Acceptance

It'd been approximately five-and-a-half months since Midoriya had first moved in and things were going suspiciously well.

Shouta was a realist (not a pessimist, despite Hizashi's insistence). In his experience, if things were going well for awhile, they were about to go wrong.

Horribly wrong, in some cases. Most cases.

But no, Hizashi, that did not make him a pessimist.

Just a realist.

Which is why he was currently trying not to psych himself up too much. He knew better than to harbour any false hope.

The phone rang in his hands again, sending faint vibrations down his aching wrist. He'd landed wrong on a roof last night, almost face planting as he narrowly avoided getting tangled in his own capture weapon and becoming a greasespot on the sidewalk below.

It was an amateur mistake—one a rookie hero might make. Not a seasoned pro. He hadn't gotten tangled up in his capture weapon since his student days.

He'd been distracted for weeks now, and if he didn't get this call over with it was only going to get worse.

Sighing, he was about to hang up and try again when there was the audible click of the receiver being picked up. "Hello, you've reached Kamiko Anayamo. How may I help you?"

"I need adoption forms."

There was the sound of something being dropped on the other end of the line followed by a quiet curse. "E-excuse me? Who is this?"

"Shouta Aizawa. Midoriya's current legal guardian. You called me using this number four months ago."

"O-oh. Right." A long, uncomfortable silence followed where she was probably pulling up his foster license and file. "Of course, Mr. Aizawa, I remember you now. You were looking after Midoriya. How may I help you?

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, pushing his palm against Sushi's face when she tried to investigate his sticky rice with her mouth. "That's not for you."

"Pardon?"

"I wasn't talking to you. I need adoption forms."

She muttered a soft "So I did hear him right" that Aizawa probably wasn't supposed to hear. "I can get that process started for you. What kind of child are you looking for?"

What kind of child was he looking for.

Like they were pets that he could just pick and choose from, like he could just 'put in an order' for the perfect kid.

Aizawa grit his teeth, quietly wrestling his temper back into submission. The last thing he needed was to blow up at—whatever she said her name was. He may have already forgotten.

"I'm not looking, I already found them." Aizawa said. "Izuku Midoriya."

The line went dead, like he'd managed to shock her into total silence. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that? It sounded like you said—"

"That I wanted to adopt Izuku Midoriya? Yes."

Silence again, then, "Sir, Mr. Aizawa, I think there's been some kind of administration mistake on our end. You see, Midoriya actually has—"

Aizawa's heart clenched in his chest, nerves almost eating him alive. Was there some kind of issue that prevented him from adopting Midoriya? Some relative or previous guardian vying for custody?

"—a bit of a . . .er, shall we say, disability that excludes him from getting adopted by a pro-hero. Even an underground one such as yourself, I'm afraid the Musfatsu agency can't be held responsible for any—"

He frowned, brows cinching as he stared down at Sushi's soft head. The cat blinked back at him, oblivious as always to his human problems. "What disability? I didn't see any disability listed on his medical history page."

There'd been. . .awful things on his medical history page. A history of hurt, but nothing about a disability that would make Aizawa unqualified to care for him.

"Ah, maybe it was excluded from the file. Let me contact our secretary and see if she can send you an updated copy."

"Thank you," he said, doing his best to sound somewhat genuine, "but I think it would be quicker if you could just tell me over the phone."

"Midoriya is," Anayamo lowered her voice, whispering the diagnosis across the line like it was a foul curse, "quirkless. He was professionally diagnosed at a younger age and has the extra toe joint."

"Oh," Aizawa felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. "Is that all?"

"Is that—" She stuttered, "is that all? With all due respect, a hero of your standing would be ill-suited with a quirkless child. Just imagine if the media got wind of it."

"Then it's a good thing I don't care about the media," Aizawa said, anger leaking into his voice. "Now can I adopt him or not, Anayamo?"

Clearly picking up on his fraying mood, Anayamo tried to back-peddle. "It's not that we harbour any prejudices against the quirkless, Mr. Aizawa, please don't misunderstand. But we would hate for you to suffer any dissatisfaction or backlash from making this. . . decision."

