Chapter Text
Shouta knew, oh how he knew, that he shouldn't have let Izuku just go home. But his kid is strong and brave and hadn't said a single word against it, even though there was so much discomfort obvious to him, and the man had hoped that his Problem Child would just talk to his mother, start setting up the therapy appointments that Nedzu had contacted all of 1-A's parents about, and that things wouldn't magically be okay but would instead begin to make progress towards recovery. Who knows, maybe having distance from the man he watched over and over again would even help Izuku.
But judging by the phone calls he's been picking up from Izuku, that hasn't been the case at all. The kid's been nervy and rambling, talking about Quirks and the class and the investigation to prolong the conversation without ever getting to the crux of the matter: Izuku isn't coping.
To be fair, Shouta himself is barely coping. The first time that Twig loafed on his chest, whiskers against his stubble, he'd nearly had a panic attack, and it had only been staring at the date and having his Sunshine hold him that proved him safe, that calmed the awful juddering of his lungs and sun-spotting of his vision. He has support from the love of his life who is familiar with trauma, and with his trauma, but Izuku doesn't have that. That much is clear from how whatever childhood trauma his kid has still affects him, how he reacts to Bakugou and triggers and all sorts of seemingly random things.
So, no, it's not a surprise that Izuku has been calling him, nor that with every one he's been sounding worse, another step further towards a ledge that Shouta hoped wouldn't even be within sight.
He hates it all.
Driving away from his kid's flat had his heart stilling, stone-hewn and desperately aching, and Hizashi had settled a hand on his thigh, fingers barely pressing in but palm firm, and stayed quiet, only the occasional hum to accompany the turned-down radio. It helps a bit, but doesn't stop Shouta from worrying. And the first time his phone rings to the number he doesn't have saved but does know off by heart, he had literally run across their living area, startling Choco-bun and nearly skidding onto his arse as he gets it to his phone and accepts the call.
"Kid, you alright?"
"Hey Sensei." The kid doesn't even have a nervous laugh to fill the slightly awkward hesitation before he speaks again,
"Uhm, yeh, I'm alright. I just- are you? Alright, that is?" Shouta would be lying to say that he relaxes a tiny bit then, in spite of the kid's clear stress.
"I am. I'm home, Sunshine is in the shower right now, I just startled Choco-bun so I'll probably have to give her part of whatever I eat for dinner later else I'll feel guilty for the rest of my life, and Optician is glaring at me for it. Want me to send a picture of them?"
There's a long pause, three breaths that hitch and shudder and writhe with what might just be the strain of panic, but then there's something more solid, a single breath that isn't awful to hear, and Shouta can finally breathe again himself.
A reply follows this, a little too bright,
"You don't have to, Sensei!" Well, that's the closest thing to a 'yes please' that Shouta has ever heard for something that very much doesn't say those words.
"Izuku, kid, that wasn't the question." Another hesitation, but a softer one, gentle-edged and giving in,
"...Yes please?" The hero finally smiles at that,
"No problem, kid."
So maybe that first conversation hadn't been too bad. But with each successive one, the kid has only sounded more tired and trembly and just wrong.
Over the course of three and a half days, Shouta gets no less than twenty phone calls. He keeps his phone charged and within reach the whole time, not willing to be even half a second later to pick it up than necessary. It helps that Nedzu had contacted NightVeil on his part to get him taken off of active duty for a week minimum. Sure, it had grated a little, but also Shouta can admit that it's only logical to take a break after dying for a month straight. And Hizashi had looked so relieved when the email came through... Yeh, Shouta can't begrudge it. But the extra worrying time isn't ideal, not when it makes him want to fucking sob every time he hangs up from talking to his kid and just knows that his Problem Hero isn't doing well. And considering how much they've been through, the fact that he can barely help right now is more than a little soul-rending.
Then, of course, Midoriya Inko rings him on Sunday.
It's an awkward conversation, a stilted one. It raises a blurred heat-haze of rage and agony and bitter understanding in his chest, and the temptation to simply throw himself out of his home and onto the streets, to get to his Problem Child as quickly as possible, is more than strong. (It echoes in his bones and blood, a Zeus-strewn tempest, the surge of need to be able to protect his kid more than overwhelming-)
But Hizashi has his legs slung across Shouta's lap, toes wriggling along to the beat of whatever playlist he's putting together for the radio station, and that Shouta is more than used to getting spoilers for at this point, after years of listening to both the station and Hizashi organising future music for said station. And admittedly, his husband's toes are still now, his headphone around his neck and laptop abandoned onto the coffee table to let him lean forwards, the back of one hand pressed atop Shouta's thigh, beside his own ankles. (They've both learnt, over the last few days, that the sudden presence of a hand against skin, particularly fingertips-first, is a sure way to have him flinching and fighting and so far from right that it hurts them both.)
"Shou?"
He's clearly heard most of the conversation, and can undoubtedly feel the lightning-sharp tension arching through the underground hero's limbs, the desperation tightening his chest, and the blond presses his hand slightly more firmly against Shouta's thigh, emphasising Hizashi's presence. Yeh, he doesn't have to face this alone. Not like they had to before, when it was only him and Izuku against an eternal world.
"She's not enough. It's not her fault, but she's not. Izuku needs me." He pulls in half a breath, not letting Hizashi speak yet because he needs to move on, to give both himself and the kid a chance to grow above and beyond this,
"He needs us."
"Alright. Are we picking him up today, or tomorrow?" Yeh, Shouta loves his husband - his soft, silly, smart Sunshine - very, very much.
"Can we go now?" The slightly vulnerable edge to that, a child-scared waver, isn't intentional, but Hizashi doesn't judge him for it, only shifting to curl more on top of the shorter man's lap, settling his forehead in the curve of Shouta's neck, feet pressed more firmly against his thighs, and the warmth and weight of it all is an absolute blessing, sunlight and joy personified into one single beautiful person.
And, even better, there are kind words being breathed against his skin, all careful consideration and offers,
"Of course, love. Want to pick up a snack or two on the way, maybe some strawberry milk for the lil' one?" And if he hadn't been sure that his husband liked the kid before (he had, because it had been in the soft glances and the careful hands, the understanding words and distracting rambles-), that tiny glimpse of attention to detail would be more than telling.
At least this way he knows that Zashi isn't against him bringing a semi-random kid home, and possibly having him here for a good while. (Shouta would be lying if he tried to deny that he kind of hopes Izuku might stay with them for a long time, so long as it's still what's healthy for Izuku.)
