Chapter Text
The third or fourth time Aizawa’s phone insists on ringing, he slaps it with one heavy hand and pulls it to his ear under the covers. “What.”
It’s the administrative office from the school. “Good morning, Mr. Aizawa, I’m calling to inform you that Principal Nezu is requesting your attendance for a follow-up press conference on campus today at 11am.”
“No.”
“No?” the administrative assistant on the other end says, sounding confused.
“I’m not available today, and neither is Yamada,” he says gruffly. “Family emergency.”
“Ah. I’m so sorry. Take all the time you need. I’ll let the principal know.”
Aizawa hangs up without saying goodbye. His phone screen flashes with unread messages—journalist inquiries, chatter from the pro hero channel, the official notification that Bakugo’s been returned safely to his parents, news alerts about yesterday’s disaster. He drops his phone off the edge of the bed and enjoys the thunk it makes agains the rug. Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll step on it later and break it.
Hizashi is snoring lightly on the other side of the bed, a comforting sound.
Between them, Shinsou stirs under the fluffy blanket and blinks bleary-eyed at the morning light. “There’s another emergency?”
“This is emergency rest,” Aizawa says, patting his pillow.
“Oh, okay,” Shinsou says, laying his head back down. His hair is a pale cloud in the morning sunbeam that’s stretching across the bed. “Also, it’s…” He tries to make a familiar sign with the hand that isn’t shoved under his pillow, but it doesn’t quite read right.
Aizawa glances down the bed. The cat is curled up between them, her chin on the lump that must be Shinsou’s knee.
Trapped under cat. “Not quite. Here.” Aizawa reaches out to correct the sign. Shinsou’s fingers bend sleepily under his until it’s right, and he repeats the gesture a few times, his eyes drooping closed. Then he’s out.
Aizawa runs a hand through his kid’s hair and lets himself drift off, too.
The next time he wakes up, the sun has moved across the room, the cat is gone, and Hizashi is missing from the other side of the bed. Next to him, Shinsou is snuggled deep into his own blanket with his phone in front of his face, worry lines collecting between his eyebrows.
Aizawa stretches his neck against his pillow and rolls onto his side to face him. “How’re you doing?”
Shinsou frowns at his phone. “Fine.”
“Really?”
A sigh. “I don’t know.” Dropping his phone to the pillow, Shinsou inches further into his blanket cocoon. “I’ve been reading news about the battle last night for an hour, and I can’t shake this feeling that everything’s gonna be different now.”
“It will be,” Aizawa says, and privately kicks himself. Not exactly the comforting guidance a kid needs. He tries again. “There was life before the Symbol of Peace, and life will go on after. No matter what villains are coming up behind All For One, the pro hero community will rise to meet the challenge and win.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do. I wouldn’t be doing this job if I didn’t. And I definitely wouldn’t be teaching the next generation of heroes.”
Shinsou thinks on that for a minute, then nods. Glancing down at his phone, he says, “Midoriya texted me.”
“Yeah?”
“He wanted to ask if I’m okay and apologize. Like, a lot. He seems to think he’s the reason I—“ Shinsou looks away. “Y’know.”
“What did you tell him?”
The kid picks up his phone and shows the text log to him. It’s a long string of rambling apologies and excuses on Midoriya’s end and a single text from Shinsou that reads: I’ll be fine. Contrary to popular belief, not every crisis is about you.
Aizawa smirks. Good boy.
“Is that too harsh?” Shinsou asks, chewing on his lip.
“Not at all. Midoriya’s got an inflated sense of personal responsibility. A common issue in heroes. That’s why I don’t recommend dating them.”
Shinsou raises an eyebrow at him. “You married one.”
“So I speak from experience.” Perhaps more accurately, Hizashi married him and his obsessive need to save everyone. But it’s too early in the morning to think about that right now. Instead of lingering on it, he asks, “Think you’re going to talk to Midoriya beyond a pithy comeback?”
Shinsou shrugs, looking down. “I don’t know what I can say to make him change his mind.”
“It’s not up to you to change his mind. Breaking up with you was his decision to make. But if you want to still be friends after this, you should consider actually talking to him.” Aizawa rests a hand on his kid’s head and gives it a sympathetic pat. “His decision was bad, for the record. He was lucky to have you.”
Shinsou does that thing where he furrows his brow and inhales like he’s going to argue, but instead he just crosses his arms and quietly says, “Thanks.”
***
Last night is scribbled out like redacted information in Shinsou’s mental map of time. Looking directly at it hurts, like his head still hurts from crying so hard. He catches his reflection in the mirror after a shower and finds that, after trying to wash everything down the drain, there’s still a burst blood vessel in his right eye, a tiny red explosion next to his iris that won’t let him ignore what he did. His foster parents are being too kind to him, and he feels grateful and sore and empty and wrong.
His ankle feels normal by dinnertime, and that seems wrong, too. It shouldn’t be this easy to come back from the worst thing he’s ever done. Nothing is this easy. He doesn’t trust it.
At the dinner table, with his foster parents eating across from him and Pichi winding around his ankles begging for scraps, Shinsou stares at his bowl and watches green vegetables and sautéed chicken blur into a single color. He doesn’t realize why until a hot tear tumbles down his cheek.
“Hey,” Hizashi says, tipping his head to the side. “What’s going on in there, Hitoshi?”
Now everyone’s staring, even the cat. She probably just wants chicken, but it’s not great being stared at by three sets of eyes. He sets down his chopsticks and covers his face with his hands. “I don’t understand,” he manages. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
There’s a silent stretch, and the tap of utensils being set down.
“Why wouldn’t we be nice to you?” Aizawa asks.
“Because—“ Shinsou drops his hands, unable to get a full breath. “Because I brainwashed you! I snapped and used my Quirk on you like a goddamn villain! The thing everyone’s been afraid of me doing forever, the whole reason my parents left me— The worst thing I’ve ever done, I did to you, last night, and you’re acting like its no big deal!”
“Kiddo,” Hizashi says gently.
“I’m not your kiddo.”
“Hitoshi,” Hizashi corrects, leaning forward and folding his fingers together. “If that’s the worst thing you’ve done in your whole life, then I’d say you’re doing pretty good at the whole not being a villain thing.”
Shinsou’s mouth works, but no sound comes out.
“Villainy isn’t having a scary Quirk,” Aizawa says, poking the greenery in his bowl. “It isn’t defending yourself or making a bad call when you’re in crisis. It’s a pattern of harm caused intentionally. Do you intend to brainwash us again?”
