[he wants to mock his little brother. a precious chick inside the safety of his shell, unused to the brutality of the outside world. scared? he should be. the wild interior of a tattoo parlor, covered with strange colors and shadows as people willingly have pieces of metal and plastic plunged through their skin as a statement. forever damaging themselves in front of a bundle of ice and fire who never so much as gave himself a deliberate paper cut. nah, he only had daddy sinking his meaty fists into his stomach and battering him around the room in effort to turn this brat into a perfect weapon. compared to that monstrous bull blowing steam out of his nostrils across the room, what part of a tattoo parlor would give shouto any level of fright? fear was beaten out of him except for the most extreme cases. not even that little green kid could undo all the damage endeavor wrought. how ironic that one of those "extreme cases" is a little bit of social anxiety. he wonders how shouto would deal with a press conference... and finds he doesn't much care.
rather, he's more invested in what happens here. there's something about putting his little brother under someone else's knife that messes with him in a good and bad way. he was more than willing to sic villains on endeavor, to watch shigaraki attack shouto's school, play in the role of kidnapping that blonde with a bad attitude without caring what the attack cost his brother. any of those could have left the kid dead for endeavor to find and despair. but the idea of some idiot messing up shouto's piercing? yeah, he'd kill the artist for that. without a second's hesitation. you had one job...
what the hell? is this kid getting feelings because his older brother wants to be in the same room as him while he's getting pierced? yes, of course he is. shouto's still a baby in a lot of ways. even if he remains the most taciturn of all endeavor's spawn. honestly, he wonders where he got that from. everyone else in the family is more willing to talk than shouto is. maybe the monster really did damage his brain with all those beatings. heh, funny. he slips his hands into his pockets as the younger agrees with the decision.] Good.
[he wouldn't have listened to a protest anyways. once the hostess returns to invite them, he peels off the wall and resumes his place beside shouto as they walk. the little glance upward goes ignored, though a bony hand with burned wrists settles atop the boy's shoulder. is to an affectionate hug, a protective embrace, or a possessive guardianship? likely the latter, though he's sure the kid thinks of it as the middle. once the curtain's pulled back, he enters the room and lets go of his brother. while shouto gets settled in the chair, he scans around the room, taking in the quality and cleanliness. this isn't a seedy backward establishment, but a proper parlor, so it checks out well. good to know.
the bench? nope. he moves to stand next to the chair instead, opposite the woman. shouto looks like a little kid nervously sitting all proper on the edge of the doctor's examining table, ready to get a physical. a black brow arches when the decision's deferred to him. silently he reviews the options, then indicates a simple set of rose stud starters. simple, small, without clashing much to shouto's skin tone. might let him get away with it for a day or two on passing.] You'll look good with these.
[his brother's got plenty of girls around to ask questions to later. now back to the woman, before they get started.] I'll need a mask. [because he'll be right here during the procedure. no arguments. he trusts shouto's body to be too hot and cold most of the time for any infection to set in, but... might as well play at being big brother for a little bit longer.]
( the list of all of his pathetic feelings, when it comes to touya, is now at a record high. it's not only that his brother has agreed to come with him in the first place, celebrating a birthday that he likely wishes never came, but now he's walked with him in public, entered a tattoo and piercing parlor with him in public, walked with him into the room, stood next to him, and now? he's picking out his jewelry without complaint, even offering a compliment during the act. it's enough to make him wonder if he's dreaming, if this is just some sad attempt at his head turning things around for him in sleep, trying to make at least some part of the world tolerable; uncomfortable, he presses his knees together, nodding faintly when the woman looks back at him for confirmation. even if touya had picked out the ugliest thing in the case, or picked out some terrifying gauges, or something else he has little knowledge about: he would have accepted the choice no matter what.
whatever touya wants him to put in his body, he'll wear. it's easier to accept than signing his own death certificate, allow touya to roast him from the inside out.
but still, his jaw locks, lips pursing, as the woman steps out of the room to get a pair of the earrings that touya indicated. he doesn't know if he should thank him, or tell him he likes his choice, or if his voice will even let him do that much--and how stupid is it, to get this excited about something so small, so insignificant? it's not as though any of this will make touya change his mind about anything; there's a sort of profound, lonely jolt at the realization, every time he comes around to it, every time his joy circles back to a bit of sunken despair. a brother for the night, maybe, or for a few hours--like cinderella, except he's the one turning into a pumpkin at the end of it, the one who would offer touya every glass slipper in the world if it kept him there.
when the woman returns, it's with a disposable mask for touya--and a tray with the piercing needle, amongst other things. narrowing his eyes, he turns to look up at touya; the woman approaches him, but it's only so that she can gently mark the spots on either ear, having him face her so that she can ensure they're even. it's obvious she wants to ask about their relationship, whatever it is: her gaze flickers, up to touya, then back to him, as though trying to see if there's any resemblance, or if they're friends, or even lovers, maybe. embarrassed, he doesn't say anything: he moves with her guidance, and when she goes to do one ear, she telegraphs her movements with a practiced ease; he's less nervous when she's next to him, instead of in front of him, and even the breath he lets out as she makes the first hole in his ear isn't too bad. the pain is nominal, at best.
more relaxed, he waits, twists so that she can do the other ear--and when she's done, and the earrings are in, he immediately twists back to look at touya, impatient and almost demanding. )
Do they look okay? ( he mumbles--even as the woman laughs, since she's been holding out a hand mirror for him to check it himself. he takes it from her, but he doesn't look; his gaze whips back to touya, expectant. ) Do you like them?
[this isn't about showing up to endeavor's house presenting ears studded with shards of black glass. it's a quiet form of rebellion, counter to his previous yelling at his father for leaving the house without training him. he sneaked out whenever the man was away, knowing his mother wasn't able to stop him regardless of whatever pithy excuses came from her lips. only able to stand up to endeavor when his father finally caught him, because that's the only way he could earn those burning eyes falling on him. rebelling captured endeavor's attention, even if only for a while. what would he think when he saw his beloved perfect puppet return with piercings in his ears? he was so angry when that bitch scarred his masterpiece, boiling water melting and discoloring the skin only endeavor had previously been allowed to bruise. would he be jealous someone else touched shouto in a way that left a permanent mark? feel a sense of vulnerability that he hadn't watched him close enough to keep him to himself? ... unlikely. the man's trying to act like a better person. he'd accept the new decorations in a pathetic attempt to justify he could change. a caring father who wouldn't land his fist in his child's face for desecrating his own body like that. maybe he should care more about what his little brother thought.
... he already knows what shouto thinks. it's there in the quiet sparkle amid those mismatched irises. the kid's happy. swelling inside with a warm pleasure at his big brother's attention, even though it won't ever make it fully through his icy surface. look at him, jaws set and lips tight together. what's he locking away inside his mouth right now? those feelings bloating his chest? grateful words or curious questions? trembling nerves? he remains where he is, looking down at the boy in the chair from above. it's too bad shouto's not a dog. he wouldn't be able to hide how excited he is. probably be he kind of pedigree with impeccable looks and breeding, only to piss itself in happiness when given some love. that's right... shouto wasn't raised without love. he survived because of it. no matter what endeavor did, rei was still able to protect her baby's beating heart. even after she was locked away, shouto's fleshy organ pumped out of anger for her. because he knew love. surely he doesn't think these pathetic crumbs his older brother's giving him right now hint at reconciliation. this changes nothing between them. yet something keeps him here. hmph... maybe there's a bit of pathetic still left inside his own rotten corpse. guess it can't hurt to be stupid for a night.
he turns his head just enough to regard the woman out the corner of his eye and hooks the mask with a finger. a quick fit over his mouth, chin, and nose, straps behind his ears, and he's settled, the white surface a strange comparison to the scarred bags under his eyes and wrecked violet throat. his eyes crimp slightly from a hidden smile beneath his mask, but it's not the kind caring smile that reassures a child. that smile burned up a long time ago. shouto's head goes back and forth, marks on his ears presenting an easy preparation. he's not a troublesome child, complacent and calm. the woman's occasional glances between them slowly threaten to become irritating as the unspoken question on her tongue begins to build. she could ask it, but then again, does he look like someone you want to potentially piss off?
we're brothers. just friends. i'm datin him. no relation. ain't ya business. he's got options.]
Treat him gently. He's a special guy. [wouldn't want anything bad to happen to him. even if that's a silken lie and shouto knows it. he should take his hand... but that brings back the same feelings as when shouto hugged him in the dingy room back there. ironic, since he's not that big on feeling anymore. memories of feelings? if he does anything now, it's simply imitation. doesn't mean anything, right? he narrows his eyes as the needle finally pierces, welling up his father's blood on the surface of shouto's skin. an injury not from heroics or training. what a brave guy.
he remains beside him, looking down at his little brother. no, he won't touch him. won't offer a hand for comfort. it's too strange. but he also isn't retreating. stands there like a ghoul beside him the entire time, in his vision, in his space, always within arm's length and eyesight. it ain't like playing kickball in the courtyard, but it's the first sibling thing they've ever done together. does it even count as that? touya died a long time ago... ah but he reclaimed touya on the back of that giant, in front of shouto and his father. guess he's returned from the grave with a few strips of sibling clinging to his damned bones. the piercings are done, the wounds are cleaned, and the starter studs are in.
heh. it's almost cute how quickly shouto looks to him for validation. didn't even look in the mirror first. he's actually avoiding it. what a loyal little puppy.] Hn, turn ya head. [once one way, then to the other, checking out the reflection in the light and how they go with the hang of his hair.] They look nice. Who picked 'em out for ya?
[now he's just taunting him. but the compliment is genuine at least.]
( a special guy, touya says, and he knows better than to read into it. logically, he knows what he means, what that implies, knows what it doesn't and what touya isn't saying. it's not like he's a special guy to him, but special in the sense that he's endeavor's little puppet, special in the sense that he's the one precious thing that touya thinks should be robbed from endeavor, as if it will make a difference. if he shows up to see their father with his corpse in his arms, would that make any difference, really? would that make endeavor's anger rise, or make it fall? he's never really considered it--because considering his own death at the hands of his brother seems a little too pensive, a little too demeaning; he's never once thought that it would actually turn out that way, despite knowing that touya--or dabi--takes his threats with icy seriousness. it's more that he's always known that it would have to be him, stopping touya, rather than anyone else: and if it's for touya, then it's important enough not to doubt his own skill.
and it's disappointing, in a way--sickening, in a way, that he feels despondent hearing it, that the shadow of his brother there is just out of reach, that he stands beside him more like a guardian than something tangible, something that he can touch and talk to and find comfort in. even though he could reach out and feel touya's damaged skin with his fingertips, it doesn't mean that he's actually here, rooted in the moment, trying to bring together the frayed threads that split between them. rather, it's more that he's on one side, frantically knitting them together while touya, on the other side, takes the seams and rips them all apart again. he doesn't blame him for it. he shouldn't blame him for it.
but he thinks he understands a little better, now: the agony that touya feels, in not being looked at by their father. he can't force touya to look at him either.
still, there's a ghost of a smile, something genuine, something aching, at the approval--and it's only once he's tilted his head this way and that, letting touya see them both, that he risks looking in the mirror himself, eyes a little narrowed at the sight of his expression; is that really what he looks like, seeing touya? what an idiot. still, examining the piercings--and being a little stunned to see them there, despite feeling them--he offers the mirror back to the woman with another small smile, thanking her before he turns to touya. )
...A special guy. ( mumbled softly, his gaze flicking up once to meet touya's before he's sliding off the seat to stand next to him; both of his hands reach up, but it's only so that he can skim his fingers over the straps of the mask over his mouth. careful of touya's ears and the piercings there, he gently pries the mask down, revealing the shape of his mouth, the crude staples on his face, and rather than ask for a new mask, he simply turns it around as though he fully intends to put it on his own face. )
Your turn. ( the words get muffled behind the material--his ears sting a little, but he tries not to bump them as he adjusts the mask, drags it over his nose, hides his pursed lips from view. ) Do you want me to hold your hand?
[too late. he knows shouto's read into it a moment after it sank into his ears. no longer able to take such a simple thing at surface level. he digs into it, knows better than to hold it happily to his chest as if the words are a kindness granted to him from his brother's nice heart. shouto is special, whether he wants to admit to it or not. precious to his father as a polished knife or gun to be leveled at his enemies. a blessing to his mother as their family's culmination of abusive race and strain, finally giving her some peace from her tormentor's desire for more spawn. a curiosity to his two older siblings because he's everything they should have been and weren't. a special guy who was enrolled in the greatest hero school japan had to offer. the prized pinnacle who carried all of endeavor's ambitions and hopes. how could shouto think his death wouldn't make a difference? it would make everything different. how he wished he could have seen the look on that thing's face when his perfect dream dropped charred and still at his feet. it would bring to ruin the very man who set him up to be the greatest hero the world had ever seen. brought to ruin at the hands of the worst, most pitiful mistake the man ever created. kind of poetic, right? or is that justice?
watching the needle pierce through shouto's skin reminds him intimately of how fragile his flesh truly is. that powerful quirk means nothing in a body of flesh and blood. he'll burn, he'll bleed, he'll break. that's right... he's just a flesh doll. a vessel someone else poured their all into. memories come, a raging scream, a strong arm shoved to the side, a woman's wide-eyed face fading from view as flames seared towards the naive baby staring at him in her arms. in that moment, he knew this thing was the wall he had to get over. as long as shouto lived, there was no place for his own existence. so he'll make a place. using both endeavor and shouto. all this time, they've been there, separated from him via their own understanding, unable to realizes just how close to them he actually was. kind of like now... only a few inches exist between himself and his little brother, but they may as well be chasms apart.
look at me. shouto never had to say those words to his father. enji's eyes were always and only on shouto as soon as he came into being. the only time he looked at someone else was because their existence affected shouto's. it's twisted irony this same boy is now desperately wanting his older brother to look at him. of course he doesn't know just how much he's been looking at shouto. obsessive and observant, watching him grown in that damn house, then watching him grow in the year at his beloved school. but for all that, right now seems to be the closest he's ever been to his little brother in a long time. strange... the kid's almost an alien to him despite being the person he's almost too familiar with. as shouto looks at himself in the mirror, he gaze lingers on his face. wanting to see the boy's reaction to a first step outside his little controlled life. this is something between the two of them alone. heh, what a scandal.
the mirror's gone and he tilts his head a bit when dual-colored eyes turn to him again.] You know you are.
[special. his jacket shifts a little as he steps back to give shouto room, standing to the side when the boy gets to his feet.] Oy.
[what's he going for his mask for? hands find the lines of his mask, but he doesn't attempt to stop him. merely watches with the same cold gaze as shouto trails his digits along the straps before finally slipping off them and touching his ears. there's no sensation of pain or pleasure there, only a brief numb notice to his brain someone's fondling the pierced-through cartilage. out from behind the backs, around the shell and finally pulled down, the mask eases away from his face, uncovering his half-scorched lips and reconstructed visage. but arches a brow when shouto makes to put the mask over his own face.]
Gross. That ain't very hygienic, Shouto. [yet he's not stopping him. hell he might even sound amused by it. not sure what sort of flex the action's making, but if he wants to do that, whatever. looks like his little brother's the kind of person to share a drink with someone, mindless of indirect kissing. is that what teenagers think about now? likely not this one. it occurs to him shouto might be playfully trying to emulate his position by the chair as he turns around and takes a seat on the cushions. swinging his legs over, he settles on his back, head resting against the still-warm surface.] Do I look scared?
[guess shouto's not as dead inside as he thought. still, he simply turns his hand over, palm up, beside his body, as if suggesting the kid's got permission to touch his hand. consider it another present while he lets the woman mess with his eyebrow for his own piercing.]
( careful eyes watch touya's movements, noting the way that he shifts, the way he stretches out, takes a seat on the cushions and then flattens down onto his back. for all that he's done to his own body, and for all that had been done to him, touya still moves with an ease that surprises him, at times; and it's true, he knows the reason, remembers the way that touya had mocked him--your big brother doesn't feel anything at all. there's seemingly no pain with the way touya walks, the way he fights, the way that he maneuvers himself quickly throughout situations, and the skin that's been grafted onto him--at least that's his assumption, anyway, knowing what he knows about his death--looks like it can barely stay stuck to his frame, likely losing all feeling in the interim. does he really feel nothing, or is he just used to the agony? has it become a part of living, to feel all this discomfort, to be in this body that doesn't seem quite right? and if that's the case, where can he feel anything at all?
his gaze moves, drops down to where touya's arm flattens beside him--his hand palm up, inviting. surreptitious, or maybe embarrassed, his gaze jerks up to the woman; she's completely in her element, comfortable with pinning some of touya's hair away from his forehead and cleaning the area for the piercing. she's probably used to this kind of thing, especially out here, at the edges of town: there are probably all kinds of people who come in here, and discretion is something that he hadn't even considered, but that he's grateful for all the same. behind the mask, he can feel his own hot breath; he can smell the faint curl of touya's burnt skin lingering there, and it's disgusting, sure, but it feels good to breathe it in, like it's something there just for him to swallow up.
he can't just give up now. he can't just lose all his nerve now, can't just ignore it when touya throws him a bone or two, especially when he's starving for the chance to get closer. given the way things have gone, touya isn't going to light the place up if he reaches for him; he isn't going to risk it. )
You've never looked scared. ( a quiet murmur, from behind the mask. ) I want to learn how to do that, too.
