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When Shouta goes for his daily walk along Takoba Beach, he doesn’t expect to see anything out of the ordinary.
What he does expect is this: the sand to be cold between his toes, the air to stink with brine and rot, and the sunlight to glint annoyingly off the towering heaps of metal and right into his eyes, no matter how much he adjusts his sunglasses.
Objectively, it’s a shitty experience that most people would put up with only once before they decide they have better things to do every afternoon, but Shouta? Well, he loves it.
Because Takoba Beach is quiet. Obviously it’s not silent, not with the wind, the back and forth of the waves, the splashing of water against the rotting wood of the dock, or the creaky groans of metal shifting deeper into the sand.
But it is quiet.
Out here, there’s only Shouta; not once in all the years he’s been coming here has he seen another person.
UA is never quiet, not like this. There’s always someone, somewhere, kids yelling and cheering, teachers muttering, things happening. Hero work is never quiet, either, not when Shouta’s job is literally to hunt down the worst of the worst, to be where things are happening, so he can stop them.
Shouta’s home is not immune to this; he loves Hizashi with every fibre of his being, but his husband craves noise like a cat does scritches behind the ear, and Shouta will never begrudge him that. And just besides how much he loves the man, Hizashi’s quirk drawback is unending, unyielding tinnitus that drives him to tears and frustration without sufficient noise to drown it out. At least Shouta gets a break from his dry eye when he’s asleep.
But Shouta, Shouta loves quiet, he loves the sound of nothing, and this trash-covered beach is his quiet hideaway. Yes, it’s noisy and illogical, but the cold grey ocean and the wind that whips his hair into his face are akin to breathing. They fade everything out into the background, and Shouta can fade with them.
Except today, this icy day in May, when the sun is hiding behind the clouds, peeking through only when Shouta is walking near highly reflective objects, Shouta can hear crying.
Not the crying of gulls, but of a child.
A child crying on any beach is cause for concern. A child crying on this beach, filled with trash and dangerous goods, is a massive fucking red flag, and Shouta has shed his civilian skin for that of a hero, fingers grasping firmly onto his capture weapon as he darts forward through the sand, because if this child needs help –
Shouta stops stock-still, looks past the tipped over and rusting refrigerator, and for a good long moment, he simply cannot comprehend what his eyes are telling him.
Because in front of him, with a four-foot tail of shining emerald scales, and a too-skinny chest heaving for breath, is a mermaid.
And then the child, because there’s no doubt that this is a child, sees Shouta and panics, thrashing desperately in place, to no avail.
His panicked movement does nothing but dig the blue line, the damn fishing line, deeper into his tail and abdomen, the plastic rope sinking cruelly into his skin. His left arm is pinned against his body, the semi-translucent and delicate fins crushed under the pressure. The flailing of the child’s tail sends drops of water directly at Shouta, but he barely flinches as he moves closer, crouching cautiously about five meters away. He’s had worse than a bit of salt water in the eyes, and his sunglasses stopped the worst of it, anyway.
The mermaid – merboy? the mer gasps and whines, recoiling and Shouta immediately removes his capture weapon, dumps it carelessly in the sand behind him. He doesn’t give a crap about how Hizashi will scold him for the sand he tracks home later, because right now, there is a child that is scared, that needs his help.
“Hey.”
Shouta winces when bright green eyes flash at the sound of his voice, and the child, in his early teens at most, immediately stops his frantic struggling.
It’s the stillness of terror, of prey that knows it’s been found.
It’s a stillness that will haunt Shouta for the rest of his life, he can sense it in his bones.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Shouta starts, desperately hoping that this creature can understand his words, or at least his gentle tone. The last thing he wants to do is scare this child further. “May I come closer?”
The child frantically shakes his head, telling Shouta the answer to both of his questions. It’s a relief he can communicate, even if the mer has no trust of him.
The tales of such creatures, of the mermaids of myths and fairy stories, have lessened over the years, but never truly faded from social awareness, even after the dawn of quirks. And while yes, this could be a quirk, Erasure isn’t pinging at the proximity to the child, ergo… this child does not have a quirk. This is no ordinary human, Shouta knows.
And mer, while rare, are no longer the elusive creatures solely of legend as they once were. Ever since the mid 21st century, when bodies begun washing up on shorelines, their reality has been certain.
Not to mention, Amphitrite, the beautiful mer caught alive by the crew of an oil rig, that had been kept in captivity for three years before she finally succumbed to illness and died. ‘Illness’ the old records call it, but Shouta knows better; she wasted away from starvation, refused to eat, longed for her home, to be free.
Wouldn’t anyone?
But ever since then, for over a hundred years, humans have hunted mer, desperately trawled through deeper and darker waters with little success. The few recorded encounters have ended with mer snapping their own necks rather than be brought in alive, than being specimens for human curiosity and science. Not that death has ever stopped humans from being curious. It was only in the last fifty years that international treaties finally stopped countries from doing so officially, but unofficially, well. Who’s to say.
It's frankly no wonder that this child is scared, is terrified of Shouta; for all he knows, he’s facing his death or worse, a lifetime of captivity, like a pet. With his arm pinned, he can’t even get the leverage he’d need to kill himself, thank all the gods, but Shouta can already see the resignation in his eyes.
“I’m here to help you,” Shouta says softly, but the tide of fear in the child keeps rising.