“No,” Shinsou says, frowning.
“Did you do it on purpose?”
“Not really, but—”
“If you’d been clear-headed, would you have done it?”
“No, of course not!”
“And have you been tormenting yourself all day about it, worse than any punishment we could possibly give you?”
Shinsou crosses his arms.
“I thought so,” Aizawa assesses.
“So you’re not gonna punish me or anything?”
“Sure,” Aizawa says, shrugging. “No TV for a week. Better?”
That…actually does feel a little better, even though it seems like more of a kindness than a punishment. The TV is all news out of Kamino Ward now, anyway, and probably will be for a while. He’s seen Aizawa struggle to keep himself away from it. Shinsou stares at his bowl, trying to will himself to eat.
In the quiet that follows, Hizashi leans back in his chair and runs fingers absently over the shell of his ear. “Did you know my Quirk manifested at birth?”
“No,” Shinsou says.
“The first thing I ever did was blow out the eardrums of everyone in the delivery room.” Hizashi shrugs. “And there were more after that, before my parents figured out a way to dampen my Quirk, and later, when things went wrong. I could easily have ended up in a facility for children with dangerous Quirks just like you, if my parents hadn’t assumed the best of me. I was just lucky—supportive family, adequate adaptive tech and training, and a Quirk that didn’t come with a truckload of stigma. You weren’t so lucky, and that’s not your fault.”
It’s not that simple. Shinsou’s parents did their best with him. If it could have gone differently, it would have. He shakes his head. “They must have seen that you weren’t a real threat.”
“Kids aren’t threats,” Hizashi says. “And they shouldn’t be treated like threats. Every kid deserves the kind of support I got, and that includes you.”
Shinsou’s pulse rises, and he doesn’t understand why. He agrees, on a basic level—everyone deserves that. But him? “I literally brainwashed you,” he says, aware that his voice is louder than he intended.
“Yeah, you did,” Hizashi says easily. “And I permanently deafened like six people before I could walk. What’s your point?”
“But—“ Shinsou looks to Aizawa, who’s watching their back and forth and placidly chewing. No help there.
How does he evict this feeling from his chest? Every kid deserves those things, but he’s the exception. He doesn’t. It’s the only way his life makes any sense. If there isn’t something uniquely wrong with him, then why have so many people left him?
He tries to make arguments and fails, curling his hands into fists on the table.
“Hitoshi, sweetheart,” Hizashi says, laying a hand over his. “You spend a lot of time trying to talk people out of loving you. It’s not gonna work on us. You’re too charming and we’re too stubborn.”
Aizawa snorts into his food.
“That one especially,” Hizashi adds, pointing a thumb at his husband. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to trust us when we tell you you’re lovable. Now, eat your dinner.”
Shinsou’s brain won’t reconcile the things Hizashi says with the reality he knows to be true, but after the last few days of chaos and stress, he doesn’t have the energy to do anything but take these new words and let them settle in. He can believe that these two people love him, even if he doesn’t fully understand how. Maybe that’s okay for now.
He eats his dinner and sneaks Pichi a piece of chicken under the table.
***
They meet with Shinsou’s potential adopter at a park on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, and it goes well. Aizawa likes her instantly. Her name is Ms. Nakamura, and she’s a tiny fifty-something-year-old woman in a sweatshirt with cats on it who strikes him as both genuinely warm and tough as nails. She brings along her adult son, a friendly young man with a wind direction Quirk that takes the breath from other people’s lungs. (The dangerous Quirk is mostly under control these days, but when he has a sneezing fit over the flowers on the boulevard, Aizawa fees lightheaded from oxygen deprivation for a moment.)
They get ice cream and sit at a table on a gently rolling hill and talk for two hours. Aizawa’s eyes barely leave Shinsou the whole time. The boy is smiling—shyly at first, and then then wider as Ms. Nakamura talks about her cats. She brings pictures on her phone, of course, which gets passed around the table with reverence at every adorable snapshot. She describes the process of raising a child with a dangerous Quirk, the rocky points and victories, and her son helps her fill in the details from his own experience. Shinsou goes very still when she mentions a medical emergency her son’s Quirk caused her. Aizawa rubs his back until he feels the kid take a few deep breaths.
Near the end of their visit, Ms. Nakamura’s son and Shinsou gather everyone’s trash and wander off toward the bins, getting into a conversation about something. Aizawa rests his chin on his hand and watches idly as they linger around the trash bins. The son is doing most of the talking, while Shinsou stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and smiles at the ground.
This could work. Aizawa can see it: Shinsou’s quiet, well-supported life with this kind woman who doesn’t mind a challenge and her two photogenic cats, weekends with the son home and the two of them slowly becoming brothers, a normal home filled with love and understanding and structure. It’s a good fit. His stomach feels hollow.
“He seems like a wonderful boy,” Ms. Nakamura says, watching their kids talk across the park.
“He is,” Hizashi says. “We’re very fond of him.”
“I can tell.” Her eyes meet Aizawa’s, and he gets the sense that she’s not afraid of him, or of much else. “Mr. Aizawa, you’ve been so quiet this whole time. Is there anything you would like me to know about Hitoshi?”
Even if you give him a desk in his room, he’ll do his homework wherever people are, because he can’t focus in quiet.
When he gets upset, rubbing a circle between his shoulder blades helps ground him.
You have to love him loudly and without reservation so he’ll start to believe it.
He’s going to break your heart, and it’s absolutely worth it.
Aizawa studies the wood grain of the table and says, “He likes to help in the kitchen. Do you bake?”
In the car after their meetup, Hizashi turns the ignition and says, “Well, boys, what do we think?”
“She’s okay,” Shinsou says in the backseat, his arms folded behind his head. “Her son is kind of a dork, but not in a bad way.”
“You’re kind of a dork, so that works out great!” Hizashi says cheerily. “Shouta, what do you think?”
Aizawa’s knuckles dig into the side of his head. “It seems like a good match. It makes sense.” He tries to shake the unfair urge to trash talk that perfectly nice woman and comes up with: “Her cats are very cute.”
Everyone in the car agrees on that.
“Do you think she liked me?” Shinsou says. Behind his forced casual tone, his voice is thinner than usual.
“She called you ‘wonderful,’” Hizashi reports, grinning.
“Huh.” Shinsou’s arms drop into his lap, and he doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride home.
