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“Wanna hop on my shoulders, kiddo?”
“Dad, I already said no!”
“Okay, just wanted to ask.”
“Stop asking. It’s annoying.”
“Alright.”
Masaru comes to a halt when Katsuki does, just a few steps behind him. His son drops to one knee, his small five-year-old fingers fumbling with the laces to re-tie them—though he’s not really tying anything. Katsuki hasn't mastered that particular skill just yet.
No, he’s pausing to get the rest that he needs during their hike, but won’t admit to it. Masaru doesn’t say a word, just waits patiently for him to finish.
“Laces tight?”
“Yeah! I wanna keep going, I wanna send mom a picture from the top!”
Legs shaking, Katsuki stands again and grins big, pushing onward. He trudges past Masaru with his head held high and takes the lead as they continue up the somewhat steep, final two-kilometer stretch of the trail.
Along the way, Katsuki stops twice more to “tie his laces”. Once, to observe a lizard under a log. And three times to see if a rock was cool enough to take back home and show his mother (none pass the test).
Watching his son ignore his quivering legs, the sting from the scrape on his knee when he took a tumble at the halfway point—the sheer determination in the gritted smile despite the exhaustion—is both a source of pride and worry for Masaru.
Mitsuki had warned him that this trail might be a bit hard for Katsuki. It’s not particularly long or arduous. But they’ve only taken him on a handful of very easy ones since being out of the stroller. They should have probably done some more of those before tackling something like this.
But Katsuki had insisted after discovering Masaru’s local hiking guidebook and looking through the pictures. The view from the peak astounded him and he wanted to confirm that it actually looked that cool. Needed the proof. And, most importantly, needed to conquer this next-level hike.
Masaru will admit that it was partly selfish, too. He wanted to share the experience with his son. This was the trail he and Mitsuki frequented when they were dating. It’s where he proposed to her. He’s got many fond memories and wanted to make another.
Besides, it’s not like he was going to leave Katsuki alone. He’d be close to Katsuki every step of the way. He brought along snacks for fuel and plenty of water and juice. And if need be, he’ll carry Katsuki the whole way. Just so he gets to see the view from the top.
They’re about a third of a kilometer from the peak; the familiar tree that marks the spot is just barely visible. But the path forward is the steepest of the trail, uneven and rocky. Maybe he should’ve better considered how difficult this would be for his kid.
Katsuki stops yet again and just looks. His red eyes—Mitsuki’s eyes—glimmer like a flame as the afternoon sun trickles through the green canopy. Masaru watches him process the challenge ahead. Clench his fists and purse his lips when they begin to wobble, knowing the pain he wants to push through.
He wants to make it so badly, Masaru can see that clear as day. Has made it so far all on his own. But his boy is beyond exhausted, to the point of tears gathering in his eyes. He takes a step forward and his leg almost gives out. Masaru catches him under the armpit just in time.
“I’m fine!” Katsuki shouts, yanking his arm away. “I’m just—I’m just—”
A bird chirps above them and flutters into a tree. Masaru looks up just as Katsuki gasps at the sight of the nest.
This is his moment.
“Wanna get a closer look?”
Katsuki’s eyes are bright with wonder and his smile lights up his face once more. “Yeah, yeah!”
Masaru grins back and couches down. “Get a good look and tell me what kind it is, okay—oof—You remember the birds from the book?”
“I hope it’s a kawasemi!”
Once he’s sure Katsuki is secure on his shoulders, he stands. Katsuki’s legs tighten around him, his hands on either side of Masaru’s head.
“It is!” he yells, pointing briefly. “It’s blue and orange just like in the photo!”
Carefully, Masaru reaches for the phone in his pocket and holds it up.
“Wanna get a picture for mom?”
Katsuki takes the phone gingerly. Then he looks down to meet Masaru’s gaze for a moment, frowning a little.
“Don’t let me fall, okay?”
Masaru smiles. “Never.”
Easily assured, Katsuki lets go to hold the phone with both hands. Click. Click. Click.
“Got it?”
“It looks so cool! I took it just like the book!”
Thrilled by the achievement, Katsuki lifts the phone again and clicks another phone, aiming at a different tree this time. Then he twists nearly one-eighty degrees to get another. And another. Masaru keeps his grip tight on Katsuki’s legs and lets him collect their memories.
“I’m gonna keep us moving, okay?” Masaru says, now that Katsuki is caught up in his wonder of the natural world. “Take as many photos as you want. Maybe we can make our own book with it.”
“Heck yeah!”
With his son an excitable ball of energy resting on his shoulders, Masaru treks up the last stretch. And when they reach the top, Katsuki goes quiet. The phone is handed back down.
“Beautiful, huh?” Masaru asks.
“Mm.”
Together, they look out into the distance. The cityscape, the beach in the distance. The breeze rustles through the trees and their hair. The kingfinger chirps behind them.
And then Katsuki speaks, voice soft and full of awe. “Thanks, Dad.”