Not for the first time, he curses his stupid and arrogant species for their cruelty, their fascinations.
“I know you don’t believe me, and that’s alright.” The mer thrashes again, and Shouta regrets that it’s about to get worse, as he slips a hand into his pocket and slips out a knife. He reverses it, holds it by the blade, even as the child whines in terror, the sound searing itself into Shouta’s memory, along with the image of a terrified child silhouetted against the sinking sun. “I’m going to give you this knife, so you can defend yourself. Then, I want to help free you from the net. I don’t want to capture you, or hurt you. I just want to help.”
The distrust on the child’s face doesn’t wane, but Shouta is patient. While he waits for his offer to be acknowledged, he studies him, the way hard scales transition to smooth skin, the little freckles dotted over cheeks and shoulders that speak of days spent in the sun.
The way his cheeks are hollow, and his ribs protrude, the way his skin looks dry despite being half-submerged in water. He looks sick, sick beyond the ropes cutting into him being the only cause.
There are some things a hero can’t ignore, and this child is hungry. If he was a human child, Shouta would have him in child protection immediately, caretakers charged with extreme neglect.
It’s troubling, not least because of a malnourished child.
Amphitrite, if Shouta recalls correctly, had stopped speaking to her captors after mere weeks, and as such, very little of mer culture is known.
He does know this, that one of the very last things she had spoken, she had said upon meeting a human child. Mer treasure their young, dote on them, feed them the finest fish and kelp, raise them to be healthy and strong to survive.
This child does not look well fed, healthy nor strong.
He just looks scared.
Shouta waits for well over a hour, the sun long since sunk below the skyline, before his patience is rewarded.
“O-okay,” the mer rasps, voice husky and strained.
Shouta nods, raises his hand and carefully tosses the knife to land blade down in the sand, within easy reach for the child. He snatches it up, and Shouta has to bite back a warning to take care; he knows it won’t be welcomed. Only when the child has a firm grasp on the knife, a white-knuckled grip that’s too tight to be practical, does Shouta speak again.
“I’m going to move closer now.”
He waits for the child to nod, a sharp, jerky movement, before he shuffles forward through the sand. It’s slow, as he stays low to the ground, careful to not loom over the mer more than he has to.
“I’ll free your arm first,” he murmurs, and doesn’t reach out until he receives another shaky nod. With the gentleness he usually saves for kittens, Shouta runs his fingers along the plastic netting, frowns when he sees just how deeply it’s sunken into the kid’s skin. Deep sores are forming below the rope, red and weeping, clearly painful. “When did this happen?” he asks, more to himself than to the child, and startles both of them with the question.
“Two nights,” the mer breathes, clearly disconcerted, and Shouta hums his acknowledgement. “I got caught. I couldn’t fight the current.”
It’s a surprising offer of information, Shouta muses, as he eyes the way the rest of the net has so thoroughly entangled the child. He sits back on his heels and releases the kid’s arm, cautious of the already torn fins that flutter limply in the breeze. “I need to cut this off,” he decides. “I have another knife, you can keep that one,” he adds when he sees green eyes flick nervously down to the knife.
“Fine,” the child snaps, and there’s weariness and wariness and exhaustion all melted together. Shouta tilts his head, takes another long look at the mer, the mer who’s been tangled for two days and washed ashore without a hope of freeing himself.
Whose only chance is a strange human, one he doesn’t know and can’t trust.
“I’ll be gentle,” Shouta says, instead of doing something illogical like crying, “hold still.”
When Shouta pulls his second knife easily form his ankle holster, the child flinches back, half slipping back under the lapping waves. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” Shouta says again, though he can’t blame the child for his fear. “This won’t take long.”
And it doesn’t in the end, compared to how long Shouta had waited to even approach. Ten minutes is all it takes to get the net off the mer, most of that due to the way Shouta saws so carefully through the plastic rope, conscious of the sharp blade so close to soft skin.
Conscious of the knife poised to enter his side, right above his liver, should he go back on his word.
It’s understandable, and exactly why Shouta starts with the child’s arm. He wants him to feel as safe as possible, which is… not a lot, considering the circumstances. But once he has his arm freed, he can work quicker. He can worry less about cutting the child when there’s cold hard scales between his knife and flesh.
Once he’s done, Shouta sets his knife down in the sand, uncaring of the way he’s kneeling in the water as the tide rises. “Will you be alright?” he asks, and in all honesty, he should’ve expected the way he’s knocked back on his ass by a powerful tail, and under the incoming wave.
When he finally stops choking on sea water, he’s alone on the beach, with only the shredded net, his wet clothes and broken sunglasses for company.
The brat even took his second knife.
Whatever, Shouta has spares, and he thinks his species probably owes the kid something as an apology for the net that had nearly killed him.
That would have killed him had Shouta not had the inclination to walk down a cold beach every day.
He snorts, clambers ungracefully to his feet, and has no doubt he resembles a drowned rat right now. It’s a look that will have Hizashi either having a conniption or pissing himself laughing when he trudges through their door, he thinks ruefully.
And with that, Shouta scoops up his capture weapon and starts the long walk home.
Two days later sees Shouta on the beach again, face turned to the setting sun to soak up the last of its warmth. Summer may be fast approaching, but this week has determinedly clung to the last remnants of Winter. Like a cat, Shouta will take his warmth where he can get it.
