Archive of Our Own

There's trouble brewing. 

Shouto wipes the tears from his niece's cheeks. They're running down like endless waterfalls, and he wonders if this is what Inko went through raising Izuku. He has a brief image of a baby Izuku (freckled and cute) cheering him on, and his spirits are raised, only to go down again when Kiyoko bites down on his arm (her baby teeth are surprisingly sharp). 

Maybe this is what Kirishima’s mother went through when raising him? 

Then she's babbling something (unconcerned about causing chaos), arms going every which way and Shouto helplessly watches. She loves it, the squirming. He tries picking her up and rocking her snug to his chest, giving  assurances of her safety, and promises that everything is fine, but she continues crying.

He thinks, maybe a bit dramatically, that he’d rather face a tier-one villain than continue struggling like this. At least in hero work, he has more of an idea of what he’s supposed to be doing.

It's when she starts spitting up on his shirt that he's tempted to call Fuyumi to take back her child, but she's stuck in the hospital for a check-in. And he isn't just going to take back his promise of looking after his niece for the night, he's here to see it through. He’s determined.

"Shhh, uncle Shouto is here," Shouto tries (an imitation of his favourite hero that always used to reassure him as a child).

Kiyoko yells out a 'Shou Shou' or maybe it's a 'no no,' and honestly he thinks she's in a bad enough mood to correlate those two.

(At least she's somewhat listening?) 

Shouto just—doesn't know what's wrong. He changed her recently, and she's not smelling that bad, so it can't have been an oopsie, as Fuyumi likes to call it (or an 'oh shit' as Natsuo likes to call it, a 'get it the hell away from me' in Touya-nii's words, even though he's been reformed, he's working on the being an uncle bit).

It can't be hunger either, since he's been trying to feed her soba with a side of her favourite food that's just mush. Seeing as how she knocked over her glass of milk and cackled, he doesn't think she's thirsty either.

So he's stumped. Shouto keeps rocking her gently (ever so gently), humming an old lullaby his own mother sang to him a long, long time ago. It gave him strength, on nights when all he felt was fear, chilling him to the bone. He wants to give her that love too. That assurance. Kiyoko stares at him with wide eyes (both Todoroki blue), thumb in mouth and seemingly entranced.

And-

The phone rings. It's a shrill sound, and cuts through the five seconds of peace rather rudely. Shouto picks up the phone, and answers when he sees it's Bakugou (he’ll always answer for Bakugou).

"Hello," Shouto greets, phone nestled between his ear and shoulder.

"Yo," Bakugou says. There's sounds of talking and a train approaching, meaning he's probably on the way home. "I finished the-"

Kiyoko starts crying again as the train shrieks loudly on the speakerphone, and Shouto drops the phone as he fumbles to hold her tight. Her arms are flailing again, her tiny, clenched fist whacking him straight in the jaw. It doesn’t hurt, and the hit is soft, but she’s good at spotting openings, just like Bakugou is during a spar.

Maybe this is what Bakugou’s parents went through when raising him.

"Kiyoko," Shouto chides, and starts humming again.

But the humming doesn't work over the sounds of Bakugou’s oi, oi, oi's in the background, nor the train sounds that Kiyoko is evidently not a fan of. Shouto shields her ears as the shriek intensifies, and when it subsides, he picks up the phone.

"Icyhot?! What the f-" Bakugou starts.

"Don't swear," Shouto hisses. "I'm with my niece."

"That's why it sounds like a bloody murder then. Why isn't your sis there to soothe the brat?"

"Don't call her a brat either. And I'm by myself—Kiyoko. Don't yank Uncle Shouto's bangs ok- ow-"

If Bakugou says anything, it's drowned by the sounds of Kiyoko's wails. The line goes dead. Shouto stares at it aghast but has no time for a pity session over just being hung up on by his crush—instead he settles her down on a beanbag and grabs some baby toys.

Shouto crouches down until he's eye level and shakes the shakers in a hopefully fun pattern. She stares at them and makes grabby hands, so he gives her both of them.

She's had him wrapped around her finger since the day she was born, so that's not surprising.

She takes one and throws the other in his face. Very formidable. It would have hit if he hadn't caught it, which—good. Death by baby toy is not really the way he wants to go.

Now that Kiyoko isn't crying anymore, her wails are replaced by the rattle of the shaker. She shakes it up and down with large sweeping arm motions like it's a wand, and he mimics her actions. It draws a pleased giggle out of her so he keeps copying her movements until a permanent smile has blossomed on her face.

Her easy happiness makes him smile too. 

Good.

Bad.

Kiyoko throws the other shaker at him, and he catches it readily. He wishes he could juggle, maybe that would keep her entertained for a bit longer because her eyebrows start scrunching up, eyes watering again.

Oh no. Shouto picks her up and pats her back.

"Ma ma wahhhma," she says, equal turns upset and irritated.

Hm. Shouto sympathizes. He wants his mother too. If Rei were here, having raised four babies, she'd know what to do with this. 

But-maybe it's actually summoned Fuyumi (a new quirk?), because there's a knock on the door. Shouto dashes for it while still holding Kiyoko, and opens it without checking who it is.

It's Bakugou.

He's clad in civilian clothes, but there's a large duffel bag on his shoulder that he hoists up when he sees Shouto.

"Yo," Bakugou says, and his eyes roam over Shouto, landing on Kiyoko who's gazing at the blond curiously. "I'm Katsuki."

Katsuki. So Kiyoko has the honour of calling him that, but not Shouto. Alright.

