Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Touya Todoroki learned early that love could come with paperwork.

A signature. An arrangement. A “this is what’s best for the family.”

He was twenty-one and still flinching like a kid whenever his phone lit up with Father.

The screen glowed against the dorm’s dim ceiling, buzzing on the nightstand like a trapped insect. Touya stared at it until it stopped buzzing—until the missed call turned into a quiet little notification that pretended it wasn’t a threat.

He waited three seconds, then called back anyway.

Because that’s what you did when your life was built around someone else’s anger.

The line clicked. Static. A breath.

Endeavor’s voice came through like a door slamming. “You took long enough.”

Touya sat up, pushing hair out of his eyes. He hadn’t slept much. He never slept much anymore. “I was studying.”

A pause. Endeavor didn’t ask what he was studying. Endeavor didn’t ask how he was doing. Endeavor didn’t ask anything that could accidentally make Touya feel like a person.

“Your mother tells me you’re still… indulging.”

Touya’s jaw tightened. “Indulging in what.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Endeavor’s tone sharpened like he’d been waiting for Touya to give him a reason. “I saw the photos.”

Touya swallowed, throat suddenly too small. “I don’t know what photos you’re talking about.”

“You were at some event.” Endeavor spoke like the word event tasted cheap. “With those—those men.”

Touya laughed once, hollow and wrong. “It was a club meeting.”

“Your reputation is not a club, Touya.”

Touya stared at the shadowed wall across from his bed. There were posters there—bands he liked, movies, little fragments of a life he’d tried to build without permission. He wondered what it would feel like to rip them down. To erase himself preemptively.

“It’s not my reputation,” Touya said softly. “It’s yours.”

Endeavor’s inhale was sharp. “Watch your mouth.”

Touya’s fingers tightened around the phone. He could feel his pulse in the tips, like his body was trying to warn him. Don’t do it. Don’t poke the bear.

But it was always the bear. It was always the cage. And Touya was so tired of living like the bars were his fault.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” Touya said. His voice stayed even through practice, through years of learning how to sound calm while drowning. “I’m just—existing.”

A beat of silence. Then Endeavor spoke with the controlled patience of someone explaining something obvious to a child.

“You are my eldest son,” he said. “You do not get to ‘just exist.’ You represent me. You represent this family.”

Touya’s stomach turned. He kept his face blank, even though no one could see it. Habit.

“You’re running for governor,” Touya said. “That’s what this is about.”

“It’s about everything,” Endeavor snapped. “It’s about the name. The legacy. The future.”

“And I’m… what, a scandal?” Touya’s laugh came out sharper this time. “A headline you can’t control?”

“You will not make a mockery of me.”

Touya could already feel the conversation shifting into its usual shape. The one where Endeavor didn’t have to say the word gay because saying it would make it real. The one where Touya’s identity was treated like a phase, an illness, an embarrassment.

When Touya first came out, his mom had cried and held his hands like she was consoling him over a death. You’re confused, she’d whispered, as if she was comforting him. As if she wasn’t denying him at all.

Endeavor hadn’t spoken to him for months.

Then one day he did, and Touya had been stupid enough to think, maybe this is it. Maybe he’s finally going to try.

Instead, Endeavor had slid a photo across the dining table like a deal: a girl with bright teeth and glossy hair, smiling like she didn’t know she was being weaponized.

“This is your girlfriend now,” Endeavor had said, as if he were assigning Touya a new major. “I will not let my eldest son tarnish our reputation.”

Touya’s dream of acceptance had shattered so cleanly it didn’t even make a sound.

Now, months later, Endeavor’s voice went colder. “You’ve been seen again.”

Touya swallowed. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were noticed,” Endeavor corrected. “And I don’t pay for your tuition so you can parade around like a faggot.”

Touya cut in, because if he didn’t, he’d have to hear it. He’d have to hear his father reach for words that could bruise him in public and pretend it was just discipline.

“I’m with Yuu,” Touya said. “Okay? Like you wanted. I’m with her.”

The silence after that was different. Not anger—satisfaction.

“Good,” Endeavor said. “Then you will continue behaving. She will attend the fundraiser with you next week.”

Touya’s stomach clenched. “I have exams.”

“You will make time.” Endeavor’s voice shifted into something almost conversational, almost gentle. Which was worse, because it meant he believed he was being reasonable. “Touya… you’re smart. You understand how the world works. People like us can’t afford weakness.”

Touya stared at his own hand, pale in the dim light. He’d bitten his nails again. The skin around his fingertips looked raw.

“I’m not weak,” Touya said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“Then prove it,” Endeavor replied. “Play your part.”

The call ended like a guillotine—clean, final.

Touya sat there for a moment with the dead phone pressed to his ear. His chest felt tight, like his ribs were too close together.

Then he lowered the phone, stared at the screen, and watched his reflection stare back—tired eyes, sharp cheekbones, mouth set in a line that didn’t know how to relax.

He looked like the kind of person who’d learned to disappear without leaving.

On the desk across from him sat a half-open nutrition label he’d been “checking” for ten minutes earlier.

He didn’t remember opening it.

Touya’s gaze drifted past it, like it wasn’t there. Like he wasn’t thinking about food. Like he wasn’t hearing Yuu’s voice in his head from earlier that day:

Are you really gonna eat all that?

She’d said it sweetly, like a joke. Like she was helping him.

And Touya, who had spent his whole life swallowing pain like it was his job, had smiled and said, “I’m just hungry.”

Yuu had tilted her head, blonde hair shining in the sun like a commercial. “You’re always hungry.”

Touya’s stomach twisted now, remembering it.

He shoved himself up from the bed and went to the bathroom sink. Turned on the water. Stared at his own face while it ran.

Get it together, he told himself.

His reflection didn’t answer.

⸻

NYU was a universe built out of sharp edges and expensive confidence.

People here walked like they belonged to the city. Like they’d been born knowing how to cross a street without looking, how to order coffee like they owned the café, how to laugh in a way that made strangers glance over and think, I want to be part of that.

Touya moved through it like a shadow trying not to touch anything.

He kept his headphones in most days. Not even for music—sometimes they weren’t playing anything at all. They were just a barrier. A sign: do not approach, I’m not here, I’m not available for your assumptions.

Today, though, he couldn’t drown out the sound of his own name.

“Touya!” Yuu’s voice was bright and sharp as a cheer chant. “Baby!”

Touya paused near the quad, already feeling his shoulders tighten.

Yuu came strutting across the grass like the ground was made for her. White sneakers. Tiny skirt. A NYU cheer jacket that made her look like she belonged on a poster.

Her smile was big. Her eyes were calculating.

She threw her arms around him in public like she was marking territory.

Touya stood there, rigid, hands hovering awkwardly at her back like he was afraid to touch her too much and accidentally make it real.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” she said, pouting into his shoulder.

“I was in class.”

“You always say that.” She pulled back and looked up at him. Her expression was playful, but there was something underneath—something that watched his face like a hawk watching a mouse.

Touya forced a small smile. “Because it’s true.”

Yuu’s gaze slid over him, lingering. She leaned in like she was about to kiss him, then stopped just short, her lips close enough that Touya could smell her gloss.

“You’re… stressed,” she decided. “That’s kinda hot.”

Touya didn’t react. He’d learned not to.

Yuu’s smile widened, like she enjoyed the way he didn’t know what to do with her. “Come on,” she said. “Game’s in an hour. You’re coming.”

“I have a paper,” Touya lied.

Yuu’s fingers slid into his, squeezing. Not gently. Not romantically. Like a reminder.

“Oh, babe,” she said in a voice that was too sweet to be real, “you always have a paper.”

Touya looked at their hands. Her nails were manicured. His were bitten. The contrast felt like a joke.

“I can’t,” he said carefully. “I—”

“You can,” Yuu interrupted, still smiling. “Because I want you there.”

Touya’s throat tightened.

People were looking. Not in a dramatic way, just casual glances—oh, that’s the cheer captain and her boyfriend. A couple. A story.

A costume.

Yuu leaned closer, voice lowering so only he could hear. “Besides,” she murmured, “I’m doing this for you.”

Touya’s eyes flicked up. “For me.”

“Yeah.” Yuu’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “This whole… boyfriend thing? It helps you. It makes you look normal.”

Touya’s stomach sank. He hated the word normal. He hated that it still worked like a slap.

Yuu patted his cheek lightly, like she was rewarding a pet. “So you’re coming,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

Touya’s jaw tightened. “Fine.”

Yuu beamed immediately, cheerful again like the menace was never there. “Yay! I knew you’d be good.”

Touya let her drag him toward the stadium, and he tried not to think about how obligation felt exactly like a leash.

⸻

The bleachers were already filling with people—students in purple and white, couples wrapped around each other like they were making a point, frat boys loud enough to turn sound into a weapon.

Touya sat with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

Yuu sat beside him like she was a queen on her throne. She waved at people, blew kisses to her friends, laughed too loudly at nothing.

Then she leaned close to Touya again.

“You look so serious,” she said. “Smile.”

Touya forced his mouth into something that probably looked more like a grimace.

Yuu giggled, delighted. “God, you’re adorable when you try. Like—like a serial killer playing human.”

Touya’s eyes flicked to her. “What?”

She just smiled wider, as if she hadn’t said something insane. “Relax, babe. I’m kidding.”

Touya stared ahead at the field. Players were warming up, tossing the football back and forth. The crowd surged every time someone made a clean throw, like the whole stadium had collectively decided this was the most important thing in the world.

Touya didn’t care about football.

He cared about not making his father mad.

Yuu nudged his arm. “There he is,” she sang.

Touya followed her gaze without thinking.

Keigo Takami was impossible to miss.

He moved like he belonged to the air—light on his feet, quick, confident. His jersey clung to him like it was proud to. He laughed with his teammates, grinning like the world had never once disappointed him.

Touya felt something twist in his chest that wasn’t pain.

Not exactly.

It was a strange kind of envy. The kind that wasn’t about wanting what someone had, but wanting to know what it felt like to live without constantly bracing for impact.

Yuu sighed dramatically. “He’s so hot,” she said like she was saying the sky was blue. “Like… it’s unfair.”

Touya didn’t answer.

Yuu elbowed him. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Touya’s stomach tightened. “No.”

Yuu studied him for a second. Then she smirked. “Good. Because I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be my future husband.”

Touya almost laughed, but it didn’t come out. He just stared at the field again, heart doing something stupid in his chest.

Because Keigo had looked up.

Not at Yuu.

At Touya.

It wasn’t a dramatic movie moment with slow motion and orchestral music.

It was just… a glance.

But it landed like a punch.

Keigo’s eyes met Touya’s across the distance, sharp and bright, and Touya’s breath caught like he’d been caught stealing something.

Keigo’s expression shifted—confusion, then interest, then something like amusement. Like he’d just found something he wanted.

Touya’s face went hot immediately. He looked away fast, like eye contact was a crime.

Yuu noticed.

Of course she noticed.

“Oooookay,” she said slowly, voice dropping into something almost purring. “What was that?”

Touya swallowed. “What.”

“You just—” Yuu leaned closer, eyes glittering. “You just looked at him like you wanted to eat him.”

Touya’s stomach dropped. “I didn’t.”

Yuu laughed softly, delighted like she’d discovered a new toy. “You did. Oh my God. You so did.”

Touya’s pulse thudded. “Stop.”

“Why?” Yuu’s smile sharpened. “It’s cute. Like… tragic, but cute.”

Touya’s hands clenched in his pockets. “Yuu.”

Yuu watched him for another beat, then leaned back like she was satisfied.

“Don’t worry,” she said lightly. “He’s not even into guys.”

Touya’s throat tightened. “You don’t know that.”

Yuu’s smile flickered like a warning. “I know a lot of things.”

Touya stared at her, and suddenly the stadium felt too loud, too bright, too full of people who could see him.

Yuu’s phone buzzed. She checked it, then rolled her eyes. “My coach wants me down on the field,” she groaned. “Ugh. Responsibilities.”

