Chapter Text
Nezu enjoyed his afternoon walks across UA campus. They cleared his mind. They let him observe. And, most importantly, they allowed him to keep track of the emotional disasters he had somehow adopted as children.
Today was no different.
He rounded the corner of the courtyard and immediately spotted two familiar figures sitting on the low stone wall near the trees.
Keigo was chattering animatedly, wings fluttering with each excited gesture.
Todoroki Toya was listening with a small, private smile.
Nezu slowed his steps.
Ah. There it was.
Keigo took a sip from his water bottle, still talking. Toya leaned in, resting his head lightly on Keigo’s shoulder.
Keigo didn’t even blink. He simply shifted so Toya could rest more easily.
Nezu’s whiskers twitched in amusement.
“Well,” he murmured to himself, “that settles it.”
He had suspected for months. Years, even.
But this? This was the final nail in the coffin.
Nezu sighed fondly as memories flickered through his mind.
It was move-in day at Heights Alliance, Toya had walked Keigo to the dorms, carrying half his luggage despite Keigo insisting he could fly it all himself.
Keigo had assumed Toya was “just being nice.”
During winter training, Toya had given Keigo his scarf when the wind got too cold.
Keigo had said, “Thanks, bro,” and wrapped it around his neck.
Toya had turned red from the ears down.
Keigo had not noticed.
Toya had stood in the front row of Keigo’s performance at the School Festival, cheering louder than anyone.
Keigo had waved at him, thinking Toya was “just supportive.”
Nezu had nearly facepalmed.
When Keigo sprained his wrist, Toya had shown up at the nurse’s office with soup, snacks, and a blanket.
Keigo had said, “Wow, you’re so thoughtful.”
Toya had nearly melted.
Keigo had remained oblivious.
Nezu sighed again.
“For someone so good at reading people,” he mused, “he is remarkably bad at reading people who like him.”
Movement caught his eye.
Down the path, Mira and Shoto were walking toward the older boys. Mira was animated, hands waving as she talked. Shoto listened quietly, cheeks faintly pink.
“There goes another baby bird,” Nezu murmured. “Completely oblivious to the Todoroki who adores her.”
He watched as Mira spotted Keigo and Toya.
Her eyes widened. She slowed. She tugged Shoto’s sleeve.
Shoto looked up, saw Toya’s head on Keigo’s shoulder, and nodded like he’d expected this outcome for months.
Mira whispered something urgently. Shoto replied calmly.
Nezu chuckled. “Oh dear,” he said softly. “She’s going to meddle.” He clasped his paws behind his back. “And Shoto-kun will help her.”
He watched the four of them converge — two older boys on the brink of realizing their feelings, two younger children already plotting.
Nezu took a sip of his tea. “Children,” he said fondly. “Endlessly entertaining.”
He continued his walk, tail swaying contentedly.
He didn’t need to intervene.
Not yet.
The baby birds were figuring it out.
And he would be there to watch every moment.
Nezu loved evenings in their little apartment.
It was peaceful. Warm. Predictable in the most entertaining ways.
And tonight, as he stirred a pot of soup on the stove, he heard the front door open and close with the familiar flutter of feathers.
Keigo was home.
“Smells good, Dad!” Keigo called, kicking off his shoes.
Nezu smiled. “Welcome back, Keigo.”
Mira was already at the table, legs swinging, notebook open. Which meant she was plotting something.
Nezu braced himself.
Keigo plopped into the chair across from Mira, wings fluffing as he stretched.
“So,” Mira said casually, “how was training?”
Keigo shrugged. “Good. Toya-kun almost set his shirt on fire again.”
Mira’s eyes sparkled. “Oh? And did you help him take it off?”
Keigo blinked. “What? No. I just told him to stop dropping his guard.”
Nezu hid a smile behind his ladle.
Mira leaned forward. “Did he look good?”
Keigo blinked again. “What?”
“Did he look good?” she repeated, slower, as if speaking to a toddler.
Keigo frowned. “I mean… yeah? He always looks good. He’s Toya-kun.”
Nezu nearly dropped the ladle.
Keigo continued, oblivious, “He’s got that whole cool‑guy‑with‑trauma vibe. People like that.”
Mira scribbled something in her notebook.
Keigo squinted. “What are you writing?”
“Nothing,” Mira said sweetly. “So you think he’s cool.”
“I think he’s Toya-kun.”
“And handsome.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
Keigo sputtered. “I DID NOT—”
Nezu stirred the soup, humming.