"Thank you, Sunshine." The words are simple and easy, yet every syllable creaks the chasms through his heart the tiniest bit wider.
"Always, Shou."
They only stay like that for a few minutes though, neither wanting to leave Izuku too long when he needs support, and once Shouta is breathing deeply once more, Hizashi presses a kiss to his neck, a moment of ridiculously tender affection, before unfolding himself from the shorter man's lap. It doesn't even take five minutes to get themselves out of the door, getting into the car to pick up something from a corner store on the way, and then to get his Problem Child. Hopefully, Izuku will become their Problem Child.
Equally, it doesn't take long to get to the kid's apartment, which may or may not be because Hizashi edges the line of what he's legally allowed to do on the roads in a non-emergency, although they do stop off at a corner store for the aforementioned strawberry milk, plus one of Shouta's favourite juice pouches just to give him something else to focus on for a few minutes of the final half of the drive, and then Hizashi is parking a bit questionably in the small car park attached to the apartment building, taking up a space that doesn't have any scuffmarks and so is hopefully relatively unused, because he doesn't want to leave their car unattended on the street during the early afternoon.
"Alright to go straight up, Shou?"
"Definitely," he returns, not quite meaning to let a curve of relieved eagerness round out the single word.
Hizashi doesn't judge though, only reaching out, palm-up and open-ended, an offer so genuine and comfortable that Shouta doesn't even hesitate to slip their hands together, squeezing just-steady fingers around a warm palm.
However, they both let go soon enough, because there was no point to hurrying here if they just linger now, and Shouta leads the way up the stairs, headed for the door that he has left exactly one, in a reality that wasn't quite the same as this one. He knocks in a pattern that the kid might not even recognise, unless he hears all of it and truly thinks, yet it's one that Shouta can't help but default to all the same because it's a tiny snippet of a dying heartbeat, one that he has memorised from hearing it eleven times in this exact stuttering rhythm.
The door is open within a few moments, Midoriya Inko managing a wan smile as she open the door and steps to the side, the sound of hurried footsteps in the background, a child with matted hair and a hand upon a hilt sticking out of his belt rushing towards the door. He freezes though, upon seeing who is there and waiting.
"Aizawa?" There are darting eyes and even more quick steps, Izuku suddenly right in front of him, one hand slightly raised, barely a few inches from his side but distinct all the same. Accordingly, the hero doesn't hesitate, not when Izuku has given such blatant, if silent, permission, and he grasps the kid's hand in return, the tackiness of half-dried blood felt by both of them, even as nobody can see it. If both of them sway slightly closer to each other, drawn in by the gravity of heresafeokaytogether, then neither Hizashi nor Inko call them out on it. They wouldn't quite know how to.
"Hey, kid. Midoriya-san," he greets, squeezing Izuku's hand lightly. Neither of them particularly realise how they're both shifting slightly to stand almost shoulder to shoulder in the genkan, set against the world once more.
"Aizawa-san. I-" she pauses, the beginnings of a waver in her voice being dissolved into a thin steadiness,
"Would you both like to come in for a cup of tea?"
"If you're amenable, Midoriya-san," Hizashi interjects, soft-toned and smiling a little already, peering over his husband's shoulder.
"Yes, yes, of course. Izuku, b-baby, why don't you take our guests to the sofa? I'll bring myself a chair over in a minute." Every single one of them know that the way that Izuku just nods, not even protesting that he can help, and tugs Shouta along by the hand, glancing up at Hizashi with something verging on warmth to his eyes, slightly hazy though they might be, is very much telling of the kid's mental state. The poor listener looks exhausted.
Shouta pauses the kid long enough to shove his boots off though, Hizashi doing the same, and then they follow the teen over to the sofa. Shouta doesn't take the seat he took last time (technically he never took it, but he remembers the give of the worn cushions, the softness of the slightly ragged brown blanket-) and instead ends up in the centre of the two cushions, thigh to thigh with both his husband and his Izuku, and he nudges the kid to face them both even though it squashes their knees together slightly painfully.
Izuku looks ill.
It's not the very worst state Shouta has seen him in, for certain, but it's still a sight that twists at his guts, raking nails against his chalkboard spine, because Izuku's hands are trembling faintly, there's a slight catch to his breathing that comes of something being too tight around his chest, and the expression on his face... It's wrong. There's the pallor of bones, and an inky blankness that reminds Shouta painfully of their fourteenth morning, when the kid had nearly broken, and it's honestly just miserable.
And despite all of that, he's managing to smile, an ugly, awful thing but a smile all the same.
"You've been doing worse than you said, haven't you." It's not even a question any more, because they both know the answer, have both known the answer for the last few days, yet it needs saying all the same. Because they've been honest with each other for the first twenty eight days, or rather once they knew they were looping together, and the hero can't let that change now, not when they finally have the chance to recover and move past it all.
"Sorry, Sensei."
"Fuck, kid, don't be, we've said this before," Shouta grumbles, poking just above the kid's knee, slipping a hand beneath his shirt to loosen the capture weapon slightly, and ends up with his Problem Child gripping at his hand again, their unseen bloodstains aligning once more.
"And I've said language before," Izuku chides, some actual substance creeping into his smile, and that feels even better than seeing the kid in the first place had.
"Why are you here, Aizawa?" It's slightly harsh, probably harsher than it was meant to be, and there's a slight gasp from the direction of the kitchen, where Inko is looking at all three of them with wide eyes. But Shouta doesn't have the time or attention for that, not when his kid looks vulnerable.
"Because you're not doing well. You're going to have to tell me to leave you alone if you want me not to act on my worries, kid." Both of them know that Izuku won't say that, but he wants and needs to offer it anyway.
It takes a few blinks and breaths, but then the kid nods, murmuring a quiet thank you, and they all settle back down. Inko, from where she had stuttered to a stop over by the kitchen entrance, starts moving again, a chair in her hands and her Quirk supporting a tea tray. She ducks her head in vague re-greeting to them all.
"I- I hope you don't mind jasmine tea."
"That sounds lovely! Thank you ever so much Midoriya-san!" Hizashi chirps, bright in tone and expression, and it puts everyone a little more at ease. Thank Nedzu for his Sunshine.
"Of course! And, uhm, call me Inko, please." Her smile is timid, yet even then it doesn't have the shadows that Izuku's did only a few literal weeks ago, upon first turning up in Shouta's classroom.
