Chapter Text
Shōta is napping on the couch when his phone rings.
He’d had a late patrol shift that hadn’t ended until nearly three hours after his usual time, which had sucked. It had thrown his whole day off, and he was desperate for some sleep, not even bothering to make it into the bedroom. He’d hardly resisted the urge to just flop down in the genkan and sleep there.
He had another patrol tonight, so he knows he needs some sleep if he’s going to be awake and alert.
He’s not expecting his phone to ring after what feels like just a couple minutes.
He blinks bleary eyes down at the screen, drawing in a tired breath as he scans the time— looks like he’d managed a couple hours of sleep, at least— before his gaze drops lower to the unknown number lit up on the screen.
Shōta wrinkles his nose, hesitating for just a second before accepting the call: “Aizawa.”
Shōta had scanned the screen for the little ‘C’ or ‘H’ icon that would tell him which number was being called, answering accordingly. He’d spotted the little ‘C’ next to the number, which meant the caller was calling his ‘Civilian’ number, so he’d answer as Aizawa. If he’d seen the little ‘H’ icon, for his ‘Hero’ number, he’d know it was work related and he’d answer as Eraserhead.
Shōta isn’t sure if he likes the new technology, but then again, having two different cell phones seems like more of a hassle than having one phone with two numbers.
He just needed to be vigilant about checking which line is being contacted and answer accordingly to keep personal stuff personal, and work stuff as work.
“Aizawa Shōta?” a woman’s voice questions from the other end of the line.
“Speaking,” Shōta furrows his brow as he sits up on his elbow, rubbing at tired eyes.
“Aizawa-san,” the woman greets kindly, “I’m Himura Aoi, from the Musutafu Child and Family Services office.”
“Okay,” Shōta blinks in confusion. He doesn’t know why social services would be reaching out to him. He doesn’t think he’s involved in any cases working with them right now, and if that were the case, they wouldn’t be calling his personal number. “What can I do for you, Himura-san?”
“I’m calling about Midoriya Inko,” Himura explains slowly, softly, “you know Midoriya-san, don't you Aizawa-san?”
“Yes,” Shōta forces out slowly. "I do know Inko."
It’s a name he hasn’t heard for a while, but a name he does know. Still, he has no idea what’s going on—why someone would be contacting him about Inko. He knows it can’t be good though, not when social services is involved. He just hasn’t the slightest idea what could be happening.
“What... what happened?”
“There was a villain attack,” Himura tells him gently. “Midoriya-san was caught up in it.”
Shōta remembers the night he’d met Inko— she’d caught his eye from across the crowded bar. The woman’s laugh is what caught his attention, loud and lively and just like a certain blonde that Shōta missed so much it hurt.
Truthfully, that’s how he’d ended up at the bar that night.
Nemuri had gotten tired of Shōta sulking and had forced him into going to the bar with her on one of his few days off. Then, in typical Nemuri fashion, she’d gotten sidetracked with some other bar patron and that... well, the last he’d seen her had been nearly an hour and a half prior, which had left Shōta to drown his sorrows in cheap sake at the bar.
When Hizashi had left for America, Shōta knew he hadn’t been in the best state of mind.
He was a man of routine, and for three full years his routine consisted of Oboro and Hizashi; and it had been that way since he’d first been transferred to 1-A and those two idiots had decided he was friend material despite his sour attitude and obvious distaste for them.
Shōta still doesn’t know when he started to consider them friends and when... well, when he started viewing Hizashi as something more. They were friends, just friends, he knew, but Shōta knew he loved Hizashi, even if Hizashi didn’t love him back the same way.
It didn’t matter, as long as Hizashi stayed in his life. He could handle them being just friends if that was the only option he had when it came to keeping Hizashi in his life.
Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when Hizashi called him screeching over the fact he’d got in.
Oboro had already left at that point, interning at an agency across Japan that had recruited him personally. The program itself was a year and a half. Oboro had managed to graduate a semester early with Nezu-Sensei's help, and he’d been gone across Japan before the last semester of their third year even started.
And that had hurt too, but Shōta had had Hizashi with him. Hizashi to keep him distracted, and balm over the hurt of Oboro leaving them. He still talked to him, of course, but it wasn’t the same.
He always had Hizashi.
Until Hizashi wanted to go too.
He knew America would be good for Hizashi, the internship at an American Music Agency had been all the blonde could talk about their third year of classes, as soon as he’d realized such a thing existed, and in the place that he’d always fantasized about visiting, as much as that both scared and annoyed Shōta to no end.
What was so good about America that Hizashi wanted to go there? To live there?
Shōta hadn’t been surprised when Hizashi had nearly blown his eardrums up when he’d gotten the email that he’d been accepted into the Agency he’d had his heart set on interning at, and, as if the universe wasn’t already doing wonders in fucking up Shōta’s life by offering Hizashi everything he’d ever wanted— everything that would take him away— he’d managed to get a scholarship to one of the fancy Creative Arts universities America had to offer, and a Study Permit followed very close after.
Everything had fallen into place for Hizashi.
Everything that would pave Hizashi’s future— the internship that he’d always dreamed of attending, and the chance to focus his spare time on what he loved most.
Shōta knew that wasn’t something Hizashi could pass up.
Shōta knew better than anyone that Hizashi had dreamed of this since he was a child; that he’d been actively working towards both these things since their second year of Hero school.
This would be good for Hizashi, no matter how much it shattered Shōta’s heart to watch his best friend, the man he loved, hop on a plane and leave for America for the unforeseeable future.
Hizashi had all these big aspirations.
Shōta did not.
Hizashi and Shōta had very different goals. There was more they could have, of course there was, there was always more, but there didn’t have to be. A Hero license was all you needed to work legally in Japan.
Hizashi wanted more from the world. Shōta didn’t.
Shōta lifts his head from where he’d been staring down at the bar, fingers absently tousling with an empty shot glass as he nursed his beer. He doesn’t really remember how much he’d drank, and only his tab would tell.
Shōta had curled his glass of beer into his chest as he turned to scan the bar, another bright laugh ringing from the other side of the bar where there were a couple tables.
It was a group of three sat at the table— a spiky-haired blonde woman, and a brunette-haired man with a similar hair style, along with a pair of glasses perched on his nose were sat on one side of the booth, and on the other, was a green-haired woman. The one who was laughing so brightly.
She was pretty.
Green was an odd hair colour, Shōta couldn’t help but think, yet it instantly drew his attention. It was unique in such a simple way; alluring. She was alluring. How she smiled so brightly while chattering enthusiastically with her friends, how her attention never waned from her party, laugh bright and contagious.
He turned a little more to scrutinize the group subtly.
They were a lively bunch, chatting amongst each other and laughing like none of them had so much as a care in the world. They’re obviously good friends; which just makes his heart ache at the thought of his friends.
Hizashi is in another country, Oboro across Japan and Nemuri is wherever the hell she is, probably lip-locked with some poor bar patron who has no idea what they’re getting themselves into.
And here Shōta sits.
Alone, and lonely, and miserable.
A handful of shots into his bar visit that he’ll definitely feel in the morning, and nursing a beer that he can’t decide if it tastes good or not now that it’s lukewarm from being clutched in his hands for however long he’s been nursing it.
This is a waste of time.
It’s illogical.
He should just pay his tab and get out of here.
Maybe head home and sleep like he should be doing already. It’s not like Nem’s coming back like she promised when she’d gotten up to go to the bathroom, only half an hour into trying to cheer him up. Nem probably forgot he was even here— he hadn’t seen her, and he really doubts she’s even anywhere in the bar at this point.
Shōta thumbs along the condensation on the shot glass in his fingers, the glass scraping lightly along the countertop as his wrist curls faintly. He’s just about to wave down the bartender when someone pauses at his side. He ignores it, for just a second, until someone speaks.
