Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The call came in at 10:54pm. Shouta pulled up the notification, scrolling through the sparse details around a yawn. He wasn’t even on the clock yet, but it looked like it was going to be one of those days.

Villain with a size quirk had been detained, but not before causing the collapse of an apartment block. All nearby heroes were being called in to help with the rescue effort. Shouta frowned, scanning the details. A residential collapse this time of night? Shit, that was going to be bad.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and knocked back the rest of his coffee, grimacing at the burn. This kind of thing wasn’t his strength, but all hands on deck was all hands on deck. 

*          *          *

It was worse than he’d feared. The air was choked with dust when he arrived on scene, weaving between the hectic scramble of heroes and emergency personnel and shellshocked victims. Shouta pulled his scarf over his mouth, staring up at what was left of the building with a sinking heart. He’d hoped it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, but the place wasn’t much better than a pile of rubble at this point.

One corner was still mostly intact. Shouta watched a piece of rubble break off from the jagged edges of concrete and rebar, tumbling to the pile of debris two stories below. The whole structure shuddered dangerously, and he might not be an expert but that wasn’t going to hold up for long. He could see arms waving from a window near the top.

Fuck.

Securing his scarf more firmly over his face, Shouta took a fortifying breath and waded into the fray. He didn’t bother to stop and ask for direction—best he could tell there was nothing resembling real organization yet—and made for the corner of the building that was still standing. He wasn’t going to help for shit digging under tons of rubble for survivors, but he might be able to get some people out of the apartments still standing before the whole damn thing came down.

He did his best to block out the chaos, the sirens and shouts and choked, soft sobs. The building wouldn’t be too hard to scale from the outside. There were plenty of handholds, but he didn’t dare use his capture weapon with the structure as unstable as it was. Shouta looked around, gaze ticking between streetlights and surrounding buildings, making note of the places he could catch himself if the thing came down. Wouldn’t do anyone much good if he added himself to the list of the casualties.

Shouta began to climb. 

No answer from the first apartment, or the second. On the third he was met with the tear-stained faces of two little girls, frightened but unharmed, and their father, bleeding heavily from a head wound.

He fell into a rhythm, climbing higher with each pass, ferrying survivors to the safety of the ground and moving grimly past the dead. They’d need to be recovered too, but right now it was his job to prioritize the living. Up and down, up and down, until his lungs burned from the dust and his fingers were scraped and blood-slick.

Shouta paused before his next ascent, rotating aching shoulders and staring up at the apartment, watching the minute structural shudders with a frown. One more floor. Two apartments, maybe three, and where were the goddamn flying heroes when you needed them? Fatigue settled over him like a heavy fog, and he did his best to shake it away. Almost finished.

Up he went again, ignoring the ache in his arms, the pain as his fingers dug into cracks and crevices. He scaled the building one more time, pulling himself onto the balcony of a fifth floor apartment, freezing as the structure gave a deep metallic groan, like the call of some great, dying beast. Shouta waited one beat, two, hand on his scarf in case the building finally decided to give way.

Not just yet, it seemed. He relaxed marginally, looking up to see wide green eyes staring back at him from the other side of the glass door. It was a kid, no more than eight, wearing All Might pajamas and a startled expression, All Might plushie clutched to his chest in an iron grip. 

Shouta tried the door, but it was locked. The motion seemed to galvanize the kid to action, because he unlocked the door and tugged it open. “You’re Eraserhead!” he gasped before Shouta could even open his mouth.

For one idiotic moment, Shouta forgot they were standing in a building that could give way at any moment, completely blindsided. Nobody ever recognized him, he wasn’t supposed to be recognizable, especially not by small children, what the hell. Then his brain caught up and reminded him that this was a peculiarity that could be addressed when they were no longer in mortal peril. “That’s me,” he said, kneeling down and giving the kid a quick once-over. He seemed shaken, but unhurt. “Is there anyone else in the apartment?” Unlikely or the boy wouldn’t be standing there alone, but worth a shot. 

He shook his head, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. “Mrs. Saito’s been sick, so my mom went to check on her, but then…” he trailed off, turning wide eyes back on Shouta. “Was it a villain attack?”

Shouta didn’t see any reason to lie. “Yeah.” He held out a hand. “C’mon kid, let’s get you to safety.”

The kid took his hand without a lick of hesitation, with that complete trust in heroes Shouta usually found troubling, but had to admit was occasionally useful. He picked the boy up, settling him against his hip and used his scarf to secure the kid to his chest so that he wouldn’t wind up taking a five story fall.

The kid, for his part, seemed to be having the time of his life. “I can’t believe I’m being rescued by a real life hero, nobody is going to believe this,” he said with obvious glee, fingering the edge of the scarf with bright-eyed curiosity as Shouta got him settled.

 It was clear he didn’t understand the scale of what was happening, and that was for the best. Trying to climb down a building with a panicky child wasn’t ideal under any circumstances. “Hold on tight, and don’t look. I’ll have you on the ground before you know it.”

“Okay!” the kid chirped, clutching at Shouta’s shirt and hiding his face against his shoulder.  Shouta did a quick double check to make sure the kid was secure and then he swung over the edge of the balcony.

Climbing down was always trickier than going up, especially with a lead weight strapped to his chest, but Shouta managed well enough. They were just passing the fourth floor when the building shuddered again and did not stop, vibration rattling his bones. There was a slow, metallic shriek, a distant crash of broken glass, and Shouta realized that this was it.

The building was coming down.

They were too high to simply drop, and being too close to the building was a bad idea besides, so Shouta wedged himself in the divot between balcony and wall, legs braced to free up his hands. He hooked one arm securely around the kid and took the loose end of his scarf in the other, and then with all the strength he could muster he sprang away from the building into open air. 

A deafening roar swallowed the shouts from the ground, and Shouta’s scarf shot out, catching the top of the streetlight below. Their momentum carried them in an arc, Shouta’s shoulder wrenching as the scarf pulled taut, jerking them backwards with a snap. He grimaced against the pain, twisting to shield the kid as they slammed into the pole hard enough to make his teeth rattle. A flick of the wrist and his scarf released, and Shouta curled over the boy protectively as they landed, shielding him from debris as the world fell down around their ears.

*          *          *

A few minutes passed, the roar of raining debris abated, and Shouta was pleased to note that they were not buried under sixteen tons of rubble. He uncurled cautiously, small chunks of concrete clattering from his back, wincing as his battered body screamed protest. They might have avoided the worst of it, but Shouta had still taken a few hits he could already tell were going to bruise deep.

“We jumped off a building,” the kid said against his shoulder, the words cutting off on a choking cough. Shouta bit back a grimace, freeing the boy from the clutches of his scarf. The stunt had been less than ideal, but a little childhood trauma was preferable to getting crushed by a falling building. The kid would get over it. 

Shouta almost set him down before he realized the boy was barefoot and the ground was a minefield of concrete shards and broken glass. Instead, he settled him against his hip, ignoring the pain, giving the kid a once-over for injuries and realizing as soon as he saw his face that he had absolutely misjudged.

The kid was staring at him like he’d just seen the face of God. “We jumped off a building,” he repeated, glee threading the words and eyes shining. They stared at each other for a beat and then the kid shot off a question like a bullet from a gun.

“Everyone thinks your quirk is negating other quirks somehow, is that true?”

“Yes,” Shouta said, suddenly very tired as he wound his scarf around the kid’s head so he wouldn’t choke to death on the dust.

It did not slow him down, the next question slightly muffled. “Is the scarf related to your quirk?”

“No.”

“How were you able to jump off a building like that without a physical quirk?”

“Practice.”

“Practice,” the kid repeated, like Shouta had just confided the secrets of the universe. The boy rambled on, Shouta fielding the questions as best he could (“How much practice?” “How long have you been a hero?” “How many people have you saved?”) and he had never been more relieved to arrive at the makeshift triage station. 

It was empty at the moment as there’d been less and less survivors to process as the night went on. The girl who’d been handling most of his hand-offs spotted them immediately, gaze flicking to the kid in his arms with a concerned frown. It wasn’t the first kid he’d brought in tonight, but it was the first one without an adult. 

He deposited the kid in one of the chairs and slumped down beside him, exhausted. Hell of a night.

The paramedic crouched in front of the kid, pasting on the kind of kid-friendly face Shouta had never been able to manage. “Hi! My name is Mizuki, what’s yours?”

The kid looked to Shouta, and it took his tired brain a minute to realize he was looking for permission. Apparently Shouta had been designated the role of ‘safe adult’. “Answer her questions, kid. She’ll get you sorted.”

“Izuku Midoriya,” the kid said obediently, and the Mizuki scribbled something on her clipboard.

“Nice to meet you, Izuku. I’ve got a few quick questions for you,” she said, pulling on a pair of blue gloves. “But first, are you hurt anywhere?”

Mizuki gave Izuku a quick exam, but the kid was right as rain. Covered in a fine layer of gray dust, but he’d managed to get out of everything without so much as a scratch. She took down as many personal details as she could get, and then set her sights on Shouta. “Okay mister Hero, your turn.”

“I’m fine,” he said, waving her off. He was a little banged up, but nothing that required medical attention.

Mizuki did not seem impressed. “You’re bleeding,” she said. “Heroes aren’t immune to falling buildings, you know.” A pause. “Most of them, anyway. It’ll take two minutes, don’t be a baby.”

He caught Izuku looking at him, big green eyes round and concerned, and relented. “Fine, fine. Just make it quick.”

“What?” she asked, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. “You got somewhere to be? No offense, but you look pretty tapped out.”

She wasn’t wrong. He was exhausted, and at this point he’d mostly just be underfoot if he tried to help. It was time to leave the rest of the rescue effort to heroes better suited. 

The girl was, thankfully, quick and professional. The nicks and scrapes on his hands were cleaned, and after some painful poking and prodding along his his back she declared that nothing seemed broken. “They’ve been shuttling the victims to the hospital and getting them sorted there,” she said, making a few scribbles on her clipboard before jabbing her pen towards the west side of the parking lot. 

Right. He stood, muscles already protesting, and he was definitely going to be feeling it tomorrow. “C’mon Izuku, let’s get you out of here.” 

Izuku hopped out of his chair, sliding his small hand into Shouta’s, his All Might plushie still clutched in his other hand. Shouta paused, surprised, although he supposed he shouldn’t be. He led the boy past the triage station towards the cluster of vans and ambulances Mizuki had pointed out, but was quickly drawn up short when Izuku sucked in a soft breath and stopped.

Shouta looked back, following the Izuku’s gaze to the ruins of the apartment, and it struck him that the kid probably hadn’t realized until just now what had happened. He waited, but Izuku seemed stuck, like he’d been frozen solid. “C’mon, kid,” he said, giving his hand a gentle tug, and Izuku gasped like he’d been doused in cold water, but did not move.

Shouta sighed, dropping the kid’s hand and picking him up again. Izuku went without struggle, gaze glued to the ruins of his home as he fisted a tiny hand in Shouta’s shirt. God help him, but he was shit with this kind of thing. Dealing with traumatized grade-schoolers was not a skill in his arsenal, but Shouta turned, doing his best to put himself between Izuku and the worst of it. Last thing the kid needed was to see was a hero dragging the corpse of a neighbor out of the rubble. Or god forbid, his mother.

Like he’d somehow read the thought, Izuku buried his head in Shouta’s shoulder and asked, very softly, “Is my mom dead?”

Fucking hell, he was not cut out for this. “I don’t know,” Shouta said, because that was the truth. “I hope not.”

A soft sniffle and the small grip in his shirt tightened. “Me too.”

*          *          *

Shouta hadn’t intended to accompany Izuku to the hospital, but he felt responsible for him, somehow. Passing a small, sad child into the hands of a paramedic had felt like a crime. After everything the kid had been through, the least Shouta could do was keep him company.

Which was how he’d wound up sitting beside Izuku on an uncomfortable hospital chair, his body making its displeasure known as the adrenaline faded. He was doing his best to keep the kid distracted, which wasn’t as hard as it might have been. Sometime on the ride over, Izuku had bounced back from his melancholy with the envious resiliency of the young.

Izuku’s rambling account of his recent school field trip to the aquarium was interrupted as another batch of survivors came in. Shouta watched Izuku perk up, only to deflate a moment later when he didn’t see his mother among them. He went solemn and quiet, which Shouta had quickly learned was not his default state, and fumbling for a topic to get him going again, landed on, “So, you like All Might?”

It did the trick. Izuku lit up like Shouta had just offered to introduce him to the man himself. “Yeah! He’s my favorite hero! Did you know that he saved seventy people when that villain destroyed a subway track last month? And—” If Shouta was a better person, and less exhausted, he might have felt bad for tuning him out. He didn’t blame the kid for getting sucked up into the All Might marketing vortex, and the man did do a lot of good, but Shouta had very little patience for any of it.

