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Chapter 10: The Morning After the Night Before

The dining room was a cavern of warm, dark wood and soft, golden light. Six crystal chandeliers, each a cascade of teardrop prisms, glowed above the immense mahogany table, their light reflecting in the polished surface like stars on a still, dark lake. The air hummed with quiet classical music from hidden speakers, a gentle counterpoint to the sharper sounds of cutlery on fine china.Tonight, the table was set for six. Five were tall-backed, velvet-upholstered chairs. The sixth, at the far end near the head where Shouta sat, was a low, plush cushion of deep aubergine silk. On the floor before it rested a porcelain bowl, wider and shallower than the human plates, and a matching water dish.

Izuku sat perfectly centered on his cushion, his posture pristine. He wore a simple black velvet collar tonight, a thin, elegant band that emphasized the snowy fluff of his neck. His white hair was braided into a complex, beautiful crown by Hizashi’s expert hands, leaving his large ears free to twitch at the sounds of the house. His fluffy tail lay curled neatly around his tucked-up legs. He was eating with quiet, focused precision, using his delicate, fox-like paws to hold the thick slice of meat, his sharp little teeth tearing off manageable pieces.

Before him sat what remained of a 20-ounce, bone-in ribeye steak, cooked to a perfect medium-rare. A small pool of glossy, red wine reduction sauce shimmered next to it. A tiny heap of roasted bone marrow, glistening with herb butter, sat in a separate silver dish. The scent was rich, savory, meaty—an olfactory bomb that dominated the entire end of the table.

The other five plates told a different story.

Each held a modest, perfectly seared fillet of cod, nestled against a bed of steamed jasmine rice and a precise bundle of blanched broccolini. It was light, healthy, elegant.It was also, apparently, a profound disappointment.

The silence was thick, broken only by the clink of silverware and Izuku’s soft, contented chewing. Shouta, at the head of the table, ate his fish with the methodical, efficient movements of a man fueling his body, not savoring a meal. His dark eyes flicked from his own plate to Katsuki’s, then to Hitoshi’s, then down to Izuku’s feast.A small muscle ticked in his jaw.

Katsuki, directly to Shouta’s left, was poking his cod with the tines of his fork like it had personally offended him. He’d shove a piece in his mouth, chew with unnecessary force, and swallow with a grimace.He hadn’t spoken since sitting down.

Hitoshi, across from Katsuki, was more subtle in his discontent. He ate slowly, his deep black eyes half-lidded with bored resignation. He occasionally stole a glance at Izuku’s plate, then sighed almost imperceptibly.

Hizashi, to Shouta’s right, watched all of this with growing, amused exasperation. He ate his fish with delicate bites, his elegance a stark contrast to the atmosphere of simmering petulance.

After a particularly loud, disgruntled swallow from Katsuki, Hizashi set his fork down with a quiet, decisive click.“Darling,” he began, his voice lilting but edged. “Is there a problem with the cuisine? The chef prepared it exactly to your specification – lean, high-protein, minimal fat.Ideal for muscle recovery and maintaining your impressive… bulk.”

Katsuki glared at his plate. “It’s fucking cod.”

“It is,” Hizashi agreed. “A beautiful, wild-caught Alaskan cod.Sustainable. Expensive.”

“It tastes like damp newspaper,” Katsuki muttered.

“It tastes like discipline,” Shouta said, his low voice cutting through the room.He didn’t look up from his own plate. “Which is apparently in short supply tonight.”

“Discipline,” Hizashi repeated, a smile playing on his lips. “Is that what we’re calling sulking? Because from my seat, I’m seeing a tableau of testosterone-fueled pouting that would be charming if it weren’t so pathetic.”

Hitoshi spoke, his voice a dry, slow drawl. “We’re not sulking, Papa.We’re… metabolizing.The fish is metabolizing. Slowly.”

“See?” Hizashi gestured at Hitoshi with his wine glass.“Even Eli’s wit is sluggish. You’re all crashing from your respective highs. Katsu from his deadlift glory, Shin from… whatever it is you do in your dim room all day, and Shou, my love, from the sheer existential weight of your billions.” He took a sip.“You need balance. You can’t live on steak and aggression.”

“He gets to live on steak,” Katsuki grumbled, jerking his head towards Izuku.All human eyes shifted to the hybrid. Izuku, feeling the weight of attention, paused mid-chew, a strip of rich, pink steak dangling from his paw.His pale blue eyes darted nervously between the faces. He slowly lowered the meat, whimpering softly.

Shouta’s gaze finally lifted from his own plate and settled fully on Izuku. His stare was intense, analytical, sweeping from the near-empty steak plate to the marrow dish to the sauce. Then his eyes tracked down to the dog bowl where a few untouched cubes of cod had been placed—clearly an afterthought, a rejected offering.

