Save The Last Dance

You can see the town of Silvia from a good ten miles away. The road is easy, and smoke trails from the town’s chimneys into the sky like ripples in a stream. It’s a bright, clear summer day, and neither Shouto nor Momo are particularly tired when they crest a hill in the road and see their destination. They smile at one another, not bothering with words, and readjust the packs on their shoulders.

Before them, the forest climbs high over the horizon. Far in the distance, mountains strike at the clouds like broken teeth. The sound of children playing and dogs barking echoes through the landscape, woven with the smells of wheat and firewood. The track is dusty but well-trodden, and to either side of the travellers fields roll for miles, boasting heavy crops of grain and fruit.

Shouto and Momo focus on the road. They stop when they reach the town. There is no sign, but no traveller could have come from their direction and not known what lay ahead. A tall wooden fence stands across the road, reaching in a protective curl around the buildings beyond it. In the middle of this fence is a gate that’s at least ten feet tall, with a wrought iron knocker as big as a human head.

Shouto and Momo wait for the watch-keeper. A bird caws as it flies past them, over the fence and into the town.

“I worry what they’d do if we were a real threat.” Shouto says, quietly, as they wait to be noticed.

Momo raises an eyebrow at him. “I doubt it’s really a problem out here.” She turns, shielding her eyes against the sun to look back down the road they’ve come from. It’s wide and easy, and would be hard to pass through subtly. “They’d see raiders from miles off.”

As if on cue, a broad-shouldered young man jumps from the top of the fence and lands lightly on the earth before them. He wearing a loose shirt, leather vest, and, oddly, white gloves. His thick black hair is a mess of curls. Shouto can’t see any weapons on him, but he’s learned from experience that that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. The man makes a futile attempt to brush the creases from his clothes and straightens, giving them a smile.

“Welcome, strangers. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

Momo and Shouto stare at him. Beyond the gates, a group of children squeal with laughter, shouting at each other. Either side of the road, wheat as tall as their hips drifts in the wind like water.

“Did you just make a pun?” Momo starts, and then hesitates.

The young man in front of them rubs the back of his head and laughs. “I mean, it’s hard to resist. We don’t often get visitors at this time of year.”

Shouto frowns. Overhead the sky is flushing purple, but it’s still bright, and the sun beats down on the back of his head. “In summer? Really?”

The young man shrugs. “We normally need to keep the produce we grow in order to feed the town. Most of our trade partners know this, and there’s more going on in the cities over in Kasai at this time of year. Actually, we get most of our visitors in the winter months: people want to come and trade for wood and ice from the mountains.”

Momo glances at Shouto, and drops her hand from the sword strapped to her hip. “I suppose that makes sense. Are you the watch-keeper here?”

“I’m one of them.” The young man laughs. “Among other things.” His cheeks are plastered with freckles and dark with the sun. His complexion and build say he’s a labourer, but his clothes say otherwise.

Shouto clears his throat. “May we enter the town?”

There’s not a breath of wind in the evening sun, and it makes sounds carry. Next to the quiet fields, the town is already loud with music and carts, blacksmiths and crowds. The smell of cooking meat hangs rich in the air.

The young man’s smile falters a little. “See, that’s a tricky one, because I want to say yes. It’s nice to meet travellers and I’ve got no reason to be suspicious of you: well, except for the fact that you’re two people travelling alone and Silvia is the only town for a good ten miles…and Sogen isn’t much of a stopping point, so you can obviously handle yourselves.

“That, and uh, your companion is what we here in Taiyo like to call ‘armed to the teeth’. And, no, before you try to pass it off as such, I am not just referring to the sword on her hip: although that’s a clever diversion and I’m sure it’s served you well. Honestly, anyone who literally has daggers up their sleeves, in their boots and on their thighs is someone I need to think twice about letting into town.”

Momo shifts from one foot to another, and makes no effort to hide her hand moving to her sword now. Shouto shifts one foot a little further back, lowering his centre of gravity. The young man keeps talking, green eyes bright, as if they haven’t done anything.

“Not to mention that you, sir, are frankly emitting more power than the average priest and honestly it’s a little bit unnerving. I don’t remember the last time we had two such gifted witches arrive in our town but I do know that letting powerful strangers wander freely through my home is a decision that could politely be called naïve at best.”

Shouto lets power crackle down his arms, feeling the thrum of it in his fingertips. Next to him, Momo grips the hilt of her sword. The young man smiles at both of them, and looks profoundly unperturbed. That, in itself, is a cause for concern.

“Is this a threat?” Shouto asks the question coolly, keeping his breathing deep and even. The sun burns at the back of his neck, and he uses it as an anchor point, checking behind the young man for any kind of backup. He can’t see anyone, though that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. The fence of the town stretches a good mile either side of the gates, but he doesn’t know if there are any other openings, and the fields are tall and thick and easy to hide in.

The young man blinks, and seems to snap out of whatever complacent daze he’d been drifting in. “Oh! Oh, no. I mean it doesn’t have to be. Actually, I’m just really impressed.”

The power rising in Shouto’s veins fizzles out like a match in water. He stares. “What.”

The young man rubs the back of his head. “Like I said, we don’t often get such gifted visitors. I am dead curious about why you’re here though. You probably want to go into the forest, right? I wouldn’t recommend it without a Silvian guide, and I’m not just saying that to help our tourist industry.” He laughs a little.

Momo still has our guard up, though she’s become utterly still. Her face is unreadable. Shouto’s is not. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You just said we could be a threat to your town?”

“Well sure, you could be. But I mean, if I held with that whenever strangers turned up we’d never get anywhere. I mean, I could be a threat to you.” He smiles, and his teeth are neat and straight and white. Shouto blinks. “But we’re still managing to hold a conversation. Anyway, I’m rambling. The point is: yes, in theory, you can come into town. But if it’s alright with you, I’m going to accompany you until I’ve gotten to know you a little better. Which, honestly, I’m sure is going to be a pleasure because again, you both seem like really interesting people. Sound fair?”

Shouto opens his mouth to say something, fails, and shuts it again. Momo clears her throat and drops her hand from her sword, again. “We don’t even know your name.”

The man starts. “Oh, right, how rude of me. My name is Midoriya Izuku. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds his hand out. Shouto keeps staring, so Momo elbows him aside and takes it, shaking firmly.

“My name is Yaoyorozu Momo. It’s…” She pauses, eyeing Midoriya. “Good to meet you too.”

Midoriya turns to Shouto, and holds his hand out again. After a moment, Shouto takes it. Midoriya’s glove is rough against his skin, but his grip is warm. As they touch, something rushes tingling down his spine. He’d known Midoriya was powerful from the moment he’d jumped off a fifteen-foot fence. But this…For the first time, Shouto wondered whether this was what people felt like when they touched him. Midoriya meets his eyes, and his gaze is fierce with open curiosity.

“Shouto.”

Midoriya blinks, brow furrowing, and Shouto lets go of his hand. Momo puts a hand on her hip. “Alright, watch-keeper. We agree to your terms. May we enter the town?”

Shouto turns to look out over the fields. The sky has sunken to a deeper blue now, and in the distance the boundary between the forest and the crops is almost indistinguishable.

“Yes! Of course, and thank you for bearing with me. Just, one thing…”

Shouto turns to look at Midoriya. Momo is standing closer to him, and the difference in height between them is especially apparent. She has about half a foot over Midoriya, and is looking down at him now with one eyebrow raised. Then again, Momo has about half a foot over most people. Shouto’s mouth pulls up a little at the corner.

“What? I hate to hurry you, watch-keeper, but we’ve been travelling all day and simply want a place to rest our weary feet. If that’s not possible within the town, then I would rather you let us know so that we could seek to make camp elsewhere.”

Midoriya flushes. “Right, and of course you would, and I understand that. The thing is…” He hesitates, chewing on his lip, and turns to look back up at the gate. Shouto follows his gaze, though it’s a futile exercise. The heavy pines that form a fence around the town obscure any view of potential watch-keepers beyond. Which, he imagines, is probably the point. Even the narrow sentry towers dotted sporadically along the structure have low hanging roofs and high fences. He supposes he could use magic to see a little more clearly, but it seems like a waste of energy.

“The thing is what?”

Midoriya turns to him, and Shouto makes a conscious effort not to startle. It’s not that he’s intimidated, exactly. He has no doubt that Midoriya could give him a good fight if he wanted to, as much is clear based on his build alone, but he also doesn’t think he wants to start one. It’s just that there is something incredibly concentrated about the way he looks at Shouto. It reminds him of the way he’d seen physicians look at frogs as they sliced into their bellies.

“Well, it’s just…” Midoriya glances back to Momo. “I can’t leave my watch unattended. Especially not with night falling.”

Shouto frowns, “you’re the only man on watch?”

Momo finishes his thought. “Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

Midoriya shrugs. “I mean, we really don’t get many strangers this time of year, so most of the time it’s more a formality than anything. But even if it weren’t.” He offers them another smile that does not so much dimple his cheeks as it bares his teeth. “I can handle myself.”

Momo’s lips curl into a smile. “I believe it.” Shouto says nothing. Far towards the horizon, the tops of the trees sway in a distant wind. Closer, a ball of sparrows comes rolling in a cloud over the field to their right. Midoriya turns to watch them, shielding his eyes against the evening sun.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long, old friend.”

Momo swears and draws her sword in one slick movement. Shouto feels ice trickling down his forearm in response to her panic. Between them and the tall, dark stranger by the gates, Midoriya yelps, holding up both his hands, palms forward.

“Oh, no no no, please don’t do that.” With a whisper, the tall man is beside Midoriya. A twisted shadow curls around the man-sized crow’s head on his shoulders.

“Do you need assistance?” It’s a human voice that comes from his beak, calm and low, despite the fact he lacks the speech organs to create it. The effect is profoundly unsettling.

“Midoriya, you have ten seconds to explain your friend and then I’m punching first.” Momo has both hands on her sword, and she lifts it high. Over the bird-man’s shoulders, the shadow creeps into the air, raising a set of phantasmal claws.

Midoriya swears. “No, no.” He looks at the bird-man. “See, this is why we had that conversation about you materialising from the shadows.” He gestures to Shouto and Momo, still holding their guard. “Not helpful!” He jabs his fingers into the bird-man’s chest, apparently oblivious to the demonic entity protruding from his ribcage. “Not. Helpful.”

Midoriya turns to the shadow-thing. “Dark Shadow, they’re fine, and you’re scaring them.”

The shadow-thing speaks. “It’s not my fault they judge on appearances! We shouldn’t let strangers like this into town if this is how they react to us.” Midoriya pinches the bridge of his nose, and Shouto watches his broad shoulders lift and fall as he takes a deep breath. They’re very nice shoulders.

“Ok. The problem isn’t your appearance. The problem is the fact that you appeared from nowhere with no explanation. Instead of exiting the gates, like a normal person.”

“I’m not a normal person.” The bird-man speaks this time. It’s impossible to read his expression. He sounds amused.

Midoriya swears again. “You know what I mean!” Then he steps between the shadow and Momo and raises both hands. Power crackles in arcs of green lightning around his arms, bright and strong enough to make Shouto’s teeth ache. “Now, both of you, lower your weapons. Because if you try to start this fight, make no mistake, I will finish it.”

The moment Midoriya raises his hand, Dark Shadow curls back, growing smaller as it settles in something like a sulk around the bird-man’s leg. After six of Shouto’s accelerated heartbeats, Momo lowers her arms and sheaths her sword. Between them, Midoriya sighs, and the magic fades from his arms. Shouto tries to blink away the afterimage from the back of his eyelids.

“Ok. So. Yaoyorozu Momo, this is Tokoyami. Tokoyami, this is Momo.” Midoriya gestures as he speaks, then turns to Shouto. “And this is Shouto. Shouto, meet Tokoyami. I promise he does not actually want to kill any of you.”

“Speak for yourself.” The shadow around Tokoyami’s shoulders mutters. Midoriya rolls his eyes, and jerks his thumb at it.

“That is Dark Shadow. Who, for being three hundred and eight, does a really great impression of a human teenager.”

Tokoyami laughs, and Dark Shadow pulls away from him a little. Momo watches it carefully. “So the rumours are true?”

Midoriya cocks his head. “Which ones?”

Shouto finishes for her. “That your people mingle freely with the spirits and gods of the forest.”

Dark Shadow rushes towards him fast enough to make him flinch, and smiles with indigo teeth. “Gods, huh? I like this one.” Midoriya laughs, stepping under Dark Shadow’s distended belly as if it’s of no less concern than a low hanging laundry line.

“Well, yes and no.” He turns to Tokoyami. “Do you want to do this part?”

Tokoyami lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s not really an issue.” He looks at Shouto, and his eyes are red as fresh blood. “I’m half human, so I divide my time between the town and the forest.” He scratches his neck. “I wouldn’t say that we were an exception, but we’re not in the majority. Most of the spirits and demons I know prefer the forest to human company, and of the rest that like the opposite, about half only do so because they’ve acquired a taste for human flesh.”

He says the words as if he’s talking about the weather. Next to Shouto, Momo presses her fingers to her temples. “But…we’re not going to meet creatures that want to eat us in the town itself, right?”

“That’s what the watch is for!” Midoriya says, grinning. “And I’m pleased to say that as of this year, we’ve had no human casualties.”

“Please don’t tempt Fate.” Tokoyami says the words as if he’s done so half a dozen times before. “She’s a fickle god.”

“And she’s had it in for us ever since we escaped that…” Tokoyami’s hand around Dark Shadow’s approximation of a beak shuts it up before it can say anything else, and he sighs.

“I assume you don’t intend to keep our guests outside all night, Midoriya?”

Momo grins. “No, please. I want to know about this close encounter with Fate.”

Tokoyami looks at her, and again, it’s hard to tell what his expression is. But if Shouto had to hazard a guess, he’d say he was smiling. “Perhaps on a different night.” He lifts his head to the darkening sky, turning to look back over the forest and at the mountains beyond. Dark clouds, black like bruises against the falling night, congregate around their peaks like vultures on a corpse. “I suspect this watch will be a long one.”

Midoriya follows his gaze, and his face falls. Then he turns to Momo and Shouto, looking a little more serious than he had before. “We should get inside before it gets much later.” He claps Tokoyami on the shoulder, and brushes the side of Dark Shadow’s head with the back of his hand. “Take care, friends. I wish you a peaceful night.”

Then he clicks his fingers. The gate swings open into the town beyond, opening onto a cobbled high street and a thinning crowd, making their way to their homes and duties as the night grows darker. A few fist-sized witch-lights stand on wooden posts along the street, offering some dim illumination, which is not yet so needed under the still-bright sky.

The houses of the town are generally low and squat, daubed with clay or plaster and boasting sturdy wooden beams under heavy, thatched roofs. Chimneys blow smoke into the sky, and more than a few homes are lit by candles in their windows, glowing like jewels in a nobleman’s clothes.

