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DISCLAIMER: brief and non-graphic trigger warnings for Animal Abuse/Neglect, as well as references to past Child Abuse and Neglect. I keep it very non-graphic and implied, but a lot of Izuku's actions in this fic (although I tried to keep it relatively laid back and fluffy) are influenced by past trauma and abuse. Read safely, lovelies!
- 1 -
Things were going well and, like always in Aizawa Shouta’s miserable life, that meant everything was about to go astronomically wrong.
It’d been almost an entire year since Midoriya—since Izuku, he reminded himself—had come to live with him. Then, he’d been just another foster kid placed in a last-ditch home. Now? He’d become part of Aizawa’s life.
Arguably the most important part of it.
Which is why Aizawa was extremely, extraordinarily confused when he went to open Izuku’s door, their traditional late-night snack in hand, only for the kid to slam it in his face.
He frowned, rubbing the part of his nose that the door would’ve collided with if he hadn’t leaned back in time. “Izuku?”
“You can’t come in!” The kid screeched. There was a fumbling sound from the other side, like he’d just tripped over something, quickly followed by a series of small crashes and thuds. “Just—just a second!”
Aizawa’s confusion quickly grew into concern. “Kid?”
“I’m just—” another series of crashes, a muffled yelp, and then Izuku was throwing the door open.
They stared at each other for a moment, Izuku wide-eyed with mussed hair and Aizawa squinting at his face.
“Hi,” the kid said. He was holding his hand behind his back in a move that was probably supposed to seem nonchalant but just made it look even more like he was hiding something.
“What,” Aizawa dragged his gaze pointedly towards the thin, shallow scratch on Izuku’s cheek, “was that.”
“That? What ‘that’?” Izuku patted his hair down, a shaky smile on his face. “There’s no that.”
There very much was a ‘that’. Aizawa tried to glance around him into the room beyond, but Izuku quickly shifted his body to block it from view.
“I’m—” Izuku’s eyes lit up as he obviously landed on whatever bad excuse he was going to try and run with. “Redecorating! Yes, there’s so much redecorating going on in this room right now. Redecorating like you wouldn’t believe. In fact, there’s so much redecorating going on that I think you should leave.”
“Leave?” Aizawa said, lost.
“Yes,” Izuku pressed his hand against the man’s arm and started gently, but firmly, pushing him towards the stairs. “I think I actually hear Sushi meowing for you. She’s probably super hungry and lonely and wants you to give her a treat.”
Aizawa let himself be manhandled, still not entirely sure what to make of the situation. “I already fed her.”
“Is that snack for me?” Izuku asked suddenly, eyes zeroing in on the plate in Aizawa’s hand. The kid’s appetite had been particularly voracious lately, which Aizawa had contributed to his steadily encroaching teenagerhood.
That was the whole reason for him bringing the late-night snack up here in the first place. “Yes.”
“Amazing,” Izuku grabbed it out of his hand, smacking an exaggeratedly wet kiss to the side of Aizawa’s head. Aizawa blinked, both disturbed and oddly touched by the gesture. “Thank you. Now, I have to go and finish my—redecorating. Knock before you come in please.”
And then Izuku patted his shoulder, like a child would their senile grandfather, before disappearing back into his bedroom, leaving a confused and snack-less Aizawa to his confused and snack-less thoughts.
- 2 -
The second time it happened, Aizawa almost would’ve missed it if not for the smell.
Izuku had been at school, working on some kind of extra-credit opportunity that required him to stay after hours, when Aizawa opened their shared tea cabinet only to realize they were completely out of mugs.
None, anywhere. In the entire apartment. Which could only mean one thing. . .
Sighing, he was already halfway into Izuku’s bedroom before he remembered the alleged ‘redecorating’.
Call him crazy, but the room looked exactly the same as it always did. Except for the dirty line of used coffee mugs on Izuku’s desk, and the firmly shut closet door. Izuku hardly ever closed his closet.
“Hoarder,” he murmured fondly before gathering the mugs up into his arms, ledgering a few onto his fingers so he wouldn’t have to make another trip, and that’s when it hit him.
The smell. The stench.
It wasn’t the smell of rotting preteen, which is usually what Aizawa was faced with when he went into Izuku’s room (the kid was clean and had good hygiene, but he was still a kid). Whatever this was reeked vaguely of. . .tuna?
Aizawa followed the stench’s path to the kid’s wastebasket, a flimsy metal one they’d picked out together. It was full, bordering on overflowing, of shredded paper slips and emptied pens.
So then why, pray tell, did it smell like fish?
