually incredibly cute to see the faux hits he throws at her, though Rei knows better than to say as much.
“I think we’re all just hoping this year won’t be as eventful as last Christmas,” Izuku chimes in, having appeared quietly in the doorway with a smile as he watches Katsuki and Mitsuki. Inko moves to nudge her son fondly, and he blushes. A whole year of teasing about how he and Katsuki finally got together, and it still embarrasses him.
“Well,” Rei says, trying to bite back a smile of her own and appear unbiased, “I may know a thing or two that suggests the contrary.”
Mitsuki shoves Katsuki off her immediately, straightening up like a hunting dog who’s caught a scent, and even Inko, not nearly as innocent as she makes out, gasps in excitement.
“What do you know?” Mitsuki demands. “Tell me. Now.”
“Nothing for certain!” Rei laughs. “Just that... I may have given my blessing to someone not long ago...”
“Oh my God!” Inko flutters her hands excitedly. “Oh my God, Usagiyama or Takami? Are they going to do it today? Oh my goodness, another Christmas proposal!”
“Hardly another,” Izuku says bashfully. Katsuki comes over and snakes an arm around his waist, knocking his chin against the other boy’s head.
“Yeah, thanks to who?”
“Whatever, Kacchan.”
“No, I want to hear you say it.”
Izuku huffs, but turns to face Katsuki all the same, entirely comfortable in his arms in a way Rei has slowly watched them get used to over the past few months. She feels very lucky to have witnessed it at all, especially with all the details Mitsuki and Inko have shared at their bi-weekly wine nights about the truly tragic twenty years of pining and miscommunication.
“You’re right,” Izuku admits, “I owe everything, all my thanks and gratitude, to the person who managed to stop an engagement that I can now see with hindsight would have made neither party happy. Truly, thank you so much, Himiko Toga, for stepping up and dragging you along with her-.”
“You got some damn nerve!” Katsuki explodes, but his grin is a fierce, delighted thing, and Izuku bursts out laughing.
“All that’s left is for you two to finally get married,” Inko says wistfully.
“Oh, that would be lovely!” Rei coos.
Both boys pale under the pinned attention only overbearing mothers can give, and Mitsuki cackles, slapping Katsuki roughly on the back and mussing Izuku’s hair.
“Don’t scare the brats now!” she says. “The last thing I need is Katsuki burying his head in the sand for another twenty years.”
“Hag, that is not-.”
“Now, now, Mitsuki, Izuku could have communicated sooner too-.”
“Mom-!”
Rei laughs into her mug, thinking about weddings and children and how both used to be such painful things. It's so easy now, in her house full of noise and joy and love, as it always should have been.
Suddenly, a blur of blonde darts into the kitchen, and Himiko Toga launches herself at Katsuki. She's wearing a grey waistcoat and trouser set that shows off sharp collarbones and long legs, the latter of which she immediately wraps around Katsuki’s waist as she latches herself onto his back.
“The hell, crazy?!” Katsuki yells, trying to yank her off.
“You said you were gonna dance with meeeee,” Himiko whines. “You’ve been gone ages!”
“Did I fuck say I’d dance with you! Go ask Tomura!”
“He’s playing Mario Party!”
“Keigo, then!”
“Him and Dabi disappeared after dinner!”
Rei sends a loaded look to Mitsuki and Inko, and both women immediately go wide-eyed and understanding, smacking each other non-too-subtly and hunching their heads to speak in fast-paced, excited whispers.
Katsuki manages to shrug Himiko off, and she pouts up at him.
“I’ll dance with you, Himiko,” Izuku offers, nudging his boyfriend with a chastising look that, hilariously, actually manages to make Katsuki look as close to sheepish as the boy ever gets.
Himiko jumps up and down joyfully. “Yay! You were always my favourite, Izuku! Let's go!”
She drags him unceremoniously to the dining room, which has become an impromptu dancefloor with the table pushed to the wall, Natsuo’s horrific party playlist blaring obtrusively through the house. Rei's lucky she doesn’t have any neighbours directly attached to her, or she’s sure she’d be very unpopular.
As the younger trio disappears with enough noise to distract Mitsuki and Inko, Rei is the only one to glance into the hallway and spot her eldest son sneaking back into the party with his boyfriend, looking a little more dishevelled than earlier.
She snorts into her hot chocolate, but moves quickly to the doorway before she misses them.
“Touya!” she calls, and those blue eyes whirl on her in surprise. He looks caught, in that way none of her children grew out of despite age and circumstance, and it’s a delightfully endearing expression, but not nearly flustered enough for the conversation she’s anticipating to have happened yet. A fierce shake of Keigo’s head behind Touya’s back confirms it, and Rei purses her lips to keep back a smile.
