Hisami is always good about not waking Izuku up when he slips into his bed—mostly because Hisami has learned that if he woke him up, there was a 75% that he'd be sent back to his own bed. Getting him to sleep in his room was a bloody, tear-stained battle, hard fought and sorely won, and no matter how much Izuku wanted to coddle his son, he tried his best not to go back on the rules he'd set. Izuku learned early on that kids needed structure—especially strong-willed, intelligent kids like Hisami. If Izuku gives an inch, Hisami renegotiates for a mile, and then some, and most of the time Izuku barely realizes it when it happens.

Tonight, though, when Hisami quietly slips under the sheets and pastes himself to Izuku's side, sending him back is the furthest thing from his mind. Izuku shifts to better receive him, putting an arm under Hisami's head and cradling him. Hisami responds by throwing a leg and an arm clear across Izuku's torso, like a clingy koala on a eucalyptus tree.

"Papa," Hisami whispers, barely there in the dark. Izuku is only awake enough to give a hmm in answer.

"I'm sorry I made you sad. I love you, and I don't want you to hurt." He sounds on the verge of hysterics, and Izuku's heart clenches. He can only imagine the conversation Kacchan must've had to bring him to say this much in the middle of the night.

"I know, Button. Thank you for apologizing. Everything is okay, so go to sleep, alright? I love you, too."

No one needs to be told twice, and they easily succumb to sleep.

—

Katsuki wakes with a stiff back, and a nasty kink in his neck, roughly twenty minutes before his alarm. Deku clearly lied to him when he said the couch was comfortable that first time he slept over, and the knowledge of that made him even more grateful that he gave him the bed. It's barely six in the morning, and Hisami usually wakes up around now, but he has a feeling last night's epic meltdown took its toll. His patrol shift starts at nine, so he does his best to shake off the dregs of a terrible night's sleep, and gets to work on something of an apology breakfast.

Hisami requested pancakes, and Katsuki learned early on that he's incapable of denying Hisami the things he asks for. Keeping the peace is of the utmost importance, along with making sure Hisami understands why he's leaving today, and he's not going to be staying the night for the foreseeable future. When Katsuki slips into Hisami's room and finds him missing, the momentary parental panic hits hard—and then he remembers Hisami has a habit of sneaking into Deku's bed. Quietly, he goes into Deku's room, feeling oddly guilty about not announcing his presence.

They're tangled up in each other, both dead to the world and soft with sleep. Hisami's mouth is wide open, and his curly mop of hair resembles a bird's nest. Helooks more like Deku when he's asleep—no pinched eyebrows or pouting scowl to be seen. Deku's always had a baby face, but he's never seen him look more like the Deku he remembers from his childhood than when he's passed out. He thinks it's odd that for as long as Deku has presumably been single, that he still sleeps on one side of his enormous bed. Katsuki allows himself a moment—albeit something of a creepy, voyeuristic moment—to take it all in, to take in the state of his life.

Part of him feels like that empty space on the other side is meant for him, but he doesn't know why he feels that way. It must be biological—logic doesn't always factor in. In a biological sense, he only sees his kid, and the mate that brought Hisami into the world. Logically, he knows that's insane, but it doesn't stop him from indulging in the idea of just calling into work and telling them to fuck off for today, so he can bury himself in Deku's sheets on the other side of the bed. The ache he feels is unfamiliar—like he's on the outside of something great, but only able look in, but never allowed to touch.

If last night taught him anything, it's that he has a long way to go before he can consider himself a good parent, or an ally to Deku. Last night, he let Deku down, and the realization smarts. Katsuki has a big fucking problem with letting anyone down because it's explicit failure, and he'd rather die than be a failure for an extended amount of time.

He needs to start seeing Deku as more than someone he's stuck with. He needs to see him as an equal because now he knows just how much Hisami pays attention to their conversations, their tone of voice, their carefully concealed jabs at one another. Katsuki needs to be better. He needs to figure out what he wants. He needs to come to terms with all the things Deku makes him feel. He needs to figure out if he wants all his dreams to be reality—if he wants to be a family in the typical sense of the word. For now, though, he needs to let Deku know breakfast is ready.

He buries the desire to dive bomb onto the bed to wake them up, afraid of landing on Deku and opening the can of worms labeled proximity. Instead, he shuffles quietly to Deku's side of the bed, and taps lightly on his shoulder. No response. He very nearly groans. Deku's always slept like the dead, and nothing short of a flick to the nose or a slap on the cheek could ever rouse him.

"De—uh, Midoriya?" He pokes his cheek, feeling so wrong for calling him by his surname. It's far too unfamiliar for all the shit they've put each other through. His skin is soft and pink and freckled under his calloused fingertip, and all Katsuki can think is too close. They'd hugged last night, and Katsuki firmly believes his tossing and turning through the night has about as much to do with that as does the awful couch. Katsuki isn't one for physical contact, much less contact that can be construed as affectionate.

