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Izuku grumbles as he rolls out of bed, still aching. Ugh, that was a very exhausting day yesterday, and he's still shattered. Luckily not literally. He hasn't broken any bones in maybe half a year now at least, which helps.
It doesn't stop Shouta-san from running him ragged in the name of self-defence training. And, well, Izuku loves it. Loves the strength and assurance and half-comfortable strain of it, of steadily improving. He just also feels like shit the next morning.
Scalding hot, enough for his skin to go pink, the shower Izuku takes is perfect, easing his muscles and waking him up, until he can feel less trembly, more settled in his heat-raw skin. He's far more coherent, too. Less inclined to grumble at his- at his Shouta-san when he walks into the living area and finds the man smirking at him, all Cheshire-sharp around the edges despite the soft eyes.
"You surviving there, kid?"
"No thanks to you," Izuku grumbles.
(It's odd, now, how he actually feels safe enough, secure enough, to snark right back at the man. He knows that Shouta-san won't be angry about it, not unless Izuku was truly and intentionally very disrespectful, and even then he knows his real-life hero well enough to be sure that Shouta-san wouldn't actually hurt him.
Although the idea of Izuku hurting Shouta-san sounds far, far worse than anything Shouta-san could do to him, Izuku thinks. It shouldn't be, he knows, but still.)
Shouta-san slips off of the kitchen stool, raising one arm at his side slightly, a tacit offer. It doesn't even take Izuku a full breath to tuck himself into the man's side, ducking in against the warmth and weight and solidity of it all, his curls surely soaking a damp patch into the man's shoulder. Shouta-san is safe. He always has been, ever since that first night when Izuku was rescued from his shadowed, smoke-and-bruise choked corner by the hard-faced, kind-eyed firefighter. His hand, rough with calluses, had been impossibly gentle for its strength.
(Izuku has, inevitably, flinched from him time and again since that day, too used to broad shoulders and reaching hands being unkind, painful things, but he doesn't wince away except on his worst days anymore. Shouta-san is good. His calluses are born of pulling people and pets from blazing buildings, of working endlessly, achingly, to help people. Izuku will forever be grateful for getting to be one of those people.)
"Morning," Izuku murmurs, muffled slightly by Shouta-san's sleepshirt, but the man understands it easily enough, squeezing him lightly.
"Morning, kid."
"Want me to make breakfast?"
"You can help me, if you want." It's a familiar compromise by now, a tactic to allow Izuku his need to earn his keep, to not be a burden, but to also prevent him from shouldering too much, to subjugating himself to Shouta-san. Some trial and error for the first two months of him moving in with Shouta-san, a few breakdowns and heavy conversations and too-long pauses, have given them quite a long list of compromises, of ways to navigate each other.
Izuku never wants to put a strain on Shouta-san. But Shouta-san never wants Izuku to feel strained trying to ensure that. And his reassurances that he is completely willing and able to take on every single element of having Izuku living with him only go so far, only manage to convince him so much.
Words can be pretty, can be spoken so steadily that they seem more certain than the ground beneath his feet, but Izuku still finds them hard to trust, sometimes.
(He is too used to being a burden, to being cursed out for daring to be seen or speak on Hisashi's bad days, let alone to ask for something. Izuku is the reason for awful things, not just for his own pain, but that of the people around him too. He knows it. He was taught it, time and again, and now he knows it inevitably, irrevocably, no matter how much Shouta-san and his therapist are gradually trying to teach him otherwise.
Sometimes he begins to believe them. More often than not, though, Izuku still finds it impossible to truly and fully believe, not when his scars itch and writhe with remembered pain, words echoing in whispers from the hand-gripped corners of his mind, blossoming in watercolour aches.)
So they have the wordless promises, like this. Izuku can help Shouta make breakfast, but he is not expected to, he doesn't need to do it just to please or make life easier for the man. Shouta-san will always look over Izuku's homework if he wants, but he doesn't press for anything perfect, doesn't insist on examining every piece, as long as Izuku does his best and puts in the work. Izuku has to pick up after himself, but his belongings are still allowed to exist in their joint spaces, are just an easy part of their home.