“You okay?” Touya asks, confused by her randomly calling him over. It's little things like this easy openness that always make Rei embarrassingly emotional. Each of her children have been a gift to her, but it would be a lie to say they haven’t each presented a challenge as well, and perhaps none have hurt as badly as Touya. To have lost a child, her first baby, and live with the guilt of it for over a decade - it isn’t the kind of wound she will ever heal from. Every new detail revealed of the life Touya had been forced to lead in the wake of her neglect is just as painful as the first. They exist around each other in flinches. Relearning love is a delicate process. He still holds onto his anger like a frightened child not knowing where the next strike will come from. She still hides within herself when things get loud. By all accounts, they should be the worst suited to each other in the whole family.
But the fire could not take gentleness from Touya, nor a sharp humour, nor a river-wide protectiveness. He is every piece and scar the little boy she loved all those years ago, and she loves him desperately now. She couldn’t be more proud of how far he’s come, of all he did to come back to her, of the life settling softly around him now.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Rei says, reaching out to cup Touya’s face, and neither of them flinch from it, even if his expression immediately falls when he sees her tearing up a little.
“Mama,” he sighs, rolling his eyes for appearances, pushing into her touch just for the two of them to know, “you seriously doing this now? Come on, it's a party.”
Rei lets out a wet laugh. “I’m just so happy for you. So happy.”
Behind Touya, Keigo looks suddenly like a deer in headlights. She waves them off before she can be tempted to spill secrets that aren’t hers to tell, a smile on her face.
December 25th, 10 minutes earlier at the annual Todoroki Christmas Party...
“The fuck’s gotten into you?” Touya hisses as Keigo shoves him through the nearest door away from the heart of the party, ultimately finding them in a closet full of coats. He nearly stumbles right into the mass of hangers, but greedy hands steady his hips, and before he knows it, there’s a hot mouth at his neck.
Keigo hums into his skin. “Nothin’. Thinkin’ ‘bout you. S'nothin.”
“We are not fucking in this closet,” Touya says firmly, though he can feel his resolve crumbling with each brush of clever fingers beneath his shirt.
“Mmmm, remember that time in the PLF mansion?” Keigo pulls back with a mean grin, knocking his nose against Touya’s.
Touya narrows his eyes. “What, when we fucked in one of the side rooms and you tried to kill Jin, like, two days later? That time?”
“Babe, I said I was sorry,” Keigo whines. “I said I was sorry so many times.”
Touya’s smile curls up into something wicked, tracing hot hands through sensitive feathers and yanking his boyfriend closer.
“Five minutes,” he offers finally, resolve well and truly shot to shit.
“Ten.”
“What happened to the fastest man alive?” he challenges, knowing it still gets a rise out of the hero, despite allowing himself to slip into the lower hero rankings as the years pass. Sure enough, Keigo’s expression stills, predator gaze pinning, and Touya nearly takes the coat rack down when he’s shoved indelicately against the wall.
They try and sneak back into the party afterwards, only to be caught by Rei. She says nothing about Touya’s ruffled hair and the hickeys already blossoming on his neck, but still chooses that moment to get all emotional on him while he seriously contemplates setting himself on fire again.
“What was that about?” Touya hisses when Rei returns to chatting with Inko and Mitsuki, frowning over at Keigo.
Keigo won’t look at him, just grabs his hand and drags him towards the music.
“Not a clue!” he says, too quickly.
Touya blames his strangely flustered tone on being caught by Rei, and thinks no more of it.
“Why are you so good at this? They give you a switch in prison?”
“Natsuo!”
“What? What did I say?”
Fuyumi scowls at him from where she’s cuddled up against Rumi on the other sofa, and her girlfriend cackles at Natsuo’s blank, clueless expression.
“It’s a rehabilitation centre,” Shouto says with a bizarre amount of intonation. Shit, is his baby brother drunk? “Not a prison. Shigaraki already served that part of his sentence.”
“Oh, my bad, man,” Natsuo says, looking over at the ex-villain who he’s not only currently sharing a sofa with but also having his ass handed to him by on Mario Party. Shigaraki looks remarkably unbothered, not even glancing over as nimble fingers fly over the controls. Natsuo can’t help but notice that, despite the artist gloves he wears, Shigaraki instinctively games without his pinkies. It shows an impressive dexterity, and Natsuo is at a stage of tipsy where it’s only after 10 seconds and a smack to the shin from Shouto that he realises staring at Tomura Shigaraki’s hands like some sort of creep is probably contributing to his consistent losing streak.
