Chapter Text
Hitoshi woke to a slither of warm sunlight blinking through his curtains. Which was strange, because the view from his window was a tall brick wall of the building next to his.
He rolled over and made sure to hold himself back or risk falling off his single. He’d done that too many times before. He blamed it on the fact that his bed at Shouta’s and Hizashi’s was a large queen one, which had plenty of room for him and their numerous cats. But he rolled safely and curled up into his duvet.
The sound of a door shutting, and quiet voices wafting from the corridor made him open his eyes, a bout of confusion made his muscles tense. He lived alone, despite the many attempts by his friends to flatshare. He loved his friends, but he’d been with them in the dorms, and that was quite enough, thank you.
He waited and listened. Whoever they were, they were too far away for Hitoshi to make out what they were saying. And then, surprisingly he recognised the voices. One was soft and gruff, barely audible through his door. And the other was louder and held most of the conversation.
It was then that Hitoshi looked around his room and realised that it was in fact NOT his room. Well, it was, but his old one he had at his parent’s place. The same dark curtains, soft sheets, and band posters littering the walls.
Sitting up, Hitoshi swung his legs off the bed and dropped his head into his hands, hoping to wipe away the sleep that still clung to him. His legs ached, and his face was sore. If he was being honest with himself, everything was sore, as if he’d been through the wringer with Midoriya (who was always up for sparring but had yet to learn how to hold back.).
Hitoshi pushed himself up and followed the sound of his parents, grabbing a shirt and a pair of shorts on the way. He barely remembered even getting here the night before. Nor did he know the reason why. He had fully intended to go back to his place that wasn’t even that far away but had somehow stumbled (and broken into) his parent’s flat.
“Ah, there he is,” Hizashi said, interrupting Hitoshi’s thoughts as he stepped into the kitchen. Hizashi was frying something that smelled delicious while wearing a hideous pink apron that read ‘kiss the cook’. Shouta sat at the island, nursing a cup of coffee that was probably his third one.
“Morning,” Hitoshi mumbled as he flopped onto the stool and buried his face into his arms.
“Evening,” Shouta corrected, and when Hitoshi peaked through the gap of his crossed arm, found Shouta smirking into his coffee.
Hitoshi made a noise that he couldn’t name as he reburied his head back into his arms. His whole body ached, and his headache from yesterday was still there, pressing against his skull. He hoped it wouldn’t change into a migraine. That was the last thing he needed.
“Here.” Hizashi slid a plate of hot American food in front of him, with a large cup of black coffee. Hitoshi made sure not to drool at the sight of runny eggs, and sizzling bacon. Whatever expression he made, Hizashi and Shouta laughed at it. “Dig in.”
Hitoshi didn’t need further encouragement as he all but shoved the food into his mouth. Living on his own for the past few weeks, breakfast manly consisted of cereal bars, or a simple black coffee that he downed like a shot. It wasn’t that he was always late for work, but Hitoshi somehow found himself in a rush. He never learned to make breakfast quick enough that he’d have time to eat it. And nothing ever compared to Hizashi’s cooking.
“Slow down, or you’ll choke. You’re worse than Jelly.” Shouta laid a hand on his wrist. Jelly mewed from underneath Hitoshi’s chair at the mention of her name, before rubbing her cheeks against his legs.
“Sorry,” Hitoshi said with his cheeks bulging. Both his dads shook their heads with exasperated expressions.
He ate in silence until his plate was clean. He almost wanted to lick it clean, but he held back when Shouta gave him a long state, almost as if he could read minds. He quickly washed his plate before returning to his seat.
“Thank you for breakfast,” Hitoshi said, with a full stomach. He felt like he’d eaten like kings do. It was defiantly not the breakfast of a young, upstart hero.
“You’re welcome.” Hizashi beamed at him before the expression changed into one of mock seriousness. “Now, do you wanna explain to us about last night? We love it when you visit, but we would prefer it if you used the front door. You still have your key, yeah?”
Hitoshi felt his cheeks burn.
“Y-yeah.” Hitoshi went to fish the keys out as proof but remembered they were somewhere in the bathroom, tossed on the floor with the rest of his clothes. “I-.” Hitoshi cleared his thought as the embarrassment of it all locked his tongue in place.
“I thought this was my place.” Hitoshi rubbed the back of his neck. “Was kinda just on automatic and ended up wandering to yours. Was too tired to notice the difference.” Saying it out loud sounded stupid. How did he mistake their flat for his? Their building was a stunning red brick one with large black tinted windows. And they lived in a nicer neighbourhood, one that was in the opposite direction of his. His own flat was an ugly, squat building, with windows that looked like they would fall out with a simple push. “Sorry for waking you, and breaking in.”
Hizashi was smiling at him warmly and lovingly, while Shouta was watching him like a puzzle worth figuring out. Hitoshi ducked his head under the weight of his hair, it had begun to flop without any product in it.
