Disclaimer: I don't own My Hero Academia or any characters/plotlines that you recognize from it, I'm just playing with the dollhouse and making the dolls smooch each other.

Chapter One: Coming Home

"Welcome home, Koharu."

Shouta's eyes followed intently as the young girl took her first step into the small apartment he had called 'home' for the last two years. Her movements were tentative as she shuffled off her red rain boots, and tucked her small feet into the slippers that Shouta had laid out for her.

She was so small, he thought. He couldn't remember if he had been so small when he was five, but he liked to think he wasn't. Koharu's bright yellow sweater dwarfed her little body, but made her presence all that louder with its obnoxious colour. Shouta also couldn't remember wearing such garish things.

She stopped in the door frame that seperated the kitchen from the living room, looking uncertain of her next steps. Shouta was at her heels, only needing a single step for her many. He winced at his living space, devoid of any colour or personal touches. The room was empty save for a futon, coffee table, and small television. He probably should have invested in a throw pillow, or something.

Shouta cleared his throat, and placed a gentle hand at the top of the girl's back. "Your room is this way," he said quietly. He ushered her to their right, and opened up the lone door that they found there.

She let out a small gasp. On another day, Shouta might have smiled with pride. As it was, his lips could only muster a small wobble as Koharu wandered into her new bedroom.

They hadn't had a lot of time to set it up, but Hizashi had helped him to add a frankly horrendous amount of colour to what had been his office. He had found a large collection of wall decal stickers that they used to create a mural of rainbows, super-heros, cartoon animals, and other assorted childhood wonders against the stark white of her walls. Even still, Shouta figured that Koharu would want to paint it. Koharu wanted to paint everything.

Her furniture was straight from home, including a wooden bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. It was all too big for her. It was all his before he moved out.

Koharu stopped in the middle of the room. With her back to him, Shouta could see little more than tense shoulders and elbows raised as Koharu fidgeted with the strings of her sweater. She looked… lost, he thought, and hated it.

He blurted, "Hizashi did the stickers."

A small sniffle sounded from the yellow hood. "It's pretty."

Shouta's heart was both frozen and in his ass, and his stomach was screaming. Was she crying? "...thanks," he said, hoping he wasn't about to have to comfort her.

She was quiet then, standing still and looking hard at the floor. Shouta didn't know what to say. Was he supposed to leave now? He certainly wanted to.

"Shouta?"

He was across the room in a heartbeat, hands hovering towards Koharu with uncertainty. He shoved those traitors back into his pockets. "Yeah?"

Koharu was hunched in on herself, looking somehow even smaller than before. "Mom isn't gonna come back?"

Shouta didn't know how to do this. His mouth felt as dry as his eyes. "I don't know," he said, and it was the truth, even if his heart didn't believe it.

"Oh," she whispered, and Shouta heard her sniffle again. "Shouta?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Yeah."

He took his hand out of his pocket, offered it to the girl, and held her hand tight. Her body wobbled as she cried, fat tears running unobstructed down her face. With each droplet that fell to the floor, Shouta felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, and trusted that Koharu wouldn't tell anyone when he started to cry along with her. They had no one else, after all.

What could Shouta do? He could hardly take care of himself. He didn't know the first thing about taking care of a child, let alone one going through the loss of a parent. Fuck, he was going through the loss of a parent. How had anyone thought it was a good idea to put this baby into his care? She had only just learned how to ride a bike. Her knees were still skinned. She hadn't even lost a tooth yet.

Encased in his grip, her hand was so small that he feared he might shatter it.