She stood, adjusted her skirt, and then leaned down to press a kiss to Touya’s cheek. It looked affectionate.

It felt like a stamp.

“Stay here,” she said softly. “Be good.”

Then she jogged down the bleachers, waving at her friends like she wasn’t leaving behind a threat disguised as a girlfriend.

Touya sat frozen for a moment, then let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He stared at the field again.

Keigo was still there.

And Keigo was still looking up.

Not constantly—Keigo was warming up, moving, throwing, laughing. But every so often, his gaze flicked back to Touya like it kept getting pulled there.

Touya felt exposed.

And seen.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, expecting another message from Yuu.

Instead, it was an unknown number.

Unknown: Nice bleacher seat.

Touya’s stomach dropped. His thumbs hovered over the screen.

Another message popped up before he could respond.

Unknown: Try not to look like you hate it here. You’re making me nervous.

Touya stared at the words, heart slamming against his ribs.

He looked down at the field again, scanning.

Keigo had his helmet off now, wiping sweat from his forehead. He glanced up, and when his eyes met Touya’s again, Keigo lifted two fingers in a casual salute.

Touya’s face went hot, like his blood had turned to fire.

He looked down at his phone again.

Touya typed: Who is this?

A reply came instantly.

Unknown: Keigo.

Touya’s throat tightened.

Touya typed: How did you get my number?

Keigo’s response came after a beat, like he was enjoying the suspense.

Keigo: Yuu gave it to me.

Touya’s stomach twisted.

Then another message.

Keigo: Relax. She didn’t think I’d text you. She thinks you’re boring.

Touya’s fingers curled around the phone. He could hear Yuu’s laugh in his head again, mocking, careless.

He typed: Why are you texting me?

Keigo didn’t respond immediately.

Touya looked down at the field again, and Keigo was staring up at him like the answer was obvious.

Then the phone buzzed.

Keigo: Because you looked at me like you were drowning. And I’m kind of a hero complex guy.

Touya huffed a laugh despite himself, quiet and disbelieving.

His fingers moved before he could stop them.

Touya: I didn’t look at you like anything.

Keigo’s reply came fast.

Keigo: Liar.

Touya’s chest felt tight.

He typed slowly, carefully: You don’t know me.

Keigo: That’s the problem.

Touya stared at the screen until the letters blurred.

Then, because he was apparently insane, he typed back: Stop texting me.

Keigo: Make me.

Touya’s breath caught. He looked down at the field again.

Keigo was grinning now—wide, bright, shameless. Like this was fun. Like he wasn’t afraid of consequences.

Touya hated him for that.

Touya wanted him for that.

A whistle blew. Players started lining up. The crowd roared.

Touya’s phone buzzed one more time.

Keigo: Watch this play. For me.

Touya’s throat tightened.

He didn’t respond.

But he watched anyway.

The ball snapped. Keigo moved like lightning, weaving through bodies like he’d been born knowing exactly where to go. He threw the pass—clean, sharp, perfect—and the stadium erupted.

Touya felt the roar in his bones.

Then Keigo looked up again, searching.

Touya didn’t look away this time.

Keigo’s grin softened into something else—something almost… gentle.

And then, because the universe apparently hated Touya, a football came flying out of nowhere and hit Keigo square in the face.

The stadium gasped, then immediately burst into laughter.

Keigo stumbled back, hands flying to his nose. A teammate doubled over, cackling. Someone on the sideline shouted something that sounded like, “Bro, you good?!”

Touya froze.

Then—he laughed.

It was small, just a short breath of sound, like he didn’t know how to do it anymore.

Keigo looked up sharply at the bleachers.

His eyes locked onto Touya’s like a hook.

And even from this far away, Touya could see it: Keigo’s smile.

Not the cocky one.

Not the performative one.

A real one.

Like Touya’s laugh had been the prize.

Touya’s stomach flipped.

His phone buzzed again.

Keigo: Worth it.

Touya stared at the message, chest too tight, fingers trembling.

He typed one word before he could overthink it.

Touya: Idiot.

Keigo replied instantly.

Keigo: Say it again after the game. Come down to the tunnel.

Touya’s breath caught.

He glanced down at the field entrance, then back at the phone like it was a bomb.

He could already hear Yuu’s voice: Be good.

Touya’s stomach twisted.

Because he was tired of being good.

He didn’t move yet.

But for the first time in a long time, Touya felt something that wasn’t fear.

It was possibility.

And it scared him more than anything.

Chapter Text

Yuu had always been good at noticing things.

Not in the sweet, empathetic way people liked to pretend mattered. No—she noticed patterns. Micro-expressions. The way someone’s breath changed when a name was mentioned. The way a smile lingered a fraction of a second too long.

It was how she survived.

It was how she won.

So when Touya stood up from the bleachers with his phone clenched tight in his hand, eyes darting like he was about to commit a felony instead of walk down a set of concrete steps—

Yuu noticed.

She was halfway across the field, pom-poms tucked under her arm, laughing with one of the other cheer captains when she saw him move.

That’s weird, she thought casually.

Touya never moved unless he was told to. Touya stayed where she put him. Touya sat, watched, waited—like a good little accessory.

Yuu’s smile didn’t falter as she waved off her friend and pivoted smoothly, her body already angling toward the tunnel entrances beneath the stadium.

She didn’t rush.

You never rushed when you were hunting.

⸻

Touya’s heart was in his throat.

Every step down the bleachers felt like a mistake he couldn’t undo. The roar of the crowd faded as he slipped into the concrete underbelly of the stadium, the noise muting into echoes and vibrations instead of sound.

It smelled like sweat and metal and something sharp—cleaner, maybe.

His phone buzzed again.

Keigo: You coming?

Touya stopped walking.

His fingers hovered over the screen. His brain screamed a thousand reasons to turn around, to go back up, to sit down and pretend none of this was happening.

Your father.
Yuu.
The consequences.

Touya typed anyway.

Touya: I shouldn’t.

A pause.

Then—

Keigo: That’s usually when people mean “I want to.”

Touya swallowed hard and shoved the phone back into his pocket like it was evidence.

He kept walking.

The tunnel was dimmer, lit by harsh overhead fluorescents that buzzed faintly. Players moved in and out, sweaty and loud, slapping each other on the backs, yelling about plays and stats and girls in the stands.

Touya hugged the wall, trying to be invisible.

“Hey.”

The voice was close. Too close.

Touya startled and turned.

Keigo Takami stood a few feet away, helmet tucked under one arm, hair damp with sweat, cheeks flushed. Up close, he was… softer than Touya expected. Less untouchable. There was a faint cut on his lip, probably from the football, and his nose was pink like he’d been hit harder than he wanted to admit.

“You made it,” Keigo said, grinning.

Touya’s chest tightened. “You shouldn’t have texted me.”

Keigo shrugged. “You didn’t block me.”

Touya glared weakly. “That’s not—”

Keigo stepped a little closer, lowering his voice instinctively as another group of players passed. “Relax. I just wanted to say hi. And thank you.”

“For what,” Touya muttered.

“For laughing.” Keigo’s grin softened. “Most people laugh at me. You laughed with me.”

Touya looked away, face heating. “It wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

“Hey.” Keigo’s tone gentled. “You okay?”

The question hit Touya like a shove.

No one ever asked him that without an agenda.

Touya swallowed. “I’m fine.”

Keigo tilted his head, studying him openly. “You say that like it’s a habit.”

Touya stiffened. “You don’t know me.”

Keigo smiled, smaller this time. “I want to.”

Touya’s pulse spiked. He opened his mouth to shut this down—to say something smart, something safe—

“Touya.”

Yuu’s voice cut through the tunnel like a blade.

Touya froze.

Keigo’s eyes flicked up, sharp.

Yuu stood at the mouth of the tunnel, arms crossed, cheer jacket unzipped, expression unreadable. Her blonde hair caught the harsh lights, haloing her like something holy and dangerous.

She took in the scene in one glance.

Touya—too close to Keigo.
Touya—flushed.
Touya—cornered but not pulling away.

Keigo—half-dressed, flushed, open.
Keigo—looking at Touya like he mattered.

Yuu smiled.

“Oh,” she said lightly, stepping closer. “There you are. I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

Touya’s throat closed. “I—she—he just—”

Keigo recovered first, because of course he did.

“Hey,” Keigo said easily, flashing that famous grin. “You must be Yuu.”

Her eyes flicked to him, cool and assessing. “And you must be Keigo Takami.”

“In the flesh.” He stuck out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Yuu looked at his hand.

Didn’t take it.

Instead, she stepped closer to Touya and slid an arm around his waist, nails pressing just a little too hard through fabric.

“Funny,” she said sweetly, eyes never leaving Keigo’s face. “I didn’t know you and my boyfriend were… friends.”

Keigo glanced down at her arm, then back to Touya. Something flickered across his face—understanding. Sympathy. Something darker.

“We were just talking,” Keigo said.

Yuu laughed softly. “Were you.”

Touya’s stomach churned. He could feel her grip now, a silent warning wrapped in affection.

Yuu leaned her head against Touya’s shoulder like she belonged there. “Babe,” she murmured, “you didn’t tell me you were planning on meeting up with the quarterback in a dark tunnel.”

Touya’s voice came out thin. “I wasn’t planning—”

“It’s okay,” Yuu interrupted gently. Too gently. “I don’t mind you making friends.”

Her eyes slid back to Keigo, sharp as glass. “As long as they understand boundaries.”

Keigo held her gaze, unflinching. “Touya can speak for himself.”

Yuu’s smile widened.

“Oh,” she said. “I know.”

She turned her head and pressed a kiss to Touya’s cheek. It lingered. Possessive. Performative.

“Come on,” she said. “The game’s almost over. Don’t wanna miss your favorite part.”

Touya didn’t move.

Keigo watched him closely, something unspoken passing between them.

“See you around, Touya,” Keigo said quietly.

Touya met his eyes, heart pounding.

“Yeah,” Touya whispered.

Yuu felt it.

The way Touya’s voice changed.
The way his eyes softened.
The way Keigo smiled like he’d just won something he wasn’t supposed to have.

She felt it lock into place.

Yuu tightened her grip and steered Touya away, heels clicking confidently against the concrete.

As soon as they were out of sight of the tunnel, her smile dropped.

“Wow,” she said flatly. “That was… interesting.”

Touya’s pulse roared in his ears. “It wasn’t what you think.”

Yuu stopped walking and turned to face him, eyes bright and dangerous.

“Oh, baby,” she said. “It was exactly what I think.”

She stepped closer, invading his space. “You don’t even know how obvious you are.”

Touya shook his head. “Nothing happened.”

Yuu laughed—a sharp, humorless sound. “Yet.”

Her gaze dragged over him slowly, like she was peeling him apart. “You looked at him like he was oxygen.”

Touya’s stomach dropped.

Yuu tilted her head. “And he looked at you like a secret.”

She straightened, smoothing her jacket, slipping the mask back on like it was muscle memory.

“Here’s how this works,” she said calmly. “You don’t see him. You don’t text him. You don’t talk to him.”

Touya swallowed. “You can’t control who I—”

“I can,” Yuu cut in, voice low and deadly. “Because I know things.”

Touya went cold.

Yuu smiled again, slow and deliberate. “And you’d be amazed how much damage a rumor can do to a man running for governor.”

Touya’s chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked out of the world.

Yuu leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

“Be good,” she whispered. “Or I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what you are.”

She pulled back, cheerful once more. “Now come on. I’m starving.”

Touya followed her mechanically, head buzzing.

Behind him, somewhere in the tunnel, Keigo Takami stood frozen, watching them go—with a look on his face that said he already knew this wasn’t over.

And Yuu?

Yuu was already planning how to burn it all down.

Chapter Text

Frat parties were designed to make people like Touya Todoroki feel like prey.