"Thank you, Inko-san. You can call me Hizashi, if you want! A bit less of a mouthful than Present Mic, ya know?" The blond laughs, and her smiles solidifies,
"Ah, if you're sure!"
"No worries at all, Inko-san. How have you been holding up, with everything?" he asks, even as he accepts a steaming mug of tea with a smile.
Shouta and Izuku, for their part, stay quiet, listening in and watching the interaction. How Hizashi puts Inko at ease, how she watches all three of them with concern but not with regret or resentment, how the steady heat and breathing of each other, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder, helps soothe a restless ache that neither of them had truly realised was so painful.
"As well as expected, I suppose," she manages, cutting a mournful glance back over to Izuku, and Shouta abruptly realises both how much she cares, and how little good it's doing the kid.
Hopefully that means that intending to bring Izuku home with them today is a good decision rather than a bad one.
They all settle down a bit then, sipping at tea together, before Inko speaks up again,
"Uhm, Izu-kun, there's a reason I asked your teacher to come over."
"You asked them over." The kid winces at his own flat tone, but doesn't take it back or change it. It's just another reminder that he's not quite himself.
"Y-yes. I just thought that they might be able to help you? M-more than I can at least." There's a fracturing to those words, a fluttering discomfort, and it has Izuku frowning even more, leaning forwards a bit. It only highlights the paleness of his skin as he shifts in relation to the warm light of the room.
"Kid," Shouta interrupts, not unkind but not liking how both of the Midoriyas seem to be breaking further word by word.
"We want you to come home with us."
"Me? With you two?" It's still flat, not even disbelief or relief or anything else they might have expected creeping in, and that feels so very wrong that all of the adults exchange glances. Not one of them says anything about, when Hizashi starts to speak, Izuku pulling out the knife that he has kept sheathed on his person this entire time, tumbling and turning it between his fingers, tremble dissipating with his half-focus on something so familiar and rhythmic. Something so safe. But the rest of his attention does go to the blond as he speaks,
"That's right, lil' one. You don't have to, but we thought it might be good, ya know?" Hizashi offers, tone as soft as a kitten's belly and equally as vulnerable. It has Izuku's shoulders sagging.
"Oh."
The teen is clearly processing at this point, and so the heroes and his Mum fall quiet again, giving him the time and space needed.
It pays off, because by the time their tea is done and three of their cups are settled back on the tea tray, Izuku is looking up at the three of them with an almost-wild gaze, all brambles dripping in rain that's a tad too dark to be water.
"And it's only because you think I need help?" It catches between the thorns of accusation and weakness, leaving it conflicted, weary and wary. Inko is already tearing up in return, voice shuddering,
"Izuku, baby, I just- I- don't know how to stop- how to stop you falling apart."
"But I'm no-" He cuts himself off, going to bite at his lip before Shouta nudges him lightly in the side, silently reminding him not to. It works, even whilst Izuku ends up frowning instead, seemingly to himself with how he's staring down at his lap.
"Uhm, I- I'm just going to make some more tea," Inko says, words rushed and tumbling, and she pushes to her feet with wide eyes and the barest traces of a wan smile. Hizashi stands as well, staying stooped so that he's only a foot or so taller than her, hands already on the tea tray,
"Ah, Midoriya-san, mind if I help?" She pauses, just for a fraction of a second, eyes flitting over her son and the underground hero, before she bites her lip and nods.
With that, Hizashi scoops up the tea tray from the coffee table and follows the nervous woman to the kitchen, leaving his husband and their kid to it. (Maybe Hizashi shouldn't be thinking of Midoriya-san's son as their own, particularly not when they're here to take Izuku with them, but he also knows that their intention isn't to take her son, only to give the lil' listener another safe space, more people to turn to and rely upon for anything and everything he might need-)
Izuku waits for them both to be out of earshot before he turns fully to Shouta, hunching in on himself a little, their knees still pressed together but the kid literally drawing away from him. Something vicious rips through Shouta's chest with that fact but he doesn't give in to it because this is Izuku's moment, not his. He needs to help the kid first.
His hurt remains, even as the kid starts to speak, voice almost quieter than even Shouta could hear,
"Why am I coming with you?" The vulnerability creases further into the aches of his heart, shuddering with dug-in claws, because he hates his Problem Child sounding so rent-apart, even as he sympathises with it. Understands it.
"Because I don't think you're doing well in here right now, are you?" The kid can't answer, and that's more telling than anything else.
It takes more breaths than the man can be asked to actually count, the sound of a tap starting in the kitchen area, before Izuku pokes at Shouta's side, not quite vicious but more of a combination of frustration and wanting full attention.
"Aizawa, you can't think- I- She isn't a bad Mum! She just- we-" Fuck, he can't let the kid get that impression, because that's the last idea he wants Izuku to garner, because the kid needs every bit of support and care he can get, from his mother included.
"Kid, I promise I'm not saying your mum's bad, or cruel, or a failure, nor am I saying that you're a problem in this equation." He emphasises that even more heavily, because if there's one thing he needs Izuku to understand, it's that none of this his fault or a problem in that sense. And he knows his Problem Child, knows how easily the kid blames or implicates himself for things like this, and that's the last thing Shouta wants right now.
"What I am saying is that you deserve more support than she can provide, and Zashi and I can and want to give you that support, if you're willing to accept it. Nothing about this is a no-choice thing," he adds on,
"-nor is it permanent. We're just trying to give you as many options as possible, Izuku. You're not a helpless child, but that doesn't mean that you can't accept help. You're my Problem Hero, Izuku, and I'm not letting you break now."
Neither of them speak for a long moment after that, blinking at each other, and the tension leaches from the kid gradually, then all at once in a rough exhalation and closed eyes.
"I- okay. Thank you, Sensei." He shifts closer again, and that fact means more than the words themselves, although the gratitude also helps soothe some of the pain in his chest, heart shuddering against his ribs with something less hurt and more content.
"Always, kiddo," he vows, steady and certain. He doesn't let the crushing gravity of that promise linger though, pressing his weight slightly more heavily against the kid in lieu of it, tone light in return,
"Oh, and keep the capture weapon for now, alright? I'll take it back later." There's a three-breath silence between them, one of understanding, where they both know and share every layer of depth beneath that, before Shouta speaks again,
"And, hey, at least you'll get to meet the cats, kiddo." Izuku manages a shaky smile then, tucking himself further into the hero's side, and Shouta doesn't hesitate to sling his arm around almost-trembling shoulders,
"Do you think they'll like me?"