“Hi,” Shōta lets his attention crawl to the side, surprised to find bright green eyes and foresty green hair. She’s even prettier up close, a glimmer in her green eyes that’s fascinating. He cocks his head in silent question, but the woman doesn’t appear deterred, “this seat taken?”
Shōta blinks owlishly at the empty seat beside him, Nemuri’s long abandoned seat, before his gaze flits around the woman and to he now empty table.
“No,” Shōta finally breathes out, turning back to his empty shot glass, “all yours.”
She smiles kindly as she sits, calling the bartender in over and asking sweetly for two shots of shōchū. The bartender pours the shots and slides them across the counter towards her before moving onto the next patron demanding attention.
Shōta raises an eyebrow in question as the woman takes both into her hands, sliding one over to Shōta with a challenging arched eyebrow. It’s the first time someone who didn’t come to the bar with him had bought him anything. Still, he’s hesitant to accept.
She snickers to herself when he makes no move to get any closer or reach for the shot.
“You looked like you could use it,” the woman laughs softly in explanation, different from the booming laugh that had caught his attention earlier, but in no way less real. “And maybe a friend too. Your friend left hours ago, didn’t she? I thought maybe we could both use some company. I’m Inko. Midoriya Inko.”
“Aizawa Shōta,” the underground Hero introduces in return, fingers finally gripping the small glass as he thinks ‘fuck it’ and throws the shot back at the same time Inko does. Their glasses clink on the bar counter almost simultaneously, “thanks.”
It had gotten a little blurry after that— Shōta had bought the next round of shots they shared, bringing his grand totally up near double digits. He’s definitely a little drunk at that point.
He knows they’d talked; Shōta remembers feeling the least lonely he had since Hizashi left him in the airport terminal. Inko was a lovely girl; sweet and fun. Conversation flowed easily, but he’s not entirely sure if that’s the alcohol talking, or an actual connection.
He doesn’t know who makes the first move— who kisses who first, but it’s nice.
It’s been a while. He doesn’t have time for stuff like this, and is, frankly, very, very rarely interested in anything sexual with the massive crush he harbors on his best friend.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, he’s not sure, but he allows himself to relax and forget about Hizashi and his anger at the world for taking everything away from him and let himself enjoy this moment with this pretty stranger.
It’s... a lot blurrier after he leaves the bar with Inko.
He wakes up in an apartment that’s not his and struggles to find his clothes without waking up the sleeping woman. Green hair is sprawled along her pillow, like a halo, he thinks, and he can’t deny she’s not beautiful, but... but this was a mistake.
He doesn’t even like women. Not really. He doesn’t even know what he’d been thinking when he’d taken her hand and gotten into the cab with her, obviously too intoxicated to make good decisions.
He doesn’t know what it was— a failed attempt at trying to get over Hizashi, a pathetic attempt at making himself less lonely, using this woman in hopes of feeling better. Greedily taking what was offered as a chance to feel something other than heartbreak whenever he thinks of Hizashi leaving him and growing without him somewhere in a faraway country.
He knows he’d had too much to drink, but sober Shōta is disgusted with himself anyways.
Excuses are illogical.
He’d never had a one-night stand before, but now that he’s no longer drunk his thoughts are back on Hizashi and Shōta feels like shit despite the fact Hizashi is nothing but his friend. He feels like shit for being with someone else, for doing this to someone else, when he’s so far gone for Hizashi.
Hizashi who’d been the only person Shōta had ever found himself loving.
Hizashi who had been Shōta’s gay awakening in second year when Oboro and Hizashi had dragged Shōta to a house party of one of the third-year students about to graduate; where they’d played stupid games and he’d been forced to kiss Hizashi as peers snickered and laughed, and Hizashi smiled that stupidly soft grin as he gently gripped Shōta’s chin between his fingers and—
He’d had no interest in anyone until Hizashi.
Stupid loudmouth Yamada Hizashi and his stupid charm.
He’d been hung up on Hizashi since that day, and he knows, he knows he could never love— or even like, if he’s honest— Inko like he loves Hizashi.
This was just sex.
This was sex that shouldn’t have happened.
There was no friendship, no feelings, no strings.
They’d been too drunk for that anyways.
He doesn’t know why he’d done this.
Why he’d lead a woman on in a bar, Inko no less, who’d been so sweet, and kind, and had been a friend when he needed one most— why he’d sleep with her when he knows he had little interest in women in general, let alone anyone who isn’t Hizashi.
Shōta sneaks out of the bedroom silently, offering Inko mental apologies as he sneaks through her apartment and disappears out the door without waking her.
Shōta’s in such a slump for the next couple weeks that Nemuri actually apologizes for leaving him alone at the bar, even if he doesn’t breathe a word of the one-night stand.
“I see,” Shōta remains breathless for a long second, staring straight ahead as his grip on his phone tightens. He doesn’t like where this is going. “Inko... is she okay?”
The other end of the phone is quiet for a moment, and then there’s a light, hardly audible sigh, “I’m sorry, Aizawa-san, but Midoriya Inko didn’t survive the attack.”
Shōta swallows roughly as he lets that sink in, nodding to himself despite the fact that he hardly even knew Inko. He hadn’t seen her in nearly three years, had hardly so much of thought about her really. He hadn’t seen or heard from her after walking out that door the morning after they’d met.
But she was still someone he’d known, someone he’d spoken to, and maybe even considered a friend for a very brief period. She died. She was so young, he remembers, she was too young.
And now she was gone.
She was someone, and she deserved to be mourned.
He sees so much death as a Hero, especially one that works at night, and it’s always had to process a life lost, but he thinks it a bit harder to digest when it’s someone you know on a personal level.
Shōta draws in a shaky breath. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“A bus was attacked,” Himura explained solemnly, “the villain flipped it and unfortunately Midoriya-san suffered a severe head trauma. She passed on route to the hospital. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Shōta remembers seeing that attack on the news just a couple days ago.
Both he and Hizashi were thankfully off duty at that time, Shōta had heard a lot of Heroes got hurt trying to apprehend the rampaging villain, but they’d still watched on the news.
Even if he didn’t know her well, he’s upset to hear that she wasn’t around anymore. He mourns her; wishes it was different. She was a bright woman; everything about her kind and good from as far as Shōta had known her, and she doesn’t deserve this. No one does.
“I... understand,” Shōta finally forces out, bringing the hand not clutching his cellphone to his ear up to his eyes to rub at the irritation clinging. “I just...” he bites his lip, “why are you telling me this? I mean, Inko and I...”
There’s a beat of silence.
“You’re your son’s next of kin,” the woman says slowly, almost accusingly, “you are the listed father on the boy’s birth certificate and since Midoriya Inko is no longer around to care for her child, sole guardianship is appointed to you as next of kin.”
And Shōta’s brain stalls.
His what?
“My... my son?” Shōta chokes out, sitting up completely straight.
An acknowledging hum from the other end of the phone, “look, Aizawa-san, I understand if you don’t want to take guardianship of your child, but you are his only living family remaining. You are not obligated to take responsibility for your son; you’re more than welcome to sign away your parental rights and the child will become a ward of the country and be put up for adoption. Either way, I will need you to come into the Musutafu Child and Family Services office.”
Shōta can’t seem to force himself to say anything for a moment, mouth open like he wants to say something, but he really can’t make his voice work. His words die in his throat and his heart is pounding in his chest.
This is insane— ridiculous.
He’s got...
“Aizawa-san?”
“I have a son?” Shōta finally manages out, hoping his voice doesn’t sound nearly as wrecked as it feels to croak the words out. “Inko never— I didn’t—”
He has a son, and Inko never found a way to reach out. That night had been, what, three years ago? And accounting for pregnancy, the child would have to be about two years old to be Shōta’s kid. He had a toddler somewhere out there that he hadn’t even known existed? He had a son? He had a child and she never bothered to tell him?
“I’m sorry,” Shōta gasps out, as it suddenly feels like he can’t draw in a decent breath, “I’m sorry, really, I just—”
“No, perhaps I should be the one apologizing. I was under the impression that you were aware of Izuku,” the woman backtracks carefully, sounding genuinely apologetic, but Shōta can only focus on one thing.
