Three Years Ago

It almost could have been any other day at school. Izuku was in the same jacket and tie, although his mother had insisted on a shiny pair of black shoes that would be wholly useless if a villain chose today of all days to attack U.A. They were slick on the bottom and completely unformed to Izuku's feet. So no, not exactly like any other day.

"Congrats, nerd," Katsuki said, sidling up to Izuku with his hands in his pant pockets, slouching them even further than they already were.

"Thanks, Kacchan!" Izuku bubbled. "You too!"

Katsuki grinned with one cheek. "I meant the tie, dumbass. Why would I congratulate you on the diploma—we all got the same one."

There had only been one period in time when Izuku had truly thought he'd graduate from U.A., a brief flash in time from first year. The time of his entry up until he'd left school in the winter. And never again thereafter.

No one quirkless had ever attended U.A.'s hero course. But here he was: the first.

"Oh," Izuku chuckled, looking down at his uniform. In addition to the new shoes, his tie was affixed properly, hanging down by his waist instead of thick and stubby up against his chest. "Yeah…figured the occasion called for it." He gestured to Katsuki, who was wearing the same red tie, albeit with an inscrutable knot. "Seems you thought the same."

"Yeah, well," Katsuki griped with a roll of his eyes, "the hag woulda pulled me off the stage if I picked up the damn paper without one, so whatever. Now you finally get to see me with the noose."

Izuku had heard that Katsuki had once worn a tie to appeal to Principal Nedzu and Endeavor two years back, but no one had thought to provide photographic evidence. Granted, it was eighteen witnesses against one Bakugou Katsuki, but still, it wasn't the same as seeing it. Whatever normalcy the day was disguised with, it was shattered by the sight of Katsuki in a proper tie.

"You're lucky we're going into a field where you almost never have to wear one." Izuku grinned.

"Make it actually never, and then we can call it lucky," Katsuki said. He looked to the side, in the direction of Shouto taking a nice picture with his mom, and Endeavor awkwardly off to the side. "And switch it so that old fogey is working for me. I'm no fucker's underling."

"One year, Kacchan," Izuku reminded. "And then more independence. Endeavor won't want to micromanage us anyway. He trusts us by now. It's a perfect fit."

"Tch."

"Izuku!"

Izuku turned to where his mom was standing with the Bakugous, waving over at him.

"I think it's time to go," Izuku murmured.

Katsuki said nothing but walked alongside Izuku as they made their way over to their parents on the green between a number of the school buildings and facilities. In the distance was a tent and temporary stage set up that was already being taken down with just a few stragglers remaining for pictures.

"Izuku…" Inko murmured as they drew near, her eyes watering again. She'd alternated between bawling and sniffling into her sleeve all day—Izuku could hardly look at her lest he start tearing up himself.

"Let's go, Mom." Izuku wrapped an arm around her shoulder and began to lead her away. In his last couple years of school, he'd put a couple additional inches on her, so her head rested comfortably against his shoulder. "Goodbye, Auntie, Uncle."

"Goodbye, Izuku-kun!"

Izuku heard no goodbye from Katsuki as he walked away, but that was alright. They'd be seeing each other soon, as there wouldn't be much of a break before work began. Besides, they'd spent the entire day together. The graduating class was seated in homeroom order, so he and Katsuki had remained in their numbers seventeen and eighteen spots next to each other. They'd graduated one right after the other, like something they might have dreamed of together many years ago.

So why did he feel so melancholy?

"I'm just so proud of you, Izuku," his mom said for the dozenth time since they'd had breakfast together that morning. "You've made history. Again."

"Th-thanks, Mom."

"Oh, Izuku," Inko cooed, reaching a thumb up to the corner of his eye where a tear had beaded. He hadn't realized he'd been sniffling, blinking back tears. "It's been an overwhelming day for all of us."

But it wasn't overwhelming. In fact, Izuku felt a sinking feeling of underwhelm, expanding heavily the pit of his stomach.

"I just…" Izuku turned back and saw the Bakugous walking the opposite way across the field. The last time he'd see Kacchan and himself in matching uniforms without bringing out a photo album. "It's nothing."

