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Hizashi loves his husband. He loves him a lot, more than there are constellations in the sky or songs he can sing, because Shouta is his Starshine.
But whilst sometimes the sheer number of stray cats can get frustrating, it's very different than bringing home a whole entire child. One covered in dirt and scars and a mulish expression to contradict the genuine fear in their eyes. Their hair is shorn short with something that must have been fairly blunt because it's frayed and jagged and Hizashi's fingers are already twitching to try and detangle and neaten it up.
The kid is smart, scared, and glaring at both of them.
Hizashi honestly kind of loves them already.
"-we'll let you take a bath or a shower or whatever. Don't worry about the hot water or whatever, kid, but also try not to fall asleep if you can help it. Our bathroom door doesn't lock, but if you want to put the chair against it, you can. We'll knock if we want your attention, alright?"
"You can use Shouta's shampoo, lil' one. It'll be good for hair like yours." Shouta's natural wave will work well with their matted curls, although frankly he's more concerned about the kid hurting themselves with tugging at their awful tangles. At least their hair is short, if still dreadfully uneven.
"Oh. Uhm, it's fine, I don't need-"
"Lil' one, can I tell you something?" They just nod, frowning again. And Hizashi keeps his tone as neutral as he can despite the overwhelming earnestness that seeps into it,
"You deserve to feel clean and feel yourself. If you really want, I could neaten your hair up first? But it's also fine if you'd like to just wash it as-is."
"Neaten it up?" They ask, thick caution almost slurring the few words.
"Up to you how I do it, but I could snip it all to the shortest length it currently is, I could buzz it, whatever you want with the length it currently has, although I'm not a hairdresser so it might not be perfect!" He laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck, and Shouta leans into him, a silent gratitude that swells Hizashi's heart.
And his heart warms even further when the kid twists a hand into the hem of their fraying hoodie, eyes narrowed up at him, before finally his shoulders relax a little, and nodding with a slight shrug.
"Coolio! Any preferences for how I do it?" They pause for a second, one hand shifting,
"Uhm- I like the length of the top?" Hizashi crouches down a little, reaching out a hand that he pauses a foot or so from the kid, giving him the chance to move away or accept it. And they scuff their foot, arms folding over their chest and hunching in somewhat, yet ducks forward slightly all the same. With this, as carefully as possible, the blond threads fingers in amongst the matted curls, gently teasing some of them out. The top of the hair is the longest, but even that isn't more than an inch or two long, probably more like the latter when it isn't pulled out of its curl.
"I should be able to make all of the top about the same length, but some of the sides are inconsistently shorter so it might work best if I did a shorter back and sides. Would you be comfortable with a buzz for that part and me making the top all as long as possible?" He retreats somewhat then, keeping his hands close to himself and making sure the kid has plenty of room.
And they wait, Shouta's shin pressed to Hizashi's spine, before the kid nods, something about his harsh eyes softening a bit, ice beginning to thaw. (Shouta watches on, and whilst he knows that he had gotten through to the kid himself somewhat, that being able to ask him to follow Shouta home in the first place had been an achievement from a kid that had first talked to him with a brick in their bleached-knuckles grip and a set of bared teeth from which they spat exploitable weaknesses; it's no surprise to him though, that someone like his Sunshine, who is as sweetly warm as a summer's evening, is able to melt away some of the defensiveness of this kid who is bruised inside-out.)
"Then I'm just gonna grab some of the equipment from under this cupboard! Shou, would you mind going to grab some towels for the lil' one?" He tilts his head back, golden crown pressed to Shouta's thigh, smiling up at him in time to watch the shrug.
"Sure. You alright with me leaving, kid?" he checks, expression neutral and eyes warmer than anything else.
"Yeh, whatever," they grumble, but they tense up a little when Shouta turns and leaves the room. Hizashi, after a long second of silence, starts up his own stream of chatter. It's quiet enough that any loud sounds from elsewhere in the flat could be heard, but it's also a steady burble to distract and ground them both.
He talks about the cats, and then about how his friend had taught him to use the hair clippers back when they were all in junior high, and how he'd accidentally shorn a whole strip of his friend's hair far shorter than the rest, but that he's gotten a lot better now listener, don't worry!
Hizashi smiles, a tiny, private thing, when there's a muffled snort at the mention of the mis-shaven hair.
"That's a point, lil' one, do you mind if I ask for some pronouns for you? And a name of some sort, if you're comfortable?"
