Midoriya Hisashi was a behemoth of a man. Towering above his wife and son at an impressive six feet and five inches, his piercing dark eyes scanned the boy before him up and down for several suffocating seconds.
"So," he began in a quiet baritone, raising his water bottle with an incredulous raise of a brow, "third place in the Sports Festival, eh?"
Whatever flickering embers of anger still broiled in his gut, he couldn't get himself to snap at the man. Swallowing the poison that leapt to his tongue, Katsuki said nothing in response.
Hisashi considered him for a moment more before humming to himself. "Third place in your first year isn't bad."
The clock ticked on in the silence, softly upon the wall. Three after noon. The teacup in his hand quivered for the barest of seconds before he set it back down.
The man hadn't changed a bit, even as the years wore on and time weighed on the household. Despite the extra wrinkles and frownlines adorning his visage, his curt stare remained the same, those deep eyes still cutting.
"Oh! Katsuki," Inko rushed into the room in surprise, a wooden spoon in hand. "I'm so sorry, I- I forgot you were here. I can't send you out without eating, can I? Please, join us for lunch."
Hisashi said nothing, though his eyes slowly slid to rest on the boy's face.
Katsuki nodded, still not looking her in the eye. "... Sure."
"Great! I'll set out an extra plate." With a bright smile that cast shadows across her face, she kissed her husband's cheek and practically floated out of the room. (His teeth grit tight when Uraraka's face flickered through his mind's eye, mussed forest hair turning into a soft brown bob. What was she doing right now? Blaming herself for missed cues? Crying uselessly over another grave?) The marigolds on the coffee table, fresh as they were, seemed to droop even in the day. It was almost a sad echo of the house - and its occupants.
Hisashi watched him out of the corner of his eye for a moment more, before closing them and letting out a quiet breath through his nose. "It's a shame to hear about the Iida kid. I understand he was quite a promising student."
And there it was. Katsuki's hands clenched minutely in his lap, feeling troublingly damp as he sat silent.
"And to think, my boy could have been the one in that fight..." Here his frown deepened, and a chill ran up the teenager's spine as the temperature in the room seemed to grow cold. "Or, well, perhaps not. I hear your teacher is quite strict. There's not much a Quirkless boy could have done to fight off that brute."
Lifeless green eyes flashed in his mind. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat.
"I... guess not." He forced himself to speak, quieter than he intended.
"Smarts only get you so far... it's a shame that brilliant brain of his is no help when his body is so broken." With a mirthless, wry little laugh, he added, "He could have done something. Too much like his mother not to try."
"S- stop it, Kacchan, leave him alone," a wavering, high-pitched little voice echoed, a memory unbidden. Katsuki had to try as hard as he could not to rattle off little explosions in his palms.
"Oh, Hisashi, could you please get Izuku?" Inko's voice floated in from the hall. "He should be studying in his room..."
"Of course, dear," he called back, grunting as he got up from the couch. He looked, almost boredly, at the boy. "Go on, then. I'll be down with Izuku."
Katsuki's blood was ice in his veins, bitter and sharp as Todoroki's Quirk. Izuku was here? Right now? He was about to eat lunch with him?
Why had his mother forced him to visit the Midoriyas today of all days?
Still, he swallowed down whatever protests came to mind, nodded, and got up after him. Hisashi's stride was purposeful, tall, though his shoulders sagged as if the weight of the world was pushing him down; and perhaps it was.
Almost robotically, he made his way to the dining table, where Inko had just finished setting down a large bowl of salad. Giving him a weary smile, she said, "Sit anywhere you want. Oh - except for the chair on the left, that's Izuku's favorite."
Nodding, he took the seat on the opposite side, facing what would've been an empty one. He could hear Hisashi's heavy footfalls on the stairs, could hear his voice murmuring to someone, could hear his heart knocking at his ribcage.
As the two came into view, Izuku's head sagged against his father's neck, his eyes swept around the room. Lethargic, hardly like the wide-eyed gaze he remembered so painfully. When they locked eyes, he could practically see the wheels turning in Izuku's brain - and he closed his eyes, tilting his head away.
Anger licked flames at the pit of his stomach. What, was he not good enough to look at anymore? Did Izuku think he was so pitiful?
