#izotodo

[crqelsummer]

home + hearth [tododeku]

Title: home and hearth Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Pairing(s): Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto Character(s): Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: another unnecessary kid fic! Language: English Archive Warnings: None Rating: Gen

Published: 2023-02-16. Word Count: 5,718. Chapters: 1/1

Summary: izuku's working late. shouto needs a bedtime story. how i met (fell in love with) your father with the baby of the midoriya family.

AO3 LINK

They’re up way too late for the seven year old that lays across his lap without a trouble in the world, the small body that rests her head against his leg warming ever so slightly as she shifts again. Her Quirk is activating off and on the sleepier she gets. He brushes a strand of scarlet hair out of her face, the artificial light of the television drowning out her pale skin. The clock blinks back an angry red 10:00 pm at him. Over an hour past her bedtime, and he knows she’s going to be drowsy tomorrow if he doesn’t get her off to sleep soon.

Another news broadcast plays, the dull reporting about to lull him off to sleep. A lot of the children’s shows had gone off already for the night, and keeping her in bed without her dad home seemed near impossible. He’d bathed her, sat with her for a bit while they read out of one of her new chapter books. Kimiko had seemed tired when he laid her down to sleep, shutting off the main light and making sure the night light bathed the room in gold. He’d barely finished cleaning the kitchen, putting Izuku’s bowl away in the fridge and slumping down on the couch when he’d realized he’d heard her door open again. She’d bounded back into the living room, blanket trailing behind her with the puppy eyes he can only attribute to Izuku’s genes. He’d almost protested, wanted to tell her to get back in bed and get some sleep. But he couldn’t find the strength to, his shoulder already giving him trouble and rest of his body sore from an early shift. So, he had opened an arm to let her crawl into his embrace. She’d talked about school, about heroes, about whatever Makoto and Takato had gotten up to lately. He’d responded with as much understanding as he could, though found most child politics quite confusing. An hour had ticked by while they’d watched the late broadcast, covering a minor villain attack. He’d thought Izuku would be home by now, hopefully at his side rather than running off and saving as many people as he could. He’d never ended up making it back home after Shouto had gone home for the day to pick Kimiko up from school.

Where he figures there should be bitterness, he finds little. He’d known who he married, and it hadn’t bothered him when they were twenty two and coming home to their tiny apartment with more scrapes than their rubbing alcohol could handle. The quiet tender moments in the bathroom as he dabbed away at new cuts that ran perpendicular to Izuku’s old scars. The more hurried ones, Izuku’s trembling hands stitching him together the best he could when it was all they had. It hadn’t bothered him when they’d considered settling down properly, after all Izuku had just hit number one and had a responsibility to Japan now to be the shining example. He’d wait up for him most nights except for the days when he’d been called in early, but was plenty pleased to wake to his scarred husband clinging onto him in the early morning hours.

Any residual bitterness dissipates almost immediately.

He looks down at the little one in his lap, her slow blinking giving away her tiredness. She rubs at her eye with a fist, curled up underneath a small children’s blanket with the faded embroidery of All Might in the corner. Her rose red hair is splayed against his legs like a fan, long fallen out of the braid that his steady hands had done before she’d run off to school this morning. It’s getting long again, but she doesn’t seem to mind this time around.

He remembers having a moment of unbridled fear of the threads of hair when he’d first seen her, the day she was born. It reminded Shouto too much of him, too much of Enji all at once. He wondered at that moment what her Quirk would be (would she even have one?), pyrokinesis? Could he even deal with that? And then he caught himself thinking about it too long while his hand had a thin layer of frost over it and Izuku was already about to start crying to his left. Her olive green eyes had at least put him at relative ease, when she’d really started registering the world properly a little while later. He started seeing more of Izuku in her as she grew, the years passing them by. Even if his husband was convinced she was taking after him in every aspect but her face.

Speaking of him, Izuku carries another civilian out with a smile on screen, face dusted with soot but eyes shining beneath it. Something in him flickers to light, a small smile of his own ghosting over his face. Kimiko sits up a little, leaning her tiny form against his side now, and he looks down at her as well. Her toothy grin makes his heart squeeze in on itself, “Daddy!”

“Yes,” He responds, pulling her a little closer, “Still not your favorite?”

She thinks on this for a moment, small eyebrows knit in thought with a tiny finger to her chin. She looks back up at him, a mischievous look peering through her dark eyelashes, “No, I still like Uravity more!”