And then, just as he’s sinking into the familiar, soothing quiet of himself and nature, there’s a splash.
A splash that doesn’t come from the dock, or from the broken washing machine half-buried in the waves. He doesn’t freeze in place, he’s not an amateur, but his eyes snap open behind his sunglasses, mirrored ones that he borrowed from Hizashi, even as his body remains lax and still.
There’s another splash, close enough that Shouta dares to turn his head and –
The kid is back.
He’s nearly entirely submerged in the shallows, his body a shadow under the surface, but Shouta would recognise those bright green eyes anywhere.
Slowly, Shouta pushes his sunglasses up off his face to rest in his hair, keep it somewhat tamed in the eager breeze. Just as slowly, he tilts his head curiously at the mer – he honestly never thought to see him again, had stored the memory away as a precious thing. A fairy tale come true, a story to whisper to his children if he and Hizashi ever decide to take that next step.
But here he is, clearly skittish, but back.
But only for a moment, and then he’s gone again in a ripple of water and a splash, and even though Shouta waits there for another two hours, he doesn’t reappear. When he eventually gets home, Hizashi scolds him, frets until he takes a hot shower and rests in his husband’s tight embrace as the water beats down on them.
He can’t stop seeing those keen green eyes.
And so it continues; Shouta walks the beach every afternoon he can, keeps a cautious eye out for his young visitor. He never spots him directly again, but Shouta has no doubt he’s there watching. The splashes give him away, and the weight of his gaze is heavy.
It comes to a head the day Hizashi, exhausted after a week of teaching and hard patrols, asks to tag along on Shouta’s daily walk. It’s something he’s done before, and normally it’s not an issue, but for the first time, Shouta hesitates.
He hesitates, and the sudden hurt on his husband’s face nearly guts him.
“Wait,” Shouta says softly when Hizashi turns away, “It’s…It’s not you. I can’t spook him, Hizashi.”
His husband turns back to him, one eyebrow raised in silent question, and Shouta bites his lip. He trusts his husband, but he also doesn’t want to break the implicit trust of the mer that’s been his daily companion for the last month.
“Let me speak to him first,” Shouta pleads, and the desperation in his voice must soften something in Hizashi, even as his expression shutters further.
But Hizashi doesn’t say another word, just gently pries Shouta’s hand off of his wrist and walks back into their bedroom.
He doesn’t look back, and Shouta stares helplessly after him. He knows his husband is hurting despite his words, because… because Shouta has been hiding something from him. Is hiding something from him.
But it’s not Shouta’s secret to share.
It’s early Summer now, and while the afternoons are slowly warming, it comes at the cost of seaweed rotting faster, stinking up the air from where it’s trapped amongst rusting appliances. It always takes a few minutes for Shouta to adjust, and he wrinkles his nose as he steps onto the beach proper, getting the full brunt of the scent.
The foul smell doesn’t deter Shouta (he’d have picked the wrong career if it did), and this time he beelines straight for a rusting stove near to the rotting dock. Normally, he walks up and down the beach a few times, appreciates the quiet, the wind, the waves. This time, he has a plan.
It takes less than a minute for Shouta to dump his capture weapon, knives and belt on top of the decrepit stove, along with his heavy boots. It leaves him only in close-fitting jeans and a light shirt, and he feels…bare.
But he steels himself, and steps his way carefully over to the dock, eyes on the sand and cautious of any broken glass or rusting metal that he might step on. He pauses before he steps onto the dock itself, mutters a half-prayer that the damn thing will hold his weight, and then picks his way over the sturdier beams until he can perch cautiously on the edge, several meters out over the water.
He’s careful as he sits, leery of the wood groaning under him, but he can’t deny it’s nice to dangle his legs in the cool water. The wet denim will chafe at him when he walks home, but for this brief pleasure, it’s worth it.
After a few moments of quiet, Shouta sighs. “I know you’re there,” he calls softly, and he’s unsurprised when mere moments later he hears a tiny splash, and looks down to see the mer. He’s curled himself around one of the rotting piles, eyes wide and sharp.
For the first time, Shouta can see him properly: dark green hair that’s tied back in a messy, matted braid, and a frame that still seems far too thin. Most of his body is submerged, concealed under the dock, but Shouta can see his arms are littered with thin, pale scars. The marks from the rope have yet to fade, and angry red streaks crisscross his torso and left arm, but they seem to be healing well enough, no doubt kept clean by the salt water.
“Hi,” Shouta says. “My name is Shouta.”
The mer tilts his head curiously, but remains silent.
“Is there something I can call you?”
The mer seems puzzled, head cocking in the other direction, a tiny frown pulling at his lips. “You’re… not deciding?” he asks slowly, and Shouta’s heart nearly jumps at the sound of the mer’s voice.
He sounds so young.
“Am I supposed to?” Shouta asks cautiously. “Typically, humans don’t choose names for anyone other than their own children. Those names are then used by everyone else.”
The mer’s eyes widen, and he nods enthusiastically, uncurling the slightest amount. “My mother-name is Izuku,” the boy tells him eagerly. “Is that what you’ll call me?”
“It’s a lovely name,” Shouta compliments. “Do you want me to call you by it?”
The mer nods, although he suddenly looks thoughtful. “You can! Or you can call me my father-name, or my use-name!”