He smacks Shouto’s head regardless, purposely ruffling his split hair so that the colours get messed up, and cackles at the glare his little brother sends him over his shoulder. Rookie error, sitting on the floor within teasing range of one of his brothers, let alone after throwing the first hit.
Natsuo drinks more the more he loses, and he manages to cajole Shigaraki into drinking with him half the time. No one can beat Natsuo’s tolerance though. After a while, they’ve been gaming long enough that the other party guests have left the living room to find entertainment elsewhere, and it’s just Natsuo and Shigaraki drinking and trash talking each other, and it’s fun. Companionable.
They'd spent last year’s Christmas party the same way. Natsuo had been intrigued by Shigaraki from the moment he saw him at the front door, and he’s never found it hard starting conversations, so he pursued it. Shigaraki's brand of social awkwardness was so shockingly, delightfully innocent that Natsuo had been blindsided by him. He couldn’t reconcile this uncertain man with the younger, angrier face he’d seen plastered on billboards and splashed over headlines. A murderer. A villain.
And the one who, ultimately, defeated All For One.
It had psyched Natsuo out a bit, the dark lake of history sitting beneath Shigaraki’s endearingly shy surface. He hadn’t thought anything of it. A quick connection at a party. Another stranger could-have-been who got away. No harm, no foul.
Except he hasn’t stopped thinking about the other man all year. There’s something about him, something that haunted any attempt at connection or casual hook-up Natsuo’s attempted since. No one compelled him like Shigaraki did. A single brush of their shoulders when the villain had left last Christmas burned against Natsuo’s skin fiercer than any night since.
So, he swore to himself that this Christmas, he’ll take the jump. Something casual. Maybe Shigaraki will shoot him down and put him out of his misery, and he can move on. After all, Natsuo Todoroki is the void of the family, a cold breath, a black sky behind burning stars. For Touya, for Shouto, even for Fuyumi to be great, to be listened to, but Natsuo?
He knows who he is. He knows what he offers.
“You’re staring at me again,” Shigaraki says suddenly, and Natsuo blinks, realising that the game’s been paused and Shigaraki is eyeing him with sceptical red eyes. His hair is in a ponytail this year. Natsuo wants to touch in a burst of such sudden want that it buckles him, makes him brave, loosens his tongue, although that’s probably the bottle of vodka they’ve been passing back and forth.
“Can’t help it,” he shrugs. “You’re pretty.”
He has the delight of watching the former leader of the League of Villains turn instantly, impossibly red-faced, and laughs joyfully at the sight, making the other man duck his head with a sudden fascination for the controller in his hands.
“Fuck off,” Shigaraki hisses.
“This is my party.”
“Fuck off anyway.”
Natsuo continues laughing, nudging against Shigaraki good-naturedly, and when that touch isn’t rejected, he lets himself lean a little more into his side. That flush to his face somehow strengthens, and spooked, red eyes flick to the side to watch Natsuo like he’s assessing a threat. Natsuo doesn’t move, doesn’t advance but doesn’t pull away, leaves the ball resting easily in Shigaraki’s court.
“Todoroki-.”
“Call me Natsuo.”
Shigaraki swallows nervously. “Natsuo...” Oh, isn’t that a nice sound? “You should be calling me Tomura then.”
Natsuo's grin is wolfish. “Tomura.”
“Fuck sake,” the ex-villain exhales, his voice suddenly dry, quiet. Natsuo is too scared of ruining the moment to even breathe. “Natsuo, I don’t... I don’t know why you’re... why every year you... I thought maybe you were just being polite, but you haven’t hung out with anyone else in hours and I....” Something hardens in his expression, a shadow of the proud, stubborn villain willing to fight the world alone if he had to, and he had to.
“Do I have the right idea about this?” he asks bluntly, coldly. It's all a front. Natsuo can read it a mile off, overly familiar with stubborn men hiding wounds they’re too scared to show.
Natsuo could act playful, crude. Usually with a potential hook-up, he opts for confidence, keeps it casual. He's about to open his mouth on some inane innuendo, but instead, he finds himself offering a small, kind smile, and when he speaks, it’s all real, all raw, laid out messy and bleeding.
“I like you, Tomura,” he whispers, pressing their shoulders just a little bit closer together. “I really like you. It’s... I don’t know... And I know I’m a nobody... I’ve got nothing special to offer but... but still... maybe...”