Shouto thinks he can make a guess why Uravity is her favorite, her favorite color being the blush colored pink that all of her merch donned. The pink shoes that she’d almost worn a hole through before she outgrew them recently, the pink jumper she wore everywhere with the almost completely faded embroidery of Uravity across the chest. The visor that she’d gotten once for a costume that had been worn so often he was afraid the plastic would shatter. That and how she’d exclaimed one day that the martial arts Ochako employed on screen was something she was going to learn to do and for sure use it against every bully ever. Izuku had of course quietly and swiftly told her not to, he didn’t want her getting into any trouble, but that he’d look into putting her into some martial arts classes after the school year was over.

He and Izuku had taken the loss with grace when it’d been announced earlier this year. He thinks. Quietly he wonders why, her dad’s were first and third in popularity rankings, but Kimiko is also seven and certainly doesn’t care for old rivalries that had long fizzled out by the time she was born. Amused, Izuku had commented he was glad it wasn’t Katsuki at least. Izuku hadn’t known what he going to do if that ended up being the case.

“Your daddy is number one though, you know.” He says, mostly teasing as he gently tickles her with one hand. She giggles to his left, something akin to I know on her lips as she laughs, “Did I ever tell you how I met your dad though?”

She looks up at him, viridescent eyes wide with curiosity. Probably wouldn’t be the best bedtime story, but is one of the few ones he knows that wouldn’t make her worry. Shouto hadn’t yet showed her that fateful sports festival clip, he hadn’t seen much reason to when she could catch whatever hero she wanted daily, but he remembers it fondly. Kimiko shakes her head, “When?”

He leans back a little, thinking about how to frame it, “Well, a long time ago —”

“A really long time ago?”

“Twenty one years ago, in fact,” He responds, momentarily feeling a little old. Her surprised face certainly gives away that she thinks that was so long ago`, “Your dad was a classmate of mine in our first year of high school. We weren’t friends just yet, I was still getting to know him and adjusting to school. He was smart, analytical —”

“An-a-li-tical?” Kimiko sounds out the word in a tinier, inexperienced voice.

He notes his mistake, recognizing she doesn’t understand it, “It means he knew a lot and how to apply all of that knowledge.”

“Oh.” Is all she says, and he watches as the cogs turn in her head, not dissimilar to watching Izuku do the same. Filing the definition away for later, “Then what happened?”

“Well,” Shouto realizes he should probably omit the conversation he’d had with his father during the festival. Then figures he should probably omit his troubles with his father and family troubles to his seven year old. That was something that could be discussed at a later date, a very later date, even if it did remove crucial context in his opinion, “I used to only use the ice part of my Quirk. It was easier for me to draw on, easier for me to work with. I did that for a very long time. I was satisfied with it until our first sports festival. Do you remember the sports festival from earlier this year?”

She nods vigorously, “Misato was in it!”

Misato, the dark haired niece of his that had done well for herself in her own first year festival. Kimiko and Izuku had been glued to the TV for most of it, Izuku noting the students he could scout and Kimiko getting excited whenever her dad did even if she didn’t understand what was going on. Shouto hadn’t watched most of it, he’d been responding to a call during the first two rounds, but had gotten away long enough to watch Misato’s final fight with one of her classmates. She hadn’t won, but it had been something he was understandably impressed by, “That’s right. But I also had a festival like that.”

“Did you win?” She tilts her head in question.

“No. Your uncle, Katsuki, he won first place that year. I was second.”

“Did you win next year?”

“No. Your dad won that year.” Shouto remembers that one like it was yesterday, that time he’d gotten third, surprising even to him, but Katsuki and Izuku had gotten to fight fairly on a proper stage. It was less tense than he would’ve imagined, watching after his fight with Katsuki. He was impressed, it was almost like was watching two completely different students than the constantly brawling ones from the year prior. They certainly weren’t restrained, the full capabilities of One For All at Izuku’s fingertips as he dove and twisted around Katsuki’s attacks. He also wasn’t about to hold back against the successor, not to be outdone by someone else. Izuku’s fumbling knowledge about One For All at the time had definitely held him back and made the victory well earned in the end when his opponent had been properly defeated. Katsuki had been understandably angered about it, but he seemed more revved up than actually bothered by it. Or at least, when they were trading insults later in the day it still seemed mostly lighthearted. He definitely remembers when he’d complimented Izuku afterwards, expressing that he’d enjoyed watching it.

