Katsuki approached Endeavor Agency incognito. Like yesterday, he had on a facemask and a cap, but now he was also sporting a hoodie and backpack. The hoodie was emblazoned with the initials of the local college, Musutafu University, and with the backpack, he looked like nothing more than an ordinary student. Plus, if he held the backpack around the straps and thrust his chest out like his nerdy boyfriend had racing to get to class back at U.A., his whole posture graduated to something unrecognizable as Bakugou Katsuki or Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Only when he was safely in one of the skyscraper's elevators did Katsuki do away with the hood, but he kept the rest in place. Maybe the mask would make people think that he'd been away due to an illness, and they'd stand the fuck back.

It was a perfect plan until the moment the elevator door pinged open.

"So, you and Izuku have a love child," Shouto stated, standing right in front of the sliding door.

"Fuck—!" Katsuki recoiled, falling back against the mirrored wall of the elevator. "How did you know I was coming?"

"I saw you approaching from the window," Shouto explained. "In that outfit, you were either you or a criminal, and most criminals don't walk right into hero agencies."

Katsuki scoffed, throwing off the backpack and letting it sling off one shoulder as he pushed past Shouto. Clearly he needed a high-level disguise. Like a birthday clown, or a wig to look like Denki—no one would ever have a reason to stop him to talk.

"We don't have a love child," Katsuki spat.

"Oh, so you don't have a biological baby, born to the both of you before marriage?"

Shouto blinked at Katsuki, and from the vacant look on his face, Katsuki could tell it was a genuine question despite how bitchy it sounded. He scowled and tore off his sweatshirt. All the flame-quirked heroes in the office made it feel like an eternal steam room, a hot spring they could charge millions for.

"Fine, I guess he's a fucking love child."

"I see," Shouto said. "Do you…need any help?"

"Not from a Todoroki," Katsuki said as he stomped off towards his desk.

Katsuki already spent a worrying amount of time amongst Todorokis. The last thing he needed was them rubbing off on him any more than they already had, or otherwise spreading their crazy influence in his direction.

"Okay," Shouto said, following behind. "Well, at least try to answer your text messages or tell Izuku to. Everyone is concerned."

Katsuki whipped around. "What's there to be concerned about? And who's everyone?"

"Our friends." Shouto frowned. "And having a child is difficult for anyone. Much more so when it's unexpected."

"Yeah, well, I trust Deku," Katsuki grumbled as he sat down at his desk chair and tossed his shit to the side.

"Then I suppose you'll be fine," Shouto mused. "Do you have a picture?"

Katsuki squinted up at Shouto. "Why?"

"New parents always want to show off pictures of their children."

Katsuki eyed Shouto for a moment longer before taking out his phone. It was littered with notifications, all of which he swiped past as he opened the camera app.

His most recent photo was the one he'd taken on the way out the door that morning. Sugu's features were slightly hidden in the dark room, but his hair resembled Izuku's more than it ever had. Dark, dark green under the scant light creeping into the bedroom from the living room. And Izuku, of course, looked how he always did. Mouth slightly open and drooling—much like Sugu's—as always happened when Izuku's quality of sleep was shitty. Katsuki smiled softly.

"Hmm," Shouto hummed.

"What?" Katsuki snapped, snatching his phone back. He hadn't realized Shouto had been looking over his shoulder.

"He looks exactly the same as in that media picture."

"You can only see the side of his head in that one!"

Shouto shrugged. "There's not much more to look at than that."

"Fuck off," Katsuki snarled, pocketing the phone. "Whadda you know?"

"Not much," Shouto conceded. "You haven't told me anything. Anyway, I'm sure you know you're on desk duty."

"Don't tell me your dad finally kicked it and you're my boss," Katsuki snarked. When Shouto only returned him a bland expression, he groaned and clicked his computer on. " 'S why I'm at my desk, hotshot."

"Alright," Shouto said, retreating. Off to patrol or be on call like the ungrateful bastard he was. "Text your friends, Katsuki."

