Chapter Text
It was too quiet, the silent stillness stifling.
“So…” Izuku gulped. “About…when you left…”
Shouto turned to him, pupils rounded in the dimness of their hiding spot.
Izuku groped for the right words. “It…you—I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
He watched as Shouto’s mouth opened slightly, as if to respond—in reassurance? censure? to shush him?—then closed again. Izuku sighed. “I know you’re…not much of a talker.” He laughed weakly. “And I’m a bit too much of one, but…”
Shouto continued to stare at him silently.
“Sometimes, the things you do say…”
“Do you want a scone?” On a day Izuku, practically a stranger to him, was feeling awful. It made him feel better and definitely kindled something.
“Are you Mayor Yagi’s secret love child?” They hadn’t even exchanged names yet. Izuku hadn’t been able to keep himself from laughing at the melodrama of it.
“I’m gay.” During one of his routine bouquet purchases. It was welcome news, even if Izuku hadn’t asked and didn’t reciprocate the confession.
“Make me.” A bold challenge after drunkenly throwing his phone at Izuku. It was the first time Izuku had ever been to Shouto’s apartment.
“I’m a virgin.” When he and Izuku were just…talking? Things had been going well and then he just…left.
“…they take me by surprise,” he finished. Shouto was constantly surprising him. Izuku prided himself on reading people, but he never seemed to know what was going on in Shouto’s head. Even now, he had no idea if Shouto would just continue listening in silence or if he would drop another bomb like the ones before. Jarring as they were, he learned more about Shouto through these short, out-of-the-blue statements than he ever had from just asking him. But also? He hadn’t ever actually asked.
And now isn’t the time to start, he reprimanded himself, glancing beyond Shouto to where Aizawa stood, checking his phone.
Shouto tilted his head at him and took out his phone. Izuku watched curiously as he typed something and held up the screen.
‘I don’t think we’re supposed to be talking right now, but I do owe you an explanation.’
Right. As if he needed the reminder that they were on the cusp of one of the most terrifying confrontations of Izuku’s life. After their little debrief, it was just the waiting game. Izuku had been growing more and more anxious with each tense and silent minute.
He shook his head and began typing his own message. It was easier to address the awkward conversation they were having than think about the very real threat of Izuku literally meeting his maker.
‘you dont owe me anything. I just didnt want to make you uncomfortable’
Shouto looked at the message and frowned. They…should not be doing this over text, even if it was in person. He was about to type out another apology when Shouto held up his own screen again.
‘I *want* to explain, I promise.’
Then right underneath that: ‘Who is Not Beyonce?’
Izuku looked at his own screen and squeaked. He’d been using the text field of his and Shouto’s conversation thread and completely forgot to change his contact name.
He was scrambling to cobble together a suitable excuse when Aizawa’s phone lit up.
It was time.
***
Shouta pocketed his phone.
There’d been no direct communication from Hisashi Midoriya since his thinly veiled threat the previous week, but thanks to Dabi, Shouta had gotten statements from a variety of his compatriots. He had more than enough to build a case.
Now it was just a matter of pinning down the man himself…
…which wasn’t in Shouta’s job description. Most of this wasn’t, to be quite honest. But like so many other things, he’d found himself losing sleep, wondering if anyone there was doing more than just a job, if anyone actually cared about the outcomes for the people who were wronged.
Shouta cared.
Maybe too much. It was why he’d started as a teacher. Shouta always said the best thing about his past as a teacher was meeting his husband, but it also woke him up.
He only taught for three years. Three years before he’d decided it wasn’t enough. Three years to see all the horrors children are subjected to in the education system. He’d had his own horrors, of course, but nothing could be done about the past. However, while the past couldn’t be changed, the future sure could, and the way it changed was through the legal system. Representing children, the disenfranchised, people whose support system had either failed them or had never existed in the first place. He’d radicalized his caring, holding it shieldlike over every client, every person, who needed to be heard. Hell, he’d even been in the judge’s seat for a time, able to ensure justice for those no one else would protect.
It was almost poetic that Enji Todoroki was both the man that ended Shouta’s judicial reign and the man whose arrest signified one of Shouta’s greatest personal failures. He’d been so focused on serving petty justice against one Todoroki that he’d completely failed the other. His employee, a good lawyer, a good kid, Shouto Todoroki didn’t deserve to be shut out of his own father’s case, much less be dangled before him like so much bait to aid in his capture.
Shouta had turned Todoroki into a name on a page, turning a blind eye to his needs the way he’d sworn not to for all the students he couldn’t help all those years ago, the very reasons he’d gotten to where he was.