The next thing he knows, too-careful fingers grab a fistful of his shirt and tug, and then, he’s kissing warm, slightly dry lips, and everything – the faint argument happening in the next room, the blaring music, the sounds of the pause screen – goes completely quiet.
It's quick, adorably chaste, but Natsuo freezes in his half-leaned forward position, a breath away from Tomura’s face, unable to blink as he just stares, and stares, and stares. Tomura ducks his head, suddenly shy again.
“I don’t think you’re nobody,” Tomura says, almost to himself.
Natsuo swallows. “Oh.”
“Another round?”
Tomura means Mario Party. Natsuo knows he means Mario Party, spots the little gesture of the controller Tomura does when he speaks, but the quiet that briefly possessed Natsuo is receding back like a wave about to roar into a tsunami, and he smiles, slow but suggestive.
“That’s pretty forward,” he says. “But I always make sure my room is off limits during these parties, if you’re really interested...”
“One more shot.”
“No.”
“Shoutaaaa, one more.”
“We are on duty. No.”
“Literally no one here sees this as an actual assignment,” Hizashi pesters. “You don’t even see this as an actual assignment. He was fine last year, and Oboro already told him not to do anything stupid. You know he hates to disappoint Oboro.”
Shouta regards his husband with an impressively deep scowl, but slightly drunken, his slanted mouth looks more like a pout, his long black hair falling messily around his shoulders. Hizashi, who has drunk more than Shouta and probably the nearest three people combined, looks shockingly put together in comparison, his blonde hair half pulled back in a knot, the rest of him cleaned up nicely in a suit. Shouta is mad at him for this, for looking more composed than him despite which of them is glaringly the most responsible. Fuck Hizashi. And fuck having to do an assignment on Christmas Day.
Yes, Shouta knows that supervising one of Tomura Shigaraki’s day excursions during his rehabilitation is no laughing matter, and while he’s shown zero inclination towards doing anything, the ex-villain still poses a massive threat. But anyone who’s spent even five minutes with the man in the past few years can tell he’s not exactly planning world domination anymore. He’s actually a remarkably quiet character, unless he’s losing one of his video games, in which case he can rival even Bakugo for yelling. Shouta does not make such comparisons lightly.
And besides, Shouta and Hizashi both know that these Christmas parties mean too much to him for the ex-villain to risk jeopardising them in any way for himself.
“Compromise!” Hizashi shouts suddenly, pointing at the ceiling. “How about me, you, and Shigaraki all do a shot, that way we’re all on the same playing field, and maybe he’ll even be brave enough to kiss the Todoroki-.”
Shouta elbows his husband, who doesn’t have a quiet setting, but despite them being in their own corner, hiding out on the porch where a few others have come out to smoke or play beer pong, Shouta is never free from his overbearing, clingy, eavesdropping former students, and Ashido suddenly appears in front of him.
“What did you just say about Shigaraki?” she gasps, staring at Hizashi with wide, gossip-seeking eyes.
“No,” Shouta says, pushing her away by her head, but she bounces back easily.
Hizashi leans forward, speaking in a faux whisper. “We think he has the hots for-.”
“No, we don’t!” Shouta growls, yanking his husband back by his jacket. “Go back to the party.”
“How come everyone else gets to party?” Hizashi whines, leaning all his weight into Shouta’s side. Between him and Ashido’s scheming expression, Shouta feels exhausted, sighing loudly to convey that feeling. Neither take pity on him.
“Yeah, come on!” Ashido grins. “Have a drink with us!”
“This is peer pressure,” Shouta says monotonously. “I taught you not to peer pressure people into consuming alcohol.”
“And I’ve told you multiple times that we didn’t listen to anything you taught us!” Ashido chirps, but it's impossible to take the joke to heart when, on their last day of class, Ashido was one of the many students who left him a very emotional, long-winded thank you card on his desk.
Shouta accepts the drink thrust towards him with a sigh and a smile trying to play on his lips, and Hizashi kisses the side of his head clumsily.
“Merry Christmas, Sho,” he says.
“Yeah, yeah,” Shouta rolls his eyes. “Merry Christmas.”
Himiko is very good at karaoke, she’ll have everyone know. Katsuki is being incredibly dramatic, covering his ears and yelling at her to shut the fuck up on pain of death, and even Ochako is being unfair with her periodic wincing whenever Himiko – brave, daring, talented – hits the high notes.
It's the Christmas song that played in the car last year, when Katsuki was still pretending not to be her friend and she didn’t know where she stood with Ochako and the world was so big and cold and new. It's the Christmas song that played in the League hideout when they had nothing but each other and made it enough.