"I know they're going to like you," Shouta retorts, a soft sort of Cheshire grin making itself known, and they're able to both relax, a calloused hand coming up to rough through green curls as Izuku giggles.
It's the perfect sight for Inko and Hizashi to walk back into, even if it hurts something in the woman's heart, because for their loved ones who have been struggling so much to now be smiling together, a soft laugh filling the room... It's more reassuring than words could say.
Still though, nobody is quite ready to pull the Midoriyas apart just yet, so there's some quiet conversation about school, mostly generic things like favourite subjects or silly stories that Hizashi shares, skirting around anything that might be too triggering for anyone, and it eases them all enough to eventually have Izuku leaving the room to pack some of his things, only a faint edge of reluctance to him. It gives the adults the time to discuss a few specifics, which really just means assuaging Inko's concerns about their living situation and her being able to contact or find them and vice versa. It doesn't regard any actual decisions, because Shouta, for one, wouldn't be comfortable doing that without Izuku in the room. The kid should be able to lean on all of them for support, but that doesn't mean that he can't be part of the decisions.
He's certainly mature and intelligent enough for it, the last month has proved that much.
But they reassure Inko as much as they can, and when Izuku appears again with a duffel bag full of things and his school bag slung over his shoulder, stuffed to the brim, Shouta and Hizashi exchange a glance. It both seems like too much and too little to be bringing with him, but it's not like they can't bring the kid back to pick up more stuff, or that there isn't the money to buy him things that he's missing or doesn't have enough of, so it's probably fine.
"Want me to take that, lil' one?" The limelight hero offers with a tiny smile and genuine warmth in his tone, trying to make it clear to the kid that he means it.
"Oh! Thank you," Izuku manages, smiling shyly up at Hizashi as the blond stands and slowly extends a hand, palm-down, to take the duffel from him. Meanwhile, Shouta lets his eyes linger on Inko briefly, on how she takes in the scene between his two people with twisted lips, trembling hands, and resolution in her gaze. Good. She cares, but more about Izuku than herself. (That isn't to say that she doesn't need and deserve support and help and attention, but she's an adult, and she can seek that out for herself, perhaps with UA's help. Shouta's here for Izuku's sake and Izuku's alone.)
Satisfied that Inko is truly going along with this, had suggested it in the first place, for the right sort of reasons, Shouta pushes to his feet and levels Izuku with a steady look, taking in the details of the kid, trying to ensure that this isn't going to be a bad decision for him. And, for all that there's nerves to him, a shiver in his spine, Izuku stares steadily back, and takes a step towards him, the beginnings of a smile warming the paleness of his face. Good.
"Let me take your other bag for now?"
"Thanks, Shouta." There's that deliberate name choice again, one that puts them close together, that affirms their familiarity and equality to each other. Recognising that, sharing it, Shouta reaches out to rap gentle knuckles atop the kid's head, resting them there for just a few seconds too long,
"Always, Izuku."
They all start to leave then, everyone slipping shoes on, and the two husbands deliberately walk ahead of the Midoriyas as they all head down the stairs and for the carpark. If Izuku ends up with a hand in Shouta's top all the same then nobody calls him out on it.
"We'll let you say goodbye to your mum, alright? We're literally just going to sit in the car."
"O- Okay." Izuku still takes another second to unlatch his hold on Shouta's top, but he does, and the two heroes walk over to the car, only resisting the urge to look over their shoulders thanks to the warped reflections of mother and son on the side of their car.
They can't hear the quiet words, but have no doubts as to what is being said, exchanges of worries and apologies and well wishes, see you soon and look after yourself, and the love yous spoken quietest and fiercest of all. As they both get in, the sight of Izuku and Inko hugging can be seen out of the corner of their eyes, and they exchange a relieved glance of their own. Things between the Midoriyas certainly aren't broken. No, they're just strained and warped and twisted. But that can be recovered, for all that it's likely to never be exactly the same. That being said however, sometimes change can be good, and if they both come out stronger and happier for it by the end, then hopefully the awful stage will be worth it.
Meanwhile Izuku, hugging his Mum, feels overwhelmed and blank all at once. (It's in the roiling heat in his gut, the glimmer of nerves-sharp energy sparking and arching through his marrow. The tension, spring-tight and aching, that lances at every muscle.) Her touch is familiar yet it isn't quite safe, nor is it unsafe either, and the dichotomy of the person who's supposed to love him most not actually feeling safe but not outright being a problem either hurts more than he can really comprehend. It's just wrong. And not the sort of wrong that can be fixed with a knife or snarled words or a clever plan, not the sort of wrong that he really knows how to deal with now.
Izuku isn't entirely sure he knows how to be anything but a hero any more.
But he can try (has been trying-) and so he holds her carefully, not letting a single iota of his acid-buzzing Quirk free, and breathes in the smell of her pomegranate shampoo and outside air, and forces himself to try and switch off his brain for a minute. It doesn't entirely work, but it's enough. He returns her kind, soul-aching words and manages to actually mean them, and if his steps to the car are more firm than his hug was, then it's not something that he has any control over or thought to. No, he just confirms that the boot is shut on his belongings, and reaches for the door that matches the seat he took only a few days ago, for all that it feels like an age.
"Heya, lil' one, dunno if you're hungry at all but there's some strawberry milk and mochi in the back there if you want them!" It's warmth that greets Izuku upon opening the door to the back of his teachers' car, and it settles some of the ache inside his chest, stilling his trembles and staying some of his runaway thoughts. He's safe here.
Then he's settled properly in his seat, everyone has their seatbelts on, and he's got strawberry milk in hand without particularly thinking about it, sipping at it with a hand still caught around the hilt of their knife and mind in the tightness of his hero's capture weapon around his chest. It's been helping more than most things. (So many things have been the opposite of helpful; even just sitting on the edge of his bed had Izuku's chest tightening, much like taking his place at their small dining table, where he's eaten too many breakfasts that tasted of iron-tainted dust because he's just preparing to die again, the same day except it's not-) But he's got a tasty drink and the car is rumbling as Shouta's Sunshine turns the engine on, ready to drive them away (drive them home-) so Izuku just sinks into his seat and finally lets himself relax.