Heaving yet another sigh, Aizawa set one of the mugs down so he could yank the trash can up, holding it to his face so he could closer examine the contents. Usually he tried to respect Izuku’s privacy as best he could, but if there was something rotting in the kid’s room then they’d have to have a conversation about cleanliness.
He reached in, half dreading what he would find, and pulled out—
An empty can. Of tuna.
It was small, round. The kind designed for pets.
In fact, Aizawa was pretty sure he’d seen this exact brand at the pet-store down the street from them. It wasn’t the kind he usually got, so what the hell was it doing in Izuku’s room?
The smiling cat on the side seemed to mock him and he bared his teeth at it before realizing he was being ridiculous. It was just an empty tuna can, not a bomb. Not drugs.
Maybe Izuku picked it up for one of the other cats and forgot to tell him, or maybe they’d run out at some point and Izuku had just tried to be helpful by picking up more.
Aizawa dropped the can back into the trash, rolling his eyes at his own dramatics. He’d been spending too much time around Hizashi lately. Not everything was a giant, tuna related conspiracy.
He was making molehills out of mountains—or was it mountains out of molehills? He was always mixing up the strange American expressions Hizashi used. Either way, he was being dramatic and had to stop before he somehow ruined his and Izuku’s growing bond.
Scooping up the mugs again, he backtracked out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him only to be met by Izuku’s wide, anxious emerald eyes.
Biting back a swear, Aizawa almost dropped the mugs in his surprise. “You’re back.”
Izuku was still staring at him, fingers oddly twitchy where they clenched around his backpack straps. “You were. . .in my room.”
Aizawa blanked for a moment before remembering that, yes, he had actually gone in there for a reason. “I was grabbing these,” he waved the mugs back and forth and something in Midoriya’s gaze seemed to soften.
“Oh. So you didn’t—that is, there wasn’t anything—”
“Nothing,” Aizawa confirmed, although he wasn’t sure what he was really confirming in the first place. “Except there’s some tuna. It’s making your room smell.”
“Oh?” Izuku said again. His left eye twitched.
Just what the hell was Aizawa missing?
“Yes, tuna. Why?”
The kid’s gaze went cagey, “Why what?”
“Why did you have cat tuna in your room?” Aizawa watched as the kid’s eye twitched again. They’d have to work on his interrogation skills; Izuku would never be a successful underground hero if his eye had seizures whenever he was under pressure.
A million thoughts and excuses seemed to whir through Izuku’s brain before he finally settled on, “I ate it.”
“You. Ate it.”
The kid nodded, a slight flush blooming on his cheeks. He held a surprisingly good poker face though, even as his cheeks were slowly turning bright red. “Yes. It tastes. . .good.”
Aizawa stared at him. “Good?”
Izuku nodded. “Delicious. Much better than the tuna for people. It’s—" he floundered for something to say. “Saltier.
“Saltier.”
A beat of silence, then, “Yeah.”
Aizawa waited for any more of an explanation, to see if the kid would explain himself further. He didn’t. They just stood there watching each other, the dirty mugs hanging between them like a buffer.
“Okay,” Aizawa said eventually. “You know you can tell me if there’s something—if there’s something bothering you. Or if you’re. Hungry.”
Izuku’s eyes softened even as he slowly began sliding towards his bedroom door, backpack clutched against his shoulders. “I know. And I’m not.”
“Not hungry?” Aizawa asked a little helplessly.
“I mean I’m hungry right now, but that’s just because I got home from school late. Not because you’re not feeding me enough.” His eyes softened even more, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re the best guardian I’ve ever had. I know I can ask you for food when I’m hungry.”
Aizawa inhaled like he’d been punched in the sternum. He grunted again before turning towards the kitchen, ignoring Izuku’s amused laughter echoing in the hallway behind him.
If he fed the kid a little bit more after that—made sure his meals were just a little bit larger—who could really blame him.
- 3 -
The third time was a lot harder to ignore.
Aizawa was a bit later getting back from patrol, his hair a bedraggled mess from the pelting rain and his limbs feeling like they were made of solid concrete. He could already picture how his pillow would feel against his face, how soft the confines of his sleeping bag would be. . .
Hizashi had offered to stay over on the nights he patrolled, usually turning the occasion into a movie-night with Izuku. The kid was old enough to stay home alone, but the thought of him being in an empty house for that long had made Aizawa’s stomach churn uncomfortably.
So Hizashi stayed, despite the mess he made of the apartment kitchen and the way he spoiled the cats with too many treats. Sushi had put on at least four pounds since the blond had started hanging around more.
