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You and What Army

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Toshinori gave the boys twenty minutes to play in the gym before he went to go supervise with Basil following behind.

He seemed to be forgiven because young Bakugo gave him the stink eye, but didn’t throw anything else. Likely that was the best he could have hoped for. Young Izuku was looking brighter around the eyes and that was a larger relief. They’d dropped a big bomb on him that morning after an interrupted night and Toshinori had been worried that the boy took it a little too well.

Inko had been confident that half an hour of bond time would clear up whatever the kid was stressing over and he was very grateful to find she’d been correct. He was in the unenviable position of knowing just how difficult it could be for a kid when their caregivers suddenly switched the script on them even when it was a good change. He didn’t want that for young Izuku.

They ended up having a good time. He’d shamelessly copied the ropes idea from Inko’s wharf warehouse because, while he loved the old place, they’d been mugged there twice since he started going regularly. Obviously it ended up with the muggers in custody, but what if it happened when he or Inko wasn’t around? The boys could look after themselves, but -call him crazy- he didn’t want them to have to just yet. At least not until they had their provisional licenses.

So far his plan of having a convenient and well appointed private gym in an area of town that didn’t give him agita seemed to be working. They said money can’t buy happiness, but Toshinori was certain only people who had never been poor really believed that. Most of his earnings went to support his charities, but he was still intensely wealthy and never really spent it on much except making his life easier. The gym and the penthouse reno were some of the first things he’d invested in to make it more pleasurable and boy howdy was that gym paying dividends already. Those two little adrenaline junkies were happily wearing each other out and blowing off a stressful day’s worth of steam.

If Basil had imprinted on Izuku, it was fascinated by young Bakugo and followed him around with great determination. It wasn’t at the point of soliciting affection from the teenager, which it wouldn’t have gotten, but it definitely wanted his attention. 

Young Bakugo did stay for dinner after a consultation with his mother. Toshinori noticed that he gave the absolute minimum of information of where he actually was when asking to stay over. “Auntie invited me to stay for dinner.” was apparently all he needed to say though. A final piece of the puzzle Toshinori’d been subconsciously trying to assemble in the penthouse clicked into place as they all sat down to dinner with the boys elbowing each other and Inko mediating with serenity. 

The evening wasn’t totally without worry. Nedzu called to update him on the campus breakin. Someone had definitely been snooping in the facilities schedule. Campus would reopen tomorrow, but the class schedule would be shuffled around. Rescue training was getting bumped back. Urban infiltration training was being rotated to a new field so he had to come up with a whole new exercise and that was going to be a headache. 

All told, it was a good day to figure out that he’d doubled the time on his clock yet again. He’d held his transformation for eight hours so far that day without feeling a tremor. In his heyday he’d been able to hold a flex for sixteen hours. He’d probably never manage that again, but if there was a problem he couldn’t deal with in twelve hours then it probably couldn’t be solved by him alone anyway.

The press mob was still there, albeit smaller after going a whole day with no joy, but this time the Midoriyas escaped out the garage with young Bakugo and Toshinori met them a few blocks away in his truck. 

He dropped young Bakugo off at his house and followed the Midoriyas into their place. 

Meeting with his management team had been every bit as stressful as he’d predicted. They’d loved Izuku, which was no surprise. He had a distinct look, good manners, a winning personality, and managers loved a young hero with a baby face. That conversation went exactly as Toshinori predicted; they’d wait to debut him until the Sports Festival. There was even minimal groaning over the fact that Izuku’s first school-era costume was already designed and produced since Toshinori admitted to have helped him with the preliminary drafts. 

Two of the junior members of the PR team -the ones most likely to get assigned to Izuku as his full time wrangler- were already eyeing each other up while smiling with far too many teeth. 

He wasn’t expecting it though when they took Inko’s arrival with a palpable aura of something that almost felt like relief. She let herself into the media room looking soft, pretty, and not at all like she’d just been on the phone with Akatani; something that always left her most harmless mask looking a little thin around the edges.

Toshinori was only too aware that male pro Heroes who married late in life tended to go one of two ways; trophy wives twenty years their junior or mild mannered single moms. 

They must have been afraid he’d met someone in the first category, but he hadn’t much liked the way his team took it as license to talk over her. Inko let it go on looking more placid and unruffled with every passing minute until one of the younger men on his team, Shimizu Hiro, finally got around to asking her a question and also giving her time to answer it. 