Shouta waits patiently, until the mer realises he never said what those names are. It takes a good minute of staring at the mer, one eyebrow raised as the mer stares right back with blatant curiosity. He seems particularly enamoured with Shouta’s pants.
“Oh! Midoriya is my father-name, and Deku is my use-name.”
Shouta’s lips twitch in amusement at his haste. “These are the names others chose for you?”
The mer nods again, and something in him seems to be relaxing at the chatter. “They are! My mother called me Izuku when I was born, and my father gave me the name Midoriya when I reached ten years! He said it’s because I’m so green!” He speaks easily, with far more enthusiasm than Shouta had initially expected. “My use-name was given to me by my pack-brother.” The child’s nose wrinkles. “It’s not nice though, I don’t like it.”
Shouta gets that – it seems that it’s a word for useless, as it is for humans. “Shouta is my mother-name,” he offers, now that he has this extra context for the child. “I suppose my father-name would be Aizawa, although that name wasn’t chosen by him. Humans pass on family names from their fathers.” Izuku looks confused, so Shouta tries again. “My father-name is Aizawa, and my father’s father-name was Aizawa, and his father’s father-name was Aizawa. Any children they had are also Aizawa.”
Izuku giggles at him. “You said father a lot,” he accuses, “but I think I understand. And so mother-names are not passed on?”
“Not usually,” Shouta confirms. “Although sometimes people from different families have the same mother-name.”
Izuku seems delighted by this sudden influx of information. “It’s the same for us!” He seems to be very pleased with the cultural similarity, and his smile gives Shouta a very good view of his razor sharp teeth. He is suddenly very relieved that the kid didn’t bite him when they first met.
Izuku’s gaze sharpens suddenly. “Why did you start talking?”
“It’s been a month,” Shouta says. “And you’re still here.”
“What about it?”
“I just wanted to make sure that you’re safe,” Shouta settles on saying, keeping his expression neutral; the kid is clearly defensive, and he doesn’t want to scare him off again. “I expected you to disappear immediately, not stay so close.”
He doesn’t need to say that humans are dangerous to mer; it’s very clear that the kid knows this already.
The mer is tense, and his eyes flick to the pile of Shouta’s belongings that are very clearly out of both their reaches. But Shouta’s caution pays off. “I can’t leave,” the mer admits slowly, “my fins were badly damaged by the net. If I try to dive too deep, or to fight the currents, they’d tear off.”
Shouta freezes; he hadn’t even considered that the child might have been so severely injured, and he curses himself for the oversight. “I’m sorry,” he says genuinely, knowing his expression has cracked from careful neutrality. “I didn’t realise.”
The mer shrugs, clearly trying to seem unbothered. “It’s fine,” he mutters. “You’re the only human I’ve ever seen here, so it’s safe enough.”
Shouta winces. Takoba Beach isn’t exactly what he’d call a safe space for a child, especially not one so young. And while he can’t deny that the mer has at least put on a little weight, his ribs not quite so prominent, who knows what garbage is lurking under the surface?
“Is there… someone I could try and find for you?” Shouta offers, and he genuinely isn’t above calling in favours with Selkie if he needs to track down Izuku’s pack. The underground rumour has it, the hero knows a few spots where a local mer pack hunts, though he’s fiercely protective of that knowledge. Selkie isn’t a hero Shouta would mess with lightly, but for a child…
As soon as Shouta offers, however, Izuku’s face twists in sudden anger and then resigned sadness. “No,” he says shortly. “There’s no one.”
Shouta thinks of the net, of the way it had been pulled so damn tight around the kid, the way it had crossed over and around itself more than a struggling child could have caused.
The way it seemed deliberate.
So Shouta drops it, knows he won’t get any further by prying on that topic. “How old are you?” he asks instead, and the mer brightens slightly at the change in topic.
“Thirteen!” He seems happy, but to Shouta, in the onset of dusk, he just seems small. Thirteen… Shouta had pegged him at maybe ten. “I know it’s young, but I’ll be okay! I know how to hunt, and how to take care of myself!”
All Shouta can do is nod, nod along with those determined words, that strained smile. Realistically, there doesn’t seem to be a lot Shouta can offer this child… except for company, perhaps. The way Izuku has followed him…
He seems lonely. He must be lonely, thirteen and without a pack or family.
“Do you want to meet another human?” Shouta asks impulsively, because there’s no way Hizashi wouldn’t love this child and then –
Izuku ducks away immediately, diving underwater, and doesn’t resurface until hes several meters away. Whatever trust Shouta may have been building with him is gone, shattered like charcoal underfoot.
“Why?”
“You don’t have to,” Shouta tries to soothe, but anyone could tell you that he’s never been the best at it. “He’s my husband, and he wonders where I go every day.”
Izuku’s voice drips with his suspicion. “You haven’t told him about me? Why not?”
“Because unless you want it to be, it’s none of his business.”
The child blinks. Then, in a flash of green scales, he’s gone.
Shouta waits an hour, but it’s clear Izuku isn’t coming back. He… regrets having spooked the kid, but he can’t take it back.
All Shouta can do is go home, face his husband, and try to soothe his hurt.
It’s a full three days before Shouta sees Izuku again, three days during which Shouta can’t even sense Izuku watching him like he had before.
Either he’s gotten better at being sneaky, or he’s been hiding.
Shouta just hopes the kid didn’t try going out to deeper water. No matter how upset Hizashi is about Shouta’s secrecy, Shouta doesn’t want his impulsivity, his eagerness for an easy way out, to be the cause of a child’s death.
