Chapter Text
On the morning of the twenty-second day, the quiet in the penthouse broke. The toddler walked into the kitchen, his skin pink from playing on the terrace. A fringe of blonde hair stuck to his temples, making him look small against the city outside the glass. The morning sun cut straight through the windows, catching the dust in the room.
For three weeks, this kitchen had been a mess of charred rolls, spilled juice, and markers used for drawing lopsided lions. Today, the space felt heavy. The deadline they had been pushing back since day one was louder now, a constant presence underneath every laugh.
Katsuki watched him from the sink, dropping his dish towel onto the counter. His palms gripped the edge of the marble island before he let go. He leaned forward and spoke in a quiet register he reserved for this apartment.
"You want the cold stuff?" Katsuki asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The vanilla?"
The kid’s eyes went wide, the sleep burning off. "Vanilla! The one with the black dots!" he squeaked, bouncing on his heels and throwing his hands up.
Katsuki huffed, empty of bite. He reached down, lifted the toddler, and set him on the edge of the marble counter next to the sink to keep him within arm's reach before turning toward the freezer. He knew exactly how to lift the kid without squeezing, and where to place him so he wouldn't fall back. The man who could flatten a city block had spent three weeks learning the fragile weight of a four-year-old child.
He pulled the lid off the carton, and white frost spilled over the rim around his knuckles. He took a metal scoop, dug into the cream, and dropped a mountain of vanilla into a small ceramic bowl. The clink echoed through the room. He didn't look at a measuring cup. Over the last few days, rules about sugar limits and balanced meals had gone out the window. They just wanted to give the kid a yes to every question before the clock ran out.
Shouto stepped from the hallway into the light without making a sound. He propped his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes stayed on the two of them, watching Katsuki’s shadow fall over the blonde kid on the marble. Shouto’s hands wrapped around his mug of tea, the steam rising into the air as his fingers absorbed the heat of the stoneware.
The second the bowl slid across the stone, the kid began to eat. He clamped his fist around the spoon and buried it in the cream, unfazed by the cold. Katsuki didn't turn back to the dishes. Instead, he dropped his elbows onto the counter, watching him navigate the spoon.
Shouto watched them, an ache tightening his chest. The kid’s hair caught the light, a spiky mirror image of the man leaning against the island. It was a temporary home they had patched together. For fifteen days, they had poured everything into teaching this kid how to exist, how to roll hero cars across the floor, how to look at the fish in the gardens, and how to use markers without ruining his clothes. But now, with a single digit left on the countdown, they had to figure out how to let him go.
The boy ate with focus, his eyebrows knitting together whenever a chunk of vanilla wouldn't cooperate with his grip. Katsuki reached out, his thumb catching a smear of cream before it could slide down the kid’s chin, wiping it on a paper towel. He swallowed hard before he broke the quiet.
"Listen, baby," Katsuki said, his voice dropping into a low rumble. "In a few days, there’s gonna be a festival. Down in the central district."
The kid stopped mid-bite, a glob of melting vanilla dangling off his spoon.
"Fes-ti-vul?" He tilted his head, his brow furrowing into a serious line. "Is it a cave? Like where the bears sleep?"
"No, it's not a cave, kid," Katsuki huffed, a smile breaking through as he tucked a stray blonde lock behind the boy's ear. His fingers lingered against the skin at his temple before he pulled back. "It’s lights. Everywhere. Thousands of them strung up like stars on the street. And music that’s actually good, not that classical music Shouto plays."
The kid’s eyes went wide, his spoon freezing mid-air as his brain hooked into a memory. To a kid with no concept of a past, every new experience was a fixed point.
"Lights?" he whispered. "Like the sky garden? Like the rainbow water, Dada?"
Shouto stepped into the kitchen, his posture straightening. The tea sloshed against the rim of his mug as he set it onto the island with a thud.
"Wait," he murmured, looking up. "The sky garden? You took him to the observation deck?"
Katsuki stiffened, his shoulders squaring as his ears turned pink. He refused to look at Shouto, keeping his eyes locked on the kid, who was currently digging a sticky finger into his own ear. The defensive pivot was standard for Katsuki, and Shouto felt a wave of affection break through his surprise.
"Yeah, so what? The brat needed to get used to being up high," Katsuki huffed, his voice cracking just enough to sound defensive, though he kept his eyes on a stray spoon he had picked up to fiddle with. "He likes the lights. Didn't want him freaking out if he looked out the windows too fast."