***
There’s only one person Shinsou wants to talk to about the meeting with the potential adopter, and he spends the rest of the afternoon pushing that traitorous thought out of mind. He hasn’t touched the text thread with Midoriya in nearly a week. Until now, just thinking about it made his stomach churn from anxiety and hurt.
But his stomach is already churning from the day’s meeting. What’s it gonna do if he does text Midoriya—get even more pointlessly nauseous? Not possible.
The truth is hard to look directly at: He misses Midoriya. Shinsou is very good at putting people who’ve hurt him into tidy little boxes and banishing them to the Do Not Think About shelf in the back of his mind. He can hold a grudge like he’s getting paid to do it. But the longer he sits with what Aizawa said the morning after, the more he thinks he might be right. Midoriya didn’t abuse him or dump him on his social worker’s doorstep. He’s just a guy who didn’t want to date him anymore for some reason. A guy who used to be his friend. A guy who still cares about him, judging by the last text lingering unread on Shinsou’s phone.
I’m sorry everything is terrible. If you want to talk, I’m here.
Shinsou wants to talk. God, does he want to talk—and not to Aizawa, who’s at some kind of after-hours meeting anyway, and not to Hizashi, not about this. He knows his foster parents want what’s best for him, but talking with them about his potential adoption hurts. It just makes him think about how much he’ll miss them. Meanwhile, Midoriya can cut through nearly any emotional topic with sound logic and charts and enthusiasm. And that smile—no. Nope. He is not thinking about Midoriya’s smile. The smile is off-limits, along with the freckles and the blushing and basically the whole face. It’s not his face to enjoy anymore.
Shinsou makes it through dinner with Hizashi before he starts to feel like a soda bottle someone’s been kicking around. He helps wash the dishes, then retreats into his room and unlocks his phone.
I want to talk, he texts.
It only takes a minute for the three little dots to appear on the left side of the screen, and Midoriya replies, I’d like that. Phone or in person?
Shinsou considers the options. Phone makes him nervous. The last time they spoke was on the phone, and it didn’t go so well.
Meet me in the park across from my place, he texts.
ETA 15, Midoriya texts back.
Shinsou paces his room for approximately ten minutes, his phone clutched in both hands, then ventures out into the apartment. He leans over the back of the couch where Hizashi is grading papers with the cat on his lap. “Hey, I’m going to the park to meet Midoriya. Is that okay?”
Hizashi leans back to give him a nosy smile. “We’re rendezvousing with Midoriya again?”
“We’re talking with Midoriya. Don’t be weird about it or I’m gonna feel weird about it.”
“Okay, okay. Stay where I can see you from the window and take your phone.” Hizashi waves him in for a quick hug. “Good luck. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” Shinsou says. The words feel strange to say so casually, but at the same time, they’re so obvious that why wouldn’t he? He’s always wanted to have someone to say that to on his way out the door. He’s always wanted so many things that are becoming real right now, and it’s all a tangle he can’t talk about with Hizashi and Aizawa.
Hence the need for Midoriya. That needs to be the only reason.
The night air is humid, but at least there’s a light breeze rippling through the trees. Shinsou leans against a wall at the edge of the park, facing the street, and lingers on his phone while he waits.
That old lady from next door comes by on her evening walk with her two little dogs, and he straightens up and pockets his phone. “Good evening, ma’am.”
The neighbor lady purses her wrinkled lips and hurries past him with a mutter under her breath. Still mad at him for stepping on her dog’s paw that night, then. He should bake her something as an apology. Or maybe he should just let it go, because if Ms. Nakamura wants him, he’ll only be living here for a matter of days.
That probably shouldn’t make him so sad.
The bus drops Midoriya off halfway down the block, which it turns out is just far enough away to allow for a full-blown internal crisis while Shinsou tries not to watch him walk the whole way. Is this a terrible idea? What if Midoriya was lying about wanting to see him again? Oh god, he’s still really cute, this is not going to go well. What if Midoriya notices him noticing his cute face? What if they get into an argument? What if they can’t be friends again? What does he do with his hands?
“Hi,” Midoriya says shyly as he stops a few feet away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his baggy shorts.
“Hi,” Shinsou echoes, knowing he does not sound even the least bit cool or collected. “So, um.”
“Yeah.” Midoriya scratches the back of his head and gives an awkward chuckle. “You wanna, uh?” He shrugs toward the park.
Shinsou nods. They walk together, a foot or two apart, into the darkening city park. Shinsou steers them into a quiet alcove off the path not far in where a couple of benches are sheltered by the boughs of tall flower bushes. He can still see the light of the apartment window across the street, and most of the park, so it’s a good spot.
There are two benches, but Midoriya sits on the same one as him. Maybe that’s a good sign. That’s something friends do, sharing park benches. Friends are also usually able to make eye contact without looking instantly away like their retinas are being burned, but it’s a start.
“Thank you for coming,” Shinsou says, sandwiching his hands between his knees.
“I’m just glad you reached out,” Midoriya says, and it’s really nice to hear that genuine tone in his voice again.
Shinsou doesn’t know where to start, so he just drops the big ticket item with no preamble. “We met my potential adopter today.”
“Oh my god!” Midoriya’s hands fly up into the air. “Hitoshi, that’s amazing! How did it go?” His familiar bright, excited, I’m Going To Take Notes On This voice makes Shinsou’s shoulders relax a little. Maybe this friends thing is doable.
Shinsou tells him all about the visit with Ms. Nakamura and her son, and he genuinely seems to want to hear it all, down to the flavor of ice cream she ordered. (It was mint, which is gross, but ice cream preferences are not a dealbreaker in a possible parent.)
“She sounds kind of awesome,” Midoriya says when Shinsou is done word-vomiting at him. “Did you get to ask her son any questions?”
“Yeah, uh.” Shinsou pinches his eyes shut, trying to get over the lump in his throat. “I helped him with cleanup one-on-one and we talked a little. He said his Quirk sometimes got out of hand as a teenager when he was angry or tired, and every time it got used on her, she always sat down with him after and talked out their feelings about it.”
“That sounds good.”
“It sounds exhausting,” Shinsou says.
“Well, it’s not like you brainwash your parents on the regular,” Midoriya says, like it’s a joke. In the silence that stretches out between them, he studies Shinsou’s expression, and his eyes go wide. “Oh crap, I’m sorry!”