Katsuki rolled his eyes as Shouto walked away.

Desk duty. Like a fucking chump. Catching up on his and Izuku's emails, no doubt. Later on was the dreaded meeting with PR to figure out something to explain…everything. It had shown up on his schedule, probably courtesy of the big boss himself with capitalized words like MANDATORY and CONFIDENTIAL.

That rotted feeling in his stomach returned at the idea of plotting a strategy for opening this part of their lives up to the public. Katsuki could already predict the scenarios they'd have to prepare for and try to anticipate. Accusations of being inappropriate parents, that they shouldn't have a kid they hadn't planned for. As though people didn't have unplanned kids every day. But what did Katsuki have to offer to prove them wrong?

Katsuki clicked away from his calendar and back to his desktop. They had a PR team whose job it was to plan for these kinds of events—that sure as hell wasn't Katsuki's job. He'd put it out of his mind until then.

Aside from that upcoming clusterfuck, his day was somewhat freeform. So, ignoring his email icon for the moment, Katsuki logged into the quirk database. There were surprisingly few recent entries, but Katsuki would be scrolling back quite a ways anyway. He clicked on the search bar and typed in procreation.

He only got a few dozen hits, which was promising for narrowing down the field, but he'd also have to do the same hunt with different synonyms like conception and reproduction. From there, it was a matter of nixing any candidates who weren't female and didn't have a birthday in the same ballpark as his. Unfortunately, that was all the detail Katsuki had to work with. Deku would probably be doing the same thing at home whenever he got a spare moment—they'd have to share findings to make sure to avoid overlap.

Katsuki clicked on the first option and worked out the crick in his neck already forming with a head tilt to the left and to the right. And then, he got to work.

"You know, I don't think we've been properly introduced. That's probably been confusing for you. My name is Midoriya Izuku, also known as Hero Deku. And I'm your…"

Izuku tilted his head as he looked down at Sugu, searching for contact with those bright red eyes that wandered vaguely in his direction. He moved in closer to the bassinet, seeing Sugu's eyes lock on as he reached that thirty-centimeter range. Izuku almost would have called the look recognition—but it only lasted a moment before Sugu's eyes lost him again.

"Huh," he said. "I guess I don't know what you should call me." His head rotated the other way and his mouth curved into a smile.. "What do you think?"

All Sugu could offer was a bubble of drool trailing down his chin, to which Izuku nodded.

"Very good idea—I'll let Kacchan know your opinion."

Izuku still tasted Katsuki's breakfast on his lips—he'd have to remember to brush his teeth soon. It was still early morning, though, judging by the sliver of sunlight that was just beginning to stretch on the floor. By that estimate, Katsuki had arrived at work maybe an hour earlier. He'd be on desk duty, as was protocol after going through such a life upheaval. Katsuki would rear against it—guaranteed—but at least he was working. Izuku wasn't on any cases and wasn't likely to be assigned any while carrying his limited status. The itch to work was already tickling the back of his mind, urging him to turn on the news, jog to the gym, don his uniform and walk an unofficial patrol.

He disregarded it. He could work out once Sugu was back asleep, and that would be the level of training he'd consider adequate for a regular day off. And then he could…

Katsuki had just about emptied out the fridge of raw ingredients, leaving little besides the wall of bentos remaining, so there wasn't any cooking to be done. He could always clean, and surely would before Katsuki returned home. But then?

Work had never afforded Izuku many more spare hours than those needed to eat and sleep. Nor had school, and certainly the war hadn't even spared him that much. Izuku glanced around the apartment. He supposed there were still more pieces of baby furniture that needed constructing, but he could probably complete that by the end of the day. He'd have to stretch tasks out much longer with his current indefinite paternity leave.

"What are we gonna do, little guy?" Izuku asked. But the baby was already fast asleep again.

Right. Despite the constant company, it still wasn't so much a matter of we so much as it was a matter of Izuku alone. And perhaps that's why he did the thing he'd been putting off doing for days, and picked up his phone. He scrolled past the slew of texts that had gone unread and typed a short line:

Hey! You off work?