Shouto looked at him, a slight pout pulling at his lip. He crossed his arms again, leaning into the easy rhythm of their usual bickering.
"You guys went without me? To our spot?"
The observation deck at the high-rise was a place they had lived at during their early days as a pro duo, a platform where the whole city looked like scattered neon glass. Finding out Katsuki had snuck the toddler up there between patrols hit Shouto with a mix of jealousy and warmth.
Katsuki snorted, an amused sound that cleared out the morning tension. He tossed the extra spoon back onto the stone. "It wasn't a date, Icy-Hot! It was an outing! Besides, you were busy freezing half the city and letting villains slip on that lower-ward pursuit."
"I was securing the perimeter," Shouto countered, though the small smile at the edge of his mouth gave him away. "And making sure the civilian evacuation went safely while you were busy launching yourself off concrete barriers."
The boy looked up at Shouto, his head pivoting between them like he was tracking a match. He could feel the playful shift in the air and bounced on the counter, his confusion about bears and caves gone.
"Papa Shou! Lights! Big lights!"
"Yes, exactly like that," Shouto said, his voice dropping into something soft as he closed the distance. He stepped in close, his hand resting naturally against the small of Katsuki’s back. Shouto’s hand stayed on his back. He leaned his shoulder into Katsuki’s arm as he looked down at the kid. "But way bigger than the observation deck. There are games where your Dada is going to win every prize in the booths, and stalls with candied apples and skewers that smell better than anything else in the world."
The toddler’s eyes tracked Shouto's hand as it moved to tweak the hem of his denim overalls. "See fish there?"
"Not the fish you’re thinking about this time," Shouto chuckled, his thumb brushing dust off the kid's shoulder. "But there will be giant banners, and fireworks that sound like a small boom in the sky. It’s a festival for the city, but it's also a place for heroes to rest. A place for families to just be. And we’re going to be there. All three of us."
"We're gonna go," Katsuki reiterated.
He looked at the boy, scanning every detail of the small face, then cut his gaze over to Shouto, catching the look of hope in his partner's eyes. It was a scary thing, hope, with the calendar right there on the fridge. But with the kid laughing on the counter, it felt impossible not to lean into it. "You, me, and the Icy-Hot idiot over there. It’ll be a good night. The kind of night you’ll remember for a long time."
The boy stared at them, his mouth open a little, a white vanilla mustache decorating his upper lip. He looked from Katsuki’s face to Shouto’s smile, reading their expressions. He didn't know days had passed, or that twenty-two days meant they were more than halfway through a dream. To him, the universe was bounded by the four walls of this penthouse, the hero cars on the living room rug, and the two men leaning over him.
Then, a huge grin broke across his face, the kind of smile that could light up a whole city block.
"I always have fun with Dada and Papa!" the boy chirped, waving his sticky spoon in the air with excitement, a drop of melting cream flying off the edge and landing right on Katsuki’s dark apron. "Every day is a festival! Even when we're just drawing, or eating cold stuff!"
The boy wiped a smear of vanilla across his cheek and grinned, unbothered by the calendar on the fridge or the way the kitchen light was shifting. He just climbed back onto the counter, his knees knocking against the marble, and held out his empty bowl like it was the most natural thing in the world to be fed by the two best heroes in the city.
Katsuki let out a laugh, a broken sound that was half-chuckle and half-sob. He jerked his head away instantly, his shoulders hunching as a single tear escaped his lashes and tracked a line down his cheek. He wiped his face and sniffed, fighting for control, but the kid’s words had cut too deep.
Shouto didn't move away. He didn't offer a tease or tell him to pull it together. Instead, he stayed right there, sliding his hand smoothly from Katsuki’s back up to his shoulder and squeezing tight. He leaned his weight slightly into Katsuki’s side, offering his own body as a shield against the rest of the world, letting the silent message pass between them that they were doing this together.
"Damn right," Katsuki rasped. He turned back around, his face slightly red but his expression completely focused as he reached out to ruffle the boy's hair with an aggressive gentleness. His crimson eyes were shimmering. "Of course you do. Because we're the damn best. Don't you ever forget it, brat."
The boy let out his standard roar at the hair ruffle and went back to scraping the last remnants of the vanilla cream from the bottom of his bowl.
Shouto smiled and kept his hand resting securely on Katsuki’s shoulder.
