Chapter Text
The funny thing is, when you’ve been pining for so long, it almost becomes a part of you, you know? Eijirou can’t imagine what it’s like to live without wanting Todoroki’s love anymore. To actually have that need fulfilled is like something out of a fantasy to Eijirou.
His jaw clicks closed and he swallows hard, ghosting a trembling finger over the picture mounted in a place of honor above the mantelpiece. “What is this?” Eijirou whispers to himself, hardly daring to believe his eyes. It’s just too impossible.
They’d told him that he was supposed to be twenty-five, that he’d been a fully-fledged and highly successful hero for years. They’d brought him to Todoroki’s empty apartment after they’d finished grilling him on every little detail of the past few months, apologetically claiming that they had to “preserve the timeline” and that “this is the best place for you right now, Kirishima-kun.” To a nineteen-year-old Eijirou, it smelled like bullshit. How so, he wasn’t quite sure, but he trusted his instincts, so bullshit it was.
So imagine his surprise when he stepped into the living room and saw the room covered with pictures straight out of his daydreams. He’d stopped in his tracks, jaw hanging loose in astonishment, then drew inexorably closer to the photos on display as if pushed by some unseen force.
Which brings him to now.
“I don't understand…” The words come tumbling out of Eijirou’s mouth, betraying the hurricane swirling inside. “How is this possible?”
The photos on the walls hold all the answers, and yet, they stay silent.
Eijirou tears his eyes away from the framed photograph of an older Todoroki and himself wrapped in an intimate embrace beneath a plum tree and turns his attention to another beside it. To the right hangs a snapshot of Todoroki and him eating lunch outside a cafe, and sitting beside each of them on either side of the table are Eijirou’s own mothers. The three Kirishimas look like they’re having the time of their lives, and even Todoroki appears to be slurping his cold soba with a quiet contentment, inclining his head toward Ma to listen to her visibly boisterous laughter as Mom leans over the side of her wheelchair to drop her extra mushrooms in his bowl—neither Eijirou nor Ma would’ve taken them, obviously.
Frame after frame, still after still, every photograph tells the same fantastical story: once upon a time, Eijirou was older and Todoroki loved him back. Eijirou swallows hard, his hands trembling at his sides. He’s torn between inching closer, letting his envy-desire-want grow, or running away from this place like the wind is nipping at his heels. As it is, all he can do is stand rooted in place as his eyes travel around the room.
Everywhere he looks holds evidence of a life he hasn’t built. It’s alien to him, but achingly familiar all the same. A small army of Crimson Riot figurines facing off against a battalion of All Mights span the top of a bookcase. On the shelves below lie a mish-mash library of shounen manga and fantasy novels, interspersed with dark, eerie covers with creeping branches and oozing lettering that Eijirou isn’t sure he wants to look at too closely. At the foot of the fireplace are a few large geodes that he takes note of; if he’s going to be stuck here for an unknown amount of time, it’s very likely that he’ll trip over them. On and on and on the room goes: two holey blankets worn thin around the edges flung over the back of a couch, travelers’ tchotchkes (and lots of pebbles, for some reason?) on the mantelpiece and windowsills, a vase full of lopsided blown glass irises on a side table, and other remnants of a life not yet lived.
It makes Eijirou’s heart ache. He wants this—a life spent loving and being loved by Todoroki Shouto—more than anything he’s ever wanted before.
Afire with newfound determination, he strides toward the laptop perched atop the desk shoved in the corner. If there’s anything more to find out about this strange, enticing world he’s found himself in, it’s going to be on there.
Research has never been Eijirou’s favorite part of being a hero. He's more of a doer than a thinker, y’know? He’ll jump right smack bang into the middle of things or power through walls and hold up a goddamn bridge if it'll help him protect the ones who need his help. No, research has never been Eijirou’s favorite part of being a hero, but this? This is fascinating.
“Did Midobro get his quirk back? No, wait, is that—? That's totally the suit Bakubro was talking about!” Eijirou watches the video embedded in the article for the second time with stars in his eyes. “So manly…” After a minute, he clicks away from the article and returns to the search page, eagerly scrolling through the other results. “Oh man, Tsu and Tokoyami finally got together? That’s awesome! But what about—oh good, Shouji's dating them, too! Even better.” He furrows his brows at the image pop-up between search results depicting a beach scene with Camie and Kendou throwing up peace signs at the camera as they kissed. “Huh, never saw that coming. Good for them!”
Finally getting bored of clicking around (or, perhaps, finally gathering his meager courage), Eijirou pecks out his name on the keyboard and holds his breath.
R-E-D R-I-O-T
11,692,322 results
“Red Riot and Shouto to tie the knot?”
“Shouto and Red Riot: Is the Pro Hero Power Duo Married?”
“Red Riot and Shouto Wedding Rumors”
“Red Riot and Shouto spotted at local jewelry store”
“We asked Red Riot about his workout routine”
“Eat like a pro: Red Riot on healthy eating habits”
“‘Manly Fans’ Red Riot fan club meeting postponed”
Eijirou goggles at the headlines sprawling across the screen, then his eyes well with tears. He covers his mouth to hold in a sob. I’m a real hero. I really made it. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he shakily scrolls back to the top few results, reading and rereading them in disbelief. “And…Shouto and I are engaged?”
“That's right,” comes a voice from behind.
Eijirou jumps out of his skin and whirls around, almost falling out of his chair in the process. “T-Todoroki?!”
Standing there and leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed is a twenty-five-year-old Todoroki Shouto in all his glory. He smiles, and Eijirou can’t help but think it suits his face. Todoroki should always be smiling.
“Welcome home, Eijirou. I'm glad you’re safe.”