Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You can’t sleep tonight. 

The whole week has been a blur of the same issue. You curl up underneath the warm sheets of your bed, the one place you escape to feel safe. It’s been your solace for as long as you can remember, so long as there’s plush pillows and thick layers of blankets, your mind has always managed to settle down and rest. 

Tonight is different. No–this whole week has been different. For once, your safe haven isn’t as sound as it should be. You toss endlessly, nuzzling deep into the sheets and praying your mind will eventually shut off. With each unsuccessful turn you grow agitated, your sighs more deliberate, your movements less inconspicuous. Running out of ideas you shift your leg above the covers feeling the chill of the night crawl across your skin. Still not comfy you shake in frustration, fisting at the sheets that keep slipping from your body. Tonight your bed is nothing but a cage as your layers press down against you like concrete blocks ready to drag you down and drown you.

It really is no good. No matter what you do, how you lay, how you breathe and what you try to busy your mind with, you're painstakingly awake. Your skin rubs harshly against all the hand picked blankets you’ve thrown across the bed for tonight. Somehow, despite being impossibly soft and fluffy they graze across your skin like sandpaper. Rendering your already difficult task of sleep, impossible. 

You sit up slowly, discarding a few cumbersome layers of blankets over the small bump in your bed. For now, the night has won against your efforts to sleep. Forcing the issue was going to send you loopy and you needed to be in tip top shape or what was to come. Or at the very least, sane enough to think quickly and move quicker.

You didn’t want to think about that right now. Well, you didn’t want to think about it at all but that wasn’t going to work. But just for now, whilst the moon is high and the air is silent, you didn’t want to think about how tomorrow was going to change the world, the future as well as the people who get to see it. 

Still, your throat constricts the longer you linger on listening to the whirlwind of thoughts whilst simultaneously trying to ignore them. The air thins with each breath you inhale, leaving you gasping greedily for more. Your lungs burn as your intake of air decreases, second by second until your chest rapidly rises and falls uncontrollably. Your hands shake, trembling so much that you can barely lift your arms up to remove the last few blankets rested across your lap.

‘Enough, breathe.’ You warn yourself, though your inner monologue sounds more scared than frustrated. Now of all times was not the time to have a panic attack. A moment passes where a part of you asks if there is an appropriate time to have such a vicious loss of control, but you shake away the thought as the pins and needles pool in your fingertips. 

‘Enough! Calm down.’ You hiss internally once more, this time more of your mounting frustration leaks into your tone, your heart pounding loud as you struggle to take a solid breath in without staggering too much. 

‘Breathe, think—five senses. Something to see, touch, smell, taste and hear. Calm, calm–’ Your inner whispers fade into the panicked static your frazzled mind cannot comprehend or subdue.

How much more of this can you take? Why can’t you get a grip of yourself? 

Pain shoots through your numbed body as you grasp at the knotted strands of your hair. Pulling and tugging until the roots threaten to tear. Tomorrow will come just as any other day will, oblivious to the stakes at play. You can plead and wish for the world to stop spinning but time is unrelenting, ever moving forward. 

You’re not ready for tomorrow. But it’s coming whether you like it or not, you’re not ready to face it yet—or ever. It looms over you like a tall shadow, covering you wherever you attempt to move, your skin chills as goosebumps ripple across your arms. Your mind refuses to quiet, even now in the midst of panic. When you consciously know it needs to, your efforts feel futile.

You can’t take much more of this alone. As pathetic as you feel, you know your limits well by now.

You don’t even know what you’re feeling. There’s isn’t a name you can shame it with just yet. All you do know is that it sticks deep into you like a prickly thorn, embedded deep under a thick layer of skin and slashing at you whenever you dare to try move past your mind's insistent worries. 

Tomorrow's battle…that’s all you can hear in your head. You can drive yourself mad with all the possibilities tomorrow could offer. You almost have driven yourself mad thinking about it so much. 

Despite yourself, you hone in on your mind's screams momentarily. Maybe once you listen they might quiet—you honestly doubt that, but you're willing to do anything in the moment to regain some form of control. As you close your eyes, you picture flashes of villainous grins and carnage.

The destruction tomorrow will be deep, the aftershocks will spread out across the world. How many people will suffer? How many will die? 

Your prickly thorn isn’t fear of the battle itself though or what will happen after it. It's a different beast entirely. The words are on the tip of your tongue, ready to expose your inner demons but you falter. You’re not ready to hear it yet. The whispers are already weighing on your heart, the truth will only plummet you down into the torrent sea.

This oppressive sensation wasn’t pre battle jitters. That much you’re aware of now as your heart pounds and silences you from the truth. Tomorrow’s battle has you positioned as one of the few field medics Japan could persuade to stay—not that you needed much persuasion. Japan was your home no matter how sticky the situation got. 

You’d chosen this. Chosen to stay and patch up whatever broke. You were trained for this, you were trained to be calm in the most blazing of wars. When the wounded end up in your arms you’re trained to maintain your composure and patch them up enough to survive the trip back to a hospital.

It wasn't pre battle jitters. No, you were so numb to all the carnage in the streets now. You’d lost whatever pre battle jitters you could have felt weeks ago. Yet your heart pounds painfully pitiful against your ear, teasing you with the real overwhelming sensation that claws at your ankles tonight.

Your vision of the bedroom begins to blur as you quake. The trembled grasp you had on your reins seems to slip with every attempt you make to tighten it. Everything within your head echoes loud like a concert. You inhale again, your breath rattles loud with uneven hitches; in, one, two, three, hold, four, five, six, out, seven, eight, nine. 

In, one, two, three, hold, four, five, six, out, seven, eight, nine.

In, one, two, three. 

Hold, four, five, six.

Out, seven, eight, nine.

You find yourself staring at the empty white ceiling as you catch your breath. Something so bland and empty that you finally feel a moment of relief. Then guilt. Months ago, you promised you’d make the ceiling look a little more vibrant. You’d bought some silly glow in the dark stars just a week after that promise but you never did find the time to stick them up on the bedroom ceiling. Something so small and silly to think of the night before all out war commences.

You almost want to cry for that single reason alone, because you haven't fulfilled your promise. The hours you wasted procrastinating positions and spaces between each star instead of just sticking them up and hoping it looked okay. 

The time just…slipped right through your fingers, like thin grains of sand. You never had considered how quickly time flies. Not for all your life until these last few tumultuous months.

You need to stop thinking. You needed to sleep otherwise it might be you in the arms of another medic, praying they can patch you up. You needed a good distraction from your mind, seeing as how listening to it had only wound you up more. Anything to slow down your whirlwind of thoughts and the endless cycle 'what ifs.'

You turn on your side facing the thick curtains that you half attempted to close before bed. Allowing the sheet to fall from your frame and encompass you in the cold. The moonlight bleeds in from where the curtains don’t quite meet. Painting a river of cool light across the wooden boards and up into your bed. It cuts you in half, and you can't help but feel as torn as the light suggests. Though you're more relieved to see that the dawn has not yet risen.

Time is so fleeting, but you still have some left. You’d grasp at every little second and more, it would never be enough but you'd grasp at each second. The dawn hadn’t risen yet. For that, you breathe a sigh of relief and close your eyes, counting again. 

In, one, two, three, hold—

No good. The sheets rive at your legs like ants biting against your skin. An agitated huff escapes your nose as you lurch upwards. 

You can’t name this damn feeling! Why not? It's right on the tip of your tongue yet you keep swallowing it down.

Part of you wants to cry, scream or even throw the words up at this point. But your body tenses, locking muscles into place rendering you motionless. You’ve nothing to throw up, you haven’t eaten this evening and your throat closes up the second a struggled whimper escapes your lips. 

All because of tomorrow. The day that will—may steal everything away from you. Everything you hold dear, the one person you get to hold close at night. 

You hate that voice with the very essence of your being. Nausea engulfs you, twisting at your empty stomach until it's left in impossibly uncomfortably knots. It’s grown confident in your growing insecurities these past few weeks. It tears down every wall you attempt to build against it. It leaves you hanging on the edge of a cliff, repeating the same few things into your ears. Spewing potent poison, clouding your view, your thoughts and your ability to keep composed. 

You could lose him tomorrow. The one person you cherish. You swallow a thick lump once more, his name feels like ash on your tongue. 

You could lose him forever.

Keigo. 

As you dare to turn, your neck tenses as if to draw out the moment until you finally lay eyes upon his back. The flame licked skin, melded and tight against the protruding muscles of his back. You spot it through the jagged holes in the back of his shirt. Holes that seem far too large for the skeletal remains of his once glorious wingspan. You trace the edges of the scar up over his shirt until it juts out onto his neck, curling across his cheek to mar as much of his skin as possible.