But three days later, when Shouta spots green hair and pale skin out of the corner of his eyes, he sends a prayer of thanks to gods he doesn’t believe in.
“Izuku,” he calls in greeting, making it obvious as he removes his scarf and knives again. “You came back.”
“You didn’t bring him,” Izuku says accusingly and Shouta freezes.
“My husband?”
“You didn’t bring him.”
Shouta pauses. “You didn’t give me permission to, or even seem comfortable with meeting him, so I didn’t.” Once his last knife is on the same rusty stove, he steps back onto the little jetty, careful to stick to the spots he recalls as being sturdiest.
Izuku disappears again as he does so, only reappears curled around a pile slightly further away than last time once Shouta is sitting. “You did what I wanted?”
“Of course.”
“…That’s weird,” the mer mutters. “Elders don’t do that, elders do what they want.”
Shouta raises an eyebrow. “It’s a good thing I’m not an elder then.”
Izuku actually giggles, in a sudden change from the anger that he’d been sporting. It seems teenagers being the personification of emotional whiplash is another cultural similarity.
“You can bring him,” Izuku says suddenly, and he disappears under the dock only for him to pop out of the water barely a foot away from Shouta’s ankle. It’s the closest he’s been since the net. “I’ll bite you if he’s mean.”
And then he’s gone, and Shouta is left with only his amusement for company.
Hizashi is silent for a long moment when Shouta takes him down to Takoba Beach. He stares at Izuku, and the mer stares back.
Did Shouta miscalculate?
He’s never taken Hizashi as someone that might see mer as lesser, and if he’s misjudged that –
Why… is he laughing?
“Shouta,” Hizashi giggles, and it’s a pretty sound, as infectious as it is lovely. “You’re a magnet.”
“A what.”
And then Hizashi is stripping, clothes tossed carelessly onto the beach as he strides into the water, all long limbs and pale skin. He doesn’t seem to mind the freezing water, just dives in with delight.
Izuku is a few meters away from shore, but he seems to be laughing too, and it’s only when a long golden tail takes the place of Hizashi’s strong legs that Shouta realises the joke he’s been missing.
He has to sit quietly for a while after that.
“Hizashi,” Shouta says blankly, when his husband has finally stopped splashing around and teasing Izuku, when he’s returned to the sand beside him. He’s graceful as he does so, pulling all eight feet of shining gold behind him with ease. “You never told me.”
Hizashi tilts his head, smiles beautifully as he presses a gentle kiss to Shouta’s palm. “I never thought I would have to,” he admits softly. “I’m only half-mer, so I’m not welcome in any pack. I’m happy as a human, as your husband.”
“Half-mer?” Izuku interrupts before Shouta can respond, and he abruptly remembers their audience. “I thought those were just human fairy stories?”
Hizashi grins. “We’re rare, but not unheard of,” he explains. “I wouldn’t be surprised that your elders proclaimed we were a myth. From what I remember as a child, the elders of my pack loathed my human father, and me as well.”
“Huh.” Izuku cuts an adorable image as he floats on his back in lazy circles, arms crossed under his head. “That makes sense.”
Suddenly, his head shoots up and he’s crawling out of the water and onto the sand, much less gracefully than Hizashi had. His thin arms struggle under his own weight, but his determination makes up for it. “Can I grow legs too? Or is it a half-mer thing?”
Hizashi hums. “You should be able to. My mother could, and she was full mer.”
“How?”
Hizashi smiles, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes that Shouta hasn’t seen in a long time. An overwhelming fondness saturates him as he stares at his husband, and Shouta doesn’t even care that his usual neutral facade has cracked as he smiles softly at his partner.
He’s drawn out of his appreciative reverie by Hizashi flicking water off his tanned arms at him and he pouts. “What?”
“Get the kid some clothes,” Hizashi instructs. “He can’t go walking about naked!”
Shouta rolls his eyes but takes the hint. He gives Izuku an encouraging nod as he goes to stand. “I won’t be long. Any colour preference?”
Hizashi snickers when Izuku stares at him blankly. “Right, I’ll just… grab whatever,” Shouta decides. He hesitates once he’s up, pauses under the guise of brushing sand off of his pants. He knows his husband will see right through it.
“Izuku,” Shouta says bluntly, “you’re alright with me leaving?”
He gets an enthusiastic nod from the kid, and the lines that’ve started to appear around Hizashi’s eyes crinkle as he smiles softly at Shouta. “Shoo,” he chides, and Shouta knows his husband is going to relentlessly tease him about his uncharacteristic concern later.
Whatever, as long as the kid is fine, and he does seem fine, giggling at Hizashi flicking his fingers dismissively at Shouta.
Shouta leaves them to it.
When Shouta gets back to the beach, he’s not surprised to see that both Hizashi and Izuku are still in mer form, tails glinting in the afternoon sun. He is surprised that for a moment it looks like Izuku is going to scratch Hizashi’s eyes out, trembling in the blonde’s grip. It’s a gentle hold that Hizashi has on him, but no less secure for it, although Shouta has no doubt that his husband would let Izuku go so…
It’s only when Shouta sees how closely Hizashi is examining the fins at the end of Izuku’s tail that he realises what’s happening. It’s the same way an injured animal will suffer treatment, wary and scared and desperate all at once.