The noise hit first—bass so heavy it vibrated through his ribs, music pulsing like a second heartbeat that wasn’t his. The house itself looked like it was breathing, windows glowing purple and gold, bodies packed tight on the lawn like they’d been spilled there by accident.

Yuu squeezed his hand as they approached, her nails digging in just enough to remind him he was here with her.

“Relax,” she said brightly, like she hadn’t dressed him herself. Like she hadn’t told him exactly what to wear—black jeans, fitted shirt, nothing that looked “too alternative.” Nothing that would draw the wrong kind of attention.

Touya nodded, because nodding was easier than talking.

Inside, the air was thick with sweat, cologne, alcohol, and something else—entitlement, maybe. Confidence that had never been questioned. Boys shouting over each other, girls laughing too loud, cups already sloshing with cheap liquor.

Touya immediately wanted to disappear.

Yuu, of course, looked like she’d been born here.

She slipped seamlessly into the chaos, waving at people, greeting names Touya didn’t recognize, her smile sharp and practiced. She kissed his cheek again, quick and visible, before turning to a girl with glitter on her eyelids.

“That’s my boyfriend,” Yuu said casually, like she was pointing out a handbag. “Isn’t he pretty?”

Touya’s stomach twisted.

He smiled anyway.

⸻

Yuu had rules for this party.

She’d laid them out in the car, voice calm, fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she was bored.

“Rule one,” she’d said, eyes on the road. “You don’t leave my sight without telling me.”

Touya stared out the window. “Okay.”

“Rule two,” she continued. “You don’t talk to Keigo alone. Ever.”

Touya’s throat tightened. “I wasn’t planning to.”

Yuu smiled. “Good. Because that would be bad for you.”

Touya didn’t ask what bad meant.

He already knew.

⸻

Keigo Takami was everywhere.

Touya clocked him the moment they stepped inside—leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing with a drink in his hand, surrounded by people who orbited him like satellites. He looked relaxed in a way Touya never was, hair loose, jersey swapped for a tank top that showed too much skin.

Touya’s chest tightened involuntarily.

He turned away immediately.

He became very interested in the wall.

In the floor.

In literally anything that wasn’t Keigo Takami.

It was almost funny, in a tragic way, how determined Touya was to avoid him. He ducked into corners, pretended to be absorbed in his phone, lingered too long in conversations with strangers about majors he didn’t care about.

Every time he felt eyes on him, his pulse spiked.

Every time he heard laughter that sounded like Keigo’s, he flinched.

He avoided Keigo like he was the grim reaper—like one wrong look would mean death.

Or worse.

⸻

Keigo noticed.

Of course he did.

He noticed Touya the way you noticed a bruise you couldn’t stop touching with your tongue. The way Touya kept slipping away just as Keigo thought he might finally cross the room. The way his shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Keigo frowned into his drink.

“Dude,” one of his frat brothers said, nudging him. “Isn’t that your girl’s boyfriend?”

Keigo glanced up.

Yuu was across the room, laughing too hard, hand resting possessively on Touya’s arm. Touya looked… tense. Like he was bracing for something.

“Yeah,” Keigo said slowly. “That’s him.”

“He’s kinda—” the guy squinted. “Quiet.”

Keigo snorted. “That’s one word for it.”

He watched Touya excuse himself from Yuu’s grip, mumbling something Keigo couldn’t hear.

Touya bolted toward the hallway like the house was on fire.

Keigo’s instincts flared.

He started after him without thinking.

⸻TW:Eating disorder and throwing up

Touya ducked into the bathroom like it was a lifeboat.

He locked the door, leaned against it, and slid down until he was sitting on the cold tile floor. The music was muffled here, distant, like it belonged to another world.

His hands were shaking.

He pressed his palms to his knees and tried to breathe.

Get it together, he told himself. You’re fine. You’re always fine.

He stared at the sink.

At his reflection.

His cheeks were hollower than he remembered. His collarbones too sharp. He tugged at his shirt, suddenly aware of how it clung to him.

Yuu’s voice echoed in his head.

Do you really need another drink?

Touya hadn’t even had one yet.

But he still went over to the toilet and made himself throw up, nothing but bile came up…that’s how it has been for the past 3 days.

His stomach growled softly, traitorous. He ignored it.

A knock sounded on the door.

Touya froze.

“Touya?” Keigo’s voice—muffled, uncertain. “You okay in there?”

Touya’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“No,” he said automatically. Then, panicking, “I mean—yeah. I’m fine.”

Silence.

Then Keigo spoke again, closer now. “You’ve been running from me all night.”

Touya closed his eyes.

“I’m not,” he lied.

“You are,” Keigo said gently. “And I don’t get it.”

Touya pressed his forehead to his knees. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Keigo laughed quietly. “Pretty sure this is my house.”

Touya’s throat tightened. “You know what I mean.”

Another pause.

Then—footsteps retreating.

Relief washed over Touya so fast it made him dizzy.

He stayed on the floor longer than necessary, counting his breaths, waiting for his pulse to slow.

When he finally stood and unlocked the door, the hallway was empty.

He stepped out.

And walked straight into Yuu.

⸻

She was smiling.

“Bathroom okay?” she asked sweetly.

Touya nodded too quickly. “Yeah.”

Yuu’s gaze flicked over him, sharp and appraising. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “You know,” she said casually, “Keigo was just asking about you.”

Touya’s stomach dropped. “What.”

Yuu laughed. “Relax. He’s just curious. Quarterbacks always are.”

She looped her arm through his again, steering him back toward the party. “Stay with me,” she murmured. “You’re safer that way.”

Touya didn’t miss the implication.

⸻

Keigo didn’t miss what happened next.

He saw Yuu catch Touya. Saw the way Touya stiffened, the way his shoulders curled inward like he’d been scolded.

Yuu led Touya back into the crowd, plastering herself against him like she was reclaiming something that had wandered too far.

Keigo’s jaw tightened.

“Hey,” Yuu said suddenly, breaking away from Touya and stepping directly into Keigo’s space.

Keigo blinked. “Hey.”

She smiled up at him, bright and intoxicating. “You throw an amazing party.”

“Thanks,” Keigo said slowly.

She reached for a cup from a nearby table and pressed it into his hand, fingers brushing his skin deliberately. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Keigo glanced past her, instinctively searching.

Touya was already gone again, slipping toward the back porch like a ghost.

Yuu noticed his hesitation.

“He said he needs to use the bathroom,again.” she said smoothly. “He’ll be back.”

Her nails curled lightly around Keigo’s wrist. “You don’t mind keeping me company until then, right?”

Keigo hesitated.

Yuu smiled wider.

“You wouldn’t want to be rude.”

There it was.

The rule.

Keigo took the drink.

⸻

Yuu leaned against the counter beside him, laughing softly, touching his arm, his shoulder, his chest—never too much, never too little. She talked about cheer competitions, about campus drama, about how hard it was dating someone “so introverted.”

“He’s sweet,” she said with a sigh. “Just… complicated.”

Keigo’s eyes flicked to the back door again. “He doesn’t look happy.”

Yuu tilted her head. “Touya?”

“Yeah.”

She studied Keigo for a beat, then laughed lightly. “He’s always like that. You know—artsy types.”

Keigo didn’t buy it.

Yuu sipped her drink, eyes glittering. “You’re very protective,” she observed.

Keigo shrugged. “I don’t like seeing people uncomfortable.”

Yuu smiled. “You should be careful with that.”

“Why.”

“Because you might get the wrong idea.” She leaned closer, voice dropping. “And Touya doesn’t need someone filling his head with… fantasies.”

Keigo stiffened. “Is that what you think this is?”

Yuu met his gaze, unblinking. “Isn’t it?”

Keigo’s grip tightened on his cup.

Across the room, Touya stood near the back door, watching them. His chest felt tight, his stomach hollow.

Yuu laughed at something Keigo said, touching his arm again.

Touya turned away.

⸻

Touya left without saying goodbye.

He slipped out the back, cold air hitting his face like a shock. He sucked in a breath that tasted like smoke and autumn and relief.

His phone buzzed.

Keigo: You okay? You vanished.

Touya stared at the screen, fingers trembling.

He typed, then erased. Typed again.

Touya: I’m sorry.

A reply came instantly.

Keigo: For what?

Touya swallowed.

Touya: For wanting things I shouldn’t.

Keigo didn’t respond right away.

Touya shoved his phone into his pocket and wrapped his arms around himself, shaking.

Inside, Yuu watched him leave through the window.

She smiled.

Then she turned back to Keigo, looping her arm through his again.

“Told you,” she said lightly. “He runs.”

Keigo pulled away this time, jaw tight. “He looks scared.”

Yuu’s smile sharpened. “He should be.”

She lifted her cup in a mock toast. “House rules.”

And Keigo Takami, for the first time that night, realized this wasn’t a love triangle.

It was a cage.

Chapter Text

Keigo Takami had thrown a lot of dinners.

Team dinners. Donor dinners. Awkward “networking” dinners where everyone pretended the food mattered more than the money. He knew how these things went. He knew how people behaved when they were hungry, nervous, trying to impress.

He had never seen anything like Touya Todoroki at a table.

The restaurant was nice—but not pretentious. Dim lighting, warm wood, the kind of place frat guys brought dates when they wanted to look like they had depth. Keigo paid without thinking. He always did. It wasn’t a flex; it was habit.

Yuu loved it.

“Oh my god, this place is so cute,” she said, sliding into the booth like she belonged there. She didn’t wait for Touya to sit first. She didn’t look back to see if he followed.

Touya sat across from Keigo, stiff-backed, hands folded in his lap like he was waiting to be graded.

Keigo smiled at him, tentative. “Glad you could make it.”

Touya nodded. “Yeah.”

Yuu leaned across the table immediately. “Thanks for inviting us,” she said brightly. “Touya gets so overwhelmed picking places.”

Touya’s jaw tightened.

Keigo caught it.

“You okay with this place?” Keigo asked him directly.

Touya hesitated—just a fraction of a second too long.

“It’s fine,” Touya said.

Yuu reached over and squeezed his knee under the table. Hard.

Keigo saw Touya flinch.

Yuu didn’t miss it.

She smiled wider.

⸻

The waiter came over with menus.

Yuu didn’t open hers.

“I’ll have the grilled salmon,” she said immediately. “With the lemon butter. And he’ll have the same.”

Touya’s head snapped up. “I—”

Yuu cut him off without even looking at him. “You liked it last time.”

Keigo frowned. “You did?”

Touya swallowed. “I—”

“It’s healthy,” Yuu added lightly. “You should eat more protein.”

The waiter looked between them, uncomfortable.

Keigo stepped in. “Hey, Touya, you want something else? There’s steak, pasta—”

Touya shook his head quickly. “No. It’s fine.”

Yuu patted his leg again, slower this time. “Good boy.”

Keigo’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t say anything.

He should have.

⸻

When the food came, Yuu dug in immediately.

Touya stared at his plate like it was something alive.

The fish was pale, glistening under the lights, lemon slicing through the air with a sharpness that made his stomach twist. He picked up his fork, set it down, picked it up again.

Keigo watched him out of the corner of his eye.

Touya took one bite.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Then… nothing.

He pushed the food around his plate, breaking it apart, rearranging it like he was solving a puzzle. He sipped water. He nodded when spoken to. He laughed at the right moments.

He didn’t eat.

Yuu noticed.

She didn’t care.

She talked about cheer drama, about Keigo’s stats, about how stressful it was dating someone “so intense.”

“He forgets to eat sometimes,” she said with a laugh. “I swear, if I didn’t order for him, he’d live on coffee.”

Keigo looked at Touya. “Is that true?”

Touya’s face burned. “I eat.”

Yuu tilted her head. “Do you?”

Touya’s fingers tightened around his fork.

Keigo’s chest felt tight. “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to,” he said carefully. “But—are you okay?”

Touya nodded too fast. “I’m fine.”

Yuu rolled her eyes. “God, you sound like his therapist.”