Izuku rambled happily on, and Shouta interjected the occasional ‘mhm’ at what he hoped were the right intervals, fighting a losing battle against sleep when, “—I don’t understand why nobody talks about the damage heroes do, though.”

The contemplative statement cut through Shouta’s impending doze like a knife. “What?” he asked, sitting up straighter, trying to recall what the kid had been talking about and coming up blank.

Izuku blinked at Shouta’s sudden interest, and shrank a bit when he seemed to realize that he was criticizing heroes to a hero. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine,” Shouta said, cutting off his retreat before the kid could backpedal entirely. “You’re right, people don’t talk about it enough, I just wanted to hear your thoughts.” There were complaints, of course, but they were usually drowned out by the hero propaganda machine. It was just a weird observation to hear from kid in All Might pajamas.

“You do? Izuku asked, perking up. The kid looked as tired as Shouta felt, but that did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm over an adult who seemed interested in his opinion. “I love heroes,” Izuku said, like he had to open with that to soften the incoming blow to Shouta’s pride. He resisted the urge to smile. “But it just seems more complicated to me than everyone makes it sound? Heroes save people and keep us safe, but they also cause problems sometimes?” The kid’s words got faster and faster as he wound up, and Shouta wondered if he was always like this or if he’d had this one on deck for a while.

“Last week Maverick took out a highway trying to capture a villain and it wasn’t really on the news anywhere. And I thought that was weird, because in the footage clips they were showing you could see it happen, so I went online and—” his face screwed up in a frown. “I found a lot more examples when I went looking for them. And it makes sense that it would happen, right? The stronger the heroes and villains, the higher the chance that you’re going to have collateral damage but—”

Collateral damage Shouta mouthed to himself. What the hell. The kid was raising issues that most pros were guilty of turning a blind eye to.

“—it seems to me that heroes should be responsible, you know? When I do something bad, even if it was an accident, I still did it. If heroes never get in trouble for damage they cause, aren’t they going to be less careful?” Here Izuku stopped, looking up at Shouta, and this question wasn’t rhetorical.

“Yeah,” he said, still a bit stunned at hearing some of his own criticisms of the system mirrored by a fucking toddler. “You’re right. It’s a problem with hero society that isn’t being addressed. You’re one smart kid, you know that?” Izuku absolutely beamed at the small praise, but Shouta meant it. “How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m eight!” Izuku declared proudly, and okay maybe he wasn’t a toddler but he also wasn’t far off.

Maybe he had some sort of intelligence quirk? Shouta wasn’t exactly experienced with kids, but even grown adults generally didn’t have the critical thinking skills to realize that hero society wasn’t as perfect as the system would have you believe. “What’s your quirk?”

Shouta wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone go from pleased to miserable so quickly. Izuku shrunk in on himself, shoulders hunched and expression clouded, staring down at his feet. “I’m quirkless,” he said, so soft it was less voice and more breath. 

Oh, great. Shouta was an asshole. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said, but it was an empty platitude and he knew it. There should be nothing wrong with it, but the reality was that the world wasn’t kind to people without quirks. He stared down at messy green curls with an uncomfortable pit in his gut. There was a damn good chance the kid had been orphaned tonight, and if the world wasn’t kind to the quirkless, and it wasn’t kind to children with no family, how cruel would it be to someone who was both?

Shouta couldn’t do much about society’s ills, but he could try to pull his foot out of his goddamn mouth. “How’d you know who I was, anyway?” Not the best distraction, maybe, but he was curious. “I’m not used to being recognized.”

“Oh.” Izuku uncurled a bit, bouncing back faster than Shouta would have expected. “Underground heroes have a following too! There’s forums out there where people collect footage, witness accounts, that sort of thing! It’s a lot of fun,” the smile was back, like Shouta hadn’t trampled his feelings two minutes ago. “It’s like a hero mystery! There isn’t much about you, just two videos and one is super bad quality, but there’s a few stories from people you’ve saved. I wasn’t sure, but you had the scarf, so.”

Well. That was… something. Shouta wasn’t sure how he felt about having some sort of weird cult following, but being underground still beat the alternative. It might not pay well but he did enjoy being able to buy groceries without getting mobbed.

Izuku lapsed into silence with a wide yawn. It was nearly three in the morning, and it seemed like the kid’s endless font of chatter had been trumped by fatigue. His eyelids drooped, and within minutes he had curled against Shouta, fast asleep. With a sigh, Shouta moved his arm, letting the kid settle more comfortably against his side, and, after a beat of hesitation, wrapping his arm around small shoulders. The hospital waiting room wasn’t exactly warm.

He sat in silence, Izuku a small, warm presence against his side, and Shouta couldn’t help but circle back to his earlier worries. He was a sweet kid, and the world was very unkind to those who did not conform. The idea of handing a quirkless child off to social services sat uncomfortably. Orphans were an unfortunate reality of the world, and his job meant that this wasn’t the first time he’d saved a kid who’d suddenly found themselves alone in the world. It wouldn’t be the last either, and if Shouta let it get to him every time he’d go crazy, but. He sighed, taking in the kid’s unruly hair, the dusting of freckles across round cheeks. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Maybe the kid’s mother was alive, and none of this would wind up being a problem.

He hoped so, for Izuku’s sake. 

*          *          *

“Eraserhead?” The question startled him awake, and Shouta blinked blearily up at the tired looking woman with a clipboard standing over him. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry for waking you. My name is Yumi Matsuda, I’m with social services. I’m here for Izuku,” she said nodding towards the kid still dead to the world at Shouta’s side.

Shouta dragged a hand down his face, scrubbing tiredly at his cheek. “Right. Yeah.” He knew someone was coming eventually, it was what they’d been waiting for. “What’s going to happen to him?” he asked, reluctant to just hand the kid over and call it a day.

“We’ll take him to a group home for now, until we get news of his parents or can determine if he has any extended family. If so, he’ll be released to their custody, and if not we’ll look into finding him a longer term fostering solution.” She mustered a reassuring smile. “Most kids do have some family, even if they lose their parents.” He looked down at Izuku again, and knew that probably wasn’t the case, because Shouta had already asked about family on the ride over. 

He was exhausted and in pain, he should cut the kid loose and go get some sleep. “Can I take him?” Shouta asked instead, the question impulsive, stupid, and out of his mouth before the thought had fully formed. Yumi blinked, taken aback, and instead of backpedaling like he should, Shouta said, “For now, I mean. Until you guys figure out something permanent for him.”

“Well,” she said, gaze ticking between Izuku and Shouta. “It’s unorthodox, but.” She clicked her tongue. “Given the circumstances, and the fact that you’re a hero, it should be okay.”

After that it was just a quick scribble on a form, and Izuku was released to his custody. Poor decision making solidified with good old fashioned bureaucracy. 

Chapter Text

The kid barely stirred on the way home. Just enough to curl into Shouta’s arms when he picked him up, and a brief bout of non-lucid blinking when they got in the cab. It wasn’t until Shouta was trying to juggle his keys into the lock without dropping him that Izuku seemed to actually wake up.

“Where are we?” he asked around a yawn, clutching at Shouta’s shirt and peering around the empty hallway, sleepy and bewildered.

“My place,” Shouta said, finally getting the key in the lock now that he wasn’t trying to be stealthy. “You’re going to stay with me for a little while.” He opened the door to a chorus of demanding meows, nudging the cats out from underfoot as he flipped on the light and set Izuku down.

“You have cats!” he said, crouching down and holding out a hand to Biscuit, who accepted the pettings as her rightful due.

“I like cats,” Shouta said, edging out of the entryway and dropping his keys on the table. Good company, no real demands outside dinner time, no expectations. Cats were easier than people. 

“Me too,” Izuku said, trailing after him and looking around his apartment with sleepy curiosity. Besides the cats, there wasn’t much of interest to see. Shouta kept the place clean, but as Hizashi liked to complain, it didn’t have much personality. 

They were both dirty and exhausted, and if Shouta were responsible he’d get them both cleaned up before bed. The idea of a shower seemed insurmountable at the moment, but he supposed he could manage a change of clothes. “C’mon kid, let’s get you changed and then get some sleep.”

Shouta realized as he led Izuku into his bedroom, that he had absolutely nothing that would come close to fitting a kid. But there was also something sad and unsettling about the idea of leaving him in his dirty All Might pajamas, the colors muted under a layer of dust. He rifled through his drawers, eventually pulling out an old t-shirt with a cartoon cat print that Hizashi had gotten him years ago. The kid would be swimming in it, but it’d do as a nightshirt for now. “Here, put that on.”

He grabbed some fresh clothes of his own, retreating to the bathroom to change. The man in the mirror looked like he’d had a rough night, and Shouta snorted at his reflection. He peeled off his uniform, wincing at the blooming ache across his back and shoulder. Getting dressed when you felt like hamburger wasn’t pleasant, but he’d done more with worse. Shouta splashed a bit of water on his face and felt a little closer to being human.

Izuku was already back in the living room when Shouta finished, sitting in a circle of three cats trying desperately to convince him to feed them. He was drowning in the t-shirt, as predicted, the collar slipping down his shoulder, but it would do for now. He clicked his tongue and the cats abandoned Izuku to swarm around his feet as he fed them. “This is earlier than I usually get home, you know,” he admonished them as he poured kibble into the three dishes in the kitchen. “Stop acting like you’re starving.”

Now that food had been secured, they ignored him. Shouta snorted softly and went to grab the spare blanket from the closet. “I’ve uh, only got one bedroom,” he said, because he did not think this through. At all. “I hope you don’t mind the couch.”

“I don’t mind,” Izuku said around a huge yawn, and Shouta figured if he’d slept half the night in a hospital, a couch and a blanket probably felt like an upgrade. The kid clambered up onto the sofa and Shouta dropped the blanket on his head, which earned him a giggle. 

“Get some sleep, kid.” 

He was already yawning. “Mister Eraserhead?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for saving me,” he said, words going soft and slurred as he snuggled into the blanket.

Damn kid, tugging at his heartstrings. “Shouta.”

The kid yawned again. “What?”

“My name is Shouta,” he said, because if the kid was going to be staying with him, even temporarily, it seemed like he should know his name at least. “Just don’t put it on the internet, okay?”

“Okay Mister Shouta,” the kid said, muzzy and soft, and just like that he was asleep again. 

Shouta dragged a hand down his face, biting back a yawn. Painkillers and then sleep. He retreated to the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinet until he found what he was looking for, and knocked back two pills dry. He turned to go drop himself into bed and die for the next four hours at least, and paused at the sight on the couch.

The cats had found the kid. Biscuit was draped over his hip like a long, fluffy noodle, Mochi was curled against his chest, and Noodle was giving the blanket a very aggressive massage and purring like his life depended on it. 

The enormity of what he’d done abruptly struck, freezing his breath in his lungs, and Shouta sank into one of the kitchen chairs, head in hand. What was he thinking? He didn’t know the first thing about caring for children! The kid could be in his care for weeks, longer, and what was Shouta supposed to do with him?

With a low, simmering panic behind his ribs, Shouta dug his phone out because he was out of his depth and if he was left alone with a kid for too long one or both of them would probably die. The line rang six times before it connected and Shouta was greeted with a sleepy “H’lo?”

“Hizashi, I fucked up,” he confessed in a rush, voice pitched low because he didn’t want his crisis to wake the kid.

The silence on the other end was long, and heavy, and Shouta realized this was the first time he’d called Hizashi in, what? Six months? There really hadn’t been anyone else to call, and Shouta grimaced, formulating an apology in his head. Sorry to bother you, I forgot for a minute that I’ve been a huge asshole? Goddamn it.

He missed his window. “Shouta?” Hizashi said, sounding a little more alert. “On a scale of one to hide the body, what kind of fuck up are we talking here? Did you kill someone?”

Shouta made a face. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

There was a rustling of blankets as Hizashi presumably got up. Shouta felt another flash of guilt. Hizashi tended to keep late hours, but even he was usually asleep by this time. “Did you sleep with someone you shouldn’t have?” A note of teasing crept into his voice. “All Might? Endeavor?”

Eurgh. That visual would haunt him until he died. “Fuck you. No I didn’t sleep with someone, I just—” he cut off with a huff of frustration. “One second, I’ll show you.” Shouta snapped a picture of Izuku on the couch and sent it to Hizashi. “There, I sent you a picture.”

A pause and then Hizashi said, “Shouta, there’s a child under your cats. Did you kidnap a child?”

“No—”

Hizashi cut him off with a soft gasp. “Illicit love child!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I am a gay man and he’s eight. ”

Hizashi snorted a laugh, and Shouta could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “Okay, okay. So tell me how you obtained this definitely not kidnapped kid.”

“You heard about the apartment collapse in Musutafu?”

“Yeah,” Hizashi whistled. “The call went out during my show so I didn’t hear about it until after, but it sounded like a real mess. Something like two hundred dead so far. You were there?”

Two hundred, damn. He’d been so preoccupied with the kid he hadn’t really thought to check in on the updates. “Yeah. I rescued the kid before the rest of the building came down.”