Tokoyami turns from them, and between one step and another disappears into the shadows. Midoriya moves towards the open gates, and stops on the threshold under the arch of wood above them. “Welcome to Silvia.”

The inn which Midoriya leads them to is wide and warm, full of workers celebrating the end of their week and the odd traveller soaking up the excess of their cheer. It’s full of light, from witch-stones and candles and a broad, roaring fire along one wall. A narrow staircase at the back of the room leads up to a handful of small but comfortable rooms. Between that and the door is a bar supported by bare oak pillars. To the left, the sounds of the kitchen provide percussion to the rolling conversation of the crowd.

Crammed into the space are a dozen wide, long tables with benches on either side, on which assorted groups of people huddle or else simply rest their drinks and food. The floor is made up of wide, broad flagstones scattered with hay to soak up the worst of the spillages and the smell. All the same, when Momo and Shouto follow Midoriya through the low wooden door, the stench of ale, fresh bread and cooking meat hits them like a wave.

Midoriya shoulders his way through the crowd, calling out greetings and waving at more than half of the inn’s occupants; who shout his name cheerfully and press warm hands to his shoulders. Momo turns to look back at Shouto with a wide, bright smile. “Now this is my kind of place.”

Shouto laughs, not bothering to try and reply over the noise. He can feel people’s eyes on him, but most of them look away after a moment, and for that he’s relieved. After a good minute of pushing, Midoriya finds them a space on a half-full table and gestures for them to sit. His cheeks are flushed and his smile is wide, and he reaches forward to clasp Shouto’s arm when he speaks. His grip is firm, and he leans close enough that their foreheads are in danger of touching to be heard over the noise. He smells of leather and mint and sweat and steel.

“I’m going to get you some food and see whether they have any rooms. Do you two want a drink?”

His curls are brushing Shouto’s forehead, and his lips are chapped. Shouto tries to look away from them and meet Midoriya’s eyes instead. Up close, they’re bright as emeralds and dark as the forest. He nods. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Midoriya grins widely enough to crinkle the corner of his eyes, and squeezes Shouto’s arm before he lets go. “No need to be so formal, stranger.”

Then he dives into the crowd. Shouto stays standing for a moment, watching him go, until he notices the gazes of a few of the inn’s patrons on him and sits abruptly, dropping his pack onto the floor.

Across the table from him, Momo grins, and Shouto meets her gaze impassively. “What.”

Momo lifts a hand to run it over the back of her neck, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Oh, nothing. It’s just, I don’t think he really needed to do that in order for you to hear him, is all.” She’s right, Shouto can hear her across the table despite the noise, and she’s barely raising her voice.

He flushes a little. “Your point is?”

Momo shrugs, glancing around the room before relaxing a little further. “Nothing, nothing. I’m sure he treats everyone that way.” Shouto sighs.

“Momo, we’ve barely met the man. Neither of us knows how he treats most people.”

“That’s not true. We know how he treats his friends, of which he seems to have many. Have you noticed?” Her expression is warm, and she shrugs off her jacket as she speaks, pushing up the sleeves of her shirt.

Shouto nods, looking back to the bar where he can just make out Midoriya being pulled into conversation by a woman with copper-bright hair. “Of course.” He looks back at Momo, and raises an eyebrow. “So, what do you make of Silvia?”

Momo shrugs. “So far; odd. But not the strangest place we’ve been.”

Shouto chuckles. “That goes without saying. I’ve yet to see any other…guests…from the forest. You?”

“The same. I assume that if they are here, they look a little more human than our friend on watch. There’s certainly no shortage of magic users.” As she says the words, she pulls a pin from her forearm, undoing her ponytail only to re-tie it into a bun which she sticks the pin through.

The people next to them on the table pay them no mind, engrossed in some sort of card game. Their cards are dull and dirty, but their fingers are quick, and a pile of copper coins sits on the table between them. Shouto nods. “You noticed it too, then?”

On a table behind Momo, a young man picks up two flagons and presses them together as if they’re made of wet clay. He then proceeds to drink the ale inside, to the laughter and applause of his companions. Momo doesn’t follow Shouto’s gaze. “It’d be hard not to.”

“Sorry for the wait!” Midoriya comes back carrying three flagons foaming with ale, and sets them down with a small splash onto the splintering wooden table. Momo takes hers with a smile and word of thanks, before taking a long sip and shutting her eyes.

“I needed that.” Midoriya laughs, sitting down beside Shouto as if he’s done it a hundred times. As if they’ve known each other for years. Between the end of the table and their companions, the two of them are sitting close enough that their thighs are touching. Shouto takes his beer and curls his hand around it, letting it grow cold.

“I guessed you might. Did you travel far?”

Momo lifts one shoulder, rubbing the foam from her lips with the back of her hand. “Only from Sogen, but we didn’t stay there long.”

Midoriya’s eyes brighten. “It’s a beautiful town, though, isn’t it? They always have those hanging baskets up at this time of year. I used to volunteer for trade parties just so I could see them. They grow such a variety of flowers in the meadows there.” He leans forward across the table as he speaks, gesturing quickly over his beer. “I think our soil isn’t quite right for it, which is frustrating, because we’re really not that far away.”

Momo laughs. “Do you always share your thoughts so freely with strangers?”

Midoriya flushes, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, w-well, uh, I guess I just…” He pauses, biting the inside of his cheek.

“She doesn’t mean it as an insult.” Shouto offers, quietly, and Midoriya jumps, staring at him. Shouto picks up his beer and takes a long drink, glancing away.

“Oh, r-right.” Momo grins at Midoriya.

“I really didn’t. It’s just refreshing.” Midoriya lifts his shoulders.

“I guess I just find a lot of things interesting, is all. Actually, if you don’t mind my asking.” He pauses, glancing from Shouto to Momo. Momo has a slight grin on her face as she watches him.

“Go ahead, watch-keeper.”

Midoriya laughs, lightly. “Actually I was wondering what school you studied under. I’ve never seen anyone who could create objects the way you do.”

Momo raises her eyebrows. “When did you notice that?”

“Well, you didn’t have that pin in your bun before.” Midoriya offers. Shouto frowns at his beer.

“Still, it’s quite a leap.” Momo’s still smiling, and she sits forward, pulling a paper flower from her arm. “But you’re right.” Midoriya stares, enraptured, and she offers it to him.

“Thank you. So, I’m assuming, and correct me if I’m wrong, but you can only make inorganic objects, right? Is there any kind of size limit? Where did you learn this? I think I’ve heard of schools offering something like it in the bigger cities of Kasai, and obviously the Yaoyorozus are a well respected noble family, which, I mean, I’m still curious about that whole thing, but I understand if you don’t want to share.”

Shouto watches Midoriya speak, following his scarred and calloused hands as they move like small birds in flight. He wonders where the gloves went. After another three sentences, Midoriya’s chest heaves with a deep breath, and Shouto interjects without really thinking. “Are you still talking to us?”

Midoriya flushes a red that reaches the roots of his hair. “Oh, right. I mean, yes?”

“It’s alright. I was just wondering.” Shouto’s mouth curls into a small smile as he says the words, and for a second Midoriya just stares at him.

Across the table, Momo laughs, loudly. Then she lifts her flagon. “Here’s to you, watch-keeper. May you monologue for the rest of the evening, and spare us the effort of conversation after a long day’s hike.”

Midoriya looks at her carefully, shoulders up somewhere around his ears. It’s an odd look on such a well-built man, a little like a fully armed soldier on a pony. Later, Shouto will blame it on the alcohol, though he’s not yet had enough to feel it. He sets his hand on Midoriya’s arm, gently, and offers him a smile. “She’s joking.”

Midoriya’s shoulders fall from his ears, and he lifts his flagon. “Cheers, strangers.”

He turns to Shouto and Shouto knocks their drinks together without breaking eye contact, watching as a blush falls berry-red over Midoriya’s dark cheeks.

Then he turns to Momo. “We made it.”

The sound of the inn rises and falls with conversations like waves in the ocean. Midoriya’s leg is warm against Shouto’s, and neither of them move away. The fire spits and crackles in the corner of the room, and every other heartbeat laughter rolls through the crowd.

Midoriya cocks his head to the side. “Why are you here, anyway? It’s not to trade, that much is obvious.”

Shouto shrugs, setting down his drink. “Honestly? Curiosity.”

Midoriya watches him, as if he’s waiting for Shouto to say something else. Across the table, Momo clears her throat. “We’d heard a lot of rumours about Silvia, and the principality of Taiyo. We wanted to know which were true.”

Midoriya frowns. Next to them, a woman in the group playing cards lays down her hand and holds out her palms. Across the table, another woman begrudgingly scoops up the pile of coins and hands them over. “So you came here on a whim? Seems like an awfully long way to travel for that.”

“Where do you think we’re from?” Shouto asks.

“Well, I mean, you’re obviously from Kasai. If the accents didn’t give it away then Yaoyorozu did.”

Momo raises her hand. “Guilty as charged.” Shouto grins at her. Behind them, the man still holding two fused flagons sets them down and gets up, heading for the bar.

“But you’re not wearing the colours or clothes of Kasai, and you didn’t volunteer that information. Which suggests to me that either you’re travelling undercover, which, honestly, you’re either really great at bluffing or you should have reacted differently to my observations so far. Or you no longer consider yourselves to be citizens of that kingdom.” Midoriya blinks as he answers his own question. “So, I suppose, if you live as travellers, coming somewhere on a whim isn’t so strange after all.”

Momo claps and rests her chin on her hands. “Give the man a prize.”

Shouto takes another drink, and then turns to Midoriya. “I have a question.”

Midoriya looks surprised, but he smiles all the same. “Go ahead.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Although I’m going to tell you in advance that I’m not at liberty to disclose the secrets of the town to strangers, so please don’t try that.”

Shouto sits forward. “You said you were a watch-keeper ‘among other things’, and you seem to be well known here. What else do you do?”

Midoriya raises his eyebrows. “Uh, actually, kind of a little bit of everything? I’m an aide to the town council, which I guess is my most important job. But over the summer I volunteer with the labourers, and in the winter I help the foresters. And I’ve been assisting our physician lately – we had an outbreak of pox, it’s largely gone now but for a while we were running high on the sick and low on healers, so...”

“Is there anything you don’t do?” There’s no malice in Shouto’s tone. For his part, Midoriya chuckles.

“Well, that’s what people keep asking me.” His lips quirk at the corners. “I mean, I’m not much of a sailor. Though I suppose if we were closer to the ocean I’d try to learn.”

“Why?” Again, Shouto asks the question before he’s entirely thought it through.

Midoriya looks down at his scarred hands. “Uh…I guess…I just like to learn? And like I said, I’m an aide to the Council. If I’m ever going to join them then I think it’s better if I know what our people do and how they live. I can’t help but feel that it’s kind of…it’s not right, somehow, to tell people what to do if you don’t know how they do it. So, for example, if I ever found myself in a situation where our crops had failed. I’d want to know how our farmers worked, so I knew where their limits lay. What they could and couldn’t do, you know?”

Midoriya’s eyes are bright by the time he’s finished. Shouto stares at him and counts his heartbeats. Then he says, softly. “That’s very noble of you.”

Midoriya goes pink, and he pushes his hand up through his hair. “I don’t know about that, it’s just…”

He’s interrupted by a young man with bright grey hair roaring over the noise of the crowd. “Alright alright, everybody shut up.”

Someone shouts back at him, and he glares. The man is a good six feet tall, easily, with broad shoulders and a loose linen shirt. He looms over the crowd near the fire, and in his left hand he’s holding something brass that looks like a horn.

“Do you want us to make your evening merry or not?”

Next to Shouto, Midoriya laughs, turning to cup his hands around his mouth and shout with the crowd. The man with the grey hair grins. “Right. Of course you do. So shut the hell up for twenty seconds while we start.”

A young woman with copper-bright hair, the one Midoriya had been speaking to by the bar, moves to stand next to the man, and elbows him in the side. The man smiles. “Alright, just because she’s nice, Itsuka says I have to ask you politely. So please quiet down or whatever.”

Next to him, Itsuka rolls her eyes and lifts her violin to her chin, stroking out the first few notes of an easy, rolling song. After a dozen notes or so, the noise in the inn softens, and Shouto and Momo turn to watch the troupe. Next to Itsuka, the man with the grey hair leans against the wall.

There’s a movement in the crowd, some shuffling and lowered voices. Then a woman with strong arms and short black hair steps up next to Itsuka. Itsuka doesn’t pause, but she smiles at her. The woman with the short hair pulls on her steps forward, lifting her chin. Then she starts to sing.

The woman’s voice is the most remarkable thing Shouto has ever heard. With ease, she hits every note, the music ringing around the walls of the inn as it takes the shape of an old folk song. It’s a bright tune, about heroes and adventure and buried gold. Shouto can make out every word. Midoriya grins, then leans back to whisper to him.

“That’s Jirou Kyouka. She’s a blacksmith, but she sings here on weekends.” He’s close enough that his breath falls hot on Shouto’s neck. Shouto swallows and nods.

When Midoriya leans away again, his hair tickles Shouto’s chin.

He looks back towards the musicians. The crowd around them are swaying now, and Itsuka increases the pace of her playing with Jirou’s singing. Next to them, the man with the grey hair taps his foot. Jirou has reached the stage in the song at which the adventurer must save her lover, and Shouto finds himself caught on her words as she sings, weaving emotion into every note.

Then he looks across the table.

Yaoyorozu Momo is a soldier and a traveller and a noblewoman. She is easily pleased but not easily fooled. She is honest, and she is brave. She is also, at that moment, utterly enraptured. Her mouth hangs slightly ajar, and her eyes are fixed on the singer. Her beer lies untouched on the table. Her hands are still in the air, as if frozen in the position she’d been when Jirou opened her mouth. Her cheeks are grazed pink.

Shouto grins, and clears his throat. Momo jumps, dropping her hands to her lap, but she doesn’t look at him when she whispers. “This better be important.”

In front of him, Midoriya tilts his head, listening to them but still watching the performance.

“You’re staring.” Momo goes from pink to red, picking up her beer. She doesn’t stop watching Jirou sing.

“That’s what you’re supposed to do when people perform. Now shut up and let me listen.”

Shouto laughs under his breath. “As you wish.”

At the far end of the room, Jirou moves toward the end of her song, shutting her eyes as she reaches the last, aching note. The whole room hangs on that note, and Shouto feels a shiver rush down his spine. She really is a gifted singer. Jirou finishes, and the crowd applauds as she and Itsuka bow. Momo gets to her feet, cheering, and for a second it seems as if Jirou’s eyes have landed on her.

Then someone closer to the front shouts something, and she grins and replies. Momo sits back down and looks at Midoriya. “Who is that?”

“Jirou Kyouka. Well, I assume you’re asking about the singer. The violinist is Kendou Itsuka, and the man doing all the shouting is Tetsutetsu. I promise he’s more charming when he’s not trying to perform crowd control.”