( there are plenty of things he admires about touya--plenty of things he probably isn't meant to admire. but while he'd sobbed and screamed and stared up at endeavor in horror more than once, his brother had always looked so calm from a distance, his eyes glazed over with a chill, his mouth a flat line. even when he'd been manic, laughing and dancing and lording over them in the fight, he hadn't been scared, hadn't been uncertain.
one hand reaches, a little too warm, to close his palm in around touya's waiting hand; his fingers curl around it, gently bending his arm up until touya's elbow rests against the cushions. then it's his cold hand sneaking in, smothering the back of touya's hand in his dual hold, for a moment; he squeezes his hand, pointedly, before drawing his cold hand back. )
It's not going to hurt? ( the question is obviously directed down to touya, which is why the woman doesn't answer; she's already prepping the needle, and with a soft press of his lips into a frown, behind the mask, his cooler fingertips wander idly over the back of touya's hand, tracing and running over each individual staple there, following the seam. )
[bones creak, skin pulls, muscles strain, so many elements of his ruined and rotting cadaver as he forces it to move from the heat of his grudge alone. the doctor and all for one never believed he'd live. and yet he's here, years later, sliding into the chair of a piercing artist as his little brother watches his body move without feel or struggle. would he hate shouto more or less if he didn't have the scar on his face? a perfect body, combining all the best genes of his donors without the trash, somehow managed to end up with a smear. daddy's flawless creation forever marred by his own wife's hands for everyone to see. it's amusing when he thinks about it. yet undeniable that shouto's had a hard life. does he pity him? does he relate to him? maybe. a little. doesn't change anything. people who only look at the surface are idiots. he knows this full well. it's why he's proud of shouto for wearing his scar openly. now, with that dirty secret blazed into the populace's mind, everyone who ever sees the hero Shouto will know how wretched endeavor is. turning his father's glory trophy into a damning smear campaign.
life's cruel. how come it decides to play into his hands now rather than so many years ago... it could've been so simple... so much better for all of them... if only...
brushed aside, the thoughts tumble down into inky ravine, lost among his ravaged mindscape. no time or patience or use for things like those. his hair's pulled up away from his forehead, left clear of his burns for now. so many of his piercings go through his ruined flesh on one side, and healthy flesh on the other, tormenting what he should try to save in order to hold onto what's already destroyed. he's long since lost care for his health and flesh. piece by piece thrown into the pyre he made for himself alongside endeavor's. this wrecked shell need only survive long enough to take that thing down with it. no further attachment to himself remains, so why is it that shouto continues to reach for him? wants to touch him. wants to hold him. poor kid's too dumbed up on hope to realize what futility is. what a blessing to grow up so naive.
the needle goes through his skin, he feels nothing but the dip and poke, as if thrusting a pen into a sleeping leg. blood flows even still, welling up in a garnet bead before seeping into the gauze and antiseptic wipe. so much of this trip has already been insane. continuing to give his little brother one gift after another. time together, wearing the clothes, agreeing to this mutual piercing, being with him without attacking, quaint sibling bonding shouto never got to do as a child. did he ever think as he watched his siblings kick a ball around in the courtyard that he would be here? did he ever wonder what would happen if he became a hero and his own flesh and blood became a monster? nah. too young.]
You ain't even gonna be insane enough for that. [he admits his own imbalance, his own burned-up heart and twisted mind full of hatred and spite. shouto can never fall like this; he has too many people holding him up now. so he will always have fear. it's stupid that would be something his little brother admires him for. a lack of fear is insanity. freed from those constraints, someone can do anything they want. shouto won't ever feel the hatred which drives him, or the sorrow which strung up little touya's life in that house. his brother has a strong heroic heart. it walks a straight rail, and can never move onto a warped one.
hand in hand, palm curling over his own. not for the first time does he find a spike of irritation in his body. his brother's hands are almost the same size as his own. so close to reaching him in height too. so blessed. another well of blood as the needle draws out, gauze and wipe blurring the upper peripheral of his vision as his arm lifts on the cushion. oy... who takes a hand in two of theirs? he's not on his deathbed here. doesn't need the consolation. yet shouto squeezes it and his fingers curl instinctively over the hero's palm.]
Nothin hurts now. [fingers trace down the back of his hand, following the lithe bones and his knuckles before settling on the demarcation line of his flesh. staples bump and shift within his flesh as shouto feels directly along the seam of his skin, skipping from one metal rung to the next. ironically, while it doesn't hurt, that part is one of the most sensitive areas left on his flesh. pain is gone, yet his tactile sense isn't completely stripped, only dulled save for a few areas. like this one.] Yeah, I feel that. Gonna test my reflexes next?
( is it insane, to be fearless? maybe. he'd always assumed that it must be something that gets burned into heroes before they make it big; he'd never seen endeavor look particularly scared his whole life, until he'd seen him there on his proverbial knees, staring up at the son he'd discarded like kindling. all might had never looked afraid for anything, at least not for a long time--but he'd crumpled, a few times, despite himself, and in some ways, maybe he'd always seen the heroes around him as superhuman in more ways than just their quirks. endeavor had lacked so much feeling, when he'd been growing up, that he just assumed a real hero would have to be the same: no emotion, no fear, just a well of strength to drawn from to save others. is that insanity, too? is it insane to think that he can do something, with the hand that he's clutching now, stubborn, adamant, refusing to let it go?
maybe they're just insane in different ways. he doesn't mind it, really, if it's something that they share, no matter which angle, no matter where it comes from.
his gaze moves, from touya's hand, along the bend of his arm, to his shoulder and his neck and along his face--even when the needle goes into the skin, he doesn't even flinch, doesn't do much except close an eye against the potential shadow of blood over it. uneasy, his lips are fit into a frown behind the mask; it looks like it would hurt, but then again, do either of them even know what pain is, anymore? he's more familiar with it now than touya is, if it's true that nothing hurts now--which would imply that it did hurt, once upon a time, something that's almost sad, something that makes a rock plummet down into his stomach. it's not like he could have done anything at the time: he couldn't even keep endeavor's hands off their mother, nonetheless go out to sekoto peak to save his brother; but it still feels useless to let himself write that feeling off. he's responsible. just like the rest of them.
his fingertips idle, moving further away from the staples--they work down touya's fingers, feeling along his knuckles there, before he realizes himself and jerks his hand, abruptly. the woman is already tending to putting the temporary piercing in the hole; then it's just a little dabbing to get rid of the blood, and she pulls back to clean up and disinfect her tools.
it's obvious that touya can sit up now, that they can likely leave now--but his gaze lifts, and he's still frowning, and the woman tells them to take a few minutes before heading up front again, as though sensing his own discomfort. it's only once she's gone that he uses his cool hand to press down, gently, against touya's shoulder. )
You heard her. ( a little petulant, like a true younger brother. ) Stay like this. Just a few minutes.
( if this is all he can get, then he wants to soak it up as much as possible; his gaze lifts, moves up towards the curtained-off entrance to the room, and then back down to touya--and then, awkwardly, his hand moves from touya's shoulder so that he can slowly peel the mask off one ear, then the next, shifting this way and that to look for the trash can. determined not to let go of touya's hand, he stretches sidelong until he can safely dispose of it into the little can by his seat--then he's straightening, squeezing touya's hand pointedly as though to reassure (or maybe demand) its presence. )
...Do you really want me to test your reflexes?
( it comes to him after a long moment, like things often do: his lips pursed, head tilted as he looks down at touya patiently. )
[insane? nah. try stupid. heroes are stupid. they hold that bravado in front of them, pretending everything is fine and perfect. shining like the sun, people put their faith in them and worship them, blinded by the brilliance and never once looking at the sins and crimes their idols bury in their own shadows. then when it's all stripped away, they try to make excuses and shift the blame. he watched that sad excuse for a man on the television screen come clean about his past, but only because he had no other choice. it took so much time and work to make everything fall into place. of course they need to be fearless. they couldn't be heroes if they weren't. endeavor never feared being called out by his companions, even when they knew what was going on. not a single one of them took that monster aside and said something. why? because they were afraid of what would happen to their number two hero? of the public for finding out those dirty secrets? maybe. it took his own family, it took a villain, to finally make everyone see the truth. stupidly pretending everything was okay, stupidly pretending they did no wrong, stupidly pretending they could get away with it so long as the past stayed buried. that's not fearless. that's covering their fear with false bravado and hoping they never had to face what scared the: the destruction of their own fragile community and glass egos.
then again... maybe insane people are fearless. look at him, at shigaraki, at toga. they no longer feel fear. living in the darkness and blood, saturated in violence and filth no hero every wants to sully their hands in. you don't fear out here; otherwise you'll be eaten alive. no fear of law, no fear or death. villains don't gain any advantage through fear. it's one reason he burned so many of those idiots. because they were still scared of heroes. there was nothing they could use from trash like that.
one eye remains open, gazing up at the light overhead. he feels his little brother's gaze crawl up his arm and shoulder, land on his face, and the single azure gaze flicks to the side to lock onto his visage. there's not even a flicker of disgust or flinch of pain on shouto's expression when the needle goes through. uneasy though... he sees that in his mismatched eyes. is he nervous about what might happen? there's a needle over his eyeball, even behind the lid. a single slip and he could be blinded (not really, since the artist pierced upward under his brow, going towards his brow). it's almost cute how shouto feels badly for him, yet knows nothing about the brother he was always kept from. why should he care if that person got hurt? he's dead and buried. nothing can hurt him now. did endeavor even tell shouto that same person had tried to hurt him as a baby? what would he have done if their father had missed... probably far worse than that bitch did to her little brat. fate made a cruel trade that day, but lessened the impending curse. he would be scarred, but not by his brother's hand. not then anyway.]
Havin fun? [shouto's playing with his hand. wandering bony knuckles to avoid the eerie metal piercing his skin. long, warm, slender, hard. likely not the kind of hands his little brother inherited. it annoys him their hands are almost the same size even with eight damn years between them. he'll probably be taller, broader, stronger, bigger than his eldest brother by the time he graduates. what a lucky boy. part of him is almost glad their mother burned him; it would've sickened him even further if shouto came out with no blemishes whatsoever. now with endeavor sporting a similar scar, they can all be a happy little fucked up family. too bad natsuo missed out... could've made a quartet.
there's no creak or rasp of leather against the chair, but rather a soft hush of fabric. right, all that's put away now. he's pretending to be a decent person. sitting up halfway, he fully intends to take his leave. loitering in a random public area is never a good thing in his life. but a cool hand settles on his shoulder, earning a brief glance. surprised? not really. curious? mostly. shouto wants him to stay?]
I ain't gonna pass out from that. [not blood loss or pain or head trauma. this kid's being greedy. but it's his birthday (make up) so once more his lanky body eases back down into the seat, wiry muscles relaxing as he settles under the petulant frown. once he can see it thanks to shouto taking the mask off. it's kind of cute how stubborn (desperate) he is to keep the contact going. anchoring his hand in his as if decoupling would sap the will to live out of him. that demanding little squeeze earns a wry expression as he rolls his head on the chair headrest, looking at his brother in miffed amusement. what a brat.
would it hurt to play along for a while more? they have all night.] Is that somethin they teach ya in that big fancy hero school? [taunting him feels good. after all, shouto's the only one in their spawn who got blessed with such a treasured experience. the others were deemed unfit, inferior, worthless to receive such. mah, kind of a shame shigaraki never decayed the entire school back then. he was too weak.] All right.
( he's not surprised to be taunted--but rather, more surprised to be accepted, in some way, despite the fact that it's an absolutely ridiculous ask.
does he know how to do it? not at all. it's not that they haven't had plenty of first aid classes, as well as field training, but that's all been the sort of lessons to keep someone alive until the real medics come, the sort of temporary stays that can save a life and keep it going in the interim. he hasn't learned about how to do silly things like this, and it would be just as ridiculous if he asked to administer a vision test or a hearing test or to measure his brother's blood pressure. the fact that he's now being put on the spot, that he's now being asked to do something he's never done before: it's not particularly surprising, given that he's sure that touya must expect him to back away and fail. how many times had endeavor done the same thing? forcing him to do the impossible, to fail and fail and fail again, just to learn it out of sheer spite?
without the mask, his expressions are more solidly on display. his lips press together against a breath--against words that he doesn't want to find, against a feeling that he doesn't want to express. )
...Alright. ( an echo of the same word--he doesn't seem to recognize it. ) Then...
( normally that sort of thing would be done with tools, right? his gaze slides down his brother's body, gauging the length of his legs, the hang of his feet off the end of the medical bed, and then it wanders, takes note of what's on the counter, the closed cabinets, knowing better than to rustle through these sorts of things in this kind of place, especially with touya present. he doesn't want to do anything that might arouse any suspicion or get anyone to ask questions. so that means coming up with his own plan--
--which is perhaps a little devious, all the same. his hand stays gripped around touya's hand, but his free hand lifts, opens up to splay his palm out, fingers spread, as though to show him that he's empty handed. )
I'll touch you, and you have to grab me before I can.
( that's an easy test of reflexes, isn't it? with a nervous flutter, his gaze darts up to touya's gaze, and then away again, focused firmly instead on the drape of the hoodie around his chest. touya has done far too many things for him tonight--at what point will things change? will they become enemies again, at the stroke of midnight? or will this continue until he leaves?
does he have to leave? he's sure that he could find somewhere for them to spend the night, though he'd likely have to leave early in the morning to make it back to school--
no, these aren't the thoughts to be having, here. his ears are starting to pinken, slightly, as though the shell is determined to match the slightly red color of his lobes, still a bit swollen from the piercing. )
...Here we go.
( the warning isn't necessary. his free arm jerks out, a palm that immediately seeks to connect with the flat dip of touya's stomach, rocketing down to try to sink his fingers into the fabric and keep hold. )
[why did he accept? some kinda morbid curiosity? an expectation to see shouto fail at it? maybe wanting to test whether he'd accept his own actions? who the hell knows. this entire night's been a crapshoot of experiences. the last time his reflexes were tested was five nights ago, head pulled to the side, eyes gazing at himself in the reflection of a knife's blade sliding past the side of his face. slower and he'd have felt that hilt-deep in his eyeball instead. is that the kind of training shouto's had to endure at his school? he bets his teachers never punch him till he pukes in those walls. never chase him down for more training as he runs his stubby little legs through the halls in fear. they test his reflexes in other ways, like siccing him on those other kids in the ring while people watch and cheer in a glorified cockfight pitting children against each other for the glorious distinction of whose prospects of rising to the top gleam the brightest. before all the adults fall to the table, teeth bared and salivating over young flesh as they fight each other with bids and bills to see who gets to claim the new blood for themselves. to cram in their own ambitions and selves to their skulls and hearts in desperate effort to immortalize their own fading brilliance. heroes are wretched monsters, consuming each other in glut for a few more days in the light. will shouto turn out like that? who knows. that explosive brat he went against seemed more likely to become one of those beasts...
was that endeavor's original plan for his failed spawn?
turquoise eyes linger on mismatching hues across from him, blue as ice and gray as slate. so good at hiding his feelings under layers of frost, yet they're cracking to the surface even now, forcing him to swallow them back to keep his composure. or maybe his composure simply doesn't know how to convey those feelings. apart from his lips solidifying in a line to keep those words inside and stuff down emotions he feels but won't-- can't --express. one day, this kid's gonna rupture in a magnificent disgusting cacophony of repression. kinda hopes he's there to see it.
searching, looking, his two-toned head wandering attention around the room in curious attempt at locating something to use. he knows so little. probably searching for that little rubber hammer the doctors used. as if such a thing existed in a tattoo parlor. rifle through the cabinets, shuffle in and out of drawers, it won't appear. he'll have to improvise. seconds tick by and his irritation begins to flicker under his skin. crawling tiny burning lines under his skin, stomach twisting in a mixture of annoyance and anger. shouto was born with so much, powerful and strong, yet at times, he's an idiot. naively lost in a world he never saw until his father finally opened his cage door and sent him out to conquer it. a trained pet released into the wild. blunt nails twitch against the bed's faux leather, flares of disgust and elation twisting inside as his mind ignites with curious interest. kill him right now. burn him up. end this stupid charade of siblings and put the little beast out of its unknown misery--]
Hm? [an empty hand. palm open, fingers spread. he's eight years his junior and yet shouto's hand is almost as large as his own. ire sinks into his gut. his first thought at seeing his hand is that. the second traces his brother's words. touch him.. grab him. despite the furrow in his brows, there's a sardonic hook in his mouth's edge, gristle showing betwixt his stapled seam.] Ya just can't get enough of touchin me. Gonna start thinkin ya got a fetish.
