Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wind howled past the dorm windows like it had teeth.

Aizawa stood near the entrance of Heights Alliance, arms tucked inside his capture weapon like a worn cloak, watching as the last of his students disappeared into the white blur of snow flurries. The early winter storm had come in fast, faster than even the forecasts had warned, and now fat, heavy flakes drifted from the sky in relentless sheets, cloaking the world in white.

One by one, the dorm emptied out.

Bakugou had grumbled all the way to the waiting car where his mother stood scowling like she could scare the weather into behaving. Kaminari had nearly forgotten his phone. Uraraka had waved cheerfully, cheeks flushed from the cold. Iida had adjusted his scarf five times in the span of a minute before finally jogging off toward his brother’s car. Even Sero and Ashido had bundled themselves up in puffy coats and sprinted through the snow like kids again.

Aizawa had nodded to each of them. Sometimes offered a reminder, a warning, a quiet “Happy holidays.” They left in pairs and groups, chatter echoing faintly down the corridor, leaving silence in their wake.

Only Todoroki lingered.

He stood at the threshold for a long moment, snow sticking in his red and white hair, the faintest smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. He didn't say much, he rarely did but he bowed his head respectfully, eyes flicking toward Aizawa.

“I’ll be back early,” Todoroki said. “Just in case the storm delays return trips.”

Aizawa inclined his head. “Good thinking.”

And then he was gone too, vanishing into the pale white haze of snow.

That left one.

Midoriya.

Aizawa didn’t move from his post. He could hear the soft scuff of Midoriya’s boots in the hall, the creak of his backpack straps as he adjusted them over his shoulders. The kid stepped out beside him, bundled in a green parka with the hood down despite the cold, snowflakes landing on his hair and melting slowly.

“They’re all gone?” Midoriya asked quietly, like it hadn’t already been obvious.

Aizawa hummed. “You’re the last one.”

There was a pause. Midoriya shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching at his sides, like he was still deciding something.

“Sensei…” he started, then hesitated. His breath came out in a thick puff before he finally met Aizawa’s eyes. “Would it be okay if I stayed? For the break?”

Aizawa didn’t react outwardly, but he watched carefully. “You didn’t put in a request.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to,” Midoriya admitted. “My mom… she went to visit my dad in America. He lives there now. She was supposed to be back two days ago, but the weather canceled all the flights. She’s still stuck there.”

He spoke steadily, but his voice was tight around the edges, carefully controlled. His hands curled into the hem of his coat, gripping it like it could anchor him.

“I’d just be home alone,” he added after a beat, quieter.

Aizawa watched him. The logic was sound. Reasonable. But he could see something more in the way the kid’s shoulders hunched inward, how he didn’t quite meet his gaze now that the truth was out.

There was more he wasn’t saying. Something beneath the surface. But Aizawa didn’t push.

He just gave a slow nod. “You sure? Storm’s supposed to be heavy. Power might go out. No support staff nearby.”

“I know,” Midoriya said quickly. “I don’t mind. I… it’s quieter here. Easier to think.”

Aizawa glanced out at the snow, then turned toward the dorm.

“You’ll help shovel when it piles up,” he said instead, already stepping inside. “No excuses.”

Midoriya smiled faintly and followed him in.

The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the sound of the wind.

The dorm was eerily quiet now. No shouting, no music, no stomping up and down the stairs. Just the hum of the heater kicking in and the soft tick of a wall clock. For once, it felt like a house rather than a school building.

Aizawa moved to the common room, pulling the curtains shut against the worsening snow outside. Midoriya sat on the edge of one couch, setting his backpack down and rubbing warmth back into his fingers.

A moment later, Aizawa’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Zashi💛: 15 minutes out! Traffic’s slow. Still want coffee?

He smirked faintly, thumbs tapping back a quick reply.

Sho🖤: Yes. Black. Be careful.

He tucked the phone away and glanced toward Midoriya.

“Mic’s on his way. You eaten?”

The kid blinked and sheepishly shook his head.

Aizawa sighed, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Come on. We’ll reheat something.”

As Midoriya got up to follow him, the first real gust of warmth settled in Aizawa’s chest. It wasn’t just from the heater or the impending coffee or even the promise of Hizashi’s ridiculous scarf flying behind him as he stomped snow into the entryway.

It was this.

The quiet hum of a home, even in the middle of a snowstorm.

And for now, that was enough.

The door thunked shut behind them, the sound muffled by the snow already piling against the frame. Aizawa brushed the flakes from his shoulders and tugged his arms free of the capture weapon, hanging it on its usual hook near the door before shrugging off his coat. Midoriya hesitated for a moment, then quietly followed suit, placing his jacket neatly on the rack.

The dorm felt still in the way only an empty house could. No echo of footsteps, no shouting upstairs, no thud of Kaminari tripping over his own feet. Just the quiet creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the heater as it kicked on again.

Aizawa headed to the kitchen, Midoriya trailing silently behind him.

He opened the fridge, scanning the shelves out of habit. Empty Tupperware. A few drink bottles. An aging apple that had probably been Kaminari’s. Nothing left from the last group meal, not surprising. The kids had cleaned it out before they left.

He let the door close and glanced over his shoulder. Midoriya had sat on one of the stools at the counter, chin resting in one hand, his other hand absently tracing patterns into the surface with a fingertip. He looked tired. And pale.

Aizawa turned back to the cupboard, pulled out a pot and a box of macaroni. “I’ll make something simple. Sit tight.”

Midoriya gave a small, grateful nod and didn’t protest.

The pot clinked onto the stove. Water filled the silence, gurgling from the tap as Aizawa filled it and set it to boil. He moved through the motions quietly, hands steady, efficient. Kraft would have horrified someone like Sato, but Aizawa didn’t care. It was warm, easy, and filling. That was enough.

As he waited for the water to heat, he leaned a hip against the counter and glanced toward Midoriya again.

“You got any plans for the break?” he asked, voice casual.

Midoriya shook his head. “No, Aizawa-sensei. Just… this.”

Aizawa gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment. That matched what he’d already heard, but it still settled something in his chest. The kid wasn’t planning to sneak off to his house or to some friend’s at the last second. He really was just here. Rootless for the season.

He turned back to the stove, flicking the heat up a notch, then added, “Mic’s staying too. That going to be a problem?”

Midoriya looked up quickly. “No! Not at all. He’s, he’s fun. Loud, but it’s fine. I like him.”

Aizawa smirked faintly at the accurate assessment. “He grows on you.”

“I think he already did,” Midoriya murmured, smiling slightly.

Aizawa stirred the bubbling water as the first few noodles sank and swirled. It wasn’t much, mac and cheese, a quiet dorm, and a kid too polite to admit he didn’t want to be alone but it was something.

Something small, something safe.

The storm would hit in a day or two. The world outside would freeze and howl and disappear under layers of ice and snow.

But in here? He could keep it warm.

And if it meant making sure Midoriya ate properly and didn’t spend the holidays with silence for company, then fine.

He could handle that.

The cheese packet crinkled as Aizawa tore it open, stirring it into the pot with practiced ease. The smell of warm, gooey mac and cheese filled the kitchen, comfort food, nothing fancy, but rich enough to settle in the stomach and take the edge off the cold.

He had just finished scooping it into bowls when the front door creaked open again, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of boots stomping snow from the steps and a familiar, too loud voice calling out:

“I’m home! And bearing gifts!”

Midoriya startled slightly, then grinned as Hizashi stepped inside, wrapped in a thick coat, his scarf flapping behind him like a cape. Snow dusted his shoulders and the brim of his beanie, but his grin was warm and bright as ever, his gloved hand holding a cardboard drink tray high like a trophy.

“Mic-sensei!” Midoriya greeted with a wave, clearly already caught up in the whirlwind energy.

“Hey, kiddo!” Hizashi chirped as he kicked off his boots. “Did you miss me already? Don’t answer that. I know you did.”

Aizawa smirked as Zashi stepped into the kitchen, already unwinding his scarf and freeing the heat from his voice. He moved straight to Aizawa without hesitation, leaned up slightly, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, his breath still cold from outside.

“Hey, Sho,” he said gently, handing him a tall, steaming coffee cup. “Black, no nonsense, just how you like it.”

Aizawa took the cup and murmured, “Thank you, Zashi. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Hizashi grinned and bopped him lightly on the arm before turning toward the counter. “Mmm, is that mac and cheese I smell? Stars above, I am home.”

Midoriya blinked once, then looked down quickly, hiding a faint smile. Not startled, just quietly processing. Aizawa watched him for a moment, but the kid didn’t seem upset. Just… surprised.

Guess he figured it out.

Hizashi didn’t push it. He flopped dramatically into a chair at the small kitchen table, dropping his coat on the backrest, and sighed like he’d just finished a ten mile trek through the mountains instead of a snowy drive through Tokyo.

“Smells amazing. You make enough for three?”

“I always make enough for you,” Aizawa said, already setting the bowls down.

They gathered at the table without much ceremony. Midoriya sat quietly, still a little wide eyed, but he offered a soft, “Thank you for the food” as he picked up his spoon. Hizashi answered with a thumbs up and an immediate mouthful, making an exaggerated sound of approval.

Aizawa took the seat beside him, nursing the warm coffee in his hands for a moment before digging in.

Outside, the wind pressed against the dorm walls, snow sweeping past the windows in thick, swirling drifts. But in the kitchen, the air was warm. The table was full. And for once, there was no urgency. No lesson plan. No patrol shift. Just a shared meal and the soft clink of spoons on ceramic.

The mac and cheese was simple but filling, warm enough to settle low in his gut and push back the cold still lingering in his bones. Aizawa sat quietly at the table, one hand around his coffee cup, slowly sipping while Hizashi and Midoriya carried most of the conversation.

It didn’t bother him. Hizashi could keep a conversation going with a wall if he wanted to.

“So on the radio show last week,” Hizashi was saying between bites, “we did a segment on quirks that affect perception, like sensory swaps, distortion fields, all that fun stuff. One listener wrote in about how her dog could detect her quirk activating before she even knew it. Wild, right?”

Midoriya lit up instantly, nearly forgetting his spoon. “That’s amazing! There’s a whole line of studies about animals sensing quirk patterns, some of it ties into early quirk manifestation! I think it’s in Volume 3 of the National Quirk Evolution Journal..”

Zashi beamed. “My boy knows his sources!”

Midoriya flushed, ducking his head. “Iii I just read a lot…”

Sho smiled faintly behind his cup. He never changes. Even with the dorms quiet and the usual noise of thirty students absent, Midoriya still carried that frantic, earnest energy everywhere he went. Like it would spill over if he didn’t speak fast enough.

Hizashi, of course, encouraged every bit of it.

“Oh! And I wanted to ask,” Midoriya added, between mouthfuls. “You mentioned going shopping tomorrow?”

“Yeah! I figured we could run to the market before the worst of the storm hits. Stock up, get some snacks. Maybe hot chocolate. You’re coming, right?”

“Iii I mean, if that’s okay, Sensei.”

“Of course it is!” Hizashi replied, already sipping from his own drink like it was settled law. “It’ll be fun.”

Shota watched the exchange in silence for a moment more, letting the words flow around him like white noise. Midoriya called them Sensei again. He always did. Even now, when there were no lesson plans, no schedule, no uniforms, no school. Just three people sharing a meal in a quiet dorm during a snowstorm.

It wasn’t necessary. Not now.

Shota lowered his cup and glanced at the kid across the table.

“You know,” he said casually, “since school’s closed and it’s just us here for the break… you can drop the ‘sensei.’”

Midoriya blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Hhh Huh?”

“You don’t need to call us that outside class,” Aizawa clarified, tone even. “It’s just Aizawa And it’s Yamada, not ‘Mic.”

Midoriya froze like a deer in headlights, eyes wide, spoon still suspended, lips parted like the sentence had hit his mental brakes. Hizashi covered his mouth to smother a chuckle.

“You okay there, kiddo?”

“II I, yes! I just, uh..” Midoriya’s head tilted slightly, brows furrowing like he was trying to solve a puzzle in real time. “Just… Aizawa… and… Yamada?”

“You don’t have to force it,” Sho said with a shrug. “It’s an option.”

Midoriya still looked like a confused kitten, trying to navigate an entirely new world of social rules, but after a few seconds, he gave a tiny nod.

“Oo Okay. I’ll… try.”

Zashi gave him a wink. “You’ll get the hang of it. And don’t worry, we won’t dock points if you slip up.”

Shota rolled his eyes, but let the banter carry them through the rest of the meal. The storm outside grew louder against the windows, wind dragging snow across the glass in waves, but inside, everything was warm.

And comfortable.

Less like teacher and student. More like… something else. Something quieter. Closer. A temporary little home.

Dinner passed in a warm haze of conversation and comfort food, the kind that settled not just in his stomach but somewhere deeper, like a weight being lifted, if only slightly. There were no emergencies, no paperwork, no late night patrol shifts or lesson plans to review. Just mac and cheese, snow tapping against the windows, and a quiet evening ahead.

As they cleared the table, Sho gathered the empty bowls and carried them to the sink, already reaching for the dish soap when Midoriya stopped him with a small, insistent voice.

“Wait, Sense... uh, Aizawa.” The name came out awkward and tentative. “You cooked. I should wash.”

Shota raised a brow. “You sure?”

Midoriya nodded, already rolling up his sleeves. “Yes. It’s only fair.”

He looked determined about it, too, like scrubbing dishes was a moral duty he couldn’t ignore.

Shota shrugged. “Alright. I’ll dry, then.”

“Guess I’m on cabinet patrol,” Hizashi chimed in, already twirling a dish towel and tossing it over his shoulder like it was a stage prop.

Midoriya turned on the hot water and got to work, sleeves dampening slightly as he carefully rinsed the bowls and glasses. He was methodical about it, probably the same way he took notes in class, with precise motions and furrowed brows like it was just another type of training.

Sho stood beside him, towel in hand, drying each dish as it was passed along. He didn’t say much, and neither did Midoriya beyond the occasional soft “here” or “sorry” when he accidentally splashed a bit of water. Zashi, meanwhile, kept the background lively with small humming, commentary about dish placement, and dramatic mock gasps over the disorganization of the top shelf.

“How do any of you find anything in here?” he muttered, peering into the cabinet like it held state secrets. “This is a crime scene, Sho.”

“We live with teenagers.”

“Still! I have standards.”

Shota rolled his eyes but said nothing. Midoriya gave a quiet laugh, barely audible over the running water, and Shota caught the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The tension in his shoulders had eased a little, and he wasn’t shivering anymore.

By the time the last dish was dried and stacked, the storm outside had grown louder, gusts of wind brushing past the building in waves, snow thudding against the glass in steady rhythm.

“Alright,” Zashi said, clapping his hands once. “Kitchen’s closed. Let’s move this party to the common room.”

Midoriya turned off the tap and shook his hands dry before reaching for a towel. “You guys, um… hang out there a lot?”

“Only when we’re being domestic and adorable,” Hizashi grinned.

Sho snorted, slinging the towel over his shoulder. “It’s warmer in there.”

And it was. The heater always worked better in the common room, and we wanted to keep an eye on midoriya. He didn’t need much more than that tonight.

He gestured toward the hallway, already heading that way with slow, relaxed steps. “Come on.”

Midoriya followed behind them, a little hesitant but not resisting. Aizawa glanced back once, just to be sure he wasn’t getting overwhelmed.

He wasn’t. If anything, he looked a little less lost than earlier.

Good.

They had the whole break ahead of them. Just three people and a snowstorm.

No expectations.

No pressure.

Just warmth, and time.

Chapter Text

Izuku lingered at the edge of the hallway, one foot angled like he meant to go upstairs, but he didn’t move.

He was supposed to. That had been the plan. Finish dinner, help clean, say goodnight and retreat to his dorm like a polite student. Let Aizawa and Yamada relax without their student tagging along like some lost puppy.

But he didn’t want to.

His dorm was quiet and neat, his bed made with precision, pajamas folded on the desk, notebooks arranged in a tidy stack by the lamp. But none of that sounded comforting right now. It sounded… empty. Cold, even with the heater on. Hollow in a way that had nothing to do with the snowstorm raging outside.