Keigo smiled thinly. “Someone’s gotta check.”

Yuu leaned closer to him, voice dropping. “He doesn’t like people fussing.”

Touya stared at his plate.

Keigo watched the way Touya’s shoulders curled inward, the way he shrank under the attention like it was heat.

The check came.

Keigo paid.

Yuu didn’t even glance at the total.

“Thanks, babe,” she said cheerfully, standing. “This was fun.”

Touya pushed his plate away, nearly untouched.

Keigo noticed.

He noticed everything.

⸻

Later that night, Keigo couldn’t sleep.

The image of Touya’s plate kept replaying in his head. The way Yuu hadn’t even looked at it. The way Touya had smiled like eating was something he had to earn.

He texted before he could stop himself.

Keigo: You home safe?

A few minutes passed. Touya was throwing up in the toilet with the shower running so his parents or siblings wouldn’t hear him.

Then—

Touya: Yeah, sorry I was taking a shower.

Keigo hesitated.

Then typed: Did you eat when you got home?

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Touya: Why are you asking.

Keigo stared at the ceiling. Typed slowly.

Keigo: Because you barely touched your food.

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Touya was lying in bed, phone glowing against the dark. His stomach ached—sharp, hollow, familiar. He ignored it like he always did.

He typed:

Touya: I hate fish.

Keigo frowned.

Keigo: Then why’d you order it?

Touya closed his eyes.

Touya: Yuu did it by accident.

Keigo knew that wasn’t true.

He typed anyway.

Keigo: You could’ve said something.

Touya’s reply came instantly, defensive.

Touya: It’s not a big deal.

Keigo swallowed.

Keigo: Touya… are you starving yourself?

Silence.

Touya’s heart pounded.

He thought of his father.
Of Yuu’s smile.
Of the rules.

He typed what he was supposed to.

Touya: No.

Keigo waited.

Then—

Touya: I love my girlfriend. It was a simple mistake she just eats me to be healthier,that’s all.

Keigo stared at the words.

They felt rehearsed.

Wrong.

Like a line someone else had written.

Keigo’s chest tightened.

Keigo: You don’t have to tell me that.

Touya didn’t respond.

Keigo sat there, phone heavy in his hand, realization settling like ice in his veins.

It wasn’t just that Touya wasn’t eating.

It was that no one around him seemed to care if he disappeared.

Except Keigo.

And that scared him more than anything.

Chapter Text

Keigo Takami did not invite Touya Todoroki out the normal way.

There was no group chat. No public plans. No “bring your girlfriend” buffer to make it socially acceptable.

He texted Touya at 9:12 a.m. on a Thursday.

Keigo: Want to get out of here today? Just you.

Touya stared at the message like it might explode.

He was sitting on his dorm bed, backpack half-packed for a class he’d already decided he wasn’t going to mentally attend. His stomach hurt in that dull, gnawing way that had become background noise. His phone felt heavy in his hand.

Touya: I can’t.

Keigo replied almost immediately.

Keigo: I know you think that.

Touya swallowed.

Touya: Yuu—

Keigo: Won’t be there.

Touya’s chest tightened.

He typed, erased, typed again.

Touya: She’ll know.

There was a pause this time. Longer. Thoughtful.

Then—

Keigo: Then I’ll make sure she can’t touch you today.

Touya’s breath caught.

Touya: You don’t get it.

Keigo: Then help me get it.

Touya closed his eyes.

He thought about rules. About consequences. About how Yuu’s smile always sharpened when she caught him wanting something.

Then he thought about Keigo’s voice in the tunnel. Softer. Concerned. Real.

Touya typed:

Touya: Where.

⸻

They drove for an hour.

Keigo didn’t tell him where they were going—just kept the music low, windows cracked, the city thinning out into something quieter. Trees replaced buildings. Billboards faded into open sky.

Touya sat rigid in the passenger seat at first, fingers knotted in his sleeves, eyes flicking to every passing sign like he was tracking escape routes.

“You okay?” Keigo asked gently.

Touya nodded. “Yeah.”

Keigo didn’t push.

That was the first thing Touya noticed.

The second was how far they went.

“Why are we still driving?” Touya asked finally, voice tight.

Keigo glanced at him. “Because we’re leaving your dad’s shadow.”

Touya froze. “What.”

Keigo sighed. “Relax. I’m not trying to interrogate you.”

Touya’s heart pounded. “Then how do you—”

“Who doesn’t know about that big two-faced fascist?” Keigo said casually, eyes on the road. “Guy’s everywhere. ‘Family values,’ ‘moral integrity,’ all that bullshit.”

Touya stared at him.

Keigo continued, unfazed. “Did you know he’s also been pushing policies against kids identifying with the LGBTQIA+ community in high schools? Like—full-on ‘protect the children’ nonsense while actively hurting them.”

Keigo scoffed. “Total fucking jerk.”

Touya’s breath left him in a quiet, broken sound.

He turned his face toward the window so Keigo wouldn’t see it—but it was too late.

His chest felt warm.

Not anxiety-warm.

Something else.

“You… you don’t like him,” Touya said, stupidly.

Keigo snorted. “I hate him.”

Touya’s lips parted slightly.

That did it.

That was the moment.

Not the flirting. Not the football field. Not the party.

This.

Someone saying his father was wrong.

Touya felt himself tilt—just slightly—toward Keigo, like gravity had shifted.

⸻

They ended up at a park Touya had never seen before.

Wide open. Quiet. Families with kids. Dogs chasing frisbees. A lake that reflected the sky instead of surveillance.

Touya sat on a bench beside Keigo, shoulders barely touching.

He texted Yuu while Keigo was buying them drinks from a vending cart.

Touya: Mathletes trip. Competing against Columbia. Back late.

Three dots appeared.

Then—

Yuu: Proud of you 🥰 Don’t embarrass me.

Touya’s stomach twisted.

He locked his phone and slid it into his pocket.

Keigo returned, handing him a bottle of water. “Hydration first.”

Touya took it automatically.

They sat in silence for a while.

It wasn’t awkward.

That scared Touya more than anything.

“What do you want to eat?” Keigo asked eventually.

Touya stiffened. “I’m not hungry.”

Keigo turned toward him fully now. “Bullshit.”

Touya blinked. “What.”

“It’s five,” Keigo said calmly. “I’ve been with you since ten-thirty. You haven’t eaten a thing.”

Touya’s throat tightened. “I’m fine.”

Keigo frowned. “Touya.”

Touya’s hands trembled. “Please drop it.”

Keigo hesitated. He could see the panic now—the way Touya’s shoulders curled inward, the way his jaw locked like he was bracing for impact.

“Okay,” Keigo said finally. “I will.”

Touya exhaled shakily.

Keigo looked away, jaw tight.

He wished he hadn’t.

⸻

Touya ate later.

Not because he wanted to.

Because Keigo was watching.

A granola bar. Half a sandwich. Just enough to stop the questions. Just enough to look normal.

Keigo didn’t celebrate it. Didn’t praise him. Just nodded quietly like he was storing the information away.

On the drive back, Touya’s stomach rebelled.

He asked Keigo to pull over near a quiet stretch of road. Barely made it out of the car before he was bent over, retching into the bushes.

Keigo was there instantly, hand hovering at Touya’s back but not touching.

“You okay?” Keigo asked softly.

Touya nodded weakly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Keigo said. “I should’ve—”

Touya shook his head. “No. It’s my fault.”

Keigo swallowed whatever he was about to say.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Keigo dropped Touya off two blocks from his dorm.

Touya hesitated before getting out.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Keigo smiled, small and real. “Anytime.”

Touya nodded and shut the door.

⸻

That night, Touya sat alone in his room.

He texted Yuu like he was supposed to.

Touya: Movie night. Fell asleep halfway through.

Yuu: Cute. You owe me cuddles.

Touya set his phone face-down.

He lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

He thought about the park.

About how Keigo’s voice had softened around him.

The way their shoulders brushed—just barely—and how Keigo’s warmth had bled into him like he’d been cold his whole life without noticing.

The way Keigo’s eyebrows pinched together when he worried.

Touya pressed a hand to his chest.

It hurt.

His phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t Yuu.

Keigo: You make it home okay?

Touya smiled faintly.

Touya: Yeah.

Keigo’s reply came after a moment.

Keigo: Goodnight, Touya.

Touya stared at the screen.

Something small and bright went off inside him.

Like a firework.

Tiny.

Defiant.

Warm.

Touya Todoroki realized, in the quiet dark of his room, that he was in love.

And for the first time, the cold didn’t feel permanent.

Chapter Text

The dining hall at NYU was designed to look harmless.

Bright lights. Long tables. The illusion of abundance. Food lined up behind glass like a promise no one expected you to keep.

Touya Todoroki stood in line with a tray in his hands, staring at options like they were written in a language he’d forgotten how to read.

He hadn’t eaten all day.

Not intentionally—not in the way people assumed when they thought about starvation. It wasn’t a dramatic choice. It was just… easier. Easier to ignore the ache than to deal with the commentary that came with feeding himself.

Yuu stood beside him, scrolling through her phone, chewing gum loudly.

Touya picked at his sleeve, eyes darting. He took a salad. Then hesitated. Added grilled chicken. Then—impulsively, stupidly—reached for a brownie wrapped in plastic near the register.

Yuu noticed immediately.

She always did.

She laughed—not loudly, not enough for anyone else to hear. Just enough to land.

“Wow,” she said lightly. “You’re really gonna eat all that?”

Touya’s chest tightened. “I—”

She leaned closer, eyes scanning his tray like she was tallying sins. “You know you’re gonna get fat if you eat that brownie, right?”

The word hit him like a slap.

Touya’s vision tunneled.

“I was just—” he started.

Yuu shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, I don’t care. I just figured you’d want to know.”

She smiled, sweet and empty. “You already eat a lot.”

Touya’s ears rang.

The tray felt heavy in his hands—too heavy. His stomach churned, sharp and sudden.

“I need to sit down,” he muttered.

Yuu rolled her eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

Touya took two steps.

That was it.

The world tilted—lights blurring, sound stretching like it was underwater. His knees buckled, tray clattering to the floor as his body gave out with no warning, no grace.

Touya didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed.

He just… fell.

⸻

Keigo Takami was laughing when it happened.

Something stupid—one of his friends telling a story with too many hand gestures. Keigo’s tray was half-empty, his mind half elsewhere like it always was lately.

Then he heard the crash.

Metal on tile. A collective gasp. Someone shouting, “Holy shit!”

Keigo turned.

And saw Touya on the floor.

Everything in him went cold.

“Hey!” Keigo shouted, already moving. “Someone get a medic—now!”

He dropped his tray without thinking, shoving past people, heart slamming so hard it felt like it might split his ribs.

Touya was pale. Too pale. His lips had a bluish tint that made Keigo’s stomach drop violently.

Keigo knelt beside him, hands hovering, unsure where to touch. “Touya—hey—can you hear me?”

Touya didn’t respond.

Yuu stood frozen a few steps away, arms crossed.

“God,” she muttered. “He’s so embarrassing.”

Keigo snapped.

He rounded on her, fury burning through the fear. “Get the fuck away from him.”

Yuu blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Keigo snarled. “You’ve done enough.”

People were staring now.

Yuu scoffed, defensive. “I didn’t do anything.”

Keigo stood, shaking. “You starved him. You controlled him. You—”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Yuu snapped. “He probably just skipped breakfast.”

Keigo laughed—sharp, broken. “You’re unbelievable.”

He stepped between her and Touya like a shield. “Leave.”

Yuu stared at him, eyes flashing.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she hissed.

Keigo didn’t back down. “I absolutely do. Now go.”

For a moment, it looked like she might argue.

Then she smoothed her jacket, plastered on a smile, and walked away like nothing had happened.

Touya lay unconscious at Keigo’s feet.

And Keigo hated himself.

For not seeing it sooner.
For letting Yuu stay.
For every time he’d dropped the subject instead of pushing harder.

