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They had signed for the place six months ago. It was a walk-up on the third floor whose building was old enough to have fought in a world war. Sun-bleached wood floors that somehow barely creaked, a decently sized kitchen, and two bedrooms even though they only needed one.
“You’re barely even fucking touching it!”
But, the apartment wasn’t exactly the main focus. Their wedding had been six months ago as well.
“It’s a weird angle! Just...just turn it on it's...ah okay nevermind nevermind nevermind you were right. Shit."
They didn’t even have a bedframe till about a month in. Which, you know, was expected. People deserved to take their time to move into a new place. They were still fresh-faced college grads. They could have lived just fine without the bedframe for a month. Less so a mattress...
“People do this shit every day.”
“Right yeah. Professionals, Kacchan. Professionals do this shi-”
“Now!”
They had handled the bed thing by month three due in part to a partially ignored college housing move out date. The graduation came and went. He was the valedictorian, cause of course he fucking was. His dad had called his gift of a 78-piece pots and pans set his three-in-one. A conjoined wedding-graduation-housewarming gift that founds its home in the middle of their living room floor for two months straight.
“If you just broke the fucking leg I swear to God-”
“YOU DIDN’T WARN ME!”
They started to put real effort into the place after four months.
“Ah- wait. Wait! The fuck are you doing?”
They didn’t go furniture shopping until month five despite gathering an accidental hoard of knick-knacks and wall décor. Most of which ended in various mothers' garages or their own spare room. Tchotchkes that were dropped off in rushed shifts, or shoved through the door and left just past the genkan when their landlord thought to schedule a repainting and fumigation in the same week. They'd spent their "Honeymoon" couch surfing between friends and family. Nothing was more romantic than arguing about shitty storage solutions like an old married couple as newlyweds in their twenties with nothing to store in the first place.
“I’m just checking something.”
“You almost broke my fucking hand to…what? Check Twitter?”
“Ochaco texted me, she had a doctor's appointment today.”
They signed for the place six months ago, and the couch finally arrived that morning.
Shouto had noticed the deliverymen first, for better or for worse. He perched himself on the balcony minutes after the ' Your delivery will arrive today' email arrived. He had done the same waiting game like a ritual for each scheduled and delayed delivery for everything added to their shared space. From the small Princess Mononoke Ghibli figurine that watched over their living room from her spot on the acacia coffee table. To the new smeg fridge that barely filled the chasm left behind from the ancient oversized and broken thing that was there during the tour but vanished by their move in date.
Some took longer than others to arrive. Bypassing the promised early morning window and being dropped off somewhere in the mid-afternoon to the evening. Shouto would stare, betrayed, anytime he saw something fully constructed and set in its place. The thankfulness at Katsuki being a fucking amazing and attentive husband who would do anything for him wouldn't kick in for about two hours. He would never ask openly for Katsuki to take the damn thing apart to let him do it. But, the look with those big ol' eyes and mockingly heartbroken voice almost talked him into it every damn time.
Shouto liked the building part of the process. He loved treating them like oversized puzzles to keep his brain occupied while sitting on the floor of their living room.
It's not something Katsuki would openly admit to (Get him drunk enough and he won't stop admitting it) but he'd always fall in love just that much more watching him do it. Something so monotonous and domestic as sitting crosslegged with a subtle pout in thought, hunched over a sheet on instructions the size of a rug. Sometimes he'd join him, but if Shouto said he had it under control, then Katsuki just had to believe him. From one perfectionist to another.
But there Shouto was, just as sickeningly domestic and sweet in his usual spot on the balcony. His glasses sat atop his head and his feet were tucked underneath him on the folding bench. He'd sip absently on the tea Katsuki had made him an hour before, rewarmed three times over.
That morning, Katsuki had joined him in his delivery day ritual. Content to feel the warmth and talk just to hear their two sleep graveled voices mingling together. Shouto always listened so intently. Nodding along with his attention spent more on his husband than the road up towards their street despite the intended job of being the lookout. And, Katsuki was the exact same, watching the way Shouto's eyes lit up when he talked about the kids he taught or a particularly nice coffee he had.
Had it been anyone else with their attention on him wholly for anywhere from five minutes to thirty at a time he’d bristle under the contact and push them away. But, it was Shouto. His Shouto. All pink-lipped smiles, stolen band t-shirts, and perceptive nods that had his hair falling back into his eyes. The length of his exposed leg, skin soft and cool to the touch against his own. Katsuki would mess absently with the fraying edges of the shorts Shouto had claimed were his favorite pajamas since middle school. Unwilling to give them up at this point, they clung around his thighs and had grown even shorter over the years they had known each other with small cuts for release and alterations. Katsuki swore he saw more of those shorts than the actual pajamas sets Shouto had insisted on buying. The silky ones with buttons or cat patterned fleece.
Those were the ones that found their home in the wooden cubed storage containers they had argued over months ago. Stacked neatly in their bedroom.
It was Shouto's little morning delivery ritual plus Katsuki’s absolute adoration for him that got them in this fucking mess in the first place.
The delivery bastards and their barely there knocks only made their presence known when the muffler on the truck sputtered rounding the corner off their little street. The packages were thankfully there as Katsuki would have killed someone over another delayed Muji delivery. But their orders had been abandoned.
Left on the front lawn of their three-story walk-up was: the bookshelf, still neatly deconstructed and wrapped in packing paper and an unholy amount of bubble wrap. And the couch.
But no, they couldn't have gotten a normal couch. One that would look like it was floating in the middle of their fucking apartment. With its oversized living space compared to the bedrooms, both just large enough to fit queen beds and a side table. They had to have marked out each space they wanted pieces to fit in perfectly. They. No, it was Katsuki's fault. He could admit that shit but that's only because his husband, the love of his fucking life, thought just winging it on the size would have been a good idea.
In retrospect, anything would have been better than a three-piece 8-foot-long sectional if he had known they wouldn't bring it up themselves.
Katsuki and Izuku had been at it for two hours with breaks. Breaks that were insisted upon by Shouto when they both refused his help so they didn't exhaust themselves in the middle of a stairwell. Not that he couldn’t have called any of his other friends to help him handle it. Hell, he wouldn’t have called anybody. He would have spent the next twelve hours pulling each piece up the stairs if he had it his way.