He was usually still asleep by the time Aizawa got back, crawling in through his own window like a burglar, so he was surprised to see Hizashi sitting up and awake on the couch.
Hizashi’s face lit up like a Christmas tree when he caught sight of him. His usually styled hair was tied back against his neck in a rumpled knot, a few strands escaping and framing his tired looking face. Despite the man’s obvious exhaustion, he waved something colourful back and forth through the air in front of Aizawa. “Shhhhhhou,” he whispered, “I knew you were a secret softie.”
Aizawa stood in his living room and got the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that he was somehow intruding in his own home. “What?”
Hizashi crossed his arms over his chest, the colourful feathered thing in his hand swaying with the movement. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Hizashi stared at him for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, you’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
“Then who—” Hizashi stared at the thing in his hand and Aizawa finally got a good look at it.
A cat toy. A bright yellow, pink, and overly feathery cat toy attached to a long plastic stick by glittery thread.
It was offensive, it had probably been unnecessarily expensive, and it was not supposed to be in his house.
He reeled back. “Where did that come from?”
Hizashi stared at the thing in confusion. “I dunno. I thought you’d finally caved against your weird anti-cat toys campaign and bought one.”
Aizawa grimaced. “No. They’re overpriced, and my cats are too old to care. And they’re ugly.”
“See,” Hizashi smiled at him, although the expression was still tinged with confusion. “That’s the Aizawa I know and love.”
He ducked his face into his capture weapon at the words, hiding his cheeks before they could get a chance to flush.
Hizashi just laughed again, dropping the cat toy on the couch as if it’d never existed in the first place. And maybe it hadn’t, maybe they’d both hallucinated it.
That made more sense than any of the alternatives.
He went to sleep that night with Hizashi at his side, hogging all the blankets and snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Supposedly the man’s own apartment room was too far away and so so cold, Shou, you wouldn’t make me sleep in the cold, would you?
Aizawa was asleep before he knew it, breath stilling in his chest to the rhythm of Hizashi’s fitful rest. He dreamed of unwanted cat toys and Izuku’s strange, strange behaviour.
The next morning, after Aizawa had kicked Hizashi out of the house before the man ate anymore of his food, Aizawa had made an easy breakfast and waited at the table for Izuku.
The cat toy from last night sat innocuously beside his plate. He still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of its sudden and seemingly random appearance.
That is, until Izuku emerged from upstairs with the worst case of bedhead Aizawa had ever seen and dried drool on his face.
“Sleep well?” Aizawa asked dryly, shoving the plate of food he’d prepared for the kid across the table towards him.
Izuku sagged into his chair, still looking half-asleep. “Yeah. I had this—” he cut himself off, eyes fixing on something to the left of Aizawa’s fork.
The cat toy.
“Hizashi found this last night.” Aizawa poked at the thing with his pinky finger like it was radioactive. “It was sitting on the couch. Neither of us were sure where it—”
“It’s mine.”
Aizawa paused, finger still outstretched from where he’d been about to poke the toy again. “Excuse me?”
Izuku suddenly looked a lot less sleepy, a dark flush creeping over his face as he chewed on his bottom lip. He always did that when he‘d said something he hadn’t meant to. “It’s, uh, mine?”
“The cat toy,” Aizawa said. “The toy for cats, that cats use. That is designed for cats. Is yours?”
Izuku, impossibly, flushed even more. “Uh-huh.”
Aizawa stared at him. There was no way the kid was telling the truth, right? What kind of kid bought themself cat toys? He didn’t know what else to say other than, “Why?”
Izuku reached across the table, picking the thing up and sliding it towards him. He slipped it into his pocket, maintaining direct eye contact with Aizawa the entire time. “I just think they’re neat.”
A small part of Aizawa shriveled up and died.
When they went their separate ways that morning, Aizawa was still reeling from it all.
“He just thinks they’re neat”, he said incredulously, closing the door gently behind him. “He just thinks they’re neat.”
- 4 -
Two days after the cat toy incident, and four days since Izuku’s strange behaviour had started, Aizawa was sitting at the table marking 3-A’s (awful, no one was getting full marks) Heroics papers when he heard it.
A crash.
It came from Izuku’s bedroom, the sound of glass shattering against the floor jolting Aizawa out of his grim thoughts about his students’ futures.
Izuku wouldn’t be out of school for another half-hour. Whoever had caused the crash was not supposed to be there.
His capture weapon was in his hand before he even had time to fully process where the sound had come from, legs tensed in a defensive stance as he flew up the stairs towards Izuku’s bedroom.
