Redemption From a Father [REVISE]

The Long Overdue Come Back

Hisashi Midoriya hated airports.

Not because of the lines or the overpriced coffee, though both deserved their own level of hell, but because airports meant leaving or returning.

And Hisashi wasn't exactly proud of his track record with either.

He sat on the bench near the check in area, tapping his fingers on his bag like it might explode if he stopped. His knee bounced in rhythm, annoyingly loud against the floor.

He had the flight details burned into his head: departure time, gate number, seat 12A, the little map of Terminal 3 sprawled across his phone like a cheat sheet. He knew, down to the emergency exit instructions, every small, sensible thing that could keep his mind busy.

Anything to stop it from going where it always went to them.

About the fact that he wasn't boarding for some business trip this time. He was flying back to the mess he had made.

The list of what he'd missed stacked up in his chest like unpaid bills.

Missed calls he never returned. Unopened envelopes with photos of Izuku tucked inside, edges soft from being handled once and set aside on the kitchen counter. Inko still sent them, bless her, knowing he probably wouldn't answer.

Notes in his phone: "Happy birthday, son," drafts that sat there like unsent apologies because a meeting, a flight or some quiet pride in being the provider felt easier than showing up.

He know he keep told himself it was providing. That if he wired enough money, maybe it'd fill the space his absence carved out. But, It didn't.

And then that phone call.

The one where Izuku's voice cracked mid yell, where the pain came through so raw and loud it felt like the speaker might give out.

And honestly, Hisashi kind of wished it had, just to spare him from hearing every syllable of heartbreak that he had earned.

And every year, like clockwork, he told himself "maybe next year." Maybe next year he'd fly home. Maybe next year he'd be brave enough to call first. Maybe next year he'd stop being a coward.

Now he was fresh out of years to hide behind.

He didn't blame Izuku. Not one bit. Hell, if the roles were reversed, he would've thrown the phone across the room and maybe set it on fire for good measure. Hisashi was just lucky the kid hadn't found a way to punch him through the phone yet

"Are you sure really doing this alone?" Roberto crossed his arms, head tilted like he already knew the answer and hated it.

"Not that I don't love a tragic redemption arc," he added, "but buddy... you've been professionally avoiding emotional responsibility for, what, nine years? Maybe ten? I lost track after the third apology sushi night. And I counted, okay? That sashimi bill still haunts me."

Hisashi groaned into his palms. "Good god. Please stop saying numbers. My blood pressure can't take it, and you're not even trying to sugarcoat it, huh?"

Roberto sat next to him, dramatic sigh and all. "Numbers don't lie. And neither does the fact that you ghosted your family like a deadbeat anime dad."

"That's rich coming from a PR exec."

"Hey," Roberto said, offended. "I abandon reputations. Not children."

It still amazed Hisashi sometimes, years in America, and this loud, dramatic man was his closest friend.

Roberto was the PR lead, smooth talker, crisis mopper, king of media spin. Hisashi was the guy in a lab coat who once accidentally ate soy sauce packets thinking they were candy.