No, Shouto had called him. Bastard was there before Katsuki was even done staring the sectional down with his hands on his hips as if fear would have the thing run up the steps itself.
They got the smaller pieces done with no more fanfare than a jammed thumb. The last section was the biggest, taking up the size of an average three-person couch. It didn't come with the benefit of any arms or leather grips towards the base. Just awkward handholds towards the back that were fucking useless within the thin-walled closed staircase.
They were only two steps from being done with this shit, the third-floor landing no more than a foot away, and the bastard had to drop his side just to check on his little girlfriend.
“The fuck happened to cheeks?" Katsuki groaned with the weight of the couch as he eased the leg onto the lip of the last step.
“A scare," Izuku said it like it was the most obvious fucking thing in the world, an almost giddy smile on his face as he tapped out a response. "I mean it's...not really a scare if you're trying but tests were coming out weird so-”
"Aeh-" Katsuki nearly gagged as he held a hand out, blocking his brother's face from his view. "No. Changed my mind. I don't wanna hear it. Never say that in front of me again."
Deku's shoulders slumped, not that Katsuki was looking. He could never look at him again. He always hated the phrase trying and he especially didn't wanna hear that shit from him.
"I mean it, Kacchan," Izuku defended himself, thumbs still flying like lightning over the screen. "She's wanted this forever...I kinda want it too. I do want it too."
It took too long for the reality of that statement to land. "Yeah, sure I get that," Katsuki criticized, "But that doesn't mean I gotta hear about it, okay? Whatever the fuck you and Ochaco got going on doesn't-" It came out harsher than he intended, but he made no move to take it back as Izuku had already taken the sign to continue.
"I mean, I'm good with kids." He insisted, finally pocketing his phone. His thoughts already running at a mile a minute. His side of the couch was long forgotten in his act to prove to Katsuki that this was a good idea he swears.
Law school students, man.
"I'm great with kids," Izuku continued, crossing his arms over his chest now and leaning against the banister. "I could probably use some practice when it comes to really little babies but, Hanta’s girl is still really little. So, she counts. I know he and Denki could use all the babysitters they can get, so I can probably always ask them if I needed to get a better hang of it.”
"And now I'm hearing it," Katsuki huffed his exertion as he pulled his side up until the leg was caught on the lip of the top step. He made quick work squeezing himself past the front end of the couch to take over for Izuku's understandable disinterest.
"I still had that," Izuku interrupted his own thoughts as Katsuki shouldered him out of the way and braced his hands against the face of the couch.
"No, you didn't."
He shoved it with brute force up another step, using the chips in aged wood as grip.
"I mean," And Izuku kept fucking talking, but he made an effort to assist. Turning backward and gripping the bottom of the couch from behind to lift as Katsuki pushed. “I really love those guys, but I feel like they could use the help. Wait, that sounded bad. I just mean that I could offer help if or when they need it. I know Shouto does that any chance he can too so it's not like it's a big deal."
"Yeah, Sho's been kinda obsessed with the kid but it's not like we're really think- " He stopped himself, caught in his own bullshit lie.
It wasn't like he owed Deku his honesty. The bastard probably wouldn't have heard it anyway, too lost in his own personal spiral. If anything, Shouto had probably told him. Dropped it casually while they both fawned over golden brown eyes and tiny hands. Like it was just an idea and not the biggest fucking decision in their life.
They had been.... thinking about it. Not even in a vague distance sort of thought. It was definite. Placed out somewhere towards the tail end of grad school. When they both had money and steady jobs and didn't have an apartment. But...they got a two bedroom just in case. It wasn't like they could just wake up one day and say Today's the day, let's get a kid. But, it was just that thought. That empty space that they hadn't opened the door since they moved and tossed in all the shit they didn't want to think about. It was Shouto's idea, cause that's what he wanted. And Katsuki's not someone who gets scared. He doesn't back down from anything.
But that...it made him hesitate a little. Not from Shouto. Fuck no. Just from.... life.
So when others just choose one day like it isn't the biggest fucking thing you could do, it doesn't sit right.
"I know all the basics," Izuku kept it up, and Katsuki realized he had missed some vague point in the middle as they got the couch up the last lip and pointed towards the door. They began to turn the couch on its side and flip it onto one of its faces. Both were too familiar with the process on its third pass, like a well-oiled machine. The weight barely even slowed him down as they slid it through the door and onto the waiting carpet. "Like changing diapers, burping, whatever. I even learned the little trick where you just kinda rub their little forehead until they fall a-"
"Deku," Katsuki spit as they finally got the last piece of this six-hundred-pound puzzle into its rightful space. "Shut the fuck up about kids for a second."
Izuku only relented because of the exhaustion that came with trying to carry on a rambled conversation with himself. He sat on the corner edge of the sectional and let himself fall back onto it. Arms reached out like he regretted his plot moments too late. He sunk into the charcoal black cushions with a sigh.
Katsuki thought it best not to acknowledge Deku. He tended to forget anyone else even existed when Shouto was right there.
Shouto had long since moved on from his pajamas and his spot on the terrace. He cornered himself in the flurry of several flattened cardboard boxes and a fully formed and completely decorated bookshelf. Their combined collection sorted by size and series took up the majority of its acacia shelving. Leaving only small spots for various collectibles whether interest-based or personal. At least one framed picture of the two of them sat on each shelf, all in sleek black frames. Two from their wedding, one from some time at the beach, and a string of photobooth pictures as college students pasted up against a cream board.
Katsuki had blocked off the space with painter's tape months ago, and their wall art bracketed it perfectly with the addition of their overgrown monstera propped on the side table so Clover wouldn’t get to it.
Clover, the happily fat calico whom Shouto treated like she was their daughter, found her new favorite spot beneath the bookshelf. Already having brought errant strips of tape and cardboard down there with her.
Shouto only noticed their presence when Katsuki finally relented and settled down on the couch. Shouto was quick to sit beside him and follow through with what Katsuki hadn't. He kicked his legs up into Katsuki's lap and let his socked feet settle in a crack between the fresh cushions. Shouto still had his glasses pushed up into his bangs like he refused to see clearly if he didn't explicitly need to, and he had dressed in the finest of preschool TA chic. His shirt was sage gray and fit loose with large Heyward-esque bunnies scattered around while the blank spots were filled with small pink and white flowers. The pants, Katsuki had only noticed once he began to absent-mindedly massage his husband's calves, were khaki fleece that hugged at the ankle.
