Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry fell in love while sitting in a dark bar in a country where he knew exactly no one.

He was never going to tell Ron. Or Draco. Hermione wouldn’t be surprised.

Harry knew he got attached quickly. It was a thing. He’d never looked back once he’d claimed Ron over shared lunch and Hermione over shared trauma. Even Draco had been claimed pretty instantly when Harry had caught the Slytherin crying in the bathroom.

So no. It wasn’t surprising that Harry fell so quickly. It was embarrassing, however, that Harry fell so quickly without even talking to the person. Or seeing him.

Harry’s head hit the slightly sticky table in front of him with a quiet thump as he brought his arms up to cover his eyes. That lasted all of thirty seconds, which was the amount of time it took for Harry to realize that the fabric of his jacket sleeves (green, because Draco had taken hold of his wardrobe with a vengeance) was blocking the Man’s voice.

The voice was low and slightly gravelly, changing pitch depending on how intently he was speaking. The voice was lovely and surprisingly articulate considering they were in a bar and the Man had definitely been drinking.

The voice also didn’t matter at all, not really. What mattered was the rant the Man was giving, ardent hand gestures and all.

The rant was about child soldiers. He was talking about children training to be heroes and the expectations of society. He was talking about actual training that factored in their development while providing them actually useful skills. He was talking about therapy and support and strong foundations. He was talking about the government and the hero commission and how they could fuck right off if they saw the heroes before the children.

He said that child soldiers weren’t okay.

Harry knew child soldiers weren’t okay, of course. He’d gone to his mind healers like a good boy (because Hermione had cried and he would always do literally anything to stop Hermione crying). He understood that while the Dursleys and Dumbledore weren’t the same, none of what they’d done to him had been okay.

Harry had just never heard someone say it like that before. So outright. So uncaring of mitigating factors. So fucking vehemently.

As Harry listened (he was a practised eavesdropper and certainly wasn’t about to stop now), he stopped seeing his own gaunt face in pools of frigid water outside a tent, and started seeing other, more precious faces. The Creevey brothers, one frozen in death and the other in grief. Lavender, claw marks tracing her skin that would never have the chance to become scars. Draco, terrified of what he was being forced to do and become. Ginny, Neville, and Luna, leading a rebellion while facing literal torture.

Ron, anger slipping into determination when he realized he could use the twins’s radio program and their own travels to orchestrate effective escape routes and found himself responsible for hundreds of lives. Hermione, determination slipping into ferocity when she sat unmoving on the cold ground with scorched eyebrows and crafted spell after charm after rune circle to keep her people safe.

Harry jolted his head up, forcibly changing his focus from his own ghosts to the Man’s two friends. Harry could easily study them under his hair from their position at the booth right next to Harry’s. He might only be able to see the Man’s back and long black hair, but the two friends were facing Harry and directly under the light.

One friend was striking. She was beautiful, yes, but it was tempered with a deliberate sauciness and a lurking bad-assery of the kind that Hermione tucked into her pockets and Ginny wore on her sleeves.

The other friend was bright. His hair was sleek, his gestures bubbly, and his face laughing. He was also loud, loud enough that Harry knew volume must be related to his quirk. While the sudden sounds were occasionally jarring, they were always happy, to the point that Harry felt like liquid joy was being injected into the room at semi-regular intervals.

They both also looked ridiculously fond of Harry’s sudden object of affection. They even traded soft eye rolls and light agreements that made it very clear this was a regular rant. As in, Harry’s Man had talked about child soldiers and ways to protect children more than once. Possibly even frequently.

Harry let his head drop down to his arms again with what he would forever deny was a sigh. He lasted about five minutes in the safety of his sleeves this time before slowly raising his head in confusion; the voice had dropped to a mutter. Harry couldn’t hear the Man’s words anymore and that was problematic.

The two friends were gone. The intimidating woman was flirting with a man at the bar and the blond had gone across the room to loudly greet a group of people he clearly knew.

Harry’s Man was sitting alone at the next booth over.

In a move that was less Gryffindor bravery and more Potter impulsiveness, Harry slipped from his seat and settled himself on the leather bench across from the Man and his voice.

“Hi.” Harry was pretty sure he squeaked, but ended up being too busy studying his new seating partner to pay much attention. A fact for which he felt no guilt whatsoever, since the Man was obviously studying Harry as well.

The first thing Harry noticed was the scar below one eye. The mark was rough and very close to almost having caused permanent damage. There were other scars, too, fainter ones tracing over his hands and poking out of his collar. Harry was oddly settled by seeing them; they were both fighters. Harry knew how to talk to fighters.

“I’m sorry,” The Man said, lowly.

Harry startled out of his staring, somehow clearly having missed the Man finishing his own appraisal. “What?”

The Man tapped long fingers against his mostly empty glass. “You were sitting behind us? Must have gotten an earful from both Hizashi and me. Most people come to bars alone to drink away their problems, not listen to some stranger rant for forty minutes on theirs.”

Harry tilted his head, surprised at the apology. He was also oddly certain, maybe from the way that the Man wound his left hand in the long, thin scarf about his neck, that if Harry started complaining in earnest he would get a lecture on the fact that there were other tables and Harry had chosen not to move.

Harry, however, had no complaints whatsoever. “No!” Harry immediately blushed and sat on his hands at The Man’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, well, yes, I was absolutely planning on drinking away my problems, but, the ranting was nice? I, shit. Look, I kinda wanted to ask you to go back about ten minutes and talk about standardized testing in terms of practical experience or, maybe required therapy and situational check ups. That was also pretty interesting?”

The Man stared. Harry tried not to fidget.

“Why?”

Well. That was a fair question.

“Because I was a child soldier.” That was an honest answer. That was also not the answer Harry had been expecting to give. He felt his back straighten and his hands still, head angling up just a bit as he stared the taller man in the eyes.

People didn’t react well to obvious signs of violence, and Harry carried those with him always. He could disguise his habit of checking all the exits, could cover up some of his more obvious scars (though never the first), could keep his posture soft and voice low, but it was never enough. Something always slipped through. And when it did, well, even those who knew he’d been in a war that started when he was a school boy started acting warily. Like Harry was an explosive device constantly armed.

Which he wasn’t. You didn’t survive a war, much less as one of it’s leaders, without learning to control your own Merlin-damned temper.

The Man just leaned back. “I was betting hero.”

Harry let a small, tentative smile slip across his face and forcibly relaxed his shoulder. “That, too.” Because apparently Aurors being jointly listed as heroes had been a thing, and Harry had jumped right on that. He’d grabbed his people and used his still shiny and new popularity as The-Man-Who-Conquered to establish a specialized team with joint hero licences. Thus getting them the fuck out of full Ministry control.

Oh, they were still connected, still took on missions for the Ministry, but Harry had gotten them a small degree of autonomy by using the muggle hero system to set them apart. Harry was desperate and Ron was devious and Hermione was ruthless and Draco was surprisingly good at paperwork. The Ministry and the English Hero Commission hadn’t stood a chance.

“Aizawa Shouta.” The Man gave an unfairly attractive smirk.

“Potter Harry.” Harry returned the grin.

And then Aizawa began to talk. He apparently had a lot more to say about therapy and counselling but had held back because his friends, Nemuri Kayama and Yamada Hizashi, had heard that particular rant many times before.

Harry was fascinated. And, perhaps more surprisingly, engaged. Harry found himself adding bits about his time with a mind healer, about what actually helped and what made him nearly punch several medical professionals. He found himself talking about Madam Pomfrey and his hours in the hospital wing not just for healing but for healing instruction, because it was stupid to be fighting without knowing the basics of how to put yourself back together. Or your friends back together.

They talked and Harry got to watch the occasional hand gesture, got to watch the strands of hair slipping from their haphazard half-bun, got to see glinting eyes over dark shadows.

Each word seemed to slip underneath Harry’s skin and wrap around his bones. They were validation and comfort all at once, settling something in the framework of himself that he hadn’t even noticed was crooked.

They stopped only when Aizawa’s phone buzzed and he immediately took it out to check, stopping mid-sentence. He quickly read the message, shoulders relaxing, and snorted.

“Apparently Hizashi got swept away by some friends from the station to another bar and just remembered me.”

“Ah,” Harry said, mildly terrified Aizawa was going to leave to go get his friend. “Nemuri left a while ago, I believe.”

Aizawa typed a quick message back before placing the phone face down on the table. “That’s not unusual for her. It’s Hizashi that normally gets to babysit me when they drag me out; only way to make sure I don’t disappear when they’re not looking.”

Harry gave a lopsided grin. “Don’t get out much, then?”

“No.”

Harry laughed before leaning forward and admitting, “I’m not sure any of my friends would believe me if I told them I spent the night in a bar. Particularly if I told them I was actually having a conversation with a real person.”

Aizawa opened he mouth to reply, but was interrupted by another soft beep. His expression softened as he responded, and Harry felt his heart give a little tug. “Yamada again?”

Aizawa shook his head while typing, then glanced up at Harry with dark eyes. “My daughter.”

Harry leaned back, his head hitting the back of the booth as he let out a soft huff of air that didn’t really count as a sound.

With narrowing eyes, Aizawa frowned. “Is there where you leave?”

Harry shook his own head, letting his twitching hand finish it’s movement to his own pocket and pull out his (heavily warded with Hermione’s genius) phone. He quickly opened it and pulled up a picture of a small, blue-haired boy playing with a wolf plushie.

“This is where, hopefully, I get to gush about my cute godson and we show off pictures and embarrassing stories. I’m told this is a thing that happens with parents but all my friends actually know Teddy and Draco threatened to take a vacation and leave me all his paperwork if I tried to show him more pictures of events he’d seen in person. Ron actually agreed, too, so I know things were serious.”

Harry didn’t pout, but he wanted to.

Aizawa blinked, slowly, before a large, toothy grin broke across his face. “I think I’m drunk enough for that.”

Harry slanted his eyes to the still unfinished glass that Aizawa had been nursing for at least the hour Harry had been sitting there. He then thought back to the completely untouched glass that was potentially still sitting in the booth behind Aizawa, because Harry hadn’t wanted to risk forgetting a single word of a stranger’s rant.

Harry was in no place to call out anyone, but particularly this man, on his little white lies.

Instead, Harry took the moment Aizawa was using to search through his phone pictures to slide across into the seat next to him. Purely for a better picture-viewing, child-gushing experience.

With a pleased noise, Aizawa leaned into Harry’s space and showed him the most adorable picture of a beaming pale-haired girl with a tiny horn and beautiful smile as she held up a very lopsided cake. Harry cooed.

“Eri.”

The next picture was of the same girl on the shoulders of a green-haired teenager, both laughing as they chased a yellow-haired teenager.

“Who’re the boys?” He didn’t think Aizawa was old enough to be their father, though if he adopted them it could be entirely reasonable.

“My students.”

Harry inhaled sharply. “You’re a teacher?”

“Heroics. Didn’t we cover that?”

No. No they had not covered that. Harry would remember if they’d covered that.

Aizawa was, apparently, against child soldiers, sought to teach children how to fight properly in contexts that included mental health care and first aid training, and practiced what he preached. He also had a daughter whom he clearly adored and a class that kept showing up in his pictures. And his bragging.

Harry fought the urge to drop his head to the table again, or worse, Aizawa’s shoulder. 

Harry was in trouble. So much trouble.

Chapter Text

Shouta was in trouble.

He knew this. He knew this, understood the dangers, and was still unable to stop from freezing when his phone buzzed from his pocket. Several people were forced to move around him on the sidewalk before he had the presence of mind to take several steps and lean against the brick of a building. And stare at his phone.

He didn’t open the screen. That would mean discovering what kind of trouble he was in right that minute. Logically, the message was from wither Hizashi or Nemuri. The message could also be from Harry.

They’d exchanged numbers last night, after hours of conversation and hundreds of photos. That was what the number was for: the chance to exchange heroics information, rant about the incompetency of the current system, and send cute child photos.

The problem was, if Shouta actually believed that, he would answer Hizashi or Nemuri’s texts and stop hoarding the handsome stranger and the previous evening to himself like a damn Magpie.

Shouta raised his hand to his head and let the phone thunk him the skull.The second, far more troubling, problem was that Shouta didn’t want to stop hoarding Harry. Shouta didn’t want to stop feeling green eyes watching him, seeing him. Shouta didn’t want to let anyone else into their odd night of sharp edges, soft laughter, and quiet fucking peace.

Shouta wanted the text to be from Harry.

