Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Home. Home. Home.

Hitoshi continued the chant inside his head as he forced one foot in front of the other, trying to keep his balance on the sidewalk. It was hard with his left leg threatening to collapse underneath him, and his right one sparking in pain with each step. But he kept going. Once he was home, he could sleep, and the pain would be gone for a time.

It hadn’t even been a hard shift. Or perhaps, in retrospect it was. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours now, and his twelve-hour shift extended to eighteen after a hostage situation turned bloody. 

Thankfully, no one had died, but he escorted the victim to the hospital. She had escaped her house and followed a stray cat into the street where she bumped into the villain. She was only eight, with pink wild eyes and even wilder hair that curled in every direction. It was like looking into his past. She held Hitoshi’s hand until her parents arrived, who cried and held onto Hitoshi, thanking him so profusely that it sent a blush to his cheeks. He assured him that he hardly did anything, and it was his job, but they didn’t stop and hugged him once more, almost squeezing the breath out of him.  

By the time he finished giving his report to the police, the streets were quiet and dead. Even all the drunk businessmen had retired for the night. It was too cold even with the slosh of alcohol on their stomachs. 

He wrapped his arms around himself to chase away the chill as he continued his way home, staring at his feet with blurry vision. The nurse at the hospital gave him a quick check-up and confirmed that he didn’t have a concussion, but Hitoshi’s head continued to thump, and his vision doubled. 

‘Probably overused my quirk,’ he thought to himself as he rubbed at his heavy eyes. Before the hostage situation, Hitoshi hadn’t found himself bored. It was almost as though every petty criminal on the streets decided to fuck with his night and all come out as one to rob and steal. They were nothing serious, just purse-snatchers mostly, but one did manage a good hit on him…well, a few goods hits. His whole body was sore, his legs hurt, and his head was loud with noise and thick with fog. The sooner he got home, the better. 

A yawn escaped him as he finally came up to a familiar building. He fished the keys out from his pocket and took his time climbing the three steps to his studio apartment building. 

He had moved out from Shouta’s and Hizashi’s place only three weeks ago. It felt surreal to think that he had his own flat, all those summer jobs finally coming to fruition. A sense of pride filled him when he’d first emptied all the boxes containing his things into his mediocre room. The flat was nothing to ride home about, but it was his. 

Though, if he was honest with himself, he missed coming home to Hizashi’s loud cheer after patrol. He missed Shouta’s firm hand on his shoulder, his smile soft and yet proud as he tried to pretend he wasn’t checking him over for injuries. He missed Eri’s bright enthusiasm, always asking how many people he saved, before showing him what she’d been up to while he was on patrol. 

Going home to an empty flat wasn’t quite the same.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Hitoshi pushed the keys into the building's front door, and turned-. The key didn’t budge. Hitoshi frowned, turned the key upside down and tried again. Nothing. The key refused to move. 

“Come on,” Hitoshi groaned, resting his forehead against the cold, glass front of the door. “Not now. Just let me in.”

He tried again. And again, and again until he forced himself to stop, or he’d snap the key in frustration. Taking a deep, calming breath and running his hands through his dirty hair, Hitoshi gave the key one last turn, but still, it stayed locked. His eyes stung as he pulled the key out. It was stupid to cry over such a trivial thing, but all he wanted was his bed. 

He stepped back down into the street and looked up at his window. It was only three stories high, and he knew how to budge the window open. He had plenty of practise when he still lived with Shouta. There were too many drunken nights with Class 1-A, and too many times where he tried sneaking home without waking up his parents. It never worked, of course. They were Pro-Heroes who somehow always knew when Hitoshi was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and that included climbing through windows at three am. 

Uncoiling his capture weapon from his shoulders, Hitoshi swung and lifted himself up onto his window ledge by the tips of his toes. He pulled a knife from its sheath and tucked the blade between the bottom of the window and the ledge. With a hardened shove, the window popped open with a quiet bang. He just hoped that none of his neighbours thought he was breaking into his own flat. 

