Chapter Text
Hizashi had known what he was getting into from the start. He was prepared from the moment Shouta began training Shinsou Hitoshi after the sports festival — He had known that Shouta already had an established relationship with the boy, and convinced himself that it wouldn't matter if his husband was the more well-liked parent. Hizashi wasn't jealous. As long as his kid knew how loved he was, it didn't matter that Hitoshi turned to Shouta first. That when he needed comfort, their son went to Shouta, not him. That when he wanted advice or physical affection, it was his husband that he went to.
(And maybe that last one hurt a little because Hizashi lived and breathed affection — touch was his love language)
This mindset followed him through their son’s adoption, and then onto Eri’s. Hizashi hadn't realized just how much love his heart could hold until his kids came into his life — From the moment he met them he'd been prepared to lay down his life for them. Eri and Hitoshi owned his heart even though theirs lied with his husband. He'd been prepared for it, and it didn't bother him.
He'd known. It shouldn't have hurt. Yet, when he found it thrown back in his face while simply making his kids dinner, Hizashi didn't expect it. Shouta was patrolling and it was one of the days that Hizashi was in charge of their nighttime routine. While he shuffled through the kitchen, humming quietly to himself, he found himself glancing over at the living room where the kids resided.
Hitoshi was sitting cross legged on the sofa with Eri on the floor in front of him. Hitoshi was clearly struggling through a poor attempt at French braids, but his sister was nothing if not patient.
A grin tugged at Hizashi’s lips as he stirred the soup simmering on the stove. Eri was chattering to herself in a high pitched voice with two dolls in her hands. One was a Midnight plushie that Nemuri had gifted her, while the other was a (mostly) one of a kind Eraserhead doll that Hizashi enlisted Yaoyorozu’s help for. (He pretended he didn't know that Midoriya had quietly asked the girl for a matching one, though he'd told Nemuri immediately, squealing with excitement.)
A giggle spilled from Hizashi’s chest as he turned away from the scene, moving the pot away from the burner and switching the stove off. Eri’s attempts at impersonating Shouta were frankly adorable, but if he pointed that out she would only pout that ‘Daddy isn't adorable.’
Instead, he attempted to school his features and he sauntered into the living room with his hands in his pockets. “Looks like ‘Toshi-chan isn't doing too hot with those braids, huh?” He said with an exaggerated wink.
Eri snickered, but his son glared at him, his nose scrunched in offense. “How would you like for me to straighten that out for you, chickpea?” Hizashi prompted, stepping further into the room and brushing his hand over her beautiful pearl colored hair.
He startled when Eri actually flinched backwards, staring up at him with something like horror in her eyes. “No,” she said vehemently, shaking her head. “Only Daddy and ‘Toshi can do my hair. Not you.”
Hizashi knew he was the backup parent. He knew.
He'd just never expected to see it so clearly. To have it thrown in his face like this. For a moment, he let himself feel the sheer hurt over her words — but only for a moment. The next second, he schooled his features to concern. Hizashi crouched down with his hands visibly on his knees and gave the girl a worried look. “Hey, hey, that's okay, Eri-chan. I'd never touch you if you didn't want me to, okay? It's alright — Hitoshi can keep doing your hair while I go finish up dinner. Does that sound good?”
When the fear in her expression melted away to an appeased nod, he managed a grin. Standing, Hizashi’s hands twitched at his sides as he nearly went to reach out for them to ruffle their hair fondly. (Like he'd always done.) But he stopped himself this time. Instead, he awkwardly smiled and he disappeared back into the kitchen, never noticing Hitoshi’s furrowed brows.
What had changed, he wondered, that made Eri so afraid for Hizashi to be near her? She hadn't shied away from affection in so long, even going so far as to initiate it herself a lot of the time. Quirk therapy and good old regular counseling had done wonders for her, as well as Shouta, Hizashi and eventually Hitoshi’s patient care. The more he thought about it, though, the more Hizashi realized that it was actually Hitoshi and Shouta that Eri went to the most.
When he got to cuddle her and hug her or brush his hands through her hair, it was usually initiated by him. When she came to him to cuddle, it was only ever when Shouta was there too. Come to think of it, Hizashi was pretty sure that Hitoshi rarely ever came to Hizashi seeking out affection. In fact. . . the voice hero couldn't recall a single instance of his children seeking out him for physical affection.
And suddenly, the fact that they loved Shouta more was all that much more prominent. It was obvious, too. Because, of course they loved his husband more when they didn't love Hizashi at all.
As hebegan to dish servings of miso soup into bowls, Hizashi's sorrowful green eyes glittered with tears he refused to let fall. Yes, he had known from the start that they loved Shouta more. He had just thought that maybe, one day they would have grown to love him too, like he had grown to love them.
Never before had he been so devastated to have been proven wrong.
Hizashi closed his eyes, leaning with splayed hands against the countertop. He took a few shaky, steadying breaths and then he peeled his eyes open again, all traces of tears gone.
Throwing on a smile that didn't reach his eyes, Hizashi swiped up the bowls on the counter and started toward the table. “Dinner's ready, little listeners! Come and get it!”