Chapter 7: Clothes
The living room was cool and dim, a stark contrast to the brilliant heat of the backyard. The ceiling fan turned in a lazy, silent circle, stirring the air above the portable crib where Izuku slept, his onesie-clad chest rising and falling with the deep, even rhythm of a child exhausted by sun and water. The scent of peach pie still lingered, a sweet, warm ghost from the kitchen.
Hizashi padded in, barefoot on the hardwood floor, his hair damp and loose down his back. He’d changed into soft cotton shorts and a tank top. He stood by the crib for a long moment, just watching. Then, with a glance at the clock, he moved to the large, overstuffed couch and sank into its cushions, pulling a knit blanket over his legs. He let his head fall back, eyes closed, listening to the domestic sounds: the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen where Katsuki was undoubtedly doing a meticulous clean-up, the soft, experimental chords of Hitoshi’s guitar from his bedroom down the hall.
It was a peace he knew was temporary, fragile as a soap bubble. Soon, Izuku would wake. There would be needs—a diaper change, hunger, the desire for closeness. Hizashi welcomed it all, but in these quiet moments, he gathered his own energy, settling into the calm.
An hour later, a soft, fussy whimper broke the silence. Hizashi’s eyes opened instantly. He was already moving as Izuku’s cries escalated, a hungry, disoriented sound. He lifted him from the crib, the warmth of the small body instantly seeking his.
“Shh, mama’s here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
He settled into the corner of the couch, the well-worn spot where the fabric was slightly softer. He didn’t bother with a nursing cover here, in the heart of their home. He simply adjusted his tank top and helped Izuku latch. The crying ceased, replaced by soft, gulping swallows. Hizashi let out a long breath, his body relaxing into the familiar act of nourishment. He stroked Izuku’s white curls, now dry and fluffy.
Shouta wandered in, a book in his hand. He took in the scene, nodded silently to Hizashi, and sat in his armchair, opening his book. The only sounds were the turning of pages, the fan, and Izuku’s contented nursing.
Later, after Izuku had been changed into a fresh diaper—a task Shouta performed with efficient, gentle hands—Hizashi announced the plan.
“I think we should go to the mall. I want to get some new yarn from the craft store, and Izuku could use a change of scenery. A little walk in the stroller.”
Katsuki leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. “The mall on a Saturday afternoon? That’s a special kind of hell.”
“It’s air-conditioned hell,” Hitoshi said, appearing behind him. “And people-watching is premium. I’m in.”
“We’ll go early, make it quick,” Hizashi said, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the voice he used rarely these days—the one that had once commanded a radio booth. “It’ll be fun. Family outing.”
Shouta marked his page and closed his book. “I need new coffee. The terrible kind from that overpriced place you like.”
Hizashi smiled, a real, bright thing. “See? Practical. Everyone has a reason.”
The preparation was a well-rehearsed ballet. Shouta retrieved the heavy-duty, all-terrain stroller from the hall closet—a sleek, black model that didn’t look like typical baby gear, but which provided excellent support and could recline fully. Katsuki, grumbling about crowds, filled the insulated diaper bag with bottles of water, a sippy cup of juice, and several spare diapers and wipes. Hitoshi tuned his guitar and then, unasked, went to select an outfit for Izuku.
He came back into the living room holding something delicate. “Found this in the back of the drawer. He hasn’t worn it yet.”
It was a two-piece set. The top was a soft, blush-pink crop top with tiny, fluttery cap sleeves and a ribbon tie at the back of the neck. The skirt was a matching tiered mini, layers of chiffon over a soft lining, each layer edged with delicate lace. It was unmistakably, overwhelmingly feminine.
Hizashi’s breath caught. “Oh, Hitoshi. That’s perfect.”
Shouta looked up from checking the stroller’s tires. “It’s impractical. He’ll get cold.”
“We have a blanket,” Hizashi dismissed, already taking the hanger. “Come here, my darling.”
Izuku, who had been playing with a set of stacking rings on a blanket on the floor, looked up at the sound of Hizashi’s voice. He raised his arms immediately. “Mama!”
Hizashi scooped him up and carried him to the changing table in the corner of the room. He laid him down, talking in a soft, constant stream. “We’re going on an adventure, baby. To see lots of lights and people. Mama’s going to make you look so pretty.”
He removed the simple onesie. The diaper was dry. Hizashi powdered him, the familiar ritual soothing them both. Then he carefully guided Izuku’s limbs into the outfit. The crop top was snug around his narrow, childlike torso, the ribbon tied in a careful bow at the nape of his neck. The skirt floated around his hips, the layers of chiffon rustling softly with every slight movement. It fell to mid-thigh.