“What is it you do, Midoriya-san?” Shimizu wasn’t exactly condescending, but he clearly had an answer in his head already; preschool teacher, part time florist, blogger, or something in that vein. “It’ll be an important question to answer later on.”

“I’m retired these days.” She smiled the way she did when she was about to get someone and suddenly Toshinori felt a lot less bored and annoyed than he usually did during these meetings. “It wasn’t reasonable to keep working once I had Izu.”

“Oh?” Shimizu perked up a little, as did the other members of the PR team. Inko was still fairly young and early retirement wasn’t a small achievement. He could see them getting ready to spin that into a big positive. “What were you doing before?” 

He was clearly hoping for ‘doctor’ or ‘lawyer’ or something since they’d probably looked into her enough to have already determined that she wasn’t a widow nor was there an annoying ex out there that they’d need to bribe or threaten into silence.

Honestly, the little black card she took out of her pocket then was the least surprising surprise of every bombshell she’d dropped on him since the day they met. It was a revelation in keeping with the high dramatics he had come to expect from professional heroics. He’d guessed that she was a Black Card within a few hours of meeting her so all he really felt was a vague sense of vindication. Technically, he was one too, but his card had been issued specifically with All for One in mind. He’d never been called on to use it again. 

Black Card Heroes all, especially the ones who were no longer active, had a certain way of insisting they were nobody worth bothering with all while projecting the aura of someone you definitely didn’t want to bother with. They were like Underground Heroes, only meaner and more alien; literally, in Inko’s case. They were good people, but hardly ever comfortable people given the things they were willing to do. All the retired Black Cards he’d ever met had some extremely soothing hobby that dominated their time and no visible employment to support it. Raising a teenager was probably less calming than Obake’s gigantic rock garden or Vita’s pottery, but Inko seemed happy with it. 

Agent Akatani’s sudden interest in his business had been as good as confirmation and there was really no other way for her to have legally done the other things she’d confessed to him.

That didn’t mean he hated to see her own it.

His management team took it harder. They went quiet and pale as you might expect from a group of civilians confronted with an imperial executioner; the bogeyman of professional heroics. Japan had come a long way from its feudal roots, but in some ways the nation hadn’t changed at all. 

They quit talking over her and started taking the conversation a bit more seriously, which had led to this nighttime excursion. 

Everyone agreed: the media was going to find her eventually. There was no way around that and it was better if she wasn’t still living in the apartment when that happened. They had the safety and privacy of her neighbors to consider, for one. Toshinori’s fans were unusually respectful of his privacy and personal life, but sometimes big life events were known to change that. The security in the penthouse was better, especially once Liberty was allocating it more of her attention and not leaving it to the automated processes.

The name ‘Vortex’ hadn’t reached the ears of his PR team yet, which proved that it was still just a tiny whisper on the internet. Akatani’s ear would have been much closer to the ground than the average person so of course he caught it first. Still, it meant they’d have to introduce her by her code name in order to get ahead of any reporters who’d want to use it to try and startle an embarrassing sound byte out of her.

Toshinori and Inko hadn’t admitted to being engaged yet. He didn’t want that slipping out and every management team had a leak somewhere, but his managers didn’t need to be told it was serious if her child was involved so they were treating an eventual wedding as a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’.

Tonight they were picking up clothes and anything Inko or Izuku didn’t want strangers touching. A professional moving company that catered to heroes would manage the real move. Packers would come to box everything up into a mobile storage container, which would go through an elaborate shell game of storage units and cross country shipments before being stored somewhere Inko and Izuku could visit to decide what they wanted to keep. The rest would be broken up among thrift stores across the country. 

Was that paranoid? Probably, but it was the reality most people who moved in with a hero above a certain ranking had to live with if they joined households before going public.

Inko tasked him with helping her distractible son pack and he’d known, sort of, that young Izuku had a merch collection that would warm even Mirai’s icy heart. It was small, but carefully curated and Toshinori was not too dumb to realize that being asked by his red-eared future stepson to help take it down from display involved no small measure of trust. 

The bright side was that Christmases and birthdays were going to be real easy for him in future and Toshinori relished the glow he felt at the prospect of having them to look forward to.  

Thank fuck he wasn’t taking down any of the posters or holding one of the little action figures that even he recognized as very old and very rare when the front door slammed open. He was just holding a little box of ancient stuffies when he accidentally puffed up in response to the sudden violent noise. 

