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Chapter 4: A Midnight Visitor

The living room was a cathedral of quiet contentment. Late afternoon light, thick and golden as honey, poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting long, lazy rectangles across the deep charcoal rug. Outside, the city was a muted, shimmering diorama beneath a fading sky.

On the larger of the two black linen sofas, Katsuki was sprawled like a conquered king, one arm flung over the back, the other resting on his stomach.He was focused on the massive screen where a soccer match played, the commentary a low murmur. Beside him, taking up significantly less space, Shouta sat with his ankle propped on his knee, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting on the sofa arm. He’d changed into soft grey sweatpants and a simple black t-shirt that strained slightly across his shoulders. His hair was down, a dark cascade framing his tired, observant face as he watched the game with a tactical eye, occasionally offering a grunted commentary.

“His first touch is garbage.”

“He’s fast, though,” Katsuki countered, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Speed without control is just falling with style.”

From the other sofa came the soft, rhythmic sound of combing. Hizashi was perched on the edge, with Hitoshi sitting on the floor between his knees. Hitoshi’s head was tilted back, his eyes closed, his expression one of serene bliss. His hair, a mix of dark roots and faded lavender, was spread over a towel on Hizashi’s lap. Hizashi, in cream-colored linen trousers and a sage green silk blouse, sleeves rolled up, was meticulously sectioning the hair, his fingers deft and sure. A bone-handled comb and a pile of tiny black elastics sat beside him.

“You have such good hair, ‘Toshi,” Hizashi murmured, his voice a gentle melody compared to the stadium roar from the TV.“Thick.Holds a braid beautifully. We’re doing a crown today, I think.Something intricate. You have that gallery thing with Ryu next week, right? You’ll look like a moody prince.”

Hitoshi’s lips curled in a faint smile.“M’not a prince.”

“You’re my prince. Now hush. Let Papa work.”

In the corner of the room, nestled on his plush dog bed, Izuku was awake but drowsy. He’d been watching his family, his pale blue eyes slowly blinking.But the quiet activity, the soft voices, the lack of direct attention, eventually bored him. With a soft sigh, he pushed himself up and began padding around the perimeter of the room, his fluffy tail giving slow, idle sweeps. He sniffed at the base of the grand piano, then traced the line where the rug met the polished floor. His exploration led him to the carved wooden bench near the entrance, where Shouta’s well-worn leather messenger bag was slouched, abandoned after his final work call of the day.Izuku’s ears perked up. He nudged the bag with his nose. It smelled like Daddy: ink, espresso, and that particular clean, sharp scent of his cologne. He nosed the flap open, the leather creaking softly.No one noticed.Katsuki was arguing a referee call. Hizashi was humming, absorbed in his braiding.Shouta took a slow sip of whiskey.

Izuku hooked a paw into the main compartment and dragged the bag onto the floor.It was heavy, but he was determined. He stuck his head inside, rummaging.A tablet, too smooth and boring. A silver pen, which he licked once and discarded. Then, his nose pressed against a familiar, softer leather shape.Daddy’s wallet.

He carefully grasped it in his teeth, pulling it free from the bag’s clutches. He then turned, wallet in mouth, and trotted back towards the sofas. He sat himself down squarely at Shouta’s feet, dropped the wallet, and used both paws to try and pry it open.

Shouta felt the movement at his feet and glanced down during a lull in the game.A fond, tired smile touched his lips. “Whatcha got there, buddy?” he asked, his voice dropping into that softer register reserved for Izuku.

Izuku looked up, the wallet momentarily forgotten, and gave a happy yip in response. He then returned to his mission, managing to get the wallet open. He pushed a paw inside and began systematically pulling items out, placing each one carefully on the floor beside him like treasures.

First, a couple of black business cards, embossed with Shouta’s name in stark white lettering. Izuku sniffed them, then set them aside. Next, a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills, bound with a gold money clip. This seemed more interesting; he pawed at it, making the bills flutter.

“Hey, that’s my lunch money,” Shouta said mildly, watching the process with amusement.