They continued walking and Inko's arm came to rest comfortingly on his shoulder. This was right. He and his mom would go home, watch a movie, probably not make snacks until halfway through since they'd been none too shy with the lunch bentos offered. Then they'd make dinner together, and Izuku would try to enjoy the early night but probably pass hours on his phone participating in the class group chat, wondering how long it would stay alive now that they had graduated. No longer did they need to ask if the heat was wonky in everyone else's room or if the pastries Rikido had left in the kitchen were up for grabs or if Kyouka could turn the music down or, alternatively, way up for everyone to hear.

He wondered if Katsuki would be the first to drop off. He was already the quietest in the group, surprising everyone when he would deign to respond. But he was witty and quick in a way that let Izuku know that he was reading the messages, even if his comments were few and far between.

He looked back again. One last, last glance at that Katsuki. His classmate, housemate, his…

"Did you forget something, Izuku?"

"I…"

Izuku swallowed, mind racing. It should have been nostalgia he was feeling, rose-tinted glasses over the horrors and learned camaraderie of the last three years. But nostalgia was something slow, disorienting with its tricks. What was within Izuku at this moment was fast, heart pounding, threatening to break out.

"Yes," he replied. "I did. You go to the car and I'll be right there."

"Okay, dear," Inko said, her voice not devoid of concern, but then it hadn't been for years. Before it could grow, Izuku ran.

Izuku didn't feel fast—hadn't in two years. Even with Hatsume's prototypes, inspired by Tenya's quirk or recreations of her old Power Suit and Electric Booster, nothing was fast after having known One For All simmering under his skin. Still, Izuku ran, kicking up blades of grass, his long tie flung over his shoulder.

"Kacchan!" Izuku shouted as he drew near. Katsuki and his parents turned back, but Katsuki waved his parents on. As they continued walking, Katsuki stood still.

"What?" Katsuki asked. "We parked in the other lot."

"It's not enough!" Izuku wheezed as he came to a stop in front of Katsuki, heaving, sweating through his dress shirt.

Katsuki squinted. "What're you talking about?"

"Waiting until work starts up to see each other," Izuku panted. "Not seeing each other every day. It's not enough."

"Deku," Katsuki said, a strange softness on his face between the confused narrowing of his eyes and the ever derisive smirk slicing across his face. "We live five minutes away. You'll come over for dinner. I'll come over for dinner. You'll get sick of having me around even before the hag does."

"No, that's not what I mean," Izuku said desperately. "I wanna see you every day. I can't let that go, Kacchan. I know it's selfish and that I might hold you back, but I'm going to push every moment to earn my place by your side. I wanna train together and learn together and fight together and be together."

The speech took more out of Izuku than the sprint had. His hands were sweaty and his face was warm—he was probably flushed from his bangs to his throat. His pulse was pounding beneath his jawbone. He was trembling.

Katsuki only blinked at him, frowning.

"Be…with me." Katsuki deadpanned.

"Yes!"

Katsuki took a step backward and Izuku followed, as if tied together by a string. "Don't say shit you don't mean."

"Wh-what?" Izuku sputtered, thrown. "That's the last thing I would do!"

"Then think a little more carefully about the words you're fucking saying!"

Izuku tilted his head. "Kacchan…"

"You don't want to be with me," Katsuki said, his voice strained, pressed between heavy weights. "So don't fucking say that shit."

Katsuki turned away, back in the direction of his parents, opposite Izuku's path. Izuku reached out reflexively, his fingertips brushing Katsuki's, and then he reached further. "Kacchan! I don't lie!"

Their hands met and he yanked.

"I'd never lie to you."

Katsuki turned back to Izuku harshly, pulling on his hand the same way Izuku had just done to his. Except Katsuki's shoes must not have been quite as shiny and new as Izuku's were, because Izuku's went slick on the bare-patched grass, one leg kicking out in front of him. His reflexes activated, all trying to save him from ending his last day at U.A. the way he'd started his first, tripping his way to the entrance exam. But he was caught against the small of his back by a familiarly strong arm, and then the sun disappeared from overhead, his face cloaked in shadow, and then a set of lips slotted against his.