He had a whole new startle reflex after so many years of having to be so strategic about how long he stayed flexed for. Thankfully he’d opted to wear one of his bigger shirts for the trip so he didn’t add another casualty to the mounting list in his wardrobe. 

It was Mitsuki-san in the open door holding her son, madder than a wet cat, by the ear. 

They’d met a few times and even did a double date once that went well. He and Masaru had made friends anyway. He was scared of the man’s wife and not ashamed to admit it. This wasn’t the sort of problem you could punch or arrest and he now regretted all the times he’d had a private chuckle when overhearing a fellow pro -someone who shouldn’t have feared anything short of an asteroid strike- fret about the pitfalls and setbacks involved with trying to make friends with their spouse’s friends. It was terrible and stressful, but he had to do it because the other option was being one of those creepy couples with no friends outside their relationship. 

Mitsuki seemed to grudgingly approve of him in respect to his ability to get things down off tall shelves and wear her son out enough that he didn’t make a lot of noise at home. She’d warmed up to him slightly when he’d taken over young Bakugo’s quirk coaching and refused to pay any attention to the weird histrionic woman who sometimes showed up at the warehouse to intimate in non-specific ways that young Bakugo was a latent villain. 

“Inko, you had better not…” She stared at him, wide eyed. He stared right back and wondered if he’d just accidentally screwed them all over. 

Mitsuki released her son. “Nevermind, brat, I found something new to be mad about. Go play with Izuku.” She pointed at him. “Buddy, you had better not be faking right now. That is literally the only way this could get worse for you.”

“It’s him.” Katsuki groused, rubbing his ear, and glared when Toshinori gave him a sad, betrayed look. “Don’t look at me for help, asshole, you dug this grave by yourself.” He stomped off past him to Izuku’s room.

“Mitsuki?” Inko came out of the master bedroom with a few dresses draped over her forearm. “That took less time than I thought.”

“Maybe don’t tell secrets to my kid if you don’t want me to find out.” Mitsuki-san deflated slightly, confronted with her actual friend. Their dynamic was eerily reminiscent of young Izuku and his boyfriend, albeit platonic. “I can read his guilty little face like a book.” She crossed her arms. “I get you not telling me about…” She gestured towards Toshinori so as to indicate his everything. “... this , but you’re gonna get engaged without telling me about it?”

“We don’t have a ring yet!” Toshinori blurted out. Mitsuki gave him a look that was eerily similar to her son’s highest level of scorn.

“It was a spur of the moment thing.” Inko reassured her terrifying friend. “We talked about it just this morning.”

Mitsuki relaxed at once, as though she’d been waiting for the slightest excuse. Suddenly young Bakugo and Izuku suddenly made more sense to him than they ever had before.

He started to back away, intent on going to find somewhere to hide, but Mitsuki pointed at him as he started to make a break for it. 

“Don’t even think about it.” She growled. “Why are you moving them out if this just happened today?”

Again, he didn’t think before answering because he was probably always going to be intimidated by that woman. “You haven’t seen the picture?”

Mitsuki turned to Inko. “What picture?”

Toshinori had the copy on his phone and Mitsuki only tortured him a little bit for making it his lock screen, but even she grudgingly admitted that someone who knew Inko would recognize her from that picture before long and the little apartment complex was nowhere anyone would want to get pinned down by cameras. 

“I still don’t like it.” She had a look to her that suggested what she didn’t like was not being within walking distance of her friend anymore, but knew that was too selfish to say and that was a sentiment Toshinori understood all too well.

“It won’t be forever. The plan is to hold a press conference after the UA Sports Festival.” He explained. “We don’t want to take attention away from the children. Once it’s been announced we’ll be normal and boring and can have friends over again.”

Inko held up her license over Mitsuki’s shoulder and nodded to the back room. “Daring, do you mind supervising the boys to make sure Izuku keeps packing? I’d like to talk to Mitsuki alone for a moment.”

He nodded and made his break. Izuku looked sympathetic when he let himself into the bedroom and young Bakugo looked about his usual level of scornful. 

Between the three of them they got Izuku’s collectibles, electronics, and his private papers packed up. Toshinori was less concerned by the haphazard way the boys picked out what clothes to take; going by Izuku’s (and sometimes young Bakugo’s) favorites rather than what was seasonal. 