“You were smart not to try against stronger currents,” Hizashi is saying gravely when Shouta gets close enough. He looks sad. “The wounds are just too deep to heal together like they should.”
Izuku nods grimly, but Shouta can see a last hope flicker out in his eyes. He must’ve been hoping that an older, more experienced mer might come to a different conclusion than his own. “Okay,” he says, and it’s clear he’s trying to force his brightness, “that’s okay!”
Hizashi’s face falls, but Shouta is already splashing loudly into the water, raising an eyebrow at the two mer. “Weren’t you meant to be getting legs? I got pants for the kid,” he faux grumbles.
Izuku genuinely brightens at that, and is beside Shouta in an instant, yanking his tail out of Hizashi’s hands so he can twine it about Shouta’s legs. The force of it nearly knocks him over, but his bastard husband catches him with cold, wet hands, and a snicker of amusement. “Pants?”
“The things I wear on my legs,” Shouta says dryly, “that you seem to delight in getting wet.” He pointedly ignores the fact that he’s the one that walked directly into the water this time.
“You make a funny face,” Izuku informs him, and Shouta huffs, idly flicking some water at the brat before looking expectantly at his husband.
“What’s the plan, Zashi?”
Hizashi shrugs, flopping to lay on his back and drift on the surface. He’s stunning, especially as the sun dips lower and lower over the horizon, setting his scales alight in burning gold.
He’s breathtaking, and Shouta thinks that if he were a sailor, Hizashi wouldn’t even have to sing to get him off his ship. One look, and he’d be there, following the blonde as long as he would let him.
Shouta sighs. “Hizashi,” he chides, “it’s getting cold. We need to get the kid his land legs and head home.”
“Hm, yeah,” Hizashi says dreamily. “Ah, I’ve missed this, Sho.”
Shouta hopes his smile isn’t too brittle. “Zashi,” he says quietly, “If I’d known, I’d—”
“I know, love.” Hizashi shakes himself, flips back over and swims easily back into the shallows. He gives Izuku an encouraging smile, even as he rakes his fingers roughly through his hair. “Alright, kiddo, let’s see if I can figure this out!”
Shouta blinks. “Hizashi, how many times have you done this?”
“Like once,” his husband admits sheepishly. “When I was thirteen, and I left my pack to find my father.”
Well that certainly explains the procrastinating. Izuku is suddenly looking much less confident, even as he giggles at Shouta’s dramatic eye roll. “Anyway,” Hizashi continues, “I… think I mostly just thought really hard about having legs?”
…It’s going to be a long night.
“Yeah, so maybe being half-human helped with some of the instinctiveness,” Hizashi says sheepishly as Shouta carries Izuku piggyback. “I swear it wasn’t this hard for me.”
Shouta can feel the teen pout against the back of his neck, can smell the sea-salt lingering around him. “I’ll be able to walk tomorrow!” the brat vows, and Shouta snorts. At least he has legs, even if he can’t quite seem to get the hang of balancing.
“We’ll see,” he retorts.
“We’ll sea,” Hizashi chimes in unhelpfully, and Shouta genuinely contemplates shoving him into the nearest trash can.
“I’m divorcing you.”
“I burnt the wedding certificate,” Hizashi whispers dramatically to Izuku, “no returns without the receipt!”
“What’s a receipt?”
Yeah, a long night.
“Sweetheart,” Hizashi says softly to Shouta, “can… can we talk?”
Shouta stiffens in the middle of marking, casts a cautious glance towards the TV, but Izuku is entranced by news reports, eyes huge as he stares at the screen. He’s wrapped up in their softest blankets, empty food bowls on the table in front of him.
“Our room in a moment,” Shouta settles on, and Hizashi looks… scared.
That won’t do.
Before his husband can slink away, Shouta reaches out, catches his husband’s hand gently in his own. He doesn’t say anything, just turns Hizashi’s hand over and presses his lips carefully to his husband’s wrist, right above his too-rapid pulse.
“Sho…”
“In a moment,” Shouta promises, flicking his eyes deliberately to Izuku. “I just need to finish this.”
Hizashi nods, something settling in his expression, before he slips away to their bedroom. Shouta’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, before he finalises the student’s mark.
It’s only a few minutes later that Shouta is perching himself on the coffee table, shifting the plates aside. Izuku pouts at him, presumably because he’s now blocking his view of the news reports.
“How are you feeling?”
Izuku shrugs, plucks at a stray thread on the blanket. “Weird.”
He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to. Shouta just rests a hand on soft curls, still fluffy from the salt water. “I need to talk to Hizashi,” he explains. “If you need anything, just call, alright?”
Izuku nods through a huge yawn, and Shouta knows his own expression must be stupidly soft. It’s a good thing there’s no one else around to see it.
“I should have told you,” Hizashi says as soon as Shouta walks into their room and then -
Hizashi is crying and huddling into himself, and a man that tall shouldn’t be able to make himself seem so small. “I was angry that you were lying to me but this whole time, I’ve hid from you.”
Shouta doesn’t hesitate; he strides across the room and wraps himself tightly around his husband, hums low and soothing in his throat. “You didn’t owe me anything you weren’t ready to give,” he says firmly. “Not a single thing. I don’t give a shit that you’re mer, I love you, and your stupid jokes, the way you love so unashamedly.”