"Here you go," Hisashi grunted, gingerly sitting him down in the dining chair. Izuku never said a word, though he looked up at his father in a silent thank-you as he sluggishly brought up his hand to grab at the fork next to his plate.
Katsuki watched, almost morbidly fascinated, as the boy's fingers shook, wrapping around the stem of the fork before firmly gripping it. If he knew he was being stared at, he never gave any sign, instead focused intently on resting his hands on the table.
"Oh, honey, you're doing so much better!" Inko gushed, clasping her hands together. "It won't be long until you can stand up on your own - and then you can walk, and then run, and-"
"-One step at a time, dear," Hisashi gently interrupted, a hand cupping her shoulder for a moment before he took his seat next to Katsuki, giving the boy an intense look for all of a second before taking his own fork.
"... Ah. Yes, right, sorry. One step at a time!" Inko's cheer faded a bit, though her smile remained as she sat down next to her son. "That's what the therapist said, after all... one step at a time."
Izuku mutely bobbed his head. In the months since his accident, his hair had begun to grow back, already the deep foresty-green he remembered. The scars that swept across his head were barely seen in the curls there.
Silence settled cold and thick across the table. It was almost hard to breathe as he took a portion of the delicious-looking salad and paired it with some kind of dressing. The first bite was startlingly dull - while not a lot of things had flavor anymore, even the pleasant tang of the salad dressing lacked its usual kick. In its place, he tasted hints of rosemary and dill.
"So, um... how has school been, Katsuki?" Inko began, looking hopefully his way. "Make any new friends...?"
He paused in chewing for a moment, pondering. What was there to say? Swallowing his mouthful, he quietly replied, "... I'm too busy."
"Ah, that's right... you have those internships now, don't you?" Humming, the housewife tapped her chin. "Well. That's interesting. What is it that you do?"
"Train," he answered. "And fight."
In the silence, the clock on the wall in the living room marched on, barely meeting his ears. Inko's hopeful face dimmed a bit, but she hummed to herself again. "I see..."
Was she so bored in her everyday life that she was asking him about his? Didn't Deku-
And there he stopped, abruptly.
Oh. That's right. He had no life now.
And whose fault is that? A traitorous voice, sounding suspiciously like his own, whispered in his brain.
"You'll need all the practice you can get, hm?" Hisashi finally spoke up, not bothering to look at him as he set his fork down. "Gotta pick up the slack now that there's more to save."
"Hisashi," Inko hissed in warning. Izuku's grip on his fork tightened.
"It's the truth," he bluntly stated, finally looking the kid in the face. "There's been three deaths in your class already. You can't rely on latent skill alone anymore."
The words stung, and he leaned back as if struck. He wanted to snap back, to yell, to explode - and yet his tongue was lead in his mouth. Iida's stern face surfaced in his mind, startlingly similar to the man beside him. His heart clenched in his chest, a painful pang that caused him to wince.
Hisashi's sharp stare cut through him, threatening to see his innermost thoughts. If he wanted to, could he? Could he pull out his worst?
In the next moment, the man looked away, chewing on his salad again. The atmosphere lifted just a bit, just enough for Katsuki to take a grounding sip of water and regain composure.
Izuku's hand shook anew, shook terribly, enough so it was difficult to pick up any food. Though frustration rolled off of him in waves, his expression was startlingly devoid.
"Oh! Honey," Inko cooed, reaching over to stabilize his grip. "Here. Try it now."
Hisashi looked up through his lashes at his wife and son, who was still struggling to stab a piece of spinach with his fork. Then he looked at Katsuki again, silently gauging his reaction.
"That nasty-looking scar on your face..." He mused, catching the blond's attention again. "Was that enough of a lesson for you?"
He didn't trust his own voice to answer.
"The world is cruel and unforgiving. I know that full well. My wife knows it. My son knows it." Sparing a look at his teenager, finally lifting a forkful of salad to his mouth, his voice grew icy. "And now so do you. With all that power you have, why don't you finally take the opportunity to do some good with it?"
The sweat gathering on his palms threatened to ignite. Katsuki leveled a hard glare at his plate, hard enough that he almost wished he could do the same to the food.