“Not on the regular,” Shinsou clarifies, keeping his head down. “And not on purpose. And no one got hurt. But yeah. I was—I was arguing with Aizawa, that night after All Might, and he yelled, and suddenly it was like I wasn’t there anymore, I was lost in these bad memories, and I just—I used my Quirk. On them.” He exhales shakily. “And then I ran like hell because I thought my life was over.”
“Wow,” Midoriya says softly. “That must’ve been so scary for you. I’m sorry.”
Scary for him. Shinsou dares a glance up and finds Midoriya turned toward him with a sympathetic expression. After the shock of Aizawa and Hizashi’s un-horrified reactions, this one is slightly less of a surprise, but it still feels like too much.
“Anyway, they were amazing about it,” Shinsou says, looking at the paving stones under his shoes. “They said they loved me and it wasn’t my fault and took me back home. They were like…worried about me instead of scared or mad. It felt like someone finally got it.”
“That’s huge.”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “So this adopter seems kind of perfect on paper, and she’s a really nice person, but every time I think about her adopting me it feels like I’m losing my home instead of finding one. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I can do. It’s all just adults moving me around however’s most convenient for them, and I don’t really get a say.”
Letting himself say that out loud feels like releasing a pressure valve in his mind.
Midoriya nods. “Hey, Hitoshi, can I hug you?”
“Yeah,” Shinsou says before his brain catches up, and all at once his ex-boyfriend’s arms are around him and soft green curls are pressed against the side of his head. His body returns the hug without hesitation, and god, the weight of Midoriya in his arms feels good. The smell of his hair against the scent of the flowers could be a bestselling candle at one of those upscale shops downtown. No. No, that is a weird, non-friends thought for sure.
The hug lingers a little too long, and when Shinsou pulls away, he doesn’t go far. Neither does Midoriya, who’s staring at him in a way that feels almost naked. It’s no surprise when Midoriya leans in and kisses him, but it still doesn’t make any sense.
Shinsou grabs a fistful of Midoriya’s t-shirt as he kisses him, but after the initial rush of want and comfort, his stupid logical brain makes him open his hand and pull away. He can’t trust himself to lean far enough away, so he stands up and paces, his hands grasping frustratedly at the air.
“Crap,” Midoriya says, flattening a palm against his forehead.
“That’s not fair,” Shinsou says, rounding on him. “You dumped me. You don’t get to be cute and kiss me after you dumped me!”
“Right. You’re right.”
“That really hurt, Izuku. What happened with me that night wasn’t because of you, but it hurt, and I still don’t understand why you did it.” Shinsou stops pacing and locks his arms across his chest. “So what was it? What made me not one of your ‘favorite people’ anymore? Did I do something wrong?”
“No!” Midoriya stands up to face him. “No, Hitoshi, you didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing changed with you. I still care about you, so much.”
“Then why? What changed?”
Midoriya bites his lip and shakes his head. Tears come down his cheeks so fast it startles Shinsou into lowering his voice.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Midoriya shakes his head again, and then he breaks down.
Shinsou takes his arm and guides him back to the bench so they can sit down. Midoriya cries like he’s never seen him cry before, all ugly noises and snot bubbles. Shinsou doesn’t know what to do—what he’s allowed to do—so he takes Midoriya’s hand and holds it between them until the sobs turn to hiccups. Then he asks, “What’s going on?”
Midoriya wipes his nose on his shirt like a little kid and, infuriatingly, shakes his head again. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone. Some things you just have to bear alone. That’s what heroes do.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Midoriya blinks at him. “What?”
Shinsou shrugs. “That’s bullshit. Heroes work together. And anyway, if I’m too young to be at fault for brainwashing my foster parents, you’re definitely too young to be silently soldiering through whatever’s serious enough to make you cry like that.”
“It’s not that simple,” Midoriya tries.
“So it’s a secret. Tell me. I’m great at keeping secrets.” Shinsou gives him a challenging look. “If I told half the stuff I know about some of my old foster homes, people would be in jail, and I don’t even like those people. You’ve gotta tell someone or else you’re gonna explode, so tell me.”
Midoriya stares at him, the gears clearly turning in his brain, trying to out-logic that.
Shinsou holds out his right pinky finger. “Swear on my future Hero Course admission I won’t tell.”
That seems to decide it. Midoriya screws up his mouth and links their pinkies. Then he takes out his phone and turns it off completely. Shinsou glances back at the apartment window and does the same.
Inching closer, Midoriya lowers his voice and says, “Y’know when All For One was being taken away and All Might pointed to the news cameras and said ‘You’re next?’” He waits for Shinsou’s nod, then looks up at him with serious, tired eyes and says, “He was pointing at me. I’m All Might’s successor. He handed his Quirk down to me.”
Oh, shit.
While the park gets darker around them and the lamps along the pathway flicker on, Midoriya tells him a story about the last year that makes Shinsou’s insides go cold. It starts with him meeting All Might after a fight with a slime villain and ends with him and like half of class 1-A helping Bakugo escape from Kamino Ward while the world watched his All Might’s final battle.
Everything about Midoriya suddenly makes more sense. The volatility of his Quirk, the overwhelming savior complex, the scars and calluses on his hands—it’s all because he got handed the #1 pro hero’s Quirk and told to live up to its legacy. All Might has always been one of Shinsou’s idols too, but right now he wants to punch the Symbol of Peace in the face. That’s way too much responsibility to put on anyone, let alone a Quirkless fifteen-year-old superfan.
By the time Midoriya is done explaining everything, they’ve gravitated toward each other on the bench again, their shoulders pressed together and Shinsou’s bent leg touching Midoriya’s thigh.
“You get why you shouldn’t be with me now, right?” Midoriya says. “My life is so complicated. And scary. It’s killing my mom to watch it happen up close, and she doesn’t even know I’m All Might’s successor. I don’t want to inflict this on you, too.” He pinches his eyes shut and adds, in a rush, “And I know it’s selfish to complain when I’m so lucky in so many ways.”
“It’s not selfish to complain about this,” Shinsou says, elbowing him. “Your personal hero roped you into something so huge and dangerous that it probably violates like every child endangerment law.”
“But I get to be the next Symbol of Peace.”
“Yeah, that guy who turned into a living skeleton on live TV last week because he used too much of himself up? You’re allowed to be freaked out about following that act. Anyone would be.”
Midoriya is quiet for a while. “Do you think I’ll be a good Symbol of Peace?”
The idea of earnest, supportive, incredible Izuku Midoriya as the Symbol of Peace is so perfect it floods warmth through Shinsou’s chest, drowning out the worry that comes along with it. He grins. “I think you’ll be amazing.”