"Oh my god, it's really true."

"Yeah, still doesn't feel like it."

"I bet," Ochako said, her voice low as she knelt down beside the bassinet. "Geez, he's cute."

"He is," Izuku said warmly. "Just wait until you see his eyes—they're just like Kacchan's."

"That's what makes him cute to you," Ochako corrected. "I'm talking 'bout these little chubby cheeks."

She just barely brushed Sugu's peach fuzz with a rounded fingertip, smiling to herself. Izuku was struck with an image a few years down the line of Ochako's quirk being the most fun for a toddler to play with. Katsuki's would be limited at best, and even if Izuku still had One For All, none of those quirks had been particularly kid-friendly. Ochako's would be just the one to entertain a kid for hours—or until either of them got seasick.

"No freckles?"

"Hmm? Oh, no," Izuku replied, kneeling down beside her, resting his hands on his knees as hers braced the edge of the crib. "He'll need a lot more hours in the sun before we'll know. I mean, Kacchan gets little freckles on his shoulders in the sun, so he'll probably have some, but we won't really see for a couple years."

"Wow, such an expert," Ochako said, bumping Izuku with her shoulder. "Just like being back in school, huh? Bet you already have at least three notebooks."

"Just one," Izuku said sheepishly. "And no, I feel like such an idiot. There's so much to know and almost none of it is obvious. All he can give us is that he's hungry, tired, or needs changing. There's nothing instinctive about, like, which stroller brand is best for living in a small apartment or putting together a damn car seat. Nothing instinctive about how to pass on all your good traits and keep Sugu from getting the bad ones. What?"

A big smile broke on Ochako's face and she waved Izuku away as she tried to wipe it off to no avail. Her cheeks stayed big and round as Sugu's.

"Sugu," she cooed, echoing the name. "Like sugoi. Kacchan, sugoi!"

"Oh, I don't think that's what we were thinking," Izuku chuckled.

"But it works," Ochako said, almost smug when she raised her brows at Izuku. "He's surprising and amazing."

"That's for sure," Izuku agreed. "Definitely a surprise."

Sugu seemed rapt as they both leaned against the bassinet. His eyes followed Ochako and Izuku, particularly their fingers gesticulating over the crib's edge. Izuku wondered if he had any idea that he was meeting someone new. If he could pick up on the floral notes in Ochako's perfume when neither Izuku nor Katsuki usually bothered with cologne. They shared a deodorant that had a sharp musk smell, though—did babies notice stuff like that? Could he see how much smaller Ochako's hands were than Izuku's? How dainty they were with their pinkened fingertips compared to his tiger-stripe scars and misshapen bones?

A moment passed before Izuku noticed that Ochako's gaze had turned from Sugu onto him. She rested her cheek on her wrist and blinked up at him. "Deku-kun. Are you happy?"

Izuku exhaled, brushing a finger lightly through Sugu's curled, green wisps. Apparently they'd fall out soon and he'd grow a whole new head of hair. Darker like Izuku's own or perhaps he'd take on more of Katsuki's traits. Doubtless, Sugu would be able to carry either of them off.

"Honestly, it's still mostly confusing," he said, drawing his hand to stroke Sugu's delicate head tenderly. "It's like my mind can't catch up to what's happened."

"Well, if your mind can't catch up, no one's can."

Izuku chuckled wryly. "Great."

"And, in turn, your mind will catch up faster than anyone else's would," Ochako declared. "Yours and Katsuki-kun's. Just look at him. You'll fall in love with him soon enough."

The hidden accusation stung, like passing through underbrush only to belatedly find that the supposedly harmless leaves were barbed and hooked at their edges. Was he that obvious? His disconnect with the baby was that quantifiable, something Ochako could see after only a few minutes? Was he that obvious to Katsuki too?

"It's okay—it's okay!" Ochako rushed upon seeing Izuku's face. "It's not a bad thing!"