“There,” Hizashi whispered, his eyes shining. He picked Izuku up and held him out, turning toward the room. “Awh, Shouta, look at how pretty your baby girl is! Isn’t he beautiful?”
Shouta stopped what he was doing. His dark eyes traveled over the ruffles, the lace, the delicate pink fabric against Izuku’s pale skin. His expression, usually so unreadable, softened at the edges. He stepped closer, reaching out to touch one of the chiffon layers. “He is.” The statement was simple, factual. “Very.”
Katsuki had come to watch, the diaper bag slung over his shoulder. He stared for a second, his brows furrowed. Then he dropped the bag and strode over. “Alright, gimme.”
He took Izuku from Hizashi’s arms, his movements surprisingly gentle beneath their brusqueness. He held Izuku aloft, his strong hands secure under the little armpits. Izuku squealed, legs kicking, the skirt fluttering like the wings of a startled bird.
“Who’s the prettiest?” Katsuki said, his voice dropping into a tone he used for no one else—rough but tender. He threw Izuku up a few inches, catching him easily. Izuku’s giggles erupted, breathy and full of joy. “Huh? Who is it?”
“Bah!” Izuku shrieked, clutching at Katsuki’s wrists.
“Yeah, you are.” Katsuki brought him down, holding him against his chest for a moment, ignoring the way the chiffon crumpled between them. He looked over at Hitoshi, a challenge in his red eyes. “I’ve got the prettiest little sister, haven’t I?”
Hitoshi, leaning against the doorframe, smirked. “Statistically improbable, but visually, I’ll concede the point. For now.”
Katsuki snorted but didn’t put Izuku down. He carried him to the stroller, buckling him securely into the five-point harness. Izuku fussed for a moment, wanting to be held, but Hizashi was there, attaching a small, plush bunny to the stroller’s handle. Izuku’s attention snagged on it, his small hands reaching.
Hizashi knelt in front of the stroller. “One more thing, my love.” From his pocket, he produced two wide, satin ribbons, a slightly deeper pink than the outfit. With practiced fingers, he gathered sections of Izuku’s white curls, dividing and twisting them into two high pigtails. He tied them off with the ribbons, making perfect, oversized bows that sat perkily atop his head. He smoothed the curls around Izuku’s face. “Perfect.”
The mall was a cavern of noise and light, a river of people flowing under the high, glass-paneled ceiling. The air was cool, sterile, carrying the conglomerate scent of pretzels, perfume, and floor cleaner. Hizashi pushed the stroller with a confident hand, weaving through the crowd. Izuku was wide-eyed, his head swiveling, trying to take in the towering displays, the flashing screens, the sheer mass of humanity. His hands clenched and unclenched on the stroller’s tray.
Shouta walked beside them, a silent, watchful presence. His eyes constantly scanned—not the stores, but the people around them. He assessed glances, categorizing them. Most were indifferent. Some softened at the sight of the “baby” in the frilly outfit. A few—usually older women—smiled directly at Hizashi with a look of shared, understanding motherhood. Shouta’s posture relaxed incrementally with each benign interaction.
Katsuki and Hitoshi trailed a few steps behind, a buffer between their family and the world.
“He’s gonna get overstimulated,” Katsuki muttered, watching Izuku’s darting eyes.
“Then we leave,” Hitoshi said simply. “Mama’s got the yarn store up ahead on the left. It’ll be quieter.”
They turned into a quieter wing, the noise dampening. The craft store was a haven of soft lighting and organized bins. Hizashi parked the stroller by a display of wool and crouched to check on Izuku. “You doing okay, sweet pea? Look at all the pretty colors.”
Izuku babbled softly, pointing a finger at a vibrant skein of emerald green yarn.
“You like that one? Mama likes it too.”
As Hizashi browsed, Shouta stayed by the stroller, his hand resting on the handle. Katsuki and Hitoshi wandered the aisles, Katsuki scoffing at the price of artisan knitting needles, Hitoshi running his fingers over bolts of velvet fabric.
It happened quickly.
A woman, perhaps in her fifties, with a kind face and a basket full of embroidery thread, approached. She smiled at Shouta, then peered into the stroller.
“Oh, what a darling little girl,” she cooed. “Those cheeks! And that outfit is just divine. How old is she?”
Shouta didn’t hesitate. His voice was flat, devoid of invitation but not rude. “Eighteen months.”
It was the standard answer. It aligned with Izuku’s size, his demeanor. It was a lie that lived on their tongues, polished smooth from use.