Shouto practically melted back into the couch at the touch, a soft but knowing smile blooming on his face. "You're gonna use this against me later."
It's not said as a question, cause Shouto already knew the answer.
"Course I am," Katsuki smiled back at him wickedly. "What's yours is mine, asshole. You owe me a back rub now."
"Shouldn't it be one for one then?" Shouto countered just for the sake of it, head quirking to the side slightly. "I should be getting a back rub now if you want to get yours later, don't you agree?"
"Fuck no," Katsuki argued, the fire in his voice nonexistent. "And who said anything about later?"
"I have to leave for work in thirty minutes," Shouto reminded him. "That and you're brother is still here. We can plan for something when I get back."
Having to be reminded of Izuku's presence half awake on the same couch only made the other kid-based thoughts shoot to the forefront of his mind again. But, Shouto's hand, reaching forward and combing his fingers through his hair rooted him right back to his spot.
"You know what this means, right?" Shouto whispered, the small smile finally opening up to reveal teeth for a beautiful moment. “We have the couch. No more boxes. That means it’s official. We finally have a home together.”
Shouto's lips were on his without much of a warning, but he was almost certain he started the kiss. A kiss that was interrupted just as fast with another ping of a phone and the clearing of Izuku's throat.
“You got anywhere else to be?” Katsuki called out barely looking over his shoulder to see Izuku finally sitting up once more. "Shoes on the floor? Dude, who the hell raised you?"
"Yeah," Izuku hummed but made no reaction to actually hearing the question. "Yeah, I'll head out, just..." He sunk back into the couch, staring at the ceiling as his head hung over the edge. "Wow."
Shouto's smile dropped as he edged out of Katsuki's lap. "Did something happen at her appointment?"
It didn't surprise him that Shouto knew about...whatever they had going on. Whether it be a kid on the way or attempts turning out to be nothing. The sympathetic look on Shouto's face made it seem like it was the latter.
"No, yeah, we're good. Great. She's Great," Izuku was quick to reassure. "I just...Shouto it's just starting to feel so... real. I mean, you still want kids, right? "
Shouto was already agreeing before Katsuki could even speak up. Most time it was easy to make his presence known. He could speak up in the loudest room on the planet and make them all shut the hell up in an instant. It was just things like this that made him uneasy. Like his brain wasn't hardwired like theirs were to keep up with that shit.
He wanted it. He could fucking admit that. He wanted that life like he needed air in his lungs. It's just...Katsuki wasn't sure he was fit for it. Not like Shouto.
And apparently not like Izuku.
It was shitty, hoping to blame the way they were raised on his apprehension around it. But, there's Deku, almost crying with excitement in the middle of his living room over just the thought of having a kid with the woman he loves.
Katsuki hated it for the same reason he hated saying anything positive about his brother, but he'd make an amazing father if given the chance.
Shouto said the same thing, his hands balanced on Izuku's shoulder in the kitchen, mere seconds later before offering him a drink so as not to dehydrate himself with the tears and the workout.
"Kacchan, you hesitated," Deku mumbled into his glass, his attention split between the two of you.
Of course, the fucker noticed "Who the fuck told you anyway?" He called from the couch, still unwilling to make a move to get up off of it.
"Moms gave you away," Deku laughed, voice still a little wobbly from whatever he had been saying to Shouto a moment before. "I mean, kinda. Shouto did mostly. On multiple occastions. Like a few seconds ago."
"And if I remember correctly, you'd always agree with me," Shouto, the traitor, added. "You also brought it up at our wedding. And during your commencement speech. I think you’re getting soft, Tsuki.”
His counter died on his tongue before he could even say it.
Shouto was right. He had gotten soft, at least for him. And, if he was completely honest with himself, he wouldn't have it any other way. He was soft for Shouto, but it was the addition he was worried about. Someone else stepping in on their dumb delivery day rituals.
"Oh," Izuku cut off his thoughts as he looked over the current state of their fridge. "This is new."
"One of my kids from work!" Shouto beamed, proud of the art gallery that had been made of their fridge. Any other way to describe it would be a disservice. The fridge only remained in its pristine new shape for three months before the art started pooling in. First, it was a paper crown made of shimmery card stock and black scribbles around the points that took up the top face of their fridge when laid flat. Another one was added a day later, this one with red swirls and smiles on the points. Katsuki watched as Shouto reoriented the first so that the two crowns flattened would look like teeth. He then added two swirling black dots. When Katsuki asked, Shouto simply said "Kota thought it needed a face."
Kota, the new art director of their 3,000-dollar fridge, was a 4-year-old terror.
"He's an absolute sweetheart when he wants to be," Shouto insisted, pointing out some of his favorites. "He acts out a lot, but he seems to like and trust me. He gives me little gifts like these all the time. I wish I could do more for him but...his situation isn't the best right now. I'm taking an extra shift just so he doesn't try starting a fight again. He tends not to when I'm there."
'Isn't the best' was a fucking understatement. There were parts of the story that Shouto had always omitted for the kid's safety. His parents had passed away a few years ago and the family friend who had taken him in couldn't support him in the way he deserved because of his meltdowns. She put him in the foster system and the parents who accepted him into their home would barely ever put in the work to get the kid what he needed. The school provided lunch, but Shouto was the one bringing him breakfast and something to take home. If there was even someone to take him home that day.
Deku bid his goodbyes with an encouraging hug from Shouto and a rushed clap on the shoulder from Katsuki.
Shouto stayed in the kitchen. The room only filled with the sound of Clover's soft purring from her spot under the bookshelf and the clinking sound of the glass colliding with his wedding ring every few seconds as he scrubbed. There was an edge to the way Shouto held himself that Katsuki didn't expect. His shoulders were pulled in tight and tense as he spent thirty seconds soaping and rinsing the same cup that had only been used for water. Katsuki got up from his spot on the couch that he had begun to sink into and crossed the room into the kitchen. Into Shouto's space.