Then, from a slim side pocket, Izuku’s dexterous claws hooked a single, foil-wrapped square. He pulled it out, holding it up to the light, confused by the shiny packaging.

Katsuki, whose gaze had flicked down at the sound of rustling bills, let out a sudden, sharp snort of laughter. “Fuckin’ hell. Always be prepared, huh, Dad?”

Shouta leaned forward, plucking the condom from Izuku’s grasp. “Standard issue,” he said drily, slipping it into his sweatpants pocket. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I understand now.Your night plans, old man?” Katsuki’s grin was wicked.

“My night plans involve this whiskey and my bed, you little shit. Alone.”

Hizashi, without looking up from his braiding, chuckled.“A tragically underutilized prophylactic in this household lately. We should fix that, Sho.”

Before Shouta could retort, Izuku, now deeply invested in his archaeological dig, plunged his paw back into the wallet. His fingers found a small, bulkier item tucked behind the credit card slots.He pulled it out triumphantly.

It was a tiny, clear ziplock bag.

Inside were two neatly rolled joints, the green-brown herb clearly visible through the plastic.The room did not go silent.The soccer commentary continued. The faint hum of the climate control persisted.But the human sound stopped. Hitoshi, feeling Hizashi’s hands go still on his hair, cracked open one eye to see what was happening. Katsuki’s smirk froze, then slowly melted into an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. His eyes widened, his jaw going slack.

Izuku held the bag up towards Shouta, whining softly, wanting approval for his find.Shouta stared. His brain, usually processing a million data points a second, short-circuited.He blinked. He looked at the bag in Izuku’s furry hand.He looked at his sons’ faces. He looked at Hizashi, who had now completely stopped braiding and was staring at the bag with an unreadable expression.

“Oh,” Shouta said, the word escaping him like a deflating balloon.

Katsuki found his voice first.It wasn’t loud or explosive.It was filled with awe. “No.Fucking. Way.”

Hitoshi simply stared, his black eyes darting from the joints to his father’s face and back again. A slow, incredulous smile spread across his features.Shouta reached down slowly and took the bag from Izuku’s grip. He held it up, as if seeing it for the first time. The memory slammed into him: a stress-fraught business trip to Amsterdam two months prior. A tense, successful negotiation sealed not with a handshake, but with a shared smoke on a canal-side balcony with the Dutch counterpart. He’d tucked the remainder away, a souvenir, and then… he’d completely forgotten. He’d transferred them to his everyday wallet from his travel one and never thought of them again.

He was mortified.But beneath the mortification, a strange, defensive pride flickered.

Hizashi broke the spell.He let out a long, slow breath. “Shouta Aizawa,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.“My husband.The CEO. The man who lectures about risk assessment and due diligence. Are those what I think they are?”

“They’re… they’re from Amsterdam,” Shouta offered weakly, as if provenance excused everything.

“I don’t care if they’re from the goddamn Vatican!I told you to stop smoking! Your lungs are a national treasure, you idiot!” Hizashi scolded, but there was no real heat in it.The corner of his mouth was twitching.

Katsuki leaned forward, his eyes shining.“You smoke?Dad. You smoke weed?”

“I… have been known to, on rare, extraordinarily high-stress occasions, partake,” Shouta admitted, placing the bag on the coffee table as if it were a live grenade.

“You never told us!” Katsuki accused, but he was grinning now, a huge, sun-breaking-through-clouds grin.“This is… this is the coolest thing you’ve ever done. Sorry, buying the private island was cool, but this? This is cooler.”

Hitoshi finally spoke, his voice quiet and amused. “You hid it better than we do.”

That got a genuine laugh from Shouta, a short, surprised burst of sound.He ran a hand through his long hair. “Years of practice. Evading board members is harder than evading parents.”

Hizashi shook his head, the beginnings of a laugh escaping his lips. He picked up the comb again, but he was looking at the bag on the table.“You absolute hypocrite. All those careful talks about ‘moderation’ and ‘knowing your source.’”

“I do know my source! He’s a very respectable cannabis cultivator in Leiden!”