His wings sag across the small gap between you and him. Normally, Keigo’s wings are so large he has to face you to sleep, draping them across the floor just so you don't wake up to a mouthful of barbs. But now? What remains of his quirk rests unsettled between you, flickering softly against your scrutiny. Keigo’s chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, up and down in a calming manner you almost envy.

Keigo’s been through more than hell these last few weeks, he needs all the rest his body can manage. 

As you lay your eyes on Keigo’s covered back, a sudden sensation swarms you, one you're all too familiar with. Powerless to stop it as it swims into your burning lungs, sapping the few composed breaths you've managed in the last few minutes. Urgently you press a hand against your mouth in the hopes your breath doesn’t fan across the mess of skin and scar that encompasses Keigo’s back. 

You never were a hero or anything strong enough to qualify as anything close to one, your skills laid in fixing the broken, soothing the sick. Your hands have always been used to fix things, give life to things. That had always been your calling.

But lately you glance down at your hands with a viscous glare. Your hands saved lives, but more recently you’ve been imagining dirtying them. Anger has never been a poison you indulged in until now. It frightens you. 

Darkness envelops your vision, painting the room black until he’s there, standing just out of arm's reach. Pearly white hair, purple rotting skin paired with the blood curling smile of a man on a mission to wreak havoc. The picture fades slowly as you dare to approach him, your arms suddenly grow heavy, your lungs squeeze out whatever air you had. 

You hated this, hated revisiting helpless memories. Yet your mind plays each haunting minute over and over in your head. Stoking the rampant fires of your fury.

In the next moment Keigo lays in your arms, bandaged like a badly made mummy. The silence breaks with the sound of his heart monitor which beats too slowly for your liking. The sterile stench burning your nose, Glancing around, you're not too sure where you can hold him, his skin is taut with burns and you see the embers of his wings flicker in weak protest against the linen.

You’ve never wanted to break anything or anyone, it just wasn’t your nature. But you’d strangle the life from Dabi, you’d happily watch his strength fade as you press your thumb against his jugular. There’s plenty of ways you’d like to make him suffer, but your heart tears at the violence you’d cause, at the pain in Keigo’s face if he knew how dark your thoughts had gotten.

Dabi wasn’t the only one on your shit list now either. Endeavour had a spot right beside his son.  If he’d have been a normal loving father, Dabi may never have existed and Keigo wouldn’t be hooked onto so many machines in the hospital bed, laying lifeless as the corpses you’ve had to tally up in recent days. Or at least that's the working theory you have, the one thing that keeps you from tearing at the seams. 

You huff out a breath of air just before reaching out for Keigo's bandaged face, but your vision spins white, throwing you into another memory drawn from the back of your mind. The boom of a familiar irritating voice plays through your cotton stuffed ears. Daring to peek, you spot a table centred on top of a stage.

Another memory you detest, almost as much as reliving the days spent in the hospital waiting for Keigo to awaken. Glancing out to the sea of furious reporters you spot his small battered frame. Barely healed enough to breathe on his own, each word croaked through smoke damaged vocal chords. Despite that though he bows to the sea of people screaming at him. 

You don’t understand it. You can’t. Surely everyone on that stage knew they were cannon fodder, whatever reasons they had would fall on deaf ears. Your living proof of that, Endeavor's reasons fell from your skin like water on a duck's back. But you stood just behind the crowds, desperately trying to catch Keigo’s gaze. Endeavor speaks up again but his excuses fell deaf of your ears, for all you care he should be rotting. He should be bowing, headbutting the floor, not Keigo.

A heat unlike anything you’ve experienced swallows you whole as Keigo continues croaking. Apologising for his father’s crimes, for concealing his parentage from the world. Why did it matter? Keigo had spent his whole life dedicated to being a hero. He was a small, sickly child when the commission seized him, a child who knew no better. Or…that’s what you’ve gathered from Keigo’s retellings. 

The public had no right to snoop. They had no right to cast those heavy gazes, conjuring invisible lines to his father and him. He bowed again, explaining in grim detail just how he had to subdue the villain Twice. How keeping him alive would have meant the destruction of Japan. Apologising for failing his undercover mission, for failing a troubled man. A man Japan had failed to care for until he was a rampant villain. A man who was only cared for now because the anger for hero's had grown. 

Nobody in the crowd was upset that Twice had been murdered. It was just a good enough reason to scream at the three pro heroes. Remind them of their short comings. 

And Keigo was apologising.

Apologising for trying to do what was right in the moment. Would you condone murder? Of course not. But Keigo wouldn’t have resorted to the extreme unless absolutely necessary. Which only frustrated you the more he tried to explain himself, putting all the blame on his inability to save one soul in exchange for thousands if not millions down the line.

If you could, you’d march onto the stage and scream until your throat was as raw as Keigo’s. ‘You think he wanted to kill Twice? You think he took pleasure in it?’

Nobody got to witness the truth but you. It stuck with you, like an incurable wound. Before you manage to weave through the crowds, the conference room spins, swirling into a blur of incohesive patterns, pulling you down with it. You release a small whine of protest, your anger palpable as you fall between the crowds attempting to grasp at their feet to keep you from leaving so abruptly. 

The next memory smacks you with the thick stench of antibacterial soaps and bleach. It burns down your airways as you peel your eyes open once more. It doesn’t take you long to settle on the small bumps of the heart monitor, up and down in a weak rhythm. 

This memory–flashback, was the worst of them all. A lump forms in your throat threatening to close your airways for good. Every one of your limbs is heavy, forcing you to remain lifelessly on the stiff cushions of the hospital chair. No matter what you try you are pinned into the seat. 

How long had you sat there and simply stared at him? 

For as long as it took to see him wake. That was the only answer you had in those early days of recovery. 

Suddenly you're throwing yourself at the bed, the silence shatters like glass, replaced with the strangled sobs of your beloved. Your arms are just as heavy as before, but they wrap tight around Keigo’s battered form in the hopes you could shield him from the world. 

Your heart shatters for the umpteenth time as you pull him close. Hot tears soak through your four day old clothes. Not that any of that mattered at the moment.

His lip trembles underneath the oxygen mask, fogging the plastic up with each staggered exhale. The weak and broken croak of his voice barely reached your ears. Muffled between the mask, heartbreak and the strain in his vocal chords. Keigo’s eyes shine bright with a vulnerability that haunts you. 

“Jin was a good guy, y’know? I tried—I tried everything I could think of. It wasn’t his fault. I couldn’t–” He sobbed, clumsily grasping at the side of your shirt to hold you, to ground him.

‘Jin Bubaigawara,’  You’d never forget the name. 

With each tear that trickled down Keigo’s skin, you took great care to swipe it away from his burnt skin. Of all the things he could have been upset about, his history being leaked or the sorry state of his quirk, it was the fact he’d been unable to save the one person he thought could have been redeemed.

He blamed himself for another man’s resolve. 

Fury hits you again, your teeth clash with the inside of your cheek, filling your senses with the coppery aftertaste of blood. 

You thought back then that you knew how cruel time could be. In those nights of silence, you spent hours contemplating how fragile life was. If he’d have been rescued a second too late Keigo may have been another cold victim in the ambush. Or how a day without a supply of oxygen could mean his vitals could drop. How powerless you were, just sitting there, hoping and praying time would be kind enough to lend you some mercy. All those months being at his side and it still didn’t feel enough. You wanted a lifetime by his side.

Time had graced you, just that once. you doubt it would again. Keigo lies in your shared bed now, free from machines and life support systems. A miracle in its own rights. All you managed to do was apply the ointments to his back, cut his hair a little shorter to remove all the charred edges of blonde. 

You’ve saved countless people before today. Even when on the brink of death, you’ve held onto trembling blood soaked hands and smiled through your nerves to reassure people they’ll make it.

But with Keigo? All you’ve managed to do is offer pitiful glances as he slips into his hero suit and attempts to save the world. You've been pathetic recently. You're all over the place. Almost like the path you tread is coated in thin ice and your shoes have no grip to keep you steady. You’d run far far away from here if it meant keeping Keigo safe.

You blink again, snapping back to the present. Though the memory of his sobs lingers in your chest, even now. Time. You haven’t got much left. It feels like that's all you can think about and yet you're stuck in the past. Wasting the time you're so worried about losing. 

But as you settle your gaze back onto Keigo’s sparse shoulders your anger melts. His wings flicker once more as your mind finally quiets, just for a moment, a peaceful second of calm in the storm. Just long enough to listen to Keigo breathe, to be reassured that time hadn’t snatched him from you yet. 

He’s almost breathing a little too steady for a man whose lungs are still in recovery. You should know, you’ve spent countless nights listening to each wheeze in worry. Carefully, you turn, burying deep underneath the too soft sheets and like clockwork, Keigo’s wings stretch out as much as the weakened barbs can to seek you out. 