"Isn't it?" Izuku whispered. "It's not like it's a good thing. How could it be okay that I…if I don't yet?"

"I'm pretty sure that's normal," Ochako said. "He's not exactly a whole person yet. You can't talk to him about heroes or make katsudon for him or help him with his homework. You're not getting all that good stuff yet—it's only the beginning."

"But I'm supposed to love him unconditionally. He's cute and he's a part of me," Izuku murmured. He blinked, opening his eyes wide before squeezing them shut again, keeping things under control.

"You're not withholding anything, Deku-kun," Ochako said, taking Izuku's hand and squeezing the sweat from palm, his heart line, his life line. "You're just still getting to know him. And adjusting."

Izuku took a deep breath. With it came a little bit of settling, down his throat and between his ribs. "I just wish…I wish I could skip the confusion. Loving him should be the easy part, right?"

"No," Ochako shook her head with a compassionate smile. "It'll be different for everyone. But feeling guilty won't make it easier."

"But it should be. I mean, look at him," Izuku said, tracing a single finger from his head down his shoulder to his chubby sausage arms. "He's gorgeous. Kacchan's eyes, of course, but look at these little fingers! They have dimples in the knuckles—dimples. And he's just so tiny, can you believe it? I had no idea they were this small."

Ochako smiled. "It sounds like you're halfway there already." She carded her fingers through the hair above his ear, where he'd let it get a little long like he was back in high school again. He'd probably have the full look back before long—a haircut was sounding like a distant whim now.

"Well…halfway in three days isn't bad, I guess," Izuku allowed. "So long as it doesn't slow down."

Ochako shook her head fondly, putting her hand back on the crib. "Always gotta be running so fast," she said. "Okay, let's get started on that dresser. Soon this baby is gonna have so many clothes he's not gonna know what to do with them."

"He's not going to have that many," Izuku said, opening box one of two that he'd dragged into the bedroom before her arrival. "I don't think me and Kacchan are really trying for the best dressed baby award."

Ochako looked at Izuku skeptically. "Really?"

"Um…" Izuku looked down at the shirt he was wearing. A white tee shirt Katsuki had declared was Indoor only, Deku when the underarms had grown a bit too discolored and it had started growing little holes around the seams on the shoulders and the bottom hem. Right now it also had a barely visible stain of formula and spit that Sugu had burped back up after his most recent feeding. "Yes?"

"Really," Ochako asked again, her voice deadpan. "You're telling me that you, Midoriya Izuku, hero fanboy extraordinaire, aren't going to be using your son as your newest little model for hero merch? He's not going to wear a cape saying I am here before he can walk?"

Izuku's mind lit up with the possibilities. A winter onesie with a hood with green bunny ears like his own costume. A set of black shirt and pants with an orange X emblazoned across the front. A little pink and black onesie with fat fuzzy socks for Ochako's costume, because why limit Sugu's gender expression?

"I'm sure," Ochako continued, "that Momo would break her I don't want to disrupt the economy rule for little baby-sized costume replicas."

"Ochako-chan," Izuku gasped, "you're a genius!"

Ochako laughed. "Hopefully! If we have to put together this furniture."

Izuku took all the various planks out of the box and found the instructions folded like a hand-sized accordion. Probably just about the right size for Sugu, actually. "It'll be fine," he said.

"Better than doing it with Katsuki-kun, I imagine," Ochako noted as she flipped all the planks so that their assigned numbers pointed up. "Sounds like a nightmare."

Izuku was silent, lips pursed as he read through the instructions. He'd already been defeated by one instruction booklet this week, and he wouldn't let another take him down.

"Well? Isn't it?"

Izuku put down the booklet and searched for the piece of particleboard labeled with a 1. He stared at it, pointedly looking away from Ochako as he said, "Yes." Ochako giggled and Izuku bit back a smile.

Izuku and Katsuki had grown to be able to put aside a lot of their baser urges to one-up the other and prove that their idea was the best one on the field. Years of strategizing together, developing trust and learning each other's strengths had earned them that skill. Their time living together too had boasted a fairly equivalent division of labor.