"Ka ka ka ka," Kiyoko chants, and makes grabby hands at him.

Shouto is absolutely affronted, but acquiesces nonetheless. Bakugou raises his eyebrows but takes the baby easily, like he's done this many times before.

It does things to Shouto, who's rooted to the spot, staring at the transformation of one Bakugou Katsuki in the hands of a baby.

Bakugou’s holding her in his arms, so so gently; rocking her back and forth and rubbing her back. He's smiling too, a little upturn of the lip with softened eyes, and he switches to holding her with one hand (hello bicep muscles), booping her nose with the other hand.

"Ka ka," Kiyoko giggles, and Shouto's heart is gripped tight by the softness of the scene unfolding before him and the slight pang that his niece likes Bakugou better than him.

“What’re you looking at me for, huh?” Bakugou asks in an alarmingly playful tone, and Shouto realises too late that the question is for his niece, and not for him.

“This is a surprise,” Shouto says, careful and still a little in shock at the delicate way Bakugou shushes her as she’s fussing. “I didn’t mean to call you here.”

“What? You saying you had shit handled before I showed up?” Bakugou scoffs.

“No,” Shouto says, recalling the chaos of several minutes prior, embarrassed. “I would not say that.”

“Ya like giving your uncle a hard time?” Bakugou asks Kiyoko, then smiles from ear to ear as she smiles back in a perfect reflection. “Me too.”

Well, looking back at all their years together, it’s not like that isn’t true. Bakugou can be quite stubborn. Though Shouto was always under the impression that Bakugou’s stubbornness wasn’t intended to get any particular reaction from him, specifically? He always thought that’s just how Bakugou was, and he’d never minded. He liked it (most of the time).

Still, the ‘hard time’ assumption (in relation to his niece) doesn’t sit quite right with him. Shouto doesn’t want anyone to think his niece is anything but wanted and loved here. He might not be the best at showing affection, but his intent should be clear.

“It’s not a hard time,” Shouto says quickly. “I’m happy to do it. It’s my fault that things got out of control.”

“It’s not your fault, Icyhot,” Bakugou says, and his voice is so soft, probably for Kiyoko’s benefit, and not for Shouto’s, but he appreciates it nonetheless. “Kids are a lot to handle.”

“You seem to be handling it fine,” Shouto sighs, remembering how difficult it was earlier giving her juice from her sippy cup and making sure she finished it, then the awkward clean-up he managed to do of the colored blocks and stuffed toys (most).

As it turns out, it’s difficult to reach behind the sofa and fetch toys that aren’t interesting anymore while a small child refuses to detach herself from you like a baby koala. His sister’s flexibility is probably really impressive. Maybe he should have joined her in those mommy and me classes if they were this effective. Or maybe, parenthood was just the biggest workout.

“I got practice,” Bakugou admits, then says, quieter. “And I just got here.”

The support is appreciated, and just as Bakugou says it Shouto registers a pang of hunger. The apple he had before leaving patrol several hours ago now feels like it was much longer ago. He hasn’t eaten since, and probably should.

“I am going to eat,” he announces, and Bakugou makes a ‘go, shoo’ motion with his hand that probably means he is ok to leave.

He goes to fix himself a serving of leftover soba from the day before, secure in the knowledge that his niece is safe with Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. Then he returns with it to the living room, where he finds Bakugou has made himself comfortable at the kotatsu, still holding Kiyoko.

She’s pulling at his hair, and he’s just allowing it. Maybe because Bakugou has such a high threshold for pain, or maybe he just knows that she doesn’t know better and is allowing it for the sake of her entertainment. Shouto himself has wanted to grab at that fluffy blonde hair before, so it’s not that he doesn’t understand.

Actually, he understands perfectly.

“You’re so predictable,” Bakugou says, and narrows his eyes at Shouto’s dinner tray.

Rude.

“It’s my favourite,” Shouto says a bit defensively, then adds a quick ‘itadakimasu’ before taking his first bite.

“Hey, baby, you already eaten or what?” Bakugou asks Kiyoko, and then turns to Shouto for the real answer.

Unfortunately, hearing ‘hey, baby’ coming from Bakugou ruins any critical thinking skills he had available. It makes his face all hot. The context, that it was said to a literal baby, doesn’t help at all. He just hears it, the way he’s imagined it once or twice before, said to him, in a more private setting. The bite of soba already in his mouth nearly falls out.

“I fed her,” Shouto says, when his mind stops going baby, baby in Bakugou’s voice.

It takes a while.

“Okay then, we just gotta play some more until she feels like knocking out. Can I show her my quirk?” Bakugou asks.

“What,” Shouto says, because he’s entirely unused to Bakugou asking permission to use his quirk; he’s been doing it around Shouto without warning since they were fourteen.

In fact, he’s not sure Bakugou’s ever asked himpermission for anything.

“I’m not gonna explode things around a brat this small without asking, for one thing, it’s loud as hell. Heh, I kinda think she’d like it though,” Bakugou muses.

“Why do you think that?” Shouto asks, curious.

“She seems to like throwing that rattle down, and she laughs whenever it hits the ground hard,” Bakugou explains. “She likes the noise. My kinda kid.”

Smart.

Observant too. Sexy—wait, that's not quite related.

“Okay,” Shouto agrees.

Bakugou holds his hand at a sufficient distance from Kiyoko and lets out a small crackle, then a little boom. The sparks are bright, orange and yellow. The sound is resounding, satisfying.

Kiyoko loves it. Instant hit. She squeals with glee, much like she did the night Shouto held her and showed her fireworks for the first time (the whole family was there), and Shouto, well, he sees the appeal.

