Chapter 6: Summer Time
The afternoon sun was a heavy, golden coin pressed against the dome of the sky. Heat shimmered above the flagstone patio, making the air over the grill waver like a mirage. The scent of charcoal and searing meat was thick and savory, cut through with the cleaner, chlorine tang of the pool water.
Shouta stood before the grill, a pair of long tongs in one hand. He wore simple black swim briefs, his lean torso pale against the dark fabric, his long hair tied in a messy knot at the nape of his neck. Sweat beaded along the line of his shoulders. He flipped burgers with a practiced flick of his wrist, the fat sizzling as it hit the hot grates. His attention, however, was divided.
The pool was chaos of a pleasant, contained sort. Turquoise water glittered, throwing fractured diamonds of light across the surrounding greenery. Katsuki and Hitoshi were in the deep end, engaged in a brutal, rule-less version of volleyball. The ball was neon orange.
“In your face, zombie!” Katsuki roared, spiky blonde hair plastered to his forehead. He launched himself from the water, arm swinging in a powerful spike that sent the ball rocketing toward his brother.
Hitoshi, treading water with lazy efficiency, didn’t move to hit it back. He merely tilted his head, letting it slam into the water beside him with a massive splash that drenched Katsuki’s triumphant expression. “You missed,” Hitoshi said, his voice flat, his purple eyes blinking slowly. “The face is over here.”
“You didn’t even try!”
“I’m conserving energy. It’s called strategy. You should try it sometime, between bursts of uncontrolled fury.”
Katsuki snarled and launched a wave of water at him with both hands. Hitoshi sunk beneath the surface to avoid it, disappearing into the shimmering blue.
Near the shallow-end steps, the water was calmer. Hizashi stood waist-deep, the sun making his long, wet blonde hair look like spilled honey. He wore a simple black string bikini that highlighted the soft curves of his hips and the gentle swell of his chest. On his hip, perched securely, was Izuku.
Izuku was a vision in miniature. His swimsuit was a frilly, skirted one-piece in soft lavender, the little ruffles floating around his thighs like lily pads. His white curls had been meticulously parted and twisted into two small, high pigtails, each secured with a tiny, silky pink bow. His wine-red eyes were wide, taking in the splashing, the shouts, the shimmer of light on water. One hand was fisted in the string of Hizashi’s bikini top for stability; the other patted at the water’s surface with a fascinated, open palm.
“See the boys play, sweet pea?” Hizashi murmured, bouncing him gently. The water provided a buoyant support, allowing Izuku to experience a weightlessness he rarely felt on land. “They’re being very silly.”
“Bah,” Izuku agreed, his voice a soft exhalation. He pointed a dripping finger towards the commotion. “Kaa-chan. Hi’shi. Loud.”
“They are very loud,” Hizashi laughed. “But it’s happy loud. That’s okay.”
Shouta watched as Hizashi adjusted his hold, guiding Izuku to lean back against his chest, cradled in the water. He supported Izuku’s head with one hand, his movements sure and effortless. With his other, he scooped up a small, floating toy boat—a bright red tugboat—and placed it in Izuku’s reaching hands.
“Vroom,” Hizashi whispered near his ear, making a low engine sound. “Sailing the seven seas.”
Izuku’s laughter was a quiet, breathy giggle. He made a soft ‘bbrrrrm’ noise in imitation, pushing the boat through the water.
From the grill, Shouta called out, his voice cutting through the humid air. “Five minutes on the food.”
Katsuki hauled himself out of the pool in one powerful motion, water streaming from his body. He grabbed a towel and scrubbed it over his head. “About time. I’m starving. Hitoshi’s pathetic attempts at defense work up an appetite.”
Hitoshi emerged more slowly, slicking his dark hair back. “My ‘pathetic attempts’ are the only reason you haven’t won. It’s demoralizing for you. A public service.” He padded over to a lounger and picked up his guitar, which was leaning against it. He strummed a few absent chords, his gaze drifting toward Izuku and Hizashi.
Hizashi was now sitting on the top step of the shallow end, the water lapping at his waist. Izuku was settled in the lagoon of his lap, facing him. The little skirt of the swimsuit billowed around him. Izuku’s head was nuzzling against Hizashi’s chest, a familiar, seeking motion.
“Alright, baby boy,” Hizashi said softly, his voice barely carrying to Shouta. He glanced around—a casual, unobtrusive check. The high wooden fence enclosed the yard in total privacy. The only eyes were family eyes. He shifted the fabric of his bikini top aside.
Izuku latched on with a quiet, contented sigh, his eyelids immediately growing heavy. His hands, still damp, came up to rest against Hizashi’s skin. Hizashi wrapped his arms around Izuku’s small back, holding him close, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head where the pink bows bobbed gently. He rocked him, just a slight, rhythmic motion aided by the water’s gentle push and pull.
It was a picture of such profound, unselfconscious nurture that Shouta stopped flipping burgers for a moment. The sun warmed the scene, gilding the edges of Hizashi’s hair and the curve of Izuku’s cheek. This was their normal. This was the heart of their world, beating quietly in the middle of a sunny afternoon.
Hitoshi, watching from his lounger, began to pick out a slow, gentle melody. It wasn’t a song anyone would know; it was something fluid and improvisational, matching the lapping of the pool water, the slow rock of the chair. Katsuki, instead of making a sarcastic comment, quietly went to the outdoor fridge and pulled out a pitcher of homemade lemonade. He poured four glasses, setting them on the patio table with uncharacteristic care.
The food was ready. Shouta arranged the burgers and grilled vegetables on a platter. “Come and get it.”