Could it be a villain? One who’d followed him home after patrol last night? Or was it a wild animal that’d thought the apartment would make a good new home?
He slammed the door open, storming into the room only to be confronted by—
A kitten.
It was staring up at him with massive blue eyes, one of which was slightly closed from a recently healed scar that spliced across its face.
The creature was crouched in the shattered remains of Izuku’s bedside lamp, glass littering the floor. It looked like the kitten had nicked one of its paws on a shard, the limb lifted in the air as blood pooled in its fur.
They looked at each other for a moment, Aizawa speechless and the kitten seemingly waiting to see how he’d react.
“Oh.” Suddenly Izuku’s strange behaviour over the past few days was making a lot more sense. Of course had hadn’t been eating cat tuna and buying himself feathered toys. He wanted to shake both himself and the kid for being so stupid. Mostly just himself.
Aizawa dropped his capture weapon, squatting close to the floor and ignoring the way his knees creaked at the motion. “And where did you come from?”
The kitten looked at the closet before fixing its eyes back on Aizawa, tiny body still impossibly tense. It reminded him of Izuku when he’d first arrived, hurt and suspicious and entirely too small. Aizawa found a grin stealing across his face.
“Is that where you’ve been staying, in the closet?”
The kitten let out a tentative mew, relaxing a bit at his soft tone. It approached him slowly, sniffing one of his outstretched hands before melting into a purring puddle at his feet.
Aizawa’s heart clenched at the sight and, before he’d even thought about it, he was bending down to scoop the creature up against his chest. It nestled there, pressing its head under his waiting palm as its raspy purrs grew even louder.
Making his way towards the closet door, he was unsurprised to see that someone had set up an entire cat sanctuary among Izuku’s clothes and spare shoes. There was a plastic box of litter, food, water, and a tiny cat bed nestled among the kid’s dirty laundry.
He sighed, pinching his nose as he closed his eyes for a moment.
The kitten was jostled by the movement and let out a plaintive meow as its injured paw brushed against his arm. Aizawa had almost forgotten he was holding it.
“Let’s get you sorted out first before we deal with all this, yeah?”
The kitten was surprisingly compliant during the journey downstairs, almost like it was familiar with the layout of the house. Just how long had Izuku been keeping it? Where did he even find the creature?
And, more importantly, why had he felt the need to hide it?
Fortunately the cut was shallow and wouldn’t be requiring stitches. He bandaged the wound before sitting down on the couch, the kitten curled up asleep in his lap, and settled in to wait for an explanation.
Soon enough, the apartment door was creaking open and the perpetrator himself stumbled in, toeing off his shoes and dusting a few stray snowflakes out of his ruffled hair. “I’m—” he turned, smile dropping off his face when he caught sight of Aizawa on the couch with a purring scrap of fluff on his lap, “home.”
“I see that,” he said mildly, watching as Izuku’s wide gaze quickly shifted into one of open-mouthed horror.
Aizawa heard the exact moment the kid’s breathing hitched, his thin chest stuttering beneath the weight of his backpack that quickly dropped to the floor with a thud. It only took a second for Aizawa to register what was happening, and then he was flying across the floor before he could so much as blink, the kitten wrapped in one arm as he grabbed Izuku by the shoulders.
“Breathe Izuku, breathe. In and out, just like we practiced. Hand on my chest. Feel my heartbeat.”
The kid’s fingers were trembling when they pressed against Aizawa. They crouched together, Izuku’s raspy huffs slowly evening out only to get caught again in the back of his throat. His chest would find a natural rhythm and then he’d catch sight of the kitten, breath hitching and stuttering all over again.
The kitten had settled in Aizawa’s lap, its wide, worried eyes never leaving Izuku’s face as it kneaded its paws against Izuku’s thigh.
Eventually Izuku smiled at it, running his shaky fingers through its soft fur as he slumped against Aizawa.
“Feeling better?” Aizawa finally ventured.
The kid sniffled, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He nodded, then contradicted himself by immediately bursting into tears.
It was eerily reminiscent of the time Aizawa had chased him down in the street and grabbed him out of oncoming traffic, a memory that still made his heart pound a little too hard whenever he thought about it.
Aizawa sighed, pulling him against his chest so the kitten’s soft purrs were sandwiched between them. “C’mere.”
“I’m really sorry,” Izuku blurted, rubbing furiously at his eyes. It wasn’t doing much considering he was still crying profusely. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think you’d—”
“Izuku.” Aizawa pulled him away from his chest, trying to do his best I’m not mad face. Izuku immediately looked away, which meant it’d probably been successful. “I’m not angry.”