He’s always seen Bakugou’s appeal.

“Get your ass over here, try yours,” Bakugou says, after letting a few more small explosions loose, one hand letting sparks fly and the other holding her securely.

Shouto enjoys the demonstration too. Though he’s seen bigger from Bakugou. More dynamic. Maybe when she’s a bit older, he’ll show her the Sports Festival tape.

(Probably better to do that when Bakugou isn’t around though, in case he’s still sensitive about it.)

“My what?” Shouto asks, innocently.

“Your quirk, ya f-idiot,” Bakugou says. “The fire side.”

Oh. His quirk. The quirk that he has. Shouto’s quirk.

He lifts his palm and starts a small flame from the centre of it. The first time he did this, with Endeavour, he was so afraid of his own power. Not anymore.

He makes sure to hold it closer to himself, because he doesn’t want her to reach out and get burned, but he’s still unsure. “Won’t it scare her?”

Bakugou shrugs. “Kids love sparklers and bright lights.”

Shouto’s never seen his fire side as something particularly lovable before, but he trusts Bakugou implicitly, and he clearly seems to know about babies, so he gives it a try.

He makes the flame a little bigger. It immediately catches her eye and she crawls forward to watch the movement of the small fire with wide eyes.

“See, what did I tell ya?” Bakugou says smugly. “Besides, you showed it to those kids back in remedial training and they loved it.”

“Remedial training?” Shouto tries to remember the details.

It was a long time ago. One of their more special times together. He’s always thought that’s when they became real friends.

Whether or not Bakugou will ever admit it.

“You made them this giant ice slide, and then a couple of ‘em came up to you and you crouched down and showed ‘em. Just like this.”

“You remember that?” Shouto asks, surprised.

Even Shouto doesn’t remember that. He had no idea Bakugou paid that much attention to him. Especially since he’d denied that they were even friends, just two weeks after.

“I remember loads of things,” Bakugou brushes it off, but he’s faintly blushing.

His cheeks are dusted with a rosy peach colour. Cute.

“Now what?” Shouto questions, as he watches his niece smile at the fire.

She doesn’t even know it’s a part of their family legacy. Her legacy. Regardless of which quirk she might get. There’s fire in her blood. Like there is in his. He's never seen it this way before, but now with the fire held between them, it's a connection. His power. Their power. Something shared. 

“Our next move,” Bakugou says, as if they’re standing next to each other on a battlefield and not on the floor trying to entertain a baby. “Gotta be a story.”

“Story,” Shouto repeats.

He doesn't seem to recall Bakugou ever being particularly fond of stories. Bakugou hated romantic stories on principle. He rejected offers to borrow manga volumes from Sero that successfully circulated through the rest of the class.

What stories did he know?

“Yeah. You can start, you kinda got the voice for it,” Bakugou encourages, and he picks Kiyoko up, who squirms as she’s placed back in his lap.

“My voice didn’t do much to soothe her earlier.”

“Because you sounded agitated too,” Bakugou explains. “They can always tell.”

“And what do you mean I have the voice for it?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, it’s beneath you.”

Oh. Shouto didn’t realise it was a compliment. A genuine compliment from Bakugou. Not even a caveat included. Kiyoko must be his lucky charm. He should thank her mother for letting him watch her.

“I don’t know any stories,” Shouto admits. “I don’t remember being read any children’s stories as a kid.”

Bakugou’s expression falls, but he seems even more determined to do this. “I’ll tell one then. Pay attention.”

Shouto wonders if it’s ever too late to get these kinds of childhood experiences. Maybe it is.

Maybe not.

“So there was this flock of ducks…” Bakugou starts explaining, and Kiyoko might not be old enough to understand the words, but she listens intently to his voice.

It’s a nice voice. Shouto likes it too. It’s got a growly, husky cadence. Full of gravel.

“There was a baby duck, and he was different from all the others. They were this off-white yellow-y color. And he was gray and dirty-looking. So they bullied him. Buncha jerks. So he ran away…”

“He went from home to home,” Bakugou continues. “He stayed with a farmer, a baker, and another guy I think. But they all kicked him out because he didn’t look like any old duck or a chicken, or anything useful. Just a nuisance.”

Shouto starts really feeling for this duckling. All alone in a world that doesn’t want him.

“They called him ugly, the ugly duckling. And he really, really believed that. He’d go swim in the pond and look at himself in the water and think that was all true,” Bakugou pauses, briefly glances at Shouto, then back to Kiyoko. “He had no idea.”

She’s been a great listener so far, but she just discovered how fun it is to grab Bakugou's shirt. She takes a handful and yanks, story forgotten. Shouto’s caught between listening and staring at the exposed collarbone as she tugs and tugs.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Bakugou says to her. “Stories are boring, huh? Like the hands-on stuff. I respect it.”

“What happened to the duckling?” Shouto asks.

He has to know.

“He wasn’t a duckling,” Bakugou says, a revelation.

Shouto ponders it while Bakugou grabs the scarf he came in wearing and has since discarded, and ties it in a knot.

“Here, yank on this instead, we can do tug-o’-war if you wanna,” he tells her. “Whatever you want.”

So accommodating. So patient.

“Not quite fair,” Shouto says, noting the comparative sizes of the opponents.

He watches as Bakugou barely tries to hold it while his little niece scrunches up her whole face, grabs it with her one tight fist and yanks with all her might. Letting out a frustrated sound.

“Not a duckling…then what was it?” Shouto asks.