To sing it this year, surrounded by smiles and warmth and people who love her and love how she loves them – it's everything. It's worth the voice cracks, at the very least, even if Dabi storms in with the intent to unplug the karaoke machine, wrestled back by Jin.
“Let the lady sing!” Jin crows.
Dabi elbows him in the gut. “She’s making my ears bleed all the way from the kitchen!”
Himiko sings louder.
Ochako can’t help but watch her girlfriend butcher a popular Christmas song on karaoke with an expression so fond it has Izuku nudging her with a teasing smile. She only blushes and ducks her head a little, but she knows he’s not judging her. Can't, really, with how quickly him and Katsuki have settled with each other too. It's different for them – there’s always been a certainty to Izuku and Katsuki, one Ochako felt even when she was dating Izuku. But for her and Himiko? Every day is a gift. Every day is Christmas. Ochako still jerks out of warzones in the middle of the night, choked by nightmares of another life where they didn’t get to make it. Himiko's blood, Ochako’s blood – all of it mixed in ash and rubble and death. The reality of what the world wanted for them.
But they made it. And when Ochako wakes from those dreams, it’s to the cutest smile in the world, already awake in the bed next to her, holding her close, a steady heartbeat, a constant reminder that they are here. Together.
Ochako will never stop being grateful for that. Himiko will never not feel fresh and wonderous to her. The song finishes and her girlfriend bounds over, with eyes only for Ochako, already asking if she liked it, and Ochako smiles back and kisses her right on the mouth in front of everyone, hands in blonde hair. Someone, probably Jin, cheers and dangles a stray mistletoe over their heads, and Ochako laughs into the kiss, going to pull back, but Himiko won’t let her, holding on just as tightly.
“So I’m just gonna go in and... and do it-.”
“We have rehearsed this several times.”
“But what if he says no?!”
“He will not say no,” Tokoyami sighs, repeating the same pep talk he’s been repeating for weeks. It's bizarre, seeing his former mentor so wrongfooted. Hawks is steadfast and aloof, and off duty, Keigo is cheerful and sharp, but pulled to the side of the party as they are now, the hero is a ruffled, uncertain pile of nerves.
It makes sense, Tokoyami supposes. No one has ever meant more to him than Touya Todoroki, both for better or worse over the years. They have been each other’s enemies and partners in turn. Nothing about them has ever been relaxed.
He should have known this of all things wouldn’t be.
“Look,” Tokoyami huffs, “let’s just go back to the party and get it over with. You're overthinking, and if you back out, you’ll regret it for the rest of the year. Remember, it has to be today, so the other Todorokis are present. You've planned this, Hawks.”
Tokoyami rarely calls him by his hero name unless they’re patrolling together, save for situations like now, when he wants him to snap to attention. It works. Keigo straightens, feathers bunching up behind him before smoothing out.
“You’re right,” Keigo says, nodding firmly. “I’ll just do it. And hopefully, he’ll set me on fire again if it goes badly.”
“That’s not-.”
“Let’s go!”
He darts past Tokoyami, back to the party, but the moment they enter the dining room to see Touya and Bubaigawara arguing over Toga’s attempt to sing another song, Keigo pauses again.
“On second thought-.”
“Keigo,” Shouto says suddenly, appearing from the small crowd to stand between Keigo and Tokoyami and where the ex-villains are squabbling, yet he speaks loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Didn’t you want to make a toast?”
Keigo looks like he does when he’s spotted a villain that will present more of a challenge than his usual patrol skirmishes, seriousness taking over his features as he freezes up entirely, pinpoint focus on Shouto. Tokoyami thinks the hero is likely picturing gutting the youngest Todoroki.
“No,” he says slowly. “Nope, I never said that.”
Shouto frowns. “Yes, you said earlier that you have an important toast to make-.”
“Since when?” Touya suddenly appears right beside Keigo.
“Oh my God, it’s happening,” Fuyumi says- when did Fuyumi get here? Tokoyami is starting to think all Todorokis have a secret, secondary quirk of appearing the moment something interesting starts taking place.
“What is happening?” Touya frowns, whirling around to glare at his sister. Mirko is stood beside her with a grin that looks mildly threatening, and Rei is stood on her other side, beaming behind hands trying desperately not to give the game away, eyes already teary.
This only spooks Touya more, his head snapping back to Keigo accusingly. Tokoyami fears that if Keigo doesn’t ask the question in the next few seconds, his boyfriend really might set him on fire. The room has gone shockingly quiet, someone turning the music down. Keigo looks like he stopped breathing sometime around Shouto opening his big mouth.