As he speaks, a woman carrying three plates of steaming food makes her way through the crowd towards them. Her feet brush the flagstones, but she doesn’t seem to be walking so much as floating across the room. She has rosy cheeks and short brown hair, and when she sets down their plates she beams.

“Sorry about the wait Deku, you know how busy it’s been in here since Jirou’s troupe started doing weekends.” Her voice is as bright as her countenance, and her eyes are warm and soft. Midoriya smiles at her.

“You know it’s not a problem Ochako.” Across the room, Jirou, Itsuka and Tetsutetsu start to perform another song. Momo looks between her food and the performers, seeming torn. Shouto grins at her over his meal, and she glares at him in return.

Then Uraraka leans forward, sticking her hand towards Shouto. “Hi, stranger. My name’s Uraraka Ochako. Pleasure to meet you.”

Blinking, Shouto takes her hand. It’s warm and calloused, and her grip is firm. Her cheeks dimple when she smiles. “I’m Deku’s ex, so let me know if he does anything really annoying.”

Midoriya grimaces. Shouto lets out a quick huff of breath. “Is that how you introduce yourself to all strangers in town?”

Uraraka doesn’t stop smiling. “Only the ones who stare at him like you do.” Across the table, Momo laughs, and Shouto feels his blush running hotly down his neck. He clears his throat.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Uraraka laughs. “I’m sure you don’t. Anyway, enjoy your food.” She leans back, resting one elbow on Midoriya’s shoulder. “I’ll come see you once I’ve finished my shift, if you’re still here.”

Ruefully, Midoriya offers her a smile. “Of course. Hope it’s not too hectic.”

Uraraka sighs. “The things I do for money.” Then she turns, and floats back the way she’s come. Momo watches her go.

“Does everybody here share intimacy so easily? Or is it just the people around you?”

Midoriya shrugs, watching Uraraka disappear into the crowd before he turns to her. “Honestly, Ochako is a law unto herself.” He glances at Shouto, who is studiously examining the steaming, fresh hunk of bread on his plate. “Sorry about that, she’s just teasing.”

Shouto shakes his head. “It’s no trouble.” He offers Midoriya a smile. “Do visiting strangers often fall prey to your charms?”

Midoriya stares at him and swallows. “Uh, well, um.”

Momo laughs. “So we can take that as a yes, then?”

Midoriya presses a hand to his head. “Why is it that everyone I meet teases me? Am I wearing a sign?”

Shouto fights off a smile. “Is being charming a bad thing?”

Midoriya flushes, then hides his face with his hands. “No, I just…”

Across the room, the group’s music grows faster and lighter, and the crowd parts to make room for dancers. Momo picks up her plate and her beer. “Alright, I’m going to see if the singer will give me the time of day. You two have fun with…” She gestures with her flagon. “Whatever this is.”

Shouto stares at her, and she grins back at him. Next to him, Midoriya stares hard at his food as if he’s searching for an answer to one of life’s great mysteries. Momo walks away, moving with ease through the crowd.

“Um.” Midoriya glances at Shouto then back down at his food. Their legs are warm against one another. His chest lifts and falls. “So, just Shouto?”

Shouto watches him. “Just Shouto.”

Midoriya hums and fiddles with his bread. “Is there a reason for that?”

Shouto shrugs. “I don’t have a family. Not anymore.” He starts to eat. The food is hot and rich and delicious. He hadn’t quite realised how hungry he was. While he continues to eat, Midoriya leaves his plate untouched.

“Did something happen to them?”

Mouth full, Shouto shakes his head. He swallows. “I left them.”

“Why?” Midoriya seems startled at himself, and he waves his hands in the narrow space between them. “Never mind, pretend I didn’t ask that. It’s intrusive and I don’t have a right to know.”

“I appreciate it.” Shouto says the words quietly. Around him, the crowd grows and thins as people come through the door, heading for the music and the dancing. When Shouto doesn’t say anything else, Midoriya finally takes a bite of his food. Shouto’s plate is nearly clean.

“So, is Momo your lover?”

Shouto stares at him, and Midoriya blushes, but this time he doesn’t duck his head. “Do we give you that impression?”

Midoriya shrugs. “Not really, but I’ve been wrong before.”

Shouto’s mouth curls into a smile, unbidden. “You haven’t yet.”

Midoriya laughs. “I just make a lot of guesses. Today they’re landing right. They don’t always do that.”

“You say that as if it’s luck. You’re obviously intelligent.” Shouto doesn’t mean it as a compliment so much as an observation, but he realises how it sounds when he says it and he doesn’t take it back. Midoriya stares at him. When he doesn’t say anything, Shouto sets down his cutlery and asks a question of his own. “Why did Uraraka call you Deku?”

“Oh!” Midoriya goes a little pink, and takes a bite of his food before he answers. “It’s just a habit from when we were children. It’s silly, really.”

“How so?”

Midoriya pauses, biting his lip. His lips are pink and full, and Shouto thinks he catches him staring before he looks away. “Some of the children used to use it as an insult. You know, like, someone who can’t do anything. But Uraraka changed that.” He smiles, fondly. “She said it reminded her of dekiru, to be able to do. She said it was kind of inspiring. So, after a time, I guess…I accepted it.”

Shouto takes a moment to digest that. “She sounds like a good friend.”

Midoriya nods. “She is.”

Across the room, Momo is standing and speaking to Jirou whilst the band takes a short break. Jirou is winding a finger in her hair and Momo’s smiling, widely. Shouto grins at them, and Midoriya follows his gaze. “You two seem close.”

Shouto nods. “We’ve been friends since we were children.”

Midoriya looks down at his hands, and then back up at Shouto. “Just friends?”

Shouto nods again. “Just friends.” He meets Midoriya’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away. Midoriya opens his mouth.

Uraraka sits down opposite them with a sigh, setting down her apron on the table. “Gods am I glad I’m not closing the inn tonight. I love Jirou, I really do, but these crowds are unreasonable.”

Midoriya laughs, turning from Shouto to his friend. “And yet I’m guessing you’ve got twice as many tips tonight as you have on any other given day.” Uraraka smirks, holding up a purse heavy with coins.

“You know me too well, Midoriya Izuku.” She glances back across the room, eyes landing quickly on Momo and Jirou. “Those two seem to be getting along. That’s nice. Jirou spends too much time alone in that forge of hers.”

Midoriya laughs. “Ochako, come on. Not everyone is looking for a lover.”

Uraraka grins at him, turning her gaze to Shouto. “But two beautiful strangers just arrived in town. Can’t a girl dream? You don’t mind, right Shouto?”

Shouto blinks. “Um.” Next to him, Midoriya makes a gesture at Uraraka that she blatantly ignores. He glances down at his plate. “The food was delicious.”

Uraraka’s smile grows a little more genuine. “I’ll pass it on to the cook. You travel far?”

Shouto shrugs. “Just from Sogen today.”

“But you’re from Kasai, right?”

Shouto’s shoulders fall as he sighs. “Are we really that obvious? Or are Silvians just especially observant?”

Both Midoriya and Uraraka laugh at this, and they exchange a look before Uraraka speaks. Across the room, the band strikes up again, this time not joined by Jirou. “A bit of both.”

In the corner of the room Jirou lifts her hand to Momo’s shoulder, whilst Momo clasps a hand around her waist. Laughing, they start to dance by the fire. The crowd claps for the dancers, and Tetsutetsu and Itsuka sway whilst they play, tapping their feet to the beat. Someone throws a log onto the fire, and it throws up a burst of gold sparks.

Midoriya’s hand on his arm pulls Shouto’s gaze away from the dancers, and he refocuses on his companions. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Uraraka smiles at him. “I was just saying I’m glad that someone has managed to make Deku sit down for thirty seconds. Thank you.”

Shouto looks to Midoriya, who raises his hands in a shrug. “Do you not come here often?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that -” Midoriya starts, but Uraraka interrupts him.

“The last time I saw him in here to relax was in spring. The man works himself to the bone and then some.”

“Well, someone has to.” Midoriya huffs. “Besides, that’s an exaggeration. And I’m working now. I’m giving our guests a tour of the town.”

Uraraka snorts. “You could have left them hours ago, and we both know it.” Midoriya looks to Shouto, who takes a sip of his beer.

“I just…Well.” He stops, visibly searching for an excuse. When he fails to find one, he sighs, defeated. “See, this is why I don’t take days off. Everyone talks about it.”

In the corner of the room, Momo turns Jirou in a circle, laughing. Around them, the dancers twirl and talk to one another, barely brushing Tetsutetsu and Itsuka as they continue to perform.

Uraraka laughs. “Because they’re relieved!” Apparently taking mercy on Midoriya, at least for a moment, she turns to Shouto. “Anyway, you have any plans whilst you’re here?”

Shouto lifts a shoulder. “We thought we’d see the town. Then, I admit the forest is intriguing.” Uraraka beams at him.

“Deku should take you! He’s one of the best. And he’s in need of a vacation.”

“Going into the forest isn’t exactly a vacation, Ochako, and you know it.” Midoriya mumbles into his beer. Shouto frowns.

“You don’t have to if it’s any trouble, I realise you have duties to attend to.”

“No!” Midoriya interrupts before he’s finished. “I didn’t say that. I just, well, I mean. It would depend. How long do you want to go for?”

Shouto fights a smile and loses. “I’d need to discuss it with Momo.” He glances up at where Jirou and Momo are still dancing as the band starts another song. “Though she seems otherwise occupied for the moment. Perhaps we could explore our options further in the morning?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Midoriya’s watching him with a look that Shouto can’t quite read. Then he gets to his feet, and offers Shouto his hand. Shouto stares at it: it’s scarred, and calloused, and strong. He looks back up at Midoriya, who’s smiling at him widely enough to dimple his freckled cheeks.

Shouto swallows.

Midoriya doesn’t withdraw his hand. “Shouto, will you dance with me?”

Shouto does not remember the last time he danced anywhere - probably when he was a child. There was a time when his feet had bled from dancing with Kasai’s aristocracy. Every night was a whirl of uniforms and feasts, gossip and waltzes.

But here: with the fire roaring and the people laughing and the smell of meat and beer thick on the air…Here, he might as well be a world away from those tall, cold ballrooms and their cold-blooded occupants.

Shouto takes Midoriya’s hand, and it’s warm. He smiles, and for a moment the noise of the inn fades to something distant. He says, “It would be my pleasure.”

Next to them, Uraraka snorts. “Don’t mind me, I’ll keep an eye on your packs. Though I might say you shouldn’t be so trusting of a stranger.”

Midoriya laughs, holding Shouto’s hand tightly as he stands. He starts to walk with one hand in front of him to part the crowd, and calls back over his shoulder as he does, “you’re not a stranger to me, Ochako.”

The crowd isn’t boisterous. If anything, it parts easily when people see Midoriya’s face. But it’s still a very large amount of people pressed into a room that’s a little too small, and Shouto finds himself shoved against a variety of bodies, hard and soft, short and tall. He tries not to think about it, focusing instead on Midoriya’s hand, still wrapped firmly around his, and lets it tug him out of the throng. When they break through at last, the cooler air of more than three inches of breathing space hits Shouto hard, and he stumbles.

Momo sees him and grins, waving. “Shouto! Since when do you dance?”

Midoriya waves back at her, and the singer, Jirou, gets on tiptoes to say something in her ear. Momo flushes, and Shouto grins, and then Midoriya is reaching for his other hand and pulling him round to face him with a casual strength that takes Shouto off guard. Midoriya ducks his head.

“Sorry, I don’t want to keep you from your friend, but…” His hand gently falls down Shouto’s forearm to wind loosely with his fingers. Then he looks up at Shouto, biting his lip, and Shouto holds his breath. The corner of Midoriya’s mouth pulls into a smile. “You did offer me a dance.”

With effort, Shouto looks away from Midoriya at their fellow dancers. Many of the Silvians have their arms locked together and are turning skipping circles before breaking away and grabbing someone else. Shouto’s heart climbs somewhere up near his throat, and he resists the urge to break away from Midoriya and fiddle with his clothes. “I don’t…I don’t know these dances.”

Midoriya smiles at him, and lets go of one of Shouto’s hands. Lightly, he grips Shouto’s shoulder,his touch is warm. “That’s ok, I figured as much.” He lifts his left hand intertwined with Shouto’s, into the air to their sides in a rough approximation of a waltz. Shouto wets his lips, and then drops his free hand to Midoriya’s waist. His loose cotton shirt looks worn and old. It doesn’t hide much. Beneath it, his side is warm and firm.

Shouto swallows. Midoriya looks up at him again. There isn’t much light in this side of the room, most of it coming from the fireside. The witchlights and candles are largely obscured by the crowd, and those which aren’t have been dimmed for the musicians and the dancers. Itsuka lowers her violin and reaches for a flask of water, and a few feet away from them Jirou squeezes Momo’s arm and moves to stand by Tetsutetsu, clearing her throat.

Midoriya asks, softly in the lull. “Is this ok?”

His thumb brushes over Shouto’s, where their hands are entwined. Shouto takes a deep breath. “I think I can manage this.”

Jirou starts to sing, something soft and slow, and paying no mind to the crowd around them, Shouto and Midoriya start to step, slowly, back and forth over the hay. For the first few steps, Shouto’s spine is stiff, and he tries to keep his eyes away from their feet. After a handful more, Midoriya says. “This is nice.”

Shouto looks down at him. There is barely a handful of inches between their chests, and every other beat they step closer together. He clears his throat. “Yes.” Experimentally, he pulls on the hand he has entwined with Midoriya’s and lifts it over his head.

Laughing, Midoriya twirls, and Shouto grins as he watches him, catching his waist when he finishes and holding it a little more firmly than before. Midoriya grins at him, flushed and breathless. “I thought you didn’t dance.”

Shouto doesn’t try to fight the smile pulling at his lips. “I suppose I’m learning all sorts of new things today.”

Behind them, Itsuka picks up her violin and Tetsutetsu joins her with his trumpet. Momo weaves into the group of dancers, laughing. Midoriya cocks his head to the side. “Are you flirting with me?”

Shouto spins him again, and when Midoriya turns back, he steps close enough that their foreheads are almost touching, using his hand on Midoriya’s waist to hold him there for a heartbeat. “Would you mind if I was?”

Midoriya grins. “Wasn’t it me who asked you to dance?”

Shouto flushes, and then he laughs, squeezing Midoriya’s hand in his. “I suppose you’re right.”

Behind them, the dancers clap as they leap into their paces, laughing with each other and pressing one another’s arms. The music gets faster, and louder, and Momo spins with the rest of them as if she’d been born to do it. Midoriya glances back over at them, lowering his hand from Shouto’s shoulder.

“Do you think you could brave a Silvian dance?”