They didn’t know it yet, but they were probably both about to get attacked by a stylist. Katsuki would get off without issue since every single article of clothing he wore was designer thanks to Masaru and his hair actively defied styling, but Izuku was probably going to get worked over from the ground up so it didn’t matter what he brought so long as it was something he wanted to have with him. The stylist would fill in the practical gaps. Pajamas, comfort wear, underclothes, and uniforms were the real priority. 

Fortunately the boys were distracted by arguing over this one jacket that Toshinori didn’t really see young Bakugo’s issue with (what was wrong with bright colors?) when Mitsuki squawked in surprise from the other room, but that was the only outburst. They were quiet for a bit longer before a more somber Mitsuki reappeared to collect her son.

“Come on, brat. You’re in the way.” She told him, looking a little tired but less irritable than when she’d arrived. 

“Oh now you care about that?” Katsuki cracked back.

Inko caught his eye from the other room and nodded with a tired little smile. He relaxed. Everything was okay. 

Mitsuki squinted up at him when he and Inko walked her to the door. “You can stay, I guess.” She said grudgingly. 

He didn’t expect to be as touched by that statement as he was. “Thank you.” He said softly. “I look forward to it.”

Thanks to Kacchan grounding him a little bit that afternoon, Izuku felt a little more sanguine about suddenly moving in with his mentor and, um ...gosh. ‘Future stepfather’ was a phrase that was going to take some getting used to. 

They’d basically had a combined household for months before this and Toshinori-san moving out had been weirder than having him around was. Yes, his physical presence made the walls in the tiny apartment close in a little bit, but he had a nice brain to live in close proximity to; something you’d never think about if you weren’t Izuku.

Mom could do what he did, but she had to work at it and often didn’t care to. She found other people’s minds messy, confusing, and stressful. Izuku meanwhile always needed to know what other people really meant because he often struggled with reading tone or body language. He spent so much time ‘listening’ that his internal psychic radio defaulted to ‘on’ so, unlike his mom, it took him effort to switch it ‘off.’

He didn’t like doing that at home if he didn’t have to and he’d discovered he didn’t really have to do that around Toshinori-san. The older hero had a lot of concerns and always carried a little stress, but he seemed to be past the point where setbacks wound him up. He was kind of like one of those big dogs who didn’t move unless they absolutely had to. He had gotten angry twice in Izuku’s recollection and both times back been when a salesman tried to get in the house.  

What was a dad, even? His only frame of reference was Masaru-san and he was more of a quiet backdrop to his loud son and wife. 

It wasn’t like Izuku had conflicted feelings about Hisashi-san. His mom never made any pretences about why his biological father wasn’t in their life and what little he’d overheard of his mom’s interactions with the guy cemented his feelings that Hisashi-san was a nice enough person, but not someone he wanted that particular relationship with. Mom didn’t hide it from him either when Hisashi-san figured out Izuku existed or the fact that his reaction was to panic and run away whenever Izuku might be in the area --except for all the times Izuku picked up on the man following him around in public. Mom said to ignore him until he worked through his feelings, but it was like being stalked by a very anxious tree. Hisashi-san’s brain was the opposite of soothing.

‘Dad’ wasn’t a word that often appeared in his vocabulary; only in the third person, really. ‘Your’ dad. ‘His’ dad. ‘Her’ dad. It had never been ‘my’ dad so the word wasn’t as natural or emotionally charged for him as it might have been for someone else. 

“I always liked this run.” Toshinori-san observed as he helped Izuku hang one of the posters in his collection that he’d never had room for on his walls before. It was a theater sized poster from an animated movie that came out when he was in grade school and he might have been a bit young to see it, but he’d won it in an opening-night raffle. “The illustrator’s quirk factor was in her eyes. It affected the way she perceived color in very interesting ways.”

“Is that why the movie’s palette was like that?” Izuku asked. The movie had gotten some mixed reviews about the visuals. You either loved it or couldn’t stand it. It had All Might in it so grade-school Izuku had loved it.

“Yes, the directors saw the initial submissions for promotional materials, loved the effect, and re-colored the entire movie to match.” Toshinori-san chuckled to himself as he went looking for another box to open. He was surprisingly comfortable with most of his own merch. Some of the lumpy knock-off stuff seemed to bother him when they encountered it in the wild. To be fair, that stuff frequently bothered Izuku too because it was usually ugly. 

