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When Hizashi opens his door three days after the first year camp was cancelled mid-trip, he’s expecting Shouta or maybe even Nemuri to be visiting him at this god-awful time of morning.
Instead, he comes face-to-face with a pale, trembling Izuku. The teen is drenched, has clearly just come in from the torrential summer downpour outside, and looks like he’s freezing but entirely uncaring of that fact.
That’s... not ideal, to be honest, but most concerning of all is the way the rain doesn’t quite hide that the kid is crying. He doesn’t know why or when he became someone Izuku turned to, but he can’t begrudge the kid a safe haven at all.
So instead of asking questions, Hizashi just ushers the teen inside, shoos him into a warm shower and digs out some of his old clothes that should fit the kid - he’d offer his own, but there’s a difference between comfortably oversized, and drowning under too much fabric. He pauses momentarily as he digs through the box of his things from high school, lingers on the soft blue jumper that was - that was Oboro’s.
If there’s ever a time for it to come back out, to comfort a distraught kid is the exact thing Oboro would’ve wanted. The jumper goes in the pile with Hizashi’s old sweats and a ganriki neko shirt he vaguely recalls appropriating from Shouta when they were younger. For now, it’ll do. Besides, as mismatched as the clothes are, they’re dry, and smell slightly of cloves. Hizashi always finds it comforting, and he hopes the kid does too.
A mere half hour later, after Hizashi has made Izuku slowly drink a warm mug of coffee, he’s trying not to cry or coo as he watches the kid sink into the jumper as he sits on the couch, watches his small hands cling tight to the sleeves for comfort. “I’m sorry,” Izuku is saying while Hizashi wrestles his own emotions into a box to deal with later, “I... I didn’t know where else to go.”
That gets Hizashi’s full attention immediately, and he’s kneeling carefully in front of Izuku in an instant, careful to keep his voice soft. “It’s alright, Izu,” he murmurs, and the use of the nickname has a shadow of a smile flickering across the teen’s face. “Anytime.”
He reaches up then, cups Izuku’s face and doesn’t question himself on how willing he is to drop everything for this kid. “Now, do you want to talk about why you’re here, or do you want a distraction?”
Izuku looks torn, bites his lip until Hizashi presses gently but firmly against the side of his mouth and he releases his teeth sheepishly. “Can - can we do both?”
“Easy as,” Hizashi says. “Distraction for a little while?”
The near-desperate nod he receives is his answer. That’s alright - Hizashi has just the thing in mind. He was planning on saving it for a surprise before the school break finished, but a week early is no skin off his nose.
And it’s worth it entirely, to see Izuku light up when Hizashi presents him with his gift, a little watercolour palette and a thick art book of blank pages. “You used paints before?”
The teen shakes his head, but he’s starting to grin slightly, a crooked little thing Hizashi has seen on Shouta’s face before. “I haven’t,” Izuku says, and he shamelessly wriggles himself under Hizashi’s arm. “Will you show me?”
Maybe he’s a little too fond when he says, “Of course,” but he doesn’t really mind, doesn’t mind the too-genuine tone dripping from his words.
For Izuku, of course Hizashi will show him. If anything, he’s too attached to the kid, too caring for the child that isn’t his, is Inko and Shouta’s, but… He’s not likely to have any kids of his own, but with Izuku, he can feel like he does, even if only for a short while.
“They were arguing,” Izuku says suddenly, and Hizashi hums encouragingly. He doesn’t need to ask who - not if Izuku has turned to him. It means that the main two adults in the kid’s life have had a spat. Not unexpected with couples past the honeymoon period, and definitely not unexpected considering Shouta’s prickly personality.
Not to mention Inko’s spitfire temper that she wrangles well but can’t hide entirely. Hizashi still snickers to himself occasionally when he thinks of her dumping tea all over Yagi’s lap.
“Which is fine, I know,” and Izuku’s nose wrinkles adorably with disgust, “couples fight, but... it was about me.”
Ah.
“Nothing bad,” Izu protests, clearly seeing Hizashi’s concerned expression. “It was just... about my next internship. They weren’t even yelling, just talking, it’s -“
“Perfectly valid to be upset,” Hizashi says heading off Izuku’s little self-deprecating cycle before it can really begin; he gets an adorable scowl for his efforts.
“Mama doesn’t want me to do one,” Izuku continues pointedly, “but Shouta thinks I should.”
After the disaster of the first one...
Hizashi is hardly surprised that Inko is reluctant to approve another internship. And Shouta, of course, knows how vital internships are to a hero’s career, even in their first year of high school. It’s almost doubly important that Izuku have a good second one, as his first one was cut short after the Stain incident.
“And how do you feel about it?”
Izuku freezes, blinks up at Hizashi. “About... them fighting?”
“If you want. Or about doing an internship. Or anything at all, really. Up to you.”
“Oh.”
Hizashi snorts. “It’s your life,” he reminds the teen. “Do you want to do an internship?”
Izuku shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know,” he says plaintively, almost a whine but that’s alright. He deserves to be a moody teenager every now and then (even if Hizashi is still startled that he punched Shinsou, which is a whole other can of worms). “I... think I do. But I don’t want to upset Mum.” Izuku looks down at his lap, flexes his hands as he stares fixedly at his knuckles, at the warped scars from his first few months of having his quirk, of pushing himself too far in an effort to keep up with kids he was already on par with.
“She didn’t think I could be a hero,” Izuku says suddenly. “When I was diagnosed quirkless. I asked her, and she started crying and saying she was sorry.”
Hizashi winces.
Izuku’s not done, however, so he keeps his trap shut. “And I know that was when I was four, and in middle school she started taking self-defence lessons so she could teach me. And she let me apply for Heroics.” A pause. “I just don’t know if she ever really believed I could.”
