Chapter Text
Keigo had just changed Haruki’s cloth when Touya knocked gently and stepped into the room again, something different in his expression this time. Not just worry—intent.
Keigo glanced up, curious. Haruki squirmed in his lap, making soft noises before settling again.
“You said you wanted to see the nursery,” Touya said, his hands in his pockets. “But the doctor told me you’re not supposed to be up for long. Said infection’s still a risk.”
Keigo blinked, caught off guard by how closely Touya had been listening.
“Oh,” he murmured, gaze dropping to Haruki. “I… I feel okay.”
“You nearly died, Keigo,” Touya said, softly but firmly. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
Keigo swallowed and nodded, lips thinning.
Touya hesitated—then stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed with a heavy breath. “So I brought something instead.”
He pulled out his phone and opened the camera. He looked awkward as hell, and that alone made Keigo’s brows rise slightly.
“I took pictures,” Touya mumbled, scrolling quickly. “I’m not good at this kind of thing, but the lady at the store helped. I told her it was for a baby almost ten pounds and she damn near fainted.”
Keigo gave a weak laugh, breath hitching on it.
Touya turned the screen so Keigo could see. He swiped slowly, narrating under his breath.
“Crib’s reinforced. Wing slots are padded. Got blankets in soft fibers, no synthetic crap. Diapers are in baskets by size. Some bottles, pacifiers, lullaby thing… kind of annoying, but Haruki might like it.”
Keigo’s eyes were wide, shimmering with something fragile and tender. He didn’t speak.
Touya paused at the last photo: a tiny onesie, sky blue, with little white wings stitched on the back.
“I know I can’t fix everything,” Touya said quietly. “But I’ll try. I’ll make sure he’s safe. And you.”
Keigo lowered his gaze, one hand pressing against Haruki’s warm back. His throat bobbed.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Touya just nodded, stood up, and left the phone beside the bed.
“If you want to see it in person later,” he added at the door, “I’ll carry you there.”
Keigo looked up, startled.
And for the first time, Touya saw it—the flicker of trust. Small. Wounded. But there.
He didn’t smile. But Keigo did.
Just a little.
The study was quieter than usual.
Touya had canceled the pro hero interview scheduled for that afternoon—some fluff piece with another agency star, someone who would’ve wanted to flirt and talk about rankings. He couldn’t stomach it today. Not anymore
Instead, the fire in the hearth crackled low as he sat at his desk, glancing now and then to the side where a small bassinet had been wheeled in.
Haruki lay inside, wrapped in one of the new soft cotton blankets Touya had bought, the blue one with stars. His tiny chest rose and fell in even breaths, pink lips parted just slightly in sleep.
Touya stared.
Not at the reports on his desk, not at the unopened laptop or the stack of documents that were probably overdue—but at the baby.
His baby. His son.
Now he actually took in how much Haruki looked like him.
Those piercing turquoise eyes. Crimson wild hair. Everything down to his nose shape. It was like looking into himself, but as a newborn.
A few weeks ago, he never would have imagined this. A crib in his study. Canceling interviews. Warm milk bottles instead of tactical mission updates.
Haruki stirred, a soft mewl escaping his lips. A second passed. Then another. Then—
“WAAHH—!!”
Touya winced at the sudden, raw cry that split the air. Haruki’s face scrunched tight, fists balled up.
“Okay, okay, I got you,” Touya muttered, already pushing back from the desk.
He reached over and lifted the baby with practiced care, nestling him into the crook of his arm. Haruki squirmed, letting out another sharp cry that rattled Touya more than it should have.
Touya grabbed the warm bottle from the warmer—he’d figured out Haruki’s favorite temperature after a few trials—and gently brushed the rubber nipple to the baby’s lips.
The change was instant.
Haruki latched with a little snuffle, his cries cutting off as the bottle bobbed in rhythm with his gulps. His small hand curled into Touya’s shirt, tight and trusting.
Touya exhaled slowly, letting himself sit back in the chair again, baby in one arm, bottle in hand.