He sighed, and spun on his heel. He would go back to UA, check that his class hadn’t set anything on fire while under Yagi’s supervision (the man could sometimes be persuaded to lie for them, not well, but it was still a habit to be discouraged) and then he’d go beg some work off of Tsukauchi.

The Detective always had something for Shouta to do and, even better, wouldn’t actually ask why Shouta was trying to pull extra work on top of his already exhausting multiple jobs. Shouta could put up with some judgemental eyebrows for a lack of questions.

Or Shouta could run into the alley just up ahead and deal with whatever was making a child’s screeches peter off into muffled sobs.

Shouta rounded the corner slowly with his capture weapon ready, slinking slightly to get an accurate read on the situation before interfering. His shock only delayed him by several heartbeats, and he thought that could be excused.

Harry was standing several feet further into the short alley, dark black coat setting a surprisingly strong contrast against dirty grey walls. His hands were up, his voice low, his focus entirely on the other man in the alley and their closed first around a little girl’s throat.

Well, not his entire focus. Harry had stepped just far enough into the alley to be in front go the unconscious man who was likely the little girl’s father. Harry’s shoulders had also tightened just enough that Shouta knew Harry had registered Shouta’s presence.

The way those shoulders had relaxed after another heartbeat told Shouta that the other hero had also recognized Shouta’s presence as Shouta, at least to some sort of degree. No professional would ever relax with anything but another pro at their back, and sometimes not even then. Just because someone wasn’t a villain, didn’t mean they couldn’t be a nuisance or drive a situation into an entirely new, likely worse, direction.

Harry’s uptake was much faster than the villain’s. The villain faltered a good twelve heartbeats after Harry’s shoulder had loosened, the hand around the girl’s throat not relaxing but the second hand with its elongated claws stopping its upwards motion.

Harry didn’t waste the moment. The second the villain lowered his claws a fraction of an inch, Harry lunged forward. He wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and kept going till he was a step past the villain. He then made a pushing motion that sent red light out from his palm and the villain flew forward, towards Shouta, while the girl stayed firmly in Harry’s grasp.

Only a handful of heartbeats were needed to wrap the villain in Shouta’s capture villain and let him face plant into the ground. Harry met Shouta’s eye as he cradled a purple-covered back, refusing to let the child turn around until Shouta had confirmed with a nod that the father was indeed unconscious and not dead.

Harry’s smile had Shouta blinking sunlight out of his eyes. Shouta was almost glad calling this incident in gave him the excuse to step away, just slightly.

By the time that the ambulance had arrived, Shouta had learned several new things about Harry.

He’d learned that Harry had no trouble sitting in the questionable dirt of questionable alley ways. He’d learned that Harry had a toned down version of his sunshine-smile that was more intermittent star-shine. He’d learned that Harry was really fucking good with children and people in general (the children part wasn’t new learning, exactly, but parades of photos and cooing were very paltry when compared to the sight of Harry in the dirt with a quiet yet tear-streaked child in his lap who clutched the collar of Harry’s shirt in one small fist and the fingers of her father in another).

It was Officer Sansa who joined Shouta, the two of them watching Harry try to disentangle himself from small arms and a grateful mother. Shouta had been happy enough to leave the explanation to Harry when the mother had shown up, shopping bags flung to the ground in order to get to her baby and husband just a second faster.

Having a child (or twenty) had taught Shouta how to interact better with parents, how to empathize with the terror of not knowing where your child was, or worse, knowing and not being able to do a damn thing. But better wasn’t all that great considering his starting point.

He was a professional and proud of his skills, but also fully believed everyone had strengths. If dealing with people was one of his, he’d have been a daylight hero (probably not, he liked skulking and lurking and rooftops too much, but the choice might have been harder).

Besides, Harry was a professional. The man had actually shown Shouta his license last night and Shouta had run a check on it this morning. Because he was also a professional. And paranoid.

And handsome, competent strangers with opinions on militarizing children that weren’t stupid don’t just appear from nowhere. Though apparently they did just appear from England, where his Nezu-approved contacts had confirmed a very impressive agency with a surprisingly well-balanced track record of big, showy villain-captures, and speedy, underground operation shut-downs.

There was also a very comprehensive record with the hero Phoenix’s name on far too many reports. The kind of far too many that didn’t speak of fabrication and lies, but rather supported the tired slant of Harry’s shoulders, the bruises under his eyes, and the bite to his smile.

The downside of trusting Harry to handle the mother and the consequent handoff of child and father to the waiting ambulance, was that Shouta was left with plenty of time to meet Sansa’s dancing gaze.

“How’s that day off going, Eraser?”

Shouta didn’t growl by dint of being a professional, damnit. Also because Officer Yuki had finished properly restraining and detaining the villain in their police car and flicked her partner in the ear.

Sansa yowled, softly.

Yuki just rolled violet eyes. “Enough. Stop pestering Eraserhead. If we’re nice to him we can get our report done quickly and go our separate ways.”

Sansa grinned at her words. The grin that had taken the man a year of working with Tsukauchi (and three separate incidents in which Eraserhead had been covered head to toe in mud, paint, and honey) to be comfortable enough to give Shouta.

“Right. The report. Can we start with who the handsome stranger is?” Sansa asked.

Shouta kind of wanted to hit Sansa, which was a shame, because he was highly competent and Yuki had a killer right hook. The cat-headed officer clearly had been working too many cases with Tsukauchi if he was also starting to tease Shouta about his dating prospects.

Which better have been what that tone was, because otherwise Shouta would have to deal with the shot of… mild annoyance that had traced his spine when the officer had called Harry handsome. Which was illogical, because Harry was handsome, if slightly unconventionally so. Or maybe everyone found scars attractive?

Yuki snorted. “You mean handsome hero. I heard the sit-rep he gave the paramedic. And the mother. He’s definitely a pro.” Her eyes slid to Shouta. “And a competent one, if he’s hanging with Eraserhead. Got someone to add to the roster, Eraser?”

Shouta wasn’t sure when a good chunk of the local police had all decided to trust Shouta’s opinion on people, particularly other pros, but it was definitely a Thing, now. He received at least one text every few weeks from someone asking his thoughts on a new or transferring hero.

It was gratifying in a sense and made his interactions with the police more effective. It also made his job a bit more stressful (he could be wrong and someone could get hurt and they would stop looking at him like that, like they’d rather have him at their backs, like he was their first choice).

It also put him in a pickle, because Harry was very good. Shouta had no trouble saying that, bur he also wasn’t planning on adding Harry to the roster. Shouta tilted his head, considering, when he felt a presence approaching from behind. He angled his head just a little more in order to see Harry approaching, arms open and pace deliberately slow.

“Is there a problem?” Harry asked, one brow rising.

And yes, there was. The paperwork for a foreign hero interfering unprompted in a local case was a nightmare. Harry wouldn’t get in trouble officially; he’d obviously been in the right and had a pro witness almost the entire thing. A pro who’d also done the official takedown.

But the Commission would make it messy. Both of them would be trapped for at least the rest of the day, possibly the week, filling out miles of paperwork asking the same thing in seven different ways. They also be kept apart in order to control the story and keep the testimonials untainted.

That was not how Shouta wanted to spend the rest of his day. Begging extra work off Tsukauchi was very different from playing dancing monkey for the Commission. Particularly since he’d only originally wanted extra work to avoid thinking about the person who was currently coming up beside him.

Harry stopped before he was officially in step with Shouta. He kept just a step behind, eyes flicking from the two officers and back to Shouta, smile oddly missing. The press of his black coat was straight and even, accentuating the rigidity of his posture and the preparedness of his hands.

His hands were not in fists. For some reason, Shouta was quite sure that was a deliberate act.

By the time Shouta’s gaze had made it back to the wary tenseness of his jaw, his mind had already scrambled to several parts of last night’s conversation. To mentions of corruption and betrayal. To downcast eyes and avoided topics. To complete incredulity at descriptions of support and training for his students with the police.

Several parts of this morning reports were next. Reports of an agency that operated as much in isolation as possible. Isolation that may not be driven so much by terms of attention-hogging or fame-seeking, but by protection. Like a castle behind a moat filled with paranoid alligators.

Shouta had a deep, acidic feeling in his gut that Harry was used to there being a problem, and that problem he was suspecting wasn’t the same as the paperwork problem Shouta was anticipating.

So Shouta took a half step back, forcing himself into the edges of Harry’s space. The other man startled, just a little, but reacted by putting a hand on Shouta’s arm, both of them conditioned enough by last night’s photo-and-booth-sharing to not flinch as they might have otherwise.

Shouta tilted his head back as well, trusting his hair to hide his smile, one of his sharp and slightly manic grins that had every student in his class other than Midoriya and Hitoshi repressing shivers down their spines (Midoriya and Hitoshi were little shits and he didn’t love them for it).

Harry clearly had some little shit in him too, because his eyes widened just slightly and he got a little lopsided grin back that was just the same if not better than a nod. Harry would play along.

Sansa and Yuki were just finishing trading the glance they’d started when Harry had touched Shouta’s arm and Shouta hadn’t pulled away. Which was admittedly a little unusual.

Shouta waited until he had both of their attention before starting. “This is Phoenix, visiting from England. We were on a date. I gave him permission to enter the alley while I followed to case the situation and maintain the element of surprise for my quirk.”

The only sign that Harry was surprised came from a brief tightening of his fingers at Shouta’s elbow. That, and the deepening of his smile into a smirk.

Foreign hero licences weren’t technically active in Japan, but they functioned much like provisional licenses in that they could go active in case of emergency if a full licensed pro, like Shouta, gave the go ahead. This was a wonderful loophole for national disaster scale emergencies and useful for quick skill exchanges with visiting pros.

Shouta had never used the loophole before, but he was pretty sure the shock on the officers’ faces was more for the actually admitting to a date thing. Which was kind of rude, but also kind of fair.

“Tskukauchi’s not going to believe this,” Sansa breathed.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know,” Harry said once the preliminary report was finished and they were about a block away from the alley. He also didn’t pull away from Shouta’s tugging of Harry’s wrist to keep them moving away from Shouta’s embarrassing not-friends.

It had taken Shouta too damn long to realize that Sansa was keeping Shouta occupied with stupid questions so Yuki could interrogate Harry as Eraserhead’s date, not as a hero involved in a capture.

“What?” Shouta looked to the side only to see Harry blushing and hiding behind his hair, which wasn’t actually long enough for that move to be effective.

“If it was a date. I wouldn’t mind.”

Shouta didn’t stop, though he did snort. “You don’t need to lie.”

Shouta was logical. While he knew he wasn’t exactly old, he also knew that he was tired, raggedy, and put no attention into appearances whatsoever. He worked two jobs that took up all of his time and all of his focus and was generally considered to be surly, grouchy, rude, or some combination thereof.

He also possessed no desire to change whatsoever, was quite proud of his hero record, and even prouder of his students. He just wasn’t a good catch romantically, which didn’t usually bother him. And it wasn’t going to bother him now.

Harry pulled to a stop, yanking Shouta back a step because he had, for some reason, still not let go of Harry’s wrist.

“I don’t lie.” The flatness of Harry’s tone was jarring, and Shouta raised his head to try and look Harry in the eye. Shouta had noticed that while the younger man was often affable in expression, his brilliant eyes were much less likely to be successful in disguising emotion.

Harry wasn’t looking at Shouta, though, but rather down towards his hand. Shouta thought for a moment that Harry was focusing on Shouta’s hold and quickly prepared to let go. Shouta then realized that it was Harry’s own hand that was drawing his eyes.

With something approaching trepidation curling in Shouta’s stomach, he ran his fingers down Harry’s wrist until his fingers picked out the bumpy scars of the phrase I must not tell lies carved into his skin.

Shouta traced over the lettering with his thumb, even as questions writhed in his throat and he felt the weight of Harry’s gaze return.

Shouta didn’t ask a question. Instead, he let his head thump onto Harry’s shoulder, absently noting the sharply in-drawn breath.

Harry had stared down a villain who’d wrapped a hand around a child’s neck without flinching, without showing the slightest sign that he even realized flinching should be an option. Yet, with just a little contact Shouta could feel the the growing not-quite panic in the fluttering of the hand that Shouta had yet to release.

Shouta let out a deep breath. “I’m quite sure that I’m older than you by a fair amount. I’m blunt, slightly sadistic, and am terrible with emotions. All emotions. I’m a pro hero and a teacher of pro heros and have embraced the many and various issues and paranoias that come with that. I’m underground largely because I don’t like attention or press or some days even people. My hours are terrible, even before considering that I work two jobs, one that dictates I spend a lot of time living in a secure building with teenagers.”