⸻

Touya woke up to beeping.

Slow. Steady. Annoying.

His head throbbed. His mouth was dry. His body felt heavy—like gravity had been turned up too high.

He blinked.

White ceiling. IV pole. Hospital.

“Fuck,” he croaked.

“Hey,” Keigo said immediately.

Touya turned his head.

Keigo was sitting in a chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes red-rimmed and tired. His hair was a mess, jersey traded for a hoodie like he’d been here a while.

Touya groaned and reached weakly for his phone.

Keigo intercepted it easily, holding it just out of reach.

“No,” Keigo said.

Touya frowned. “Give it back.”

“No,” Keigo repeated. “Not yet.”

Touya’s voice was hoarse. “She’s gonna freak out.”

Keigo’s jaw tightened. “Good.”

Touya tried to sit up. His body protested violently, dizziness slamming into him.

Keigo stood instantly, one hand pressing him back down. “Easy.”

Touya swallowed. “What happened.”

“You passed out,” Keigo said flatly. “In the dining hall.”

Touya winced. “That’s… embarrassing.”

Keigo laughed once, humorless. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

Touya looked away.

Keigo exhaled slowly, then spoke again—calmer, but sharper underneath. “They weighed you.”

Touya froze.

Keigo continued, voice steady but strained. “You’re five-eight. You weigh a hundred and two point four pounds.”

Touya’s breath hitched.

Keigo’s voice cracked. “You weigh the same as my middle school cousin.”

Silence.

Touya stared at the wall, chest tight. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”

“I did,” Keigo snapped. Then softer, immediately, “I’m sorry. But I needed you to hear it.”

Touya closed his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Keigo shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

Touya’s voice trembled. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” Keigo said. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re killing yourself and everyone around you is letting it happen.”

Touya laughed weakly. “That’s dramatic.”

Keigo leaned forward. “Is it?”

Touya swallowed. “I just… didn’t want to make her mad.”

Keigo’s fists clenched. “She told you you’d get fat for eating a brownie.”

Touya flinched.

“She said it like it was nothing,” Keigo continued. “And you collapsed.”

Touya whispered, “She didn’t mean it like that.”

Keigo stared at him, disbelief giving way to something broken. “Touya.”

Touya’s voice cracked. “I can’t lose her.”

Keigo’s eyes softened painfully. “Why?”

Touya didn’t answer.

Keigo reached out slowly, resting his hand near Touya’s—not touching, just close enough.

“You already lost yourself,” Keigo said quietly. “And I don’t know how to sit here and watch that.”

Touya turned his head, eyes shining. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Keigo smiled sadly. “Yeah. I should.”

The machine beeped steadily between them.

And for the first time, Touya didn’t feel completely alone.

Chapter Text

 

Keigo Takami drove like he was holding something fragile.

Not fast. Not slow. Careful.

Touya sat in the passenger seat, still pale, hoodie pulled tight around himself, IV bandage peeking out from his sleeve. He stared out the window like the scenery might accuse him of something if he made eye contact.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Keigo asked quietly.

Touya nodded. “If I don’t… it’ll be worse.”

Keigo didn’t ask how. He already knew.

The Todoroki house rose up from behind iron gates like it had been designed to intimidate rather than welcome. Too clean. Too symmetrical. Too expensive to feel lived in.

Keigo parked.

Before either of them could get out, the front door opened.

Yuu stood there.

Perfect hair. Soft sweater. Red eyes—tastefully red, like she’d cried just enough to be convincing.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, rushing down the steps. “Touya.”

Touya flinched instinctively.

Keigo saw it.

Yuu threw her arms around Touya carefully, like she was afraid he might break—but she made sure Keigo saw every second of it.

“I was so scared,” Yuu said, voice trembling. “I couldn’t even stand being in the hospital. I came straight here.”

Keigo’s jaw tightened.

Rei appeared behind her, hands clasped anxiously. Endeavor followed shortly after, posture rigid, expression already irritated.

“Oh, Touya,” Rei said softly. “You look exhausted.”

Endeavor’s gaze slid immediately to Keigo.

“And you are?” Endeavor asked coolly.

Keigo straightened. “Keigo Takami. Touya’s—friend.”

Yuu tightened her grip on Touya’s arm, just a little.

“Oh, thank god you were there,” Rei said warmly, turning to Keigo. “Yuu told us everything. You helped her get him medical attention.”

Keigo blinked. “She—what?”

Yuu turned, eyes glossy. “I was so panicked,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do. Thank god Keigo was there to help me. I don’t think I could’ve handled it alone.”

Touya stared at the ground.

Endeavor nodded sharply. “Good instincts.”

Keigo’s stomach dropped.

Rei sighed, shaking her head. “He does this, you know. Touya’s always been… like this.”

“Like what,” Keigo asked, voice tight.

Rei smiled thinly. “Impulsive. Forgetful. He has ADHD.”

Touya flinched.

“If it weren’t for Yuu constantly watching out for him,” Rei continued, “he’d be in trouble all the time.”

Yuu squeezed Touya’s hand. “I just try my best.”

Keigo looked at Touya.

Touya didn’t look back.

Endeavor cleared his throat. “Well. He’s home now. That’s what matters.”

His gaze cut back to Keigo. “We appreciate your help. But we’ll take it from here.”

Keigo held his ground. “He collapsed from malnutrition.”

Endeavor’s eyes hardened. “Watch your tone.”

“He’s underweight,” Keigo pressed. “Dangerously.”

Yuu gasped softly. “That’s not fair.”

Rei frowned. “Touya’s always been small.”

Keigo felt something snap.

“You know,” he said, unable to stop himself. “You know he doesn’t eat.”

Endeavor stepped closer. “That’s enough.”

Yuu slipped neatly between them. “Keigo,” she said gently, “you’re upset. I get it. But you’re making things worse.”

She turned to Endeavor, voice breaking perfectly. “I tried so hard to help him. I watch him all the time.”

Keigo stared at her.

She smiled at him.

Endeavor gestured sharply toward the door. “I think you should leave.”

Keigo wanted—wanted—to punch that man.

Instead, he nodded stiffly.

“Call me,” he said to Touya.

Touya nodded faintly.

Keigo walked out with his fists clenched so hard his hands shook.

⸻

Keigo sat in his car for a long time after.

He stared at the steering wheel, breathing through the rage, the disbelief, the cold realization settling into his bones.

They knew.

They all knew.

They knew Yuu controlled his food.
They knew Touya starved.
They knew—and they let it happen.

That didn’t sit right.

Not at all.

⸻

Touya showered to scrub the hospital off his skin.

Steam filled the bathroom, muffling the world. He leaned his forehead against the tile, eyes closed, letting the water burn just enough to remind him he was still here.

Outside the bathroom, Yuu sat on his bed.

Touya’s phone buzzed in her hand.

She smiled when she saw Keigo’s name.

Keigo: You okay? I shouldn’t have left like that.

Yuu typed quickly.

Touya: It’s fine. Don’t worry.

She deleted it.

Typed again.

Touya: Thanks for today.

She sent it.

Then she waited.

Another buzz.

Keigo: I’m worried about you.

Yuu’s smile faded.

She stood just as Touya shut off the shower.

“Touya,” she called sweetly.

He stepped out, towel around his waist, hair dripping.

“What’s wrong?”

She held up his phone.

Touya froze.

“You left this unlocked,” Yuu said lightly. “Careless.”

Touya’s chest tightened. “Give it back.”

Yuu stepped closer, eyes dark. “You’re being sloppy.”

Touya swallowed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, I know,” Yuu said. “Not yet.”

She leaned in, voice dropping— calm and lethal.

“Let me be very clear,” she said. “Keigo is not your savior.”

Touya’s hands shook. “He’s just a friend.”

Yuu laughed softly. “Don’t insult me.”

She held up the phone. “You think I don’t see it? The looks? The way you light up when he texts?”

Touya whispered, “Please.”

Yuu’s expression hardened. “This is your final warning.”

She stepped back, smoothing her sweater. “You will stop talking to him. You will stop seeing him. And you will stop embarrassing me.”

Touya’s voice broke. “Or what.”

Yuu smiled.

“Or I tell your father everything,” she said calmly. “About Keigo. About the food. About how sick you really are.”

She tilted her head. “And then you’ll see what trouble actually looks like.”

Touya stared at her, hollow.

Yuu pressed his phone back into his hand. “Be good.”

She kissed his cheek.

Then she left the room.

Touya sank onto the bed, shaking.

His phone buzzed again.

Keigo: Goodnight, Touya.

Touya pressed the phone to his chest.

And for the first time since he’d woken up in the hospital, he cried.

Chapter Text

Alright. This is the turning point chapter—the one where the cage finally breaks. It’s still Euphoria-styled, but the tone shifts from suffocation to momentum. Keigo stops waiting. Yuu loses narrative control. Touya chooses survival.

I’ll mark this as Chapter Eight.

⸻

Chapter Eight — “Control the Narrative”

Yuu Todoroki—no, Yuu Todoroki-Todoroki now, because she’d started signing her posts that way—understood something most people didn’t.

Pain was marketable.

She posted at exactly 7:43 a.m., when engagement was highest and sympathy traveled fastest.

A soft-filtered selfie. No makeup, except the kind that made it look like there wasn’t any. Her eyes were red, lips pressed together like she was holding herself back from crying too hard.

caption:
The last few days have been incredibly hard for me and my boyfriend. Watching someone you love struggle while feeling so helpless is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Please keep us in your thoughts. 💔

The comments flooded in immediately.

You’re so strong.
He’s lucky to have you.
Caregivers don’t get enough credit.
You’re doing amazing, sweetie.

Yuu read every single one.

She posted photos carefully after that. Angles. Layers. Oversized sweaters on Touya. Group shots where he blended into the background. Cropped frames where his collarbones didn’t show, where his wrists weren’t visible, where his face looked less hollow because she knew how to tilt the camera.

She became an expert in erasure.

Touya didn’t have access to his own accounts anymore. Yuu said it was “for his mental health.” She said doctors recommended reducing stress. She said trust me.

And Touya did.

Because that’s what you did when someone convinced you your survival depended on them.

⸻

Keigo found out he was blocked by accident.

He’d woken up that morning with that familiar, anxious itch—check on Touya. He typed a message without thinking.

Keigo: Morning. How’re you feeling today?

The message didn’t send.

This user cannot receive your messages.

Keigo stared at the screen.

“What the fuck,” he muttered.

He checked Touya’s profile.

Gone.

Yuu’s, though?

Public. Thriving. Tragic.

Keigo scrolled.

Post after post of curated suffering. Of love-as-sacrifice. Of a narrative where Touya was fragile, incapable, and hers.

Something in Keigo went still.

Not anger.

Decision.

⸻

The recording had been an accident.

Keigo hadn’t planned to collect evidence. He wasn’t that kind of person. He just… forgot to stop recording when his phone was still in his pocket that night at the Todoroki house.

He’d replayed it exactly once.

Rei’s voice, tired and dismissive.
He’s always been like this.

Enji’s sharper tone.
If it weren’t for Yuu watching him, he’d be dead by now.

And Yuu—sweet, composed.
I do everything I can. Some people just don’t want to get better.

Keigo had felt sick listening to it.

Now, sitting in his car outside a sleek office building in midtown Manhattan, that sickness hardened into resolve.

The building bore a simple plaque:

Toshinori Yagi – Campaign Headquarters

Keigo took a breath and walked inside.

⸻

Toshinori Yagi was nothing like Enji.

He was tall, yes—but where Enji filled space like a threat, Toshinori did it like reassurance. His handshake was firm. His smile was tired but sincere.

“You said you had information,” Toshinori said, once they were seated.

Keigo nodded. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

He explained everything.

The girlfriend. The eating disorder. The collapse. The parents. The way it had been allowed to happen because it was inconvenient to intervene.

Then he slid his phone across the table.

“I have a recording,” Keigo said. “It proves negligence. And complicity.”

