Chapter Text
Aizawa was no stranger to coming home late at night. When he did patrols still, which admittedly wasn’t as often as it used to be, he was out until at least midnight. He was always busy with 1A, those kids got into trouble so often he might as well be patrolling them (he also really took a beating during the USJ attack, but he’d never admit that), so his agency rarely scheduled him. They also tried not to ask him on cases unless it was absolutely necessary, now that he had two kids and a husband to look after.
The mission they had sent him on had to do with cleaning up the last of Overhaul’s little army, shutting them down before they could increase their recruitment. It was exhausting, leading him on a 12 mile chase through the city before he finally caught the guy to give them more information. He turned the villain into the police office, waving off Chief Tsuragamae who tried to tell Aizawa he didn’t have to help. Of course he had to help. The villain’s quirk was destructive, and Eraserhead was simply best suited for the job. “Hope you're heading home” one of the officers tells him. Aizawa nods, opening the door and going out into the night. It was only one in the morning, which was much earlier than Shouta had anticipated being finished. He stretched, walking back towards his apartment and opening up the door as softly as he could.
Thankfully, nobody was in the living room. He had grown used to coming home late to Hitoshi, sitting on the couch, watching some random rom-com with terrible acting and a cup of hot chocolate on the table. Since Hitoshi had started seeing a therapist, these incidents had decreased, but they still happened. Sometimes, Eri was there too. She had nightmares, and despite Hitoshi insisting he hated children, she often came to him for night-time comfort. He would find them asleep on the couch, underneath Eri’s Paw Patrol blanket. Occasionally, Hitoshi would still be awake with Eri on top of him, and Aizawa wouldn’t say anything. He felt smug about it though.
In all honesty, he was so proud of their little family. He had always wanted to have one, and Hizashi was the love of his life. He was a perfect father, a perfect husband. Aizawa really couldn’t be happier. He sighed, removing his capture weapon and hanging it up in the closet. He moved quickly to the shower, rinsing off the dirt and sweat and some blood from his body at an impossibly hot temperature. The best part of coming home late was the amount of time he could spend in the shower if he wanted, but he was too tired tonight. He missed his husband and his kids. Shouta threw on a black pair of sweats and a ratty old t-shirt and made his way out of the bathroom.
Aizawa snuck into the kitchen, knowing if he didn’t eat anything Hizashi was going to make him go back out, no matter how comfortable he was. He threw a piece of the fresh banana bread Sato had made for Eri into the microwave, spread on some butter, and shoved it down. When he chugged some water down and took his meds, he allowed himself to walk towards his room.
Yawning, he opened the door, only to be blown away by the sight in front of him. His husband was in the center of their bed (Hizashi was such a bed-hog), which wasn’t shocking. He had on one of Shouta’s old t-shirts (which was very very cute), and a pair of plaid pajama pants. He had on half the blankets, and he was drooling ever so slightly onto a pillow he was sharing with their son.
Hitoshi was also out on their bed, breathing softly next to Hizashi’s face. Hizashi had his hand tangled into Hitoshi’s hair, and even though he was curled the other way, Aizawa knew that Shinsou was smiling. Hitoshi had both his arms wrapped around Eri, who was wearing soft pajama pants and Mirio’s U.A. t-shirt, which went almost to her calves. She clung to her stuffed cat tightly, but she wasn’t showing any signs of fear. On Shouta’s pillow was their cat, Elton. Elton blinked up at Shouta lazily.
Shouta wished he could take a picture, but his phone was in the other room. He stared at his family for a full minute, smiling to himself, committing the image to memory. “Dad?” Hitoshi whispered, confused.
“Mhm” Shouta murmured back, sneaking into bed behind Hizashi and nuzzling into his back.
“Welcome home,” Shinsou murmurs, tightening his grip on Eri and closing his eyes.
Sometimes, Shouta was impossible. He fought tooth and nail against people who just wanted what was best for him. He refused to be healthy. He clung to his people tightly, and he refused kindness from anyone else. But this? This almost made it worth it. Sleep, that is. If every night was like this, Shouta thought to himself, I’d sleep without a problem.