A beat of silence, then Hizashi said, “I’m glad but uh, that still doesn’t explain why he’s in your apartment.”

Shouta did his best to explain his very strange night. The rescue, the hospital, how the kid was chatty and so smart. How he was probably an orphan, and quirkless. “I know it’s stupid, but it’s hard for the quirkless even with the support of their families and I just… couldn’t cut him loose.”

“That’s—” Hizashi let out a long breath. “Yeah I can see why you’d be worried. It’s also very important to me that you realize that you’ve escalated from adopting stray cats to adopting stray children.”

“I’m not keeping him,” Shouta said, brain very deliberately side-stepping the possibility for the sake of self-preservation. “It’s just temporary until social services figures out something permanent for him.”

“Okay, let me see if I have this right,” Hizashi said, humor warming his voice. “You went full bleeding heart on a kid—which is very sweet by the way—and now you’re freaking out because you have no idea what to do with him.”

Shouta grimaced because, yeah, that was pretty much the shape of it. “I don’t know how to take care of a kid, Hizashi.”

A soft snort. “You barely know how to take care of yourself, so that checks out.” He paused, and then asked, “How come you called me?”

Somehow the question didn’t feel like the condemnation it should have. But what could he say? That it was almost reflex, that there was no one else to call? That even if Shouta’s been a shit friend, Hizashi will always be the first person he thinks of in a crisis? “You’re a teacher right?” he said instead, uncomfortably aware that Hizashi probably knew he was full of shit. “You’re used to kids.”

If he knew Shouta had dodged the question, he didn’t seem to mind. “High school kids, Shouta. Not grade-schoolers .”

Shouta rolled his eyes. “What’s the difference?”

The question earned him a laugh. “Oh my god, you’re twenty-three, you cannot be this out of touch already.” He sounded genuinely delighted, and Shouta ignored the way his stomach flipped. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna go the fuck to sleep because I know you and you’re at that level of tired where everything feels like a huge catastrophe. I’m going to sleep because I need at least four hours or I will die. I’ll be over around nine, I’ll bring breakfast because I know you have nothing to feed that poor kid, and we’ll figure out a game plan then, okay?”

The relief he felt at the declaration was a little embarrassing. “Okay, yeah.” He paused, and added a bit awkwardly, “Thanks, Hizashi.”

Hizashi’s voice was warm. “No problem, Shou. You know I’ve always got your back.”

*          *          *

Shouta woke to the screeching of his alarm at 8:30 the next morning feeling exhausted and homicidal. Slapping blindly until his alarm stopped trying to bore into his skull, Shouta shoved himself upright, rubbing at his eyes and trying to ignore the fact that his whole body felt like a well-beaten pinata.

He was, for a brief, muzzy moment, unsure why he was waking up when he usually went to sleep. Oh, right, the kid. He’d set the alarm because Hizashi was coming over.

Hizashi, shit. Shouta heaved himself out of bed in a spectacular act of will. They’d barely spoken in six months, and it had been longer than that since Shouta last saw him. After graduation he’d thrown himself into his work with the kind of fervor that comes from running from something else. After all, there wasn’t much room for dwelling on ghosts when you’re in a state of permanent exhaustion. 

Hizashi’s worry had felt like salt on a raw wound, one more person he was letting down. So he’d withdrawn, stopped answering the door. Stopped answering texts. Eventually Hizashi had gotten the hint, and it had been a hollow, miserable victory. 

Shouta listened to his show every week just to hear his voice, and Hizashi still sent him pictures of every cat he saw. 

It had been a stupid, reactionary thing to do, and within a few weeks Shouta knew he’d made a mistake, but by then the gulf had felt too large to cross. That after the shit he’d pulled he didn’t have the right to say, “This sucks, let’s go back to how things were.” He’d made his bed, and now he was lying in it.

Except last night he’d panicked and called Hizashi without thinking, and instead of telling Shouta to get fucked and hanging up, he’d just been… Hizashi. Irreverent, supportive. Like nothing had changed and he’d just been waiting for Shouta to figure it out.

The sting behind his eyes was a sharp reminder that he was too fucking tired to think about his train wreck friendship, and he forcibly put it from his mind. He had more important worries at present, like the kid sleeping on his couch.

Shouta checked on him, but the kid was still dead to the world under a pile of cats. “Traitors,” Shouta muttered without heat. 

He showered and absolutely did not spend any time fretting over what to wear. It was just Hizashi, for fuck’s sake, not a date. Shouta was almost entirely sure there was no uniform for this. He still wound up picking a nice black sweater and felt like an idiot.

Izuku was awake when Shouta came back into the living room. “Morning, kid,” he said, trying to pretend that he was not utterly out of his depth. Coffee. He needed so much coffee to deal with this.

“Good morning,” the kid said politely, expression faintly puzzled. “Mister Shouta—”

“Just Shouta,” he interrupted, because the whole ‘mister’ thing was cute and all but it’d get annoying quick.

“How come I’m here?” Izuku asked. “I don’t think heroes usually take people home? Isn’t the procedure for kids, um,” he faltered, then plowed on, “For social services to handle kids with missing parents?” His voice wavered just a bit on the last word.

Kid was quoting procedure at him. Shouta was not caffeinated enough to cope. “Usually, yeah.” He paused, not quite sure he wanted to try explaining the weird amalgamation of feeling and poor choices that led to their current predicament, so he just said, “Things were a bit hectic last night, so you’re gonna stay with me until we get news about your mother.” Until they found him a foster solution was probably the real truth, but he was going to put off telling the kid he was an orphan until it was confirmed. Maybe he’d get lucky. He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Unless you’d rather not?” Shit, maybe the kid wasn’t comfortable couch surfing with a strange man, hero or not. 

“No, no!” Izuku said, hands waving frantically, eyes wide. “It’s fine, really! I was just curious, is all.”

Shouta peered at him, trying to figure out if the kid was telling the truth, or just being polite. He sure as hell pulled off the bright-eyed earnest thing like a champ. “All right,” he conceded, because he wasn’t all that great at reading kids. “But if you ever change your mind, let me know and we’ll figure something else out for you.”

The statement earned him a puzzled look. Hizashi might have thought he was out of touch, but Shouta still remembered what it was it was like to be a kid, and how nobody ever listened. Least he could do was give Izuku a little control over his own fate. 

He turned into the small kitchen, digging out the coffee and getting a pot going. “I don’t have much food in the house, so a friend of mine is going to bring us breakfast in a bit.” 

A rustle of blankets and the soft sound of bare feet, and Izuku appeared beside him, hands on the counter as he watched Shouta conduct his standard coffee ritual. Shouta glanced down and froze briefly, before forcing his hands back into motion, thoughts spinning.

The kid had burn scars on his arms. Most faint with age, but one was still angry and red, a few days old at most, in the unmistakable shape of a hand print. Fuck. Okay. How the hell was he supposed to ask without asking? Because those had the look of a long term problem, and he had a feeling the kid would clam right up if Shouta asked outright. 

He knew it was just the kid and his mom from their conversation the night before, so that was the place to start. “What kind of quirk does your mom have?” Not subtle at all, but smart or not he was just a kid.

Izuku blinked up at him, clearly bewildered. “A telekinesis quirk. She can draw small objects to herself. Why?”

Shouta shrugged. “Just curious.” So whatever it was, it wasn’t happening at home. Which meant he could let it go, for now. If the kid’s mother made it, Shouta could talk to her. If not, well, odds were Izuku wasn’t going to come across the cause again.

A sharp rap on the door shook him from his thoughts. “It’s open!” he called, with a surge of nerves that he viciously repressed because now was not the time.

“Hey HEY,” Hizashi came in, plastic bag in hand. Despite his cheer he looked like he’d had a rough night, which considering Shouta had called him at four in the morning shouldn’t have been surprising. His hair was piled in a tangled bun, and he was wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the knee. “I have arrived, and I have breakfast!”

Izuku made a sound not unlike a dying animal. “Present Mic?” he wheezed, eyes impossibly round.

Hizashi froze, because he was rarely recognized out of costume, and never by overly observant grade-schoolers. He looked at Shouta, question plain on his face. Shouta shrugged. “I didn’t tell him.”

Hizashi rallied admirably. “Got it in one, little listener!” he said with a blinding smile, ruffling Izuku’s hair as he dropped his bag on the table. “How could you tell?”

“Your voice!” Izuku said, beaming. “My mom lets me stay up late to listen to your show! You always talk about a lot of interesting stuff, and you’re always so nice when someone calls.”

Hizashi clutched at his chest with a soft gasp, looking at Shouta and mouthing I love him like the melodramatic goofball he was. To Izuku he said, “I’m glad you like the show, kiddo! Can’t say I expected to meet a fan today. Whaddya say to some breakfast?”

“Yes, please,” Izuku said, and hell if the kid didn’t have more manners than most adults. 

“Alrighty, then pull up a chair and let’s eat!” Izuku needed no further urging, clambering into one of the chairs around Shouta’s small table, still looking ridiculous in Shouta’s too-big shirt.

“You too,” Hizashi said, pointing at Shouta, then paused. “You look nice,” he said after a long moment, and Shouta cursed the stupid sweater as he maintained an aggressively neutral expression. 

“Thanks,” he said, dropping into one of the chairs. “You look like a hungover housewife.”

The deflection was automatic, but Hizashi knew him well enough not to take offense. All the comment earned him was a dramatic eye roll. “He’s so grumpy in the morning,” he confided to Izuku, handing the kid one of the takeout containers.

Izuku looked between them, eyes bright with curiosity. “Are you two friends?” he asked, looking more interested in the answer than he was in his food.

“Yup! Best buds since highschool.” Hizashi shoved one of the containers at Shouta, who took the chance to peruse the contents instead of looking at Hizashi. He’d said it easy as you please, like they hadn’t barely spoken for months. Not that he expected Hizashi to unload their damage on a kid, but there was no waver, no hesitation, nothing. 

Shouta relaxed marginally, and wondered if he’d blown the whole thing out of proportion.

“You went to UA?” Izuku gasped, head swivelling to Shouta, who was momentarily taken aback until he remembered that the kid was some kind of hero encyclopedia. Knowing Present Mic went to UA was probably fanboy rookie shit.

“Yeah.”

And he was off, bombarding them with questions all through breakfast. Shouta had to keep reminding him to stop talking and actually eat. 

After breakfast Hizashi managed to bait the kid into the living room with the promise of cartoons, and when he came back into the kitchen he looked a little frazzled. “Wow,” he said, dropping back into a chair. “That kid sure is something. I can see why you wanted to keep him.”

Shouta frowned. “I’m not keeping him. It’s temporary.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hizashi waved a dismissive hand. “No wonder you were freaking out, I’m pretty sure he’s smarter than both of us.”

Shouta wanted to argue, but he had, in fact, been freaking out. “Ugh, this is stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t take care of a kid.”

“Between the two of us I’m sure we can figure it out,” Hizashi said, amused. 

Shouta was abruptly overwhelmed with gratitude, because Hizashi didn’t owe him shit, but there he was. “Thanks,” he said, around the sudden lump in his throat. “You didn’t have to— I mean, I know I’ve been an asshole.” He rubbed at his face, suddenly tired. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Hizashi sat back, regarding Shouta with a small, melancholy smile. “Yeah, you’ve been an asshole. And I won’t say that I’m not mad about it, but—” He shrugged. “You’re my best friend, even when you’re being a socially stunted bag of dicks. I’m not gonna hang you out to dry.”

“Thanks,” Shouta said, rough but sincere, and deeply grateful that he hadn’t ruined their friendship after all.

*          *          *

 They sat together in almost-comfortable silence for a while, drinking coffee and listening to the faint sounds of the latest cheesy hero cartoon from the living room. 

Eventually Hizashi cracked a yawn and set his cup down with a mournful glance. “I’m gonna go shopping, because you need food and the kid needs clothes and stuff.” A crooked grin. “As cute as it is, he can’t go wandering around it your shirts forever.”

Shit, he was right. Shouta hadn’t even thought about it, but all the kid’s stuff was buried under a hundred tons of rubble. “Thanks,” he said, rubbing his eyes and trying not to be overwhelmed by his own rash choices.

“No problem,” Hizashi said with an arm pat that was undeniably condescending, but under the circumstances Shouta would allow it. “While I’m gone get him to wash up.” 

“Yeah, okay.” The kid’s hair was more muddy gray than it was green at this point, and while if memory served kids his age didn’t give two shits about cleanliness, it would make Shouta feel better if the kid looked a little less like a disaster victim. Even if he was one.

A few chirpy words of farewell to Izuku, and Hizashi was gone as fast as he’d come. Familiar silence settled in the corners, in his bones, for just an instant, before Izuku’s giggles at the television shattered the illusion. He supposed he had a few weeks before he had to worry about being alone again, for good or ill. Shoving himself up from the table, Shouta wandered over to the living room where Izuku sat, rapt, and probably too close to the screen.

