The common room buzzed with weekend warmth.
Eri sat cross-legged on a cushion, a little unicorn plush tucked under one arm and ribbons cascading around her like she'd cracked open a treasure chest. Mina sat beside her, weaving soft pink strands through snowy hair with the precision of a stylist and the giddy energy of a sugar-powered big sister.
But then—
The door slid open.
Four shadows stepped in like wind through the cracks of memory.
Darkcreasa. Shigaraki. Dabi. Toga.
Each carried the quiet weight of time spent in that tree—their tree. Bark-smudged boots, half-curled grins, calm chaos. The room didn't freeze.
It bristled.
Shoulders tightened. Conversations hiccupped. Sero's smile flatlined. Momo stiffened. Even Torū, mid-snoop, blinked visible for a second before disappearing again.
They were here.
Not as enemies.
Not as friends.
As… participants.
And in the center of it all?
Eri.
Toga's eyes lit up. Sparkling, wide, over-the-top joy that nearly swallowed the tension whole.
"OH MY GOSH—WHO IS THIS PRECIOUS MUFFIN?!"
She zoomed forward like a glitter-powered rocket before anyone could stop her. Mina gasped, instinctively shielding Eri with an arm—just barely.
"She's mine—well, not mine-mine, but she's ours!"
Toga clapped her hands. "She's adorable! You're doing ribbons? I can help! I'm so good with accessories—I mean, sometimes they're knives, but these look fluffier!"
The room collectively short-circuited.
Denki sat up straighter. Jiro's hand hovered near her earbud. Bakugo clenched his jaw. Kirishima subtly shifted closer to Mina. Aleasha blinked hard. Even Darkcreasa's eyes flicked sharply between classmates.
And then—Aizawa.
He was already standing near the kitchen.
He didn't speak.
He didn't step in.
But his entire posture shifted.
Shoulders square. Eyes locked. Brows low. And even though he didn't move an inch-
every student knew:
He was watching.
Like a hawk.
Like a blade.
Like a father.
Toga paused mid-pounce.
Caught the glint.
And to her credit—she softened.
She knelt beside Mina. "Can I help? Promise I won't go full chaos mode. Just ribbons."
Mina hesitated… then slowly handed her one.
The room didn't relax.
But it didn't break.
And from across the room, Aizawa's voice finally echoed—low, steady, certain.
"She's under my protection. Everyone here respects that."
Toga nodded.
Softly.
Almost… sincerely.
And Eri giggled as a ribbon looped into a lopsided bow.
"Pretty!"
Maybe it wasn't trust.
Not yet.
But it was something.
The moment shimmered with sunlight and tension.
Toga and Mina sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling as they wove ribbons through Eri's hair, their laughter trailing like threads through the room. Eri beamed under the attention, kicking her feet and humming softly—her tiny world a safe bubble nestled inside the chaos of theirs.
Across the room, however, another story unfolded.
Momo leaned close to Shoto, her voice barely above breath. "You should talk to him. You might not get many quiet chances like this."
Shoto didn't respond immediately.
His gaze had already drifted—anchored to the figure near the back of the room, leaning lazily against the wall like sunlight annoyed him.
Dabi.
Or rather—Toya.
His older brother.
Undisguised.
Unapologetic.
Burnt and brittle and still very much there.
The air around him felt scorched even without fire. His smirk was dialed low, not mocking—just present. Watching.
Then—Izuku passed behind Shoto, catching his eyes with gentle green encouragement.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
Shoto stood.
Not with drama. Not with tension.
Just… intention.
He walked slowly across the room, footsteps even, not rushed, not charged. Every Class-A member subtly watched, breathing tighter, unsure if this was a detonation or a conversation.
Dabi looked up.
"Little brother," he said, voice dry but surprisingly neutral. "Guess ribbons aren't your scene?"
Shoto stopped a few feet away. His face—stone. His posture—rigid.
"No," he said plainly. "But neither are fire trails and funeral speeches."
Shoto sat down across from Toya.
Not beside him.
Not looming.