Izuku had turned a color closer to crimson when he’d said it, and made up an excuse about having to go and talk to Recovery Girl. Shouto had pointed out he hadn’t broken any fingers this year (another welcome surprise), why did he feel the need to go? And Izuku had left him behind in the hall, stammering a string of apologies. Turning to Kimiko now, aging almost twenty years, “He fought your uncle Katsuki that year.”

“Did you win third year?”

That he definitely remembers, having actually beaten Katsuki for the second spot. The other boy hadn’t certainly not been very amused by this, considering how Eijiro had to hold him back afterwards — but he had been surprisingly pleasant later about how he’d beat him fair and square. It’d left Shouto very suspicious, Katsuki had gone from first to third place in three years consecutively and knowing his explosive personality he imagined he wasn’t taking it well, but nothing ever came of it. His and Izuku’s second time fighting during the Sports Festival, this time nothing but good intentions between the two. A silent promise not to hurt each other to the point of real injury again, but everything else was all fair game. They’d both pushed their limits far beyond where they should’ve gone but it had felt so good to let loose. He didn’t have the necessary precision to really use his fire as well as his ice even then, but Izuku had a habit of removing his mental barriers to it. He was more afraid to hurt him, burn the only friend he really had. But the stadium had faded away halfway through, forgetting about everyone else and only seeing the boy ahead of him. A scrappy dance around the concrete beneath them, ice protecting him from his air based attacks and his flames enough to keep Izuku back so he could get in a few close-combat hits. He’d managed to hold his own against One For All for long enough, something that even stunned him in the heat of the moment. But, predictably perhaps, Izuku had won. His control was admirable, with all of the Quirks he harbored within him, and Shouto had been stunned into silence afterwards. Shoved outside the bounds of play with a string of apologies when they were no longer adversaries, Shouto had almost burst into flames afterwards for an entirely different reason that year when Izuku had complimented him back, “No, your dad won that year too.”

“Dad’s really strong.” Kimiko seems to think about this a little more, somehow her tiny mind wrapping around the concept as she yawns again. A toothy grin, “That’s why he’s number one!”

“Indeed,” Shouto says, gaze flickering back to the news station. A flash of green, and he’s gone again, away from the camera’s attention. He can’t believe it was that long ago, really. That many years ago and he hadn’t been able to put a name to his feelings until the end of their third year, armed with chocolate he had almost begged Fuyumi to help him with. He thinks Izuku was lucky he wasn’t born with a fire quirk, because the red he turned would’ve surely lit him and his uniform on fire. Shouto smiles at the memory. They’d come so far since then, “But yes, my first year at UA. Your dad was my opponent in the second round.”

“You fought dad?” She seems incredulous by this, “That’s not very nice.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t,” He answers, thinking about all of the restrained emotions he’d been holding back that year. His intentions weren’t exactly the purest when he stepped in the ring, “Did you know that in that fight, your dad broke almost all of the fingers on his hand just keeping me back?”

Kimiko grasps her own tiny, unmarred fingers at this, gasping at the admission, “Really?”

“Yes,” Shouto still cringes at the image of the purple and blue digits barely able to even move during that fight. He still has so many questions how Izuku was even managing it at that point, ones he never exactly got answers to. He wonders if that’s when his admiration really started, with his physical and mental strength during that fight, “He was very determined. Even though his Quirk was hard to control, he pushed through it all.”

“Whoa.” Her amazement is something that is so precious to him. It’s something he’d have to tell his husband about when he got home.

He feels himself twitching into a frown regardless, recounting the fateful few minutes they were on the field together, “When I used my ice too much, it started to hurt me more than it was being useful. Like when you get too hot, I had gotten too cold. I hadn’t wanted to use my fire to counteract it because I didn’t know how. Didn’t want to use it because…”

He trails off at that. What does he tell a seven year old, one that has had admittedly little contact with her grandfather but still has some neutrally positive opinion of him? She waits on him to finish the story, playing with the end of her fraying sleeve. He shakes his head for a moment, trying to get rid of the thought and figure a way to frame it.

“I didn’t have good memories with it,” He admits, feeling her hand grow warm on his forearm when she places it there. Her way of comforting people, something she’d learned from him by accident. He smiles softly at the action, “Your dad cared though. Wanted to fight me properly, without holding myself back, and he saw me struggling with it. So, he told me it was my power. Mine and mine only.”

Shouto sits with the memory for a moment, flexing his fingers. Remembering Izuku’s pained and strained voice yelling out to him, unlocking that part of him to burst to out like the flames that had erupted along the right side of his body. At the time, it’d only been a flicker of surprise, of realizing that he could even manage it. Then —

“It’s your power, isn’t it?”