It wasn't quite soft. It was plush lips pressed against hard teeth, an insistent tongue meeting his own and pulling him away, making Izuku crane his neck up, chasing it to meet again. It was rough where cheeks and chins weren't quite clean shaven, prickling and making his skin tender and that much more sensitive. It was Katsuki giving Izuku's bottom lip a quite intentional bite before pulling away and, of all things, scowling.

"That's what 'being' with someone is," Katsuki rasped, his voice and face so much rawer than Izuku presumed he was supposed to see. "Is that what you want?"

Izuku smiled, all those missing feelings of overwhelm leaking out his eyes and falling back towards his sideburns as he continued to look up at Katsuki. "It's not enough."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed again, nearly black with the sun blocked behind his head. It backlit his hair into something angelic, yet Izuku only wanted to run his hand through it, ruining that perfect halo.

"Alright, nerd," Katsuki began, his voice drawling with suspicion. "What would be?"

Izuku leaned up.

"Kiss me again."

The front door slammed just as a low growl released from Katsuki's throat. "What the fuck was that about?"

"What was what about?" Izuku asked, dropping the diaper bag and rolling his shoulder, still nestling little Sugu in his other arm.

They'd just endured an awkwardly tense car ride, Katsuki silent next to the driver while Izuku and Sugu had taken the back. Izuku had been fine with the silence, interrupted only by a couple text messages. A simple What's going on? from Shouto and a photo attachment from Ochako, a picture of Katsuki and the baby carrier out on the sidewalk followed by maybe twenty question marks. Even under the hat and the mask, the spikes of hair poking out were unmistakably his. "Fucking vultures," Katsuki griped when he saw it. He'd need a hoodie too to really get away with anything.

Izuku had put the phone away, but not before silencing it, having enough on his mind already. Katsuki had seemed to as well, though not at all peacefully. His arms had been crossed, fingers digging into the meat of his triceps. Now, as he kicked his shoes off, there were still little pink patches on his upper arms from the pressure.

"You're just going to quit being a hero?" Katsuki exclaimed, marching to the kitchen and setting the kettle to warm. "Indefinitely?"

"I don't see what choice we have!" Izuku met him if not in volume than in intensity. "If we're right, and all this was intentional, then that means Sugu is in danger. Someone might want to kidnap him, so no, I'm not giving up being a hero, I just have a particular ward."

Izuku thought of that suited man who'd briefly reached for Sugu before Izuku had seen him. The hesitation the man had shown before fleeing the scene. Had he been a good samaritan? Or a villain?

"That's something we're supposed to talk about before you just go and make a pigheaded decision alone, asshole!" A loud buzz sounded from Katsuki's pocket and he pulled his phone out by reflex before rolling his eyes and angrily shoving it back. "Fucking Shitty Hair."

The baby in Izuku's arms started fussing, his face beginning to twist and contort the way Izuku would feel his own do when he cried. Izuku shifted Sugu into both arms and began to bounce him as he walked out of the kitchen and searched for a cloth to swaddle him with.

"This is One For All, Kacchan," Izuku hissed as Katsuki followed him, finding the small, soft cloth and going to the couch. He sat, folding one leg into the back of the sofa, the other kicking out towards the coffee table. "This happened because they think there's a ghost of a chance that One For All is inside of him."

"You don't know that."

"Well, what else is it supposed to be?"

It brought fury raging into Izuku's chest. There was lava in his veins, shifting between liquid and solid, heavy and cutting and batting against his heart and lungs. As the feeling rose hot and wet to his eyes, Izuku realized it was frustration he was feeling. Frustration and grief all over again. Of course One For All was gone. He knew what it felt like to use the quirks, each one. By the time they'd been lost, he could call them as easily as Katsuki could his lifelong quirk, with as much skill as any of his other classmates. If it were hidden somewhere inside of him, he would know. It was a cruel taunt to think otherwise.

"Whatever," Katsuki bit. "It's not your fault, moron, it's the fault of some villains. You're not sacrificing your career for this."

"What, and sacrifice yours?" Izuku retorted as he grabbed Sugu's right arm and folded it over his chest, taking the corner of the blanket with him. He folded it tight and moved onto the left.

"That's what we would talk about, idiot!" Sugu let out another little cry just as the electric kettle went off in the other room. Katsuki stomped off to tend to it.