Hizashi latches on, sobbing into Shouta’s neck. “I love you,” Shouta reminds his husband. “I love you.”
“I never would’ve known,” Shouta admits, after Hizashi has cried himself out; the blonde often just needs to let all of his emotions out, to cling to Shouta as they lay together on their bed. “I feel like an idiot, never noticing.”
“I didn’t want you to.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t even notice that you were hiding something,” Shouta mutters. “I’m sorry.”
“What, that you never noticed anything fishy about me?”
Shouta pauses in his rhythmic petting of Hizashi’s silky-soft hair. “I want a divorce.”
“Like I already said,” Hizashi snickers, “no take-backs.”
It’s later that night, much, much later, after introducing Izuku to the wonders of land delicacies like plain grilled chicken and rice, and after entrancing him with documentaries for hours, after tucking the teen into bed only to have him gasp in wonder at the softness, when Shouta wakes.
He can sense in his bones that there’s something not right, there’s someone in the apartment that’s not Hizashi, who is in his home -
Izuku.
It must be Izuku.
Hizashi sleeps like the dead, face buried firmly into his pillow, and Shouta has always wondered how he breathed but now when he leans in he can see the little gills fluttering as he inhales. Sneaky bastard, Shouta thinks ruefully, relying on his terrible short-sightedness to keep them concealed.
Not to mention Shouta had never thought to check his husband for gills. Either way, it means Hizashi is out to the world, unless Shouta nudges him awake. Which he won’t do unless he has to, because as easy as Hizashi has seemed talking with Izuku through the day, Shouta has no doubt it’s been a hard one for his husband.
Revealing himself as a mer after all this time… And from what Shouta already knows of Hizashi’s childhood, of never truly fitting in, of a father that regretted having a child… He suspects that memories that had been long buried have been drawn to the surface.
So Shouta lets Hizashi sleep, just brushes blonde hair gently as he rolls out of bed. A curse escapes him as his toes hit the freezing floorboards, but it’s nowhere near enough to disturb his husband.
When Shouta steps into the hallway, it’s dark, and the air is near frigid now they’ve all gone to bed. In the dim light seeping in from the window, the moon a gentle half-crescent, he can’t see anything that would be setting off his instincts. Well, nothing in the hallway at least.
But Shouta listens, and the faintest of creaks and fabric dragging across carpet draws him into Izuku’s room. With no chance to redecorate yet, it’s more of an office than a bedroom, but…
Let’s just say Shouta wasn’t expecting to have to adopt a mer on such short notice.
He also isn’t expecting to find Izuku sprawled on the floor, in a tangle of blankets and messy tears. It must’ve been him falling to the ground that disturbed Shouta.
He’s shaking like a leaf, but the relief on Izuku’s face when he sees Shouta…
“I’m sorry,” the teen sobs out, “I’m sorry, you were sleeping and- and I didn’t-”
“Hush, child,” Shouta murmurs, leaning down to help tug Izuku out of the blankets. “It’s alright. Why were you up?”
“I’m cold,” Izuku whispers, and he reaches up, latches onto Shouta’s neck to pull him down in an awkward hunch; it doesn’t seem deliberate, more like an instinctual seeking of warmth, of comfort. “It’s so cold.”
“It’s alright,” Shouta soothes, “you’re alright. C’mon, me and ‘Zashi will get you warmed right up.”
“It’s quiet too,” Izuku says. “The ocean is so loud, there’s always waves breaking and currents flowing, but it’s so quiet here.”
Shouta suddenly wonders if maybe his husband’s need for noise is due less to tinnitus than it is to growing up in the sea. Either way, he crouches down properly, lets the mer cling more closely to his neck. “I’m going to pick you up,” he warns, before he does so, scooping up the teen carefully. Izuku shamelessly snuggles closer, but with the way he’s shivering, Shouta’s hardly surprised.
“It’s alright,” Shouta says again, his heart clenching for this child. “You’ve got Zashi and I now. We’ll look after you.”
“You’re warm,” Izuku says, sounding more than a little awed, more than a little overwhelmed. “Shouta…It’s been a long time since I’ve had a pack…”
“Shh,” Shouta murmurs, carefully carrying the teen into his and Hizashi’s room. “Izuku, it’s alright. It’s alright.”
He feels like a broken record, saying the same thing over and over, but… Every time he does, Izuku presses closer, and -
He must be able to feel the vibrations of his voice. Right, from what Shouta knows of… fish, they can be pretty sensitive to vibrations and pressure changes, and it must not be too different for mer.
Shouta is learning a lot about his husband, or rather, putting two and two together about his little idiosyncrasies from over the years. It certainly explains why he always wants noise around, why he loves it when Shouta just holds him and hums quietly.
But that’s something to think over in the morning, because right now, Shouta has a child to keep warm.
Thankfully, Hizashi stirs when Shouta pushes open their door and he rolls on his front, sitting up sleepily. “Sho?”
Before Shouta can answer, Hizashi wakes up properly, can see Izuku’s shaking form. Realisation flashes across his face in an instant, along with something like regret. But he hides it well, arms outstretched for Shouta’s precious cargo. “Aww, is the little sea cucumber cold?”
“Yeah,” Shouta confirms, depositing the teen onto his husband’s lap.
“Not a sea cucumber,” Izuku pouts. “I’m a mer.”