He watched Haruki drink, eyes fluttering half-closed in sleepy concentration.
“This part,” Touya muttered, voice rough with something unfamiliar, “is my favorite too.”
Touya had always loved giving bottle. He’d remember he’d begged his mother to allow him to feed Natsuo, even if he wasn’t hungry. When Shoto came…It just stopped.
But looking down at his own son, it felt..
He hadn’t planned to say it.…But the quiet truth of it filled the room, soft and honest.
Haruki was warm in his arms. Solid. Real.
And for the first time in a long time, Touya didn’t think about revenge or power or proving anything.
He just thought about the tiny boy in his arms. The one who looked like him. The one who’d nearly cost Keigo his life.
And somehow, that thought made Touya hold him a little tighter.
It had been three weeks since the birth.
Keigo was still pale, but stronger. He could sit up on his own now, and the fever had passed. His eyes no longer looked dazed, just tired—but clearer. He’d even laughed quietly yesterday when Haruki made a squeaky snore.
This morning, Keigo had managed to stand.
He hadn’t said anything at first—just eased himself up slowly, one hand on the wall, the other clutching the soft robe Miki had brought him. But Touya had been in the doorway.
And his voice had been immediate, quiet but firm. “You shouldn’t—”
“I want to see the nursery,” Keigo had interrupted, softly. No challenge in his voice. Just quiet hope.
So now, the two of them moved slowly down the hallway, Touya’s arm wrapped firmly around Keigo’s waist to steady him. Haruki was asleep in Keigo’s other arm, wrapped in one of the new embroidered blankets.
It was the first time Keigo had left the room since the birth.
They reached the nursery door. Touya opened it carefully.
It wasn’t extravagant. But it was warm. Calming shades of soft cream and blue, a rocking chair by the window, a mobile spinning slowly over a crib carved with little wings. Stuffed animals lined the shelves. A soft rug cushioned the floor.
Keigo stared.
He didn’t say anything, just took a slow step inside, gaze sweeping the room like he didn’t quite believe it was real. He sat down in the rocking chair carefully, his breath trembling. Haruki shifted in his arms but didn’t wake.
Touya stood at the door a moment longer, watching him. Then—he came forward, kneeling beside the chair, one hand bracing on the armrest.
“I need to say something,” he said.
Keigo looked down at him, startled by the seriousness in his voice.
“I was cruel,” Touya said, looking up at him. “When I found out about your past… about your parents. I judged you. I called you things I never should’ve said.”
Keigo looked away. Maybe out of shame..fear….Touya didn’t know.
But Touya didn’t stop. His voice was low, cracking slightly. “You were just a kid, Keigo. You are still a kid. And I—I treated you like you were something broken. Something I had to use. Like you had no heart, no pain. But you were carrying mine the whole time.”
The words fell between them like ashes. No fire, just the quiet aftermath.
Keigo blinked fast, lips parting slightly—but he didn’t speak.
Touya’s hand trembled against the chair’s edge. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that. You never did.”
Keigo stared at him, and for a long moment, there was only the sound of Haruki’s gentle breaths.
Then Keigo nodded.
Just once.
Not a full smile. Not forgiveness. But something like the beginning of it.
Touya bowed his head.
And for the first time, Keigo leaned forward and gently rested his forehead to Touya’s. Haruki stirred between them, his tiny wings fluttering under the blanket.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was honest.
And for them, that was more than enough.
The evening sun dipped low behind the Todoroki estate, casting a golden hue across the sprawling gardens. Crickets had begun to chirp softly, and inside the master bedroom, the world had grown quiet.
Keigo was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the crib, Haruki swaddled securely in his arms. The baby had just fallen asleep, warm and heavy against his chest, his snowy white wings twitching faintly in dreams. Keigo brushed his finger along one soft crimson curl.
“You look like your dad,” he whispered, almost wistfully.
Behind him, the door opened.
Keigo turned his head and found Touya standing there—still in his patrol gear, soot staining the collar of his shirt, mask tugged down to hang around his neck. His eyes drifted immediately to the baby, then to Keigo.