Izuku tucked in the bottom of the swaddle, but it remained shapeless. As Sugu kicked, the thing only grew looser until he was all but free and Katsuki was back in the living room, vigorously shaking the baby bottle, now creamy with formula and warmed water.

"There's nothing to talk about, Kacchan," Izuku insisted, trying to tug the swaddle tighter and watching it fall yet again. "Fuck, why won't this stay?"

"It's right, bottom, left," Katsuki said, handing Izuku the bottle and reaching over him on the couch. He sat in the same position—one leg curled against the couch cushion and one splayed out, just behind Izuku. "And if you think there's nothing to talk about, I'm never speaking to you ever again."

As Izuku watched Katsuki wrap the swaddle tight on the first try, he was sufficiently cowed, body suddenly slouched and defeated. His spine bent so much like Sugu's when he was cradled in Izuku's arm, a gentle curve down a head that couldn't quite hold itself up. It brushed Katsuki's stomach, and Izuku leaned back into it automatically. When Katsuki was finished with the swaddle, he stayed on the couch, legs crossed behind Izuku's sacrum as Izuku picked up Sugu and held the bottle to his slack lips. The baby was still fussing a little, but reflexively turned to the bottle.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said quietly, carefully, "because you're the number twelve hero and I'm fifty-nine. Because your stats are consistently better than mine ever are. Because one of us is quirkless, and the other isn't."

Izuku rocked with every slight shift in Katsuki's weight behind him, and tilted his head into Katsuki's breath when it ticked his ear, hot and humid. The click of Katsuki's tongue unsticking from the roof of his mouth sounded in Izuku's ear as he opened up to speak.

"You're. An. Idiot."

"No!" Izuku exclaimed, whipping around to face Katsuki nose to nose as he kept Sugu stable in his lap. "You are! Obviously you're the one who should stay at work and I should stay home. You have the higher ranking. You don't break machinery every time there's an actual villain fight just to keep up with other heroes. It's obvious, Kacchan—if I went to work while you stayed home, everyone would think we were crazy."

"I don't care what any extras think, dumbass—besides, I wasn't gonna suggest that rot." Izuku looked on at Katsuki, gaze heavy as he waited for him to continue. "We should just swap. We have weekly days off anyway, so we just make sure those don't line up and boom, only have to take a day or two off each week. Could even bring the tyke in if we're just doing desk duty. That's manageable."

"Not if one of us is on a case," Izuku argued, thinking too of all the looks he and Sugu had gotten when he'd had only the smallest of fits in the office. "We'd need to be available all the time. Kacchan, I'm serious. I've already decided. We can't trust sitters for this, so it has to be one of us and the other fills in the cracks. Besides, I have my laptop and I can just do bits of deskwork here and just be here for him. You won't talk me out of it."

Sugu was through with the bottle, the last dribbles of unfinished milk beginning to drip down the side of his tiny, pointed chin. Izuku righted it and set it on the coffee table to be cleaned later and watched as Sugu almost immediately began to doze off again. A good baby.

"Asshole," Katsuki muttered. "Self-sacrificing asshole."

Izuku turned again and was met with Katsuki's bangs brushing across his forehead, hiding those red eyes, so much like the ones he'd just seen contentedly in his lap, from his view. He didn't dare force Katsuki's head up, certainly not after he heard the smallest sniffle coming from him, but he did lean their heads together.

"I'm not," he said quietly. "We'll both be on this case, so it'll be solved in no time. Then we can have sitters and our parents watching Sugu and I can go back to work. It won't be long, I promise."

"…I don't like you."

Izuku smiled, hearing the pout in Katsuki's voice, how it brought the vowels right to the front of his face and made them less gravely than usual. "But I love you."

"Too bad."

Izuku bumped his head against Katsuki's, gently nudging it up. "We love you."

"Psh," Katsuki said, finally bringing his eyes up with an eye roll. "The brat can decide for himself. Hardly needs your shitty decisions becoming his."

"I think I make good decisions," Izuku gloated. "Look who my boyfriend is."

"Yeah, yeah," Katsuki drawled. "Like I said. Shitty decisions."