Aizawa was about to tell her where, explicitly, she could shove her dissatisfaction and backlash when the front door swung open on its hinges, a head of green hair popping into view.

"He just walked in the door, I'll talk to you later," he said. Then he hung up, not bothering to wait through her plaintive good-byes. "How was school, kid?"

The kid kicked off his new shoes, not bothering to see where they landed as he bent to greet his pack of furry admirers.

They mewed for his attention, rubbing against his knees like they'd never known true affection in all their nine lives until that very moment.

"Traitors," Aizawa muttered under his breath.

"School was fine," Midoriya answered, stretching back up to his feet. He stared at Aizawa, a strange tension pulling at his shoulders. "Who was that?"

Aizawa blinked, trying to come up with a plausible story that wasn't I'm actually trying to adopt you right now and was speaking to your social worker over the phone, but it seems like she and the agency have some seriously old-fashioned ideologies about quirkless people that're making the whole process a hell of a lot harder and I think I want to set them on fire.

Didn't exactly roll of the tongue.

It's not that he wanted to keep it a secret from Midoriya, but what if he couldn't adopt the kid?

What if the agency said no? What if he got Midoriya's hopes up for nothing?

He would sooner throw himself off a roof than set his charge up for disappointment, not after everything the kid had already been through.

So, no. He wouldn't be telling the kid until he knew for sure the adoption could pull through.

"Hizashi," Aizawa blurted after trying and failing to come up with anyone better. That was one of the downsides to having no social life; less alibies.

Midoriya just nodded, hands clenching around his backpack straps. "Okay. Didn't you just see him at UA though?"

Shit—er, shoot. He was trying to lower his internal cursing after he'd accidentally f-bombed in front of the kid last week.

Midoriya had thought it was hilarious, but still. Something about cursing near the traumatized foster-child didn't sit right with him. "Yes. But we had to talk about. . .stuff."

"Okay," Midoriya said again. "I'll be in my room."

And then he turned and walked away, closing his door behind him with a firm click.

Aizawa stared at the door's wood panelling, suddenly feeling off-kilter. Like someone had moved everything in the room slightly to the left.

They didn't have any after school traditions, per-se, but usually Aizawa would linger in the kitchen as Midoriya fixed himself an after-school snack, decompressing while he questioned Aizawa about what happened in the Hero Course that day.

For him to deviate from their routine wasn't necessarily bad, but it was alarming.

Had Aizawa said something wrong? There was no way Midoriya could've overheard the details of his conversation, right?

Maybe the kid had seen through his lie?

Or he'd just had a bad day at school and Aizawa was reading into things too much.

He sighed, shaking his head as he slid Midoriya's usual choice of snack back into the cupboard.

Midoriya didn't leave his room for the rest of the night.

He'd poked his head out at around eight, grabbed the plate of dinner Aizawa had been keeping warm for him, and said something about, "—so much homework due tomorrow, sorry."

And then the door was closing again, the kid's shaggy head disappearing from view.

He tried not to be disturbed by Midoriya's behaviour. The kid had mentioned a big project a couple weeks back, something to do with how hero ethics shaped society.

Midoriya was probably just overeager about the report, losing himself in a storm of chicken-scratch notes and muttering.

(He tried not to think about how Midoriya usually worked at the dining room table, bouncing ideas off Aizawa as he graded 1-A's pitiful papers).

Running a hand down his face, he forwent marking that night and went straight to bed, burying himself in his familiar sleeping bag as he tried not to think about how weird it felt not to say goodnight to Midoriya.

It was strange, but maybe the kid just needed space.

They had been around each other a lot the past few weeks, and weren't most kids differentiating from their parents at his age?

He froze, hand pausing where it'd been blindly grappling around for his phone's charging cord.

Parents.

Him. A parent.

He shook his head. That was a terrifying thought.

(A distant part of him loved everything about it).

Either way, he was probably just blowing all of this out of proportion, which meant he should sleep before he got anymore paranoid.

Sighing, he managed to connect his phone before closing his eyes, trying to find his usual sense of relief at being able to finally get some sleep.

Aizawa's dreams that night were full of Midoriya's bruised face, rejected adoption papers, and old, old villains.

Breakfast the next morning was. . .weird.