It was an All Might cartoon, and it somehow managed to be cheesier than the man himself, which was honestly quite a feat. Shouta waited for the episode to wrap up, watching in increasing disbelief as All Might saved Earth from what appeared to be evil space toasters. It might have been the longest five minutes of his life. He was spared further brain damage by the rolling credits, but Izuku seemed happy so he couldn’t complain.

“Hey kiddo, let’s get you washed up.”

Today’s blessing was that eight year-old’s could shower unassisted, so Shouta pointed out the soap and left the kid to it. Another All Might cartoon had started while they were gone, and Shouta wrinkled his nose and switched it off. His phone rang and Shouta picked it up without looking, assuming it was Hizashi. “Yeah?”

It was not. “Um. Is this Eraserhead?” came the uncertain, unfamiliar voice. 

A glance at the caller ID gave no answers, just a number. “Yes,” he said, cautious. “Who is this?”

“I’m calling from Musutafu Regional Hospital,” the voice said, a little more certain now. “You asked to be notified when we had any news on a—” a faint pause, the rustle of paper. “—Inko Midoriya, from the building collapse last night?”

Shouta’s heart sank, something telling him this was not good news despite the clinical neutrality. “That’s correct.”

“She was found dead on scene, sir. 

Fuck. He’d expected it, but he hadn’t realized until just then how much he was hoping to be wrong. “Thank you,” he said on autopilot, hanging up before the man had a chance to respond.

He sank down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, head tilted towards the bathroom and the faint sound of the running shower. Shouta didn’t usually find himself in the position of breaking the bad news. Especially to children. As a hero his involvement in this sort of thing was usually brief. Minimize loss of life, and leave the fallout to those better equipped.

Except now he had a little boy in is bathroom, and he had no more than a handful of minutes to figure out how to break it to the kid that he’d lost the only family he had left.

Shouta knew he wasn’t what anyone would consider comforting. He was blunt, and harsh, and frankly kind of an asshole most of the time. That didn’t mean he was heartless, though. The idea of breaking the poor kid’s heart sat heavy, and he knew himself well enough to be sure that he was going to handle it with all the delicacy of a drunk elephant, best intentions not withstanding.

He was sitting on the couch, Mochi purring happily in his lap when Izuku reappeared, looking world’s better after a good wash. They still had no clothes for him, so he was in another old t-shirt, one for a band Shouta had never heard of. He’d probably stolen it from Hizashi at some point.

“Sit down, kid,” Shouta said, because there was not sense it drawing this out. “We gotta talk.”

“Okay,” Izuku said, brows pinched and he climbed onto the couch, watching Shouta cautiously. Kid knew something was up. 

“Take this,” Shouta said, dropping Mochi into Izuku’s arms. She went without complaint, pliant and happy for attention. 

Izuku stroked her while she settled, brows pinching. “Is something wrong?” he asked, uncertainty written in every line of his body.

Shouta cast about for the right words, for some way to ease the blow he was about to land, and then realized it was fucking stupid. Nice words weren’t going to make the news any easier to take, and beating around the bush was pointless. “I got a call from the hospital. I’m sorry, kid. Your mom didn’t make it.”

A short, sharp intake of breath, and Izuku went still. He sat like that for a beat, two, and then his face crumpled like a wet paper bag. He clutched Mochi tight and buried his face in her fur with a broken sob that made Shouta’s heart hurt. 

Shouta sat there, helpless, while the kid cried into his cat. He knew the statistics. Villains meant victims. Hell, sometimes so did heroes. Izuku wasn’t the first kid to lose everything, not by a long shot, but he was the first one to sit on Shouta’s couch and cry like the world was ending, and for a brief, fierce moment Shouta hated hero society and the awful feedback loop of crime that led to things like this. 

Mochi tolerated Izuku’s tears for a few moments more before wriggling out of his grasp, leaving him alone, crying into his hands. Uncertain, Shouta fumbled for something to say, something that might calm the kid, make him feel better. But what? It’ll be okay? He wasn’t going to shovel bullshit, and the kid was too smart to believe him anyway. Instead he laid an awkward hand on Izuku’s shoulder and said, “I’m so fucking sorry, kid.”

It didn’t have the effect Shouta hoped for. Instead, it was like he’d given the kid permission to really let it out, and with a heart-wrenching wail Izuku threw himself into Shouta’s arms, sobbing hard enough that his whole body shook with force of it, tiny fists clenched in Shouta’s shirt like he was the last safe harbor in the world.

Hell, maybe he was. That was a depressing thought.

Shouta might be an emotionally stunted asshole, and he was deeply uncomfortable dramatic displays of emotion, but even he could tell when a kid wanted a goddamn hug. There wasn’t much he could do to make things better, but he could do this, at least. He curled his arms around Izuku, not too tight so he wouldn’t feel smothered, and let the kid cry it out. 

Eventually the sobs faded to hiccuping little gasps and sniffles, and then to deep, even breathing. Kid had cried himself right to sleep against Shouta’s chest. He didn’t dare move and risk waking Izuku up, not after all that, so he settled in to wait. 

God, this whole thing was so awful. Shouta felt fucking miserable, and he just wanted to fix it, make everything better, but this was a problem with no solution. Hero or not, he couldn’t save the kid from harsh truths. Still, he was never doing anything like this ever again. He barely knew the kid and being witness to his misery felt like putting his heart in a vise. 

All he could do was hold Izuku a little tighter, and hope it was enough.

*          *          *

A few hours passed, Izuku dead the world and Shouta’s right leg completely numb under the kid’s weight. He was half-dozing himself when the sound of the front door roused him. Hizashi bustled in with entirely too many shopping bags on both arms. He stopped short when he caught sight of them on the couch. “Oh my god, this is adorable,” he said in a stage whisper, struggling to divest himself of all his bags. “I have to send a picture to Nem or she’ll never believe it.”

“Not the time, Hizashi,” he said, more sharply than he intended. 

His tone brought Hizashi up short, and he frowned as he set down the last of the bags. “What’s wrong?” he asked, well-versed in the difference between default grumpy Shouta and serious Shouta.

Not wanting to rehash shit for the kid, Shouta checked to make sure he was still asleep before saying, “We got news. His mother didn’t make it.”

“Oh, hell,” Hizashi said with feeling, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Does he have family?”

Shouta shook his head. No father, no grandparents, no aunts or uncles. “I don’t think he does, no.”

Hizashi swore softly. He knew what that meant as well as Shouta did. 

Izuku shifted against his chest, roused by the conversation, and rubbed his eyes before looking up blearily. “Oh, you’re back,” he said to Hizashi. He sounded subdued, and Shouta didn’t bother to ask him how he felt. The answer was obvious. 

“Yep!” Hizashi bounded up with manufactured cheer, grabbing a couple of the bags and holding them out. “I got some clothes, a toothbrush, a few other things. I had to guess your size, so if anything doesn’t fit just leave it in the bag and I’ll donate it.” He rustled the bags. “Go on! Give everything a try, I bet you’re dying for something other than Shouta’s t-shirts.”

Spurred by politeness if nothing else, the kid accepted the bags. “Thank you,” he said, with a watery undertone that told Shouta more tears were probably imminent. 

“You can use my room,” Shouta said, jerking his head toward the door. For the clothes, and maybe for a little privacy with his grief. “Take as long as you need.”

The kid shuffled off under the weight of three heavy shopping bags, the door snicking quietly closed behind him. As soon as the door shut Hizashi’s smile slid into a worried frown. “Poor little guy,” he said, slumping onto the couch with a deep sigh. “So, what now?”

Shouta shrugged. “Social services will try to find family. It’s possible there’s someone Izuku didn’t know about. Estranged grandparents, distant cousin, something. Most likely he’ll go into foster care.”

Hizashi’s frown deepened. “I hate this.”

On that, they were agreed. “He has burn scars.”

“He what!?” Hizashi whispered, sitting upright and staring at Shouta in horror. “Was it—”

“Not his mother, I don’t think. She had a telekinesis quirk.” Shouta struggled to articulate the fears that those scars represented. “He’s quirkless, and now he’s alone.” The kid was bright and good, and the world would chew him up because that was what the world did to people who were bright and good. Without a quirk, all the world would see was a nail in want of a hammer.

“He doesn’t have to be,” Hizashi said, with an edge of resolute steel. “Not if we don’t let it happen.”

So, what? They try and keep in touch with the kid after he’s placed? It was possible, Shouta supposed. Nothing to stop him from giving the kid his number and checking in on him every now again, just to make sure he was okay. It was unorthodox, but doable. It wasn’t much, but the least he could do was give the kid some sort of lifeline.

The door to his bedroom cracked open before they could discuss it further, and out came Izuku. He was wearing jeans and an All Might t-shirt that still had the tag dangling from the arm. His eyes were red, but he seemed okay. 

Hizashi perked up, smile back in place and too soft to be feigned. “Hey, hey little listener, did everything fit okay? I know you’ll need more, but now Shouta and I can take you out—oof!”

Izuku plowed into him like a small, All Might-themed missile. “Thank you,” he said, hugging Hizashi with all the strength in his scrawny little arms. 

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” Hizashi said, looking like he’d just been pierced through the heart. He returned the hug, squeezing Izuku tight. “Shouta and I will be here for as long as you need, I promise.”

It was too big a thing to say. An impossible promise, but Shouta kept the reflexive protest behind his teeth, because what kind of heroes would they be if they couldn’t pull off the impossible from time to time?

Chapter Text

 The next week passed quickly as they fell into something of a routine. They woke, Izuku tagged along on his morning jog, Shouta cobbled together a breakfast of toast and overcooked scrambled eggs. They watched television, mostly Izuku’s hero cartoons, sometimes nature documentaries when Shouta reached his limit of twee All Might bullshit. They talked. About current events and heroes and if Izuku caught him in the right mood, about Shouta’s time at UA. Hizashi turned up after work and made them dinner because Shouta couldn’t cook for shit, and they both put hero work on the back burner for the time being by unspoken agreement.

It was nice. Shouta would die before admitting it, but despite the disruption to his carefully crafted routine, spending so much time with the kid and Hizashi was actually good. He hadn’t realize just how tightly he’d been wound until he found himself relaxing for the first time in, hell, months. He felt like a frayed thread given slack just before it could snap. An analogy he kept to himself, because he didn’t want Hizashi to worry.

It was all temporary, anyway. Social services would place the kid eventually, and then Hizashi wouldn’t have a reason to hang around anymore. Shouta could go back to his long nights and his solitude. He carefully ignored the way his stomach went tight at the thought. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, it was just fact. Inevitable.

“What are you angsting about over there?” Hizashi’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Shouta blinked at him across the table.

“What?”

Mouth twisting in a smirk, Hizashi leaned towards Izuku, who was tackling his dinner with gusto. “Whenever he starts worrying about something too hard, he gets a little crease right here,” he said, poking himself right between his brows. “That’s when you know you gotta knock him out of it.”

Izuku giggled, and then nodded like Hizashi had just imparted very important wisdom. Shouta frowned briefly before smoothing his expression and shooting Hizashi an unimpressed stare he ignored.

 “It’s not good to worry too much,” Izuku told him.

“Noted,” Shouta said dryly. Life advice from a grade-schooler. Although, best as Shouta could tell, he seemed to be following his own edict remarkably well. He’d been... surprisingly okay, in the week since they’d gotten the news. A little quiet sometimes, with flickering bouts of sadness that came and went quickly. Shouta wasn’t sure if the kid was just resilient as hell, or if they should get him a therapist. Both, probably. He’d talk to Hizashi about it later.

Silence fell over the table, but it was clear that Izuku had more to say. He was gnawing at his lip the way he tended to when he was chewing on a particularly difficult question, but in Shouta’s limited experience, if you let him be the question would work its way out eventually.

It wasn’t a long wait. “Um. When do I have to go back to school?”

School? Shouta stared at the kid, feeling more like an idiot with each second that passed. The kid was eight for fuck’s sake, of course he was supposed to be in school. It just... hadn’t occurred to Shouta at all. The stunned look on Hizashi’s face was his only consolation. At least he wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten, and Hizashi was a teacher, so he had even less of an excuse. 

Shouta wasn’t sure what the protocol was here. How long did you get a free pass when you’d lost everything? “Do you want to go back to school?” he asked, because if the kid said no Shouta wasn’t going to force the issue when he hadn’t even realized it was an issue.

Izuku frowned. “I like learning,” he said, soft, and the unspoken “but” was loud and clear. Izuku rubbed his arm, and Shouta realized with a sharp bolt of clarity where the mysterious burn scars were from. The kid was being bullied. Viciously, if those burns were anything to go by. There was no way nobody had noticed, so why the fuck hadn’t anyone done anything to stop it?

“We’re pretty far from your old neighborhood,” Shouta said, because there was no way he was putting the kid back in a school where someone was hurting him. “Would you be okay going to a different school?”