Katsuki settled behind him, using one hand to brace on the sink and another one to start working on the knot that had begun to tie Shouto's shoulders back with stress. He started soft, gentle runs of his hand up and down the length of Shouto's spine that only gained weight when he felt the pressure wouldn't shock him out of the almost trance he had begun to fall into. It was a point of pride for Katsuki, knowing how to make Shouto melt at his hands. Knowing when he needed it.
He worked his way up until a low pleased groan slipped out and Shouto’s head dropped forward so his chin hit his chest.
Guess that was the sweet spot.
For a moment they stood like that, Shouto clutching the highball glass with his eyes drooping closed and Katsuki working away at a knot that had no right to be there.
“S’good?” Katsuki hummed, as he continued his work kneading into that spot that sent shivers down his husband's spine. The only response Shouto could manage was setting the glass down a little too hard on top of their drying mat. Something mumbled spilling over his lips.
“What was that, sweetheart?”
“Good.” Another pleased sigh. “ Really good .”
Katsuki pulled his hand back with a small whine from Shouto only to replace it with his lips, soft against the nape of his neck. Shouto reached a hand up and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Lifting it up slightly for better access. Katsuki moved his intention to Shouto's pulse point, licking and nipping on his way there until he settled on the spot where jaw and ear connected. He edged in closer so their bodies stayed flush together, his chest pressed hard against Shouto’s back as he let himself fall back into him.
“You’re really tense.” Katsuki whispered against the shell of Shouto's ear.
Shouto let himself be held for a moment, eyes soft and lids heavy, before letting his hair fall back down and shifting forward until he held his own weight again "And you're really sweaty." He said, still a little breathless.
"Yeah, taking care of you is hard work," Katsuki said, finally stepping away enough to let his head drop to the spot between Shouto's shoulder blades. He could feel his body still loose and warm under him. "You okay?"
"Of course I am."
Katsuki wrapped his arms around Shouto's waist until their bodies were flush again. "You're still thinking about the kid."
“Of course I am,” Shouto repeated, voice too quiet even for their space breadth widths apart. He put real effort into peeling away from him and turning around in their kitchen meant for two. “I love kids. I usually really love the kids in that class. I'm gonna love our kids when... if we have them. He's just a really kind child who has had really bad luck-"
Katsuki doesn’t let himself dwell on the if/when. “But he’s kinda turning into a fucking monster?”
"More of one, I guess." Shouto’s lips thinned into a sad smile and without hesitation, Katsuki pulled his husband back in. His hand rubbed warmth into Shouto's arms while he dropped his head to rest it on Katsuki's shoulder, his arms hugged tightly around him. It’s a simple sort of intimacy that Shouto needs more than Katsuki does. But it’s easy to give when it's him. It's the sort of touch he deserved to have in his own home.
“He’s a familiar face in the after-school program lately," Shouto relented, his voice coming out in warm puffs of air against Katsuki's neck. "Which isn’t necessarily bad of course, parents have jobs. And I love that I can watch them for a little longer but…I haven’t been able to get a hold of them lately. They moved and…they’re still there to pick him up eventually but it’s always late. Kota always starts to give up hope. It's been...a bad few days.”
“Can’t be too bad for him," Katsuki countered, stepping back just enough so he could look Shouto in the dual-toned eyes again. "He fucking worships you.”
Shouto laughed at that. "He's really sweet," he agreed. "The sweetest kid I've ever met."
"But-"
"But nothing," Shouto insisted, pressing a small kiss to Katsuki's jaw. "He actually reminds me of you.”
"S'probably why he likes you so much." Katsuki said, only partially trying to bite back the smile. The rest goes unsaid.
Probably why he's a damn monster too.
"I'll see if he plans on adding anything to our gallery soon," Shouto said, looking back over towards their fridge absolutely drenched with a child's creativity. "We might need to move some of these around. There's room on the walls by the dining table or-"
"Right," Katsuki mocked. "Because we need my moms and Rei to have heart attacks thinking we have a kid the next time they show up uninvited for dinner."
“We might.” It's a joke, Katsuki knew it was. The way Shouto said it was deadpan like getting a kid was something they could just do one day.
“Go to work, asshole,” Katsuki shoved him a little, but Shouto stood his ground. Instead, he still had the soft smile as he looked up at him and stole one more kiss. “Made your lunch. Eat your fucking vegetables this time.”
Shouto shuffled past him and finally pulled the fridge open, going straight for the small cat-patterned bento box and his thermos. "I'll do my best."
Katsuki shut the fridge as Shouto slid by him and started his way towards the door. A picture on thin beige newsprint paper stared back at him from its spot in the center of the fridge. It was of Shouto from a child’s perspective. His head was a soft circle, each side of the bold lined smile was ended with another pair of small curves, and along with the peachy pink tones of his left side, the kid had used a series of pink cat stickers and drew the eye with blue marker overtop crayon.
The kid had an eye for that sort of thing, and he meant it…not nearly as ironically as he thought he had. The art fit seamlessly into their tidy maximalists design like Kota put work into making them only to be put up on their fridge all marked with Kota Age 4 with a reversed K in big blocky print.
Shouto really cared about him.
And Katsuki was starting to as well.
“Sho?”
“Hm?” Shouto looked up at him, eyebrows raised in interest. It’s the first time in a long time that Katsuki actually sees the scar for what it is. Rather than just part of Shouto and all his beauty. But just a kid. A kid going through more than he ever should have. And he came out the best person Katsuki was lucky to meet.
“I think he may just need to burn off some steam.” He knew it wasn't the most eloquent way of putting it. “Punch a few walls. Scream at the top of his lungs.”
Shouto blinked up at him. “He already does those things, Katsuki. He’s 4.”
“Let the kid burn down the house, you know?” This time, Shouto looks at him even more confused than before. Bewildered even. He stood up and met his eyes.
“I work in early childhood education. I…feel like that’s not something I can legally recommend.”
“Not like that,” Katsuki defended himself. “It’s some shit the hag used to say. Not to my fucking face obviously, but to Ma. Or Masaru when she’d drop me off after an… awful fucking week.”
Shouto seemed interested in his explanation. “What does it mean?”
“It’s just…” Katsuki continued, scratching at the back of his neck as he realized he really never asked he just sort of got it. “S he always brought it up when I was feeling kinda trapped. I don’t know why it worked like a fucking cure-all for me every time. Sometimes it’s just as small as…getting a good hit in. Or screaming till your throat gets all torn up. Get out of some shit, scorch the ground on your way out. Never let that happen to you or someone you care about ever again.”