Such was not the case when putting together assembly-required furniture.

All those years of listening to and trusting each other's opinions when faced with the disembodied pieces of a bed frame or desk were out the window, much like a few of the nuts and screws had been last time they'd had to build together.

Things were much smoother with Ochako, who allowed Izuku to handle the instructions and tell her what to do as slowly planks became drawers, which became a dresser. They were just about done when Izuku's phone rang—and there were only three or four numbers that weren't set to silent this week.

"Hold on," Izuku said as he reached for the device.

Izuku's lockscreen was lit up with Kacchan 3. When he drew his thumb down on the screen to read the text, he frowned.

"What is it?" Ochako asked.

Izuku put the phone down and checked the bassinet. Still sleeping soundly.

"Looks like you're not the only one to meet Sugu today."

Ochako cocked her head to the side. "Who else is meeting him?"

"Ah," Izuku started. "Just…all of Japan."

The shift in Katsuki's disguise from day to night was as simple as removing the sunglasses and shifting the brim of his hat so far down that he mostly had to stare down at the sidewalk to guide his way home. It was just as well—he could keep his eyes out for any errant gum or dog shit whilst avoiding eye contact with any and all passersby.

Underneath the hat and the hood and the mask, he wore a pair of corded earbuds, the white cable visible even as the sky turned dark. The nail in the coffin saying don't approach me, don't talk to me, I'm busy. It was all set to work, except he didn't even make it out the door.

"Taking home confidential documents?"

Katsuki angled his shoulder, dropping Burnin's hand off of it as he pulled the papers off the printer. They filled the room with the smell of warmth, like stuffy steam and static electricity. Burnin's inherent smokiness covered all of that, though, as soon as Katsuki slipped the papers into an opaque folder.

"They're just for Deku," he said, pulling an earbud from his ear. "Can't email 'em, so we're doing the old fashioned way."

Even with their computers logged into VPN's, email was just too risky. There were too many quirks either adaptable to technology or strictly made for it and too many hackers for hire. And as technology grew more advanced, so too did the quirks. Katsuki couldn't imagine what the next generation of quirk wielders would be capable of.

"Woulda been fine either way," Burnin said. "Glad to hear that Deku's able to do some working from home, though. I know that after I gave birth, I was good for absolutely nothing short of feeding the baby and feeding myself."

"Ah, how is the squirt?" Katsuki asked. "Looking like the Ghostbusters Slimer yet, or has he chosen not to take after you?"

The question came out without much thought. Katsuki had never been one to ask about the family before, not in a Todoroki-run office or ever. But he didn't know many people with kids, certainly not young ones, and Burnin's was only four, if memory served.

Burnin raised her brows, the out-of-character moment apparently not going unnoticed. "He's fine. No quirk yet, but I don't mind a late bloomer. Shoot, seeing all you kids grow up as fast as you had to makes me wanna keep him quirkless and in preschool forever."

"Can hardly imagine that snot-nosed kid saving the world in ten years," Katsuki said. "Then again, I woulda said the same thing about Deku back then. 'Course, he actually was quirkless."

"Yeah, it's wild to look at them and imagine what they could be," Burnin said wistfully. "I don't think any of the kids in preschool have gotten their quirk yet, though, so it's a little easier to imagine them just being babies forever. You're gonna miss even these days with your little one. They grow up so, so fast at first, and then it just…doesn't really slow down."

Unlike Katsuki, Burnin was still in full costume, and Katsuki could hardly muse over how unusual it was these days for a whole herd of four-year-olds not to have one quirk manifestation yet before she was lifting her mask to rub under her eyes. Eyeliner smudged, but the mask was partially responsible. It would smudge more as soon as she put it back on.

"You good?" Katsuki asked. He restrained from taking a step back and landing himself in the printer.

"Yeah," Burnin said, but the sniffle that followed didn't really quite sell it. "You just don't know how lucky you are to get a baby so easily."