Deku is still dead to the world, and if not for the apparent rise and fall of his chest, Katsuki might have checked for a pulse. He ups the ante by lightly slapping his cheek, an old childhood staple that reeks of nostalgic familiarity.

"Oi," he gripes, intent on not tripping over Deku's name again. Deku's eyes pop open comically wide as he joins the land of the living once more. Katsuki realizes his palm is still resting lightly on Deku's cheek, and with a frustrated jolt he removes it and stands up straight.

"Kacchan? Everything okay?"

"I've got to get going soon. I made pancakes, though. Figured we could avoid another meltdown with a hearty breakfast," Katsuki whispers, eyes shifting subtly to the sleeping boy barnacled to Deku's side.

"Right. Okay, yeah. Give me a few minutes to restart my heart. Do you know how scary it is to wake up with an angry blond looming over you?" The little shit smirks and gives a breathless sort of laugh.

"Can't say I do. Hurry up." Katsuki steps back to give him some room to get up and start his day, or whatever. He's feeling antsy, and not quite thinking straight.

"Um, I don't have pants on. Could you…?" Deku trails off, face going blotchy with a blush. Katsuki's face feels similarly warm.

"Oh, fucking hell. I'll be in the kitchen." Katsuki's never felt so fucking flustered, and for the life of him he can't put his finger on why.

Minutes later, a fully-clothed Deku pads into the kitchen with a sleep-addled Hisami rubbing his eyes and clutching onto Deku's pant leg to guide him. The scene is so fucking cute it makes Katsuki borderline homicidal with fuzzy feelings he refuses to name.

"Morning, Bub. You sleepwalk to Papa's bed last night?"

Hisami only grumbles irritably. He must've had a rough night's sleep, as well. He maneuvers himself into a seat at the table, eyes still half-shut. Katsuki almost feels bad for him, and then he remembers his stunning impression of a failing nuclear reactor, and his pity is slightly tempered. Still, Katsuki smiles when his son slightly perks up when a plate of syrupy pancakes is shoved under his nose. Katsuki turns to make his own plate, and finds Deku next to him, staring at him with a questioning look in his eye.

"What?"

"Was I dreaming, or did you call me Midoriya earlier?"

Katsuki blushes again, and he'd really like to know when exactly he gave his body permission to do that so often. He looks pointedly over at Hisami, who's half asleep in his pancakes, but making a valiant effort to eat, all the same. Katsuki lowers his voice, so only Deku will hear.

"I said I wouldn't call you Deku anymore." The name feels like rancid bile in his mouth, and the guilt of passing that awful nickname down to his son without knowing it makes him nauseous. Deku's eyes do this vulnerable softening and moistening thing before he smiles.

"I don't think you've ever called me Midoriya. It's a bit odd after… everything, isn't it?"

"It's the best I could come up with at six in the morning," Katsuki says, deflecting because he's not exactly ready for another awkward, deep conversation. He's got villain ass to kick today, and he needs to get going, so he makes some lame excuse about needing to run home before he heads to the agency and leaves about an hour before he actually needs to. He presses a swift kiss to Hisami's forehead, and all but blasts himself out of the apartment without a glance at Deku.

—

Katsuki shrugs out of his gauntlets in the locker room, back stiff and sore. Katsuki doesn't think he's had a worse day on the job yet. He was already off to a bad start with the sore back and the kink in his neck, and it was only exacerbated by a shitty villain getting the drop on him—a career first—and punching him so hard he put a dent in the side of a semi-truck.

He was just… distracted. And tired. And feeling extremely fucking inadequate. He realized, about halfway to the agency, that he hadn't apologized to Deku for last night. He ran through the entire conversation with him, went over every word with a fine toothed comb, and not a single word sounded like sorry. He's been beating himself up over it ever since. He told Hisami he would apologize, and Katsuki has already failed to lead by example.

"Bro! You losing your touch? I've never seen someone get a hit on you like that!" Kirishima wails—perpetually sunny—from three lockers down. Sometimes, it seems like they never left high school.

"Fuck off, Shitty Hair. Why the hell are you here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be on leave?"

"Just working out for a few hours. Mina kicks me out when I start to annoy her." His smile is huge, for some reason. He supposed it has something to do with the new bundle of joy, born just a few days after Christmas.

"Sounds like motherhood is rough," he says, totally out of his depth, but more than willing to distract himself from his own baby drama.

"She's taking it like a champ! She's beautiful, our daughter is beautiful, and I will erect statues in their honor," he says loftily. Before he can go on waxing poetic about his perfect life and family, Katsuki cuts him off.

"But she kicks you out of the house when you annoy her."

"True. She's just tired. I am, too, but she gets time to herself, too. I try to be the one who stays up at night with Akane. We have a system."