And now another one of his kids was being threatened, and Shouta would go above and beyond to get Izuku not only the justice but also the access, the closure he needed. And if he wanted Todoroki involved? All the better.
The door opened. Shouta watched with a tight mirthless grin as a man he’d heard so much about stepped inside. He turned to Midoriya and Todoroki behind him, noting the tension between them before looking Midoriya in the eye.
“Are you ready?”
***
Izuku swallowed, dry-eyed and tense, as the man who’d abandoned him and his mother walked into the room below.
There was no time for regrets or misgivings. He nodded at Aizawa and entered the atrium, his red sneakers squeaking obtrusively on the polished tile floor. For a moment he wondered why he hadn’t noticed that yesterday—but despite the sparse attendance, yesterday’s rehearsal had been a casual, boisterous occasion.
Nothing like the heavy silence of the very same entry hall as he walked, jaw and stomach clenched, toward his father.
There was very little about Hisashi Midoriya that suggested he had any part in Izuku’s genetic makeup. He was tall where Izuku was short; pale and unblemished where Izuku was freckled and sunkissed; his shaved head gave no clues as to the source of Izuku’s curls. The stocky build the two shared seemed to be the only throughline between the two of them, a barrel chest heavy in anger as Izuku stepped into the formal emptiness of the event hall.
Hisashi whirled around at his approach, making an attempt to recover in front of his son. “Izuku! Looks like I’m a bit early!” He made a show of checking his watch, lips pursed. “Or late? I wanted to come…congratulate…your mom.”
Izuku clenched his jaw at the mention of his mother. “She’s not here.”
His father’s facade of benign confusion began to crack. “I can see that, yeah. Do you know where she is?” He chuckled, a sinister edge to the laugh as he ran a large square hand over the smooth skin of his scalp.
Big hands. Another thing Izuku had in common with this…man. He flexed his fingers and didn’t respond.
Hishashi raised an eyebrow. “Remembered you being chattier.” He grinned, showing off even, too-white teeth. “Lot of chatty people have been going silent lately…” He stepped closer, his inky black suit seeming to eat up the light in the room.
Izuku thought of Mr. Endeavor’s shady dealings, Aizawa’s determined investigation. He thought of all the half guesses and suspicions he’d had about this man in the time he’d disappeared all the way up till his threatening phone call last week.
“It’s nice to see one familiar face, at least,” he continued, now close enough for Izuku to look into his eyes. Dark. Black, even. Just empty holes in a face Izuku could find nothing in. Not familiarity or comfort, not even hate. Just yawning emptiness.
“C’mon, you don’t wanna help out your dear old dad?” He made no move to come closer, content with the few steps between them that allowed him to plead his case.
Izuku swallowed. “You’re not my dad,” he said finally, voice low but firm with the effort it took to keep from shaking. Aizawa is just there, he reassured himself, mentally picturing the nook he had emerged from even as he tried desperately not to glance back at it. Just beyond the shadow.
Shouto, too, he continued in his head. Though he’d told Shouto to stay back with his boss, even knowing he was here was enough reassurance to Izuku. He took a slow breath. “Why do you want to talk to mom?” He asked, trying to sound curious instead of terrified. “You haven’t talked to her in years.”
Hisashi tilted his head at him, smiling. “You don’t have to look so scared,” he cooed. “I’m not going to hurt you. Only an unthinking brute would hurt his own family,” he added, holding up his hands in a mockery of innocence. “And I’m not that. Good lord, think of the optics. My reputation would be in shambles.” His smile widened. “Not to mention the kind of reflection it would have on you.”
***
“Only an unthinking brute would hurt his own family…”
Shouto bit his tongue. Aizawa shot him a warning look.
“…not to mention the kind of reflection it would have on you.”
He watched as Izuku stiffened, the words only hitting Shouto a moment later. The reflection it had on him? The son of a wife-beater. The genetic material of an abuser.
It…wasn’t true. Enji was a brute, true enough, but he had four children that had been afraid to even touch one another for years because they didn’t want to cause pain. Shouto knew Fuyumi would never hurt anyone, became a teacher to help kids who’d slipped through the cracks like them. Natsuo’s strength and anger at their father might be a reflection, but it was controlled, in service to those that needed it. And Touya’s own rage had led him to become the son that brought his father down.
Well, Touya and Shouto himself. He had the anger, too, and went into law like Enji. But the similarities stopped there, and he had Izuku to thank for that line of thinking.