"No-" The spat word falters, fracturing upon the kid's tongue, shattering like a bitter boiled sweet, lemon pith, and they visibly stutter in place, Hizashi watching from the corner of his eye.
"You don't have to, kiddo, I just want you to be comfortable in how we address you," Hizashi offers, looking up at the kid from where he's otherwise focused on the cupboard, because he wants them to understand the genuine earnestness to his words. Something in that must work, because they blink twice, hard, eyes more than dark, before loosening their posture just enough to not look like they're about to keel over with the shuddering strength of it.
"He. And- and Izuku."
"Got it, lil' one!" Hizashi chirps, reaching up to dump his box of hair cutting things on the bathroom counter. The ki- Izuku leans in a little, blatantly scrutinising the contents, only taking a few blinks before he straightens up again, apparently satisfied.
"Got the towels. And some clothes," Shouta grumbles from the door, staying half-tucked behind the frame, very deliberately not blocking the exit completely.
"Thanks, Shou! Kid, you happy with me telling Shouta what you just shared with me?" Hizashi would rather check whether or not Izuku is comfortable with him passing on the name and pronouns that he'd already been somewhat reluctant to share. But he gets a nod, so he beams at the kid, and turns back to Shouta,
"Izuku's pronouns are he/him!"
"Alright, thank you. Kid, you want any water or a snack or anything? Zashi, same to you." The double-offer is very much intentional, trying to make the kid feel more comfortable, and with an awareness of that, the blond doesn't hesitate to request some water and some fruit for himself.
And after several more seconds, Izuku shrugs, a tiny, jerky movement that precedes a low mutter requesting some water as well. And Shouta just about manages not to frown, because the kid is nigh-on skeletal already. If he brings some spare fruit and maybe a few chocolate biscuits back with him, then it's because he forgot what they asked for, or so Shouta purports. The kid gives him an askance look for it, but there's also a glimmer of amusement to it.
At this point, the food gets set on the counter, and Hizashi pushes the chair in front of both the mirror and the food for the kid, gesturing him over. Shouta, whilst this is happening, makes himself at home on the floor beside the doorway, not wanting to come further into the room and crowd the kid. Izuku.
Hizashi, a half-eaten orange segment hanging from his lips, sets to work. As Izuku picks at some grapes for himself, the blond explains what he's going and why he's doing it as he goes along, starting with very carefully clipping the slightly longer top, then getting the clippers plugged in.
"Ya definitely happy with this, lil' one? We can do something else, or even nothing, if you'd still prefer." Somehow, despite all of his earlier reservations, now that Izuku has the clippers in sight, hair pinned up, he looks determined. Excited. It's in the restless tap of one finger, the twitching of the corner of his mouth, the fierce light in his eyes.
"Please."
"Then let's rock and roll!" Hizashi chirps, and doesn't pause any further before switching the clippers on and starting to trim. He's got them on a four setting, so there'll still be some length to the kid's hair even on the undercut, but he can't go any longer with the uneven patches that are close to the scalp already.
As he shaves it all short though, he can't help but notice that there are scars amongst a lot of the shortest patches. They look like cut wounds, although there's one patch at the base of Izuku's skull where there's no hair at all, just a warped starburst. It looks like it came from some sort of fire or explosion. It looks like it hurt. Like it will have taken weeks or months to physically heal, pulling and tugging with his every movement, and that it must haunt him now, a slight weight and tension that will never leave him.
Hizashi, with all of this, mourns whatever childhood happiness this baby has clearly missed out on, even whilst he keeps on trimming. He's as delicate as possible around the scars, doing his best not to catch them and succeeding more than he thought he would. Then he takes off the guard and neatens up around the kid's ears and the base edge of his hair. Pausing to examine how he's done so far, if the seam between long and short is evenly placed, if he's left anything longer than the rest, Hizashi happens to glance in the mirror: Izuku's eyes are shining. It's the faint threat of tears but almost purely something happy, and Hizashi can’t help but smile himself.
Oh, how very worth it this offer was.
Hizashi unclips the top of the kid’s hair then, and moves around him to unscrew the empty mini spray bottle.
”You gonna be alright with me spraying water on your hair? It’ll be easier to detangle, I do it with Shouta sometimes, but it’s okay if you’d rather I didn’t,” he explains, pausing with the bottle held up, a tiny squirt of detangling concentrate in the water now. For demonstration, given that Izuku is staring at him, nibbling at his lip, Hizashi sprays some on his own hand, showing off that it doesn't irritate or hurt him, at least in the immediate term.