“I...” he splutters eventually, and there’s none of the suave charm of Hawks, nothing airbrushed, all debonair dropped gracelessly to the floor to leave nothing but raw, nervous Keigo. “Well...”
The whole room seems to be holding its breath. Fuyumi has started recording. Touya looks like he’s now considering setting himself on fire as well as Keigo.
Perhaps the others are expecting something grand, traditional, a big speech, a bared heart, but Tokoyami knows Keigo and he understands his relationship with Touya – they aren’t like that. Touya may like a dramatic show, and won’t be opposed to so many witnesses, but what they have together has always been just for them.
So when Keigo grabs Touya’s wrist to pull him closer, Tokoyami only smiles. The words are uttered quietly, quickly, undecorated, breathed only into the air they share so that no one else might take them, but they are no less fond for it, dripping blood red and earned.
“Marry me?”
Touya goes completely still, blue eyes widening. Toga squeals but Katsuki quickly claps a hand over her mouth, getting her in a headlock as he watches the proposal with a fierce grin. He somehow has a way of observing every event with a vicious pride like he was the one who orchestrated it.
The seconds drag, but for all of Keigo’s previous nerves, he stands strong now, staring Touya down, unflinching. He refuses to tease, or make light, or retract the words. He watches the emotions flicker over his boyfriend’s face – relief, insecurity, confusion, rage – and finally, finally, Touya chokes out a breath, and another, eyes becoming watery.
“You fucking... Are you fucking kidding?” he whispers.
Anyone else might have taken that as a rejection, but Keigo only grins.
“Not even a little bit,” he says firmly.
That's all Touya needs. He throws himself at his boyfriend, laughing into his neck, and the room erupts into cheers and screams of joy. Rei is crying in earnest now, and is the first to drag Touya away from his now-fiancé, kissing him all over his face in a way the ex-villain is usually too proud to allow. While Touya is distracted by his elated family, Tokoyami squeezes Keigo’s arm, and is met with a beaming, world-eating grin.
“Thanks, Tsukuyomi,” he says quietly, ruffling the feathers on top of his head like he’s done since Tokoyami was a student. Tokoyami, embarrassingly, preens under the attention, and smiles back at his mentor.
It will be a busy few months for him now. After all, he’s got a wedding to plan.
December 26th, the day after the annual Todoroki Christmas party...
After Keigo’s proposal, the party got wildly out of hand. More so than usual. Touya can’t actually remember much of what happened from 11pm onwards. Everyone wanted to congratulate him, and that almost solely came in the form of more and more alcohol. Luckily, Natsuo went to bed way earlier than he usually did, otherwise Touya is certain he’d be hospitalised by now. As it is, he wakes up with a groan, hungover but not incapacitated. Still got it, he thinks.
Turning over grants him a near biblical sight he’ll never get used to; Keigo asleep. His golden hair is tousled, face slack with sleep, and despite it being December, he sleeps shirtless, insisting Touya runs hot enough to keep him warm even in winter. It gives Touya an eyeful of freckled skin, and the considerable muscle needed to carry Fierce Wings.
Everyone in Japan wants him, the golden boy, the model of all their magazine columns. It used to curl Touya’s lip, but now, he reaches greedy hands and pulls his boyfriend- fiancé close, burying his face between his wings with a grin that’s all teeth.
They all want him, but I’m the one who got him, he thinks, vindictive. I’m the one he watches.
There's a scar on Keigo’s back, twisting like a dragon up his spine and between his wings, the sight and feel of burned flesh a familiar memory for Touya. He remembers smoke, and rage, and betrayal, Jin’s terrified eyes and the way Keigo had looked at him. He remembers a war, a long, long time ago, and conflates it with where they are now, slow mornings and slower kisses, and a ring.
He smiles, kissing up the burn before coming to rest in the nook of Keigo’s shoulder, nuzzling his nose against the other man’s jaw until he stirs.
“Mmf,” Keigo mumbles, smiling. “Mornin’. How you feeling?”
“Had worse,” Touya says, and Keigo hums knowingly before turning to tug Touya against his chest.
“Reckon we should get up to help with breakfast?”
Touya pinches his hip. “Always the early bird. If you think I'm getting up before noon, you’re insane.”
Keigo smirks, and Touya just knows he’s about to say something unbearable, but they’re interrupted by a sudden racket in the hallway. Doors slamming, voices raising, the unmistakable sounds of rising panic. Keigo's feathers rustle, and Touya frowns. He's about to ask what his boyfriend- fiancé can hear when the door slams open, revealing a very ruffled looking Shouta Aizawa.