[once more, averting his ominous wave of hatred. close again to burning him, ever interested in his blackened corpse. yet he avoids it with another injection of brotherly bonding he can't get his damn head around. nor does he feel he wants to. even thoughts in his head exist weirdly there, uncomfortable and fuzzy. this farce, they can't exist this way, does shouto get pleasure from pretending everything's fine? or is he simply delusional... begging things to remain as they air until that fateful wire snaps.]
Ya ear's burnin. [what's going through his head now? touching him, reflexes, now embarrassed. in a split second, movement snaps between them, one hand swishing through the air for his stomach on the tailwind of unnecessary warning. does he stop him? nah. that wasn't exactly the challenge was it. rather, his own hand moves with an eagerness gleaming in his eyes. ignoring shouto's own completely in exchange for grasping his little brother around the column of his throat.
grab me before i can
is what he said. whether his hand connects to shouto's throat before the kid gets to his stomach doesn't really matter. he isn't paying attention to that nuance. rather focused on his little brother's face, watching for the expression and emotion and whether they'll be able to break through his eternal glacier. far too warm skin melds against flesh divide in temperature, fingertips pressing to the sinew and cords of his neck, thumb pressuring a pounding jugular and palm cupped about the hard pipe of his trachea.
only after a few seconds does he bother opening his mouth.]
( delusional. he's heard that before. endeavor had used that word before, when he'd been on his knees, swimming in his own sweat and vomit, trying to locate his voice within it all, trying to find his bearings while staring at the training room floor; delusional to imagine that he could ever be a hero with this little skill, that it would take all the training in the world to help him become what he had to become. but less delusional, apparently, was the fact that endeavor believed himself to be the only one capable of molding him into the hero that he had to be--anything he thought himself could be easily brushed aside as childish begging or silly whining, yet endeavor's stern rules and demanding focus were things that were to be considered normal. and everything from that point on had felt a little surreal: going to school, being allowed to make his own choices. things that other people take for granted, maybe.
delusional, to think that he could do something like this. delusional to think that he could take touya's hand and squeeze it and never let go, that he could find somewhere in those cold blue eyes the kind of love that had been missing his entire life. and it's not like natsuo and fuyumi didn't try--though perhaps one more than the other--but it's hard to find commonality in siblings who never experienced the sheer torture of their father's existence firsthand. fuyumi always tried to smile and forgive him and say that everything was fine, and natsuo hated their father so badly that he put distance between them all to protect himself. he doesn't fault either of them for it. but for years after they both left the house, it was only him: only him there, with endeavor, suffering night after night of torturous training, things that he's never told anyone, not even his classmates now.
because who would really believe him? and what would be the point? something so normal to him would be simply insane to anyone else--except touya.
so maybe it is delusional. delusional to feel that rush of pleasure, when his hand connects with touya's shirt, when he can feel his fingers still gripped around his, and there's a certain misplaced enjoyment from the touch that he can both recognize and seek to ignore, not willing to parse certain sensations, certain pleasures that aren't correct. it's funny, really: that sensation doesn't waver, even when he feels that hand dart up and grab at the column of his throat.
it could end right here. even with both of his hands on touya, even with his training, he knows that touya is still faster, and more than that, viciously stronger than him, and the heat that pours impatiently through touya's skin and up against his throat tells him that he's burning with the intolerant urge to continue what he started back then, and burn him alive from the outside in. even swallowing beneath the touch does nothing to loosen it: his gaze shallows, lids dropping slightly, and rather than seize up in emotion, brimming with despair and anger like their previous fight, his emotions are wiped clean. )
You aren't. ( --is what he says, his voice a little hoarse; gently, his hand loosens, fingertips that ghost and idle against touya's stomach before his hand slides off entirely, and the clutch of his fingers, threaded through touya's other hand, breaks apart. ) You aren't satisfied.
( because he won't be, until he's dead. isn't that what he's supposed to guess? is it delusional, then, to reach his hands up, clenching them in around touya's wrist to simply hold his arm there? with another swallow, his gaze lifting up to the ceiling, he rattles touya's arm between his hands, shaking it in his grip, like he's threatening touya to tighten his hold on his throat--
and then another wheeze of breath, a little more firm, a little more determined--delusional-- )
[stop it, touya. over and over. until his shins bled from banging into those iron bars thrust before his legs, shoulders battered and mottled with bruising crashes into metal barriers shoved before his chest, each one demanding him to quit. give up. because he couldn't. his mother's pathetic protests pulled at him when he went out, trying to distract him without caring a moment about how much it hurt. how many times had that monster ripped his shirt up his chest or stripped his sleeve from wrist to shoulder, screaming at him for his failures even as he tried his hardest to make the man notice him, desperate to see anything else in his eyes. the burns didn't hurt, he promised himself they didn't, he could handle it, easily, each one another pleading attempt for endeavor to look at him. look at him without hating his disgusting failed creation. if only for a moment, look at him the same way he looked at shouto. he had a life before that little puppet was born! didn't he? the tears soaking his pillow, the salve he slapped on his burns, the blackened trees where he trained... none... none of that... none that was fake, right? Right?! he didn't care if endeavor hit him, put him in the same room as shouto until his guts poured out of his mouth and his teeth stained with his own bile. it'd be worth it. until his body itself was fried to a hellish crisp. LOOK AT ME!!
stop it, touya...
that little brat had been delusional. to think he would be able to get endeavor's attention via any other way but this. shouto. his hero. his key into the man's heart. of course he wouldn't care about anyone else but shouto. this is where his life lay all this time. nestled within a heart of ice and fire. what should have been rightfully his... reaching for him was easier this time, burning through a foolish dream born of a vapid brain brought up on too much fluff. flesh and blood surrounded raw bone, pure white and untouched as his fingers found the column of his throat. here and now, he could seize every second of his father's attention. headlines flared into existence, shouto todoroki burned alive in a seedy back-alley tattoo parlor. a gateway his own wretched hand reaches through, charred bones snapping and scraping against his hand as he penetrates the remains of his little brother's ribs and seizes into endeavor's chest for that throbbing, sobbing prize. what'll dad's face look like, shouto? when you die, will he look at me with such a face?
only because of him.
touch. touch. two at once. a hand on his stomach. a hand on his throat. stopping shouto was never in his mind. he needs him to move. to live. kept alive until he dies at the appropriate time. like a pig for slaughter. one more body on endeavor's pyre. the most important body. the only one that could possibly understand a fraction of what it meant to host hellish ambitions. killing shouto is akin to killing his own life. his reason for existing. he wants to... right now, he wants to feel it. each beat of his pulse under his thumb, passing up and down the side of his brother's neck. four fingetips compressing slightly into his trachea, divoting smooth perfect skin. it should be disgusting this kid finds some enjoyment in his touch. flickers of satisfaction and pleasure sparkle beneath ice. wonder what his classmates would think of him, knowing the perfect spawn of endeavor is also a little bit insane.
smart kid. understanding even now his hand around his neck is hot enough to scorch him out of existence. impatient, demanding, tempting so hard it punches his lungs with pangs of desire. a dip of saliva tugs his throat beneath his palm, adam's apple bobbing once as he crunches his thumb to the beat of shouto's jugular. what kind of freak takes pleasure in being strangled by his own family member? did endeavor beat him so badly, this puppet began to equate abusive treatment with affection? it'd be kinda funny if that were the case. muscles draw taut, tendons orders to contract, bones gritting under his too-wiry skin with the same inexorable draw of a castle's chains pulling shut. doing exactly as shouto encourages him. both hands capturing his wrist, a tiny shake urging him to finish it here and now. burn him alive, crush his throat in his hand, snuff out his perfect useless broken miserable life. a candle gone out with the sound of raspy breath and crumpling tube. almost snapping one fold of his throat-
Happy Birthday.
... fuck.
chains rattle in a cacophony as the castle gate plunges back down, tendons snap backwards, muscles pull open, and he releases shouto's neck with a spring. gross. is that what he thinks will make him happy? satisfy him like nothing else? whether shouto was serious or not, offering his life as a birthday gift is sick. sick because he thinks it'll work. some kind of repayment, some twisted expression of love, as if doing his makes everything better. no idea how valuable his life is. simply not the time. skeletal grip disengaged, he draws his arm, and shouto's both, away from his brother's throat. even now, a bruise begins to mottle the boy's neck, five dark points lurid under fair skin. no one's gonna be able to explain that tattoo as anything other than strangulation. should be a fun experience for his brother if his hero friends see it. what if endeavor sees it... mah, he wishes he could be there. earrings in his lobes, a hand mark on his neck. all this brat's missing is a hickey.
cloth hisses, abs tighten, dragging his ruined body forward until he's sitting up and leaning into his little brother's space. spikes of hair card through silken strands as his head passes alongside shouto's, hot breath ghosting awash to his incriminating new bruise. sensitive, throbbing, aching, probably. lips so close to his abused skin, there's no way his sibling can avoid feeling their brush. half fair, half wrecked. smooth, wrinkled. flesh, metal. they really are different lives, aren't they... bony fingers curl in the back of his hair, scrunching a chunk into his fist to hold him still in a mockery of embrace to hold his little brother close. he's sure the touch will bring some strange emotion to the boy's beating heart. enjoyment above all. he's so glad shouto was raised to know what love was: a curse.]
Happy Birthday, Shouto.
[murmured into his blemish. satisfied? ... mah, it'll do. this'll be the last time either of them get to say those words to each other. not until they see each other again in hell.]
( touya's fingers tighten, for a moment, and for a moment, he thinks that it's really the end. the fight that's inside of him still lives there: a hellbent desire to save his family from itself, if that's the role that he must take onto himself, a role that his father could never handle. if he has to be the one to smother touya down, if he has to be the one to keep him from hurting himself, then he'll do it. if he has to be the one to bring his mother back, then he'll do it. and it's not like he sees himself as some kind of savior, as though he's something that should be praised for his actions, for his resolve, or for the fact that he would so easily, and handily, throw his life away for the sake of his family: it's just that there's no one else that can do it. a hero can mean much more than just saving strangers and making the world a better place; sometimes even a family needs their own hero to save them from themselves.
but is he really going to let touya do this? it's hard to say. something like pleasure buzzes in his mind, a ridiculous feeling, coupled with fear, coupled with heartache, coupled with anger--and nothing seems to be able to win out over the other, nothing seems to be heard, a cacophony of emotions that he doesn't understand, too strong, a wave that wants to take him under and drown him in its strength. would it make touya feel better, to have him like this? to see his eyes water from the pressure, to hear his breath rasp out of his throat like there's little left?
in the end, it's not even his decision to make. touya's hand jerks down, and his own follow suit, dragged away from touya's arms; his breath comes out in a rush, a gasp, feeling his skin tent and tingle with the hint of a bruise. the mark of touya's fingers there, wrapped around his neck: how long will they stay? like some kind of fucked up tattoo he didn't ask for, in this place, the irony-- )
It's...
( --hard, really, to understand. touya's arm wraps around him, fingers that arch and curve up into the back of his hair like a skeleton hand out of a horror movie, but the tingling sensation goes down the back of his neck, down his spine, curls and coils around his middle like a snake; he can't breathe, when touya's mouth is close to his skin, when his head bows, when his own shoulders tighten and his eyes squeeze shut and every screwed up feeling he ever felt comes blossoming to the surface. the sickest part of it all is the joy: having touya close to him like this, touching him like this, does things to him that he doesn't want to admit. and is it really just that kind of reaction, that endeavor's beaten him so often that pain means affection? or is it something else, something worse?
his tongue works over his lips, a hard, bobbing swallow before he can talk again-- )
...not my birthday.
( stubborn, and pointless, but factually true: something for him to cling to, as he realizes, abruptly, the heat that's pooling inside of him is really, truly wrong, and his own hands lift, just to brace a cold palm and a sweaty one against dabi's front, pushing him, forcing them to separate.
flushed, embarrassed, and immediately refusing to meet his gaze, he stumbles back a step, and then works around the table towards the door. )
Let's go. ( he needs the cold air outside to help him steel his nerves--and calm himself down. )
[hero. lying in his mother's arms, staring with big eyes at a small boy crying in disbelief at his father, heedless of the life he extinguished at the second of his birth. a tiny bundle bringing exhausted relief to his mother and dumbfounded elation to his father, shouto was the culmination of ambition and love. an ignorant void siphoning his brother's reason to exist even as he stared wide-eyed and innocent as turbulent orange flames roared towards his face in the hand of a screaming boy. a boy who no longer meant anything at the hands of a hero who meant everything. shouto is their family's hero. born with everything, a mother's love, a father's attention, a perfect quirk, a perfect body, endeavor's precious golden vessel to pour his dreams and aspirations into until his little brain choked out under a monster's weighty demands. even now, he sees it in his mismatched eyes, looking at him from his pedestal. a hero willing to sacrifice himself to save people. his family. god he makes him sick... so willing to throw his life away. the life that should have been his.
here and now, he could throttle it from his throat, crushing every precious layer of air from his lungs until shouto gurgled his last breath. what would his reaction be? what kind of face would his little brother show him? the same despairing denial as enji, wide-eyed and nearing hyperventilation? or something stoic and resolved, committing his fate into his own brother's hands as some twisted form of atonement for wiping his life's meaning out... likely the latter. even with the confused emotions swirling through shouto's chest, hardly a crack appears in his eyes, voice as quiet and deep as ever. little puppet made of ice, malformed from underdeveloped upbringing. it's kinda admirable, in a twisted way, this brat's been able to make friends with strangers when he's such an alien to his own siblings.
guess he won't be seeing that idea through. bony fingers curl in the air, one at a time to knead his own palm. fingertips play across burn scars creeping past his hand's heel, where healthy flesh meets ugly punishment. twisting disappointment writhes in his stomach, mating with depraved amusement at the noise of his little brother's gasping breath. a consolation prize: shouto's return to school tomorrow marred by fingerprint bruises on his throat. he wishes he could be there to see what the other brats said once they lay eyes on his flawed skin.]
I missed it. [his voice purrs deliberately along bruised nerves, as concerned as missing a thrown knife's target. he hadn't missed; he knows every time that date rears its wretched head on the calendar. year after year. fingernails rake across shouto's scalp, feeling and listening to silken strands of conditioner-treated hair grit beneath keratin. so close to him, tremors ripple down the younger man's spine. hm? azure eyes open halfway, nigh glowing in the shadow cast by the hero's head. not fear. what is that then? interesting. feelings blooming under ribs, threading through muscles suddenly pulling taut beneath shouto's clothes, as if his own wires draw tight enough to twitch his fingers. as expected, his little brother likes it. being close to him. even as blue flames licked at his skin, singed his hair, threatened to consume him to ash, shouto knew what love was as his older brother embraced him once in his life. turning his head, half smooth half gnarled lips burning their mismatched shape into his sibling's throat-]
You're real messed up, Shouto. Feelin like that... [he wants to call him a pervert, taunt him for something his little brother might not even have the mindset to understand. yet as shouto starts to scramble, actively planting his hands in his chest and shoving his body away, he wonders if the kid actually does get it. if so... piqued. wonder who's fault that was. a distant abusive father, resulting in starving affection from an older male figure? or a protective treasured mother poisoning shouto's mind with ideas he needs more than simple love. mah, something to pick around at later. he leans back on the seat, a corner of his mouth twisting upward in humor. as much as he hates him, his little brother's an interesting guy.]
I'll meet ya out front. [he has to take care of something first. nothing naive heroes need to witness. give him a few minutes before a gentle click of doorknob separating from jamb and his lanky figure emerges from the tattoo parlor. warmth ghosts across shouto's side as he stops adjacent to the boy, cold turquoise eyes barely needing a dip to look at him. flushed, confused, shivering, scared, embarrassed, curious, what's going on inside that twice-bred head of his?]
( he hadn't thought that it would be such a relief--separating from touya, given the excuse of meeting him out front, but his breath escapes despite himself, a heaving sigh that's covered by the short nod of his chin, disregarding everything else. he's not going to let those words soak into him just yet; later, much later, alone in his dorm, he'll think about them, think about how even touya thinks that he's messed up, thinks that he's feeling something that he shouldn't be feeling, and if that's the case, should he just say it? do something, admit something? they always say that the first step is admitting there's a problem, or something like that: it's just he doesn't quite know what the problem is, yet. isn't it natural, wanting affection from his brother? isn't it natural, to want to reconnect with someone who was never there?
his exit from the room is easy, a gentle click as he closes the door behind himself. he lets touya handle whatever it is he needs to handle--and he handles the bill, meeting their piercer at the front to hand over his father's black card. does it matter? he'll know once he sees shouto's face, anyway, and it's not like it'll be some itemized receipt. his father may rant and rave about it, but at the same time: he's not the one that does all the accounting for their family anyway. as long as he's not spending egregious amounts of money, it will probably just skate on by without notice.
outside, the air is a bit colder, now--he can feel it biting at his cheeks, as he struggles to zip up his jacket, trying to keep the collar in safe around his neck. the woman at the counter hadn't looked closely at him, at least not enough to notice the hint of bruising, but he's sure that he won't get that lucky again.
case in point: he's a little startled, once touya emerges out from the door, and he gives him a quick glance, confirming he still has his bag, that he still looks relatively fine, that there's no molten anger bubbling to the surface. he's used to the disdain and the ire, but: he still doesn't want to start a fight, out here. )
Ah? ( 'it'? with a short swallow, he reaches up with one hand, feeling for the edge of his own ear, as though certain that must be what touya is talking about. ) It...was interesting.
