Chapter 1: The Walk In
The late afternoon sun bled through the mismatched curtains of Izuku’s bedroom, casting long, dramatic shadows across a landscape of organized chaos. Fabric swatches were pinned to a corkboard in a rainbow riot, sketchbooks lay splayed open showing exaggerated, elegant figures, and a half-finished dress form stood sentinel in the corner, draped in midnight blue silk. The air smelled of vanilla candle, fabric starch, and the subtle, clean scent of Kaito’s cologne.
On the large, plush bed that dominated the room, Izuku Aizawa was currently attempting to devour his boyfriend whole.
He had Kaito pinned back against a mountain of velvet and satin pillows, one hand tangled in the boy’s thick, wavy brown hair, the other sliding under the hem of his fitted gym tee. Kaito, for all his newfound muscles and six-foot-three frame, melted into the mattress with a soft, helpless sigh, his large hands settling on Izuku’s waist as if holding something priceless and delicate.
“You’re thinking about… stoichiometry again,” Izuku murmured against his lips, not pulling away, the words a warm vibration between them.
“I’m not,” Kaito breathed, his voice already hazy.
“Liar. Your kiss got all… calculatory.” Izuku nipped at his bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue. “Forget the periodic table. The only element you need to worry about is me.”
Kaito’s laugh was a puff of air against Izuku’s cheek. “That was so cheesy.”
“You love it.” Izuku finally leaned back, just enough to look at him. His own white curls were a mess, falling into wine-red eyes that glittered with pure, unadulterated mischief. He shifted, straddling Kaito’s hips more firmly, feeling the hard proof of his distraction beneath him. A slow, cat-like smile spread across his face. “See? Not thinking about science now, are you?”
Before Kaito could stutter out a reply—and he would have stuttered—the door swung open without so much as a knock.
Shouta Aizawa leaned against the doorframe, a man perpetually existing on the last dregs of a five-year-old coffee. His medium-length black hair was in its usual state of chaotic waves, and the shadows under his eyes were impressive, though they did nothing to diminish the sharp, assessing gaze that took in the scene on the bed. He was wearing worn grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that strained slightly across his shoulders.
“Hey, hellspawn,” he said, his voice a dry, gravelly monotone. “I’m making katsudon. Your human sacrifice is welcome to stay, provided he doesn’t mind you talking with your mouth full. Which you always do.”
Izuku didn’t jump, didn’t even flinch. He simply turned his head, still perched atop Kaito, who had gone rigid, a deep crimson blush exploding from his neck to his hairline.
“Daddy,” Izuku drawled, his tone sweet as poisoned honey. “Your timing is, as always, psychic in its shitty precision.”
Shouta raised a brow. “It’s six PM. I cook at six PM. This is not a mystery, Izuku. It’s a routine. The concept might be foreign to your whirlwind of impulse and fabric scraps, but it governs the civilized world.”
Kaito made a small, strangled noise, trying to subtly shift Izuku off him. Izuku pressed down harder, a silent command.
“We’re busy,” Izuku announced, turning back to Kaito. He framed Kaito’s beautifully flustered face with his hands. “Aren’t we, Kai? Very, very busy.”
“We… uh… I…” Kaito’s eyes were darting from Izuku’s intense gaze to Shouta’s placid one in the doorway.
Izuku leaned down, his long white curls creating a private curtain around their faces, and kissed Kaito deeply, thoroughly. It was a performance and a possession all in one. After a deliberate, audible pop as he broke the kiss, he called out over his shoulder, his voice a purr of absolute satisfaction.
“So, fuck off.”
A beat of silence. Mr. Whiskers, the small grey tabby, picked his way daintily across the floor and brushed against Shouta’s leg. Shouta didn’t move.
Izuku nuzzled into Kaito’s neck, inhaling the scent of him—clean sweat, cheap detergent, and something uniquely, comforting Kaito. He traced the shell of his boyfriend’s ear with his lips, his voice dropping to a low, husky murmur meant to be heard by everyone in the room.
“I’m gonna ride this dick to the sun, ain’t that right, baby?”
The silence that followed was atomic. Kaito made a sound like a deflating balloon mixed with a whimper. His entire body was tensed, frozen in a state of pure, unadulterated mortification.
Shouta let out a long, weary sigh. It was the sigh of a man who had once toured internationally for book signings and now regularly found glitter in his laundry and philosophical debates about hem lengths at his breakfast table.
“First,” Shouta began, pushing off the doorframe and stepping fully into the room. He picked up a stray sketchbook from the floor, closed it, and placed it neatly on the desk. “The astrophysics of that statement are flawed. The friction alone would be catastrophic long before you left the stratosphere.”
Izuku peeked one red eye from the sanctuary of Kaito’s neck. “You’re such a buzzkill. It’s a metaphor.”
“It’s a biohazard,” Shouta corrected, his tone flat. “Second, Kaito, if you need an escape route, blink twice. I have a spare key to the window fire escape. It’s how Hizashi used to leave after our fights before we figured our shit out.”
Kaito, heroically, found his voice. It was high and tight. “It’s—It’s okay, Mr. Aizawa. Really. I’m… fine.”
“He’s not fine, Daddy, he’s perfect,” Izuku crooned, finally rolling off Kaito and flopping onto his back, staring at the ceiling where a glow-in-the-dark constellation map was haphazardly stuck. “And you’re interrupting my creative process. Sexual energy is vital for design innovation. Look at Versace.”