Shouto looks past him to the dancers. Their steps are quick, but simple enough, and repetitive. He hasn’t danced since he was a child, but he’s fought, and fighting wasn’t so different. It was all about the footwork. He grins down at Midoriya, feeling reckless.

“I’ll brave it for you.” Midoriya’s eyes are bright and his smile is wide, and he squeezes Shouto’s hand in his before he lets go, reaching for the end of the chain of dancers with one arm outstretched.

Shouto doesn’t hesitate to follow. The dance is fast and boisterous. More than once, someone stands on Shouto’s toes, and he knows he pays that back in kind. He loses track of the people he dances with, grabbing one arm after another and twisting in a chain. People laugh and smile, and then his arm is in Momo’s and she’s grinning at him, flushed and breathless.

“I think I’m a fan of Silvian hospitality.”

Four people down the chain, Midoriya throws his head back, eyes shut as he shouts with laughter. His hair catches the light, and his neck gleams with sweat. Shouto squeezes Momo’s arm and lets her go, dancing lightly on the balls of his feet. “I think I am too.”

He swings out of the end of the line half dizzy, before he’s grabbed by an older man, who pulls him back down through the corridor that the dancers are making with their arms in an arch. Breathless, Shouto tries to keep up, and he catches Momo laughing at him before they take their place in line. Copying the man before him, Shouto lifts his arm, and one by one couples break from the end of the corridor and come dancing down the middle, many of them skipping arm in arm.

Next to them, Itsuka plays furiously, and Tetsutetsu strikes a rapid beat on a set of drums behind the table beside which they stand. Shouto watches a woman grab Momo’s arm, and they come running down the middle, breathless. A little further up the line, Midoriya calls out encouragement to the dancers. Once everybody has gone down the central corridor, they break off again into groups of five, stepping in and out and spinning round in a pattern Shouto knows he falls out of line more than once.

Then they join hands and dance in a circle, one way and then another. Shouto sees Momo’s hair flying in one ring, and Midoriya in another. They break again to spin arm in arm, and halfway through someone with strong arms grabs Shouto and steals him from his circle with a laugh and an apology. Midoriya is red and breathless and glistening with sweat, and he pulls Shouto in another circle, spinning him.

Shouto stares at him and allows himself to be pulled, and as Itsuka’s music rises to a rapid, furious finish, Midoriya moves faster and faster, until it feels as if the floor has slipped away. The music stops, and with a shout the couples break apart, laughing and breathless. Both Shouto and Midoriya stumble, panting. Then Midoriya claps, and bows to Shouto. Shouto doesn’t think before he bows back.

Midoriya steps closer, putting both hands on his shoulders. “A good effort for a foreigner.”

Shouto grins at him, putting his hands over Midoriya’s and leaning closer, so their foreheads nearly touch, Midoriya swallows, and his eyes briefly flicker to Shouto’s mouth. “I like to think I did my best.”

Midoriya opens his mouth to say something, and then shuts it. He meets Shouto’s eyes. His breath is hot on Shouto’s neck, and his lips are parted. Sweat glistens on his temples. Shouto stares, and then realises he’s staring and clears his throat, looking away. In his embarrassment, he fails to notice that fact that Midoriya was staring, too.

Then the band strikes up again, and a laughing woman grabs Midoriya’s arm, pulling him away. “Save your romance for later Izuku, we’ve got a dance to be doing!”

For a beat, Shouto stands still where he had been. Then someone grabs his hand, and he lets himself be pulled, a smile playing on his lips.

At some point, Jirou steps down from the band, and she and Momo spend much of the evening following one another across the dance floor, laughing and spinning with the rest of them. If Itsuka or Tetsutetsu mind their missing band member, neither of them mentions it, and Jirou’s flute lies forgotten on the table behind them.

As the evening wears on, Uraraka makes her way through the crowd to sit at a table and watch, clapping and grinning as the dancers dance themselves breathless. When at last they cease, half the inn’s patrons have headed home for the night, and the bartenders have rung the bell for last drinks.

Midoriya makes his way to sit beside Uraraka, chest heaving. She smiles at him. “Did you have a good night?”

In the corner of the room, Momo and Jirou are deep in conversation, though they keep their voices low. After a moment, Shouto, gleaming with sweat, makes his way over to them. His face is flushed pink, and his mouth is curled into a smile. Midoriya stares. “Y-yeah, I did.”

Uraraka snorts, gently elbowing him in the side, and waves at Shouto. “Hey, stranger. I brought your packs.” She makes a gesture, and Momo and Shouto’s packs float out from under the table. Shouto blinks, staring at them. Uraraka fishes something out of her pocket, and sets two keys with two wooden tags onto the table. “And I arranged your rooms. Since someone looked busy.”

Midoriya startles, waving his hands, “h-hey, I was going to get to it eventually.”

Uraraka pats his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Mr Jack of All Trades. Let a girl feel useful for once, won’t you?” This elicits a whole new stream of spluttering, and Uraraka smiles at Midoriya fondly before looking up at Shouto. “Did you have fun?”

Shouto picks up the keys, and feels ice trickle down his spine. “Yes, thank you. And thank you for this.” He raises the keys, bowing his head.

Uraraka laughs. ‘No need to be so formal, friend.”

Shouto tilts his head. “Friend?”

Uraraka’s eyes grow soft. “Anyone who can get Izuku dancing is a friend of mine.” Behind her, Midoriya makes a wordless sound before resting his head on her shoulders, hiding his face. Shouto’s mouth jumps in the direction of a smile.

“Is he always like this?”

“I’m right here.” Midoriya growls, but he doesn’t move his head from Uraraka’s shoulders. She laughs, patting the top of his head.

“Ever since I can remember. Cute, isn’t it?”

Shouto hums. Then he frowns down at the keys. “I’m not sure if we can afford separate rooms. How much…?”

Uraraka shrugs. “For the first night, free. I got you in as guests of the Council.” Behind her, Midoriya swears and sits up.

“Uraraka! I’m not the Council, I’m an aide of the Council, there’s a big difference.”

Uraraka snorts. “Pot-ay-to pot-ah-to.” She glances back to Shouto. “The point is, you can rest easy tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll help you haggle for a decent rate. There didn’t seem much point in doing that now. Besides, the staff wanted to shut the inn sooner rather than later. Speaking of which.” She gets to her feet, and again, they don’t really touch the ground so much as lightly disturb the hay strewn across the flagstones. She turns to Midoriya. “I need to get you home. Your mother is going to be worried sick.”

Again, Shouto’s mouth pulls into a smile. Midoriya scowls at Uraraka. Shouto has a feeling that if he hadn’t been there, he would have stuck his tongue out at her. “I am twenty-two years old, Ochako. I can stay out as late as I want to.” Uraraka’s response is to tap Midoriya’s arm.

With one touch, he starts to float into the air, and Shouto stares as he does, swearing, whilst Uraraka catches his sleeve. Momo walks behind him, tucking her hair behind her ear as the blush fades from her cheeks. “Is that something I should be worried about?” She gestures at the floating Midoriya.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shouto sees Jirou making her way to the exit with her hand in her pockets, whistling. In the air, Midoriya is not shouting at Uraraka, because it’s past midnight, but he is subjecting her to a tirade of furious whispers.

“Ochako! Put me down! Put me down right now!! Ochako I am not a child and this is ridiculous. Ochako!”

Uraraka blows Momo and Shouto a kiss, completely ignoring Midoriya. “Have a good night you two! And don’t go causing trouble, will you?”

She presses her fingers together, and Midoriya plummets the six feet to the floor, barely managing to get his legs under him before he hits the ground. Next to Shouto, Momo raises her eyebrows as she watches Uraraka tug Midoriya out of the inn. “Remind me not to cross that woman.”

“Noted.” Shouto murmurs, watching them go.

When the door swings shut behind them, Momo and Shouto are left alone in the inn, but for one tired looking bartender, who rubs sleep out of their eyes as they continue to sweep the day’s hay from the floor. Momo looks down at the key left on the table and picks it up. “So, are we sorted for the night?”

Shouto nods, bending to pick up his pack. “Uraraka arranged some rooms for us. Apparently we’re guests of the Council.”

“Sounds ominous.” Momo says, bending to pick up her own pack.

There’s a scuffle at the door, and then it swings open again, much to the bartenders’ alarm. Midoriya calls a soft apology to them, and then looks back across the room to where Shouto and Momo are standing by the dying fire. “Hey, Shouto!”

Shouto raises his head, pausing as Momo moves towards the staircase at the back of the room. “Yes?”

In the dark, he can’t make out Midoriya’s face clearly, but he can guess at the blush that’s painted there. “Goodnight!”

Shouto smiles. “Goodnight.”

The next day, Momo and Shouto rise early out of habit, meeting each other downstairs over a hot breakfast. Momo smiles at Shouto, toying with her potatoes. Around them, a dozen or so patrons populate the inn’s many tables. Some of them are guests in the rooms above. Others are workers grabbing a hot meal before they face the day.

“How’d you sleep?”

Shouto shrugs, reaching up to touch his scar and thinking better of it, running his fingers through his hair instead. “Not badly.” Momo’s mouth twists in sympathy, and she reaches across the table with her right hand to lightly touch his wrist.

“Do you have any lavender oil left?” She gives the space around them a quick glance before leaning closer and lowering her voice. “How about the dye for your hair?”

Shouto pauses. “Good on dye, but no to the lavender. And I’m out of ointment for my scar, as well.” He frowns at his food, stabbing a sausage. “I’ll need to find an apothecary.”

Momo hums, and he looks up at her. She’s twisting a strand of hair around her finger, and she still has yet to take a bite of her food. “About that…”

Shouto’s mouth quirks at the corner. By the fire, a great grey wolfhound collapses onto the freshly hay-strewn flagstones with a yawn. The room smells of fresh bread and firewood. It’s warm, and the window shutters have been swung open to let in the morning breeze. Momo glances around, taking in their fellow patrons before looking down at her food.

“I was thinking…” She chases a mouthful of eggs with her fork across the plate. “I could really do with some better weaponry. So I might.” She clears her throat, and meets Shouto’s eyes. Shouto continues to try and control the corner of his mouth that’s twitching towards a smile. “I might visit a blacksmith. You know. See if this place has anyone who knows what they’re doing.”

Shouto bites his lip, and grins down at his food anyway. “Right, yes. Because, you know, you need a blacksmith.” He clears his throat and meets Momo’s eyes. “What with your ability to magically create weapons, and all.” Momo smacks his shoulder and he laughs, leaning away from her.

Behind them, the low fire the inn’s staff have built for the morning sighs and hisses next to the now snoring wolfhound. From the kitchen, the faint sound of pans rings into the low room, over the soft murmur of voices. Momo lifts her chin. “I’m just saying, if I meet a blacksmith who’s really good at their craft, I could learn something. Improve on what I create.”

“Be inspired.” Shouto murmurs, smirking as he shovels a forkful of food into his mouth and watches Momo blush. He swallows, and gestures with his fork. “So, that Jirou, really caught your attention did she?”

Momo clears her throat and ignores him in favour of digging into her cooling food. Shouto laughs, quietly, shoulders shaking, and does the same. For a while, they just sit in easy silence, enjoying their food and one another’s company. Then Momo finishes, dabbing her mouth with a handkerchief she fishes from her pocket, and clears her throat. “Well it’s not like you were much better with Midoriya.”

Shouto tilts his head. “Fair point.” He sets down his cutlery, sitting back with his hands either side of him on the soft, worn wood of the bench. “Can you blame me? I think half this town is in love with him.”

Momo lifts a shoulder, half-smiling at him. “Maybe so.” Her expression grows thoughtful. “He is interesting, I’ll give you that. Joking aside, it’s odd for one man to have so much responsibility, don’t you think?”

Shouto nods. “The logical assumption would be that he’s some kind of relation to someone on the Council. Though I thought they elected them here.”

Momo shrugs and sighs. “Well, it’s not like that makes them immune to nepotism.”

Shouto bites the inside of his cheek, leaning forward so his elbows are resting on the table. A bartender comes over to take their plates, and both of them thank him. “Still, that wasn’t…I didn’t really get that impression from him.”

For the first time that morning, the smile falls from Momo’s face. She examines her short, clean nails when she speaks. “Well, appearances can be deceiving.”

Shouto sits back, and lets out a long, shaky breath. “That’s true.” He frowns. “I suppose I let my guard down.”

Momo’s hand on his arm brings his attention back to her. “Don’t beat yourself up for having fun, Shouto. Besides, even the noblest warrior isn’t immune to a pretty face.” She winks, and he nods.

“Right. Obviously.”

Momo’s smile softens. “Besides, we don’t know that there’s anything out of order with Midoriya. He might be as good as he seems. In which case it’s about damn time, I don’t remember the last time you met someone you liked so much.”

Shouto stands, and bends to pick up his pack. “That’s easy.”

Momo pushes back the bench, retrieving her own, and raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

He smiles at her. “It was when I met you.”

Momo laughs. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Shouto.” He shrugs, grinning a little as he walks around the table to join her, slipping his room key into his pocket.

“Says you. So, I’ll head to the apothecary and you to the blacksmith. Meet here at sundown?”

Momo pushes her thumbs behind the leather straps of her pack and lifts it, readjusting the way its weight falls on her shoulders. “Sounds good. Usual plan in case of emergency?”

Shouto nods. “Fireworks.” He grins. “Works every time.”

Momo punches his shoulder, lightly. “Please don’t tempt Fate, I’ve got enough to worry about.”

They start to walk towards the door. It stands open, spilling in the morning light and the sounds of the day: birdsong, wooden wheels and horse’s hooves. Shouto smirks over his shoulder at Momo. “You mean you’ve got room left to worry around daydreaming about that blacksmith?”

Momo swears, and goes to punch him again. Shouto dodges with a grin and steps out onto the dry earth of the street beyond. The sun is hot and bright and the sky is clear. The street is busy but not crowded, and only the occasional cart passes by on the road beyond, this one being too narrow to let such a vehicle pass through. Chickens run clucking away from a pair of children, who laugh as they chase them. A cat with fur too clean and a belly too big to be a stray stalks the corner of a nearby building.

Momo shakes her head. “Whatever, Shouto. I saw you dance.”

“You have me there. See you at sundown.” Shouto raises his hand in a wave and turns to go down the street, whilst Momo walks in the opposite direction. Midoriya had given them a brief tour the day before, and they could figure the rest out from there. Both Momo and Shouto were accustomed to travelling in new places, and the day was an easy one in which to explore the town.

In a huddle on the street, a group of pigeons coo and murmur over a pile of food waste. In the distance, the calls of stall-owners in the town market shouting their wares drift through the still air. Beyond that, the ringing steel of the blacksmiths’ forges shout over the rooftops.

Above it all, the forest lay deep and silent, barely a mile beyond the edge of town. Past the forest, far in the distance and half obscured by a shimmering haze of heat, the mountains sat quiet as old gods, wreathed in black clouds.

