Shoto walked through the quiet halls of his childhood home, relishing the soothing familiarity that enveloped him like a warm blanket. He had come back for a week off from U.A., a necessary respite after a minor incident involving his quirk that had prompted a brief hiatus. But as he stepped through the door, he realized he had returned to a different world—one that was, for the first time in a long while, filled with a fragile sense of peace.
He caught sight of Touya, his oldest brother—Dabi, as the world knew him—lazily sprawled out on the couch. He had a bowl of steaming soba noodles in front of him, a smear of sauce on his chin that made Shoto want to grimace and laugh simultaneously. "You're home," Touya said, his voice a mixture of surprise and indifference, as if it were an everyday occurrence.
"Yeah," Shoto replied, a small smile breaking across his lips. He couldn't help but feel a thrill at the mundane normalcy of the moment. "How's it going? Eating alone again?"
"I think it's called being a brooding antihero," Touya shot back, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. After a moment, he added, "Mom's out shopping with Natsuo and Fuyumi. Probably picking up more decorations. Like it's a contest to see who can make the ugliest tree."
Shoto chuckled and headed to his room, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. The house was still—typically so in Enji's absence. Their father's aggressive presence had often overshadowed the home, but now, it felt like a weight had been lifted, if only temporarily. The absence of his father meant the freedom to breathe, to think, to feel.
Hours passed, and Shoto lost track of time, lost in his thoughts and the comforting quietude of the house. He glanced at the clock, noting how the evening had crept in. Humming echoed from the living room, and the distinct sound of laughter broke through the solitude. The sound wrapped around him like a warm embrace; he wasn't quite ready to face the changes yet, but he could feel a shift in the air.
He finally made his way downstairs, and the sight that met him was surreal—his mother, Rei, had transformed their living room into a vibrant explosion of Christmas decorations, helping his siblings string lights around the trees. Natsuo was laying a tangle of beads, and Fuyumi laughed as she tried to untangle a string of garland, the chaos somehow harmonious.
"Shoto!" Rei's voice lit up the room, and she turned to embrace him, warmth radiating from her. "We've missed you. Look at all the mess!" she said, her joy palpable.
"Looks like fun," Shoto murmured, cutting through his hesitance.
"Come help us!" Natsuo shouted, grinning like a child relishing the holiday spirit. "You owe us—you disappeared for so long!"
As he joined his family, the atmosphere filled with joy and laughter, he felt the lingering shadows of their past receding. They joked and pranked, teasing one another with a playfulness he hadn't seen in a long time.
Touya stood up from the couch, finally abandoning his bowl, and tossed a snow globe at Shoto, who barely managed to catch it in time. "Careful with that! It's a rare collectible," Touya smirked, an eyebrow raised, but Shoto could see the glint of genuine warmth in his brother's eyes.
"Rare? Or you just found it in the trash?" Shoto countered playfully, and laughter erupted throughout the room.
The hours faded into one another, filled with talk of their hopes and dreams for the future. With every decoration they put up, it felt as if they were building a barrier against the tumultuous emotions that had threatened to tear them apart. Together they crafted new memories, time stitched together with laughter and love, reminding each other that they weren't alone.
As night fell and the tree twinkled with lights, Shoto couldn't help but feel grateful. With Enji's departure, the burdens they had carried were lighter now. In this moment, he looked at his family—not through the lens of resentment and fear—but as a unit of strength, resilience, and humor, forever ready to support one another.
And so, on that night, beneath a canopy of lights and the gentle glow of laughter, their family began to heal—one decoration, one laugh, and one shared moment at a time.