He took a deep rattling breath and pressed his forehead into the shorter man’s collar bone before continuing. “You would always come second to my daughter. And, though I will literally never say this again, probably the rest of my kids because I doubt I’m ending the year without twenty extra. I haven’t done this in years, have a metal leg, never brush my hair, and am a terrible, horrible prospect.”

Harry let Shouta breathe for a moment, but then slid a terrible, gentle hand over Shouta’s shoulder and around the back of his neck. A hand that, inexplicably, Shouta didn’t want to move away.

Harry leaned forward a little, not to get closer, exactly, but so his quiet words could be heard.

“I killed my first man at eleven and died at seventeen. I’m inpatient, more than slightly temperamental, and terrible with leaving things well enough alone. Ever. I’m a child soldier and a war veteran and have nightmares that I’ve been reliably informed could wake the dead. I’m daylight because I wasn’t really given a choice, even though I once set a reporter on fire. My hours are all over place, particularly considering the fact that I’m here on a mission that took me an embarrassingly long time to realize is more a vacation and medical leave in disguise.”

Shouta felt Harry’s hand, the one Shouta had ended up holding, tighten, and was deeply glad that he hadn’t looked up for this.

“You would always come second to my godson. I’ll be gone in an instant if my family or agency need me, because they’re the same damn thing. I’ve never done this, excepting a few school yard crushes and one stupid attempt with my best friend’s younger sister that was more comfort than anything else. I have lingering nerve damage, brush my hair even though it does nothing, and am a horrible, terrible bet.”

They stood there for a long moment, tucked just off the side in another alley between two buildings. Harry pulled away first, taking a step back but not releasing Shouta’s hand.

“So.” Harry’s cheeks were still very red, but he was calmer, more settled in his skin and mischief shone out of green, green eyes as he looked up at Shouta. “Foiling a kidnapper counts as an excellent first date in my books, but I’ve been told that food is also pretty common. And dealing with the police always makes me hungry.”

Shouta looked at those eyes, then at at the scars, then at the hand he still hadn’t let go. He then spun on his heel, dragging Harry out of the alley and in a new direction.

If the man wasn’t going to take the implicit warning of Shouta’s fucking possessiveness from the fact that he’d adopted twenty-one kids that weren’t technically his, then that wasn’t Shouta’s problem.

Harry was deadly and pretty and broken and could keep the fuck up. Shouta wanted him.

“How do you feel about cats?” Shouta threw over his shoulder.

Without a single pause, Harry answered. “Hermione has a giant beast of one called Crookshanks who almost caught a terrorist when we were kids. I’ve snuck him high end treats ever since and consider being his second favourite person one of my top life accomplishments. Why?”

“There’s a cat cafe a few block away with excellent coffee.”

Harry hummed, and ran forward a step so they were walking side by side without letting go of their now properly entwined hands. Shouta had also never gotten around to telling Hitoshi or Hizashi about this particular cafe, so he wouldn’t have to potentially run into them and die of embarrassment.

They walked in surprisingly comfortable silence for ten minutes before Shouta had to ask the one question that kept burning no matter how hard he tried to quash it. “How did it feel to set a reporter on fire?”

Harry laughed, a surprised, bursting sound that made Shouta prouder than handing that kidnapper off to the police. “Absolutely amazing. Truly cathartic. But the better story is still the time Hermione trapped one in a glass jar.”

The lopsided grin that Harry sent Shouta’s way wasn’t as bloody as the one he’d given the kidnapper and was a bit too bashful to be a smirk. Shouta grinned back, full of teeth, but maybe still had to duck behind his own hair for an instant, (a much more successful move with it’s longer length), to avoid blushing.

So much trouble.

Chapter Text

“You’re happy.”

Shouta stared at his grading, trying to decide if he wanted to acknowledge Yagi’s comment. On the one hand, he was enjoying the heck out of annoying the fuck out of Nemuri and Hizashi. On the other hand, Shouta suspected that Yagi was referring to something else entirely. 

The soft tone to Yagi’s words, in particular, provided strong evidence that this was a talk about feelings. Shouta did not like talking about feelings.

Yagi gave him a crooked grin that had become more and more common as the retired hero had adjusted to his full time position as UA teacher. The students’ continued efforts to smother him in affection probably didn’t hurt, nor did the staff’s continued efforts to mother-hen him into actual self-care (which Shouta didn’t participate in; yellow was a perfectly acceptable colour for a blanket and not indicative of anything).

Shouta sighed. “Don’t spread it around or you’ll ruin my fun.”

Yagi looked across the room with a head tilt that had his hair bobbing. Mic and Midnight were pressed close together in a corner whispering as much as Mic was able and gesturing wildly every few minutes. They were trying to find the root of Shouta’s odd behaviour, which was basically him ignoring their texts more than usual and smirking knowingly every so often when they asked him questions.

He wasn’t actually worried about them finding out about Harry. They were going to think he was violently adorable, and that would be even before Harry awkwardly stumbled though introductions (Shouta had rapidly learned that their meeting at the bar was a smitten fluke and Harry was in no way smooth unless there was actually trouble and Harry got to wear his Hero Face, which Shouta maybe found a bit adorable).

Shouta had absolute faith that Harry would blurt out the opinions he’d already formed about Nemuri and Hizashi at the bar within the first ten minutes, namely that Nemuri was a badass and Hizashi’s volume was infections joy, and thus earn their eternal loyalty.

That was another day’s problem, however. Currently, Nemuri had jumped the gun quite a bit and was insisting that Shouta had gotten laid while Hizashi was throwing around the idea of aliens and abductions. So, no, Shouta wasn’t worried.

Yagi was apparently quicker on the uptake. He smiled softly and took a sip of his tea, eyes twinkling. “I’m glad.”

Shouta put down his pen. Yagi would leave it there, Shouta knew. Just a quiet moment of acknowledgement that Shouta could pretend never happened.

Instead, Shouta dropped his head onto his arms like he was going to take a nap on his desk, but turned his face to Yagi’s. “His name is Harry and he’s a foreign hero who’s deadly and pretty and broken and can keep the fuck up. I like him.”

Yagi didn’t laugh at Shouta or his mournful tone. That was the reason Shouta had told Yagi in the first place, well, that and the other hero’s damn genuine happiness from Shouta being happy (Yagi was nice, and now that he’d actually improved his teaching, Shouta couldn’t avoid that with bluster and cutting remarks).

With a hum, Yagi sipped his tea again before speaking. “I’m glad.”

Shouta sighed again.

“Foreign?” Yagi made the word a question, but it was one that Shouta could interpret in several different ways. One he could easily use to shut down the conversation, too.

His spine cracked just a little as Shouta sat up, glancing at Nemuri and Hizashi squabbling by the window, the only others currently in the staff room, before facing Yagi.

“Yes. I’m not sure…” If it would last. If it was meant to. How long Harry would stay (though the comment about forced vacation and medical leave was concerning on several different levels).

But he also wasn’t sure it mattered. And not just in a ‘take what he could get while he could get it’ kind of way. There had been more photos shared over their most recent dinner, and pictures of his friends and fellow heroes had shown up. Frequently.

Maybe that should have unsettled Shouta. Maybe those obviously beloved faces and the spinning tales that accompanied them should have made him nervous or more certain that Harry was temporary and soon returning home.

Shouta kept returning to the other man’s tone, however. Harry was proud and protective and just a bit proprietary. The people in the photos were his people. And if Shouta managed to become one of Harry’s people…well.

So he grinned, slow and sly and just slightly off centre, and changed what he was going to say, instead offering to Yagi, “I think he’s just a bit possessive, too.”

Yagi chuckled, but before he could say another soft-hearted ‘I’m glad’ Shouta fell back to the other way he could have taken Yagi’s question about Harry being foreign.

“You worked with other English-speaking countries when in the States, right?”

Shouta was absently impressed when Yagi responded to Shouta’s now teeth-full grin with only deepening smile lines. “I did.”

“Ever meet Phoenix?”

Yagi choked on his tea. Shouta was concerned for all of a moment until he realized there was no blood being coughed up, only laughter. Deep laughter that went past Yagi’s usual chuckle and had the man pressing a long-fingered hand to his side.

“Fuck, ow.” Yagi snorted, despite himself. “Oh, good work, Aizawa.”

Shouta leaned back, pleased, then turned to raise an eyebrow at Nemuri and Hizashi who’d approached the table.

Nemuri was glaring at Yagi, who’d managed to get a hold of himself. “You know.”

“Know what?” Yagi asked cheerfully.

“What’s up with Shouta!” Hizashi flailed.

Yagi tilted his head. “Something’s up with Aizawa?” He turned to face Shouta again. “Are you all right?”

Shouta was impressed. Nemuri was not.

Hizashi beat them all to the punch and turned to Nemuri, emphasizing his point with another flying hand. “Look, even if he doesn’t know, this is still evidence! Shou doesn’t laugh in the corner of the staff room, particularly with Yagi.”

Shouta kind of wanted to point out that he hadn’t been the one laughing, but instead offered Yagi a napkin for the spilled tea. Yagi accepted without looking as he asked, “Why not? We’re friends.”

Both Nemuri and Hizashi stared, leaving Yagi more than enough time to mop up all of the tea and throw the napkin with a perfect arc into the trash bin.

“We knew that,” Nemuri started.

“We just didn’t think you did,” Hizashi finished.

Yagi snorted. “Gran Torino was my mentor. I know how to read between lines.”

Shouta just gave a stare that he hoped conveyed something along the lines of ‘I have twenty kids, you idiots, I may not like emotions but I can certainly recognize them, particularly in myself.’ He felt pretty successful when Hizashi scratched his neck and Nemuri briefly looked away.

Nemuri recovered and narrowed her eyes. “So you know what Shouta is hiding.”

Yagi nodded. “I do.”

Hizashi spluttered. “Betrayed! You said you didn’t!”

With a small frown, Yagi pulled off a masterful confused face that Shouta might have believed, if he hadn’t seen Midoriya wearing the same one last week in some elaborate (successful) plan to get Bakugou to cook him spicy curry. “You asked me if I knew what was up with Aizawa, not if I knew what he was hiding. Aizawa is always hiding something; he’s rather secretive, you know. That hardly seemed new enough to count as something being up with him.”

Nemuri opened her mouth, but then the warning bell rang. She and Hizashi had classes. Shouta and Yagi did not.

“I’m watching you.” Nemuri didn’t point, but she was very clear as she dragged a protesting Hizashi away.

There was a beat of silence after the door clicked that smelled heavily of herbs from the spilled tea.

“Midoriya has been a terrible influence on you.”

“Thank you! Though I do hope you tell them soon; Midnight scares me.”

“Glad to see your hero instincts are still working. I’ll tell her later today. Hizashi gets to suffer because he got distracted by something shiny and left me alone in the bar.” Shouta considered. “Have you coughed up any blood today?”

“No, not for a few days, actually.”

“Good behaviour should be rewarded.” Shouta dug into the bag under his desk and pulled out a container of chocolate-chip cookies that, while ostensibly simple, were some of the best cookies he’d ever tasted.

“Harry made those.” There was an interesting tone to Yagi’s voice that Shouta ignored as he calculated allowances from Recovery Girl’s diet plan against visible signs of Yagi’s health.

“He did.”

Yagi hummed. “He made them once for a joint meeting on international smuggling.”

“Yeah, apparently he both stress and happy bakes.” Which had been slightly difficult to gather through the adorable stuttering when Harry had pressed the container into his hands at the end of their date last night.

Shouta finished his calculations and broke a large cookie in half to give to Yagi, who took a bite and let his eyes slip shut. “I’m not sure if this a reward for taking care of my health, for teasing Nemuri and Hizashi, or a bribe for my continued silence. But it’s worth it.”

Yes, Shouta rather thought it was (he wanted to keep this).

“-and then we slid into the death rate of young heroes coming out of different schools and the different resources schools offered for new graduates and did you know he runs an Underground Seminar every month for networking and support?”

Hermione smile and Ron huffed, which was clearly enough acknowledgement. So Harry continued. “And he was telling me about this online communication thing that one of his seminar kids set up, but we had to stop because a Villain appeared. And I didn’t have to do anything! Which was good, because I’m still not actually licensed and I think the police are a little tired of me and the Permission Loophole with all the glares I’m getting. But I didn’t need to! He moved so fast, and so smooth, and-“

“Merlin’s beard! We get it!”

“Ronald!”