Just directly across—a quiet, deliberate choice that said: _I'm not here to fight. I'm here to face you._
The room around them buzzed with laughter, ribbons, and the soft hum of comfort that had no idea what history sat between two of its occupants.
Toya raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd actually come over."
Shoto's voice was low, even. "Neither did I. Momo said I might not get another chance."
Toya chuckled dryly, looking past him. "You people still listen to Momo?"
"She's usually right."
A pause. Not tense. Just tentative.
The past didn't swing like a pendulum in that moment—it hovered. Waiting.
Shoto leaned forward slightly. "I wanted to know you before. When I was little. You were… bright. Loud."
Toya blinked.
No smirk. No sarcasm.
Just… silence.
"I wanted to be like you," Shoto admitted. "Mom always watched you with worry. But I didn't. I watched you with awe."
Toya's throat tightened. His fingers tapped the side of the bench.
"I don't remember that version of me."
"You do," Shoto said. "Somewhere. You remembered it when you stopped calling me 'Shoto' like I was a stranger."
Toya exhaled. "Don't get all poetic. I'm still a mess."
"I didn't come for resolution. I came to hear your voice without fire behind it."
A long pause.
Toya looked down."You know the worst part of hiding? You start to forget who you were hiding from. At some point, I stopped hiding from Dad and started hiding from myself."
Shoto said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Because in that confession?
Toya cracked.
Not burned. Not burst. Just… cracked.
And Shoto—his younger brother, still scarred, still cautious—reached across the silence.
"Maybe we don't fix anything today," he said softly.
"But maybe we don't forget each other again."
Toya looked at him.
And for one unguarded flicker of time—
He wasn't Dabi.
He wasn't fire.
He was just Toya.
The boy who used to tease his baby brother, fling heat like confetti, and dream of saving a world that didn't save him.
And for that moment?
He let himself be remembered.
And for a brief, fragile moment—
No fire.
No frost.
Just two broken branches on the same tree, swaying in quiet tension while ribbons fluttered across the room like tiny hopes.
They sat apart from the ribbons.
Away from Eri's unicorn bows and Toga's gleeful chaos, from Mina's giggles and the quiet stir of Aleasha and Bakugo on the couch. Here, beneath the hum of the air conditioner and the dust-speckled light drifting through the windows—
Shoto and Toya talked.
Not shouted.
Not accused.
Talked.
It began awkwardly. Surface-level. Family names, flash memories. A reference to cold dinners and unfinished sentences. But slowly—like frost melting from fire—they slipped past the guarded edge.
Toya chuckled once, low and real. "You were such a quiet kid. Always clutching those ice cubes like they could protect you."
Shoto smiled, unsure. "You used to make them explode with heat when I wasn't looking."
Toya tilted his head. "You remembered that?"
Shoto nodded. "I remembered everything."
There was silence after that. Not uncomfortable.
Just whole.
For that single stretch of minutes, with no villains, no hero names, no inherited war between cells and surnames—
Toya stopped being Dabi.
He was just Toya.
The older brother who once flicked fire in tiny rings to make his siblings laugh.
The boy who broke too early under weight too sharp.
The one Shoto never truly got to know.
Shoto didn't say much.
But what he did say mattered.
And Toya—he let it matter.
Because deep inside the burnt layers and stitched skin and scorched legacy?
There was still that boy.
And today, beneath ribbons and sunlight and second chances—
He remembered.
Just for a moment.
(Mina and Toga….)
The final ribbon looped into Eri's hair with a gentle flourish—pink bows dancing between glossy snow-white strands like stardust tucked behind innocence. Mina leaned back proudly, clapping her hands with a dramatic flair. Toga giggled beside her, eyes wide with admiration.
"She looks like a baby princess who just summoned her sparkle kingdom," Mina declared.
Toga twirled a leftover strand in her fingers. "I'd say vampire royalty, but pink suits her better."
A quiet pause settled between them as Eri got up to parade her new look for Aizawa. On the floor, beneath the scatter of ribbon packs and hair ties—
One last handful remained.
Mina picked up a silky lavender ribbon.