Downstairs felt warmer. Not just physically, though the common room was always warmer but emotionally, too. There was life here. Light. Familiar voices. It felt like a home, not just a school building.

And he wouldn’t say it. Not out loud. But…

He thought of Aizawa like a dad.

Not in a way that made sense. Not biologically. Not by name or by law. But in feel. The way Aizawa noticed when he hadn’t eaten. The way he didn’t ask too many questions, but still looked at him in that quiet way that said I see you. I care. The way his presence filled a room with something steady, like nothing could fall apart while he was standing there.

So when Yamada, Mic-sensei, except apparently not sensei anymore, flopped onto the couch with theatrical energy and called out, “Movie time!” with a grin wide enough to outshine the lights on the tree in the corner…

Izuku stayed.

He didn’t say anything. Just drifted quietly to the edge of the common room, fingers twitching at his sleeves, unsure if he was truly invited or if it had just been a general call. But neither Aizawa nor Yamada told him to go. If anything, they seemed glad he was still there.

There was a basket of blankets near the couch, probably Yamada’s idea and Izuku hesitated for only a second before pulling out a fluffy green one, so soft it nearly slipped out of his hands. It reminded him of his first hero costume, back before everything got complicated. Before his life fractured into before and after.

He wrapped it tightly around his shoulders and dropped into one of the oversized bean bags, sinking into the cushions like a stone finding a resting place at the bottom of a still pond.

He ended up next to Aizawa without even trying.

Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the quiet gravity of him. That solid, unshakeable energy. Like the storm outside couldn’t get in as long as he was sitting there.

Yamada picked the movie, some older animated Christmas film. Izuku had seen it before, years ago, but barely remembered it. It started with a kid who got separated from his parents during a snowy trip. The voice acting was gentle, the music soft, the world stylized in warm pastels and glowing lights. The plot followed the child’s efforts to get home, scared but brave, struggling through deep snow and unfamiliar places. But the part that caught at Izuku’s chest wasn’t the kid’s journey.

It was the dad.

The father searched through wind and blizzard, calling his child’s name, refusing to stop no matter how cold or lost things got. He believed, without hesitation, that his child was out there, alive, and worth finding.

Izuku didn’t cry.

But something behind his ribs curled tight and quiet, aching in a way he couldn’t name.

He wanted that.

Not just the rescue. Not just someone showing up. He wanted to know, without a doubt, that someone would come looking. That even if he got lost, really lost, someone would want to find him.

He curled tighter in the blanket. Pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, chin on his knees. The green fluff surrounded him like armor, like a nest. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to break the quiet. Didn’t want anyone to look at him and see what was flickering just beneath the surface.

But Aizawa didn’t look at him.

He didn’t have to.

He was just there.

Silent and steady, close enough to feel like an anchor. Yamada sat on the couch, occasionally humming along to the background music, occasionally tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it with his mouth. At one point, he glanced over and offered Izuku the bowl, and Izuku took a small handful without a word.

The lights were dim. The snow outside tapped at the windows, soft and rhythmic. The wind howled, but none of it reached him here.

Wrapped in green fluff, surrounded by warmth and quiet voices, Izuku slowly let his guard down.

His muscles, always tense, began to uncoil. His breathing evened. The sharp edge of loneliness dulled into something soft and manageable.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks…

He relaxed.

Fully.

The first movie ended with soft music and a swirl of snow, a father pulling his lost child into his arms right as the Christmas lights flickered back on in their little home. It was the kind of ending that wrapped everything up neatly, gentle, warm, and safe.

Izuku blinked at the screen as the credits rolled, slow and quiet, still bundled up in the oversized green blanket he’d claimed earlier. He hadn’t moved much, hadn’t wanted to. His legs were pulled up under him in the bean bag chair, the blanket tucked over his knees and around his shoulders like a nest. He was warm, finally, in that soft, sleepy way that made his limbs feel heavy and his chest feel light.

Then Aizawa stood up.

Izuku tensed automatically, blinking up in alarm. Was it time to leave? Had he overstayed? Were they going to bed?

But Aizawa didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell him to move or clean up. He just walked out of the room with quiet, unhurried steps, like there was nothing strange at all about Izuku still curled up next to the couch like a house cat.

A minute later, he came back, holding three mugs.

Izuku’s breath caught.

Aizawa knelt down in front of him without saying anything dramatic. Just held out the mug in both hands and said simply, “Here.”

Izuku took it carefully, heart fluttering in his chest.

It was hot chocolate. Real hot chocolate. Rich and dark, with a melting swirl of whipped cream on top and a peppermint stick resting neatly across the rim.

Exactly how he liked it.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Aizawa just nodded and handed the other mugs to Yamada and himself, then lowered back into his seat beside him.

Izuku curled more tightly into the blanket and took a sip.

Warmth bloomed on his tongue, sweet, creamy, and minty, soft and comforting. It settled into his stomach like a hug from the inside out.

And he felt small.

Not embarrassed or childish. Just… small. In a way that felt okay. Like he was being taken care of without having to ask for it. Like someone had noticed what he liked and gave it to him just because.

He hugged the mug close and tucked the blanket around his feet again as Yamada reached for the remote.

“Alright,” Yamada said brightly. “Next movie’s in. This one’s kind of a tearjerker, but the ending’s sweet. Trust me.”

Izuku nodded, eyes still focused on the mug in his hands, steam rising gently to warm his face.

The second movie began.

It opened with a little boy sitting in a snow covered schoolyard, chin on his knees, watching as classmates got picked up one by one for the holidays. He didn’t speak. Just waited quietly as the sun went down and no one came.

He was a foster kid. Kind, careful, polite but always just a guest in other people’s lives.

Izuku didn’t move.

He stared at the screen, hot chocolate cooling in his hands as the boy wished on a star. Not for presents. Not for toys.

He asked for parents.

Just once.

The next day at school, there was a substitute teacher. He was funny and warm. He crouched beside desks instead of towering over them. He asked about feelings, not just grades. And as the weeks passed, he stayed. Came to events. Brought in snacks. Noticed when kids were hurting.

By the end of the movie, the boy had a home, with the teacher and his husband. They’d adopted him. Given him a room, a family, a future.

Izuku didn’t cry.

But the ache behind his ribs bloomed wide and quiet.

He hadn’t realized how much he wanted that.

Not just the storybook version but the feeling. That certainty that someone would stay. That someone would look at him and think, You’re mine. I want you. Without needing to earn it. Without needing to deserve it every day.

He looked down at the mug still cradled in his hands. The whipped cream had melted into a soft swirl, and the peppermint had broken in two, floating delicately in the cocoa. He hadn’t taken another sip in a while.

He was warm, still.

But the warmth felt fragile now. Like if he moved too quickly, it would crack and spill out.

Then fingers touched his hair.

He startled, barely, just a twitch but the touch was gentle. Familiar.

Aizawa’s hand stroked through his curls slowly, fingers combing from crown to nape. He didn’t speak. Didn’t glance over. Just… stayed.

Again. And again. Soft. Patient. Present.

Izuku shuddered once.

And melted.

He felt so small.

Like a kid.

A real one. The kind who was allowed to cry during sad movies. The kind who got hot chocolate made the right way. The kind who didn’t have to be strong or brave all the time just to deserve to exist beside adults.

He didn’t remember how old he was.

Didn’t remember the scar on his side or the panic that still gripped him when things got too loud or too quiet.

All he knew was this, Aizawa beside him, still stroking his hair. Yamada humming something under his breath on the couch. The soft lights of the Christmas tree blinking slowly in the corner.

And in the safe, fuzzy quiet of it all, his thoughts drifted in a way they never dared before.

Dad.

Papa.

The words weren’t spoken. Just thought.

A quiet whisper inside his heart.

He didn’t have them. Not really. Not like in the movies.

But… maybe it wasn’t so strange that he wanted them. That he looked at Aizawa and saw steadiness and strength and care, and something inside him said Dad. That he looked at Yamada and saw warmth and joy and softness, and something in him said Papa.

And maybe, just maybe…

That was okay.

So Izuku stayed curled in his blanket, cradling his mug, letting Aizawa’s fingers comb through his hair.

And for the first time in a very long time…

Feeling this small felt safe.

The third movie had already started, though Izuku barely noticed the transition. His body was still curled tightly into the green blanket, his bean bag chair holding him like a nest, and his hot chocolate mug, now long forgotten, rested empty on the floor nearby.

He felt warm, impossibly so, down to his bones. The soft weight of the blanket, the dim lights from the tree blinking gently in the corner, and the familiar rhythm of Aizawa’s fingers stroking through his hair lulled him into a space where time felt slow. Quiet. Kind.

The cartoon started with gentle music and bright colors. It was softer than the others, animated with round shapes and cozy, snowy backgrounds. This one was about a little orange kitten, excited and curious, who got out of the house while her family was busy wrapping gifts. She darted between snowbanks and slid on icy sidewalks, completely unaware that anyone was looking for her.

The little girl who owned her was small and sweet, with messy braids and a missing front tooth. When she realized her kitten was gone, her eyes went wide with panic. She ran through the house shouting her name, checked under the furniture, behind the curtains, in the laundry basket.

Then she cried.

Her dad's bundled her up and took turns scouring the neighborhood, calling into the snow. They didn’t find the kitten. Not that day. Or the next.

The little girl tried to be brave, but Izuku could see it, the way she clutched her worn stuffed bear at night, how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore.

The third night, her dad's brought her to the mall to see Santa.

When it was her turn to sit on his lap, she didn’t ask for dolls or books or candy.

She asked him to bring her kitten home for Christmas.

She didn’t even say it loudly. She whispered it, like it might not come true if she said it too clearly.

Izuku’s heart clenched. His chest felt tight again, but this time it wasn’t overwhelming. It was… soft. Tender. Like something delicate being uncovered beneath a thick blanket of snow.

He blinked slowly, feeling the warmth of his breath against the inside of the blanket he’d pulled over part of his face. The peppermint from the hot chocolate lingered faintly on his tongue. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the room and the movie’s quiet emotions.

He felt small.

Not embarrassed or childish. Just… small. In a way that meant he didn’t have to be in charge of anything. Didn’t have to be strong. He was just Izuku. Curled up in the quiet. Letting himself be looked after.

He shifted a little in the bean bag and, without thinking, rubbed two fingers gently against his lower lip. It was a grounding motion. Soft. Repetitive. Comforting. He wasn’t even fully aware he was doing it until his thumb slid into his mouth.

It fit there like it had been waiting all day. Warm, gentle pressure.

And his chest, that aching place behind his ribs, began to ease.

His other arm hugged the blanket tighter around him. His shoulders dropped. His lashes fluttered low.

He didn’t even realize how deep he’d gone until he felt movement beside him. A shifting of weight. A quiet murmur of footsteps.

He barely turned his head.

Didn’t really need to.

It wasn’t until a warm presence settled beside him that he noticed Papa was no longer on the couch.

Izuku blinked slowly as Papa crouched beside him.

Then he felt gentle fingers taking his hand.

And then his thumb was being drawn from his mouth.

He let out a soft, high whine, fragile and instinctual, like a kitten pulled from its warm nest too soon. His lip trembled. The safety he’d been wrapped in cracked just a little.

“No, no, shh, it’s okay, baby,” Papa murmured gently, brushing his thumb against Izuku’s knuckles. “Just cleaning it, alright? Not mad.”

Izuku sniffled, barely aware of the few tears that had started to well up behind his eyes. His body didn’t fight, but he trembled, more emotionally than physically. Just a tiny tremor of vulnerability that slipped through the cracks of the safety cocoon he’d built around himself.

Papa wiped his thumb gently with a warm, damp washcloth. The cloth was soft, the temperature perfect. The touch was patient. Each pass was slow and comforting.

“See?” Papa said softly. “Just cleaning. You’re okay. So good for me.”

The washcloth was folded and set aside, and Papa let go of his hand.

And almost without thinking, Izuku slipped his thumb right back into his mouth.

This time, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look around to see if he’d get in trouble. He just… did it. Because it helped. Because it felt right.

Papa watched him quietly.

Then his voice came even softer, like he didn’t want to startle him.

“How big are you, sweetheart?”

Izuku blinked slowly. He didn’t know how to answer at first. But the number floated up in his head easily, like it had always been there, like the cocoa and the blanket and the bunny he can see had peeled back everything else and left him soft and true underneath.

He took his thumb out for just a second to whisper, “Three”

Then slipped it right back in.

Papa smiled so gently it almost broke something in Izuku’s chest, something old and cold and scared.

Then Papa tucked something into his arms.

A plush bunny.

Purple and soft with long drooping ears, round stitched paws, and a tiny patch on its belly in the shape of a heart. The second Izuku felt it, his arms wrapped around it tightly, instinctively, like he’d been waiting his whole life to hold something exactly like this.

He pulled it to his chest and buried his face in the space between its ears.

The whimpers stopped.

So did the tears.

He melted again, completely. Boneless and quiet, wrapped in a green blanket, holding the bunny against his chest like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Aizawa’s hand (Dada’s) hand, returned to his hair, steady and slow, fingers brushing curls back from his forehead. Papa leaned in and kissed the top of his head, light as a snowflake, then sat down beside them on the floor, back to the couch, close enough that Izuku could feel both of them flanking him on either side.

And on the screen, the little girl woke up on Christmas morning to a sound in the living room.

There, curled up on the rug by the tree, was her kitten.

The music swelled.

Izuku didn’t watch the ending.

He was already drifting.

His eyes were half lidded, heavy. His body so light he barely noticed it. Everything that had hurt earlier was gone, smoothed away by warmth and quiet and gentle hands.

He hugged the bunny close.

Dada’s hand in his hair.

Papa’s presence is steady and near.

Dada.

Papa.

Safe.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep.

Only that when he did, he was smiling.

Chapter Text

The third movie played on, all soft animation and muted winter colors. On the TV, a little girl was searching for her lost kitten, but Shota wasn’t paying much attention to the storyline anymore. His eyes kept drifting to Midoriya.

He’d been relaxing all evening, slowly enough that someone less familiar with him might have missed it. But Shota noticed the subtle shifts, always did.

By the end of the first movie, Midoriya had gone quieter, letting Hizashi carry the conversation, answering with small hums or short words instead of his usual eager explanations. During the second, his posture had loosened, curling into the bean bag in a way that made him look smaller, shoulders sloped, legs tucked in under the blanket like he was trying to make himself compact.

Now, partway into the third, the picture was clear.

Midoriya’s hand had drifted to his mouth, fingertips brushing over his lower lip in repetitive strokes. It wasn’t idle movement, there was focus in it, the kind that came from soothing himself. A moment later, his thumb slipped between his lips, and he started sucking without a flicker of hesitation or awareness of anyone watching.

And that settled it.

Sho didn’t need to guess anymore, he knew. Midoriya had slipped into little space, he was age regressing.

He kept his own expression neutral, his hand continuing to comb through the boy’s hair like nothing had changed. No sudden movements, no shift in tone. The last thing he wanted was to jolt him out of the space he’d sunk into.

When Midoriya’s shoulders relaxed another fraction and his eyelids drooped, Shota leaned toward Zashi on the couch, lowering his voice so it wouldn’t carry to the bean bag.

“Zashi. Get the purple bunny your cousin gave you last year. And a wet rag. Just water.”

Hizashi’s eyebrows lifted, but he nodded without question, already rising.

Shota didn’t stop stroking Midoriya’s hair while Hizashi was gone. The kid stayed still under his touch, thumb still in his mouth, eyes on the movie but not really watching. He was deep in it now. Small.

Hizashi came back quickly, crouching beside the bean bag with a folded wet rag in one hand and the plush tucked under his arm.

Sho shifted slightly to give him room, but didn’t take his eyes off Midoriya as Zashi reached for the boy’s hand, wrapping warm fingers around his smaller, blanket wrapped ones.

Midoriya’s thumb was gently eased from his mouth. The reaction was instant, a small, high whine, almost a kitten’s sound, and the faintest tremble in his lip. His body tensed like he’d just lost something important.

Shota’s hand smoothed over the crown of his head immediately, grounding him, while Zashi murmured, “No, no, shh, it’s okay, baby. Just cleaning it, alright? Not mad.”