Pushing the window up, Hitoshi slipped into his living room. The lights were off, and he could barely see his own hands in front of him once he re-closed the curtain, shielding the room from the orange glow of the streetlights. 

He knew he needed to ditch his hero costume, and at least take a quick shower to get rid of the dried blood and grime sticking to him. But the thought of lugging himself to the bathroom seemed too impossible, even though it was only a handful of steps away. Instead, he threw his capture weapon off from his shoulders and dumped it onto the floor. If Shouta were here, he’d lecture Hitoshi about taking better care of his weapon. And Hitoshi would normally do so, but the floor looked like a good place to drop it for now. He was too tired to wrap it up and clean it. He kicked it aside, so it got lost somewhere in the dark. 

Resigning to washing the sofa tomorrow, Hitoshi stumbled forward towards it, ready to crash and sleep the whole day away.

He made it two steps before he bumped into the coffee table, jostling his injured leg. 

“Fuck!” Hitoshi grabbed at his leg, all but dramatically before spinning around and throwing himself down onto the sofa. He didn’t remember the coffee table being that long. “Stupid thing,” he cursed at it as he rubbed his shin. 

With an exhausted sigh, Hitoshi grabbed the blanket that draped on the back of the sofa and cocooned himself. He’d have to soak the hell out of both it and the sofa tomorrow if he didn’t want to bloodstains on them, but that was tomorrow Hitoshi’s problem. Current Hitoshi simply buried his head into the soft sofa cushions and closed his eyes, praying that his insomnia wouldn’t keep him awake.

A floorboard creaked behind him. 

Hitoshi stiffened. All thoughts of sleep vanished. Slowly, he reached for his capture weapon, silently cursing when his fingers only met his uniform, the weapon discarded somewhere on the floor. 

Someone was in his apartment.

Taking a slow, evened breath, pretending he was still asleep, Hitoshi prepared himself to fight. 

Whoever was behind him stepped closer, their footsteps so quiet Hitoshi could barely hear them, as though the person was trained in stealth. 

The person moved, looming over Hitoshi. But he moved too, flipping himself over the back of the sofa. Something wrapped around his body, right and suffocating, as he charged towards the darkened figure. The intruder met him halfway and made a grab at Hitoshi’s wrist. Sharp pain shot up his arm as they twisted it back, spinning him around so he was pressed into the intruder's chest, his feet scrambling to alleviate the pain. Unable to escape, Hitoshi pushed back, using all his weight to shove the intruder into the wall. Their bodies crashed into it with mirrored pained grunts before the world tipped. Below them, Hitoshi’s discarded capture weapon tangled around their ankles, tripping them up, and together they fell, stuck as a mess of limbs. Hitoshi’s head smacked around the floor with a resounding thump and stars lit up the room. 

The intruder recovered first, shifting until he sat on Hitoshi, their weight pinning him to the ground. Hitoshi struggled, but the room twisted once again as he was shoved onto his front, a knee jammed into his back and his arm yanked behind him, strained in the intruder’s hold.”

“Move, and I’ll break your arm,” A gruff voice said behind him. 

Confusion swept through Hitoshi. He recognised that voice.

“Dad?”

The weight was gone in an instant. And then the lights flickered on, blinding Hitoshi before he saw a familiar figure standing over him, their confusion mirroring his. 

“What…? Hitoshi, what are you…?” Aizawa stuck out a hand and helped Hitoshi to his feet, who swayed and almost tumbled into Aizawa. “Kid…” Aizawa looked at the door, and when Hitoshi followed his gaze, he saw the deadbolt and locks still in place. And in unison, they both turned to look at where the curtains were blowing with the window still ajar. “Did you break my window?”

Hitoshi winced, barely holding back the giggle that was building inside him. “M’sorry.” He didn't know why he was laughing. Some part of him was completely mortified that he had broken into his parent's home. But the other half still longed for a nap, even if it was for ten minutes. 

“Shou?” They heard Hizashi before the man popped his head around the corner. He too mirrored their confused state as he narrowed his eyes at them, trying to see without his glasses. “Hitoshi?”