Toga blinked. "Still some left?"
Mina held it up, teasing. "I mean… would be a shame to waste them, right?"
Toga's smile tugged playfully. "You offering, or daring?"
Mina grinned. "Bit of both."
With a shrug, Toga sat still and let Mina gently start parting her hair. The touch was tentative at first—careful. Mina's fingers brushed over layers that weren't unfamiliar, but held history. Toga didn't flinch.
"Y'know," Mina said softly, "I didn't expect you to be good with ribbons."
Toga giggled. "They're just knives with less stabbing. Still precise. Still pretty."
Mina snorted, tying a braid. "You have the weirdest brand of charm, I swear."
Toga tilted her head. "No one's ever used 'charm' and 'me' in the same sentence. Mostly it's 'danger' or 'get away from her.'"
Mina paused. "Well… today you helped a little girl feel beautiful. That's charm in my book."
Another pause.
The silence shifted—warm this time.
Then Toga reached for a ribbon and motioned toward Mina.
"Your turn."
Mina hesitated. "You sure?"
Toga's eyes sparkled. "Your quirk's acidic. Mine's… chaotic. Let's call it a bonding hazard."
Mina laughed and sat cross-legged.
As Toga wove small strands into Mina's hair, her voice grew quieter.
"You guys think I'm just... broken, sometimes."
"No one's really unbroken," Mina replied.
Toga nodded slowly. "But I like being here. In moments like this. Where I'm not just… Dabi's chaos echo or Shigaraki's fangirl."
Mina turned to her. "You're your own story, Toga. Don't let anyone else write your ending."
Toga blinked fast.
Then tied the final ribbon.
Their hair now matched—twisted pastel proof that two people from opposite ends of hero society could sit on a rug surrounded by laughter, innocence, and little girl giggles…
…and for one fleeting hour?
Just be girls.
The final ribbons had barely been tucked into Mina's braid when she clapped her hands with that signature sparkle-ready gleam in her eyes.
"Oh. My. GOSH—okay, hear me out…" Mina grinned. "Girls night. We've got polish. We've got face masks. We've got pajamas with literal clouds on them! Let's make it a thing!"
Toga blinked, half-expecting sarcasm. "You… want me to come?"
Mina nodded. "Yes! You're technically a rehab guest and Eri already loves you, so... we're halfway to sleepover redemption arc!"
Toga blinked harder. "I've never had a real sleepover that didn't end in… stabbing."
Mina chuckled. "Well, there's no stabbing here. Just glitter. And maybe popcorn fights."
She turned, grabbing Darkcreasa's hand. "You too! You've been quiet way too long. We're peeling back those mystery layers tonight."
Darkcreasa hesitated. She wasn't used to being invited anywhere that didn't involve chaos, suspicion, or silence. But when she saw Mina's grin, the matching ribbons in their hair, and Eri still trotting around calling them "sparkle sisters," something inside her softened.
"Okay," she said softly. "I'll come."
(Meanwhile, in the corner...)
Kirishima, hearing this plan unfold, lowered his protein bar mid-bite. "Uh… Mina, babe? Are we sure this is a good idea?"
Mina waved him off. "Don't worry! I know how to handle glam AND rehab subjects at the same time."
Kiri frowned. "I mean... they were villains."
Mina smiled gently. "And now they're girls. Trying."
His heart tugged. She always had that way—charging headfirst into kindness like it was armor.
---
Across the room, Denki nearly dropped his phone.
"Nails? Pajamas? GIRLS NIGHT?! With Toga?! AND Darkcreasa?!"
His anxiety turned into a full static pulse. "Wait—Jiro, you're joining?!"
Jiro nodded casually, tuning her guitar. "Of course. I want to learn what Toga listens to at 2 a.m. Probably chaoscore."
Denki slumped against the couch. "I don't know what chaoscore is. But I do know danger in eyeliner when I see it."
Aizawa passed behind them with an indifferent mutter. "As long as there's no bloodshed or unauthorized quirk use, I'm approving this."
Denki groaned. "Great. This is how sparky boys get replaced by glitter bombs."