You dip lower under the sheets until the moonlight paints Keigo’s tattered shirt in a cool pale light, exposing the irregular texture between patches of raw red skin and scabs. Reaching out your hand to cup your mouth, hoping to stifle any noise or heat your breath may reveal. Staring at his barren back under scrutiny long enough until his breathing hitches. You hold onto your breath a second longer, deliberately stilling yourself.

His thin wings slowly span out to full capacity, just a hair away from your arm. As each feather vibrates against the sheets, attempting to pick up even the smallest waves of your presence. They flicker again, more deliberately disrupting the sheets underneath him. You spot a tension in his shoulders before the twig-like wings curl back against his shirt. 

Suddenly he turns towards you with those golden eyes you're so accustomed to waking to. Panic floods the normally composed  and smug look you’d usually awaken to. He can’t sense your breathing so easily with so little feathers. As much as you feel guilt tug at your heart for frightening him, his sudden urgency had just confirmed your suspicion. 

You weren’t the only one struggling to sleep tonight. 

As you shimmy from the labyrinth of sheets, you settle just high enough on your pillow to lock eyes with Keigo. You exhale against his face unintentionally and an apology settles on your lips. Though Keigo lets the warm air fan across his face and the panic swimming in his gaze settles, for the most part. The lingering tension in Keigo’s shoulders slowly begins to dissipate as he sinks back into the plush pillows.

“Did I wake you?” You whisper softly, just in case you're wrong, thinking too deep into the little things Keigo does, he might just be as anxious as you are. If not more, Keigo had more right than you to be worried. 

Tonight is the last night.

Tonight is the last night you can pretend like everything is normal. That you're just a normal couple kissing each other goodnight for the hundredth time. That tomorrow wasn’t going to be the fight for your life—it was going to be a fight for Keigo’s. 

Each soft kiss you’ve shared in the last week you’ve committed to memory. Every tender smile across the strategy table, every fleeting touch of hands or the sensation of interwoven fingers you’ve burnt into your memory. 

Because what if Keigo doesn’t survive tomorrow? 

That's the question you've been too scared to voice. That prickly thorn from before sinks deeper into your skin, suffocating you.

He’s fighting a demon. AFO has prepared everything for who knows how long. Half of the pro hero team is in recovery, nobody is at their full potential for the upcoming fight. 

What if he falls and you're miles away, tending to the begs and pleads of others? What if you fail to save Keigo again? Do you have to watch helplessly once more, hoping and praying time allows you another chance with him? Hoping that Keigo can pull through while you sob at his bedside endlessly.

“I haven’t managed to sleep yet.” He croaks back to you, his frightened gaze melting into a weary expression of vulnerability. Helplessness. It’s rare that Keigo is truly honest, even to you. It’s jarring enough to break you away from the poisonous voice in your ear.

You want him to smile that smile you’ve always rolled your eyes at again. Even if it's small. You have to try. 

“That won’t do.” You whisper, mustering what little optimism you can afford tonight. You blame Keigo for that, you were never so optimistic until you began dating him. You reach out slowly running your thumb across the barely healed scar tissue that spikes up his cheek. “You’ve gotta look good when you kick AFO’s ass tomorrow. How are you going to do that when you’ve had no beauty sleep?” You grin gently, silencing the voice in your head that paints your future in darkness. 

Keigo has suffered alone for too long. Having seen it with your own eyes you’d promised he’d never have to after the Dabi incident. But are you enough? 

Are you?

He smiles, but you know it doesn't reach his eyes. Right now, under the moon's cool gaze all you want is to stay with him, underneath the warm sheets, close enough to hear his heart thump against your ear. 

You want to wrap him up in your arms and run away to the ends of the universe with him. But you can’t. Keigo wouldn’t want that. You know him too well. He’d never forgive himself—or you for it. Most of your wants recently have been selfish and irrational, the stress of the war, the fear of losing Keigo is changing everything you were and want to be. 

You're so bitter, so resentful. You hate even admitting it. How are you supposed to support Keigo in his struggles when all you want to offer is half baked escape plans and hypotheticals? You’ve always felt slightly inadequate to Keigo. A man so fast he’s leaps and bounds ahead of you, but recently it’s more like he’s lightyears ahead of you. 

Keigo’s fixated on fixing what he can, fixing things was your calling. Yet all you can imagine is breaking those who’ve wronged him. He’s planning a future he might not see while you're marinating in the past with a molten hot rage you feel pounding against your ribs. 

“Talk to me.” You plead softly as he reaches up silently to cup your cheek, his skin rough with years of fighting, stained with invisible blood that keeps him from embracing your face fully. Your cheek rests against the pads of his fingertips, brushing against course callouses. “I like hearing you talk.” Your voice cracks but you hope he chalks it down to tiredness. 

It wasn’t a lie, you do enjoy Keigo’s voice. But right now you’ll do anything to keep your mind from pulling you back into echoes of the past. You reason that Keigo hasn’t spoken much these past few weeks, no fault of his own, between the oxygen mask, the text to speech input and the exhaustion from all the strategy meetings. Keigo hasn’t had much time to simply relax and heal his body or his mind. 

But you're selfishly asking for more again. You swallow the thick uncomfortable lump in your throat and face him once more. Even now, Keigo dares not to blink unless his eyes force him to do so. His gaze is soft yet rattled, as if he's desperate to paint each inch of your face to commit it to memory before you slip from his grasp. Or if he slips from yours. Mirroring exactly how you feel in the moment. His hand slips out from the covers to trace lines across your face like gentle brushstrokes. Each callus on his fingertips runs across your skin leaving you shuddering underneath the sheets. 

The look on his face haunts you. It’s one you're familiar with— too familiar with these days. He’s committing you to his memory as if it might be the last chance he gets to do so. You hope it isn’t, that your mind is just being cruel. His fingers ghost across your lips as if he hasn’t kissed them countless times beforehand. The crooked smile pressed across his lips softens, but his eyes remain fixed on yours, heavy with everything he’s too afraid to say. You want to hold him, to make time stop, but you're all too aware the dawn creeps closer with each passing moment. 

Your heart shatters as Keigo leans forward silently, as if he’d not heard or simply couldn’t face your early plea for conversation. His nose presses deep into your shoulder inhaling deep against your skin. He always mentioned you smelt like comfort to him, smelt like home. His wings attempt to curl around you. Normally you’d both be engulfed by a sea of crimson, growing warm underneath a fort of feathers as he marvels at your appearance, lavishes you in praise.  

Now though? The moonlight peeks in on your otherwise private moment, his wings barely manage to stretch across your body before thinning out into nothing. The fractured wingspan offers you both little comfort and Keigo grimaces against your neck. His defeated sigh bounces across your skin momentarily before his wings pull back, almost hidden as he tucks them close to his back with a wince.

Keigo cannot protect you the way he has all this time. When your worries get the better of you, it's his wings you escape to, his shoulder you cry upon. Tonight however, you can’t help but feel like it should be you protecting him. 

But you're powerless. There’s no stopping the coming of tomorrow. You can’t protect Keigo from the heat of the public, yet alone a man who single handily could wipe out half of Japan with the snap of his mutated fingers. 

You rest your hand against the jagged edges of his cheek, tracing a ghost-like touch across the scar. Ever greedy for your embrace, Keigo nestles right into your hand, a relaxed grin settling upon his lips. This is all you can offer him, right when your lives are about to be on the line. A singular touch. 

That’s so unfair. Keigo has done everything in his power to keep you warm and safe and yet you cannot do the same when he needs it the most. Your skin bristles with goosebumps as your hairs stand on edge. You really aren’t enough. The realisation hits you, winding you of breath, your muscles locked into place stubbornly. Part of you wants to scream to break whatever spell your body is succumbing too. But you're paralyzed by terror.

You’re terrified. That's the thorn in your heart. The feeling that's been threatening to drag you further down into despair. 

You’re so fucking terrified. It feels like the last jagged piece to the incoherent jigsaw you’ve been trying to piece together all night, all week. It slots into place with a firm push and yet you don’t feel satisfied to have finally solved the puzzle.

Keigo shifts under the sheets drawing your attention back to the jagged scar under your thumb. Your scrutiny of it must have been apparent. As Keigo tilts his cheek away from your pained glances, still desperate to chase after your touch anyway he can get it.

“There’s…a lot I want to say. Don’t really know where to begin.” He finally speaks up, his tone as gentle as a ghost kiss across your skin. His smile weakens just enough for you to catch glimpses of the man you fell in love with. Not the ever calm and optimistic Hawks. Just Keigo. Your Keigo. 