Shouta twists around in his seat no less than ten minutes later, reaching out for the half-drunk carton of milk before it can spill to the floor, and if he pauses, able to properly look at Izuku and assess the eyebags, the pallor to his skin and tangle of his matted hair, then he doesn't like what he sees. Except he also does. Because the kid's eyes are closed in calm rest, his chest is rising and falling in steady breaths, and he tilts further and further towards the window with every tenth heartbeat. He clearly needs the sleep, so hopefully it will do him some good.
"I think we've done right, love," Hizashi murmurs, as quiet as when he breathes words against Shouta's skin on early weekend mornings and just as tender,
"He looks happier."
"I hope so," he sighs, glancing back around at the kid behind them.
Hizashi catches on to his concern immediately, of course, because he's Hizashi,
"Let's just give ourselves a chance, yeah? You two may or may not have school tomorrow, if you're not both feeling too rough in the morning, so let's just take it until then, don't you think?"
"Sounds logical," Shouta grumbles, for all that it's closer to a petulant purr than any thunder-rumble.
"Didn't you know my husband's the most logical man around?" Hizashi teases, glancing over at him briefly with wiggling eyebrows and a bright grin, and it eases that final bit of tension that had been arching along Shouta's spine, tight around his ribs.
"Maybe," he grumbles instead, and if he reaches over to briefly squeeze Hizashi's leg in silent gratitude for the reassurances, then his husband doesn't call him out on it.
A good quarter of an hour later, the husbands exchange a glance and know it's time to get the kid moving again. Whilst they very much don't want to wake Izuku up from a seemingly restful sleep, they've been parked at their own apartment complex for ten minutes already, and they want to get Izuku in and settled.
Equally though, letting Izuku wake up in a completely unfamiliar environment that he doesn't remember getting to, regardless of familiar people being with him or not, sounds more than inadvisable, so Shouta gets out of the car as quietly and carefully as he can and steps back to open the kid's car door, delicate so as not to let Izuku slump even further over regardless of his seatbelt. Then he sinks into a crouch, and abruptly decides not to try and shake the kid awake. It doesn't usually do him or other heroes any favours to be woken as such, and Izuku was already traumatised enough before the last month. So, no shaking awake, but that doesn't mean that he can't reach up to gently tug at a curl, voice low and soothing,
"Hey, Izuku, kiddo, we're here. You want to wake up for me?"
"Mmh." The grumbled noise is cute, almost like a kitten, which obviously doesn't make Shouta soft at all, nor Hizashi, judging by the absolutely molten look he gets from his Sunshine, yet somehow not as cute as green eyes, all dewy ferns, blink with heavy lids and a reaching-up hand that rubs at them with his knuckles.
It's a tad rough though, movements no doubt drowsiness-slurred, and Shouta reaches up again to poke lightly at the kid's wrist,
"Hey, gentle on yourself there Problem Child. You're tired, not silly." There's a pout then, accompanying a half-hearted glare,
"Mm bu' you's sill'." Shouta can't help but snort, knuckles slipping down to settle against Izuku's knee, rapping a soft, heartbeat-staccato rhythm there,
"Sure I am, mister trip-over-nothing."
"'s mean."
"Perhaps," Shouta allows, but they're both smiling tiny, fragile things that crack along the edges yet are warm-hearted above all else.
"Right, let's go listeners! We've got a home waiting for us," Hizashi chirps, bounding out of his seat with enough force for the car to rock slightly, and he's already round to opening the boot by the time Shouta and Izuku have got the kid's seatbelt off and he's staggering to tired feet, Shouta's hand on his back keeping him steady.
He's mostly recovered by the time Hizashi has closed the boot and reaches out for his things, expression insistent. It's the murmured please that has the blond crumbling though, compromising by giving the kid his rucksack back, keeping the heavier duffel bag to carry for himself. It leaves Shouta to lead the way up the stairs of their apartment complex, Izuku in between him and Zashi because obviously they're not slightly worried that the kid might just collapse. Admittedly, with his power nap in the car he seems far more bright-eyed, but the point remains. A fall down the stairs is the last thing any of them need or want.
Luckily, there aren't any falls, nor even trips or stumbles, and they get up to the third floor without incident. Shouta pauses by the front door, keys in hand, and turns to face them both, standing at an angle so that neither he nor Izuku have their backs completely open, doubly so with Hizashi standing there as well.
"You alright to meet the cats, kid, or do you want us to gather them up for a bit whilst you get settled?" he offers, perfectly neutral.
"Choco-bun, Optician and Twig, right?" He asks, as though he didn't already know. Is it procrastination? Undoubtedly.
"That's the babies!" Hizashi chirps, as bright as can be yet soft with it, all Sunshine rather than Present Mic.
"I'll be fine," Izuku decides.
"Thank you," he tacks on, because he's genuinely grateful that Shouta is trying not to overwhelm him. They both know how, after the same day and people and surroundings over and over again there's something oh-so awful about too many new things at once. But he kind of knows the cats, if only tangentially, and he has faith in Shouta and his husband to not have him somewhere awful. Well, it is their home.
"Follow Shou then, lil' one." There's no pressure, an easy, comfortable comment, all gentle curves and affectionate warmth, and Izuku manages a smile in return, shifting his rucksack on his shoulder as Shouta clicks the front door open.
There is immediately a cat skittering over to them, a short-haired, sleek thing, colourpoint darkening her paws and face and tail except for her salmon pink nose, and Izuku recognises Twig the moment he sees her.
"Hi, Twig," he murmurs, crouching down and offering her a hand to sniff. Hizashi stays behind him, and Izuku can't see it but there's a soft expression on the blond's face, ridiculously fond and sweet. It melts Shouta's heart, to have both of his precious people right here and happy with each other, in their home.
"Told you she'd like you," Shouta teases, and the fiery little glare he gets in return is one hundred percent the kid he has known for the last month. It's reassuring to see.
"Right, come on, out of the genkan kid. Zashi, pass me the bag?" The blond passes the larger bag of Izuku's belongings over the kid's head, even as Izuku scoops up Twig, who has reared up to press her front paws to his knees. It's nothing short of adorable.
With the kid's stuff in hand, his own boots abandoned to the side of the genkan, and content that Hizashi will keep Izuku moving along, Shouta ambles further into their home, going to dump the duffel bag on the foot of the kid's bed. He won't unpack for him because he doesn't want to invade the kid's privacy when they're already pulling him out of his home for their own (logically, he knows that it needed to be done, and equally that Izuku doesn't seem to resent them for it, but it doesn't help the tiny bit of guilt still lingering, leaden in his guts-) and the room isn't really ready for Izuku anyway, so it's all a bit of a mess, but that's alright for now. He's got a clean bed and an empty wardrobe, for all that the desk still has a box and a few piles of paperwork on it.