It doesn’t take Shouto very long to find the apothecary. It’s advertised by a faded wooden sign decorated with the symbol of a pestle and mortar. The cottage in which the town’s physician has taken up shop is low and squat, with narrow, expensive windows boasting diamond patterned panels. Through the window, Shouto can make out stacks and stacks of bottles. If the sign hadn’t given the place away, then this would have.

He thanks the child who’d taken him the rest of the way, pressing a handful of copper coins into their hand before stooping to walk through the apothecary’s open door. The room inside is dark and cool, with broad flagstones and crowded shelves full of jars and bottles and earthen pots. In the low, dim light of the room these jars and bottles glimmer like shells underwater. Many of them of full of assorted liquids and powders, but some have more obscure contents. Shouto can make out tiny organs, hair, fur and frogspawn, to name a few. Though the door is low, inside the room gets taller, reaching up to the peaks of the building’s thatched roof.

A wooden box like structure hangs from the room’s peak, and past the counter at the back of the room Shouto can see a ladder leading up to what he presumes is some kind of attic. He can’t make out where the beams supporting the structure begin and where the shelves end. It makes the whole place seem strangely organic, as if the wood grew out of the ground to serve this purpose specifically.

The whole place smells faintly of sage and lavender, but mostly this is overtaken by the scent of bare earth. On the crowded wooden counter, a slender grey cat opens one bright green eye to regard him coolly and then shuts it again. Shouto hesitates, reading the names on the jars. Like most of the states that border Kasai, the labels are written in the common tongue with which he’s familiar rather than the more obscure script for which Silvia and the relatively few residents of Taiyo are famous.

Whilst he’s peering at the scrawling script inked across the red belly of an earthen pot, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Shouto turns to see a very small older woman with a pin stuck through her bun of hair carrying a cauldron at least as broad as she is. Shouto blinks, then steps forward, raising a hand.

The woman sees him and ignores him, hanging the cauldron over a fire Shouto can see when he steps closer to the counter. In the room beyond it, partitioned by a half open wall, there’s a broad stone counter strewn with powders and herbs. To the left is a wide fireplace. There’s another door at the back, and light spills through a window set into it. Shouto wonders if they have a garden out there.

The older woman speaks, raising her voice. “Ochako! We have a customer.”

“Coming Shuzenji!”

There’s a clatter, and then Uraraka Ochako climbs down the ladder from the attic space, feet barely touching its rungs. She’s wearing an apron over her long dress, and her hair is pulled back from her face with a strip of cloth. Her cheek is smudged with something that looks like ash, and when she sees Shouto her eyes light up with recognition.

“Hey! Handsome stranger. You’re up early.”

Behind her, Shuzenji stirs something into the pot and it explodes with a puff of pink smoke. For their part, both Shuzenji and Uraraka look utterly unperturbed by this. Shouto decides to trust their judgement, and focuses on Uraraka instead, fiddling with his sleeve. “So are you.” He hesitates. “I thought you worked at the inn?”

Uraraka’s eyes widen. “Oh, right! No, I mean, of course you would. No I just work there on weekends to help make ends meet.” She looks away from him, over his shoulder to the street beyond. “My parents aren’t able to support themselves as well as they used to these days.” She shrugs, and offers him a winning smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Anyway, that’s not interesting to you. How can I help?”

Shouto frowns. “I’m not disinterested…” He pauses, studying the way she’s looking at him, the way her shoulders are a little raised. Then he reaches into his pack, and pulls out the earthen jar in which he’d kept his ointment. “I need something for – ” He gestures to his face, and the scar there. “For this. This is what I got back in Kaiyo, I’m not sure whether any improvements could be made.”

Uraraka has already picked up the jar, and her eyes dance over the words scrawled on it. She hums, frowning as she walks out from behind the counter towards the shelves on the left of the room. “Is it to help with the itching?”

Shouto nods. “That, and when I don’t use it the skin gets dry and, uh.” He pauses, swallows, brushes his thigh. “It sort of, flakes.” He looks away from Uraraka’s back, at the rows and rows of bottles on the shelves.

Uraraka’s feet leave the ground, which is odd enough to draw Shouto’s attention, and she floats a little higher in the air as she fishes down a pot from the top shelf. She turns to him with a smile, sinking back down to the ground, but only so close that the balls of her feet are touching it.

“That’s ok, I know what you mean.” She moves back to the front of the room, giving Shouto’s burn a critical glance. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. “When burns are deep enough, they obstruct your skins natural ability to moisturise itself. So you have to give it a little help.” She sets down the jar between them, then pauses and moves to another shelf, grabbing a bottle sitting lower down and moving to set it next to the jar.

She taps the jar. “So this one has a lot of the active ingredients you had in the other: Calendula, of course, and lavender and tea tree for soothing. Honey, and clay helps to bind it, plus honeys always a great natural preservative. It looks like you’ve had that scar for a while, so I think we’re well past the point of Calamine.”

Shouto nods, and his words are clipped. “Since I was a child.”

Uraraka bites her lip, then takes a deep breath. “Ok, so, the one thing I will say that might be an improvement on the other one is that this has coconut oil in it. The ingredients might separate, so I’d encourage you to mix it up before you apply it. But coconut oil is really great for promoting the body’s natural healing processes and conditioning the skin.”

Shouto nods, then gestures to the bottle. “And what’s this?”

Uraraka sets the pot aside, and lifts the bottle, narrowing her eyes as she reads the label before setting it into Shouto’s outstretched hand. It’s full of a pale pink cream. “So this one is a much simpler remedy, just calendula, honey and lavender. But, that means it’s much cheaper, and I don’t know how much money you have so I don’t want to push you toward the coconut option. Since we have to get the coconut oil imported, it’s definitely the pricier choice.” She takes the bottle back, setting it down on the counter. “That said, I really do think the coconut oil would be a good investment long term.”

She unscrews the pot’s wooden lid, lifting it for Shouto to inspect. It smells sweet, and the cream inside is light and thick. Uraraka needs both hands to lift the pot, and she smiles as she sets it back down onto the counter, carefully putting the lid back on. “Of course, this one will last you longer, but I can always make you a bigger bottle of the simpler remedy. That is, if you’re planning on staying for a few days?” Her eyes, clever and bright, move to Shouto’s face. He nods.

“We’ll be here for at least a week, I think.”

Uraraka beams at him. “Great. Which one would you like?”

“How much is the coconut one?” Shouto rests his fingers on the light red earthen pot. Its surface is rough and cool.

Uraraka stoops to pull out a heavy, leather bound book with pages that crackle with age and use. She flicks through it with her thumb, frowning until she finds the page she needs, moving her finger over the carefully inked illustrations and detailed description’s of the shop’s remedies. “For that one, it’s going to be fifteen gold pieces.”

Shouto nods, and reaches into the bag at his waist. “I’ll take it.”

Uraraka raises both eyebrows, staring at him for a moment before nodding, and moving quickly to put the bottle back. “Um, ok. Great.” She drifts back to the counter. “Was there, um, anything else?”

“Yes, something to help me sleep. Do you have anything like that?”

Again, Uraraka’s expression moves in the direction of sympathy before she catches it, raising her chin. “Sure. What’s the problem, exactly? Do you have trouble falling asleep, or is it more like waking up in the night? Sleeping lightly, night terrors?” As she speaks, she moves back out from behind the counter. In the back of the room, Shuzenji slices a handful of herbs with a semi-circular blade and the skill of a royal chef. Outside on the street, a dog barks at a passing cart.

Shouto turns to follow Uraraka, trying to read labels of the bottles and jars over which she runs her index finger. “Trouble falling asleep, mostly. And night terrors. I don’t really have a problem with sleeping lightly.” He pauses. “Well. As a traveller, I’d prefer to sleep lightly in case of unforeseen circumstances.”

Uraraka snorts, still distracted by the jars on her shelves. “That’s a polite way of saying in case you get attacked in your sleep.” She moves a bottle aside, and reaches into the shelf, which is at least as long as her forearm, pulling out a tall, slender jar. Without much pause, she slips the jar into a pocket of her apron, turning across the room to get something from another shelf.

As she works, Shouto tilts his head to the side. “Do you often have that problem here?”

Uraraka laughs, moving back to the counter and setting down half a dozen bottles and vials. “Not really. Not with the Council watching our backs.” She offers Shouto a crooked smile, and scratches the cat’s ears. It purrs, loudly. “But I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Fair enough.” Shouto looks at the vials on the counter in front of him. They glitter in the dim light like precious jewels, with a range of liquids from transparent to dark yellow. “I normally just use lavender.”

“I thought you might.” Uraraka fishes a relatively plain looking, bulbous jar from the line-up. “That’s a staple, so it’s only two silver pieces.” She taps the jar, lifting it to the light. “And there’s enough in here to last you about two months, as long as you use it sparingly.” Without a cue from Shouto, she sets it down next to the pot of ointment for his scar.

She picks up another jar, this one of a light white powder. “In Taiyo, we prefer Valerian over Lavender, especially if your sleep problems are more chronic.” She offers Shouto the jar, removing the cork lid. “Lavender is great for the occasional restlessness, but not as good long term. Valerian is stronger, and should help. Plus, it’s best taken over a long period of time. It’ll improve how quickly you fall asleep, and your quality of sleep when you get there. Sometimes, people find it has the opposite effect – making them wakeful. But most of the time that’s not a problem.”

She sets down the pot, picking up another of light yellow liquid. “Then you’ve got hops.” She grins. “It’s the same stuff they use to make beer. Extract from the flowers is great for insomnia and general anxiety, so if any of those nightmares are stress related, it could be a good choice.” Her eyes flicker to Shouto’s face as he takes the jar, inspecting the carefully illustrated label of white and brown flowers before setting it down on the wooden counter.

“And finally, we’ve got some powdered wild lettuce.” Uraraka picks up another, brown glass jar of white powder, and she presses it into Shouto’s hand. “So this one is great for restlessness and general anxiety. If your nightmares and sleeplessness are at all connected: so for example, if you move around a lot in your sleep or wake up tired, this is well worth a try.”

Shouto picks up the jars in turn, rolling them between his fingers and thumbs and reading the labels himself before setting them down and meeting Uraraka’s expectant gaze. “I’ll take the lavender, valerian and wild lettuce please.” He pauses. “I believe what you said about the valerian, but…I’ve been using lavender for some time.”

Uraraka smiles at him, pulling together the jars and bottles he’s requested. She flicks through her book, picking up a quill from its stand by the corner of the counter and dipping it into a pot of ink before carefully writing down his purchases next to their prices. “Of course! It’s good to know you have something you know works to fall back on.” She dots the final character and draws a line under it, calculating the price. “I’d do the same. So in total, that’s 18 gold pieces and one copper.”

Shouto hands over the money, and drops his pack on the floor, undoing the strings at the top to slip in his purchases. Uraraka chirps a thank you, slipping the book back beneath the counter before picking up the few items left and returning them to their respective shelves. Shouto pauses. Shuzenji has left the door at the back open, and he can see the garden beyond now.

“Do you not use magic on your remedies, here?”

It’s not a problem so much as he’s honestly curious. Uraraka lowers her hand from where, a little off the ground, she’d been adjusting the dried lavender and garlic strings that hung from the beams above the counter. “Oh! Well, you know, magic can only really speed the process of healing.” She taps her chin. “So for example, if you’d gotten that burn recently, or if you couldn’t sleep because of some kind of pain, then I’d consider a magical remedy. But longer term, it’s better to rely on non-magical medicines. At least, that’s the opinion in Silvia. Which I realise is strange, since we live in a very magically charged part of the world.”

She rubs the back of her neck, and Shouto tilts his head to the side. “You’re referring to the forest?”

Uraraka nods. “Yep.” She pops the p, then leans forward, resting her chin in her hands. Shouto stands in the middle of the shop, halfway between her and the street. “The problem with magic medicine is the longer you use it, the more unpredictable it gets. If we push your body to move too fast, it’ll just take the cost from elsewhere. It’s why no-one’s ever offered to heal your scar, probably. It would just trigger necrosis in another part of your body.” At Shouto’s expression, she clarifies, “the skin would die on another part of your body. It wouldn’t really be a remedy. And it could hurt you worse than the original injury.”

Shouto nods. “I understand.” He turns to leave, and as he does Uraraka calls his name. He pauses with one foot on the threshold.

“You know, you should try to see Dek-Midoriya, if you can. He’d like that.”

Shouto nods, mouth lifting at the corner in something like a smile. “I intend to. Thank you for your help.” He lifts a hand in farewell, and she waves from the counter before jumping when Shuzenji calls her name.

Squinting in the midday sun, Shouto shifts the weight of the pack on his shoulders and steps back outside, looking left and right down the street before heading left. He had some time to kill.

Yaoyorozu Momo has entered more than her fair share of forges. As it goes, Jirou Kyouka’s forge is nothing special. Modest in size, it carries everything a self-respecting blacksmith could need and not much beyond that. Near the front of the building are hung model breastplates, weapons and horseshoes with roughly scrawled price tags attached to them by pieces of string. Jirou does not work alone, and not long after Momo enters the wide open doors of the forge, Tetsutetsu walks out to greet her, wiping sweat from his brow.

He smiles and spreads his hands wide. “You’re the woman Kyouka was dancing with last night?” His eyes fall to the sword on Momo’s hip, and he raises his bushy grey eyebrows. “That’s a nice piece of work you’ve got there. Mind if I…?” He holds out his hands, palm up, and this close Momo can see the callouses and scars of old burns littering his fingers and wrists.

She draws her sword and offers it to him with a smile. “Of course.” By the door, a small rat-catching terrier sleeps soundly.

Tetsutetsu balances the sword’s hilt in one palm and its blade in another, inspecting it with a critical eye. “It’s beautifully balanced. Where did you get this?”

Momo shrugs. “It’s a family heirloom.”

Tetsutetsu hands the sword back, and she slips it back into its hilt. Outside, carts delivering raw materials and taking out shipments from the nearby market quarters rattle over the earth on wooden wheels. “From Kasai, right?”

Momo offers him a smile. “You know your craft.”

“I’m not just a pretty face.” Tetsutetsu laughs, turning to shout Jirou’s name into the belly of the forge. Then he looks back at Momo. “So are you here for business or pleasure? I’m assuming you want to talk to Kyouka.” Momo nods.

“That’d be nice. And, honestly, a bit of both.” She moves to the wall, lifting a breastplate a little off the nail on which it hangs in order to test its weight. As she does, Jirou exits the forge with a roughly beaten iron mask under her arm. When she sees Momo, she shoves the mask at Tetsutetsu.

“Mind the forge for me, won’t you?”

Tetsutetsu says something too quiet for Momo to hear and Jirou smacks him lightly on the arm. Then she walks across the earth floor to meet Momo near the door, putting one gloved hand on her hip. Her clothes are simple, practical and soot-stained. They’re made of rough leather, though her shirt is a light, loose cotton. Jirou squints at the bright blue sky outside and offers Momo a quick, lopsided grin.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Momo tucks her hair behind her ear. “It’s not bad.” She slides her hands over her hips and slips her thumbs into her pockets. “I hope I haven’t distracted you from anything too important.”

