Katsuki arrives just after three o'clock. Deku told him that nothing really starts before the sun goes down. Katsuki feels a surreal kind of ache knocking on Midoriya Inko's door. It's not the same apartment door he knew when he was a kid, but the feeling was the same. He knew what he was walking into. For all intents and purposes, he's made no real progress with the Midoriya family. Deku is still wary of him, of their tentative truce, and Auntie Inko is probably on high alert. He still doesn't know what exactly she knows of their shared past. Does she know he made Deku's life hell in middle school? Does she hate him for it? In the months since he's reentered Deku's life, she's been cordial, but distant. Courteous, but cool. He couldn't help but detect an undertone of suspicion in her voice every time they spoke.
She clearly knows that Hisami is half his, and that seems to be enough for her to maintain some semblance of the kindness she used with him when he was very young. Katsuki hates that, just a little. He hates the careful balancing act they all play at. He likes to know where he stands with people. He's never really know where he stood with Deku, or with Auntie Inko. These last few months had him thinking he doesn't know them as well as he always assumed.
He find himself wondering how much of their kindness is for Hisami's benefit. He sometimes wonders if they actually hate him, and the fact that the common tie between them all is an impressionable three year old, he wonders if they'd ever be honest with him.
That's the thing with nice people. They never want to ruffle any feathers. He finds, with truly nice, decent people, there's so much more bubbling under the surface. Deku never says what he feels, and though Katsuki may sometimes guess what he's thinking, he rarely thinks he's getting the full brunt of his thoughts. Christ, Deku would rather avoid him than be honest.
At least he doesn't have to wonder with Hisami.
"Papa!"
The door opens, and in seconds his little terror of a son is jumping into his arms, wiggling excitedly against him. Deku watched from behind the door, his hand still resting on the handle. He looks tentative and nervous.
"Hey, Bubba. I missed you."
"I always miss you," Hisami says, with a rare kind of unknowing, cutting clarity. "Merry almost Christmas."
"Merry Christmas Eve. What's going on?"
He kisses his chubby, freckled cheek and Hisami giggles. His tiny arms grip around his neck and Katsuki wonders how he'd gone his whole life without this full, contented feeling. He can't imagine not knowing this kind of comfort now that Hisami gives it away so freely.
"Ginger people! Obaasan made the dough and I cut them out."
"They're cooling now. We're going to frost them soon," Deku says, by way of a greeting. He gives a tentative smile, but it's not half as bright as it could be. Katsuki fights a frown. Hisami wiggles, ready to roam free, and Katsuki lets him run off, back to some hidden room within the house. He stares openly at Deku, taking his mental temperature.
"Hey, you alright?"
Deku nods, eyes shifting around.
"Hisami's glad you're here. Come on in."
Katsuki obliges, stepping over the threshold and into the warm atmosphere of Auntie Inko's home. It's not the same one from when he was a kid, but it feels the same. Inviting and friendly and welcoming. It makes Katsuki's chest burn.
"I asked about you, Deku," he murmurs, keeping his voice low for fear of Hisami's eavesdropping.
"I'm fine, Kacchan. I want this to be a good couple of days."
"It will be. I'm excited. I've never taken Christmas off before," he blurts out, trying to bring Deku out of the somber, little shell he's cloistered himself in.
"What? Seriously?"
"Seriously. Never hand a reason to."
Deku stares at him like he's just sprouted another head on his shoulders. He knows it odd—for normal people, at least. His family wasn't one for big holidays, and Ground Zero was never one to shy away from overtime.
"Well, Merry Christmas, then." Deku starts to walk away, further into the house, but Katsuki's stops him with a firm grip.
"You and me—are we okay? I just… this shit is going to be weird enough with both our parents here tomorrow, and I just want to make sure you and I are on the same page."
Deku stares at him, biting his lip. He can see the skin is raw and red—he's been picking at it, just like when they were kids. He finally lets his poor, ruined bottom lip go to breathe out a sigh.
"Your mom is going to kill me."
Katsuki almost laughs at the blatant terror in Deku's expression, but he doesn't. This isn't a time to make light of the situation, and Katsuki knows his mother well enough to know that Deku's fears are more than justified.
"I won't let her. You run interference with your mom and I'll do the same with mine."
Deku gives him an odd look, like he can't fathom that Katsuki is just as apprehensive as he is.
"My mom's fine." He says it almost like it's a question, and Katsuki gives him an exasperated look.
"Your mom doesn't like me. She probably wants me around even less than you do, and that's fine, but I'll be damned if I let the holidays be ruined by any drama."
Deku has the audacity to look wounded for about three seconds before his gaze melts into something softer.
"I want you around, Kacchan."
Deku walks away, leaving Katsuki in the entryway, feeling unmoored, but slightly hopeful.
Maybe they can get through the holiday together. Maybe they don't have to fight, or run interference, or be on opposing sides. Maybe they can just be, and things will fall into place.
—
"Where's his eyes?"
Kacchan stares at Hisami's sad excuse for a gingerbread snowman, looking perplexed. Izuku feels a squabble coming on. He likes it when Hisami and Kacchan argue. It's like watching Kacchan argue with his petulant, younger self, and it always makes for a good laugh.
