Work Text:
Katsuki doesn’t realize he isn’t the only one awake until he hears the water running in the kitchen sink. He turns around immediately and finds his kid staring at him, a fresh accusation in his eyes.
“You’re still awake?” Akira asks. “I thought…” he yawns, lifting one hand up slowly to cover his mouth. “I heard Tou-san tell you not to stay up too late.”
This is one of the great betrayals of Katsuki’s life: that his kid, his only child, who means more to him than anything, has insisted since the day he could talk that he second Shouto’s agenda in everything.
“We want cold soba!”
“But Tou-chan said…”
“Tou-chan wants you to…”
“Tou-san told me that…”
Yeah, deep down Katsuki wouldnʼt want it any other way, but he has every right to be annoyed. Heʼs constantly getting out-voted around here. Even the cat tends to take Shoutoʼs side.
Akira has always been especially close to Shouto.
Itʼs one of the great victories of Katsukiʼs life: that his kid, his only child, loves Shouto as much as he does (even if that means Katsuki gets ganged up on in arguments).
“Come sit, Tou-san’s little parrot, I got something to show ya,” he pats the place next to him on the sofa.
Akira comes and joins him, bringing his glass of water with him. “Is it something from the agency?”
“Nah,” Katsuki says. “This isn’t about my hero work. It’s about yours.”
“My hero work?” Akira asks.
He sounds almost in awe at the concept. Katsuki can’t suppress the urge to ruffle his hair, even though he knows the kid finds it annoying, given the amount of time he spends straightening down the spikes.
Right as expected, he makes a face when Katsuki’s doing it, and Katsuki can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, your hero work. Or the beginning of it anyway.”
At the second mention of his hero career, Akira’s eyes brighten the way they always have whenever he’s happy or excited. Katsuki remembers the early days when Aki would get that look on his face and smile just because he or Shouto came into the room. It’s not always that simple now, but Katsuki loves seeing Akira happy even more than he cares that Akira’s dreams are so much like the ones he had himself.
That Akira wants to be a hero is a source of great pride, but he’s sure that he would have been proud regardless.
“Oyaji, do you think Tou-san would mind if we—if I see this without him?” Akira asks, tone carefully neutral.
“Oi, don’t get so formal,” Katsuki chides. “He won’t mind at all. It’s just your class assignment. When the full packet comes in the mail we’ll open it together.”
“Fine,” Akira says, his deadpan, even tone just a few shades off from Shoutoʼs. “I don’t want to wake him up right now anyway. Both of you should sleep better. You’re setting a terrible example for me, you know.”
“Hey. It’s our job to worry about you. If you worry about us too it’s gonna be a fucked up little worry circle.” Katsuki turns the laptop towards him. “Besides, I’m going to bed after this. I’ll make sure your favorite Tou-san sleeps-in tomorrow.”
“I don’t have favorites,” Akira points out quietly, taking the laptop on his lap.
Then he types in the password (it’s Shouto’s personal laptop, so it’s “Akira911”, his name, birth date and month).
Katsuki watches as Akira opens the browser window and clicks to opens the link.
“1-A,” Akira reads out. “Class 1-A. Bakugou Akira.”
“Doesn’t really make a difference,” Katsuki makes sure to say. “1-A or 1-B. It’s always gonna be how much you put into it.”
“I know,” Akira says, but Katsuki can see the slightest hint of a smile. “1-A is good though.”
As a kid, he went around everywhere telling Izuku and Eijirou plus anyone who would listen that he was gonna be in 1-A. 1-A and U.A. just like his Tou-chan and Papa. It was fucking adorable and Katsuki pretty much thinks it would have been no matter what Akira said he wanted to be. Back then if Akira said he wanted to be an astronaut Katsuki would have dropped everything to take him to the moon. He still would actually.
Except the kid never really fixated on anything else like he did on being a hero. It used to make Shouto worry.
Heʼd lie awake next to Katsuki at night and wonder if they’d implicitly pressured Akira into it, if it was appropriate to cave into Akira’s demands to start training and sparring at the age of four.
Shouto still gets concerned sometimes that the constant comparisons to the two of them grate on Aki, and Katsuki gets that. But he doesn’t think of this 1-A as his and Shouto’s anymore. It’s just a name, like Bakugou is just a fucking name at the end of the day, one that Akira rarely goes by, but even so. Akiraʼs always gonna be Katsukiʼs kid whether or not people call him Bakugou. And Akiraʼs gonna blaze brighter than ever no matter what class he lands up in.
He has a way of taking the best parts of what both Katsuki and Shouto gave him and making it his own. (Katsuki doesnʼt tell him all this to his face since he knows what being overly praised can make a kid turn out like, but heʼs been watching this kid from his very first unsteady steps and heʼs seen his confidence steadily grow.)
This 1-A will be Aki’s and Katsuki knows heart and soul that he’s gonna be amazing in it, knock ‘em dead, all that and more. The kid is dynamite and he always has been. Ever since the first time Katsuki laid eyes on him, red-faced and screaming, as Shouto swaddled him for the first time in baby blue.
“Don’t undersell it now,” Katsuki scolds. “1-A has my fucking kid, it’s better than good.”