You linger for a moment, the words feel thick on your tongue before they roll from your lips. “Are you as scared as I am, for…tomorrow?” You're not sure what to expect, maybe some sort of joke to lighten the mood, or a dismissal of the question in favour of something else. Keigo always had a knack for changing the subject to something else entirely if the topic was too sore or depressing. A major obstacle in your dating life until you managed to clock the behaviour.

Keigo huffs a weak laugh, the sound barely more than a breath, but it carries a glimmer of mischief that's been absent for far too long. His hands shift beneath the sheets, slow and deliberate, until you feel them settle on your hips. Before you can register what's happening, the world tilts. In one fluid motion—so swift it catches you off guard—he pulls you onto his lap. 

For a moment, you’re stunned, your breath stolen by the surprising strength he somehow still possesses, even in his weakened state. The faint smirk tugging at his lips feels like a wild spark in the dark, his golden eyes glinting with an old familiar playfulness that makes your heart ache.

There’s that old look—the one that reminds you why you fell for him in the first place. Why you’re still here, still fighting for this broken country, when every fear inside you screams to run.

You settle down against his lap, his warmth soaks against your moon chilled skin as you settle your legs either side of him. Steadying your hand to cup his face again, offer him whatever comfort he needs right now.

His smile widens but there’s a tinge of sadness that dampens your heart. Keigo closes his eyes for a moment, you hear the audible gulp he makes before speaking. 

“I’m terrified of disappointing you.” He whispers so softly you think you’ve misheard him. Unable to keep your gaze he buries his cheek into the fabric of your nightgown. “I don’t plan on losing this fight. But…given who I’m up against…” 

‘It’s a possibility.’ You can practically hear him finish the unspoken words. Simply because they’ve been mentioned over meetings. Different plans in case different people fall in battle, whose quirk won’t be snatched by AFO easily in case someone gets grabbed.

Keigo’s the spearhead, the one who’ll face down AFO head on alongside Endeavour. Buying enough time for the rest of the team to separate the league and Shigaraki. You’ll be nowhere near, cooped up in a medical tent deep within the trees to cover your position. You won’t know what’s happened until the injured are at your cot or you're declaring the time for the deceased. 

Spearheads don’t usually make it out alive. Their job is to take the brunt of the attack, to break the enemy's rhythm. And Keigo knows that. 

The hero's life wasn’t for you. Talking about your predicted demise as if it were just pawns on a chess board. 

But how could he ever disappoint you? You should be the last thing on his mind right now. But even still his words wash over you like cold water. Your lungs constrict, forcing a gasp to leave your lips in the light of his confession. 

Keigo stares up at you longingly, you’ve always wondered how he can look at you like that. As if you were one of the seven world wonders that only he ever got to witness. 

Before you can speak, Keigo beats you to the punch. “Can I…be selfish with you?” 

Keigo, selfish? Two words you never would have imagined going together. This is a man who spent his whole life dedicated to others, every scrap of energy spent, his time, his body, his freedom. The fright in his eyes makes your heart clench, your throat close.

If anyone deserves to be selfish right now, it’s Keigo. 

“Always. Please.” Your whisper, sweeping away a few locks of hair from his forehead. 

Keigo’s smile falters as he searches for your gaze, gathering the courage to speak up. When he finally does his voice is as quiet as ever. “I don’t want you to forget about me. Even if I’m gone. I don’t ever want to be just a lingering memory in your life.” 

The idea is preposterous to you. Your brow begins to dip in response, your lips ready to refute his claims. Of course you’d never forget about Keigo. 

Whatever retorts you could manage to conjure die in your throat as Keigo’s finger presses gently across the swell of your lips. Every nerve in your body ignites as he draws his rough digit across your lips as you end up swallowing the half remembered retorts. 

Keigo’s mesmerised stare softens, creasing his vision as he admires you. His defiantly bright gaze darts across your lips, down to your nightgown before finally settling onto your eyes once more. A shudder ripples through his fingers and down across your pinched lips. You can’t quite fathom what Keigo seems so hesitant to ask. What selfish request he has that hasn’t crossed your mind a million times before. 

“I want to leave evidence on you. Proof I existed, just in case the worst case scenario does occur.” Keigo’s voice croaks with a lingering tension, he clears his throat before snapping his gaze down towards the sheets. 

You heard him right, even if you take a moment to let his request rattle through your crowded mind. Though the true gravity of his words is lost on you, too caught up in the bittersweet sensation that floods your nerves. 

Just in case, he said. Just in case tonight is your last night together for a lifetime. It feels like a promise. To indulge in Keigo’s affections and hopefully portray your own right back. Maybe if you leave him with a good impression, he might just be more determined to come back to you. More determined than he already was.

That was the best thought you’ve had all night. You’ve wasted enough time already, for once you were determined to spend every moment of the night in Keigo’s arms and embrace. Prove to him he had more than just a broken world to come home to. That you needed him much more than the world needed Hawks.

You lean forward with a surge of newfound energy, pressing your lips to his, surrounding yourself in the intoxicating warmth. It grounds you, silences all those pesky thoughts from earlier. 

'Prove he has more to fight for than just buying time. Prove you can be enough for him.'

Keigo’s hands snake around your waist, his fingers creasing and bundling the sides of your nightgown as he kisses you back. There’s a slight tremble in his touch, much like the very first night you shared together, when he was sheepish about doing something wrong. But Keigo was always a swift learner, quick to act confident even if he didn’t quite feel it.

You're forced to pull away for air, even if it does feel like a lie. The air is too thin, too sharp as if punishing you for pulling away. The static in your mind buzzes back to life, threatening to drag you back under. But then there’s Keigo, grounding you, his touch soft yet insistent, pulling you back to him. To now. To the moment you refuse to waste. 

He pulls the gown up towards your shoulders slowly, reverently, as though the fabric was made of the richest silks he couldn’t imagine ruining. You're all too keen to let him undress you, first with his eyes and then physically. One of these days, you’d have to inform him the way he stares at your body always drowns your stomach in butterflies. Whilst his fingers trace up the curve of your sides, ghosting teasingly over your skin. 

An uncontrollable shiver suddenly rushes through your body. The cold night air brushes across your exposed abdomen. You clutch at Keigo’s cheeks, grounding you with the ember of warmth he’s able to maintain.

Each inch of his face is a different texture, Keigo’s skin was always so soft, due in part to the endless supply of skincare he had tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. As your fingers drift over the dips in his skin, tracing across each one, you’re mesmerised by the imperfections you’ve only just discovered. How his stubble runs prickly against your fingers, how you can feel the ridge of his nose where the permanent dent of where his visor usually sits.

But Keigo offers you little time to admire much more. The moment your eyes settle on the jagged, smooth skin etched up his cheek he’s worshipping you again. Pulling from your hands to marvel at your abdomen.

Keigo’s lips tremble against your skin, his hands gripping your waist just tightly enough to betray the steady, deliberate motions of his fingers. It’s as if he’s trying to take all of you in at once, memorising you with his touch, his breath, his lips. Yet something in him is restrained, a barely leashed desperation.

Almost as if he’s holding himself back…

He wouldn’t though. Keigo has never held back with you. But the lingering thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

As Keigo’s lips trace along your skin, the static begins to creep back in—the faintest hum of worry and doubt, the weight of everything you’ve left unsaid. You push it back down, focusing on the warmth of Keigo’s hands, the way he looks at you like you’re something sacred.

You don’t get long to dwell on it, thankfully. Not with the way Keigo steals your every incoming thought with the teasing nip of his lips. Leaving soft red blemishes in his wake, blossoming against your body whilst Keigo devotes himself to the next one. Your skin prickles as his hand slips your nightgown higher, just underneath your bra line. He guides your hand to hold it there and you're all too eager for a task, a distraction to drown yourself in.

You trust Keigo with your life and he’s proven time and time again he can be trusted with something so delicate in his hardened hands. Though tonight, it feels different. Keigo’s hands tremble as though he’s afraid of breaking you—or himself—and you’re not sure if it’s his fragility or your own that makes you feel so exposed. Yet there’s an unshakable sensation of restraint in his hands tonight.

Do you look so fragile to him tonight? Or is Keigo hiding something under his tender touches that you’ve been unable to discern? Why is he suddenly so hesitant? All you manage to do is convince yourself he’s eager for tonight. Too bust conjuring ways to pleasure you to focus on the task at hand.

Or perhaps he’s just eager to be inside you at this very moment. You can’t blame him, you’ve both been eager for something intimate for a while now.

With that thought you lean forward, feeling the rough scratch of his chin against your sides. Keigo’s head drowns in the fabric of your gown as you release it. Your heart skips a beat at his whine of protest. Missing the flicker of confusion that brightens Keigo’s gaze. The familiarity of the motion leaves you pondering again, as you curl your finger around the drawer and tug it open. A sigh of relief slips from your lips when you find the tell-tale shimmer of the square foil packet. 