The sound of a baby rousing was more like that of a tiny bird squawking or a little piglet snuffling against its mother than anything remotely human. It woke Katsuki immediately, as it had three other times so far in the night. Izuku had insisted on taking all three feedings, claiming practice, claiming he was awake anyway, claiming that Katsuki needed sleep for work tomorrow. Well, the evening had come and gone, and now that it was the wee hours of that very morrow, Izuku once again pressed himself up on one arm, only for Katsuki to slam a pillow over his head, smacking him back down.

"My turn, dumbass."

"Kacchan," Izuku whined from beneath the pillow. "You need to sleep."

It was four a.m.—only an hour before Katsuki's alarm was set to go off anyway. He frequently woke up earlier even without a crying baby. Katsuki pressed the pillow harder into Izuku's face and leaned over to his ear.

"Careful, Deku," he taunted. "Keep this up and I'm gonna have to start thinking that you're hogging the baby, turning him into a little mini nerd."

"No, Kacchan—!"

"Go back to sleep or I'll put you to sleep."

Katsuki pressed down the pillow once more for good measure before rolling out of bed and shuffling over to the bassinet. Izuku might have decided he was the one to stay home, but he'd said Katsuki could fill in the cracks. If they were going to do this alone until the case was solved, then by golly Katsuki was going to do his share, even if he'd never verbally agreed. But the crying had grown louder and he winced with the effort of restraining from telling the baby to shut the fuck up.

He went ahead and unfurled the swaddle Izuku had tucked little Sugu in, already a massive improvement from the night before. The baby's limbs came to life instantly swimming through the air like the womb they'd never been in.

"C'mon, pipsqueak," Katsuki said as he hoisted the little guy up and carried him to the changing table in the living room. He clicked on a lamp, not wanting too much light to bleed under the bedroom door.

Katsuki only had a few diaper changes under his belt so far, but if he knew one thing, it was that baby shit was something else. Perhaps it was mild compared to things that had happened to his own body as a hero, but he still held his breath and squinted as he grimaced through it. His mother, who had been texting tips for the last twenty-four hours, had actually managed to send a useful one, which was to immediately upon removing the soiled diaper, cover the boy with the clean one. So as to avoid a fountain of piss pointed straight to the face.

"There ya go." Katsuki smiled, picking Sugu back up and taking stock of his handiwork. Tight around the hips and no leaks. He shook his head at the strangeness of this. It was so surprisingly easy, yet still so foreign—the diaper changing at least. The rest was only foreign, and Katsuki couldn't help but be reminded that it was a stranger's ass that he was wiping. A very cute stranger with stolen facial features.

The formula was the other bit he could do by rote. Easiest recipe his kitchen had ever seen. He got started on it one-handedly, noticing the drying bottles still pilled with water from the night's earlier feedings. Katsuki kept the light off as he felt for the formula box, the room only lit by the glow of the appliances.

When the bottle was ready, he pointed it at Sugu's mouth, watching as he took a moment to find it. When he did, he began suckling, and Katsuki held him with a little sway in his hips, side to side. "Good man," Katsuki praised as the milk disappeared.

According to the articles, this would be a year of his life—just this. Maybe some solids halfway through that time, but still the milk, the diaper changes, and the late-night rendezvous with someone who could barely communicate. Who he could barely get to know. Because what was there to know?

But Sugu could get to know him. Where he held Sugu right now, right in the crook of his arm, was the perfect distance where Sugu could make out his face. At any other distance, he and the rest of the world would be a blur, and only in grayscale. In a few weeks, he'd be able to make out the red of Katsuki's eyes.

"Just a little lump," Katsuki murmured as Sugu finished up the bottle. He set the bottle in the sink for later and moved Sugu up to his shoulder, waiting to see if he would need his usual burp, never stopping the sway of his hips.

A little lump that he was supposed to mold and knead into an actual person. A person who would keep growing and changing for the rest of Katsuki's life. Assuming…

Sugu's tiny, short breaths rose and fell against Katsuki's hand, so alive, so real. But there was still every likelihood that one day…poof. It was clear in Katuki's mind's eye. His arms suddenly empty, house filled with baby stuff suddenly in need of donation, the quicker the better, because why hold onto it? Izuku back at work and life just as before.