That seemed to help. Midoriya sniffled, but didn’t pull away.

Hizashi brought the warm, damp cloth up, wiping the thumb slowly. Just water, no soap, nothing to leave a bad taste in his mouth. His movements were unhurried, every pass deliberate and gentle.

“See?” Zashi’s voice stayed soft. “Just cleaning. You’re okay. So good for me.”

The rag was folded and set aside, and almost without thinking, Midoriya slipped his thumb right back into his mouth. This time there was no hesitation, no glance upward to check for disapproval. He simply did it, because it helped.

Hizashi’s gaze softened, and he asked, “How big are you, sweetheart?”

Midoriya blinked slowly, took his thumb out just long enough to murmur, “Three” before putting it back.

Something in Sho’s chest pulled tight at the honesty in that answer.

Hizashi smiled faintly, then tucked the purple bunny into Midoriya’s lap.

“Here,” Hizashi said. “Thought you might like someone to cuddle instead.”

The change was immediate. Midoriya’s hands closed around the plush like it was the most precious thing in the world, hugging it tight to his chest. His face burrowed into the space between its long ears, the earlier whimpers and tears dissolving into silence.

Shota’s hand (Dada’s hand) if the way Midoriya was leaning into it meant what Sho suspected, slid through the boy’s hair again, slow and steady. Zashi pressed a feather light kiss to the crown of his head before settling down on the floor beside the bean bag, so Midoriya was bracketed between them.

On the TV, the little girl on screen woke to find her kitten sleeping under the Christmas tree. The music swelled, warm and triumphant.

But here, in the quiet of the common room, Midoriya’s eyes had already gone heavy, his body melting deeper into the blanket and bunny, every trace of earlier tension gone.

Shota kept stroking his hair, watching the slow, even rhythm of his breathing. He didn’t look away from him once.

Midoriya was nearly asleep, thumb in his mouth, bunny clutched tight against his chest. His breathing had settled into a slow, even rhythm, and the tight coil of tension that usually lived in his shoulders had melted away entirely.

Shota’s palm moved slowly through his hair, fingers brushing the soft curls away from his face. The movie flickered on the TV, casting shifting light over the room, but his attention was fixed firmly on the kid beside him.

“What do we do from here?” Hizashi’s voice came low, pitched barely above a whisper. He was sitting on the floor to Midoriya’s other side, leaning back against the couch so they bracketed him in warmth and presence.

Shota didn’t look away from the boy as he answered. “We talk to him. When he’s out of it, we need to see if he even knows what’s happening.”

“And if he does?” Hizashi asked, careful and curious.

“Then we find out who looks after him when it happens, and how often,” Sho said quietly. “If he doesn’t, we explain it so he’s not confused or scared.”

Hizashi hummed, nodding slowly. His eyes drifted down to Midoriya, his expression warming into something downright fond. “I want to get him some stuff. Actual little stuff.”

Shota raised an eyebrow but kept his hand moving through Midoriya’s hair. “Stuff?”

“Yeah,” Hizashi murmured, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Like… an adult pacifier, maybe a couple different ones to see what he likes. Some cozy stuffies. Sippy cups. Little blankets. Clothes that are comfy but fit this headspace.”

Sho sighed through his nose. “You’re already making a shopping list.”

“Yup.” Zashi’s grin widened a fraction, though he kept his voice soft. “You know it’ll help him. And, c’mon, Sho, look at him. He’s peaceful. This is the calmest I’ve seen him in months.”

Shota finally glanced over at him, one brow arched, but he didn’t argue.

Instead, he turned back to Midoriya, watching the way his lashes lay dark against his cheeks, the way his fingers flexed slightly around the bunny’s ears. Zashi wasn’t wrong. The kid looked… lighter. Unburdened in a way Sho hadn’t seen before.

He exhaled quietly. “Fine.”

Zashi’s grin widened again, but instead of pressing for more, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, lowering the screen’s brightness so it wouldn’t cast light into Midoriya’s half lidded eyes. “Alright. Let’s start now, order tonight, pick it up tomorrow.”

Shota gave him a flat look, but after a beat, leaned just enough to see the screen. Hizashi scrolled quickly, pulling up a search. “Pacifiers first. There’s a set here, different nipple shapes, soft colors.”

“Soft,” Shota said, voice firm. “Bright neon will just overstimulate him.”

“Got it,” Hizashi murmured, adding them to the cart. “Blankets next. Fluffy ones. Oh, weighted too? There’s a twelve pound one in forest green.”

Shota considered Midoriya’s frame under the blanket. “That’s fine. Get a smaller, lighter one too, in case he wants to carry it around.”

“Done.” Hizashi added both. “Sippy cups. Let’s do silicone spouts, easier on his teeth. And maybe a matching small water bottle for when he’s in bigger space but still wants something familiar.”

“Add it,” Shota said without hesitation.

They moved down the list together, soft flannel pajama pants in green with little paw prints (“Get two sets,” Shota instructed), a couple more plush animals including a small green dragon Zashi insisted on, a fleece hoodie with cat ears on the hood, and a soft floor pillow shaped like a leaf for him to curl up on.

By the time they stopped, the cart was full of quiet comforts.

“All set for pickup tomorrow,” Hizashi murmured with quiet satisfaction. “We can stop by and grab it while we're out shopping tomorrow.”

Sho hummed his agreement, sliding his phone back into his pocket. His hand never stopped its slow rhythm through Midoriya’s hair. “We’ll talk to him first. Figure out what he needs. Then we’ll go from there.”

“Deal.”

Between them, Midoriya made a faint, sleepy sound, curling just a little tighter around his bunny. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth, thumb still resting securely in place.

Sho smoothed a hand over his hair again, committing every detail of the moment to memory. The conversation about rules, boundaries, and care could wait.

Right now, the priority was simple, keep him safe, warm, and calm.

Shota kept his hand in Midoriya’s hair a little longer, letting the slow rise and fall of the boy’s breathing reassure him. He could feel the faintest shift in weight as Midoriya’s body relaxed deeper into the bean bag, the bunny still firmly hugged to his chest.

“Wait here,” Shota murmured, voice barely above the quiet hum of the movie.

Zashi nodded without question, adjusting his position against the couch so he could keep an eye on their charge.

Shota rose to his feet, stretching just enough to shake the stiffness from his knees, and padded toward the hallway. His socks made almost no sound on the wooden floor, but he still stepped around the creaky spot near the kitchen door out of habit. The air was cooler away from the couch, and he could feel the faint chill that hinted at the winter storm rolling closer.

He stopped at the small storage closet tucked beside the laundry room, a place he’d reorganized himself more than once so he could reach what he needed quickly. Pulling the door open released the faint scent of clean fabric and cedar sachets Hizashi had insisted on hanging inside.

He reached up first, dragging down his old yellow sleeping bag from the top shelf. The fabric was a little faded from years of use, but still soft under his fingers, the faint smell of detergent and something warmer, sunlight from the last time it had been hung out to air, clinging to it. He set it on the floor for a moment while he pulled down a thick, dark grey comforter from the stack, then grabbed a lighter fleece blanket patterned with pale green stripes.

The pillows came next, two medium sized ones with washable covers he knew were fresh. He tested them with a quick press of his hand, making sure they were still firm enough to give support but soft enough to sink into.

Balancing the whole bundle in his arms, Sho returned to the common room. Hizashi’s eyes followed him but stayed quiet, watching as Shota cleared a wide space directly in front of the couch. He spread the yellow sleeping bag out first, smoothing it flat and tugging at the corners until there were no bunches or folds. The thick comforter went on top, giving the base extra padding, followed by the lighter fleece blanket.

He stacked the pillows neatly at one end, then draped another blanket loosely over the whole thing so it would be ready to pull over once Midoriya was settled. The small 'nest' took shape quickly, a cocoon of warmth on the floor, positioned close enough to the couch that Shota or Hizashi could reach out to him if needed.

When everything was ready, Shota crouched beside Midoriya. The boy’s thumb was still in his mouth, his green eyes closed in complete trust, the bunny clutched in both arms. Shota slid his arms under him carefully, one behind his shoulders, one beneath his knees and lifted him from the bean bag in one smooth motion.

Midoriya stirred faintly at the movement, a small hum escaping him, but his arms only tightened around the bunny and his head pressed instinctively against Shota’s chest.

Shota lowered him into the nest with the same care he’d use for fragile glass, easing him down onto the pillows so his head was supported and his body sank into the layered blankets. Almost immediately, Midoriya shifted onto his side, the bunny tucked under his chin, thumb still resting in his mouth.

Shota pulled the blanket up over him, tucking it loosely around his shoulders. By the time it was settled, Midoriya’s breathing had deepened again, steady, even, the rhythm of someone completely asleep.

Shota stayed kneeling there for a few seconds longer, eyes lingering on the faint hint of a smile that tugged at the boy’s lips. Then he sat back on his heels and glanced at Hizashi, who was watching with that quiet, fond look he only got in rare moments.

“He’s out,” Shota murmured.

“Yeah,” Hizashi said softly. “Safe and sound.”

Once Midoriya was fully settled, Shota straightened slowly, stretching the faint stiffness from his knees. Zashi stayed put beside the boy, a quiet presence, eyes flicking up to Shota only briefly before returning to watch the movie still playing softly in the background.

Sho padded toward the stairs, moving with the same careful steps he always used when the building was quiet at night. The wood under his socks felt cool, a reminder of the snowstorm bearing down on them. Upstairs, he turned into the dorm room he and Hizashi shared.

The room was familiar and warm in its own way, faint traces of Hizashi’s cologne and Shota’s own mingling in the air. His gaze went to the tall storage closet in the corner. Pulling the door open, he was greeted by neat stacks of blankets, pillows, and bedding, organized months ago because he hated digging through chaos when he needed something specific.

First came his other yellow sleeping bag, slightly newer than the one downstairs. Its nylon was smooth beneath his fingers, still faintly crisp from not having been used as much, but broken in enough to feel soft where it mattered. He set it over his shoulder before pulling down a thick navy quilt Zashi favored, a grey fleece blanket for layering, and a deep red throw that would trap warmth against them if the night turned especially cold.

Two fresh pillows came next. Shota tested them with his palm, nodding at the right mix of firmness and give, enough to cradle the head without flattening under weight. He tucked them under one arm, gathered the rest of the bedding, and made his way back down the stairs.

The common room was quiet except for the TV and the steady hum of the heater. Midoriya hadn’t moved, still curled around his bunny, thumb tucked securely in his mouth. Hizashi glanced up from his spot on the couch, his eyes warm when they met Shota’s.

Sho found a clear space a few feet from the boy’s nest, close enough to reach him if he woke but far enough to give him space. He unrolled the yellow sleeping bag, smoothing it with deliberate motions so there were no wrinkles or folds. The navy quilt went down first as extra padding, making the base softer and warmer. He then layered the sleeping bag on top, unzipping it halfway so it could be used as a blanket rather than just a cocoon. The grey fleece was folded lengthwise and placed over that, ready to be pulled up if the temperature dropped. Finally, the red throw was draped loosely at the foot, easy to grab if either of them wanted it during the night.

The pillows were set side by side at the head of the nest, cases perfectly aligned. Shota knelt and pressed one down, testing the feel. Satisfied, he stood and crossed to the wall unit. He turned the dial on the new heater Nezu had installed, feeling the soft, almost immediate rush of warm air fill the space. The low hum was comforting, a steady background sound that promised to hold the cold at bay when the snowstorm rolled in.

He stripped off his capture scarf and set it neatly aside, then shrugged out of his hoodie, leaving just his soft, worn black shirt. Stepping over to the couch, he tapped Zashi lightly on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”

Hizashi nodded, stretching his arms above his head before reaching up to remove his red rimmed glasses. He folded them carefully and set them down on the end table beside the couch, lenses catching the faint glow from the TV for a second before going still.

They both moved to the nest in practiced ease, Hizashi lying down first so Shota could slide in beside him. The two of them fit naturally together, Shota on his side facing the boy’s nest, Zashi pressed warmly against his back.

The navy quilt was pulled over both of them, the weight sinking around their shoulders like a shield. Shota felt Hizashi’s arm slip around his waist, a familiar, grounding touch that eased the last of his tension.

From where he lay, Sho could see Midoriya’s small form under the blanket, the faint rise and fall of his breathing, the bunny still tucked beneath his chin.

Sho let his eyes fall shut, focusing on the even rhythm of the heater’s hum, the soft warmth of Zashi at his back, and the knowledge that the boy was safe, warm, and close.

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was deep, rooted in the simple comfort of knowing they were all exactly where they needed to be.

Chapter Text

Morning light crept faintly around the edges of the curtains, soft and pale against the warmth that lingered in the room. The hum of the heater filled the silence, steady and low, a reminder of Nezu’s recent upgrade to prepare for the coming snowstorm. The air felt comfortably warm, carrying the faint scent of fabric softener from the fresh blankets they’d piled into the nests last night.

Shota stirred first, though he didn’t move much, years of habit left him still, observing quietly before rising. His gaze slid to Hizashi. His husband’s glasses rested neatly on the end table, the red rims catching a sliver of morning light. Hizashi himself lay tucked under layers of blankets, golden hair wild against the pillow, mouth slightly parted as he breathed. A single strand had fallen across his cheek, and Shota reached out, brushing it away with the backs of his fingers, careful not to wake him.

'The love of my life,' he thought. Hizashi had always been his balance, his brightness, never failing to make him feel less heavy, less burdened, even when everything seemed impossible. Seeing him peaceful here, safe and warm, made something inside Shota unclench.

But it was the sight beyond Hizashi that drew his focus and refused to let go.

Izuku.

The boy was curled deep into his nest, swallowed up by blankets that dwarfed his frame. His arm clutched the purple bunny tight against his chest, nose pressed to its worn fabric ear. His thumb wasn’t in his mouth anymore, but Shota could still picture the way it had been, small, instinctive, a comfort that spoke louder than words. Now, in the morning stillness, Izuku looked younger than ever. The messy curls of his hair stuck out at odd angles, his shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to take up less space.

'He looks so small.'

The thought was heavy in Shota’s chest. It wasn’t just his size, it was everything. The way he folded in on himself, the way he sought comfort wherever he could find it. The way he let regression pull him under, as if it was the only safe place he had.

'And his mother…' The bitterness of it burned in Shota’s gut. She’d been told a month ago about his three week vacation from school. Time he was supposed to spend at home with her. But she hadn’t even bothered to tell the school she wasn’t going to be there. Not a word. And knowing full well that the dorms had been built in the first place because of villain attacks, she’d still left him to come back to an empty apartment. Alone. Unprotected.

That wasn’t simple neglect. That was abandonment.

'And the way he reacted when we first brought it up… defensive, clipped. It wasn’t the full truth. He’s hiding things. Things he doesn’t want us to know.'

Shota’s hands flexed under the blanket, nails scraping lightly against the fabric. He knew that pattern. Kids who made excuses for the people who hurt them. Kids who minimized, dodged, downplayed. It was all too familiar. Izuku’s truth was only half the picture and the rest of it, Shota suspected, would be ugly.

'If she’s unfit… I’ll know. And if she is, I’ll take him in. He deserves better. He deserves parents who won’t leave him clutching a toy in a blanket fort just to feel safe.'

His gaze softened as it returned to the boy.

'I’ll be there for him. I won’t let him fall through the cracks.'

The thought didn’t feel like a decision so much as a certainty, something already locked into place. He couldn’t look at Izuku like this and imagine stepping back. This wasn’t temporary. This wasn’t charity. This was a responsibility, a bond forming in quiet, undeniable ways.

Shota let his head tip back slightly, breathing in the warm, recycled air as he let it settle. Hizashi beside him. Izuku just within reach. A heater humming against the cold outside.

For the first time in a long while, he felt something solid in his chest.

'This is family.'

Shota’s eyes lingered on Izuku’s small frame curled up in the nest before he finally reached for his phone. His fingers moved quickly over the screen, drafting a short but direct message to Detective Tsukauchi.

Eraserhead: Need you to look into Midoriya Inko. Possible neglect. Left her son alone in dorms despite being informed a month ago about his three week break. She planned to leave him home alone for that entire time with a snowstorm on the way. Didn’t notify the school. Concerned for his safety.