Shouto looked at him, carefully then back towards the door clearly thinking about it. Katsuki sighed and entered Shouto’s space and kissed him one more time. Shouto practically melted into it.
“Go to work,” Katsuki said, voice softer than he thought he could manage. “Tell the kid what I said, or don’t I don’t fucking care. Just…give him the option. May help him out some.”
Shouto nods a little, his voice too steady. “I’ll let him know.”
He thought about calling his mom the whole time Shouto was gone. Fuck, he thought about calling both of them. And that wasn’t something Katsuki ever did. That was Izuku’s thing, calling them at every small crossroad in his life. Once even calling up Ma in the middle of a grocery store when he couldn’t figure out what type of broth to buy cause that was the one thing he forgot to write down when she gave him the recipe months ago type shit.
Katsuki was independent and could figure shit out on his own. He could handle it.
So he wouldn’t call his mom. She’d berate him for the first half about how he never called and by the time that was over, then he wouldn’t even wanna ask the fucking question anymore. He could call his dad since he was the one who had to deal with the better half of the Oh you want me to burn the house down? I’ll fucking do it outburst. Not because he wasn’t a kind and gentle man cause God knows this man couldn’t even hurt a spider if he needed to. Just cause he was the one who let him do it.
With Mom, it was a constant flurry of too much change too fast at that age. They separated young, which wasn’t even the problem since they had been best friends who thought of having a kid together. Artists types with zero physical attraction to each other, but they loved hard and knew their kid would be fucking amazing. But then Ma came along toting Deku right behind her.
Ma’s great. Inko’s fucking amazing and one of the best presences of his life. She taught him how to cook and honestly, Katsuki can admit that skill had a big part in bagging Shouto for life. The way his eyes went all wide when he had cooked for him the first time and he asked for a recipe that he wouldn’t bother to make himself cause Katsuki was always there to make it for him. He could thank her for that. He could thank her for teaching him empathy, that was the kindest way he could think to say that she cried a lot. But fuck, it was a lesson he needed to learn.
But Deku. That’s the fucker's house that he wanted to burn. And he was five, and they were kids, but having so much change so fast felt like fucking whiplash. He put the blame on him for making his dad move away. And taking up half his room. Half his space. Half of their moms’ attention.
He stayed the summer with Masaru the first year. He had begged for months to let it happen as if Masaru wasn’t doing the same. He knew his dad would let him get away with shit, he knew the man couldn’t control him. And that’s what he needed. At six, freedom was a one-bedroom apartment in Shinjuku.
He was still too much when he was with his dad. Screaming, fighting, kicking any chance he got. But his dad let him, and not just let him he encouraged it. He let him get it out of his system. He let him scream and fight until he cried. And then they’d make dinner together and sit down in silence while Masaru just told him he was proud.
It took him until he was in his twenties to realize what that soft bastard was proud of him for.
Fuck, maybe he still didn’t get it. He was lucky. That’s not bad luck, that was a shitty kid given the best fucking chance to be great and he almost ruined it cause…what? He didn’t like sharing attention?
He didn’t deserve the vulnerability that came with fire the way Shouto did. He was the kid who got dealt the wrong hand, but he just played it like it was nothing. He became the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him. Shouto looked at him like he was fucking crazy when he had said it. Like the thought never occurred to him.
Maybe it wouldn’t help everyone, but if Kota was anything like him, then maybe it could.
Katsuki pushed his laptop to the side, his browser still open to one of the hundreds of articles he had read through about helping kids with Big Feelings. His eyes ached with over-exertion after reading page after page after page of articles on early childhood development and mommy blogs with a too-light typeface overlayed on cutesy pink backgrounds. None of it was getting to his head anymore, he didn’t even really know what made him so dedicated to try for this kid he never even met.
The new couch of their officially moved in apartment sat against the wall perpendicular to the kitchen. Giving him the clearest view of the art fridge in the whole place. The school year had only started three short months ago, but the thing was damn near overtaken by projects big and small. The newsprint Shouto with his markered eyes and cat stickers stuck out to him.
Maybe he would call his dad and figure out some sort of plan to help Kota. The most he had done so far would be packing an extra slice of a sandwich he made for Shouto’s lunches cause he knew Sho always shared half with the kid. But he could do more. At this point, he felt like he had to.
Especially if Shouto was right and said the kid was like him. Probably best to save him before he gets to himself.
Katsuki finally stood up from the couch, the glorious fucking couch. The two-month delivery window and the soreness he will inevitably feel tomorrow almost felt worth it. He let his spine adjust to being upright again, and noticed that the sun had begun to set. He crossed into the kitchen, glancing at the time on the oven as he went to his phone abandoned on the counter since that afternoon.
He didn’t have the chance to fully register that it had been five hours before he noticed the six missed calls and his finger flew to redial without a second thought.
Shouto picked it up on half a ring, his voice was a little sickeningly sweet compared to the bile and panic that had risen in his own throat. “Hi!” It was just slightly higher pitched than natural, and a little slower. He picked his words carefully. “I’m glad you picked up. I was wondering…if…you were okay with us having a guest over tonight.”
The panic still sat high in Katsuki’s chest, but was now mixed in with confusion. “Sho, what the fuck are you-”
“I’m on speaker phone, my love,” It’s said a little quick before there’s a crinkling sound with muffled voices. One was Shouto, his tone different and more clear points of enunciation and emotion in the way he spoke. The other was small and rushed. “We’re on our way home, but we decided to get food first because it has been…” Shouto nearly chokes up on the last word but composes himself just as fast. “It’s been another bad day. But it’s fine. We can turn it around, right Kota?”
He could hear the kid on the other side, saying something sharp and cutting to Shouto. Katsuki could barely make it out but with the way Shouto had talked of him, he doubted the kid was even talking about Shouto in the comment he made.
“Yeah, it’s okay. It’s fine… What happened?”
“Like I said,” Shouto hummed. “Another bad day. I love you, we’ll be home soon.”
Soon was relative, Katsuki realized about an hour later when he saw Shouto’s car pull up as he stepped out onto the balcony.
