Chapter Text
Izuku woke to warmth.
Not sunlight—though there was plenty of that spilling through the curtains in pale gold ribbons—but warmth in the shape of another body pressed along his back, one heavy arm draped over his waist like it had settled there sometime during the night and never planned on leaving.
A slow breath ghosted against the back of his neck.
He smiled before even opening his eyes.
“Kacchan,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
The arm around him tightened instinctively.
“Five more minutes,” Katsuki grunted into the pillow.
Izuku huffed out a laugh.
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“And I meant it then too.”
The apartment was quiet in that rare, fragile way mornings only were before the world remembered to be loud. Somewhere outside, traffic hummed distantly beneath the twentieth-floor windows. Pipes groaned softly in the walls. The city was waking up.
But here, in bed tangled together beneath warm blankets, it still felt like they’d been allowed to pause time for a little longer.
Izuku shifted carefully onto his back, and Katsuki immediately made a dissatisfied noise, eyes still closed as he chased after the lost warmth.
Even after ten years together, Izuku didn’t think he would ever stop finding that secretly adorable.
Not that he’d say it out loud.
He valued his life.
Messy blond hair fell into Katsuki’s eyes, softer now than it had been when they were teenagers. Age hadn’t dulled him, exactly. Katsuki still moved through the world with sharp edges and quick tempers and explosive confidence that made reporters nervous and villains terrified.
But at home—
At home he was different.
Softer in places no one else ever got to see.
The corners worn smooth only for Izuku and the kids.
Izuku reached up carefully and brushed a strand of hair away from Katsuki’s face.
Red eyes cracked open immediately.
“Why’re you staring at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird,” Izuku protested automatically.
“You’re smiling.”
“That’s not weird!”
“For you it is this early.”
Izuku snorted quietly.
Then Katsuki’s expression shifted slightly, something gentler settling beneath the sleepy irritation as he looked at him properly.
There was still a faint mark from Izuku’s pillow pressed against his cheek.
Katsuki brushed his thumb lazily against Izuku’s jaw.
“You sleep okay?”
The question was casual.
Routine.
Still, something in Izuku hesitated for half a second too long.
Because—
Not bad.
Just strange.
A dream maybe.
Or the lingering feeling of one.
Something blurry and distant that had slipped away before he could grab onto it.
“I think so,” Izuku answered eventually.
Katsuki hummed.
“You think so?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Then you slept fine.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Says who?”
Izuku opened his mouth to argue when sudden pounding footsteps exploded down the hallway.
Both of them froze.
Katsuki groaned immediately.
“No.”
The bedroom door burst open hard enough to smack against the wall.
“PAPA!”
A small green blur launched directly onto the bed.
Izuku barely had time to brace before seven-year-old Ren crashed into his chest at full speed, nearly knocking the air out of him.
“Katsuki!” Izuku wheezed.
“I told you not to encourage the tiny menace.”
“You literally taught him how to tackle people!”
“And now he’s perfect at it.”
“Papa,” Ren announced with absolute seriousness, sprawled across Izuku’s stomach, “Eri says pancakes are scientifically better than katsudon and I told her she was wrong but she said I don’t know what science means.”
From the hallway came an offended yell.
“I said statistically!”
A second later, their daughter appeared in the doorway.
Eri stood there with all the exhausted disappointment of someone twice her age, orange slippers half falling off her feet and one side of her ash-blond braid sticking out at an angle.
“She started it,” Ren informed immediately.
“I literally didn’t.”
“You did in your head.”
“That’s not how arguments work!”
“It should be.”
Katsuki shoved his face deeper into the pillow.
“I’m gonna throw all of you out the window.”
“You say that every morning,” Eri replied.
“And one day I’ll mean it.”
“You love us too much.”
“Tch.”
Which, in Katsuki language, meant yes.
Izuku laughed quietly into Ren’s curls.
This.
This was his favorite part of mornings.
Not peace exactly.
Chaos.
Warm, familiar chaos.
Eri finally wandered over and climbed onto the bed too, carefully settling against Katsuki’s side despite pretending she wasn’t doing exactly that.
Katsuki immediately lifted the blanket over her without comment.