“That?” Jirou gestures to the forge behind her. “Nothing big. Just a new shipment of shoes and buckles for the stables on the edge of town.” She pulls a face. “Not exactly what I’d call master craftsmanship.”

In the belly of the forge, the sound of hammers striking steel explodes into the air and then settles, like ripples in a pool. The dog by the door sits up for a moment, ears pricked, before setting its head back down on its paws with a yawn. Momo opens her mouth, then catches herself, blushing. Jirou watches her expectantly, her dark eyes bright with curiosity.

Itsuka Kendou comes out of the room to the left carrying a box of nails with oversized hands and Momo tries not to stare. Her hands are literally oversized: stretched and distorted and much larger than they had been when she’d been playing the night before. Kendou snorts, puffing a strand of copper-bright hair out of her soot-stained face. She isn’t looking at Momo. “You’re going to catch flies, Kyouka.” She sets down the box, and her hands shrink back to a more regular size as she wipes her forehead. “I’m sure the pretty traveller came here for a reason.”

Jirou flushes and scowls at her, “thanks for the assist, Itsuka.” Kendou laughs, fingers stretching as her hands grow to abnormal proportions once more and she picks up the box.

“You’re welcome.” She disappears into the room to the right, from which smoke rises steadily. Jirou pinches the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

“Sorry about that.” Momo tries and fails to fight off a smile, though she hides it with her hand.

“Not at all. I did come here on business, though.” Jirou’s face falls a little, before she schools it into something more neutral, putting a hand on her hip and pushing back the loose folds of her shirt.

“Yeah? What can I do for you?”

Momo gestures to the armour, and then extends her bare forearm in the space between them. “Well, most people excel at a given school of magic, right?”

Jirou raises an eyebrow at her, half smiling. “And the sky is blue on good days, right.”

Momo blushes, then pulls a dagger from the flesh of her forearm like a needle through cloth. Jirou stares at Momo’s skin as it re-seals itself, and she offers Jirou the blade, setting it carefully into her open palm. Jirou inspects it closely, holding it up to the light with her eyes narrowed. “That’s one hell of a skill you’ve got there, Yaoyorozu.”

Momo’s blush rises again, flushing down her neck and across her chest. “Oh, call me Momo, please.” Jirou looks up at her, mouth still fixed in a half smile as she balances the dagger on her index finger with casual grace.

“Momo. I’m impressed. Though I’m struggling to see why this would lead you to a forge.” In the back, the sound of hot metal hitting water hisses, loudly. On the street, a woman carrying vegetables from the market whistles on her way by. The room stinks of hot iron and sweat.

Jirou goes to hand Momo the dagger, and Momo shakes her head. “No, keep it.” Jirou raises an eyebrow, shrugs, setting the blade onto the makeshift wooden counter she has set up near the forge’s open doors.

“Well, I can make non-living objects, that’s the natural form my magic likes to take. But.” Momo pauses, and then turns to the breastplate on the wall. “May I?”

Jirou nods. “Go ahead. You were saying?”

Momo taps the metal of the breastplate. “Well, my ability is only restricted by my own knowledge of what to make and how it’s made. I’m familiar with the essential skills of a blacksmith, but I’ve been searching for a way to create armour that’s both lighter and more durable.”

Jirou raises her eyebrows. “You expecting to be in a war any time soon?”

Momo laughs, and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Then she realises that she’s already done it, and curves her fingers around the shell of her ear as she aborts the gesture. “Nothing like that.”

Jirou’s eyes are dark and warm and soft as she looks at her. “There’s a ‘but’ in there.”

“Well, travelling with my friend... It can be dangerous, sometimes. I find it’s better to be prepared, if at all possible.” Momo sets the breastplate on the wooden counter, frowning at her clouded reflection in the steel before turning back to Jirou.

Jirou, for her part, has slipped her hands into her pockets. She nods, gaze moving from Momo’s lips to her eyes. “That makes sense.” She steps a little closer, halving the distance between them, and cocks her head to the side. Her thick, choppy black hair falls over the back of her neck when she does. There’s a long smudge of soot on the side of her neck, just under the sharp line of her jaw.

Momo sees it, and rubs her fingers and thumbs together before placing her hand on the rough wood of the counter. Jirou grins at her. Her lips are pink and soft. Momo swallows. “So, do you want the theory? Or is it a more… hands on demonstration that you’re after?”

Momo tries to speak, fails, and tries again, averting her eyes. “Uh, I mean. Both. Both would be good.”

Jirou nods, and pushes up the sleeves of her loose cotton shirt. Her arms roll with muscle and gleam with sweat. She lifts them above her head in a slow, luxuriant stretch. She rolls her shoulders, then opens her eyes, and grins when she catches Momo staring. “I’ve been in the forge all morning, so lets start with the theory.”

She moves towards the room on the left, whistling for the dog as she goes. “Do you want something to eat?”

Momo hesitates for only a second. Then she moves to follow Jirou into the room beyond. “That’d be great, please.”

Jirou leads her through the next room into another, smaller one, where she heats up some stew over a fire, hacking a few pieces of bread off a loaf kept in a wooden box in the corner. Momo sets down her pack and takes off her jacket. Jirou refills the dog’s water and gives it a treat and a quick scratch behind its ears.

Jirou hands Momo her food with a smile before going into the other room. She comes back with a battered, leather-bound journal stuffed with extra pages. She has a piece of charcoal wrapped in string, and she flips open the book, pointing out roughly sketched diagrams as she speaks. Momo pays close attention to Jirou’s words, but more than once she gets distracted.

By a drop of sweat, for example, running down Jirou’s neck and into the hollow at the base of her throat. By the way her hair tickles the light bronze skin of her shoulders. By the pale burn marks and nicks and scratches littered up and down her forearms. By the way she smells of sweat and ash and iron.

For her part, whilst Jirou becomes increasingly interested in her notes, she often glances back up at Momo when Momo isn’t looking. She cuts a striking figure as the light from the kitchen’s small, high window catches her long black hair. Her features are strong and noble, all long lines and sharp angles. She listens to every word Jirou says, interjecting only occasionally with brief, intelligent questions.

After a good few hours debating metallurgy and the blacksmith’s craft, Jirou yawns, setting down her notebook. “Sorry, I was up before the sun to get that shipment ready. It’s simple work, but there’s a lot of it. People are stocking up for winter already, so we’ve been busy lately.”

Momo sits back. Next to the sink, their bowls sit unattended. She covers her mouth as she yawns too. “Not at all. We were up late dancing, anyway.” She looks up at Jirou with a small smile. Jirou flushes.

“Right, of course.” She scratches the back of her neck, looking at the open door behind Momo. “You, uh, you’re a good dancer.”

Momo laughs, hiding her mouth with her hand as she does. “I’m glad you think so.” She lowers her hand, though she doesn’t lose her smile. Outside, a bird briefly casts a shadow over the window in its flight. In the next room, Itsuka is talking to a customer, and the dog is barking. “I have to say, Silvian dances are…refreshing.”

Jirou grins. “Yeah. I keep threatening to bring knee pads to the next one.” They smile at one another for a moment, Jirou’s notebook lying forgotten between them on the table. The afternoon sun is softer than it had been in the morning, and it spills honey-coloured light over the little kitchen.

“You’re a wonderful singer.” Momo says the words softly, but her gaze is steady on Jirou’s face, and she doesn’t fidget. Jirou flushes red.

“Y-yeah. Thanks. I, uh, get that a lot.” She swears, and brings her hands to her face, and Momo laughs.

“What?”

Jirou growls something incoherent, so Momo repeats her question, reaching across the table to gingerly pull Jirou’s hands away from her face. Jirou meets her eyes and then looks away. This close, she can see the flecks of gold in the brown of Jirou’s eyes. “Just…that makes me sound like an ass. I don’t mean it like that.” She doesn’t pull her hands out of Momo’s grip, so Momo gently pushes them down and winds their fingers together.

“I don’t think so. There’s no shame in knowing you have talent. And judging from our conversation, you’re not just a gifted musician.” Jirou’s cheeks are touched with pink, and she pulls one hand from Momo’s to scrub at her face before pushing her fingers through her hair.

“Thanks.” Her shoulders lift and fall as she takes a deep breath, and she looks up from the table to meet Momo’s gaze. Gently, Momo runs her thumb over Jirou’s wrist. Her touch is cool and light. Jirou opens her mouth, and Momo’s eyes fall to her lips.

“Yes?”

Jirou bites her lip, leaning across the table. They’re close enough now that their foreheads are almost touching, and Jirou can make out the faintest hint of freckles on Momo’s cheeks, so faint they look like gold. “Momo, I…”

There’s a clatter, and the pair of them jump apart to see Tetsutetsu carrying a box of mugs and plates back into the kitchen. Jirou swears as Tetsutetsu sets the box down by the sink, and Momo pushes her hair out of her face. “Oh, sorry! Am I interrupting something?”

“You ever heard of knocking, meathead?” Jirou growls. Tetsutetsu ignores her, turning on the water whilst Momo stands.

“You ever heard of a communal kitchen, songbird?”

“That’s not even an insult.” Tetsutetsu just laughs as he starts to wash the dishes. Whilst he does, Itsuka comes to the doorway. She watches Jirou rage at Tetsutetsu for half a minute, smiling, then looks at Momo.

“Sorry about these two. It’s their way of saying they love each other.” The dog is at Itsuka’s heels, and through the window, Momo can see that the sky is getting lighter as the afternoon wears on.

“Not at all.” Without thinking, she glances down at Itsuka’s hands. Itsuka laughs, and lifts one, letting it grow to twice its size before shrinking back down again.

“Looking for this?”

Momo smiles, a little ruefully. “I admit, I’m curious.”

Itsuka shrugs. “It’s no trouble. I’m half-human, half-fae.” When she smiles, her teeth look sharp. “We’re shape-shifters, though it’s easiest for me to change my hands.”

“Which makes her great in a forge.” Apparently having given up on chastising Tetsutetsu, Jirou turns to the pair of them, folding her arms. Momo nods, eyeing Itsuka’s hands with interest.

“That certainly makes sense. Shou-my companion and I had wondered how many people here may not be human but might look it.”

Itsuka leans against the doorframe. Beyond her, past the open doors of the forge, the street is empty.“I mean, yes and no. We’re here, but there’s probably not as many as you think. Though if you come from a place where it’s uncommon, I can see how you’d feel like there’s a lot of us. Tetsu is half and half too, actually.”

Momo blinks, turning to the towering man at the sink, who sets aside the last of the cleaned dishes. “Guilty as charged. Though I’m half dwarf.”

Jirou snorts. “The look on your face. Yaoyorozu Momo, for shame. You don’t really think all dwarves are little people, do you?”

Momo blushes, and Itsuka smacks at Jirou lightly, though her own mouth is curled in a smile. “Ignore her. Dwarves are by and large about five feet tall or shorter. Tetsu’s mother was just pretty tall for a human.”

Next to Momo, Jirou covers her mouth to try and stifle another laugh, and Itsuka smacks her again. Momo shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Tetsutetsu, this isn’t a laughing matter.”

Tetsutetsu turns to her, drying his hands on a towel by the sink. “Don’t worry about it. I get that a lot, especially with this punk around the forge.” He reaches out to muss Jirou’s hair and she yelps, ducking away from him. Both Itsuka and Momo laugh, and the dog at their feet barks and runs between their feet.

Itsuka tilts her head at Momo. “I hate to pry, but I think I heard you asking something about a practical demonstration? We’re taking a late lunch, so the forge is free now.” She looks at Jirou. “Though I can’t give you the rest of the day, we have work to do.”

Momo jumps. “I plan to pay you for your time.” All three of them wave her off.

“It’s no trouble, really. It’s just nice to see someone who’s got Kyouka’s head out of the clouds for a day.” Itsuka smiles, ignoring Jirou muttering under her breath as she moves into the kitchen. “Have fun!”

Jirou rolls her eyes, and grabs Momo’s arm, pulling her out of the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah, enjoy your lunch.” A smile plays around the corners of her mouth, and Momo calls out a quick farewell as she leaves the kitchen. Tetsutetsu and Itsuka wave pack, and the dog settles down by the table.

“Is it alright to leave my pack in there?” Jirou pauses, halfway across the central room.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”

Momo looks outside as they pass the main room. It’s definitely later in the day now, and a quiet, warm afternoon. “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually.” Jirou pauses, and after a moment more of their standing still, drops her hand from Momo’s arm.

“Go for it.”

Momo lifts a hand, almost absently, to touch her arm. “Well, who owns the forge here? I admit, at first I thought you did, but Itsuka seems to be very…” She pauses, searching for the word, and Jirou grins.

“Matriarchal?” Momo nods, and Jirou hums. “Yeah, she gives people that impression. Nah, if anything they’re more like older siblings.” She huffs, scooping up the mask Tetsutetsu had left next to the wall. “Really annoying older siblings.”

Momo follows Jirou into the belly of the forge. It’s dark and hot, lined with stone and metals hooks sticking out of the building’s wooden beams. Jirou grabs a leather apron for Momo and hands it to her, putting another one on. Momo does the same, and then takes the long gloves she’s given. “They don’t look much older than you.”

Jirou barks a laugh, moving to the worktable at the corner of the room. “That’s the beauty of not being human, I guess. Nah, Itsuka’s 247, and Tetsu’s 190.” Momo stumbles and catches herself whilst Jirou picks up a bar of metal and shoves it into the fire. The room is very dark, and Momo stands back whilst Jirou pulls a string to pump the bellows.

Momo tries to speak once, but her voice is lost to the huff of the bellows and the flames themselves, so she raises her voice when she speaks again. “I hope this isn’t a rude question, but -” She cuts herself off.

Jirou picks up the bar with her gloves and a hammer with her free hand, setting it down onto the anvil and beating the metal where it burns yellow, then red. Sparks fly, and Momo backs off, watching Jirou work for a while as the metal flattens and distends like melting honeycomb.

After some time, Jirou puts the metal back into the fire, moving away from it and pushing up her mask to wipe the sweat from her brow. The firelight dances across her face and in her eyes. “No, it’s ok, I get that a lot. I’m human. Twenty-four. You?”

“Human.” Jirou grabs a flask of water from a workbench and drinks it, letting some spill over her chin and down her neck. Momo swallows. “Uh, and twenty-three.” Jirou nods, setting down the flask and slipping the mask back over her face.

“Alright. You ready to see this theory in action?”

Momo nods, folding her arms behind her back and setting her feet shoulder width apart in an easy, relaxed soldier’s stance. “Blow me away.”