They can sort something out after school in the next few days, or worst ways enlist Nemuri to help them grab some things for Izuku. Whatever's most logical at the time. For now, Shouta goes to grab two blankets and some towels, clean out of the cupboard, for Izuku as well, and ends up pausing in the hallway, watching Hizashi and Izuku standing together at the end of it, facing the living room. Hizashi is beaming, hands low to his sides but still gesturing excitedly as he explains something about the telly, Izuku nodding along with a faint smile and ever-brighter eyes, questions upon his lips. The underground hero, for his part, is more than content to scoop up Twig when she wonders over and simply lean against the hallway wall, watching on. (His heart thumps and swells and blossoms with every moment, daffodils and tulips and sunflowers sprouting bold and beautiful. This moment might not be perfect, but it doesn't need to be, not when he has his precious ones with him. They make it perfect all by themselves.)
"Ah, sorry, I derailed!" His Sunshine suddenly exclaims, turning around to gesture Izuku towards Shouta,
"Shou, you gonna show the lil' one the rest of the flat? I'll start dinner," he goes on, expression remaining light and easy.
"Sure, Zashi. Kid, this is your room-" he starts, standing upright and letting Twig jump out of his arms when she protests the movement. It just means that he has a hand free for Izuku, after brushing their knuckles together and getting no flinch or rejection, to clasp ahold of. It allows him to gently tug the kid down the short hallway, showing him the bathroom, he and Hizashi's bedroom, and that there's spare pretty-much-everything in the storage cupboard. Then he circles back, as it were, to their guest bedroom, leading the kid fully inside.
"It's yours now, Izuku. For as long as you want it, and after that too." The words are spoken in an almost-undertone, low and so sincere as to pull at his tongue, hurting just a little, because he needs his kid to understand this, to know that he always has a space with them.
"You don't- You shouldn't have to-" It isn't quite panic to Izuku's everything, but it's something akin to it, pulse racing and words trembling like horses ready to run, wild-eyed, and Shouta won't have it. No, he squeezes his hand around the kid's, twice, a third time (neither of them consider the silent message in that, the three syllables of three words that neither would yet say but both would mean-), and steps slightly closer, knees bending to look Izuku properly in the eyes.
"Izuku, kid, we just went through almost literal hell together. The only way I'm letting you go now is if you very logically push me away, and even then I'll keep this room for you all the same, understood?"
Everything stills for a second-minute-hour, caught in ice with dark eyes against green, and if either of them are breathing then it goes entirely unnoticed.
Then it shatters, the world blurring back into heart-thumping motion, and Izuku is helpless but to throw himself forwards, crashing into Shouta's chest with wide arms and shuddering chest. He would bury his face in the man's capture weapon except it's still wound around his chest, so he makes do perfectly happily with breathing into his top instead, up on his tiptoes and turning his head just enough to hide away from the world in his hero's neck.
And, in return, there are strong arms circling his back. There isn't a hand to cradle his head, but they both know that's for the better (neither of them will ever forget how it feels to have their faces smashed into concrete by a too-large hand until they're broken in body and mind-) and instead he gets Shouta twisting his head just enough to lay his silver-patched jaw atop his head, stubble catching against curls. They breath together, slightly too jagged and catching yet in sync all the same, and their arms are tight, fingertips never pressing in.
"You've done so well, kid, and we didn't break. Half of that's down to you, my Problem Hero, and I'm never going to forget that. Got to keep the good bits as well as the bad." Izuku gasps something like an agreement against his throat, and sinks impossibly further against him. Maybe his legs will start to tremble with being on tip-toes and exhausted, and maybe Shouta will have to try not to choke on all of the half-words that his heart presses up against his lips, but that's alright because the man can lean back a little, taking some of the kid's weight, and Izuku can murmur quiet thank yous for them both, and they can both know, with every shivering piece of themselves and each other, that things can only go up from here and that, together, they'll make sure of it.
Sooner or later though, there's a soft knock on the door and Hizashi peeking around, half of his hair tied up now but the rest still waterfall-tumbling around his shoulders, a curtain of pure sunshine, and it matches the soft smile on his face.
"You two alright in here?"
"Not too bad," Shouta replies, only just pitching his voice above a grumble, and it takes both him and Izuku another long moment before they start to pull away from each other, the man pausing with his hands bracketing Izuku's arms, just studying his face for a long second.
Then, apparently satisfied, he squeezes lightly before letting go all together, taking a single step over to the clean towels that he'd dumped on the edge of the desk earlier.
"You going to shower, kid?" Shouta asks, rather pointedly reaching up to ruffle the matted curls, because he can tell that the kid hasn't showered since he got home, or at least not properly, because whilst he doesn't stink or anything, his hair isn't exactly at its fluffiest, and the hero has zero doubt that Izuku felt too on-edge and paranoid to be able to put himself in such an indefensible position for any length of time. Which, whilst completely understandable, also can't continue.
Of course, the kid knows every layer of that, understands it all intrinsically with their shared gaze, but he only rolls his eyes, shrugging a shoulder,
"Subtle, Aizawa."
"Go and shower," he grumbles, soft eyes belying the grumpy rumble.
"Sir, yes sir." The verging-on snark has the man grinning, Cheshire-edged but soft-centred, and he gently shoves at the kid's shoulder, holding out a towel with the other.
Then said kid is grabbing some clothes from his bag and gone, slipping past Hizashi with a smile and shutting the door on the bathroom with a towel and clothes in hand. Admittedly, the door opens again only ten seconds later, an only slightly disgruntled cat being ushered out before it closes again, a quiet snicker accompanying the scene, and it has the husbands exchanging a single glance, achingly fond already. Izuku very much has a place in their home and hearts, no doubt about it.
But they don't allow themselves to linger for too long, because they've both got things to do. Shouta takes up a place at one of the bar seats so that he can be close to Hizashi and see down their hallway whilst he works on revising the timetables and lesson plans for this year. If his class are being targeted (and of that there's no doubt because villain groups are known for retaining grudges and his kids are going to be at risk from that-) then he needs to prioritise them being able to look after themselves above all else, so some of the basics are going to need streamlining, maybe he can fit in some extra training sessions but he can't overwork them either, so perhaps pulling some Physical Education lessons over to Heroics basics as well-
"Shou?"