( not particularly painful, but not a completely painless experience, either. he thinks he can understand the pleasure: why it seems like almost an addiction, getting pierced, getting inked. his gaze stays rooted down towards touya's boots, towards his own shoes, as though he doesn't know if he should look up at him: )
Do you want...to go somewhere else? ( or is time up, now? )
[coward. did he hurt his little brother's feelings, calling him weird? he should embrace it. nah, why would he do such a thing? it would smear endeavor's perfect image even more than he's already done. shouto's impetus put a hole through his ear, and earned him a bruise round his throat. neither as permanent as the marring gift his mother and father gave him, externally and internally respectively. even in this, his older brother can't touch his life as intensely as their parents could. a piercing will close, a bruise will fade, but those scars never leave. he hadn't been able to burn his sibling as a baby. hadn't been able to leave any memories of himself in his head, save for distant glances. he wasn't even allowed to lay a permanent claim on his little brother during the war, no matter how hot he pushed his decrepit body. ironic. even now, enji remains a barrier between himself and his own flesh and blood.
... is that the reason he's permitting this farce in the first place?
shouto doesn't need to know what business is handled behind him. passing the host pulpit on the way out, he pauses long enough to inquire about the payment. endeavor's card, huh. so he really went through with it. an act of rebellion against his father and unconsciously protecting the staff from any undue carnage. minus a singe mark on the wood in order to force the hostess to reveal that previous information. mah, they did good work. he has nothing against them. material swallows his hair and head, hood flipped up once more as he steps through the door and closes it behind him. the first time he heard a hero recognize him had been almost euphoric. all it took was killing a few people. now it only takes a glance and people know him. there's a thrill of power in seeing their reactions. though also irritating... overexposure's a bitch.]
I wanna see the look on dad's face when he sees you.
[not his friends. not his teachers. not his siblings. not his mother. only one man's reaction matters. too bad he won't come back with shouto to watch in person. both of them know that. little more than vapid wishing in an amused tone as comes to a stop beside the hero in training and rummages a bony hand in his pocket. is this how brothers are? existing in the same location, one's head full of intent, the other determined to stop it. on the outside, they look peaceful...]
Light this. [he leans his arm to the side on his elbow's pivot, a slender white stick captured between two fingers coming to bear in front of his baby brother's face. at the outset of their little trip, he said he wouldn't kill him, wouldn't start a fight. didn't intend to hold to that promise if it no longer worked for him. luckily for shouto, still the case. relax, kid. he's not gonna try talking him into smoking. bad enough he's corrupted the upcoming corpse into putting a hole in his body. inking his skin and poisoning his lungs comes later.]
I said I'd give ya the night. [or a few hours at least. he's nice enough not to count the train ride as part of those hours. does he want to go somewhere else? not particularly. sitting in a restaurant playing nice with his brother as people look on... the idea makes his skin crawl. wandering a shopping mall looking for useless junk alongside shouto is pointless. probably lead to annoying arguments the other boy would find some sick comfort in.]
Ya didn't have all this planned out if I accepted? [taunting him as he steps one stair at a time towards the cold street below the shop's little stoop. shouto's too young to drink and he's not about to invite his little brother to something seedy on their first date.]
( hope is a funny thing, like a ship that's only got one sail, and it's easy enough to put holes in it and sink it back down. the thought that touya might come back with him, might go and see their father, might then renounce the villain world--no, he's naive, but he's not that naive. there's no way that touya will entertain returning back to that house, and if nothing else, he understands that himself: he doesn't enjoy it either, and had been grateful to be kept in the dorms. even returning back to that house for school vacations and family dinners can be too much. it's not like he'll see the face that endeavor makes, not like he'll know the sort of rage that he might exhibit, seeing the holes in his ears--or worse, the bruises around his neck.
he'll do his best to hide those, at least. given the right moment, he doesn't think endeavor will even notice.
there's an obvious surprise, when his chin jerks up, met with the expectant flick of touya's cigarette--without even thinking about it, he lifts his hand, a small lick of flame that torches the end of the cigarette, and leaves the burden of getting it going with touya. he's never really been interested in this sort of thing, but with the hint of smoke curling in the air, he finds that he's interested in it now solely for his brother's sake; what is it that he likes about it? does it taste bad? is he just after it because there's nothing for him to lose?
his own steps are rigid, as he echoes touya's movements, sliding down the steps--his lips purse together, hands sliding down into the pockets of his jacket again as though to hide the clench of his fists. )
I...thought this much would be pushing my luck. ( with a small nod upward, indicating the piercing shop. ) So I didn't...
( a nervous wet of his tongue over his lips: should he even admit that feeling? that he'd been sure that it would be an immediate dismissal, that touya would turn and leave him behind? that he's so perversely elated at the fact that they're still standing here together that he doesn't even know what to say, or what to do? stubborn, his brows knit together.
he can't just give up now. he can't just say that he didn't think of anything, and let touya walk away. so, adamant, his chin lifts again-- )
So we'll go somewhere else. For the night. Until morning.
( a karaoke place, a manga cafe, a hotel--he's lining up all the possible options, as though he'll make a whole list if only so that touya can't refuse entirely. )
[only one prize could return him to his birthplace. it brought him back once before. feeling floor boards beneath the soles of his feet for the first time in three years. scars on the walls from childhood playtime. an odious scent of smoke and sweat filled the home like gunk crawling through paltry attempts by someone in the home to cover up the stench of despair. standing in his parents' bedroom door, he watched a single massive body rise and fall under futon covers. alone and pathetic, licking his own child's blood off his knuckles. his brother's door half shut to the hallway revealing his frame huddled beneath his blankets, only a single futon spread out on the floor without hint a second had once been there. little shouto's room full of books and training equipment, funneling round and round a dizzy little boy curled in a fetal position on his bed, pillow wet with tears he could never show to anyone anymore. it would've taken everything he had, but that damn house could've been left in the same blazing state as the orphanage prison he escaped from days before. every one of them was wretched, weak, idiotic, callous... reflected in the metal of his own altar, he let himself die. left behind to rot in their memories as they all wanted. not a single thing changed. minus that bitch being gone. not a single one of them cared to make a difference. his existence meant nothing anymore. why the hell would he ever return to that hellish estate, but to immolate it and every single person inside.
surely not shouto's hope tonight. he's a fool, but not that much of one. half expecting him to voice an invite, to ask a question from his heart instead of his brain. not knowing at all what came out of his mouth. stupid hero. he's really grown up to become one more imbecile throwing his morals and ideals around the world. just like endeavor. lighting up the world. a subtle "fwoosh" licks up from shouto's hand and swallows his cigarette's tip within.] Good boy. [smolders trail thin white smoke from his little brother's hand to his mouth as he slips the stick between his lips. who cares what he does with his body now? already falling apart and rotting like the memories buried in that garden. putrid burnt drags in with his breath, coiling his tongue and staining his taste buds with an acrid flavor until he exhales it all out into the cold air. wonder what shouto's little classmates'll think if mr. top nominated 2nd place comes back smelling of cigarette waste. guess it's better than smelling like a crematorium.]
Maybe it is. You gonna risk pushing further? [levying his own promise to his face, a night to spend with him, yet how far can he push him until the villain snaps? of course shouto didn't think much further. he has no idea where limits stop, clinging from one moment to the next. each step takes them further from neon lights, shadows stretching longer before them in a grotesque outline merging their separate "bodies" together in puddles of dirty water and grimy asphalt. one hand buried in his pocket, he taps his finger and sends a chaff ember tumbling to the ground before lifting the cancer stick to his lips once more. he should go. already knotted irritation twists in his stomach, sick of this brat's unwavering devotion to him despite knowing he'd interfere. and yet, he's still here. both of them. guess he can choke down a few more minutes of shouto's presence. make him fight for his attention. how's it feel, endeavor's perfect little puppet, chasing someone else's eyes. make it hurt, make his heart beg for his older brother to look at him. just like a damn idiot pleading for his father to stop looking at shouto and turn his eyes to him one more time. irony's cruel, isn't it.]
I know a little place. [before this stupid hero can list off whatever his emotional brain is lining up. there's no point in entertaining naive desires like fun cafes or gaming parlors or shopping malls, crap shouto might go to with his friends. one look at him and those places would empty, bring some self-righteous hero down on their heads. gonna have to lie low with this bastard.] Hope you're hungry.
( risk? he's no stranger to risk. it had been a risk just to send the message at all, a risk to meet, a risk to bring touya anywhere that had more than just his own body to bear the brunt of his ire: but so far, none of the more terrible possibilities have come to pass, aside from his own personal humiliation, and if that's the prize that touya takes back with him in the morning, then maybe he doesn't mind it as much. after all, his father won't do it--his mother can't do any more than she has, and fuyumi and natsuo never trained with endeavor, never learned how to weaponize their quirks the way he has. so the only person left, the sacrifice at the altar, maybe, is himself--the person who has to save their family, or maybe save the world from the mistakes of their family. he should have fought harder, maybe, when he'd been a child; he should have tried to do something, rather than dig his heels into the wood of the floor to try to keep from being dragged away, rather than stand in front of his weeping mother in the hopes that he might shield her from assault.
he's thought about it plenty of times, but had there really been anything he could have done? he'd been too young to think of convincing touya, or to try to find some kind of compromise; he'd been too young to really do much of anything, except endure, and he hadn't even managed that all too well. and he's not so ignorant of his own feelings--no matter how much he might want to swallow them down--that he doesn't recognize that's part of why he's here: like he could somehow make up for all of that inability he had, back then, like he could somehow make touya realize that as much as touya had wanted to be looked at by endeavor, he himself would have been content to just have touya there beside him.
he can't live in the past like that--not wholly. if anything, living with his classmates has taught him the importance of acknowledging past mistakes but also moving on from them; he can't change anything about what happened, but he can do all that he can now, even if it's futile. if touya laughs at him, pushes him away, curses him, wishes he'd never been born: he can endure all that. he can handle all that.
he just doesn't fully know how to endure what might come out of his own mouth--or his own body, when he tenses at touya's side, walking beside him. both hands slip down into his pockets, chin tilted down, watching their shadows flicker and merge and mold together; his lips pass a soft sigh. )
I'll push as hard as I can. ( murmured, a little, like it's said more for his own benefit. ) Are you hungry? We can go somewhere else, if you want. Somewhere to...
( a tilt of his head, considering. ) Drink?
( he's too young for it, but there are plenty of places where he'd still be allowed inside--his gaze lifts, focused on the glowing ember of touya's cigarette, enough that he almost trips over a dip in the sidewalk, jerking his head back to keep from knocking their shoulders together.
eyes narrowing in irritation at himself-- )
It's your birthday. ( with a slow puff of breath. ) So we can do anything. I'll do anything. Food is good.
[wasn't his entire birth a risk? one more desperate roll of endeavor's dice to spawn a vessel of flesh and ability enough to house his burning ambition. both of them standing here are nothing more than one crazy monster's dream. not a boy, not a man. only things. one a success. the other a failure. perhaps this was the least risky thing shouto's ever done; they're the same, aren't they. and yet, he wishes to take his little brother in his own arms, hold him close, smell his flesh cooking between his hands as endeavor's precious dream blackens into ashes and crumbles to pitiable pieces. but it's not enough. shouto alone can't take the burden of their father's abusive treatment. he's not satisfied with only his little brother. even worse, this brat wouldn't mind. some twisted caricature of "love" in his heart seeks to dig through every action he takes tonight and find a stupid interpretation to slake his selfish little perversion of brotherly affection. it disgusts him as much as it leaves him incredulous at how broken shouto's mindset is. to think he'd want love from a villain, the very creature he's supposed to want nothing more than to beat down to pulp and lock away forever in jail while he walks away to adoring praise and a shiny medal. this kid's fucked up. and he kinda likes that... too bad his friends got to him first.
what would it have been like? if he'd been the one to reach out first? so much of his time was spent thinking of how to kill this perfect meat puppet. he wanted to serve his corpse up to endeavor personally, approach him with shouto's body draped in both arms. wanted to show up to the number 2 hero with his son's head dangling from a villain's fingers tangled in his hair. wanted to string up his immolated corpse across the front doors of endeavor's hero agency. nights putting himself to sleep with possible venues. none of them were enough... he'd never once thought much to reach for shouto and find his little brother's anger. run his fingers across his frozen little heart, curling in abandonment invite to lull the kid off endeavor's precious path. he couldn't force it like that idiot shigaraki tried on the explosive brat; there wasn't enough hate and anger in that kid to be anything but a hero.
but shouto... standing here amid licking curls of dirt street breeze tugging at the rim of his hood, he momentarily lets himself wonder a "what if" he'd so easily thrown aside before. shouto desperately wants his brother back. kinda insane to think he could've offered that at one time. with a catch.
water drips from the sole of his boot as he steps forward, hands falling into his pockets as a faint wisp of steam curls over his shoulders and races down his back. there's no changing the past. he made his decision. killing shouto in any way other than in front of his father has no meaning. he's simply one more piece on the pyre, with the main slaughter still waiting to be thrown atop the pile. it was risky to meet him here tonight. and yet, it was hardly a threat to either of them. he wonders how much of that shouto knows. would it change his view? probably not. the kid's too stubborn.]
It's kinda cute ya think I'm worth the effort. [pointless, but there's something disgustingly charming at how much this guy's intent on him. what a coward. instead of pushing endeavor, he opts to push him. protecting their father from his own failures and mistakes. it's easier for shouto if his older brother changes instead, isn't it.] Nah, don't worry. I'm takin ya to a place you'll like. It's got milk.
[taunting him over his age and inability to drink. why not? he's punched a hole in his little brother's body, yet hasn't offered him a drag of his cigarette and isn't planning on plying him with alcohol. as much fun as that'd be. nah, he has another idea, and he wants his sibling to be as awake and aware of it as possible when it happens. wants to see his eyes flicker with realization, the reaction on his face as raw and truthful as it can be. their next turn changes the light's angle, causing his shadow to swarm over shouto's rather than allow the pair to meld together evenly.
his birthday. his choice. do anything he wants. so ready to sacrifice almost anything to keep his attention and presence. starved for familial connection. turquoise eyes flick to the side, black brows arching in amusement when someone almost takes a stumble on the street. in one motion, the kid saves himself from falling and wrenches to avoid bumping into him.] Careful. Wouldn't wanna bruise ya pretty face.
( anyone else would probably hate that kind of ribbing. they've got plenty of years between them, years that he'd seen as he grew, watching touya and natsuo and even fuyumi get older and leave him behind; he'd felt the years between them, when natsuo had gone off to college, when fuyumi had become a teacher.
he'd felt it even worse when he'd finally gotten to school, realizing that he had no idea how to interact with anyone his age--realizing that he'd lost so many years being alone, unable to cope, unable to learn how to socialize beyond the manners that had been nearly burned and etched into him. even now, touya has to be at least in his twenties, and he's still lagging behind. there's no way to clear that kind of space, and perhaps someone with a more traditional childhood would hate to be belittled by their elder sibling, to be reminded of all the things they're not legally allowed to do. not being offered a cigarette, or even a drag off the end: not being taken somewhere that serves alcohol, and instead teased with the mention of milk.
sure, anyone else would feel embarrassed, maybe. frustrated. but he feels elated. these are all things he's never really experienced before--and to have touya teasing him, ribbing him a little, just makes him want to smile; he tries to hold it back, but his mouth twitches, and stubbornly he forces his lips to snap together.
one of his hands lifts, warm from his pocket, but it's only so that he can rub over his cheek: the one that would have likely taken the brunt of the fall, if he'd really tripped and fell on his face. )
It's not pretty. ( he says slowly, almost stubbornly; what is this strange feeling? he doesn't like it, the way his stomach clenches, the way he feels embarrassed, the way he doesn't know whether he wants touya to be teasing him, or not. ) Already marked up.
( he doesn't have to point out his scar for touya to know precisely where it is; his own fingertips barely graze it, from where he rubs gently up along his cheekbone, before he drops his hand back down, seeking out the hidden warmth of his pocket again. if it's somewhere touya wants to go, somewhere with milk, then he'll go along with him. even if he's not entirely sure that what he wants to drink, when his stomach is already so tumultuous, is milk.
that, at least, has him lifting his chin--and easing just slightly closer to touya, almost like they'll touch elbows. )
...Are you going to tell me what it is? Or make me guess.