"We won't let him forget," Shouto murmured softly into the quiet space between them, his voice a steady promise that echoed against the marble. "Not for a single second."
* * *
By the afternoon, the rhythm of the penthouse had shifted again. Katsuki had been called into the agency for a briefing regarding the upcoming district festival, leaving Shouto alone with the boy for a few hours.
The living room had transformed into a battle front. The pillow fort from the previous week had been dismantled, but in its place was a vast city constructed entirely out of cardboard boxes, couch cushions, and every single plastic hero car the boy owned. Shouto sat cross-legged on the floor, his long legs tucked beneath him, carefully balancing a wooden block on top of a makeshift tower.
"Papa, look!" the boy commanded, pointing a finger toward the far side of the rug. He had lined up three different plush toys, Katsu-cat, a small green frog, and a slightly battered hippo from a television show he liked, in a neat row. "The citizens are safe."
"They look very safe," Shouto agreed. He reached out, using a fragment of his right hand's power to create a small frost line along the edge of the cardboard bridge he had built. It didn't lower the temperature of the room, but it gave the cardboard a sheen that caught the afternoon light. "The ice will keep the bridge from collapsing while the cars pass."
The boy let out a gasp of appreciation, crawling over on his hands and knees to peer closely at the frost.
"Pretty ice," he whispered, his eyes wide. He reached out, his small index finger hovering just above the frost before he remembered the rule about touching Shouto’s quirks without asking. He looked up, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Can I poke?"
"Just a little bit," Shouto said softly. "It’s cold, but it won't hurt."
The kid tapped the frost, his face breaking into a wide, toothy grin as the ice dissolved into a tiny wisp of cool vapor under his warmth. He giggled, a bright sound that filled the empty spaces of the large room.
"Magic water," he reminded himself, nodding firmly.
Shouto watched him. The kid was currently pushing his favorite red hero car along the cardboard bridge, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.
"Papa?" the boy asked, noticing the silence. He dropped his favorite red hero car onto the rug and tilted his head. "Are you sleepy?"
"No, honey," Shouto said, his voice dropping into a slower tone as he reached out to smooth a hand over the boy’s hair. "I’m just thinking."
"Thinking about the festival?" the boy asked, his eyes brightening. "With the big lights? And the candy apples?"
"Yes," Shouto lied gently, because it was easier than explaining the real trajectory of his thoughts. "I'm thinking about the festival. I think your Dada is going to try to win you the biggest lion plushie in the central district."
"A giant Katsu-cat?" The boy scrambled to his feet, his small frame shaking with excitement. "Taller than the couch?"
"Maybe not taller than the couch," Shouto chuckled, a soft, rare sound that felt like it belonged entirely in this quiet space. "But definitely big enough to take up half your bed."
The boy let out a roar and began to march his plush lion across the cardboard city, making noises that were clearly an imitation of Katsuki’s rants. Shouto leaned back against the base of the sofa, watching him move, and for a few minutes, the countdown in the back of his mind went quiet.
* * *
Later that evening, when the sky outside had turned a deep purple and the city lights were beginning to flicker into existence, the front door chimed open. The heavy thud of combat boots hitting the entryway floor announced Katsuki’s return before he even stepped into the hallway.
The apartment had settled into a quiet lull. Shouto was at the stove, stirring a pot of simple chicken broth and rice, while the boy sat at the kitchen island, diligently working on another drawing with his markers.
Katsuki walked into the kitchen, his hair sweat-spiked and wild from a late-afternoon training session at the agency. His hero suit was gone, replaced by a simple black tank top and loose sweatpants, but the sharp smell of metal and burnt sugar still clung to his skin. He looked tired, the dark circles beneath his crimson eyes deeper than usual. The moment his gaze landed on the boy, the harsh line of his jaw relaxed.
"Tch. Still coloring?" Katsuki grunted, walking over to the island and dropping a heavy hand onto the boy’s head. "You're gonna run those markers dry before the week is out, brat."
"Dada!" the boy chirped, not looking up from his paper. His small hand was gripped tight around a green marker, his knuckles white with the effort of staying within his own imaginary lines. "Look. I drawing the festival."
Katsuki leaned over his shoulder, his chest pressing slightly against the back of the boy’s stool as he examined the page. The drawing was a mess of green, orange, and deep indigo streaks. Across the top, the kid had drawn a series of large, yellow shapes that looked like explosions.
