Chapter 4: Cut People out like Tags on my Clothing
The heavy thud of the apartment door sealing shut echoed in the sudden silence, a final punctuation mark to the evening’s cheerful performance. The warmth from Hizashi’s hug still lingered ghostly on Izuku’s skin, instantly replaced by the biting cold of Kyoshi’s grip. Kyoshi’s hand, moments ago a casual point of contact for his fathers’ benefit, clamped onto Izuku’s waist like a steel trap, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh above his hip bone.
Izuku gasped, the sound sharp and involuntary in the quiet apartment. The scent of soy sauce and grilled chicken, so comforting minutes ago, suddenly felt cloying, heavy in the air.
Kyoshi spun him around, the motion violent and jarring. Izuku stumbled, the edge of the shoe rack digging into his back. Kyoshi shoved his face close, his breath hot and smelling faintly of IPA. The charming host was obliterated. In his place was a man with eyes narrowed to slits, dark with a fury that made Izuku’s blood ice over.
"You think they didn’t notice?" Kyoshi hissed, his voice a low, gravelly scrape against Izuku’s nerves. Each word was a punch. "You think I didn’t see your Daddy’s eyes on you, Izuku?" His fingers tightened impossibly further, making Izuku whimper. He could feel the bruises forming beneath the skin, joining the chorus of older aches. "Those little glances? That… assessment? You think he’s stupid?"
"I—I don’t…" Izuku stammered, his voice thin, reedy. He tried to twist away, but the grip was unyielding. Pain radiated up his side. "He… he always looks like that, Kyoshi. He’s just… observant."
"Observant?" Kyoshi spat the word like poison. He slammed his other hand against the wall beside Izuku’s head, boxing him in. The framed photo of them laughing at the beach last summer rattled in its frame. "He was staring at that cheek! Like he could see right through that pathetic makeup job." His free hand shot up, thumb pressing hard against the concealed bruise. Izuku flinched violently, a choked cry escaping him as pain flared hot and bright. "Was it showing? Did you fuck it up? Did you want them to see?"
"No! Kyoshi, please! I checked! It was fine!" Tears welled, blurring the fury twisting Kyoshi’s handsome features. The pressure on his cheekbone was agony. "He didn’t see anything! He just worries! Papa chats, Daddy watches. That’s how they are!"
Kyoshi leaned in until his forehead nearly touched Izuku’s. His eyes were terrifyingly close, the dark pupils swallowing the brown. "He worries because you make him worry," he growled, the intimacy of the proximity a grotesque parody. "With your sighs, your jumpiness, that fucking… that wounded bird look you get. You’re mine, Izuku." The words were a snarl, possessive and absolute. "My responsibility. My life. You don’t get to make them question that. You don’t get to undermine me in my own home!"
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling over. He could smell the lingering bergamot from Hizashi’s scarf, the faint starch of Shouta’s shirt, overlaying Kyoshi’s anger and the stale beer. The dissonance was dizzying. The sanctuary felt like a cage. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I just…"
"You just what?" Kyoshi demanded, shaking him slightly. The movement jolted Izuku’s head back against the wall. "You just can’t stand how good we have it? You need them to swoop in and rescue you from the big, bad boyfriend who takes care of you? Who puts a roof over your head? Who loves you more than anyone ever could?"
The shift was sudden. The crushing grip on his waist loosened minutely. The thumb eased off his bruised cheek, instead roughly wiping away the tears tracking through the concealer. Kyoshi’s voice dropped, softening into something strained, almost pleading, but underpinned by steel. "Look at me, bunny."
Izuku forced his eyes open, blinking through the wetness. Kyoshi’s expression was a confusing mix of anger and something resembling hurt, a look Izuku knew intimately. A look that always hooked deep into his need to soothe, to fix.
"Look at me," Kyoshi repeated, softer still. His hand moved from Izuku’s waist to cup his unhurt cheek, his touch now gentler, but the intensity in his eyes remained unnerving. "Do you have any idea how hard I work? How much pressure I’m under? That merger at the office is falling apart. My boss is breathing down my neck. I come home…" He paused, his thumb stroking Izuku’s cheekbone, a stark contrast to the violence moments before. "...I come home to this. To tension. To you looking like I’m torturing you in front of your family. Do you think that helps?" His voice cracked, a masterful performance of weary frustration. "Do you think I want to be like this? To get so… upset?"
The familiar script unfolded. Izuku’s fear began its insidious transformation into guilt. Kyoshi’s struggles were real. The pressure was immense. Maybe… maybe he had been too tense. Too obvious. Maybe he’d provoked the fear in Shouta’s eyes by being jumpy. The weight of responsibility, the burden of being the one who made Kyoshi lose control, settled heavily on his chest, crushing the brief spark of righteous fear.
"I’m sorry," Izuku whispered, the words thick with unshed tears and the bitter taste of self-recrimination. "I… I didn’t mean to make things harder. I know you’re stressed. I’m sorry I worried Daddy. I’m sorry I… disappointed you."
Kyoshi’s expression softened further, the storm clouds parting to reveal the sun of his affection. He leaned in and pressed a hard kiss to Izuku’s forehead, his lips lingering. "There’s my good bunny," he murmured, the endearment now feeling like a brand of ownership, not comfort. "See? Communication. That’s all it takes." He pulled back, his hand sliding down to squeeze Izuku’s arm, a gesture that was almost affectionate, but still carried the ghost of restraint. "I just need you to be strong for me, Izuku. Be mine. Fully. Trust me to handle things. Can you do that?"
Izuku nodded, swallowing hard. The physical pain was receding, replaced by a deeper, more pervasive ache. The tears stopped, but the salt remained, stinging the skin Kyoshi had pressed so hard. "Yes," he breathed, the word feeling like ash in his mouth. "I’m yours."
Kyoshi smiled, a genuine warmth finally reaching his eyes, the terrifying man of moments ago completely vanished, replaced by the loving boyfriend. "Good." He released Izuku’s arm and stepped back, surveying the apartment. The cheerful clutter suddenly looked like a mess. "Now," he said, his tone brisk, back to normal, as if the confrontation had never happened. He gestured towards the dining area where the remnants of dinner sat – dirty plates, half-empty glasses, the cheesecake platter. "Let’s get this cleaned up, yeah? It’s getting late." He yawned, stretching, the picture of weary contentment. "Long day tomorrow."
He turned and walked towards the kitchen, humming a tuneless snippet of whatever song Hizashi had been enthusing about earlier. Izuku remained pressed against the wall for a long moment, the echo of the slammed hand vibrating in the plaster beside his head. The phantom pressure of Kyoshi’s grip still burned on his hip and cheek. The scent of home-cooked food now mingled nauseatingly with the metallic tang of fear.
He looked at the cheerful sunflowers on the table, petals bright and open. Then he pushed himself away from the wall, his body moving on autopilot, and walked towards the dirty dishes. His fingers trembled slightly as he picked up a discarded beer bottle, the cool glass slippery in his grasp. The silence stretched, broken only by Kyoshi rinsing a plate in the sink, the sound unnervingly loud in the apartment that no longer felt like a sanctuary, but a stage where he was perpetually playing a role written in pain and whispered apologies.