“What? Mione. Come on. Look, mate.” Ron waited a very unnecessary moment to make sure Harry was paying attention. Harry was currently sitting on the floor in his empty apartment staring into a levitating mirror at his two best friends. He really wasn’t sure how to pay more attention.

“Shouta is dangerous and beautiful and damaged and can keep the fuck up. We get it. We do. He’s amazing. Do you think you should maybe do something about that?”

Harry tilted his head as if that would make Ron makes sense. It had never worked before, but Harry lived in eternal hope.

Hermione sighed. “Harry. You seem very attached to Shouta.”

Harry nodded because this was very true.

Hermione smiled slightly. “Well, we were wondering if, perhaps, your feelings for him might be greater than, well, friendship.

Harry stilled, hands splayed out over the cool fabric covering his knees, because that was also very true. And very obvious?

“Look, mate.” Ron said again. “Why don’t you ask him out? Like on a date. Please ask him out on a date.” The last part was muttered, probably supposedly so Harry wouldn’t hear, but Harry had excellent hearing.

“What,” Harry said anyways, because maybe he had misheard.

Ron and Hermione exchanged Meaningful Glances. “We just thought,” Hermione started, “that you might like to ask Shouta on a date, since you’re so fond of him.”

With a blink and a head tilt, Harry crossed his arms. “I already did? We’re going back to the cat cafe tomorrow after school and before his patrol.”

Hermione and Ron stared for a full minute, while Harry tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. Then Ron woke up. “What! When was this! Harry! We’ve been listening to you moon around all month, why didn’t you tell us you’d asked him out.”

“First off, you’re in no place to throw bludgers; I had to endure you and Hermione pinning for each other for literal years. Secondly, I did?”

Hermione looked like she wanted to laugh. “No, you didn’t. You must have gotten sidetracked by telling us all the ways Shouta is wonderful. When did you ask him out?”

Harry ignored Ron’s muttering, perfectly glad to tell this story, particularly if he’d somehow missed the first time. “Right after we took down that kidnapper! Well, okay, it was more Shouta telling the cops we were already on a date to save me from paperwork and bureaucrats, then me saying I wouldn’t mind, then him trying to tell me he was a bad person to date, then me countering with all the ways I was a bad person to date, and the two of us getting food anyways! We also pet awesome cats, though they weren’t as awesome as Crookshanks.”

“I remember that cat part of the story. But, Harry, wasn’t the kidnapper capture your second meeting?” Hermione asked.

“Yes.”

Ron made a sound like he’d been hit in the back of a head with a broom, not that Harry knew what that sounded like. “WHAT.”

Harry tilted his head. “I’m not sure how to be more clear.”

Hermione was laughing helplessly now, even as Ron got up and began to pace behind their couch, muttering about finding Draco, stealing one of the emergency to Japan portkeys, and shaking sense into his best friend.

“We’re really happy for you, Harry.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked Hermione, even as he tracked Ron’s movements in the mirror.

“Absolutely. Ron’s just annoyed that he spent all month strategizing how to get you to realize your feelings for nothing, particularly when he really should've been working on threatening a man from a different county.”

“I don’t need a plan for international shovel talks if I go to Japan to shake Harry for leaving out the most important part of the story. Then I can multi-task.”

“You’re not going to Japan. You’re in the middle of a case.” Hermione turned back to Harry. “We’re just glad you’re happy, Harry.”

Harry froze, before slowly reaching out to the floating mirror and grabbing in with both hands. “Shit. Oh fuck. Mione. Mione, I think I am. I’m happy.”

“Oh dear. Ron! Ron sit down and help me talk our best friend off his self-sacrificing ledge.”

“Hizashi left me alone at the bar after you left and his lack of knowledge is his punishment.”

Nemuri hummed but didn’t let go of Shouta’s arm as she hadn’t since he’d materialized at her side as she was preparing to leave the building.

“You weren’t right; I didn’t get laid. But I did meet someone and we spent the entire night talking about child soldiers and training programs and cute photos of our children and then captured a kidnapper as a first date and I like him and it’s terrible.”

“Aw, sweetie.” She put her head on his shoulder and didn’t look at him as they continued to walk down the street. Shouta appreciated this immensely. “Lets get take out to bring back to my place. You can tell me all about your man and then we can watch hero and police movies so you can critique all the ways they’re inaccurate and avoid emotions entirely.”

Shouta had good friends.

“I’m so proud of you Teddy-Bear! Full marks in potions, who would have thought.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks. So you’re saying you’ve been in Japan for a month and haven’t visited the hospital at all?”

Harry sighed, but couldn’t help the smile that stayed on his face even as his head was wreathed in the flames of the floo. He wished he could step through and give his godson a hug, but, even if international floo travel allowed more than conversations, that would probably taking advantage of his status and McGonagall’s soft spot just a bit too much.

“No, Teddy, no hospital.”

Teddy pulled off a truly masterful skeptical look for an eleven-year old. “And not just because you’re avoiding going?”

Maybe Hermione and Draco had a point about overworking if Teddy was this disbelieving. Heroing and Auroring were pretty dangerous, but this seemed like a lot of worry. “Promise, Teddy. I haven’t had an injury worse than a scrape that my own magic can fix on over a month.” Hickeys probably didn’t count, right?

Teddy crossed his arms.

Harry resisted throwing up his hands. “I’ve been good! I’m mostly working cold cases, coordinating with bureaucrats, and consulting on training! I’ve been getting at least six hours of sleep every night and eating three meals a day and-“

“Wait.” Harry waited. He would never not wait for Teddy. Realistically, the Wizarding world was lucky the boy didn’t ask for something larger. Like the complete and utter destruction of the society that killed his parents and still tried to say that his father wasn’t a hero for his werewolf blood.

“You’ve been eating three meals a day?!” Yeah, this kid was too worried about Harry. When did that start? Harry always made sure to eat properly and model good behaviour when Teddy stayed with him. Someone was a snitch. Harry was betting Draco. Or Andromeda. Andromeda would totally set Teddy on Harry in an effort to make Harry take care of himself more. She was a Black and therefore devious enough to weaponize her grandson’s puppy eyes.

“Yes?” Teddy frowned when Harry’s answer sounded like a question, so Harry repeated himself. “Yes! I mean it. Shouta texts me around mealtimes and gets snippy if I haven’t eaten, and we eat together, too.”

Mainly on rooftops. Shouta was pretty busy with his two jobs but Harry could teleport and so a habit of feeding his boyfriend right before or even in the middle of patrols had begun. The jelly pouches were hardly sufficient for patrol nights.

Harry had gotten a Look when he’d said that out loud, though. Considering he’d said it the night after Shouta had walked into Harry’s rented studio to find him buried in cold case files, wearing the same clothes as the day before, and having eaten nothing more than a muffin since the previous night, the Look was probably a reasonable response.

Harry had gotten another Look when he’d said he just hadn’t felt hungry. A Look that said the man was putting together puzzle pieces he would really rather drown in the ocean. They didn’t talk about it (Harry loved him so much), though that’s when the texts started. And the meal requests (which were a trap but Harry didn’t care because Shouta always smiled this small little smile when he ate Harry’s food and Harry would do worse than walk into a trap for that smile).

Teddy still had narrowed eyes, but seemed to find something in Harry’s face that finally convinced him, because he started beaming. “Great! Ok, I’ve got to go. Potions homework, you know, if I want to keep that perfect score. Bye Dad, love you.”

Harry was still blinking from Teddy’s sudden departure (and not the molten joy of being called Dad) and didn’t cancel the connection. Teddy, though quite smart, was still eleven, so also didn’t cancel the connection.

This meant that Harry heard, with almost perfect clarity, his godson ask, “Professor McGonagall? Can you help me sent a letter to Harry’s boyfriend in Japan?”

Harry didn’t hear McGonagall’s response, but Teddy did, because he continued, “Because Harry hasn’t been to the hospital in a month.” A pause. “That’s what I said! But he says he’s been eating three meals a day and he doesn’t lie to me ever and he also laughed four times during our call when I wasn’t even being funny. Four! And I think one was a giggle. I want to write this Shouta and say thanks and let him know we’re keeping him.”

McGonagall must have moved or some closer to the fire, because her accent came through, suddenly as sharp as a bell.

“Then by all means, we should write. It would only be polite. I’m sure Fawkes would take the letter, even so far. He’s quite fond of Harry.”

There was a long, happy burst of song. Then a pause.

“Can we add that if the boyfriend hurts Harry, Fawkes will set him on fire?”

There was a trill this time. A mischievous trill.

“I’m pretty sure that was a yes.” Teddy said flatly.

“I’m sure that between the three of us we can come up with a more comprehensive threat than simply ‘on fire.’”

Harry shut off the floo connection and buried his face in soot-coated hands. He didn’t giggle. He did not.

Nezu sipped his tea. “Harry seems like a nice boy.”

Shouta moved his queen forward. “A nice boy who attracts trouble. I’ve had to give him the go ahead for heroics four separate times and only once was he actually visiting me on patrol. Help expediting his Japanese accreditation would be appreciated.”

Nezu moved his bishop with a soft little tap, but said nothing.

Shouta stared a moment, before countering with is rook. “Keep your manipulations obvious and he’ll probably be happy to play along. He loves a good bit of chaos and the training workshops are easily his favourite part of his work here. Luring him into teaching a class or two won’t be hard if you’re obvious about what you want. He doesn’t take well to subtle machinations, though.”

Nezu dipped a cookie into his tea and then ate it primly. “Lovely.”

Shouta couldn’t help but agree.

Harry stared at his mirror, watching Draco work. The other man had taken to computers with a veracity that only surprised those not active on the war front; computers meant information and Draco loved his networks.

As such, he had a very particular set up of full length mirrors and computer screens that everyone had quickly learned not to touch, even Fred and George. Harry could tell from the angle that he was displayed in the centre mirror, but Draco was ignoring him to finish some paperwork.

Which was fine. Harry was patient and it was kind of fun to outlast Draco and beat him at his own game.

Draco sighed, gathering his paperwork in a pile and finally looking up. “I suppose he’s satisfactory.”

Harry quickly cast his mind back to try and figure out what case or new contractor Draco was talking about, this being the purpose of their weekly updates, but failed. Thankfully, Draco continued. “I mean, he dresses like a slob and clearly doesn’t own a hair brush, but his hero record is pretty impressive and he has a surprisingly high ratio of successful baby heroes to come out of his class.”

“Oh. We’re talking about Shouta.”

“Of course were talking about Shouta! Did you really think I wouldn’t do a background check on the first person to put up with your self-sacrificial ass?”

Harry laughed. He laughed through updates about Shouta’s records, comments from other heroes, commendations from the police, and even his high school grades.

He laughed until there were tears coming from his eyes and Draco had developed that silly little smile that said he was absurdly pleased with himself.

He laughed until he was interrupted by George’s smooth, “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

“I’d say we have our little Draco showing his true colours at last. Trying to kill our illustrious leader with laughter. Tsk. Tsk.” Fred shook his head.

“Yeah,” George slung his arm around his brother’s neck, “Doesn’t he know that’s our job?”

“What are you buffoons doing in my office?”

“Experimenting!” The twins chorused.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You were kicked out of the shop.”

“Course not!” Crowed Fred.

“Maybe.” Admitted George.

“Fred. George.” Both twins immediately turned to face Harry. “I want an Agreement; no pranks, tests, or threats for at least three months or until Shouta gets read in on magic.”

“What’s in it for us?”

“Free rein once he is read in; I think he’d appreciate the challenge. A full set of notes on that faulty batch of Canary Cremes, which I may have accidentally eaten and had some interesting results. The hand over of the only existing picture involving the two of you, a pair of brooms, a wedding cake, and Crookshanks.”

Draco raised his eyebrows even as the twins exchanged glances. George nodded, then turned back to the mirror. “You’re awfully serious there, mate.”

“I am. I really like him and would rather things didn’t get screwed up because one Ministry or the other took offence or had something obvious to say to me.” He tilted his head, “Besides, Shouta is smart. Given enough of your pranks he’d probably figure it out.”

They considered, and Harry grinned. “Agree right now and I’ll even throw in a picture of Ron and Draco crashing after that plant-villain case by snuggling on the couch.”

“Sold!” Twin voices chorused.

“There is no such picture, Scarhead. That never happened!”

“Oh, and just so you know. Go back on the Agreement and I’ll send the photo of the moment directly before the broom one to both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, as well as the location of at least two of your backup laboratory boltholes.”

Harry cut the magic from the mirror, but not before he heard a low whistle from Fred and George exclaiming, “Look at our boy, all grown up and blackmailing friends and family.”