"What's this spiky shit?" Katsuki asked, though his tone was entirely devoid of any actual bite.
"Those are the boom booms," the boy explained seriously, pointing a sticky finger at the yellow shapes. "Like your hands. And this," he pointed to a long, red-and-white striped blob at the bottom, "is Papa Shou’s ice. To keep the people safe."
Katsuki let out a huff, his eyes softening. He looked across the island at Shouto, who was watching them from the stove with a wooden spoon held loosely in his hand. Their eyes met, crimson locking onto bicolored, and an entire conversation passed between them in the span of a heartbeat.
"Coloring on the yellow is sloppy," Katsuki muttered, turning back to the boy and reaching down to guide the kid’s hand slightly with his own large fingers. "But the placement isn't terrible. Keeps the area clear."
The boy beamed, his eyes shining with a sense of immense accomplishment as he let Katsuki adjust his grip on the marker.
"We go to the big lights soon?"
"Yeah," Katsuki whispered, his voice dropping into that low, private tone again. He didn't look at Shouto this time, his focus entirely consumed by the small child in front of him. "Soon, brat. A couple of days. We'll see the big lights."
Shouto turned back to the stove, his chest tightening as he turned off the burner. The steam from the rice rose up to meet him, but inside his mind, the image of the calendar on the fridge remained. Twenty-two days were gone. The festival was coming.
* * *
The vibrant orange yukata Katsuki pulled from the delivery box was immediately met with a pout that threatened to derail the evening before they had even set foot out the door. The box itself sat discarded, its cardboard flaps splayed wide, a reminder of the rush to prepare for a night they hadn't known they would get to see. The underlying stress of their situation had made the last hour a scramble, and the open box seemed to judge them for it.
The boy sat firmly on the edge of the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest in an imitation of Katsuki’s pettiness. His jaw was set so hard that a tiny dimple formed near his chin, his lips pressed into a tight line, and his eyes were narrowed with a determination that had no business looking so adorable on a four-year-old face. He was intentionally puffing out his chest, trying to make himself look unmovable against the plush cushions. He shifted his weight, digging his frame into the fabric to prove he was serious.
"No," the boy declared, his voice firm, carrying an underlying note of finality despite the sweet scent of vanilla ice cream still fresh on his breath from his afternoon treat. He stomped one bare foot against the hardwood floor for emphasis, the sound echoing lightly off the high concrete walls of the open apartment layout. "Match. Papa, Dada, me. All same."
Katsuki paused mid-motion, his broad shoulders tensing under his black tank top, the cotton stretching taut across his shoulder blades. In his right hand, he held a charcoal yukata meant for himself. On his left, he held the bright orange one he had selected for the kid, thinking the brat would appreciate looking like a walking explosion. He stared down at the toddler, his left eyebrow twitching with a rising irritation as he tried to process the attitude. His palms tingled with a pop of sparks he had to suppress before he ruined the fabric.
"Kid, we aren't a damn boy band," Katsuki huffed, dropping both pieces of fabric to his side and planting his hands squarely on his hips, which only served to make the boy mimic him further by shifting his weight and thrusting his elbows out. "I'm not wearing matching colors with Icy-Hot in public. I have a pro-hero brand to protect, and walking around looking like a set of nesting dolls isn't part of the marketing strategy."
The boy didn't budge an inch. His heels dug deeper into the cushions of the couch. Sensing that his stubbornness wasn't quite enough to crack Katsuki’s resolve, the toddler shifted his gaze toward Shouto, who was standing a few feet away by the dining table. The boy’s eyes went wide, swimming with a plea for alliance that he had inherited from the very man he was looking at.
"If we match," the boy whispered, his voice dropping straight through the hum of the city outside. "Then people know? They know I'm yours?"
The air in the living room turned heavy enough to crush concrete.
Shouto, who had been folding a navy blue silk sash into a rectangle, froze completely. The fabric remained suspended between his fingers, the smooth silk catching the light, as the words echoed off the walls of the penthouse. He slowly looked up, his gaze meeting Katsuki’s directly over the top of the boy’s head. The casual domesticity of the room seemed to expose the reality they had been trying to paint over with festival plans and sweet treats.
It’s almost the last week. The thought echoed between them. One week left to be a family.
"Fine," Katsuki rasped. He abruptly dropped the orange and charcoal fabrics onto the arm of the chair and turned back to the closet, rummaging through the garment bags until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a set of three deep, midnight-blue yukatas woven from premium silk, adorned with silver lines that caught the evening light like constellations.