Izuku, who now stood frozen in front of his own paternal demon.
This is wrong. Shouto should be with him, not leaving him to confront his father alone just as Shouto had. He took a step forward, intending to join his…Izuku.
“That’s bullshit.”
Now Shouto was frozen, feeling Aizawa’s hand pull him deeper into the alcove where they watched Izuku and Hisashi.
“Fine, you’re not gonna hurt me and mom. Cool. Great. Just what a parent fucking should do, congrats. Implying that it looks bad? Not as great, especially when you seem to think it would ‘reflect on’ me. Like, what? I’ll catch your kid-hitting cooties?”
Shouto winced. His own father would indeed have reacted with violence. Hisashi just shook his head with a patronizing little laugh. “Just so,” he agreed, eyebrows raised. “Though rather a moot point since, again, I have no intention, or even the means, of hurting you.” He raised his arms, clearly trying to display his lack of weapons.
“Besides, you’re no longer a child. You have the ability to understand what I mean when I say it makes no sense to hurt you. Bad business and all.”
The towering man reached into his pocket. Beside Shouto, Aizawa tensed.
But all Hisashi did was retrieve a small case, from which he removed a card. It was hard to see from here, but Shouto assumed it was a business card. “I’m just a businessman, after all. Trying to recover from a recent dip in profits.”
“Did it make good business sense to just up and leave your precious wife and child that you’d never hurt?” Izuku asked, tone now more bitter than angry.
Hisashi paused, seeming to truly consider the question. Shouto’s jaw worked. This asshole might never have struck a child but there was clearly no love lost between him and his family, if he even understood the concept.
“I thought so at the time,” he mused. “But in hindsight, no. I’m not much for children, but they do grow into useful adults eventually. If I’d tried to influence you earlier, perhaps you would be an asset. Instead of…whatever it is you do now. Art? Something with flowers?”
Izuku remained silent.
Shouto might have to rethink his own genetic potential for violence because he truly wanted to murder this man right now. He couldn’t see Izuku’s face, but he hoped he was doing a better job of controlling his outrage.
Hisashi shrugged. “Still, I acknowledge the mistake, and we have to move forward.” He brushed off the entirety of his absence in a few words. “Have you considered how lucrative my kind of business is? It’s not too late to make some real money, you and me.” He paused again. “And maybe your mom.”
The mention of Inko seemed to jolt Izuku back into motion. “Mom doesn’t want anything to do with you,” he snapped.
Hisashi’s ever present smile looked nothing like Izuku’s. “And yourself?”
“Is this why you always call on my birthday?” Izuku asked finally, sounding…confused? Frustrated? It was so much easier to find emotions on Izuku’s face. “You thought ten minutes once a year would be enough to influence me?”
“And yet you always answered the phone,” Hisashi reminded him. “My loyal son.” He shook his head indulgently. “You’ve been wasting your talents, stifling your brightness to make other people more comfortable. I just want you to shine.”
Izuku already shone. He was the brightest thing in every room, and Shouto had yet to see a single person not magnetized by it. Surely Izuku knew this?
“We may not have talked often, but I have kept track, you know,” Hisashi continued, his deep voice washing over the room, echoing in the corners. He began to walk, slow steps circling his son. “As a child, constantly getting into fights but still toeing the line enough to be liked by your peers, to succeed academically. And then charming your way into local politics as an adult despite the way you dress and the people you associate with.” There was a flicker of displeasure in his smooth delivery. “I’ll say, you’d been mostly discreet about your…preferences, but I’d advise you to cut off this latest affair before it causes lasting damage to your reputation.”
His disgust showed plainly on his face. Shouto almost laughed. This criminal trying to sweet talk Izuku with his knowledge and familial relationship…hadn’t known he was gay?
Sure, it hadn’t been obvious to Shouto either, but he wasn’t the guy claiming to know intimate details of Izuku’s life. Nor was he such a homophobe that he interrupted his own diabolical attempt to ensnare his son in his schemes with an unmistakable expression of bigotry.
Hisashi’s face smoothed back into its ingratiating smile. “Still, you’re a fighter. Even with such small goals, you’ve managed to find success. Imagine what you could do with a wider audience.” He held an arm out behind him, as if to acknowledge said audience. “It’s a wonder you’re still in this backwater town. There’s so much more waiting for you out there.”
Logically, Shouto knew this was a ploy, flattery intended to gain favor. But he couldn’t help but agree. Izuku deserved so much more. More friends, more acclaim, more acknowledgement. He felt a hand on his arm. Aizawa holding him back from where he’d started to move toward Izuku again.
