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Shouta’s neck aches.
Usually when this happens, his mind ticks back in time and tries to remember what he did, where he overextended himself on patrol. Where he napped wrong in the corner of his classroom at UA. As a last resort, how he might have truly just slept wrong on it.
But no, not this time, because he knows exactly why the muscles in his neck feel like they are going to simultaneously snap, crackle, and pop.
Because there is a four year old who has decided to very literally sleep atop his head.
Shouta feels Hitoshi wrapped up within the tangles of his dark hair, fingers intertwined to create what he can assume is some of the worst bed head he’s ever had. A warm stomach presses in and then leaves with each inhale and exhale that Hitoshi takes, curled like a cat around Shouta’s skull, back tucked neatly against the headboard as he still sleeps.
Shouta’s eyes stick as he opens them, staring up at the dark ceiling and sighing heavily into the cool room. He can’t even begin to guess what time it is, though he knows it must be late...or early, no light creeping in between the cracks of his blackout curtains. Hitoshi mumbles in his sleep and twists his fingers tighter into Shouta’s dark locks and a twinge of fondness attempts to overtake the slight annoyance at the predicament Shouta has found himself in. It isn’t the first time this has happened, after all.
In fact, it’s the third time this week.
Shouta sighs again at the barrage of information that overtakes his mind, the parenting books and blog posts telling him that sticking to a strict nighttime routine is the key to getting Hitoshi through these new issues with insomnia that have their claws in his tiny body.
Three months ago bore the appearance of Hitoshi’s quirk, and with it have come a new set of problems that Shouta feels unprepared for.
Quirk: Mind Control.
Shouta thought it likely that Hitoshi would get some type of mental quirk, given Shouta’s which rests somewhere between an emitter and mental, and his mother who had an empathy quirk. He never expected this to be the turn out though, and while the quirk itself doesn’t make him nervous in the least, the laundry list of health changes is unbearably concerning.
Regular headaches which sometimes progress to migraines, nosebleeds, and seemingly chronic insomnia. Shouta’s heart aches at the thought of Hitoshi’s exhaustion, the four-year-old having trouble keeping up with his friends at school due to his rapid energy decline. Hitoshi’s teachers have told Shouta that they can hardly wake him from his afternoon naps, the one time it seems Hitoshi can actually get some rest.
Well, except for like this apparently.
Shouta slowly reaches up towards the toddler wrapped around his skull, long fingers grasping around small ribs and slowly pulling him down, tucking him into his chest and bringing the covers up and over them. Shouta pulls Hitoshi close, nuzzling purple hair under his chin and enjoying the soft feeling of it against his skin as it pulls on some of his two-day old scruff. He stiffens when Hitoshi lets out a shuddering sigh, but relaxes again when his son just cuddles closer, their body heat molding into one.
The shrill voices he imagines those women who write the blogs and books have, scream in his mind that he shouldn’t allow this.
But how can he resist when this reminds him of those first days he brought Hitoshi home, when he was so small Shouta could crook him beneath his arm and against his side as they napped, or when he barely took up any room in that brand new crib they had bought.
His kid wants comfort, and he wants his dad, and damn it if Shouta won’t give it to him.
He doesn’t remember closing his eyes and drifting off again but as tends to happen, he’s opening them once more to just a sliver of light filling his room enough to barely let him see the outlines of his furniture scattered around the room. That and his son, who now has made his way to the foot of the bed, uncovered and curled up not unlike their two cats like to do, knees tucked tight and fists balled up by his face. Soft snores escape him and Shouta feels a fond smile melt his mouth as he sits up and stretches, eyeing the clock on his bedside table to see that it’s only just past 6:30 in the morning. He can afford to let Hitoshi sleep in a little longer before they have to be getting ready for the day so, quietly, he slips out of the bed and goes into his attached bathroom, showering and giving himself a haphazard shave that hardly does a thing for him. He shrugs at his reflection in the mirror when he’s done, noting the darker circles under his eyes that he’s come to expect lately. He can’t help but notice that Hitoshi has begun sporting some of his own; the thought makes him wince.