“You should be in bed,” Touya said bluntly, walking over.
Keigo blinked. “Haruki just fell asleep…”
“I didn’t mean the baby.” Touya crouched down in front of him, eye-level. “I meant you.”
Keigo laughed softly, trying to brush it off. “I’m okay here. I don’t wanna wake him moving too much.”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor anymore.” Touya’s voice was quiet, but firm. “From now on, you sleep here. With me.”
Keigo’s eyes widened. “In your bed?”
Touya nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the large futon in the center of the room. The crib was only a few steps away, nestled in the quiet corner Touya had turned into the nursery. Soft white curtains framed it, along with the faint scent of milk and baby powder in the air.
“I moved the nursery in here for a reason,” Touya continued, not quite meeting Keigo’s gaze. “I figured… you shouldn’t be alone. Not anymore.”
Keigo looked down at Haruki.
Not alone.
The words echoed in his chest louder than he expected.
“I…” Keigo’s voice caught. “I thought you didn’t want—”
“I didn’t want to care,” Touya said, cutting him off gently. “But I do. I care about him. And about you.”
Keigo didn’t know what to say.
He let Touya lift Haruki from his arms carefully, placing the sleeping newborn in the crib with practiced hands. Then Touya came back and held out a hand to Keigo.
It felt different this time.
Not obligatory. Not forced.
Keigo hesitated—then reached up and took it.
The room had long gone still, the only sounds left were the soft ticking of the old clock on the wall and the gentle, rhythmic breathing of the boy beside him.
Keigo slept curled on his side, one hand unconsciously reaching toward the space where Haruki lay safe and warm in the nearby crib. His chest rose and fell slowly, golden lashes resting lightly on flushed cheeks. He looked younger like this—barely seventeen, just a kid trying to survive. A kid with a baby. His body was still fragile, too thin, his skin pale, and the outline of his exhaustion still clung to him like a second skin.
Touya lay on his back, one arm beneath his head, staring at the dark ceiling of the master bedroom, lost in the hum of his thoughts.
He didn’t deserve this.
Not the child sleeping in the crib.
Not the boy beside him.
He hadn’t meant to fall into any of this. Not when he’d agreed to the marriage. Not when he’d let himself hate Keigo for something he’d had no control over. Not when he’d let the world—his rage—define every word he spoke.
And yet, here they were.
Keigo made a small sound in his sleep, shifting slightly. Without thinking, Touya turned onto his side and reached out, carefully pulling Keigo closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. The boy didn’t stir. His breathing didn’t change. He just melted into the warmth, one foot brushing gently against Touya’s ankle.
Touya exhaled through his nose, burying his face in Keigo’s hair.
It still smelled like lavender from the baby soap.
He didn’t know what to say. Or what he’d say tomorrow. Or the next day.
But for now, he just held him.
And for the first time in a long, long time, the fire inside him didn’t burn with hatred.
It just… flickered softly.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the sheer curtains. Outside, the wind rustled the garden leaves, but inside, everything was suffocatingly still.
Touya sat upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved as his heart pounded furiously, the remnants of the dream still clawing at his throat.
He blinked, slowly turning his head toward the crib. Haruki was there, peacefully asleep, wrapped in a soft blanket. Touya let out a shaky breath—but the dread didn’t leave.
Because in the dream, the crib had been empty.
And Keigo—Keigo had never woken up.
The dream had started like any other day. The staff had been moving quietly through the house, whispers trailing behind them. Something felt off, but no one would look him in the eye. Touya had walked to Keigo’s room, expecting to find him curled under the blankets, maybe sleepy or nauseous.
But when he opened the door, everything stopped.
The doctor had been there.
Keigo lay still in the bed, pale and unmoving, the swell of his belly unnaturally quiet.
“The baby… didn’t survive,” the doctor had said quietly. “And the infection spread too fast.”
Too fast.
He’d shouted. Screamed. Demanded they try something—anything. But there was nothing left to save. Keigo had passed just minutes before Touya arrived. Alone. In pain. Forgotten.