"Lucky?"

Katsuki hadn't really considered luck of any kind in this situation. It had all the appearances of being intentional, which was why he was bringing the documents of today's work home to Izuku so that they could crack the purposefulness of this case. Nevertheless, something that so thoroughly threw off one's life course wasn't what Katsuki would classify as lucky.

"I took it for granted too, how easy it was to have a baby the first time," Burnin said, her wide smile alarming under her shimmering eyes. "I'd taken for granted that my body could do it, since I didn't even plan to have kids. But then the war…well, I'm sure you know as well as I do how it makes you reprioritize. Well, it turns out that just because it happened easily the first time, doesn't mean it's a sure thing the second time."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Katsuki responded, trying to juice every bit of empathy he could into the words as his core stiffened, his face almost wincing under his baseball cap under the intimacy of the confession.

"Shit, I'm sorry, what am I saying," Burnin said, coming back to herself as she slipped her domino mask back on, wiping her eyes. "You're little Bakugou! Bakugou-shonen. Sorry—having a kid doesn't mean you're a different person."

"Doesn't mean you can call me Bakugou-shonen either," Katsuki groused, wrinkling his nose. "And besides…it does change you."

"Yeah," Burnin admitted. "You say it won't, but it does."

Katsuki suspected this kind of different treatment was a lot of what he'd have to expect as soon as the news segment went live in a matter of minutes. Better get used to it now.

"I actually gotta go," Katsuki said, quickly typing the news site into his phone. "But hey."

Burnin was already turning to go, but Katsuki caught her arm. The wrist was always a warm spot, but hers was like fire under his fingers, and it was only the years of calluses from his own heat that kept him holding on.

"It wasn't luck that did this for me. It wasn't luck for us and it won't be luck for you. Whatever you're wanting, it'll happen, I promise."

As he caught her red eyes behind the mask, neither so different from his own, he saw a smile forming and reaching up to them. "A hero shouldn't make empty promises."

"We do all the time," Katsuki replied, putting his earbud back in. "It's called spreading hope."

He wasn't even out the door before the preshow was booming in his ear. Frothing up the audience with it's teased coming next's and exclusive bomb drop. Katsuki turned his brightness all the way down as he stepped into the chilled evening air, using the phone to hide more of his face.

"We come to you today with breaking news," Miyagi Daikaku said as a Breaking News graphic rolled out on the screen over the news desk. "Rumors have flurried for the last twenty-four hours around renowned heroes Deku and Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight after the Internet was flooded with pictures of both heroes entering the Endeavor Agency with a baby in toe."

A photo flickered on the screen of Katsuki holding that car seat, a different one from the one he'd seen on Izuku's phone from Round Face, but probably only seconds apart. This one had a better angle of both his and Izuku's hairstyles as well as some of the telling scars on Izuku's hands.

At least PR had gotten ahold of a decent news agency for this nightmare. Miyagi was rational, fair, trusted. The news would be sensationalized on the Internet in a matter of minutes, but, at least for the moment, it was being told by a reasonable voice—more reasonable than Katsuki or Izuku themselves ever were. Which was why Katsuki was walking home from work right now instead of interviewing. That and it would have been fucking miserable.

"We have received confirmation from the heroes themselves and their agencies, that the child in question is legally Deku's and Dynamight's." The image on screen changed to dual images of Izuku and Katsuki in their costumes, looking professional and serious. If Katsuki didn't know better, he'd think those two were prepared to raise a child. "The child is the result of a civilian's Procreation quirk being used on both heroes."

Katsuki winced as he turned off the sidewalk and up to his building's front stoop. That was bound not to play well. He had suggested leaving their statement at the previous sentiment. That Sugu was legally theirs and that was that. But the more questions they could answer, the less speculation they would invite. And speculation was the last thing any of them wanted.

"No one was harmed due to the quirk's use," Miyagi continued. "Due to the fact that the investigation is still pending, Endeavor Agency has nothing further to say at this time. We wish both new fathers good luck in the adventure of parenthood. We're sure that they both will be wonderful in this new role."