Staring directly at him, running on pure adrenaline with his extremities bruised and entirely incapable of even making a fist. The same green eyes that he stares at now, begging him to let go of it all and face him without restraint. An uncontrolled One For All brimming at his fingertips, knowing he’d lose when Shouto lit himself ablaze. And yet he’d done it anyway, and felt somehow proud of himself when he did. When Shouto had approached him later, asking him why, he hadn’t had a cohesive answer. With his actions the rest of the year, he can only imagine it was because Shouto was the first in a long line of people he wanted to save. And save him he had, in a way. Izuku was the sole reason he’d ever used his left side to begin with.

Where would he be without him?

He loves that man more than he can say. More than he can articulate properly. It had confused him when Izuku had put his own life on the line when Shouto had unleashed what at the time had been the full extent of his power, and scares him now when his husband still does it on the daily — but perhaps it’s just what makes him him.

His heart flutters a little. Shouto needs to show that clip to Kimiko when she’s a little older.

“And so I did. It was the first time I used my fire in a very long time, but your dad made me feel confident enough to use it again,” He carefully angles left hand away from Kimiko, far enough that when he lights a small flame in his palm she’s in no danger of burning herself. She’s transfixed on the the light, the small golden globe washing her features in red How much fear, how long had he lived with it to now be comfortable enough to show it to his own daughter? He’s grown, lived long enough to reassign another emotion to it. He doesn’t love it and still relies on his ice primarily, but instead of being distressed by it, he’s duly neutral.

Neutral was all he could ask for.

“You’re not scared of it anymore?” She asks, voice light and unaware of the emotional turmoil that had occurred. Had he been too afraid to use it, had Izuku lost to Hitoshi the round prior…Shouto really doesn’t think his path to healing would’ve begun as quickly as it did without his interference.

“No. It’s apart of me as much as the other half of my Quirk,” He answers. It’s the truth when he says it, even as a wave of old anxiety washes over him as he admits it. She reaches out with a small hand, and he stiffens, afraid but she’s too quick. Her tiny fingers leap to touch and he extinguishes it as soon as one of her fingers touches it, “Kimiko!”

She shrinks back, a sad expression taking over her surprise. The momentary paternal terror washes away when he reaches for her hand, his own trembling and quick, but confused when he doesn’t see red skin or a welt beginning on the edge of her index where most of the flame had licked her. Kimiko must catch his expression, her voice low and barely loud enough for him to catch, “Didn’t hurt, felt funny.”

“Felt…funny?” He asks, carefully brushing a hand over her head, “Did you touch it?”

She nods. He hadn’t imagined that part then. And she came away unscathed them.

He doesn’t know what to do next. Shouto blue screens for a moment, thinking, thinking. His curiosity gets the better of him, even as it feels like his nerves are shot. He adjusts his shoulder enough to face her a little, carefully lighting another tiny column of fire in his palm. Barely bigger than a candle as he looks her directly in her eyes, his own voice struggling to stay calm, “You’re being honest?”

Her eyes widen at it again, but she nods vigorously. He reaches out with his free hand to push her free curls back out of her face. Even if his hypothesis is correct, he doesn’t want to put her through the experience of lighting her hair on fire too. She meets his eyes, and then looks back down. He takes a breath, “Then…you can touch it again.”

Her mouth opens to a little oh, as she unfurls a small fist, first reaching out with her index. Shouto’s holding in a breath that he can barely breathe around, watching her pale finger grow ever closer. He’s ready to extinguish it and run for the first aid kit at the first sign of fear. Hold her close if she cries, like his own younger self would’ve wanted. And yet, her yelp of pain never comes, as she makes contact with it. The red and orange engulf the digit, flickering around it. Then in her curiosity, more fingers. Almost the entirety of her hand. Kimiko giggles at the touch of it.

Shouto breathes, extinguishing it. He knew her Quirk allowed her to raise her body temperature just under what he thinks is boiling, but he hadn’t guessed that she inherited the ability to be immune to fire. He’s surprised. In a good way, he thinks. If she hadn’t scared him first.

Her amusement at the flames makes him feel some sort of way that he can’t name. He’d only had fear of them at her age, most of them at the hands of his father. They represented something dangerous, something to be terrified of. A punishment, a representation of everything that had frankly traumatized him as a child. A part of him that he couldn’t get rid of, no matter how much he tried to ignore it and shove it down into the recesses of his mind. And yet, there’s wonder in her eyes. Not any alarm or panic. He at least had avoided scaring her with it, a whole other can of worms he’s glad he hasn’t accidentally opened for her.