He watched as Shouto climbed out of the car, closing the door with control as not to slam it. He sped his way towards the backseat and swung the door open before kneeling down out of sight for what felt like a lifetime. Katsuki could barely make out their voices, too soft over the rustling of wind through the trees. Shouto stood from his spot with their guest sitting on his hip. A small, smaller than expected, child with thick dark hair and ruddy chubby cheeks. His face was pressed hard against Shouto's neck and Katsuki swore he could make out the glisten of tear streaks from there. Black rain boots and a red flat-brimmed hat with horns poking out from the front were clutched in the hand Shouto used to keep the kid from falling. He had a fist-full of Shouto's once pressed neat shirt, crumpled in his fist.
The only part Katsuki could make out clearly was a tiny voice, shaking with anger.
“Don’t make me go home.”
Shouto looked up at Katsuki, still leaning over the banister of their small iron balcony, and held up a heavy plastic bag dripping with the token grease of takeaway in the other hand. “I got us dinner.” He said, just loud enough to not shock the overtired preschooler leaning into his chest.
And a fucking toddler. Katsuki almost called back.
Maybe it was Katsuki's own misunderstanding of childhood milestones, but Kota was little. Smaller than he thought he'd be. A little skinny around the rest of his body, clothes hanging off a little too loose. He looked small up against Shouto's body as well, his legs dangling down barely clearing Shouto's hips and his hands looked four times smaller in his husband's grip.
Anger burned at his throat as he rushed into the apartment and down the stairs to meet them. Mostly anger. Everything else in his mind blurred somewhere behind his eyes at the thought of what could have possibly happened to lead to this.
He thought back to the messages he finally had the chance to look over, and how most were half-formed statements that Shouto must have sent in-between moments of caring for Kota and talking with the school’s principal.
Icy (17.31): 2 hours thirty minutes over again
Icy (18.45): Called them four times. Answer when you can
Icy (18.50): Principal knows. The caseworker knows. I’m his only emergency contact.
All were short and clipped with barely any explanation but Katsuki wasn’t a fucking idiot. It happened again, and this time they had no choice but to have Shouto take him home.
Katsuki did his best to help settle Kota into this new space, but his best wasn’t shit compared to this whirlwind of a kid. Shouto hadn’t exaggerated. He was a lot like him. In all of his fiery looks in Katsuki’s direction, reaching out and tugging random pieces from their bookshelf, kicking and screaming anytime Shouto even thought about putting him down. Kota held tight onto Shouto, his little arms wrapped around him and his eyes wide and a little angrier than he thought a four-year-old was capable of. Like if Shouto put him down it would be breaking the last amount of trust he had for him.
Trust he sure as fuck didn’t have for Katsuki.
They were already two crotch kicks and one declaration of war deep by the time dinner started. Kota sat at the table to Shouto's right, his chair impossibly close to him despite refusing his teacher's offer to just sit in his lap. The kid sat stunningly quiet, staring down the four gyoza on his plate with his arms pulled tight across his chest. He hadn't said a damn thing since they gathered books to be his booster seat and sat him at the table. Instead, choosing to speak through various points and pouts or looking up at Shouto with eyes so wide Katsuki was sure he'd drown in them. They had been smart halfway through plugging Shouto's phone into a speaker and filling the space with soft piano music that clearly he nor their guest was fond of. But it was a million times better than the silence.
No one warned Katsuki about kids being quiet.
"Kota?" Shouto was the one to break the weighted silence, and Kota looked up at him like he was the moon itself. Just as thankful to hear a calm voice as Katsuki had been. It was still weird, hearing the ' teacher voice' come out of him. More empathy was packed into every word than Katsuki could manage in a day. Even he felt himself leaning into it. "C'mon, love. You're good here, you can eat."
"How long do I get to stay?" Kota dropped his hands from his chest and gripped tight onto the edge of the table.
"Well, we're not sure yet," Shouto spoke, careful as he let his hand run over the curve of Kota's head, ruffling the thick head of dark hair. "But, we're trying to make every second as good as we can. You just have to eat dinner first. If you don't like that we can find you something else."
When that didn't work, Shouto sent a desperate look Katsuki's way, as if he could somehow solve it. This was out of his league, the gentle sort of kindness that Shouto could give so easily. The way he cared for Kota like he was his own. His soft voice and easy speech. That wasn't something Katsuki could just do.
But, Shouto looked desperate, so he tried. Katsuki leaned forward in his seat, bracing his elbows against the table. "We're not gonna let you starve, okay?" Shouto's sigh from the left of him should have been the sigh to tone it down. Yet, for the first time that night, Kota spoke to him.
"And who the hell are you?"
"Who the hell am-" Katsuki choked on his words. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, he felt like that would be the wrong reaction. He figured the little bastard had a mouth on him if Shouto's connection had been accurate. The fact that this kid came in guns blazing and considered him his mortal enemy was impressive. But what was more impressive was, that Katsuki got it.
The little brat was asking his name. "Bakugou. Katsuki. I'm married to the pretty teacher you keep clinging to. I've heard from about 16 different little kids that Shouto calls me Mr. Tsuki when talking to you guys so it's probably what you're more used to," He said, trying not to react to the scowl melting into a pout than an understanding nod. " It's my house just as much as it is his. But, kid, we know you wanna be here, okay? So maybe try acting like it."
"I talk about him all the time," Shouto agreed, watching as Kota shifted in his seat and finally began to pick at his food. Less so pick more so stab at it with a spoon until the juice leaked out all over the plate. "We called him after talking to Sosaki. I'm supposed to be getting a call from her soon if you want to say hi."
"Don't wanna." Kota was quick to say. Still stabbing at his masterpiece. "She's gonna make me go back. They're all mean especially her. "
"Kota, she just wants what's best for-"
The mashed gyoza and the ceramic plate hit the hardwood floor and shattered before Shouto could finish a sentence. The waterworks started up again soon after.
The night went on like that. All highs and lows. Highs were just Shouto. Shouto holding him on his hip and giving him a little tour of their house. Pointing out every small detail until the furrowed brow only melted into a small pout. Kota would still act up anytime Katsuki was close, but these times he'd actually use his name when he'd try to kick at him. Which, if anything, just made this unspoken vendetta Kota took on feel more personally. But, if that was the case, then fine. So fucking be it. But what he couldn't handle, was why. Why this kid? Why this night? Why Shouto couldn't bring him home until they got the call and why did the kid hold on to him like he was his lifeline?