“Same difference,” Shouta chimes in and he gets the most adorable little glare as the brat wriggles into a more comfortable position. “I’ll be back in a moment, I’m getting a hot water bottle to help warm you up.”
“His growth has been badly stunted,” Hizashi says, barely louder than a breath. Izuku is asleep at last, snuggled contentedly between them.
“He doesn’t look well-fed.”
“Understatement,” Hizashi mutters. “Point is, he was starving long before he got injured.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“We can make sure he’s healthy, but he’ll never grow as much as he should have. By now his tail should’ve been nearly as long as mine.” There’s a strange sense of mourning in Hizashi’s voice, and Shouta is struck once again by a memory of that clip of Amphitrite.
“Our children are precious jewels,” Shouta says absently, and Hizashi twitches, startled.
“They are the best of us,” he finishes. Hizashi slumps sideways, careful to avoid jostling the teen, until he’s pressed close against Shouta. “You’re taking this whole thing surprisingly well.”
“To be fair, I’ve known of Izuku for a month now.”
“Right.”
“Are you upset-“
“No, love,” Hizashi reassures quickly. “Mostly just overwhelmed with adoration for how protective you are of the little cucumber.”
“He’s going to bite you if he hears you say that.”
Hizashi snickers. “Worth it,” he says. “Now, have a good night’s rest so you’re well rested for your breakdown in the morning.”
“I am not going to have a breakdown in the morning.”
“Told you so,” Hizashi says smugly, and Shouta flips him off with his free hand. His other one is too busy petting gently through Izuku’s curls, soothing him as he sleeps with his head pillowed on Shouta’s lap. He’d been… concerned to wake up and find Shouta somewhat shellshocked by the knowledge that he has a child now, a teenager, and all the responsibilities that come with that.
It had been a long morning, but at least Hizashi was helpful once he stopped laughing. Bastard.
one year later
“Sho! Sho, look at this!”
“It’s a shell,” Shouta says dryly, and his kid pouts up at him.
“Ugh, you’re such a human,” the brat mutters. “Where’s Zashi? He knows how to appreciate a good clam.”
Shouta snorts, scrubs a hand through Izuku’s hair as he tries to duck away, and gets a ferocious scowl in response. It lasts all of a second before Izuku cracks and giggles, sticking his tongue out at Shouta as he darts off towards Hizashi.
Hizashi, who for some godforsaken reason, is half-buried in the sand under a sculpture of a mermaid's tail. He exclaims loudly over the shell when Izuku brandishes it in front of his face, sending Shouta a taunting wink. “Wow, that’s gorgeous!”
“Thank you,” Izuku says loudly and very pointedly, and Shouta grins, ducking his chin so it’s less obvious. Unfortunately, without his capture weapon to hide his face, his husband and kid spot it anyway.
Ah, the sacrifices Shouta makes for their weekly beach day. As it turns out, Hizashi’s half human heritage makes him far sturdier than regular mer in human form, and Izuku needs to spend at least an hour a month in his mer form or he gets sick.
Really sick.
But that was an error they made only once, and Shouta won’t lie; he loves seeing his husband and child swimming together in the water, racing against the currents and each trying to splash Shouta from where he stands in the shallows. When the weather was warmer, he’d join them, but at this point of the year, he just isn’t built for cold water.
“C’mon,” Shouta calls back, “if you two are done messing around, your resident human is getting hungry.”
As expected, that has Izuku at his side in an instant, and Shouta smirks at his disgruntled husband, who’s slowly un-burying himself. “Can we have beef-bone soup?” Izuku asks eagerly, and how on earth is he meant to say no to those pleading eyes.
“Only if you eat your vegetables,” Shouta bargains, and Izuku glares at him for a moment, but seriously. The kid will eat kelp but not cabbage? Makes no sense, and Shouta will stand by that.
Izuku’s argument had been that Shouta hadn’t tried kelp so he didn’t have a basis for his argument, which was successful for only a single night. The very next day, Shouta had made direct eye contact as he ate a plateful of kelp (lovingly sourced by his wonderful husband).
Izuku hasn’t won since, but Shouta looks forward to what his next reasoning will be. See, Izuku thinks he’s being a rebellious teen, but Shouta is just promoting creativity and challenging his thinking.
But he won’t be finding out today, as Izuku subsides, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that tells Shouta he’s not actually upset.
“If D- Zashi’s ready, can we go?”
And there’s that, as well, Shouta thinks, the growing confidence of their child, even if he still hasn’t properly slipped up yet and called Hizashi Dad. The day is getting closer, Shouta thinks with quiet contentment, pulling Izuku against his side to keep him warm as they wait. He’s already slipped and called Shouta Mama before, which was – okay, Shouta might have cried. A lot. He’s Izuku’s Mama, and forget everything else, being a hero, a teacher, it’s the title he’s proudest of, it’s only equal being Hizashi’s husband.
It doesn’t take long for Hizashi to join them, although he’s clearly pouting when he has to ruin the sand mermaid tail to do so. “When did you even find the time to do that?” Shouta asks his son and Izuku wriggles closer under his arm.
“You were staring off at the horizon for a while,” Izuku says teasingly. “Very dramatic.”
“…”
“Very… intimidating?”
Shouta hums. “Better.”
And then Hizashi is beside them, although he’s pouting as he brushes sand off himself. Cute.
“C’mon, family!” he cheers, “Let’s get dinner!”
Fin