Toshinori-san seemed to have a story about every item they unpacked; either about the designers or the charity the proceeds went to fund or how early in his career another notable hero got jealous when his stuff sold better and had a tantrum about it on Twitter that tanked their career for a solid year. 

Izuku had been braced for Toshinori-san to be made uncomfortable by his stuff, but eventually figured out that the merch wasn’t just about All Might to his mentor; it was about the project and the people involved or who were supported by it.

Like most kids, Izuku had dreamed about having merch of his own being the hot new toy or whatever. He’d never actually considered what it would be to have that dream come true.

Also, Kacchan merch. Oh gosh. He was probably going to buy it all.

“Do you ever keep any of your own stuff around?” Izuku asked to distract himself from the fact that none of that was going to happen for ages yet.

“I used to; my first poster, these little kid-friendly stuffed animals, and some things like that.” Toshinori-san  admitted. “There eventually got to be too much and one time someone tried to burn my building down so it’s mostly in the museum in New York these days.”

Izuku wondered if that donation happened about five years ago. “Does that happen often? People attacking your house?” That would get awkward if it happened when mom was home. A bunch of vacant eyed villains turning themselves in at the nearest police station might draw some attention. It’d be really funny though. 

“Not very often.” Toshinori admitted, soberly. “Often enough to be worried about. There’s a reason my management team and I were so eager to get you and your mother someplace secure. The press isn’t the only concern.” He looked down at the box with all Izuku’s Nitotans. “That incident with Nighteye was an aberration. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I know it won’t.” Izuku grinned at the startled look Toshinori-san gave him. “I heard Miss Liberty yelling at you when she made you review the security lists.”

“Ah, haha…” Toshinori-san rubbed the back of his head. “...I suppose the whole house heard that, now that I’m thinking about it.” 

“She was really quiet when we first visited.” Izuku was pretty sure that didn’t mean she wasn’t around.

“Liberty doesn’t fully interact with that many people and I wasn’t here all that often after I moved in so she had no reason to devote that much of her attention here. She started to dip in and out more as your mother started to visit.” Toshinori-san’s mouth pulled down a bit at the edges. “She’ll watch people for a little bit before she makes up her mind about them. You and your mother passed otherwise she just pretends to be a personal assistant. She’ll come out for Mirai… Sir Nighteye, rather, sometimes but they don’t get along. They both think the other is too controlling.” 

Izuku thought about it for a moment. “She talked to Kacchan right away.” He pointed out.

“Well, young Bakugo doesn’t hold much back. He’s not hard to figure out and you two are a package deal anyway.” Toshinori-san considered the Nitotans on Izuku’s shelf. “Let me know if you’d like any different furniture in here. I had them keep it pretty tame in here so you can change anything you want.”

He really meant that and, as Izuku read into Toshinori-san’s mood, was kind of looking forward to it as a bonding activity. Izuku hadn’t grown up ever going without anything, but his mom kept a strict budget so he was used to getting summer jobs or little side hustles to fund his more expensive hobbies.

Most people had a little running tally in the back of their head of what their money was doing as part of their daily mental load; how much they spent, how much they earned, and what the difference between that was. Toshinori-san’s wasn’t quite the same. It was there. He just didn’t bother including anything below a certain amount in his calculations . Izuku could kind of pick up on echoes of a time when that hadn’t been the case so it wasn’t that he was bad with money, it was just that he had so much of it that his sense of scale was very different than Izuku’s.

“Are you in my brain right now, kid?” Toshinori asked.

“Um, a little bit.” Izuku confessed and got back a wave of amusement. “Just the surface thoughts. Money is one of the things people lie about, so…”

“Ah.” Toshinori-san rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We should probably talk about that.”

“O-oh?” Izuku cringed. He was so unused to people who weren’t his mom or Kacchan knowing about his mind reading that he’d kind of forgotten how invasive it could be. The automatic stuff he picked up wasn’t any more revealing than body language, but Toshinori-san probably didn’t know that. “I’m sorry. It’s a habit. I’ll try not to peek.”

“Hmm? No, I meant money.” Toshinori-san shook his head. “Your mom explained a little bit about your mind reading. I’d feel it if you were really prying, right?”

Izuku nodded, relieved. “Yeah, everyone can feel that. Your mind picks up on it and interprets it as pain.”