Midoriya smiles a little. He’s not his usual bubbly self, but he seems less weighed down than he was when they started talking. He leans back against the bench and closes his eyes. Between them, his hand is resting on Shinsou’s, their fingers half interlaced. Neither of them moves for what feels like ages.
Shinsou works up his nerve and says, “Izuku, I don’t like not being with you.”
Midoriya shakes his head. “Me neither, but—“
“‘But’ nothing,” Shinsou interrupts. “You decided I couldn’t handle your complicated, scary life without even giving me a chance to try. My life is complicated and scary, too, and you’ve never once flinched away from it.” He curls their fingers together against the warm wood grain of the bench. “If you really don’t want to be with me, I’ll respect your decision. But I still want to be with you. If you’re game, maybe we could be complicated together. ”
Midoriya swallows hard enough to see and turns toward him. His hand doesn’t move away. “You’re really not scared after everything I just told you?”
Shinsou doesn’t know how to hammer it into this self-sacrificing nerd’s head, so he leans in and kisses him.
“Oh,” Midoriya says, and kisses him back. His mouth breaks into a grin. “Okay.”
Making out on a park bench with his once-again boyfriend doesn’t solve all of Shinsou’s problems, but it’s enough to make everything feel slightly more tolerable. After waiting at the bus stop with his head on Midoriya’s shoulder, it’s easier to breathe.
When he goes up to the apartment after, Hizashi doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t watching the whole thing like a long distance chaperone. His expression is smug, but so delighted that Shinsou can’t even be mad when he says, “So, we are rendezvousing with Midoriya again?”
Shinsou rolls his eyes. “I am back together with Midoriya. You are the weirdo at the window.”
It’s hard to look annoyed with the full power of Hizashi’s sunny disposition aimed at him.
“I’m proud of you, you know that?” Hizashi says. “You’re collecting good people.”
Shinsou thinks about how false that statement would’ve been six months ago, and how scared and isolated he felt before UA and the GSA and his weird little foster family. Ms. Nakamura and her son seem good, too. Whatever happens from here, he’s got good people in every direction.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’m learning.”
His foster parent extends a hand to solicit a high-five, and Shinsou gives it without bothering to hide his smile.
***
Aizawa’s capture weapon is collecting dust on the entryway shelf while he pulls on a tie every damn day instead. If someone had told him when he interviewed to teach at UA that he’d end up playing ambassador for the school’s new high-security dormitory system, having awkward conversation after awkward conversation with his students’ parents while stuffed into his one good dress shirt, he might have run in the opposite direction.
He’s spent more time crammed into a car with Yagi and his ugly yellow pinstripe suit in the past two days than he’s spent in his own home, and it’s starting to wear on his nerves. Aizawa should be out on the streets fighting the villains who’ve crawled out from under every rock in Japan recently. He should be home with his husband and kid, enjoying the last vanishing days of normalcy before they have to start packing for the move. He should definitely not be the friendly face of UA’s rebranding and restructuring effort—they really should’ve gotten someone who smiles for that.
Everything is changing. It’s not just the world of villains and pro heroes that got scrambled when All Might flamed out. His job wants him to be Shouta Aizawa the person instead of Eraserhead the underground hero. He and Hizashi are going to have to leave their apartment of six years to live in a teacher’s suite in the new dorms. His life feels like it’s folding in on itself to fit into the tiny, insular world of the UA campus.
And then there’s the email he’s been avoiding all afternoon. He knows what it says, even if he hasn’t read past the first line.
Ms. Nakamura wants to move forward with adopting Shinsou. It’s not a surprise. It shouldn’t shock him. It shouldn’t make his phone feel like a training weight in his pocket. It definitely shouldn’t steal his attention in the middle of a sit-down with the Kaminari family where he is supposed to be extolling the safety of the new dormitories to them.
Kaminari’s father asks a question directed at Yagi, and it’s a good thing, because Aizawa doesn’t catch the words at all, stuck in another conversation with his own selfish mind.
Shinsou being adopted by Ms. Nakamura won’t mean he’s gone, he has to remind himself. Given the layout of the new dorms, they’ll still be in the same building during the school year, only two or three floors apart. The boy will still be part of his life. He will, like Aizawa told him not long ago, still be family.
He just won’t be arguing with the cat in the kitchen when Aizawa wakes up. His things won’t be scattered around the apartment, little reminders everywhere that the space is all of theirs. When he visits them, he’ll only be a guest, and when he wants to go home, he will leave.
Aizawa hasn’t allowed himself to feel much since the adoption process began, and the idea of Shinsou’s home not being with him and Hizashi in such an actual, concrete way knocks the breath out of him.
This is not the time.
“How do we know this environment will be good for our son?” Mrs. Kaminari says, and the edge of fear in her voice cuts through Aizawa’s thoughts. She’s sitting on her tasteful living room couch with one arm around her son and the other fidgeting with one of her rings. “Living apart from his family, with minimal adult supervision, the target of all those villains? That doesn’t sound safe for a child—or good for his mental health or his grades.”
“Mo-om,” her son complains. “I’m almost sixteen! I’m not a child!”
“Until you learn to do your own laundry without starting a fire, you’re a child.”
“Ugh,” Kaminari groans. “That was one time.”
“You see why I’m worried?” she says, sending a pleading look right at Aizawa.
“Your concerns are legitimate,” he replies. “And I can assure you, they’re shared by the entire staff and faculty of UA.”
“We all want what’s best for young Denki and his classmates,” Yagi adds. “Similar institutions have demonstrated that a dormitory system can be every bit as safe and healthy for students his age as a normal home environment.”
“Mom,” Kaminari says, “We live like five minutes from campus. I’ll be over all the time.”
“But you won’t be here,” his mother says, and the way her voice goes rough on that last word feels too close, like she’s yanked it right out of Aizawa’s chest.
The Kaminaris’ bright, comfortable living room seems like a closing fist around him. “Excuse me,” Aizawa says, giving as polite an out as he can before walking back out the front door to the car.
Leaning against the car, he closes his eyes and tries to steady himself.
Shinsou will be fine adopted by that perfectly nice woman and living in the dorms during the school year. He’ll probably be over at Aizawa and Hizashi’s campus apartment all the time. But he won’t be here in the way he is now. He won’t be their kid, not really.
He should be.
Aizawa wants him to be.