“You’re—” Izuku glanced up at him through sticky lashes, “not?”
“No. I’m a little upset you didn’t tell me, and sad because I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me, but I’m not angry.”
Izuku narrowed his eyes at him. “But I’ve been lying to you for a whole week.”
A whole week? Now it was Aizawa’s turn to be surprised. He’d only noticed Izuku’s strange behaviour in the last few days.
It was a completely irrelevant and vaguely inappropriate (given the current situation) thought to have, but Aizawa couldn’t help but think Izuku would make a pretty fantastic underground hero if he ever chose it as a career path.
Shaking his head like he could physically jolt the thought out, Aizawa looked at him. “I know, but the fact that you felt the need to lie in the first place isn’t a slight against you. If anything, it’s a slight against my poor parenting.”
The kid’s whole head snapped toward him in an instant, a fierce denial no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but Aizawa held a hand up. “Let me explain. I should have talked to you about the behaviour I was noticing, should’ve left the floor open for discussion. How about we start over?”
Izuku hiccupped, the kitten shifting in his lap at the sound. “Start over?”
“Yes. So, Izuku, is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Aizawa pointedly glanced at the cat and back up at Izuku. “Anything at all?”
He giggled. It sounded vaguely wet, probably from all the snot in his nose. “I may have—may have found a kitten outside a couple nights ago. Someone had left it in an alley in a box and I heard him crying on my way home from school. At first I was just going to take him to a shelter, but then I remembered sometimes they—”
“Breathe,” Aizawa gently reminded him. Izuku would nervously ramble until he passed out on the carpet if Aizawa let him.
The kid sucked in a deep breath, shooting Aizawa a thankful smile before continuing. “I remembered that sometimes shelters have to put kittens down when people don’t want them, and I thought Shrimp’s eye might make people not like him.”
Aizawa cocked his head. “Shrimp?”
“That’s,” Izuku flushed. “That’s what I named him. Because he’s so small. And orange.”
“It’s cute.”
The kid gaped at him for a second, jaw slack, before shaking his head and scratching behind Shrimp’s ears. “I should’ve known you’d be fine with it. I just, forget, sometimes. That I don’t have to hide the things I like anymore. You’re not going to—you’re not going to take them away.”
“It’s a perfectly logical defense method, given what you’ve gone through in the past,” Aizawa said. “I went through something similar when I first went over to Hizashi’s house, back when we were at UA together. I hope you know I won’t use the things you care about against you, Izuku.”
“I know,” he ducked his head again. “I know. I just—I had a foster parent that—” he choked on his breath, fingers digging into the kitten’s fur. “They had this old cat, and he said he’d put it down if I ever talked back and one day I—he—he said I was lying, but I wasn’t, I wasn’t! But then he said that,” another sniffle, “that I was being rude, and he took her away. He showed me this picture, and he said he—"
Izuku cut himself off, pressing his free hand against his forehead like he could physically hold the memory back. “He killed her because of me.”
Aizawa had to breathe in slowly through his nose, remind himself that Izuku had already survived it. That he was here, now, safe and healing.
“You defended yourself,” Aizawa said softly. He held his fingers above Izuku’s shoulder, waiting for a sign of approval before rubbing his hand soothingly against the boy’s back. “It wasn’t your fault. You should never have been put in a situation like that in the first place.”
There were tears in Izuku’s eyes again, but he wiped them away before they had a chance to fall. “I knew you would never do that, but I just. I was worried you’d make me put him back.”
“It’s not your fault.”
He sniffled, whispering into the quiet stillness of the apartment. “Thank you. I think—I think I’m starting to believe that.”
“I’ll keep saying it until you do.”
Izuku let out something that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a gentle sigh. They were quiet for a moment, just listening to the kitten’s soft sounds, before Izuku spoke. “Can we get off the floor now? My knees hurt and the couch looks really appealing right now.”
It was Aizawa’s turn to laugh. “Take Shrimp with you, he looks like he needs a good couch lazing session.”
Izuku tucked himself against the cushions, his blinks heavy with what was no doubt going to turn into a post-panic attack nap. Shrimp burred softly when he was shifted into a new sleeping position, but soon settled against Izuku’s chest and began to purr.
“You’ll stay?” Izuku murmured sleepily, face smooshed into the pillow.
“Always.” He pulled the blanket up against Izuku’s chin. “We have forever, remember?”
Izuku smiled, eyes already drooping closed. “Forever’s a pretty long time.”
Aizawa pressed his hand against Izuku’s ruffled hair. “That’s perfect, then. We can take it slow.”
And they did.