“Right, so I’m okay with it so long as you’re as careful of my privacy as your own.” There he ruffled Izuku’s hair. “You have been, so I’m not worried. My point was that I don’t want you worrying about material stuff. There’s some big changes coming…” He went a little red and coughed. “...not just the wedding. I’m going to have my financial planner come by once we make the announcement about your mom and I. Before that happens, I want to make sure you understand that you don’t have to hesitate before asking me for something.”

A big image slipped through Toshinori-san’s mental net just then. It was from the perspective of a much younger Toshinori-san overhearing someone who wasn’t his parent, but was maybe his guardian griping to someone else unaware they were being overheard- about how much it cost to feed and clothe a kid in the middle of the world’s longest growth spurt and wasn’t going to amount to much anyway. In the memory, young Toshinori-san shoved a crumpled up permission form and payment slip for a field trip back into his pocket before quietly slipping away. 

The feeling was so visceral and resonated with some of the thoughts Izuku sometimes struggled with that he flinched and tried to cover one ear even though that did nothing to shut it out.

“...are you all right?” Toshinori-san’s mounting concern drew Izuku back into the present.

“Sorry!” Izuku’s entire head flushed hot. “I, um, pick up on intrusive memories sometimes.”

Toshinori-san coughed and looked away. “Ah.” His voice was a little gruff and that matched the annoyed twist to his mouth. He was frustrated; probably with his inability to shed the little dings and hurts everyone picked up as they grew up. It wasn’t the first time Izuku had ‘overheard’ something like that. It was a nigh universal experience, but he was reluctant to bring it up. “Then I’m sorry about that.”

Izuku shook his head. “It happens to everyone.” He said. It explained something of why Toshinori-san had wanted to bring up the subject. He didn’t really like that someone had made that long-ago young boy feel bad for needing the bare minimum. It made him feel restless and unhappy and kind of like Kacchan when someone really needed hitting, but he also liked that Toshinori-san was determined not to repeat that person’s mistakes in his own home. Not even by accident. “Usually you’re really quiet.”

That eased some of the embarrassed tension in the older man’s shoulders. “I’ve never been called that before.” He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad.” He considered Izuku for a moment. “I’m never going to offer you anything I don’t want to deliver on or say things just because I think I’m obligated to make the gesture. That’s not just about One for All. You need a solid support network to get started as a hero. I’m pleased that I get to be a larger part of yours than I’d originally expected. If you need or want something then just ask me.” He paused as something that had the echoes of Izuku’s mom’s voice occurred to him. “I can’t promise I’ll always say yes, but I’ll always hear you out and I won’t get angry just because you asked.”

“Okay.” Izuku squirmed. The idea of asking All Might to sign his permission slips and stuff was weird, but it got a little less weird if he pictured asking the guy who swore him to secrecy after he accidentally broke their couch just sitting on it and had to call someone in to fix it before Mom got home.

Was that what a dad looked like? Izuku had no idea, but he kind of liked it. If he had to pick somebody, then Toshinori-san, when he was being Toshinori-san, was it.

Maybe he could practice it in his head? No one had asked him to make the transition instantly. They weren’t married yet. He had time to work himself up to it.  

A little flicker of something caught the edges of his attention and Izuku frowned at the door. “Mom’s spying on us right now.”

She stuck her head in the door. “I came by to ask if you boys wanted tea.” She said, looking sheepish, and let herself in. “It’s looking good in here.” She observed. “Are you liking it so far?” She asked Izuku.

“Toshinori-san thinks there needs to be display cases.” Izuku pointed to the empty spots on either side of the television. “What do you think? There?”

“For the action figures?” His mom considered the space. “Yes, if you’re not worried about light from the window. I remember that one figurine on your desk that faded so badly.”

Toshinori-san perked up, which was what Izuku had been going for. “They make UV resistant glass.” He got out his phone to show them a catalog listing he already had up, which explained where the very specific mental image he’d been entertaining off and on while they hung posters had come from. “I was going to order some for the media room.”

That got Izuku’s attention. “Are you bringing some of your stuff back from that museum?” That would be amazing, but he would feel really bad for the people who didn’t get to see it after.

“Ahaha, not without a boatload of lawyers getting involved.” Toshinori chuckled. “No, I thought I’d save them for when you and young Bakugo start getting merch deals.” He beamed. “I’m looking forward to this. None of my sidekicks ever wanted merch deals.”

His mom laughed at the noise Izuku made and hugged them. “I can’t wait.” She kissed his forehead despite the steam surely coming out his ears.