“Right. The duck…uh, yeah. He went out on a lake one day and he saw these big-ass white birds. With these long necks. And they asked him to join them.”

“Swans?” Shouto takes a guess.

“That’s right, you got it,” Bakugou mutters, and once again, Shouto can’t tell if he’s the one being spoken to, or someone smaller and much more cute.

“He hadn’t known it or anything, but the reason he was so ugly to everyone else was basically because he hadn’t found out who he really was. Who he belonged with. He wasn’t a duck. He was a fucking swan.”

“I still think the other ducks should have been more welcoming, even if he didn’t look like them.”

Bakugou snorts.

“What?” He sticks to his side, stubborn. 

“That’s kinda the point. Extras are gonna have their own opinion. There’s gonna be assholes out there. But you have to know your own worth. Don’t you want her to know that?”

“Of course I do,” Shouto asserts. “I just. I also want to make it a better world for her. More good ducks than bad ducks.”

She should grow up as loved as possible. Integrated. Accepted. Not like-

No point in thinking of it now.

“You would,” Bakugou says, but it’s not mean.

It’s not even neutral.

Kiyoko has Bakugou’s scarf in her mouth. And he’s doing nothing about it. He’s still staring at Shouto.

“That’s not for eating,” Shouto retrieves it, though it’s got drool and baby teeth marks. Delightful. “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Bakugou shrugs, interpreting the remark as having been for him. “You know, it’s the same scarf I wore when I first met your sister.”

“It is,” Shouto notes, surprised.

It was such a long time ago.

“She still texts me sometimes.”

“Really? Do you talk about me?” Shouto wonders.

Maybe it’s selfish for that to be the first thing he assumes. But Bakugou turns slightly pink, so maybe there is some truth to it.

“We talk about food. She asks if I’m still…she asks about me. I used to hate that.”

Shouto remembers being annoyed at her checking up on him too. He took it for granted for a long time. And he shouldn't have. She was trying to help in her own way. Kiyoko’s very lucky to have her as a mom.

“Fuyumi is very persistent. She also isn’t easily rebuffed.”

“She loves you a lot, you know. Enough to wanna check in on some punk ass kid just because she thought I was your friend,” Bakugou shakes his head, he’s holding out his hand for Kiyoko to inspect, and she’s having a surprisingly good time just pinching and poking at his fingers and his palm. They’re nice palms Shouto knows, knows from having felt them every once in a (precious) while. Maybe it’s not that surprising.

“You were my friend back then,” he corrects. “Like you are now.”

“Not that again.”

“I don’t think I explained it to you then,” Shouto says. “Why I said that.”

“You did, you said some shit about how we spent so much time together and that made us friends.”

“That was a simplification.”

“Oh?” Bakugou raises one eyebrow, looking up at him like a challenge.

“We spent time together, and you were open to accepting my views on things. You opened up to me.”

“I did not,” Bakugou rebukes, but it’s too weak.

Shouto sees an opening. “That’s when I realised you were someone I wanted on my side.”

“Hmph. ‘Cause my team always wins.”

So petulant. Even now. Shouto loves that about him. He always sort of has.

As someone who missed out on parts of a childhood, he likes that Bakugou can be smart and mature on one hand, taking care of a baby with ease, but he’s still prone to outbursts, emotions written all over his face to see.

“Yes. I guess, something like that.”

Bakugou looks around. “Where’s she gonna sleep?”

Right. “I was thinking…I was going to put a futon down here. Then sleep next to her on my own.”

That’s how his siblings used to sleep. In a room all together. Shouto was in a room with his mother. Then later, in a room alone. He had always wondered what it would be like, sleeping in close proximity to his family. Perhaps this could bridge the gap just a bit closer.

“Might as well get ‘em now.”

“You’re staying?” Shouto asks.

“You kickin’ me out?” Bakugou counters, then he asks Kiyoko, still hanging onto his hand, his arm. “Wouldn’t say you got the final decision though.”

“I’ve already taken so much of your time. I didn’t expect-”

“You act so formal sometimes, like we haven’t-like it didn’t-fuck you-you can expect things outta me. Didn’t your bullshit friendship logic teach you that?”

See. Shouto does know that he can demand things from Bakugou. He has in the past. He used to drag him around by the arm when he wanted them to go somewhere. He interrupted Bakugou after a patrol once and took them both to a restaurant to catch up. He can make demands on Bakugou’s time and his attention.

That part is easy. Spending time with Bakugou is really easy. He knows what to expect, and they complement each other.

The difficult part is the line. How much to demand before it becomes too much. Staying the night is over the line. Or at least, before tonight, he thought it would be.

Asking for anything more than a shared dinner is over the line.

Asking to be touched? Over.

Asking to be kissed? (Because if he knows anything at all he knows in his heart of hearts that Bakugou Katsuki is a phenomenal kisser.) That's so far over that the line isn't even in sight.

So how are they doing this?

“Sorry. I don’t mean to sound that formal, I think.”

“Saying sorry all the time is formal too. Hell do you gotta apologise for. To me. You ever heard me apologise like that?” Bakugou demands.

“No,” Shouto thinks back. “When you apologise it’s a full production.”

He remembers standing in the rain. Bakugou gave the steady, from-the-heart speech that brought Midoriya back to them. He must have been thinking of the pieces of it for a long time. Each word mattered.

Shouto wonders if Bakugou would ever choose his words so carefully for anyone else. For him, for example.

“That’s ‘cause I’m the best goddamn apologizer there is.”