“The fuck?!” Touya yells, pushing up on his elbow. Keigo groans at the flood of light from the hallway.
Aizawa pays them no mind, bloodshot eyes scanning the room in what is clearly barely contained horror.
“Not here!” he calls behind him.
“What’s not here?” Keigo asks on another groan. Aizawa ignores him, disappearing back into the hallway. Fuck sake, Touya mentally seethes, before shoving out of bed and padding over to the door. Peering out grants him the sight of Aizawa and Yamada rushing through each of the rooms, being met with yells each time as, gradually, Fuyumi and Rumi appear, then Rei, then Shouto and a few of his friends. The hallway isn’t big enough for so many people, and everyone is asking questions at once, and it is too goddamn early for this. Keigo appears behind Touya, resting his chin on his shoulder and observing everything with a small smile that’s a little too arrogant.
“What’s going on?” Touya asks him, because he knows Keigo’s infuriating feathers will have found the issue by now.
Keigo's smile grows. “You’re gonna be so mad.”
It's as he mutters that in Touya’s ear that Aizawa finally turns to face the growing crowd, his husband stood beside him, a hand fisted in blonde hair and all the blood drained from the usually chipper radio host’s face.
Aizawa's tone is grave. “We can’t find Shigaraki.”
Instead of the panic and terror that would usually be inspired by losing the once Symbol of Fear after a night of drinking, the collected Todorokis and their companions all express varying levels of confusion and, if anything, a sense of being underwhelmed.
“Well, he’ll be around here somewhere...?” Rei placates, but it turns up into more of a question at the end as she regards the two grown men currently seeming to consider their entire hero careers in her hallway.
“Are you fucking serious?” Touya glares. “That’s what you woke everyone up for? The loser’s probably passed out in front of the television again-.”
“We’ve checked everywhere downstairs already,” Yamada says. He sounds defeated.
“And outside,” Aizawa adds.
“And he’s nowhere up here?” Fuyumi asks, a hint of concern bleeding into her voice.
Shouto, somehow, looking far too knowing when he asks, “Are you sure you’ve checked everywhere upstairs?”
“Almost,” Aizawa says seriously. “If he’s not in any of the next few rooms, we’ll be forced to call it in.”
That has Touya’s hackles rising, because idiot he may be, but if Tomura’s gone missing, it’s not because of something villainous. The kind of stain this would leave on his record if it got misinterpreted could have his sentence extended by years, and Touya’s not going to let these heroes ring that in when he knows he’s got to be around here somewhere. Aizawa must read the threat on Touya’s face loud and clear, because he glares right back.
“I don’t like it either,” he insists, “but Shigaraki knows what the rules were coming here, and if he’s broken them-.”
“I really think we should check everywhere before jumping to conclusions,” Keigo says, squeezing Touya’s hip in a gesture that should be reassuring, but his amused tone only makes Touya narrow his eyes at him.
“Where’s Natsu?” Fuyumi asks suddenly. Her concern from earlier has graduated into paling fear, and the group goes silent as everyone considers the same thing but no one braves saying it out loud.
“He’s not fucking hurt Natsu,” Touya snarls at his sister. “The fuck’s wrong with you?”
“I didn’t say he had-!”
“Actually, we haven’t checked his room yet,” Yamada admits, and everyone goes silent again, before simultaneously rushing down the hallway for Natsuo’s door. It's a tight squeeze, with almost a dozen of them in a panicked state. Touya doesn’t know who slams his little brother’s bedroom door open, almost falling over as they all swarm the threshold at once, hearts in their throat. For a second, Touya really considers what would happen if he finds Tomura in here, standing over a Natsuo-sized dust pile. The thought is sickening, rage like a pulse in his ears, and he knows without a doubt that he’d go back to prison in a heartbeat for killing the League’s former leader right then and there.
But when the door flies open and Touya quickly steadies himself on his feet, he looks up not to a crime scene, but to his brother’s room as messy as it usually is, and Natsuo fast asleep in bed.
And there’s Tomura. In bed. With Natsuo. The sheets falling down just enough for Touya to know neither of them are wearing anything more than boxers.
Fuyumi squeaks, mortified as she spins on her heel before she sees too much, dragging a giggling Rei with her and slapping Rumi’s arm when the hero lets out a loud, head-thrown-back cackle. It wakes Tomura up, the ex-villain blinking sleepily before those red eyes focus in on the audience he’s garnered in the doorway.
“What...?” he grumbles, rubbing his face with a still-gloved hand.