Shouta had a lap full of warm, attractive war veteran and was pleased. He was also quite pleased with the warm, slow kisses that were the consequence (or reward) of having said warm veteran in his lap. He was far less pleased with the loud yelling of his name from the hallway outside his non-UA apartment.

Harry huffed a laugh, leaning back and sitting more neatly on Shouta’s knees, though not removing his arms from around Shouta’s neck. Harry’s eyes and the tilt of his head held that chaotic spark that Shouta was beginning to adore, even under the red that dusted his cheeks.

“So.” Harry’s breath was still a little unstable. “Assuming we’re still operating under the goal of petty revenge and jack-assery, how do you feel about Yamada dramatically learning I exist and being given no further information? It will leave you to face the wolves, or wolf, so to speak, but…”

With a blink, Shouta caught on, and grinned wildly in response. He could handle Hizashi’s questions. Ignoring the blond’s prying and whining was actually quite amusing, particularly when Shouta was just hiding information for the fun of it.

Harry clearly took the grin for the response it was, dragging his fingers up the nape of Shouta’s neck and using his hair to force him into one last, deep kiss.

Hizashi opened the door after swearing at the key, then dropped it with an audible clack when he stepped into the apartment, shout of hello and ‘get off your damn couch, Shouta’ quickly dying out as the shock set in.

Harry gave a laugh, head thrown back and completely safe in the knowledge that only his back was visible from the door, before apparating straight away.

Shouta slumped back but turned his head to face Hizashi and looked at his friend with one open, lazy eye. “I was quite happy on my couch, Zashi.”

Shouta was definitely going to be getting interrogated, but he also got to add this moment to his short but precious mental file of ‘Times Hizashi was Completely Speechless.’

It was a good day.

Chapter Text

Harry fell in love on a bright bench in a park with no clouds in the sky and a Villain fight around the corner.

He hadn’t meant to, and he also hadn’t meant to find a villain fight or to well, not fight in said fight.

He’d been quite happily sipping his hot chocolate while Shouta gulped his second coffee, the two of them otherwise content to relax outside after a long week. Shouta was leaning into Harry’s shoulder, and Harry was trying to remember the last time he’d felt quite so content.

The moment ended when Shouta’s phone rang.

Harry had barely heard “your kids are all right,” before he was standing and throwing out both of their drinks, Shouta’s slipping easily out of his hand.

When Harry had made it the several steps back from the trash can, he forestalled Shouta’s apologies. “If you can give me a landmark, I can teleport us there.”

The look Shouta sent Harry seeped slow gratitude and tired affection. It took four suggestions to get a landmark Harry recognized enough for apparition (just long enough for Harry to battle his blush into submission).

They both hit the ground running. This was impressive for Shouta because he’d only been side-a-longed once, which was not enough to get used to the nausea, and was impressive for Harry because he’d only visited this statue once (it was confusing enough to add to the list of things to show Luna), which wasn’t enough to know where the fuck he was going. 

Shouta was, consequentially, several feet ahead. Harry let that distance grow when he saw Shouta stop next to Detective Tsukauchi and four teenagers. One was a boy with red and white hair and a surprising amount of poise for someone covered in goop. Also for someone being poked by two teenagers investigating said goop.

The girl poker had a mischievous smile and just enough baby-fat in her cheeks to get away with looking innocent while she stirred up trouble. The boy poker had purple hair and eye bags that were suspiciously similar to Shouta’s. He didn’t even try for innocent and went straight for shit-disturber.

The last teen was a green haired boy with bright freckles and a sheepish grin. He shifted the white-haired girl in his arms to rub at the back of his neck as Shouta approached.

The  white-haired girl was the one who stopped Harry in his tracks, though not far enough away that he wasn’t able to hear Midoriya’s (because Shouta had lots of stories about his Problem Child) insistence that this wasn’t his fault.

Harry could relate, or he would, if he could take his eyes off Shouta’s daughter. She went to her father easily, soaking in his hug for all that she was perhaps just a bit too big to be passed around like that.

“It actually wan’t his fault, this time.”

Shouta scowled at Detective Tsukauchi (the man who’d won what Harry was mentally calling the Police Shovel Talk Sweepstakes by staring at Harry with flat eyes, telling him “It’s funny how people seem to think that being a human lie-detector means you only tell the truth,” sipping his coffee, and walking away).

“I’m still getting him tested for residual quirk effects. This is the second time this week.” Shouta said with something just a bit too harsh to be a pout.

Midoriya laughed, awkwardly, even as the the girl, Uraraka (because Harry had seen a lot of photos) crossed her arms and huffed. “It really wasn’t us Sensei! We were just walking down the street after getting groceries-“

“We lost the bags, by the way. Your juice pouches were in them.” The purple boy, Hitoshi, interrupted.

Uraraka waved off his interruption and Shouta’s glare. “-and then bam! Smoke attack.”

“You got in the middle of a turf war between two gang factions that happened in the middle of the day and expect me to believe that none of you, particularly the Problem Child, had nothing to do with it?”

“We only meant to start evacuating civilians, but…”

“The daughter of one of the gang leaders was in a relationship with the chief enforcer of another. They were very much in love but the mother of the enforcer found out and wanted to put the girl through battle trials. The girl’s father found out during a betrothal meeting with another gang leader and both brought forces to interrupt the trials. The mother of the enforcer then decided to make that the trial.”

Everyone stared at Todoroki, even the Detective. Except Eri. Eri hadn’t turned large red eyes from Harry’s face since she noticed him behind her father.

Todoroki ignored them all to turn baleful eyes at Midoriya. “I got monologued at and covered in purple goop. Getting monologued at is your job.”

Midoriya opened his mouth to reply, and something about his expression made it startlingly clear that he was going to apologize instead of protest his innocence.

He never got the chance. A loud bang echoed down the street while a very tall woman yelled “Get your filthy hands off my future daughter in-law!” Several other bangs quickly followed, along with a resurgence of pale yellow smoke and a general return of chaos to the street.

Shouta and Tsukauchi sighed at the exact same time, before Tsukauchi ran off to discover who had fucked up the containment process quite so badly.

Shouta turned back to the four alert and tense teenagers. “Go.” They didn’t hesitate. Uraraka lessened the gravity of both herself and Hitoshi, and both of them held out their hands to a green-sparking Izuku who grabbed them and sped off. Todoroki followed shortly after on only slightly purple ice.

This left Harry, Shouta, and Eri standing in a loose triangle. Eri tugged on her father’s sleeve, immediately gaining all of the man’s attention that wasn’t on the fight. “That’s Harry, right?”

“Ah.” Shouta looked from Eri to Harry. “Right.”

She nodded then stepped to Harry’s side. “Go, Papa.”

“What?” Shouta shared a quick startled look with Harry, who could offer no insights. “You’re a hero. Go be a hero.”

Shouta looked torn. He trusted his students, but he was a hero. And their teacher.

Harry studied white hair for a moment, before glancing back at the line on Shouta’s face and the tension in his shoulder. “Go,” Harry said. “I’ve got her.”

Shouta was gone almost before Harry had finished speaking, and he had never felt so trusted in his life.

Harry dropped to his heels, so he was shoulder to shoulder with Eri, but didn’t turn to face her. The fight was taking place at the end of the street, but it was a messy brawl of a fight and Harry knew those changed direction quickly. He wouldn’t let so much as a drop of goop hit Shouta’s daughter.

Eri was content for several moments to watch her father and his students fight from distance, amidst the growing crowd.

“You’re Papa’s boyfriend.”

She didn’t turn away from the fight, so Harry didn’t feel the need to either. “Yes.”

“You make him happy.”

Harry let out a breath, a deep one that he felt had been sitting at the bottom of his lungs for days, maybe weeks. “Good. That’s good. I want to.”

She went quiet.

“My son says Shouta makes me happy, too.” Harry added, lowly.

“Your son?”

Harry watched her run small palms over her cherry-red dress out of the corner of his eyes. “He’s like you, in some ways. His grandmother and I adopted him after he lost the rest of his family.”

“Some ways.” Such a sharp little girl Shouta had raised.

Harry sighed. “Some ways. We got him when he was a baby. He never had to go through the awful things we did.”

She turned to him, Harry could feel the sudden weight of her gaze studying every visible scar. He thought she might be surprised with how easily he’d brought her history up; most people probably skirted the violence of her past or thought she’d prefer not to hear mention of those particular memories.

Harry had never been fond of burying the past. He didn’t want to talk about it, was sure she didn’t really either, but not talking wasn’t not acknowledging.

Then again, she might be picking up on the implied threat. She was a sharp little girl, after all, and raised by heroes. She might hear the ‘I didn’t allow those awful things near my son’ in his tone. She might also read the readiness in his slightly glowing hand and the protective violence in his crouched form, just slightly in front of her.

She opened her mouth, but Harry interrupted her with an arm around her middle that dragged her out of existence with him.

They popped back at the statues, it’s coiling wires waving slightly in the wind.

“Shit, sorry, that must have been rough.”

He tried to put her down, but arms and legs clung to him as she breathed through the nausea.

“Thank you.” Her voice said, usually small.

Which, double shit. He’d hoped that her staring at him had meant she hadn’t seen the large chunk of building suddenly being flung in their direction.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” The endearment fell off his lips without thought, without effort, and it had both of them staring at each other in its wake. Cautious, but not completely uncomfortable.

“Auntie Nem said it’s good Papa found you but that because we loved him first I need to threaten you so you don’t hurt Papa.”

“Alright.” That sounded like pretty solid logic to Harry. “Is that what you’re going to do now?”

“I’m not going to scare you.” She shook her head a couple times to confirm her point. “Papa and Deku and Lemillion and Auntie Nem and Uncle Zashi, they’re heroes. They fight villains. You, you’re not like that.”

Harry cocked his head at the little girl who refused to be put down for this conversation. “I’m a hero, too?”

She huffed in annoyance. “We. You said we. The awful things that happened to us.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “You know how bad it is. How bad they are. Right?”

Harry didn’t close his eyes, because there was a battle a street away and he was holding Shouta’s daughter. Instead, he gathered his courage and tried not to drown in red eyes (a red so deep that they might drown the echoes and nightmares of another, crueler set entirely).

“Yes. I know. I know how bad it is when the villains are the ones supposed to take care of you, according to everyone but you. I know how bad it is when the pain is safe, because pain is predictable and not nearly as harmful as hope or questions. I know how bad it is without the sky, when you’ve been without the sky so long it feels safer where there’s no sky at all.”

He looked into old, tired eyes and tried not to cry. “I know,” he whispered.

Eri raised both hands till they cupped his cheeks, tracing along the edges of spell-scars. “Me too,” she whispered right back. “Papa and Deku saved me.”

Harry smiled, echoes of wind and spice floating in his mind alongside Ron and Hermione and the trails throughout the Hogwarts grounds. Ron and Hermione hadn’t saved him, not the same way Shouta and Deku had saved this little girl, but they’d given him the sky all the same. They’d shown him there was more than just the ceiling of his cupboard.

“They gave you the sky.” The gave Eri the expectations that she could always see the sky, whenever she wanted. That she could leave the white room and tiled roof of her imprisonment. That she could live under the sky with the rest of them.

Eri nodded. “Papa doesn’t need saving. But he needs- he gives too much sky.”

Harry thought about this for a moment before nodding. Shouta hadn’t grown up contained by locks and doors and bound by absence and fate. He’d been allowed dreams and followed those dreams with a kind of willful ferocity and desire to help that left Harry in awe.

Harry didn’t think for a single second that he knew all of Shouta’s history, all of the stories behind every trauma and scar, and he certainly knew far less about Deku and the other heroes Eri loved. He didn’t know their pasts or their stories or the events that had shaped them into heroes.

He knew they were strong, though. Knew they had insights into Eri and her past and her present Harry would never presume to minimize.

But.

Draco had once said the broken children recognize broken children, even if they don’t realize it, even if they weren’t broken the same.

Eri and Harry had been broken the same, once, trapped in a space that ate their dreams and forced to go back into it again and again and again. Shouta had saved her and Harry had newer, shinier scars, but they’d always have a hollow room locked and bound and hidden in their bones.

Shouta recognized that, Harry was sure. He supported and he saved and he loved so desperately that he couldn’t not.

And Shouta did give a lot of sky. To the police, to the people he saved, to his students, to his family. Just, quite a lot of sky. Enough to get lost in, probably.

“He needs to be grounded. To be reminded that there are cookies and hugs and cloud-watching on the ground, under the sky.”

Eri nodded, thrilled that Harry was getting it. “Papa fights because he’s a hero. You fight because you won’t go back.”

