Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya was one year old and already possessed three passions: yoghurt, the park, and laundry day. The first two made sense. The third was a mystery.
Inko suspected it was the machines.
The laundromat two blocks from their building hummed like an engine room and smelled faintly of lemon softener. Rows of washers clattered and whirred, windows fogging from the steam. To an adult, it was a place of chores and coins and waiting. To Izuku, it was magic. Circles spun, clothes tumbled, colours blurred into new colours. He pressed his palms to the glass and watched socks become comets.
Inko settled him on her hip as she pushed the door open. Bells jingled overhead. Warm air swept past them, thick with detergent and the low thrum of motors.
Only half the machines were free. She picked one at the end, set Izuku on the chair beside it, and poured detergent with methodical precision. Izuku kicked his heels against the metal chair leg, small and rhythmic.
It wasn’t until she closed the washer door that she realised the machine next to hers was occupied.
Not just occupied, being folded from.
The man stood with his back to her at first, sleeves rolled up, hair falling past his shoulders in a loose, brushed curtain. It was a pale gold that caught the overhead lights and divided into strands as he moved.
Izuku noticed him before she did. He leaned forward in the chair, eyes wide, fascinated.
The man glanced over at the motion.
Their eyes met.
He blinked, then smiled
“Morning,” he said, voice light but even.
“Morning,” Inko replied, shifting Izuku to her other hip.
Izuku lifted one hand in something approximating a wave. His fingers wiggled.
“Hello there,” the man said, tone softening. He nodded toward the machine. “Big load today?”
“Toddlers,” Inko said, as if that explained everything. In truth, it did.
He huffed a small laugh. “That’ll do it.”
She started the machine. Buttons beeped. Water surged. Izuku watched it with reverence.
Only then did the man speak again. “I’m Yamada Hizashi.”
No flourish. No explanation. Just a name, politely offered.
“Midoriya Inko,” she said. “This is Izuku.”
“Izuku,” he repeated, as if tasting the shape of the syllables. “Thats a really nice name you've got there, Izuku.”
Izuku preened.
Hizashi folded another shirt. His movements were precise. Crisp shoulder alignment, clean centre fold. She recognised competence when she saw it, and she found herself appreciating it more than she expected to at nine in the morning.
Most men she’d met in laundromats didn’t know how to fold anything that wasn’t a towel.
Izuku leaned forward again, hands reaching. Hizashi paused.
“May I?” he asked, nodding toward Izuku’s outstretched arms.
The courtesy startled her in the nicest way. “You may.”
He crouched so Izuku could reach the hem of his jacket. Izuku touched it, patted it, and then tried to climb into his lap with single-minded determination. Hizashi steadied him with one hand.
“You’re confident,” Hizashi murmured to Izuku amused.
“Confidence” was one way of putting it, Inko thought. “Single-mindedly reckless” was another.
“He likes people,” she said.
“He has good taste,” Hizashi replied easily.
Inko found herself looking at him a second longer than necessary.
He had the kind of face that read differently depending on the angle. Sharp cheekbones softened by long hair, strong jaw offset by gentle eyes.
The radio above the change machine crackled, fizzed, then landed on a song with cheerful brass and a piano that sounded like sunshine on cobblestones.
Izuku froze for half a second. Then his whole body lit up. He squealed, clapped once, and launched into the toddler dance: knees bending up and down, torso bouncing, mouth open in delighted nonsense.
Inko’s hand hovered, in case the balance failed.
Hizashi looked over from the folding table. The second he clocked the bopping, his expression brightened in this quiet, amused way. He came over without ceremony and crouched so he was eye-level with the tiny dancer.
“Good beat, huh?” he said softly.
Izuku increased his bopping. Hizashi nodded gravely, like this was a professional critique.
Then, with no fanfare, he held out both hands.
Izuku grabbed them at once.
Together, they bounced. Slow at first, then faster, but never too wild. Just knees and elbows and very serious concentration from Izuku, whose entire face was scrunched with effort. Hizashi matched him, careful to let Izuku lead but also adding enough bounce to turn it into a proper duet.
“Yeah,” Hizashi murmured, gentle rather than loud. “There it is.”
Izuku attempted a spin. It was less a spin and more a half-turn accompanied by a wobble. Hizashi steadied him easily, pivoting with him so it looked intentional instead of chaotic. Izuku giggled, triumphant at his own choreography.
Inko covered her mouth to hide a laugh. She had seen plenty of adults try to dance with Izuku before and most either overdid it or treated him like fragile glass. Hizashi did neither. He just held his hands, bobbed with him, and let him decide what dancing meant.
When the song hit a little flourish, Hizashi lifted their joined hands and gave the smallest twirl. Izuku squeaked and bent his knees even harder. It was nonsense. Pure nonsense. And it was perfect.