The last thing Katsuki wants to hear about is familial domesticity and all its inner workings. Something ugly rises from his gut and burns his throat—jealousy in its purest form, and he doesn't want to think about why because he's already spiraling. He realizes that his eyes are burning, and he knows it's time to go the fuck home before he lets this shitty day get the best of him. He buries his head in his locker in an attempt to pull himself together, so he can cut and run.

"Bakugo, are you alright?" Suddenly, Kirishima is at his side, a meaty hand on his shoulder, and sympathy in his eyes. Fuck.

"M'fine."

"Everything okay with Deku?"

"Don't call him that," he snaps, his tenuous control on his temper completely shot. Hearing that name from anyone other than himself only makes him feel like more of a piece of shit.

"What happened?"

Katsuki shakes his head. No longer in danger of crying at work, but the thought of talking about it here makes him want to shrivel up and die on the spot.

"Not here, man."

Kirishima checks his phone, as if that's where he keeps his Make Katsuki Open Up guidebook is located. Or maybe he's just checking the time.

"I've got about an hour before I have to head home. Wanna grab a beer?"

"Or six."

—

Turns out, it only took three beers to get Katsuki to spit it the fuck out.

"I'm a shitty dad, as well as a shitty person," he blurts out, after a sip of beer number four. Kirishima literally chokes on his beer, eyes widening as he coughs. He pats excess droplets of beer off his face and neck with a shitty bar napkin.

"Explain," he says slowly, eyeing Katsuki like he'd grown a second head—or maybe like he just said something that fundamentally contradicts his entire personality.

"Hisami threw a fucking fit last night, and I'm not going to go into why, so don't ask. It was like watching myself as a shitty, little kid—just fucking raging. And, like father like son, taking it all out on De—Midoriya. God, that sounds so fucking weird to say. Midoriya. I've never said that name in my entire, miserable life, but now I can't say what I call him because my kid is picking up all my worst habits." And apparently, he's picking up Deku's because he's pretty sure he's never said so many words in one go outside of mission debriefs. The almost crying earlier seems a dead ringer for something Deku would do too.

What the fuck is happening to me?

"Wow, that's… a lot."

"No shit, Shitty Hair."

"You're not a bad person, or a bad dad. I've seen you with Hisami. You'd do anything for that kid."

"That doesn't mean I'm a good influence. He called him stupid Deku. You should've seen his face. Looked like he drop-kicked his goddamn heart."

There's that burning sensation again. His eyes are on fire. Fuck. He tips his head back, thankful for the excuse the beer provides, but honestly, he's willing the moisture back behind his eyes. He stays like that until he hears Kirishima blow out a heavy sigh.

"What do you feel worse about—seeing your son do that, or being reminded that you used to do it?"

Katsuki draws back in his chair like he's been slapped. The truth hurts isn't just a platitude, and Katsuki's been found the fuck out. Katsuki imagines the sky clearing after a storm, finally seeing the sun. How is it so easy for Kirishima to point that out, when Katsuki is the one living the situation, stumbling around and choking on his feelings?

"For someone so dumb, you're pretty smart, sometimes," he admits, albeit grudgingly.

"Emotional intelligence, bro. It's a beautiful thing. And I know you. You only get like this when you think too much about your past."

"I don't. I'm never like this," he says, indignant, putting air quotes around Kirishima's shitty accusations.

"Your eyes are all misty."

"Allergies." He sniffs pointedly.

"Allergic to feelings, maybe," Kirishima mutters around the lip of his beer before draining it. Katsuki punches his shoulder, and then regrets it because this is the exact kind of thing he shouldn't be doing. Fuck.

"Dude, just talk to Midoriya. I'm sure this isn't the big deal you're making it out to be."

"You don't get it."

"I think you don't get it. You need to let this thing go, or you need to get to a place where you can at least talk to your baby daddy about it."

"Don't call him that," Katsuki says, but he's not all that upset by it. There are worse things to refer to Deku as.

"Talk to him. Maybe apologize. An apology can go a long way, and you suck at apologizing."

"Fuck."

"Maybe do that, too. You're too pent up."

"I'm not hooking up with fucking Deku."

Kirishima gives him a scandalized look, clutching his proverbial pearls—and then he giggles like a goddamn schoolgirl. Katsuki damn near chips a molar, he clenches his jaw so hard.

"I didn't say that. Are you—?"

Suddenly, every perverted dream he's ever had about Deku flashes through his mind like a goddamn porn compilation, and he's promptly red in the face.

"No! Shut up. Don't you have a damn baby to get home to? Christ."

"As a matter of fact, I do. Call me if you go back into crisis mode." Kirishima pats him on the back—a little too roughly for the hit he'd taken earlier in the day—and heads out. Katsuki stews for a bit, finishing his beer before he vacated the bar.

Crisis mode, huh? As if he had a chance of leaving it long enough to get back in it.

Katsuki heads home in some kind of fugue state, thinking a million things and nothing at all.