Aizawa was no top chef, but he liked to think his cooking was edible. When he bothered to cook, that is.

Which was rarely, but whatever.

Since Midoriya had arrived he'd been cooking routine meals, suddenly having to make consistent trips to the grocery store for things like proteins and carbohydrates.

Gone were the days of juice-packet lunches (although Aizawa still kept a stash of them in one of the drawers of his bedside table).

Usually, Midoriya snapped down the food like he was worried Aizawa would take it away, arms wrapped around his plate and fork clenched between his fingers.

This morning, he was quiet. Sliding the semi-burned eggs around his plate and poking at the bacon like he thought it was going to explode.

Which, given the current state of the apartment microwave, was entirely possible. There was probably a colony of bacteria in there, and who was he to say it wouldn't eventually gain sentience.

Aizawa watched silently, trying not to let his worry show.

A couple minutes before the time he usually left for school—Midoriya generally tried to stay as long as possible, so the fact that he was leaving early was. . .odd—the boy pushed away from the table and set his plate down by the sink.

"Thanks," he murmured, sliding his backpack up over his shoulders.

Aizawa blinked at him, the barely touched breakfast, and back again. "You're welcome."

He waited for Midoriya's usual goodbye (no, it wasn't the highlight of his mornings, shut up) and almost fell out of his chair when the kid left without so much as a backward glance.

The door closed behind him, green curls getting tossed around in the brewing storm outside.

The pro-hero sat in stunned silence, not so much as twitching when Sushi hopped up on the counter and started making short work of Midoriya's leftover bacon.

Was he getting bullied? Had Aizawa said something in the past twenty-four hours that could've triggered him?

He tried to think back, but his mind was a tired mess of jumbled patrols, 1-A essays, and the stress of trying to file for adoption.

Sighing, he checked his phone, winced at the time, then pulled himself away from the table.

He'd talk to Midoriya when he got home. They could sit down and get to the bottom of whatever was clearly troubling him.

For now, he had to go make sure all his other problem children—and problem co-workers—didn't get themselves killed at UA.

The door shut with a foreboding click as he left.

Like he'd said, breakfast was weird.

"I got this over the weekend." Hizashi said after he'd wheeled over to Aizawa's desk in his office chair, the UA staff room devoid of life except for the two pros.

Being a teacher at a hero school was exhausting—both physically and mentally—so few staff members stuck around after the final bell.

Which is why Aizawa was currently squinting down at Hizashi, his hand resting on the doorhandle where he'd been about to make his escape.

"Got what," he asked flatly.

"This!" The blond shoved a bag into his arms, wiggling like a gleeful slug in his chair.

Heaving an internal sigh—that maybe came out a little external, too—Aizawa pulled the bag open and peered inside.

When nothing exploded or pelted him with glitter, he deemed the bag safe and stuck his hand in.

It contained a soft, dark purple sweater.

He unraveled it, eyes catching on the little fabric cat ears stitched to the hood. Then he slanted an eyebrow at Hizashi. "This is too small for me."

The other man flushed. "It's not for you! It's for the kid."

Oh. Aizawa glanced at it again, mind immediately picturing Midoriya in the dark fabric. It was. . .perfect. Precious.

He'd fit right in with Sushi and the other fur-demons.

"Thanks."

He pulled it closer to his chest, pretending not to see the smug, satisfied look Hizashi sent him.

"I knew you'd like it."

"Shut up."

"It's a gift, for when the adoption goes through. I know you're secretly a sentimental sap, so I figured you'd want something to commemorate the occasion."

Hizashi really did know him well. Aizawa narrowed his eyes, some might even say too well.

Having people close to you was annoying.

"The adoption hasn't even gone through yet. Don't get your hopes up."

"Oh, please." Hizashi waved his hand like he could physically brush aside Aizawa's words. "They'd be stupid not to. You're a great dad."

Aizawa's face was doing something distinctly un-stoic, so he ducked it into his capture weapon.

"So," Hizashi said after a moment of silence. "When can I meet him? We live in the same apartment building and I've never even seen the kid, c'mon Sho'!"

And that was the end of Aizawa's feel-good moment.