What a selfish thought. They need to do what’s best for Shinsou, that’s all it comes down to.
But what is best for Shinsou?
Aizawa has assumed all this time that a household with two pro heroes is not best for anyone, but in the time since Shinsou came to live with them, he’s become so much more at ease with himself. His nightmares have become fewer and farther in between, as evidenced by the trend in his late night baking habits prior to…everything last week.
Last week was bad. That night, the night Shinsou ran off, was such a colossal fuckup that Aizawa thought they might lose him for good. But they didn’t. When Aizawa reached a hand across the rift between them, Shinsou reached back and took it. The boy he offered to train after the Sports Festival wouldn’t have taken that hand. That boy definitely wouldn’t have handed him a gel pack this morning and told him he loved him. That boy wasn’t secure enough in himself to be out, let alone have a boyfriend whose mother adores him.
Aizawa frowns at his reflection in the car window and takes a deep breath. What were Mrs. Kaminari’s metrics for her son’s home environment?
Safety. That’s an important consideration, but Shinsou will be safe on campus regardless of which home he goes back to on weekends. He has demonstrated his own ability to assess risks and defend himself in his internship. He seems to feel secure at home now.
Mental health: also important. Shinsou’s improvement there is not exactly linear—mental health never is—but it’s on a general upward trend. He has friends and solid relationships. He speaks up more. He doesn’t flinch when touched, and he smiles when complimented. He’s recovering from that perfect storm of awfulness last week like he genuinely believes it wasn’t his fault. Like the worst thing he thinks he’s ever done is survivable. That is objectively an improvement. That is damn near miraculous.
What was the last metric? Right. Grades. That will offer an objective measurement. Aizawa has been too concerned with other things to check Shinsou’s grades. He takes out his phone and logs into the school’s parents and guardians portal. Shinsou’s marks started off shaky but began to stabilize around the time he moved into the apartment.
This is… If all of this data were distilled into a student’s file lying open on a table in front of him, Aizawa would not see red flags. He would see healing.
He exhales, his shoulders going slack as he decides. He’s going to have to convince Hizashi. This can’t be a unilateral decision. And he’ll give Shinsou the choice, too. If any one of them doesn’t want this, it’s not the best for anyone.
He grabs an energy drink from the car and goes back inside, preparing an argument for Mrs. Kaminari at the same time that he prepares one for his own husband.
By the time parent meetings wrap up for the day, the group chat with Inko is a dozen texts deep in arrangements for Shinsou to have dinner at the Midoriyas’ and he has a text from Hizashi saying We need to talk about the adoption. It’s good that Shinsou is elsewhere. This is the kind of discussion that Aizawa knows could take hours, if not several conversations over the next few days, like when he brought Pichi home from patrol, or that argument in IKEA when they first lived together. However long it takes, he will make his case and stand by it. If Hizashi breaks his heart, he will do it with all the evidence, and Aizawa will deal.
The apartment smells like a freshly finished shower and one of their go-to frozen dinners in the oven. The cat greets Aizawa with hungry chirps and winds around his ankles as he pads down the front hallway.
In spite of the oven timer babysitting the meal-in-progress, Hizashi is still in the kitchen, slouched over the island with his elbows on the countertop and his phone out. His hair falls over his shoulders, neatly combed and not quite dry, and despite the fact that this is a rare day off, he’s wearing slacks and a button-down and his most boring civilian glasses.
“Hey,” Aizawa says, assessing the situation and trying not to jump to conclusions. There are plenty of reasons his husband would dress like a respectable adult on a day off. It doesn’t mean he’s geared up for an argument.
Hizashi sets his phone down without making eye contact and folds his hands on the countertop. “Shouta, we both know we can’t put this conversation off. Let’s just get into it.”
He is absolutely geared up for an argument.
Aizawa’s heart sinks. “Okay,” he says, collecting himself enough to straighten his posture. He rounds the kitchen island and stands a few feet from his husband, crossing his arms. “Where do you want to start?”
“Ms. Nakamura,” Hizashi says with a shrug. “She seems like a fine fit for Hitoshi. Good parent. Stable household.”
“Fewer hospital visits than ours,” Aizawa says with a smirk. “He’d do well with her. I agree.”
“Yes. And meanwhile, us?”
Aizawa’s body stiffens. Of course Hizashi would know he’d want to adopt the kid. Of course his beautiful, brilliant husband who puts the dots together too fast for his own good would understand the trajectory of his thoughts. Aizawa rolls through his mental outline of his argument and decides to start with the preamble he’s been writing in his head all afternoon. “Hizashi, I understand why we’re not ideal candidates for parenting. Our lives are punctuated by chaos and violence. You have three fucking jobs. I—“ He exhales slowly through his nose. “I do have a tendency to lose myself in saving everyone else. That night after karaoke a few months ago, when I was drunk and rambling about adopting him and you said it was a bad idea, you were right.”
Hizashi hangs his head toward the countertop and says quietly, “You actually remember that?”
“I do. I remember you saying that I felt guilty and I just wanted to save someone. And you were right.” Aizawa takes a deep breath, readying himself with reasonable arguments and evidence to make his case. Just as his mouth forms the word “But,” Hizashi interrupts.
“Fuck being right.” Hizashi raises his head, and his eyes meet Aizawa’s, challenging. “I don’t want to be right about this. In fact, I refuse. I was wrong.”
“Wait. Wait, what—” Aizawa’s not sure what words are supposed to come after that. This is not the argument he was bracing for.
“No, it’s okay, I was wrong, and I need to own up to it.” Hizashi is pacing the kitchen tile now, his hands fluttering through signs as he speaks aloud. “When we were flying back from Kamino Ward, the only thing holding me together was the thought that I’d get to wake up the next morning to you and Hitoshi. I love being parents with you. I love getting to see him grow into himself a little bit more every day. I love the way you give him confidence and he softens your jagged edges. I love that you’ll actually eat a vegetable if he cooks it for you. I thought you were going to lose yourself in trying to save that kid, but all he’s done is highlight the best parts of you. And yell at you to take care of yourself, which personally I’m a fan of.”
He stops pacing and drops his arms to his side. “I know I said that parenting doesn’t fit into our lives, but we made room for him, and I can’t imagine not having him here anymore. I want him to be ours. I want us to be his. And I think if we let him get placed with that perfectly nice woman without at least giving him that option, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”
Aizawa is too stunned to remember his own arguments. “Hizashi…” he starts.