He stared at the words for a long moment before pressing send, the quiet whoosh of the message leaving his phone sounding far too small for the weight it carried. His stomach tightened, part relief, part guilt for involving his friend so soon, and part anger that he had to at all. But Izuku didn’t have time for hesitation.

Slipping the phone into his pocket, Shota exhaled slowly and pushed himself to his feet. The nest behind him was warm and steady, Hizashi and Izuku both still deep in sleep, but Shota knew better than to waste these quiet hours. His body moved on autopilot, carrying him toward the kitchen.

The cupboards gave up little at first: a forgotten box of cereal shoved behind a row of cans, a half used jar of peanut butter, dry pasta. Not nearly enough for what he wanted. He opened the fridge with the same low expectations, and while most of it was the usual clutter of condiments and a carton of eggs with a questionable date, he spotted what mattered: milk, butter, and tucked neatly on the pantry shelf, flour and syrup. Just enough for pancakes.

“Guess that’ll do,” he muttered under his breath, rolling up his sleeves.

The skillet was already sitting out on the stove, cool but familiar. He set it down, flicked on the burner, and listened to the low click, click, whoosh as the flame caught. Batter came together quickly under his hands, measured by instinct rather than recipe, each motion automatic from long years of late patrol mornings. By the time the first ladleful of batter hissed against the pan, the coffee pot was already brewing, filling the air with that grounding, bitter scent Hizashi could never resist.

One pancake, golden. Another, soft and steaming. He stacked them slowly, the tower growing as the minutes passed. Each flip of the spatula, each curl of steam was steady, methodical, an anchor against the storm of thoughts turning over in his mind.

Izuku’s regression. The way the boy had tucked into himself last night, thumb in his mouth, curling around that toy like it was the only thing tethering him to safety. Shota had seen it before in others, but never this close, never with someone who mattered this much.

There was nothing wrong with it. He knew that. Repeated it in his mind as if saying it enough could make it true for Izuku too. But explaining it to him without sparking fear, that was where the hard part lay. Izuku already carried so much weight. Shota didn’t want this to turn into another reason for him to think he was broken.

He poured another pancake, let the ladle tap lightly against the skillet, and kept his jaw set. 'Step by step. His pace, not mine. He needs to know it’s safe. That he’s safe.'

The coffee pot clicked, done brewing, and Shota poured himself a mug, inhaling the sharp scent as he leaned against the counter. The pancakes were done now, stacked high, ready for syrup and butter. A small comfort, but maybe enough to start the day gently.

He sipped, eyes flicking toward the door. The boy was still there, curled small in the blankets. Small in ways no teenager should be forced to feel.

Shota tightened his grip on the mug. He had already involved Tsukauchi. He would keep digging until he knew the truth about the boy’s mother. He would figure out how to talk to Izuku about regression, how to ease him into it without shame. And if no one else stepped up, then Shota would. He wasn’t letting this kid slip through the cracks, not this one.

For now, breakfast was enough. Pancakes, coffee, and a quiet morning.

Then the real work would begin.

The smell of fresh pancakes filled the common room, rich and warm, mixed with the sharper edge of the coffee steaming from the pot on the counter. Shota glanced at the neat stacks he had plated, three portions, though one was clearly larger than the others. Midoriya’s plate held an extra pancake and an extra half scoop of fruit on the side. The kid’s metabolism was fast, (thanks to his quirk)his body burning through energy quicker than most, and Shota wasn’t about to let him go hungry. He and Hizashi could manage with a little less.

He turned toward the little nest on the floor. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the quiet picture: Hizashi, glasses off, blond hair in a wild halo against the pillow, breathing deep and even. Beside him, Midoriya was curled tightly around the plush bunny, blankets tucked almost up to his chin. His face was softer in sleep, lines of stress and worry smoothed away for once. Shota felt something shift in his chest at the sight, something heavy and protective.

He crouched down and rested a hand on Hizashi’s shoulder first. “Breakfast is ready,” he said low, his voice meant not to startle. Hizashi stirred, yawning into his sleeve before reaching automatically toward the end table. The familiar clink of his red-rimmed glasses sliding into place followed, and he blinked up at Shota with a faint, sleepy grin.

“Mm… smells amazing, Sho,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.

Shota only gave a small nod before turning his attention to Midoriya. He brushed a blanket back from the boy’s cheek and laid a gentle hand against his shoulder. “Midoriya,” he said, soft but steady.

The boy stirred, blinking up at him, eyes hazy with sleep. He looked disoriented for a moment, gaze flicking between Shota, the blankets, and then down at the bunny still tucked under his chin. His arms tightened instinctively around it, face coloring with faint embarrassment as he seemed to realize where he was.

Shota leaned closer, voice dropping. “It’s alright,” he reassured quietly, tone carrying weight. “We’ll talk after breakfast.” His hand rose to ruffle Midoriya’s wild curls, letting the contact linger a second longer than usual.

Midoriya blinked up at him, a little unsure, but nodded faintly. He didn’t push the bunny away, and he didn’t argue, that was enough for now.

Behind them, Hizashi pushed himself upright with a groan, stretching his arms over his head before shoving his feet into his slippers. “C’mon, kiddo,” he said gently, his voice carrying a brightness that cut through the heavy quiet. “Let’s get you some pancakes before Sho drinks all the coffee.”

Midoriya shifted slowly, still clutching the bunny with one arm as he let himself be coaxed to his feet. His movements were sluggish, weighed down by the fog of sleep, but he didn’t resist. Hizashi stood beside him, glasses settled firmly on his face now, and together the three made their way toward the kitchen.

The air was warmer there, the heater Nezu had installed humming faintly in the background, keeping the chill of the coming snowstorm at bay. The table was already set, plates stacked, silverware ready. Shota noted the way Midoriya’s eyes widened faintly at the sight of his own portion, larger than theirs, and the way he seemed to relax just a little when he realized he wouldn’t have to hold back.

As Midoriya slid into a chair, still half hiding behind the bunny, Shota lingered by the counter, watching the boy with the same quiet intensity he always carried. He looked small under the weight of the blanket draped around his shoulders, but at least he was here, safe, and not alone.

And Shota intended to keep it that way.

The three of them sat together at the table, the warm scent of pancakes filling the air and steam rising from mugs of coffee. The snowstorm outside hadn’t started yet, but the morning carried that heavy stillness that always came before a change in the weather.

Midoriya ate quickly, though not sloppily, his fork moved with determination, as if each bite was a reassurance that he was safe enough here to take what he needed. Shota had made sure to give him a bigger portion than either himself or Hizashi, aware of the boy’s metabolism and how much fuel he burned just keeping up with his own quirk and nerves. He didn’t comment on it, didn’t need to. Midoriya simply ate what was there, cheeks faintly pink but eyes soft with gratitude.

“This is really good, Aizawa,” Midoriya said after swallowing another bite, his voice quiet but steady. His fingers lingered on the edge of his plate, as though he wanted to say more but didn’t know how.

Shota inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Eat as much as you want.” His tone was even, but his chest eased at the sight of the boy’s shoulders lowering. He was settling. Trusting. Even if just for the moment.

Hizashi was grinning, chewing happily as he pointed his fork at Shota. “Gotta say, Sho, these are top tier. You’ve been holding out on us. Pancake master and didn’t even tell me.”

Shota rolled his eyes faintly, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward for half a second. Hizashi always knew how to slip light into a room.

They ate in a companionable silence for a stretch, broken only by the scrape of forks and the faint hum of the heater. Midoriya finished his plate before either of them, but instead of shrinking back in embarrassment, he only clutched the plush bunny tighter in his lap and looked faintly proud of himself. Shota noticed. He filed it away.

When the plates were half cleared, Hizashi leaned back in his chair, glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he spoke. “Alright, kiddo,” he said, easy and warm but not careless, “after breakfast we’re gonna have a quick talk. Nothing scary, promise. Just stuff we should figure out together.”

Midoriya hesitated, then nodded, chewing his lip nervously but not pulling away.

Shota sipped his coffee, watching him for a moment before adding, “After that, we’ll get ready to head out. Need to pick up supplies before the storm moves in tonight.” His mind was already ticking through a list, essentials, extra food, medical supplies, even things for comfort. He couldn’t stop planning. Couldn’t stop making sure every gap was covered.

Hizashi leaned forward again, grin slipping back into place. “And when we get back,” he said, voice sing song, “you’ll meet our kitten. Just fair warning, she’s probably mad at us for not coming upstairs last night. She gets sulky when she’s ignored.”

Midoriya blinked, curiosity flickering across his face. “Kitten?” he echoed softly, green eyes round.

Shota smirked faintly into his coffee, letting Hizashi have the pleasure of dragging out the mystery. Their cat would make her presence known soon enough, loudly.

For now, Shota let the quiet stretch out. The kid had eaten. Hizashi was smiling. And for the first time since last night, the weight pressing down on his chest didn’t feel unbearable. For a fragile moment, things almost felt normal.

Once breakfast was over, they carried their plates to the sink, stacking them neatly to wash later. Shota didn’t bother running the water yet; dishes could wait. What couldn’t wait was the boy sitting in the blanket nest, staring down at the plush bunny in his arms like it held the answer to questions he didn’t know how to ask.

They came back to the couch together, the heater humming warmly in the background, and settled in around Midoriya. Hizashi plopped down first, sprawling in his usual way but keeping his energy toned down, one hand resting loosely on his knee. He patted the cushion beside him with a little grin until Midoriya sat down, stiff backed and nervous. Shota lowered himself to the other side, close but not crowding him, his presence steady and grounding.

For a moment, silence lingered. Midoriya glanced from one man to the other, green eyes wide and worried. His fingers twitched against the fabric of the bunny’s ear. Shota could practically feel the tension rolling off of him.

He decided to start. His voice came out low, calm. “Midoriya, do you know what happened last night?”

The boy’s head jerked up, curls bouncing. “Nn no, Aizawa. I… I don’t. Did, did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked on the last word, his whole body tight like he expected a punishment.

Hizashi leaned forward a little, his tone light but warm. “Not wrong, kiddo. Nothing like that. You… regressed. Do you know what that means?”

Midoriya blinked at him, clearly lost. His small shake of the head was quick, jerky, almost defensive.

So Shota explained, his tone even, deliberate. “Regression is when your mind slips into a younger state. It usually happens because you’re overwhelmed or stressed, and it helps you cope. It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with you.”

Midoriya’s lips parted, confusion flickering across his face. “So… I was… like a little kid?”

“Exactly,” Hizashi said, his smile soft but encouraging. “And it’s okay. It happens to more people than you’d think. Some talk about it, some don’t. It just means your brain was trying to give you a safe place for a while.”

The boy looked down at the bunny again, tracing a finger along the seam of its arm. His shoulders hunched, almost caving inward. “That… sounds weird. What if, what if it makes me… broken?”

Shota cut in quickly, his hand settling firmly but gently on Midoriya’s shoulder. “You’re not broken. There’s nothing wrong with you. You didn’t choose it, but even if you had, there’s no shame in needing comfort. Everyone has ways they cope. This is yours.”

The boy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the uncertainty clear on his face. He looked so small despite his age, so unsure of whether he deserved reassurance.

Shota pressed on, steady as stone. “We’ve already taken steps to make sure you’re comfortable when it happens again. We ordered some supplies, things that will help. They’ll be ready for us to pick up later while we’re out.”

The words made Midoriya’s head snap up, panic flickering in his eyes. “You… you bought things? For me?” His voice cracked again, carrying both disbelief and a sharp edge of guilt.

Hizashi leaned in quickly, voice soft. “Yeah, of course we did. You don’t need to panic about that, okay? It’s not bad. It’s not something to be scared of.”

But Midoriya’s breathing was picking up, his grip on the bunny tight enough to crease the fabric. Shota could read it plain as day, the kid thought he was a burden.

So he anchored him. He gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, drawing the boy’s attention back to his voice. “Listen to me, Midoriya. You deserve care. You deserve to feel safe. That’s all this is. We’re not upset. We’re not going anywhere. We’re here.”

For a long, tense moment, Midoriya’s breath came fast, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His eyes darted between them, searching for some crack, some sign they didn’t mean it. But Shota didn’t waver. Hizashi stayed steady beside him, his hand resting palm up on the cushion in case Midoriya wanted to take it.

Finally, the boy’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. He let out a shaky sigh, hugging the bunny to his chest, and gave the smallest of nods. His eyes were still glossy, but the edge of panic dulled to something softer, almost fragile.

Shota’s chest eased just a fraction. He didn’t say the promise forming in his mind out loud, but it solidified all the same: this kid wasn’t going to face anything alone again. Not on his watch.

Chapter Text

The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, letting in a rush of icy air. Snow swirled just beyond the entrance, heavy flakes falling fast, clinging to coats and hair as they stepped inside. The heater above hummed loudly, chasing the cold away, but the quiet that followed was almost startling.

The store was nearly empty. Only a few scattered shoppers wandered the wide aisles, pushing half filled carts in silence. Their footsteps echoed faintly on polished tile, mixing with the low buzz of the overhead lights. The stillness reminded Izuku just how badly the storm had picked up, it wasn’t the kind of day people went out unless they had to.

Aizawa strode forward with his usual steady stride, his expression the same calm mask it always was. Yamada snagged two carts with an easy grin, the wheels clattering on the tile before he handed one off. “Alright!” he said, his voice cheerful but not too loud, as though the quiet demanded some respect. “Two carts, three shoppers, and a nearly empty store, it’s practically ours.”

Izuku curled his fingers around the cart handle, pushing it forward carefully. The sound of the wheels rolling seemed louder than it should have in the empty space. “Um,” he asked cautiously, glancing between them, “what exactly are we getting?”

“Bedding!” Yamada answered without hesitation, grin widening. “Soft blankets, pillows, maybe a weighted blanket or two. You’re gonna need cozy stuff for when you’re little.”

Izuku’s face went hot instantly, his red sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor as he stumbled. “Ww wait, I don’t! That’s not! I don’t need anything like that!” The words tumbled out too fast, sharp with panic. He gripped the cart harder, trying to keep his voice steady, but the blush gave him away.

Aizawa didn’t even slow his steps. His dark eyes flicked toward Izuku, calm but unyielding. “You do,” he said simply, his voice carrying in the hush. “We’re not leaving here without it.”

Izuku’s words dried up. He straightened his back, keeping both hands on the cart handle, trying to look composed even as his ears burned. The almost empty store left him feeling exposed, like everyone could hear his heart pounding but he forced himself to walk on. 'They’re serious. They’re really doing this… for me.'

Their carts rattled down the wide central aisle, past displays of lamps glowing with warm light, towers of stacked storage bins, and shelves of neatly folded towels in multiple colors. Farther down, he caught glimpses of bathroom rugs rolled tight in wire baskets and a wall of shower curtains hanging in neat rows. The air smelled faintly of fabric softener and new plastic packaging.

The bedding section came into view at the far end, rows upon rows of neatly folded blankets and pillows stacked high in plastic. The fluorescent lights glowed softer against all the pale colors, and the shelves stood tall and quiet, almost like walls forming a calmer world inside the larger store.

Yamada’s grin widened as he turned his cart down the aisle. “See? Perfect. We’re making you a nest so cozy you’ll never want to leave it.”

Izuku’s blush deepened, his cart rattling faintly as it rolled over a crack in the tile. He wanted to insist again that they didn’t need to do this but his eyes betrayed him, darting over the shelves. Weighted blankets folded in tidy stacks. Plush throws in calming shades. Pillows that looked like clouds sealed in plastic. His chest squeezed tight.

“Oo okay,” he murmured finally, so quiet it barely carried.

Yamada’s grin brightened like the overhead lights. “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s start with blankets before Sho vetoes all the fun ones.”

Aizawa gave Yamada a flat look but didn’t argue, already steering his own cart toward the muted tones.

Izuku walked straight between them, not slouched, not hiding, his cheeks burning, his pulse racing. He still couldn’t believe they were doing this. And even more unbelievable… he wasn’t sure he minded.