“What you said was meaningful. I knew you were carrying it for a while.”

Bakugou looks up, and when their eyes meet there’s understanding, not resistance.

“That’s how you know it’s something where you really need to apologise. If it eats at you. You don’t apologise because you think you’re being a burden.”

“Okay,” Shouto says, and he bites his tongue to stop from apologising for apologising, sensing that they could enter a very confusing circle.

It’s weird, maybe, that they’ve been having this somewhat serious conversation with baby chatter and babble in the background. It feels sort of domestic.

He has a sudden image of Bakugou in the future, with a child of his own. Having conversations with a faceless person while their baby—with bright golden hair and Bakugou’s features in miniature—plays at his side. His would be such a happy home.

Not perfect. Or without its arguments. But good.

Shouto’s mind doesn’t dare to swap out the faceless person with himself. But that’s what he wants, isn’t it?

Home with Bakugou. Or maybe that’s redundant.

“I’ll get the futons,” he mutters, before he actually tells Bakugou something embarrassing. “You watch her.”

On his way to the bedroom he stops by the bathroom. He splashes water on his face.

Come on. Get a grip.

Wanting Bakugou is something he’s managed to handle for years now. What’s one more night with a toddler in tow?

Bakugou has his eye on him as he brings each futon out one by one. He puts them down next to each other and gets pillows and sheets. All the while Bakugou just stares. Maybe Shouto’s imagining things, but he feels Bakugou’s gaze go up and down his figure.

Shouto also fetches one of Kiyoko’s favoured stuffed toys from his room. A white cat named Gojo. Once he puts it down on the futon she goes for it immediately. And he’s relieved at the success.

He does know his niece. He’s not a complete failure.

He sits down on the futon next to her. Bakugou can take the sofa. Then they can all stay here. That makes the most sense.

But after he takes his turn in the bathroom to brush his teeth, Bakugou takes the pillow that’s meant for him and puts it down on the futon next to Shouto’s.

Oh.

He wants to sleep-

He wants-

What.

“It’s gonna be awhile before she actually falls asleep. I don’t wanna have to turn my neck all weird just to look at your ugly mug every time you talk,” Bakugou mutters, fluffing up his pillow with his hands.

It barely passes as an explanation.

Then Bakugou is lying down, and he’s gotten his phone out. “There’s a song in here. Old hag said it always used to put me to sleep.”

“And you were much more of a problem child,” Shouto reasons. “So if it worked on you-”

He gets poked in the ribs. “There it is.”

The song starts to play. It is something that sounds like it would get a child to go to sleep. Shouto thinks about a very small Bakugou being made to listen to such a thing. He imagines Bakugou and his mother. Reflections of each other. He thinks about someone as expressive and loud as Bakugou is, being small, with tiny, closed fists.

Shouto doesn’t remember what songs his own mother used to sing to him. Other than the lullaby he tried to sing to Kiyoko earlier. Maybe he should ask his mother if there were more. 

There wasn't as much time for them to bond as he would have liked. He felt like something was cut short, at four. 

What he remembers most clearly, is the kinds of cassette tapes Fuyumi would play for him. After the hospital, when he was recovering from the injury on his eye. There was a small break in his training when he was allowed to rest. Listen and watch.

She tried to act like a mother, even then. That’s how Shouto always knew, even when she was anxious about what kind of mother she would be. That’s how he promised her she would be a good one.

“I like this song,” Shouto says, and he rests his head back against the pillow.

“Shut up. Don’t interrupt.”

“Mm.”

After a few minutes of it, he’s the only one feeling sleepy. Kiyoko’s gone so far as to lie on her back, but her eyes are still wide open.

Bakugou’s immune too. He lies down on Shouto’s right side, sandwiching him between Kiyoko, who’s taken the rightmost edge of her futon, and himself.

She rolls over into his left side, and kicks up her little socked feet. She’s completely in her own world. Her own element. Oh. He loves her so much. 

“Sometimes it takes a while,” Bakugou whispers. “Whatever. We got all night. No rush.”

“If she ends up falling asleep anyway after time passes, then it wasn’t because of the song. It’s probably because she got tired for other reasons. Maybe you’re the only baby this works on.”

“Works on you though,” Bakugou points out. “Baby.”

He means it, quite obviously, as an insult.

Shouto’s heart doesn’t get the memo.

He feels it beat faster, a Bakugou shaped rhythm that goes on long into the night, long after he catches Bakugou's eyes fluttering close and his frame moving gently up and down. Shouto's arms are rigid by his side, but he's tempted to reach out and touch the other's face that's softened with sleep.

A kick jolts him out of the nighttime daydreams, and he turns to see Kiyoko stare at him, eyes wide, wide. She's long since quieted, and maybe the song had worked after all; he hadn't heard a peep out of her when it looped the fifth time in a row.

Kiyoko reaches out with stubby arms, babbling softly.

"Shoushou," she says, and his heart melts.

Kids have never been his strong suit. He's too stiff, perhaps. Unsure of his movements around them, unsure of his tone. Tonight seemed to solidify it, and the way Kiyoko instantly reached for Bakugou's arms in lieu of his own still sticks with him now. Betrayed by his own blood.

Wouldn't be the first time.

But now, she's reaching for him, all doe eyes making him gooey. He reaches back with a steady grip, and she becomes a comfortable weight on his chest as he pats her back and whispers comfort in her ears.

"Shoushou is here," he whispers.

Her breath eventually goes shallow. Shouto breathes a sigh of relief. He snuggles deeper into the futon, heart the warmth of the sun.

