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"Dad, I'm home!" Izuku calls, for all that it trails off into a yawn, dumping his bag in the genkan and trying to figure out if he can really be asked to lean all the way down to untie his shoes. He can probably push them off without doing that, right?
"Hey, kid." The reply takes a beat too long to come, and it has Izuku pausing, too, glancing up at his hero, trying to process what feels slightly odd about the last five seconds or so.
And then it hits. Oh. He- he hasn't actually called Aizawa-sensei his Dad before, has he? Not to the man's face at least.
Well consider Izuku mortified.
"Ah! Uhm, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, I-" He's rambling, that much is obvious, and he doesn't want to, he's not intending to, but he is, and he's just so very, very tired, and he doesn't want to alienate the man who seems to care so much for him.
"Probem Child, kiddo, Izuku, it's okay. You're okay. I'm not upset." The words barely process, not when Izuku can still feel himself babbling, the words tumbling over his lips in an iron-sharp thing, balls of barbed wire cutting at his tongue, his throat, his mouth, and he's breathing but he isn't okay and he just- he just wants-
There's a hand on his then, gentle, delicate, yet firm all the same, not quite tugging at his, but a thumb following the shape of one of his scars, tracing the edge without irritating it, soothing back and forth and again, a repetitive comfort. It helps Izuku to stop the words falling out of his mouth, and to instead breathe deeply, even without the man actually asking him to do so.
His hero is here, and he's trying to keep Izuku steady. More than that, he's actually managing it.
(It's far from the first time that his hero has comforted Izuku, far from the first time that Izuku has done something stupid in their now-shared home. And yet, somehow, this feels worse than most.
Because this time it's his Da- it's Aizawa-sensei that Izuku has surely just made incredibly uncomfortable.
This isn't just that Izuku has broken a mug because of his stupid, trembling hands that don't grip right some mornings or nights. It isn't that he's woken up from a nightmare where there is too much blood and ash and too many empty gazes and blaming words. It isn't that he's just having one of those bad days where everything aches and feels wrong and he doesn't quite fit into his skin right, too-sharp bones and pooling scars and sparks that echo acid through his marrow.
No, Izuku just said one stupid word that he never deserved to say.)
At some point, Izuku is fully aware again, or close enough to it that he might as well be, and he watches idly as the man crouches down, one-handedly tugging at Izuku's laces, pulling out the knots and working his way down each shoe in turn, loosening them out. His other hand still holds Izuku's, a comfort he sorely needs.
"Hey, kiddo, reckon you could step out of your shoes for me? They should be loose enough now." For a long few beats, Izuku can only blink at the man, at the dark eyes staring up at him, earnest. Reassuring.
It gives Izuku the strength to move, to lean on his hero, one hand braced against the man's shoulder to keep him balanced despite his light-headedness, stepping out of his shoes one at a time, glad for the warmth of his Dad, not just the steadiness.
Shit. He needs to stop thinking of the man like that. Izuku was adopted, yes, but it was necessary, that doesn't mean anything about how Aizawa-sensei sees him. Izuku is still just another student, he is sure, and if the hero had a kid it wouldn't be a Deku, a Problem Child, like him.
(Izuku knows now, has been assured so many times, so seriously, that Problem Child is an affection, not a complaint or chastisement, and he believes it, most of the time, but in moments like this, or on bad days, it's so difficult to not just assume that today specifically it's a thing of exasperation or disappointment, only abated by his hero assuring him, once again, that it really is okay, that Aizawa isn't actually upset with him. It helps, now, that his hero seems to be so aware of when Izuku will struggle with it, avoiding the nickname so easily, in a way that doesn't make Izuku feel awkward -
His hero is just so good to him. Izuku doesn't want to ruin that.)
"Come on, kid." The words are still kind, still firm, and Izuku nods along, tongue too bloated against his teeth to speak again just yet. But he follows his Dad all the same, glad for the hand still holding his own. He sits onto the sofa without too much of a slump, for all that he's curling up in the corner of the cushions before he can really think twice about it, one arm extended to keep ahold of his hero. Until Aizawa pulls away, Izuku will take what he can get.
After a brief pause, the man settles down on the edge of the coffee table, elbows braced atop his knees, leaning forwards enough that he doesn't have to let go of Izuku's hand. It has the teen smiling, just a little bit.
"Than's. An' I'm sorry." The words are a bit slurred, a bit breathy, because Izuku's throat is full of thorns, the brambles tangled through his chest, burning, but he manages to say them almost-clearly all the same. And, well, he means them, very much so. He has no doubt that Aizawa-sensei can tell. The hero is good like that.