The doctor had offered condolences, said something about sepsis, about the womb turning septic after the fetus died. Words that didn’t matter.
Because Touya had fallen to his knees, clutching the empty bedsheets, unable to breathe.
That’s when he woke up.
Now, in the dim safety of their room, Touya trembled. His body still believed the nightmare. His hands ached from how tightly he’d clenched the sheets.
Beside him, Keigo stirred faintly in his sleep, murmuring softly before settling again. Unaware of how close he had just come to being lost forever in Touya’s mind.
Touya leaned over him, carefully brushing golden strands from his face. He pressed a kiss to Keigo’s temple and then slowly rose from bed, walking to the crib.
Haruki lay there, his small chest rising and falling steadily. A white wing fluttered with his tiny breaths.
Touya sank to his knees beside the crib, burying his face in his arms.
“I almost lost you,” he whispered. “Both of you.”
He stayed there for a long time, listening to the silence—not empty, but full. Full of breath, of life, of a second chance.
The nightmare still clung to him, but as he looked back at the bed, at Keigo curled gently under the blankets, he knew—he had time. And he wouldn’t waste it.
Touya sat alone in the nursery, the lights dimmed low.
Haruki was asleep, tiny fingers curled around the edge of a soft cotton blanket. The room smelled faintly of powdered milk and warmth — the scent of something new, something soft and alive.
Keigo was still asleep. His body still tired, healing. And yet, he had smiled when Touya tucked the blanket around him. He had smiled like nothing had happened. Like Touya hadn’t hurt him, pushed him, doubted him, judged him.
Touya leaned back against the wall, his arms resting on his knees, and let the silence settle in around him.
Forgiveness.
It didn’t make sense.
He had been cruel. He knew it. Cold and cutting, more than once. He had lashed out at Keigo over things the boy had never chosen, never asked for. He’d used his pain like a weapon, like a shield — and Keigo had taken every blow in silence.
And still… he forgave him.
He looked down at his hands. The same hands that had built a nursery, that had learned how to hold a bottle, how to change a diaper. The same hands that had once shoved the world away, ready to burn it all down.
What had he done to deserve this?
What kind of person was Keigo, to look at him and still see someone worth trusting?
Touya swallowed hard, eyes burning.
He didn’t cry. He wouldn’t.
But he did close his eyes.
He breathed in deep.
He didn’t say it aloud—but somewhere in the quiet of his own mind, he made a vow:
I’ll protect them. You and the kid. I’ll do better. Even if I never deserve it—I’ll give you something better than what I was.
Because if Keigo could find it in his heart to forgive him…
Then maybe Touya could find it in himself to change.
Three Months Later
The morning light spilled into the room, golden and soft, casting long rays across the tatami mats and the white curtains fluttering at the window. The nursery, once bare and forgotten, now overflowed with life—stuffed animals, soft blankets, and shelves lined with children’s books. A faint lullaby played from a music box in the corner.
On the futon spread across the nursery floor, Keigo sat with Haruki propped in his lap.
Their son had grown so much.
Three months had flown by in a blur of sleepless nights and quiet joy, but now Haruki was alert, smiling, and strong. His crimson hair had thickened in wild tufts, and his turquoise eyes always sparkled with curiosity. His wings—white and soft like doves’ feathers—twitched excitedly every time he saw his mother’s face.
Haruki giggled loudly, drooling as he tried to chew on his fist. He was wearing a soft yellow romper that barely fit anymore. Everything he wore seemed to be outgrown in a matter of weeks—he was a big baby, nearly the size of a six-month-old already, but strong and healthy.
“You’re going to be taller than both of us one day,” Keigo murmured, brushing a kiss against Haruki’s head, “and with wings like that, you’ll learn to fly in no time..!”
A soft knock at the door caught his attention, and Touya stepped inside.
His hair was damp from a morning shower, and he wore simple clothes—loose black pants and a gray shirt. Nothing about him screamed “Pro Hero Dabi” today. Just Touya. Just… dad.