He opened the door, sweater still pressed against his chest. "Never." The purple gift in his arms weighed on his conscience. It was annoying. He poked his head around, fixing the blond with one last glare. "Thank you. Goodbye."

Hizashi's laughing protests faded behind him as Aizawa marched towards Nedzu's office, ignoring the few timid first-year students that were still milling around.

The door to the quirked creature's office swung inward before Aizawa had even wrapped his hand around the handle.

The rodent (mammal?) sat behind his desk, paws steepled in front of him as he eyed Aizawa with his beady peepers.

Aizawa would rather be caught dead then ever admit it, but Nedzu was one of the few things on this earth that terrified him.

"Hello." He started, slipping into one of the child-sized plastic chairs Nedzu kept in front of his desk. Aizawa had always suspected that their smaller size was intentional, so whichever unlucky adult sat in them would feel like a wad of gum beneath the principal's boot.

Like a rat caught in a trap.

"Greetings," Nedzu replied pleasantly. Or at least, Aizawa hoped it was pleasantly. It was hard to tell sometimes.

He cleared his throat. "I assume you already know what I'm here for."

The creature chuckled, the sound sending a chill racing up and down Aizawa's spine. "You assume correctly, but how about you enlighten me anyway? I do so enjoy the sound of your voice."

Well. Aizawa was not a fan of that.

Not a fan of that at all.

He grumbled a curse under his breath, one that Nedzu no doubt heard with his heightened hearing. "I'm trying to adopt, but the case worker I've been assigned is under the impression the child is a 'special case' requiring 'special attention'."

He made little air quotes around the words with his fingers, realized that was exactly what most of his students did as a nervous tic when they were talking to him, and grimaced.

Nedzu's eyes gleamed. "And what makes this child a special case?"

You already know. "He's quirkless, sir."

The rodent flipped one of the files on his desk open. "Yes, that is what is seems to say here, although I suspect they gave you a much more. . .toned down version."

Aizawa's head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the stack of papers. "What?"

"The language they used here is quite, for lack of a better word, quirkist."

"Let me see that."

Nedzu studied him for a moment, then promptly snapped the folder shut and slid it back into one of his desk drawers. "No. You're already emotionally compromised when it comes to this case, I wouldn't want you lashing out in—albeit perfectly justified—anger at Midoriya's caseworker."

"So you want me to do nothing?" Aizawa tried to keep the biting tone out of his voice, but it was hard. He wanted to tear the whole department apart. "Just sit back and let the quirkless kids who come after Midoriya face the same treatment?"

"Yes."

Aizawa sputtered, but before he could interrupt the rodent continued speaking,

"Yes, I want you to do nothing. But me," he rubbed his paws together gleefully. "I am not emotionally connected with this case. I shall tear them apart from the outside-in."

Not for the last time, Aizawa was reminded why Nedzu would make a truly horrifying enemy. "Thank you," he breathed. "And about the adoption?"

"Oh, I have no doubt that I'll be able to, shall we say, speed the process along."

A smile almost slipped onto Aizawa's face, but he managed to squash it at the last moment. "Thank you. This means—this means a lot."

For the barest trace of a second, so quickly that he almost thought he imagined it, the rodent's face softened into a genuine smile. "I know. I would have been had-pressed myself to find a better guardian for the boy."

There was a very stubborn lump stuck in his throat that he refused to acknowledge. He turned to leave, scooping his bag up off the floor as he went.

Before he got too far, Nedzu spoke up again, "I look forward to meeting him, someday. I do so hope you'll bring him around to UA in the future. I think me and him would get along swimmingly."

With one last nod, Aizawa disappeared out the door, Nedzu's maniacal laughter following him out into the hallway. It was eerily reminiscent of his interaction with Hizashi earlier.

What was it with everyone wanting to meet his kid?

The kid, the reminded himself as he drove back to the apartment. Midoriya wasn't his kid.

Yet.

(A/N): OKAY, I know that pesky chapter count changed again but this was almost 6000+ words long so...last time chapter next i swearsies

i had to split it. i'll update with the next part as soon as i finalize it! rn its just a couple key smashes in a word document lol

thanks for reading! reviews fuel me 👹