"This is the back of his head! You can't see his face."
"What the hell is that, then?" Kacchan puts down the frosting bag and points at the little curved frosting line at the base of the snowman.
"Language!" Hisami huffs, standing on his chair to get in Kacchan's face. "Ask nice, Papa."
Kacchan huffs in a very similar fashion to Hisami, but he looks thoroughly subdued. He tries again.
"What is that?"
Izuku stares. It's a wonder Kacchan hasn't figured it out.
"His butt!" Hisami giggles—the word alone always makes him giggle, but the look of pure, unadulterated confusion on his father's face could only add to his glee. Both Izuku and his mom do their best to stifle their laughs. Kacchan shakes his head.
"You're something else, kid."
The decorating only lasts for maybe an hour and a half, and by the end of it, at least four gingerbread men have no faces, and buttcheeks on full display.
Izuku feels unexpectedly calm. This is no different than when they first started spending time together again—Kacchan making dinner with Hisami's futile help, and Izuku watching from far corners with a sense of wonder. Kacchan is good with kids, an unexpected realization that truly baffled him, at first. He wonders if it's because it's Hisami, if it's because they're so similar they just seem to read each other without knowing it.
As always, these thoughts give way to more intrusive daydreams—fleeting, fantastical thoughts of a domestic, familial togetherness Izuku never would've allowed himself to dream of if he wasn't bearing witness to it.
These were the thoughts he was avoiding when he decided to distance himself from Kacchan. These thoughts always brought joy and guilt in equal measure. Sometimes, when he watched Kacchan and Hisami, he wished he could go back. When Hisami fell asleep in Kacchan's lap, he wished Hisami had always had that luxury from the beginning. When Hisami went to sleep with a kiss on his cheek from both his Papas, he wished he'd done right by both of them. More than any future he ever imagined, he liked to rework the past.
When he was alone with his thoughts, they often drifted to that one chance meeting. What if he'd just been honest? What if he'd just gone out on a limb and asked Kacchan's permission? He sometimes thought of the conversation that might've taken place if he was a bit braver, a bit less repugnant.
He probably would've said no, but he could've said yes. He could've had a choice, and could've chosen to be with them from the beginning. Hisami could've had this the whole time. Two dads, two sets of grandparents. Double the love and half the drama.
Those thoughts were always the worst, but remained the most pervasive.
—
Katsuki cooks dinner with Auntie, and it's the first time they've actually been somewhat alone with one another. They work quietly, but the underlying tension leave Katsuki stiff with anticipation. He pauses in his assault on the cutting board to look at Hisami and Deku in the other room. Hisami is shaking all the gifts under the tree, trying to guess what might be within. Deku looks at Hisami like he's the only thing in the room, like he's the only person in his life. Sometimes, Katsuki allows himself to think about exactly why Deku thought it might've been a good idea to have Hisami exactly the way he did. He'd never figured himself for an empathetic person, but sometimes he'd catch the way Izuku looked at their son, and something would click.
He couldn't say he knew anything about profound loneliness, couldn't really imagine it, but that must've been how Deku felt. Not for the first time, he'd wonder about Deku's past, his dating life, his time in university. He didn't think Deku was a bad person, but in his line of work, he'd seen so many seemingly good people do terrible things in the name of grief, fear, or loneliness.
"Katsuki, did you hear me?"
"Hah?" Katsuki mumbled, his eyes finding Auntie Inko's. She looked mildly judgemental, like she was sizing him up. He hadn't realized he'd been staring after them, lost in his thoughts, the knife in his hand hovering uselessly over half-chopped carrots.
"I asked how things are with you and Izuku." Her deep, green eyes bored into him. They tended to have the same effect his dad's always had on him. He couldn't lie to her.
"I don't know." He goes back to chopping carrots, slower and more methodically than before. He resists the urge to fidget under her knowing eyes.
"Katsuki, I don't approve of what Izuku did. I love him, and I'm always going to support him, but I want to understand what's going on. I want to support you, too, for Hisami's sake."
Katsuki nearly chops off his own thumb, he's so distracted by her words. Of all the things he imagined she'd say to him, this was never once on his mind. He stares at her, heart in his throat.
"Thanks, Auntie," he mumbles, flustered. The guilt he feels over the things he's done to her son slightly outweigh the lightness he feels at her quasi-approval. He's not brave enough to tell her about that, though. If he did, he'd have to apologize, and apologies always stuck in his windpipe like shards of glass.
If he couldn't make himself apologize to Deku, he wouldn't make himself apologize to his mother. He might be able to someday, but not now, not tonight, when his son was flying high at the idea of a holiday together.
"For what it's worth, I don't—" Katsuki pauses, trying to find the right words. "I don't regret any of this. If… if I had to have a kid, I'd want him to grow up with someone like you. A good family. You're good people, and it could be a lot worse."
Auntie Inko squeezes his shoulder lovingly before passing behind him, continuing on with her cooking.
"Maybe that's something you and Izuku should talk about," she says lightly. "Clear the air. Put the past to rest."