“Well.” Aizawa looks blindsided. “Guess we found him.”
“Oh my God,” Yamada hisses, before dragging his husband back into the hallway, head in his hands.
A sense of relief, albeit amused and somewhat awkward, permeates the air, and everyone makes to retreat from the scene, before pausing all at once as something else registers. That something being the sporadic, hysterical beeping of quirk supressing bracelets letting everyone know that if it weren’t for the wonders of modern technology, Touya would have torched everything in the vicinity to kingdom come.
“I,” he says slowly, unblinking glare on his former boss, “am going to fucking kill you!”
His sudden roar has Tomura shooting up in bed, startled like an animal, and he barely has time to stumble to the floor, caught in the bedsheets, before Touya launches himself forward, treading liberally on his little brother as he goes and falling down right alongside Tomura.
“What the-?!” Natsuo yells, jolting awake, before taking in the scene with impressive speed and cursing up a storm. “Wait, wait, Touya wait-!”
It's no use, the two ex-villains wrestling on the floor as Touya tries with all his might to strangle Tomura.
“You fucking asshole!”
“Would you calm down?!”
“Calm down?! You fucked my brother!”
“He’s a grown man! He can make his own choices!”
“My brother! My brother, Tomura, I'm gonna cut your fucking hands off, you little freak!”
Tomura manages a well-placed kick to Touya’s gut, sending him sprawling to the side long enough for Tomura to shove himself away and stand up.
“Would you both just act like adults about this?!” Natsuo yells, himself now stood up and stomping between the pair with a face like thunder. He clearly thinks his intervention – as the person being fought over – will pause the fight long enough for some reason to bleed through, but neither of the ex-villains even looks at him. Touya lets out another slew of curses that has Tomura shoving past the crowd and into the hallway.
They chase each other around the house for the next fifteen minutes, screaming back and forth at each other, stopping only when Touya grabs a bread knife from the kitchen and Aizawa decides to finally intervene by wrapping them both in his capture weapon that, if you ask Natsuo, took way too long to make an appearance. The whole time, the hero mutters something about never escaping problem children and all Hizashi's fault and should have stayed in bed.
“Am I the only one who saw Natsu go upstairs with Shigaraki last night?” Shouto asks with painfully sincere confusion, and Touya’s ire finally turns away from Tomura to hurl threats at both of his brothers.
It's as Himiko is discussing what shade to paint her bedroom this month - since she insists on redecorating often and liberally, with Katsuki usually doing the grunt work for her – that all hell breaks loose upstairs.
Katsuki tsks at the sudden stomping and yelling above them, rolling his eyes as he continues making a wide spread of breakfast foods for everyone, because fuck knows those idiots will be too hungover to cook for themselves, even if they do seem weirdly energetic this morning. Hell, even Fuyumi, Goddess of Hosting herself, hasn’t come down yet. Katsuki has to do everything his damn self.
Himiko cackles at his exasperated expression, kicking her legs from where she’s been sat on one of the kitchen counters and chatting to him while he cooks. Izuku and Ochako have gone on a walk together, leaving Katsuki and Himiko to enjoy the quiet morning with just each other’s company, something they’ve both gotten used to over the past year. Katsuki knows the little vampire well enough now to instantly spot that scheming look on her face.
“I think Shiggy just got caught,” she says in a singsong voice.
Because apparently, the ex-villain thought he was subtle sneaking off with Natsuo Todoroki like that, as if Katsuki wouldn’t notice and immediately gossip to Himiko about it.
“Thank God we were never that dumb,” he grumbles, which only makes Himiko laugh harder.
It’s another quiet morning like so many others. Katsuki cooks. Himiko fills the silence. Izuku and Ochako return with winter-bitten cheeks and they slot into the peace easily. When a half-naked Tomura Shigaraki runs in with Touya hot on his heels, Katsuki barely reacts aside snapping at the oldest Todoroki when he steals one of the knives he was cooking with.
“Just one normal Christmas,” Katsuki huffs. “Is that too much to fucking ask for? No villains, no fights, no goddamn proposals-.”
“Aww, no villains?” Himiko pouts, hopping off the counter to lean obnoxiously against him with a grin that’s all teeth.
“No villains,” Katsuki says sternly, but his tone is disgustingly fond, and he knows damn well that next Christmas is going to be full of the same chaos.
Himiko knows it too, and laughs as she ruffles his hair, because she knows he’s looking forward to it all the same.
“And no proposals?” Izuku asks, suddenly appearing at Katsuki’s other side with a faux innocent pout.
Katsuki drops the pan he was holding.