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Toshinori Yagi sighed as he closed his apartment’s door behind him and took his shoes off. A long week of villain fights had left even the One for All wielder tired, and Mirai had finally put his foot down over the paperwork he had been avoiding. It had taken two hours before he had finally managed to escape, and right now he was looking forward to a quick meal before bed. Yagi needed an early start; he wanted to clean up before he went to collect -
“Papa!” Or maybe he wouldn’t have a chance. Sighing again, Yagi stood in time for a green blur to impact his legs. He watched, amused, as the six year old bounced off, almost falling over before managing to regain his footing. Chuckling, Yagi ruffled the boy’s curly hair.
“Hello there, Izuku. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow! How long have you been here for?”
Beaming, Izuku grabbed his hand, trying to pull him back into the living room. “A bit! Now come on papa, there’s a documentary on African heroes, come watch it, come on come on come on!”
“Hold on, where’s your father? Has he just left you here?” Ignoring his questions, Izuku pulled Yagi into the living room. To his surprise, the room had been cleaned - The dirty laundry he had been meaning to wash for had been collected from all over and placed within his laundry blanket. Mugs and glasses from numerous surfaces had vanished, and the kotatsu table’s blanket had been changed for a clean one. The table was also set for two, and Izuku sat down eagerly, turning his attention to the TV on which a large humanoid elephant was explaining something. Yagi, meanwhile, looked around, expecting someone else. When he heard a door opening, he couldn't stop himself from falling into a ready stance. Old instincts die hard.
“Ah, Yagi-san. Just in time” From the kitchen came a white, curly haired man, carrying a cooking pot. His cold blue eyes didn't leave Yagi’s as he placed it on the kotatsu. “Your kitchen is… depressingly empty, but I managed to make soba for Izuku.” Finally breaking eye contact, he began to ladle noodles into the bowls. “There should be enough for you as well.”
“Hisashi-san.” Yagi carefully watched the man’s hands at work as he approached the table, although he didn't sit down, and kept his fist clenched. “You’re early. I expected to pick up Izuku tomorrow.”
“Change of plans, I’m afraid.” Finished, Hisashi straightened, apparently watching Izuku gasp as the heroes on-screen fought a giant, glistening snake. His hands rested at his sides. “A business associate has made some hasty sales lately, and I feel a meeting to explain his mistake is necessary.” He sided eyed Yagi. “I’m sure you understand.”
“I believe I do,” Yagi muttered. Many of his fights this week had been against villains equipped with Black Market support gear. However much of the gear was faulty and basic, like they had barely passed the prototype stage before being handed out. The police had used clues in their design to trace the items to a single fugitive scientist, and plans were already in motion to track and arrest him. Yagi knew now the man would never be found. Not alive, at least. “You cleaned?”
“Your habits are terrible. I don’t want Izuku to pick them up.” Yagi couldn't help his judgemental stare, and Hisashi was self aware enough to scratch his neck awkwardly. “Quiet. You know I’d never let him be around my work.”
“Dad, can we go to Africa?” Izuku peered up, his eyes wide. “We could meet Matriarch! She's so cool!”
“Maybe, if you behave for Yagi-san.” Hisashi knelt down and embraced his son, who squealed and tried to escape. “I’ll see you in two weeks Izuku. Eat your soba, and remember, I love you.”
“Love you too dad.” Izuku finally stopped fighting and hugged him back. Over his shoulder, Hisashi gave Yagi a familiar look. Once, this look had promised pain and suffering for all. Now it’s message was more benign, but still deadly.
If my son is hurt, I will end you.
Yagi simply smiled. Hisashi knew he would never do anything. He loved Izuku just as much as the other man. Besides; they had both promised Inko.
Hisashi extracted himself from Izuku, ruffling his hair fondly. Nodding to Yagi, he took out his phone and inputted a short series of numbers. After a few seconds, a black cloud surrounded him, and when it vanished he was gone. Meanwhile Yagi sat down, tucking his legs under the kotatsu. Picking up his chopsticks, he carefully inspected the noodles in front of him.
What were the chances of his (former?) arch nemesis poisoning him in front of the child they were co-parenting?
Probably low.