Wait, Aizawa mouthed. Shouto nodded.
Soon.
***
Izuku was not going to fight his—this guy. Hisashi. The asshole that he and his mother had driven away years ago. Him. He wasn’t gonna fight him.
But gods, did he make Izuku want to try. After insulting Shouto and his family, Izuku’s mother, the entire gay community? Yeah, Izuku wanted to punch him.
But he wouldn’t. Not because it would make him a “brute” or whatever. Hisashi definitely deserved to be punched, and Izuku deserved to be the one to do it (or if not him, then his mother). No, he couldn’t coldcock this motherfucker (ugh) because said fucker had yet to fully incriminate himself.
It made it twice as hard not to do anything about it when the whole reason he was waiting to act was also the most disgusting part of this scenario. Him trying to…seduce Izuku onto his side? Believing Izuku bought any of his bullshit?
Gross.
He honestly couldn’t believe he was scared of this…this…nothing man. Hollow inside, room enough for the wealth and power he sought but would never be satisfied with.
All of this, and he still barely let Izuku talk. “But I understand if you’ve grown attached to this place. A childhood home can never be replaced after all.” He gave a condescending little chuckle. Izuku imagined what it would look like if his smug face were slammed into the shiny marble tile repeatedly. Very bloody. Bad for the floor. Best not.
“Well, with a few of the recent…changes in my business structure, I’d say there’s still plenty of opportunities for you right here at home if you’re looking to dip a toe in.”
C’mon, c’mon. Aizawa said he had everything they needed so long as Hisashi verbally acknowledged one of his misdeeds or accomplices. All Izuku needed was a name.
Suddenly, there was a hand in his.
“I understand my father may have left quite a few loose ends dangling in his absence.” Shouto stood beside Izuku, his palm cool where it pressed against Izuku’s.
Suddenly, his father was outnumbered. Izuku suppressed a grin. It could be the edge they needed to force him to show his true colors.
Hisashi scowled, eyeing their hands. “Indeed. Like father, like son, I suppose. How much do you want?”
“Enough to persuade any judges or nosy reporters.” Shouto’s voice rang through the cavernous space, completely apathetic. Izuku squeezed his hand.
Shouto squeezed back, still staring down Hisashi coldly. “Double.” He finally looked at Izuku and smirked. “You wanna be rich, baby?”
Hisashi snarled. “Keep that shit away from me. You’ll have your damn bribe. Fucking Todorokis…there better not be any more of you back there.” He squinted into the darkness behind Izuku.
“Just the one,” Izuku assured, struggling to recover from Shouto’s sudden appearance and calling him ‘baby.’ He did his best to glare at Shouto. “You better not have been followed.”
Shouto shrugged. “With all his reporters gone, who’s left to care?”
“What, so I’m supposed to believe you two orchestrated this little show?” He sneered at the empty event hall. “Or no-show, rather? I just wanted to talk to Inko, let her know what her options are. Instead I get you little fags thinking you can take me for all I’m worth.” He straightened his back and adjusted his suit coat. “Well, I may not want to hurt you, but I can’t say the same of my friends. They know what I’m worth and you’re not getting a cent,” he hissed.
Izuku laughed. “You propositioned me after years of radio silence when you heard I got a comic published. You’re beyond pathetic. Your ‘business sense’ is about as good as your paternal instincts.”
“And where are all these ‘friends’ I’m hearing about?” Todoroki picked up right where Izuku left off. “Nobody answers your calls anymore except Izuku, so I think you’ll have to work with us, ‘fag’ or no.”
Hisashi seemed unfazed. “No need to pick up the phone if you talk in person. No phone records either.” He grinned nastily. “Imasugi, you wanna show them what a mistake they made?”
Izuku met Shouto’s eyes. That was one of the names, right? He just hoped there wasn’t any actual violent criminal attached to it here and now.
For a moment, silence reigned. No deranged stabbers appeared.
Hisashi tensed. “Imasugi? Bubaigawara? What the fuck are you waiting for, idiots?” He called into the darkness. “You don’t think you can stab two cocksuckers and call it a day? I’ll make it worth your while.”
“With what, dad?” Izuku jeered, gripping Shouto’s hand even tighter. “All you’ve got are enemies and traitors. No friends, no allies, no assets, no family. Leave before you lose whatever you have left.”
With that Izuku turned around and walked out.