“Izuku?” He croaks out, “his name is Izuku?”
A name. Christ, that made this feel more real. They weren’t just talking about a random child anymore; they were talking about Izuku. Shōta’s son, Izuku. That felt pretty fucking real now. And incredibly fucking terrifying. Shōta has a kid. What the hell is he supposed to tell Hizashi?
“And he’s...” Shōta’s mouth feels dry, so very dry, “he’s mine?”
“You are on the birth certificate,” Himura reminds gently, “we can do a DNA test if you’d like verification. As I said, I assumed you knew he existed, but I’d like verification as well if this is the first you’re hearing of the child. I can bring Izuku-kun and meet you at the hospital for a paternity test.”
“Yes,” Shōta croaks out, dragging shaking finger through his hair, “yeah, let’s... that. Let’s do that. I can head to Musutafu General now.”
“Of course,” the woman agrees, “we’ll meet you there, Aizawa-san.”
This is not exactly how Shōta wanted to spend his day off.
He wishes he had Hizashi here, but he knows he should verify that Izuku was actually his and that Inko hadn’t lied on the child’s birth certificate before fucking up his relationship with Hizashi by introducing a child. Shōta’s child.
God, he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to saying that.
Shōta had met Himura-san, the woman on the phone, in the lobby of the hospital. She was lacking any pint-sized human, so Shōta assumes she wants to verify that he’s actually this child’s father before introducing them.
It’s probably wise— Shōta doesn’t want to meet this kid, get attached to both him and the idea of having a son and then have it ripped away from if he’s not really Izuku’s dad.
Sounds like torture.
And he’s an adult. Izuku doesn’t need that in his life, especially not when he just lost his mother.
She’s a kind enough lady, leading him down the hall to a waiting examination room where a nurse is waiting for them. The test is a simple enough swab of his cheek to get his DNA, and then the nurse is leaving with the sample and Shōta’s left with Himura-san.
“I’m sorry about the confusion, Aizawa-san,” the woman bows her head when they’re finally left alone. “I spoke to a family friend of Midoriya Inko, and she was insistent that you simply didn’t want to be a part of Izuku’s life; didn’t even know your name. I was told you wouldn’t want custody, but it’s your legal right as the child’s father to get the choice now that his mother had passed away.”
“I...” Shōta swallows, rubbing at his eyes, “I didn’t know he even... I really didn’t know Inko well when we... well... when—”
“I understand,” Himura puts him out of his misery. It’s a relief he doesn’t have to tell this stranger about a one-night stand when he hadn’t even told Hizashi, or Oboro or, hell, even Nemuri, who spent far too much time up in Shōta’s business. “And you’re not the first, either. Izuku certainly isn’t the first child conceived by accident.”
Shōta slumps back like he’s being scolded.
“In any case,” the woman continues with a sympathetic smile, “the results will take a few days. I understand this is a lot to process so suddenly; Midoriya-san's death and... and Izuku. We’ll be in touch when I get the results and we can go from there. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Can I ask about him?” Shōta bows his head, hiding behind his bangs.
He isn’t even sure if he wants her to say yes or no, doesn’t know if he wants to know about his potential kid, but at the same time, he really, really does.
The woman hesitates before nodding.
“How old is he?”
“He’s two,” Himura explains softly, “born on July fifteenth. Does the line up?”
Shōta nods slowly.
It’s pretty damn close. Hizashi had left for America in August, starting at that Creative Arts university in early September. He didn’t start the internship until partway through September, but classes in America started at strange times. Shōta knows after that he’d been a pain in the ass to be around, so around late September would’ve been about the time Nemuri brought him to the bar to cheer him up, or... maybe it was even early October.
He’s not entirely sure of dates, and to be fair, he remembers very little of actually being with Inko.
It was colder, Shōta knows as much.
And... well, nine odd months later Izuku had been born.
Nearly perfect.
Shōta swallows roughly.
He dry washes at his face before his hand pushes upwards to card roughly at his hair. He pushes it out of his face and slumps back into the hard plastic chair he’s sitting in.
“What... what happens to Izuku while we figure this out? If... if Inko is... and I'm not...”
“He’s been temporarily placed with a foster family and has been since Midoriya-san was declared deceased,” Himura explains, “and he’ll be staying with them while we figure everything out. Assuming Izuku is in fact your child, you’ll have the choice to either take custody of him or relinquish your rights of him. From there, he’ll either go home with you, or he’ll be placed up for adoption. And if he’s not your biological son... well, he’ll become a ward of the country and be placed for adoption as well.”
Adoption.
“I want my son,” Shōta breathes out just as the word settles unpleasantly in his stomach. “If... if he’s mine, I want to keep him. If I’m his father... I don’t know if I could live with myself knowing my kid was out there somewhere without me. I don’t... know how to process the fact that he’s two and I didn’t even know he existed. If he’s my child, I’ve already lost so much time and... and...”
The woman shoots him another sympathetic that Shōta tries hard not to read into before she bows her head in a light nod, “alright, Aizawa-san. We’ll be in touch when I get the results. Please take some time to process this; I know it’s a lot to take in. Izuku will be taken care of until we know more, so you please take care of yourself as well.”
Shōta bows his head at the obvious dismissal.
Shōta leaves the hospital with a new, unfamiliar anxiety settling in his chest and without the child he didn’t know existed but so desperately wanted to have with him now.
It was going to be a long couple of days.
Shōta keeps his phone close for the next two days.
He can see the questioning glint in Hizashi’s eyes, but the man never asked why he’s suddenly so against setting his phone down. Shōta had hardly cared about the device’s existence, when he’d received it as a gift from his sister, or when he’d suddenly had a cluster of friends blowing the device— even when he first started with his Heroics work, the phone had been nothing but a nuisance to him. A distraction.
That, of course, had been before he started expecting this important, possibly life altering call from Izuku’s social worker. Before a child, potentially his child, was involved in all this and his possible fatherhood balancing on this singular phone call.
“Are you cheating on me, or something?” Hizashi asks the morning of the second day as they sit at the table to eat breakfast.
Shōta blinks his attention up from his phone, which is face up on his thigh as if staring at the darkened screen will suddenly make a call or text occur, narrowing wide eyes on Hizashi from across the table.
The blonde’s head is cocked faintly, playfully, but that worried glint is still shining in his gaze.
“What?” Shōta forces the words out gruffly, hand flattening over his phone as if he’d been caught doing something terrible and needed to hide it away.
“Well,” Hizashi sips at his coffee, lips tilting up in a teasing smile, “you don’t usually spend so much time looking at your crotch during mealtime. So, do you have a sudden fascination with something down there, or do you have your phone in your lap?”
Shōta scoffs good-naturedly, “I’m not looking at my crotch.”
Hizashi arches an eyebrow, lips twitching upwards, “uh huh, so, phone it is then. So, who’re you expecting to hear from then? I hope it’s not your mistress or something. You know I don’t share well, especially when it comes to you, sweetheart.”
“I’m gay,” Shōta rolls his eyes. Hizashi is well aware of that fact. “There is no mistress. And you’re the only idiot I’d ever consider dating.”
He is very gay, he’d realized.
His night with Inko had cemented that for him. After that night, he’d spent a lot of time thinking about it, and after years of not really knowing what he liked, or who he liked, maybe, he’d suddenly had an answer. He simply couldn’t see himself with women. He’d thought, for the longest time, that he was bi, like Hizashi, but he didn’t like women.
It didn’t feel right.
He didn’t like most people, actually, with Hizashi being the exception.
Hizashi snickers to himself, taking a bite of the omelet he’d made them, “all jokes aside, what’s got you checking your phone so often? Working on a case with Tsukauchi, or something? Something confidential? I don’t remember you mentioning anything, but I also don’t think I’ve seen you so obsessed with your phone since Oboro left.”
