Chapter Text
There were some things Shinsou hated with passion:
His ex classmates.
Life’s disadvantages.
His quirk.
His father.
The last two were always linked. He’d inherited his villainous quirk from his good-for/nothing father who did absolutely nothing to care for his son other than throw money his way.
It’s not like he wanted anything from him. Definitely not any bizarre type of parental love or attention
Money was the only thing the man was good at giving but it still wore him down to accept it, it felt more like an exchange where Hitoshi was left hollowed and vacant, having given more than he was getting in return.
He didn’t receive incredulous amounts from him either. Barely enough to pay for a one bedroom apartment when he was in the General course and only a below average monthly allowance now that he stayed at the 2-A dorms.
Cause he was a cheapskate. He had money to throw out the window but God forbid he at least paid enough for the emotional turmoil he’d forced on his only son.
Which brought to another point. The man was a therapist (psychiatrist? Psychologist? He wasn’t sure), had studied for years on end and yet he seemed to forget everything when it came to his own life to the point where Shinsou hated just knowing he was around, knowing he had to see his face and hear his voice. It made his head spin and his stomach churn and his intent slightly more villainous each time, like he could finally force him to throw his own morals out for the sake of a reckoning.
It was a baseless desire. He could never do such a thing, no matter how many things he’d taken from him. But he could pretend, if only for the inner child buried beneath the mask of exhaustion.
One thing he was grateful for, though, was his father’s monthly schedule, it took away the surprise factor that he might get a random call from him that ruined his day.
Instead, the fifteenth of every month Shinsou went to a classier side of the city and into the hospital, share a word or two during the older man’s break, pick up his monthly stack and treat himself to a cup of coffee at the cat cafe he was now beginning to hate by mere association.
But life loved to fuck with his plans, didn’t it?
Shinsou was just entering the medical complex when he heard his name being called with too much excitement to handle for the day. He knew who it was right away. And truth was, as much as it annoyed him to meet anyone there, it could’ve been worse. He actually liked Kaminari’s presence, a bit. It was at least distracting.
“Shin-bro! What a surprise! Taking care of your health on free days is where it’s at, right?”
“Right. Nice to see you.” Or not. He wasn’t sure yet. Sure, his day could use some positivity, but that didn’t mean he wanted it.
“Look, I just got free from my appointment, we have to do something, it’s like destiny got us together.”
“I have an appointment, actually.”
“It’s okay, I’ll wait. Don’t leave me hanging.” He asked, looking around until he found a free chair to wait on.
As if…
He didn’t turn around, nor did he get any actual ideas. Kaminari was a nice guy, and sure, his “appointment” wasn’t going to last too long, but he’d learnt young enough not to trust anyone, ever.
It was a good rule, too. It’d kept him safe. He felt closer and closer to breaking it with the passing of time. Deku was kind. Kaminari… Kaminari was definitely on the list of people who he’d considered breaking it for in the past. But Aizawa sensei was the only one who ever managed to get past it.
He was honest and curt in that Aizawa exclusive way. But he’d been kind —in his own way— and he’d been helpful when he didn’t have to be. He showed Hitoshi he was worth it. That he was worth the trouble of being trained from scratch, that he was worth a lot more than anyone else had ever showed him. Yes. Aizawa was more of a parental figure to him than a teacher. He was the only man he’d ever really respected. He was…
He was not his father. The real one was now standing in front of him. Physically, they were quite similar. But if anyone saw them together right now, they would never expect them to be family. Shinsou’s hair was a carefully crafted disaster while his father’s had been violently gelled down. As a proof of professionalism, Hitoshi guessed. The contrast between his father’s vest and dressing shoes and his dark ripped jacket and combat boots had been a struggle years ago in their household.
The one struggle he’d always be proud of. He’d rather die than be in any way similar more to him than what nature had fated.
“I have an appointment in five minutes.” Of course he did. That’s what he was like. No hello’s or how are you’s. Just five minutes to spare.
“I have homework.” Of course he didn’t. He was responsible and he was absolutely terrified of wasting his chance in UA so he made sure to turn in his assignments as soon as he could.
“Ah. It’s so strange that you heroes get so much homework…”
“Heroes are the backbone of society. We need to learn how to move in the world that we plan to take care of.”
“Of course…” his father’s left hand got close to him for the first time, hovering close to his arm. He figured he’d flinched, as he always did, because he lowered it immediately. For once… for once, Hitoshi was grateful for that. He could handle seeing him, but no touching. Never touching.
Instead, the oldest’s right hand became visible, offering him an envelope that his son quickly stuffed into his backpack. “Ah. It’s been nice seeing you, Hitoshi. Take care of yourself.”
“Okay, dad.”
And that was it. It never really got further than that, not even when the youngest would spend day after day sulking about how far the possibility of becoming a hero felt. Not even when he finally got accepted into the course of his dreams. Not even when his mother died.
It never got further than that. So how could he trust anyone when the one person who was supposed to love and care for him…
“Shortest appointment in history of what?!”
… didn’t?
Shinsou had expected him to leave. But there he was, as energized as ever.
Spending the day with Kaminari was inevitable. Well. He had enough money to at least make it worthwhile.