Maybe it's that, or maybe it's something else, yet either way Izuku ends up nodding to that, an easy-enough agreement.
Hizashi grins, sun-bright and absolutely beaming, and skips back to stand behind Izuku again. From there, he sets to spraying the water-detangler mix over the longer curls, threading through them with his fingertips first, as careful as he can be, and manages not to tug too much. Once he has the worst of the knots worked out, he sets in with a comb as well, lengthening and straightening the strands as much as possible for the sake of being able to cut it more easily.
That done, he steps to the side, reaching past Izuku to get the scissors out of the bottom of the box, other things rattling whilst he tries to find them, and as he pulls them out, there's a quiet noise from beside him.
It's not a good noise. No, it's fear and fury all at once, child-scared wavering, and Izuku is scrambling up from his seat, breaths sharp, the back of his trembling legs pressed to the side of the bath. For his part, Hizashi freezes in place, completely unmoving, vaguely aware of how Shouta has shot to his feet as well, halfway-crouched and blatantly ready to move, to try and help.
"Lil' one, I'm going to put the scissors and comb down, if that's okay with you?" Hizashi waits for a long, aching few seconds, counting no less than five heartbeats before Izuku moves a little again, shoulders dropping slightly, his lip definitely a bit bloody where it gets released from between his teeth. Finally, he nods.
Hizashi, very much glad for that permission, drops them both, the scissors to the counter and the comb atop of the chair, and slowly straightens up. Izuku now has a clear line of sight for the door, chest hitching, and can also see Shouta clearly. It stops some of the breath-catching jerks of his body. Hizashi and Shouta both relax a little more themselves with that fact, and some of the tension in the room truly begins to evaporate.
"Can I ask what upset you, kid?" Shouta keeps his voice low and steady, utterly neutral with only the very faintest hint of something worried beneath it, and it helps keep the tension low, nobody breathing quite as badly as before, Izuku thankfully included in the latter fact.
"The- The scissors. They-" Hizashi abruptly remembers the scars on the kid's head, and he feels utter dread shudder through him, ice water rushing down his spine.
"I'm so sorry, lil' one. It's up to you what we do now," he assures, words slipping from his lips faster than his heart is pounding, wishing for nothing more than being able to take back the hurt he's just caused,
"If you're comfortable now that you're expecting it, then we can try again; if you're not comfortable then that's fine, I can try using the clippers, or we can leave it. Completely your choice."
He must have said something right in all of that mess though, the dread shivering through him utterly unabated all the same, because Izuku shuffles forwards a little, hands clutching at his own elbows, arms too tight and knuckles bleached white with how he's hunched into himself. The fear in his eyes is abyssal.
"Can- Can I hold them?" Oh, the bravery to this child, a little hero all of his own. How the two men adore him already.
"Be careful, lil' one," the blond reinforces, picking the scissors back up to place them closer to Izuku, where they're closer to the kid than Hizashi himself. Shouta, increment by increment, starts to slide back down the wall to retake his seat.
Things are better.
They don't return to their previous levity immediately, however it does continue to relax further and further. Izuku picks up the scissors with trembling fingers and starts moving them, delicately feeling the edge of the blades and snipping the air a few times. He loses a lot of the tension from his shoulders with the growing familiarity. Once, finally, he seems to be comfortable enough, he gives the scissors back to Hizashi, retaking his seat a little gingerly.
The hero is accordingly very careful as he starts to cut the longer hair. He begins at the front of the hair, where Izuku can very clearly see it in the mirror, delicately teasing the curls out and away from the kid's scalp, therefore able to also keep the scissors relatively far away from his scalp as well. The poor baby already has too many scars to get even the tiniest of nicks now.
By the time Hizashi's done, scissors dumped in the sink and loose hair brushed away, Izuku is grinning. It's a genuinely bright smile, the most enthusiastic expression they've seen on the kid this whole time, and he reaches up to ruffle at the longer hair.
The collar of the kid's shirt slips in this, and Hizashi, happening to glance down with his attention caught by the movement, gets a glimpse of bandages wrapped around their chest, but he doesn't push or question it. Not for now. No, he simply grabs at their rather large medical kit whilst he's putting his haircutting things away anyway.
"If you've got any injuries that you'd rather not let us treat, lil' one, feel free to make use of whatever you might need from in here, kay?" Izuku hesitates a little, stuttering in place,
"Oh, uhm, thank you?"