“A different school?” Izuku said slowly, like he’d never considered the possibility. “I can do that?” he asked, the relief in his voice palpable, and Shouta reminded himself that burning an elementary school to the ground was a crime. 

“Yeah, sure. We can figure something out tomorrow, if you want?”

“Yes, please!” he said brightly, the reluctance evaporating in the face of bright eyed enthusiasm. 

Hizashi ruffled Izuku’s hair with a soft smile.

*           *           *

 With Hizashi’s help, they found a nearby elementary school and got Izuku registered. The administration seemed sympathetic to Izuku’s situation, and Shouta made it very clear that bullying would not be tolerated. The pale-faced principle was quick to agree. 

Hizashi smirked at him around the sugary monstrosity he called coffee. “You scared the shit out of that principle.”

Shouta frowned at him as he paid for his own coffee, dropping a substantial tip into the jar. The little coffee cart was a lifeline some mornings, and the stern-faced owner never seemed particularly fussed when Shouta turned up beat to shit and bleeding. It was only appropriate to express his appreciation. Plus the coffee was damn good. “I just made sure he understood the situation.”

That earned him a soft snort. “I can’t decide if you don’t know how intimidating you can be sometimes, or if you just pretend you don’t.”

Shouta rolled his eyes. “The point is that Izuku should have a better time at this school than at his previous one.”

The statement sobered Hizashi. “Do you think that’s where the burns came from? School?”

“I can’t be sure, but you saw how happy he was at the idea of going to a different school.” It still made Shouta’s blood burn. “It seems likely.”

“Yeah.” Hizashi sighed, and then shook off the mood like a dog shaking off water. “After we get home we should take Izuku out to get some school supplies. Backpack, notebooks, that sort of thing.”

After we get home. Shouta’s stomach did something fluttery at the statement and he ignored it. “Thanks for footing the bill for all of this stuff, by the way.” Shouta didn’t make much as an underground hero to begin with, and ‘not much’ had become ‘not anything’ since Izuku, because he wasn’t working. 

Hizashi grinned. “No problem. If only you hadn’t gone underground, you too could be living large off the merchandise royalties.” 

Shouta could not fathom anything more terrible than having his own face staring back at him from a t-shirt. “I’ll take the anonymity, thanks,” he said. 

“Lucky for you that Izuku’s cute little freckled face owns my entire heart, so I don’t mind.” Hizashi took a sip of his coffee, expression smoothing into something contemplative. “Have you heard back yet? From his social worker?”

Shouta shook his head. “Not yet. I imagine they have their hands full.” He also suspected Izuku might be lower on the priority list since he was staying with a hero. They might change their minds if they knew Izuku was sleeping on his couch, though.

“Things will work out,” Hizashi said, decisive, sunny smile back in full force.

Shouta thought of wide green eyes and a terribly fragile sort of strength, and hoped fervently that Hizashi was right.

*           *           *

Shouta was more nervous on Izuku’s first day than Izuku was. Which wasn’t to say the kid wasn’t nervous at all, the way he’d squeezed Shouta’s hand outside the school said otherwise. But then he’d taken a deep breath and turned a bright smile on Shouta, marching inside with his head held high.

Hizashi was at work and Shouta was home alone for the first time in weeks. He told himself there was no point worrying, that his little quirkless charge would probably be just fine. Except he couldn’t stop thinking about the burn scars and by the time the end of the school day rolled around he’d cleaned his apartment top to bottom. Twice.

Shouta went to pick the kid up earlier than he needed to, which left him cooling his heels outside the school for forty minutes looking like some kind of creep. Eventually a bell sounded and a tide of small children surged from the doors, laughing and screaming and being generally obnoxious. He scanned the crowd, picking out Izuku’s distinctive hair, the knot of tension in his shoulders finally easing when he saw the kid looked okay.

The fact that he was acting like an anxious new mother was not lost on him.

Izuku caught sight of him, beaming, and Shouta’s heart squeezed a little because he looked so happy, and again when Izuku slipped a hand into his. Shouta wasn’t sure why he was undone by this kid holding his hand but it was some domestic-ass bullshit. “How’d it go?” he asked, voice a little rough.

“Mrs. Sasaki is so nice! ” Izuku gushed, trying to gesticulate and unwilling to let Shouta’s hand go in order to do so. “She didn’t treat me any different from anyone else, and when one of the other kids started picking on me because I don’t have a quirk, he got in trouble!” Izuku looked up at him, big green eyes absolutely shining, and Shouta realized this was it. This was his villain origin story. Because he was going to go back to Izuku’s old neighborhood and burn that fucking school to the ground.

“That’s how it should be,” Souta said, trying to keep the rage out of his words. He didn’t want Izuku to think he was angry at him. “Schools should treat all their students equally. Quirks don’t matter.”

The look Izuku gave him was alarmingly shrewd. “Except quirks do matter. To most people anyway.” He gnawed his lip, and Shouta had a feeling there was something brewing under that statement.

“Not to me,” Shouta said, and it was the absolute truth. Maybe it was a side effect of his own quirk, but he didn’t see quirks as some sort of foundational element of personhood. “A quirk is just a skill. Unique to the individual, I guess, but a skill nonetheless. They take practice to hone, and if you ask me it’s not really any different than being able to—” he waved his free hand vaguely, trying to summon an example. “I don’t know, draw, or do a backflip.” Izuku giggled, teasing an answering smile out of Shouta. 

“I never thought about it like that,” Izuku said, growing thoughtful. “Heroes have to do a lot of training, including quirk training.”

“The qualities that make a good hero have nothing to do with quirks.” Shouta said. Not a statement all heroes would agree with, but he’d be willing to bet money anyone who didn’t was probably a shit hero. “And you’re not worth any less than anyone else because you don’t have one. Hell, you’re the smartest kid I’ve ever met, I don’t think not having an ability that lets you turn pickles into ducks is gonna hold you back from anything you put your mind to.”

“That’s not a real quirk,” Izuku accused, but he was smiling.

Shouta grimaced. “Oh, it’s a real quirk,” he said, and spent the rest of the walk home recounting a ridiculous story from his early days as a hero, Izuku holding his hand the entire way.

*           *           *

It’d been a long day, which was a stupid way to feel when he hadn’t done anything, but Shouta supposed wringing his hands nonstop over Izuku’s first day of school like an anxious helicopter parent had taken its toll. He was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a late cup of coffee that had earned a disapproving cluck from Hizashi, watching his friend and his kid do homework on the living room coffee table.

Shouta caught the thought and grimaced. Not his kid. A kid. The kid. The very temporary kid that would no longer be in his care at some near future point.

Hizashi crowed over some homework victory, snapping Shouta from his stupid spiral, grabbing Izuku in a sideways hug and ruffling his fluffy hair. They looked happy, and it made Shouta’s heart constrict in a way he didn’t care to examine too closely. He was starting to feel all…syrupy, which was a sure sign he needed some fucking sleep.

Still, he really owed Hizashi for all of this. Not just the money, but for being willing to put aside the fact that Shouta was an asshole and help. He’d made this whole stupid, impulsive decision manageable somehow, and he was good with Izuku. Easy in a way Shouta didn’t know how to be.

Shouta owed him an apology. A real one. 

And so after dinner was done and Izuku was dead to the world in his nest of blankets on Shouta’s couch, he found himself staring across his kitchen table at Hizashi, wondering where to start. How did you even begin to apologize for shutting someone out completely? For slapping away every extended hand? He’d already told Hizashi he was sorry for his behavior, but it didn’t seem like enough. 

Hizashi was watching him, chin in hand, something knowing in his gaze. Like he could read all the regrets carved inside Shouta’s skull. “I listen to your show every week,” Shouta said, because that was easier than, I missed you so much it felt like I was turning inside out.

Hizashi blinked, sitting upright. “Really?” he asked, a pleased smile stealing across his lips. 

“Yeah,” Shouta said, struggling for the words he needed. He wasn’t an expressive man by nature, but he needed Hizashi to understand. “Just… to hear your voice, mostly.” Each word tore from him, ragged and bloody, but he pushed on. “I missed you.” It should have been such a small thing to say, but the self-inflicted wound was deep. He hadn’t realized what a terrible mistake he had made until the silence really settled, in his bones, his heart, like a tomb sealing shut.

“Shouta,” Hizashi said, voice unbearably gentle. He reached out and took one of Shouta’s hands, grip like an anchor. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t answer,” he said, and it sounded so simple, out loud. “After—” Oboro’s name lodged in his throat. “After what happened,” he tried instead, because Hizashi would know what Shouta meant. He always did. “I didn’t cope well.” It was a wound, raw and bleeding, that only seemed to grow, and grow as the years went on. Hizashi’s pervasive light had burned, a constant, terrible reminder of what they were missing. “You were always so worried about me, and I didn’t know how to be better. I didn’t know how to stop letting you down.”

Hizashi took a shaky breath, and Shouta realized with horror that there were tears in his eyes. “Shouta, no,” he said, coming around the table and pulling Shouta into a crushing hug. “You could never let me down,” Hizashi said against his hair, and Shouta closed his eyes against the sting of tears. “And if you call me, I’ll always answer. No matter what. You’re my best friend, even when you’re struggling.”

Shouta pressed his forehead against Hizashi’s chest, heartbeat a soothing rhythm. “I’m not a very good friend,” he confessed, and it hurt to admit, but it was true. 

The statement earned him a watery laugh. “Bullshit. You’d fight God for me and we both know it. You’re just,” Hizashi paused, then laughed again. “You’re just really bad at feelings.”

“Feelings are bullshit,” Shouta grumbled. Feelings were responsible for pretty much every problem in his life.

“They are not,” Hizashi said, releasing Shouta to kneel by his chair instead, capturing his hands as he went. “Feelings are what make us human.” There were tear tracks on his face, but he looked happy. “Feelings are why we’re here right now.” Hizashi looked toward the living room where Izuku slept. “The compassion that you felt for a kid that lost everything was the catalyst for all of this.”

Shouta said nothing, and Hizashi continued. “It’s only been a month but he’s been so good for you. Gets you out of your head in a way I never really could.” He cocked his head, gaze intent, and it was all Shouta could do not to look away. “I know you’re looking for some sort of absolution here, but there’s nothing to forgive. I’m just glad to have you back.” He squeezed Shouta’s hands. “Just don’t shut me out again, okay?”

“Okay,” Shouta agreed, because if there was one thing this experience had taught him, it was that he didn’t want to. Hizashi was as fundamental to him as food, or air. Something he could not live without, and he’d been foolish to try.

Hizashi blew out a dramatic breath, collapsing back on the kitchen tile. “Cripes, I’m exhausted.”

He looked it, Shouta realized. Unlike him, Hizashi was still working on top of everything he’d been doing to help with Izuku. Shouta glanced at the clock, then back to Hizashi. He looked about ready to fall over, and he lived halfway across town. “Sleep here tonight,” Shouta said.

The suggestion earned him a smile. “Couch is spoken for,” he said, jutting a thumb towards the living room.

Shouta rolled his eyes, too wrung out to deal with pointless modesty. “Just share with me.” It would hardly be the first time, and Shouta was entirely too tired to care that some of those times hadn’t involved much sleeping.

Hizashi hesitated, and Shouta was damned if the specter of a couple horny teenagers was going to give him grief. “You look more tired than I do, don’t be stupid.”

That seemed to do the trick. Hizashi huffed, pushing himself to his feet, and Shouta caught him by the wrist and all but dragged him into the bedroom. They got ready for bed in comfortable mostly-silence, broken only by one outraged outburst when Shouta gave Hizashi one of his own stolen t-shirts to sleep in.

Shouta flipped off the lights and crawled into bed, feeling the mattress dip as Hizashi did the same. They settled at a comfortably polite distance, but despite his fatigue Shouta found himself staring at the ceiling, acutely aware of the man beside him.

A few minutes of tense silence passed. “Oh, this is fucking stupid,” Hizashi snapped into the dark, and in a flurry of motion he cuddled up to Shouta’s side with more knees than one human should realistically have, eventually settling and tucking his head comfortably under Shouta’s chin. 

A beat passed. “Is this okay?” Hizashi asked, a little unsure.

“It’s fine,” Shouta said, the words chased by a yawn as he curled one arm around Hizashi’s shoulders and sleep stole him away.

*           *           *

Shouta woke slowly, eyes cracked against the gray, pre-dawn light filtering through curtains he hadn’t bothered to fully close. Hizashi was snoring softly, and sometime in the night Shouta had curled around the other man, pulling him against his chest and getting a mouthful of blond hair for his trouble.

He tried to spit it out and mostly failed, and Shouta accepted his fate because he wasn’t about to move and risk waking Hizashi. He was warm and comfortable, content in a way he hadn’t felt in years, just being with Hizashi enough to mend something Shouta hadn’t even noticed was broken.

