(Don't ask about the title I gave up lol and lowkey in my villain era for mha)
The air hung heavy with the scent of cherry blossoms, their delicate pink petals drifting lazily on the breeze. Shoto sat nestled against the thick trunk of an ancient oak, the soft earth beneath him a welcome comfort. It was a perfect spring day, a stark contrast to the turmoil that often brewed within him.
A swirl of purple mist materialized beside him, and Dabi stepped out, his scarred skin a roadmap of a life lived on the edge. He held out a popsicle, the condensation beading on its wrapper. "Here. Figured you could use this."
"Thanks," Shoto said, accepting the frozen treat with a small smile. He appreciated these small gestures more than he could express. They were a fragile bridge across the chasm that separated them – brother and villain, hero-in-training and fallen prodigy.
They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Dabi leaned back against the tree, his eyes scanning the canopy above. They talked about everything and nothing, the mundane details of Shoto's classes, the ridiculous antics of Mineta, the training exercises that pushed him to his limits. Dabi, in turn, offered cryptic comments about the League, veiled threats against the hero society, and unsettling observations about the nature of justice.
Hours slipped by, painted with laughter and whispered confessions. The light shifted, casting long shadows across the forest floor. Shoto took a deep breath, the time had come. "Hey Dabi," he began, his voice barely audible. "Can I ask you something?"
Dabi straightened, a flicker of concern in his turquoise eyes. "Mhm."
Shoto hesitated, words caught in his throat. "Are you… are you gay?" he mumbled, the question barely escaping his lips.
The forest seemed to hold its breath. Dabi went silent, the jovial mask he often wore crumbling to reveal a raw, vulnerable expression. He stared blankly ahead for a moment, lost in thought. A million different emotions seemed to flit across his face- shock, confusion, and perhaps even a flicker of something he didn't quite recognize.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and raspy. "I don't know, to be honest. I kind of just forgot about myself for a while, ever since I became a villain."
Shoto nodded, understanding dawning on his face. He knew how his brother was, so lost in his own world that he can't think about himself. "Hm, ok," he mumbled.
Dabi raised an eyebrow, breaking the still. "Why did you ask?"
Shoto sighed, tracing patterns in the dirt with his finger. "I think I might be…" he whispered, the words barely audible. The confession felt like a weight lifted from his chest, yet terrifying in its vulnerability.
Dabi let out a low whistle. "Well, shit, ok… Who is it you like, then?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. A strange mix of protectiveness and amusement swirled within him.
Shoto's cheeks flushed crimson. "Um… my classmates… Izuku… and maybe Katsuki…" he mumbled, avoiding Dabi's gaze.
"The loud blonde and broccoli kid?" Dabi questioned, a smirk playing on his lips. "Bakugo and Midoriya?"
Shoto nodded miserably.
The night deepened, the stars beginning to puncture the velvet sky. They continued to talk, dissecting Shoto's feelings, the complexities of his attraction to two such different personalities. Dabi, despite his initial surprise, listened patiently, offering surprisingly insightful advice. He spoke of the importance of self-acceptance, of embracing who you are regardless of what society dictates.
He watched Shoto smile, a genuine, unguarded smile that warmed something deep within him. Seeing his brother feel comfortable, feel safe enough to reveal such a personal truth, filled him with a satisfaction he hadn't realized he craved.
But beneath the surface of their conversation, a turmoil began to stir within Dabi. He found himself reflecting on his own life, the choices he had made, the person he had become. He, too, carried a secret, a buried desire he had long suppressed. A secret he refused to believe.
Dabi stared into the cracked mirror of the League's hideout, his reflection a distorted mockery of the boy he once was. He saw the scars, not just on his skin, but etched into his soul.
It's all Endeavor's fault. He thought.
He wanted to accept the fact that he was gay now, but he couldn't. Every time he tried to he would get a feeling in his stomach like he betrayed his father or something else.
He slammed his fist against the mirror, shattering the glass. Shards rained down around him, reflecting his fractured identity.
Don't think about it. Focus on the mission.
But the memory of Shoto's vulnerability, the glimmer of hope in his eyes, kept resurfacing. He couldn't deny the pang of envy he felt, the longing for the freedom to be himself, a freedom he had sacrificed on the altar of vengeance.
He knew he was at war with himself.
Days turned into weeks, and the spring deepened. Dabi and Shoto continued their clandestine meetings, finding solace in each other's company. They explored hidden trails, discovered secluded waterfalls, and shared quiet moments of camaraderie.
One afternoon, they sat by a babbling brook, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, creating dappled patterns on the water. Shoto was sketching in a notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Dabi watched him, a rare smile gracing his lips. "What are you drawing?" he asked.
Shoto hesitated, then held up the notebook. It was a detailed sketch of a cherry blossom tree, its branches heavy with blooms.
"It's beautiful," Dabi said, genuinely impressed.
Shoto blushed, looking away. "It's… it's for you," he mumbled. "I know you like them."
Dabi's heart skipped a beat. He was touched. Touched that his brother was thinking about him, even after everything. He'd lost so much, and he was slowly gaining it back, but now Dabi couldn't help but think about it.
He reached out, gently taking Shoto's hand. "Thank you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "It means a lot."
They sat in silence for a moment, their hands intertwined. The air crackled with an unspoken connection, a bond forged in shared trauma and a desperate yearning for reconciliation.
Dabi pulled his hand away, suddenly uncomfortable. He stood up abruptly. "I should go," he said, his voice clipped. "Things to do."
Shoto looked up, his eyes filled with disappointment. "Okay," he said softly.
Dabi turned to leave, then hesitated. He looked back at Shoto, his expression conflicted. "Shoto," he said, "be careful. With your feelings, with everything. The world isn't always kind."
And with that, he disappeared in a swirl of purple flames, leaving Shoto alone with his drawing and the bittersweet ache of hope. Dabi tried to convince himself that what he had done was right, but he knew it wasn't. He'd only hurt his little brother more and more. He knew how it felt to be heartbroken, and the thought that he might have been the reason his little brother was heartbroken made his stomach churn.
Dabi knew he couldn't ignore his own internal conflict any longer. He had to confront his past, his desires, his identity. Only then could he truly be there for Shoto, the brother he was finally starting to know. The journey would be long and arduous, but for the first time in a long time, Dabi felt a flicker of hope, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, he could find his own spring, a time for rebirth and renewal.