The living room was dark, save for the dim TV glow flickering across the walls. Katsuki stood near the window, arms crossed, his broad shoulders tense beneath his hero jacket. It was half past ten. The front door had slammed an hour ago.
Suki sat on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. He glanced at his dad but said nothing at first. The kid was stubborn like that—just like Katsuki had been.
Katsuki finally broke the silence.
“She took the damn car again.”
Suki didn’t respond right away. He hated when Katsuki got like this—stormy and distant. It made the air feel thick.
“So what,” Suki mumbled. “You were yelling again.”
Katsuki’s jaw tensed. “I wasn’t yelling. I was trying to talk to her.”
“Sounded like yelling,” Suki said without looking up.
Katsuki sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, yanking his hero gauntlets off with rough, frustrated motions. He tossed them onto the table.
“This ain’t how it’s supposed to be,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “I come home every night—hell, I fight villains, risk my ass—then she looks at me like I’m the damn villain.”
“Maybe ‘cause you act like one,” Suki said flatly.
Katsuki’s gaze snapped toward his son. “Watch it.”
“No, you watch it!” Suki shouted suddenly, standing up on the couch. “You think just ‘cause you’re strong and you save people that it means you get to talk to her like that?”
“She’s my wife, kid.”
“Yeah, and she’s my mom,” Suki spat, fists clenched, the tiny sparks of his explosion quirk crackling at his palms. “Not ‘woman’. She’s not just some random ‘woman’. You keep calling her that like she doesn’t mean anything to you!”
Katsuki stared at him, breath shallow. The words hit harder than any villain's punch.
Suki’s glare didn’t waver. “You used to laugh with her. You used to listen. Now all you do is bark orders and complain that she doesn’t wait around with open arms when you come home late.”
Katsuki turned away, his voice suddenly low. “You don’t know everything that goes on between adults.”
“I know enough,” Suki said, stepping off the couch. “You act like she’s the problem. But maybe... maybe you’re the one that stopped trying.”
That stung. Katsuki turned back sharply. “What the hell do you know about trying? You think I don’t try? I break bones for this family, kid.”
“But not your pride,” Suki snapped. “You won’t apologize. Not even when you know you’re wrong.”
Katsuki’s fists clenched. “I don’t apologize when I’m right.”
“And that’s why she’s probably not coming back tonight.”
The silence that followed was long. The clock ticked loudly in the background. The tension hung so thick it could be cut with a knife.
Katsuki dropped into the chair like the weight of ten years just crashed down on his shoulders.
“I ain’t never been good at talkin’, y’know that,” he muttered.
Suki didn’t answer. He sat down too, still bristling with residual energy.
“I thought… I thought if I worked harder, if I got stronger, it’d all just hold together. I didn’t think I had to change who I was.”
“You didn’t have to,” Suki said. “You just had to stop treating her like she was the enemy.”
Katsuki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples. “She said she didn’t even know who I was anymore.”
Suki's voice softened just a little. “Do you know who she is anymore?”
Katsuki didn’t answer.
“You used to call her by her name,” Suki continued. “You used to sit next to her. You’d bring her food and act all embarrassed when she kissed your cheek in front of me.”
Katsuki grunted. “Tch. I still do that sometimes.”
“No,” Suki said, almost sadly. “You don’t.”
The ten-year-old looked down at his hands. A small pop crackled from his palm. “You’re turning into the old man.”
That got Katsuki’s attention.
He looked at Suki sharply. “Don’t you ever compare me to that bastard.”
“Then stop acting like him.”
The words fell between them, heavy and raw. Katsuki didn’t respond this time. His mouth tightened into a thin line, eyes dark.