Katsuki brought over plates. Hitoshi set his guitar down and joined them. They served themselves, the brothers piling their plates high. Shouta fixed a small bowl with a few soft pieces of burger bun, a bit of avocado, and some finely chopped grilled zucchini.
He carried it over to the pool steps. Hizashi looked up, a smile touching his lips. Izuku was still nursing, drowsy and slow.
“He’s almost asleep,” Hizashi whispered.
“He should eat something first,” Shouta said, his voice low. “Or he’ll be hungry later.”
Hizashi nodded. He gently stroked Izuku’s cheek. “Hey, little love. Time for a little bite. Dada made some yummy food.”
Izuku whimpered softly, turning his head away, seeking the comfort he was being pulled from.
“Just a few bites,” Hizashi coaxed. He adjusted him, settling him more upright in the water, and accepted the small plastic bowl and soft-tipped spoon from Shouta. “Look. Avocado. Your favorite.”
He spooned a tiny bit onto the spoon and brought it to Izuku’s lips. Izuku turned his head, pressing his face into Hizashi’s neck.
“Izuku,” Shouta said, his tone calm and factual. “You need to eat. Then you can go back.”
It was the lack of emotion, the simple statement of necessity, that often worked. Izuku’s wine-red eyes, hazy with milk-drunk sleepiness, opened and looked at Shouta. He blinked slowly.
Hizashi tried the spoon again. This time, Izuku opened his mouth reluctantly. He accepted the bite, chewing the soft avocado with slow, thoughtful motions.
“Good boy,” Hizashi praised, kissing his temple. “Such a good boy for Mama.”
They got three bites in before Izuku clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, the pigtails swaying. He was done.
“Okay,” Hizashi said. “Okay, that’s enough.” He handed the bowl back to Shouta. Izuku immediately burrowed back into his previous position, and Hizashi, without a moment’s hesitation, welcomed him back. The quiet, suckling sounds resumed, a rhythm as natural as breathing.
Shouta returned to the table, sitting down with his own plate. The three of them ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the distant hum of a lawnmower, the clink of cutlery, and Hitoshi’s occasional soft chord from where he’d retrieved his guitar.
Katsuki, his mouth full, gestured with his fork toward the pool. “He’s gonna be conked out for hours after that.”
“Good,” Shouta said. “He was up early.”
“The sun tires him out,” Hitoshi mused, plucking a string. “Like a little solar-powered baby. Runs on milk and daylight.”
“Don’t call him a baby,” Katsuki muttered, though it lacked its usual heat. It was a reflex.
“He is a baby,” Shouta stated plainly, taking a sip of lemonade. “In every way that matters to his care. The number is irrelevant.”
A quiet fell. They all looked over at the pair in the pool. Hizashi had begun to hum, a low, resonant sound that blended with Hitoshi’s idle chords. Izuku was limp in his arms, fully asleep, his lips barely maintaining their latch. Hizashi was stroking his back, his own face serene, eyes half-closed in the sun.
Katsuki put his fork down. “I made a fruit pie for later. The peaches were perfect.”
“See?” Hitoshi said, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re a domestic goddess. Admit it.”
“Shut up. It’s just chemistry. Heat, fruit, sugar, crust. Precision.”
“And love,” Hizashi’s voice floated over, soft but clear. He’d detached Izuku and was carefully re-adjusting his bikini top, keeping Izuku cradled against his shoulder. “Your cooking is full of it, Kats. Even when you’re cursing at the dough.”
Katsuki grumbled, but a faint pink tinge colored his ears. He busied himself clearing plates.
Shouta stood and walked to the pool’s edge. He held out his arms. Wordlessly, Hizashi stood, water streaming from his body, and carefully transferred the sleeping Izuku into Shouta’s waiting grasp. Shouta wrapped a large, fluffy towel around him, covering the frilly swimsuit and the damp pigtails. Izuku didn’t stir, his head lolling onto Shouta’s shoulder.
“I’ll put him down in the crib in the living room,” Shouta said. “The one by the fan.”
Hizashi nodded, pulling himself out of the pool. He grabbed his own towel, drying his arms and legs. “I’ll be in to get him dressed in a minute.”
Shouta carried Izuku inside, through the sliding glass door into the cool, dim living room. The portable crib was set up near the large ceiling fan, which spun on a low, gentle setting. He laid Izuku down on the soft, waterproof sheet, carefully removed the damp swimsuit, and cleaned him with a gentle wipe. He powdered him, fastened a dry diaper, and dressed him in a light, cotton onesie covered in tiny ducks. Throughout, Izuku slept deeply, his breathing even and slow, his fingers occasionally twitching.
Shouta stood over the crib for a long moment, watching him. The pink bows were still in his hair, a silly, sweet contrast to the peaceful, ageless face. He reached down and carefully untied them, setting them on the side table. He smoothed the damp white curls.
Outside, he could hear the low murmur of voices. Hitoshi was playing a fuller song now, something melancholic and beautiful. Katsuki was clattering in the kitchen, undoubtedly already washing dishes and prepping for his pie. Hizashi would be drying off, soon to come in and settle on the couch near the crib, watching over his sleeping son.
This was the machinery of their family. It was not always quiet. It was often messy, complicated, filled with the friction of three very different young adults and the profound, consuming needs of the fourth. But in moments like this, with the summer sun slanting through the blinds and the scent of charcoal and peach pie lingering in the air, it hummed with a perfect, hard-won harmony.
Shouta turned and walked back toward the sliding door. He paused on the threshold, looking back once more at the crib.
Then he stepped outside, back into the light and the warmth, to join the rest of his family.