Toshinori didn’t touch the phone right away.

Instead, he asked quietly, “What do you want in return?”

Keigo didn’t hesitate.

“I want Touya Todoroki free,” he said. “And I want Enji to never be able to pretend he’s a champion of family values again.”

Toshinori nodded slowly.

“That,” he said, “can be arranged.”

⸻

The fallout was immediate.

A leak. A story. Headlines that didn’t use words like allegedly nearly as often as Enji’s team would’ve liked.

RUNNING CANDIDATE UNDER FIRE FOR NEGLECTING SON’S MEDICAL CRISIS
RECORDING SUGGESTS FAMILY PRIORITIZED IMAGE OVER SAFETY

Yuu’s posts stopped overnight.

Her comments turned.

Why didn’t you get him help sooner?
This feels performative.
You knew and didn’t stop it.

She tried to spin it.

She failed.

Enji exploded.

Touya heard it through the door—shouting, slamming, rage that rattled the walls. When Enji finally stormed into Touya’s room, his face was red with fury.

“You ruined me,” he snarled. “Get out.”

Touya didn’t argue.

He packed one bag.

Keigo was waiting at the curb.

Touya stepped outside, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t look back.

Keigo leaned out the driver’s side window and flipped Enji off with a grin sharp enough to cut glass.

Touya laughed.

It startled him how easy it was.

⸻

Living with Keigo felt unreal at first.

Too quiet. Too gentle.

Keigo didn’t monitor Touya’s meals—but food appeared. Regularly. Casually. Without commentary. Without conditions.

Touya ate when he could.

Some days it was hard.

But Keigo never made it harder.

Weeks passed.

Touya’s skin warmed. Color crept back into his cheeks. His hands stopped shaking all the time. His laugh came easier.

One night, sitting on the couch with Keigo’s shoulder warm against his own, Touya realized something terrifying and wonderful.

He was safe.

Keigo glanced down at him. “You okay?”

Touya smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I finally am.”

And this time—
it was true.

Chapter Text

Keigo Takami had always been like this with his friends.

Loud. Physical. Too affectionate for someone who pretended he didn’t care what people thought.

Touya noticed it immediately.

They were sprawled across the living room of the frat house—nothing fancy, just mismatched couches, empty bottles from the night before, the lingering smell of pizza and detergent. Keigo had an arm slung lazily over Touya’s shoulders like it belonged there.

Touya was still getting used to that part.

“So,” Collin said from the floor, craning his neck to look at them, “how long before Takami starts being unbearable about this?”

Keigo smirked. “Already there.”

Touya flushed, ducking his head. “He hasn’t stopped smiling.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Braxton added. “It’s unsettling.”

Keigo leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to Touya’s temple without thinking.

Touya’s face went scarlet.

Sean made a gagging noise. “Okay, we get it. You’re in love.”

Keigo didn’t deny it.

That alone stunned Touya.

⸻

Woods had been quiet.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Keigo with something like fond amusement.

“So,” Woods said calmly, “Touya.”

Touya looked up, startled. “Yeah?”

“Do you know all of Keigo’s secrets yet?”

Touya stiffened. His instinct was panic — I shouldn’t know things. Knowing things gets people in trouble.

Keigo blinked. “What?”

Touya shook his head quickly. “No— I don’t. He doesn’t have to tell me anything.”

Keigo turned to him, surprised. “You don’t wanna know?”

Touya shrugged weakly. “Only if you want me to.”

Something softened in Keigo’s expression.

Woods smiled.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s cute. Unfortunately, I’ve known him since he was seventeen.”

Keigo straightened. “Woods. Don’t.”

Woods held up a finger. “Too late. Heavy hitters only.”

Touya’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to—”

Keigo groaned. “He absolutely does not.”

⸻

“—He snores,” Woods began.

Keigo scoffed. “That’s a lie.”

“Like a dying chainsaw,” Collin added.

Touya blinked. “…Really?”

Keigo muttered, “Betrayal.”

“—He claims he stopped wetting the bed at ten,” Woods continued calmly.

Touya’s jaw dropped.

Keigo choked. “WOODS.”

Touya’s hand flew to his mouth. “Oh my god—”

Keigo buried his face in his hands. “I hate it here.”

Woods didn’t slow down.

“—He refuses to use the team showers because he’s embarrassed.”

Touya frowned, confused. “Why?”

Keigo peeked between his fingers. “…Because I hate my scars.”

Touya’s expression softened instantly.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

Keigo froze.

No teasing. No laughter.

Just acceptance.

Woods clocked it and moved on.

“—He talks in his sleep.”

Keigo groaned again. “No, I don’t.”

“You absolutely do,” Woods said. “Full conversations. Apologies. Once you said ‘I’m sorry, mom’ like fifteen times.”

Touya’s chest tightened.

Keigo went very still.

“—He failed preschool,” Woods continued, “and first grade. Twice.”

Touya turned fully toward Keigo. “You did?”

Keigo nodded once, jaw tight. “I was moving a lot. Didn’t stay anywhere long enough.”

Touya reached for his hand without thinking.

Keigo squeezed back.

“—He can’t grow a beard,” Woods said. “No matter how much he wants to.”

Touya smiled before he could stop himself. “That explains the patchiness.”

Keigo huffed. “Rude.”

“—He’s a mama’s boy,” Woods added. “Like, bad.”

Keigo shrugged. “She’s the best person I know.”

Touya smiled wider.

“—He sleeps naked.”

Touya froze.

Keigo turned bright red. “Okay, that one was private.”

Braxton laughed. “Bro really said ‘vulnerable.’”

Touya stared at the floor, ears burning.

“And finally,” Woods finished, “he’s a lightweight.”

Keigo sighed. “Tragic but true.”

Touya blinked. “You are?”

“One drink,” Sean said. “And he’s giggling and clingy.”

Touya’s lips twitched. “I’d like to see that.”

Keigo glanced at him, stunned.

“…Really?”

Touya nodded.

⸻

The room dissolved into laughter.

Not cruel. Not sharp.

Just warm.

Later, when everyone drifted off and it was just the two of them curled up on the couch, Keigo stared at the ceiling.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. “I swear I’m not actually a disaster.”

Touya turned toward him slowly.

“I liked it,” Touya said.

Keigo blinked. “You… liked me being humiliated?”

Touya shook his head. “No. I liked that they know you. And still love you.”

Keigo swallowed.

Touya continued softly, “No one’s ever done that for me.”

Keigo turned onto his side, fully facing him now.

“They will,” Keigo said. “I won’t let them not.”

Touya’s chest warmed.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against Keigo’s.

And for the first time, watching someone else be known didn’t make Touya afraid.

It made him hopeful.

Chapter Text

The stadium felt different when it was full for the last time.

Not louder—though it was loud. Not brighter—though the lights burned white against the darkening sky. It felt heavier, like the air itself knew this was an ending. Like every cheer, every chant, every vibrating stomp of feet was trying to hold onto something before it slipped through their fingers.

Touya sat in the stands with his knees pulled close to his chest, hoodie sleeves tugged down over his hands. He could feel the noise in his bones, a low hum that usually sent him spiraling.

But tonight, it didn’t.

Tonight, he wasn’t alone.

Keigo’s friends filled the row around him—Collin to his left, Noah and Sean behind him, Woods on his right like a quiet anchor. They were dressed in purple and white, faces painted badly, arguing about stats and superstition and whether Keigo always touched the same sign before walking into the tunnel.

Touya listened with a small, private smile.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed normal until it wrapped around him like this—until people complained about parking and overpriced snacks instead of watching his plate. Until laughter wasn’t sharp. Until attention wasn’t a weapon.

“You good?” Woods asked quietly, noticing Touya’s hands twisting together.

Touya nodded. “Yeah. Just… big.”

Woods huffed. “That’s Keigo for you.”

Touya laughed softly.

Down on the field, the tunnel lights flickered.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your NYU Lions for the final game of the season!”

The crowd erupted.

Smoke rolled out of the tunnel in dramatic plumes, music blasting so loud Touya could feel it in his chest. One by one, players burst through—helmets gleaming, bodies moving like they were part of something bigger than themselves.

Touya leaned forward without meaning to.

Then Keigo came out.

Touya’s breath caught.

Keigo sprinted into the light like he always did—fast, fearless, alive. His jersey hugged his shoulders, number bold against his chest. He slapped hands, shouted something Touya couldn’t hear, bounced on the balls of his feet like he was buzzing with electricity.

And then Touya saw it.

A sticker.

Small. Deliberate.

A rainbow flag, glossy and unapologetic, stuck right on the side of Keigo’s helmet.

Touya’s world went quiet.

The crowd didn’t notice at first—not really. Not until cameras zoomed in. Not until the jumbotron caught the angle just right and the image loomed large over the field.

A ripple went through the stands.

Touya’s heart slammed so hard it hurt.

Collin swore. “Holy shit.”

Noah laughed, breathless. “He did it.”

Sean leaned forward. “That absolute menace.”

Woods didn’t say anything. He just looked at Touya.

Touya couldn’t breathe.

Keigo didn’t hesitate. He didn’t look around to see who was watching or waiting for permission. He broke from the huddle and jogged straight toward the stands.

Toward Touya.

The announcer’s voice cut in again, confused but curious.
“Uh—folks, it looks like our quarterback is making his way toward the crowd…”

Keigo stopped at the barrier below Touya’s section and looked up.

Their eyes met.

Everything else—noise, people, fear—fell away.

Keigo grinned, wide and brilliant and completely unafraid.

He held up a marker.

The announcer paused, then laughed nervously.
“And it appears… Keigo Takami has a request. Touya Todoroki, would you please come down onto the field?”

Touya’s stomach dropped straight through the earth.

The camera swung.

The jumbotron found him instantly.

“Oh no,” Touya whispered.

Every instinct screamed run. His social anxiety surged like a wave—hands shaking, chest tight, mind racing with a thousand ways this could go wrong. He could feel eyes on him from every direction, the pressure unbearable.

Keigo held his gaze.

Didn’t rush him. Didn’t wave. Didn’t pressure.

Just waited.

Touya swallowed hard.

Woods leaned in, voice steady. “You don’t have to.”

Touya nodded. Then—quietly—“I want to.”

His legs felt like jelly as he stood.

The crowd murmured as he made his way down the steps, escorted by staff who looked equal parts baffled and delighted. The field felt unreal beneath his feet, grass bright and perfect and far too public.

Keigo met him halfway.

Up close, Touya could see the emotion in his eyes—nerves, excitement, hope, all tangled together.

“You okay?” Keigo asked softly, like they were alone.

Touya nodded, voice barely there. “I think so.”

Keigo pressed the marker into his hand.

“I need you to write something,” Keigo said. “On my helmet.”

Touya stared at it. “What?”

“Anything you want,” Keigo said. “One sentence. I won’t look.”

Touya’s breath stuttered. “Keigo—this is—everyone’s watching.”

“I know,” Keigo said gently. “That’s why it matters.”

Touya’s hands shook so badly he almost dropped the marker.

“What if I mess it up?” he whispered.

Keigo smiled, softer now. “You won’t.”

Touya looked at the helmet. Smooth. White. Permanent.

His thoughts raced—too much, too cheesy, too public, too vulnerable. Every fear he’d ever had about being seen crowded in at once.

Keigo waited.

Touya took a breath.

Then another.

Then he wrote.

Just five words. Simple. Honest. Terrifying.

I will choose you. Always.

He capped the marker with trembling fingers and handed it back, heart pounding so hard he was sure it would give him away.

Keigo didn’t look.

Not even for a second.

He took Touya’s hands instead, squeezing them gently.

“Thank you,” Keigo said, voice thick.

Touya nodded, dizzy. “Please don’t die out there.”

Keigo laughed. “No promises.”

He jogged back to the field, helmet still on, message hidden.

Touya was escorted back to the stands, legs shaking, heart on fire.

The game started.