Shouta braced his hands on Hitoshi’s shoulder and frowned up at him. Hitoshi let his smile grow smug at the reminder that he was now taller than him. 

“Kid, what are you doing here?”                                 

“Must’ve come here.” Hitoshi yawned, moving out of Shouta’s hold to rub at his eyes. The adrenaline that spiked through him was gone and left him feeling more exhausted than before his fight with Shouta. 

“Is he okay?” He heard Hizashi ask as he came into the living room. And then he felt Shouta scrutinising stare on him. 

“M’okay. Just tired. And my legs hurt.”

Shouta let out a large, tired breath and deflated like a balloon.

“Let’s get you fixed up.” He grabbed Hitoshi’s elbow and guided him towards the bathroom, steering him when he started to sway towards the wall.

The bathroom light was too bright when Shouta turned it on, and for a ridiculous moment, Hitoshi wanted nothing more than to bury his face into Shouta’s shirt and block it out. He fought the urge. He was too old to do such things now. 

“Sit.” Shouta pointed at the toilet, and Hitoshi did his best to do so gently and not slump down on it. He'd already broken it once before doing such a thing.

Shouta worked quietly as he slipped off Hitoshi’s shoes and helped him shimmy down to his boxers. They both winced at his legs. Bruises painted his skin in patches of violent purples and darkened green. His left ankle bulged without his shoe, and there was a gash on the underneath of his right foot. It was then that he remembered the woman with the knife quirk. He had tried to kick her, but instead, she stabbed through his shoe, which was impressive since they were built thick, ready to absorb the shock from jumping from rooftop to rooftop. 

“Knife quirk.” Hitoshi supplied the answer as Shouta began to clean the wound. It stung, but he was already aching and sore all over, so he barely felt it.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” Shouta asked, his voice stern. But Hitoshi knew that any lecture that came from Shouta was one coming from worry and love. It warmed Hitoshi and filled him with guilt at the same time.

“I did.” Hitoshi tapped his head. The headache was still there, but he pushed it back, ignoring the way it spiked whenever he looked at the lights. “They checked me for a concussion.”

Shouta made a noise that meant for a Hitoshi to continue.

“I’m fine. I just forgot about the rest. There was a kid, she was waiting for her parents. I didn’t want to leave her for too long.”

Shouta sighed, but there was an amused smile to it.

“And it’s not like you go to the hospital when you’re injured.”

“I always say not to do as I do, and instead what I teach you," Shouta said, grabbing a damp, soapy cloth and began dabbing at the dirt and grime on Hitoshi’s face. “Now hold still.”

“Dad!” Hitoshi pushed the cloth away, but Shouta chased him with it, continuing to wipe at his face. “Stop. You don’t have to treat me like a toddler with a runny nose.”

Shouta smirked with a small chuckle as he finally pulled the cloth away, before he tossed it at Hitoshi face, letting it land with a wet smack. Hitoshi ripped it off and threw it back at Shouta, who ducked out of its way. The cloth stuck to the wall before it slowly slid onto the floor with a wet thump. 

“You sure have tantrums like a toddler,” Shouta said, his voice taunting as he cocked an eyebrow at him. Hitoshi simply rolled his eyes as he pushed himself up onto bandaged legs. “Hizashi probably has your room ready by now."

“I should go home…” After all, he hadn’t meant to break into his parents’ house. He still had his own place to crash and sleep. He was nineteen, an adult, and adults didn’t have sleepovers at their parents’ house. 

“You’re already here.” Shouta placed a hand on his shoulder and grounded his thumb into a tense muscle. Hitoshi was weak against it and almost slumped back into Shouta’s chest with a small whimper. Shouta chuckled warmly behind him. “Come on, time for bed.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Mhm.” Hitoshi could hear how amused Shouta was. Smug, and overconfident, like he knew everything and whatever argument Hitoshi came up with was naive nonsense. Hitoshi pouted at it. 