Izuku’s chest ached painfully with affection.
Sometimes it still surprised him—how ordinary happiness could feel this overwhelming.
As a child he’d imagined adulthood as something distant and shining and impossible. Like reaching the top of a mountain only heroes were allowed to climb.
But this?
This wasn’t shining.
It was sleepy eyes and messy hair and Ren somehow already getting syrup on his pajama sleeve before breakfast even existed.
It was Katsuki grumbling while subconsciously pulling all of them closer.
It was Eri pretending she wasn’t still small enough to curl against her alpha father whenever she got cold.
It was real.
Warm.
Safe.
For one strange moment, the feeling hit Izuku so hard it almost scared him.
Like standing too close to the edge of something beautiful and realizing how badly it could hurt to lose it.
His smile faltered slightly.
And maybe Katsuki noticed.
Because red eyes flicked toward him immediately.
“You okay?”
Too quick.
Always too quick when it came to Izuku.
“Yeah,” he answered softly.
Katsuki continued staring another second longer before accepting it with a grunt.
Ren, oblivious as always, suddenly gasped dramatically.
“Oh my god.”
Eri rolled her eyes. “You’re seven.”
“I forgot!”
“What did you forget?”
Today was—
Izuku blinked.
Today was…
For some reason his mind stalled completely blank.
Not normal forgetfulness.
Not distraction.
Just sudden, strange emptiness.
Like reaching for a stair that wasn’t there.
His stomach twisted sharply.
“Papa?”
Ren’s voice sounded oddly far away.
Izuku frowned.
Why couldn’t he remember?
There was something important today.
Something they talked about yesterday.
No—
Not yesterday.
Had it been yesterday?
A strange pressure built behind his eyes.
For one impossible second, something cold flashed through his head—
White lights.
Beeping sounds.
The smell of antiseptic.
Then it vanished.
Izuku inhaled sharply.
“Izuku.”
Katsuki’s voice cut through everything instantly.
Grounding.
Solid.
Real.
Warm hands cupped his face.
“When’s the last time you slept properly?” Katsuki asked, quieter now.
Izuku blinked.
The bedroom came back into focus.
Sunlight.
Blankets.
Children.
Home.
“I’m okay,” he said quickly, though his pulse still felt uneven.
Katsuki didn’t look convinced.
But before he could say anything, Eri suddenly snapped her fingers.
“Your interview.”
Izuku stared at her.
“What?”
“With Channel Eight,” she said slowly, like he was the child now. “You spent like an hour complaining about it because they wanted to ask about your rankings again.”
Right.
Right.
Of course.
Relief flooded him so fast his knees nearly weakened from it.
He laughed shakily.
“Right. That.”
Katsuki’s eyes narrowed.
“You forgot?”
“For a second.”
“You never forget interviews.”
“Well apparently I do now.”
“Hm.”
That tiny sound carried far too much suspicion.
But Ren had already moved on entirely, bouncing upright excitedly.
“You should wear the yellow tie! The green one makes you look like a substitute teacher!”
“Oi,” Katsuki said immediately. “What’s wrong with teachers?”
“Nothing,” Ren replied. “But Papa cries when he grades internships.”
“I do not cry.”
“You cried last week.”
“That was one time!”
“You cried because someone cited hero statistics wrong.”
“They used outdated reports!”
Katsuki barked out a laugh so suddenly Izuku couldn’t help staring at him.
God.
Even after all these years, that sound still did something dangerous to his heart.
Katsuki noticed him looking again.
“What.”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me weird.”
Izuku smiled helplessly.
Maybe he was.
Maybe mornings like this still felt a little unbelievable sometimes.
Not because they weren’t real.
Just because he’d once wanted them so badly.
And now they were here.
Messy and loud and ordinary.
His.
Outside, the city continued waking around them.
And somewhere deep in the apartment, Izuku could’ve sworn he heard something faint and metallic echo briefly through the walls.
Beep.
Soft.
Distant.
Gone before he fully registered it.
His smile faded for barely a second.
Then Ren tackled him again demanding pancakes, and the moment disappeared beneath laughter and noise and sunlight.