Katsuki took out the largest key on his keyring and slipped it in the heavy door's latch. The news was transferring over to human interest pieces as he called for the elevator and he shoved the phone in his pocket as the first story began.

There was no word about Izuku staying home from work. Nosy civilians would probably clock it after a few more days—Izuku's ranking wasn't the highest, but he was one of the most famous heroes in Japan. Certainly in the top ten in terms of name and face recognition, even if his stats weren't. His absence wouldn't go unnoticed for long. But, in the meantime, it was good for villains not to know that Katsuki was partnerless, especially if he was hoping to get back on the field soon. And hopefully it would keep Izuku's rating stable too.

As he turned the key to his apartment, the sound of the news came in stereo, the sound from behind the door lagging a couple seconds behind the broadcast in his ears. He ripped the headphones out, letting the cord dangle from his pocket as he kicked the door closed and leaned down to take off his shoes. He realized a moment too late that this wasn't a house where he could slam doors anymore, so he looked past the kitchen towards the living room, waiting to hear a high-pitched wail, but it was still just the news. Once he'd slipped off his shoes, he made his way that direction.

"Kacchan!"

Izuku's voice came out sotto voce, quiet with the bassinet right beside the arm of the couch. A quick glance in told Katsuki that Sugu was fast asleep—deep enough that the loud television and door slamming weren't even touching him in dream land. Izuku, however, had eyes glazed in that way that TV left them—dry from too long without blinking, lacking just a bit of that life-giving sparkle.

"Nerd. I see you're slacking off now that you're a kept man."

He shoved Izuku's head playfully as he plopped down beside him on the sofa, easily laying his head on Izuku's shoulder. The remote was a centimeter or two from Izuku's thigh and Katsuki pressed the power off before tossing it on the coffee table. Only when Izuku wrapped an arm around Katsuki's shoulder, chuckling softly as he molded their sides together, did Katsuki let himself sink into the embrace.

"No, silly—I was just watching the broadcast."

"Mm, furniture's set up."

"Yeah, Ochako-chan came over and helped."

"Thank God," Katsuki moaned. "Building shit with you is a nightmare."

Izuku laughed and it vibrated along Katsuki's shoulder, where it rested below Izuku's collarbone. "Yeah, you know how she likes saving other heroes."

"Saving you from yourself, more like."

Each exhale brought the two of them closer, sinking deeper into the couch and each other. It brought Katsuki's heart rate down from the walk, from the broadcast. His eyelids were growing heavy, despite the fact that it was only early evening.

"Did…did Kacchan watch the broadcast?"

"Had it on walking home, why?"

Katsuki had texted Izuku as soon as he had any info about who they were meeting with and what plans they were considering. He'd had Izuku on the phone for part of the meeting until Sugu had required a feeding, but he'd filled him in with the gist. There was no way Katsuki would have given the okay to any kind of messaging about the both of them without both of their approvals. So they'd both known the content of the news bulletin, even if it still was a nerve-wracking watch.

"I'm sorry—Kacchan hasn't even had dinner yet," Izuku said, tensing behind Katsuki's shoulder blade. "Do you want a bento? I can make some tea for you and there's still some leftover rice from this morning. Thank you so much for the breakfast by the way—it was delicious. I should have texted you my thanks, but things got busy—"

"Shut up," Katsuki groaned, thrusting his shoulder into Izuku's upper ribs so that he'd stay relaxed on the couch. "Worry about your own dinner, idiot. Has caring for a baby all day made you think I'm one?"

"Sorry," Izuku said again, and Katsuki wished that TV screens were still reflective so that Izuku could see his massive eye roll. "You probably wanna choose your own bento anyway."

"Damn straight," Katsuki said. "Anyway, what is it that you were trying to distract me from?"

"Well…" Izuku squirmed, and Katsuki just pressed harder against him, forcing his head into Izuku's neck. He only relaxed when Izuku settled again and continued, "What did you think of the broadcast?"