Katsuki shook his head, squeezing his eyes so tightly there was a backwards pressure on his eyeballs. His grip around Sugu's middle became all the firmer, taking stock of his warmth, of his fluttering heartbeat against Katsuki's shoulder.

Forever was unimaginable, but temporary was unthinkable.

There was a wet wrist dripping drool against his back, and Katsuki realized that Sugu had sucked his thumb into his mouth and fallen asleep again. He needed to be laid on his back in the bassinet, but Katsuki was as good as up for the day. And for the first time since last winter, when Izuku had caught the flu and taken a couple days off work—by force—Katsuki would be headed to work alone. Until then, Katsuki was prescribing Izuku with sleep uninterrupted by baby cries.

Katsuki tiptoed back into the bedroom, light on his feet in socks, and placed Sugu in the bassinet before grabbing it by either end and carrying it through the house. Past the changing table and the couch and the television all the way to the kitchen before setting it carefully on the ground. Then he opened the microwave for a shred of honey-yellow light on the countertop. Now, he could work.

Thanks to his mother's bentos—a few of which had already been eaten—none of Katsuki's old groceries had been touched. Vegetables were beginning to wilt, fogging up their plastic bags with condensation. His market-fresh eggs were going down in quality with every passing day, and there was some fish he'd really intended to cook a day or two ago.

He got the cutting board and his chef's knife out and fell back into his easy rhythm like sinking into a summer-warm pool. His fingers were precise as they scooted left across the cutting board, leaving little ringlets of spring onions behind. It was more than he could ever use in one day; the rest would go in a little baggie in whatever small corner of the freezer could be spared.

"Even slices are important, kiddo, so that they cook at the same rate," Katsuki explained. "It's all about control of the knife. Keep your index finger tucked in—you don't need it to guide."

There was a light coo in Sugu's sleep from the bassinet and Katsuki continued on.

"Eggs." He grabbed four from the carton, three in his left hand and one in his right. He gave the one a firm tap against the dark marble countertop that had sold him on this apartment, and dropped the egg cleanly in the bowl. "No need to crack against the corner of the bowl. The crack will be cleaner against a solid, flat surface."

Talking was easy like this. Into the early morning air that smelled mostly of dish soap from all the handwashing they'd been doing, for a somwhat captive audience. It reminded him of the easiest moments talking to Izuku, when he was dead asleep either in the late evening or early morning. Those were the times where it was easiest for Katsuki to whisper "Come home safe, Deku," and "Don't do anything stupid." Not like the idiot ever listened anyway, but maybe in those still moments it would creep through, and he'd listen with some part of himself that never did when he was awake.

Of course, it seemed Katsuki wouldn't have to be reminding Izuku of any of those things for a while now. He'd be safe and sound at home for now. Indefinitely.

Katsuki finished up all the eggs, four perfectly floating yolks ogling up at him as he reached for the chopsticks and a salt shaker.

"Salting the eggs early can make 'em look funny, but that's just the proteins being affected," Katsuki explained as he shook some salt in with one hand and began whisking with the chopsticks in the other. "Makes 'em retain moisture better in the long run."

Katsuki mixed the eggs until they were mostly homogenous. Only a few wisps of clear white between the yolk, just beginning to froth up. Then he opened a cabinet.

"Adding a little cornstarch slurry to the scrambled eggs makes it easier not to overcook them," Katsuki said, dropping the fine starch, almost like baby powder, into a small ramekin and taking it to the sink. "Not that you'll need the help, 'cause you'll be a pro." The words, slipping out as easily as the rest of his instructions had, gave him pause. He glanced over at the crib, brows suddenly furrowing. "Or whatever. You don't have to be…"

The best. Katsuki let the words dangle off the tip of his tongue, usually so sharp, and now dulled like a knife that'd gone too long without proper upkeep. He wanted his kid to be the best. To reach as far as Katsuki had and then one step further. Good grades, athleticism, ambition. But wasn't it talk like that that had left him so fucked up? It was definitely what had fucked Shouto up, straight from his father's hand.

"Just…be a good person, Sugu," Katsuki settled on. Then he finished fighting out the cornstarch clumps and drizzled the slurry in with his eggs.