Touya barely saw it.

Every play blurred together—cheers, groans, whistles, time slipping away too fast. His mind replayed the moment over and over: the marker, the helmet, Keigo’s eyes.

What if it was stupid?
What if it was too much?
What if—

The final whistle blew.

NYU won.

The stadium exploded.

Players swarmed the field, shouting and laughing, helmets tossed into the air. Confetti cannons fired, purple and white raining down like a dream.

Keigo stood at midfield, chest heaving.

Then he reached up.

And took off his helmet.

The jumbotron zoomed in.

The words were clear. Bold. Impossible to miss.

I will choose you. Always.

The stadium went silent.

Then—like a wave—cheers crashed back in, louder than before.

Not confused. Not angry.

Celebratory.

Keigo turned, eyes scanning the stands until he found Touya.

Touya covered his mouth with both hands, tears spilling over before he could stop them.

Keigo pointed at him.

“I choose you!” Keigo shouted into the mic someone had thrust into his hand. “Every day. Every version. Every fight.”

The crowd roared.

Touya laughed through his tears, chest aching with something so big it scared him.

Keigo ran to the barrier again.

This time, Touya didn’t hesitate.

He vaulted it.

Keigo caught him easily, spinning him once before setting him down, hands cradling his face like Touya was made of glass and starlight.

“I meant it,” Keigo said, forehead pressed to his. “All of it.”

Touya nodded, voice shaking. “I know.”

They kissed.

Right there. On the field. Under the lights.

It wasn’t dramatic or perfect. It was a little clumsy, a little teary, absolutely real.

The kind of kiss Hallmark movies tried and failed to capture.

Later—much later—when the stadium emptied and the night grew quiet, Touya sat on Keigo’s couch, wrapped in a blanket, head on Keigo’s shoulder.

“You know,” Touya said softly, “a year ago, I couldn’t even imagine this.”

Keigo kissed his hair. “Yeah?”

Touya smiled. “I can’t imagine anything else now.”

Outside, the city hummed. Inside, the world was small and safe.

And for the first time, Touya Todoroki didn’t feel like he was surviving.

He felt like he was home.

Chapter Text

The first time Touya Todoroki let himself imagine a future, it felt like stealing.

Not because he didn’t deserve one—he was learning, slowly, that he did—but because he’d spent so long living in survival mode that the concept of later felt fictional. Like something people in other bodies got to have. People who weren’t always bracing for impact, always scanning for what could go wrong.

But after the final game, after the helmet and the message and the way the world didn’t end when Keigo kissed him on a football field in front of thousands of people…

Touya started waking up with a new kind of fear.

Not the fear of being caught.

The fear of losing something good because he didn’t know how to hold it.

Keigo, of course, held it like it was easy.

He held Touya like breathing.

⸻

The apartment smelled like coffee and laundry detergent and the faint, persistent scent of something fried because Keigo insisted that “air fryers are a human rights victory,” and Touya had stopped arguing.

It was early spring when the email came.

Keigo’s phone buzzed on the counter while he was in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing one of Touya’s hoodies like it belonged to him—which it kind of did now, because Keigo had stolen half of Touya’s closet the way he stole everything else: shamelessly and with a grin.

Touya sat at the table with his laptop open, case notes pulled up for his internship placement, a half-filled mug of tea cooling by his elbow. His leg bounced under the table, a nervous tic he hadn’t been able to shake even after months of therapy and steady meals and the quiet, stubborn miracle of being safe.

Keigo glanced at his phone.

Then froze.

Touya looked up instantly. “What?”

Keigo didn’t answer right away. He picked up the phone like it might bite him, thumb hovering, then clicking.

His eyes moved.

Once.

Twice.

Then his face did something Touya had never seen before—like every emotion in him tried to rush out at once and got stuck in his throat.

“Keigo,” Touya said, standing now, chair scraping softly. “What is it?”

Keigo’s voice came out hoarse. “Baby.”

Touya’s heart lurched. “Don’t ‘baby’ me.”

Keigo swallowed hard, stared at the screen again like he didn’t trust it, then turned the phone so Touya could see.

CONGRATULATIONS.
2026 NFL DRAFT — SELECTION NOTICE
KANSAS CITY CHIEFS

Touya blinked.

Once.

Then again.

He stared at the words until they started to blur.

“You—” Touya’s voice cracked. “You got drafted.”

Keigo’s laugh came out like a strangled sob. “I got drafted.”

Touya’s hands flew to his mouth. His eyes burned instantly.

Keigo watched him, almost scared, like he was bracing for Touya to say something that would take it away.

Touya didn’t do that.

Touya crossed the room in two steps and jumped into Keigo’s arms so hard it nearly knocked him back against the counter.

Keigo caught him easily—strong arms, familiar warmth, the steady heartbeat Touya had learned to trust.

“Oh my God,” Touya breathed into his shoulder. “Keigo.”

Keigo held him tighter. “You’re crying.”

Touya laughed through it, shaking. “Shut up.”

Keigo kissed the side of his head. “You’re proud of me.”

Touya pulled back enough to look at him. “I’m terrified of you. I’m proud of you. I’m—” He sucked in a breath, overwhelmed. “You did it.”

Keigo’s grin wobbled. “We did it.”

Touya frowned, because that wasn’t fair and Keigo knew it.

“This is your thing,” Touya said softly.

Keigo’s expression softened into something almost painfully tender. “You’re my thing.”

Touya’s face heated.

Keigo leaned in and kissed him—slow, grounding, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything except to be real.

When he pulled back, Keigo rested his forehead against Touya’s and whispered, “I wanted you to be the first person I told.”

Touya’s chest tightened.

“You were,” Touya said.

Keigo blinked. “Huh?”

Touya smiled, small and private. “You told me before you told anyone else.”

Keigo stared at him like Touya had just handed him the sun.

Then he laughed—bright this time—and lifted Touya off the floor, spinning him around until Touya squealed, clutching his shoulders.

“Okay!” Touya gasped. “Okay—put me down—NFL quarterback—ow—”

Keigo set him down carefully, hands still firm on his waist like he couldn’t help himself.

Touya stood there for a second, catching his breath.

Then the other shoe dropped.

“Kansas City,” Touya said faintly.

Keigo’s grin dimmed a fraction. “Yeah.”

Touya stared at him. “That’s… not New York.”

Keigo snorted softly. “No, babe. It’s not.”

Touya’s stomach tightened in that old way—fear rising, instinctively searching for danger.

Keigo saw it immediately.

“Hey,” Keigo said gently, hands sliding up Touya’s arms to hold him steady. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

Touya swallowed. “I didn’t say—”

“I know,” Keigo interrupted, softer. “But your brain did.”

Touya’s throat tightened. He hated how true that was.

Keigo kissed his forehead. “We’ll figure it out. Together. You hear me?”

Touya nodded, eyes stinging. “Yeah.”

Keigo smiled. “Good.”

Touya blinked hard, then—because he couldn’t help it—muttered, “Do I have to become a Chiefs fan now?”

Keigo burst out laughing. “Yes.”

Touya made a face. “Disgusting.”

Keigo grinned, leaned in close. “I’ll buy you a jersey.”

Touya squinted. “Don’t you dare.”

Keigo kissed him again. “Too late. Already picturing it.”

Touya groaned. “I hate you.”

Keigo smiled. “No you don’t.”

And Touya didn’t.

⸻

Touya’s internship interview was on a Tuesday.

He woke up nauseous, which was annoying, because he hadn’t been nauseous in months—not since therapy had helped him untangle anxiety from hunger, not since Keigo had started making breakfast like it was sacred and refused to let Touya call it “too much.”

Touya stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror.

He looked… healthier.

That was still strange. His face had softened. His skin had color. His eyes didn’t look like they were constantly apologizing for existing.

Keigo leaned in the doorway behind him, toothbrush in his mouth, hair sticking up like he’d fought his pillow and lost.

“You look hot,” Keigo said around toothpaste foam.

Touya rolled his eyes. “I look like I’m going to throw up.”

Keigo shrugged. “Hot people throw up too.”

Touya snorted despite himself, then pressed his palms to the sink and breathed.

Keigo stepped closer, resting his hands lightly on Touya’s hips from behind.

“Hey,” Keigo murmured. “You’re going to do great.”

Touya swallowed. “What if they ask why I want this.”

Keigo’s hold tightened, grounding. “Then tell them.”

Touya’s voice went quiet. “Tell them I want to make sure kids don’t end up like me?”

Keigo’s lips pressed to Touya’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

Touya stared at his reflection, eyes shining. “That’s… a lot.”

Keigo’s voice softened. “You’re allowed to be a lot.”

Touya exhaled shakily.

Keigo pulled back slightly, meeting Touya’s eyes through the mirror.

“And,” Keigo added, “if anyone looks at you like you don’t belong in that room, I’ll go full quarterback and tackle them.”

Touya laughed, breathless. “That’s not how interviews work.”

Keigo grinned. “Should be.”

Touya turned in his arms and kissed him, quick and grateful.

“Thank you,” Touya whispered.

Keigo kissed him back. “Always.”

⸻

The office building Touya walked into smelled like old coffee and printer ink and hope held together with tape.

It wasn’t glamorous. The walls were beige. The chairs were mismatched. Someone had put a poster up in the hallway that said YOU MATTER in bubble letters, like they were trying to convince the building itself.

Touya loved it immediately.

The interview panel wasn’t intimidating in the way Endeavor’s world had been intimidating—no suits, no cold eyes weighing him like a liability. Just tired people with kind faces, people who looked like they’d seen too much and still came back to work anyway.

They asked about his education. His internship. His understanding of mandatory reporting. Burnout. Boundaries. The reality of the system.

Touya answered honestly.

His hands shook at first. Then steadied.

Then the final question came, gentle but direct.

“Why social work?” one of them asked. “It’s hard. It’s often thankless. What’s your reason?”

Touya’s throat tightened.

For a second, the old panic flickered—don’t say too much, don’t be vulnerable, don’t hand someone a weapon.

Then he thought of Keigo’s helmet. Of the message. Of the way choosing yourself out loud didn’t kill you.

Touya took a breath.

“Because I know what it feels like,” he said quietly, “to be a kid in a house where you’re not safe and nobody believes you.”

The room went still.

Touya continued, voice steadier now.

“And I know what it feels like to have adults look at you and decide you’re inconvenient. Or embarrassing. Or not worth the trouble.”

His hands tightened in his lap.

“I want to be the person who notices,” Touya said. “I want to be the person who steps in. I want to make sure every child I work with knows they matter, even if the people who are supposed to love them don’t act like it.”

Silence held for a heartbeat.

Then one of the interviewers smiled, small and warm.

“Thank you for saying that,” she said softly. “That’s exactly why we do this.”

Touya’s eyes stung.

He blinked hard. “Yeah.”

When he walked out of the building, he stood on the sidewalk for a moment like he needed to remember how to exist in the open air.

Then he pulled out his phone and texted Keigo with trembling fingers.

Touya: I think it went well.

Keigo replied instantly.

Keigo: I knew it would. I’m so proud of you.

Touya stared at the words until the ache in his chest softened into something sweet.

Then he typed back:

Touya: I’m proud of me too.

Keigo: AS YOU SHOULD BE.

Touya smiled so hard it almost hurt.

⸻

The cat happened on a Thursday.

Because of course it did.

They weren’t looking for a cat. They were looking for light bulbs and paper towels and—according to Keigo—“those little yogurt drinks because I’m an athlete and athletes drink probiotics.”

Touya had rolled his eyes and followed him into the animal rescue pop-up outside the grocery store because Keigo had paused mid-stride like he’d been shot.

Touya blinked at him. “What are you doing.”

Keigo stared at the crates. “There’s… cats.”

Touya squinted. “Yes.”

Keigo’s voice went small. “We should look.”

Touya’s eyes narrowed. “Keigo.”

Keigo glanced at him, guilty. “Just a look.”