And when you left, Shōta thinks but doesn’t say.
Hizashi doesn’t need to know how much of a mess he’d been— or, to know any more because Shōta has a gut feeling that Nemuri reported back to Hizashi while he was away. Shōta doesn’t know how else Hizashi would always know when to call when Shōta was hitting a wall or crumbling away.
He shrugs instead, “I’m just expecting an important call. I don’t want to miss it.”
“Important?” Hizashi inquires softly, brows furrowing like he wants to ask more.
Shōta hears the worry in Hizashi’s tone. Shōta doesn’t throw words like important around a lot, not unless they are important. He’s not one to say things he doesn’t mean, and Hizashi knows that.
“It’s... nothing to worry about,” Shōta assures quietly, biting his lip when he thinks about telling Hizashi about his illegitimate child, assuming Izuku really is his son. He wonders if Hizashi will want to break up. He loves Hizashi, but if Izuku is his son then... God, he doesn’t want to think about this. “When I know more, you’ll know more, okay?”
“Okay,” Hizashi replies slowly, scanning Shōta’s face before frowning lightly, “you’d tell me if anything was wrong, right? I worry about you sometimes, Shōta. Just remember we’re a unit now. Don’t keep me in the dark if I can help and be there for you, ya’dig?”
“Of course,” Shōta nods.
“Okay,” Hizashi repeats, satisfied with the answer.
And that’s the end of it, Shōta realizes.
Hizashi doesn’t demand, or try to guilt him, or even ask for anything more. He’d simply reminded Shōta that they’re a team, and then he’d picked up his chopsticks and returned to his breakfast as if the conversation had hardly even happened.
He hadn’t even scolded Shōta for having his phone at the table in the first place, which was a rule they’d instated towards the beginning of their relationship, at Hizashi insistence. Hizashi liked brief periods of the day where they weren’t distracted by phones, or work, and where they could focus on each other and talk without distractions. Shōta likes the rule too.
Shōta really doesn’t know what he’d do without Hizashi in his life.
It’s one of the few days where both Shōta and Hizashi have a day off.
Shōta is in the bedroom, trying to nap, but not succeeding, as his thoughts keep looping back to a faceless toddler who might be his. He just can’t seem to stop thinking about Izuku; he hasn’t even met the kid and he’s still all Shōta can think about.
While Shōta had said he was going to nap, he knew Hizashi had gone into their home office to work on something for his radio show.
Put Your Hands Up radio was Hizashi’s pride and joy, and the blonde really gave it his all to make sure everything ran smoothly and he that he was entertaining his Listeners to the best of his ability.
After he’d returned to Japan and started debuting more properly as the Voice Hero, Hizashi had been invited to host a show on a popular radio station, and it had been well received enough that he was offered a permanent slot on Friday nights.
Shōta had been so proud of him— he made an effort to listen in whenever he could, but, unfortunately, Friday nights were one of his longer patrol nights usually.
His phone is on his chest, so when it vibrates with an incoming call, he’s quick to jerk up to a sitting position, eyes flicking over the caller ID as a mixture of dread and anticipation settles in his stomach like a rock before answering the call with an ungraceful swipe of his thumb.
The call is short and sweet.
Shōta can barely hear what Himura-san is telling him through the static in his own ears.
Because they’re a match. He and this child, Izuku, Inko’s child, have a DNA match.
Izuku is his son.
“If you’d like to come down to the Musutafu Child and Family Services office this afternoon, I can introduce you to your son, Aizawa-san.”
“Yes,” Shōta croaks out without a though, wide, unseeing eyes staring right ahead of him. He hadn’t stopped thinking about this since he’d gotten that first phone call that had flipped his entire world upside-down, and now everything was happening. And it’s happening fast. “I’d... yes, please, I want to meet him. Please.”
There’s fondness in Himura-san's voice as she continues, “alright. I’ll have Izuku brought in by his foster parents then. I have a meeting that should be finished by three PM, but you’re welcome to come by any time after that. There will be some paperwork we’ll need to go over, and some information about your son you’ll need, but besides that... well, you can bring your son home today if you’re ready for that.”
He’s not. He’s so very not ready for that.
Shōta thanks her anyways, he thinks. Maybe he’s coherent enough for the pleasantries, or... maybe he’s not? He ends the call with stiff fingers and stares down at the device in his hands for a long moment.
And... and he’s a dad.
Shōta had a son.
There was a ninety-nine-point-nine percent match on the DNA.
Izuku is Shōta’s son.
Shōta stumbles to his feet, moving on autopilot as he forces himself through the apartment. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he can hardly think straight. Before this moment, as awful as it sounds, Izuku was just a thought— Izuku was this idea that Shōta had been trying not to get attached to. Because at the end of the day, Izuku could’ve been his, or... or he could’ve not been his too.
But he was.
Shōta knows you’re setting yourself up for failure and heartbreak, getting attached to something that you might not even get. He’d tried hard to keep the idea at arm’s length, to keep Izuku at arm’s length until he knew what to expect. Until there was proof, and the idea of having a son wasn’t just something being held in front of him that could be stripped away just as fast as it appeared.
Izuku wasn’t just this thought in Shōta’s head anymore. Not now. He was Shōta’s child. He existed now, past the general idea of a kid out there that could, possibly, be Shōta’s offspring.
He was a real kid now. He was Shōta’s real kid.
This was all real.
Shōta has a son.
Izuku is a real, living child that suddenly, truly, exists now that everything has been confirmed and he’s really Shōta’s biological child. Shōta’s head spins at just the thought.
The office door is open ajar, but Shōta doesn’t hesitate to push the door open and all but stumble in.
“Shōta?” Hizashi turns abruptly in the office chair in surprise at the intrusion, head cocking as he takes Shōta in calculatingly, “I thought you were napping? Wait... what’s wrong?”
Shōta swallows, shaking his head.
Actually, he might just completely be shaking. He can’t tell. Hizashi looks worried now, so it’s not that absurd of an idea. Shōta can’t really feel much past the panic that he has a son. He hadn’t this morning— hadn't even five minutes earlier, but now he has a son. Now he’s a dad.
“Hizashi,” Shōta croaks out, keeping himself upright by nothing but a hand gripping the threshold of the door, fingers tightening anxiously. He thinks if he wasn’t supporting himself, his knees would’ve given out by this point. “I... I did something stupid.”
“Shōta,” Hizashi says softly, “hey, you need to calm down a little bit, okay? Come over here and take a couple breaths. Let’s talk about it before you throw yourself into a panic attack, okay?”
Shōta moves on autopilot, joining Hizashi in the room.
The office is on the smaller side, and they only have one desk and chair, so Hizashi guides him forwards by taking his hand, until he’s leaning back on the edge of the desktop, just barely sitting on it. Hizashi positions himself right in front of Shōta— they'd be face to face if it weren’t for Shōta’s height advantage while Hizashi is sitting.
“Take a breath, yeah?” Hizashi murmurs quietly.
Shōta does shakily.
He can’t seem to make himself look down at his boyfriend.
Can’t bear to see any emotion in Hizashi face after he tells him everything. He doesn’t want to see betrayal, or disgust, or fear or sadness. He’s not sure he’d be able to handle that.
He feels sick to his stomach just thinking about it.
He’d barely entertained the idea of needing to tell Hizashi about Izuku.
It had seemed illogical to worry him if it turned out Izuku wasn’t his child and that everything was just one big mix up, but now that it’s not one big mix up, Shōta feels like a fucking idiot for not giving this more thought.
Hizashi has been a part of his life for so many years— they'd been sharing a life for over a year now.
Hizashi leans forwards in the office chair, hands gently holding Shōta’s own which sit weightlessly in the dark-haired man’s lap. Shōta feels the gentle squeeze Hizashi offers to ground him, but taking comfort in it just makes Shōta’s stomach recoil. Hizashi shouldn’t be comforting him.