"Hm?" He pulls himself away from his computer, looking up at his husband, the blond holding up a spoon of something for him.
"Alright?" There's a double meaning to that, they both know, though neither address it directly.
Shouta takes the spoon instead of answering, savouring the taste of the beef and veg stew that he's tasting whilst ignoring the concern for a long second, gathering himself.
"Tastes good. Maybe more salt?"
"Sure." Hizashi doesn't press again, leaving Shouta to settle in his thoughts before confiding in him.
"My class are in danger and so is Izuku and I need to sort out their schedules and lessons somehow to help them deal with that, and I need to talk to Hound Dog to sort out preliminary sessions for them all, and that'll definitely lead to more sessions needed so I need to talk to Nedzu to make sure that the list of possible longer-term therapists is updated and will be prepared to deal with up to twenty new students amongst them. Then-"
"Shouta." The serious tone has the shorter man quieting instantly, staring up at his husband with slightly wide eyes.
"Shou, love, no. You can't think like that." He opens his mouth to protest, but Hizashi is already reaching out, leaving an open palm upon the counter for him to take.
And Shouta, despite how he's frowning, slips their hands together, clasping wrist-to-wrist, and in a low, steady tone, Hizashi speaks again,
"Yes, all of that needs doing, I'm not denying it, but be logical about it. What needs doing today, what needs doing this week, what just needs doing this month? Take it day by day, love, and remember that you're not the only one here, yeah? You know Nedzu will do whatever it takes to protect us and the kids, and so will I."
All of that is true. All of it is logical and sensible and perfectly reasonable, and it resonates with the hero within Shouta, even as the traumatised man inside of him feels about ready to throw a fit.
But he's with his Sunshine, and his Problem Child can still be vaguely heard in the shower, and so he lets himself push away the illogical side for the time being, until he can work through it healthily, and instead he squeezes Hizashi's wrist, sinking into the heartbeat pressed against his palm. He does have to be careful, to take things slowly, but he can also trust in himself and the people around him to take on parts of that, to help him in protecting his kids and Izuku.
So Shouta breathes for a minute, then shoos Hizashi away with a tiny, crooked smile that tells more of his gratitude than any words could. The blond leans over to kiss his brow, the loose strands of his half-tied hair tumbling down and brushing over Shouta's face, but he only huffs a breath that completely fails to get them out of his face and bats gently at his husband's shoulder.
"It's on high heart, it'll catch on the bottom."
"Fuck!" The yelp is, frankly, adorable, and Shouta snickers to himself even as he turns back to his computer, saving and then closing all of the various documents he'd been working on. Zashi's right. His priority, right now, is to know what they're telling the class tomorrow, and to start arranging preliminary therapy sessions for all of them. Which means a lot of emails.
Well, at least having time off patrol for at least the majority of this week, if not longer, will give him some extra time on the lesson plans and their approvals from Nedzu.
At some point the shower switches off, followed not long later by the bathroom door opening, revealing a far more clean and relaxed-looking Problem Child, a towel over his head and looking more comfortable in a pair of loose shorts that may or may not be remarkably similar to the colour of Shouta's goggles and a long-sleeved top not too dissimilar to Shouta's own. It's cute. (Even with the sheathed knife that's tucked somewhat questionably in the waistband of said shorts.)
"Is it alright that I put your capture weapon next to the laundry bin rather than in it?" He asks, shifting a towel from being draped over his head to around his shoulders instead, apparently ignorant of how the curls are threatening to drip still. Shouta resists the urge to roll his eyes over such a fact, even as he replies,
"That's better, thank you. It needs a special detergent."
"I thought it might," Izuku nods, and doesn't even hesitate to step over when Shouta raises his hands in tacit offer to finish drying his hair for him. The kid's doing a shoddy job of it as-is. When the hero starts scrunching the towel through the dripping curls, the teen hums, clearly musing, before speaking up again.
"It's a fabric-alloy, right? You said so on the eleventh." If both of them flinch slightly at that reminder (a broken body amongst rubble, water falling like rain; the sickening give and blood-rush of their knife sinking in deep to a monster-) then neither of them are going to acknowledge that right now, not when Izuku is still talking and there's the reassuring proximity and contact of the hero drying his hair,
"Presumably the balance and weaves of the fibres is pretty different to conventional clothing, or even to your hero uniform, so that, combined with the likelihood for it to get bodily or Quirk fluids and substances on it must mean that it has to have some pretty strong cleaning, but also something that won't affect the integrity of its make-up."
"All correct. How much do you know about chemical formulas?"
"Enough to know that you must have a special washing machine as well, or that you have access to some at UA or something because-"
"As genuinely interesting as this is to listen in to," Hizashi interrupts from across the kitchen counter, not unkind or even brisk but rather with a fond lilt, genuine,
"We've got dinner to eat, and Shou, you know the rules. Izuku, listener, we have a no-work rule for the dinner table. Other meals are fair game, but we try to give our workaholic selves a break sometimes, ya dig?" The kid considers this for a moment, visibly turning it over in his head, before he turns around, pulling Shouta's towel-covered hands free of his hair with the movement.
"That's logical." There's a weight of amused accusation to it, but the hero only rolls his eyes.
"You're as much of a workaholic as we are, Problem Child."
"Takes one to know one." Shouta considers that for a long moment, head tilted and eyes hooded (the silvery tint of his right eye is still somewhat startling after several days of seeing it-) before shrugging,
"Fair. Dinner?"
"Dinner," Izuku agrees, and whilst the speed and tone-changes of their conversation doesn't take Hizashi aback, the slight shock he feels is somewhere along those lines. It's odd to see his Shou have such an easy rapport with someone else. Not bad, not by any stretch, but odd, particularly when he hasn't had the chance to develop that same rapport with the person.
He's going to though, so long as Izuku is willing, and, well, the kid definitely doesn't dislike him yet, so Hizashi daresays that he'll just have to continue as he's started and see where that gets them.
"I thought a stew would be light on your stomach, so I hope you enjoy!" he explains, pushing two bowls and some rice over the counter for Shouta to grab and put on the dining table. Izuku, taking the stew bowls, beams up at him,
"It smells great, Mic-sensei!"