You reach forward to pick one up. But his hand catches your wrist, gentle but firm, halting you before your fingers can grasp the packet. His shoulders tense as though bracing himself for something, and when he looks up at you, the hesitant flicker in his gaze is almost enough to make your heart drop. 

The sudden tension in his grip makes your stomach plummet. Did you do something wrong? Despite the cold night, your body sets itself a flame with embarrassment, your cheeks flushing as the thought threatens to consume you. 

Keigo’s voice is soft, almost sheepish, but the chuckle that follows is strained, cracking under his exhaustion. He rubs at the back of his neck, releasing your wrist from his hold. “Uh…Maybe I didn’t quite make myself clear?” His gaze darts side to side as though searching for some miracle to save you both from your blunder. 

You definitely missed something here.

His Adam's apple bobs with an audible gulp, for a split second, his lips part, only to close again. You see it in his eyes—the way his gaze flicks towards you and the sheets, searching for the courage to lay his heart bare for you again. And then, in a voice so soft it feels like it might break, he speaks... 

“I want to leave a piece of me with you tonight. Leave something you can love if I can’t be there. Someone to come home to, so you’d never have to be alone.” He reiterates slowly, cusping your cheek as best his shaking hands will allow. 

Something, no, someone? Someone to come home to. 

Ooh. 

Oh.

The words ring in your ears, soft but deafening and it clicks. As if someone had suddenly flicked the lights on it in a dark room. Not something. Someone. Keigo didn’t just want to spend the night lavishing you in marks and kisses. Your chest tightens as the weight of his words truly settle on you this time.

That explains why he’s so nervous to ask. And you—God, you’re such a fucking dumbass for not realising it sooner. 

You immediately pull your hand back from the drawer. His words feel so much heavier now, and you scramble for some solid footing, instead of gawking at him like a fish. You’re a nurse, a combat medic—you know your way around the human body. So what if one time isn’t enough to guarantee it, you reason. Your body is just beginning its cycle again; there are so many flaws in this plan.

His plan—no, his promise—feels doomed, and yet, the sheer vulnerability in his tone makes you want to agree anyway. You’re agreeing no matter what. The logistical side of things be damned. 

Keigo had given you his all in life, it’s only fair you do the same for him. 

As he tugs at your nightgown again, a notable tremble possesses his touch. Suddenly you're all too aware that he’s bared his heart to you, only to be greeted with stunned silence. The guilt smacks into your frozen muscles, locking you further into place. You shake your head, pushing through the onslaught of thoughts and meet Keigo’s evidently worried expression. 

He smiles through his fear, tries to at least but you spot it—that tiny twitch at the corner of his lips, the tension in his jaw. He’s terrified of being selfish with you, for himself. Your hesitation only weaponizes his fear.

His voice cracks as he speaks again, soft yet hesitant. “Unless you don’t want that. I know it’s unreasonable, maybe I shouldn’t have—” 

“I want this,” You cut him off, your tone firmer than you expected but no less convincing. “I want you.”

Your words are immediate, no longer trapped under your logical thinking or tangled with hesitation. Your eyes gleam with determination as you search his face. All you can do is hope, desperately, that he can see the sincerity, the fire burning behind your gaze. 

Because you do want this. 

You’d do anything to keep him close. And if the worst comes to pass, if tomorrow steals him away, you’d still have a part of him to nurture, to remind you of what you’re fighting for. 

But that thought also cuts you deep, far deeper than you anticipated. Because you’d be alone, truly alone, the prospect of it coiling nausea in the pit of your stomach. The ache threatens to drag you under, so you do the only thing you can to counteract it. Pressing desperate kisses along Keigo’s jawline, trailing up to the corner of his mouth, trying to convince him—and yourself that this moment is enough. This one singular promise is enough. 

You crack a grin, though the tremor in your voice betrays the effort it takes. Your hand finds his cheek, smoothing over the scarred skin carefully. “Even now, you’re still thinking about me. How is that selfish?” You murmur. 

Keigo’s eyes widen ever so slightly, it's the first time you’ve seen him stumped for a quick retort in a while. It’s almost satisfying to catch him off guard like that. To see the cogs in his brilliant mind work overtime to keep up with his mouth. His expression falters for a moment, frozen. Lips parting as if to respond, but no words surface. When he finally speaks, it's with his earlier sheepish tone. “Well, I mean…it’s not exactly a normal request, right?”

He chuckles against your skin, pressing a tender kiss against your rapid pulse. His fingers tug at your nightgown more intently, dipping under the fabric to caress your sides. “I would’ve made it a tad more romantic too. Later in life, if I had it my way.” His gaze drifts to the side, an unmistakable ember of guilt flickers across his face, like he’s ashamed of asking, for needing this so badly. 

You can’t help but wonder then. What did he imagine? How long had he been planning this later in life scenario with you? If it wasn’t just a fleeting thought, not some impulsive plea born from panic. It’s something he’s been carrying a while, something he’s too afraid to voice until now. That realisation settles heavily in your chest, bittersweet and aching. 

But you refuse to let him spiral. You won’t let him believe for a second that his request is anything less than perfect. 

“You can have it your way.” You whisper firmly against his skin, cutting through the uncertainty in his eyes. “Once you’ve beaten that demon, we can do all the boring couple things you want. Okay?” 

A curse settles on your lips as your voice wavers slightly, but your stubborn smile refuses to bow down. It’s a promise, not just to him but to yourself. A future you’ll cling to no matter what tomorrow throws at you. 

Keigo stares up at you incredulously, his golden gaze weighed down with something so incredibly raw. Gratitude, longing and a hit of desperation he’s barely able to hold back. The sight is enough to hitch your breath. He leans forward suddenly, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, far less delicate than before. 

The intensity consumes you, his lips hard and insistent against yours, one hand sliding from your sides to cup the back of your head. As if it’s the only thing holding him back. It’s a kiss that demands your whole attention, nothing less would satisfy Keigo. It sears itself into your memory. But just as the heat begins to rise in your stomach, he pulls away, breathless and trembling. 

His breath staggers, uneven, his chest rising and falling heavily. It fans across your already warm face, igniting your cheeks. But he smiles so sweetly, pressing your foreheads together. His eyes are wondrously wild and stormy as they settle on your form. “I always wanted this to be slow, perfect, y’know?” He murmurs, taking your chin between his thumb and finger. You don’t miss the way his voice cracks with strain. “I still want that, really I do. God I want to make this as perfect for you as I can, but–” 

Neither of you have the time or patience to do this slow and steady. 

Instincts take over before he can finish. As you pull him back in your lips meet his with equal fervor, silencing his doubts. He leans right into you, no hesitation, as if you're the first gulp of fresh water he’s been parched off. It’s your turn to pull away first, leaving him chasing after you. “I can handle it.” You affirm confidently, puffing out your chest in pride. A grin tugs at your mouth, smugly. “You know I can.” 

A chuckle slips free. You're not sure why you’re so confident or so light all of a sudden. But the noise escapes its prison and you can’t stop as another follows it in confidence. Your heart flutters as Keigo’s warm laughter joins in the chorus. Laughing at a time like this, like some lovesick children. Though no matter what you do, the joy stays steadfast. As your forehead bumps against Keigo’s. 

The static in your mind dissipates, replaced with the gentle echoes of Keigo’s voice. His eyes crease with a tender joy, his gaze thick with admiration. No words are needed for his thoughts to be conveyed in the moment. 

You are enough for him. Nobody else can understand Keigo the way you do naturally. And nobody could quiet your mind like Keigo does.

His fingers still toy at the edges of your nightgown, hesitating still as the laughter subsided. The gesture is as sweet as it always has been. But the tension lingering in the air catches your attention, he keeps pausing for you to notice, waiting—for a verbal confirmation that you want exactly what he does. 

The realisation brings a quiet smile to your lips. Raising your arms, you offer him exactly what he needs without a word. That’s all it takes. 

Within a heartbeat, your gown is gone, you hear the rustle of fabric against your ears, feel the night's chill creep across your skin. But it's an afterthought in your mind. Your gown is tossed into the darkness. 

And just like that, Keigo is on you. A man who's always been so deliberate and gentle, changes before your eyes. The darkened amber in his haze drifts over your exposed skin, his jaw tightening as though he’s made some silent vow. He’s always been thorough, but tonight, he’s urgent, a near reverence in the way his eyes linger.

It’s not just want, its purpose, carving its way into every kiss he presses against your skin, each purposeful nip and bite. When a sharp gasp escapes your lips, his mouth softens, pressing a tender kiss in apology. 

The silent room fills with the sounds of your breathing, your gasps, his low groans, the rustling of bed sheets as he positions you above him. His underwear is tossed aside with the same careless abandon as your gown, and for a brief moment, the two of you are left bare, skin against skin, warmth against warmth. 