“Won’t be alone.”

“Never.” Her entire face focused into an intense expression that showed exactly what kind of woman she’d become. “Never. So you can do that! I won’t try and scare you away because I need you to fight and protect him till I’m old enough and a hero and able to ground” she said that word slowly, glancing up at Harry to make sure she was using it right, “Papa.”

Harry took a deep, rattling breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead and its scar into Eri’s little horn. “I might need to be saved, though.”

Eri thought about this long enough that Harry almost leaned back, but stilled when he felt small yet frighteningly strong arms link around his neck. “That’s okay. Papa can save you and you can ground Papa. And then I’ll get big and strong and save you too!”

Harry laughed, and Eri certainly wasn’t going to comment if it was a little wetter than what would be considered normal.

“Okay. Let’s do that. You’ll be great. The absolute best.” Harry really didn’t think she’d have to get much older to be strong. Or to save him.

She didn’t let go of his neck, but did settle back enough to smile a small, bashful little grin that had echoes of Shouta and edges of sunshine. “Let’s go sit.” Eri pointed to a bench a little ways away, in the opposite direction of the fight. “We shouldn’t distract Papa and Deku when they’re working.”

“No, we shouldn’t, should we.” Harry let his own lopsided grin creep onto his face. “I’m afraid I’m very distracting. Besides, Deku has your Papa’s back, this time.”

“Deku’s the best.”

“Is he?” Harry’s question was more amused than anything else, but Eri gasped and pivoted in his arms.

“You don’t know?”

“Nope. I know all about your Papa, not so much about Deku!” Which wasn’t entirely accurate, in that Harry knew quite a bit about the Problem Child, and had probably inferred quite a bit more. But he really knew very little about Deku, the hero who saved the little girl in Harry’s arms probably more than the boy would ever truly know.

Eri wriggled in glee, happy to discuss her favourite hero, happy to have been understood and content that now that she’d been heard, they didn’t need to talk about it any more. Shouta and Deku and the others would fight to save everyone else, and she and Harry would fight to protect their heroes.

Harry sat them down on the bench, only hesitating briefly before settling Eri in his lap since she seemed disinclined to leave his space.

Harry didn’t mind, since he was in a bit of withdrawal from child-cuddles considering all his family were either at school or on another continent or both (Merlin, he couldn’t wait to introduce this girl to Teddy; they’d be such overprotective mother-hens together and it would be hilarious).

There were two benches he could have chosen and he sat them in the sun, directly under the open sky.

Eri pretended not to notice, and Harry fell in love.

“Deku!”

Eri interrupted her own stories to run forward and throw herself at a slightly battered but still normally coloured Deku.

The boy caught her easily, the now red Uraraka and also purple Hitoshi getting in the occasional pat and smile.

“Who is this?” Todoroki asked.

“Oh!” Midoriya smiled at Harry. “You were with Sensei earlier. Are you a hero too?”

Hitoshi seemed much more suspicious than his fellows and took a step forward between Harry and Eri. He also didn’t seem comforted when the motion did nothing but make Harry smile.

Harry stood, carefully keeping his hands visible and non-threatening, before nodding. “My name’s Potter Harry.”

“Hello! Were you patrolling with Aizawa-Sensei?” Harry looked down at his outfit, which was mostly obscured by a long dark coat, and guessed that it could count as a hero uniform, particularly if you were using Shouta’s plain jumpsuit as a basis.

“He was not.” Tsukauchi said with a serious expression as he and Shouta approached.

“Papa!” Eri threw herself at her father, wrapping both arms around his waist. Shouta quickly stopped adjusting his capture scarf and returned the hug.

“Because,” Tsukauchi continued as if he was never interrupted, “he still does not have his Japanese license and patrolling would therefore be illegal.”

“End of the week.” Shouta threw out over his daughter’s shoulder.

The teenagers didn’t hear Tsukauchi’s muttered “Thank God,” over Hitoshi’s clear, “So were you on a date, then?”

The kid was so obviously trying to needled his mentor. Harry could already see the grin ready to break out on the boy’s face and Shouta’s well-accustomed huff.

Harry therefore took great pleasure in responding, “Yes!” Shouta glared at him, but without heat, since Harry knew the man had no desire to hide their relationship.

The kids, however were flabbergasted. It was beautiful.

Midoriya and Uraraka broke first, both spinning to face their teacher.

“I’m so sorry, Sensei,” Izuku said, miserably.

“We interrupted your date?” Uraraka asked, horrified.

“No,” Harry relied, at the same time as Shouta went, “Yes.”

They blinked at each other, and Tsukauchi rolled his eyes. “And that’s case in point for why my quirk gives me headaches. Two honest yet contradicting answers.”

Eri giggled at Harry’s expression, so Harry wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“We ruined Sensei’s date.” Todoroki sounded so sad, even if his expression didn’t change, and Harry wasn’t having that.

“Are you kidding? Don’t listen to Mr. Grumpy Pants.” Harry grinned at Shouta’s scowl. “Dates are for getting to know your partner as much as spending time with them. On today’s date I learned first hand how protective Shouta is, particularly of his children, how hot he looks when punching a man twice his size clean out, and that his daughter is wonderful and I would die for her.”

He shrugged. “I’m officially besotted and this was one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.”

Shouta shot him a look, likely based on the fact that Harry had shared stories about some of the dates he’d previously be on, including the Madam Puddifoot’s debacle.

Todoroki looked pleased but confused, while Midoriya was all soft and happy and Uraraka looked downright delighted. Hitoshi was ignoring Harry entirely to stare with extreme judgement at an unrepentant Shouta.

Tsukauchi started laughing quietly, though that quickly turned into full blown guffaws as faces turned to gawk at him.

“Complete truth! Oh, Eraser, you’ve picked a match.” Tsukauchi finally straightened and grinned at Harry, who grinned right back. “I like him.”

“Cool, does this mean you take the shovel talk back?”

“Absolutely not.” Tsukauchi raised an eyebrow.

“Fair enough.” Harry shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets.

“What.” Shouta said. He then turned to Tsukauchi, probably (rightly) figuring that for the quickest route to actual answers. “You gave Harry a shovel talk?”

“Yes.”

“Shouta, darling. Every police officer you’ve ever worked with at Tsukauchi’s station has given me a shovel talk.”

“What,” Shouta repeated, even as his students giggled and Hitoshi looked like he’d been given a week with no homework.

“If it makes you feel better, Tsukauchi’s was at the top of the list.”

“…Why would that make me feel better?”

“It makes me feel pretty good.” Tsukauchi interjected. “Would you mind telling that to Sansa; he thinks his was the best.”

“Sure.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “I mean, his was solid, but didn’t have near the intimidation factor that Officer Yuki’s had.”

Tsukauchi started nodding like that made sense, but Hitoshi beat the man to actual words. “Is this a Police-only ranking?”

Harry didn’t respond, instead focusing on the small tug on his coat. He dropped to one knee immediately so he faced Eri on her level. “Yes, sweetheart?”

She smiled at him and raised her arms slightly, when he nodded in response and lifted his in return, she ducked under to wind herself against his back. Laughing and well used to the many ways children asked for piggy-back rides, Harry stood up, easily shifting her into the perfect position for comfort and stability.

Eri grinned her father’s grin at the students before turning back to a Shouta that was valiantly trying not to smile soppily. “Auntie Nem said I should threaten Harry, too, but I don’t want to. He’s nice and I want to keep him.”

Harry grinned a toothy smile of his own up at his boyfriend. “So, Shou, are you going to keep me?”

“Maybe.” His eyes said yes.

It was a good day.

Chapter Text

Shouta watched Tokoyami and Hagakure gesture as they told a story from across the room. This wasn’t suspicious exactly, as Friday evenings had turned into regular ranting and gushing sessions about how their internships had gone throughout the week.

Shouta approved, as it meant they were learning from each other’s experiences. It also made them happy, which made him happy, and he was telling no one ever (Harry may have found out, considering the way he’d grinned when Shouta had explained Friday dates weren’t an option).

Hagkaure was always happy to bounce out a tale. Tokoyami, however, was talking far longer than usual. And Hitoshi and Koda were nodding along while occasionally contributing. While the entire class was carefully listening to that one conversation.

This was suspicious.

Also. Midoriya was angry. That was Midoriya’s I’m-still-because-I’m-plotting pose. And Bakugou’s I’m-scowling-becasue-I’m-going-to-back-you-up face. Which wasn’t so much suspicious (Shouta owed Hound Dog coffee for the rest of the man’s life) as a major fucking warning sign.

Shouta stood up, pushing his papers across the counter and managed five steps before Yagi appeared at his elbow. Shouta blinked up at the man, who grinned sheepishly before giving his phone a little wave.

“Young Midoriya texted me.”

Shouta narrowed his eyes and Yagi gave a little cough.

“He asked me about taking down a corrupt hero. Then immediately texted back a garbled apology that said the text had been meant for Nezu.”

Shouta bit back his sigh. “I regret that internship so much.”

With a wry smile, Yagi tilted his head. “We put it off for two years. I’d run out of things to bribe Nezu with.”

“And I ran out of distractions. Ok, let’s go see what’s got our kids and the Problem Child in particular so ruffled.”

It didn’t take long to get within hearing range, though it took a bit longer for students to start noticing Shouta and Yagi’s approach. Not quite long enough to necessitate more situational awareness drills, but long enough that Shouta wasn’t particularly impressed.

Kirishima, like the good friend he was, tried to subtly inform Hagakure of their presence, but she was too involved in the punchline of her story.

“-and then he gave us cookies!”

Hitoshi, who had watched his teachers cross the room with glinting eyes, met Shouta’s stare dead-on and stated, “They were fucking delicious.”

Shouta quirked an eyebrow. “And why were you accepting cookies from strange men?” Hitoshi’s body language pretty much guaranteed Shouta already knew the answer, but, as a teacher, there were some questions he couldn’t afford not to ask.

Hagakure yelped and spun, but was already speaking before fully registering Shouta’s presence. “He wasn’t strange! I mean, he kinda was, Sensei, but he’s a hero! We checked his license and everything! And he’s so useful. Like, I’ve learned more tricks about eavesdropping in the last week than I have in the last month of this internship.”

Shouta blinked, and Yagi covered his mouth with his hand as he went to lean on the arm of the sofa next to Midoriya. He looked like he was trying not laugh.

The kids decided that Shouta’s silence was a request for more information. Which, to be fair, it often was.

Tokoyami crossed his arms. “His tips on tracking suspected villains through shadows and alleyways were quite enlightening.” He hesitated even as Dark Shadow nodded. “As were his suggestions on balancing the dark within.”

“He’s really kind.” Koda’s voice was quiet, but he met Shouta’s gaze without flinching.

Hagakure pointed to Hitoshi hard enough that she smacked Ojirou in the nose. “Hitoshi said he knew him! That it was fine and you trusted him.”

Half the eyes in the room spun to Hitoshi while the other half spun to Shouta. Midoriya was the only exception, since he was looking at his shaking mentor trying to determine if Yagi was having some sort of attack. Which he wasn’t, the laughing bastard of a man.

Unfortunately, Shouta had something simmering in his stomach that prevented him from following suit.

“You let a strange hero, who was not part of your internship, mentor you, learn details about your quirks, and feed you random sweets?”

Hitoshi stared back with a slight smirk. “You’re the one who keeps calling him strange. I just figured he was being overprotective.”

“Why,” and Shouta knew his voice was coming out flatter than usual from the way his students were straightening up into something approaching battle stances, “would my war-veteran, pro-hero boyfriend feel the need to be overprotective?”

There was a pause, and then a series of shrieks.

“The boyfriend was real!?” Ashido exclaimed while leaning rather too far forward.

Uraraka turned to her. “You thought we made him up?”

“Kinda!” Ashido replied with Sero and Kaminari nodding beside her.

“So he’s a good person?” Momo asked, looking for confirmation from Todoroki. “He won’t break Sensei’s heart?”

“We’ll have to give him a little talk.” Bakugou didn’t let of small explosions, because the consequences of setting fire to the common room had been pounded into his head with home repair and cleaning lessons. He did have a down right malicious glint to his eye, though.

“Done and done!” There was a short yet heavy pause as all eyes travelled to Izuku and Yagi and everyone had the simultaneous realization that they had both spoken.

Shouta sighed. This was all very unhelpful. He pulled out his phone to text the question to Harry, and then frowned at the immediate yet also unhelpful response.