"Uncle Shoushou, huh," a voice says to his right.

Previously closed eyes are looking at him, carmine bright in the dark. Shouto blushes despite himself, and he hugs Kiyoko a bit tighter.

"What of it," Shouto defends.

"Nothin'," Bakugou says. Eyes flick to the sleeping lump. "She finally asleep?"

"Yeah," Shouto says softly. He presses a kiss to her small forehead because why not. "I wonder what she's dreaming about."

It's a while before Bakugou replies. Shouto glances over, and wonders if Bakugou's cheeks are always this red.

"If she's anything like her uncle, she's definitely dreaming about soba," Bakugou responds.

Soba. Shouto smiles. "A good dream, then."

"Sure." Bakugou flicks his forehead then, a light thing that makes Shouto pout. "Go to sleep, Halfie."

"You go to sleep."

But Bakugou's already closed his eyes. "Tch. Don't tell me what to do."

Shouto is so, so fond.

With Kiyoko on his chest and Bakugou beside him, Shouto sleeps.

*

Despite the demonically short hours of sleep, Shouto wakes up well rested. He snuggles deeper into the pillow with a sigh. The weight on his chest has shifted, and he feels Kiyoko’s tiny hand clench his thumb in a death grip.

"Oi."

"Ngh."

He doesn't want to get up.

"Halfie."

Shouto opens his eyes, sees carmine staring right at him.

They're- close. But Bakugou isn't moving away. Even though he's been awake longer, he hasn't moved away from this. This, barely a soba noodle's width apart, close, close.

"Hi," Shouto whispers. He doesn't want to wake Kiyoko, who's still slumbering peacefully on his chest.

"Hi," Bakugou replies, soft.

It's not the first time he's caught Bakugou still ruffled with sleep. Back in the dorms he'd been privy to the sight often, and Shouto would let his gaze linger when the other wasn't looking. Bakugou was softer then, hard gaze subdued with the last edges of sleep. He's looking with a serene gaze now, and it's- warm.

"Sleep well?" Bakugou's lip quirks up, and Shouto's heart swoops.

"Yeah," Shouto breathes. He glances down at his niece. "You?"

Bakugou stretches, and the blanket falls from his shoulders. His shirt rides up, and the sliver of skin peeking out makes Shouto's throat dry. This is fine. It's fine. It's-

"Never better," Bakugou replies. He branches out a leg from the blanket, then another. "M'gonna make breakfast."

"Ah," Shouto starts. He's the host, so—"you don't have to."

He doesn't have to, but the thought of eating Bakugou's food makes Shouto's stomach grumble and heart sing.

"I don't have to do anything I don't want to," Bakugou says.

He leaves the room, leaving Shouto with a nice view of his back. When he's out of sight, Shouto switches to looking at his niece, and holds her tight.

"He drives me crazy," Shouto says to her.

Shouto places her down on the futon, and starts getting ready. He reaches for his toothbrush, and his fingers brush against a bright orange one beside his own. He blinks. The sight of an extra toothbrush makes him happier than it should, the thought of there being someone else in his space, Bakugou being in that space lifting him up, down.

It's- lonely, sometimes.

And he's used to it. The dorms were a fortunate break from his solitary childhood, and the warmth of his classmates made the days brighter. He moved into this apartment by himself, but it wasn't as lonesome as he'd imagined either. His family visits, his mother frequenting with her latest crochet creations. His friends too, as often as they can, swing by and give him company.

Still. At the end of the day, they all leave. There's the promise of next times, always fulfilled, but the spaces in-between are both a peaceful respite and an ache at the thought of being alone again, again.

It’s never permanent. It’s never, like the dorms were- family.

He’s not lost. Only slightly empty.

And now when Bakugou leaves, the toothbrush will go with him. The feeling of a glass completely full. It'll just be Shouto then. A lone blue toothbrush without another for company.

Shouto rinses his mouth, and the water washes everything down the sink.

Back in his room, he finds the futon absent of a baby. Shouto doesn't quite panic, but he does check all corners before heading to the kitchen with haste.

"Bakugou," Shouto calls. He sees the other's back. "Have you seen-"

"Ka, ka, ka," Kiyoko's prattling (calling for Katsuki?). 

Shouto’s still slightly peeved that she’s gotten first name privileges in one night, he’s wanted them for several years. But she’s much cuter than him in Bakugou’s eyes, sadly.

She's closer to him too, in a baby sling tucked close to Bakugou's chest as he moves around the kitchen. Kiyoko brandishes the whisk, and the batter goes every which way but where it's supposed to. Shouto's heart squeezes tight as Bakugou just tches, and guides her tiny hands to whisk properly.

"There ya go," Bakugou says, and she giggles.

He looks up when Shouto ambles in further. "Looks like you're the only Todoroki who can't cook."

Shouto's affronted. "I can cook."

"Yeah?"

"Mm. I picked up some recipes...I can cook you something, later."

Later.

"If it's edible," Bakugou easily says. "If not, we're getting takeout from that Szechuan place."

"Ok."

It's a date, he wants to say, wants to hope. Shouto cools his cheeks so they're not a firetruck, and looks around instead. "Can I help?"

Bakugou ladles the batter on the pan, then closes the lid. "You can get started on the sauce."

Shouto starts the sauce; he gets out the frozen berries and adds some water and honey to the pan. It's a simple berry sauce, apparently. ‘Hard to fu-mess up’, apparently.

Still, he manages to splatter some of it on his cheek, some on his white shirt when he stirs too vigorously. Bakugou cackles when he sees Kiyoko joining in the hyena howls with all her tiny lung capacity can muster.