Touya sighed like a man resigning himself to his fate. “Fine. We can look.”

The woman running the pop-up smiled brightly. “Hi! Interested in adopting?”

“No,” Touya said immediately.

Keigo said, “Maybe.”

Touya shot him a look. “We are not—”

Then a cat sneezed.

Touya’s words died in his throat.

It was orange. Round. One-eyed. Sitting in a crate like he’d paid rent and expected service. His remaining eye was half-lidded in the universal expression of cats everywhere: you are beneath me, but I will accept worship.

Touya stared.

The cat stared back.

Keigo crouched slowly like he was approaching a wild animal. “Oh my god.”

The cat blinked lazily.

Keigo whispered, reverent. “He’s perfect.”

Touya swallowed. “He’s… large.”

The woman laughed. “That’s Francis. He’s missing an eye from a previous injury, but he’s sweet. Loves people. Loves food more.”

Keigo looked like he’d just met his soulmate. “Francis.”

Touya exhaled through his nose. “We can’t just—”

Francis stood up and waddled forward with the confidence of a king. He pressed his forehead against the crate door like he wanted out, then flopped dramatically on his side as if he’d been wronged by the universe.

Keigo made a noise that should’ve been illegal. “Baby.”

Touya’s chest warmed in that involuntary way it did around Keigo—annoying, automatic, real.

Keigo looked up at Touya with wide eyes.

Touya’s defenses rose. “Don’t.”

Keigo didn’t say anything.

He just gave Touya that look. The one that wasn’t manipulation, wasn’t pressure—just raw, open hope.

Touya glared.

Francis meowed once, raspy and demanding.

Touya’s glare broke.

“Fine,” Touya muttered. “We can meet him.”

Keigo’s grin lit up the entire sidewalk. “YES.”

Touya pointed a finger at him. “We are not naming him something stupid.”

Keigo gasped. “Francis is not stupid.”

Touya rolled his eyes. “Francis is… a tax accountant.”

Keigo beamed. “Exactly.”

They adopted him within the hour.

Touya pretended it wasn’t the happiest impulse decision he’d ever made.

⸻

Francis owned the apartment immediately.

He walked out of his carrier, sniffed the carpet, then marched into the living room like he was inspecting property he’d acquired in a hostile takeover.

He hopped onto the couch—more like heaved himself up—then settled directly on Touya’s lap without asking.

Touya froze.

Keigo laughed. “Oh, he chose you.”

Touya stared down at the fat orange cat like he was an accusation.

Francis purred like a diesel engine.

Touya’s heart did something soft and unexpected.

“He’s heavy,” Touya said.

Keigo grinned. “He’s thriving.”

Touya pet Francis tentatively. The cat leaned into it like he’d been starved of affection his whole life, which—according to the rescue lady—he kind of had.

Touya’s throat tightened.

Keigo noticed.

He always did.

Keigo sat beside him, shoulder brushing Touya’s. “You okay?”

Touya nodded, voice small. “Yeah. I just… get it.”

Keigo’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

Touya stroked Francis’s fur slowly. “When you’ve been hurt and nobody fixes it, you learn to make a home wherever you can.”

Keigo swallowed. “You’re making it deep.”

Touya snorted. “You made it deep by adopting a one-eyed cat in a grocery store parking lot.”

Keigo laughed, then leaned over and kissed Touya’s cheek. “Fair.”

⸻

The scale incident happened a week later.

Keigo had been weighing himself as part of a training plan because NFL life apparently involved more math than Touya had expected.

Touya was making dinner—actual dinner, not “a snack is fine,” not “I’m not hungry.” Dinner that filled the apartment with the smell of garlic and warm bread.

Keigo stepped off the scale and frowned. “Huh.”

Touya glanced over. “What.”

Keigo pointed dramatically at Francis, who was sprawled across the kitchen mat like a loaf of bread that had given up on ambition. “We should weigh him.”

Touya narrowed his eyes. “Why.”

Keigo’s grin turned wicked. “For science.”

Touya sighed. “Okay.”

Keigo scooped Francis up carefully, holding him against his chest. Francis did not struggle. Francis accepted his fate like he was going to be presented to the public.

Keigo stepped onto the scale with Francis in his arms.

The number flashed.

Keigo stared.

Touya leaned in, curious.

Keigo’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

Touya blinked. “What.”

Keigo looked at Francis like the cat had personally betrayed him. “He weighs seventeen pounds.”

Touya froze. Then—because the absurdity was too much—he laughed.

Keigo gasped. “He’s fat.”

Francis meowed, offended.

Touya wiped his eyes. “He’s… well loved.”

Keigo looked genuinely scandalized. “Seventeen. Touya, he weighs more than my backpack.”

Touya laughed harder. “He has one eye. Let him live.”

Keigo set Francis down gently and crouched to look him in the face. “Francis. Buddy. We have got to talk about portion control.”

Francis blinked slowly.

Touya snorted. “He doesn’t speak English.”

Keigo pointed at him. “He speaks vibes. And his vibes say ‘feed me.’”

Francis, as if on cue, waddled toward his food bowl and stared at it like it was empty. It wasn’t.

Touya crossed his arms. “He’s manipulating you.”

Keigo looked up at Touya, dead serious. “And it’s working.”

Touya shook his head, smiling so wide it felt strange in his face.

Happy still felt new.

But it was getting easier.

⸻

The Chiefs paperwork came in waves.

Contracts. Physicals. Calls with agents. An overwhelming amount of logistics.

Keigo moved through it with a kind of bright focus Touya admired—like he was determined to do this right. To build something stable. To make the dream real.

Touya, meanwhile, started his social work program placement and learned quickly that saving kids didn’t look like dramatic rescues.

It looked like phone calls.

Paperwork.

Advocacy.

It looked like listening to a child explain something painful in a flat voice because it hurt less that way.

It looked like showing up, again and again, even when the system made it hard.

Touya came home exhausted most days. Mentally wrung out. Sometimes quiet in a way Keigo could feel.

Keigo never demanded details.

He just offered presence.

Some nights, Touya would sit at the kitchen table with his notes spread out, jaw clenched. Keigo would be across from him, studying playbooks, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration like he was twelve.

Francis would snore between them.

Touya would look up and think: This is it. This is the life I wasn’t supposed to have.

A life where no one used love as a leash.

A life where he could be tired and still be safe.

A life where he could eat dinner without commentary.

A life where he could come home to someone who cared if he’d slept, if he’d eaten, if he was okay.

Touya had spent so long being told he was a problem.

Now he was building a career out of telling kids: You’re not.

⸻

The night Touya got his official offer letter, he sat on the couch staring at it until his eyes blurred.

Keigo came out of the shower, hair damp, towel around his shoulders, and paused when he saw Touya’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” Keigo asked immediately.

Touya looked up slowly.

Then he lifted the letter.

Keigo’s face shifted. “Is that—”

Touya nodded, throat tight. “I got it.”

Keigo’s mouth fell open. “You got the job?”

Touya laughed breathlessly. “Yeah.”

Keigo crossed the room in two steps and grabbed Touya, squeezing him so tight Touya squeaked.

“I’m so proud of you,” Keigo said, voice thick.

Touya’s eyes stung. “I’m scared.”

Keigo pulled back, hands on Touya’s shoulders. “Of what.”

Touya swallowed. “What if I’m not enough. What if I can’t help. What if I—”

Keigo cut him off gently. “Touya.”

Touya blinked.

Keigo’s eyes were steady. “You already helped. You helped you. And that’s hard as hell.”

Touya’s throat tightened. “That doesn’t—”

“It does,” Keigo insisted. “Because you know what it feels like. And you chose to turn that into something that protects other people.”

Touya stared at him.

Keigo smiled, softer. “That’s not ‘not enough.’ That’s… exactly what those kids need.”

Touya’s shoulders slumped as the tension finally released. He leaned into Keigo.

Francis meowed from the floor, annoyed he wasn’t being included.

Keigo laughed. “Sorry, Francis.”

Touya sniffed, wiping his eyes. “We should celebrate.”

Keigo grinned. “Oh, we are absolutely celebrating.”

Touya smiled weakly. “How.”

Keigo looked down at Francis. “Weigh him again.”

Touya burst out laughing, and it felt like sunlight.

⸻

When the move to Kansas City finally came, it wasn’t dramatic the way Touya had once feared it would be.

It was boxes.

Packing tape.

Keigo insisting they label everything and Touya insisting that was insane because “it’s literally just a toaster.”

It was also Touya standing in their empty apartment the last night, staring at the bare walls, feeling something twist in his chest.

Keigo came up behind him, slipping arms around his waist. “You okay?”

Touya nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Keigo kissed his shoulder. “Liar.”

Touya huffed a laugh. “It’s just… weird. Leaving.”

Keigo tightened his hold. “We’re not leaving us.”

Touya swallowed. “I know.”

Keigo turned him gently, meeting his eyes. “Hey. Look at me.”

Touya did.

Keigo smiled. “We built this. We can build it again anywhere.”

Touya’s eyes stung. “You’re too good at this.”

Keigo grinned. “I’m literally drafted.”

Touya laughed, shaking his head.

Keigo kissed him—slow and warm—then rested his forehead against Touya’s.

“And,” Keigo added quietly, “you’re not going back to that house. Ever.”

Touya’s breath caught.

Keigo’s voice was steady. “No more cages.”

Touya nodded, tears slipping free. “Okay.”

Francis chose that moment to jump onto a box and knock it over.

Keigo sighed. “Francis, buddy.”

Francis meowed, unapologetic.

Touya laughed through tears.

Even the chaos felt like home now.

⸻

They settled into Kansas City like a story that had always been meant to happen.

Keigo trained hard. He thrived. The Chiefs loved him. The city did too, quickly—he had that effect on people, that bright, magnetic pull.

Touya started at a local agency, working with kids and families, learning the new system, building trust the slow way.

They came home to each other every day.

Touya’s skin kept its color. His hands stayed steady more often than not. He still had bad days, but now bad days ended with someone knocking softly on his bedroom door and asking, “Do you want company?”

Keigo learned Touya’s tells—the ones Touya didn’t even notice. The way he got quiet before he got overwhelmed. The way he’d stand too long in the kitchen without eating if he was anxious. The way he’d pretend he was fine until his eyes got glassy.

Touya learned Keigo’s too.

The way Keigo got restless when he was nervous. The way he pretended to be cocky when he was scared. The way he got soft only when he was safe enough to.

They were learning each other like a language.

They were building a family on purpose.

Francis remained fat.

Keigo remained offended by it.

Touya remained delighted.

One night, months into their new life, Keigo stepped on the scale again, stared at it, then looked down at Francis, who was sprawled on his back like a sunbathing walrus.

Keigo sighed dramatically. “He’s still seventeen pounds.”

Touya didn’t even look up from the couch. “He’s cultivating mass.”

Keigo frowned. “Is that a science term?”

Touya smiled. “Yes.”

Keigo scooped Francis up, holding him like a baby. Francis purred instantly, traitor.

Keigo stared into his one eye. “You’re gonna be the reason I go bankrupt buying diet food.”

Francis meowed.

Touya laughed. “He said no.”

Keigo looked at Touya, grin softening into something real. “They’re right, you know.”

Touya blinked. “Who.”

Keigo shrugged, bouncing Francis gently. “The people who say everything happens for a reason.”

Touya’s chest tightened.

Keigo walked over and sat beside him, Francis wedged between them like a warm brick.

“I’m not glad you suffered,” Keigo said quietly. “I’ll never be glad. But—” His voice softened. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

Touya swallowed hard. “Me too.”

Keigo kissed him gently. “This is the life we were supposed to have.”

Touya leaned into him.

Francis purred louder, as if he agreed.

And in the quiet warmth of their home—soft light, steady love, an absurdly fat one-eyed cat wedged between them—Touya realized something that still felt unbelievable:

He wasn’t just surviving anymore.

He was living.

And he was loved.

Exactly as he was.