"Of course!" Hizashi smiles, soft and bright all at once,
"Holler if you want or need anything."
The hero steps out then in his husband's wake, pulling the door ajar with a final offer to do whatever he wants with the door, leaving Izuku to his own devices.
Izuku, for his part, can't help but to continue staring at himself in the mirror. The haircut makes his face look less round, although with how little he's eaten in the last six months (and even long before then-) that has undoubtedly contributed too. But it feels like being able to see a tiny glimpse of himself, regardless of the dirt and bloody half-smiling lips and oil-spill eyes (star-spun, as the heroes would have said it-), dark as ever yet with hints of something so very bright.
He almost feels good for once. However though, he knows that he'll feel far, far better if he has his first hot shower for in quite a long time, and so he starts paying attention to the settings for the shower and the products on the shelves. Blockading the door with a chair as best he can, he tries to gather up his courage.
His courage eventually built up enough, hands shaking but breathing steady, he turns the shower on and starts shucking his clothing, folding it very carefully. It's almost everything he owns in the world at this point.
Then Izuku gets to his bandages. He wads up the frankly gross wrappings, refusing to look down at himself (he hates his body, scars and dirt and worse, but at least he can like his hair now; the rasp of it under his palm feels a little like being himself for what might be the first time-) and steps into the shower. It's probably too hot, his skin pinking, lungs just as tight as when when bandaged, steam thick in his throat, but it's a good feeling all the same, watching dirt and grime and grease flood down the drain. He relishes in even the very small amount of raspberry-scented shampoo that he starts working through his hair, very glad for how little of a tangled mess it is now, thanks to Hizashi-san.
He makes as quick a work of the shower as possible, because Eraser- Shouta-san said not to worry about the water or products or time and patience, yet Izuku knows that he isn't worth wasting those things on himself.
So he hurries through his shower, after the initial soaking, and can't help but smile at how genuinely soft the grey towel is. Rewrapping his chest and applying antibiotic cream to his freshest wounds doesn't take much time. (And he has long-since learnt that medical supplies are one thing to never not take full advantage of; losing what must have been at least three of four days to a fever once had been more than enough of a lesson.) And then he's putting on the clothing left out for him. The hoodie is massive, completely swallowing his hands, gaping at the collar, and far too baggy around the majority of his thighs. It smells of sweet-sharp raspberry and mellow sandalwood, maybe hints of something like coffee and cats and citrus beneath it all, and Izuku can't help but nuzzle down into the thick fabric of the collar, breathing deeply there.
It's a scent that could become home, some part of him idly thinks, for all that the rest of him refuses to so much as acknowledge the thought.
The basketball shorts that go with the hoodie are big enough to brush well beneath his knees, assuredly a deliberate choice on Shouta-san's part and one that Izuku appreciates.
Moments later though, that fact is forgotten in the wake of Izuku gasping as he looks up from fiddling with the drawstring of the shorts, unable to fully contain his excitement because there are fluffy socks.
He's been so envious of kids with fluffy socks for a long time now, since long before he and his Mama couldn't stay at home anymore. And these ones even have the little rubbery patches on the bottom, and they look like cat paws! Sure, the socks are far too big, just like everything else, but Izuku couldn't care less as he envelopes his feet (one toe is hacked short, ugly and stumpy, the other deeply scarred, both poorly healed-) in the fluffiness, wriggling his toes and giggling under his breath with how the rubber toebeans stick slightly to the tiles. Despite his genuine joy, the boy doesn't dare take too long, so he moves the chair blockading the door (he knows that the heroes could have barged their way in all the same, but every extra barrier is a reassurance; the fact that they haven't even tried to get in is very much a point in their favour-) and peeks out from around the door.
Shouta-san is lying in the middle of the hallway.
He isn't near the door at all; he wouldn't be able to reach Izuku within the first two steps of standing up, but he's immediately paying attention to Izuku, dark eyes warm with concern and curiosity, taking in the damp hair and oversized clothing with no less of that warmth.
"You alright, kid?"
"Uhm, yes," he pauses, trying to breathe steadily, forcing down how he itches to cower or lash out, just anything to protect himself, because he shouldn't need to do that right now. In lieu of any of that, he shifts his feet, grounding himself in the tacky catch of the movement.
"Thank you." And his oh-so quiet gratitude earns a small not-scowl, tender and kind,
"Of course kiddo. Zashi's sorting out our other bedroom for you, if that's alright." Izuku startles, heart staccato-stuttering, because he didn't really think they were going to let him stay. A shower, food maybe, but not to actually stay with them for a night, to have a roof over his head and solid, unbroken walls to protect him from all sides... It's more than Izuku has had for a long time, even just for a few hours, let alone an entire night.