The bedding section had been overwhelming enough. By the time they wheeled their carts out of the aisle, they’d already chosen several soft colored blankets, muted greens, grays, and a pale blue that somehow made Izuku feel calmer just looking at it. A couple of pillows rested in the cart too, firm but still plush, and Yamada had cheerfully insisted on a heating blanket despite Izuku’s weak protests.

It wasn’t much compared to how many shelves there had been, but even just those few items felt like a lot when they were all for him. His chest buzzed uncomfortably with the thought.

He thought maybe that would be the end of it. Bedding was practical. Everyone needed bedding. He could almost convince himself it wasn’t strange.

But then Aizawa turned left at the next main aisle. Izuku’s stomach dropped when he read the bright sign overhead: Toys.

His cart rattled as he slowed, trying to catch his breath. “Iii I don’t think”

“Think again,” Yamada cut in, grinning as he nudged his own cart forward. “Toys are important, Midoriya. Comfort, distraction, fun, it’s all part of it.”

Izuku’s ears flamed. “Nn no, really, I don’t”

“If you don’t pick something,” Aizawa interrupted, voice calm but firm, “I’ll pick for you.”

Izuku froze, cheeks blazing. One look at Aizawa’s face, serious and unreadable, was enough to make his shoulders sag. He let out a reluctant sigh. “Fine.”

The toy aisle stretched long and bright, packages stacked on both sides. Plush animals lined the upper shelves, their stitched eyes staring out, while boxes of building blocks, puzzles, and playsets filled the lower racks. The colors blurred together, overwhelming.

Izuku’s hands twitched on the cart handle before he finally reached out. A soft dog with floppy ears went into the cart first, then a cat, then a dragon stitched in deep green fabric. Yamada’s grin widened. “See? You’ve got good taste already. Now, blocks.”

Izuku groaned under his breath but obeyed, sliding a box of building blocks in. Then a playset, he didn’t even check the details before tossing it in. A puzzle followed, then coloring supplies, then a soft ball. His face burned hotter with every addition.

When the bottom of the cart was no longer visible, he stepped back quickly, muttering, “Ii I think that’s enough..”

“Not even close,” Yamada said at once, wiggling his eyebrows like he’d been waiting for that.

Aizawa gave a small nod, his tone flat but decisive. “This is just a start. You’ll need more variety.”

Izuku dragged a hand down his face with a groan. “You’re really not going to let me stop, are you?”

“Nope,” Yamada said brightly, already adding a stack of coloring books.

Aizawa placed a weighted plush shaped like a turtle into the cart. “This too. It’ll help when you’re restless.”

Izuku accepted it without arguing, though his ears were red as he set it inside. His chest buzzed with embarrassment so strong it made his skin prickle but under it, buried deep, was a fragile warmth. Safety. Care. Something he didn’t quite know how to handle.

He stared at the cart, torn between wishing it would all vanish and wanting to believe them when they said it was okay.

The toy aisle felt endless, and by the time they were done, Izuku’s cart looked like something out of a birthday party gone overboard. He thought they’d finally move on when he said quietly, “That’s enough.” But Aizawa and Yamada weren’t convinced.

Yamada had spotted a weighted cat plush and set it right on top of the pile before Izuku could blink. Aizawa added a folded play mat from the bottom shelf, his tone flat and practical: “This will be softer than the floor.” And then Yamada, with a grin that made Izuku’s stomach twist, dropped in two baby dolls like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Izuku’s face burned. His cart felt like a spotlight, like the shelves and the nearly empty store were staring at him. “Seriously… this is more than enough,” he muttered, almost pleading.

“Not yet,” Aizawa replied, his voice calm but final.

Yamada leaned on his cart, grinning. “We’re making progress, Midoriya. But trust me, you need more than this.”

Izuku’s only answer was a groan under his breath, but he didn’t fight harder. He just pushed the cart forward, every squeak of the wheels reminding him of the pile he hadn’t wanted but now couldn’t ignore.

The air shifted as they left the bright aisle behind. The store grew quieter again, the emptiness stretching around them. Only a handful of shoppers moved in the distance, bundled up in thick coats, pushing carts with a few ordinary things, flashlights, batteries, rolls of paper towels. Outside, the snow kept falling heavy and steady, visible through the tall glass windows at the front.

Their route curved past shelves of towels folded in tidy stacks, displays of plates, bowls and cups, and rows of coffee pots lined neatly calling out to the coffee addict.  Closer to the food smells like softer, fabric and clean plastic, a faint hint of detergent from the packages. Izuku kept his eyes forward, shoulders square, determined not to hunch or hide.

Still, his chest was tight. 'They’ve already gotten me more than I’ve had in years… and it’s all for me. Why?' He wanted to ask, but the words stuck. Every time he thought about speaking, his throat locked up.

A hanging sign pointed the way forward: Dry Food. The shelves shifted again as they drew closer, boxes of cereal stacked high, bags of rice, pasta in long rows, canned soups lined up like soldiers. The air smelled faintly dusty, that familiar pantry scent that clung to stores.

Izuku quickened his steps slightly, pushing the cart ahead. His embarrassment still clung like static, but another thought had taken root: 'I can help here. I know what’s useful. I can prove I’m not just… taking things.'

He tightened his grip on the handle, ready to show he wasn’t just along for the ride.

Aizawa 

The aisle stretched long and quiet, the overhead lights humming faintly above. The shelves gleamed with rows of cans, their labels reflecting the cold fluorescence, neat and orderly. Outside, snow pressed harder against the windows, flakes so thick they blurred the view. The storm was still building.

Shota kept his hands loose on the cart handle, watching as Midoriya drifted ahead of them. The boy moved with surprising focus, his eyes scanning the shelves quickly before his hands darted out, one can, then another, then another. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause to ask. Beans, corn, soup, all practical. He set them in the cart with care, lining them up as if organization mattered in this moment.

'He’s done this before,' Shota realized. 'The efficiency in his movements was too natural. Not like a kid tagging along on a shopping trip. More like someone who had been the one responsible, maybe too often.'

Hizashi came up beside him, his cart squeaking faintly as he pushed, and started grabbing cans two at a time. “Veggies, fruit, meat, we’ll cover all the bases.” He tossed them into the basket with a cheerful clatter, the sound ringing louder than it should in the near empty store.

Shota reached up to the higher shelves, pulling down cans of fruit cocktail, peaches, and pears. He slid them into the cart smoothly, stacking them tight. Then came the meat, tuna, chicken, a few cans of beef stew. His motions were steady, practiced. This wasn’t just about getting through a storm, it was instinct, survival planning.

Midoriya kept going, his hands moving faster now. He picked out jars of tomato sauce, bags of rice, boxes of pasta. He stacked them carefully, no wasted space. The determination on his face was stark, green eyes narrowed, lips pressed thin.

Shota could see the tension in the set of his shoulders. He’s not just helping. He’s proving something.

The carts filled quickly, the bottoms covered in a layer of metal cans and cardboard boxes. Hizashi hummed under his breath as he worked, slipping in condiments, ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise. Shota added jars of peanut butter and jam, practical and long lasting. Midoriya grabbed extra pasta, as if afraid they wouldn’t have enough, his hands lingering just a little too long on each box before setting it down.

By the time they reached the end of the aisle, both baskets were noticeably heavier. The carts creaked faintly when they pushed them forward. Still, Shota shook his head. “We’ll need more.”

“Agreed,” Hizashi said easily, tossing another stack of cans into his cart with a thud.

Midoriya glanced back at them, his expression tense but hopeful, like he was waiting to be told he’d done well. The sight tugged at something deep in Shota’s chest.

'He doesn’t need to prove himself,' Shota thought, his jaw tightening. 'But he will. Every time. Because no one ever told him he didn’t have to.'

So Shota let him keep going. Let him move down the aisle, hands steady, filling the cart like it was his duty. If it helped settle his nerves, if it gave him something solid to hold onto, then so be it.

The baskets were getting full, but they weren’t finished yet. Not by a long shot. The storm wasn’t stopping, and Shota wasn’t going to let them run short on anything, least of all comfort.

The two carts they had were already getting heavy. Cans clinked together whenever they shifted, boxes wedged into corners, jars balanced neatly along the edges. It was enough for a normal trip. Not nearly enough for what Shota had in mind. Not with the snow piling up outside like it was.

“I’ll be back,” he said quietly, stepping away. “Grabbing another cart.”

Hizashi glanced up, one eyebrow raised. He had a can of soup in one hand and that same half smile on his face. “Got it, Sho. We’ll keep going.”

Shota turned down the aisle, his boots making soft thuds against the tile. The store was nearly empty, just a handful of scattered shoppers moving quickly, their coats dusted with snow. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, filling the silence. He passed a display of flashlights and batteries, storm supplies already thinned out and found the row of stacked carts near the center of the store. The metal was cold under his palms as he pulled two free, their wheels squealing faintly before they settled.

The weight was nothing, but carrying them back made his chest feel heavier than it should. His eyes found Hizashi and Midoriya at the end of the aisle, working side by side. Hizashi was talking animatedly, hands moving as he stacked cans with exaggerated flair. Izuku, Midoriya, stood straight, focused, his hands steady as he placed another box of pasta into the cart.

'My kid,' the thought whispered, uninvited.

Shota’s jaw tightened, his grip on the metal handles tightening until his knuckles ached. 'Not mine. Not yet. Izuku. Midoriya.'

But the correction didn’t stick. Every time he looked at the boy, the word slipped back in, insistent. The way he concentrated too hard, like every choice was being judged. The way his eyes softened, just slightly, when Hizashi laughed at one of his own bad jokes. The way he kept working without complaint, trying to prove his worth when no one had asked him to.

'Our Kid. Mine.'

Shota exhaled slowly through his nose, steadying himself. He couldn’t think like that. Not yet. They didn’t know how Tsukauchi’s investigation would play out. They didn’t know if custody was even possible.

And a part of him didn’t want it to come to that. He didn’t want to rip a boy from his mother if there was a chance, any chance, that she could step up. That she could fix what had already been broken. Shota knew the cost of that kind of severance. He still carried it.

But another part of him, louder, sharper, wanted nothing more than to keep the kid safe. To make sure he never had to prove his worth again, never had to wonder if someone was coming back for him. To be the place he landed and stayed.

Shota slowed as he returned, the two empty carts rattling faintly.  Hizashi flashing him a quick grin before going back to stacking cans. Midoriya glanced up, green eyes wide for half a second before returning to his task, as if the approval mattered more than the words.

Shota didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

But as he adjusted his grip on the cart handle, his chest tightened with the same thought again.

'If it comes to it… I’ll take him in. He won’t go back to being alone.'

The carts rattled softly as Shota took hold of both, steering them toward the front of the store. They were heavy now, filled with cans stacked tight, boxes of pasta and rice wedged against jars of sauce, blankets folded neatly across the top. It was enough to draw attention if the store had been crowded, but in the near silence of the snowstorm, his steps and the squeak of the wheels were the loudest sounds in the building.

Hizashi’s voice carried faintly from an aisle behind him, animated and bright, while Midoriya’s softer responses trailed after like threads. Shota didn’t look back. Splitting up would be faster. He trusted them both.

On the way toward the registers, something on the end of an aisle caught his eye: rows of cat food stacked high, brightly colored bags sitting next to boxes of treats. He slowed, scanning the shelves for a moment. Their cat would need more, and the storm wasn’t going to make runs easy. Without hesitation, he hefted a large bag into one cart, the weight thunking against the stack of supplies. A few smaller bags of treats followed, tossed into the corner where they rustled against the plastic.

He almost kept walking. Almost. But another display pulled him up short, a tower of All Might merchandise, set up too brightly against the muted aisles. Capes folded in shiny plastic. Action figures boxed with bold fonts. Posters rolled in tubes.

His mouth pulled into a faint line as he looked at it. It wasn’t practical. Not necessary. But he reached out anyway, grabbing a cape and an action figure before dropping them into the cart. The colors looked garish against the muted stacks of food, but the choice settled heavy in his chest. He could already picture Midoriya’s face when he saw them, surprised, maybe even lit with a kind of joy Shota hadn’t seen yet.

He pushed the carts forward again, the noise echoing faintly in the empty space.

At the registers, only one person stood ahead of him. Their cart was half full of storm supplies, flashlights, bottled water, paper towels and their coat was still dusted with snow, shoulders hunched as though they wanted to be anywhere but here. Shota didn’t mind the wait. Patience has always been his strongest tool.

He stood behind them, resting one hand on the cart handle, his eyes scanning the quiet store. The storm pressed harder against the glass front, wind howling faintly even through the thick walls. A cluster of flakes melted slowly on the mat near the doors, leaving damp patches on the tile.

His gaze drifted back to the carts. To the cat food, the toys, the bright cape folded on top. None of it had been on the list. None of it was necessary for survival. And yet, for the boy walking those aisles with Hizashi, it was necessary. Maybe more necessary than he’d admit out loud.

Shota’s grip tightened slightly on the handle. 'I can’t call him mine. Not yet. Not until we know where this leads. But if it comes to that… if custody becomes an option…'

The thought hung there, heavy and certain.

'I won’t let him go back to being alone.'

Chapter Text

The drive back was slow, tires crunching against the thickening snow. By the time they pulled into the dorm lot, the storm was heavy enough that even the lamps outside blurred behind veils of white. The three of them unloaded quickly, boots crunching, bags cold against their hands as they hurried through the drifting flakes.

Inside, the warmth wrapped around them instantly. The dorm building was hushed, the silence almost startling after months of chatter and footsteps. With the students gone to their families, only three people remained inside its walls, Shota, Hizashi, and Midoriya. It left the whole place feeling cavernous, like an empty shell, every sound magnified.

They moved as one into the kitchen. Food was unpacked and sorted, the shelves filling in neat rows of cans and boxes, the fridge humming low as jars and vegetables were tucked inside. Hizashi’s voice filled the space, cheerful and bright, pushing back against the silence that threatened to swallow the room.

“Alright, mission accomplished, food’s stocked! That snow’s coming down harder, so we don’t have to go anywhere else. Maybe get laundry started, maybe a couple movies. What do you think, Sho?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before glancing at Midoriya, who was carefully lining jars on the shelf. “Hey, would you be okay coming upstairs with us?”

Midoriya froze for a moment, his hand still hovering over the shelf. His green eyes flicked between them, hesitation written across his face. After a beat, he nodded. “Yy yeah. That’s fine.”

Hizashi grinned, satisfied. “Perfect. You’ll see, it’s much cozier up there. And the cat’s gonna give us an earful for leaving her alone.”

They finished the last of the food, sliding the empty bags into the recycling bin. The storm pressed hard against the windows, the sound of the wind low and constant. The three of them stood for a moment in the quiet kitchen, the shelves fully stocked, the weight of the break ahead pressing in.

Then they gathered the remaining bags, everything that wasn’t food and headed for the stairs. Their house slippers echoed faintly in the stairwell, each step amplified by the emptiness of the dorms.

At the top, Shota unlocked the door. The bags rustled as they were set down inside. Their cat immediately darted over, tail high, meowing in sharp complaint until Hizashi crouched down, laughing as he scratched behind her ears.

Shota glanced at the stack of bags waiting for Midoriya. 'Soon,' he thought. 'When he’s settled, he can go through them. At his own pace.'

Shota moved quietly into the kitchen, letting Hizashi and Midoriya’s voices carry in the living room. The sound of their back and forth, Hizashi’s dramatic suggestions, Midoriya’s hesitant but interested replies, was steady enough to reassure him that the boy was loosening up. That was good. He needed it.

He pulled a saucepan down and set it on the stove, the metal clink echoing faintly in the empty dorms. Milk poured smooth into the pan, followed by measured scoops of cocoa powder and sugar. He stirred slowly, the spoon tapping softly as the ingredients dissolved. The smell came quickly, rich and sweet, filling the small kitchen.

'Comfort first,' he thought, watching the milk swirl into deep brown. 'If he feels safe here, then maybe later, after dinner, we can bring up the bags. Ease him into it. He needs to see this isn’t strange. That nothing about him is wrong.'

From the living room, Hizashi’s voice lifted again. “What about the one with the snowman contest?”

Midoriya’s quiet answer was almost lost under the bubbling milk. “Maybe… but the cooking one sounds fun.”

Hizashi laughed, warm and open. “Cooking show it is!”