" 'S fine," Katsuki said with a shrug less violent than his upper-body movements thus far. "They said what we told 'em to. Internet's still gonna fucking freak out, but they already were. Least we're coming out ahead as much as we can."

"Yeah…yeah, I agree…"

"…Your thoughts are loud but too damn mumbly to understand," Katsuki said after a moment's silence. He could practically hear Izuku worrying his lower lip and the deep crinkle of his brows furrowing.

"It's just…" Izuku started, "Miyagi-san said that he was sure that we'd make good dads. I wonder if other people are thinking that."

"Who fucking cares?"

"I don't know, maybe we should," Izuku said. "I was thinking so much about all the people who are going to think the worst because they knew this wasn't planned, but what about the people who think that we'll be amazing and then we aren't? I hadn't even considered that."

Katsuki didn't even need a moment to consider it.

"Idiot," he said. "Always worrying about the wrong things."

"What do you mean?"

"The only person we're at risk of disappointing is that lump right there," Katsuki said, pointing across Izuku's chest to the bassinet. "Everyone else is an extra. Even our parents and friends. Doesn't matter."

"I don't love him."

Katsuki glanced up. "What?"

"I was talking about it with Ochako-chan today," Izuku confessed. "Actually, I didn't even say it—she could tell, like it was obvious. So I'm sure you can tell too, so I might as well just say it. I feel good taking care of him and he's adorable and I worry for him and I want him to be happy…but I also feel this kind of cold emptiness inside of me that's just…it's awful, Kacchan, it's awful. I mean, Ochako-chan tried to say that it wasn't, that it was normal, but it still feels…like there's something wrong with me. So I had to tell you."

In the position Katsuki was in, he could feel that Izuku hadn't taken one breath in his whole diatribe. He waited a moment as Izuku's face returned to its normal color, beige beneath all those ruddy freckles. Then he shrugged and said, "I felt the same way about you," and the redness came right back.

As Izuku opened his mouth, Katsuki slapped his hand over Izuku's mouth, muffling the exclaimed "Wh-what?!" that came next.

"It can be hard to love someone when most of what you're feeling is worry and responsibility," Katsuki said. "Once I was done being pissed and jealous of you, you were scaring us all to death every day. That made me feel pretty fucking empty inside too. Right now we're just worried about keeping the kid alive. I figure once we feel more secure in that, we'll love him soon enough."

"Wait—you…you don't love him either?"

Katsuki looked past Izuku's chin and his adam's apple over to the bassinet. He could just make out Sugu's exposed face, fully relaxed as though he had full faith in the safety of the world. Full faith in his providers.

"I mean, we can barely say dad yet. Or son. Or any of that paternal nonsense," Katsuki said. "Maybe we should just worry about getting there for now."

"Yeah, I've noticed that," Izuku admitted. "It's weird to call myself a dad. Like I haven't earned it or something. I'm just not used to it."

"You haven't and you're not," Katsuki stated. "Guess we just need to train."

"Train?"

"That's right, Dad," Katsuki said, swallowing his wince. It felt unnatural coming out of his mouth, as much a challenge to muscle through as the first many dozen times he'd told Izuku I love you. Both things were true, but without the muscle memory behind the words, they came out wooden and forced.

Still, it brought a smile to Izuku's face. "Or papa. I don't care which."

"You're dad, I'm papa," Katsuki decided.

Izuku's grin remained, and it brought Katsuki's face up to his. His neck straightened out and then they were eye to eye, and then they were lip to lip. Saying I love you to Izuku now still wasn't the easiest. It didn't come out as quickly as a love ya or you too, nerd, but no longer did it feel unnatural either. It was in him, deep and rooted. It sang in him as he tilted his head to better slot against Izuku's mouth, hair flattening against the back of the couch.

Then came that squealing cry.

Both men pulled back, and Izuku's smile was in place like it had never left.

"That's all you, Papa."