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Chapter 3: A Steak Dinner and a Proposal

The first sensation was warmth. A slow, damp stripe of heat dragged across the taut skin of his lower abdomen. Shouta sighed, a contented smile playing on his lips even before his eyes fluttered open. The room was still shrouded in the soft, deep blues of pre-dawn, the city lights beyond the windows just fading ghosts.

“Zashi…” his voice was thick with sleep, a gravelly rumble.“How early is it, baby? Your mouth is cold.”

He felt the vibration of a muffled chuckle against his hip, followed by another warm, wet lick. This one was more enthusiastic, sloppier.A flicker of confusion cut through his drowsiness. Hizashi’s teasing was usually more… precise.Then he heard the yip. A bright, high-pitched sound that was decidedly not his husband.Shouta’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down the length of his own bare torso. There, nestled between his legs under the indigo silk duvet, was a mop of fluffy white hair. Izuku, with his eyes closed in blissful concentration, was diligently licking a path across Shouta’s abs, his pink tongue leaving a cool, damp trail.

“What the— Izuku!”

From beside him came the sound he’d mistaken—the unmistakable, barely-contained snorts of laughter.He turned his head. Hizashi was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, his magnificent blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. He had his fist pressed against his mouth, his shoulders shaking violently, his green eyes streaming with tears of mirth.

“He… he started on my side,” Hizashi wheezed between suppressed giggles. “I told him ‘daddy tastes better,’ and he… oh, god, Sho, your face…”

Shouta stared, caught between utter bewilderment and the dawning horror of the situation. Izuku, sensing his daddy’s attention, paused his ministrations and looked up, his pale blue eyes wide and innocent. He gave a happy little wiggle, his tail thumping against the mattress beneath the covers.A deep, guttural groan of embarrassment crawled up from Shouta’s chest. He didn’t shout.He didn’t leap out of bed. Instead, with the profound despair of a man defeated by his own domestic life, he grabbed the edge of the duvet and pulled it completely over his head, collapsing back onto the mattress. He lay there, a large, shapeless lump under the silk, like a teenager hiding from the world.

The sound of Hizashi’s laughter broke free then, full and rich and loud, echoing in the vaulted ceiling of their bedroom. Izuku, taking the blanket maneuver as a new game, immediately began pouncing on the covered lump that was his daddy, yipping excitedly.

“He thinks you’re playing!” Hizashi managed to get out, wiping his eyes.

“This isn’t happening,” Shouta’s voice was muffled by the duvet. “I’m a Fortune 500 CEO.I orchestrated the Zurich merger in sixty hours. This is not my life.”

“It absolutely is,” Hizashi chirped, finally calming down. He reached over and gently scooped Izuku up, pulling the hybrid against his own chest.“And it’s a fantastic life. Good morning, my beautiful, creepy little puppy.” He planted a loud kiss on top of Izuku’s head.Izuku nuzzled into him, his adventure forgotten for the sake of cuddles.

“Why?” came the plaintive question from under the covers.

“Because someone,” Hizashi said, scratching Izuku’s ears, “let it slip last night that the new pre-workout powder tastes like salted caramel. And someone else,” he poked the Shouta-lump, “has a six-pack that probably, to a puppy-brain, looks like a delicious, meaty salt lick.”

Shouta slowly emerged from the duvet fortress, his dark hair messy and his tired eyes even more exhausted than usual.He fixed Hizashi with a deadpan stare. “You are a menace.”

“Your menace,” Hizashi replied instantly, smiling sweetly. He leaned over and kissed Shouta’s stubbled cheek.“Now come on. The puppy’s up, which means the day has begun.And I’m making pancakes. The kind with the chocolate chips Katsuki likes.”

The mention of food and family routine finally dispelled the last of Shouta’s mild horror.He sighed, the sound surrendering to the inevitable. He looked at Izuku, who was now purring contentedly in Hizashi’s arms. “No more licking Daddy.Understood?”

Izuku nodded solemnly. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good puppy.”

By the time they made it downstairs, the mansion was slowly coming to life. The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, cutting through the polished-lemon scent of the cleaning bots that had already silently done their work. Sunlight, pale and gentle, streamed into the kitchen, highlighting the spectacular view of the dew-drenched garden.

Katsuki was already there, a rare early riser on a non-gym day. He sat at the massive kitchen island, shoveling a mountain of scrambled eggs into his mouth with one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other. He wore only low-slung grey sweatpants, his broad back and defined muscles on full display. Hitoshi was perched on a stool beside him, bleary-eyed, cradling a large black mug of coffee like it was a lifeline. His hair was a messy tapestry of dark roots and faded purple, and a new silver hoop glinted in his eyebrow.

