The mountain village was quiet at night. Too quiet.

No towering skyscrapers. No distant hero sirens. No crowds flooding neon streets. Just the wind brushing through cedar trees and the warm glow of porch lights against the dark countryside.

Izuku liked it that way.

Said it helped everyone “heal.”

The little countryside house sat near the edge of the village surrounded by flowerbeds, vegetable rows, and thick forests that stretched for miles. To outsiders, it looked painfully ordinary. A tired married couple from the city and their shy young daughter trying to recover from some unnamed trauma.

Nobody questioned why the curtains stayed shut most nights. Nobody questioned why the family was almost never apart.

And nobody questioned the soft click of locks echoing through the house after sunset.

Inside, the home smelled like simmering soup and detergent. Warm lights glowed softly across the living room while an old radio played somewhere in the kitchen. Plush blankets covered the couch. Family photos lined the walls despite none of them being truly real.

Izuku had built an entire life out of delusion.

Your “nursery” sat upstairs at the end of the hallway, painted cream and sage green with warm fairy lights hanging across the ceiling. The adult-sized crib rested against the far wall surrounded by stuffed animals and folded blankets. Even now, the soft bars cast long shadows across the room from the nearby nightlight.

You hated how comfortable the mattress had become.

Downstairs, the sound of chopping vegetables echoed from the kitchen. Katsuki stood near the stove wearing one of Izuku’s stupid soft domestic sweaters while preparing dinner with practiced movements. The sight still felt wrong after all these months. The Number Two Hero reduced to playing house in a mountain prison.

Though lately… he barely fought the role anymore.

A quiet creak sounded from the front door.

“Kacchan? I’m home.”

Izuku stepped inside carrying several grocery bags and immediately locked the door behind him out of habit. His green eyes softened the moment they landed on you sitting near the living room doorway wrapped in a blanket.

“There’s my baby.”

The praise came naturally now. Like breathing.

Behind him, snowflakes melted against his coat while the village lights flickered faintly outside. He looked exhausted from the trip into town, dark curls messy from the cold wind, but his smile brightened instantly at the sight of both of you waiting inside.

For a moment, he looked normal.

Happy, even.

“I got the strawberry bread you like,” he continued softly while setting the bags down. “And Mrs. Hara sent over extra soup stock again. She said you looked pale last time we visited.”

Katsuki snorted from the kitchen. “Old lady’s nosy as hell.”

“She’s kind,” Izuku corrected automatically before turning back toward you. “Did you behave while I was gone?”

The question was gentle. Dangerous in its gentleness.

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder toward you briefly before returning to the stove. You caught the subtle warning in his eyes immediately.

Careful.

Izuku stepped closer, removing his gloves slowly before reaching out to brush his fingers against your cheek with familiar tenderness.

“You missed me, didn’t you?”

Outside, snow continued falling silently over the mountain village.

And somewhere deep in the house, another lock quietly clicked into place.