“Sorry,” Hitoshi said again, not sure what else to say. The whole thing is ridiculous.
“It’s no matter. As long as your safe and sound, eh? Now, how are you holding up with everything? You eating, right? No problems with the flat?” Hizashi waved his hand.
“I’m not struggling,” Hitoshi bit back, not able to keep the defensiveness from his voice.
“Hold on there, Little Listener. I never suggested that. We just worry that’s all.”
“You don’t have to worry.” Hitoshi clenched his fists under the table. “I’m looking after myself fine.”
“We’re going to worry, kid. Especially Hizashi. Nothing to do with your capabilities,” Shouta said, his eyes serious and open. “You’re our kid, it’s what parents do.”
Hitoshi’s cheek burned as he ducked his head. It’d been almost five years since he was fostered by Shouta and Hizashi, and four since he was officially adopted by them. But hearing them call him their kid always sent a pang of embarrassment and warmth through him. It was nice to hear.
“I’m an adult now though. I should be able to look after myself.”
He heard Hizashi sigh fondly before a pair of arms encircled around his head and cradled him into their chest.
“You’re too much like Shouta sometimes.” Hizashi clicked his tongue before he began to run his hands through Hitoshi’s hair. “Regardless of how old you are, you’re our kid. Full stop. Even if you start your own family, or go wrinkly and grey, you’re our kid and we’ll do everything we can for you.” Hizashi poked Hitoshi’s temple. “Capiche?”
With a long, sigh, Hitoshi nodded as he leaned into his father’s chest, listening to the way Hizashi’s heart beat against Hitoshi’s ear. “Capiche.”
“Good. Now get dressed. We’re going to go pick up Eri from Togata’s, and then we’re treating you to lunch. No ifs, no buts, no coconuts.” Hizashi pulled back from Hitoshi and gave him a pair of finger guns.
Hitoshi’s expression mirrored Shouta’s as they both struggled to understand Hizashi’s English. While Hitoshi was pretty well versed in it, especially after moving in with Hizashi, but sometimes the phrases Hizashi used were nothing more than gibberish. Hitoshi didn’t understand what coconuts had to do with being treated to dinner. Unless they were going somewhere that served coconuts, but that seemed unlikely.
“You both look like gaping fish.” Hizashi tapped Shouta’s dropped jaw until it snapped shut into a pout. “Now, come on, you have twenty minutes to get showered and dressed. No offence, Hitoshi, you stink. Shoo.” Hizashi ushered them both up from their stools and to their respected rooms.
“Call it forty by the time he’s ready.” Shouta mumbled before getting swatted on the arm with a yelped “Shouta,” as the pair vanished into their room. Hitoshi couldn’t help but smile at them. He’d always loved the way they bantered with each other.
After showering and washing his hair so it smelt like the nicest ocean breeze (Hizashi had the best shampoo), Hitoshi got dressed in his room. He still had clothes he left behind, though he didn’t know why. He actually liked this shirt. It was a dark navy t-shirt with All Might’s smiling face on it. The only reason he had it was to annoy Shouta, who grimaced every time he looked at it, spouting that “I work with the buffoon, I don’t need to see his stupid grin when I’m at home.”
And that was the same face Shouta pulled as he knocked and entered Hitoshi’s room, still not understanding the simple rule of waiting for Hitoshi to answer. It made Hitoshi smile nostalgically.
“Do you have to wear that shirt?” He asked.
“I like it.”
“Hmm. Sure.” Shouta walked into his room and settled at Hitoshi’s desk, leaning against it. Silence followed as Hitoshi waited for Shouta to speak. Sometimes his dad was painfully blunt and to the point, but there were times, though they were rare, where it seemed he couldn’t find the words he needed to say.
“What’s up?” Hitoshi asked, sitting down on the bed. They had at least another five minutes before Hizashi hollered for them.
Shouta frowned, a crease folding between his eyebrows, before he relaxed, his features softening.
“You don’t have to live alone,” Shouta said, his tone unsure.
“Like I said to Pops, I’m fine.” Hitoshi felt something hot burn in his chest and flare inside him. He understood that they were his parents, and they were going to worry, but he didn’t need to be coddled. He practically raised himself long before he moved in with the pair. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t see that.
“I know,” Shouta said, running a hand down his face as though the conversation was difficult for him.
“Then what’s wrong? Why do you and Pops not trust me? I haven’t burnt down my flat, I haven’t forgotten my keys or forgot to pay the bills. I get home okay all the time. It was just one slip up. I don’t-.” Hitoshi took a shattering breath.
Shouta pushed himself from the desk and sat next to Hitoshi.
“Look, me and Hizashi, we don’t mean to come across that we don’t trust you. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have let you leave in the first place. You’re strong-willed and smart. But you’re also stubborn and an idiot sometimes, especially when it’s about yourself.” He bumped shoulders with Hitoshi when he noticed Hitoshi’s pout. “You have nothing to prove with us.”