“Look who’s alive,” Katsuki grunted around a mouthful of eggs, not looking up from his phone. “Heard the warlord was on a mission this morning.”

Hitoshi’s lips twitched. “A mission of taste.”

Shouta ignored them, heading straight for the industrial espresso machine. He was the ghost of the man they’d seen laughing in the garden last night—all business in loose black trousers and a tight black tank top, his hair hastily pulled back. But the foundation of that softer man was still there, visible in the way his shoulder lightly brushed Hizashi’s as he passed him at the stove.

Hizashi, meanwhile, was a vision of domestic elegance amidst the chaos. He wore a jade green silk robe tied loosely at the waist, his hair in a loose, complex braid over one shoulder. He was flipping chocolate chip pancakes with a flawless wrist flick, humming along to some soft jazz playing from hidden speakers.

“Morning, my lovely heathens,” Hizashi sang.“Pancakes are up. Katsuki, put a shirt on. Your pectorals are judging my culinary skills.”

“They’re impressed,” Katsuki said, flexing one arm instinctively. “They say you’re using just the right amount of vanilla.”

“See? Even my muscles are cultured.”

Izuku, released from Hizashi’s arms, had immediately scampered over to Hitoshi. He pawed gently at his brother’s leg until Hitoshi, without looking, lifted him onto the stool next to him. Izuku nestled into Hitoshi’s side, accepting the silent offer of closeness. Hitoshi continued sipping his coffee, his free hand coming to rest on Izuku’s back.

“So,” Shouta said, leaning against the counter with his triple espresso, the dark circles under his eyes meeting the dark brew in his cup.“What’s the agenda for today?World domination? Or just local debauchery?”

“Bit of both,” Katsuki said, finally putting his phone down.“Gym at ten. Then, bunch of people are meeting at the country club pool.Party at Min’s house tonight. His parents are in Monaco.”

Hizashi slid a perfect stack of pancakes onto a plate in front of Katsuki. “And by ‘party,’ you mean a gathering of culturally curious young adults exploring socio-aquatic dynamics?”

Katsuki shot him a flat look. “We’re getting drunk and jumping in the pool.”

“My mistake.Carry on.” Hizashi turned to Hitoshi. “And you, my quiet storm?”

Hitoshi shrugged, poking at a pancake Hizashi had placed before him. “Gonna finish my piece.Maybe see if Ryu wants to hang. His band’s practicing.”

“Ryu,” Hizashi said with a knowing smile, drizzling syrup over his own pancake.“The one with the… impressive drumstick technique?”

“Papa.”

“What? Rhythm is important! In all things.”

Shouta watched the exchange, a faint, private smile touching his lips. This was the breakfast table ballet—the crude, loving, unfiltered rhythm of their family. He saw the way Katsuki subtly pushed his syrup towards Hitoshi, who preferred more. He saw how Izuku’s eyes tracked the bacon Hizashi was setting on a plate, and how Hizashi, without breaking his conversation, placed two crisp strips directly on Izuku’s waiting tongue.His phone buzzed. A message from his assistant: The Zurich team is on the line for final sign-off when you’re ready.

The world, the real, ruthless world of billions and boardrooms, was right there, in his pocket. A world away from chocolate chip pancakes and pool parties.He typed a one-word reply: Thirty minutes.

He looked up to find Hizashi watching him, a soft understanding in his eyes.He knew. He always knew when the other world was pulling.Hizashi gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Go.We’re here.

“I’ve got a call,” Shouta announced to the room, pushing off the counter. “The Swiss need their pound of flesh.”

Katsuki snorted. “Tell ‘em to fuck off and have a pancake.”

“I’ll convey the sentiment,” Shouta said dryly. He walked around the island, pausing first to drop a kiss on Hizashi’s bare shoulder. “Don’t let him eat all the bacon,” he murmured against his skin.

“No promises.”

He moved to Katsuki, ruffling his shaggy blonde hair roughly.Katsuki grumbled but didn’t pull away. “Don’t drown anyone,” Shouta said.“No fun,” Katsuki muttered.

He placed a hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Hitoshi leaned into the touch for a second, a silent acknowledgment. “Have fun with Ryu.”