“Just a precious angel,” the woman said. She leaned a little closer. Izuku, intrigued by a new face, looked up at her. “Hello, sweetie!”
Izuku gave her a slow, shy blink. Then his face crumpled. It wasn’t a cry of fear, but of overwhelmed confusion. A thin wail escaped him, his hands coming up to rub at his eyes.
The woman straightened, looking mortified. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle her!”
“He’s tired,” Shouta said, his tone dismissing her. He moved, blocking her view, and unbuckled the harness. In one smooth motion, he lifted Izuku out of the stroller, settling him against his shoulder. Izuku buried his face in Shouta’s neck, his cries muffled instantly. Shouta’s hand came up, large and steady, cradling the back of Izuku’s head, his thumb stroking over the satin bow.
Hizashi was there in an instant, yarn forgotten. “Okay, we’re done. Let’s go.”
The exit was efficient. Hitoshi took over pushing the empty stroller. Katsuki shouldered the diaper bag, his body angled slightly, as if to shield the group. They formed a tight pod moving back through the mall, Shouta in the center, Izuku a small, ruffled bundle in his arms.
They didn’t stop until they were in the quieter, carpeted hallway leading to the bathrooms and a small, isolated seating area with a single bench. It was empty.
“Here,” Shouta said, sitting on the bench. He adjusted Izuku on his lap. Izuku’s cries had subsided into hiccuping sobs, his body trembling with the aftershocks of overload.
Hizashi knelt before them, his face level with Izuku’s. “Too much, huh? Too many people. It’s okay, baby. It’s all over.” He looked up at Shouta. “He’s probably hungry again. The nursing room is just down there.”
Shouta shook his head minutely. “He needs quiet. Not another room with fluorescent lights.”
Understanding passed between them. Hizashi glanced around. The corridor was deserted. The only sound was the distant hum of the mall.
Without a word, Hizashi sat on the bench beside Shouta. He turned his body, creating a sheltered corner. Shouta shifted Izuku, helping him turn and settle into Hizashi’s waiting arms. Hizashi leaned back against the wall, his movements calm and deliberate. He didn’t expose himself fully, but arranged his top and guided Izuku with a practiced discretion that was second nature.
Izuku latched on with a desperate, grateful urgency. His trembling began to ease. His little hands, which had been clutching at Shouta’s shirt, now relaxed, one splaying on Hizashi’s chest.
Katsuki and Hitoshi stood a few feet away, their backs to the scene, a living wall. Katsuki stared intently at a promotional poster for a cell phone plan. Hitoshi’s gaze was fixed on the opposite wall, his expression unreadable. They didn’t speak. They just stood guard.
For five minutes, the only sound was the soft, rhythmic suckling and the distant, muffled beat of mall music. Hizashi hummed, low and vibrating in his chest, a sound Izuku could feel. Shouta watched the empty corridor, his arm stretched along the back of the bench behind Hizashi’s head.
Finally, Izuku’s sucks slowed to a drowsy flutter. He detached, his head lolling back, his eyes heavy-lidded and peaceful. A drop of milk beaded on his lip. Hizashi gently wiped it away with his thumb, then rearranged his clothing.
“Better?” he whispered.
Izuku nodded, his cheek smushing against Hizashi’s shoulder. “Mama.”
“I know, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”
The walk back to the car was silent. Izuku, back in the stroller, clutched his bunny and stared blankly ahead, drained. The twins flanked the stroller. Shouta carried the single bag of yarn Hizashi had managed to buy.
As Shouta started the car, the air conditioning blowing cool, Hizashi sat in the back with Izuku, who was already nodding off in his car seat.
Katsuki, in the passenger seat, broke the quiet. “The outfit was a hit, though. Before the meltdown. He did look… really pretty.”
From the middle seat, Hitoshi let out a long breath. “He did. The bows sealed it. Very convincing.”
“It’s not about convincing,” Shouta said, his eyes on the road. His voice was quiet but clear in the humming silence of the car. “It’s about what makes him happy. The skirt made him smile when he saw it in the mirror. The bows made him pat his head. That’s the only reason that matters.”
Hizashi reached forward, his hand resting on Shouta’s shoulder for a moment. A silent thank you.
They drove home under a darkening sky. The mall, with its overwhelming stimuli, was behind them. The failure, if it could even be called that, was insignificant. They had adapted, sheltered, provided. The routine would resume: the soft couch, the quiet hum of the fan, the needs met in the privacy of their own walls.
Izuku was asleep before they pulled into the driveway, his head tilted to the side, the deep pink bows still perfectly tied in his hair, a splash of color in the twilight.