The town hall is huge. Long and tall, it dominates the space in which it stands, towering over the buildings that line Silvia’s central square. Intricately carved wood figures of protective spirits and old gods line the buttresses on the roof and curve around the wide oak doors. Heavy thatch keeps out the cold and sun alike, worn over the buildings’ mighty roof like a fur cloak.

Most people don’t come near the hall. The doors are shut, and there are no celebrations today. A chicken scrambles out from underneath Midoriya’s feet as he approaches the building. Midoriya had been a small child. He isn’t small any more. Even so, the doors have a good three feet over his head when he’s standing close enough to measure.

Strips of intricately carved wood, as wide as his thumb and dark with age, stretch in ribbons around the door frame: depicting scenes from myths and legends. Dragons and bears, heroes and gods leap across the wood. Midoriya stares at them for a moment, before putting both hands palm first on the doors and pushing them open.

The doors, for all their size, swing open easily on perfectly balanced hinges. Midoriya strides into the hall without hesitation, chin raised as he tries to make out the figures at the other end. Inside, the hall’s roof climbs far higher than the doors did, and birds and bats nestle in the corners. Four great fires stretch on either side of him. Wolfhounds lie lazily next to the low flames, and Aizawa’s cat picks his way over their bodies before settling down to lie in the heat.

The floor here is polished wood, soft under Midoriya’s feet. Tall, carved columns support the high, heavy ceiling. On the walls, round shields, spears and swords proclaim Silvia’s former victories. Midoriya doesn’t pause. Light falls into the hall from high windows. It’s quiet, but for the murmur of the people gathered around a horseshoe shaped table at the high end of the hall.

When Midoriya is 10 feet away from the table, he sees a creature with gleaming white fur that is neither bear, rat, nor dog. He catches his breath, and prostrates himself, pressing his forehead to the wood with a whisper. “Nedzu.”

Nedzu, for his part, sighs and waves a paw. “Don’t be ridiculous Izuku, there’s no need for that.”

Hestitating, Midoriya gets up onto one knee, eyes searching the assembled people around the Council table. Aizawa is there, of course, and next to him Yamada, leaning lazily on his chair with one elbow over its beautifully crafted back. Takeyama sits opposite them, with Ishiyama, Hakamata and Mizushima. Mizushima offers Midoriya a small smile.

At the head of the table, next to Nedzu, is the town’s All Might, Yagi. He’s far more slender in his age, but his hair is still golden and his eyes are bright and fierce. He smiles at Midoriya, and Midoriya smiles back before ducking his head back and staring at the worn grain of the floorboards. “M-my lord, forgive me for my insolence but I must ask, what dire terror or great celebration has brought you to visit us from the forest?”

One of Nedzu’s ears flickers. “And I told you to drop the niceties, Midoriya Izuku.” He bares his sharp teeth. “Don’t make me ask a third time.”

Midoriya swallows and gets to his feet, trying and failing to fight off the flush that runs hot over his cheeks and down his upper arms. “Y-yes, my lord.”

Nedzu sighs, and Midoriya carefully walks around the table: behind Ishiyama, Hakamata, Mizushima and Takeyama, to stand by the All Might’s side. Nedzu claps, and Aizawa sits a little taller in his seat. “Excellent. Now that we’re all assembled, let us begin. I know what my thoughts are on the matter, but Takeyama, you were the first to observe the phenomenon. Could you share what you’ve told me and the All Might with the rest of the Council?”

Takeyama takes a deep breath and nods, running her eyes over each of the Council members in turn. “There’s a storm up in the mountains.” Midoriya frowns. Opposite Takeyama, Yamada shrugs.

“Are you sure the clouds themselves are the problem? We live in a stormy part of the world.”

“You will kindly let the good Takeyama finish, Yamada, or I will have you separated from your tongue.” Nedzu doesn’t raise his voice. Goosebumps prickle over Midoriya’s skin. He remains very, very still.

Yamada huffs and sits back, folding his arms. Takeyama clears her throat. “The storm isn’t natural. It’s been there, unmoving, for at least 72 hours.” She turns to Ishiyama, who nods once. “The giants and the trolls are worried. The mountains have gone quiet. The birds will not sing.”

Nedzu hums. “I take it, Takeyama, that as representative of the giants you have this information on good authority. I would hate to overreact.” His black eyes reflect no light. Takeyama shifts uneasily under his gaze.

“Yes, sir.”

Next to the All Might, Ishiyama clears his throat, and Nedzu gestures for him to speak. “I, too, have this information on good authority. Two nights ago the trolls held an Althing in the foothills. I have been trusted with this message, and can assure you that it is our stance.”

Behind the All Might, Midoriya watches the Council members in turn. The hall is largely quiet, but for the sighs of the animals and the hissing of the fires. Outside, birds sing on the roof, and further off the sound of people laughing fades in through the open windows.

Nedzu turns to Hakamata. “What of the fair folk?”

Hakamata nods. “We share the concerns of the trolls and giants. We have been unable to exit our hills and rings into the mountains. Something is there, and it is blocking our path. It’s not a spell. More like a presence of some kind.” His eyes, blue as chipped granite, shift to rest on the All Might. “It reminds me of you.”

Nedzu runs his claws through the fur beneath his chin. “Interesting. Mizushima?”

Mizushima sits forward. “The sprites are of the same opinion. Our rivers and streams are falling tainted with an old hatred, and an older rage. The Courts of the Forest are restless. The rain will not fall when it is told.” Silence falls between them, heavier than before. Midoriya keeps his arms behind his back and carefully watches the expressions of the people sat at the table before him.

“Grave indeed, to lower even the sprites’ merry spirits.” Nedzu observes, quietly. “And the elves, Aizawa?”

Aizawa shrugs, shifting the long scarf looped around his shoulders. “I don’t know what the elves think, we haven’t spoken this past century.” His eyes are red and bloodshot. “But I know what this elf thinks, and that is that those mountains keep entering my dreams. Something is screaming. Something wants to get out.”

Midoriya’s throat is dry, and he tries and fails to swallow. Nedzu coughs a polite laugh. “If nothing else, I know I can always rely on you for a sense of the dramatic. Finally, Yamada, what say the humans?”

Midoriya stares at Yamada intently, waiting to hear what he’ll say. He sits up straight, and passes his hand back over his already neat, bright yellow hair. “Most of us have not yet noticed the phenomenon. But for those of that have: the watch, the Council member, and our aide.” Here he smiles at Midoriya. “And the oracle…We are concerned. Our own magic suggests great misfortune, and our instincts speak of fear.” He leans back. “I feel that on this we can agree with our neighbours in the forest. No good can come of that storm, or whatever lurks behind it.”

“And do you have any reason to believe a human may have disturbed what lies in the peaks?” Nedzu’s voice is still calm, and quiet. Midoriya bites the inside of his cheek hard. In front of him, the All Might sits up, and Nedzu turns to him. “Yes, All Might?”

“You have no reason to suspect our people. Or at least, only as much reason to suspect the fair folk, or the giants, the trolls, the sprites or the elves. Had one of my people ventured so far into the forest, I would know about it.” Behind the All Might, Midoriya lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

It’s hard enough to read Nedzu’s expression, with features as strange as they are, but it doesn’t change as the All Might speaks. Across the table, Yamada crosses his arms with half a smirk. Mizushima, Takeyama, Ishiyama and Hakamata watch the All Might intently. Aizawa looks like he’s trying not to fall asleep.

“But I do understand your reason for suspecting humans, Nedzu. My guess would be a traveller: a guest in our lands not familiar with our ways, nor known to our peoples. Someone who would go unnoticed, and not be stopped. Silvia has relied on a tourist trade of sending groups into the forest. Perhaps it would be best if we suspended those trips, at least until we better understood the enemy we’re facing.”

Nedzu nods. “I had hoped that you might say as much, old friend. I share your opinion. Whilst I do not judge the Silvians, I am wary of visitors to Taiyo, who are not familiar with the balance of peace we hold so carefully. Something in the mountains is angry. It may yet pose a threat to us all. Already, it poisons our rivers and blocks our paths. As a rule, I favour diplomacy over conflict. But our emissary will need to be capable of both.”

“An emissary?” Ishiyama asks.

Nedzu nods, but it’s the All Might who speaks. “Sending a contingent, however well meaning, may come across as declaration of war. We can signal our concerns neither to our people nor to whatever power lies in the mountains. Our peace has been too hard won to risk it over fear. Nedzu is right, in this case we need subtlety. Somebody who can meet our new neighbour, negotiate with them, and if necessary, push them back to the depths from which they rose.”

“Quite so.” Nedzu sounds pleased. Across the table, Aizawa sits forward, eyes sharp. Mizushima, on the other side, looks perplexed.

“But who could possibly go?”

Nedzu cuts across him. “Midoriya. If I know your mind, you’ll have reached the conclusion the All Might and I found at sunrise today.” He turns in his chair to look back at Midoriya as he speaks, and Midoriya startles before dropping a quick bow and nodding his head.

“Y-yes, my lord.”

Nedzu gestures with his paw. “Step into the light, where we can see you.”

Midoriya swallows, then turns to walk briskly around the long, dark mahogany table and into the centre of the semi-circle. The eyes of the Council seem to burn where they land on his shoulders. In the back of the room, the fire pops and cracks. Midoriya’s hands shake.

Then he looks up, and meets the All Might’s eyes. Yagi smiles at him, and gives him a small thumbs up. Midoriya pushes down his smile and lifts his chin, lowering his shoulders. Nedzu bares his teeth.

“That’s better. Now you look like an emissary worthy of our trust.”

The All Might turns to the Council. “Let us put this to a vote. All in favour of sending Midoriya Izuku as emissary of this Council into the mountains, to negotiate with the unknown adversary, and if that fails, to defeat it and send it back. Say aye.”

Aizawa says nothing. Next to him, Yamada nods, “aye for the humans.”

On the other side of the table, Ishiyama nods too. “Aye for the trolls.”

“Aye for the giants.” Takeyama smiles at Midoriya. Hakamata says nothing.

Mizushima sits up, and nods at Midoriya. “Aye for the sprites.”

The All Might turns to Nedzu. “What of the forest?”

Nedzu steeples his claws, and cocks his head at Midoriya, before smiling again and baring his teeth. “Aye for the forest.”

“And aye for the town.” The All Might nods. “That’s six votes to two. I apologise, my friends.” He looks to Aizawa and Hakamata. “I am afraid that in this instance you have been outvoted.” Aizawa shrugs, and Hakamata shuts his eyes.

“Well.” Nedzu breaks the silence. “All in all, I’d say that could’ve gone worse. Midoriya, you have 48 hours to make your preparations. I would suggest going with a companion. For all our peace, the forest is not kind to humans, as you well know. This said, I request that you clear your party with the All Might.” Midoriya swallows, keeping his hands carefully curled into fists as his sides. “The last thing we’d want is for this mission to be compromised by poorly chosen friends.”

Midoriya nods, and bows. “Of course, my lord. Thank you for entrusting me with this honour. I will not fail you.”

Nedzu laughs. “Of that, I am sure. Or else you will die trying.” On the table to Midoriya’s right, he catches Aizawa shift in the corner of his eye. Then Nedzu lifts a small wooden hammer and taps it on the table. “Meeting adjourned.”

One by one, the Council members get to their feet, turning to speak with one another or else making their exit. Aizawa leaves almost immediately, followed by a squawking Yamada. Hakamata pauses next to Midoriya. “I cannot promise you the aid of the fair folk, young Izuku.” Half his face is covered by cloth, and the rest almost concealed by fine ash-blonde hair. “But I hope that you survive.”

Midoriya swallows, opening his mouth to answer. By the time he’s got the words past the lump in his throat, Hakamata is gone. Takeyama takes his place, at 10 feet tall looming high above him, and wraps him into a bone crushing hug. “Oh, Midoriya I am so excited for you!! You’ll make a member of the Council yet.” She pushes him back, holding him by his shoulders. Her tawny eyes shine, even in the dim light. “And finally, I won’t be the youngest.”

Coming up behind her, Ishiyama laughs in a rumble. His skin is patched pink and grey, and he’s broader than most humans could be. “Wouldn’t that be Yamada?”

Takeyama huffs at him. “Well, it’s proportional, isn’t it? I’m the newest member of the Council, of any race. So I’m the youngest.”

Ishiyama’s mouth curls into half a smile, and he holds out a hand speckled with moss and lichen. “Good luck, young Midoriya.” Midoriya takes it. Ishiyama’s skin is cool and rough, like stone. His eyes are the dark grey of wet pebbles.

“You are a brave, strong man. I am sure that you will succeed.” He squeezes Midoriya’s hand, and Midoriya muffles a faint sound of pain, trying not to make the way he shakes and stretches his hand too obvious once Ishiyama lets go.

A cool hand lands on his shoulder, and he turns to see Mizushima. “On that, we can agree.” He offers Midoriya an anxious smile. “Though I admit, I’d prefer it if you didn’t have to go alone.”

Takeyama crosses her arms. “But he won’t be alone, will he? He’ll have a companion.”

Mizushima rubs the back of his head, a mess of thick brown hair. “Yeah, but, it’s not the same as…” Midoriya reaches up to his shoulder to clasp Mizushima’s hand. It’s webbed, and touched with the faintest hint of blue scales.

“I appreciate your concern, friend. But I’ll be alright.” Mizushima meets his eyes, and for a second Midoriya pauses. Mizushima is only half-sprite, but his gaze is still perilous, even when he doesn’t mean it to be.

He blinks, then smiles. His teeth are pointed. “Well, alright. If you say so.” He squeezes Midoriya’s shoulder. “Be safe out there.” Then he lets go, and turns to leave.

Ishiyama goes to follow him, pausing on the way to the door to turn back to Takeyama. “Come on, Yu. We need to report back.”

Takeyama waves him off. “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” Then she turns back to Midoriya, and her eyes are serious. “I mean it, Izuku. Don’t go breaking this poor giant’s heart.”

Midoriya meets her gaze, and smiles. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She smiles back at him, then stoops to press a quick kiss to his forehead before letting him go and turning to leave. At some point in the commotion, Midoriya had missed Nedzu’s departure, but that doesn’t surprise him. Once Takeyama leaves the hall, he and the All Might are alone.

Midoriya starts to shake, and takes a handful of slow, deep breaths. Toshinori Yagi’s hand lands on his shoulder, and he looks up at him. “We have a great deal to discuss before you leave, my boy.”

Midoriya nods. Towards the end of the hall, one of the wolfhounds whines. Aizawa’s cat, on realising he’s no longer there, trots to the end of the building and hops up onto the timber frame before climbing out of one of the open windows. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Night is falling by the time Midoriya leaves the town hall. Before he goes, Toshinori presses him into a warm, tight embrace. For a second, Midoriya holds his breath. Then he returns the embrace, hiding his face in Toshinori’s slender shoulder. Gently, Toshinori pats his head, and Midoriya shakes.

“I’m scared.” He says, into the thin linen of Toshinori’s shirt. He shuts his eyes. “Does that make me a coward?”