( knowing touya, he's probably not going to do either, and just lead them there without warning. dutifully, he's bound to follow him. )
[every element of him is a target. his age, his birth, his strength, quirk, friends, decisions, life. all of them equally flammable. only difference is what shouto's reaction is to any being struck. what does he care about, what's important enough to defend and insignificant enough to ignore? the reports in crinkling newspapers don't reach that deep, and no interviews glowing on television in an otherwise dark room reveal such trivia about his little brother. he has the chance now to drag some straight from shouto's lips. why not enjoy...
waking up amid sterile lights and white sheets, all he'd done was demand answers from an asshole in a flower costume and a bunch of kids he didn't care about. learning in horror from a cruel man in a screen what happened to him, all he'd lost, his skin, his power, years of his life, even the presumed ability to learn from his own father. what it felt like to have his heart freeze in a scrunching vice behind his ribs, throbbing in fear and incredulous rage over his tragic life. so much gone, ripped away in a roaring blaze and years of black silence. for a brief moment, delirious in hope and heedless of tiny stones and sticks sliced into the soles of his bloody feet, he stood outside his family's home, wanting nothing more than to reclaim any shred of what he'd lost. a foolish little kid wandering bloody exhausted through his familial halls. with no sign of his missing life even recalled... none of them changed... his death meant nothing to any of them. severed from all of them. from endeavor, from his mom, his sister, his brother, shouto.
it remains even now, a yawning blackened gape between them. only an idiot would think he had the chance to cross it. bridges burned away long ago. as close as his little brother is beside him, so much remains across the chasm. he teases him, wanting to hear the echo of his voice and reaction over their separation. a shadow of their past. when they had the chance to know each other torn away from them by the monster who stalked within their family walls. shouto's under the impression he can reclaim that. running through the forest in his own delirious hope. kinda sickening how similar they are in this stage of life. yet completely opposite.
shouto's happy to be teased. everything thrown to him, he pounces like a starving mutt to scraps. and he keeps tossing them, sitting on a dirty park bench amusing himself with a pathetic animal's antics. no matter how much he tries to hold back his smile, shouto's unable to stop his mouth twitching at the corner, or the slight rise in his chest. right?
a bare hum vibrates in his chest and throat, floating somewhere between disinterested and piqued.]
Halfa Japan doesn't agree with ya. [he's seen them, his little brother's fans, talking about him in store lines, discussing him on the news, a reporter's eye lingering two seconds too long on the hero's face, a petty criminal grunting out what he'd like to do to shouto before blue flames consumed his face and brain. shit kindling.] Some people are fascinated with damaged goods. Makes 'em feel better about themselves when they can pity something.
[he's seen those looks thrown his way as well. sickos interested in his scars, fingers picking at his staples, lips wanting to know his story, and none of them getting much in response. people can be taken with grotesque, as if they're special enough to "fix" the damage or have some perverse idea they can "save" him from whatever fate their hero-bleached brains want to levy on his life. even that green kid from shouto's class had the same idea. feeling sorry for a scar-faced emotionally-fucked-up boy, he just had to reach out to save him from a decision he decided for himself was "bad" for shouto. of course his little brother doesn't see it like that.]
A bar. [as predicted, he does neither. not a name, not an address, leaving the boy to guess more what kind, where at, and so forth. standing close to him, sharing warmth despite their clothes, a faint brush of elbow earns a quick glance to the side, azure eyes almost glowing within his bangs' shadows. when's the last time someone stuck this close to him, not out of fear, but out of comfort? as if his presence offers shouto protection and assurance. he'd never been the "big brother" who gave his siblings that sense of power. another facet of his failures. and yet, this perfect, powerful puppet hangs close to him, because he wants to. because he likes it.] Pretty sure you've gone out with ya little friends, right?
To a bar? ( his voice bleeds skepticism; he's not even sure any of the others would have dared to try. kaminari, sero, and even kirishima can get into trouble from time to time, dragging others into their orbit, but he's not sure that they've yet to risk trying to get into somewhere they're not supposed to go. it's not even entirely about the backlash they would get from aizawa-sensei: it's the backlash they might get from the public, or worse, cause troubles for UA entirely.
in a way, he should be thinking about the same things--there's a kindle of shame there, a tuft of a flame that he blows out with another thought. they're on the outskirts of town, in a place that probably sees less and less support from pro heroes, and what's the worst thing that could happen? he tarnishes endeavor's brand? the great todoroki name?
for not the first time, he thinks: go ahead, i want to.
there's a faint shake of his head, training his gaze in front of them. )
No. Just to karaoke, or shopping, the usual sorts of things...
( he doesn't want to bring up practice, or training, doesn't want to ruin the tenuous string of this conversation; selfishly, maybe, he doesn't want touya to change his mind, or to get in a bad mood. if touya had said they were going to an underground fighting ring where he'd have to battle someone to the death, he would have still followed him. ridiculously, he can understand that he's being stupid--that he's letting his own feelings get in the way, but he's easily blinded by even just the slightest glance that touya spares him, like he's looking to see if he's still following along.
he needs to get a hold of himself. a bar isn't going to help that, either--his idea is that it will be dark, and intimate, loud music playing, and touya looking at him from across a table, staring at him with those unreadable eyes. the thought makes his skin prickle, but it's all in a good way, a terrifying way, and he wants to tell himself it's just the cold, even though he isn't affected by it at all.
so he sticks close to touya's side, measuring their steps together, his hands sunken back down into his pockets so he can clench his fingers together; it makes touya's words circle back, after a moment of silence, like he has to ask: )
...Is that how you see me, too? ( it wouldn't surprise him, but then touya's broadcasted how he feels about him loud and clear; even so, he's grasping at straws like he can't help himself. )
Uh-huh. [what kinda image blooms in his innocent little head with a single word? a seedy wall-sunk back-alley door hosting shaded figures lurking beneath a single swaying lamp. smoke curling from cigarettes over glittering alcohol-filled glasses. bar stools in a row with hunched men and women drowning problems in sake as they gird up for tomorrows they already hate. a good little boy like shouto is never supposed to go to bad places like bars. adults only. even endeavor avoided places like that, afraid of trashing his precious image. now his eldest sibling aims to open that dark door and watch him walk into this forbidden world. why not? he's already betrayed his own heroics by meeting a villain and not running to the nearest phone for backup. he's pierced his perfectly healthy body with metal and studded his ears with wounds. would it be such a crime to walk with his cigarette-smoking failure of a brother into another patch of "naughty" underground? if anyone found out shouto interacted with one of japan's most wanted without trying to arrest or capture him, his reputation hangs in peril. and yet, it's this which gives him a sudden pause. visible in his parted lips, barely perceptive widening of his eyes, even a momentary caught breath.]
What's wrong? Afraid ya gonna get caught? [taunting, digging, twisting his dare of invitation deeper. he's already come this far down the path. is being with a villain worth risking his status in public, his place at his precious school, his standing as a hero? and what of his friends, his family, his academy? all of them will face a lurid backsplash if this goes public. and all of it will emanate from a single little kid who for one night said "fuck you" to everything he stands for...
there he goes. two-toned bangs wipe gentle cross shouto's forehead and he resumes walking, attention listed back to the path ahead.] Such a good boy. Bet it feels good, stayin in the lines. Keepin ya record neat an' pretty.
[bet endeavor's real proud of him. each time he sets his eyes on the only thing which matters, he'll see it shining bright and pure, fiery ambitions swirling within its icy walls. how he wants to wrap his bony fingers around a hammer's shaft and smash it to pieces. nah. one at a time. he's waited this long to enact his plans. he can wait some more. shouto wanted to give him a birthday gift and he's not even aware the additional present he's offering. chances to taint and corrupt the naive hero before he's even graduated. far too late to shove him face-first into the hell he normally walks through. but he intends to send him back to his idyllic world with a few personal injections. no worries of him changing his mind now. this night's turning out more interesting than he thought. just how much is shouto gonna let him get away with under this moon? ... kinda excited to find out. wrapped up in the clothes his little brother bought him, leaving their own mark on his ruined flesh, he'll return the favor.
no one's gonna care if they jaywalk, right? there aren't any cops out here to interfere with them. woulda been funny if there were. would shouto duck behind him, would he run along side him, would he use his quirk? nah, he's a hero. and his quirk's too recognizable. but he wouldn't stand aside and do nothing if he lit up beside him. way to ruin their fun night together. no it's a good thing the outskirts are devoid of police.]
What else are ya? [he's gotten used to the weight of his coat's tails moving with him, so turning around in his casual clothes feels a bit strange. walking backwards, he tugs his hands from his pockets and lazily gestures to himself, head lifted to brazenly shrug off the hood over his head. baring his scars, his own damaged face. fingers touch his chest, splayed in a mocking tenderness at his gestures.]
We're from the same mold, Shouto. Bred to be nothing more than a vessel for someone else's goals. Ya just happened to get luckier than the rest of the spawn. [a lazy smirk tugs his mouth in half, contempt and callous interest mingling on his expression.] Ya don't think you're perfect at all either, do ya.
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no subject
Date: 8/29/24 16:25 (UTC)rather, he's more invested in what happens here. there's something about putting his little brother under someone else's knife that messes with him in a good and bad way. he was more than willing to sic villains on endeavor, to watch shigaraki attack shouto's school, play in the role of kidnapping that blonde with a bad attitude without caring what the attack cost his brother. any of those could have left the kid dead for endeavor to find and despair. but the idea of some idiot messing up shouto's piercing? yeah, he'd kill the artist for that. without a second's hesitation. you had one job...
what the hell? is this kid getting feelings because his older brother wants to be in the same room as him while he's getting pierced? yes, of course he is. shouto's still a baby in a lot of ways. even if he remains the most taciturn of all endeavor's spawn. honestly, he wonders where he got that from. everyone else in the family is more willing to talk than shouto is. maybe the monster really did damage his brain with all those beatings. heh, funny. he slips his hands into his pockets as the younger agrees with the decision.] Good.
[he wouldn't have listened to a protest anyways. once the hostess returns to invite them, he peels off the wall and resumes his place beside shouto as they walk. the little glance upward goes ignored, though a bony hand with burned wrists settles atop the boy's shoulder. is to an affectionate hug, a protective embrace, or a possessive guardianship? likely the latter, though he's sure the kid thinks of it as the middle. once the curtain's pulled back, he enters the room and lets go of his brother. while shouto gets settled in the chair, he scans around the room, taking in the quality and cleanliness. this isn't a seedy backward establishment, but a proper parlor, so it checks out well. good to know.
the bench? nope. he moves to stand next to the chair instead, opposite the woman. shouto looks like a little kid nervously sitting all proper on the edge of the doctor's examining table, ready to get a physical. a black brow arches when the decision's deferred to him. silently he reviews the options, then indicates a simple set of rose stud starters. simple, small, without clashing much to shouto's skin tone. might let him get away with it for a day or two on passing.] You'll look good with these.
[his brother's got plenty of girls around to ask questions to later. now back to the woman, before they get started.] I'll need a mask. [because he'll be right here during the procedure. no arguments. he trusts shouto's body to be too hot and cold most of the time for any infection to set in, but... might as well play at being big brother for a little bit longer.]
no subject
Date: 9/5/24 21:42 (UTC)whatever touya wants him to put in his body, he'll wear. it's easier to accept than signing his own death certificate, allow touya to roast him from the inside out.
but still, his jaw locks, lips pursing, as the woman steps out of the room to get a pair of the earrings that touya indicated. he doesn't know if he should thank him, or tell him he likes his choice, or if his voice will even let him do that much--and how stupid is it, to get this excited about something so small, so insignificant? it's not as though any of this will make touya change his mind about anything; there's a sort of profound, lonely jolt at the realization, every time he comes around to it, every time his joy circles back to a bit of sunken despair. a brother for the night, maybe, or for a few hours--like cinderella, except he's the one turning into a pumpkin at the end of it, the one who would offer touya every glass slipper in the world if it kept him there.
when the woman returns, it's with a disposable mask for touya--and a tray with the piercing needle, amongst other things. narrowing his eyes, he turns to look up at touya; the woman approaches him, but it's only so that she can gently mark the spots on either ear, having him face her so that she can ensure they're even. it's obvious she wants to ask about their relationship, whatever it is: her gaze flickers, up to touya, then back to him, as though trying to see if there's any resemblance, or if they're friends, or even lovers, maybe. embarrassed, he doesn't say anything: he moves with her guidance, and when she goes to do one ear, she telegraphs her movements with a practiced ease; he's less nervous when she's next to him, instead of in front of him, and even the breath he lets out as she makes the first hole in his ear isn't too bad. the pain is nominal, at best.
more relaxed, he waits, twists so that she can do the other ear--and when she's done, and the earrings are in, he immediately twists back to look at touya, impatient and almost demanding. )
Do they look okay? ( he mumbles--even as the woman laughs, since she's been holding out a hand mirror for him to check it himself. he takes it from her, but he doesn't look; his gaze whips back to touya, expectant. ) Do you like them?
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Date: 9/11/24 23:04 (UTC)... he already knows what shouto thinks. it's there in the quiet sparkle amid those mismatched irises. the kid's happy. swelling inside with a warm pleasure at his big brother's attention, even though it won't ever make it fully through his icy surface. look at him, jaws set and lips tight together. what's he locking away inside his mouth right now? those feelings bloating his chest? grateful words or curious questions? trembling nerves? he remains where he is, looking down at the boy in the chair from above. it's too bad shouto's not a dog. he wouldn't be able to hide how excited he is. probably be he kind of pedigree with impeccable looks and breeding, only to piss itself in happiness when given some love. that's right... shouto wasn't raised without love. he survived because of it. no matter what endeavor did, rei was still able to protect her baby's beating heart. even after she was locked away, shouto's fleshy organ pumped out of anger for her. because he knew love. surely he doesn't think these pathetic crumbs his older brother's giving him right now hint at reconciliation. this changes nothing between them. yet something keeps him here. hmph... maybe there's a bit of pathetic still left inside his own rotten corpse. guess it can't hurt to be stupid for a night.
he turns his head just enough to regard the woman out the corner of his eye and hooks the mask with a finger. a quick fit over his mouth, chin, and nose, straps behind his ears, and he's settled, the white surface a strange comparison to the scarred bags under his eyes and wrecked violet throat. his eyes crimp slightly from a hidden smile beneath his mask, but it's not the kind caring smile that reassures a child. that smile burned up a long time ago. shouto's head goes back and forth, marks on his ears presenting an easy preparation. he's not a troublesome child, complacent and calm. the woman's occasional glances between them slowly threaten to become irritating as the unspoken question on her tongue begins to build. she could ask it, but then again, does he look like someone you want to potentially piss off?
we're brothers. just friends. i'm datin him. no relation. ain't ya business. he's got options.]
Treat him gently. He's a special guy. [wouldn't want anything bad to happen to him. even if that's a silken lie and shouto knows it. he should take his hand... but that brings back the same feelings as when shouto hugged him in the dingy room back there. ironic, since he's not that big on feeling anymore. memories of feelings? if he does anything now, it's simply imitation. doesn't mean anything, right? he narrows his eyes as the needle finally pierces, welling up his father's blood on the surface of shouto's skin. an injury not from heroics or training. what a brave guy.
he remains beside him, looking down at his little brother. no, he won't touch him. won't offer a hand for comfort. it's too strange. but he also isn't retreating. stands there like a ghoul beside him the entire time, in his vision, in his space, always within arm's length and eyesight. it ain't like playing kickball in the courtyard, but it's the first sibling thing they've ever done together. does it even count as that? touya died a long time ago... ah but he reclaimed touya on the back of that giant, in front of shouto and his father. guess he's returned from the grave with a few strips of sibling clinging to his damned bones. the piercings are done, the wounds are cleaned, and the starter studs are in.
heh. it's almost cute how quickly shouto looks to him for validation. didn't even look in the mirror first. he's actually avoiding it. what a loyal little puppy.] Hn, turn ya head. [once one way, then to the other, checking out the reflection in the light and how they go with the hang of his hair.] They look nice. Who picked 'em out for ya?
[now he's just taunting him. but the compliment is genuine at least.]
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Date: 9/22/24 23:58 (UTC)and it's disappointing, in a way--sickening, in a way, that he feels despondent hearing it, that the shadow of his brother there is just out of reach, that he stands beside him more like a guardian than something tangible, something that he can touch and talk to and find comfort in. even though he could reach out and feel touya's damaged skin with his fingertips, it doesn't mean that he's actually here, rooted in the moment, trying to bring together the frayed threads that split between them. rather, it's more that he's on one side, frantically knitting them together while touya, on the other side, takes the seams and rips them all apart again. he doesn't blame him for it. he shouldn't blame him for it.
but he thinks he understands a little better, now: the agony that touya feels, in not being looked at by their father. he can't force touya to look at him either.
still, there's a ghost of a smile, something genuine, something aching, at the approval--and it's only once he's tilted his head this way and that, letting touya see them both, that he risks looking in the mirror himself, eyes a little narrowed at the sight of his expression; is that really what he looks like, seeing touya? what an idiot. still, examining the piercings--and being a little stunned to see them there, despite feeling them--he offers the mirror back to the woman with another small smile, thanking her before he turns to touya. )
...A special guy. ( mumbled softly, his gaze flicking up once to meet touya's before he's sliding off the seat to stand next to him; both of his hands reach up, but it's only so that he can skim his fingers over the straps of the mask over his mouth. careful of touya's ears and the piercings there, he gently pries the mask down, revealing the shape of his mouth, the crude staples on his face, and rather than ask for a new mask, he simply turns it around as though he fully intends to put it on his own face. )
Your turn. ( the words get muffled behind the material--his ears sting a little, but he tries not to bump them as he adjusts the mask, drags it over his nose, hides his pursed lips from view. ) Do you want me to hold your hand?