***
Shouto knew what would happen next even if he hadn’t seen his brother’s ghoulish grin emerging from the shadows of the event hall as armed officers began to swarm the area.
Surprisingly astute of Hisashi to call the double Todoroki threat. If only he’d had the guts to actually check.
In addition to Aizawa waiting for them out front, there was another man. Tall, blond, intimidating. The host from the restaurant last night. Shouto blinked. His name was—
“Jin!” Izuku smiled, but then it faltered. “You…work for my—for Hisashi?”
The host shook his head. “Not anymore.” He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I was just trying to make a living!”
“Even last night?” Shouto asked sharply. One of Hisashi’s “friends” knowing that the rehearsal had actually already happened would have been…bad.
“Yes!” Then he paled. “No! I just…he paid me for seeing things. I see a thing, I tell him, and if he likes it or finds it useful, he pays me. Paid.” He grimaces. “Guess I need a new job.”
Izuku’s brow furrowed and he began to mutter quietly. With all the madness occuring in the building behind them, Shouto couldn’t make out what he was saying. He turned back to Jin. “Your boss seemed to think you were gonna come stab us. You never did anything like that before?”
“No! That was the scary muscular guy!” He protested, then seemed to rethink. “Well, I’m good with a knife, too. For reasons. Even kitchen ones. Mostly kitchen ones.” He was fading off into a mutter as well, mirroring Izuku. Then he stopped and held up his hands. “But not for him! I never hurt anybody for money!” He began muttering again. “But I might have to now…hosting doesn’t pay the bills…”
“Do you like plants?” Izuku blurted out, jolted from his reverie.
Shouto stared at him. So did Jin. “…yes?”
“No.” Aizawa stopped beside them. “No hiring criminals off the street to work for my husband.”
Touya appeared behind him. “I can vouch for him. He does odd jobs for me sometimes.”
“That’s worse,” Aizawa groaned. He massaged his eyelids with the tips of his fingers. “There’s still so much work to do now that I’m here in an official capacity. Todoroki.”
“Yes?” Touya responded just to be contrary. He was now brushing nonexistent dust off his dramatic black duster.
Aizawa rolled his eyes. “The good Todoroki.”
Shouto straightened, jerking his eyes from where they’d been trained on Izuku’s manic expression. There was a breakdown imminent, he just knew. “Hm?”
“I’m arguably the best Todoroki,” his brother cut in again with a smirk. “Me and Jin saved your bacon. You know how bad Imasugi is. Jin really stuck his neck out for you, Eraser.”
Aizawa sighed but ignored the odd nickname in favor of speaking directly to Shouto. “Get him home.” It was clear the ‘him’ in question was an emotionally deteriorating Izuku, now hovering close beside Shouto. “Call me if there’s trouble.”
“Is there supposed to be trouble?” Izuku asked, wide-eyed. Even being able to see his face now, Shouto still didn’t know what emotion to diagnose him with, but it was Izuku, so he figured there was about a 90% chance tears would follow. They needed to get out of here.
“Fine. Have a good night, Aizawa.” He nodded to his brother. “Touya.”
“Dabi,” he corrected. “And see ya tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?” Shouto blinked at him.
“Mayor’s getting hitched, remember?”
Shouto raised an eyebrow. “And he invited you?”
“Security.” Touya winked. “Me and the bird.”
Shouto had no idea what that was about, but he nodded and turned back to Izuku. “Ready to go?”
Izuku burst into tears.
Yep.
***
Eijirou couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much.
The combination of relief and delight could do that to a guy. And Katsuki’s parents were a riot.
After the awkwardness of last night’s meeting, he’d been sweating over their invitation to lunch this morning. He wanted to go, of course, but he’d been fearful of what Katsuki thought of moving things forward like this.
Instead, he’d rolled his eyes at Eijirou’s worried glance and accepted the invite, on the condition that “I’m not cookin for you again and neither is dad!”
Because of course it turned out that all the Bakugou men were culinary geniuses. Mr. Bakugou (“call me Masaru”) ran a catering business. Eijirou guessed that’s where Katsuki’s love of cooking came from, but Mrs. Bakugou (“just don’t call me ma’am”) had objected. Loudly.
“Don’t act like he does all the cooking, runt!” Mitsuki pointed at her son across the table. They’d chosen a thankfully lowkey cafe on the fringes of the city, apparently near their house, for their little lunch date. “I made plenty of delicious grub for your ungrateful ass when you and Izuku were kids.”