“Tell me not to start the paperwork right now. Give me one good reason Hitoshi doesn’t belong with us.” Hizashi gives him a defiant look as he takes out his hearing aids and drops them on the countertop, and says in a softer voice, “Sorry, can’t hear you.”
Aizawa has never loved him more. He closes the space between them and wraps his husband in hug tight enough to feel the vibration of laughter through his chest. Hizashi squeezes him back, swaying side to side like he can’t contain all his energy. Aizawa kisses the side of his head, his cheek, his lips, and bump their foreheads together. Their noses touch, and Hizashi grins, stealing another kiss.
“I love you so much,” Aizawa says.
“Just to clarify, is that a yes?” Hizashi pulls away to get visual confirmation.
Yes, Aizawa signs back, nodding. “Yes,” he says out loud. He would write it in the sky if he could. Vandalize a billboard. Hang a sign on the cat. Yes, yes, absolutely fucking yes.
Hizashi grins, pure sunshine, and signs, Do you want to ask him, or shall I?
***
Midoriya rides the bus home with Shinsou, even though he’s just going to have to turn around and take it right back. It’s kind of him. Shinsou is perfectly capable of getting himself home on the familiar bus route, but being summoned home early by his foster parents still makes him anxious, even if the text from Hizashi said everything’s okay, followed by an assortment of cheerful emojis.
Midoriya sits between Shinsou and the aisle, arm around his shoulder, a comfortable headrest. His breath is warm against Shinsou’s temple.
“It’ll be okay. Maybe the school is giving you a chance to test into the Hero Course. Or maybe it’s adoption news. Or they’re getting another cat.”
“Or maybe nothing is okay and those emojis are a lie,” Shinsou says. He wishes he hadn’t eaten dinner. His stomach is one big knot.
Midoriya rubs his arm. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Yamada isn’t capable of lying via emojis. Would it make you feel better if I hung out in the park for a while, in case you need backup?”
“No,” Shinsou says. “I mean, yes. But don’t, your mom will worry. I can handle this myself.”
“You can,” Midoriya says firmly. “You’re one of the most capable people I know.”
That’s new. And kind of an honor, considering the source. Shinsou curls closer against him and laces their fingers together for the rest of the ride.
Midoriya walks him to the front door of the apartment building, gives him a kiss, and says, “Good luck. I’m here if you need anything.”
“I know,” Shinsou replies, smiling in spite of himself. “Go home, Izuku. I’ll text you later.”
The smile that Midoriya gives over his shoulder as he turns toward the bus stop could power a small city for a month. Those damn freckles stand out even in the twilight. Shinsou watches him just long enough to be sure he reaches the bus stop safely, then lets himself into the building.
When he gets inside the apartment, Hizashi and Aizawa are sitting in the living room, TV off, no laptops, no papers or exams in front of them. Whatever it is they’re doing, they’re doing it right the hell now. Okay. Shinsou squares his shoulders and walks into the living room.
“Hey, Hitoshi,” Hizashi says brightly. “Have a seat.”
Shinsou perches on the armchair so he can see both of them at once. Hizashi’s tone is bright and cheerful, but his posture doesn’t quite match it. Usually his limbs tend to sprawl, but now he’s pulled in on himself, leaning forward, with his hands in his lap and one knee jiggling. The last time he couldn’t control that particular nervous tic, there was a student missing.
Beside him, Aizawa is his usual unreadable self, perfectly still. He’s not making eye contact, which isn’t abnormal for him but also feels ominous, given everything else.
“Am I in trouble?” Shinsou asks.
“No,” Hizashi says quickly. “No, honey, we wanted to tell you you’re getting adopted.”
Oh. Oh.
The reality of that sentence hits him in the chest like a shove. Ms. Nakamura wants to adopt him. A permanent family is exactly what he’s wanted since he was little. Any kid at the facility would by thrilled by this kind of news. He should be thrilled. Why isn’t he thrilled? Why does his body feel so far away all of a sudden?
“Ms. Nakamura is a lovely person,” Hizashi goes on. “We think she’d make an excellent parent for you, but we also—“ He glances at Aizawa, who’s staring down at his hands. “Well, we’ve talked about it, we checked with your case manager, and Shouta and I— Hitoshi, sweetheart, are you okay?”
Shinsou should be excited. He should be relieved. Instead, his breath is coming too fast and too small, and his brain is a wall of guilt. So many kids at the res care facility are there until the system spits them out as barely legal adults. This is the dream. This is what everyone wants. Why does it feel like this? What’s wrong with him?
“No,” he manages to say.
Aizawa moves off the couch and kneels in front of him, laying hands on his. “It’s okay, this is a lot. Deep breaths. Feel your toes against the floor.”
Shinsou nods, mirroring Aizawa as he takes a long breath in, holds it a few seconds, and exhales. It helps. A second and third breath help, too. He can feel the thin fabric of his socks slipping against the wood floor as he moves his toes, and that pulls him back into his body enough to grab Aizawa’s hands and hold on.
“Better?” Aizawa says gently.
Shinsou nods.
“There’s another option,” Hizashi says from the couch. “If you don’t want to be part of Ms. Nakamura’s family, we’ve talked it over, and—”
“Stay with us,” Aizawa interrupts. His gaze trained on Shinsou, intent and strangely nervous. “Please. We want to adopt you.”
Shinsou’s voice doesn’t work for a minute. “You do?”
Aizawa clenches his jaw shut and nods.
“We’d love to,” Hizashi says. “But this is your decision. We understand if you’d rather have a more stable parent who doesn’t go running off into danger. Someone you can come home to and not worry about. Someone who knows how to cook and relax and just be a person.”
“And has two cats,” Aizawa adds.
Shinsou stares as the words sink in. They want to adopt him. They want to adopt him, after seeing his mess up close for all these weeks? His two favorite adults, who love him. Who he loves. He can choose them?
It’s so easy to breathe all of a sudden.
“Can we get a second cat?” he says.
Aizawa makes an uncertain sound in his throat and looks to Hizashi, who slumps back into the couch with his hand on his forehead and says, “I’m gonna be outvoted on everything cat from now on, aren’t I?”
“Damn right,” Aizawa says, smiling.
Pushing himself out of the chair, Shinsou wraps his arms around Aizawa and buries his face in his shirt collar. Warm, eager arms return the hug, and his t-shirt tightens across the back as fingers grasp the fabric.