"Apologising for your feelings is illogical, kid. But it's okay, apology accepted. We're okay, Izuku." Those final words are all it takes for Izuku to abruptly sink into himself, so much of his tension fading away instantly.
Good. If his hero says that nothing between them has changed, that Izuku hasn't just fucked everything up, then it must be true. Aizawa doesn't lie. Not about important things like this.
A broad, callused thumb brushes along the back of Izuku's hand once again, pulling his attention fully back to the hero.
"Kid, can I be honest with you right now? Or does it need to wait for another day?" Even that consideration, the knowledge that if Izuku isn't okay to have a serious conversation right now that he doesn't have to, only makes it easier to nod, to murmur an honest, albeit quiet,
"Now's 'kay."
"Alright kiddo. Can I start?" The man waits long enough for Izuku to nod once more, before taking a just-deeper breath.
"I adopted you for multiple reasons, and one of those was duty, both as a hero and a teacher, but if I didn't want you to live with me, to be my kid, then I wouldn't have done it. There were other ways that I could have fulfilled that duty. With me?"
"Mmhm." Izuku isn't honestly sure where this is going, what exactly his Da- his hero is trying to get at, but he's willing to listen.
(It very much doesn't hurt that, already, several of his worst-moment worries have been alleviated. Because, of course, he knows that Aizawa-sensei accepted adopting him, and that he didn't have to do that in the first place, that there were other options, but he also knows Aizawa-sensei, Eraserhead, and just how dedicated the man is. He would do anything for their class, Izuku is aware. And, well, maybe that anything had included adopting Izuku.)
"And, Izuku, kiddo, you're mine now, as much as you want to be. I'm here for you. If that means you call me Dad, or some variant of, then that's fine. If it means you call me Shouta, that's fine. If you call me Aizawa-sensei until you're seventy, then that's fine. Hell, if you call me Old Man or Bastard or something I wouldn't really care, as long as you were comfortable with it. And it doesn't make Zashi or Nem tear me apart." Izuku can't help but laugh at that, short and half-there though it may be. Because getting to know some of his other teachers better has come with his D- with his hero's flat in the faculty dorms, and Mic-sensei and Midnight-sensei really do like to take the absolute mick out of Aizawa.
And then the rest of the words hit, and his laughter dies in his throat.
Because surely Aizawa-sensei doesn't mean it. Surely he can't. Izuku is just Izuku, and he knows that he tries hard to be good and Heroic and worthy, but he also knows that he must be a burden on the man. Logically, he must be.
"Izuku, you don't have to say it back, or even feel it, but I love you. You're my kid. So I mean it, understood? What you call me won't change that."
"Oh. I- Okay. Okay," Izuku murmurs, fighting to process the promise. Because that's what it is, he can tell. His Dad is swearing an oath to him, right now, something from beneath his breastbone, from the very heart of him, rooted at his core, and that fact alone is enough to have Izuku wavering in place, hand twitching tighter around the hero's.
Aizawa gives him time, stays quiet and patient and there, and lets Izuku process.
Finally, between the warring thoughts, the conflict of his own doubts against the assurances of his hero, Izuku makes a decision.
"If you're sure, really sure, uhm, I- I'd like to call you Dad."
He isn't expecting the smile. It's a subtle expression, in all truth, but Izuku has learnt to read those tiny shifts, to know what they mean when it comes to the man, how he feels based off of the miniscule tells that have taken him months of loving with the man to really learn. It means that he sees the tiny crinkles around his Dad's eyes, the loss of tension across his brow, the little movement of his jaw that matches how his stubble shifts, just enough to show a twitch of the lips.
That smile is even more of a reassurance than the way that the hero nods, hair shifting,
"I'm sure, kid, that's fine." And now Izuku really is beaming, squeezing his Da- his Dad's hand, tugging slightly, and is rewarded by the man immediately understanding, levering up from the edge of the coffee table to settle beside Izuku instead, drawing the teen into his side.
Izuku huddles into his Dad's side, letting his head fall against a warm, steady shoulder, revelling in the heartbeat that echoes against his ear. There's a strong arm wrapped around him, keeping him close but yet never making him feel restricted, and all at once Izuku realises that this, right here, is home. It's what he looks forward to at the end of the long day, and where he feels safe the times where everything else feels bad.
It's the place where he is loved, the home he shares with his Dad, the man who has taken him in without hesitation or falter, who looks after him just the same. And, tonight, when he is exhausted and relieved and overjoyed all at once, it's where he will, not for the first or last time, fall asleep tucked against his hero, content.
Izuku knows that his Dad will be here no matter what. He knows that he's safe. And he couldn't be more grateful for it.