Midoriya was getting a lot of mentions during discussions of Katsuki’s childhood, but Eijirou had already guessed at a lot of their history, so mostly it was just nice to fill in the gaps.
Katsuki snorted into his coffee. He and his father had already polished off a few mugs each. Black and steaming. Despite his side job, Eijirou himself never developed a taste for the stuff. He sort of wondered if it was a cultivated taste for the Bakugou men or simply the necessary energy boost needed to keep up with Mitsuki.
“You burned my taste buds out of my fucking skull, hag!” Eijirou didn’t think he imagined the tinge of fondness in Katsuki’s voice, though he shuddered to think of how his own mothers would react if Eijirou ever called either of them hags. “Thought food was supposed to be torture till like middle school.”
“If anything,” Masaru finally spoke, “I think my work in food prep convinced Katsuki he wanted to do anything but.” The words were spoken mildly because that’s how he said everything. He turned to his son, sipping on his coffee. “Weren’t you halfway into military school admission at some point?”
What happened after this calm question was delivered made the entirety of yesterday’s weirdness worthwhile. Eijirou watched as whatever strange dad-calm Masaru possessed seemed to rub off on Katsuki. His voice lowered, became thoughtful, he seemed to become more aware of the (frankly scandalized) people at the tables around them. “Yeah, that was a mistake.”
That was it. Katsuki just said that and took another sip of his coffee. Holy shit.
Eijirou needed to learn this skill. He caught Masaru’s eye and received an amused smile before he turned back to his son. “We would have been proud of you either way.”
“Speak for yourself!” Mitsuki burst out, shattering the calm at the table. “Can you imagine giving this guy a gun?” She shuddered dramatically. Eijirou nearly spat out his orange juice.
“Oh my god” he coughed, watching as Katsuki rose to the bat yet again, mother-son bickering atmosphere restored.
Masaru was still eyeing him, however. “So what do you do then, Kirishima?”
Eijirou almost winced. Just because Katsuki had basically forced him into an affirming conversation about his career progress didn’t mean he was over his uncertainty about it. “I’m a physical trainer.” He hesitated and then, “I also work at a coffee shop downtown.”
The second job was always a weird thing to admit to. Lots of his friends had them—or were still in school outside of work—so it felt normal until he ran into…well, into someone’s parents. And Katsuki’s parents were obviously well-off, so he wondered if it made him seem…inferior. Primitive.
Masaru’s face revealed nothing, curse him. “Interesting.” Fuck. “So you help Katsuki with his MMA training?”
“Oh yeah, is that how you met?” Mitsuki pulled away from her argument with her son. “Since this idiot has been in the closet since preschool or whatever, he didn’t see fit to tell us he had a boyfriend, much less how he managed to pull a fitness guru.”
Eijirou laughed, remembering the circumstances of how he’d asked Katsuki out. “It’s really stupid, actually.”
Mitsuki laughed right back. “Tell ya what. You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine. Bet ours is worse.” She glanced at her husband, who seemed as calm as ever apart from the reddening of his ears, before returning her bright gaze (so similar to Katsuki’s) to him. “You first.”
***
Katsuki was in hell, but at least Ei was having a good time.
After revealing that their first date had been preceded by a weight-lifting competition (that Katsuki won, thank you very much), a surprised sucker punch (Katsuki hadn’t expected Ei to congratulate him on his win so…physically), and Ei propositioning various women on behalf of the loser (Ochako—and it eventually worked), his mother went off the rails describing her and dad’s “meet-cute.”
Katsuki almost left. He didn’t need to hear that story again, especially not in public.
But Ei was practically crying tears of mirth now, and that was reason enough to stick it out. During the cursed retelling, Dad caught his eye with a silent question, and Katsuki nodded.
Are you happy?
Yes.
***
Izuku thought, of all the times he’d cried in public, this was the most appropriate.
Directly in the aftermath of taking part in his father’s arrest, assisted by the beautiful man who’d run out on their last date, the day before his mother’s wedding, Izuku got a little overwhelmed, and that was…fine.
Okay, it didn’t feel fine, but Shouto was still holding his hand, and the distance between him and that awful criminal was steadily increasing, and he had plenty of others dads waiting in the wings to be amazing and supportive and even law-abiding, so the balance of emotions was starting to shift from stressedscaredsad to relievedhappyloved.
Which only made him cry harder.
So many people had helped him get to this point. Not just Shouto and all the dads and his own mother but all the different friends and family and wedding helpers and law enforcement and Tooru and…and… it was just a lot, and Izuku had never been so grateful that he was here in this town with these people at this time. His mom was getting married tomorrow, his first comic was gonna be released the day after, he might finally be getting some help at the flower shop and—
“We’re here.”