This was delightful.
Mira tapped her pencil. “Do you like him?”
Keigo froze. Then scoffed. “Of course I like him. He’s my best friend.”
Mira narrowed her eyes. “Like like.”
Keigo’s wings puffed. “What does that even mean?”
Mira sighed dramatically. “Do you want to kiss him?”
Keigo choked on air.
Nezu calmly set the table. Note to self, Mira is as subtle as a brick. Keigo is in extreme denial.
Keigo flailed. “WHY WOULD YOU ASK THAT?”
Mira shrugged. “Because you look at him like he’s the sun.”
Keigo turned red. “I DO NOT.”
“You do.”
“I DO NOT.”
“You do.”
Keigo buried his face in his hands.
Nezu placed a bowl of soup in front of him. “Eat,” he said gently. “You’ll need the energy for all the denial.”
Keigo peeked through his hands, glaring at Mira. “Oh yeah? Well what about you?”
Mira blinked. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Keigo said, pointing accusingly. “You and Shoto-kun.”
Mira tilted her head. “What about us?”
Keigo leaned forward, smug. “You’re always talking to him. Always walking with him. Always smiling at him.”
Mira nodded. “Yes. He’s my friend.”
“Best friend.”
“So?”
“So,” Keigo said, mimicking her earlier tone, “do you like him.”
Mira nodded immediately. “Of course I like him. He’s Shoto.”
Keigo smirked. “Like like.”
Mira blinked. “He’s my friend.”
Keigo stared.
Mira stared back, completely calm, completely unbothered, and completely oblivious.
Nezu nearly applauded.
Keigo leaned in, dramatic. “Do you want to kiss him?”
Mira didn’t even flinch. “No,” she said simply. “Why would I do that?”
Keigo’s jaw dropped.
Nezu watched with delight, sipping his tea. My children are disasters.
Nezu had learned long ago that when Mira and Shoto whispered together, nothing good followed.
He was walking down the hallway of UA’s east dorm building, clipboard in paw, when he heard the unmistakable sound of plotting.
Mira’s voice was urgent and excited. Shoto’s voice was quiet and resigned.
Nezu slowed his steps.
Mira peeked around the corner, eyes narrowed in determination. “Okay,” she whispered, “Keigo and Toya are going to walk past here in exactly one minute.”
Shoto nodded. “Because you asked them to meet you.”
“Yes,” Mira said proudly. “I told them I had something important to show them.”
Shoto blinked. “Do you?”
“No,” she said. “But it worked.”
Parenting books would say he should stop them. He would not stop them. This was too entertaining.
Shoto tugged lightly on Mira’s sleeve. “Mira-chan,” he murmured, “are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Yes,” she said immediately.
Shoto hesitated. He didn’t like lying. But Mira was looking at him with those bright, determined eyes.
And Shoto… well. Shoto would follow Mira into a volcano if she asked. “…Okay,” he said softly.
Nezu’s whiskers twitched. Oh dear. He’s gone.
Keigo and Toya rounded the corner, chatting casually.
Mira jumped out. “HI!”
Both boys flinched.
“Chickadee,” Keigo said, “you scared me half to—”
“Come look at this!” she said, grabbing their wrists.
Shoto opened the supply closet door.
Keigo blinked. “Uh… what are we looking at.”
Mira shoved them inside.
Shoto closed the door.
There was a click.
A very loud click.
“CHICKADEE, DID YOU JUST LOCK US IN A CLOSET?”
“WHY IS IT DARK?”
Mira dusted off her hands. “Perfect.”
Shoto nodded. “They cannot escape.”
Mira pressed her ear to the door. “Do you think it’s working?” she whispered.
Shoto crouched beside her. “They are talking.”
“That’s good,” Mira said.
Shoto nodded. “Yes.”
Nezu watched them with a fond sigh.
Mira, brilliant but oblivious. Shoto, brilliant but hopelessly in love with her. Both convinced they were masterminds.
He scribbled a note on his clipboard. Intervention required in approximately eight years.
Inside the closet, Keigo jiggled the handle. “It’s locked.”
Toya sighed. “Of course it is.”
Keigo huffed. “Mira’s too smart for her own good.”
Toya smiled softly. “She gets that from Nezu-sensei.”
Keigo laughed. “Yeah. And the chaos from me.”
Toya’s voice softened. “I like her chaos.”
Keigo froze.
Toya froze.