Shota let the sound settle in his chest for a moment. 'He’s already laughing more. He trusts Hizashi. That’s good.' He stirred the cocoa again, slower this time. 'But trust is fragile. One wrong step and he’ll retreat back behind his walls. I’ve seen it already, the way he freezes when he thinks he’s asking too much. The way he hesitates, like agreeing to something simple is a risk.'

He poured the chocolate into three mugs, careful and even. Whipped cream went on top of each, a peppermint stick tucked in last. He hadn’t forgotten that detail, he’d seen the flicker of light in Midoriya’s eyes last night when the peppermint appeared. Small things mattered. They always mattered.

The popcorn machine popped its last kernel with a sharp snap. Shota tipped it into a bowl, butter glistening across the mound, the smell salty and warm. He shook a little salt over it, balancing out the sweetness of the cocoa.

He lifted the bowl under one arm and hooked the mugs by their handles in the other. The warmth bled into his hands through the ceramic. He stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds from the living room, festive jingles from the cooking show, Hizashi’s playful commentary, Midoriya’s faint laugh.

'He’s still carrying too much,' Shota thought, his jaw tightening slightly. 'Even here, even now. He shouldn’t have to. He’s just a kid. And if, when, it happens again, he’ll need to know it’s safe. That it’s not weakness. That it’s allowed.'

He stepped out of the kitchen, the scents of cocoa and popcorn following him like a shield of warmth against the storm howling outside. Hizashi leaned back comfortably on the couch, eyes bright as he gestured at the screen. Midoriya sat curled against the cushions, his posture tense but softening in the glow of the TV.

Shota carried the tray in, steady and quiet, ready to hand the mugs over. 'Later,' he reminded himself. 'Not yet. Let him have this first.'

The afternoon had passed quietly, the three of them settled into a comfortable rhythm. Now, as evening approached, the scent of warming chili filled their small dorm. Hizashi stood at the stove, stirring the pot of leftover homemade chili that Shota had made the day before. His humming drifted through the space, a soft, familiar melody that made the storm outside seem distant and irrelevant.

Shota sat on the couch with Midoriya beside him, a brush in his hand. He'd asked, somewhat hesitantly, if the boy would be okay with him brushing his hair. To his surprise, Midoriya had nodded shyly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he'd agreed.

Now, as the brush moved through the soft green curls, Shota watched the transformation happen in real time. Midoriya's shoulders, which had held tension even during their comfortable afternoon, began to drop. His breathing deepened. His eyelids fluttered as the brush worked through his hair, gentle and methodical.

The sound that escaped him was barely audible, a soft, contented noise that was almost like purring. Shota's hand stilled for just a moment, something warm and protective settling in his chest at the sound. The kid was melting under the simple touch, his body going pliant and relaxed in a way Shota hadn't seen since the night before.

A soft meow interrupted the moment. Their black and white cat had padded over, tail twitching with curiosity as she approached Midoriya. She sniffed delicately at his arm, whiskers twitching.

"That's Princess," Shota said quietly, not stopping the gentle brush strokes. "Hizashi named her after some character from a show when she was a kitten."

Midoriya's eyes opened slightly, focusing on the cat with a soft smile. "Princess," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. The cat seemed to approve of his tone, settling down beside his leg with a satisfied purr of her own.

Hizashi's humming continued from the kitchen, occasionally broken by the sound of him stirring or tasting the chili. The domestic scene felt surreal to Shota, this quiet peace, this sense of family that had formed so naturally around the boy sitting beside him.

'He trusts us,' Shota thought, watching as Midoriya's eyes drifted closed again under the continued brushing. 'Really trusts us. Look at him.'

The brush moved through another section of curls, and Midoriya practically melted further into the couch cushions. Princess stretched, then climbed delicately onto his lap, settling into a warm ball of fur.

'This is what he needed,' Shota realized, his movements staying gentle and consistent. 'Not just the regression, but this. Safety. Care. Someone willing to brush his hair just because it helps him feel good.'

From the kitchen, Hizashi called out, "Almost ready! Five more minutes!"

But neither Shota nor Midoriya moved to get up. The storm could rage outside, the world could wait. Right now, in their warm apartment with the scent of chili and the sound of Hizashi's humming, this was enough.

More than enough.

This was home.

Soon all the knots in Midoriya's hair were gone, and Shota set the brush aside, letting his fingers run through the now smooth dark green curls. They were softer than he'd expected, silky between his fingers. Midoriya made that same quiet, contented sound, his head tilting slightly into the touch.

Shota's mind wandered as his fingers worked through the boy's hair. After dinner, maybe they could approach the bags. Not push, just... offer. See if Midoriya was curious about what they'd gotten him. And maybe, if he was comfortable enough, they could talk about voluntary regression. Help him understand that it didn't have to be something that just happened to him, that he could choose it, control it, make it less frightening.

'One step at a time,' he reminded himself, watching how Midoriya's breathing had evened out under his touch. Princess purred louder from her spot on the boy's lap, clearly approving of the relaxed atmosphere.

"Alright, you two," Hizashi called from the kitchen, his voice warm with amusement. "Time to eat before this gets cold."

Shota gave Midoriya's hair one last gentle stroke before pulling his hand away. "Come on, kid. Dinner."

Midoriya blinked slowly, seeming to surface from the peaceful haze he'd sunk into. Princess meowed in protest as he carefully lifted her from his lap and set her on the couch cushions.

At the table, Shota ladled out the portions, a bowl and a half for Midoriya, single bowls for himself and Hizashi. It wasn't an accident. The boy's quirk demanded massive calorie intake, and Shota had learned to watch for the signs that he wasn't eating enough. Better to give him too much than leave him running on empty.

Midoriya glanced at his larger portion with a flicker of uncertainty, but didn't protest. 

They settled around the small table, the storm still howling outside their windows, but inside it was warm and filled with the rich scent of spiced chili. Shota watched as Midoriya took his first spoonful, saw the way his eyes lit up slightly at the taste.

'After this,' Shota thought, cutting a piece of cornbread. 'We'll see if he's ready for the next step.'

Izuku 

After dinner, they moved back to the living room, settling into the familiar comfort of the couch and bean bags. It was nice here, Izuku thought, really nice. The warmth wasn't just from the heater or the soft lighting, it was something deeper. He felt cared for in a way he hadn't experienced from adults in a very long time.

Maybe ever, if he was being honest with himself.

When Aizawa cleared his throat softly and asked, "Are you ready to look at those things we picked up for you?" Izuku's stomach immediately twisted with embarrassment. His cheeks burned hot, and his hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

The bags. The regression supplies. Things meant for when he was... small.

Part of him wanted to say no, wanted to hide from the awkwardness of it all. But a bigger part, the part that was terrified of disappointing them, of making them realize he was too much trouble, made him nod quickly.

"Yy yes," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can... I can look."

Because what if he said no and they decided he was being difficult? What if they got tired of him and sent him back to his empty apartment? The thought made his chest tight with panic.

Yamada and Aizawa exchanged a look that Izuku couldn't quite read, but they both moved without hesitation. They brought several bags over to where he sat cross legged on the bean bag, setting them down gently within reach.

"Take your time," Aizawa said quietly. "No pressure."

Izuku stared at the bags, his heart hammering against his ribs. They were just shopping bags, nothing special about them, but they felt enormous somehow. Like opening them would change everything.

He took a shaky breath, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. His hands trembled slightly as he reached toward the closest bag, a simple brown paper one that wasn't too big or intimidating.

'Just... just one thing at a time,' he told himself, fingers hovering over the bag's edge. 'They bought these for me. They want me to have them. That means... that means they care, right?'

He glanced up at both men, finding patience in their faces instead of impatience or judgment. Yamada gave him an encouraging smile, and Aizawa nodded once, steady and reassuring.

Izuku took another breath and reached for the first bag.

He opened it carefully, peeling back the paper with trembling fingers. Inside were several soft blankets in different sizes, some small enough to wrap around his shoulders, others large enough to curl up under completely. The fabric was incredibly soft, like the kind of blankets meant for comfort rather than just warmth.

The second bag revealed toys, two plushies that were even softer than the purple bunny Yamada had given him the night before. One was a small elephant with floppy ears, the other a teddy bear with a ribbon around its neck. There were also two necklaces and two bracelets, but when he looked closer, he realized they weren't regular jewelry, they were chew toys designed to look like accessories, made of soft silicone in calming colors.

In the third bag, his face burned hotter as he found what looked like a small square of silk fabric, about the size of a washcloth but incredibly smooth between his fingers. And then... two adult pacifiers in soft pastels, different shapes and sizes.

More clothes emerged from the remaining bags, soft pajamas in gentle pastels, comfortable regular clothes that looked like they'd feel like wearing a hug, and...

Izuku's breath caught when he saw the pull ups at the bottom of one bag. His whole body went rigid with mortification, heat flooding his face so intensely he thought he might actually die from embarrassment.

"It's just in case," Aizawa said gently, his voice carefully neutral. "No pressure to use them. But they're there if you ever feel like you need them."

Izuku couldn't look up. His hands shook as he stared at the items spread around him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness and terrified by the implications all at once. They'd bought all of this... for him. For when he was small. They'd actually gone to stores and picked out these things thinking about what might help him feel safe and comfortable.

But the pull ups... the very idea made him want to disappear into the floor. What if they expected him to need them? What if this was all too much, too weird, too...

His breathing was getting faster, shallow and quick. The embarrassment mixed with anxiety until he felt dizzy with it all.

"I... I don't..." he started, but couldn't finish the sentence. He clutched the silk square without realizing it, his knuckles white with tension.

His breathing was coming faster now, shallow and panicked. The room felt too small, too warm. All those items spread around him felt like they were closing in, each one a reminder of how different he was, how broken, how...

Then Aizawa was beside him, moving with careful, deliberate calm. "Hey," he said softly, his voice cutting through the spiral of panic. "Look at me, Izuku."

Warm hands took his trembling ones, and suddenly his palm was pressed against something solid and steady. Aizawa's chest. His heartbeat, slow and even beneath Izuku's hand.

"Follow my breathing," Aizawa said, his voice gentle but firm. "In... and out."

Aizawa exaggerated his breaths, making them slow and visible. His chest rose and fell in an exaggerated rhythm under Izuku's palm, giving him something concrete to focus on instead of the chaos in his head.

"In... and out. That's it."

It took several minutes. Izuku's breathing was still erratic, still too fast, but gradually he found himself trying to match the rhythm under his hand. Aizawa didn't rush him, didn't tell him to hurry up or calm down faster. He just breathed, steady and patient, until Izuku's breathing finally began to slow.

When the worst of the panic had passed, when Izuku was no longer gasping like he couldn't get enough air, Aizawa did something unexpected.

He scooped him up.

Izuku found himself lifted easily, carefully, and settled into Aizawa's arms as the man moved to the recliner. The chair tilted back slightly, and then they were rocking, gentle, rhythmic movements that reminded him of being very small, very safe.

The motion, combined with the steady warmth of being held, sent Izuku into a strange, floaty feeling. His thoughts went soft around the edges. The embarrassment was still there, but muted now, wrapped in cotton wool.

He could hear Yamada's voice, soft and soothing, though he couldn't quite make out the words. Could hear Aizawa humming quietly, a low rumble in his chest that Izuku could feel as much as hear.

"You're okay," someone was saying. "You're safe. We've got you."

And for the first time since opening those bags, Izuku believed it might be true.

Some time passed like this, the gentle rocking and quiet comfort slowly settling his nerves. He felt safe here, held and protected, the panic attack now just a fading memory.

Eventually, Yamada crouched down beside the recliner, his voice soft and careful. "Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

Izuku blinked slowly, still feeling that floaty, disconnected sensation. "Better," he whispered.

"That's good." Yamada smiled gently. "Would you maybe like to change into some of those new pajamas? They looked pretty comfortable. And if you want to try... regressing a little, we're here for that too. But if you don't want to, that's completely fine."

The offer was made without pressure, just a gentle suggestion. Izuku considered it, still feeling soft and vulnerable from the panic attack and subsequent comfort. Maybe... maybe it would be okay to try. On purpose this time, instead of it just happening to him.

He nodded slowly and carefully extracted himself from Aizawa's arms, immediately missing the warmth. His legs felt a little unsteady as he walked back to where the bags were scattered on the floor.

He found the All Might themed pajamas, soft cotton with a pattern of chibi All Might figures across the shirt. They reminded him of pajamas he'd had when he was very little, before... before the quirk doctor. Before everything changed when he was four. Maybe wearing them would make this easier, make it feel less scary.

He changed in the bathroom, the soft fabric feeling like a gentle hug against his skin. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he looked younger somehow. Smaller. It wasn't frightening this time.

Walking back to the living room, he still felt that floaty sensation lingering around the edges of his consciousness. Aizawa and Yamada were waiting patiently, the regression items neatly organized but not pushed toward him, just available if he wanted them.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, wearing his All Might pajamas, feeling small and vulnerable but... safe. Maybe this was okay. Maybe he could try this.

Chapter Text

As soon as Midoriya disappeared into the bathroom to change, Shota and Hizashi moved with quiet efficiency. They had maybe five minutes to get everything ready.

Hizashi went straight to the kitchen, washing the chew jewelry and both pacifiers with warm, soapy water before rinsing them thoroughly. Shota pulled out items Midoriya hadn't seen yet, adult sippy cups and bottles that had been tucked deeper in one of the bags.

"Milk preferences?" Hizashi asked quietly, drying the pacifiers with a clean towel.

"Depends on how young he goes," Shota replied, arranging the shelf stable milk cartons they'd bought. Chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. "Younger usually means blander. We'll start with chocolate and see."

They worked in companionable silence, setting up a small station on the coffee table. The bottles and sippy cups were placed within easy reach but not prominently displayed, available if needed, but not overwhelming. The cleaned pacifiers were set on a soft cloth nearby.

The shelf stable milk cartons sat ready at room temperature, chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla, depending on what Midoriya might prefer or need.

When they heard the bathroom door open, they exchanged a look. They'd agreed earlier that Shota would take the lead this time. His steady presence seemed to ground Midoriya more, while Hizashi's energy, though caring, could sometimes be too much when the boy was feeling fragile.

Midoriya appeared in the doorway, looking impossibly young in the All Might pajamas. The soft cotton seemed to swallow his slight frame, and his green curls were slightly mussed from changing. He looked uncertain, hopeful, and terrified all at once.

Shota moved slowly, deliberately, picking up one of the softer blankets from the items spread around the room. He approached Midoriya with the same care he'd use with a spooked animal, no sudden movements, no overwhelming gestures.

"Come here, bunny," he said quietly, wrapping the blanket gently around Midoriya's shoulders. The boy didn't resist, actually seemed to lean into the warmth and weight of it.

Without a word, Shota guided him back to the recliner, settling them both into the chair like before. The blanket cocooned them both, and Shota began the gentle rocking motion again.

"Just breathe," he murmured against Midoriya's hair. "Nothing to be scared of. We're right here."

The rocking motion seemed to help. Shota could feel some of the tension leaving Midoriya's shorter frame as they settled into the rhythm. After a few minutes, Hizashi appeared beside them, the purple bunny in his hands.

"Here you go, sweetheart," Hizashi said softly, offering the plush to Midoriya. "What do you think you'd like to name him?"

Midoriya took the bunny carefully, hugging it against his chest. He was quiet for a moment, considering, before a small voice answered, "Bun Bun."

Shota wouldn't admit it out loud, but the name was undeniably cute. Simple, innocent, exactly what a small child might choose. He continued the gentle rocking, one hand rubbing slow circles on Midoriya's back.

Hizashi moved to the TV, scrolling through options before finding what he was looking for. "How about some All Might cartoons? The old ones from when you were little."

The familiar theme music filled the room as the classic All Might animated series began to play, the same episodes that had aired when Midoriya was actually small, before everything became complicated. Hizashi dimmed the lights, leaving just the soft glow from the screen and a single lamp.

Shota kept up the soothing motion, his voice dropping to that special tone adults used with very young children, gentle, warm, reassuring, but still using normal words. "That's it, you're doing so well. Just relax. Bun Bun's here, we're here. You're safe."