Though, it faded when he saw his old room. It was exactly how he left it. The bedsheets were dark, and his curtains thick and black. His old band and hero posters still stuck to the walls. Even the photos of his friends and family sat proudly at his desk. 

“I thought you would have changed it back into an office.” 

Hizashi frowned, though there was a small smile to it, however, it was one of disbelief. 

“This is your room, Hitoshi. Whether you live here, or not.” Hizashi patted the bed. “You look dead on your feet.”

“I feel dead.” Hitoshi threw off the rest of his uniform as he stumbled into his room and flopped onto his bed. He grabbed his duvet and curled it around him until he resembled a burrito. The sheets were soft and smelled like lavender. He couldn’t help but bury his face into them and sniff. 

“All bundled up?” Long, piano fingers coaxed through Hitoshi hair, gently untangling the knots.

“Yeah,” Hitoshi breathed, his eyelids drooping.

“Get some rest. We’ll see you in the morning,” Hizashi’s voice was soft and warm. It was like when Hitoshi had first moved into their home, a little nervous and hesitant. During the day, Hizashi was as loud as ever. The room would shake with his overly excitable babble and greetings. But during the night, he was calm and soft. Hitoshi remembered always feeling soothed and actually tired whenever Hizashi came to say goodnight to him during those first few weeks. 

“Goodnight, Dads.” Hitoshi yawned, burying his face further into his pillow.

“Goodnight, Hitoshi.” 

Chapter Text

Hitoshi woke to a slither of warm sunlight blinking through his curtains. Which was strange, because the view from his window was a tall brick wall of the building next to his.

He rolled over and made sure to hold himself back or risk falling off his single. He’d done that too many times before. He blamed it on the fact that his bed at Shouta’s and Hizashi’s was a large queen one, which had plenty of room for him and their numerous cats. But he rolled safely and curled up into his duvet.

The sound of a door shutting, and quiet voices wafting from the corridor made him open his eyes, a bout of confusion made his muscles tense. He lived alone, despite the many attempts by his friends to flatshare. He loved his friends, but he’d been with them in the dorms, and that was quite enough, thank you.

He waited and listened. Whoever they were, they were too far away for Hitoshi to make out what they were saying. And then, surprisingly he recognised the voices. One was soft and gruff, barely audible through his door. And the other was louder and held most of the conversation.

It was then that Hitoshi looked around his room and realised that it was in fact NOT his room. Well, it was, but his old one he had at his parent’s place. The same dark curtains, soft sheets, and band posters littering the walls.

Sitting up, Hitoshi swung his legs off the bed and dropped his head into his hands, hoping to wipe away the sleep that still clung to him. His legs ached, and his face was sore. If he was being honest with himself, everything was sore, as if he’d been through the wringer with Midoriya (who was always up for sparring but had yet to learn how to hold back.).

Hitoshi pushed himself up and followed the sound of his parents, grabbing a shirt and a pair of shorts on the way. He barely remembered even getting here the night before. Nor did he know the reason why. He had fully intended to go back to his place that wasn’t even that far away but had somehow stumbled (and broken into) his parent’s flat.

“Ah, there he is,” Hizashi said, interrupting Hitoshi’s thoughts as he stepped into the kitchen. Hizashi was frying something that smelled delicious while wearing a hideous pink apron that read ‘kiss the cook’. Shouta sat at the island, nursing a cup of coffee that was probably his third one.

“Morning,” Hitoshi mumbled as he flopped onto the stool and buried his face into his arms.

“Evening,” Shouta corrected, and when Hitoshi peaked through the gap of his crossed arm, found Shouta smirking into his coffee.

Hitoshi made a noise that he couldn’t name as he reburied his head back into his arms. His whole body ached, and his headache from yesterday was still there, pressing against his skull. He hoped it wouldn’t change into a migraine. That was the last thing he needed.

“Here.” Hizashi slid a plate of hot American food in front of him, with a large cup of black coffee. Hitoshi made sure not to drool at the sight of runny eggs, and sizzling bacon. Whatever expression he made, Hizashi and Shouta laughed at it. “Dig in.”