They’d never dated, exactly. Their relationship had been one of breathless fumbling, teenage hormones and adrenaline-fueled encounters, and Shouta was struck by a vivid sense-memory of Hizashi shoving him against a brick wall, both of them covered in soot and riding high, and Shouta could almost feel the ghosts of rough brick against his back, the firebrand of Hizashi’s hands.

Shouta shoved the memory away and breathed, slow and deep, until the danger of waking Hizashi up with a boner in his hip had passed. 

They’d never dated, never discussed what they were to each other beyond their friendship. Shouta had been too in love, and too afraid of ruining what they had. It felt like they’d had all the time in the world to figure out who they were, together. What they wanted. Then Oboro died, and Shouta fell apart, and he lost his chance.

And now there, in the early morning light, gaze tracing the shell of Hizashi’s ear, the line of his jaw, Shouta realized that he was just as in love with this man as he ever was. He pressed his cheek against soft hair, and thought of the night before. Maybe more.

Hizashi shifted with a soft snort, squirming around in the cradle of Shouta’s arms until he was looking at him hazy, sleep-soft eyes. The urge to kiss him was sudden and strong, the faintest vestige of good sense the only thing that stopped Shouta from pressing him back into the pillows.

Hizashi was always slow to wake, and today was no exception, seemingly content to lie in Shouta’s arms. Then he blinked, neurons finally firing as he realized their position, faint embarrassment stealing across his face as he wriggled away. “Sorry,” he said, like Shouta wasn’t the one wrapped around him. 

Ignoring the sharp sting of disappointment, Shouta shoved his hair out of his face and asked, “What time is it?” Best to pretend like this morning hadn’t been a cruel teaser of what Shouta would never really have. 

With a lot of uncoordinated flopping, Hizashi retrieved his phone, squinting at the screen. “Almost six,” he said, sounding disgusted. He dropped his phone and rubbed his eyes. “I should get going if I wanna have time to shower and change before class.” He didn’t sound particularly enthused, but he rolled out of bed regardless, yawning wide.

Shouta watched Hizashi pull on his jeans and tie his hair back in a sloppy bun, a knot of longing in his core. Shouta got out bed to give himself something to do other than moon like a lovesick teenager, pulling on yesterday’s discarded shirt like it was armor. 

Hizashi hovered by the door, fidgeting a bit as Shouta approached and not quite making eye contact. “Thanks for letting me stay over,” he said, finally glancing up and clearly wrestling with something, before darting forward and pressing a quick kiss to Shouta’s cheek. A hand on his bicep and a soft, swift press of lips, and then Hizashi was out the door like a whirlwind before Shouta could react.

Not that he was sure how to, exactly. He was confused, but pleased, and followed Hizashi into the living room where he was slipping on his shoes. “I’ll be back after work,” Hizashi said in a stage whisper, like anything short of a nuclear bomb would wake the kid snoozing on the couch. And then he was gone, door shutting behind him with a soft snick.

Shouta sighed, rubbing his face and making for the kitchen and the coffee pot. So he was still in love with Hizashi. So what? If he had one useful skill, it was repressing his feelings. How he felt didn’t matter. Hizashi was there, and that was good enough.

Shouta could make do with good enough.

*           *           *

Shouta got Izuku off to school, and then he was stuck home alone, again, with nothing to do but clean the house a third time like an absolute headcase. He eyed his phone, weighing the possibility of doing a little hero work during the daylight hours, just to keep himself busy.

Too risky. Shouta wasn’t worried about himself for his own sake, but hero work wasn’t exactly a nine to five gig. Something would happen, he’d get held up, or injured, and then nobody would be there to pick up Izuku. Work would have to wait, but Shouta was going to have to find something to do with his sudden wealth of free time or he was going to snap.

His phone rang, default ringtone cutting the silence abruptly enough that Shouta startled. Izuku’s social worker, he realized as he picked it up, something heavy and nervous settling in his gut. “Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Aizawa,” came the friendly voice across the line, the artificial cheer not quite enough to cover the fact that she seemed tired. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

Surveying his quiet, empty apartment, Shouta said without a hint of irony, “I think I can spare a few minutes. What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to give you an update on Izuku.” A soft sigh suggested the news wasn’t good. “It seems he was right about his family situation. His grandparents on his mother’ have both passed, and we’ve been unable to find any other relatives.”

Relief filled him, followed closely by guilt. He’d half-expected this call to be ‘Turns out he has an aunt in Sendai, we’re sending someone to pick him up’, and that would be the best-case scenario, objectively. But the kid was growing on him, and he knew he had to do what was best for Izuku, but he wasn’t ready to part ways with him just yet.

“That’s a shame,” he said, and tried to mean it. Izuku was a person, not a pet. He deserved family.

“It is,” the social worker replied, a note of sorrow in her voice. “Unfortunately, this means that we’ll need to find him a longer term foster solution. I wish I could tell you how long that was going to take, but if I’m being honest I really don’t know. Months, at least.” She paused, and then added, “I know you took him in as a short term measure, and I’m sure you weren’t expecting things to take so long. Would you be able to look after him until we can find him something more permanent? There are options if you can’t, but—”

“It’s fine,” Shouta said, cutting her off, already mentally calculating the logistics. He couldn’t keep leeching off Hizashi that long, he’d have to find some sort of civilian job in the meantime. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea, but hero work was too dangerous when he was the kid’s sole caretaker, and too unpredictable besides. “He’s a good kid, I don’t mind.”

“Oh, good,” she said with genuine relief. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have an update, and thank you again— it’s a very kind thing that you’re doing.”

Shouta wasn’t sure that was true, but he wasn’t about to argue. They said their goodbyes, and Shouta was left alone with his thoughts. This, at least, would be easy enough to break to Izuku. The kid was already sure he had no other family, so it wouldn’t come as a surprise.

A few months. Shouta sat back on the couch, reaching out to stroke Mochi absently. It felt like a stay of execution, and that was dangerous. Izuku wasn’t his kid, and this was always meant to be temporary. Shouta was barely fit to be a temporary guardian, forget a permanent one. Izuku would be swallowed by the system, Hizashi wouldn’t have the excuse to hang around all the time, and Shouta would be alone again.

Not as alone as before, he tried to tell himself. If nothing else, he had his best friend back, and even if Hizashi wasn’t around every day, that was still something. He looked over at the rumpled blankets on the couch, the crayons on his coffee table, the tiny, stray All Might sneaker that had found a home in the middle of the floor. The future was set, and it was a terribly lonely feeling.

Chapter Text

A month passed. Shouta got a job at a nearby convenience store, and after Hizashi stopped laughing — look at you in your little apron, you’re so cute!— they’d bickered about the necessity until Shouta confessed that it wasn’t entirely about the money, that it gave him something to do during the day when the house was too quiet. Hizashi’d let it go, after that.

Not that it was exactly thrilling work. But it kept him busy, the hours were flexible, and he made enough to cover the rent so that he didn’t feel wholly dependent on Hizashi’s charity. 

Izuku had been horrified to realize that looking after him meant Shouta couldn’t do hero work, which had kicked off another round of bickering, this time with an eight year-old who seemed to think it was eminently reasonable that Shouta should go out and risk his life every night when he was the only caretaker for a young kid. Sure, Hizashi would look after Izuku if Shouta managed to get himself hurt, or worse, but the kid had just lost his mother— the least Shouta could do was keep himself safe for a few months to give the kid a little stability.

Despite a few snags, things were going well. Which was why when Izuku came home from school looking like the world was ending, Shouta took notice. Izuku was a cheerful kid, even the worst miseries struggled to stick, and yet there he was, standing in the entryway looking utterly heartsick.

“You okay, kid?” he asked, already plotting the murder of whatever fucking goblin at school who had put that look on his face.

Izuku dropped his backpack and rubbed his cheek, clearly chewing on something. Shouta waited, and after a moment Izuku sucked in a sharp breath and burst out, “CanIbeaheroifIdon’thaveaquirk?”

Shouta blinked at him, parsing the question out of the mash of words. “What?” He’d been expecting bullying, not this.

Clearly nervous, Izuku rushed on, “Everyone says I can’t, even my teacher, and she was really nice but she said that you had to have a quirk to be a hero.” There were equal parts frustration and desperation in his voice, and a dim hope in his eyes that made Shouta’s heart ache. “But you’re an actual hero and I’ve never had the chance to ask a hero before so—” he sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. “Can I still be a hero if I don’t have a quirk?”

It was clear that he expected the answer to be no. He stood there like he was braced for a blow, like he was ready for Shouta to shatter all his dreams and it was fucking heartbreaking to see. It was also clear that not one person had ever told him yes. That he’d been carrying this dream with the desperate hope that someone would give him a chance, that someone would tell him that his dream wasn’t impossible. 

Nobody had ever given him that chance, and nobody ever would, because what could he do with no quirk?

Except the kid was analytical and observant and smart as hell, and Shouta’d met more than a few heroes who couldn’t find their ass with both hands. There was so much more to being a hero than a quirk, but somewhere along the way the world seemed to have forgotten that, and now an eight year-old was waiting for Shouta to put the final nail in the coffin.

Well, fuck that.

“Yes,” he said, voice rough with emotion, and Izuku’s eyes went impossibly wide. “It won’t be easy,” Shouta warned, because he wouldn’t lie to the kid. If he put in the work, he could do it, but the world would fight him for every step. “You’ll have to work twice as hard to get half as far, and the system is gonna be rigged against you. If you want it, you’ll have to fight for it.”

Izuku’s eyes were glassy with tears, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth the kid crashed into his legs, arms clinging to his waist as Izuku sobbed against his stomach. Blinking away tears of his own, Shouta crouched to give the weepy kid a proper hug.

If the kid wanted to be a hero, then he would be a hero. Shouta would make sure of it.

*           *           *

Izuku’s tears dried quickly, replaced by a sort of fiery determination that seemed utterly out of place on an eight year-old. Which was how they wound up sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by notebooks and mapping out the best course to Izuku’s dream.

“The best thing we can do for you is get your training started as soon as possible,” Shouta said, watching Izuku dutifully transcribe his words. “Most hero students don’t have any formal training before they start school, so that’ll give you a leg up on the competition.”

Izuku looked up at him then, eyes shining, like he was the second coming of fucking All Might. “I can start training already?” he asked. “With you?”

“Who else?” Shouta said, losing a fight against a smile at the kid’s enthusiasm. “And yeah, the sooner the better.” He gave Izuku a once over, considering. He was still too young to predict his adult physique, and Shouta’s combat style wouldn’t suit him at all if he hit puberty and wound up Endeavor-sized. Izuku did seem a bit on the small size for his age, though, so if they were lucky he wouldn’t grow up to be some sort of hulk. And if he did, well, they’d adapt somehow.

“I’m going to train with a real hero, ” Izuku said under his breath, and Shouta bit back a snort of laughter. Couldn’t fault the kid for enthusiasm.

They were discussing ideas for support items— Shouta planned to have a scarf made for him, for training purposes if nothing else, but having options would help him level the playing field— when the door opened and Hizashi called out, “I’ve got dinner~!”

He sauntered into the kitchen, pausing to survey the notebook apocalypse on the table. Shouta was learning very quickly that Izuku was an obsessive note-taker. “What’s all this?” he asked, depositing the takeout on the counter and coming over to peer at the notebook Izuku had in front of him.

“I’m going to be a hero!” Izuku gushed, and Hizashi blinked down at him, surprised.

 A beat passed, and dread sat heavy in Shouta’s gut. If Hizashi said the wrong thing, Shouta would throw him right out the fucking window, feelings be damned.

But then Hizashi grinned. “Hell yeah, you are!” He gave Izuku a high five, the kid so happy he was downright radiant, and Shouta blew out his tension with a small sigh. Hizashi ruffled Izuku’s hair, “But future heroes still gotta wash up for dinner, so off you go.”

Hizashi watched him go with obvious fondness, before turning a soft smile on Shouta that had him fidgeting in his seat and deliberately not looking as he scooped up Izuku’s notebooks. “So, what’s all this about?”

“Everyone in his life told him he couldn’t be a hero without a quirk,” Shouta said, his anger over it still simmering. He looked up at Hizashi then, a challenge in his eyes. “I said he could.”

“Easy there mama bear,” Hizashi said, holding up his hands. “I’m not gonna say he can’t. If he’s got you in his corner, by the time he’s ready for school the other kids won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Shouta set the notebooks on the counter, pleased by Hizashi’s confidence in his ability, but what the man said next made him go cold. 

“Does this mean you plan to stay in contact with him after he’s gone?”

In all the excitement Shouta had forgotten. Izuku would be gone in a month or two. How the hell was he supposed to keep his promises then? They could stay in touch, but what if the kid wound up placed on the other side of the country? Would he move? Away from Hizashi? Even at his lowest point he’d never considered doing that.