The music faded into the tail end of the chorus and Izuku slowed down naturally, knees less springy now, breath coming in little huffs. Hizashi gave one last tiny bounce, then lowered both their hands.
“That was excellent work,” he said as if concluding a lesson. “Ten out of ten. Very advanced.”
Izuku beamed at him. Then he plopped down on his bottom and immediately moved on to examining a sock, the performance now complete.
Hizashi stood, brushing a bit of lint from his jeans. Inko realised her cheeks hurt from smiling.
“You make it look easy,” she said.
He shrugged once, loose and unbothered. “Dancing with kids usually is. Adults overthink it.”
Izuku waved the sock like a flag.
“See,” Hizashi added, nodding toward him, “he gets it.”
The girl at the counter snickered behind her hand. She leaned against the vending machine, hair tied up in a messy bun, and watched the pair with unabashed amusement.
“He’s killing it,” she whispered toward Inko as she passed to refill the coin tray.
Inko could not argue. Izuku flourished the sock one last time before abandoning it entirely. The rabbit toy reclaimed his attention.
Hizashi took his place back by the folding table. He gathered the corners of a shirt and smoothed it flat, shoulders squared, sleeves lined. It struck Inko again how careful he was with his hands. Not just neatness. Consideration.
“What do you do?” she asked suddenly. It felt like a reasonable question. Neat folding suggested many possible professions.
Hizashi glanced up. “Work-wise?”
“Yes.”
He took a breath, not sheepish but deliberate. “I am a hero. Mostly patrol and rescue. Sometimes I do radio work, but that is more late-night stuff.”
Inko blinked. “Radio. As in Present Mic.”
He did not puff up or grin or perform. He simply inclined his head, hair falling forward slightly. “That would be me. Off duty, though.”
Izuku looked up, processed none of that, and held his rabbit to his face with both hands. Hizashi chuckled once and reached for his coffee.
“I did not recognise you without all the…” Inko gestured vaguely, trying to find the correct word. Volume seemed impolite.
“Stage presence,” he offered.
“Yes. That.”
“I try not to inflict it on civilians before noon.”
It was the kind of line that could have been arrogant, but it was not.
Izuku kicked his heels against the stroller and hummed to himself. Hizashi waited until Izuku looked at him again before flicking one finger against the side of his rabbit’s floppy ear. Izuku squealed and hid behind the ear as if it were a shield.
The washer beeped, signalling the end of its cycle. Inko stood, moved Izuku aside, and started transferring clothes to the dryer. Izuku supervised, chin perched on the edge of the stroller tray, eyes tracking every sock.
Without asking, Hizashi stepped in and lifted the laundry basket for her. The basket was heavy and her arms were already full of toddler.
“Thank you,” she said.
“It is the least I can do for my dance partner’s mother.”
She smiled and loaded the dryer. Hizashi passed her the last of the shirts. Their fingers brushed.
He did not comment. She did not either.
The dryer whirred. Heat rushed through the vents. Izuku rested his cheek against the warm metal and sighed like he had discovered paradise.
The laundromat girl snorted from the counter. “He does that every week,” she said. “Little heat-seeking missile.”
“He likes the machines,” Inko said.
“He is a very passionate individual,” Hizashi corrected, straight-faced.
Izuku lifted his head and blew a raspberry at the dryer as if agreeing.
The radio shifted to another song. Slower this time. Something with strings and soft woodwinds. Izuku yawned, rabbit still clutched to his chest.
Hizashi checked the time on his phone and finished the last of his coffee.
“I should get going,” he said. “Patrol hours start soon.”
Inko nodded. “Thank you for the help.”
“Thank you for the company.”
Izuku lifted his rabbit in a hesitant imitation of a wave. Hizashi reached out and adjusted the ear so it pointed the right direction.
“See you later, maestro,” he said.
Izuku clutched the rabbit tighter, cheeks pink from exertion and attention.
Hizashi hesitated at the door. Not long enough for it to become awkward. Just long enough that Inko noticed.
“Same day next week?” he asked. The tone was casual. The offer was not.
“We will be here,” she said.
He smiled at that. Not wide. Not flattering. Just a smile that reached his eyes.
The bells jingled when he left. The door clicked shut. Wind slipped in before it settled.
Izuku slumped back in the stroller, exhausted from dancing and existing. Inko pushed a curl from his forehead and felt something lighten in her chest that had nothing to do with laundry finishing early.
The dryers spun. Socks turned into comets again. Shirts flared like banners. Morning shifted toward midday.
Inko thought about yoghurt and rabbits and lemon softener and a man with long gold hair who danced with toddlers in laundromats without needing an audience.
She decided it was safe to think she might like to see him again.