Outside, Mira gasped. “SHOTO THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT FEELINGS.”
Shoto nodded. “We are geniuses.”
Nezu nearly choked on his tea.
Eventually, Keigo and Toya escaped (Keigo picked the lock with a feather — Mira had not planned for that).
They emerged red‑faced and flustered.
Mira beamed. “Did it work?”
Keigo glared. “NO.”
Toya muttered, “Maybe.”
Shoto nodded sagely. “Progress.”
Nezu watched the older boys stumbling toward romance and the younger two stumbling toward their own future disaster.
Nezu had just set the rice on the table when the front door opened and Keigo stepped in, feathers fluffed with a nervous energy Nezu recognized instantly.
Mira looked up from her seat, eyes bright. Keigo never looked like this unless something big had happened.
Nezu folded his paws neatly. Ah. This would be good.
Keigo sat down, wings twitching. “So,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual, “I, uh… have news.”
Mira gasped. “Did you get a new conditioner?”
Keigo blinked. “No— what— no.”
Nezu hid a smile behind his teacup.
Keigo took a breath. “Toya and I are… dating.”
Mira squealed so loudly Keigo flinched. “KEIGO, THAT’S AMAZING.”
Keigo laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, it’s— it’s good. Really good.”
Mira leaned across the table. “I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT!”
Keigo groaned. “Apparently everyone knew we liked each other except me.”
Nezu nodded politely. “Yes.”
Keigo pointed at him. “You don’t have to agree so fast.”
Nezu sipped his tea. “But it is true.”
Keigo slumped forward dramatically. “Toya was so obvious. Like— painfully obvious. He did all this stuff and I just— didn’t get it.”
Mira nodded vigorously. “He really was obvious.”
Keigo threw his hands up. “Right? He gave me his scarf! He brought me soup! He carried my books! Who does that unless they like you.”
Mira nodded again. “Exactly.”
Keigo sighed. “I’m such an idiot.”
Mira patted his arm sympathetically. “Yes.”
Keigo glared. “You’re supposed to say no.”
Mira shrugged. “But you were.”
Keigo leaned back, thinking aloud. “I mean… Toya was doing all that stuff because he liked me. And I didn’t notice. At all.”
Mira nodded. “Yep.”
Keigo frowned. “And you said he was obvious.”
“Super obvious.”
Keigo stared at her.
Mira blinked. “What?”
Keigo’s eyes narrowed. “Mira.”
“Yes.”
“You’re… also oblivious.”
Mira tilted her head. “To what?”
Keigo stared harder.
Nezu watched the moment the realization hit him like a truck.
“Oh my god,” Keigo whispered. “You’re me.”
Mira frowned. “No, I'm me.”
“No— you’re me. You’re doing the same thing I did.”
Mira blinked. “What thing?”
Keigo leaned forward, feathers puffing. “Mira. Shoto-kun likes you.”
Mira blinked. “Of course he likes me. We’re friends.”
Keigo shook his head. “No. He likes you.”
Mira frowned. “You’re not making sense.”
Keigo groaned. “Oh my god, you’re worse than me.”
Mira crossed her arms. “I don’t see how.”
Keigo threw his hands up. “He follows you everywhere! He listens to you like you’re the only person in the world! He shares his snacks! He blushes when you talk to him!”
Mira blinked slowly. “That’s just Shoto.”
Keigo stared at her in horror.
Nezu placed a gentle paw on Keigo’s arm. “Now you understand,” he said kindly, “what I deal with every day.”
Keigo slumped in defeat. “Oh no,” he whispered. “There are two of us.”
Nezu nodded. “Yes.”
Mira happily ate her dinner, completely unaware of the emotional crisis happening across from her.
Nezu sipped his tea.
Ah. His children.
Keigo, who had spent years missing every sign Toya had thrown at him. And Mira, who had just demonstrated the exact same level of obliviousness toward Shoto.
Two brilliant, talented, emotionally intelligent young people except when it came to romance, where their IQs plummeted straight through the floor.
He watched Mira glance up at Keigo, confused by his distress, then shrug and go back to eating.
Keigo groaned softly.
Nezu’s whiskers twitched.
They really are the same.
Nezu breathed out a soft, fond sigh.
His baby birds were catastrophically dumb but he loved them. Every oblivious, chaotic, well‑meaning piece of them.
They would figure it out. Eventually. Painfully. Hilariously.
And he would be right here, tea in paw, enjoying every moment.