He’s okay with this, he thinks. His child is unafraid of fire. A new development. A welcome one.

He thinks.

The tight band around his chest loosens. She yawns again, the TV still rolling. It’s 10:30. He’s beginning to think she may be able to miss just one day tomorrow, she certainly wouldn’t argue with it. Leaning back into the couch, he pulls one of the bigger blankets off the other sofa with his good arm. Wincing, he scoops Kimiko up in his other arm, laying her against his chest. She wriggles into him, obviously getting herself comfortable as he drapes the blanket over the two of them. Kimiko shifts ever so slightly to his right, likely just for the cooling properties. He yawns himself, protectively laying one arm over her smaller body and muting the TV, “We’ll just wait here until your dad gets home, okay?” He asks. Shouto gets no response, noting Kimiko’s breathing has already evened out to her usual sleep pattern. Out cold then, with only the childhood ability to sleep anywhere and everywhere without a care in the world.

He watches as the broadcast silently goes to commercial, another inane product being the last thing he sees before darkness overtakes him.

-

Izuku is so late.

He knows he’s late too, racing home as quick as he can. He didn’t even bother changing out his hero costume, hurriedly tossing his day clothes into his duffle bag and booking it out the door with a request over his shoulder to one of his sidekicks to lock up for the night. He didn’t even wait for an answer before he headed for his car.

He didn’t think it’d take this long. One call after another. Logically he thinks he could’ve let some of the other heroes take one or the other, but he just felt better and safer about it being there wherever anyone needed help. Mirio had also been on scene already, along with Nejire so he really does think the two of them could’ve handled the earlier incident (a robbery with two decently powered criminals) by themselves, but he imagines their capturing and clean up had gone smoother with him there. That’s what he wants to think, at least when they’d thanked him before he ran off the next call.

It wasn’t until the media had gotten there, noting it was a late night broadcast when he’d been helping an older man out of the now-no-longer-burning-building that he even thought about what time it was. He’d noted the darkening sky over his shoulder and almost cursed on live TV before putting a bright, if not strained, smile on his face to speak to the reporter for a few minutes. Very, very long minutes. He hopes his answers were even a little camera appropriate because he was on auto-pilot, thinking about the fact he’d entirely forgotten…well everything today.

The villain had been apprehended, people saved, media placated for the time being. As soon, and he means as soon as the cameras were switched off, he was gone. Already on the way back to his agency to pick up his keys and clothes and headed right back out the door. Shouto had left hours earlier to get Kimiko from school, and he’d not-quite-lied that he’d be right behind him after he finished up some paperwork.

Damn it.

He’s a safe driver, he reminds himself as he just barely pushes the speed limit down the darker streets of Musutafu. It wouldn’t do anyone good if the number one was caught speeding.

But he’s also missed dinner, something Kimiko hates and Shouto seconds before telling her that her daddy’s a very busy man sometimes. The way his brows furrow in disappointment sometimes is not lost on him, as much as Shouto tries to make his own emotions scarce. Izuku always makes time for dinner except in the most emergency situations. And yet he let himself get taken away again, and done exactly that. He’d only scarfed down a protein bar between now and when he slammed into the office, he hasn’t eaten much if anything at all today other than lunch he’d shared with his husband. He’d forgone breakfast because Shouto hadn’t been home and Kimiko needed to be taken in to school.

A headache’s already lurking in the shadows when he turns onto his street.

He just almost trips getting out of the car, narrowly saving himself when his hand catches a wall. Sighing, he quietly, carefully unlocks his front door, careful not to let it slam behind him as he takes off his boots and stores his duffel in the corner. He shoves his keys in his pocket (which one he’ll certainly forget by tomorrow morning), and pads into the rest of the house. It’s dark and nearly silent as he tries to make his way around the entry hallway, only muscle memory saving him from running another appendage into a wall.

The TV is still on, as he can see the light flashing onto the wall in front of it. Reaching the end of the hall, he finds it playing the broadcast from earlier. A rerun probably. Shouto must’ve accidentally left it on.

Starting to look for the remote, he pauses before smiling softly and stopping just before the TV.

