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Enji is grateful, most of the time. Grateful to be let in. Grateful for the second chance. Grateful that his sins didn’t tear this family apart for good. That Shouto is good and kind enough to think even someone like Enji could earn his absolution. However—
He will admit there are nicer ways to be woken up than at 3 a.m. with his son in law shouting on the phone that, “Whatever the fuck you did to Shouto during work today you need to apologize for old man the spoiled bastard didn’t even finish his cold soba. What do you have to say for yourself, huh?”
Enji winces. He can’t help but think, during moments like this, that it could have maybe waited until a more respectable time. Even if he doesn’t—
Well, he’s not proud of hurting Shouto. Of course he isn’t. He’s just—well. Happy for him. That he grew beyond it. Beyond all the unnecessary ache, and the burden of Enji’s misguided hopes. But—he could have chosen a nicer husband, honestly.
Enji’s hardly blind. He knows Shouto had options. Remembers him coming home from Valentine’s Day with armfuls of besotted love notes and enough chocolate to turn a small army diabetic.
So really it’s very consistent in character with Shouto’s general teenage rebellion that he chose the kind of partner who shouts at him on the phone in the middle of the night that, “It’s bad enough all your bullshit parenting methods have turned your son into a spoiled little pillow princess and I can’t even get my dick wet without having to do all the work, but—”
Enji coughs. “Could you not discuss Shouto’s more—specific sexual preferences with me?”
“Listen here,” says Bakugou on the other end. “I have worked long and hard to help undo all those bullshit ideas Shouto had in his head about being unworthy of love and inherently broken, so. Tell me what you did so I can fix this one too.”
What he did? But he didn’t— Enji is maybe getting too old for this. “I’m not sure I did anything,” he says. And—
Patrol was fine. Slow. They had time to grab lunch. Shouto mentioned how eager for that bowl of cold soba he apparently didn’t finish he was. And then they—
“Maybe it was my fault,” says Enji, bracing himself for the ensuing bout of yelling. He’s earned it. Deserves it.
But instead, Bakugou is eerily calm. “What. Did. You. Do.”
“I was being rational,” Enji says. “I don’t want him to be discouraged when reality doesn’t measure up to his dreams and fantasies. Shouto—he has the bad habit of pretending he doesn’t, but he gets hurt easily.”
“You think I’m gonna hurt him, old man?”
Well— “Yes, to be honest. We all—we all cause hurt unwittingly. And Shouto doesn’t—,” Enji sighs. He’s old and tired and still has too much to atone for. Hopes he might make it to the day where the weight on his chest and the burden on his shoulders feel lighter. Even if only a bit. “He doesn’t deserve any more of it.”
Bakugou tsks. “He’s not—I’m not going to hurt him like that. Ever. I’d rather tear my own heart out.”
“I didn’t set out to hurt anyone either,” Enji says. “I only wanted to be a hero.”
“Maybe you should’ve been a dad first.”
And—yes. Enji did slip up there. It stings most because it’s true. Because there’s hardly any of the usual rancor in Bakugou’s voice. He doesn’t need to be angry about unshakeable truths, Enji supposes. He just needs to say them.
“I am aware—,”
“No,” Bakugou interrupts. “You try, but you’re not. So tell me what the fuck you said to him already.”
Enji sighs. He doesn’t think, even acknowledging the nearly endless list of mistakes he’s made, that he’s wrong for being cautious. For wanting to keep the ones he loves safe from a pain he’s already been through. “I told him the only person he can safely rely on under all circumstances is himself. That—while he might enjoy your company and the implications of the commitment you have made to one another; you won’t always be able to predict his needs. That he should adjust his expectations accordingly.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Which—
Is frankly expected. And unsurprising. Enji wonders if it’s a comfort, for Shouto. Constantly being around someone this openly expressive when he spent his childhood scrambling for any sign of what other people wanted of him. When—when Enji kept forgetting to look at him instead of through him.
“I will be glad to resume this conversation tomorrow,” says Enji. Keigo has started to spend the night. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with that, honestly, but he’s happy, so—he doesn’t want to disturb him. Doesn’t want to shake a frail thing when he’s done it so often already.
“Hey,” hisses Bakugou. “I know you’re, like—internally conflicted about how much of a bastard you used to be, and all that, but I love your son. I love him so much. He knows it. I cook from scratch at 2 a.m. for him. I taught him how to wash dishes. I kiss him three times before work because otherwise it’s too little for his princessy sensibilities. So I can handle whatever shit you convinced him I couldn’t.”
Enji’s temples throb. “He wants children,” he says. “With you, obviously.”
Silence. Then, just when Enji assumes Bakugou has hung up the phone and he can get a few more hopefully blissfully uninterrupted hours of sleep before he goes back to pretending his back doesn’t hurt if he sits in a cramped car for more than five minutes and he’s still capable of handling the job as easily as he did when he was twenty-five and—well. Had more time. Still—
“Really?” Bakugou says. He sounds awed. Sounds like he’s going to cry. “He wants—with me? And you told him I would take it badly? Oh my fucking god, you’re an idiot.”
“He’s vulnerable.”
“No shit.”
“I don’t think—,”
“This isn’t about you,” Bakugou hisses. "Or—it is. But it’s about you letting your son be happy. I—god, I can’t believe he really would—,” He pauses. Enji can hear the deep breath he takes. “I’m going to hang up now. And then I’m going to spend fifteen minutes apologizing to Shouto for waking him up because he gets cranky about his beauty sleep. And I’m not going to describe the next bit in detail because I’m pretty sure you know where babies come from since you made four of them. Deal?”
Well—
It is comforting to know Shouto is loved this fervently and unquestionably. Even if—
Fewer details could never hurt. Truly, they couldn’t.
Enji sighs. “Good night, Bakugou.”
“Good night, old man,” says Bakugou. Then, a bit quieter— “Thank you. For telling me. Can’t promise we’ll name the brat after you or anything but—Shouto will be happy. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”
And—
Maybe Shouto could have chosen a worse life partner, actually. At least this one loves him enough to yell at his father in the middle of the night just to make sure he’s loved and comfortable. At least—
Shouto gets all the love he deserves, now. And Enji gets to be a part of it. It’s not so bad.
“Yes,” says Enji. “Yes, that’s what matters.”
(He sleeps well, the rest of the night.)