Hitoshi didn’t need further encouragement as he all but shoved the food into his mouth. Living on his own for the past few weeks, breakfast manly consisted of cereal bars, or a simple black coffee that he downed like a shot. It wasn’t that he was always late for work, but Hitoshi somehow found himself in a rush. He never learned to make breakfast quick enough that he’d have time to eat it. And nothing ever compared to Hizashi’s cooking.

“Slow down, or you’ll choke. You’re worse than Jelly.” Shouta laid a hand on his wrist. Jelly mewed from underneath Hitoshi’s chair at the mention of her name, before rubbing her cheeks against his legs.

“Sorry,” Hitoshi said with his cheeks bulging. Both his dads shook their heads with exasperated expressions.

He ate in silence until his plate was clean. He almost wanted to lick it clean, but he held back when Shouta gave him a long state, almost as if he could read minds. He quickly washed his plate before returning to his seat.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Hitoshi said, with a full stomach. He felt like he’d eaten like kings do. It was defiantly not the breakfast of a young, upstart hero.

“You’re welcome.” Hizashi beamed at him before the expression changed into one of mock seriousness. “Now, do you wanna explain to us about last night? We love it when you visit, but we would prefer it if you used the front door. You still have your key, yeah?”

Hitoshi felt his cheeks burn.

“Y-yeah.” Hitoshi went to fish the keys out as proof but remembered they were somewhere in the bathroom, tossed on the floor with the rest of his clothes. “I-.” Hitoshi cleared his thought as the embarrassment of it all locked his tongue in place.

“I thought this was my place.” Hitoshi rubbed the back of his neck. “Was kinda just on automatic and ended up wandering to yours. Was too tired to notice the difference.” Saying it out loud sounded stupid. How did he mistake their flat for his? Their building was a stunning red brick one with large black tinted windows. And they lived in a nicer neighbourhood, one that was in the opposite direction of his. His own flat was an ugly, squat building, with windows that looked like they would fall out with a simple push. “Sorry for waking you, and breaking in.”

Hizashi was smiling at him warmly and lovingly, while Shouta was watching him like a puzzle worth figuring out. Hitoshi ducked his head under the weight of his hair, it had begun to flop without any product in it.

“Sorry,” Hitoshi said again, not sure what else to say. The whole thing is ridiculous.

“It’s no matter. As long as your safe and sound, eh? Now, how are you holding up with everything? You eating, right? No problems with the flat?” Hizashi waved his hand.

“I’m not struggling,” Hitoshi bit back, not able to keep the defensiveness from his voice.

“Hold on there, Little Listener. I never suggested that. We just worry that’s all.”

“You don’t have to worry.” Hitoshi clenched his fists under the table. “I’m looking after myself fine.”

“We’re going to worry, kid. Especially Hizashi. Nothing to do with your capabilities,” Shouta said, his eyes serious and open. “You’re our kid, it’s what parents do.”

Hitoshi’s cheek burned as he ducked his head. It’d been almost five years since he was fostered by Shouta and Hizashi, and four since he was officially adopted by them. But hearing them call him their kid always sent a pang of embarrassment and warmth through him. It was nice to hear.

“I’m an adult now though. I should be able to look after myself.”

He heard Hizashi sigh fondly before a pair of arms encircled around his head and cradled him into their chest.

“You’re too much like Shouta sometimes.” Hizashi clicked his tongue before he began to run his hands through Hitoshi’s hair. “Regardless of how old you are, you’re our kid. Full stop. Even if you start your own family, or go wrinkly and grey, you’re our kid and we’ll do everything we can for you.” Hizashi poked Hitoshi’s temple. “Capiche?”

With a long, sigh, Hitoshi nodded as he leaned into his father’s chest, listening to the way Hizashi’s heart beat against Hitoshi’s ear. “Capiche.”