Izuku is allowed to exist now, living with Shouta-san, to take up space and time and part of his hero's heart. He couldn't be more grateful.
They settle into an easy rhythm in the kitchen, a familiar one, born of many mornings and evenings spent cooking together, Izuku chopping up fruit with steady hands whilst Shouta-san sets up toast and plates and cutlery, unloading some of the dishwasher whilst he's there, and shoves the kettle on to make coffee and tea. He doesn't let Izuku have coffee except on a Sunday. But, well, Izuku doesn't mind that too much, not really, because at least Shouta-san does it out of care, he knows, and he likes jasmine tea well enough to not be bothered.
Sitting down at the kitchen counter, Izuku finds himself smiling a little, nibbling his way through the toast with plain butter. Shouta has chocolate spread, but Izuku doesn't tend to like sweet things first thing in the morning. Fruit is sweet enough.
"Doctors today," Shouta-san says, more of an observation than a reminder. There's a thin veil of questioning beneath the neutral tone, and Izuku is too observational, too well-versed in Shouta-san's mannerisms, to miss it. Fortunately, he's feeling pretty okay today.
"Yep. At two, right?"
"It is." Something in Shouta-san's shoulders has relaxed, a little, although they weren't overly tense in the first place. Not obviously so at least. Izuku is just too used to picking out every single minute twitch and expression of the people around him, to be able to miss out. Shouta's still clearly glad for Izuku being calm and comfortable with the doctors appointment today.
"Okay, cool."
They both know full well that Izuku is incredibly uncomfortable with his semi-regular doctor visits, because he hates feeling vulnerable and weak and a burden, hates being so very obviously reminded of what he has suffered. Yes, he is getting better. But having someone, even kind Nagisa-sensei, poking and prodding at him, at his scars and poorly healed injuries and gradually increasing weight and muscle mass, is still very much awkward at best, and triggering at worst.
Today is going to be a good day though, he has decided. Shouta-san is with him, he's had a good week, and Dog the cat is winding in between his ankles right now, purring faintly. They even have kiwis as part of their breakfast, one of Izuku's favourite fruits.
Shouta-san bumps their knees together, gently, but enough to make Izuku glance up at the man next to him,
"Want to stop by the comic shop on the way to the doctors?" He can't help but perk up, excited,
"If that's okay, please?"
"Wouldn't have offered if it wasn't, kiddo. We can leave half- actually, we can leave up to an hour earlier than planned." He pauses, lips quirking in that fond, teasing smirk of his,
"I know what you're like with your comics and books."
Well, Izuku can't exactly argue with that, now can he? (He just considers himself lucky that his Dad supports his hobbies and interests, that he is now allowed to spend an hour or three wondering around a book shop, Shouta-san idly trailing him but mostly leaving him to his own devices. His Dad encourages him to enjoy his hobbies, to find new interests and continue old ones. Izuku is allowed to have fun. To be himself.
...He really needs to stop thinking of Shouta-san as his Dad. No matter how easy doing that is.
Maybe one day, though, he will dare to say it out loud. Maybe.)
They finish up their breakfast soon enough. Izuku is fully aware that Shouta-san has long-since begun to pace his eating to match Izuku's own, because he's a slow eater, after a few too many times of being sick from stuffing his face too quickly. The fact that Shouta-san does that, just so that Izuku doesn't have to feel awkward about being the only one still eating, means a lot. His hero, Izuku's very own personal hero, is amazing at just always helping him to feel comfortable. It's never too obvious, either.
Admittedly, Izuku still isn't enthusiastic about his appointment with Nagisa-sensei today, but he knows it will be okay. Shouta-san will be with him, and he'll probably get at least one more book or comic today, maybe even two, and maybe they'll cook dinner together later, Izuku thinks. It will be a good day. He's loved, after all, always safe with the firefighter who saved his life (his heart, truly, his soul, that day and every single one since).
Yeh, he really might let himself call Shouta-san his Dad. Someday.