He has half a mind to pull away, but he can’t do that either. Can’t force himself to tear away from what little comfort is holding his seams together and stopping him from bursting.
“Atta boy, sweetheart,” Hizashi coos, tone bordering on worriedly as one hand lets go of Shōta’s to push Shōta’s dark hair back out of his face, “just keep breathing, okay? We can’t talk when we’re panicking, right? Just... calm down a little bit. We’ll talk this through. It’s just you’n’me, right? Let’s talk.”
Shōta manages a few more stuttered breaths before he feels some of the clarity return to his brain. Nerves settle in his stomach like a rock, and his chest flutters with anxiety as he finally glances down at Hizashi.
And he almost breaks all over again.
Hizashi looks so worried— eyebrows drawn together, and lips turned downwards in a poor attempt at masking his own emotions. Of being strong while Shōta’s breaking. Shōta just feels worse.
“I made a mistake,” he whispers out again, looking away sharply. “And I... I don’t want you to hate me, and I know, I know this is going to change things, but I can’t just— I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t—”
Shōta’s voice breaks.
“Lose me?” Hizashi’s tone is bewildered as he faintly cocks his head, suddenly looking ever more worried, “Shōta, baby, just... just tell me what’s going on. What happened?"
“Do you remember when you left for America?” Shōta decides to start with.
He might as well start at the beginning.
Hizashi’s brow furrows but he nods, “yeah, of course I remember. It was super bittersweet, you know? I hated leaving you alone here, but you know I couldn’t pass on that offer. Does that have something to do with this? Your... your mistake? That was years ago, Shōta, why is it important now?”
Shōta nods quickly, biting back a nervous sigh. “I was... I just missed you a lot at the beginning— well, the entire time, but it was worse at the beginning. And Nem, she was tired of my bullshit, I guess. She ended up taking me to a bar a couple weeks after you’d left. To cheer me up, or to get my mind off of it. I don’t know. That’s what she said, at least.”
“I remember her telling me that,” Hizashi admits, eyebrows scrunching up. “She said she couldn’t find you, and assumed you went home. Said you were even worse after that night for a while; that something was up with you.”
“I didn’t go home,” Shōta stares down at his lap. “She... left me. Ended up ditching me, so I sat at the bar and waited for a while. Had a couple drinks. She didn’t come back after a few hours, so I must’ve missed her. Typical of Nem. I... I ended up meeting someone while I was waiting. A woman, and we hit it off. I spent the night with her, Hizashi. I spent the night with her, and then I never saw her again.”
A moment of silence.
Hizashi blinks as he processes before his expression softens.
“Sweetheart,” Hizashi coos kindly, hands cupping Shōta’s cheeks as he brushes his thumbs softly under Shōta’s eyes, “I’m not going to leave you over a one-night stand that happened nearly a year and a half before we even got together. That’s not a mistake, and I’m not gonna leave you over it. I didn’t even know you liked me back then and I... well, I saw some people too in America. We weren’t together, so don’t be upset now. It’s alright, sweetheart.”
“No,” Shōta croaks out, tugging his face out of Hizashi’s hands as he tries to ignore how Hizashi’s hands fall away entirely, settling in his own lap. “You don’t understand, Hizashi.”
“Explain it to me then,” the blonde pleads gently.
Shōta draws in an unsteady breath, dry washing his face in his palms, “we were stupid. She and I... I was drunk Hizashi, and she was drunk, and we... we were stupid.”
Hizashi is quiet, calculating gaze just studying Shōta’s face.
The blonde is quiet for a long second, “stupid how?”
“Stupid enough to forget Sex Ed entirely, apparently,” Shōta admits self-deprecatingly, refusing to look back at his boyfriend. He knows he’d been stupid. Not only had he stupidly risked infections, but apparently the concept of pregnancy was one too advanced for drunk Shōta to comprehend.
“Shōta...” Hizashi breathes out, and Shōta knows then that Hizashi has pieced this together. When Shōta glances a fleeting look at Hizashi, the man doesn’t look upset... just stunned, maybe? “Don’t tell me—”
“I have a son,” Shōta whispers in confirmation, voice cracking as he admits it. “I have a son, and I haven’t met him, but... he’s alone now. She died, Hizashi. Inko died. His-his mom died. I only heard a couple days ago and now he’s... my child is alone. Izuku is alone, and he’s my child. He’s my family. I’m his family; his only family left. I-I can’t just... b-but I don’t want you to hate me. I’m really panicking here, Hizashi, I’m so fucking scared and this is all, it’s too much and I can’t—”
Shōta hardly even realized he’s suddenly wrapped in Hizashi’s arms until he’s burying his face in the junction between Hizashi’s shoulder and neck. It feels like he can’t breathe, and he’s so overwhelmed as everything he knows is swept out from under him.
Nothing will be the same once he had Izuku.
He doesn’t even think things will be the same now.
“It’s okay,” Hizashi whispers, squeezing him a little tighter. Shōta melts into the embrace because Hizashi knows now, and he’s not pushing Shōta away. “Shōta, I’m not mad. I’m not upset. I could never hate you, not over something like this. I'm not going to leave, and you’re not losing me, okay? We’ll figure this out. Take another breath, and let’s talk about this, alright?”
Shōta draws in a sharp breath through his nose as he turns the words over in his mind before slumping in relief. He breathes in Hizashi’s cologne— some weird American brand that he’d returned home smelling like, and Shōta now very much adores. It’s very Hizashi.
Hizashi’s hand is in his hair, scratching lightly at Shōta’s scalp. His fingers card through Shōta’s lengthy hair, gently fingering through any knots he happens upon.
Shōta lets his eyes squeeze shut as he tries to regulate his heart rate to something a bit less erratic.
They sit for a while, probably far too long, Shōta’s sure, but Hizashi doesn’t speak again until Shōta shifts a bit and starts to pull himself away slightly.
The blonde pulls back from the hug slowly too, hands settling on either side of Shōta’s neck as his thumbs stroke along his jawline, “so that was the important phone call, huh?”
There’s nothing accusing about Hizashi’s tone, but Shōta still wilts as he nods, “yeah, sorry. I didn’t want to worry you over nothing. I figured... if he wasn’t actually mine there was no point in bringing him up at all. I didn’t want to risk losing you or hurting you if it was just a misunderstanding.”
“So, you suffered in silence?” Hizashi’s tone is now a little accusing.
Shōta winces, and it’s answer enough for the blonde, who sighs deeply.
Hizashi shakes his head before offering a tiny, teasing smile, “just what am I going to do with you, sweetheart? And, just for the record, if you have any more illegitimate children anywhere, feel free to tell me upfront. It would probably save you the panic attack, eh?”
“No, Hizashi, there’s just the one,” Shōta snorts out. “I’m positive of that. That was the last time I got drunk like that outside of the house, and it was also the last time I touched a woman.”
“My point still stands,” Hizashi smiles softly, “I want to be a part of your problems. I don’t even know if I’d consider this a problem, honestly. You made a mistake, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, you know? We’re in a relationship and I want all of you, even if that includes a bonus, surprise baby. This was out of your control, and you’re literally not at fault for something that happened two years ago that you didn’t even know happened. You have a kid; we can’t change that and... and I don’t want to change that. That’s just what it is.”
“You’re really not...” Shōta swallows down the mixture of grief and relief.
“I’m really not,” Hizashi knows exactly what Shōta means without him even needing to say it. Maybe it’s because they’ve been friends for so many years that Hizashi can read him so well. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Shōta breathes out, scrubbing at his face, “sorry. Just... it’s a lot, you know? Three days ago, everything was fine and then... and then suddenly Inko has died and Izuku is... Izuku who I didn’t even know existed, is in foster care, basically an orphan. I think I just subconsciously convinced myself that this was... I don’t know, a betrayal to you, or something and that you’d... that you’d—”
“I wouldn’t,” Hizashi whispers, “I’m so sorry you’ve been so worried, honey. I love you, alright? And a kid isn’t going to change that. You’re not allowed to feel bad about this, okay? What happened before we got together doesn’t matter— you've been a loyal, kind, thoughtful and wonderful partner since we started dating.”