Shouto pouts. He sets down the spatula on the pot handle.

"This brat's already a better cook than you, huh," Bakugou jabs. He comes closer, closer.

"She had help," Shouto points out flatly.

Bakugou grins, mean. "What, you want me to hold you too?"

"I." Shouto swallows. Imagines being held by Bakugou, warm arms embracing him tightly. Safe. "I wouldn't be opposed."

Bakugou's quiet. Kiyoko's eyes are wide, and she wiggles in the hold like a worm. If Shouto were in her position, he'd never want to leave.

Something swipes at his cheek then. Shouto looks up at Bakugou, whose thumb is stained red. He gives it a small lick, and Shouto's face burns.

Shouto.exe has stopped working.

"Needs more sugar," is all Bakugou says, and strides to the pot without another word.

Shouto recovers, quick enough to tease, "I'm not sweet enough for you?"

"It's not for me, it's for the dish. Different rules."

Shouto desperately wants to say something ‘flirty’ back. He’s heard this works for people. This is his chance.

What he ends up saying is—“So you wouldn’t eat me?”

Not his finest moment. Even he doesn’t understand why he says it. What he’s trying for, maybe, is a straightforward question of whether Bakugou might want to have him, in any way he would like. The word choice was wrong.

He can’t understand why only Bakugou can fluster him like this.

“The f- what?” Bakugou says, and he’s laughing at Shouto.

Kiyoko hears him laughing, and joins. How very rude. She should show some solidarity.

“I’m sorry,” Shouto corrects. “That didn’t make sense.”

Bakugou pokes him in the chest. “S’fine, I’m fluent in Todoroki. Take this off.”

For a moment Shouto forgets the stain, and wonders if Bakugou has caught the suggestive undertones of all his sentences- if he’s as fluent as he thinks he is. Then the latter sentence processes, slow, fast. Bakugou is asking him to strip. Which- how inappropriate. In the presence of a baby. Not that he wouldn’t normally jump at the opportunity-

“If you give it to me quick I could probably get the stain out,” Bakugou clarifies, and then it sinks in.

He feels the familiar weight of disappointment. But heads back to his room to do as Bakugou suggests. He only owns so many white shirts, in his limited capsule wardrobe. And if Bakugou is offering his laundry skills, well. Who is Shouto to refuse?

The stained shirt is set aside as he peruses his selection. There’s… not much. He goes to take an identical white shirt (it was a two-for-one sale), then stops. This is… a chance. He’s never paid much attention to what he wears besides the formula, but now that his crush is literally next door making them breakfast, it puts more pressure on his stylistic choices. He doesn’t want to look like a lego.

He’s never been particularly sure how to dress like his body type, unlike Bakugou. Who seems to know exactly how to work a full chest, narrower waist, well-muscled arms, rock-hard abs, and oh no- these are not morning thoughts (even though they do rouse a morning something). Shouto feels the metaphorical ‘thirst’ as some of his friends call it. To put his mouth on Bakugou’s d-

“You lost in there Halfie?” Bakugou calls from the kitchen.

Lost in the (oft-frequent) dream of Bakugou’s pecs in a button-up t-shirt, perhaps. Not lost literally. It’s only a mid-size apartment.

“No,” he raises his voice and calls back. “I’m coming.”

He really should get going. He eyes his selection, and makes a wild grab at the full three piece suit that’s hung at the end. It’s fresh from the laundromat, which is nice because then he wouldn’t look like a raisin wearing it (no wrinkles). He might. Might look desperate though.

Shouto puts the suit back, and opts for his usual blue button up.

By the time he's back at the table, handing his discarded shirt off to Bakugou to deal with, Kiyoko's sitting in her high chair, strawberry bib loose around her frame. There's a stack of fluffy souffle pancakes at his seat, knob of butter and berry sauce pooling at the bottom.

"Itadakimasu!"

Like all things Bakugou cooks (extra extra spicy foods aside) it's delicious. Shouto lets out a happy hum as he munches on the fluffy pancakes, dipping it in the whip cream and sauce for the ultimate bite.

He's on his second pancake, when he notices that Kiyoko hasn't touched her food yet. She holds the spork and waves it around, but it doesn't make contact with the plate at all.

“Kiyoko, it’s impolite to not eat a meal prepared by a guest,” he attempts.

He once opened an article on child-rearing that said to talk to them like adults. He’s following the research. Bakugou should not be looking at him like he’s clinically insane.

“I thought you of all people would support straightforward communication,” Shouto addresses him directly. “I always imagined you as the kind of child who hated being talked to in a childlike way.”

“Baby me’s been on your mind, huh?” Bakugou asks.

If Shouto was Bakugou, he might say ‘you are always on my mind, you fucking idiot, I have been pining for you in increasingly obvious ways for nearly a decade.’ However, he is not Bakugou. Maybe he can be a Bakugou one day.

“Are there photographs?” Shouto replies, ever so innocently.

“If you’re nice,” Bakugou says, and the way he smirks hits Shouto right in the chest.

He’s frozen. Not in a way his quirk can help.

Meanwhile, Bakugou curls his fingers, little pop, pop, pops emitting from his palms like sparklers on a summer's evening. Kiyoko watches, fully entranced at the motion. Shouto is too, at something else entirely.

While she’s watching Bakugou’s hand, Shouto manages to give her a spoonful of her food. She chews it while watching the crackles, giving him prime time to watch them too.