“That,” Shouta said, his voice dropping into a gravelly register that commanded the room’s absolute silence, “is an excellent point.” He pointed his knife, not at Katsuki, but directly at Izuku’s setup. “Why is he eating a twenty-ounce ribeye and roasted marrow, while the rest of us are on a goddamn spa diet?”

His words weren’t loud, but they filled the space, vibrating in the crystal.

Izuku flinched, his ears flattening against his braided hair. He let out a small, frightened whine and shrunk back on his cushion.Hizashi didn’t flinch. He placed his wine glass down and turned his full, serene attention to his husband. “The produce people,” he stated, as if explaining a minor logistical hiccup, “fucked up the order. The steak was only enough for four portions.The marrow bones were a miscount. It was a choice between giving everyone a paltry, unsatisfying slice or giving him the whole of it.” He shrugged one elegant shoulder. “I chose him.He shouldn’t have to eat the fish.”

Shouta stared at him. “He shouldn’t?”

“No.He’s a hybrid, Shou. An Eskimo breed.His system thrives on a diet high in animal fat and protein. Fish is fine as a supplement, but it’s not optimal for his coat, his energy, his… breeding potential.” Hizashi said it all with the calm, factual authority of his profession. “Cod is for humans who need to watch their cholesterol. Which, my dear, includes you, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Katsuki snorted.“Breeding potential. Great.”

“It’s biology, kitten. Don’t be crass about science.” Hizashi shot him a look, then turned back to Shouta.“So yes. I gave the optimal nutrients to the member of the household whose biology requires them most. The rest of you can practice a little moderation.It’s good for you. Builds character.”

“Character,” Shouta repeated flatly. He looked back at Izuku, who was now trying to make himself very small, his tail tucked tightly.The man’s stern expression softened, just a fraction.It was enough. “Izuku.”

The hybrid’s head snapped up, eyes wide and guilty. “Yes, Daddy?”

“Are you enjoying your steak?”

Izuku looked down at his ravaged feast, then back at Shouta’s unreadable face.A war played out in his simple, expressive features. He nodded, a tiny, shameful movement.“So good, Daddy. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for enjoying what’s given to you,” Shouta said, his voice losing its edge.He looked at Hizashi. “You could have told me.”

“And you would have ordered a second cow flown in from Kobe to prove a point,” Hizashi countered, a knowing smile finally reaching his eyes.“This was simpler. And cheaper.”

“I don’t care about cheaper.”

“I know, my darling caveman. That’s why I handle the menu.” Hizashi reached out and placed a hand over Shouta’s on the table. The difference was stark: Hizashi’s fingers, long and graceful, adorned with simple platinum bands; Shouta’s, large, knuckled, scarred from long-ago fights before the billions. “You’re all acting like I’ve condemned you to gruel.It’s one meal.A healthy, delicious meal. Your arteries will thank me when you’re fifty and still able to get a rock-hard erection without pharmaceutical assistance.”

Katsuki choked on his water. Hitoshi let out a soft, genuine laugh, the tension breaking like a snapped string.

Shouta looked at their joined hands, then at Hizashi’s triumphant, beautiful face. He let out a long, weary breath that seemed to deflate his entire imposing frame.He was folding, and they all knew it. He turned his hand over to lace his fingers with Hizashi’s. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Hizashi pressed, squeezing his hand.“Fine.The fish is… adequate. The reasoning is sound.” He paused, his gaze traveling to his sons.“But you two, wipe the look off your faces. You’re not deprived.You have everything.”

Katsuki scowled, but it was half-hearted now. “Could’ve had steak.”

“You’ll have steak tomorrow,” Hizashi promised. “I’ll have them slaughter the whole herd. Will that satisfy your primitive carnivore instincts?”

“Maybe,” Katsuki grumbled, but he picked up his fork and took a proper bite of the cod.The meal continued, the atmosphere thawing. Hizashi guided the conversation away from food, asking Katsuki for details about his new personal record, which he delivered with renewed, bragging energy. He asked Hitoshi about a new tattoo he was designing—a intricate spiderweb that stretched from his collarbone down his arm.

“It’s about entanglement,” Hitoshi explained quietly, pushing his broccolini around.“How things connect. Pull one thread, everything moves.”

“Beautiful,” Hizashi murmured.“And the placement is exquisite.Very sensitive area. The needle on the collarbone will feel like fire and ice at once. It’s a very intimate kind of pain.”

Hitoshi met his papa’s gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. “Yeah.That’s the point.”