( see, he can tease too. a little. )
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Date: 9/26/24 19:45 (UTC)watching the needle pierce through shouto's skin reminds him intimately of how fragile his flesh truly is. that powerful quirk means nothing in a body of flesh and blood. he'll burn, he'll bleed, he'll break. that's right... he's just a flesh doll. a vessel someone else poured their all into. memories come, a raging scream, a strong arm shoved to the side, a woman's wide-eyed face fading from view as flames seared towards the naive baby staring at him in her arms. in that moment, he knew this thing was the wall he had to get over. as long as shouto lived, there was no place for his own existence. so he'll make a place. using both endeavor and shouto. all this time, they've been there, separated from him via their own understanding, unable to realizes just how close to them he actually was. kind of like now... only a few inches exist between himself and his little brother, but they may as well be chasms apart.
look at me. shouto never had to say those words to his father. enji's eyes were always and only on shouto as soon as he came into being. the only time he looked at someone else was because their existence affected shouto's. it's twisted irony this same boy is now desperately wanting his older brother to look at him. of course he doesn't know just how much he's been looking at shouto. obsessive and observant, watching him grown in that damn house, then watching him grow in the year at his beloved school. but for all that, right now seems to be the closest he's ever been to his little brother in a long time. strange... the kid's almost an alien to him despite being the person he's almost too familiar with. as shouto looks at himself in the mirror, he gaze lingers on his face. wanting to see the boy's reaction to a first step outside his little controlled life. this is something between the two of them alone. heh, what a scandal.
the mirror's gone and he tilts his head a bit when dual-colored eyes turn to him again.] You know you are.
[special. his jacket shifts a little as he steps back to give shouto room, standing to the side when the boy gets to his feet.] Oy.
[what's he going for his mask for? hands find the lines of his mask, but he doesn't attempt to stop him. merely watches with the same cold gaze as shouto trails his digits along the straps before finally slipping off them and touching his ears. there's no sensation of pain or pleasure there, only a brief numb notice to his brain someone's fondling the pierced-through cartilage. out from behind the backs, around the shell and finally pulled down, the mask eases away from his face, uncovering his half-scorched lips and reconstructed visage. but arches a brow when shouto makes to put the mask over his own face.]
Gross. That ain't very hygienic, Shouto. [yet he's not stopping him. hell he might even sound amused by it. not sure what sort of flex the action's making, but if he wants to do that, whatever. looks like his little brother's the kind of person to share a drink with someone, mindless of indirect kissing. is that what teenagers think about now? likely not this one. it occurs to him shouto might be playfully trying to emulate his position by the chair as he turns around and takes a seat on the cushions. swinging his legs over, he settles on his back, head resting against the still-warm surface.] Do I look scared?
[guess shouto's not as dead inside as he thought. still, he simply turns his hand over, palm up, beside his body, as if suggesting the kid's got permission to touch his hand. consider it another present while he lets the woman mess with his eyebrow for his own piercing.]
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Date: 10/3/24 21:55 (UTC)his gaze moves, drops down to where touya's arm flattens beside him--his hand palm up, inviting. surreptitious, or maybe embarrassed, his gaze jerks up to the woman; she's completely in her element, comfortable with pinning some of touya's hair away from his forehead and cleaning the area for the piercing. she's probably used to this kind of thing, especially out here, at the edges of town: there are probably all kinds of people who come in here, and discretion is something that he hadn't even considered, but that he's grateful for all the same. behind the mask, he can feel his own hot breath; he can smell the faint curl of touya's burnt skin lingering there, and it's disgusting, sure, but it feels good to breathe it in, like it's something there just for him to swallow up.
he can't just give up now. he can't just lose all his nerve now, can't just ignore it when touya throws him a bone or two, especially when he's starving for the chance to get closer. given the way things have gone, touya isn't going to light the place up if he reaches for him; he isn't going to risk it. )
You've never looked scared. ( a quiet murmur, from behind the mask. ) I want to learn how to do that, too.
( there are plenty of things he admires about touya--plenty of things he probably isn't meant to admire. but while he'd sobbed and screamed and stared up at endeavor in horror more than once, his brother had always looked so calm from a distance, his eyes glazed over with a chill, his mouth a flat line. even when he'd been manic, laughing and dancing and lording over them in the fight, he hadn't been scared, hadn't been uncertain.
one hand reaches, a little too warm, to close his palm in around touya's waiting hand; his fingers curl around it, gently bending his arm up until touya's elbow rests against the cushions. then it's his cold hand sneaking in, smothering the back of touya's hand in his dual hold, for a moment; he squeezes his hand, pointedly, before drawing his cold hand back. )
It's not going to hurt? ( the question is obviously directed down to touya, which is why the woman doesn't answer; she's already prepping the needle, and with a soft press of his lips into a frown, behind the mask, his cooler fingertips wander idly over the back of touya's hand, tracing and running over each individual staple there, following the seam. )
...Do you feel this...?
no subject
Date: 10/8/24 17:26 (UTC)life's cruel. how come it decides to play into his hands now rather than so many years ago... it could've been so simple... so much better for all of them... if only...
brushed aside, the thoughts tumble down into inky ravine, lost among his ravaged mindscape. no time or patience or use for things like those. his hair's pulled up away from his forehead, left clear of his burns for now. so many of his piercings go through his ruined flesh on one side, and healthy flesh on the other, tormenting what he should try to save in order to hold onto what's already destroyed. he's long since lost care for his health and flesh. piece by piece thrown into the pyre he made for himself alongside endeavor's. this wrecked shell need only survive long enough to take that thing down with it. no further attachment to himself remains, so why is it that shouto continues to reach for him? wants to touch him. wants to hold him. poor kid's too dumbed up on hope to realize what futility is. what a blessing to grow up so naive.
the needle goes through his skin, he feels nothing but the dip and poke, as if thrusting a pen into a sleeping leg. blood flows even still, welling up in a garnet bead before seeping into the gauze and antiseptic wipe. so much of this trip has already been insane. continuing to give his little brother one gift after another. time together, wearing the clothes, agreeing to this mutual piercing, being with him without attacking, quaint sibling bonding shouto never got to do as a child. did he ever think as he watched his siblings kick a ball around in the courtyard that he would be here? did he ever wonder what would happen if he became a hero and his own flesh and blood became a monster? nah. too young.]
You ain't even gonna be insane enough for that. [he admits his own imbalance, his own burned-up heart and twisted mind full of hatred and spite. shouto can never fall like this; he has too many people holding him up now. so he will always have fear. it's stupid that would be something his little brother admires him for. a lack of fear is insanity. freed from those constraints, someone can do anything they want. shouto won't ever feel the hatred which drives him, or the sorrow which strung up little touya's life in that house. his brother has a strong heroic heart. it walks a straight rail, and can never move onto a warped one.
hand in hand, palm curling over his own. not for the first time does he find a spike of irritation in his body. his brother's hands are almost the same size as his own. so close to reaching him in height too. so blessed. another well of blood as the needle draws out, gauze and wipe blurring the upper peripheral of his vision as his arm lifts on the cushion. oy... who takes a hand in two of theirs? he's not on his deathbed here. doesn't need the consolation. yet shouto squeezes it and his fingers curl instinctively over the hero's palm.]
Nothin hurts now. [fingers trace down the back of his hand, following the lithe bones and his knuckles before settling on the demarcation line of his flesh. staples bump and shift within his flesh as shouto feels directly along the seam of his skin, skipping from one metal rung to the next. ironically, while it doesn't hurt, that part is one of the most sensitive areas left on his flesh. pain is gone, yet his tactile sense isn't completely stripped, only dulled save for a few areas. like this one.] Yeah, I feel that. Gonna test my reflexes next?
no subject
Date: 10/18/24 00:33 (UTC)maybe they're just insane in different ways. he doesn't mind it, really, if it's something that they share, no matter which angle, no matter where it comes from.
his gaze moves, from touya's hand, along the bend of his arm, to his shoulder and his neck and along his face--even when the needle goes into the skin, he doesn't even flinch, doesn't do much except close an eye against the potential shadow of blood over it. uneasy, his lips are fit into a frown behind the mask; it looks like it would hurt, but then again, do either of them even know what pain is, anymore? he's more familiar with it now than touya is, if it's true that nothing hurts now--which would imply that it did hurt, once upon a time, something that's almost sad, something that makes a rock plummet down into his stomach. it's not like he could have done anything at the time: he couldn't even keep endeavor's hands off their mother, nonetheless go out to sekoto peak to save his brother; but it still feels useless to let himself write that feeling off. he's responsible. just like the rest of them.
his fingertips idle, moving further away from the staples--they work down touya's fingers, feeling along his knuckles there, before he realizes himself and jerks his hand, abruptly. the woman is already tending to putting the temporary piercing in the hole; then it's just a little dabbing to get rid of the blood, and she pulls back to clean up and disinfect her tools.
it's obvious that touya can sit up now, that they can likely leave now--but his gaze lifts, and he's still frowning, and the woman tells them to take a few minutes before heading up front again, as though sensing his own discomfort. it's only once she's gone that he uses his cool hand to press down, gently, against touya's shoulder. )
You heard her. ( a little petulant, like a true younger brother. ) Stay like this. Just a few minutes.
( if this is all he can get, then he wants to soak it up as much as possible; his gaze lifts, moves up towards the curtained-off entrance to the room, and then back down to touya--and then, awkwardly, his hand moves from touya's shoulder so that he can slowly peel the mask off one ear, then the next, shifting this way and that to look for the trash can. determined not to let go of touya's hand, he stretches sidelong until he can safely dispose of it into the little can by his seat--then he's straightening, squeezing touya's hand pointedly as though to reassure (or maybe demand) its presence. )
...Do you really want me to test your reflexes?
( it comes to him after a long moment, like things often do: his lips pursed, head tilted as he looks down at touya patiently. )
no subject
Date: 10/26/24 06:31 (UTC)then again... maybe insane people are fearless. look at him, at shigaraki, at toga. they no longer feel fear. living in the darkness and blood, saturated in violence and filth no hero every wants to sully their hands in. you don't fear out here; otherwise you'll be eaten alive. no fear of law, no fear or death. villains don't gain any advantage through fear. it's one reason he burned so many of those idiots. because they were still scared of heroes. there was nothing they could use from trash like that.
one eye remains open, gazing up at the light overhead. he feels his little brother's gaze crawl up his arm and shoulder, land on his face, and the single azure gaze flicks to the side to lock onto his visage. there's not even a flicker of disgust or flinch of pain on shouto's expression when the needle goes through. uneasy though... he sees that in his mismatched eyes. is he nervous about what might happen? there's a needle over his eyeball, even behind the lid. a single slip and he could be blinded (not really, since the artist pierced upward under his brow, going towards his brow). it's almost cute how shouto feels badly for him, yet knows nothing about the brother he was always kept from. why should he care if that person got hurt? he's dead and buried. nothing can hurt him now. did endeavor even tell shouto that same person had tried to hurt him as a baby? what would he have done if their father had missed... probably far worse than that bitch did to her little brat. fate made a cruel trade that day, but lessened the impending curse. he would be scarred, but not by his brother's hand. not then anyway.]
Havin fun? [shouto's playing with his hand. wandering bony knuckles to avoid the eerie metal piercing his skin. long, warm, slender, hard. likely not the kind of hands his little brother inherited. it annoys him their hands are almost the same size even with eight damn years between them. he'll probably be taller, broader, stronger, bigger than his eldest brother by the time he graduates. what a lucky boy. part of him is almost glad their mother burned him; it would've sickened him even further if shouto came out with no blemishes whatsoever. now with endeavor sporting a similar scar, they can all be a happy little fucked up family. too bad natsuo missed out... could've made a quartet.
there's no creak or rasp of leather against the chair, but rather a soft hush of fabric. right, all that's put away now. he's pretending to be a decent person. sitting up halfway, he fully intends to take his leave. loitering in a random public area is never a good thing in his life. but a cool hand settles on his shoulder, earning a brief glance. surprised? not really. curious? mostly. shouto wants him to stay?]
I ain't gonna pass out from that. [not blood loss or pain or head trauma. this kid's being greedy. but it's his birthday (make up) so once more his lanky body eases back down into the seat, wiry muscles relaxing as he settles under the petulant frown. once he can see it thanks to shouto taking the mask off. it's kind of cute how stubborn (desperate) he is to keep the contact going. anchoring his hand in his as if decoupling would sap the will to live out of him. that demanding little squeeze earns a wry expression as he rolls his head on the chair headrest, looking at his brother in miffed amusement. what a brat.
would it hurt to play along for a while more? they have all night.] Is that somethin they teach ya in that big fancy hero school? [taunting him feels good. after all, shouto's the only one in their spawn who got blessed with such a treasured experience. the others were deemed unfit, inferior, worthless to receive such. mah, kind of a shame shigaraki never decayed the entire school back then. he was too weak.] All right.
[he's curious.]
no subject
Date: 11/17/24 22:40 (UTC)does he know how to do it? not at all. it's not that they haven't had plenty of first aid classes, as well as field training, but that's all been the sort of lessons to keep someone alive until the real medics come, the sort of temporary stays that can save a life and keep it going in the interim. he hasn't learned about how to do silly things like this, and it would be just as ridiculous if he asked to administer a vision test or a hearing test or to measure his brother's blood pressure. the fact that he's now being put on the spot, that he's now being asked to do something he's never done before: it's not particularly surprising, given that he's sure that touya must expect him to back away and fail. how many times had endeavor done the same thing? forcing him to do the impossible, to fail and fail and fail again, just to learn it out of sheer spite?
without the mask, his expressions are more solidly on display. his lips press together against a breath--against words that he doesn't want to find, against a feeling that he doesn't want to express. )
...Alright. ( an echo of the same word--he doesn't seem to recognize it. ) Then...
( normally that sort of thing would be done with tools, right? his gaze slides down his brother's body, gauging the length of his legs, the hang of his feet off the end of the medical bed, and then it wanders, takes note of what's on the counter, the closed cabinets, knowing better than to rustle through these sorts of things in this kind of place, especially with touya present. he doesn't want to do anything that might arouse any suspicion or get anyone to ask questions. so that means coming up with his own plan--
--which is perhaps a little devious, all the same. his hand stays gripped around touya's hand, but his free hand lifts, opens up to splay his palm out, fingers spread, as though to show him that he's empty handed. )
I'll touch you, and you have to grab me before I can.
( that's an easy test of reflexes, isn't it? with a nervous flutter, his gaze darts up to touya's gaze, and then away again, focused firmly instead on the drape of the hoodie around his chest. touya has done far too many things for him tonight--at what point will things change? will they become enemies again, at the stroke of midnight? or will this continue until he leaves?
does he have to leave? he's sure that he could find somewhere for them to spend the night, though he'd likely have to leave early in the morning to make it back to school--
no, these aren't the thoughts to be having, here. his ears are starting to pinken, slightly, as though the shell is determined to match the slightly red color of his lobes, still a bit swollen from the piercing. )
...Here we go.
( the warning isn't necessary. his free arm jerks out, a palm that immediately seeks to connect with the flat dip of touya's stomach, rocketing down to try to sink his fingers into the fabric and keep hold. )
no subject
Date: 11/23/24 06:37 (UTC)was that endeavor's original plan for his failed spawn?
turquoise eyes linger on mismatching hues across from him, blue as ice and gray as slate. so good at hiding his feelings under layers of frost, yet they're cracking to the surface even now, forcing him to swallow them back to keep his composure. or maybe his composure simply doesn't know how to convey those feelings. apart from his lips solidifying in a line to keep those words inside and stuff down emotions he feels but won't-- can't --express. one day, this kid's gonna rupture in a magnificent disgusting cacophony of repression. kinda hopes he's there to see it.
searching, looking, his two-toned head wandering attention around the room in curious attempt at locating something to use. he knows so little. probably searching for that little rubber hammer the doctors used. as if such a thing existed in a tattoo parlor. rifle through the cabinets, shuffle in and out of drawers, it won't appear. he'll have to improvise. seconds tick by and his irritation begins to flicker under his skin. crawling tiny burning lines under his skin, stomach twisting in a mixture of annoyance and anger. shouto was born with so much, powerful and strong, yet at times, he's an idiot. naively lost in a world he never saw until his father finally opened his cage door and sent him out to conquer it. a trained pet released into the wild. blunt nails twitch against the bed's faux leather, flares of disgust and elation twisting inside as his mind ignites with curious interest. kill him right now. burn him up. end this stupid charade of siblings and put the little beast out of its unknown misery--]
Hm? [an empty hand. palm open, fingers spread. he's eight years his junior and yet shouto's hand is almost as large as his own. ire sinks into his gut. his first thought at seeing his hand is that. the second traces his brother's words. touch him.. grab him. despite the furrow in his brows, there's a sardonic hook in his mouth's edge, gristle showing betwixt his stapled seam.] Ya just can't get enough of touchin me. Gonna start thinkin ya got a fetish.