The absurdity of it finally overwhelmed Hizashi, and he threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and full and forgiving. “Oh, my god.I can’t.I just can’t. My ultra-responsible, rule-setting, merger-busting husband is a secret stoner.”

“I am not a ‘stoner’,” Shouta grumbled, but the tension was bleeding out of him, replaced by a strange, familial solidarity. “It’s… therapeutic.”

“I’m a sex therapist, darling, I know all about therapeutic release.But usually I recommend orgasms. Fewer carcinogens.”

Katsuki was still staring at his father with newfound respect. “So all those times you came home late, smelling like that weird incense…”

“Sandalwood,” Shouta and Hizashi said in unison, then looked at each other and laughed.

Izuku, confused by the adult laughter but pleased to be the center of the initial attention, climbed into Shouta’s lap, nuzzling under his chin. Shouta wrapped his arms around him automatically, burying his face in the fluffy white hair for a second to hide his lingering embarrassment.

Hizashi resumed braiding Hitoshi’s hair, his movements gentle again. “Well, I’m still mildly pissed at you for hiding it, and for the lung thing, but… this is objectively hilarious. The great Shouta Aizawa, brought down by his own puppy and a two-month-old bag of weed.”

“I forgot they were there,” Shouta muttered into Izuku’s fur.“Obviously.” Hizashi tied off the end of a braid.“So. What’s the verdict?Do we dispose of the contraband? Or…” He trailed off, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.Katsuki sat up straight. “We should… commemorate the discovery. As a family.”

Hitoshi glanced up at his Papa, a silent question in his eyes.Shouta looked at the bag on the table. He looked at his sons—Katsuki, vibrating with excitement, Hitoshi, with quiet curiosity. He looked at Hizashi, whose expression was open, affectionate, and utterly unshocked.This was their life. Unconventional, crude, honest.

“It’s not the worst idea,” Shouta said slowly.“A… family summit. To discuss the implications.”

“The implications,” Hizashi deadpanned, “are that Daddy is a badass who breaks his own rules sometimes, and we love him for it.” He finished the last braid and secured it.“There. You’re done, ‘Toshi. Go look.”

Hitoshi stood, padding softly to the mirrored wall near the piano.The crown braid was intricate and beautiful, framing his face. He touched it lightly, a small, genuine smile on his lips. “Thanks, Papa.”

“You’re welcome, my love.” Hizashi stood, stretching his back with a graceful arch. He walked over to the coffee table, picked up the little bag, and held it up.“So. The rooftop garden?The sun’s just about to set. It’s a nice atmosphere.”

Shouta nodded, shifting Izuku in his arms as he stood. “Alright.”

Katsuki was already off the couch, bouncing on the balls of his feet.“Holy shit. I can’t believe I’m getting high with my dad.”

“You’re getting a taste with your dad,” Shouta corrected, his CEO voice slipping back in. “One shared, small… communal experience.This is not a free pass.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. This is so cool.”

They filed out of the living room, a strange, wonderful procession. Shouta led with Izuku in his arms.Hizashi followed, holding the bag like a tiny torch. Hitoshi walked beside Katsuki, who was shaking his head in continued disbelief.

The rooftop garden was Shouta’s second-favorite place in the house, after his bedroom with Hizashi in it. It was a manicured oasis of gravel paths, dwarf maples, and clusters of aromatic herbs and grasses, all softly illuminated by recessed lighting that began to glow as the sky darkened into indigo.The city lights twinkled on all sides, a panoramic jewel box. A low, modern fire pit in the center flickered to life automatically as they approached, its flames dancing behind a curtain of heat-proof glass.

Shouta settled into a wide, cushioned lounger, Izuku curling up beside him.Hizashi chose the matching chair, crossing his legs elegantly. Katsuki dropped onto a large floor cushion, and Hitoshi sat beside him, leaning back on his hands.The atmosphere was neither illicit nor wild.It was serene. The air was cool and carried the scent of burning cedar from the fire pit and the lingering smell of damp earth from the evening’s watering system.

Hizashi produced one of the joints from the bag, along with a sleek, gunmetal lighter.He handed both to Shouta. “The honor is yours, oh discoverer of lost treasures.”