Hizashi is already flapping his hands at Izuku, not dismissive or panicked but just a smaller version of all of his usual gestures,
"Woah, lil' one, none of that! Hizashi's about right for being at home, but Zashi or Yamada also work if you're more comfortable with them, kay?"
"Oh," Izuku murmurs, staring over at him with wide, bright eyes and the dusting of a flush over his cheeks, curiously sunset-toned around and beneath the rose gold scars,
"Uhm, of course. Sorry Se- Hizashi-san."
"Good enough for me, lil' one," the blond offers, a sweet little smile in place as he reaches over, slow and careful, and hovers his hand near Izuku's head, clearly waiting for permission and awareness before he actually touches him, and that fact alone is enough for the teen to only pause briefly before listing forward in clear acceptance. The sensation of thin, cool fingers soothing against his scalp is different from the warm weight of Shouta's hand, but it's one that Izuku could get equally used to, he thinks. It's nice. More than.
(It, like several other things that he's already experienced tonight, feels like coming home. It's all the crisp wonder of night air and the clean smoothness of fresh sheets, the first snapping chill of winter frost and the first grass-bound starlight of spring dew. It's a deep breath of new air for iron-choked lungs, and Izuku couldn't be more grateful for it.)
Still though, they have hot food to eat before it cools. So Hizashi retracts his hand once Izuku has completely relaxed, and they all tactfully ignore the way that Izuku leans forward, subconsciously chasing the comfort of the affection, albeit the man reaches back again just enough to gently tug a curl before retreating completely.
They eat in quiet, contented chatter from there. Hizashi carries most of it, talking about heroes and professionals he's recently had or is soon to have for interviews or segments on the radio show. It's not a reminder of villains or school even whilst still being something that all three of them know about and can contribute towards, and this good choice of topic shows in how Izuku, over the course of the meal, begins to chip in more and more, adding little questions and comments and analyses to Hizashi's energetic spiels. Shouta is content to leave most of it to them. That being said, even he is comfortable enough with the pair of them and in how they're getting on to be able to make his usual sarcastic comments and questions about certain elements or heroes that intrigue him. Everything about the shared meal is blanket-warm and oh-so precious.
It feels like family, in every possible and perfect way.
Of course, they finish eating sooner or later, and Shouta takes advantage of a lull in the conversation to usher the other two up and away from the table. Accordingly, with dinner done, and the dishes abandoned to their rarely-used dishwasher, the three retreat to the sofa.
Izuku, satiated and heart-full, hesitates at first but takes the third cushion quickly enough, given that it's been left empty from how Shouta takes the centre of the sofa, Hizashi grabbing his phone before settling to the shorter man's left, refraining from curling into Shouta or slinging an arm around his shoulders like he usually would in case it ends up encroaching on Izuku's space more than the kid would like. After all, just because he's been allowed some contact doesn't mean that Hizashi is willing to take liberties with that fact, particularly not now, when he's just starting to build trust with the kid and having to share a home together. If they're being the kid's safe space then the hero doesn't want to put that in jeopardy in any way, let alone just because his default is to be touchy-feely and affectionate. Izuku deserves better. No, he deserves the best, and Hizashi is determined to help give him exactly that.
Izuku is settling now though, sinking further back into his seat, shoulder to shoulder with Shouta, and only paying half-mind to the random history documentary the man is apparently settling on for the telly. For the first time in the last few days, he's actually sleepy. Not just tired, exhaustion laying thick and Atlas-weighted around his bones and heart and mind, but actually sleepy as well, full stomach and quiet noise and comforting presences all piling upon each other like a stack of blankets over him.
Given this, it's no surprise at all that Izuku ends up slumping further and further against his hero's shoulder, breaths slowing and deepening the whole while. The two men exchange a few fond glances over it, but neither change anything or speak up. Why would they, when the sight is so cute and the kid clearly needs the rest either way?
Of course, sooner or later it's inevitable that Izuku slumps completely. Which, in and of itself, is fine, except he does so incredibly awkwardly, folding in on himself as best he can with legs already pulled up to his chest, slipping sideways so that his shoulders are at on odd angle, caught between Shouta's side and lap, one arm caught underneath himself, and one leg threatening to tip him off of the edge of the sofa entirely. All in all, it looks remarkably uncomfortable.
"Zashi-" His quiet panic has his husband grinning at him, teasing, even whilst Hizashi gets briefly out of his seat to help twist Izuku around enough for his mangled position to be more comfortable. If that also means that there's a head of fluffy green curls in Shouta's lap, the kid's nose pressing against his shirt, then so be it. The kid is even cuter when loosely curled up on his side, freckled hands tucked near an equally freckled chin, breathing steadily with his knees pressed against the back cushions of the sofa.
Shouta can't be blamed for letting Hizashi take at least a dozen pictures, and another half-dozen again when Optician leaps up to make a ball of fluff in the lee of the kid's knees.
There are so many things to deal with still. There's the reactions and explanations for the media and class and rest of the school, getting them both into therapy, helping Inko get sorted out to be able to help Izuku in the future, actually organising a proper room for Izuku here... The hero needs to address a few things about the kid's past too, because Bakugou and his Quirk are peculiar enough (he hates the ever-more likely thought that Bakugou has at the very least been an occasional bully, if not constant, to his Problem Child, and he detests the awful bone-breaking nature of the kid's Quirk almost as much, regardless of the rapidly gained control Izuku has managed to accumulate-), and his seeming knowledge of All Might's small form needs discussing too. And if Shouta also wants to get the kid his own knife and possibly capture weapon at some point down the line, then so be it.
None of that matters yet though. No, right now, he has his Sunshine beside him, warm and tender with an arm slung around Shouta's shoulders, and Izuku's head is pillowed in his lap, curls soft under the hero's touch, hot breaths seeping through Shouta's shirt to tickle uncomfortably against his stomach, except they're also precious, treasured.
It feels right, to be like this, here and now. He has both of his most precious people safe with him. Izuku is asleep, and he ate dinner, so maybe he still isn't okay, but he's already a little better than he was, and for now that's enough.
They didn't break, despite everything, and now they're starting to recover, their fractures and aches and chasms beginning to close up and bridge over with lace-delicate spiderwebs of healing. It's a start, and it's honestly more than they had even expected to be able to have (when cycling endlessly in blood and bones and the shattering of bodies and hope, in mornings on rooftops followed by afternoons dying and fighting and saving and failing-). And Shouta couldn't be prouder of Izuku for it.