Keigo guides your hips to straddle him, his hands firm against your waist. You stare down at him, momentarily overwhelmed by the sight. How couldn’t you be? He is so goddamn beautiful. It’s not that you’ve never seen him like this before, swollen lips, mussed hair, eyes alight with mischief, but this angle, this view of him beneath you feels…sinful. 

It’s the way he looks at your–golden eyes lidded with pleasure, lips tugged into an unashamedly prideful smirk, that steals the breath from your lungs. 

“Like what you see?” His voice is teasing, lighthearted on the surface but you catch the weight behind his words. The way he tries to turn his head, his jagged scar catching in the moonlight. His wings shift beneath him, a quiet attempt to tuck their fractured frame out of view. Hiding the parts of himself he doesn’t want you to see, parts he doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

Before he can deflect with another quip, you reach out for him. Fingers trembling as they smooth over his cheek, gently guiding his face back towards yours. Keigo tenses under your touch, his jaw clenching tightly. 

“I love what I see.” The words leave your lips with no hesitation, because they’re true. You adore this man, every piece of him. You’ll tell him every morning when this is over, until he finally believes you, until he rolls his eyes at you the way he always does when he’s genuinely flustered. 

“Flirt,” He scoffs at you playfully, a faint pink blossoming across his cheeks. For once, you’ve caught him off guard, his cocky grin cracking under your honesty. But the twitch of his cock against your thigh betrays him and the smirk quickly returns. “Now come here.” 

Your heart thunders against your ribs. The prominent roll of Keigo’s hips brushes against your warm skin, his heat sinking against you sending sparks up your spine. Pressing your palm onto his chest, steadying yourself, overwhelms you. As if you're on the verge of being burnt under his and your heat combined. But the rhythm of his heartbeat, fast and frantic beneath your fingertips sets you at ease. 

An uncontrollable shiver runs through you, his grip tightens on your hips. Though he‘s carefully deliberate, not forceful, just enough to hold you steady above him. Guiding you exactly where you need to be. Uncertainty tries to grip at your heart, but Keigo’s grip is tighter, his voice drops into a low whisper, brushing against your neck like a kiss. 

“I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He voices between kisses. The sensation of teeth against your pulse, travelling up your throat in a slow, teasing line. 

He’s got you. That’s all the reassurance you need right now. 

With a nod, you inhale a deep breath, steadying yourself. Rising onto your knees, you align your hips with his, the heat of his skin against yours already making your nerves tingle. 

But with a gentle push, you press him back into the pillows, freeing yourself from his mouth to meet his gaze. The sight that greets you makes your breath catch. His brows knit together, anticipation written across every inch of his face, his lips parted as shallow uneven breaths just barely brush across your skin. 

It spurs you on. Unable to withstand his needy glances, you sink down, taking him inch by inch. The familiar sting ebbs away into pleasure as you accommodate him. The pleasure warms you deep within, as if you were standing beside a tepid fire after a winter's day. It welcomes you, you welcome it, rocking your hips a little more confidently to the eager praises slipping from Keigo’s tongue. 

You succumb to its heated waves. Brushing against your skin, dragging you down into the depths of pleasure. Almost losing yourself in the slow caresses. Just barely managing to pull yourself back from your desire to glance down at Keigo. 

Keigo’s reaction is immediate. His hands tighten on your hips, his knuckles turning white as he fights to hold himself back, refusing to rush you. Easing you down onto his cock to ensure you don’t hurt yourself. The pillows dip under the weight of his head as it tips backward. Brows drawn tightly together, his jaw slackening with a groan so low it makes your stomach flip. 

“That’s it, baby.” The hoarse edge of Keigo’s voice breaks off into a rough sigh as his wings twitch weakly beneath him. The smoke still clings to his desperate words, but there’s a heavy sense of need coating his injured vocal chords. His wings tremble, struggling to move, desperate to curl around you, to shield you the way they always have. 

A curse tumbles from his lips, followed by a shallow gasp. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, his body trembling beneath yours. A moment of weakness you won’t allow him to linger on. 

His grip tries to keep a steady pace for your sake, for your enjoyment. Though right now you couldn’t care less about the aches and pains you’ll face in the morning. Your hips stagger for a moment, before slamming down as quickly as you can. Before Keigo can catch up and draw you back into a slower pace. 

A moan, croaked and desperate spills from his lips like a sinful chorus as you take him fully. Your muscles stretch to quickly adjust to the full length of him. You spot the flicker of exasperation in his eyes before it flickers out for an overwhelming heat. 

Settling fully on his hips takes you longer than you had wanted but Keigo waits. Your thighs sink against the raw muscle of Keigo’s, a sharp gasp escaping you both as you take him fully. Keigo’s moans spill into the quiet, each one broken by soft, breathless praises that fan across your skin. His hips buck upwards without restraint, forcing you to bounce slightly each time. The involuntary motion leaves you trembling, but you let him. Tonight, you let him have this. 

Keigo deserves this—deserves to lose himself in something other than strategy meetings, war and endless calculations. If you’re the escape he needs, then tonight, you’ll be that escape. You’ll let him unravel, lose himself in you, and for just a little while, forget about the weight of tomorrow. Then, you'll catch him, like you always do, making sure he lands softly. 

Tomorrow’s Keigo can worry about what you leave behind tonight, the bruises, the aching muscles, the fleeting moments pressed into each deep kiss and every firm thrust. You don’t care, you doubt Keigo will either when tomorrow rises. All you do care about is the way his body trembles beneath yours, the way his hands grip you like you’re his lifeline. 

Your pleasure mounts steadily, an intoxicating crescendo that surges through your body with every roll of your hips. Your vision blurs, but your focus sharpens on Keigo’s delightful expressions. Breathless, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lips parted as soft shaky sounds escaped him. His shoulders shudder with each movement, his hands wandering restlessly, groping at your thighs, your waist, around the swell of your bite ridden breasts.

Whatever part of you he can reach, because he’s afraid to let go. Terrified , just as you are.

The rhythm Keigo keeps grows faster, harder, more desperate. Your thighs burn, your muscles quivering with effort as you lift yourself up and drop back down, creating an impossible pace. The room is filled with the lewd, rhythmic sound of skin against skin, each slap punctuated by Keigo's guttural groans and your own breathless gasps. 

Overwhelmed by the pace you stagger for a second too long. Keigo takes most of the weight, lifting you up enough for his hips to buck desperately into you, seeking the solace of your warmth. 

Each breath you draw escapes as Keigo’s hips crash against you, forcing your body to jump, your hands clamber for support as you lose yourself in his devotion. The sound of the sheets rustling, Keigo’s feathers twitching as he chases the pleasure. 

Your belly tightly knots tight, the growing and soul grasping pleasure ready to release itself, you reach out again. Your hand seeks out somewhere familiar, somewhere warm and safe in what could be last night you get with Keigo. 

His hand. The comfort you find in those calloused fingers, you should have told him more often. They shake as your fingers slide into the gaps of his own. Grasping tight as Keigo’s mind tunnels. His fingers brush clumsily across your knuckles, pulling you down so he can rut deeper into you with reckless abandon.

Keigo’s head tips back, his jaw slack as a noise spills from his throat. A moan so raw, so sinful, it sends a hot jolt through you. Your thighs clench involuntarily around Keigo’s legs, the pressure tightening painfully within you. 

Hazy, you flutter kisses up Keigo’s exposed throat. Forgetting to take gentle care on his newly healed skin. A hiss of pain ebbs into pleasure, his free hand pulls you impossible close. His cock brushes against the sweet spot nestled deep within you, your muscles tensing.

“Keigo!” Your cry is all he needs to know he’s found himself a weakness to pleasure. His breath fans across your hair. His lips part, and the words that follow are weak, choked but filled with a sincerity that leaves you breathless. 

“I love you.” He croaks, his voice trembling. His grip on your hand tightens, pulling you deep into his chest as his hips thrust erratically into you. A twitch from inside you indicates he won’t last much longer, but neither will you at this unrelenting pace. “So much. Love you so—so much.” 

You can’t breathe, everything feels too fleeting. A moment feels too quick. When Keigo’s gaze finds yours again, it’s glassy, tears shimmering faintly in those endlessly bright eyes. 

You’ve never heard Keigo so vulnerable, so emotional. A rampant wave of your own feelings crashes over you all at once, pushing you across the edge before you can vocalise its arrival. Your back arches deep as you stiffen, your moans muffled against Keigo’s chest as he chases his own pleasure. The world turns white, your mind buzzing with a different kind of static that keeps all those pesky thoughts away from your mind.