Hitoshi was nodding along to the confused faces of his classmates. “Harry has confirmed that the All Might - Deku Shovel Talk was on par with Detective Tsukauchi’s and thus are tied for the lead, but no one will tell me what they actually said. Harry just smirks and they just do that.”

With a small hand wave Hitoshi indicated the happy beaming of mentor and student and their identical innocent expressions.

“I can do better.” Bakugou muttered while crossing his arms.

“Sure, Kacchan.”

“Problem Child,” Shouta said in his best teacher voice. Everyone immediately fell silent which was good, since Shouta really wasn’t in the mood to focus on the combined antics of his boyfriend and class. “Explain.”

Midoriya’s head shot up. “I wasn’t even there?”

“Irrelevant.”

Midoriya blinked at him for a moment, before whipping his head to Yagi. “All Might!”

Yagi chuckled before patting the boy on the head. “Sorry, sorry. But Aizawa was suspicious before I arrived. He doesn’t need a text to know you were angry.”

“Righteously angry, Problem Child. The kind you only get when someone is hurting your friends. My students.”

Midoriya nodded, the mischief from earlier falling off his face even as his spine straightened; another sign that the kid’s anger was justified and not very far away at all. He didn’t even look at the four who’d started everything. “What did Harry say when you texted him?”

“Ten minutes.”

“What does that mean?” Ashido asked, leaning forward over Kaminari.

Shouta flicked his eyes to her and back to Midoriya. “That you’re all getting cookies. And that his explanation is too far away.”

“The Rockwalk Agency is crooked.” All eyes snapped back to Midoriya. “I don’t know how far; I don’t have enough information,” and here the Problem Child scowled a clear ‘because no one came to me earlier’ glare towards Hitoshi and company that Shouta empathized with so very much, “but their instruction is very problematic.”

“Izuku-” Hitoshi started, but quickly got cut off by an irate Problem Child.

“No!” He turned back to Shouta. “Favouritism, Qirkism, the worst assignments, minimal backup, minimal teaching.”

There was quiet. A very uncomfortable quiet.

“And you didn’t tell me? An agency I arranged was using your last opportunity for work experience before graduating,” when they’d leave to face villains and crime and society alone, “to not only teach you nothing, but actively belittle your work and efforts, and you didn’t tell me?”

That wasn’t quite what he’d wanted to say. Dammit, his kids looked uncomfortable now. And Shouta knew, he did, that there were many reasons people, particularly kids, didn’t tell adults things like this. It was just, he’d thought they trusted him. And that all of those reasons made Shouta want to murder something. Violently.

An arm wound itself around Shouta’s waist. When Shouta relaxed backwards, realizing intellectually what his senses and instincts had clearly already known, Harry’s hand rose up to rest against Shouta’s heart, fingertips just brushing against the base of Shouta’s throat.

“They couldn’t, Shouta. There wasn’t anything to tell; just general incompetency. And if there was, I would have told you immediately.”

Shouta ignored the many eyes of his students to lean back and stare into the green eyes of his partner. He took a deep breath, letting the air wrap around his bones. “But you thought there was more to it.”

Harry let go, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder. “Yup. I have a lot of experience, you know, including that of an abused and bullied child.” Midoriya looked down and Bakugou clenched his fist in the corner of Shouta’s eye. “Warning signs abounded. Don’t worry, though. I got it covered! In a completely and entirely unrelated matter, can I have a copy of those statistics you were working on last week?”

Completely and entirely unrelated Shouta’s ass. Those statistics involved crime and response rates for neighbourhoods that included the Rockwalk Agency’s territory and if Harry was asking for them, this soon-to-be-dead Agency was involved at some level of kickbacks or organized crime.

But Shouta trusted Harry. He did. Shouta would get the full story when there were no children present, which would also include the full story of the complete and utter ruination Harry was in the process of raining down on an Agency that was fucking with the education of children (Shouta’s children).

So Shouta nodded and stepped away, going to retrieve the statistics that were currently spread over the kitchen counter.

“Hello, Shouta’s children!”

He returned just in time to see Midoriya and Uraraka finish little waves and Todorroki a formal greeting. Hagakure and Koda were getting hair ruffles while Dark Shadow was getting a friendly nudge.

Kaminari, however, was the one who blurted, “So when do the rest of us get to try these awesome cookies?”

Before Sero had finished swatting Kaminari in the back of the head, Harry had straightened up. “Ah. Thanks for reminding me!” He proceeded to reach into the pocket of his jeans and pull out a massive container that he floated with a wave of his hand to sit on the coffee table.

Midoriya’s eyes lit up with all the questions.

Shouta cut them off by slapping his folder into Harry’s chest. Harry opened it, flipped through, and grinned. “Perfect, thanks.” He kissed Shouta’s cheek and turned his back on Shouta’s flabbergasted class.

“Goodbye Shouta’s children!” He raised a hand in good-bye as he walked away. “Sorry I can’t talk, but Nezu’s expecting me. Corruption to destroy and all that. Ta!”

Shouta let the class have their moment. When over half of them had turned back to him, he growled, gaining the rest of their attention. “Full reports. All of you. Leave nothing out. Talk.”

They talked. It wasn’t quite as bad as Shouta feared. It was bad, but Harry and the kids were right, it was the kind of bad that he would have been very hard pressed to do something about.

Nezu would have pulled the kids from the internships on Shouta’s word, no problem, but then they would have been stuck. With no explicit reason given, other agencies would have been hesitant to take the kids mid-way through the term. Worse, since it was third year, that might have actually harmed their job prospects as well.

Considering the nature of the offences, Shouta probably would have let the kids decide, possibly even turned the experience into training for when working with problematic colleagues. There was no way the kids were going to just fall into another group dynamic like this class, after all.

But, and this was the but that lodged under his skin and was picking at his bones, Harry had seen something. His war-veteran, pro-hero boyfriend, the one who’d been through hell and come out of it with a protective streak for all kids a mile wide, had seen something. Had seen something Shouta’s brilliant yet inexperienced kids hadn’t, and Shouta didn’t know what that thing was. Yet.

“Are you mad, Sensei?”

Shouta blinked out of his thoughts. “No, Hagakure. I would rather have known,” he glared at a all of his students because he would always rather know, “but I have faith that you would have come to me if it got any worse.”

Tokoyami, Hagakure, Koda, and Hitoshi all nodded just shy of frantically.

“Will he be all right?” Koda asked with a blush.

“Yeah! “Hagakure added. “Harry kind of made it sound like he was going up against the entire agency.”

“Rockwalk Agency is fairly high profile; they have a lot of strong heroes.” Tokoyami was calm, but Dark Shadow was buzzing around more than usual.

Shouta stared at the earnest faces of his students, then made the mistake of locking eyes with Yagi.

Shouta snorted even as Yagi had to very deliberately look away to avoid the same fate.

“Um, Sensei?” Uraraka looked concerned from her spot on the floor by Izuku’s feet.

“It’s fine, Uraraka. Harry’s got it covered.”

He wondered if he should be put out by the number of skeptical looks that got him. Was Harry really that physically unimpressive? The scars at least should have indicated he’d survived some shit. Or was it Shouta’s own choice in partner that was in question here? Did they really think that Shouta would pick someone who wasn’t just as deviously competent as himself? Because that would be offensive. And boring as fuck.

Thankfully, Midoriya seemed to agree. He was busy staring at Todoroki, Uraraka, and Hitoshi, even pivoting off a grumbling Bakugou to gain leverage to meet each of their eyes.

“Really? None of you, none of you know?”

“Know what?” Uraraka asked, rather cautiously because she had been friends with Midoriya for three years by now.

“You met him! For longer than five minutes, which is the excuse I’m allowing the rest of them!” Izuku blurted.

“Not much longer,” Todoroki calmly added.

Midoriya blinked, then looked back to Hitoshi who simply raised his hands. “None of you know?”

“I do!” Yagi chirped, even as Hizashi scowled.

Hizashi had entered the common room several minutes after Harry had left, bringing Shouta coffee like a good best friend. He’d stayed because someone was threatening their students, and it was usually Hizashi’s job to make sure Shouta didn’t commit murder and therefore be forbidden from seeing his kids. Like a very good best friend.

Hizashi had also been caught up on the fact that Sensei’s boyfriend was real, appeared, left cookies, and went to trample said threat into dust. He was quiet put out that he’d been all of ten minutes shy of actually seeing the boyfriend (officially).

Shouta grinned with all of his teeth, meeting Midoriya’s worried gaze. “It’s fine, Problem Child. Harry’s identity isn’t secret. Everyone else just sucks at info gathering.”

There was sputtering from around the room, particularly from Hizashi, but Midoriya beamed. “Okay then! Harry isn’t an underground hero. He’s got plenty of backing and clout to take on an agency like Rockwalk, even in Japan.”

Uraraka sighed and patted Midoriya’s knee fondly. “Izuku, we’re not all hero nerds like you and able to keep track of foreign heroes.”

Midoriya looked at her flatly. “You’ve heard of Potter Harry, trust me.”

She opened her mouth to reply, when everyone heard a soft, “Oh, shit.”

It took a moment for most of the kids to realize the words had come from Bakugou, who was having one of their weird silent conversations with a rapidly grinning Midoriya.

Once the eyebrows had stopped moving, Bakugou turned to stare at Shouta, before nodding once. “Good fucking catch, Sensei.”

“That’s what I said!” Yagi interjected, clearly proud that he and his protege were the only ones on top of this conversation.

“What!” Ashido screeched. “Tell us, tell us, tell us.”

“Shut up! Nerd’s right. You all had better heard of Phoenix.”

There was a beat, and then all the voice started washing over Shouta as he leaned back into the couch he’d commandeered.

“Phoenix of the the hero team Marauders?” That calm question was Iida.

“The ones who re-defined teamwork for heroics?” And Momo, equally calm in her pursuit of more knowledge.

“We learned about them in class last year!” Ashido was so loud.

“Phoenix and the Marauders who brought down that terrorist group when they were our age?!” Kirishima looked like he was a step away from shaking Bakugou.

“Hey, we fought a war!” Kaminari sounded pouty,

Sero smacked the blond boy up the side of the head again. “So did they! Without the Commission or other heroes to back them up!”

“Leader of the Marauders!? England’s number seven hero ranking?” That one was Hizashi, by far louder than the rest.

Shouta made sure to keep his face impassive as he glared his friend into silence, cutting through the noise with a clear response. “Yes.”

The quiet was sharp and beautiful.

He waited a moment then looked at Hizashi. “You know this is what happens when you leave me alone in bars; I adopt strays.”

“That was about cats. Cats, Shou!” Hizashi whined. “Not top ten heroes! Wait. You picked up a top ten hero in a bar?”

“Don’t be illogical.” Really, Hizashi should know better by now.

“I picked up him!” Everyone turned to stare as Harry waltzed in, again, and threw himself over Shouta, arms twining around Shouta’s neck from behind.

“Agency still standing?” Shouta asked as he leaned back to study Harry face.

Harry’s green eyes sparked and simmered. “What agency?”

Shouta grinned, the scary grin that had everyone but his students backing up a step or nine. Harry returned it in kind.

“I so get it now,” Uraraka whispered.

Shouta ignored her, instead gesturing to Tokoyami, Hagakure, Koda, and Hitoshi. “Congratulations. You have four new interns.”

“Aw.” Harry’s smile softened. “You give the best presents.”

Shouta did give good presents. He also had good students and a good boyfriend and was not above using both to his advantage.

Chapter Text

Shouta fell in love while sitting in his dark apartment where he was expecting exactly no one.

He was quick to get attached, as Hizashi and Nemuri were happy to point out with twenty-one children as evidence, but slow to admit the fact.

He was bleeding when he admitted his love (to himself), though not profusely. He was also quietly cursing as he tried to wrap a long bandage around his ribs.

Shouta started slightly as long fingers took the bandage from his hands and slid over his skin with delicate but firm movements. He met green eyes in the bathroom mirror and tried to figure out when he’d gotten so comfortable in Harry’s presence as to not notice him approach or flinch at his sudden touch.

Shouta figured it was probably around the time he’d given the other man permission to use Shouta’s apartment as a landing spot for apparition. When Shouta had made the offer, Harry had looked up with wide, startled eyes that understood exactly what he’d been given.

This apartment might not be Shouta’s home, exactly, not with all the time and happiness the UA dorm had accrued over the years, but it was his. And it was safe. Being allowed to pop into the apartment at Harry’s own will was weightier then being given a key, but also more valuable to a hero who’d been living out of hotels or a studio rental.

