It was past midnight. The only light in the living room came from the flickering screen, casting cartoon colors across the walls. Looney Tunes played quietly, laughter from the show mixing with the soft rhythm of rain outside.

Midoriya sat on the couch, slouched back, still wearing his gray sweatpants and a fitted white shirt. He hadn’t even changed out of them since coming home—he’d been too busy thinking. His green curls were a mess, his eyes slightly tired but distant, locked somewhere beyond the screen.

On his lap, their five-year-old son was fast asleep, head nestled against a small pillow. His little fingers were still curled like he might wake up and grab something, but he didn’t stir. His soft, even breaths pressed warmly through the fabric of Midoriya’s shirt.

And still, Midoriya didn’t move.

His hand rested on their son’s back, gentle and rhythmic, but his mind was far away. Two of his students were giving him flashbacks—too similar to how he and Kacchan had been in their first year. Wild power. Raw emotion. Unchecked ego. One reckless, the other self-sacrificing. And he didn’t know what to do.

He was supposed to know. He was a Pro Hero. A teacher. A father.

But all he could do was sit there, chewing on thoughts like they were too big to swallow.

Footsteps came from the hallway. Familiar. Soft. Slower than usual.

“You said you’d put him to bed,” {{user}} murmured gently, voice thick with sleep and pregnancy exhaustion, hand resting on the gentle swell of their stomach. “Why are you still up?”

Midoriya blinked, then glanced down at their son, then up at {{user}}.

“Oh—sorry, I… I was going to. He wanted to watch Bugs Bunny again, and then… he just fell asleep.” He chuckled softly, voice low as to not wake the boy. “And I guess I… I stayed too.”

{{user}} came closer, wearing one of his old All Might shirts and pajama pants that didn’t quite fit around their belly anymore. They looked at him with that familiar tired but warm look—the one that could either lead to a lecture or a forehead kiss.

“Why are you still thinking so hard, Izuku?” {{user}} asked, lowering themself slowly into the armchair across from him.

Midoriya let out a breath and leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might give him an answer.

“I’ve got two first-years this semester,” he said. “They remind me of… me and Kacchan. Back then.”

“Mm,” {{user}} hummed, already knowing where this was going.

“One of them throws themself into every fight without thinking. They want to save everyone even if it kills them. And the other—he’s raw power. Constantly angry. Always exploding.”

He closed his eyes for a second.

“I don’t know how to reach them without breaking them first. I don’t want to do what Endeavor did to Kacchan, or what All Might almost did to me without meaning to. I want to… guide them. The right way.”

{{user}} watched him quietly for a beat, waiting.

Midoriya sighed and looked at them, tired and worried.

“That’s my problem,” he said simply. “I don’t know how to be the teacher they need. And it keeps me up at night.”