Redemption From a Father [REVISE]

Keys, Guilt, and The Same Old Tea

The first thing Hisashi noticed when he stepped out of the arrival gate wasn't the jet lag, or the crowd, or even Musutafu's humidity, which hit him like the city itself was trying to choke him out for disappearing so long.

It was Inko.

She's standing by the exit, arms crossed, keys dangling from her fingers, and a look on her face that said, loud and clear, 'I'm deciding right now whether to hug you or hit you with my car.'

Truly a real warm welcome.

She looked... mostly the same. A little tired around the eyes. The kind of tired life gives you when you've been doing everything alone and haven't had time to complain.

Still Inko, though. Still the same woman who once laughed with him in this very airport, holding a paper cup of vending machine coffee, joking about how they'd survive parenthood together.

God, that promise aged like milk.

He approached slowly, like a man walking into his own execution. Like if he moved too fast, she'd actually throw the keys at his head.

An old instincts that kicking back in after nearly a decade of pretending not to remember how her silences could cut sharper than her words.

The ones that reminded him her silence could beat any argument and her eyebrow raise once made him reconsider life choices.

"Inko..."

He had meant to sound steady. Confident, maybe. But the way her name sounds wobbly out of his mouth, quiet and careful, made it sound more like an apology than a greeting.

She stared. No smile. No tears. Just that signature Midoriya death glare that had once been reserved for neighborhood brats who bullied their son.

"You still pack light," she said, eyes landing on the beat up bag in his hand, the same one she gave him on their third wedding anniversary.

The handle was fraying, the zipper stuck half the time, and somehow he still couldn't let go of it. Like a fool.

"You know... travel light. Live with guilt. It kinda evens out," he said, trying to sound casual. Like maybe if he made her laugh, this wouldn't feel so heavy.

It didn't work.

Her face didn't move, not even a twitch. The only response Inko gave him was the soft clink of her car keys shifting in her fingers, unimpressed.

"Let's go." She turned on her heel and walked toward the parking lot, like this was just another normal airport pick up.

Definitely not like her husband who vanished off the face of the Earth for years, and now magically reappeared with a carry on full of emotional baggage.

No hug. No slap. No dramatic airport speech. Just a simple, brutally civil "let's go."

Which somehow hurt more.

Hisashi followed, because what else was he supposed to do? Tell her he suddenly had other plans like, 'Hey, Inko, I'll just grab a cab and go marinate in my guilt somewhere else', thanks though.

They reached the car in a silence so thick he almost choked on it. She unlocked the doors without a word. He slipped into the passenger seat like a teenager being picked up after detention. She adjusted her mirror, started the engine, and pulled out of the lot.

After some time, she exhaled and muttered, mostly to herself but loud enough to hit him square in the chest, "Seatbelt."

"Buckle up properly," she muttered. "You always twist the belt. It drives me insane."