“You’re a liar,” Shōta drawls with a teasing laugh.
“Totally not,” the blonde snickers before sobering slightly, “there’s no reason for you to feel bad for me when we were just friends when you had that one-night stand. Just like you can’t blame me for dating in high school—”
“Ah yes,” the corners of Shōta’s lips twitch upwards faintly, “the torrent of girlfriends you had through our years at school. And those brief relationships you used to tell me about when you were in America.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Hizashi huffs a laugh.
“You dated nearly half of the girls in our class. And a few from class B. Then there were those two girls from Gen Ed and that boy from Business—”
“Okay, okay!” Hizashi laughs, “so I had a few relationships. Nothing was very serious though, you know that. I barely even kissed any of them anyways. Doesn’t count. Anyways, my point was you don’t hold that against me, so I can’t, and won’t, hold this against you. This was a mistake you made before me. Your son is just the result.”
“My son,” Shōta repeats quietly.
The words taste foreign and distant, but not necessarily bad. Still, it’s a lot to digest. He has a son he’s never met. A two-year-old. That’s an actual person. That’s not a baby— Izuku will have personality at this point. He might be able to talk; do two-year-olds talk? Do they walk?
He is literally a full tiny person, and that scares Shōta.
Shōta had missed so much.
Hizashi must sense Shōta’s unease, as he stands to his full height and offers Shōta his hand to take, “why don’t he go talk in the living room, huh? You can fill me in on everything. It’ll probably be a long talk and the desk isn’t the best place to sit.”
The edge of the desk is already biting into the bottom of Shōta’s ass, so he takes his partner’s hand and pushes himself up to follow the blonde into the living room. Shōta’s cat, a pretty calico with a kitten face despite being nearly three years old now, is snoozing on the back of the couch.
Shy, appropriately named for the cat afraid of everything new and the shyness the came with any slight change, had been found on patrol one night, on one of Shōta’s bad nights where he’d been going nonstop just as something to distract himself with.
He’d been lonely, this only being just after his fling with Inko, and he hadn’t spoken to any of his friends in a few days due to time zones and people just being busy. He’d been working himself too hard, and ignoring everything that wasn’t patrol or sleeping, neglecting himself along the way.
Now that he thinks, maybe Nemuri had a good reason to be worried about him?
Until he’d stumbled upon the tiny creature all alone.
She’d been just like him.
Sometimes he thinks she’d found him right when he needed her.
Despite her being scared of everything, even Hizashi when they’d moved in together upon the blonde’s return to Japan, she’d never been afraid of Shōta. Even as a tiny little kitten that was nothing but skin and bones and fleas that he’d found on the street, she'd trusted him.
He’d managed to catch her quite easily, and within a couple days she was clean, fed, and vaccinated. A proper house cat for Shōta to spoil and take care of. She’d gotten him through a lot, someone waiting at home for him. He knew animals were good emotional support, but he hadn’t known until he adopted Shy.
He wonders what she’s going to think of Izuku.
Shōta pushes the thought down to be worried about later, letting himself settle on the couch beside Hizashi so that they’re facing each other. Shy slinks down the back of the couch to curl up in Shōta’s lap, and he takes it in stride, accepting the support easily as he strokes her ears back.
“So,” Hizashi leans back against the cushions, “what do you know about him? You... you said his name’s Izuku, right?”
“Izuku, yeah,” Shōta nods thoughtfully, “and... and not a lot. He’s two. He was born on the fifteenth of July. He... I don’t know. Himura-san didn’t want to introduce us until we were sure I was his biological father. Inko put me on the birth certificate but... but she never told me.”
“And just so we’re on the exact same page,” Hizashi offers a half smile, “you are Izuku’s bio dad, right? There was a test or something done, right? We know she wasn’t lying about it?”
“We have a ninety-nine-point-nine DNA match,” Shōta sighs, rubbing at his eyes as he flops back into the couch as well, “it would be illogical to ignore numbers like that, so, yeah. He’s mine.”
“Okay,” Hizashi nods to himself. “And the mother? What... happened to her exactly?”
Shōta hesitates, squeezing his eyes shut. “Do you remember that villain attack that was all over the news last week?” Hizashi nods. “She was caught up in it. The bus she was on... it flipped. She died before she even made it to the hospital. Luckily, Izuku wasn’t with her so he’s fine. Just... he’s so little. He’s so little, won’t understand, but he’s old enough to miss her, you know?”
Hizashi nods solemnly, “and how’re you feeling, Sweetheart?”
“I wasn’t in the attack,” Shōta reminds in confusion.
“No,” Hizashi laughs faintly before his expression is serious once more, “you knew her though. You were... intimate with her. I know you have feelings, as much as you pretend you don’t. You told me you two got on well, how are you taking the news?”
Shōta swallows, shoulders lifting in a shrug. He honestly hadn’t really given himself a chance to think about it. His focus had been on Izuku. “I don’t know. I’m going to mourn her— if not for me, then for our son. Inko was a great woman, kind and sweet, but weren’t close. I’m upset she never told me about Izuku, but I can’t really hold it against her now, can I? That would be pointless. We weren’t close, hadn’t talked in years but... but I’m going to miss her, I think. The thought of her being out there somewhere well and happy.”
“Logical,” Hizashi smiles sadly. “I’m really sorry you lost her, Shōta. I know you weren’t close, but I... I just hate it when you’re hurting. She sounds like a good person— well, y’know, besides keeping your kid from you for two years.”
Shōta lets out a snort of agreement.
“And... how are you feeling about Izuku?”
“What?” Shōta blinks slowly, turning to look at his partner at that. “What do you mean?”
Hizashi blinks back in return, lips pulling downwards as he scans Shōta, “this is... a lot to take in so suddenly, Shōta. You have a child. You have a child you didn’t have yesterday— a two-year-old, at that. You’re allowed to... I don’t know, be upset, or worried, or even happy, you know? Did you even want kids? I don’t know if we’ve ever talked about it before.”
Shōta sucks in a breath, turning the question over in his head.
“I’m so fucking terrified,” Shōta confesses without looking over. He buries his fingers in Shy’s fur. “I don’t... know if I’m ready for this, Hizashi. He’s just a baby— I could hardly take care of myself before we started living together. I’m going to be responsible for a human being incapable of taking care of himself. That’s... fuck, that’s so scary, Hizashi.”
Shōta leans forwards, dropping his head into his hands, “she said I could take him home today when we’ve gone through the paperwork, and I’ve met him. We’re not ready for that. Our apartment is too small, we don’t have a place for him to sleep— is he still in a crib? A bed? One of those tiny baby beds? What does he eat? What if he doesn’t like me?”
“He’ll like you,” Hizashi interrupts, “of course he will. Even if he doesn’t at first, he’s still processing all this too, Shōta. Everything is changing for him, and he’s just a small little guy who doesn’t understand. You’re a good man— having these concerns now just tells me you’re gonna be the absolute best daddy for the little guy, ya’dig?”
Shōta lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
“And all that other stuff?” Hizashi’s hand settles on Shōta’s back, giving a gentle rub, “we can look for a bigger apartment. We have the funds, right? And it’s not like we don’t have any space for him; we’ll find a place for him for now. There’s some room in our bedroom, if need be, or we can make room in the office. I’m sure the social worker and foster family will tell you what he likes, and how he sleeps, and we’ll figure stuff out as we go too. This is scary, Shōta, but you’re not alone, remember? We’re a team, and I’m just as on board, aheh, assuming you want me there, at least.”
That’s right.
He’s not alone.
“I love you,” Shōta whispers, sitting up just enough so he can lean on Hizashi’s shoulder instead.
He tries to think about doing this without Hizashi but can’t imagine it without seeing himself having a full mental breakdown. And he hasn’t even gotten the kid yet.