Keigo’s pace increases, filling the room with the swift slap of skin against skin. His pace bruising, you can feel the ache at the back of your legs already, threatening to push you into oversensitivity. He squeezes your hand once more, bushing his thumb over your knuckle. Your hips keep rocking back and forth, determined to see Keigo through his pleasure. His hot, impatient growls echo through your ears, his teeth tugging at your shoulders, your neck, anything he can latch onto a final time. 

He roots himself deeper inside you, arching his face down to bite into your shoulder hard. The nip of his teeth becomes a dull pain the second he tenses, filling you, your insides warm, throbbing as they take Keigo for everything he’s got. Muffled behind your skin, he moans, thrusting deep within you a final time before slumping back against the bed. His hips twitching in the aftermath determined to stay rooted within you.

As he finally draws from your shoulder, the warmth of his heavy breath settles across your face. Though nothing fills you with warmth so much as Keigo’s face. Contorted for a moment as his body peaks, burying deeper inside you than you thought possible. A sting settles in your thighs but you’d keep that quiet for now. 

You both release a satisfied sigh, Keigo’s lips curling into a cheeky grin as he presses you closer. “No moving, not for at least an hour. Gotta make sure…” He hums against your shoulder. Hips bucking up as if to emphasise his point. Whilst dragging a hand crawling up and down your back soothingly.

Now, you're tired. Curse the world, your body and everything that kept you awake until now. It’s now that your body decides to submit to slumber, sluggish and drained. After weeks–it’s now when you desperately want to savour the moment that you begin to succumb to exhaustion. 

Your eyelids are so heavy, fluttering against the pull of sleep. Your breathing slows, finally settling after minutes of chasing it. The sensation of Keigo’s hand ripples up your nerves with slow, deliberate movements, each pass drawing you closer to the edge of unconsciousness. His touch is welcome, it always is, but it does little to help keep you awake. 

His wings may not be able to shield you anymore, may not stretch wide enough to guard you from any dangers that bloom in the future. But in his arms, you’ve never felt safer. 

“Rest.” He murmurs against your skin, low and steady. Catches you off guard with how sharp it sounded. Keigo always was quicker to come out of bliss than you were. A flicker of guilt tugs at you incessantly, Keigo was never going to fully let his guard down when the danger of tomorrow loomed so thick in the air. The softness his tone carried has hidden itself away, but the edge of concern makes you realise Keigo is coping with this the only way he knows.

You’re both terrified. You can’t fault him for trying to mask it all. 

His hand glides across your shoulder blades with precision, his every movement calculated to ease you, to comfort you and himself. “You need your strength for the fight tomorrow.” 

He’s right. You him in agreement as loud as you can, but it still ends up as a croaked rumble in your throat. Too tired to form a proper response. The sheets shift as you press closer to him, fucking your face into the crook of his neck. Unable to help yourself, you kiss the tender skin, his pulse skipping across your lips. 

“I love you, Keigo. ” His name falls from your lips deliberately, heavy. Your efforts are well rewarded when he tenses, his hand curling around your shoulder to pull you even closer. The quickened flutter of his pulse against your ear, eases you. They’re not new, not the first time you’ve said them, but they feel heavier in your heart. 

You hope it’s not the last time you’ll say them and have him hear it. No, you won’t imagine it. It can’t be the last time. Every muscle in your body rejects it, tensing into Keigo’s chest. You curl yourself tight against him, hoping to usher away the lingering pit of dread that forms in your stomach. 

Keigo tightens his hold on you, his fingers brushing gently across the nape of your neck in a silent response. You're not waiting for him to say it again, you already know. It’s already evident in the way he clings to you, the way he inhales deep into your neck to seek out comfort. Even in the way he shifts, making sure to never leave you and somehow find a spot to keep you comfortable, all while he fights his own exhaustion.

Slowly, sleep begins to take you. Keigo tugs a blanket across your body, across his before he sighs. You're already half asleep by the time he kisses your forehead. Just conscious enough to silently, desperately, promise yourself to do whatever you can to ensure the fight goes right tomorrow. To hear him say ‘I love you.’ again and again. 

He’ll make it through tomorrow, both of you will. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The sheets are cold beneath you, like you’ve only just been moved there. Shifting amongst them, you turn in the bed, spotting Keigo with his back to you, hunched over the edge of his side. He sports a small towel, slung low around his waist, allowing you a peek at the small trail of feathers that sprout across his lower back. There much less vibrant, hidden under layers of skin, sickly and dying before they manage to sprout fully from his skin. The droplets of water trickle down the tight curve of his back, sinking into divots of skin that have yet to heal. 

You reach your hand out subconsciously, just an inch from touching his back. A rustle of feathers jolts you back. Keigo turns, having noticed you stirring. Offering you a small smile, the smallest you’ve seen him offer, turning his cheek just enough to avoid exposing his scars fully. He quickly reaches out for his shirt, skin still damp and the fabric too tight to put on just yet. But he’s eager to hide the weakest parts of himself from you. 

“Didn’t want to wake you just yet.” He says softly, wincing when his wing gets pinched between his shirt and back. You're quick to stumble up onto your knees, guiding the hollow wing through to the correct hole. The barbs brush gently across your cheek in appreciation before settling tight to Keigo’s back. “Still a little early.”

But you’re awake now, you’re already picking at your skin thinking about the battle, it settles uneasy on your shoulders. Every muscle in your body protests as you shift to sit back, a comfortable distance from Keigo’s back. Muscles in your thighs ache, even ones you never knew you had, stiff and sore from last night. 

You don’t regret it though. But a warm shower might help release some of the tension. There’s also the feeling of last night's efforts drying across your thigh as you mistakenly try to massage the tissue. A grimace ripples across your skin.

You definitely needed a shower. 

Keigo’s smile softens into something gently apologetic. “Sorry. Maybe we went a little too hard last night.” Despite that, he still chuckles, looking you up and down with a heated gaze.

You shake your head, brushing his concern aside. “S’fine.” You croak, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and planting your feet on the cold floor beside Keigo’s. “Nothing I can’t walk off.” 

“Maybe I wasn’t hard enough then.” Keigo nudges you gently, a smirk stretching across his lips as he stares at you. His gaze lingers the longest on the valley of your collarbone and throat. You pray your spare turtle neck will suffice underneath your uniform. 

The clock on the bedside table catches your eye. It’s almost time to face the music. As much as you worry for Keigo’s safety today, you also need to be focused, otherwise people will perish. There won’t be time for breakfast, maybe some hastily made toast on the way out but nothing substantial. There’s barely enough time to have a quick shower, one you're desperate for to clean off all the grime from last night. 

It’s not much of a plan, but it's a start. You stumble out of the bedroom towards the bathroom. Hoping you find the energy to take on today. 

When you scoot back into the bathroom, steam trailing behind you, you feel marginally better. Revitalised enough to face this morning, even if your chest feels ready to implode on you. Keigo’s already set out everything for you; your uniform neatly folded (plus a turtle neck jumper), the belts of supplies you’ll need carefully arranged in order of importance. He’s always so meticulous when it comes to preparation, almost obsessively so, but you’re grateful for it today. 

He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed when you step in, the towel from earlier now abandoned on the floor. His half-fastened uniform clings to his frame, the waistband still loose as he fiddles with the thick belt around his waist. His hands tug and tighten, testing the buckle to ensure it won’t give under pressure. The twin blades rest on the bed beside him, their sheaths shimmering in the mornings faint rays. They’re polished, pristine, ready to use. 

But Keigo’s attention isn’t on his gear or the belt he’s securing—it’s on you. 

His gaze lingers longer than usual, golden eyes tracing your every movement. A vulnerability in the way he stares at your, something raw and unguarded that makes your breath catch. His lips twitch, almost imperceptibly, as though he’d holding back something too heavy to voice. But what? Keigo can tell you anything.

Part of you wants to ask what’s on his mind, to coax out whatever it is he’s holding from you. But before you can, he spares you both the silence with a light-hearted quip. 

“You washed away all my hard work.” He pouts at you, crossing his arms against his chest in mock indignation. His wings sag slightly, drooping as far as they can without overextending. The motion is exaggerated for dramatic flare. You knew that, but still, your chuckling at him for it.

You roll your eyes, unable to keep a smile from tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Well, that just means you’ll have to do it all again. After you’ve got a little more time to kill, yeah?” It falls from your lips like a silent promise. Busying yourself with getting dressed as a silence permeates the air. 

Keigo’s gaze softens and for a moment you miss the way his lips curl into the most tender smile he can muster through the stress of the day ahead. He knows you’re expecting him to survive this. Keigo has never wanted to disappoint you. It would be lousy of him to start now. 

“Yeah,” He nods, voice brushing just above a whisper. “When heroes finally have too much time on their hands, I’ll make it up to you. Every last bit of it.”

