Chapter 5: You’re such a good Actor
The rhythmic clinking of dishes from the kitchen finally ceased. Silence, thick and heavy, settled over the apartment, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator. Izuku stood by the sink, drying the last plate with a towel gone slightly stiff. The cool porcelain felt grounding against his trembling fingers. He focused on the pattern of water droplets beading on the stainless steel faucet, anything to avoid looking towards the hallway leading to the bedroom.
Kyoshi’s footsteps approached, soft on the laminate. Izuku braced himself, the towel tightening in his grip. Kyoshi stopped behind him, close enough for Izuku to feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the lingering scent of dish soap mixed with his familiar cologne. A large hand settled on Izuku’s shoulder, heavy. The grip wasn't painful, not yet, but it was possessive. Anchoring.
"Hey," Kyoshi murmured, his voice low and smooth, the anger from earlier seemingly dissolved like sugar in hot tea. He nuzzled the back of Izuku’s neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath his hairline. A shiver, part involuntary, part dread, ran down Izuku’s spine. "C'mon, bunny. Long day. Bed."
It wasn't a request. Izuku nodded mutely, placing the dry plate carefully on the rack. He didn’t trust his voice. The path down the short hallway felt like walking through wet cement. Kyoshi’s hand slid down his arm, fingers intertwining with his. The gesture, meant to be affectionate, felt like a shackle.
The bedroom was dim, bathed in the soft, fading light of the setting sun filtering through the blinds. Dust motes danced in the amber streaks illuminating the familiar space. Kyoshi’s glasses sat folded neatly beside Shouta’s worn copy of Marcus Aurelius on the nightstand. The patchwork quilt Hizashi had made them three birthdays ago covered the bed, its vibrant squares looking muted in the gloom. Photos smiled down from the walls: Izuku and Kyoshi beaming with Mickey ears at Disneyland, Kyoshi laughing as Izuku blew out candles, the four of them – Izuku, Kyoshi, Hizashi, Shouta – squeezed together on a couch, radiating happiness. The scent of lavender from a long-emptied diffuser still faintly clung to the air.
Kyoshi guided Izuku to the edge of the bed. He sat, and Kyoshi knelt before him, hands resting on Izuku’s knees. He looked up, his face softened in the low light, the hard lines from the hallway confrontation completely erased. He looked earnest. Tired. Remorseful? Izuku’s treacherous heart squeezed.
"Look at me, Izuku," Kyoshi said, his voice barely above a whisper. His thumbs traced slow circles on Izuku’s thighs. "About earlier…" He sighed, a sound laden with manufactured weariness. "I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. Shouldn't have pressed on…" His gaze flickered to the faint, barely-there discoloration beneath the concealer on Izuku’s cheekbone. "Work’s just… it’s eating me alive. The merger’s a disaster. Tanaka-san is breathing down my neck every damn minute."
Izuku remained still, staring at a point just over Kyoshi’s shoulder where a photo caught the dying light – Kyoshi ruffling Izuku’s hair at the beach. The memory of genuine laughter felt like a physical ache.
"And then," Kyoshi continued, his fingers drifting up Izuku’s sides, over his ribs, light as spiders, "coming home to… tension. Seeing Shouta watching you like that… like he was looking for cracks." His touch halted, hands settling firmly on Izuku’s waist. "It makes me feel like I’m failing. Failing you. Failing us." His voice cracked with believable emotion. "You know I only get like that because I care so much, right? Because the thought of losing you… of you thinking I’m not enough… it terrifies me."
The words were a well-rehearsed incantation, designed to twist guilt into responsibility inside Izuku’s chest. He’s hurting because of his job. Because of the pressure. Because he loves me too much. The excuses lined up, familiar and suffocating. Izuku managed a small nod. "I know," he whispered, the words tasting like ash.
Kyoshi’s expression softened further, relief washing over his features. He stood, pulling Izuku up with him. He wrapped his arms around Izuku’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. Izuku stiffened for a fraction of a second before forcing himself to relax, to mold his body against Kyoshi’s. He rested his head on Kyoshi’s shoulder, staring blankly at the cheerful quilt behind him.