[once more, averting his ominous wave of hatred. close again to burning him, ever interested in his blackened corpse. yet he avoids it with another injection of brotherly bonding he can't get his damn head around. nor does he feel he wants to. even thoughts in his head exist weirdly there, uncomfortable and fuzzy. this farce, they can't exist this way, does shouto get pleasure from pretending everything's fine? or is he simply delusional... begging things to remain as they air until that fateful wire snaps.]
Ya ear's burnin. [what's going through his head now? touching him, reflexes, now embarrassed. in a split second, movement snaps between them, one hand swishing through the air for his stomach on the tailwind of unnecessary warning. does he stop him? nah. that wasn't exactly the challenge was it. rather, his own hand moves with an eagerness gleaming in his eyes. ignoring shouto's own completely in exchange for grasping his little brother around the column of his throat.
grab me before i can
is what he said. whether his hand connects to shouto's throat before the kid gets to his stomach doesn't really matter. he isn't paying attention to that nuance. rather focused on his little brother's face, watching for the expression and emotion and whether they'll be able to break through his eternal glacier. far too warm skin melds against flesh divide in temperature, fingertips pressing to the sinew and cords of his neck, thumb pressuring a pounding jugular and palm cupped about the hard pipe of his trachea.
only after a few seconds does he bother opening his mouth.]
Satisfied?
no subject
Date: 12/1/24 22:13 (UTC)delusional, to think that he could do something like this. delusional to think that he could take touya's hand and squeeze it and never let go, that he could find somewhere in those cold blue eyes the kind of love that had been missing his entire life. and it's not like natsuo and fuyumi didn't try--though perhaps one more than the other--but it's hard to find commonality in siblings who never experienced the sheer torture of their father's existence firsthand. fuyumi always tried to smile and forgive him and say that everything was fine, and natsuo hated their father so badly that he put distance between them all to protect himself. he doesn't fault either of them for it. but for years after they both left the house, it was only him: only him there, with endeavor, suffering night after night of torturous training, things that he's never told anyone, not even his classmates now.
because who would really believe him? and what would be the point? something so normal to him would be simply insane to anyone else--except touya.
so maybe it is delusional. delusional to feel that rush of pleasure, when his hand connects with touya's shirt, when he can feel his fingers still gripped around his, and there's a certain misplaced enjoyment from the touch that he can both recognize and seek to ignore, not willing to parse certain sensations, certain pleasures that aren't correct. it's funny, really: that sensation doesn't waver, even when he feels that hand dart up and grab at the column of his throat.
it could end right here. even with both of his hands on touya, even with his training, he knows that touya is still faster, and more than that, viciously stronger than him, and the heat that pours impatiently through touya's skin and up against his throat tells him that he's burning with the intolerant urge to continue what he started back then, and burn him alive from the outside in. even swallowing beneath the touch does nothing to loosen it: his gaze shallows, lids dropping slightly, and rather than seize up in emotion, brimming with despair and anger like their previous fight, his emotions are wiped clean. )
You aren't. ( --is what he says, his voice a little hoarse; gently, his hand loosens, fingertips that ghost and idle against touya's stomach before his hand slides off entirely, and the clutch of his fingers, threaded through touya's other hand, breaks apart. ) You aren't satisfied.
( because he won't be, until he's dead. isn't that what he's supposed to guess? is it delusional, then, to reach his hands up, clenching them in around touya's wrist to simply hold his arm there? with another swallow, his gaze lifting up to the ceiling, he rattles touya's arm between his hands, shaking it in his grip, like he's threatening touya to tighten his hold on his throat--
and then another wheeze of breath, a little more firm, a little more determined--delusional-- )
Happy Birthday.
no subject
Date: 12/7/24 19:57 (UTC)stop it, touya...
that little brat had been delusional. to think he would be able to get endeavor's attention via any other way but this. shouto. his hero. his key into the man's heart. of course he wouldn't care about anyone else but shouto. this is where his life lay all this time. nestled within a heart of ice and fire. what should have been rightfully his... reaching for him was easier this time, burning through a foolish dream born of a vapid brain brought up on too much fluff. flesh and blood surrounded raw bone, pure white and untouched as his fingers found the column of his throat. here and now, he could seize every second of his father's attention. headlines flared into existence, shouto todoroki burned alive in a seedy back-alley tattoo parlor. a gateway his own wretched hand reaches through, charred bones snapping and scraping against his hand as he penetrates the remains of his little brother's ribs and seizes into endeavor's chest for that throbbing, sobbing prize. what'll dad's face look like, shouto? when you die, will he look at me with such a face?
only because of him.
touch. touch. two at once. a hand on his stomach. a hand on his throat. stopping shouto was never in his mind. he needs him to move. to live. kept alive until he dies at the appropriate time. like a pig for slaughter. one more body on endeavor's pyre. the most important body. the only one that could possibly understand a fraction of what it meant to host hellish ambitions. killing shouto is akin to killing his own life. his reason for existing. he wants to... right now, he wants to feel it. each beat of his pulse under his thumb, passing up and down the side of his brother's neck. four fingetips compressing slightly into his trachea, divoting smooth perfect skin. it should be disgusting this kid finds some enjoyment in his touch. flickers of satisfaction and pleasure sparkle beneath ice. wonder what his classmates would think of him, knowing the perfect spawn of endeavor is also a little bit insane.
smart kid. understanding even now his hand around his neck is hot enough to scorch him out of existence. impatient, demanding, tempting so hard it punches his lungs with pangs of desire. a dip of saliva tugs his throat beneath his palm, adam's apple bobbing once as he crunches his thumb to the beat of shouto's jugular. what kind of freak takes pleasure in being strangled by his own family member? did endeavor beat him so badly, this puppet began to equate abusive treatment with affection? it'd be kinda funny if that were the case. muscles draw taut, tendons orders to contract, bones gritting under his too-wiry skin with the same inexorable draw of a castle's chains pulling shut. doing exactly as shouto encourages him. both hands capturing his wrist, a tiny shake urging him to finish it here and now. burn him alive, crush his throat in his hand, snuff out his perfect useless broken miserable life. a candle gone out with the sound of raspy breath and crumpling tube. almost snapping one fold of his throat-
Happy Birthday.
... fuck.
chains rattle in a cacophony as the castle gate plunges back down, tendons snap backwards, muscles pull open, and he releases shouto's neck with a spring. gross. is that what he thinks will make him happy? satisfy him like nothing else? whether shouto was serious or not, offering his life as a birthday gift is sick. sick because he thinks it'll work. some kind of repayment, some twisted expression of love, as if doing his makes everything better. no idea how valuable his life is. simply not the time. skeletal grip disengaged, he draws his arm, and shouto's both, away from his brother's throat. even now, a bruise begins to mottle the boy's neck, five dark points lurid under fair skin. no one's gonna be able to explain that tattoo as anything other than strangulation. should be a fun experience for his brother if his hero friends see it. what if endeavor sees it... mah, he wishes he could be there. earrings in his lobes, a hand mark on his neck. all this brat's missing is a hickey.
cloth hisses, abs tighten, dragging his ruined body forward until he's sitting up and leaning into his little brother's space. spikes of hair card through silken strands as his head passes alongside shouto's, hot breath ghosting awash to his incriminating new bruise. sensitive, throbbing, aching, probably. lips so close to his abused skin, there's no way his sibling can avoid feeling their brush. half fair, half wrecked. smooth, wrinkled. flesh, metal. they really are different lives, aren't they... bony fingers curl in the back of his hair, scrunching a chunk into his fist to hold him still in a mockery of embrace to hold his little brother close. he's sure the touch will bring some strange emotion to the boy's beating heart. enjoyment above all. he's so glad shouto was raised to know what love was: a curse.]
Happy Birthday, Shouto.
[murmured into his blemish. satisfied? ... mah, it'll do. this'll be the last time either of them get to say those words to each other. not until they see each other again in hell.]
no subject
Date: 12/30/24 00:13 (UTC)but is he really going to let touya do this? it's hard to say. something like pleasure buzzes in his mind, a ridiculous feeling, coupled with fear, coupled with heartache, coupled with anger--and nothing seems to be able to win out over the other, nothing seems to be heard, a cacophony of emotions that he doesn't understand, too strong, a wave that wants to take him under and drown him in its strength. would it make touya feel better, to have him like this? to see his eyes water from the pressure, to hear his breath rasp out of his throat like there's little left?
in the end, it's not even his decision to make. touya's hand jerks down, and his own follow suit, dragged away from touya's arms; his breath comes out in a rush, a gasp, feeling his skin tent and tingle with the hint of a bruise. the mark of touya's fingers there, wrapped around his neck: how long will they stay? like some kind of fucked up tattoo he didn't ask for, in this place, the irony-- )
It's...
( --hard, really, to understand. touya's arm wraps around him, fingers that arch and curve up into the back of his hair like a skeleton hand out of a horror movie, but the tingling sensation goes down the back of his neck, down his spine, curls and coils around his middle like a snake; he can't breathe, when touya's mouth is close to his skin, when his head bows, when his own shoulders tighten and his eyes squeeze shut and every screwed up feeling he ever felt comes blossoming to the surface. the sickest part of it all is the joy: having touya close to him like this, touching him like this, does things to him that he doesn't want to admit. and is it really just that kind of reaction, that endeavor's beaten him so often that pain means affection? or is it something else, something worse?
his tongue works over his lips, a hard, bobbing swallow before he can talk again-- )
...not my birthday.
( stubborn, and pointless, but factually true: something for him to cling to, as he realizes, abruptly, the heat that's pooling inside of him is really, truly wrong, and his own hands lift, just to brace a cold palm and a sweaty one against dabi's front, pushing him, forcing them to separate.
flushed, embarrassed, and immediately refusing to meet his gaze, he stumbles back a step, and then works around the table towards the door. )
Let's go. ( he needs the cold air outside to help him steel his nerves--and calm himself down. )
no subject
Date: 1/2/25 07:36 (UTC)here and now, he could throttle it from his throat, crushing every precious layer of air from his lungs until shouto gurgled his last breath. what would his reaction be? what kind of face would his little brother show him? the same despairing denial as enji, wide-eyed and nearing hyperventilation? or something stoic and resolved, committing his fate into his own brother's hands as some twisted form of atonement for wiping his life's meaning out... likely the latter. even with the confused emotions swirling through shouto's chest, hardly a crack appears in his eyes, voice as quiet and deep as ever. little puppet made of ice, malformed from underdeveloped upbringing. it's kinda admirable, in a twisted way, this brat's been able to make friends with strangers when he's such an alien to his own siblings.
guess he won't be seeing that idea through. bony fingers curl in the air, one at a time to knead his own palm. fingertips play across burn scars creeping past his hand's heel, where healthy flesh meets ugly punishment. twisting disappointment writhes in his stomach, mating with depraved amusement at the noise of his little brother's gasping breath. a consolation prize: shouto's return to school tomorrow marred by fingerprint bruises on his throat. he wishes he could be there to see what the other brats said once they lay eyes on his flawed skin.]
I missed it. [his voice purrs deliberately along bruised nerves, as concerned as missing a thrown knife's target. he hadn't missed; he knows every time that date rears its wretched head on the calendar. year after year. fingernails rake across shouto's scalp, feeling and listening to silken strands of conditioner-treated hair grit beneath keratin. so close to him, tremors ripple down the younger man's spine. hm? azure eyes open halfway, nigh glowing in the shadow cast by the hero's head. not fear. what is that then? interesting. feelings blooming under ribs, threading through muscles suddenly pulling taut beneath shouto's clothes, as if his own wires draw tight enough to twitch his fingers. as expected, his little brother likes it. being close to him. even as blue flames licked at his skin, singed his hair, threatened to consume him to ash, shouto knew what love was as his older brother embraced him once in his life. turning his head, half smooth half gnarled lips burning their mismatched shape into his sibling's throat-]
You're real messed up, Shouto. Feelin like that... [he wants to call him a pervert, taunt him for something his little brother might not even have the mindset to understand. yet as shouto starts to scramble, actively planting his hands in his chest and shoving his body away, he wonders if the kid actually does get it. if so... piqued. wonder who's fault that was. a distant abusive father, resulting in starving affection from an older male figure? or a protective treasured mother poisoning shouto's mind with ideas he needs more than simple love. mah, something to pick around at later. he leans back on the seat, a corner of his mouth twisting upward in humor. as much as he hates him, his little brother's an interesting guy.]
I'll meet ya out front. [he has to take care of something first. nothing naive heroes need to witness. give him a few minutes before a gentle click of doorknob separating from jamb and his lanky figure emerges from the tattoo parlor. warmth ghosts across shouto's side as he stops adjacent to the boy, cold turquoise eyes barely needing a dip to look at him. flushed, confused, shivering, scared, embarrassed, curious, what's going on inside that twice-bred head of his?]
Didja like it? ["it" being...]
no subject
Date: 1/5/25 23:10 (UTC)his exit from the room is easy, a gentle click as he closes the door behind himself. he lets touya handle whatever it is he needs to handle--and he handles the bill, meeting their piercer at the front to hand over his father's black card. does it matter? he'll know once he sees shouto's face, anyway, and it's not like it'll be some itemized receipt. his father may rant and rave about it, but at the same time: he's not the one that does all the accounting for their family anyway. as long as he's not spending egregious amounts of money, it will probably just skate on by without notice.
outside, the air is a bit colder, now--he can feel it biting at his cheeks, as he struggles to zip up his jacket, trying to keep the collar in safe around his neck. the woman at the counter hadn't looked closely at him, at least not enough to notice the hint of bruising, but he's sure that he won't get that lucky again.
case in point: he's a little startled, once touya emerges out from the door, and he gives him a quick glance, confirming he still has his bag, that he still looks relatively fine, that there's no molten anger bubbling to the surface. he's used to the disdain and the ire, but: he still doesn't want to start a fight, out here. )
Ah? ( 'it'? with a short swallow, he reaches up with one hand, feeling for the edge of his own ear, as though certain that must be what touya is talking about. ) It...was interesting.
( not particularly painful, but not a completely painless experience, either. he thinks he can understand the pleasure: why it seems like almost an addiction, getting pierced, getting inked. his gaze stays rooted down towards touya's boots, towards his own shoes, as though he doesn't know if he should look up at him: )
Do you want...to go somewhere else? ( or is time up, now? )
no subject
Date: 1/7/25 16:53 (UTC)... is that the reason he's permitting this farce in the first place?
shouto doesn't need to know what business is handled behind him. passing the host pulpit on the way out, he pauses long enough to inquire about the payment. endeavor's card, huh. so he really went through with it. an act of rebellion against his father and unconsciously protecting the staff from any undue carnage. minus a singe mark on the wood in order to force the hostess to reveal that previous information. mah, they did good work. he has nothing against them. material swallows his hair and head, hood flipped up once more as he steps through the door and closes it behind him. the first time he heard a hero recognize him had been almost euphoric. all it took was killing a few people. now it only takes a glance and people know him. there's a thrill of power in seeing their reactions. though also irritating... overexposure's a bitch.]
I wanna see the look on dad's face when he sees you.
[not his friends. not his teachers. not his siblings. not his mother. only one man's reaction matters. too bad he won't come back with shouto to watch in person. both of them know that. little more than vapid wishing in an amused tone as comes to a stop beside the hero in training and rummages a bony hand in his pocket. is this how brothers are? existing in the same location, one's head full of intent, the other determined to stop it. on the outside, they look peaceful...]
Light this. [he leans his arm to the side on his elbow's pivot, a slender white stick captured between two fingers coming to bear in front of his baby brother's face. at the outset of their little trip, he said he wouldn't kill him, wouldn't start a fight. didn't intend to hold to that promise if it no longer worked for him. luckily for shouto, still the case. relax, kid. he's not gonna try talking him into smoking. bad enough he's corrupted the upcoming corpse into putting a hole in his body. inking his skin and poisoning his lungs comes later.]
I said I'd give ya the night. [or a few hours at least. he's nice enough not to count the train ride as part of those hours. does he want to go somewhere else? not particularly. sitting in a restaurant playing nice with his brother as people look on... the idea makes his skin crawl. wandering a shopping mall looking for useless junk alongside shouto is pointless. probably lead to annoying arguments the other boy would find some sick comfort in.]