—and he was back at Shouto’s apartment. They had already planned to stay at his place because it was so much closer to the wedding venue. Izuku hadn’t even noticed Shouto carrying his bag. All he’d cared about was the hand he still clung to as they’d apparently walked through downtown with Izuku sobbing about how bad-then-good his life had gotten. Shouto was a saint.
“Would you like something to drink?” Shouto asked awkwardly.
Izuku nodded, but then he just stood there. “You…uh,” Shouto paused and took a deep breath. “You need to let go of my hand. So I can get it.”
Right. Izuku couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed. It simply wasn’t sustainable considering the sheer number of times he’d broken down in front of Shouto. He did let go of his hand though. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
“Just water for now,” Shouto called from the kitchen before appearing with a glass. “You need to…replace some fluids.”
Izuku laughed with a little sniffle. “Dehydration comes for us all.” He lifted the glass with a little “cheers” and gulped down the whole thing in one go.
He felt Shouto’s eyes on him even as he looked around for a place to put his glass. “Um, yes?”
“How are you feeling?” Izuku turned and almost dropped the glass. Shouto sat very close, his unusual eyes trained on Izuku’s. It was almost deja vu, sitting together in one of their apartments, suddenly getting close until…
Well. At least Shouto wasn’t gonna run out of his own apartment.
Izuku hadn’t responded. To be fair, it was a difficult question right now. He felt a lot of things. Hence the crying. Unfortunately for everyone involved, crying didn’t actually solve problems—unless the problem was as simple as “I need an emotional release,” and it never was.
But still Shouto waited. He certainly never seemed to feel any self-consciousness about silence, and Izuku was still too busy trying compose himself to fill the air with words like he normally would.
A clock ticked on the other side of the room. Izuku sniffled again. Shouto stared. He clearly didn’t feel self-conscious about that either.
Okay, actually, this was too much. “Can I get a tissue?”
This did not break Shouto’s stoic silence in the least. He merely raised an eyebrow and glanced at the side table beside Izuku where a tissue box sat.
Right. Shouto had allergies. Of course, he’d have them handy. He wondered about the social ramifications of blowing your nose in front of gorgeous beautiful, silent men.
…nope, he couldn’t do it.
“I, uh…bathroom,” he muttered, leaving the couch.
***
Shouto had spent the last half hour strategizing.
Or well, trying to strategize. It was so much easier to put together a brief or appeal when it just came down to research and precedent, putting it all together on paper before he ever had to say it. But at least his courtroom persona could say it. The Shouto that walked into his apartment this evening—hell, the Shouto that had existed around Izuku ever since the first time he’d walked into Sun Flowers—had zero courtroom strategies, only enough words to test his tenuous impulse control, and not a thought in his head.
Better to remain silent and thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt. He couldn’t allow whatever gremlin ran his mouth around Izuku to have the controls tonight. He needed to actually think of what to say before saying it.
Izuku, who had delicately allowed him to be the one to bring up their last disastrous encounter (well, second-to-last, if you counted last night’s little…also disaster), finally excused himself, clearly tired of waiting for Shouto to start explaining himself.
The thing was…he didn’t have an explanation. As terrible as blurting things out felt directly afterward, not a single thing he’d said in those spur-of-the-moment revelations had been untrue. It’s just the timing and situation had been…off. Wrong. And honestly, he wasn’t known for his social acumen anyway, so it was either say things at the wrong time or not say them at all. Those were his choices.
Not that he really chose to divulge them. That was where the lack of impulse control came in.
But telling Izuku about his complete cluelessness when it came to intimacy (emotional, physical, all of the above) seemed like an inevitability, so it just…came out.
He had admittedly tried to be less blunt and abrupt about the concept by telling Izuku he really did have no idea what he was doing, but considering he’d spent the vast majority of his life up till the last month projecting the facade that he knew exactly what he was doing, he couldn’t blame Izuku for maybe not believing him.
People looked at him and saw someone ruthlessly hypercompetent, someone who didn’t care about their feelings or how they felt about him. It was partially on purpose, of course, but he really wasn’t terribly emotive and he did want to seem aloof and impressive—just not now.
And he’d gotten better! He had more friends than he could count on both hands. All his siblings were back on speaking terms with him. He’d hugged like three people this week. But explaining that to a normal, socially-adjusted human (much less someone as friendly and outgoing as Izuku) would be an exercise in frustration. What was leaps and bounds of progress for him was bare minimum for most people.