“I love you too,” the blonde grins. Hizashi’s head leans against Shōta’s as they sit together for a second. “Hey, you never answered if you wanted kids or not. I mean, it’s a bit late, but I’m still curious.”
“I don’t think I get much of a choice now,” Shōta snorts a laugh, tone entirely teasing. “I’d never really considered it before but now... I can’t imagine not having him. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him.”
“I always wanted kids,” Hizashi confides softly, “kids with you especially. I always thought about it, ya know? A happy little family. You’ll be a great dad, Shō.”
Shōta is antsy when two PM rolls around.
They leave the apartment and head into the heart of the city where the family services office is. They arrive outside the building just before three and end up spending a couple minutes waiting for Himura-san to get to them, and Hizashi squeezes at Shōta’s hand, both calming and grounding him.
“Aizawa-san,” Himura-san greets kindly when she finally comes to find them in the small lobby waiting area. She scans Shōta quickly before her gaze flicks to Hizashi, “it’s great to see you again. Who’s this?”
“This is my partner, Yamada Hizashi,” Shōta swallows, stomach suddenly full of nerves as he pushes himself up to bow lightly in her direction, “it’s nice to see you again too.”
“Yamada-san,” Himura bows in greeting, “a pleasure. Why don’t you both come on back to my office with me. We can talk a bit and then I can introduce you to Izuku-kun.”
Shōta hurries to follow after the woman, trusting Hizashi to keep pace.
Himura’s office is on the smaller side, but it perfectly sits a desk, desk chair, a wall of bookshelves and filing cabinets as well as two plush chairs positioned on the opposite side of the desk. The woman rounds the desk, and Shōta plops himself nervously into one of the armchairs, taking comfort in Hizashi sitting in the other chair.
“So,” the woman hums thoughtfully as she organizes herself, “I bet you’re anxious to meet your son, but I’d just like to go over a couple things first. I have a colleague watching over him right now, so don’t worry.”
They go over paperwork first. Shōta signs documents that make him the sole guardian of the child just so there’s no further confusion down the line like there had been when Inko had died. He’s given documents, like Izuku’s birth certificate, sin number, medical information and other things of importance a parent should have for their child in case anything goes wrong.
Shōta feels overwhelmed just holding the folder.
Himura talks about Izuku a little bit, before they meet him.
He’s apparently a very sweet child who’s warmed up to his foster parents and social workers relatively fast, which gives Shōta hope that he might do the same to them. He’s on the quieter side, not shy but also not overly confident. He sleeps in a crib still and is not potty trained— though he is in the process of learning. Izuku still uses a pacifier, but just at night and to self soothe.
Shōta thinks the child must be clinging to his pacifier like a lifeline recently, if that’s the case.
His heart breaks at just the thought.
Izuku is not allergic to anything, according to his pediatrician and medical file. Himura-san apologizes for not knowing much more about the child, but to be fair, she’d only met him when Inko died.
“Midoriya Inko had a close family friend who has given me her number to pass onto you if you should need any help. Izuku is familiar with the family— they have a son his age who is, from what I heard, Izuku-kun's friend, and Bakugou-san says she views Izuku as her nephew. It’s your choice, of course, but I think little Izuku might benefit from keeping the relationship.”
“We’ll take the number,” Hizashi smiles kindly. “Just in case.”
Shōta nods stiffly, trying to string his thoughts together as he goes.
“Now, I understand this is all rather sudden for the both of you?”
Shōta nods again, eyes flicking up to the woman curiously.
“Do you have a place for Izuku? Furniture?”
At this, Shōta wilts, shaking his head.
“That’s alright,” Himura-san tells him softly, “I assumed as much. It’s not much, but Izuku-kun does have a carseat and a portable playpen. I can help you install the carseat before you take him home, and the playpen will work as a crib for a little while, until you’re able to get one. He has a diaper bag that the fosters brought in, but that won’t last long. I’d suggest the two of you stop at the shops on your way home to pick up more diapers and wipes and other necessities.”
“Of course,” Hizashi bows his head in a nod. “We can pick out a crib as well.”
“Actually,” Himura cocks her head to the side, “Bakugou-san, is in the process of going through Midoriya-san's belongings from her apartment and mentioned that you’re welcome to take anything. Izuku does have a crib and other furniture, so that’s an option as well. Might be easier, but I can understand if you’d rather not.”
“That's a good idea,” Shōta mutters thoughtfully. “It’ll be familiar to Izuku as well. I’m sure he’d like that. I have no problem with taking Izuku’s belongings.”
Hizashi glances over, expression softening, “whatever you think, Shō.”
“Perfect,” Himura nods, “if you’d like, I can pass on your contact information to Bakugou-san and she can help you get Izuku’s things. I’m sure she’d love to meet the both of you and see Izuku-kun again.”
“That would be great,” Hizashi arches thankfully into a bow.
Himura smiles between the two of them, “well, then,” she pushes herself up, “that about covers everything. You’re now the sole parent of Aizawa Izuku. Would you like to meet your son, Aizawa-san?”
“Please,” Shōta breathes out, squeezing at Hizashi’s hand as they both stand to follow her.
Seeing his son for the first time is like nothing Shōta has ever experienced in his life.
He stands facing a closed door, peering in the door’s window without making any move to put his hand on the knob and open it. He stays there for a long time, probably too long, just watching the tiny, green-haired toddler sucking on a pacifier, attention trained on a small television in the room.
Shōta heaves a breath, aware of Hizashi’s hand on the small of his back as he finally settles his hand on the door knob and pushes the door open quietly. There’s a young woman in the room who smiles at them before standing. She and Himura bow their heads as they pass by each other, and then Himura-san is leading them into the room.
“Izuku-chan,” Himura-san coos, and instantly the baby’s tiny head is turning away from the television to focus on her. The pacifier bobs in his mouth as curious eyes flick away from Himura and onto Shōta and Hizashi.
Shōta almost chokes on a breath as he stares down at the toddler’s face.
He looks so much like Inko— his eyes are just a little brighter, a bit greener, and his hair is a foresty green, just like what Shōta remembers of Inko, except there are darker patches depending on how the light hits it. Maybe it’s the darkness of the green.
And his curls— God, they’re wild and so very much like Shōta’s own. Inko had had straight, thinner hair, from what he can remember, but Izuku has a head of thick wavy curls.
The child’s cheeks are dusted with freckles and his skin has a warmth to it that Shōta’s pale complexion never does. He looks so much like his mother. Shōta doesn’t know how to feel about it.
The baby’s brow furrows as he finally turns away from the television to focus on the newcomers.
“He’s got your nose, sweetheart,” Hizashi whispers from Shōta’s side, and that’s all it takes to spur Shōta back into the present. He sucks in a forced breath through his nose before stepping past the threshold.
“Hi,” Shōta manages out to the child, the baby watching him intently as Shōta eases into the room and crouches just before him. Izuku scans him slowly, lashes fluttering as he blinks owlishly. “Hi, Izuku.”
“He just woke up from a nap,” Himura-san explains from where she’s sitting on the couch. “He might take a little bit to warm up to you, he still looks pretty tired.”
“He’s so adorable,” Hizashi comments softly, sounding like he’s stood just behind Shōta. Shōta doesn’t know if he’s thankful Hizashi is keeping a little bit of space between them or upset that the blonde isn’t right down there with him. Izuku is going to be a part of both of their lives; Shōta wants Hizashi to be a part of this.
Izuku is still scrutinizing them over his nose, blinking owlish eyes as he looks between Shōta and Hizashi. He seems to have forgotten Himura-san is even in the room with them, attention solely on the two men.
Finally, the child shifts, scooching closer faintly.
He stops in front of Shōta, little green eyes flicking over him before his attention turns up to Hizashi. He gazes for a second before little calculating eyes are back on Shōta.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Hizashi coos, hand settling on Shōta’s shoulder as he bends forwards a bit, “you’re just the cutest little thing, aren’t you?”
