For his eighth birthday Izuku requests three things: another video of his mom, a subscription to Heroes Weekly, and to have his hair cut by a professional.

(Stendhal grants two of those requests.)

Izuku hums happily to himself as he sits in the salon chair, legs swinging idly as he flips through the pages of his magazine. He is searching for any articles he can find on up and coming heroes. He feels fresh and clean, his hair lighter than it's been in years. It is enough to lift his spirits, mind wandering away from thoughts of his mom and instead towards all the heroes he missed the debuts of. He misses his days of scouring the internet for videos, but since the internet offers too many chances for him to reach out to others without Stendhal's permission, he has been banned from it until further notice. As much as he doesn't like it, he does understand the reasoning behind it.

"He's so well behaved," the lady doing his hair comments to Stendhal. Izuku grins behind his magazine, preening a little bit at the compliment. His expression falls as she continues. "He did have some pretty terrible tangles and his hair was getting matted in some places, though. I take it he gets his hair from his mom?"

She sounds cross, like she is about to start lecturing the man that towers over her. Izuku goes a little stiff, but does his best to pretend that he can't hear the conversation. He does not allow his gaze to wander away from the magazine pages, doing his best to appear totally immersed in the articles on Endeavor's latest triumph in solving a case that had long been thought cold. Whatever that means.

"Yeah, he does. I guess I don't know how to care for it right. She's...not around anymore."

Izuku blinks back the tears that spring to his eyes at the words and hunches a little further forward. It is shocking to hear Stendhal discussing things so casually with a stranger, his voice calm and low. He sounds so earnest, so sad, like it actually bothers him that Izuku has been taken away from his mom.

Izuku frowns, resisting the urge to sniffle as he brushes a curl away from his cheek. His mom still had to help him in the bath, back when Stendhal took him. He thinks about how she always knew exactly how to brush his hair without it hurting and the way he would whine and cry when the shampoo got in his eyes. It was silly of him to cry over a little stinging, but his mom would still coo and apologize and wipe away the suds with her gentle hands. He doesn't need help anymore, but he misses it sometimes.

Endeavor's scowling face blurs before his eyes and the woman makes a sympathetic noise. It makes Izuku want to shout at her, to tell her not to sound so sorry for Stendhal. He's the reason she's not around anymore.

"I'm sorry to hear that. It must be hard being a single father, but you seem like you're doing just fine. Your son is one of the sweetest kids I've worked with."

Their voices fade as they walk towards the counter. Izuku lifts his eyes to watch, and sees the woman giving Stendhal a big bottle of something and a new comb. It looks like the kind his mom used to use. He sees her smile, pink teeth shiny behind her black lips, and wonders if Stendhal is smiling back. He pays in cash and calls to let Izuku know that they're ready to go.

Izuku feels clean and fresh and happy, but the woman's words won't leave his head. They linger and echo, gnawing at the back of his mind for the rest of the day. It isn't quite enough to spoil his day, not when Stendhal takes him out for ice cream and they talk about All Might's coolest rescues between mouthfuls.

Still, once they go back to the safehouse and the quiet of the space washes over him, he finds his mood beginning to sour. It doesn't take very long for Stendhal to notice, though he waits a few hours to see if it will blow over or not.

.

With bedtime fast approaching and Izuku still only communicating through huffs and one word responses, Chizome heaves a sigh and settles himself in for a heavy discussion with the disgruntled newly-eight-year-old.

"So. Something's bothering you, huh?"

Izuku glances up from his Quirk notebook, green eyes dull and shadowed by his newly styled bangs. He meets Chizome's eyes and holds his gaze steadily for a long moment before he turns away, mumbling something that he knows Chizome won't be able to make out. The man bites back another sigh, fingers twitching with the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He resists, unwilling to let Izuku know that he is getting annoyed with his attitude. He is not looking forward to when the kid hits his teenage years.

"You'll feel better if you talk about it," he tries, leaning forward. "Heroes don't keep bad feelings bottled up, right?"

Izuku seems to consider that, eyes darting back up to examine Chizome's face as though searching for answers there. The boy's mouth twists like he isn't sure if he wants to cry or not. Then he sighs and sits up straight, meeting his mentor's eyes with a stubborn look on his chubby little face. It is adorable.

"At the hair place earlier the lady called me your son." Chizome grimaces; he should have known that Izuku had heard that. Izuku continues, cheeks puffed out and eyes wet. "You're not my dad."

"I know, kid. You're right—"

"I don't even know my dad, but I do know that you're not him." Izuku plows on, words tumbling from his lips like they have been building for years. "I never needed a dad, and I don't want one now. I only ever needed my mom, so if you're not going to let me go back to her then you don't have any right to pretend like you're my family. I don't need you."

Stendhal is surprised by how much the words sting. He keeps his expression carefully blank, nodding along as the boy stumbles and chokes over his words. There are tears rolling down Izuku's cheeks while embers burn brightly behind green eyes. Chizome sighs and leans forward a little more, almost a bow but not quite there.

"I'm sorry, kid. You're right. I'm not your dad and I should have corrected her."

Izuku looks surprised, like he had been expecting the man who has been raising him since he was four years old to fight him on the subject. He sniffles and wipes his tears away with the hem of his t-shirt. He meets Chizome's eyes, and the anger is beginning to drain away as he asks, "Why did you let her say that, then?"

He shrugs, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Izuku is watching him closely, cataloguing every twitch and expression, analyzing them and storing them away for future examination. The kid puts his Quirk to good use, that's for sure. It is no use lying to him.

"I don't know. It just. It felt nice, I guess." Izuku's brow wrinkles with his confusion, prior anger already forgotten in the face of this new mystery. He cocks his head to the side, waiting for Chizome to continue. The man runs his fingers through his hair, sighing more deeply. "I guess...I guess that I've just been raising you for so long now, it kind of felt like that was being acknowledged. It just felt nice, her saying that I was doing a good job."

He can tell by the way Izuku's eyes narrow and his lips purse that that was the wrong thing to say. The boy calmly closes the notebook he had been writing in and slams the bathroom door behind himself as he goes to get ready for bed. Chizome knows he messed up, but when Izuku emerges with his wet hair creating damp spots on the shoulders of his All Might footy pajamas and the new comb in hand, he knows he's been forgiven.

They talk about their plans for their next patrol as Chizome runs the comb carefully through Izuku's hair, apologizing each time the prongs snag on a knot. Izuku smiles and tells himself that his eyes aren't stinging every time he feels a painful tug.

So I've been reading the Vigilante mangas recently and trying to decide if I want to incorporate more of that canon background into this fic, or if I'm just going to keep going with what I've got now. I'd love to hear your thought!

Also, while writing this I have to keep reminding myself that this is taking place while Chizome is a dumbass twenty-something. And before he 100% lost the few marbles he had.