Hizashi hums again. “Have you asked?”
“I’ve been too scared.”
That’s... understandable, but it’s also not the kind of problem that can really be fixed without words. So instead, Hizashi wraps an arm cautiously over Izuku’s shoulders, squeals internally when the teen slumps into him. “You know,” he starts cautiously. “I can’t speak for Inko. Just... keep in mind that this career that you’ve chosen, it’s glamorous and fulfilling and all kinds of wonderful. But people die. People get grievously injured. It’s dangerous.”
“I know you know this,” Hizashi says, and pokes Izuku in the ribs so the teen closes his mouth with a pout. “The USJ taught you all that lesson too young. But for the rest of your career, you’ll be living that.”
Izuku nods very seriously, but Hizashi can tell he doesn’t quite get his point yet. “You’ll be in danger every day of your life,” he says. “And that’s scary for the people that love you.”
Izuku crumples. “I don’t want to hurt her,” he whispers, “but - being a hero, that’s - that’s who I am, I think.”
“It’s hard,” Hizashi concedes, “but it’s not something that’s all on you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a hero; lots of jobs come with risks, especially if they’re first responders like us. And sometimes that does hurt the people that love us, but it’s something that I’ve learned to live with, and they have too. If you want to be a hero, things will work out.”
“Sometimes I think all I ever do is mess up and hurt people,” Izuku mutters, and then looks horrified, clamping his hands over his mouth as he stares up at Hizashi with wide eyes. It’s very clear he’s still more shaken up about his fight with Shinsou than he’s been letting Shouta and Inko know.
Right. This is no longer a table conversation, Hizashi thinks as he puts down his paintbrush, and he doesn’t hesitate to gently tug Izuku up and deposit him on the far more comfortable couch. He doesn’t sit beside him, but perches on the coffee table so his knees knock against the teens, takes Izuku’s hands carefully in his own. They’re so small, comparatively, small and wondrous and precious because of the child they’re attached to.
“I - I didn’t - I didn’t mean to say that,” Izuku tells him plaintively, “I didn’t mean to, I -“
Gods, the kid thinks he’s in trouble. Every day, Hizashi curses the society that’s made him so scared. “Hey, hey,” Hizashi soothes, and he can’t help but gently brush his thumb against Izuku’s brow, tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s okay to mess up, you know? This is about Shinsou, yeah?”
Izuku starts to nod his head before he shakes it rapidly, but Hizashi isn’t finished.
“Shh,” he breathes. “Izuku, you made a mistake. It’s not the be all end all. It’s just something to learn from. It’s okay to feel bad about it, because it was the wrong thing to do, but you’re not a terrible person.”
Izuku drops his head, won’t meet Hizashi’s eyes anymore. “You’re a good kid,” he stresses. “It’s good that you feel bad, if you get what I mean?”
“I don’t feel like it,” Izuku confesses, and Hizashi’s heart breaks for him, for this sweet kid that may as well be Shouta’s own at this point, and is wriggling far and deep into his own heart as well.
“Sweetheart,” Hizashi murmurs, “can I hug you?”
And for a moment, so brief but so clear, Hizashi can see Izuku nearly reject the comfort, the part of him determined to punish himself nearly winning, but… Hizashi squeezes his hands gently, reminds the kid that he’s still here, that he’s listening and offering, and Izuku practically crumples into him.
“Izuku,” Hizashi says just as his phone starts to ring, “you did leave a note, yeah?
“Uh.”
Shouta sounds stressed. “Zashi, we need eyes on the ground, Izuku -“
“Is sitting right beside me.”
“...”
“He’s fine,” Hizashi adds helpfully. “Tell Inko before she cries, if you can.”
“Too late,” Shouta says tiredly even as Izuku mouths the words along with him in a quiet mimicry.
Hizashi flicks his nose; Shouta and Inko must’ve been horrified when they realised Izuku wasn’t in the flat. Even if it is a little funny.
Eh, Hizashi’s not Izuku’s Dad, that’s Shouta’s job.
“Anyway,” Hizashi says idly, talking over Shouta’s attempt to get him to give the teen the phone, “Izu’s staying the night at mine, we’re gonna have a wild night.”
“You mean you’re going to do the brat’s nails,” Shouta says in exasperation. “Zashi-“
“Shouta,” Hizashi interrupts firmly. “Just for tonight. I’ll drop him back home in the morning.”
“Unless he runs again,” Shouta mutters and Hizashi rolls his eyes.
“Stop being a bitch,” he returns, with only the barest hint of sharpness. “I’ll see you in the morning, love.”
A long sigh comes over the line and Hizashi winks playfully at Izuku’s starry-eyed look of awe mingled with relief.
“Fine. His bedtime is 11 no matter what he tells you.” Shouta pauses and Hizashi can hear a muffled voice that must be Inko. “No sugar after 9 or he won’t sleep.”
“Even hot chocolate?”
“Especially hot chocolate. Oh, and Inko says beware the puppy dog eyes when he’s sleepy.”
“Mama!” Izuku protests, and yep, Hizashi can appreciate the warning, because even when fully alert in the early afternoon, the kid’s pout is dangerous.
“Gotcha,” Hizashi confirms. “Bedtime is never, and soft drink right before bed. See you tomorrow!”
“Za-“
Hizashi hangs up and grins at the giggling teen beside him. The situation is far from perfect, and this is just a bandage when what the wound needs to heal is a good long talk between Izuku and his mother, but for now…
Hizashi tugs Izuku back against his side with a grin and a wink. “Well, that gives us at least seven hours to get you nice and full of sugar,” and the elbow to his gut is the last thing he needs to burst into laughter, the teen at his side following him into helpless wheezes shortly after.