The combination of the familiar cartoon, the dim lighting, and the steady comfort seemed to be working. Midoriya was melting further into the embrace, his breathing evening out, his grip on Bun Bun relaxing from desperate to content.

'He's letting go,' Shota observed quietly. 'Really letting himself slip into it this time. Good. He needs this.'

After about an episode and a half, Shota noticed the familiar movement. Midoriya's thumb had drifted to his mouth, and he was sucking on it just like that first night. The motion was unconscious, natural, a clear sign that he was slipping deeper into the regressed headspace.

Shota gently took his wrist, easing the thumb away from his lips. The reaction was immediate and heartbreaking, Midoriya's eyes filled with tears, and he started to cry, soft hiccupping sobs that shook his small frame.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Shota murmured, rubbing circles on his back. "Just want to give you something better, that's all."

Hizashi was already moving, getting up from the couch. He started to say "Midoriya" but caught himself, switching to "Izuku" recognizing that the boy had regressed enough that his given name would feel more appropriate, more gentle.

"Here, Izuku," Hizashi said softly, kneeling beside the recliner with one of the pacifiers. "Try this instead, baby."

But when he offered the first pacifier, Izuku spat it out almost immediately, his crying intensifying. "No passy!" he wailed, the words slurred and young, his distress obvious.

Shota's heart clenched at the sound. "It's okay, sweetheart. Let's try a different one."

Hizashi quickly retrieved the second pacifier, a different shape, different texture. This time when he offered it, Izuku fussed and turned his head away, but after some gentle coaxing and Shota's soothing voice, he finally accepted it.

The change was almost immediate. His crying quieted to small sniffles, and he settled back against Shota's chest, the pacifier moving in the familiar, comforting rhythm.

"There we go," Shota whispered, resuming the gentle rocking. "Much better. Good boy, Izuku. You're doing so well."

Hizashi settled back down nearby, close enough to help but giving them space. The All Might cartoon continued to play, and slowly, the tension in the room eased as Izuku found his comfort.

After finishing that episode and one more, Shota decided it was time for a transition. He caught Hizashi's eye and nodded toward the TV.

"Turn it off," he said quietly. "And bring the lights up a little."

Izuku wasn't happy about All Might being turned off. He mumbled around his pacifier, the words slightly muffled but clear enough: "Dada no."

The word hit Shota in the chest, soft, trusting, natural. Izuku had called him Dada without even thinking about it. He felt something warm and protective settle deeper in his bones.

"I know, bunny," Shota said gently, carefully moving Izuku from his lap to sit on the soft rug beside him. He settled down on the floor too, cross legged, keeping himself at Izuku's level. "We'll watch more later. But let's play for a bit first, okay?"

Hizashi followed suit, sitting down on Izuku's other side once he'd adjusted the lighting. The room was brighter now but still soft, comfortable for playtime.

"How big are you right now, baby?" Hizashi asked gently, his voice warm and patient.

Izuku looked at him with wide green eyes, the pacifier bobbing as he spoke around it. "Three, Papa."

"Three!" Hizashi's smile was radiant. "What a big boy you are."

Shota reached for some of the plushies they'd bought, the elephant with the floppy ears, the teddy bear with the ribbon, plus Bun Bun that Izuku still clutched in one arm. He arranged them within easy reach.

"Would you like to play with your toys, Izuku?" Shota asked, his voice maintaining that gentle parental tone. "You can show Papa and Dada how your animals play together."

The words felt natural coming out of his mouth. Papa and Dada. Like they'd always been meant to be those people for this boy.

For the next while, they simply watched Izuku play, occasionally joining in when he offered them a toy or wanted to show them something. His movements were careful, deliberate in the way of a three year old concentrating hard on something important. He lined up the plushies, made them have conversations in soft whispers around his pacifier, and occasionally looked up at Shota or Hizashi for approval or to share something exciting he'd discovered.

"Look, Dada," Izuku said, holding up the elephant so its floppy ears swayed. "He can fly!" He made gentle whooshing sounds as he moved the toy through the air.

"Wow," Shota replied, his voice warm with genuine interest. "That's amazing. Can Bun Bun fly too?"

Izuku considered this seriously, then shook his head. "Bunnies hop." He demonstrated, making Bun Bun bounce across the rug in little arcs.

Hizashi chuckled softly, reaching out to gently stroke Izuku's hair. "You're so smart, little one. What about the teddy bear? What can he do?"

Izuku picked up the bear with the ribbon, studying it intently. "He... he gives hugs!" He demonstrated by squeezing the bear tight, then offering it to Hizashi for a hug too.

Izuku's attention turned fully back to hosting the perfect tea party. He gathered all his plushies in a careful circle, positioning Bun Bun to his right, Peanut the elephant across from him, and Honey the teddy bear to his left. 

"Everyone sit nice for tea," Izuku announced seriously, adjusting each stuffed animal until their positioning met his exacting standards. He made sure they all faced inward toward the center where the tea service was arranged.

Shota watched as Izuku picked up the small plastic teapot again, this time with even more ceremony than before. The boy held it with both hands, his movements deliberate and careful.

"First, pour for friends," Izuku declared, moving to Bun Bun. "Bun Bun gets carrot tea 'cause he likes carrots." He tilted the pot over the pink cup, making soft pouring sounds. "There! Be careful, it's hot hot."

He picked up Bun Bun with his free hand, moving the plush's head in a nodding motion. In a higher, softer voice, he made the bunny respond: "Thank you, Izu! Smells yummy!"

Moving to Peanut next, Izuku's voice took on a more formal tone. "Peanut gets sky tea 'cause he flies way up high." The pouring ceremony was repeated, this time with whooshing sound effects. 

"Peanut says," Izuku announced, making the plush bow its trunk, "he never had fancy tea before!"

Honey received "honey sunshine tea" served with great solemnity. Izuku gave the bear a deeper, rumbly voice: "This tea makes me warm inside. You're a good boy."

Only after all his plushie guests were served did Izuku turn to his human companions. "Now Dada and Papa get tea too!" He poured for each of them with the same careful attention, explaining what type of tea he was serving and why it was perfect for each of them.

The conversation that followed was elaborate and detailed, with Izuku facilitating discussions between all the tea party guests. He had Bun Bun tell stories about carrot gardens, Peanut shared tales of flying in clouds, and Honey talked about honey. Meanwhile, he encouraged Shota and Hizashi to ask questions and share their own stories with the plushies.

"Dada, ask Peanut about flying!" Izuku insisted, bouncing slightly with excitement around his pacifier.

Shota played along perfectly, addressing the stuffed elephant directly. "Tell me, Peanut, what's the most beautiful thing you've seen while flying?"

Izuku immediately picked up Peanut, making the plush turn toward Shota. In his deep "elephant voice," he replied: "Oh! The pretty waterfalls! They're sparkly like dia mon ds!"

The tea party continued for nearly an hour, with Izuku making up conversations, making sure everyone's cups stayed filled, and keeping all his guests happy. His attention to detail and commitment to the fantasy were remarkable, and Shota found himself completely absorbed in the imaginative world his son had created.

As the elaborate tea service wound down, Hizashi quietly stood and moved to the kitchen area. He returned with a sippy cup filled with strawberry milk and a small bowl of animal crackers, settling back down beside their little group.

"Here you go, little one," Hizashi said gently, offering the sippy cup to Izuku. "Thought you might be getting thirsty from all that tea party hosting."

Izuku's eyes lit up at the sight of the pink milk visible through the clear cup. "Strawberry!" he exclaimed around his pacifier, which he quickly removed to accept the drink. "My favorite!"

Shota watched as Izuku took his first sip, the boy's whole body practically vibrating with happiness. His legs kicked slightly as he sat cross legged, a little wiggle of pure contentment that made something warm settle deeper in Shota's chest. It was such a small thing, strawberry milk and crackers but the joy it brought Izuku was enormous.

"Animal crackers too," Hizashi added, holding out the bowl. "Lions and elephants and bears, oh my."

Izuku giggled at the reference, carefully selecting a lion shaped cracker from the bowl. But instead of eating it immediately, he held it up to Bun Bun's face.

"Here, Bun Bun," he said seriously. "Lion cracker. But don't worry, this lion is nice. He just wants to be friends."

He made soft munching sounds as he pretended to feed the cracker to his stuffed bunny, his face completely absorbed in the make believe. Only after Bun Bun had been "fed" did Izuku pop a cracker into his own mouth, crunching happily while he selected another treat from the bowl.

Princess appeared as if summoned by the sound of snacking, padding over to settle beside Shota with a soft meow. Her tail curled neatly around her paws as she watched Izuku with interest, her purr a low, steady rumble that added to the cozy atmosphere.

"Princess wants to watch the tea party too," Shota murmured, reaching down to stroke the cat's head. She leaned into his touch, her purr growing louder as she observed the scene before them.

The sight before him was almost surreal in its domestic perfection. Izuku sat in his All Might pajamas, sippy cup in one hand and animal crackers in the other, completely absorbed in caring for his stuffed animals while wiggling with happiness. Hizashi watched with that soft smile that meant he was storing every detail in his memory. Princess purred contentedly against Shota's leg, a living embodiment of the peace they'd all found in this moment.

This was family. This was home. And despite the storm still raging outside, Shota had never felt more certain that they were exactly where they all belonged.

They let Izuku play for another hour, watching as he moved between his toys with that same absorbed concentration. He built new structures with blocks, had more conversations with his plushies, and occasionally paused to take sips of strawberry milk or munch on animal crackers. Princess eventually wandered over to curl up near his toys, and Izuku was delighted to include her in his play, gently petting her soft fur and telling her elaborate stories about Bun Bun's adventures.

But Shota noticed the signs of tiredness creeping in. The way Izuku's movements became slower, more drowsy. How he started leaning more heavily against the furniture, his eyelids drooping even as he tried to continue playing. The yawns that he attempted to hide behind his pacifier.

"Alright, little one," Shota said gently, checking the time on his phone. "Time to get ready for bed."

Izuku looked up with sleepy eyes, clutching Bun Bun tighter. "But I'm not sleepy," he protested, even as another yawn overtook him.

"I know," Hizashi said warmly, standing and offering his hand. "But your toys are tired. They need to rest so they can play more tomorrow."

That logic seemed to work. Izuku considered it seriously, then nodded. "Okay. Bun Bun is really tired. He played lots today."

The bedtime routine was gentle and unhurried. In the bathroom, Shota helped Izuku brush his teeth, holding the small toothbrush steady while the boy did his best to help. Hizashi had found a child's toothbrush and bubblegum flavored toothpaste in the supplies they'd bought, and Izuku seemed fascinated by the process.

"Good job," Shota praised as they rinsed. "Now, do you need to use the potty before bed?"

Izuku nodded shyly, and both men stepped out of the bathroom to give him privacy, waiting just outside the door. They heard the sounds of him managing on his own, and when he called out "Done!" Hizashi helped him wash his hands thoroughly.

They'd set up a sleeping space in the guest room earlier while Izuku had been absorbed in play. The bed had soft sheets with subtle hero patterns, and they'd added extra pillows and blankets to make it cozy. Princess had already claimed a spot at the foot of the bed, curled into a small ball of fur.

Shota pulled back the covers while Izuku climbed in, Bun Bun clutched firmly in his arms. Hizashi tucked the blankets around him snugly, making sure he was warm and comfortable.

"Story time?" Izuku asked hopefully, his pacifier bobbing as he spoke around it.

"Of course," Shota replied, settling into the chair beside the bed while Hizashi sat on the edge of the mattress. He'd selected a picture book from the supplies earlier, a gentle story about a little bunny finding his way home.

As Shota read, his voice low and soothing, he watched Izuku's eyes grow heavier. The boy's grip on Bun Bun relaxed gradually, his breathing evening out. Hizashi gently stroked his hair, the motion rhythmic and calming.

By the time Shota reached the end of the story, Izuku was fast asleep, his face peaceful and soft in the dim light of the bedside lamp. Princess purred quietly from her spot at his feet, a gentle guardian watching over him.

Shota closed the book carefully, exchanging a quiet look with Hizashi. They both stood slowly, moving toward the door with practiced silence. Shota paused at the threshold to look back one more time.

Their son, safe and sleeping. Their family, complete.

He turned off the light, leaving only the soft glow of a nightlight, and gently closed the door.

They moved quietly into the living room, where the evidence of Izuku's play was scattered across the floor. Shota began gathering the blocks, stacking them carefully back into their container while Hizashi collected the tea party supplies, rinsing the sippy cup in the kitchen sink.

"Today was good," Hizashi said softly, his voice barely above a murmur as he dried the cup. "Really good."

"It was," Shota agreed, placing Peanut and Honey back into the toy basket. He left Bun Bun with Izuku, that one wasn't going anywhere. "But we need to make sure he knows we want to take care of him when he's not regressed too."

Hizashi nodded, settling onto the couch with a thoughtful expression. "Tomorrow's plan?"

Shota joined him, his mind already working through the details. "Breakfast burritos. He needs the protein and calories. Something substantial."

"Then decorating for Christmas," Hizashi added, his eyes brightening at the thought. "Make this place feel more festive. More like his home too. Lights, maybe some garland, ornaments."

"And if the storm lets up enough," Shota continued, glancing toward the window where snow still fell steadily but perhaps less violently than before, "we take him outside. Let him be a kid. Build a snowman, have that snowball fight you promised him."

"He's never had a snowball fight," Hizashi said quietly, shaking his head. "That's just... that's not right. Every kid should get to play in the snow."

"Then we'll make sure he does." Shota's voice was firm with determination. "We'll make sure he gets all the things he's missed."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just existing together in the quiet dorm. The storm continued outside, but it felt distant now, irrelevant. They'd created something warm and safe here, something that would last long after the snow melted.

"We should check on him," Shota said finally. "Make sure he's really down for the night."

They moved back to the guest room together, easing the door open carefully. Izuku was deeply asleep, his breathing slow and even. His mouth had relaxed around the pacifier, though it was still nestled between his lips.

Shota approached the bed with practiced stealth, the kind that came from years of hero work. He gently eased the pacifier free, and Izuku stirred only slightly, making a small sound before settling back into sleep. Princess lifted her head briefly, then tucked it back down, unconcerned.

In the bathroom, Shota washed the pacifier thoroughly with warm water and soap, then set it on a clean towel to dry. It would be ready for tomorrow if Izuku needed it again.

When he emerged, Hizashi was waiting by their bedroom door, his expression soft in the dim hallway light.

"Ready for bed?" Hizashi asked.

"Yeah," Shota replied, taking one last look toward the guest room where their son slept peacefully. "Yeah, I am."

They retreated to their own room, leaving both doors slightly ajar so they'd hear if Izuku needed them in the night. As Shota settled into bed beside Hizashi, he felt that same certainty wash over him again.

This was right. This was family. And tomorrow, they'd show Izuku that their care wasn't conditional on his age or regression. They wanted him, all of him, forever.

The storm raged on outside, but inside their home, everything was exactly as it should be.

Chapter Text

Shota woke early, though not by choice. Insomnia had always been his unwelcome companion, refusing to let him sleep in even when his body desperately needed the rest. Gray winter light filtered through the curtains, and he could hear the wind still howling outside, though perhaps not quite as violently as the night before.

He turned his head slightly to look at Hizashi, still deeply asleep beside him. His husband's face was peaceful, relaxed in a way it only ever was when he was truly at rest. Shota smiled faintly and leaned over to press a gentle kiss to Hizashi's forehead before carefully extracting himself from the blankets.

Moving quietly through the dorm, Shota checked on Izuku first. The guest room door was still ajar, and he peered inside to find the boy exactly as they'd left him, curled on his side, Bun Bun clutched close, Princess still maintaining her vigil at the foot of the bed. His breathing was deep and even, peaceful. Good.

In the kitchen, Shota started the coffee pot, the familiar gurgle and hiss of brewing coffee a comforting morning sound. As he waited, he opened the refrigerator and frowned slightly at its contents. They'd stocked most of the food downstairs in the common kitchen yesterday, planning to keep the majority of supplies there where there was more space.

Breakfast burritos required ingredients they didn't have up here. Eggs, cheese, tortillas, vegetables, breakfast meat. All of it was downstairs.