(It's one night without clutching a brick, arms as his pillow and abandoned structures or alleys his meagre safety, hunger clawing at his guts the same way that drunks and territory rivals and bigots do if they catch him.)
"Really?" he asks, not quite intending to say the word but it's already spilled out all by itself, tripping with a kick-teeth abruptness over his tongue.
"No question about it," Shouta shoots back, just as quick,
"You deserve to both be and feel safe, understood?" No, Izuku doesn't really understand. And for all that he nods an agreement anyway, he's fairly sure that the scrunching of Shouta-san's eyebrows means that the hero doesn't quite believe him. Not fully at least.
Despite this, he doesn't call Izuku out on it. The man just nods, scowl subtle and undirected enough for Izuku not to fear having angered him, easily distracted from either way given how the hero levers to his feet, the cat on his stomach (one that Izuku had barely noticed, let alone truly registered, with how carefully he had been analysing the hero's posture and facial expressions-) meowing as it leaps away, only to come and twine between Izuku's ankles.
He freezes for a long moment, half hating the sensation of something pressed to his ankles (it's like being held down again, a knife to his foot and ugly expression above-) except he also kind of loves it because there's fluffy warmth pressing into the gap between the long shorts and the pooling-at-his-ankles socks, a gentle purr reverberating right up through him.
Izuku has made friends with stray cats once or twice before, been able to brush his hand briefly over their flanks, but he hasn't had a cat be so blatantly affectionate with him, particularly not one with a soft coat and no scars or blood tainting their fur.
"Her name's Biscuit." The low tone startles Izuku a little, but not badly so. In fact, it's just enough to have him daring to lean down, very conscious of how his damp curls on the top of his head shift over his forehead. (But they're no longer than that, and this in itself is such a big difference to what he once had to put up with.)
She- Biscuit is soft to the touch, just like she is against his calves, and Izuku barely represses a giggle at the fact, lips tugging into a smile without his thought or intention.
(Shouta, watching this, nearly smiles himself. It's a very sweet sight indeed, to have the kid he found shuddering and spitting defensive analysis, eyes utterly wild, now in his borrowed clothing and half-smiling at the attention of one of their cats. It's very, very adorable, no two ways about it. Shouta would love it to be an every day sight, honestly.)
And it actually does become something close to every day.
Because Izuku stays. When he tries to leave after breakfast the next day, back in his own freshly washed and dried clothing, pausing to kiss Biscuit on the head and very gently pulling on Tea's tail in the way that has her purring furiously, however, Shouta catches him, coffee in hand, and frowns, more than worried to see the kid outside of the genkan, shoes already on his feet.
A conversation follows. One with Hizashi and Shouta resisting the urge to clutch each others' hand for their own stability, because they want to let Izuku stay here long-term, they thought they had made that clear with inviting him into their home in the first place, and now, instead, they find out that he was just genuinely overjoyed to be allowed to stay somewhere safe for even a single night, let alone some sort of permanent basis.
Even after this conversation, after several days of spending time with the kid, one afternoon of taking him out clothes shopping and another morning where they bring him along for their weekly food shop, trying to make sure he doesn't have any allergies or particular dislikes, cooking with him and introducing him to the cats, it still takes four days for Izuku to actually approach them first. It takes him four days to leave the room they've given him without a prompt from them to do so, and he does so with shuffling steps and a ducked head, eyes darting around the living area.
Noticing all of this, Shouta and Hizashi don't react at all, not wanting to scare the kid off, except for Hizashi's short chirp of greeting,
"Hi there, lil' one!" Izuku pauses a moment longer, shuffling his feet, and raises a hand in a jerky wave that Shouta can only just see from how he's tilted his head back upon Hizashi's lap,
"Uhm, hi."
He lingers then, hesitating, and neither of them say anything for a long minute, except Shouta does move his legs so that they're pulled up, knees bent, cat-socked toes digging into the gap between the sofa cushions. It's a blatant, if tacit, invitation.
And it takes a few minutes, ones wherein both of them return to their previous tasks, trying not to pressure the kid, but he moves. It's another shuffle, achingly hesitant, and he rounds the back of the sofa with it, keeping out of Hizashi's reach, only to pause again at the opposite end, staring down at the deliberately empty cushion.