He reaches out towards a box, large enough to rest comfortably on his lap but deceptively light in weight. At first glance, it seems ordinary–just another piece of equipment among countless others. But when Keigo shifts his fingers, the bold word ‘PROTOTYPE’ scrawled across the top in thick permanent ink catches your eye. It smells new, distinct, it’s your first time seeing such a thing in the apartment. 

Keigo’s gaze spans across the box then back to you. Scratching at the back of his neck before remembering how sensitive his skin still is to touch. A wince settles across his face before sighing, “Mind giving me a hand?” 

You nod, smoothing down the front of your turtleneck, though you have no idea what Keigo needs from you, you're determined to lend a hand. Your curiosity gets the better of you as you shuffle towards Keigo, perching on the edge of the bed just an inch from him. “What is it?” You wonder aloud, peering at the box, head tilted. 

Keigo thumbs the edge of the lid, hesitating for a moment before popping it open. You press close to his arm, your cheek squishing against his bicep to gain a closer look. Inside, nestled within the cushion of dark foam, lies an array of carbon copies of his feathers. Different sizes, some barely the length of your finger, Sleek and polished, they glint under the morning light, each one impossibly precise in its design. Small red lights blink faintly on the barbs, pulsing like miniature heartbeats as Keigo carefully lifts one from its slot.

“They’re…” Your voice trails off as your fingers hover over the edge of the box, unsure whether you should touch them. They seemed delicate. 

“Prosthetic feathers,” Keigo finishes for you, as casual as he tries to be about it, you're not blind to the flicker of emotion in his eyes. As if the idea of prosthetics leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “Had to cash in a few favours, some of the best engineers in the world worked on these. Still prototypes, obviously. Not perfect yet, but they’re good enough for today.”

Your gaze shifts to the feather in his hands, marvelling at how it looks so similar to the real thing, yet different. The edges are sharper, the crimson a shade too vivid, almost glowing. It hums faintly as Keigo rolls it between his fingers. 

“It’s a miracle people can make something so quick and so efficiently.” You murmur, glancing back at him. “Can you control them just as you would your normal feathers?” 

Keigo’s lips stretch into a faint smile. “Kinda. My visor has a device in the sides that can read brainwaves. It lets me control the feathers almost as naturally as my actual ones. Can only use them when I’m wearing the visor though so it's limited.” His eyes flicker back to yours, pressing the mechanical feather into your grasp. It’s surprisingly soft, not as convincing as the real thing though. “Help me put them in? There should be a few anchors they can nestle into.” 

You stare down at the feather for a moment, trying to figure out how it would latch onto his thin wingspan. Though you're stumped with how to actually set them into place. “Of course. Just tell me what to do.” 

He turns slowly, exposing the expanse of his back, where the wing slits in his uniform reveal the smoothed edges of skin. Scar left by Dabi’s flames, so painfully visible against his healthy skin. Your anger threatens to flare again, but you push the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand. “Easy enough, there’s a few little anchor holes at the base of my wings. They should just slot into place. The smaller ones go first then onto the bigger ones.” 

You squint at his back, watching the crimson feathers shudder under your watch. Keigo’s hand grasps at the bedsheets, not that you can blame him for being tense. The last person who was behind him burnt away half his wings. Sure enough, at the base of his wings, there’s an almost translucent frame, one with the aforementioned anchors. Despite your nerves, the feathers slide in with a satisfying click and the red lights dim into one harmonious crimson glow. 

Keigo exhales as you slot the last one into place. The weight of the prosthetics seems to calm him down, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

Satisfied you pull away from Keigo’s back. Admiring the fuller look of his wings. By no means were they perfect, they lacked that vibrant, organic texture of his original feathers, and some of them were clearly just placeholders to fill in the gaps. But still, the sight of him now, more complete and comfortable in his own skin than he has been in weeks, is enough to stir a flicker of hope in your chest. 

If these prosthetics gave him even the smallest edge in the fight ahead, beyond that, if Keigo needed these to feel like himself, you’d spend the rest of your days attaching them with meticulous care. 

You turn back to your own task, grasping your leggings and tugging them on, ensuring the fit is tight so nothing on the field could snag at them. Each buckle, each strap, is secured with a practised ease. The routine was as easy as breathing for you these days, but today you couldn’t stop yourself from double and triple checking your inventory. 

Keigo, meanwhile, finishes his final touches. His jacket takes a little effort, the wing slits always struggle to align just right, but he manages with a faint huff of frustration. He stomps his feet into his boots, testing their fit and busies himself with adjusting the sheaths at his hips until they sit snugly.

The room grows quieter with each passing second, the air thick with the things neither of you dares to voice. Once you’re both fully dressed, the tension settles over you like a thick fog, pressing down on your chest. 

And just like that, you’re stepping out the door. 

Dwelling on it now does you no good. Even when you try to convince yourself that this won’t be the last time you see this place. Still, your gaze lingers on the couch for just a moment too long. You pull the door closed before the gripping fear can sink its claws into you. 

You're not sure if you're thankful or frustrated by how close the meeting point is. Keigo’s is just a few corners away from your shared home, yours is a little further ahead. The walk is spent in contemplative silence, the streets themselves are barren of life and lights. It breaks with the sound of yours and Keigo’s footfalls combined but the silence is oppressive. 

What do you even say right now? The words seal in your throat. Keigo’s gaze is drawn forward, steeled for the fight ahead. You doubt he’s in the headspace to hear you try and spare some fleeting words of encouragement. 

And then you turn the last corner, the signature roar of red flames echoes through your ears. Glancing up, you spot Endeavour, his posture tense, his eyes dark. If anyone should suffer today, it's him. It’s an awful thing to think of as a medic, you're well aware of that. But the sight of him still makes your stomach churn, but Keigo doesn’t hesitate. His trademark smirk slips into place as he waves to the number one, a gesture you know is practised and painfully desperate. 

“Pretty good, huh?” He says, turning slightly to show off the much larger spread of feathers on his back. “Told you I’d be ready.” 

You hang back, suddenly feeling like an outsider among giants. These two are the best heroes Japan has, the last defence against the greatest threat the world has ever seen. They need time to finalize their plans, to strategize, to align their plans without interruption. 

You're not needed here

Your place is farther up the hillside, at the old evacuation point. The medics will gather there to get briefed and assigned. You can’t afford to be late. 

Still, you can’t just walk off without saying something. 

Your steps feel sluggish, uneven as you step forward tugging at Keigo’s jacket, deliberately enough to catch his attention. He spins on his heel, brow raised, golden eyes softening the moment they meet yours. His expression wavers, just for a moment, revealing you're not the only one wanting to say everything in one go. 

There’s so much you want to say to him, But the words infuriatingly remain stubborn in your throat. Swelling and dying, leaving your lips trembling uselessly, masking it with a longing smile. You can’t risk breaking now. Neither of you can afford that. 

“I need to head to my meeting zone.” You manage, pointing a thumb up the nearby hillside. Keigo follows your hand, nodding. “Good luck out there. Please…be careful.” 

Your fingers brush his gloved ones, the leather worn but warm against your skin. You hold on, just for a second longer than you intended, searching his gaze as you swallow down every ounce of fear threatening to rise. Keigo stares at you, his smile faltering just slightly. Then he nods again, letting his fingers slip from yours. Leaving your skin prickling in the cold, twitching around nothing.

You spin on your heel, determined not to look back. Keigo will come home, you’ll come home. Your job is to ensure everyone else makes it home too. The pressure isn’t lost on you, but you refuse to let a single life die in your hands today. 

“Hold up!” 

His voice freezes you mid step. Before you can turn, something firm and warm collides with your back. The scent of his cologne floods your senses, familiar and safe. His arms wrap tight;y around you, pulling you flush against him. 

“I love you.” He whispers against your ear, his breath warm, misting in the cold air. But it's unwavering and steady. Exactly what you needed to hear. 

You clutch at his arms, feeling the hitch in his breath as you do. “Come home to me.” You whisper back, your voice trembling but full of conviction. 

“I will,” He swears, his voice breaking slightly. 

It enough. It has to be. 

A smile edges its way onto your lips as you turn in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him as tightly as you can. His wings twitch faintly, instinctively trying to curl around you but falling just short despite the prosthetics. 

Keigo rests his forehead against yours, his breath hits your face again, his hands tightening at your back, the faint tremble in them is left unspoken. Endeavour tries his best to keep his gaze far away from you both, offering the slimmest moment of privacy. It’s just you and him for a second, just like it was last night. Just how it will be forever more. 

Slowly, you step away. Cupping his cheek and making sure to kiss the scar he's so determined to keep away from you. Time won’t stop for you, it never will. All you can do is stare right back at it and smile through your fear. Keigo’s wings flutter as you step away from him, hand resting on his cheek. 

“Then, I’ll be waiting.”