Shouta listened, observing his family. He ate his cod, his earlier irritation dissipating, replaced by a familiar, bone-deep contentment. This was his world. The wealth, the mansion, the business—it was all scaffolding for this: the five of them, together. Even when they bickered like this, it was a sign of safety, of the absolute trust that allowed for petty grievances.

Izuku, sensing the shift, had gone back to his steak, finishing the last bites with relish. He used his pink tongue to carefully clean the marrow from the small bone, then sat back on his haunches, licking his paws clean with fastidious swipes.He looked up, his belly full, his eyes drowsy and satisfied.

When the plates were cleared, a servant bringing out a pot of jasmine tea and a platter of delicate almond cookies for the humans, and a frozen cube of goats yogurt for Izuku, the final tension melted away.Katsuki leaned back, patting his stomach.“Okay, fine. It was good fish.”

“Thank you,” Hizashi said primly.

“Still wanted steak, though.”

“We all have our crosses to bear,” Hitoshi intoned, picking up a cookie.

Shouta watched Izuku lick his yogurt cube, his tail giving a slow, sleepy wag.The hierarchy was clear, logical, and ultimately meaningless in the face of their shared life. Hizashi made the decisions that benefited the whole organism, even if individual parts occasionally whined. He was the real boss, and Shouta wouldn’t have it any other way.

Later, after the boys had dispersed—Katsuki to his room to call some girl, Hitoshi to his studio to sketch his tattoo, and Izuku to the sunroom to curl on his favorite chaise with a soft blanket—Shouta found Hizashi in their private sitting room adjoining the master bedroom.

Hizashi was already out of his dinner clothes, wrapped in a silk robe the color of champagne, his hair loose over his shoulders. He was pouring two glasses of amber whiskey.He handed one to Shouta without a word. Shouta took it, his fingers brushing Hizashi’s.“You handled that,” Shouta stated after a long sip. The whiskey was smooth, smoky, expensive.

“I did,” Hizashi agreed, settling onto the deep sofa and tucking his feet beneath him. “Someone has to be the adult.”

“They’re spoiled.”

“We spoiled them.You, principally. With your never-say-no policy.” Hizashi’s tone was fond, not accusatory.

“You never stop them either.”

“I encourage their appetites.All of them. Katsu’s for physical dominance, Eli’s for aesthetic experience, Izu’s for touch and care. And yours, my love,” he said, looking up at Shouta through his lashes, “for control. And for me.”

Shouta sank onto the sofa beside him, the leather creaking under his weight. He was a large man, but he made himself smaller next to Hizashi, leaning into his space.“The steak…”

“Was the right call.He was radiant.You saw him. That’s what we pay for.Not just the beauty, but the well-being. The optimal function.” Hizashi sipped his whiskey.“He’s not a pet, Shou. He’s a hybrid. There’s a science to it.”

“I know.” Shouta swirled the liquid in his glass.“It just… it looked like indulgence. To them.”

“Let it.Let them see that his needs are different and that we cater to them without question. It teaches them about care. About tailored love.” Hizashi set his glass down and shifted, turning to face Shouta fully. He placed a hand on Shouta’s cheek, his thumb stroking the stubble.“You’re a wonderful father. You provide a world where they can sulk over cod because they’ve never known real want. Where I can give our hybrid son a steak because the logistics failed.That’s a privilege. That’s our success.”

Shouta leaned into the touch, closing his tired eyes. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know.” Hizashi’s voice was a whisper now. He leaned in, his breath warm against Shouta’s lips. “It’s why you’re so obsessed with me.”

Shouta’s eyes opened, dark and intent. He captured Hizashi’s mouth in a deep, claiming kiss, the taste of whiskey and defiance and absolute surrender passing between them.It was an answer, a capitulation, a reaffirmation.

When they parted, Hizashi smiled, a wicked, knowing thing. “Now, tell me you don’t want me more than any steak in the world.”

Shouta didn’t answer with words. He finished his whiskey in one swallow, set the glass down with a soft clink, and gathered Hizashi into his arms, standing up in one fluid, powerful motion. Hizashi laughed, a sound of pure delight, wrapping his arms around Shouta’s neck as he was carried towards the bedroom.“See?” Hizashi murmured against his neck. “Perfectly balanced. A healthy dinner… and a very, very decadent dessert.”

Downstairs, in the quiet, dimmed mansion, Izuku slept on his chaise, his belly full of steak, his dreams simple and warm. In his room, Katsuki flexed in the mirror, texting a girl about meeting up later. In his studio, Hitoshi carefully traced the lines of his spiderweb design, the music in his headphones a soft, roaring thrum.

And upstairs, behind a heavy oak door, the CEOs of their respective domains—one of commerce, one of the heart—abandoned all pretense of discipline, lost in the sacred, crude, wholesome indulgence of each other.