Finally, he turned to Izuku, who was watching him with hopeful eyes. Shouta leaned down, cupping the hybrid’s face. “You,” he said, his voice dropping into that stern-but-affectionate register that made Izuku melt.“Be good for Papa.No licking. Except your own treats.”

Izuku nodded eagerly, leaning into the touch.“Yes, Daddy.”

Shouta kissed his forehead. “Good puppy.”

As he walked out of the kitchen towards his office, the sounds followed him—the clatter of cutlery, Katsuki’s loud debate about pool volleyball rules, Hitoshi’s quiet laugh, Hizashi’s melodic hum returning to the jazz tune. It was a shield, he thought. A fortress of noise and love he got to leave, and a sanctuary he would return to.The call took forty-five minutes.The Swiss were efficient but thorough. When it was done, Shouta sat in the leather silence of his office, the structured chaos of the merger now neatly contained in digital folders.He swiveled his chair to look out the window. From here, he could see the east wing of the garden.And there they were.

Katsuki was showing off, doing handstand push-ups on the pool deck, his muscles coiling and releasing with fluid power. Hitoshi was sitting on a lounger, sketching in his book, one hand absently stroking Izuku’s back where the hybrid lay sprawled across his lap, soaking up the morning sun. Hizashi was nearby, arranging a tray of iced tea and fruit on a patio table, his silk robe swapped for a flowing linen shirt and tailored shorts. He looked like a magazine spread, a picture of effortless grace.

Shouta watched, a deep, quiet warmth spreading through his chest.This was what it was all for. The late nights, the brutal negotiations, the constant pressure.It was for this view. For the privilege of providing this sanctuary where Katsuki could be explosively himself without consequence, where Hitoshi could find his voice in quiet artistry, where Izuku could be cherished and spoiled and safe. Where Hizashi could flourish, brilliant and crude and beautiful, as the sun around which they all orbited.

He stood up, leaving the papers and the screens behind.He didn’t change. He walked out of his office, through the quiet halls, and out the terrace doors into the garden.

The pool area was cooler, the air smelling of chlorine and sunscreen. Katsuki had finished his display and was now cannonballing into the deep end, drenching Hitoshi’s sketchbook. Hitoshi shouted a curse, but he was laughing, holding the book above the splashes.

“Watch the art, you barbarian!”

“It’s watercolor now! Added value!”

Izuku was padding at the water’s edge, whining as the splashes hit his fur. Shouta approached, scooping him up before he could get drenched. Izuku immediately clung to him, burying his face in Shouta’s neck.

“Daddy save you from the splash-monster?” Shouta murmured, carrying him over to the shade where Hizashi was now seated.

Hizashi looked up, his smile like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Done conquering Europe?”

“For today.” Shouta sat in the chair next to him, settling Izuku on his own lap.“How’s the local chaos?”

“Perfect. Katsuki’s already invited half the football team to Min’s tonight. Hitoshi is contemplating a new tattoo—a serpent, he says, for wisdom and rebirth, but I think it’s because Ryu has one. And this one,” he reached over to tweak Izuku’s ear, “has been a perfect angel, trying to eat a bee and failing spectacularly.”

“It buzzed,” Izuku explained seriously, looking up at Shouta.

“Very rude of it,” Shouta agreed, his hand moving in slow circles on Izuku’s back.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching their sons. Katsuki hauled himself out of the pool, water sheeting off his sculpted physique, and grabbed a towel. He slung it around his neck and walked over, dropping into the chair beside Hitoshi.

“Dad,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically tentative.Shouta’s attention sharpened.“Hm?”

“That party tonight. At Min’s.It’s… it’s gonna be big. Like, really big.”

“I assumed.”

“There might be… things. Not just pool stuff.”

Hizashi leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand. “By ‘things,’ do you mean recreational pharmaceuticals, ethically questionable games of truth or dare, or just a concerning volume of cheap vodka?”

Katsuki shrugged, a non-answer that confirmed all of the above.“Just… you know. The usual.”

Shouta studied his eldest son. The aggressive confidence was still there, in the set of his shoulders, the defiant glint in his green eyes. But underneath it, Shouta saw the seventeen-year-old checking in, seeking the boundaries he so often pretended didn’t exist. He felt Hizashi’s gaze on him, trusting him to navigate this.

“Is there a driver?” Shouta asked, his voice calm.“Yeah. Always.”

“Is Min’s security detail aware and present?”

“Old man Min hired extra for the weekend. Two guys at the gate, one roaming.”