“Good. Now get dressed. We’re going to go pick up Eri from Togata’s, and then we’re treating you to lunch. No ifs, no buts, no coconuts.” Hizashi pulled back from Hitoshi and gave him a pair of finger guns.

Hitoshi’s expression mirrored Shouta’s as they both struggled to understand Hizashi’s English. While Hitoshi was pretty well versed in it, especially after moving in with Hizashi, but sometimes the phrases Hizashi used were nothing more than gibberish. Hitoshi didn’t understand what coconuts had to do with being treated to dinner. Unless they were going somewhere that served coconuts, but that seemed unlikely. 

“You both look like gaping fish.” Hizashi tapped Shouta’s dropped jaw until it snapped shut into a pout. “Now, come on, you have twenty minutes to get showered and dressed. No offence, Hitoshi, you stink. Shoo.” Hizashi ushered them both up from their stools and to their respected rooms.

“Call it forty by the time he’s ready.” Shouta mumbled before getting swatted on the arm with a yelped “Shouta,” as the pair vanished into their room. Hitoshi couldn’t help but smile at them. He’d always loved the way they bantered with each other.

After showering and washing his hair so it smelt like the nicest ocean breeze (Hizashi had the best shampoo), Hitoshi got dressed in his room. He still had clothes he left behind, though he didn’t know why. He actually liked this shirt. It was a dark navy t-shirt with All Might’s smiling face on it. The only reason he had it was to annoy Shouta, who grimaced every time he looked at it, spouting that “I work with the buffoon, I don’t need to see his stupid grin when I’m at home.”

And that was the same face Shouta pulled as he knocked and entered Hitoshi’s room, still not understanding the simple rule of waiting for Hitoshi to answer. It made Hitoshi smile nostalgically.

“Do you have to wear that shirt?” He asked.

“I like it.” 

“Hmm. Sure.”  Shouta walked into his room and settled at Hitoshi’s desk, leaning against it. Silence followed as Hitoshi waited for Shouta to speak. Sometimes his dad was painfully blunt and to the point, but there were times, though they were rare, where it seemed he couldn’t find the words he needed to say.

“What’s up?” Hitoshi asked, sitting down on the bed. They had at least another five minutes before Hizashi hollered for them.

Shouta frowned, a crease folding between his eyebrows, before he relaxed, his features softening.

“You don’t have to live alone,” Shouta said, his tone unsure.

“Like I said to Pops, I’m fine.” Hitoshi felt something hot burn in his chest and flare inside him. He understood that they were his parents, and they were going to worry, but he didn’t need to be coddled. He practically raised himself long before he moved in with the pair. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t see that.

“I know,” Shouta said, running a hand down his face as though the conversation was difficult for him.

“Then what’s wrong? Why do you and Pops not trust me? I haven’t burnt down my flat, I haven’t forgotten my keys or forgot to pay the bills. I get home okay all the time. It was just one slip up. I don’t-.” Hitoshi took a shattering breath.

Shouta pushed himself from the desk and sat next to Hitoshi.

“Look, me and Hizashi, we don’t mean to come across that we don’t trust you. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have let you leave in the first place. You’re strong-willed and smart. But you’re also stubborn and an idiot sometimes, especially when it’s about yourself.” He bumped shoulders with Hitoshi when he noticed Hitoshi’s pout. “You have nothing to prove with us.”

Hitoshi fiddled with his fingers in his lap, scratching at his scuffed-up nails, and picking a scab on his ring finger.

“We were like you once. Especially me. I was so determined to make it, that I decided I didn’t need any help. It made me lonely.” Shouta nudged Hitoshi’s knee.

“I’m an adult now.”

“Adults need help sometimes.”

Hitoshi frowned at his lap.

“I can do it though.”

“Hitoshi.” The way Shouta said his name made him look up at the man. “We know you can. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

His father’s face was soft, but eyes were hard and searching, looking into Hitoshi’s for something Hitoshi didn’t know. But the moment he seemed to find it, Hitoshi felt a burning pressure behind his eyes.

“I just want you to be proud of me. The rest of my class have already moved out and are climbing the ranks. I just want to do the same.” He swallowed the thickness in his throat.