He tossed the smallest one onto the toddler's lap, the fabric billowing slightly before settling over the boy's knees. "We match. All three of us. If anyone laughs or tries to take a picture to make fun of us, I’ll blast 'em into the next damn prefecture before they can hit upload. Put the damn thing on."
Shouto let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding, a small smile gently touching his lips as he set his folded sash aside and stepped toward the couch. "Midnight blue it is," he murmured softly. "It suits us much better anyway. It looks like the sky before the storm."
The boy let out a shriek of delight, his demeanor vanishing in a flash as he jumped off the sofa, his feet slapping loudly against the hardwood floor before he tackled Katsuki’s legs with all the force his little body could muster.
"Match! We're the Matchy Heroes!"
Katsuki didn't grumble this time. He didn't push the kid away or complain about his pants getting wrinkled by sticky hands. Instead, he just reached down with a sigh, his hands easily scooping the boy up into the air before burying the kid’s head securely against the crook of his broad shoulder. He looked across the small distance at Shouto, a determination hardening his features into something unbreakable.
"Tonight," Katsuki whispered, his voice vibrating deep in his chest, meant more for Shouto’s ears than the boy’s, "is gonna be the best damn night of his life. I don't care what it costs us later when the bill comes due."
Shouto stepped forward, closing the last remaining distance between them until their shoulders brushed, their matching silk sleeves whispering against each other. He reached out, resting his palm firmly on the boy’s back, his fingers overlapping slightly with Katsuki’s over the soft fabric.
"The best week," he corrected softly, his voice thick with a promise that bound them all together in a circle the outside world couldn't touch.
* * *
The central district was a sea of glowing paper lanterns and the music of taiko drums that shook the pavement. The festival was massive, a celebration of midsummer that had drawn thousands of citizens out into the warm night air, creating a canopy of sound and color. But for the three of them, the crowded world had shrunk down to the five-foot radius surrounding their bodies.
Shouto moved through the bustling crowd. He had the boy tucked securely against his left hip, the child’s legs dangling over the smooth silk of his yukata, his tiny sandaled feet kicking occasionally in time with the music. Shouto’s left arm was firm around the toddler’s waist, ensuring no amount of crowd-jostling could loosen his hold or separate them. With his right arm, he reached out and firmly hooked his hand around the small of Katsuki’s back, pulling the blonde pro-hero flush against his side as they navigated the packed street.
Katsuki didn't shrug him off. Under normal circumstances, he would have flared up at such a public display of intimacy. But tonight, Katsuki just leaned into Shouto’s touch, using the weight of his partner to guide him, his crimson eyes darting around the festival stalls.
"Over there," Katsuki barked, lifting a hand to point a finger toward a traditional wooden stall draped in vibrant red banners and illuminated by low-hanging bulbs that cast a warm glow over a series of shallow water troughs. "The gold-fish. We’re doing the damn fish thing first before the line gets too long and the water gets completely ruined by idiots."
The elderly stall owner gave them three plastic bowls and three paper scoops, his eyes lingering for a second on the silver patterns running along their shoulders, a knowing smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Katsuki took their tools, his thumb avoiding the center where the thin tissue paper stretched taut across the bamboo frame. He looked down at the kid, whose small button nose was already pressed against the wooden rim of the water tank, leaving a circle of condensation on the dark wood as he stared.
"Alright, look," Katsuki muttered, dropping low until his knees locked, his midnight-blue yukata pooling around his boots. "The paper breaks if you're an idiot about it. You don't scoop from the bottom like you're shoveling dirt, or the water weight will tear right through it before you even lift. You slide it in flat, find a fat one, and you flick. Got it?"
The kid nodded rapidly, his blonde bangs shaking into his eyes, though he clearly wasn’t actually listening to the strategy. His eyes were completely locked onto a bright calico fish with a split tail that was darting lazily beneath a cluster of fake lily pads. He grabbed his scoop by the middle of the handle and jabbed it straight down into the water like a spear, determined to catch his target through force of will.
The white tissue dissolved instantly under the blunt force of the water, leaving nothing but an empty, dripping plastic ring dangling in his fist. The calico fish flicked its tail and swam out of reach into the deeper corner of the trough.
The kid stared at the empty ring in complete shock, his mind trying to process how his weapon had failed him. His small shoulders dropped, his chest heaving as his lower lip began its familiar slide outward, the first signs of a heartbreaking tantrum threatening to ruin the hard-won peace.