Ya didn't have all this planned out if I accepted? [taunting him as he steps one stair at a time towards the cold street below the shop's little stoop. shouto's too young to drink and he's not about to invite his little brother to something seedy on their first date.]
no subject
Date: 1/21/25 00:04 (UTC)he'll do his best to hide those, at least. given the right moment, he doesn't think endeavor will even notice.
there's an obvious surprise, when his chin jerks up, met with the expectant flick of touya's cigarette--without even thinking about it, he lifts his hand, a small lick of flame that torches the end of the cigarette, and leaves the burden of getting it going with touya. he's never really been interested in this sort of thing, but with the hint of smoke curling in the air, he finds that he's interested in it now solely for his brother's sake; what is it that he likes about it? does it taste bad? is he just after it because there's nothing for him to lose?
his own steps are rigid, as he echoes touya's movements, sliding down the steps--his lips purse together, hands sliding down into the pockets of his jacket again as though to hide the clench of his fists. )
I...thought this much would be pushing my luck. ( with a small nod upward, indicating the piercing shop. ) So I didn't...
( a nervous wet of his tongue over his lips: should he even admit that feeling? that he'd been sure that it would be an immediate dismissal, that touya would turn and leave him behind? that he's so perversely elated at the fact that they're still standing here together that he doesn't even know what to say, or what to do? stubborn, his brows knit together.
he can't just give up now. he can't just say that he didn't think of anything, and let touya walk away. so, adamant, his chin lifts again-- )
So we'll go somewhere else. For the night. Until morning.
( a karaoke place, a manga cafe, a hotel--he's lining up all the possible options, as though he'll make a whole list if only so that touya can't refuse entirely. )
no subject
Date: 1/24/25 04:18 (UTC)surely not shouto's hope tonight. he's a fool, but not that much of one. half expecting him to voice an invite, to ask a question from his heart instead of his brain. not knowing at all what came out of his mouth. stupid hero. he's really grown up to become one more imbecile throwing his morals and ideals around the world. just like endeavor. lighting up the world. a subtle "fwoosh" licks up from shouto's hand and swallows his cigarette's tip within.] Good boy. [smolders trail thin white smoke from his little brother's hand to his mouth as he slips the stick between his lips. who cares what he does with his body now? already falling apart and rotting like the memories buried in that garden. putrid burnt drags in with his breath, coiling his tongue and staining his taste buds with an acrid flavor until he exhales it all out into the cold air. wonder what shouto's little classmates'll think if mr. top nominated 2nd place comes back smelling of cigarette waste. guess it's better than smelling like a crematorium.]
Maybe it is. You gonna risk pushing further? [levying his own promise to his face, a night to spend with him, yet how far can he push him until the villain snaps? of course shouto didn't think much further. he has no idea where limits stop, clinging from one moment to the next. each step takes them further from neon lights, shadows stretching longer before them in a grotesque outline merging their separate "bodies" together in puddles of dirty water and grimy asphalt. one hand buried in his pocket, he taps his finger and sends a chaff ember tumbling to the ground before lifting the cancer stick to his lips once more. he should go. already knotted irritation twists in his stomach, sick of this brat's unwavering devotion to him despite knowing he'd interfere. and yet, he's still here. both of them. guess he can choke down a few more minutes of shouto's presence. make him fight for his attention. how's it feel, endeavor's perfect little puppet, chasing someone else's eyes. make it hurt, make his heart beg for his older brother to look at him. just like a damn idiot pleading for his father to stop looking at shouto and turn his eyes to him one more time. irony's cruel, isn't it.]
I know a little place. [before this stupid hero can list off whatever his emotional brain is lining up. there's no point in entertaining naive desires like fun cafes or gaming parlors or shopping malls, crap shouto might go to with his friends. one look at him and those places would empty, bring some self-righteous hero down on their heads. gonna have to lie low with this bastard.] Hope you're hungry.
no subject
Date: 1/30/25 22:53 (UTC)he's thought about it plenty of times, but had there really been anything he could have done? he'd been too young to think of convincing touya, or to try to find some kind of compromise; he'd been too young to really do much of anything, except endure, and he hadn't even managed that all too well. and he's not so ignorant of his own feelings--no matter how much he might want to swallow them down--that he doesn't recognize that's part of why he's here: like he could somehow make up for all of that inability he had, back then, like he could somehow make touya realize that as much as touya had wanted to be looked at by endeavor, he himself would have been content to just have touya there beside him.
he can't live in the past like that--not wholly. if anything, living with his classmates has taught him the importance of acknowledging past mistakes but also moving on from them; he can't change anything about what happened, but he can do all that he can now, even if it's futile. if touya laughs at him, pushes him away, curses him, wishes he'd never been born: he can endure all that. he can handle all that.
he just doesn't fully know how to endure what might come out of his own mouth--or his own body, when he tenses at touya's side, walking beside him. both hands slip down into his pockets, chin tilted down, watching their shadows flicker and merge and mold together; his lips pass a soft sigh. )
I'll push as hard as I can. ( murmured, a little, like it's said more for his own benefit. ) Are you hungry? We can go somewhere else, if you want. Somewhere to...
( a tilt of his head, considering. ) Drink?
( he's too young for it, but there are plenty of places where he'd still be allowed inside--his gaze lifts, focused on the glowing ember of touya's cigarette, enough that he almost trips over a dip in the sidewalk, jerking his head back to keep from knocking their shoulders together.
eyes narrowing in irritation at himself-- )
It's your birthday. ( with a slow puff of breath. ) So we can do anything. I'll do anything. Food is good.
no subject
Date: 2/18/25 23:41 (UTC)what would it have been like? if he'd been the one to reach out first? so much of his time was spent thinking of how to kill this perfect meat puppet. he wanted to serve his corpse up to endeavor personally, approach him with shouto's body draped in both arms. wanted to show up to the number 2 hero with his son's head dangling from a villain's fingers tangled in his hair. wanted to string up his immolated corpse across the front doors of endeavor's hero agency. nights putting himself to sleep with possible venues. none of them were enough... he'd never once thought much to reach for shouto and find his little brother's anger. run his fingers across his frozen little heart, curling in abandonment invite to lull the kid off endeavor's precious path. he couldn't force it like that idiot shigaraki tried on the explosive brat; there wasn't enough hate and anger in that kid to be anything but a hero.
but shouto... standing here amid licking curls of dirt street breeze tugging at the rim of his hood, he momentarily lets himself wonder a "what if" he'd so easily thrown aside before. shouto desperately wants his brother back. kinda insane to think he could've offered that at one time. with a catch.
water drips from the sole of his boot as he steps forward, hands falling into his pockets as a faint wisp of steam curls over his shoulders and races down his back. there's no changing the past. he made his decision. killing shouto in any way other than in front of his father has no meaning. he's simply one more piece on the pyre, with the main slaughter still waiting to be thrown atop the pile. it was risky to meet him here tonight. and yet, it was hardly a threat to either of them. he wonders how much of that shouto knows. would it change his view? probably not. the kid's too stubborn.]
It's kinda cute ya think I'm worth the effort. [pointless, but there's something disgustingly charming at how much this guy's intent on him. what a coward. instead of pushing endeavor, he opts to push him. protecting their father from his own failures and mistakes. it's easier for shouto if his older brother changes instead, isn't it.] Nah, don't worry. I'm takin ya to a place you'll like. It's got milk.
[taunting him over his age and inability to drink. why not? he's punched a hole in his little brother's body, yet hasn't offered him a drag of his cigarette and isn't planning on plying him with alcohol. as much fun as that'd be. nah, he has another idea, and he wants his sibling to be as awake and aware of it as possible when it happens. wants to see his eyes flicker with realization, the reaction on his face as raw and truthful as it can be. their next turn changes the light's angle, causing his shadow to swarm over shouto's rather than allow the pair to meld together evenly.
his birthday. his choice. do anything he wants. so ready to sacrifice almost anything to keep his attention and presence. starved for familial connection. turquoise eyes flick to the side, black brows arching in amusement when someone almost takes a stumble on the street. in one motion, the kid saves himself from falling and wrenches to avoid bumping into him.] Careful. Wouldn't wanna bruise ya pretty face.
no subject
Date: 3/16/25 23:43 (UTC)he'd felt it even worse when he'd finally gotten to school, realizing that he had no idea how to interact with anyone his age--realizing that he'd lost so many years being alone, unable to cope, unable to learn how to socialize beyond the manners that had been nearly burned and etched into him. even now, touya has to be at least in his twenties, and he's still lagging behind. there's no way to clear that kind of space, and perhaps someone with a more traditional childhood would hate to be belittled by their elder sibling, to be reminded of all the things they're not legally allowed to do. not being offered a cigarette, or even a drag off the end: not being taken somewhere that serves alcohol, and instead teased with the mention of milk.
sure, anyone else would feel embarrassed, maybe. frustrated. but he feels elated. these are all things he's never really experienced before--and to have touya teasing him, ribbing him a little, just makes him want to smile; he tries to hold it back, but his mouth twitches, and stubbornly he forces his lips to snap together.
one of his hands lifts, warm from his pocket, but it's only so that he can rub over his cheek: the one that would have likely taken the brunt of the fall, if he'd really tripped and fell on his face. )
It's not pretty. ( he says slowly, almost stubbornly; what is this strange feeling? he doesn't like it, the way his stomach clenches, the way he feels embarrassed, the way he doesn't know whether he wants touya to be teasing him, or not. ) Already marked up.
( he doesn't have to point out his scar for touya to know precisely where it is; his own fingertips barely graze it, from where he rubs gently up along his cheekbone, before he drops his hand back down, seeking out the hidden warmth of his pocket again. if it's somewhere touya wants to go, somewhere with milk, then he'll go along with him. even if he's not entirely sure that what he wants to drink, when his stomach is already so tumultuous, is milk.
that, at least, has him lifting his chin--and easing just slightly closer to touya, almost like they'll touch elbows. )
...Are you going to tell me what it is? Or make me guess.
( knowing touya, he's probably not going to do either, and just lead them there without warning. dutifully, he's bound to follow him. )
no subject
Date: 4/1/25 01:41 (UTC)waking up amid sterile lights and white sheets, all he'd done was demand answers from an asshole in a flower costume and a bunch of kids he didn't care about. learning in horror from a cruel man in a screen what happened to him, all he'd lost, his skin, his power, years of his life, even the presumed ability to learn from his own father. what it felt like to have his heart freeze in a scrunching vice behind his ribs, throbbing in fear and incredulous rage over his tragic life. so much gone, ripped away in a roaring blaze and years of black silence. for a brief moment, delirious in hope and heedless of tiny stones and sticks sliced into the soles of his bloody feet, he stood outside his family's home, wanting nothing more than to reclaim any shred of what he'd lost. a foolish little kid wandering bloody exhausted through his familial halls. with no sign of his missing life even recalled... none of them changed... his death meant nothing to any of them. severed from all of them. from endeavor, from his mom, his sister, his brother, shouto.
it remains even now, a yawning blackened gape between them. only an idiot would think he had the chance to cross it. bridges burned away long ago. as close as his little brother is beside him, so much remains across the chasm. he teases him, wanting to hear the echo of his voice and reaction over their separation. a shadow of their past. when they had the chance to know each other torn away from them by the monster who stalked within their family walls. shouto's under the impression he can reclaim that. running through the forest in his own delirious hope. kinda sickening how similar they are in this stage of life. yet completely opposite.
shouto's happy to be teased. everything thrown to him, he pounces like a starving mutt to scraps. and he keeps tossing them, sitting on a dirty park bench amusing himself with a pathetic animal's antics. no matter how much he tries to hold back his smile, shouto's unable to stop his mouth twitching at the corner, or the slight rise in his chest. right?
a bare hum vibrates in his chest and throat, floating somewhere between disinterested and piqued.]
Halfa Japan doesn't agree with ya. [he's seen them, his little brother's fans, talking about him in store lines, discussing him on the news, a reporter's eye lingering two seconds too long on the hero's face, a petty criminal grunting out what he'd like to do to shouto before blue flames consumed his face and brain. shit kindling.] Some people are fascinated with damaged goods. Makes 'em feel better about themselves when they can pity something.
[he's seen those looks thrown his way as well. sickos interested in his scars, fingers picking at his staples, lips wanting to know his story, and none of them getting much in response. people can be taken with grotesque, as if they're special enough to "fix" the damage or have some perverse idea they can "save" him from whatever fate their hero-bleached brains want to levy on his life. even that green kid from shouto's class had the same idea. feeling sorry for a scar-faced emotionally-fucked-up boy, he just had to reach out to save him from a decision he decided for himself was "bad" for shouto. of course his little brother doesn't see it like that.]
A bar. [as predicted, he does neither. not a name, not an address, leaving the boy to guess more what kind, where at, and so forth. standing close to him, sharing warmth despite their clothes, a faint brush of elbow earns a quick glance to the side, azure eyes almost glowing within his bangs' shadows. when's the last time someone stuck this close to him, not out of fear, but out of comfort? as if his presence offers shouto protection and assurance. he'd never been the "big brother" who gave his siblings that sense of power. another facet of his failures. and yet, this perfect, powerful puppet hangs close to him, because he wants to. because he likes it.] Pretty sure you've gone out with ya little friends, right?
no subject
Date: 4/10/25 22:33 (UTC)in a way, he should be thinking about the same things--there's a kindle of shame there, a tuft of a flame that he blows out with another thought. they're on the outskirts of town, in a place that probably sees less and less support from pro heroes, and what's the worst thing that could happen? he tarnishes endeavor's brand? the great todoroki name?
for not the first time, he thinks: go ahead, i want to.
there's a faint shake of his head, training his gaze in front of them. )
No. Just to karaoke, or shopping, the usual sorts of things...
( he doesn't want to bring up practice, or training, doesn't want to ruin the tenuous string of this conversation; selfishly, maybe, he doesn't want touya to change his mind, or to get in a bad mood. if touya had said they were going to an underground fighting ring where he'd have to battle someone to the death, he would have still followed him. ridiculously, he can understand that he's being stupid--that he's letting his own feelings get in the way, but he's easily blinded by even just the slightest glance that touya spares him, like he's looking to see if he's still following along.
he needs to get a hold of himself. a bar isn't going to help that, either--his idea is that it will be dark, and intimate, loud music playing, and touya looking at him from across a table, staring at him with those unreadable eyes. the thought makes his skin prickle, but it's all in a good way, a terrifying way, and he wants to tell himself it's just the cold, even though he isn't affected by it at all.
so he sticks close to touya's side, measuring their steps together, his hands sunken back down into his pockets so he can clench his fingers together; it makes touya's words circle back, after a moment of silence, like he has to ask: )
...Is that how you see me, too? ( it wouldn't surprise him, but then touya's broadcasted how he feels about him loud and clear; even so, he's grasping at straws like he can't help himself. )
Damaged goods. Is that it?
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Date: 5/1/25 19:25 (UTC)What's wrong? Afraid ya gonna get caught? [taunting, digging, twisting his dare of invitation deeper. he's already come this far down the path. is being with a villain worth risking his status in public, his place at his precious school, his standing as a hero? and what of his friends, his family, his academy? all of them will face a lurid backsplash if this goes public. and all of it will emanate from a single little kid who for one night said "fuck you" to everything he stands for...
there he goes. two-toned bangs wipe gentle cross shouto's forehead and he resumes walking, attention listed back to the path ahead.] Such a good boy. Bet it feels good, stayin in the lines. Keepin ya record neat an' pretty.
[bet endeavor's real proud of him. each time he sets his eyes on the only thing which matters, he'll see it shining bright and pure, fiery ambitions swirling within its icy walls. how he wants to wrap his bony fingers around a hammer's shaft and smash it to pieces. nah. one at a time. he's waited this long to enact his plans. he can wait some more. shouto wanted to give him a birthday gift and he's not even aware the additional present he's offering. chances to taint and corrupt the naive hero before he's even graduated. far too late to shove him face-first into the hell he normally walks through. but he intends to send him back to his idyllic world with a few personal injections. no worries of him changing his mind now. this night's turning out more interesting than he thought. just how much is shouto gonna let him get away with under this moon? ... kinda excited to find out. wrapped up in the clothes his little brother bought him, leaving their own mark on his ruined flesh, he'll return the favor.
no one's gonna care if they jaywalk, right? there aren't any cops out here to interfere with them. woulda been funny if there were. would shouto duck behind him, would he run along side him, would he use his quirk? nah, he's a hero. and his quirk's too recognizable. but he wouldn't stand aside and do nothing if he lit up beside him. way to ruin their fun night together. no it's a good thing the outskirts are devoid of police.]
What else are ya? [he's gotten used to the weight of his coat's tails moving with him, so turning around in his casual clothes feels a bit strange. walking backwards, he tugs his hands from his pockets and lazily gestures to himself, head lifted to brazenly shrug off the hood over his head. baring his scars, his own damaged face. fingers touch his chest, splayed in a mocking tenderness at his gestures.]
We're from the same mold, Shouto. Bred to be nothing more than a vessel for someone else's goals. Ya just happened to get luckier than the rest of the spawn. [a lazy smirk tugs his mouth in half, contempt and callous interest mingling on his expression.] Ya don't think you're perfect at all either, do ya.
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