Shota grabbed a reusable shopping bag from the cupboard and headed for the door. The stairwell was quiet and cold, his footsteps echoing as he made his way down to the first floor.

The common area was empty and still, exactly as expected. The Christmas tree they'd seen when bringing Izuku in stood in the corner, its lights off for now. The kitchen was well stocked from their shopping trip, and Shota moved efficiently, gathering what he needed, a carton of eggs, shredded cheese, tortillas, bell peppers, onions, and the package of sausage he'd bought specifically with hearty breakfast in mind.

As he loaded everything into the bag, he found himself already planning the morning. Get the burritos started, let the smell wake both Hizashi and Izuku naturally. Make sure Izuku knew they cared about him at every age, not just when he was small. Show him that this, this family they were building, was permanent.

Shota hefted the bag and headed back upstairs, ready to start their second day together as a family.

Back in their dorm, Shota set the shopping bag on the counter and immediately went to feed Princess. She appeared as if summoned, weaving between his legs and meowing insistently. He opened a can of her food, scraping it into her bowl while she purred and headbutted his shin in appreciation.

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome," he muttered, setting the bowl down and watching as she dove in enthusiastically.

Coffee first. Always coffee first. Shota poured himself a large mug, black as always, and took that first blessed sip. The warmth spread through him, helping to chase away the fog of too little sleep. His brain slowly started to engage properly, thoughts beginning to organize themselves into something resembling order.

As he pulled out the ingredients for breakfast burritos, his mind drifted to the investigation he'd started. Detective Tsukauchi. The message he'd sent yesterday about Midoriya Inko. Had he found anything yet?

Shota picked up his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a moment before typing out a brief message.

Eraserhead: Any updates on the Midoriya situation?

He set the phone down and turned his attention to breakfast. The eggs came first, he cracked six of them into a bowl, whisking them with practiced efficiency. Salt, pepper, a splash of milk to make them fluffier. The familiar motions were meditative, giving his hands something to do while his brain continued to wake up.

The sausage went into a pan, and Shota broke it up with a spatula, the sizzle and pop filling the quiet kitchen. The smell was rich and savory, exactly the kind of hearty breakfast scent that would eventually drift through the dorm and wake the others naturally.

While the meat browned, he diced the bell peppers and onions with quick, precise cuts. Years of living alone had made him competent in the kitchen if not particularly creative. He knew how to fuel his body efficiently, and that skill extended to feeding others now too.

His phone buzzed.

Shota wiped his hands on a towel and checked the screen.

Tsukauchi: Still gathering information. Should have preliminary findings by this afternoon. Some concerning patterns already emerging though. Will call when I have more concrete details.

Shota's jaw tightened. Concerning patterns. That was detective speak for "this is worse than we thought." He set the phone back down with more force than necessary, then took a long drink of his coffee.

'Focus,' he told himself firmly. 'One thing at a time. Make breakfast. Take care of the kid who's here now. Deal with the legal issues when you have all the facts.'

The sausage was done. He transferred it to a plate and poured the eggs into the same pan, letting them cook slowly while he stirred, creating soft, fluffy curds. The vegetables went in next, adding color and crunch to the mixture.

Shota assembled the burritos with methodical care. Tortilla warmed briefly in a separate pan to make it pliable. A generous scoop of eggs, sausage, and vegetables in the center. A handful of shredded cheese that would melt from the heat. Fold the sides in, roll it tight. He made three large burritos, wrapping them in foil to keep them warm.

The smell was incredible now, filling the kitchen and probably starting to seep into the rest of the dorm. Good. Let it wake them gently, with the promise of a warm meal and a safe day ahead.

Shota took another sip of coffee, surveying his work. Breakfast was ready. The coffee was hot. And whatever Detective Tsukauchi found this afternoon, they'd deal with it together.

For now, this was enough.

Soon after, Shota heard the soft shuffle of footsteps in the hallway. Izuku appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in his All Might pajamas, hair mussed from sleep and eyes half lidded with drowsiness. He was rubbing at one eye with his fist, Bun Bun dangling from his other hand.

He looked entirely his age now, a tired teenager stumbling toward the kitchen, not the small three year old from last night. The shift was notable, and Shota felt himself adjusting his approach automatically.

"Morning," Shota said, his voice quiet but warm. "Sleep okay?"

Izuku nodded, yawning widely. "Mm hmm. Smells good."

"Breakfast burritos. They'll be ready in a minute." Shota gestured toward the coffee pot. "What do you want to drink?"

"Coffee?" Izuku asked hopefully, his voice still rough with sleep.

Shota's eyebrows rose slightly. He hadn't expected that. Most of his students avoided coffee or drowned it in so much sugar and cream it barely resembled the actual beverage. But if the kid wanted coffee...

"Sure," Shota agreed, pulling down another mug. "How do you take it?"

"Two scoops of sugar and a splash of milk," Izuku answered, shuffling closer to lean against the counter. He set Bun Bun down carefully, the plush bunny sitting upright like a small sentinel.

Shota prepared the coffee exactly as requested, measuring out two spoonfuls of sugar and adding just enough milk to lighten it to a warm tan color. He stirred it thoroughly and handed the mug to Izuku, watching as the boy wrapped both hands around it and took a cautious sip.

The small, satisfied sound Izuku made was answer enough. The coffee was apparently acceptable.

From the bedroom, Shota heard movement, the creak of the mattress, footsteps heading toward the bathroom. Hizashi was up. That meant they'd all be eating together soon, starting the day as a family.

"Go ahead and sit," Shota said, nodding toward the small dining table. "I'll bring the food over in a minute."

Izuku nodded and padded over to the table, still clutching his coffee mug in both hands. He settled into a chair with Bun Bun placed carefully beside his plate, and Shota found himself smiling faintly at the sight.

Their kid. Drinking coffee and holding a stuffed bunny at the same time. Teenager and child all at once.

Perfect.

Hizashi emerged from the bedroom moments later, somehow already more awake than both of them combined. His hair was only slightly less wild than usual, and he'd thrown on comfortable clothes, soft pants and an oversized sweatshirt. His energy was already bright, a morning person through and through, the complete opposite of Shota's sluggish insomnia driven wakefulness.

He stopped short when he spotted Izuku at the table, eyes zeroing in on the coffee mug clutched in the boy's hands.

"Is that..." Hizashi gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest in exaggerated horror. "Is that COFFEE? Izuku! You're drinking coffee?"

Izuku looked up, startled by the outburst, his eyes widening slightly.

But then Hizashi's face broke into a warm smile, and he laughed, moving to ruffle Izuku's already messy hair as he passed. "You know coffee can stunt your growth, right kiddo?" he said teasingly, settling into the chair across from him.

Izuku's expression shifted from uncertain to deadpan in an instant. "Oh well," he said dryly, taking another deliberate sip of his coffee. "I'm not getting any taller anyway."

Shota snorted mid sip of his own coffee, the sound escaping before he could stop it. The comment was so unexpected, so perfectly timed and delivered with such resignation that he couldn't help it.

Hizashi burst out laughing, the sound bright and genuine. "Oh my god, he's got your sense of humor, Sho!"

"That's not my fault," Shota replied, but there was warmth in his voice as he brought the breakfast burritos to the table, setting one in front of each of them. "Eat. You need actual food, not just coffee and pessimism."

"Says the man who survives on coffee and spite," Hizashi shot back, grinning.

Izuku looked between them, a small smile tugging at his lips as he unwrapped his burrito. The warmth in the room was palpable, not from the heater but from something softer. Something that felt an awful lot like home.

Izuku  

After breakfast, Yamada clapped his hands together with excitement. "Alright! Time to make this place festive!"

We pulled out a Christmas tree from the storage closet, it came in sections that needed to be assembled. There were also boxes of ornaments, strings of lights, and garland stacked nearby.

Yamada went straight to the windows and pulled back the curtains. Snow was still falling outside, thick and steady, covering everything in white. It looked like a winter wonderland.

Then he grabbed the TV remote and turned it on, scrolling until he found a channel playing Christmas music. The surround sound system made the music fill the entire room from every direction, soft instrumental versions of holiday classics that wrapped around us like a warm blanket.

I felt happy. Really, genuinely happy. Not the nervous kind or the polite kind, but real warmth spreading through my chest.

"This is a lot of work," Aizawa said, looking at all the tree sections spread across the floor. But he was already kneeling down, helping to sort the branches and set up the tree trunk so we could decorate it properly.

He showed me how the branches clicked into the metal slots on the trunk, demonstrating once before handing me a section to try. "Start from the bottom and work your way up," he instructed. "The longer branches go at the base."

I followed his guidance, carefully inserting branch after branch while Yamada hummed along to the Christmas music playing through the surround sound. The tree slowly took shape, going from a bare pole to something that actually looked like a Christmas tree.

"Perfect!" Yamada declared when we finally attached the top piece. "Now for the fun part decorating!"

He handed us a box filled with ornaments, glass balls in different colors, some with glitter, others with painted designs. As I started sorting through them, I noticed Yamada pull out his phone. He took a few pictures of the tree and us, then started typing something.

"Who are you texting?" Aizawa asked, glancing over with a raised eyebrow.

Yamada looked up with a bright smile, his voice taking on a sing song tone. "You'll see!!!"

Aizawa just shook his head, but I caught the hint of a smile on his face.

We started hanging ornaments on the tree. I was careful with each one, making sure they were evenly spaced and secure on the branches. The Christmas music continued to play through the surround sound, and the snow kept falling outside.

"We'll need to make some handmade ones later," Aizawa said, hanging a red ornament near the middle of the tree. "So we have some from Izuku."

My face immediately flushed hot with embarrassment. "Oh, you don't have to... I mean, that's..." I stammered, not sure what to say. They wanted to keep ornaments I made? Like I was really part of this family?

The thought made my chest feel warm and tight at the same time.

We continued decorating, and I felt myself relaxing. The nervousness that usually sat in my shoulders started to melt away as we worked together.

"Careful with that one," Yamada warned as I reached for a particularly delicate glass ornament shaped like a snowflake. "That's from our first Christmas together. Sho tried to hang it and nearly dropped it three times."

"I did not," Aizawa protested, but there was no heat in it. "It was twice. Maybe."

I laughed, the sound surprising me with how easy it came out. "Did you catch it?"

"Barely," Yamada said with a grin, hanging a silver bell ornament. "I had to dive across the room. Very dramatic. Very heroic."

"Very exaggerated," Aizawa countered, but I could see the fond smile on his face.

A familiar song came on through the surround sound  "Jingle Bells"  and Yamada immediately started singing along, his voice loud and enthusiastic. He wasn't worried about being perfect or hitting every note right. He was just... having fun.

"Dashing through the snow, in a one horse open sleigh!" he belted out, doing a little spin as he hung an ornament.

I found myself humming along, then quietly singing under my breath. Yamada heard me and grinned even wider.

"That's it, Izuku! Let's hear it!"

"O'er the fields we go, laughing all the way!" I sang, a little louder this time. My voice cracked slightly on "laughing" but I didn't stop.

Aizawa shook his head, but he was definitely smiling now. "You're both ridiculous."

"Come on, Sho! Join in!" Yamada insisted.

"Absolutely not."

"Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright!" Yamada and I sang together, and I felt lighter than I had in months. Maybe years.

"What fun it is to ride and sing a sleighing song tonight!" 

Even Aizawa muttered the chorus under his breath, so quietly I almost didn't catch it. But when I looked at him, trying not to smile too obviously, he just handed me another ornament without comment.

We worked our way through the boxes, and the conversation flowed easily. Yamada told stories about past Christmases, some funny, some sweet. Aizawa added dry commentary that made me laugh more than I expected. I even shared a few memories of decorating with my mom when I was really little, before things got... complicated.

"Remember when you bought that ugly sweater with the light up reindeer nose?" Yamada asked Aizawa, hanging a candy cane ornament.

"That was a gag gift from Nemuri. I never actually wore it," Aizawa said flatly.

"You wore it once! I have photographic evidence!"

"That photo needs to be destroyed."

I giggled. "I want to see it."

"Absolutely not," Aizawa said, but his tone was lighter than his words.

More Christmas songs played through the surround sound, and we kept singing along to the ones we knew. I felt myself getting more comfortable, joking around with them, adding my own comments to their banter. It felt natural. Easy.

Like this was where I belonged.

The tree was filling up nicely now, ornaments catching the light from the window, the snow still falling gently outside. The Christmas music wrapped around us, and for the first time in a very long time, I felt completely at peace.

"Okay, star or angel on top?" Yamada asked, holding up both options.

"Star," Aizawa said immediately.

"Angel!" I countered, then looked at Aizawa. "Wait, can we vote?"

"This is a democracy now?" Aizawa asked, but he was clearly amused.

"Two against one!" Yamada declared. "Angel wins!"

Aizawa sighed dramatically but handed me the angel topper. "You're putting it up there then."

Yamada helped lift me up so I could reach the top of the tree. I carefully placed the angel, adjusting it until it sat just right, wings spread wide and looking down at all of us.

When Yamada set me back down, I stepped back to look at our work. The tree was beautiful, covered in ornaments, lights waiting to be plugged in, and the angel watching over it all.

"Perfect," Yamada said softly.

And it was.

"Now for the lights," Aizawa said, pulling out a tangled mess of string lights from one of the boxes.

Yamada groaned dramatically. "I thought I packed those neatly last year!"

"You did," Aizawa said, examining the knot. "Physics just hates us."

I laughed and moved to help untangle them. "Here, if we start from this end..."

The three of us worked together, carefully separating the strands. It should have been frustrating, but somehow it wasn't. Yamada kept making jokes about the lights having a vendetta against organization, and Aizawa's dry responses had me giggling.

"Got it!" I finally freed the last knot, and the lights came loose in a satisfying cascade.

"Teamwork!" Yamada cheered, holding up his hand for a high five. I slapped his palm, grinning.

Aizawa plugged them in to test them, and warm white lights glowed to life. "They work. Good."

We started wrapping them around the tree, spiraling from bottom to top. A new song came on   "Deck the Halls" and Yamada immediately launched into it.

"Fa la la la la, la la la la!"

I joined in without even thinking about it. "Don we now our gay apparel!"

"Fa la la la la, la la la la!" we sang together, and I saw Aizawa's lips twitching like he was trying not to smile too obviously.

"You two are going to make the neighbors complain," Aizawa said, but there was warmth in his voice.

"What neighbors? We're the only ones here!" Yamada pointed out, spreading his arms wide. "We can be as loud as we want!"

He spun around dramatically, nearly knocking over a box of ornaments. Aizawa caught it with quick reflexes, giving Yamada an exasperated look.

"Sorry, sorry!" Yamada laughed. "Got carried away!"

I couldn't stop smiling. My cheeks actually hurt from it, but I didn't care. This was fun. Real, genuine fun.

We finished the lights and plugged them in. The tree lit up beautifully, the ornaments catching and reflecting the glow. Combined with the snow falling outside and the Christmas music filling the room from the surround sound, it looked magical.

"We should add garland," I suggested, spotting the silver tinsel in another box.

"Good eye," Aizawa said, handing it to me.

We draped it around the tree in swooping curves, Yamada humming along to "Silver Bells" playing in the background. I found myself humming too, then singing softly.

"City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style..."

Yamada harmonized with me, his voice blending with mine. It wasn't perfect, we weren't professional singers but it was happy. That was what mattered.

"In the air there's a feeling of Christmas!"

Even Aizawa joined in for that line, his voice quiet but there. Yamada and I both turned to stare at him in delighted surprise.

"What?" Aizawa asked, his ears turning slightly pink.

"Nothing!" we both said at the same time, then burst into laughter.

Aizawa shook his head, but I could see he was trying not to smile. "You're both menaces."

"But you love us," Yamada said cheerfully.

Aizawa didn't deny it.

We stepped back to admire our work. The tree was complete, ornaments, lights, garland, angel on top, all of it glowing warmly in the room. The Christmas music continued to play softly through the surround sound, and the snow outside made everything feel cozy and safe.

"Best tree ever," I said quietly.

"Agreed," Yamada replied, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

Aizawa stood on my other side, and for a moment we just stood there together, looking at what we'd created.

It wasn't just a tree.

It was proof that we were a family.