He didn’t get a chance to voice any of this, because Izuku came back, and the last thing Shouta wanted to do was stomp on his tenuous new hope with logistical realities. Instead he stewed on the question through dinner, Izuku too busy filling Hizashi in on all of their plans to notice Shouta’s sudden mood shift.

Praise be to the homework gods, Izuku had a project he was working on with another kid who lived in the building, a model of the solar system or something. He was staying over, and after the appropriate background checks, Shouta was relieved the kid seemed to be making friends. He was also relieved that it gave him space to have his latest crisis in peace, and as soon as Izuku was out the door he let his head fall to the table with an emphatic, “Fuck.”

Hizashi chuckled and patted his head. “You should be careful about over-promising,” he said, equal parts rebuke and understanding. 

Except that wasn’t quite the problem, was it? The problem was that he’d made all of these plans with Izuku under the assumption that the kid wasn’t going anywhere. The problem was something that Shouta had been trying to avoid acknowledging for weeks now, maybe longer. “I want to keep him,” he confessed. It was stupid, and selfish, but the idea of sending Izuku off with strangers made him want to scream.

“You want…to keep him?” Hizashi repeated faintly, and Shouta scowled at the table.

“It’s stupid, I know.” Shouta could barely take care of himself. His job was dangerous and the pay was shit, his apartment was too small, and he barely knew how to cook. He was a single man who wasn’t even old enough to have a kid Izuku’s age. He was shit with feelings and he was shit with people, and he could barely manage one friendship. “I’m not fit to be a parent. I’m a mess, my job has a sky high mortality rate, and god knows the kid deserves a little fucking stability.”

He plowed on, all the confused feelings falling out of him in a jumbled rush. “But I keep thinking. About the burn scars. About how he’s quirkless and how hard our society is on kids like him. He’s so smart, and so good, and when he asked me if he could be a hero it was with this… fragile kind of strength, like he didn’t want to give up but he was one blow away from breaking and I just—” Shouta scrubbed at his face with a heavy sigh. “I’m shit, but I feel like wherever he ends up will be worse. That they’re going to grind out his spark and he’s going to grow up thinking he’s worthless because of an accident of birth.” He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough that spots bloomed against the dark. “Do you know the statistics on suicide for quirkless kids? Because holy shit—”

“Aaaand we’re spiraling,” Hizashi interrupted, taking Shouta’s wrists and pulling his hands away from his face. He smiled. “You really care about this kid, don’t you?”

He really did. The little bastard had managed to get his hooks in deep. “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. I’m about as unqualified as a person can get.”

Hizashi released his wrists and folded his arms, expression serious. “You’ve been good for each other, you know. Izuku is happy here. You treat him well, you take him seriously. You care about his wellbeing, his future.” A faint smile. “You put up with his All Might cartoons. Whatever you might think about yourself, the kid is flourishing.” Hizashi took a breath, and when he continued his voice wavered just a bit. “And you. You’ve been… present, in a way you haven’t been for, God, years . A way I wasn’t sure was ever going to happen. You might have saved him first, but I think he saved you back.”

It was impossible to deny the truth of that statement. There was guilt, but mostly Shouta was just relieved. “Not just Izuku,” he said, because Hizashi had been a lifeline, and Shouta wasn’t sure he’d have managed without him.

“You better believe it,” Hizashi said, warm and pleased. 

They sat together in comfortable silence for a moment, before Hizashi said, “I think you should. Adopt him, I mean.”

God, he wanted to. But Shouta quashed desire with a sharp frown, because it wasn’t about what he wanted, it was about what was best for Izuku. “I shouldn’t,” he said, pushing away from the table to pace, the need to burn some of the nervous energy coiling in his gut overwhelming. Hizashi trailed after him, leaning against the doorframe and watching Shouta wear a circle around the couch. “They probably wouldn’t even let me,” he said at length. “I’m a disaster, I’m single, I’m broke, the kid doesn’t even have his own bedroom.”

“Shouta, you love the shit outta that kid.” Hizashi said, amusement lacing his words. “The rest is just details.”

Shouta paused his living room tour to frown at Hizashi. “The kind of details the government cares about before giving you permanent guardianship of a child.”

Hizashi shrugged. “So come work for U.A.”

“What?” Shouta stared at him. “Is that a joke?”

“No, it’s not a joke you fucking goober,” Hizashi said, strolling over and thumping him between the eyes. “Nedzu’s been looking for a new Heroics instructor for months, and he’s been not-so-subtly prodding me to get you to apply. He said, quote, “It seems Eraserhead is in a position where a little more stability might suit him.”  

Was Nedzu spying on him? But even that question was secondary to, “You want me to be a teacher? Me?” Shouta could not imagine anyone less suited to herding a class full of hero wannabes. 

Hizashi shrugged. “It pays well and it’s stable employment. You could terrorize the next generation of heroes, I know you’d like that. Besides, you care more about what makes a good hero than most of the people in the profession, if I’m being honest.” Shouta thought of all the showboating bullshit and—Izuku’s young voice in his memory—collateral damage, and found it hard to disagree. It was a low fucking bar.

It would solve some of the problems that might come up if he tried to adopt Izuku. It was a respectable profession and he’d make enough money to get a bigger apartment. But still, a teacher? Him? It was difficult to imagine. “I’ll… think about it,” he allowed. Couldn’t be worse than the convenience store gig. Probably.

Hizashi beamed like Shouta had just agreed it was the best idea in the history of great ideas. “So you’re gonna do it then? Adopt Izuku?”

It was a terrifying thought, but the idea of letting him go was worse. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough, trying not to linger too much on the enormity of the decision. Then, like admitting what he wanted had lit a fire, the doubt burned away, leaving something bright and fierce in its wake. “He’s my kid and I’m not giving him up.”

Hizashi blinked, then looked skyward, voice a little strangled as he muttered, “Holy shit , I am so attracted to you right now.”

Shouta stared, startled, but before he could even begin to formulate a response, Hizashi was crowding him against the back of the couch, hands on his face as he tugged Shouta into a searing kiss. 

He was acutely aware of the places where they touched, the drag of one hand against his stubble, the other tangling in his hair and tugging just hard enough to make Shouta gasp into the kiss. The press of Hizashi’s hips that kept him pinned against the couch.

The kiss was slow, languid and so fucking filthy that Shouta was struck by the half-hysterical notion that if Hizashi didn’t have him on his back in the next five minutes, he was going to die. His limbs felt like liquid fire, sharp need a knife in his belly. When Hizashi broke the kiss after a minute, a year, the loss of contact wrenched a sound from him that was so breathless and desperate he heard Hizashi’s breath catch with an unsteady curse, hips rolling against Shouta’s like he couldn’t help it.

He drew back just enough that he could look at Shouta, lips red and eyes dark. “This okay?” he asked, an echo of the night he’d curled against Shouta in the dark.

It seemed a ludicrous question, like Shouta wasn’t already going to pieces. “God, yes,” he breathed, dragging Hizashi back in for another kiss.

*           *           *

The sound of a door closing tugged Shouta awake, and he only had a moment to appreciate Hizashi clinging to him like a warm, naked barnacle before the door to his bedroom creaked open and in popped a head of fluffy green hair. “Do you know where my math notebook is?” Izuku asked, glancing around the room and momentarily oblivious to Shouta’s horror. “I need it today and it wasn’t in my backpack.”

He looked up then, and Shouta stared helplessly back, because there was nothing he could do to hide the fact that he was in bed with Hizashi. At least they were under the blankets, small fucking favors. 

Izuku’s entrance had woken Hizashi, and for a moment the three of them stared at each other, Izuku glancing between them with furrowed brows. “My notebook?” he prompted, when Shouta didn’t speak. “I need it for school.”

“School?” Hizashi repeated. Then, “Oh, shit! School.” He made to get out of bed and Shouta stopped him with an arm around his waist because the idiot was buck-ass naked and Izuku was still in the room. 

“Kitchen counter,” he croaked.

Izuku beamed at him with a sunny, “Thanks!” and then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

There was a beat of silence and then Hizashi was scrambling out of bed, swearing up a storm. “I’m so late,” he moaned, tossing over Shouta’s bedroom until he stopped, staring at the door and apparently remembering that his clothes were all on the living room floor. “I’m stealing your clothes,” he announced, turning to rifle through Shouta’s dresser. He wound up with a pair of jeans that were too big in the waist and too short in the leg, like a kid in poorly-fitted hand-me-downs.

He threw on a shirt that was only a little too large, vaulting onto the bed and straddling Shouta’s waist, grabbed his face and kissed him hard, and then vaulted off again, throwing open the bedroom door and calling, “C’mon Izuku, I’ll give you and your friend a ride!”

A brief flurry of activity, and then the door slammed, silence settling over the apartment. Eventually Shouta rolled out of bed, dressed, and went into the living room to clean up the clothes they’d left on the floor.

He’d slept with Hizashi.

It wasn’t the first time, but the last had been shortly after graduation. Did it mean anything? Should it mean anything? His thoughts kept circling back to the way Hizashi had kissed him before he left. It was the first time Hizashi’d ever kissed him like that when it wasn’t a prelude to sex. 

God fucking help him, but he wanted it to mean something. Shouta might not be any prize, but he was stupid in love with that man. He didn’t think he could go back to the friends with benefits arrangement they’d once had. Just the idea made his heart ache.

Which meant having an adult conversation about it, the thought of which made Shouta slightly ill.

He went to work, the day passing in a mechanical blur, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay more than cursory attention to the world around him. He’d decided to adopt Izuku. Something had happened with Hizashi, even if he wasn’t sure exactly how serious that something was. It was honestly more than his poor, shriveled, routine-loving heart could take. 

There was so much he had to do. Find a new job, because being a hero sounded impressive, but the minute Social Services took a look at his financials they’d laugh him right out the door. Find a new place, because if the kid was staying with him then he needed his own room. Ask if Izuku even wanted to stay with Shouta, because adults always decided shit without consulting kids, like they were dolls instead of miniature humans with their own wants and feelings.

Hell if that last point didn’t make him nervous. Izuku seemed happy enough with him, but Shouta had also scooped him up on the worst night of his life and maybe the kid would want a little distance from that. 

But he was getting ahead of himself. Shouta wasn’t going to run this by Izuku until he was sure it could happen. Last thing he wanted to do was let the kid down because Social Services decided he wouldn’t be a fit guardian.

As for Hizashi, well. Shouta would talk to him later today, because while he did not want anything in his world less than the conversation he needed to have, he did need to have it. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, and he wasn’t interested in acting like it, either. He also knew himself well enough to know that if he didn’t tell Hizashi he wasn’t interested in just fooling around that he’d keep letting it happen, because he always went straight to pieces whenever the man put hands on him.

“Aizawa?” A tap on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts, and Shouta looked over find the gangly teenager who usually worked the evening shift staring at him with an amused grin. “Your shift was over fifteen minutes ago, man. Don’t you gotta go pick up your kid?”

He ignored the way his stomach fluttered at Izuku being called ‘his kid’. “Shit, sorry I was—”

“Spaced out,” the kid said with a laugh. “Yeah, I can relate.”

“Thanks,” he said, pulling off his apron and grimacing at the clock because the kid was right, he was gonna be late picking up Izuku. Who was perfectly capable of walking home by himself, but Shouta still liked to pick him up when he could.

Most of the kids had cleared out by the time he got to the school, but Izuku was still there, waiting patiently by the gate. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, and got a bright smile in return.

“It’s okay!” Izuku chirped, falling into step beside him. Silence fell between them for a beat before Izuku asked, “Are you and Hizashi getting married?”

Shouta’s heart fucking stopped. “What?” he croaked. He could barely even contemplate dating, let alone marriage. This kid was going to kill him.

“My mom says that adults only sleep in the same bed if they’re married,” Izuku said, oblivious to Shouta’s distress.

The absolute ridiculousness of the statement was overridden by relief to hear Izuku mention his mother. The therapist Hizashi had found really seemed to be helping. At first he’d refused to talk about her at all, like invoking her memory was best avoided. That had been changing recently, little by little.

Unwilling to refute Izuku’s mother’s dubious wisdom, Shouta said simply, “We aren’t getting married.”

Izuku accepted this with a thoughtful hum. “Well, do you like him?”

“Yes?” Shouta said, with a questioning look at the kid. “He’s my friend, of course I like him.” Most of the time, anyway.

Apparently that was the wrong answer. Izuku rolled his eyes. “No, I mean, do you like like him?”

God fucking help him. He bit back the urge to tell Izuku it was none of his business, because, well. If Shouta was going to adopt him then potential romantic partners actually were kind of his business. “Yeah,” he said, the words coming out a little stilted. “I guess I do like like him.”

Izuku beamed, clearly pleased. “Then you should get married!” he declared, like it was a simple equation neatly solved.

This kid was gonna be the death of him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Shouta mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to muster the stones to talk to Hizashi.

*           *            *

The sound of the front door later that evening was like a hook in his guts, and Shouta hated it. He was not a man given to nerves, and yet when Hizashi called out a hello Shouta’s stomach hit his throat. Fucking disgraceful.

