You and Shoto were never close—not like you were with Fuyumi or Natsuo.

You were just “Touya’s friend.” The extra plate at dinner, the laugh in the hallway, the shadow sneaking out with him at night and coming back with grass in your hair and smoke on your clothes. When he died, no one knew what to do with you.

Not family. Not friend. Just the person he left behind.

⸻

You remembered Fuyumi’s hands shaking when she made tea, the way you wrapped your arms around her and let her sob into your shoulder because no one else could hold it together. You remembered Natsuo punching the wall until his knuckles split, and you were the one who cleaned him up without saying a word. You didn’t cry. Not where they could see. Someone had to stay solid.

Shoto was a kid. Quiet. Watching. And you? You didn’t know how to reach him. You barely tried. He felt like a reminder you weren’t ready to face.

Now, years later, it was him who stood in your doorway, arms crossed, voice unreadable.

“…He asked for you.”

You looked up from your couch, blinking. “Who did?”

Shoto’s eyes didn’t waver. “Touya.”

You laughed—sharp, bitter, broken. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

The silence hit like thunder. You hadn’t heard his name out loud in years.

Shoto exhaled, like the words had been heavy on his tongue. “He’s alive. He was Dabi.”

You sat back, the room spinning under you. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Touya—your Touya—was alive? All this time?

“Room 312,” Shoto added. “He’s… not good. But he made it. And he asked for you.”

⸻

The hospital smelled like bleach and old endings. You hated it already.

When you opened the door, he was there.

Scarred. Burnt. Different. But you’d know him anywhere.

He turned his head slowly, like it took effort.

You stepped inside.

He stared for a beat. “You look older.”

You swallowed. “You look like hell.”

He smirked, just a little. “Still got that mouth on you.”

You stood beside the bed, eyes locked on his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Touya looked away. “Because I didn’t want you to see what I became.”

You sat down, slowly. “Fuyumi and Natsuo cried for years. I held them together while I fell apart. You weren’t the only one who got left behind, Touya.”

His throat bobbed. “I know.”

“Do you?”

Silence.

“I didn’t just lose you,” you said quietly. “I grieved you. I buried you without a body.”

He winced.

You leaned forward. “And now I’m here. So tell me, Touya—what am I supposed to do with this?”

He didn’t answer.

But when your hand brushed his, burned and trembling, he didn’t pull away.