Shouto briefly wonders if he’ll ever get lucky enough to have dinner and a show with Bakugou, albeit a slightly different kind. Netflix and chill, as they (his friends) say nowadays.

But despite how this is affecting him, Shouto's not going to let Bakugou show him up again. He opens his left hand and starts to create a miniature ice figurine.

He keeps shaping the snowman until it's fully rounded. It's not the best ice figure; the head and body look more like lumps than perfect figures. But when he gives it to Kiyoko, she squeals all the same, and instantly tears the head and body in two. Delightful.

"Never seen those before," Bakugou remarks.

"I've been practising," Shouto says. He creates another little figure, the shape of a flower (it's meant to be a rose, but maybe it looks more like a dandelion- like Bakugou's hair). "I figured it might be useful for calming people down."

"If you gave ‘em that, I think it'd do the opposite," Bakugou says.

Shouto stares intently at his creation. "Really?"

(That bad? Unfortunate.)

Bakugou coughs. "Yeah. Better stick to snowmen and shit."

"Oh. Why?”

“They might think…you know.”

Shouto does not, in fact, know. However, he can guess. “You take it then.”

If anything, he wants Bakugou to think you know. He certainly feels you know. Close, romantic. His thoughts are melting, torn like the ruined snowman on the table.

Bakugou takes it gingerly from his hand, and their fingers brush. The flower is already melting from the heat of Bakugou’s palm, a residual from his quirk, most likely. Shouto has wondered what it might be like to hold his hand often enough. But this time he wonders what it would be like to kiss the warm centre of his palm. Those rough calluses. His knuckles. The pulse point on his wrist. Oh-

Kiyoko takes the time to bang her fist on the plate in front of her, and Shouto comes back to his senses.

“I gotta go- get to work,” Bakugou mentions. “I mean. Home first, to get my shit.”

Oh. It’s a shock of ice water on his head, the sudden end to their morning. It’s not like it really was going to last forever. But somewhere in the midst of waking up to Bakugou gazing at him, of cooking together and sharing stories- time felt infinite.

“Right,” Shouto says, tongue sandpaper. “Of course.”

“S’not, I mean, it’s been a night, yeah? You must be- I’ll get out of your hair.” Bakugou gestures vaguely.

Shouto isn’t sure what he could possibly mean. He understands the expression. It’s true that he often does run out of social battery. Bakugou simply happens to be the exception. He charges it.

Shouto was on low when Bakugou came over. He’s near full now. The air between them-

brimming

-with electricity.

"Thanks," he says, abruptly, when Bakugou's putting on his shoes. "For coming. You were very helpful."

"Don't mention it," Bakugou says. "Really- don't. Everyone's gonna be hounding me to babysit whatever brat they have, if they find out."

"You're good at it though," Shouto points out with a teasing smile. "But alright."

Bakugou's slow at leaving today. He picks up his bag with none of the usual haste, and stalls by the door. Shouto can relate, he doesn't want him to go either.

He wonders if he should add anything else, tacking a jumble of overflowing emotions like 'this was fun/I liked your company/stay/' to the current moment. He wants Bakugou to stay, and now that he's had a glimpse of what it could look like, he's selfishly clinging on to it.

He hasn't allowed himself to dream of actually getting to be with someone, too afraid of getting lost in a futile headspace. But if he had, it would look something, look exactly like this, the past fourteen hours, he thinks.

What he values in a relationship is someone being there. Someone that understands him. Offering their help but not making Shouto feel lesser. Someone who can make him laugh and who seems amused by Shouto’s presence, making him feel needed to in the smallest ways and-

Oh.

He doesn't want to let go of it.

Just before the door fully shuts, Shouto calls out, "Bakugou!"

Bakugou turns. "What?"

"Kiyoko will be back with my sister this afternoon," Shouto says, stalling. "Do you want to come over for dinner?"

He thinks of breakfast with the two of them, of the gazes exchanged, of the words that fall so easily when he's usually a stiff clam. Being with Bakugou is easy, natural.

(He doesn't want to let go.)

Maybe, for one more night, he can pretend.

Bakugou grins. "It's a date, Halfie."

It’s a date, it’s a date. It’s a-

Shouto’s mental Midoriya kicks in with a ‘get a hold of yourself, Shouto-kun!’ and he calms his racing heart and grins right back. “Shouto.”

“Hah?”

“Call me Shouto.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want,” Bakugou says, but grins again. He’s full of smiles today, and Shouto’s reflecting them all back at full force. He’s so- happy. “But alright. Shouto.”

And, yes-he’s been called Shouto by Bakugou before, on the field. But it’s different, hearing his hero name being shouted over the comms to fuckin’ move his ass, compared to the way it’s said now. It’s all pronounced tones and teasing and it makes his heart hammer in his chest like one of Kiyoko’s rattles.

Bakugou turns to leave, but there’s one last thing Shouto wants.

“Can I call you Katsuki?” Shouto calls out.

Bakugou angles his head slightly, and Shouto catches the hint of a smirk. The sun catches on his hair and lights it golden. It’s a good look, Shouto decides, even though he believes that Bakugou would look good anywhere, everywhere (but especially here, when Shouto can see him).

“If you’re nice,” Bakugou repeats (which means that it was flirting, the first time- Shouto’s catching on, slowly but surely).

When he leaves, he takes the morning with him. But it won’t be the last, Shouto thinks with a smile. He closes the door, and wonders if Bakugou will like cold soba for dinner.

Hopefully.

(He needs to earn those Katsuki privileges after all. Fate and stubborn nieces willing.)

fin.