Doing his best to school his expression back to it’s usual bored neutrality, he slunk out into the living room, where Hizashi was perched on the couch listening to Izuku recount his day, wearing a small, fond smile. He glanced up when Shouta entered, gaze ticking to the small bruise on Shouta’s throat, smile morphing into a sly grin.

Asshole. Shouta resisted the childish and pointless urge to tug up his collar. The fact that he was in love with that man had to be the result of the repeated concussions he’d experienced in his life. It was the only reasonable explanation.

“All right, kiddo,” Hizashi said, ruffling Izuku’s hair. “You finish up your homework while Shouta and I pick up something for dinner. Any requests?”

Izuku considered while Shouta inwardly panicked. “That place with the dumplings?” he asked, turning pleading eyes on Shouta.

“Sure,” he grunted, barely listening. Something told him that Hizashi dragging him out of the house meant The Conversation was happening sooner than he’d anticipated. Hizashi looped an arm through Shouta’s and dragged him to the front door, while he tried to remind himself that he was a hero, and did much more frightening things on the regular than having an adult conversation about his maybe-relationship with his best friend.

It did not help, and Shouta felt like he was going to die.

Feeling decidedly like a condemned man, Shouta trailed after Hizashi as they made their way out to the street. It still took a block before he managed to find his voice. “Why am I coming?”

Hizashi shot him a knowing look. “I figured we should talk about last night.”

“Ah,” Shouta said, nerves jangling. This was new. They’d never really talked about whatever they’d had going on, before. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

Despite his declaration that they should talk, Hizashi didn’t say anything for another few blocks, and Shouta didn’t realize they weren’t even going to the dumpling place until they got to the park. The playground was a ghost town this time of day, and Hizashi claimed one of the swings, long legs stretched out so he’d fit.

Shouta stayed standing. “You kissed me this morning, before you left,” he said, because he wasn’t sure where to start but that seemed as good a place as any. At Hizashi’s puzzled look, he clarified, “You’ve never done that before.”

“Oh.” Hizashi frowned a little, cocking his head in thought. He wasn’t wearing his hair up today, and he looked unfairly handsome all around. “I suppose you’re right.”

Very helpful, Hizashi. That really cleared things up. Shouta blew out a breath, irritation burning away some of his nerves. He just wanted to get this over with. “Did it mean anything?”

Hizashi pushed off, rocking a bit on the too-small swing. He didn’t look at Shouta. “I suppose that depends on you.”

Depends on—? “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Shouta asked, irritation fully supplanting his nerves. He really did not have any patience for this inane grade-school bush-beating. 

Hizashi sighed, finally looking at him, a grim sort of resignation on his face that Shouta didn’t understand. “Look, Shouta, you know how I feel about you. So the ball’s kinda in your court here. Always has been, really.”

How Hizashi feels about him? Shouta suspected he was missing some very valuable context here. “What are you talking about? What is it you think I know?”

Hizashi stared at him, expression melting from confusion to disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he laughed a little, dragging a hand down his face and knocking his glasses askew. “I was all over you. For years. Did it not occur to you that there were some implications there?”

“I thought the implication was that you couldn’t keep your hands out of my pants,” Shouta said, feeling a little numb. He wasn’t completely stupid. He knew what Hizashi was getting at, but like fuck was he going to make any assumptions at this point.

Hizashi stared heavenward. “You know, that’s on me,” he said with a faint edge of humor. “I know you have the emotional intelligence of a walnut, I shouldn’t have assumed you’d get the hint.”

Shouta couldn’t even be offended, because he wasn’t wrong. 

“Okay.” Hizashi sucked in a deep breath, and when he looked at Shouta it was clear that he wasn’t the only one nursing a case of nerves over this conversation. “I’m just gonna lay it right out, so there’s no more room for misinterpretation. Are you listening, Shouta? Because if you play dumb again I will not be responsible for my actions.”

“I’m listening,” Shouta assured him, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I have been in love with you since, well, since we met pretty much.” Hizashi said, an edge of hysteria in the words. “Which was why I couldn’t keep my hands out of your pants. Cause and effect, Shouta. Cause and effect! You didn’t realize, god I am so fucking stupid for not realizing that you’re fucking stupid.”

“Sorry?” Shouta managed, stuck on the part where Hizashi had just said he was in love with him. Hizashi was in love with him. No accounting for taste but Shouta wasn’t going to argue.

Hizashi glared, standing up and jabbing a finger at Shouta. “Shut up, I’m mad at you. I was angsting over this for fucking years, and the whole time your dumbass brain was just stuffed with cotton and cat memes.” He laughed a little, shaking his head. “When you walled me off I figured that was it, you know? The end of hope, or whatever. And then you called me, and these last few months have been amazing? And then last night happened, and it really did not seem like you were just blowing off steam, but I wasn’t sure if that was just wishful thinking or what—”

Shouta grabbed Hizashi by his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss, just to shut him up. A chaste press of lips, but it did the job, and he felt Hizashi smile before they separated. The artificial ire from moments ago was gone, and he looked happy. Not the manufactured cheer he sometimes wore like a mask, but genuinely happy.

So was Shouta. It was a feeling that had been creeping into his life these last months, almost against his will. It felt fragile and ill-fitting, like he was stumbling over good things he hadn’t earned. 

A finger landed between his brows, startling the thoughtful frown off his face. “No overthinking,” Hizashi said. 

“Part of the package,” Shouta said with a wry smile. It was almost comforting that Hizashi already knew the worst of him. He knew what he was getting into, and he loved Shouta anyway. 

A careless wave. “We’ll work on it.”

Cramming his hands in his pockets to ground himself, Shouta allowed the small thread of uncertainty in him a voice. “Are you sure this is what you want? There’s Izuku to consider, and—”

“I’m sure,” Hizashi cut him off, almost fierce, before smiling. “I mean, you told me you were planning to adopt Izuku yesterday, I knew he was part of the deal. I love the kid, he’s great. And you,” he grabbed Shouta’s face, squishing his cheeks. “I love you, and everything that entails. So yes. I’m sure.”

“I love you, too,” Shouta said, the words simultaneously the easiest he’d ever uttered, and the hardest.

The joy on Hizashi’s face was enough to make his heart ache. Then Hizashi glanced around, leaned close, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You know, this place is totally deserted.”

Moment ruined. Shouta rolled his eyes and shoved Hizashi’s face away. “I’m not getting arrested for public indecency, thank you.”

Hizashi laughed, threading an arm through Shouta’s and tugging him along. “I meeeeeeean that hasn’t stopped you before.”

Shouta allowed himself to be dragged. “We have a child to feed, you degenerate.”

The statement earned him a dramatic sigh. “Ah, the sacrifices of parenthood. I suppose we should do the responsible thing and retrieve our son his dumplings instead of making out in a playground.”

O ur son. Shouta’s throat closed at the layers of meaning in those words, and he swallowed hard, almost startled at the fierce longing the implications lit in his heart. Hizashi made them sound like a family, and maybe that’s what they were. New, fragile, and a little damaged maybe, but a family nevertheless.

*            *           *

The next few weeks were a blitz of getting his shit together. He’d let Izuku’s social worker know that he was interested in adopting the kid, and her response had been encouragingly positive before she’d dropped an avalanche of paperwork on his head. She’d agreed that a stable job and a bigger place were both important considerations to his application, and then implied that she’d put Izuku’s case on the back burner for a bit while he got that sorted.

He owed that woman a gift basket or something.

Hizashi had already signed a lease for a larger apartment a few blocks away, because Shouta was adamant that they not force Izuku to change schools. He was happy, he was making friends, and Shouta refused to uproot him if not absolutely necessary. 

Little mister “why don’t you get married” was going to be so fucking smug when he realized they were moving in with Hizashi, but that was a problem for the future.

Today’s problem was that he was currently sitting in Nedzu’s office, wearing a suit, and feeling like a fraud. He still wasn’t sure he had what it took to teach a cadre of hero wannabes, but it’d look good on the paperwork, and at the very least it’d get Hizashi to shut the fuck up about it.

“I’m pleased that you finally decided to apply!” Nedzu said, paws steepled on the desk. “Obviously you won’t be teaching until next term, but I think we can find enough work to keep you busy until then. I encourage our teachers to bring their own experience to the curriculum, and starting now will give you plenty of time to get the administrative overhead out of the way, in addition to a few classes to get you up to speed on the teacher side of the equation. It would also be nice to have a substitute on hand if one of the other teachers is out. Give you a chance to get your feet wet, yes?”

Shouta found himself nodding along and then paused, frowning. “Isn’t this supposed to be an interview?” Nedzu was talking like he’d already been hired.

Nedzu waved a paw dismissively. “I already know everything I need to know, an interview would be a waste of both our time. Considering your circumstances, it would be best to get you on the payroll as soon as possible, yes? We wouldn’t want young Izuku to be stuck in limbo for too long, would we?”

Shouta stared, unsure how much of Nedzu’s knowledge of his circumstances was Hizashi’s big mouth, and how much was Nedzu’s unnerving ability to know everything about everyone. He had a feeling it was mostly the latter. “I guess not,” he agreed, and honestly if a little spying meant he had to forego an awkward interview, he was surprisingly okay with it.

“Excellent!” Nedzu clapped his paws together, and then opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a business card. “I do have one stipulation, however.” He slid the card across the desk, and Shouta picked it up, frowning as he read it.

“A therapist?” 

“Once a week, until she advises otherwise, as a term of your employment.” Nedzu’s expression was unreadable. “We take the mental health of our staff and students very seriously, and I believe we previously failed you in this regard.” 

Shouta wasn’t sure a therapist would have done him much good, back then, but he didn’t argue. It couldn’t hurt, he supposed. At worst it would be a waste of time, but it was a small enough concession. “Okay,” he agreed, tucking the card into his pocket.

“Wonderful!” Nedzu looked pleased. “Happy to have you on board, Mr. Aizawa.”

*           *            *

The only thing left to do was tell Izuku. Ask Izuku, because this was his decision as much as it was Shouta’s. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, nervous despite himself. He was pretty sure the kid would want to stay, but pretty sure wasn’t certain and waiting for the kid to get home from school was torture.

He’d asked Hizashi to let him do this alone. He didn’t want the kid to feel the pressure of an audience, and maybe it wasn’t fair to leave Hizashi out, not when they’d been a team on this from the beginning, but even so. Something about doing this one on one felt like the right choice. 

The door opened, Izuku calling, “I’m home!” as he kicked off his shoes, dropping his backpack as he caught sight of Shouta sitting on the couch. The kid went still, apprehension creeping over his face as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Perceptive kid. He had a read on Shouta like nobody but Hizashi. Oddly enough, that calmed his nerves a bit as he stood. “Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

The caution didn’t leave his eyes as Izuku approached, still clearly sensing that something was up. “Okay? What about?”

Go time. “You can say no, but,” Shouta began, watching Izuku’s brow furrow in a confused frown. “I’d like to adopt you, if you want. Make this,” he gestured vaguely. “Official.”

Izuku’s big eyes went wide. “You want to adopt me?” he asked. “I’d get to stay here with you?” His voice began to waver. “I wouldn’t have to leave?”

“You’d get to stay,” Shouta said, hoping this was a positive reaction. “We’d be a family. You, me, and Hizashi.”

Izuku’s face crumpled, but Shouta only had a moment to be alarmed before Izuku plowed into him, hugging him with all the strength in his scrawny little arms. “I was afraid,” he sobbed, voice almost unintelligible under the tears. “You said I’d have to leave eventually, but I love you and I didn’t want to go!” The words ended on a damp wail that broke Shouta’s heart.

He knelt, collecting the kid in a tight hug. “I love you too, kid.” He pulled away slightly, smoothing Izuku’s hair back and putting them on the same level, face to splotchy red face. “And you don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. I promised I’d make you a hero, didn’t I?”

The kid looked a mess, but Shouta was pretty sure it was a happy mess. He threw himself back into Shouta’s arms and they stayed like that for a while until Izuku’s tears eased. Eventually he sniffled and asked, “We’re going to live with Hizashi too?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna get a bigger place so you can have your own bedroom.” Shouta paused, and then added, “Is it okay? Living with Hizashi?”

“Yeah, I love him, too,” Izuku said, easy as anything, and maybe Shouta could learn a thing or two about feelings from this kid. Another sniffle, and then, “Does this mean you’re getting married?”

Shouta snorted a laugh. “Pump the breaks there, matchmaker. One thing at a time.”

A soft giggle, and Izuku drew away, wiping at his damp face with a sleeve. “I’m glad,” he said. “That you’re the one who saved me.”

“Me too, kid,” Shouta said, because he might not have realized it then, but Izuku wasn’t the only one saved that day.

He held out a hand. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go tell Hizashi the good news.” Izuku took his hand with a blinding smile, and Shouta knew that no matter what else the future held, they would have each other.