Questions bubble up from inside Shinsou. “How does this work?” he says. “Do I need to change my name? Do we have to go to court? Will I have a room in your apartment on campus? Can cats visit the student dorms?” He pulls back so he can read Aizawa’s face and realizes he’s missing a piece of foundational information. “What do I call you?”
Aizawa smoothes Shinsou’s hair out of his face. “What do you want to call me?”
That’s almost as easy as saying yes to them. “Is ‘Dad’ okay?”
Aizawa’s sharp eyes soften, suddenly wet with tears. He coughs out a laugh and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”
It seems wrong that Hizashi is all the way over on the couch. Shinsou reaches out for him and pulls him into a hug, too. Resting his cheek against the fuzzy shoulder of Hizashi’s cardigan feels like coming home, all softness and comfortable smells and a familiar voice humming through the body against his.
“Does that mean I get to be ‘Mom?’” Hizashi asks, and his tone isn’t quite joking.
Shinsou thinks of the they side of Hizashi’s pronouns that only come up in the safety of GSA meetings, the fuzzy pastel pajama pants and cheap wine on Great British Baking Show nights, the overwhelming safety of his—their—particular hugs. Mom feels warm and welcoming, just like Hizashi.
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re Mom now. Deal with it.”
Hizashi’s voice slips into a run of delighted synthesizer notes, then laughter. “I accept your judgement.”
Shinsou grins into Hizashi’s shoulder and reaches for Aizawa’s hand, which is still where he left it on the arm of the chair. There are so many questions yet to answer, and the whole world is changing—his whole world is changing—but for the first time since he can remember, nothing feels scary.
***
Hitoshi’s adoption is finalized by a judge the same week that students move into the dorms, and naturally, Hizashi suggests they have a party. In their new campus apartment. Their private apartment, where Aizawa keeps his private things, like his underwear and his testosterone kit and their relationship. But their son is so excited by the idea of hosting a party that Aizawa says yes anyway. They’re all still dressed in their court clothes, Hitoshi with a hoodie over his button-down.
It’s kind of fun to watch reality dawn on the faces of the kids who didn’t know Aizawa and Hizashi are together. He watches Todoroki connect the dots during his first ten minutes in the apartment, staring first at the loud blond helping Hitoshi distribute the cake he made and then at Aizawa lingering in the kitchen. His expression shifts from puzzlement to mild horror, making Aizawa smirk.
Yes, kid, the teachers are married. No, you weren’t supposed to know. Yes, if you bring it up in homeroom, you’re getting suspended.
Todoroki says nothing. None of the students address it directly, actually, which is a smart move on their part.
Hitoshi hasn’t stopped smiling since the judge signed off on his adoption, and every time Aizawa looks at him, the feeling that rises inside him is almost too much to handle. It’s love and pride and gratitude that he gets to help shape this incredible kid’s life. It’s like what he feels for his students, but with the volume cranked up so high the knob has come off in his hand. He’s come close to crying a few times today. Hizashi has cried three times, because of course he has.
Aizawa spends most of the party on a stool in the kitchen, alternating between working on lesson plans on his laptop and keeping the cat away from the assorted snacks on the counter. In between tasks, he keeps an eye on the gaggle of teens across the apartment, who are telling loud jokes over a card game someone brought. He doesn’t catch every word, but it must be something raunchy, because Midoriya is beet red and Ururaka has laughed herself off her chair.
“Do you think the GSA would benefit from a sex ed lesson?” he asks when Hizashi comes to loiter in the kitchen with him.
“We’d have to get parental permission, but sure,” Hizashi says. “Send me your slideshow. I’ll try to do it justice.”
Aizawa watches the teens play cards. “I was thinking of presenting it myself.”
Hizashi goes still, setting down his drink. “You’d come to the GSA? On purpose?”
“It’s about time, don’t you think?” Aizawa shrugs at the party in their living room. “Why should I keep being quiet about who I am when it’s brought everything good I have into my life.”
Hizashi is going to cry a fourth time today.
Aizawa smirks, running fingers along his husband’s chin, and kisses him. There are students in their home who see it, and he doesn’t care anymore. He’s represented the school on TV in civilian clothes and sat in a social worker’s office in full costume, and now his whole world is here on campus. Here in front of him.
The card game ends in cheating accusations and a roar of laughter, and Hitoshi jogs into the kitchen. “Hey Mom, Tsu challenged everyone to Quirk Frisbee. Is that okay? We’ll just be down on Field C.”
Hizashi beams, just like he does every time he gets called Mom. Aizawa’s pretty sure the kid’s been sneaking more Mom’s into conversation just to get that sunshine smile.
“Sounds good to me,” Hizashi says. “Shouta?”
Aizawa considers it for a second, then leans toward his son and says conspiratorially, “Bring your capture weapon, and take out Ururaka and Todoroki first.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Hitoshi takes a step toward the living room, then remembers something, turns back, and unzips his hoodie. His new kitten, a colorpoint with little white socks, is curled up sleeping between the layers of fabric. “Take this,” he says, presenting the kitten to Aizawa. “I don’t think she’d like Quirk Frisbee.” With that, he all but sprints back to the living room to join his loud friends in whatever loud friend thing they’re doing now.
Aizawa watches the teenagers abandon their dirty plates and cups in an excited rush to go be loud outside. “We’re never doing this again,” he tells Hizashi.
Hizashi laughs. “You say that now, but soon enough it’ll be his birthday, and you’ll be sitting in this same spot, annoyed and proud and ready to do it all over again next time, because it’s for him.”
Aizawa sighs as the horde of teenagers makes their way out the front door. “How did I become the pushover parent?” he asks, gesturing with the kitten in his hand.
“Oh, Shouta,” his husband says. “It’s cute that you think you were ever going to be anything else. You’ve been ready to do anything for that kid since the moment he came to live with us.”
In retrospect, that’s true. He never stood a chance. Neither of them did. And thank god for that.
He’s not used to being able to see the future so clearly. Now it’s laid out in milestones and celebrations. A party in the common room with music and dancing when their son gets into the Hero Course. Dinner out in the city when he gets his provisional license. A road trip when he learns to drive. And there will be thousands of other smaller celebrations, every day, in the form of words and hugs and occasionally kittens, because Hitoshi deserves to be celebrated and Aizawa is determined to do it as much as possible.
Hizashi is right. He’s a total pushover.
Hizashi is always right. Except for that one time.
“Come on,” Aizawa says, tucking the kitten into his own shirt and rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s clean up.”