Hitoshi fiddled with his fingers in his lap, scratching at his scuffed-up nails, and picking a scab on his ring finger.
“We were like you once. Especially me. I was so determined to make it, that I decided I didn’t need any help. It made me lonely.” Shouta nudged Hitoshi’s knee.
“I’m an adult now.”
“Adults need help sometimes.”
Hitoshi frowned at his lap.
“I can do it though.”
“Hitoshi.” The way Shouta said his name made him look up at the man. “We know you can. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
His father’s face was soft, but eyes were hard and searching, looking into Hitoshi’s for something Hitoshi didn’t know. But the moment he seemed to find it, Hitoshi felt a burning pressure behind his eyes.
“I just want you to be proud of me. The rest of my class have already moved out and are climbing the ranks. I just want to do the same.” He swallowed the thickness in his throat.
“We’re already proud of you. Anything you do, we’ll be proud of you.”
Warm tears ran down Hitoshi’s cheeks as he sucked in a sharp breath.
“I think, that maybe, you need help. That’s why you came here last night. Subconsciously you knew where to go when you need help.” Shouta squeezed Hitoshi’s knee. “You look tired.”
Hitoshi barked a laugh, though it was a pitiful thing.
“I always look tired.”
“A different sort of tired.”
Hitoshi swallowed the lump in his throat.
“It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be. I thought I was ready, I worked so hard for this, and I still feel like I’m struggling to keep up.” Hitoshi’s hands shook. “I’m always behind.”
“You’re not behind. This is what being a hero feels like. It’s a lot of running headfirst into danger while juggling a normal adult life. It’s a lot, and it takes time to adjust too. Every hero goes through this.”
“Why does it feel like it’s only me? Midoriya is already number 72.” That old feeling of jealously grew ugly in his chest.
“If you compare yourself to everyone else, you won’t see your own successes when they come,” Shouta said, “Hitoshi, you don’t need to be like everyone else. You only need to do what you can. That’s it. The rest, me and Hizashi will help with.”
“I should-.”
“You shouldn’t anything, Hitoshi. You’re twenty. You don’t have to shoulder everything all at once. You don’t have to rush through your career, you have time, kid.”
Hitoshi wiped at the fresh tears rolling down his face, trying to hide the fat tears that Shouta had probably already seen.
“It’s a lot,” he blubbered.
“I know,” Shouta said. “Now, what do you need from us?”
“I don’t know yet,” Hitoshi said.
“That’s okay. After lunch, me, you and Hizashi can have a chat and figure it out, okay?”
“Okay.” Hitoshi nodded, feeling far younger than his twenty years. “I miss you guys.”
“We miss you too.” Shouta wrapped an arm around Hitoshi’s shoulder and bowed his head, conspiratorially. Hitoshi leant into his father’s warmth. “Don’t tell Hizashi I told you, but he sometimes lingers in your room. He likes to refold all your clothes.”
“That’s really sad.” Hitoshi chuckled.
Shouta grinned something both mischievously and comradely. They basked in their silence as they usually did after one of their talks. It was nice that some things hadn’t changed. It gave Hitoshi the confidence to ask all the questions he’d stored away, hoping that if he ignored the problems, they’d go away.
Quietly, he said,” When I put a load of washing on, the washing machine leaks, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Your filter is probably blocked. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”
“Okay. And the fire alarm keeps beeping and I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“Hitoshi.” Shouta’s voice came as a disappointed warning.
“I replaced the batteries, but it won’t stop.”
Shout sighed and knocked the side of his head against Hitoshi’s.
“What else?”
Hitoshi nipped at his lip.
“Can I come over on Sundays for family dinner night?”
Shouta sagged next to him, a softness coming over him. “Of course.”
Hitoshi blew out a shaky breath that he felt like he’d been holding for weeks.
“Thank you.”
“It’s no problem, kid.”
A tentative knock came at the door before Hizashi’s head poked through the gap.
“All good in here?”
“Were you spying on us?” Shouta asked.
“No! I was merely concerned and thought it best to be an extra ear. I know how you can be with these things, Shouta. You’re far too blunt.” Hizashi put his hands on his hips. “And don’t listen to him, Hitoshi, he also sits in your room when he thinks no one is home.”
A dark blush stained Shouta’s cheeks.
“That’s embarrassing, Dad.” Hitoshi smiled, wickedly, though it was slightly dampened by the lingering wetness on his reddened cheeks.
“Shut it.” Shouta pushed Hitoshi’s head playfully as he stood up, his knees cracking as he did. Hizashi beamed at him before turning to Hitoshi.
“Let’s go, Little Listener.”
Hitoshi suddenly felt the weight that he’d been carrying since he moved out melt from his shoulder, and instead a warm feeling bloomed in his chest.
Sometimes flying the nest didn’t mean he couldn’t return to it.