Shouta took it, his movements deliberate. He lit the end, the paper crisping, the herb inside glowing a faint orange. He took a slow, careful pull, held it for a moment, and exhaled a thin plume of smoke into the cool air. He passed it to Hizashi, who took a similarly measured drag before leaning over to pass it to Katsuki.

Katsuki, for all his bravado, took it with a sudden, uncharacteristic seriousness. He mimicked his father’s action, his brow furrowed in concentration. He coughed slightly on the exhale, his eyes watering, but he grinned through it. “Smooth,” he rasped.He passed it to Hitoshi, who took it with slender fingers. He put it to his lips, inhaled softly, and let the smoke drift slowly from his nostrils. He passed it back to Shouta without a word, his dark eyes reflecting the firelight, his expression peaceful.

They passed it around in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the gentle crackle of the fire, the distant hum of the city, and Izuku’s contented sighs as Shouta scratched behind his ears. The tension of the discovery, the initial shock, melted away under the shared, quiet ritual.A warm, comfortable intimacy settled over them.

“You know,” Hizashi said finally, his voice a soft ripple in the quiet. “When I was in grad school, we’d smoke before our human sexuality seminars.Made the conversations… flow better. Less academic, more human.”

Shouta took the joint, his movements slower now. “In college, it was the only way I could turn my brain off after eighteen-hour coding sessions. Everyone thought I was just brooding.I was just… decompressing.”

Katsuki looked at his dad, really looked at him. Not as the infallible, rule-setting pillar, but as a man. A man who carried the weight of an empire, a family, a world of expectations. “Must be hard,” he said, the words coming out simpler than he intended.Shouta met his son’s gaze. “Sometimes. But then I come home.” His eyes drifted to Hizashi, then to Hitoshi, then down to Izuku asleep against his side. “And it’s not hard at all.”

Hitoshi leaned his shoulder against Katsuki’s. It was a small gesture, but solid.A silent acknowledgment of their shared understanding, their shared world.

They finished the joint, the last ember disappearing into the night air. Hizashi carefully buried the roach in a pot of soil near a rosemary bush.“Compost,” he said brightly.

The fire pit cast a warm, dancing light on their faces. Katsuki, feeling the pleasant buzz, leaned back and stared at the stars beginning to pierce the urban glow. “This was… nice.”

“It was,” Shouta agreed. His arm was around Izuku, his other hand finding Hizashi’s, their fingers linking over the space between their chairs.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Hizashi said, squeezing Shouta’s hand. “This is a special occasion.A disclosure of paternal dimensionality. Not a new weekend habit.”

“Obviously,” Shouta said, but he was smiling.

They sat there for a long time, not talking much, just being together in the quiet night. The revelation hadn’t shattered any illusions; it had woven another thread into the fabric of their family, a thread of hidden fallibility and unexpected common ground. Shouta wasn’t just the stern dad or the powerful CEO. He was a man who, on a stressful night in the Netherlands, had shared a joint and kept the leftovers. It made him more real to his sons, not less.Eventually, the cool breeze prompted movement. Hitoshi stood first, offering a hand to pull Katsuki up. “I’m gonna go listen to that new album,” he mumbled.

“I’m gonna raid the kitchen,” Katsuki said, stretching his arms overhead with a groan.Shouta stood, carefully gathering the sleeping Izuku into his arms. The hybrid whimpered softly but settled immediately against his daddy’s chest. Hizashi stood too, smoothing his linen trousers.

They descended back into the warm, lighted house, the ordinary magic of their evening restored, but deepened.As Katsuki headed for the kitchen, he paused, turning back.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. For… tonight.”

Shouta nodded, his expression soft in the hallway light.“Anytime, kid.Well.Not anytime. But… you know what I mean.”

Katsuki grinned, that familiar, explosive grin, but softer at the edges.“Yeah. I know.”

Shouta carried Izuku towards the bedrooms, Hizashi walking beside him, their shoulders brushing. Behind them, they could hear Katsuki banging pans in the kitchen and Hitoshi’s distant music, a low, melodic thrum through the floorboards. The house was full, and alive, and theirs.