Katsuki had ideas, too many ideas for his own good. All that would lead to hunting down the bastards that did this to him
The monster had been momentarily tamed with pats to Clover's head before she ran off to hide in the spare room. The peaceful but weighted silence fell back into their apartment and Katsuki watched the look on Kota's face when he saw the fridge door gallery as he washed their plates.
It had to have been every piece the kid had made his entire time at the school all crammed together, each one lapping over the other. All taped together so that none of the icy blues of the fridge could break through the shield of craft paper and glitter glue.
Kota looked at it, his little hands tense by his sides. "Why'd you do that?" He questioned Shouto, following his eyes as Shouto knelt down beside him.
"Well, you made them for me. You wanted me to have them" He reasoned. "I thought they'd all look pretty up here. Why? You don't like them anymore?"
Kota shook his head hard. "They're stupid."
"Where'd that come from?"
"They are!" This time it was louder, his voice edging into a whine. A sign of another screaming match building up. "And they were only for YOU. Not for him. Not for anyone else!"
"Kota I like them. When I like things I like having the people who I care about see them?"
There's barely any time between that and his screaming again. Something they had gotten more than used to in the span of one night. The howling, and kicking they could handle. Had been handling. Katsuki went to step up, in hopes of maybe calming the kid down before it became another thing. He could take it, Kota always aimed his blows at him anyway. He was the stranger not to be trusted.
Then the clawing started. He reached forward at the sheets of paper wrapped over their fridge and dug into the small spaces with bitten-down nails, and pulled. And pulled. And pulled.
The screaming didn't stop, now spilling into desperate coughs as he tore down his own work.
Katsuki watched Shouto then, his mouth a little open in surprise and breath held high in his chest. As if he was forcing himself to breathe while Kota took apart one of his favorite parts of the apartment. Of his home.
"Hey, hey," Shouto said, voice still tight and clearly hurt as he hand on the back of Kota's shoulder and a hand on his chest in an attempt to ease the meltdown away. He wouldn't raise his voice. That wasn't something Shouto did, nor was it something he was taught. It was something he was forced to take and handle every day as a child, yet he still chose to be gentle. To be quiet. “It's okay. It's alright. We can make more if you want. we can always have more. I can find some paper or-"
Kota shook his head hard through his hiccuped sobs, three months' worth of work had been clawed and peeled away from their fridge. Sheets pasted together fell away like palms bowing down, exposing the pristine slate underneath.
"You have to tell me what's wrong." Shouto still knelt beside him, putting his hands back down by his side when Kota pulled away again. "If not the pictures you have...cleaned up for us."
Nothing.
"Do you want some space?"
"Leave me alone"
"Okay," Shouto relented easily and stood up again. "But we can't leave you in the kitchen. Will you go to the couch and sit there until we come back?"
Kota looked at the both of them, eyes a little shocked. Like he hadn't expected that reaction. Like he hadn't anticipated Shouto not fighting back.
He nodded as he looked down at his mess. All three of them saw it at the same time. The soft face Shouto with kitten stickers and smile lines had gotten the brunt of it. Most had gotten a corner or two ripped from tape still keeping its hold. But that was the one Kota had aimed for, the thin paper was ripped down the middle. The second half floated off to God knows where probably underneath the bowing sheet of Kota art. Under Kota's foot was the left side, all red and pink and kitten covered. The corners were knicked while tears and crumbles distorted the image.
"That one was my favorite," Shouto pointed out his voice level, deep, the teacher-like empathy having been lost for the moment. Leaving behind that unintended cold that Katsuki loved more than life itself, but that Kota had never heard before. Even still, he offered his hand for Kota to take and walked him to the couch. "Wait here. Don't go back into the kitchen, we want you to be safe."
Katsuki wasn't even sure if it could have been considered a time-out in the classic sense. But Katsuki followed where Shouto tugged him towards and closed the door to their bedroom behind them.
Katsuki made the effort to flick the lights on as Shouto went to sit on the edge of their bed. The closet was a mere three feet away or so away from his face that had been lit by the open window.
"Baby?" Katsuki asked as he leaned against the closet door in front of him. "Tell me what actually happened." The adrenaline had long since faded into bone-deep exhaustion he could tell they both felt. He was still keyed up from the meltdown, but every fiber of his being wanted to be back out there with the kid again. Even if it was more of that weighted silence or quick talk-backs. Or the screams. He hated having to leave him alone for a moment, and he was certain Shouto did too. Cause kids didn't just react like that. There had to have been something.
Shouto sat in silence, his eyes locked with Katsuki's as if he was searching him for the right words. "They just forgot."
"S'bullshit and you know it."
"That has been what's said to me every single goddamn time," Shouto agreed with a nod, his voice on the verge of cracking. "They forgot. And they just keep forgetting."
“The hell are they doing with him anyway?" Katsuki asked, pushing himself off the wall and instead choosing to sit by Shouto. He put his hand on his back, rubbing comforting circles until Shouto let himself slouch into them and breathe easier. "You can’t just forget about a fucking kid like that. Especially not one like Kota little brat makes sure he’s heard.”
“Only in school," Shouto breathed, letting his eyes close so angry tears would lose their fight to spill over. "You've seen how quiet he gets. He doesn’t say much of anything at home.”
“Did they hurt him?”
“No, not physically. Or else you would have killed them already.”
Katsuki didn't fight Shouto on that cause he was right. He would have. Instead, he focused on listening to him. To someone who understood more than he ever could. Cause for a time, Shouto was that kid.
He hated remembering that.
"Nothing ever happens," Shouto continued. "No change. Just this cycle that keeps throwing Kota to the side. He's the sweetest kid who deserves so much more and he knows we could give it to him."
That was it. The anger, the fits, the art on the fridge.
Kota knew they could give him the world, but that they chose not to.
It was their house that he wanted to burn. He wasn't angry at his foster parents for forgetting about him. He wasn't angry at Sasaki for putting him with them. He was angry at dinner. The car ride. For Katsuki talking to him in a way that he understood and Shouto holding him like it was the easiest thing in the world. The kid was devastated because it was perfect, and he knew he'd have to leave.
Fuck that kid is a lot like me.