"That’s my good bunny," Kyoshi murmured, the endearment slithering into Izuku’s ear. He began swaying gently, a mockery of a slow dance in the silent room. One hand slid beneath Izuku’s t-shirt, warm palm flattening against the small of his back. The touch was possessive, claiming. Izuku could feel the faint ridge of an older bruise low on his spine, a souvenir from a different "stressful" week. Kyoshi’s fingers trailed upwards, tracing each vertebra with deceptive gentleness.
"You’re mine, Izuku," he breathed, his lips brushing the shell of Izuku’s ear. The words weren’t tender; they were a low growl wrapped in velvet. A reminder. A branding. "All mine. Every part of you. Your smiles, your worries… your pain." His fingers pressed slightly, just below the bruise, a silent punctuation. "Nobody else sees you like I do. Understands you like I do. Needs you like I do."
Izuku closed his eyes. The scent of Kyoshi’s cologne, usually comforting, now felt cloying. The warmth of his body was oppressive. The silence pressed in, heavy with unsaid things. He focused on the photos. His own smiling face, frozen in time. Hizashi’s bright grin. Shouta’s watchful eyes, so sharp earlier… but oblivious. Always oblivious. Because Izuku made sure of it. The lie was a cage he meticulously maintained.
Kyoshi’s hand moved again, sliding around his side, pulling him even closer. His other hand came up, fingers tangling roughly in the hair at the nape of Izuku’s neck, tilting his head back. Kyoshi’s eyes were dark pools in the dimness, intense and unreadable. He searched Izuku’s face.
"Say it," Kyoshi commanded, his voice still low, but the softness gone, replaced by something harder. Undeniable. His grip in Izuku’s hair tightened, just enough to sting.
Izuku’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped against glass. The air felt thin. He swallowed, his throat dry. The words crawled up, scraped raw. "I'm yours," he whispered, the admission tasting like defeat.
Kyoshi held his gaze for a long, excruciating moment. The pressure on his scalp didn't relent. Then, slowly, a smile touched Kyoshi’s lips. Not warm. Triumphant. He released Izuku’s hair, his hand smoothing down the strands almost apologetically. He leaned in and pressed a hard kiss to Izuku’s forehead, mirroring the gesture from the hallway. Possession marked.
"Good boy," Kyoshi murmured, the praise landing like a blow. He finally stepped back, breaking the stifling embrace. He stretched, yawned theatrically. "Right. Exhausted. Let's turn in." He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly towards the hamper. It missed, landing on the floor beside Shouta’s book. "You coming?"
Izuku stood rooted for a second longer, the phantom pressure of Kyoshi’s hands still burning on his back and scalp. The cheerful bedroom felt like the most desolate place on earth. The setting sun painted long, distorted shadows across the quilt, stretching towards him like grasping fingers. He took a shallow breath, the scent of lavender now suffused with the cloying sweetness of Kyoshi’s cologne and the metallic tang of his own fear.
"Yeah," Izuku said, his voice flat. He moved mechanically towards his side of the bed, his body obeying the command even as his mind screamed to run. To anywhere. To his fathers’ safe, cluttered home. But the invisible chains held fast. He slipped under the cool weight of the patchwork quilt, turning his back towards Kyoshi, facing the wall and the faint outline of a crack in the plaster he’d traced countless nights. The mattress dipped as Kyoshi climbed in beside him. An arm snaked around Izuku’s waist, pulling him back against a solid, warm chest. The embrace was meant to be comforting. It felt like a straitjacket.
Kyoshi sighed contentedly, his breath warm against the back of Izuku’s neck. "Night, bunny," he mumbled, already sounding drowsy. "Love you."
Izuku lay rigid, staring at the crack in the plaster. The silence returned, heavier now, filled only by Kyoshi’s deepening breaths and the frantic drumming of his own heart against his ribs. He didn't answer. He couldn't force the lie past the lump in his throat. He just closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness to swallow him whole, the echo of Kyoshi’s words – You’re mine – vibrating in the marrow of his bones, as the last sliver of sunlight vanished below the horizon, plunging the room and his world into shadow. The faint buzz of his phone, silenced earlier for dinner, pulsed once in the drawer of the nightstand. A forgotten lifeline. He didn't move.