Also to a hero that had shared that in emergencies he didn’t so much consciously teleport as pop back to the nearest sense of safety, which never included hotels for various obvious reasons.

Harry’s hug that night had made the offer more than worth it, even if that hug had been particularly sharp and had lasted for a rather long time.

Though, honestly, the number of times that Harry had almost said ‘apparate’ in that conversation was it’s own reward, particularly when paired with the I-am-not-panicking-beacuse-I-am-a-trained-professional-face as he very deliberately didn’t lie about magic.

Shouta might have been more annoyed at Harry not picking up on the many insinuations that Shouta knew about magic (as an underground hero he’d seen some things), except Harry’s shit explanations for disguising said magic as an energy manipulation quirk were hilarious. Shouta was keeping a ranked list of terrible excuses to hold over the man when he finally spilled (or, as seemed much more likely, messed up the whole secret thing in a truly spectacular and probably very vibrant fashion).

Regardless, Shouta normally sensed when Harry arrived, even if he didn’t hear the pop of apparition. Shouta hadn’t felt anything tonight, but decided not to worry about it too much as he leaned back into Harry’s hold and let the other man wrap his injuries with magic and material.

“No Recovery Girl for this one?” Harry whispered into Shouta’s ear.

Shouta hummed, shivering again as salted oceans lapped at his skin and Harry’s magic began to dissipate. He didn’t reply until Harry tugged at Shouta’s hair, lightly, before finishing up the bandaging and placing the first aid box back under the counter.

“No. It’s not that bad. And I wasn’t supposed to be working.”

Harry blinked in acknowledgement, quite aware that Shouta had been supposedly benched after taking a tumble off a roof last week. Shouta had saved the idiot civilian taking idiot pictures, but Recovery Girl hadn’t been pleased with his concussion (nor had Ashido and Kirishima; they’d looked so sad).

Harry guided Shouta to sit on the closed toilet so Harry could more easily reach his hair. With gentle hands he untangled the mess strand by strand.

He’d almost finished when Shouta caved, a slow brush of a calloused thumb over the scar under Shouta’s eye the finishing blow. Shouta leant forward, forcing Harry to stop as Shouta pressed his forehead to Harry’s stomach.

“It was bad. They needed hands. Mostly clean-up. Child trafficking.” He had more he could say, more words he could spill into the cotton of Harry’s shirt. An explanation, perhaps, of how Shouta just needed a little more time before he could handle going back to the school, before he could stop seeing his students, his kids, in the faces of the dead, carelessly tossed aside.

He didn’t though. He didn’t say anything more because he didn’t need to.

Harry gently, with staggeringly soft motions, grasped Shouta’s wrist and led him to the bed. In short order, Shouta was tucked under the covers with his face once again pressed into Harry’s stomach as Harry sat with his back against the wall and continued to brush scarred, light fingers through Shouta’s hair.

Harry talked, slipping into his endless stories about fantastic adventures and magnificent beasts that Shouta generally tried to listen very closely to, since he was certain they were, at the very least, laced with truth.

Shouta didn’t listen this time, slipping right into sleep with a smooth voice wrapping his bones in something that felt like safety.

(Shouta woke four separate times to the rivers of that voice, screams caught in his throat and the lack of shame or embarrassment an aching, relieving absence in his chest.)

Harry walked down the hall towards Nezu’s office trying to draft a mirror call in head. This was not the kind of thing he did, to Ron’s great amusement and Draco’s great frustration.

Harry was much better at actual plans than he used to be, and not nearly as inclined to fly by the seat of his pants now that he had training and people who depended on and would miss him (also people who would lecture him for literal hours), but that didn’t really mean he was less impulsive.

Calls to Mione and Ron, in particular, were not something he planned. They were things that happened when random thoughts appeared in his head, when a spell blew up in his face and he needed Hermione to tell hime why, or when a trainee did something phenomenally stupid and he wanted to make Ron laugh.

Even bad news didn’t delay him or make him write scripts in his mind; the sooner he called them, the sooner they could help him out of whatever mess he’d landed in that particular day.

He’d never had to tell them he didn’t want to come back, though.

Harry loved his friends, his family. He loved the Agency they’d built. He loved helping people on his terms and with his abilities.

He loved Shouta, too. He loved Shouta with his quiet support and Eri with her  reaching hands. He loved Yagi with his cheerful gestures and Nezu with his gleeful chaos. He loved his baby interns with their cool competency and Shouta’s students with their energetic heroism.

He loved not being expected by anyone to just fix things by merit of being Harry Potter. He loved teaching both the special seminars at existing agencies and the baby heroes at UA. He loved being more than just a hero to more than his friends.

His original contracts were almost up and Harry didn’t want to leave. He also didn’t know how to stay. If that was even allowed.

With a sigh, Harry straightened his posture. He had two weeks left till the end of the UA semester. Two more weeks to enjoy his classes and plan the extra credit Exam from Hell with Nezu.

He knocked on Nezu’s door three times in quick succession, the metal ringing clear.

“Come in!”

Harry stepped forward, more than ready to launch into why he thought they should go with glitter bombs over flashbangs, when he registered who was sitting opposite the Principal, calmly drinking tea.

“Draco? What are you doing here? Did I miss a meeting?” Harry asked.

Draco set down his tea cup down with a click. “Do you really think I’d travel halfway across the world because you missed a meeting?”

Harry tilted his head, but accepted his own teacup from a positively manic Nezu. “Yes, absolutely.”

Draco considered. “Fair enough.”

Harry sat down, turning to include the Principal but facing Draco as the more active threat. “So. You’re here. Why?”

Draco pulled out a pile of paperwork from his briefcase and placed in on the table in front of Harry, leaning forward slightly. “I’m here to solve all your problems, Scarhead, as usual. Do keep up.”

Harry exited the office and let out a deep breath.

“Merlin, Potter, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Harry stared flatly at Draco. “Draco, it’s literally a significant change in profession, location, and support.”

Draco waved a hand, signet ring sparking in the fluorescent light. “You’ll still be a hero. Just a hero that teaches more than most. Which has always been true, in some way or another.”

“I would be upending my entire life to move across the ocean and away from almost my entire family.”

“That’s what magic is for, Harry. And you’ve been hit in the head one too many times if you don’t think every single member of that family isn’t going to be following you here for extended visits. It was my plan and I still had to fight Weasley for the right to come and present it.”

The last was just slightly bitter, which Harry hummed at before linking their arms to pull his friend and cousin down the hall.

“It’s a good plan.”

Draco snorted in a way he definitely wouldn’t have before being corrupted by the rest of them. “Of course it is. And I already have a schedule for staffing the satellite office; don’t say yes to anyone who asks you. You get no input. Luna and Neville are first because Luna hasn’t pissed me off this week and Neville actually has contacts for weird but useful plants.”

“Of course.”

Draco used their linked arms to force Harry to a stop. “So what’s the problem? It’s a good plan, like all of my plans, but you’re being unusually hesitant.” His hand flexed to keep Harry in place when he would have let go and fled down the hall.

Harry sighed. “I need to talk to Shouta first. I know, I know we’re good, but we’ve never talked timelines. Not once. And I don’t want to force myself onto him or his life.”

Draco stared at him, the small scar that pulled across his eyebrow flexing in that way it did when he thought someone was being particularly obtuse. He opened his mouth, but closed it with a click when someone coughed in a very unsubtle manner from a handful of paces away.

“Merlin!” Draco jumped slightly, but not enough to actually let go of Harry.

“Oh, good work Hagakure. That’s the closest you’ve gotten yet!”

“Thanks Harry-sensei.” Her voice sounded oddly flat, but Harry didn’t have time to ask since the rest of her class came pouring around the corner, Shouta stuck in the middle and trying to direct the chaos. They were all still in their hero gear, so had clearly just come from a heroics class.

One that Eri had been watching, if her position by Yagi was saying anything. She and Harry waved at each other, right before she threw herself across the hallway. Draco released Harry’s arm and stepped back.

“Introduce me to the masses, Potter.”

“Huh?” Harry looked up from the little girl now attached to his waist. “Oh, sure. Everyone, this is Malfoy Draco. He’s, well, he’s not my second in command, that’s Hermione, but he handles all of the information networks we use with terrifying efficiency.”

“Merlin, Potter, way to miss the part that would save me from being eviscerated.”

“What? Don’t be mean to my students.”

Draco gave Harry a Look. “Tell them not to eat me and I’ll think about it.”

“Calm down.” Shouta spoke with an amused tone, putting his hand on a slightly sparky Midoriya’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Aizawa. At least your intelligence is better than your taste.” Draco scowled at Harry’s bafflement before turning and narrowing in on a bristling Hitoshi who’d been staring at the arm that had been locked with Harry’s. “I’m this idiot’s cousin.”

Shouta smirked. “I recognize you from the pictures. This is the Hell Class.”

There seemed to be a collective “ohhhhh,” and a rapid shifting of body language.

“Wait, did you just admit to being family? Out loud and in front of witnesses? Draco!”

Draco dodged Harry’s octopus arms with an ease born of significant practice.

“Welcome to UA! Are you here for a particular reason?” Draco blinked at the sunshine smile Midoriya threw his way, distracted long enough by the hidden bite that Harry was able to latch on to Draco’s shoulders.

“Yes.” He shoved Harry off him hard enough that Harry stumbled. “A reason Harry would be happy to explain.”

“Wait, what?” Harry whipped his head back to Draco. “No! I’m not ready. Draco!”

Shouta blinked and the rest of the class shifted. Harry noted with absent pride that they shifted to block his exits, the little baby monsters.

“Oh doesn’t this look exciting!” There were several exclamations and swears as Nezu popped up from behind a resigned looking Midoriya, the Principal’s red tie standing out as he smoothly stepped forward. “Don’t mind me. Just a few Agency Establishment forms that our guest forgot in my office.”

Draco accepted the forms with a stiff expression, since he was a complicit little bastard but was also deeply affronted by the idea that he forgotten any type of paperwork, ever.

Then Nezu walked back to Midoriya and climbed onto his shoulders instead of leaving, because Nezu was a devious little bastard who had also never forgotten paperwork, ever, except when it suited him.

They were both fully deserving of Harry’s glare, the voyeuristic little shits. 

“Agency Establishment forms?” Shouta asked, because he was smart and clever and merciless.

Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair and tugging on the ends. “Yes.” He gave another tug, then turned to face Shouta and ignore the entire audience he hadn’t planned on existing. “Right. Okay.”

Shouta raised an eyebrow, and Harry caved like he always did to that face.

“Draco proposed a Marauders Satellite Agency here in Japan, with the purpose of continued information exchange, primarily with Marauder-style teamwork practices on our end. We’d staff it will a couple of people from back in England and look at hiring some young heroes we could train to our standards, which would include patrols and other regular agency things.

“Nezu’s helping legally and socially in exchange for one staff allocation for two classes per year at UA. And, well, that person doesn’t have to be me, I’m not, I wouldn’t try to force myself into anything or put pressure on you, but it could be me, and um, I’d like it to be? Maybe. If you’re okay. With that.”

“Merlin. What the fuck. I’ve literally seen you sass psychopaths and talk down governments. And yet. So bloody painful.” Draco was not quiet, and got shushed by at least five students as well as Yagi.

“Problem Child.” Shouta said, without taking his eyes off Harry’s. Harry figured wiping his hands on his pants would ruin the moment. If this was a moment.

“On it!” Izuku crowed and jumped forward to cover a grinning Eri’s eyes.

“Wait!” Harry blurted out.

Shouta waited with hands gently cupping Harry’s face because he was Shouta and Harry loved him very much.

“There’s, there’s something else you should know.” Even if Harry wasn’t exactly sure how to talk about it front of the bloody audience.

Shouta’s expression flickered, before settling into exasperation. “You idiot.”

Harry didn’t flinch, because that was the fond tone Shouta used when Harry was fretting about a lesson for his baby interns and Shouta had to remind him that his ducklings liked him lots already.

Shouta’s hands twitched. “I’ve been aware of your particular Magic tricks for months now. Almost from the start.”

Harry blinked at Shouta. Because yeah, he deserved to be called an idiot if that was the case.

“Besides,” Shouta let a slow smirk curl over his lips, “Your son and Fawkes were not subtle.”

Harry opened his mouth but closed it again without saying anything.

“Any other concerns?”

“None whatsoever.”

Shouta closed the remaining distance, shifting one hand to drape over the largest scar on Harry’s throat and the other to slide back to bury itself in Harry’s hair, even as the kids gave a cheer.

Shouta’s kiss was warm and soft and solid.

Harry was going to fucking keep this.