Shouto's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he grabbed it just to stare at the screen. It was dull in the light of the room, reading a string of nonsensical numbers that he had been trying to reach all day.
"That's her, right?" Katsuki asked, pulling him in a little closer.
"Yes, she's supposed to patch me through to his foster parents," Shouto said, voice a forced level. "I just wanted them to know they could pick him up in the morning, but now I never want Kota to have to wait for them again."
Scorch the ground on your way out. Never let that happen to you or someone you care about ever again.
"Sho?" Katsuki said, barely above a whisper, his lips pressed lightly to Shouto's forehead and his hand cupping the back of his head lightly. "Burn that fucking house to the ground. I'll go handle Kota. "
He stepped back into the hallway and caught the last few heartbreaking seconds of Kota in the middle of a war with tan packing tape and wrinkled paper. Frantically trying to put back together the pieces he had torn down minutes before. Tears beading at the corners of his eyes were wiped away quickly with the back of his sleeve. Each bit of torn paper lay like a jigsaw on the floor in front of the couch. Kota sat there trying to match the pieces back together, disregarding their true halves and instead connecting whichever he grabbed first and slapping tape on it.
It hit him again how small the poor kid was, barely clearing three feet. His hair stuck every which way with how often he tugged at it and tear stains ran down his puffy red face.
Katsuki forced a deep breath to settle in his lungs and hoped to God Masaru was right.
"Hey, kid! You still wanna fight me or what?"
It wouldn't have been that easy if the kid wasn't his goddamn clone.
Katsuki was right to let the Kota borrow another layer. The college sweatshirt nearly swallowed him whole but it would keep him warm in the chill of the night. He had insisted on putting his hat back on and the stubby horns poked out from where Kota trudged along in front of him. It was dark enough for the street lamps to have turned on and the leaves and twigs crunched beneath their feet. The apartments were separated by thin alleys blocked off with curved fences made of black iron with a lock they had been promised months ago. Katsuki made quick work hopping over it and opening it from there to let Kota in.
"Are we allowed back here?" The kid asked, showing the instance of restraint he probably had in his whole little body.
"Are we allowed to throw plates on the ground?"
"Yeah."
"Fair enough," He palmed Kota’s head and urged him forward. "Other side of the yard you little brat."
Surprisingly, Kota did as he was told. A scowl was deep on his features as he stomped at the ground on his path across the yard. His oversized rain boots kicked pockmarks out of the dirt and displaced the grass.
When Katsuki made his way to his spot across the lawn from him, hands dug into the depths of his pockets, he started. "So!" He called out. "You gonna fight me or what, you little brat?"
It was just for the sake of goading him on, Katsuki knew that and he had the feeling Kota could figure that out too. But it didn't help the ache that hit his chest when he said it. His mom had always done the same thing, called him such to keep him in line but then almost regret it.
Even still, it got the reaction he wanted. "I am NOT a brat!" Kota called back at him, the tears from the art incident had barely let up. His face was all red and blotchy and his nose ran down to his lip.
It didn't take much more than that for the tantrum to start. Even less for him to start pushing his attacks onto Katsuki.
He's not pulling any punches either, hitting as hard as a four-year-old can and screaming till he choked on his own breath. Crying out "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!" With every hit.
Katsuki lets it happen, knows it's something that had to happen. His hands don't leave his pockets and he takes blow after blow. Kicking, hitting, blood-curdling screams. He let Kota get that rage out. Let him scream and cry and feel everything even if he didn't have the words for it.
He remembered himself in the reverse. Just as wrecked, hands breathing just as frantic, sobs racking through his lungs as Masaru just stood. And stood and stood.
Kota lasted about as long as Katsuki thought he would. With one missed hit that through him forward and landed on the ground hard. Covering himself in grass, dirt, and twigs.
"I don't wanna go," Kota said voice small, so so fucking small. "Please don't make me go."
Katsuki almost had an answer on his lips, something level and neutral. He didn't wanna get his hopes up but then he felt a weight against his chest. Arms around his neck and a small head pressed so hard against him that it hurt.
"Please don't make me go." Kota hiccupped, and Katsuki never wanted to let him go again.
“You’re gonna be okay,” He whispered, lips against the top of Kota's thick hair “I know you are. You’re a headstrong little brat. You're a fighter. You can make it through anything the world gives you, okay? Fucking everything.”
Kota nodded against his chest, finally letting out the breaths that had been held so tight that he looked like he would burst. Katsuki held him tighter and Kota matched. Squeezing till they both knew neither would let go.
“Don’t tell Sho that I swore in front of you.” He added, voice a little wet and a burn starting at the corner of his eyes. "So you can't go around saying this shit in front of him." Kota nodded, face still pressed hard against his chest, and laughed.
It was the first laugh that whole night. It was soft, bubbly, hopeful.
He really was the sweetest kid.
Katsuki worked to get the two of them upright and suddenly realized why Shouto never put the kid down. The little brat was like a fucking koala when he wanted to be. Holding on for dear life even when he pointed out the little things he hadn't noticed about the apartment. He liked the plastic rocking horse that sat on the back porch for the old lady's grand kids when they came in. And he thought the superhero figurines in their apartment were pretty cool and apologized for hating them earlier.
He apologized for the pictures too and promised he'd make them a million more. He liked how they looked there, and he thinks they deserve more.
He also asked for help fixing Shouto's favorite picture.
It was light work, just slapping some clear packing tape on the back as they sat together on the oversized couch in front of the undersized coffee table.
He gets him into a sleep shirt and helps brush his teeth and hair. Shouto joins them with an additional stuffed toy that they had initially bought for Fuyumi's son or Hanta's daughter or Deku's eventual whatever.
Cause every damn person was having kids these days.
Kota fell asleep on the couch, in his makeshift bed of cushions, spare silk pajamas, decorative pillows, and the comforter off their own bed.
“Katsuki?” Shouto asked as they watched, pressed close together in the kitchen made for two that could fit three."
“Yeah?”
“I wish I had someone like you at his age.”
Katsuki hummed taking Shouto in and kissing him long and soft. “You have me now,” Another kiss. “So does Kota. Whatever happens in the morning we can always take him in.”
They look at him, so small yet somehow taking up the whole couch like he owns the damn place.
Their home is complete. Now it's official.