“I’m looking at my son attempting to give his nice, studious boyfriend an aneurysm in my house,” Shouta said, but he was walking toward the bed. He reached out and ruffled Izuku’s wild hair, his large, calloused hand surprisingly gentle. “Katsudon. Twenty minutes. You,” he said, pointing a finger at Kaito, who sat up like a soldier called to attention. “You look like you could use some protein. And a stiff drink, but you’re nineteen, so you get milk.”
Shouta turned and headed for the door. “And Izuku?”
“Yes, O Harbinger of Pork Cutlets?”
“The sun is a giant ball of plasma. You’d fry before you got close. Set more realistic goals.” The door clicked shut behind him.
The moment the latch caught, Kaito collapsed backward with a massive groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Izuku. He heard that. He heard the sun thing.”
Izuku giggled, curling onto his side to face Kaito, propping his head on his hand. “Of course he heard it. I wanted him to hear it. Did you see his face? Priceless.”
“I saw the inside of my own eyelids because I was trying to die!” Kaito peeked out from under his arm. His face was still magnificently flushed. “Why? Why would you say that? In front of your dad?”
“Because he doesn’t care,” Izuku said simply, reaching out to trace the lines of Kaito’s abdominals through his shirt. “He really, genuinely doesn’t. He’d only care if you were boring, or mean, or if you didn’t look at me like I hung the moon you don’t want me to ride you to.”
Kaito lowered his arm, turning his head to look at Izuku. The panic in his dark eyes was slowly receding, replaced by a familiar, soft bewilderment. “He doesn’t… mind?”
“Mind? Kaito, that man changed my diapers while on conference calls with his editor. He held my hair back when I puked up birthday cake at twelve. He sat through my ‘gender is a fabric store and I want to browse all the aisles’ phase with nothing but supportive nods and bought me my first binder. My explicit sexual ambitions are about a two on the Shouta Aizawa Weirdness Scale.” Izuku’s grin was fond. “You’re the one who gets flustered, not him. He thinks it’s funny.”
“I’m not embarrassed by you,” Kaito said quickly, earnestly, grabbing Izuku’s wandering hand and lacing their fingers together. “I’m never embarrassed by you. Or… us. I just… my parents would literally spontaneously combust. The air in the room just… leaves my body when you say stuff like that in front of an authority figure.”
“Daddy’s not an authority figure. He’s just Daddy.” Izuku squeezed his hand. “And your parents are repressed accountants who think anime is a communist plot. We’ve been over this.”
Kaito sighed, a real one this time, and brought Izuku’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… a lot to get used to. You’re a lot to get used to. In the best way,” he added, seeing Izuku’s playful frown.
“You love my lot.” Izuku scooted closer, resting his head on Kaito’s shoulder. The cat, Mr. Whiskers, leaped onto the bed with a graceful thump and settled in the dip of Izuku’s waist, purring like a tiny engine.
“I do,” Kaito whispered into his hair, his body finally relaxing. “I really, really do.”
They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the cat’s purr and the distant, comforting clatter of pots from the kitchen below.
“He’s making katsudon,” Izuku said quietly. “That’s his ‘I like you’ meal. He only breaks out the panko and dashi for people he approves of.”
Kaito’s breath hitched. “Really?”
“Mhm. He made it for Tenya when my brother brought him home. Made it for Ochako when she came over after my top surgery. It’s the Aizawa Seal of Approval. You’re in, baby. Sun-ride comment and all.”
Kaito’s arm tightened around him. The simple domesticity of it—the smell of cooking food, the weight of the cat, the solid warmth of the boy he loved underneath him—was a balm. The earlier embarrassment faded, replaced by a profound sense of belonging that was still new and thrilling.
“You think he’d… explain the stoichiometry thing to me later?” Kaito asked, his voice hopeful. “I actually was stuck on a problem earlier.”
Izuku burst out laughing, the sound bright and unhindered. “Oh my god, you were! I knew it!” He kissed Kaito’s jaw. “Yes, you giant nerd. After dinner, you can bombard him with questions. He’ll pretend to hate it, but he’ll love it. He misses having someone to talk shop with since Tenya decided law was more exciting than quantum mechanics.”
The door swung open again. Shouta didn’t enter, just leaned in.
“If you two are done with the after-school special cuddling, the rice is done. And Kaito.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you call me ‘sir’ again, I’m putting less pork in your bowl. It’s Shouta. Or ‘hey, you.’ Or ‘the guy who prevents your girlfriend from giving you third-degree burns via astrophysical hyperbole.’ Understood?”
A slow, real smile spread across Kaito’s face. “Understood. Shouta.”
“Good. Five minutes. Don’t make me come back in here. Next time I might have a hose.” The door shut again.
Izuku sat up, stretching his arms above his head. The fading light caught the silver rings on his fingers and the gloss on his lips. “C’mon, science project. Let’s go get your seal of approval, protein-style.”
Kaito sat up, watching him. Izuku was a vision of confident chaos, all wild hair, bold eyes, and a body he knew was as soft as it was strong. He felt a surge of something fierce and protective and utterly smitten.
“Hey, Izuku?”
“Hmm?”
“For the record,” Kaito said, standing up and pulling Izuku to his feet, “the sun thing? Sounded pretty awesome to me.”
Izuku’s eyes glittered. He slid his hands up Kaito’s chest, linking them behind his neck. “Yeah? Wanna help me test the atmospheric re-entry later?”
From downstairs, Shouta’s voice bellowed up the stairs. “I HEARD THAT! FOOD’S GETTING COLD!”
Izuku laughed, loud and free, and pulled his beautifully flustered, wonderfully loved boyfriend out of the room and toward the noise, the light, and the promise of a family meal.