"Is-" his voice wavers, gives in, and he takes a deep breath, both Shouta and Hizashi looking at him now, doing their best to show that they're listening. That he'll be heard. Whether it's that fact or some part of his own determination that gives Izuku the strength to speak up again, neither of them now, but they're grateful for it all the same:
"Is it really okay to sit with you?" He's so blatantly tentative, nervous even though he can smile and giggle with them during dinner times now, and it breaks both of their hearts just a little, spider-web cracks shuddering right through them.
Shouta regains his words first, and there's only the faintest of wavers beneath his warmth,
"You're always welcome to, kid. Any part of our home is yours too." Izuku blinks once, hard, and doesn't have a chance to even try and put together a reply of his own before Hizashi is shifting slightly, garnering his attention before speaking up,
"What Shou said. We're happy to have you with us, lil' one, Izuku, no two ways about it, ya hear?"
"I- I hear."
There's a single breath of stillness then, a tableau of hope carved upon troubled pasts, and it's achingly bittersweet upon their tongues.
Eventually, Izuku breaks it in a way he hasn't yet dared to, and he steps up to the front of the cushion, sitting down so as to perch on the very edge of it.
"I haven't had a roof over my head in three years," he murmurs, the admission whispered like a prayer and confession all in one, pained either way,
"Not a proper one. It's... odd." Well, if their hearts were beginning to break before then they're shattered right-through now.
Shouta, once more, breaths through the vicious pain echoing through his chest, resisting the urge to sit up and draw the kid close because this is their precious Problem Child.
But it's also their darling, too-clever kid who has learnt to be skittish and scared, so Shouta doesn't drag him into a tight hug. No, he makes do with eye contact, bleeding as much of his care into his gaze as he can,
"It's deserved, kid, more than. You don't need to earn it, you don't need to pay for it, you deserve it. We want to give it to you." Izuku doesn't gasp or protest or smile, no, his shoulders simply hitch once,
"Oh." Hizashi offers up a bitter-soft smile, unfailingly kind,
"We're just happy to have you safe with us, lil' one, ya know?"
"I... I don't think I understand," he admits, a pained sort of smile of his own creeping in that resonates with the men far too well,
"But- But thank you."
"You don't need to yet, it'll come with time. And it's no problem, kiddo."
"Of course, baby!"
It still takes a fair few minutes, but Izuku begins to settle on the sofa then. First, he shifts back a little, all the way until the back of his knees are pressed to the side of the cushion, spine still painfully straight. It can't be comfortable.
But the men leave him to it, both quite sure (and correctly so, because Izuku's heart is thundering right now, regardless of the fact that they've very much reassured him that he's welcome and wanted-) that it would only distress him further, and this patience pays off in how the kid eventually sinks against the back of the sofa, seeming to melt into it. His short hair sticks up slightly at the back where it's pressed to the upholstery. More than that though, there's a joy in the way that his expression goes slack, a mile of bloody tension unspooling from his shoulders, and how he curls up slightly, feet coming up to press against the arm of the sofa, his body turning towards the heroes, and his attention switches the telly too, Shouta and Hizashi both rather glad that they were watching a random romcom rather than some action or gory thing.
And eventually, minute by minute, Izuku's head starts to droop, snapping up to rub at his eyes or rough over his freckles every so often.
It's adorable.
Hizashi's soft expression brings Shouta almost as much joy as the fact that Izuku came to sit with them in the first place. But neither of those match up to how, when Izuku finally seems to swap dozing for actual sleep, he slumps to the side, cheek atop Shouta's knees, warm, bony chest pressed along his shins.
After a long minute where Shouta barely dares to breathe, Hizashi's thighs tense beneath his head as well, a little hand shifts, fingertips twisting into the hem of Shouta's trousers. This kid, honestly.
"He's sweet, isn't he?" The whisper is more than tender, and Shouta's heart swells with it, his own words undoubtedly reflecting that endeared warmth,
"Very."
"We're going to keep him." It sounds like it should be a question, but it very much is not. Good thing Shouta agrees.
"We are."
(And they do. They take this child in, one who's broken and scarred and oh-so strong, and they love him with all that they have. They give him a home where he can be himself, where his Quirklessness becomes an advantage as much as a curse, where he no longer has to fear cold nights or hunger or how to get a job with no education. Izuku is their child, now and forever, no two ways about it. None of them could want any more from what started with bricks in hands and stars in the sky, scissors put down and fluffy socks given. It grows into love, following their hearts to find each other, to find home.)