11. Visiting Hours

Shouta is exhausted. After Midoriya went to sleep – surprisingly fast considering the jittery mess he usually is – he laid down in bed with his husband for a measly two hours. Nowhere near enough to recuperate after a day of teaching, night patrol, and the problematic even Midoriya somehow got himself into.

Hizashi usually gets up around five, mainly because it always takes him an insane amount of time just to get ready. He has his own homeroom, plus his English classes, to prepare for during schooldays, but he doesn't change his morning routine even on weekends since it's usually when he goes on patrol, in the hours between his Put Your Hands Up radio shows in the early mornings and late evenings. They barely see each other on weekends, which is why Shouta always makes the effort to get up at the same time as his husband and have breakfast with him. He can always catch a nap later if necessary.

This morning, however, his wonderful husband wakes him up a little bit after six instead, just as he's about ready to leave for work. Shouta is still half asleep and clings desperately to Hizashi when the blond reaches down to kiss him goodbye, which makes him chuckle as he pries Shouta's arms away.

"Come on, sleepyhead, you need to call Shuzenji and I need to get to work."

Recovery Girl?

For Midoriya. Right.

Shouta groans out loud and decides to push Hizashi away to delay the inevitable. He suddenly very much not wants to get up.

"Fine," the blond laughs, "be that way, but don't get up too late!" He throws over his shoulder as he leaves their bedroom. Shouta hears the front door click shut and he buries his face in his pillow, intending to get a few more minutes of rest.

He's tired, incredibly so. There's nothing else he'd love more than to fall back asleep right then and there. He snuggles deeper in the comforter, intent on doing just that, except half an hour later he finds himself still awake. His mind betrays him; swirling thoughts about the problem child that's currently sleeping in his living room prevent him from succumbing once more to slumber.

With a sigh, he forces his body out of bed. There's no point in wasting time tossing and turning as he ruminates on the current situation. Prone to be logical and practical, Shouta prefers to start his day by doing actual productive work instead of mopping around uselessly in bed.

He doesn't really dress up. He has a meeting with Tsukauchi in the morning, but he still has a few hours before he's due to leave, so he stays in his joggings and slips a long-sleeved shirt over his head to fight the chill crawling along his spine when he leaves his nest. He makes his way to the kitchen, pausing briefly at the threshold to the living room to assure himself that Midoriya is still there and fast asleep. There's Willow curled up at the kid's feet atop the blankets. Smoky is nowhere to be seen, probably perched on a window sill or on the top of the study's bookshelf.

Arming himself with a considerable cup of fresh coffee and his favourite pen, Shouta leisurely starts on last night's patrol report. Although it was a relatively quiet night, he did come across a few small incidents worth putting on paper for official record. The routine work helps to focus his mind and calm the quiet trepidation he feels whenever he finds himself thinking about a specific trouble-magnet student. You know. The one sleeping on his couch.

He loses track of time as he works, but isn't entirely surprised to see it's been almost two hours when he fingers his phone open as a call interrupts his task. The screen doesn't show a name, only a number, but Shouta knows it's the precinct just from the massive amount of calls he receives from the place regularly.

"Eraserhead," he greets curtly, not really in the mood for pleasantries. As usual. It's the detective who answers, voice way too chirpy for eight in the morning on a weekend. Or ever, really.

"Good morning! How was last night's patrol?" Shouta can hear faint background noises. Voices, a door closing, rustling papers.

"As usual," he drawls, unimpressed with Tsukauchi's try at small talk. "Got any news?" He asks, straight to the point. He doesn't have to elaborate; he knows the detective knows what he's talking about.

"Some, although I'm still unsure if I can call it a lead yet. We found a vehicle eerily similar to the one the neighbour witnessed the night doctor Takahashi disappeared. It's way out of Musutafu, not exactly in our jurisdiction, but I have a team keeping tabs on it as we speak, in hopes to gather more information on the people involved. They didn't see the man as of yet, so it's hard to say if it's just a coincidence or if we really found our culprit." Shouta grunts in response absent-mindedly. He can't help but wish the investigation ends here, so that motherfucker gets put behind bars for the rest of his life, but it feels too easy. For some reasons, Shouta can't get rid of the feeling that they've only just started to see the tip of the iceberg.

"What about Midoriya Inko?" Tsukauchi lets out a puff of hair, halfway between a humorless laugh and a frustrated huff.

"We're still waiting on that. These kind of things take time, you know this," the detective says in a clipped tone. "In the meantime, she's being held in Musutfau's detention center."

"When can the kid visit?" There's a tense moment of silence. Shouta can almost picture Tsukauchi's pensive frown, the one that creases the skin between his eyebrows when he mulls over something or other and makes him look older than he really is.

"Eraserhead… Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"That's not my call," he replies simply. He doesn't necessarily agree with the kid. Obviously, Midoriya is finding it all extremely hard to accept. Letting him meet his mother – his abuser, in a sense, even if he can't see the woman in the same light Shouta does – might make it even more difficult for him to swallow the pill. "I can't stop him if he wants to see her, and he's made himself clear enough." With that stubbornness of his, he doubts Midoriya will have changed his mind. If anything, the boy is probably even more determined than ever. There's a long minute of silence, Shouta's ears only picking up the faint background noises of the police station, before the detective lets out a defeated puff of air.

"Visits start at ten for family members."

"Thanks."

"Just, keep an eye on him, will you?" Tsukauchi asks with a weird tone of voice Shouta can't place. It's concerning. He'd like to interrogate his colleague, wants to ask him what this means, because the way it's been said is ominous; as if the man knows, or suspects, something but can't openly speak about it yet. Shouta has to hold his tongue, though, because he can see said Problem Child hovering at the kitchen's entrance uncertainly from the corner of his eyes.

"Who do you take me for?" He retorts instead emotionlessly. He doesn't wait for a reply as he suddenly ends the call. Whatever the detective is worried about, they'll have enough time to discuss it in person later that day.

Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the archway that leads to the dining room when Shouta fully turns his gaze on him.

"How's your ankle?" The teen is putting some weight on it, he notices.

"M-much better, thanks. U-um…" Shouta wordlessly motions the boy to join him, and while Midoriya does enter the room with small, hesitant steps (cautious of his injury, perhaps? Or just incredibly uncomfortable with his situation?), he stays standing on the other side of the table, facing him. The hero gathers his papers, noting the little dots he marked absently as he fiddled with his pen during the previous call. He pushes them on the side, pen on top.

"What do you want for breakfast? We got leftover miso soup and rice in the fridge we can heat up," he proposes, but Midoriya just shakes his head with a frown.

"When can I see my mom?" Green eyes shine with resolve when Shouta stares into them.

"I have to go to the precinct for a case," he says as he gets up to prepare a quick breakfast. "If you don't mind waiting in the lobby for one or two hours while I work, we can make a detour on our way back, if not – " The kid is already nodding, hopeful, before he even finishes his thought, so he shrugs in acceptance as he pulls eggs out of the fridge. "Today it is, then."