His husband and daughter are fast asleep, the latter clenching her father’s sweater in her fists and drooling onto it. Shouto isn’t much better, head lolled to the side ever so slightly and hair a mess as it fans out on the headrest. Still, he holds her close as they slumber underneath one of their newer blankets, the All Might one he’d pulled out of storage for their daughter long forgotten on the other side of it.

A pang of guilt hits him. Shouto must’ve been waiting up for him. Kimiko joined him at some point and he hadn’t put her back to bed. He hopes he hadn’t worried his husband too much, how long had they been up together?

He’s in the moral dilemma of whether or not he should wake Shouto so they can put Kimiko in a proper bed. He knows for a fact Shouto is going to complain about his shoulder in the morning if he leaves him like this.

But they’re so cute, the other half of his brain reasons, what’s the harm?

In the end, Izuku settles for a quick photo instead. Then, ever so carefully he gently taps Shouto’s shoulder as he carefully sits on the edge of the couch next to the pair of them. Shouto’s a notoriously light sleeper, so Izuku’s unsurprised when his eyes flash open. They dart around for a moment before looking to him, then looking down at their daughter, then back at him. Izuku smiles sheepishly, speaking in barely a whisper, “Evening.”

Shouto blinks a few times, reaching his free hand up to rub at his eye, “Did you just get home?” He asks, tone quiet and far less accusatory than Izuku thinks he deserves.

“Yeah. A couple of minutes ago actually.” 11:15 blinks back at him when he looks at their clock on the wall, “I’m sorry, how long were the two of you up?”

“Maybe until 10:30. Kimiko got back up because you weren’t home,” He responds. That answers that question then. There’s a small smile on his expression, “I told her the story of our first sports festival as a bedtime story. She seemed quite proud of you towards the end.”

Izuku is a bit bewildered, but chuckles lowly. He flexes his misaligned fingers at the thought, then looking to her. That isn’t exactly the word he’d use, “Proud of me? Did you tell her I broke almost all of my fingers?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t leave out how I egged you on to basically win the match?”

“I did not.”

“Or how I took that losing fight?” He asks even more incredulously. Shouto nods. Well, color Izuku surprised, “Well. At least she’s a fan of fifteen year old me, even if she isn’t now.”

Shouto shakes his head, “You know she thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread, love.”

“But not since toilet paper, Ochako stole that spot from me right under my nose,” Izuku says sarcastically, leaning back into the couch himself. Oh this is dangerous, he can feel his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. He knew he was right when they bought a new couch a couple of years ago, “What made you do that?”

He shrugs, as much as he can with a child in his lap, “Inspired, perhaps. We were watching you all night, after all.”

“That’s fair then,” Still an odd subject for a bedtime story. The only one she’s really watched was this year’s, and that’s because her older cousin was in it. But if Shouto wanted to reminsce to their daughter, who was he to stop him? Regardless, he sleepily begins taking off some of the augmented parts of his gear. The gloves, the belt. He clumsily stands, narrowly avoiding a coffee table to the calf, and unzips the outer part of his suit and stepping out of it. Haphazardly putting them on the other side of the couch, he’s left in only his undersuit, leaning against Shouto’s shoulder with sigh of exhaustion. Oh yeah, he’s not making it up to Kimiko’s room to put her in bed. Nor is he making it to his own room to go to sleep. He reaches over carefully to tilt Shouto’s head down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that Shouto leans into, “I’m sorry for keeping you up.”

“It’s alright,” If even possible, his husband’s voice grows even softer at this, “I’m thinking since it’s Friday, we let Kimiko have the day off tomorrow. She’s going to be exhausted in the morning.”

“Mhm. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all,” Shouto’s left is so warm as he leans into it that he barely registers what the other man is asking. Or saying. He’s sure whatever decision he makes will be the right one. His husband shifts enough to that they’re leaning into each other, Izuku’s head on his shoulder as Shouto’s head is on top of his, “ ‘Love you, Shochan.”

Shouto makes some noise of agreement next to him, the slow tone betraying his own exhaustion, “I love you too, Izuku.”

A moment later, “Mmm. Forgot. Our daughter’s fireproof.”

Izuku blinks awake at that, momentarily forgetting his exhaustion as he lifts his head to look at Shouto with a bewildered expression. Shouto only puts his head back right where it was, patting his hair down when he rests his head atop it, “Tomorrow, love.”

Izuku.

Izuku doesn’t know how to take that but he supposes he’s going to sleep. He really wants to know how the two of them figured that out. Or maybe he doesn’t. He doesn’t know. He can’t be late home anymore if this is what it results in.

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