He satisfied himself with prepping all the ingredients, only turning on the rice cooker as he kept the stovetop and fish grill off for the moment. The still dark morning granted him time to pull together a dashi from scratch instead of settling for the ready-to-use packet that smelled of scrambling mornings and rushed arrivals to work; of commute clothes sticky against Katsuki's back, bangs flatted to his forehead, the stale taste of manufacturing still on his tongue. While the niboshi sat in their bowl of water, he finely sliced some radishes that had been languishing in the fridge for a quick pickle. Every time the slap of the knife against the cutting board cracked a little too loudly, Katsuki dropped a glance at Sugu, but he rested through them all, little rounded tummy rising and falling.

The warm, Japanese spring joined Katsuki in the kitchen as he began multitasking, flipping on the induction stovetop and the grill to preheat. A sharp knife kissed the palm of his hand as it dropped through a cube of tofu to be added to the heating dashi-based broth on the stove for the miso soup. By the time a hand came up to cover a sloppy yawn, the meal was done. Without thinking about it, Katsuki had prepared a meal for two, all the ingredients heated or cooled to where they should be served.

With a sigh, Katsuki spooned out single portions and brought them to the coffee table, still dimly lit by the single lamp. Before folding his knees under it, he brought the bassinet over, peeking at Sugu as he did so. Still restful, despite the fact that Katsuki had neglected the swaddle. He'd remember to do it tomorrow. As Katsuki took his first bite of scrambled eggs, he looked back to Sugu and shook his head.

"Bet you're fucking jealous," he grunted out half his mouth. "No teeth, stuck with milk from a shitty powder." He popped a radish disk in his mouth, the puckering flavor bursting as his molars tore through it. "One day, I'm gonna cook for ya, kid. Then you'll really start living."

Katsuki glanced at the bedroom door a couple times as he ate through his meal. Sometimes, the fragrance of cooking fish or even the gentle grassy aroma from the rice cooker was enough to wake Izuku up in the mornings and drag him to Katsuki's side. Morning stubble would graze against morning stubble with a kiss on the cheek, the sensation sometimes overwhelming enough with its slight scrape of pain and surprising tickle that a shiver would run from Katsuki's neck to his shoulders. This morning, however, Izuku must have been tired enough from the late-night feedings that even a home-cooked meal wouldn't rouse him.

So when Katsuki finished with his food and dishes, he took care covering the leftovers. Some of them wouldn't keep wonderfully, namely the eggs, but the radishes would only grow more flavorful and everything else just needed a gentle reheat. Then it was time for a lonely commute and a shift with some extras who'd probably have questions if the texts that had been burning through his phone since the prior evening were any kind of portent.

He went back to Sugu, bending his arms to rest them on the edge of the bassinet. "Have a good day, buddy," he breathed. Then he reached down, and pressed a feather-light kiss against Sugu's thin eyebrow. "Pass that along to Deku, wouldja?" He cocked his head at the baby, letting out a quiet hum. Not quite enough. For good measure, he kissed Sugu again and smiled. That one was just for him.

And then, after tiptoeing the bassinet back into the bedroom and one last look at both of his boys, out like twin lamplights, Katsuki pulled out his phone. The bassinet was posed close enough to the bed that both boys' resting faces fit in the zoomed-in screen of the camera display. Katsuki centered them in frame and, with one blinding flash in the cold blue light of early morning, took the photo. Then, when he left, it was with a keepsake in his pocket.

Izuku's eyelids twitched once, then twice before fluttering open. He thought he'd seen a lighting bolt, or perhaps the light from one of Katsuki's explosions, deafened from the cotton-eared moments of early consciousness. As the gum from his eyes blinked away, he caught sight of a little baby right across from him, his new reality coming back to him all at once.

"When d'ya get so close?" Izuku murmured, smiling against his hand atop his pillow. The bassinet was right up against the edge of the bed, certainly not where it had been upon the last feeding Izuku had done.

It was a pleasant sight to wake up to. Even more, a pleasant sound to fall back asleep to, each long, relaxed breath of Izuku's counting for two or three of Sugu's huffed little baby breaths. One, two, three, one two three, like a slow waltz. And to that graceful dance, Izuku fell asleep once more.