"Hey. None of that," Katsuki hissed, though his eyes were completely soft, devoid of any real irritation. He grabbed a fresh, dry scoop from the counter, reached over, and wrapped his warm hand over the kid’s fingers, locking the boy’s grip into the correct position. "I told you, you gotta be smooth. Don't fight the water, brat. Let's go again."
Guided entirely by Katsuki’s steady, experienced pressure, they dipped the paper frame together. Katsuki’s thumb pressed lightly against the kid’s wrist, keeping it steady, slowing down the toddler's energy until the white paper was floating invisibly just beneath the surface of the shimmering water. They waited, both of them holding their breath, until a shimmering gold fantail drifted directly over the hidden circle.
With a synchronized flick of the wrist, they lifted the fish clear of the surface and dropped it safely into the water-filled plastic bowl before the paper could give way.
The boy let out a shriek of triumph, his sandaled heels thudding against the dirt path as he pointed a wet finger at the bowl, splashing a few drops onto Katsuki's cheek.
"I got him! Dada, look! He's swimming in my cup!"
"Yeah, yeah. You're a natural, sparkler," Katsuki snorted, though the smirk on his face stayed wide as he stood up, wiping his wet thumb along the side of his thigh, his chest puffing out slightly at the successful lesson.
Shouto shifted the kid higher on his hip, letting the boy hold the bagged fish carefully with both hands while they moved back into the slow flow of the crowd. Every few steps, the toddler would look down with intense focus to make sure the little golden fish was still swimming in circles, his face reflecting the light of the overhead sashes that lined the market stalls.
They didn't get five feet past the main courtyard before the rich scent of the charcoal grills completely took over the air. A local vendor was stacking long bamboo skewers of warm dango over an open flame, the thick sweet-soy glaze bubbling and caramelizing against the heat.
"Dada, what's the sticky balls?" the kid asked, pointing a wet finger while trying not to drop his fish as he leaned over Shouto's shoulder.
"Dango," Katsuki said shortly, crossing his arms. He stepped out of the line of traffic and bought a skewer from the older woman behind the grill, taking the wooden stick and holding it firmly in his hand while he lowered it toward the child. "Don't choke on it. Take a small, careful bite. It's hot."
The kid, however, did not know the definition of moderation or caution. He opened his mouth as wide as it could possibly go, his eyes stretching with anticipation, and buried his face into the very top dumpling, pulling the sticky rice cake free with a loud, wet pop. He chewed, his eyes closing tight as the sweet flavor hit his tongue. When he finally opened them, a thick smudge of the glaze was sitting directly on the bridge of his nose.
Shouto didn't look around for a napkin or a cloth. He simply reached down with his right hand, his thumb catching the warm glaze before it could drip down into the kid’s face, and wiped it away in one smooth motion, licking the excess off his skin with a quiet hum of approval. Katsuki muttered something under his breath about hygiene and coddling. But there was no real edge to his voice, only a domestic warmth that filled the spaces between his words.
"Is it good?" Shouto asked softly, watching the kid swing his legs back and forth against his hip.
"It’s sticky!" the boy cheered around his mouthful of rice cake, reaching out to pat Shouto’s cheek with a hand that now had a fine layer of caramelized sugar across the palm. Shouto didn't even flinch at the mess, simply leaning into the touch.
They moved deeper into the market lines, where the noise of the festival grew thicker and the music of the bamboo flutes began to intertwine with the heavy thunder of the drums. They passed a stall hung with hundreds of cheap plastic masks, popular heroes with visors, traditional woodland foxes with painted red whiskers, and theater spirits that bounced in the evening breeze. The boy’s head spun from side to side like a spinning top, his eyes wide as he tried to absorb every piece of flying color.
"Choose one," Shouto said, bringing them to a halt right in front of the hanging rows of colorful plastic faces.
The kid studied the display. His small finger hovered momentarily over a version of All Might’s yellow tufts, his eyes lingering on the golden plastic, but then his gaze dropped lower, landing on a plain, bright orange fox mask with sharp black markings around the eyes. He pointed at it firmly, his mind made up.
"That one, Papa. Like the fire."
Katsuki grunted, already reaching deep into his pocket for the exact change before the vendor could even ask for the price. He took the plastic piece from the man's hands, but instead of forcing it over the kid's face where it would block his view of the festival, he carefully slipped the black elastic band over the boy's head, leaving the orange mask resting sideways against his messy blonde spikes.