Izuku shifts again, now holding up a well-loved All Might stuffed toy for them to see. Shōta hadn’t even noticed the toy clutched in Izuku’s hands.
“All Might,” Shōta smiles lightly, “hi, All Might.”
A smile lights up on the child’s face behind the pacifier and he lets out a tiny, bright giggle.
It kinda feels like Izuku had just offered some sort of test Shōta passed.
Shōta’s heart melts at the sound of baby giggles and Hizashi is cooing behind him. The child has brightened significantly.
Izuku crawls closer, now just in front of Shōta. He takes the pacifier out of his mouth clumsily, one hand holding the All Might toy, while the other clutches the paci, and then Izuku is hoisting himself up, using Shōta’s knees as support.
The underground Hero’s hands hover, ready to catch the boy if he falls over, but Izuku manages to stay upright. He wobbles, a bit, but seems to find his own balance by pressing into Shōta’s knees.
“Ah-My,” Izuku babbles, holding the toy up again. “Ah-My.”
“All Might,” Shōta agrees after deciphering the baby babble and lisp, unsure what to really say in reply. “Do you like All Might, Izuku? He’s a good Hero, huh?”
“Ah-My!” Izuku chirps back, waving the hand holding the pacifier thoughtlessly.
Shōta watches the wayward flicks of the child’s hand in confusion, but Hizashi seems to understand, crouching by them now and holding his hand out nonthreateningly.
Izuku scans him with a furrowed brow before depositing the pacifier into Hizashi’s hand, and then the newly freed up hand is tangling into Shōta’s shirt, grabbing a surprisingly tight fistful of the material and tugging gently. “Up!”
Shōta hesitates, glancing towards Himura-san, who nods, before wrapping his arms around the toddler; forearm supporting Izuku’s bottom, while his other hand flattens along the boy’s back. Izuku is tiny in his arms— Shōta’s hand and spread fingers nearly covering the whole expanse of the toddler’s back.
Shōta doesn’t know what to introduce himself as to the child now that he has him at face level, intense little green eyes staring into his soul or something. He thinks calling himself Shōta might be confusing, and honestly, he doesn’t even really want his son calling him by his name, but he also still feels odd about calling himself dad.
It’s still new— fresh and odd and it’ll definitely take some getting used to. One day is not enough time to fully wrap his head around this.
Himura-san seems to be able to read his expression.
“Izuku-kun,” she rises from the couch and makes her way towards them, smiling softly when Izuku looks away from Shōta briefly, “this is your Dada.”
Calculating eyes flick back to Shōta, poking a pudgy little finger against Shōta’s chest, “Dada.”
“Yes,” Shōta’s voice is watery. “Dada.”
Shōta wonders how much of this Izuku understands. It’s unlikely Inko would've talked about him if by the way she hadn’t told her friends about him, or even Shōta himself that the child existed, but to be fair, a two-year-old isn’t going to retain a lot. But the child seems to be taking it in stride now.
“Kacchan Dada,” Izuku looks back a Himura-san questioningly.
“Yes,” she smiles softly, touching the toddler’s arm, “Katsuki-chan does have a Dada, doesn't he? This is Izuku’s Dada though. You both have your own dada.”
“’duku’s Dada,” Izuku looks back at Shōta with wide eyes like that suddenly makes sense to him now.
Izuku scans Shōta’s face once again, little green eyes taking him in entirely, and then little fingers are touching at his cheek. Shōta’s heart pounds in his chest as Izuku eases closer, pressing his forehead against Shōta’s chin and shaking his head as if rubbing against him like a cat.
The child giggles, pulling away and smiling up at him, “itchy.”
“It is, isn’t it,” Hizashi snickers, smiling softly when Izuku’s attention turns to him again, “Dada has a scratchy chin, doesn’t he, Izuku-chan?”
A little palm runs down Shōta’s jaw before pulling away.
Maybe he should’ve shaved his stubble. It’s a part of him more often than it’s not though; and it’s not like he’s going to completely change himself now that they’re throwing Izuku into their dynamic.
Izuku shifts a little, nervous eyes flicking over to Hizashi as he tucks in a little closer to Shōta. It’s like Izuku had just realized Hizashi was there, even if just a moment ago he was deeming him safe enough to hold his pacifier.
Hizashi opens his mouth, but shuts it quickly after without making a sound, as if he doesn’t know what to say. Hizashi’s attention flicks between Shōta and Himura-san before focusing entirely on Shōta, almost questioningly. The silent question in his gaze is one Shōta can easily decipher.
What am I in all this?
And the answer is simple.
“Izuku,” Shōta hums softly, turning just a little so the two of them can look at each other, even with Izuku’s forehead tucked against Shōta’s neck, “this is your Papa. He’s Dada’s partner.”
He doubts Izuku knows that that means yet, but still, the baby seems to consider Shōta’s words carefully. Little expression scrunching up in concentration before calculating green eyes flick over to Hizashi, as the child clumsily tugs his All Might toy out from where it had been sandwiched between their chests without looking over at it, holding it out to Hizashi.
“That’s a super cool All Might, Kiddo!” Hizashi enthuses, obviously having figured out Izuku’s character test as well from watching Shōta. “He’s the bestest Hero ever, huh? My favorite! It looks like you really love All Might, yeah?”
“Ah-My!” Izuku beams up at Hizashi, tugging the toy back into his chest as he babbles on confidently, “’duku’s Ah-My. ‘duku’s Dada... ‘duku’s Papa.”
“Yeah,” Hizashi’s voice is just as weak as Shōta’s had been. “We’re your Dada and Papa, sweetheart.”
Izuku leans his head back onto Shōta’s shoulder, green curls tickling Shōta’s jaw as the toddler curls in closer, “Papa,” Izuku’s eyes flick to Hizashi, “dat ‘duku’s paci.”
“It sure is,” Hizashi breathes out, holding the pacifier out for the toddler to take.
Izuku scans it before leaning towards Hizashi’s hand with his mouth open, expectantly, waiting for his pacifier to find its own way into his mouth. Hizashi silently coos at Shōta as he pops the pacifier into Izuku’s mouth since the toddler’s hands are busy holding onto All Might and Shōta’s shirt.
The plastic bobs in Izuku’s mouth once again and then he’s curling into Shōta, head back on the man’s shoulder and free hand tousling with a strand of Shōta’s hair. His eyes sliver tiredly.
“That went a lot better than I expected,” Himura-san clears her throat, looking oddly pleased at the events. “He warms up fast to new people, but that’s the fastest I’ve seen yet. You know, they say children are great judges of character, and he is a smart little guy.”
Hizashi nods, “he does seem pretty clever. I told you he'd like you, sweetheart. You’re too hard on yourself. Looks to me like he likes you a lot, yeah? Already cuddled into you; I’m jealous! Baby cuddles or the best!”
Shōta angles his attention down to Izuku’s little face.
His eyes flick to whoever’s talking as if trying to keep up with the conversation, but there’s also a distant tired dullness in his gaze that had Shōta thinking the kid isn’t retaining anything. The pacifier bobs slowly in his mouth.
“Yeah, yeah,” Shōta rumbles out lowly, lifting his gaze from the toddler, “you were right.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Hizashi teases playfully.
The social worker watches on with a fond look, before clearing her throat and drawing in their attention, “I don’t want to keep you three here all evening, why don’t I help you install the carseat and you guys can be on your way? The carseat and travel playpen are just in the room next door. Yamada-san, if you’d like to come with me?”
Hizashi heads out after Himura-san, which leaves just Shōta and Izuku alone in the room. Shōta stares at the door for a second before his attention drops down to the child, meeting Izuku’s drowsy green eyes.
Shōta sucks in a slow breath as he brings a hand up to card gently through the toddler’s curls, ignoring the fluttering of fondness that spreads through his chest when Izuku’s eyes slip shut and his head snuggles in further.