Rolling his feet along the carpet so as to eliminate any extra noise, Shouta exits the bathroom, only to see he shouldn’t have bothered; white pupils ringed in lilac stare up at him, Hitoshi still curled tight in his preferred sleeping position with sleep still hanging heavy on his face. His eyes blink slowly and Shouta feels his heart sing just a little, the silence of an early morning and the dregs of comfort hanging heavy in the air. They can both feel it, he knows.
“Hey, kiddo. How you feeling?” Shouta whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed and rubbing circles into Hitoshi’s back. “Did you sleep ok?”
Hitoshi blinks slowly again, like his eyelashes are coated in honey before yawning, a nod tucked in there somewhere. Shouta doesn’t correct him, knowing he must have been awake up until the point he crawled into Shouta’s bed.
“Did you sleep in your bed at all?”
A shrug, followed by the boy sitting up and rubbing his eyes; Hitoshi never was one for conversation in the morning, especially as of late. Shouta lets out a rough breath, his shoulders slumping forward with the reminders of the problems he needs to fix. Sometimes, too often, they feel insurmountable. Lately, it’s doctor’s appointments and parenting advice and academic failures as Hitoshi falls behind that pile on top of Shouta. Oh, the joys of being a parent. But it’s nothing he can’t handle; he won’t let any of this beat them.
He looks at the four year old who now looks groggily back up at him and Shouta lifts one corner of his mouth in a small grin, running fingers through tangled purple strands. Those are gonna be a nightmare to brush this morning. “We’ll get this figured out, kiddo. The doctors will find out what’s wrong.” At this point he’ll attempt anything. Sleeping pills, as long as they’re safe, are absolutely on the table.
Hitoshi doesn’t say anything, staring off past Shouta to the blank wall behind him. It’s quiet, and Shouta basks in it, a thick sort of blanket that doesn’t quite feel like reality but instead some sort of liminal space that only exists in mornings that break the routine covering over them. It makes Shouta so tired.
Like his son can read his mind, Hitoshi tips forward, burying his face in Shouta’s stomach and groaning. The man can’t help but chuckle; like father like son.
“I know...I don’t wanna get up either...but we have to.” Suddenly a thought washes over Shouta like a wave, “Tell you what, we have some extra time, you wanna stop by that cafe on the way to school and grab some ‘coffee’?”
Shouta can feel Hitoshi stiffen before he’s jolting up, all traces of their long night erased from his features except for the dark circles beneath his eyes. Shouta knew this would get a reaction, his offer of ‘coffee’ always exciting Hitoshi as he thinks he’s getting the same thing his dad makes every morning like clockwork. Shouta wonders just how long it will take him to find out that it’s really just a hot chocolate that he orders at half strength, watered down with extra milk. He hopes it’s a few more years.
“Yea? That sounds good? Then you better hop to it then, Mr. Caffeine Fiend; they’ll run out if we don’t get there quick enough.” Thank god that isn’t true, Shouta might cry.
Like a bullet Hitoshi hops off the bed and into his room, no doubt beginning his routine of getting dressed for the day.
Shouta runs a hand roughly down his face as he feels the fog lift as normalcy resumes, setting onto Shouta’s shoulders like the weight of his capture scarf, familiar and welcome. He hears things being flung around his son’s room as he passes by on his way to the kitchen, scrambling together some sort of breakfast for Hitoshi to scarf down before they’re running out the door.
The night was long, the morning too. But as Shouta sees Hitoshi scarf down his ‘coffee’ like there’s no tomorrow, he lets the guilt slide off of himself, even if just for a moment. He’ll get Hitoshi through this, and he’ll take all the neck pain in the world if it helps Hitoshi in the meantime.