"There. Now you look like a proper menace. Don't go losing it."
Next came the glass wind-chimes hanging from the long eaves of a tea shop, catching the cool breeze that was starting to drift up from the nearby riverbed. Each sphere had a thin strip of paper dangling from the wooden clapper, covered in handwritten wishes and prayers from the festival-goers. The kid reached up, his fingers barely brushing the bottom of one of the paper strips, causing the clear glass to let out a tink that sounded like falling ice.
He froze instantly, his mouth opening in absolute surprise at the crystalline sound. He tapped it again, much softer this time, his eyes tracking the way the glass swung back and forth against the dark wood of the roof.
"Those are for blessings," Shouto said, lowering his shoulder so the boy could see the blue waves painted on the glass. "People write down what they want most, and the wind carries the sound up to the sky."
The kid looked from the swinging glass back to Shouto, his brow furrowing with a sudden, quiet thought that seemed to weigh heavily on his small brow.
"Can we write one? For us? So the sky remembers?"
"We don't need to write anything down, kid," Katsuki muttered from behind them. He stepped in closer, his hand resting firmly against the back of Shouto’s neck, his fingers tightening just enough to offer a solid weight through the silk of their matching yukatas. "The sky already damn well knows what we're doing tonight. It doesn't need a piece of paper to tell it."
"That's right, we have our blessings anyways." Shouto agreed, and the boy tilted his head confused. Katsuki watched his two favorite people, and didn't say a word.
They finished their loop near the grassy shrine grounds, where the crowd had finally thinned out enough to let the cool air cut through the heat of the food stalls and the charcoal grills. A small group of older children were gathered around a dirt patch, holding thin wire sticks that threw off spitting white sparks into the gathering darkness. Their faces were illuminated from below.
"Stars on a stick," the kid whispered against Shouto’s ribs as he watched the lights dance and die in the grass.
Katsuki didn't even wait for the kid to ask this time. He walked over to the vendor selling the cardboard bundles, bought a pack of traditional sparklers, and borrowed a lighter from a nearby event guide who recognized his explosive quirk profile. Then he knelt by the grass at Shouto’s feet. Shouto, with the boy still in his arms, got closer to the ground in a crouch.
"You don't touch the gray part, and you don't touch the hot part once it starts," Katsuki warned, his voice dropping, being completely serious about safety. He held the wire stick by the very tip, striking the lighter until the chemical powder caught, bubbling into a bright point of white and violet light that hissed against the dark.
The kid gasped, a tiny sound of wonder, pulling his head back into the hollow of Shouto’s shoulder, who knelt, but his eyes never left the crackling fire. The light reflected perfectly in his pupils, making them look like small mirrors capturing the birth of a star.
"Hold it with me," Katsuki said, reaching up with his free hand. He took the kid’s fingers, wrapping his large hand over the boy’s, keeping the child’s arm extended well away from the expensive silk of their matching outfits.
Together, they held the spark against the creeping dark of the shrine grounds. The light hissed, casting shadows across the grass and over the three of them. Dressed in the same deep blue, they looked like a family silhouette defined by fire. The kid didn't speak, he just watched the fire burn its way down the wire, his chest rising and falling in time with the spark until it reached the end of its short life.
When the light finally sputtered out into nothingness, leaving only a thin trail of gray smoke and the smell of sulfur in the air, the kid looked up at Katsuki’s face, his eyes searching.
"More?" the boy whispered, his voice full of a quiet hope that hurt to hear.
"No more, brat," Katsuki said softly, his thumb gently brushing across the back of the kid’s hand before he stood up, his knee joints popping in the quiet of the field. He reached up to adjust the orange fox mask on the boy's head. "The real ones are about to start anyway. Look up."
The brief test shots cleared from the air, leaving anticipation hanging over the central district. The murmuring of the thousands of people in the crowd began to quiet down into a breathless hush, every face turning toward the open expanse above the river. And then, without any further warning, the sky truly exploded into life.
A massive, shimmering willow of pure gold stepped upward, tearing through the dark of the night before blossoming into a giant umbrella of light that illuminated the city block in a flash. A thunderous crack followed a second later, a sonic wave that vibrated deep within their bones and echoed off the buildings.