“We’re already proud of you. Anything you do, we’ll be proud of you.”

Warm tears ran down Hitoshi’s cheeks as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I think, that maybe, you need help. That’s why you came here last night. Subconsciously you knew where to go when you need help.” Shouta squeezed Hitoshi’s knee. “You look tired.”

Hitoshi barked a laugh, though it was a pitiful thing.

“I always look tired.”

“A different sort of tired.”

Hitoshi swallowed the lump in his throat.

“It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be. I thought I was ready, I worked so hard for this, and I still feel like I’m struggling to keep up.” Hitoshi’s hands shook. “I’m always behind.”

“You’re not behind. This is what being a hero feels like. It’s a lot of running headfirst into danger while juggling a normal adult life. It’s a lot, and it takes time to adjust too. Every hero goes through this.”

“Why does it feel like it’s only me? Midoriya is already number 72.” That old feeling of jealously grew ugly in his chest.

“If you compare yourself to everyone else, you won’t see your own successes when they come,” Shouta said, “Hitoshi, you don’t need to be like everyone else. You only need to do what you can. That’s it. The rest, me and Hizashi will help with.”

“I should-.”

“You shouldn’t anything, Hitoshi. You’re twenty. You don’t have to shoulder everything all at once. You don’t have to rush through your career, you have time, kid.”

Hitoshi wiped at the fresh tears rolling down his face, trying to hide the fat tears that Shouta had probably already seen.

“It’s a lot,” he blubbered.

“I know,” Shouta said. “Now, what do you need from us?”

“I don’t know yet,” Hitoshi said.

“That’s okay. After lunch, me, you and Hizashi can have a chat and figure it out, okay?”

“Okay.” Hitoshi nodded, feeling far younger than his twenty years. “I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too.” Shouta wrapped an arm around Hitoshi’s shoulder and bowed his head, conspiratorially. Hitoshi leant into his father’s warmth. “Don’t tell Hizashi I told you, but he sometimes lingers in your room. He likes to refold all your clothes.”

“That’s really sad.” Hitoshi chuckled.

Shouta grinned something both mischievously and comradely. They basked in their silence as they usually did after one of their talks. It was nice that some things hadn’t changed. It gave Hitoshi the confidence to ask all the questions he’d stored away, hoping that if he ignored the problems, they’d go away.

Quietly, he said,” When I put a load of washing on, the washing machine leaks, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Your filter is probably blocked. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“Okay. And the fire alarm keeps beeping and I don’t know how to turn it off.”

“Hitoshi.” Shouta’s voice came as a disappointed warning.

“I replaced the batteries, but it won’t stop.”

Shout sighed and knocked the side of his head against Hitoshi’s.

“What else?”

Hitoshi nipped at his lip.

“Can I come over on Sundays for family dinner night?”

Shouta sagged next to him, a softness coming over him. “Of course.”

Hitoshi blew out a shaky breath that he felt like he’d been holding for weeks.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, kid.”

A tentative knock came at the door before Hizashi’s head poked through the gap.

“All good in here?”

“Were you spying on us?” Shouta asked.

“No! I was merely concerned and thought it best to be an extra ear. I know how you can be with these things, Shouta. You’re far too blunt.” Hizashi put his hands on his hips. “And don’t listen to him, Hitoshi, he also sits in your room when he thinks no one is home.”

A dark blush stained Shouta’s cheeks.

“That’s embarrassing, Dad.” Hitoshi smiled, wickedly, though it was slightly dampened by the lingering wetness on his reddened cheeks.

“Shut it.” Shouta pushed Hitoshi’s head playfully as he stood up, his knees cracking as he did. Hizashi beamed at him before turning to Hitoshi.

“Let’s go, Little Listener.”

Hitoshi suddenly felt the weight that he’d been carrying since he moved out melt from his shoulder, and instead a warm feeling bloomed in his chest.

Sometimes flying the nest didn’t mean he couldn’t return to it.