MHA REINCARNATION!

(Now you know after the shoto chapter I had to bring him back)

The mic felt alien in my hand. Eight years. Eight years since I'd spat fire on a stage, since the roar of the crowd had vibrated through my bones. Eight years I'd spent churning out tracks in a studio, letting the digital world be my audience. But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight, Tokyo Stadium was packed, buzzing with an electric anticipation I hadn't felt in… well, ever.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the thrumming bass already shaking the floor. The lights dimmed. The roar intensified. I gripped the mic tighter.

This was it.

"Yo, Tokyo!" I yelled, and the crowd exploded. The opening chords of "Inferno" ripped through the stadium, a chaotic symphony of distorted guitar and pounding drums. It was my signature track, the one that had propelled "Dabi" into the top five. I let the rhythm take over, my body moving instinctively, the words pouring out of me like molten metal.

I saw Shigaraki standing stage-right, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral, but the faint upturn of his lips didn't escape my notice. He was always good at hiding his emotions. Even back when we were kids, scrounging for scraps and dreaming of a life beyond the concrete jungle, he'd worn a mask of indifference. But I knew him. Knew the flicker of pride in his eyes when I nailed a difficult verse, the subtle shake of his head when I screwed up.

He was my manager, my best friend, and, for longer than I cared to admit, the object of a painfully persistent crush.

The lyrics poured out, a tapestry of anger, frustration, and a burning desire for something more. I poured every ounce of my soul into that performance. Every regret, every hope, every damn unrequited feeling for the pale, perpetually exhausted man watching me from the wings.

Then, towards the end of the set, I saw him. Shoto. My baby brother.

I hadn't invited him, wasn't even sure he knew I was performing. We weren't exactly on speaking terms. But there he was, standing near the back, a small, almost hesitant smile on his stoic face. It was a goddamn miracle.

My heart swelled, a knot of emotion tightening in my throat. Despite everything, despite the years of silence and the chasm that our father had carved between us, Shoto was here.

I finished the song, the last note ringing out into the stadium. The crowd went wild, a sea of flashing lights and screaming voices. I bowed, a genuine smile spreading across my face. This was it. This was the feeling I had been missing.

After the show, the backstage area was a chaotic mess of crew members, photographers, and well-wishers. I managed to slip away and find Shoto waiting by the exit.

"Touya," he said, his voice low and a little awkward.

"Shoto," I replied, mirroring his tone.

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the distant roar of the after-party. He looked good, better than I remembered. He always had been the golden child.

"That was… incredible," he said, finally. "I didn't know you still… did this."

"Yeah, well, surprise," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to see," he said, his gaze briefly locking with mine. "And… thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For the advice. About… Tenya."

Tenya Iida. Shoto's manager. A stickler for rules and punctuality, but a good guy at heart. And apparently, more than just a manager these days.

"You two finally get your acts together?" I asked, a grin spreading across my face.

Shoto nodded, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "Yeah. We're… dating."

"Good for you, kiddo," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Took you long enough."

I glanced over and saw Shigaraki leaning against a wall, watching us with an unreadable expression. I gave Shoto a quick nod. "Gotta go. Catch you later?"

"Yeah. Later," he said, smiling.

I walked over to the makeshift bar, where Shigaraki was nursing a drink.

"So," I said, leaning against the counter beside him. "What did you think?"

He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. "You were… rusty."

"Rusty?!" I exclaimed, feigning offense. "I killed it out there!"

"You almost tripped over the amp cable during 'Devil's Dance'," he pointed out, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Details, details," I waved off. "The crowd loved it."

"They did," he conceded, a small smile playing on his lips.

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a low murmur. "Did you love it, Tomura?"

He stiffened slightly, his eyes flicking away from mine. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? You like it when I call you that," I teased, reaching out and lightly tracing the lines on his jaw with my fingertip.

He flinched, a barely perceptible tremor running through his body. "Stop it, Dabi."

"Stop what? Telling you the truth?" I whispered, moving closer still, until I could feel his breath on my cheek. One push and our lips could touch. I decided to push.

I saw Shigaraki's eyes widen, he was very much aware of what I was about to do. My eyes flicked to his lips before I attacked. His lips were so soft like I had always imagined. He tasted like smoke and sadness, a combination that only fueled my desire.

I pulled away, smirking at his flustered expression. I noticed Shoto watching us from across the room, a look of amusement on his face. He really did miss this.

I turned back to Tomura, ready to continue my teasing, when our phones buzzed in unison.

It was a picture. A picture of Shoto, Shigaraki, and me, standing backstage. The caption read: "The Prodigal Son Returns?"

And then I saw the comment.

From Endeavor.

"Shoto, you should not associate with disappointments."

My blood ran cold. All the warmth I had felt moments earlier evaporated, replaced by a familiar, burning rage.

"That son of a bitch," I muttered, clenching my fists.

Shoto walked over, his expression grim. "He's at it again, huh?"

"Don't worry about it, Shoto," I said, forcing a smile. "I'll handle this."

I pulled Shigaraki close, tilting his head up, and kissed him. It was a deliberate, defiant kiss, meant for one person and one person only. I snapped a quick photo and sent it to Endeavor.

The text read: "Go Fuck yourself. Oh, and by the way, is this disappointment enough for you?"

Shoto burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room. "That's my brother," he choked out, wiping tears from his eyes.

That night back at my apartment, after Shoto had left and the adrenaline had finally worn off Shigaraki stood awkwardly while I made myself a drink. I could feel his eyes burning into my soul.

"Touya I-"

"Dabi. Just Dabi for you," I interjected making him flinch.

"Dabi, did you mean that? When you kissed me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I smirked, setting down my drink and walking towards him. I pinned him against the wall, trapping him between my arms.

"What do you think?" I asked, my voice low and husky.

I kissed him again, this time deeper, more desperate, pouring all the years of unspoken feelings into that single, earth-shattering moment. When we finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, I looked into his eyes.

"Yes, Tomura," I said, my voice raw with emotion. "I meant it. I've always meant it. Since we were kids, huddled together in the cold, dreaming of a better life. I've always loved you."

His eyes widened, shock and disbelief warring with something that looked suspiciously like hope.

"You… you have?" he stammered.

I nodded, cupping his face in my hands. "Yeah. I have. And I always will."

The look on his face, the soft, hesitant smile that finally bloomed on his lips, was worth all the years of silence, all the heartache, all the goddamn angst.

He reached up, his fingers tracing the scars on my face. "I… I think I've always loved you too, Dabi."

From that moment on, everything changed. We stumbled, we argued, we learned to navigate the messy, complicated terrain of a real relationship. It wasn't perfect, but it was ours.

And as I lay in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, I knew that even with all my flaws and my scars, I was finally, truly, home.