The boy gasped, his hands instantly fisting so tightly into the silk of Shouto’s yukata. He wasn't scared, but transfixed by the scale of the light. His eyes were wide and unblinking, reflecting the cascading golden sparks in his eyes, his mouth falling open.
"Papa! Look! The stars are falling down!" the boy breathed, his voice barely a whisper against the deafening roar of the next volley that followed, a rapid-fire succession of red and green stars that painted the sky.
Shouto didn't look up at the sky. He couldn't drag his eyes away if he tried. The brilliant greens, reds, and golds painted across the atmosphere were nothing compared to the expression on the boy's face. Illuminated in rapid, strobing flashes of emerald and violet light, the child looked like a precious gift. One that had temporarily slipped through the cracks of a universe just to show them what unconditional love looked like before it vanished.
He felt the cool air try to seep between their bodies as the crowd shifted around them to get a better view of the riverbanks, so Shouto adjusted his weight, tightening his core. He reached out with his right arm, hooked his large hand firmly around Katsuki’s hip, and pulled the blonde pro-hero flush against his ribs until there was no space left between them, their bodies locking together like puzzle pieces. He needed the physical contact, he needed to feel the solid heat of Katsuki’s body and the weight of the child to convince himself that this wasn't some cruel dream that would dissolve into gray smoke the moment the fireworks ended.
Katsuki didn't fight the pull. He didn't offer a single word of protest or a jab of his elbow. Instead, he leaned his upper body heavily into Shouto’s shoulder, melting away into something soft and surrendered to the weight of the moment. He reached his left hand up, resting his palm directly over Shouto’s hand on the boy’s back, their fingers naturally interlacing over the expensive fabric in the dark.
"See that, kid?" Katsuki rasped against Shouto’s chest as he pointed up toward a fresh explosion that tore through the black sky. "That big, loud orange one right there? That’s a Great Explosion Murder God special. I told the firework bastards to make it just for you, so you better be watching."
The boy laughed. He leaned back comfortably against Shouto's chest, his head resting in the crook of Shouto's neck while he reached out his free hand to gently pat Katsuki’s cheek, leaving a faint trace of warmth behind against the blonde's skin.
"Dada... Papa... look!" Another massive shell burst directly overhead, a brilliant blue peony that matched the midnight-blue of their yukatas, casting a cool light over the courtyard and turning the grass into a sapphire field. "We're in the sky! It's a matchy sky! We're everywhere!"
While the toddler’s eyes tracked a fresh, glittering shower of silver tendrils breaking from the core of the blue light, Katsuki turned his head away from the sky. The glow of the peony washed over the angles of his face, catching the shimmer along his lower lashes before it could fall. He didn't look back up at the grand display.
Instead, his crimson eyes locked onto Shouto’s. Shouto met his gaze instantly, his mismatched eyes widening as he read the silent surrender written across his partner’s features. There was no need for words, no space for the clever friction that usually defined their daily life. In the strobing light of the sky, they were just two men holding onto a piece of a life they weren't going to get to keep, watching their future burn bright and fast above them.
The crowd around them faded into a low roar, the sound of thousands of people dissolving into white noise. Katsuki’s fingers, still interlaced with Shouto’s on the boy’s back, tightened with pressure that communicated everything he couldn't say aloud. Slowly, Katsuki leaned in, closing the distance between them until his breath hitched against Shouto's skin. Shouto met him halfway, tilting his head down as he shifted the boy slightly on his hip to keep him safe and secure between their chests, creating a private sanctuary in the middle of the festival grounds.
Their lips met under the canopy of the grand finale.
The kiss was soft and deeply grounded, a contrast to the violent, earth-shaking thunder of the sky above them. It tasted faintly of the sweet festival air, the sugary dango, and the salt of a tear that had slipped down Katsuki’s cheek before they touched. Katsuki’s breath hitched again against Shouto’s mouth, his fingers digging hard into the midnight-blue silk of Shouto's shoulder, steading himself to the only other person in the world who understood him.
They broke apart, their foreheads resting against one another as another volley of gold and emerald lit up the night, casting a glow across their faces. The boy remained transfixed by the sparks above, oblivious to the silent universe his guardians had just built and dismantled in the space between breaths. His hand still rested happily against their bodies, keeping them pinned to the present.
Shouto closed his eyes, pressing his temple against Katsuki’s hair. He pulled them both closer, holding the heat of Katsuki’s skin and the weight of the child until the last of the fireworks faded into smoke.