Masaru looks up and smiles. He holds up his phone to get a picture of his own. Katsuki’s eyes crinkle fully as he poses, throwing up a peace sign right behind Masaru’s head like Mitsuki likes to do.
Click.
*
Masaru had suggested the hike as a way to give Katsuki the sense of normalcy he’s been struggling to find these days. It’s always at this point in the trail that he wonders if he’s made the wrong call.
But he’s never been wrong, not about this.
He watches Katsuki grimace, pausing to sit on a large rock to rest. The walking stick he has in one hand shifts to find purchase on a more solid patch of ground while Mitsuki steadies him under the other arm to help. Together they make it happen.
“It might be time to call it, kiddo,” Mitsuki tells him worriedly. “You did so good already, but don’t push it.” But Katsuki shakes his head, too winded to speak just yet.
Mitsuki opens her mouth to say more but then decides against it. Rubbing a hand between Katsuki’s shoulder blades while he catches his breath, she looks up at Masaru with a silent plea.
Mere months ago, he and Mitsuki had stood among hundreds of other evacuees, watching the live feed of the destructive war. Watched as Katsuki, battered and bloody and broken—and dead, they later learned—kept fighting. It’s the kind of dread Masaru hopes he never has to live through again. The fear that he would never see his son or hold him close ever again.
But Katsuki did make it, like he always did. With a grin, just to spite the world that dares to underestimate him. He’s here with them now, working through the aftermath of a victory won through such toil. The hardest part of this journey, in Masaru’s opinion. The long, aching, onerous recovery.
His son has never blanched at the thought of pain. Will even welcome it if it's what he has to do. Masaru had heard enough details from the nurses and doctors about what Katsuki put himself through to win them the outcome of the war. The pain he’s willing to embrace when the situation calls for it. To push and push and push so that he can claim the victory at the top of any mountain he chooses to climb.
But Masaru hopes Katsuki knows that this is not one of those situations. When Katsuki's here, with them, he can rest. With them, he won’t ever lose.
“Honey, do you think you can take the backpack?” Masaru asks, slipping it off his shoulders.
Mitsuki looks at him, puzzled, but holds out her hand. She sticks the water bottle she was holding into the side pocket and then shrugs the strap over her shoulder.
“What’re you up to, old man?” Katsuki says, staring up dubiously.
Masaru reaches out and ruffles his son’s hair, making him click his tongue in annoyance even if he doesn’t pull away. Masaru drops to his heels and turns around, knees cracking a bit in protest.
He jerks his head in the direction of the upward trail. Over his shoulder, he says, “Let’s finish this together, yeah?”
Katsuki blinks in confusion and then catches on.
He scoffs in disbelief, cheeks flushing slightly. “What, you think you’re gonna carry me? You know I ain’t pint-sized anymore, right?”
Masaru nods his head this way and that in consideration, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I’m aware you’re heavier and almost my height now. I doubt you could hop onto my shoulders like you used to but—” he glances to see Mitsuki smiling fondly at them, a bit of healthy skepticism etched in the press of her mouth. “There are still things I’m capable of doing for my son, even in this grand old age.”
Katsuki huffs, rolling his eyes. But he’s smiling, contemplating the offer, the help. And that’s how Masaru knows that he really has grown up.
“Alright,” Katsuki finally accepts.
He hands his walking stick to Mitsuki, who presses a kiss to his head before taking it. He pats at Masaru’s back to rise up higher and gets up off the rock with a groan. A couple of assortment of attempts later, Mitsuki mumbling her suggestions and critiques, Masaru manages to get Katsuki on his back, arms hooked under his legs.
“God, this is so fucking embarrassing—ma, don’t you dare take a fuckin’ picture right now!”
Click.
“Too late, brat.”
“I hate you,” Katsuki grumbles but he’s laughing. Masaru hikes him up a little higher with a hup, and Katsuki’s arms secure tightly around his shoulders.
Slightly out of breath already but no less invigorated, Masaru says, “You ready?”
“Let’s see what you got, old man.”
They make it to the top, as they always do. Masaru is huffing and puffing when he finally sets Katsuki on his feet again. Mitsuki ambles over and presses a kiss to his dry lips before shoving the water bottle into his hands.
They look out at the view. A view that has changed over the past decade, for better or for worse. Yet, the feelings that settle in Masaru’s chest have remained unchanged and true through the years. Always will be when he’s here with the ones he loves most.
“Alright, one more picture!” Mitsuki calls out, shuffling them closer for a selfie. Katsuki complies with only minor complaints, rolling his eyes.
Masaru looks at the screen—his sweaty face sandwiched between the near-identical ones of his wife and son—and silently ponders his eternal gratitude for this moment. Two peace signs are held behind his head.
“Smile, boys!”
Click.
And as Mitsuki steps away to evaluate her photo, Katsuki’s shoulder bumps into his own. His son offers a crooked grin, sheepish yet joyful. “Thanks, Dad.”