Shouta nodded slowly.He looked at Katsuki, holding his gaze. “Then my only rules are these: you look out for your brother. You don’t drive, or let anyone else drive, impaired.And if anything, anything, feels off, you call. No questions, no judgment.We come get you. Understood?”

Katsuki held the look for a moment, then nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. The defiance softened into something like gratitude.“Understood.”

“Good.” Shouta paused. “And for god’s sake, use a condom if it gets to that.Every time. Your father’s a sex therapist, it would be embarrassing for all of us if you got an STD.”

Katsuki’s face flushed crimson. “Jesus Christ, Dad!”

Hitoshi snorted into his iced tea.Hizashi beamed, utterly pleased.“See?Practical and paternal. That’s my man.”

The afternoon unspooled lazily. Shouta eventually had to return to his office for another briefing, but it was brief. The rest of the day was spent in a state of luxurious indolence—reading the papers he’d abandoned that morning, listening to Hitoshi play a new, heavy riff on his guitar from the music room, helping Hizashi choose which watch to wear for a charity gala next week.

As dusk began to paint the sky in shades of lavender and rose, the energy in the house shifted. Katsuki’s pre-party ritual was a spectacle. He moved through the mansion with a focused intensity, showering, styling his hair with a product that smelled of thunderstorm and sandalwood, choosing his outfit with a critic’s eye—dark, tailored jeans, a vintage band t-shirt stretched across his chest, a leather jacket.Hitoshi’s preparation was quieter. He simply changed into black ripped jeans and a faded band hoodie, added more silver rings to his fingers, and reapplied the black polish to his nails.He smelled like cannabis and mint.

Izuku followed them both, whining softly, sensing the change in routine, the impending departure.

“It’s okay, pup,” Katsuki said, kneeling down before heading out.“We’ll be back. You hold down the fort with the old men, yeah?”

Izuku nodded, lip trembling. Hitoshi scooped him up for a quick, tight hug.“We’ll bring you back a souvenir. Maybe a drunk rich kid.”

“Hitoshi,” Shouta warned from the doorway, his arms crossed, leaning against the frame.“Kidding.Maybe.”

The sleek black car arrived, silent and imposing. The driver stood by the open door.Katsuki clapped his dad on the shoulder as he passed. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t,” Shouta said. “But your father will.And he’ll be dramatic about it.”

Hizashi swatted his arm. “I will not!I’ll be elegantly concerned.”

The boys climbed into the car. Through the tinted window, Shouta saw Katsuki give a final, sharp nod, and Hitoshi lift a hand in a lazy wave. Then the car purred down the long driveway, disappearing behind the landscaped hedges.The silence it left behind was sudden and profound. The mansion felt larger, emptier.Izuku whimpered, looking from the empty driveway to his fathers. Hizashi sighed, the vibrant energy dimming just a fraction. He reached out and took Shouta’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“And then there were three,” Hizashi said softly.

Shouta squeezed his hand, then let go to pick up Izuku, who was now openly seeking comfort. He held the hybrid close, feeling the fine tremble in his small body. “They’ll be fine,” he said, to Izuku, to Hizashi, to himself.

“I know,” Hizashi said, leaning his head against Shouta’s shoulder as they turned to walk back inside. “But I still hate the sound of the door closing behind them.”

They spent the evening in the living room, a quieter version of their usual selves. Shouta worked on his laptop, one hand resting on Izuku’s back where he slept, exhausted from the day’s emotions, on his dog bed. Hizashi read a dense academic journal, his glasses perched on his nose, his feet in Shouta’s lap.

Every so often, one of them would check their phones.No news. Which, they both knew, was good news.Around midnight, Hizashi dozed off, the journal slipping from his fingers. Shouta carefully removed his glasses, folded them, and set them on the side table. He looked at his husband, the elegant lines of his face softened in sleep, then down at Izuku, a mound of peaceful white fluff. He closed his own eyes, not to sleep, but to listen to the new silence—the hum of the refrigerator, the distant whisper of the city, the steady breathing of his family.His phone buzzed on the table. A single text, from Katsuki.All good.Toshi’s with Ryu. I’m heading back with the driver.Don’t let Papa panic.

Shouta smiled, a small, private thing in the dark room.He typed back.He’s asleep.Drive safe.See you soon.

He put the phone down.He didn’t wake Hizashi. He just sat there, in the dim glow of a single lamp, keeping watch over his peaceful, sleeping world, waiting for the sound of the car on the gravel that would mean another piece of it was coming home.