Most people his age have been making friends, getting into relationships, and yes, having sex. Shouto had been building an impressive career, buying a one-bedroom apartment in the heart of the city, and barely speaking to his estranged family.
So the moment Izuku got close to him that night, all warm and soft and happy, he’d thought of all the ways he was cold and hard and unfeeling in comparison. He didn’t know how to do any of this, and he’d rather at least set the expectations straight before he managed to fuck everything up.
“I’m exhausted,” Izuku announced, apparently returned from his refuge in the bathroom.
Oh. That was understandable, given what had happened today. Shouto was tired himself, not only for his part in the sting but also running around in mental circles concerning what Izuku thought of him all day. Should he just wait? But to end the night with nothing resolved…
He sighed. Coward. “The bed’s through there.” He pointed to his room and laid out the details of towels and toothbrushes and everything Izuku might need for the night. Shouto would sleep on the couch again, like he had when Ochako had stayed over. He might need to think about moving again if he was going to start having regular company over.
Plus, hopefully a different apartment wouldn’t be constantly flooded in a flower shop’s supply of pollen…
Izuku blinked at him. “You’re gonna be out here?” He asked, looking at the blanket and pillow Shouto had set aside. Shouto nodded and watched as Izuku peeked into the bedroom. “You have a really big bed…”
Shouto nodded. King sized. He didn’t need it. Only one side had ever been used.
Izuku took a short breath. “Do you wanna just share?”
Before Shouto could respond or even process the offer, Izuku was waving his hands around his head. “Just for sleeping! It’s just that you look pretty tired, too. You’ll sleep better on an actual bed. We both would. And with the wedding tomorrow and all that’s…happened…” He let his arms fall to his sides. “I figured we could both use some good sleep.” Then he winced and shook his head. “Actually maybe you would be more comfortable on the couch. Nevermind. I know that’s probably crossing the line, what with—” He finally cut himself off with a vague gesture between Shouto and the bedroom.
Shouto’s mind finally caught up. Don’t just blurt things out. “Yes,” he said carefully. “I think…yes. If you don’t mind. Sharing, that is.”
Izuku snorted. “It’s your bed,” he pointed out. “If anything I should be asking if you mind.”
“I don’t,” Shouto answered the unasked question.
Izuku nodded so fast he was practically a bobblehead. “‘Kay. Guess I’ll go…change…and stuff.”
By the time he came out, Shouto had set himself up on his normal side of the bed, curled around a spare pillow in his normal sleeping position but eons away from actual sleep. He closed his eyes when he felt Izuku’s weight dip the mattress across from him, but it truly was a large bed; he could barely even feel the heat of another person in it with him.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Izuku whispered. He’d turned out the light as soon as he’d gotten beneath the sheets.
“Yeah.” Shouto flipped over to face Izuku despite not being able to see his face. “I’m sorry for walking out on you.” It was so much easier to do this in darkness.
“It’s okay.” Izuku replied immediately.
Shouto shook his head. “No, it’s not. I should have talked to you like a normal person.” He suppressed a sigh. “I told you, I’m not good at this.”
Izuku gave a hushed giggle. “No, you’re not. But me neither. We’ll figure it out. If you want to,” he added quickly.
“I do.” Shouto’s face heated. “But like I said, I’ve never done any of this before. I don’t want to mess it up.”
There was a pause, unusually long for Izuku. “Well, I’ve done it, um, quite a few times and let me tell you: you can’t avoid messing up.” Shouto imagined one of Izuku’s smiles accompanying the statement, maybe the crooked one he got when he was sheepish. It was cute. Everything about Izuku was cute.
Shouto hugged his pillow tighter. “Thanks,” he said in his driest voice, trying to cover the bashful gesture.
“Nobody’s perfect, Shou,” Izuku assured him, the smile in his voice obvious even in the dark of the room. “You just have to try.”
“I can do that.” Shouto grinned into his pillow and suddenly thought of one of his newest friends. You’re human. You make mistakes. And you. Are. Perfect. Words to live by apparently—from the woman who’d nearly set him on fire the next time they met.
Wait. Shouto frowned. “Is Hatsume still being pursued by the police?”
Izuku snorted sleepily. “She better not be.” The threat was immediately undermined by a loud yawn. “I promised mom those petals.”
Shouto shook his head fondly. “Goodnight, Izuku.” He hesitated, then, “Thank you for being patient with me.”
The only response he got was a snore.
***