He paused in the doorway, watching the scene with an expression Keigo had come to recognize over the last few months. It was subtle—gentle even—but warm. A quiet awe in his gaze, like every time he looked at Haruki, he still couldn’t believe he existed.
“He outgrew the last onesie again,” Keigo said with a soft laugh. “I think he’s trying to evolve into a sumo wrestler.”
Touya snorted and walked over, kneeling beside them. “Good. Strong means healthy.”
He reached out, and Haruki squealed happily, flailing his arms as Touya scooped him up. The baby immediately grabbed a fistful of Touya’s shirt, gurgling and babbling as he was settled into his father’s arms.
Keigo watched the two of them with quiet eyes. Touya hadn’t said it aloud, but it was clear now….he loved Haruki.
And slowly, in his own flawed way… he was learning to love Keigo, too.
Touya pressed a kiss to Haruki’s fluffy hair and then glanced at Keigo. “Want to go out into the garden later? It’s warm today.”
Keigo blinked, surprised, then smiled. “Yeah… I’d like that.”
Haruki babbled again, his wings flapping against Touya’s chest, and both parents chuckled softly.
There were still things to mend—wounds that didn’t heal overnight—but for now, in the glow of the morning sun, surrounded by laughter and lullabies, their little family had found peace.
And it was more than enough.
The estate was quieter than usual that afternoon, though a buzz of anticipation lingered in the air. Keigo had tidied the sitting room twice already, despite the staff’s insistence that it was already spotless. Haruki, freshly bathed and dressed in a soft blue onesie, lay in a woven bassinet nearby, cooing softly and kicking his white-feathered wings in the warm sunlight that streamed through the tall windows.
“They’re just Touya’s siblings,” Keigo murmured, trying to calm his nerves. But his hands still twisted nervously in his lap.
He hadn’t met them before—Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Shoto. Not properly. All he knew was that they were not like Endeavor. That was all Touya had said. But it didn’t stop the knot in his stomach from tightening.
But they knew about Keigo. Fuyumi and Natsuo both disagreed that Touya should go into a quirk marriage just to get back at their father, that Touya should just focus on the future. But they left it to their brother to handle his life, not wanting to be involved if something went wrong.
Shoto, who was merely just 10, only understood that Touya would be having a baby.
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
The door slid open.
Touya stepped in first, expression unreadable as always, followed by three people who could only be his siblings. Keigo stood immediately, smoothing down his shirt.
Fuyumi smiled warmly the moment she laid eyes on Keigo. “You must be Keigo. It’s so nice to finally meet you in person..!” Her voice was gentle, motherly even, and it made Keigo’s nerves ease just a little.
Natsuo offered a small wave. “Hey. Heard a lot about you.” He glanced at Touya with a faint smirk, but it faded when his gaze landed on the bassinet.
Shoto stood silently for a moment, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on Haruki. “Is that…?”
Keigo stepped aside, a bit shyly, and nodded. “That’s Haruki.”
Fuyumi gasped softly as she crouched beside the bassinet. “Oh my god… he’s beautiful.”
Haruki blinked up at the unfamiliar faces, cooed once, then gave a tiny hiccup. His crimson hair was messy, his turquoise eyes wide and curious, and his tiny white wings fluttered as if recognizing the attention.
“He looks just like you, Touya,” Natsuo muttered, crouching beside his sister. “But those wings… definitely Keigo’s.”
“He’s huge,” Shoto added in a quiet voice, blinking. “Is he really only three months?”
Keigo chuckled nervously. “He… came out at almost ten pounds. He hasn’t slowed down since.”
Fuyumi gently touched one of Haruki’s tiny fists. “He’s perfect.”
Keigo’s throat tightened unexpectedly. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that. Needed someone—anyone—to look at Haruki with love in their eyes.
Touya moved to stand beside him. His hand brushed against Keigo’s back, just briefly, but it was enough.
“You’re doing good,” Touya said under his breath. “Both of you.”
Keigo glanced up at him, stunned by the softness in his tone.
For the first time in a long time, Keigo didn’t feel like someone temporary. He felt like part of something real.
Family.