He’s close enough to feel Toshinori’s chest rise and fall in a sigh. Then the All Might clasps his shoulders, tightly, and pushes him back so he can look into his eyes. “Midoriya, my boy. You are the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

Tears prickle at Midoriya’s eyes, and he swallows, biting down on his wobbling lip. Toshinori smiles at him, then lifts a hand to cup the back of his head as he pulls him in for another hug. When he speaks, he does so softly. “No one is immune to fear, Izuku. It’s what we do next that matters.”

The sob that had been fighting to escape Midoriya’s throat breaks free, and he clutches at Toshinori’s shirt like a child whilst the All Might gently rubs circles on his back. When he’s done, Midoriya pulls back to scrub at his cheeks with the heel of his palm.

Toshinori’s eyes are as bright and blue as they ever were. Midoriya sets his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and lifts his chin. “I’ll make you proud.”

Toshinori smiles at him, and raises a hand to brush a stray tear from Midoriya’s cheek before ruffling his hair. “Izuku, you already have.” It wobbles a little, but Midoriya smiles back.

Around them, the fires of the hall have died down to barely an ember, and the dogs are restless. Toshinori steps away from Midoriya, whistling, and the oldest of them all, a hound he’d named after a dear friend when she was a puppy, lumbers over. “Nana, come.”

Nana stands at well over waist height, and she presses her head into Toshinori’s open palm. He clasps Midoriya’s shoulder again, and then releases it, looking up through the open windows at the amber light of evening as it spills in over the wood. “I should be getting home - as should you. You’ll need your rest, before you leave.” Toshinori scratches behind Nana’s ears, and his smile falls a little. “And you should spend some time with your dear mother.”

Midoriya nods and turns to leave, pausing just before he does so. Outside, birds flocking to the forest leave a soft sigh on the wind. Already, the evening smells of smoke and firewood. The rest of Toshinori’s wolf hounds are getting to their feet now, following Nana, and one of the hall’s keepers: a kind man called Sato, is already attending to the fires.

Midoriya’s chest rises and falls. Then he bends at his waist, staring at the earth. “Thank you for entrusting me with this, All Might.”

Toshinori laughs. “Thank you for lightening the load. Now go on, get home before night falls. I hear you kept your mother up until early morning the other day. Dancing the night away, or so the gossip goes.”

His smile is mischievous, and Midoriya flushes, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m twenty-two.”

“I imagine you could be one hundred and two and she would still worry.” Toshinori’s voice is warm. The younger dogs have already ambled outside, and stand in the square now, waiting for him. Midoriya sighs, but there’s a smile on his lips.

“Yeah, probably. Good night, Toshinori.”

“Good night, Izuku.”

Midoriya steps out of the building and into the cool evening air. The square is largely empty by now, and though it’s still light, many of the houses have lit candles in their windows. The witch-lights have yet to illuminate. Midoriya glances up at them thoughtfully: when they’re dim, they look like little more than river rocks, smooth and oval, hanging from iron posts.

He turns to face west. The sky is strewn with candy-pink clouds. He still has time. Taking a deep breath, he turns right, heading for the apothecary.

The door is closed by the time Midoriya arrives. He’s bumped into very few townspeople, and has yet to see their visitors. He tries not to let the thought bother him. They were probably busy. He’d been unavailable for most of the day anyway.

He’s still fighting this sense of disappointment when he pushes open the unlocked door of the apothecary. Chiyo Shuzenji’s voice is sharp in the darkness. “We are closed. It’s very rude to just go walking into places because –”

She cuts herself off. In the silence, Midoriya hears rather than sees her wave her hand with a soft sigh of air, and rows upon rows of witchstones embedded in the walls come to life, setting the glass filled shelves twinkling like a bottled night sky. “Midoriya Izuku! Oh, what a lovely surprise.”

Midoriya smiles softly. The light of the room is still low, and blue-white, but it’s enough for him to make out the features of the town’s physician well enough. She hasn’t changed much since he was a child, and part of him finds it hard to believe that she ever will. “Chiyo, it’s good to see you.”

Shuzenji’s smile is soft, and warm. She squeezes past the wooden counter at the back of the shop and crosses the space to him quickly, taking his hand and pressing his arm as she gives him a critical once over. Midoriya laughs, and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’m not injured, I promise.”

After a few moments more, Shuzenji lets go of his hand, pushing the heavy-set spectacles she’s wearing a little higher on the bridge of her nose as she looks up at him. “So you aren’t. Well, I never thought I’d see the day –”

Midoriya laughs, still red in the face. “You say that every time I come here.”

Shuzenji smacks his hand lightly. “And every time it merits saying. Now, it’s not that I don’t enjoy your company Izuku, because I do, but you’re not in the business of making house calls. I’m assuming you’re here on Council business?” She turns, walking back behind the counter, and Midoriya follows her into the space beyond, this one far better lit by a fire and a large witch stone embedded in the ceiling.

“Do I really give you that impression? I’m sorry Chiyo, you’re right; I’ll make it up to you.”

Shuzenji tuts, and lifts a kettle at least half as big as her chest onto the counter to pour two cups of tea, pressing one into Midoriya’s hands and ignoring his protests. “You always say that. So what is it? Does it have anything to do with those clouds over the mountains?”

Midoriya pauses, scarred hands wrapped around the rough earthen surface of his cup. He stares at the back of Shuzenji’s head, piled high with wisps of grey and white hair pinned into a bun. “You noticed those?”

Shuzenji sighs, turning and settling into a wicker armchair tucked into the corner of the room, out of view of the shop floor, where the witchlights dim and die out in unison. “Of course I did. Do you think I was born yesterday?”

Midoriya, who’d taken a sip of his tea, struggles not to choke, and thumps his chest with his fist, setting down his cup. “No, of course not, I just…”

Shuzenji cuts across him, staring into the fire as she sips her tea. “It’s an old evil -powerful, and angry. I imagine the sprites and trolls aren’t happy about it.”

Midoriya’s shoulders fall from the vicinity of his ears, and he picks up his cup, though he makes no effort to raise it to his lips. “Yes – the giants, the elves, and the fairies too.” He laughs, but it’s short-lived. “I wish I could be happier about the fact they’ve found something to agree on. As it is, that in itself has me concerned.”

Shuzenji hums, and shadows dance on the walls. Outside, birds sing in preparation for the night to come. “Drink your tea, Izuku. It’ll go cold.”

Midoriya does. It’s warm, and sweet: lavender blossoms and honey mixed with vanilla. A knot at the base of his spine starts to unravel. The fire spits and hisses behind him. “So why did you come here?”

Midoriya starts, blinking, and sets down his empty cup. “Oh, actually, I wanted to see Ochako. Is she still here?”

Shuzenji’s face brightens. “She’s in the garden.” The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes fold a little deeper when she smiles. “She’s going to be a powerful witch, that one. And not a half bad physician either.”

Midoriya smiles back. “Yeah, she’s awesome.” He pulls the wooden door in the centre of the room open. The evening is growing colder as it falls, but it’s not yet cold enough to be uncomfortable. Shuzenji’s garden is a wall of green, even in the falling light, and it feels like safety before the dark belly of the forest not far beyond. “It was good to see you Chiyo.”

Shuzenji raises her cup. “And you, Izuku. Don’t stay out too late. You’ll worry your mother.”

Midoriya resists the urge to roll his eyes, pushing the door closed. The wood is old and soft under his fingers. “Everyone keeps saying that. I’m twenty-two.”

The garden is long and narrow, full of carefully partitioned bushes overflowing with life. Flowers and berries hang fat and heavy from thick stems, and leaves present a carpet of foliage through which a narrow, pebble-strewn path creeps like a stream. The air is thick with the smells of rosemary and lavender, sage and honeysuckle. Midoriya takes a deep breath, and then walks down the stone steps leading to the apothecary and into the garden.

At ground level, it’s possible to see the smaller paths breaking off and twisting precariously between rows upon rows of herbs: some boasting wooden signs, some not. The soil is thick and soft and rich, and kept from the path with improvised wooden panels. It’s a maze to a stranger. Midoriya doesn’t hesitate.

He finds Ochako cutting mint from a bush that’s taller than she is and dropping it into a wicker basket already full of carefully bundled herbs. They’re all almost exclusively for cooking. This in itself is no surprise, it’d been a happy side effect of Ochako’s work that she had access to such a garden, and she tended to end her days by collecting an offering for her parents. Her feet are wholly touching the ground.

Midoriya waits until she pauses before calling to her, and she turns and smiles at him, dropping the knife she’s holding into her basket and walking up the path towards him. Her pace is slow, and measured, but she doesn’t pause. “Izuku. This is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?” She has a little soil smudged onto her cheek. Izuku reaches up and rubs it off with his thumb.

“Do I need a reason to see my best friend?”

Ochako rolls her eyes, laughing a little. Wordlessly, Izuku offers his arm and she takes it, leaning on him for support as they walk further down the garden, away from the apothecary. Ochako’s breathing gets a little heavier, but Izuku doesn’t look at her when he speaks. “How are your legs?”

They get to the end of the garden, and Ochako lets go of Izuku and sits on the wooden bench at the end. The greenery is so high here that they can’t quite see the door back into the building. Instead, above it are only the thatched roofs of the town, and chimneys blowing smoke into the dark blue sky. Ochako sets down her basket as Izuku sits beside her, and brushes her hair from her face.

“Oh, you know. Same as they’ve ever been.” She sighs, brushing a little soil from her skirt. “I just didn’t want to push myself too hard. I can keep myself off the ground most days now, so it’s not often an issue. And Shuzenji’s given me a great remedy for the pains, so I can walk a little more than I used to.” She bites the inside of her cheek, looking up at the sky. Behind them, the forest whispers like an ocean. “But it’s still frustrating, sometimes.”

Izuku nods, watching the plants of the garden sway in the slight breeze. “That makes sense.” For a moment they just sit together, quietly.

Ochako breaks the silence. “So I know you didn’t come here just to see me. Is it Council business?”

Izuku laughs, sitting back and looking at her. “Everyone keeps saying that! Am I really that person who puts work above all else?”

Ochako’s mouth pulls up at the corner in a small smile. “Well, you remember how I told our pretty guests that you hadn’t danced since spring? I wasn’t being figurative.”

Izuku flushes, and he scratches the back of his head. On the street, a dog barks and someone laughs. “You may have a point. I should probably work on my work-life balance.”

Next to him, Ochako chuckles, and he eyes her suspiciously. “What?”

Ochako lifts a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking as she tries to stifle the laughter. “It’s just… Of course you would see relaxing as another project you need to work on.” She stretches her arms out, and shuts her eyes. “It’s not that hard Izuku. Just breathe.” Izuku watches her, and smiles. Around them, evening continues to fall.

Ochako opens one eye and looks at him, a smile pulling onto her pink cheeks, and Izuku lifts both hands. “Oh no;I know that face.”

“So, have you seen Mr Pretty Stranger since you danced all night?”

Izuku swallows, and lifts a hand to his face in a futile effort to hide his blush, pushing his fingers through his thick hair. “No, I…Ochako.”

“What.” Ochako’s tone is stern. “Midoriya Izuku, if you say anything other than that you plan to have wooed that man by midnight, I’m going to be extremely disappointed.”

Izuku sighs, and hunches forward, staring at his hands where they hang loosely intertwined in his lap. Between his feet, grass grows thick and green. “The Council have charged me with a mission. I’m to go through the forest to the mountains. I leave the day after tomorrow. I don’t know when I’m to return.”

He doesn’t look at Ochako, but her face falls. She lifts a hand and carefully lays it on Izuku’s back. “Oh.” She pauses, and takes a deep breath. “That’s. That sounds important.”

Izuku rubs his hands over his face. “It is.” He swallows, and looks at the garden. “It’s a very great honour. And I am honoured, truly.” He lets out a long, shaking breath. The sound of a horse and cart comes rattling over the rooftops on the wind. Izuku wets his lips. “But I’m also frightened. And, it’s shallow and stupid: we’ve barely met. But I’m frustrated that I won’t get to know Shouto before I leave.” He sighs, resting his head in his hands. “I guess that’s just the way the world works. But I wish it had come a little later, all the same.”

Ochako sighs, and gently pats his back. “I know, honey. I don’t blame you. You two really seemed to –” She cuts herself off. “Well. He seems like a nice man. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other people out there.”

“That’s if I come back.”

Ochako’s hand stills on Izuku’s back , and she lifts it, leaning forward to look into his eyes. “What do you mean, if you come back?”

Izuku sits up a little, turning to face her. To his left, close enough to the town to loom over it, the forest stands tall and deep. To his right, the rooftops of Silvia roll gold and brown up to the city gates, which stand like broken shells on the horizon. “Have you noticed that weird storm, over the mountains?” He gestures with his thumb, though from where they sit they can’t see it.

Ochako nods. “Shuzenji said it was a bad omen.” She chews the inside of her cheek. “Is that what your mission is about?”

Izuku nods, resting one knee on the bench and his elbow on the back. “Yeah; find what’s coming down. Negotiate with it, if I can. If I fail, fight it. And if I don’t win, die trying.”

Ochako’s eyes are bright and dark in the falling light. “That sounds like a suicide mission.”

Izuku shrugs, and turns to look into the forest. Beyond the first few corridors of trees, it’s hard to see anything at all, but the branches shift and twitch with life as squirrels and birds get ready for the night. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“But you’re not going alone.” Ochako doesn’t really phrase it as a question. Izuku meets her eyes.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here.” He looks back, down the garden, at the strip of white above the greenery and the heavy thatched roof of the apothecary. “Ochako, I have no right to take you away from this, from your studies and your work. I understand that your parents need you. And this is going to be so, so dangerous, and I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I have to ask, because if there’s anyone that I want to have my back, then –”

Ochako puts her hands around his, and hers are soft and cold and smaller than Izuku’s. She clasps his hands tightly, meets his eyes, and gives him a wide smile that dimples her cheeks. “Obviously, Izuku. Of course. I’m not letting you face this alone.”

The tension falls from Izuku the way a brick falls in deep water. “But, your parents…”

Ochako shakes her head. “I’ve been saving to support my parents since I was fifteen, in case for any reason I was ever separated from them. By this point, they’ve got enough to last them for two years at least. And the hike to the mountains is long, but it’s not that long.”

Izuku stares at her for a moment. His eyes are hot, and he blinks rapidly to clear away the building tears. “Ochako, I don’t know if –”

Ochako squeezes his hands between her own. Through the thick greenery of the garden, yellow light spills between the stems as Shuzenji lights a candle in the window. Ochako’s brow is clear, and her jaw is set when she meets Izuku’s gaze.

“Now you listen to me, Midoriya Izuku. I won’t hear any of this nonsense about whether or not we’re going to die. And do you know why? Do you?”

Izuku shakes his head, and a smile plays around the corners of his mouth.

“Because you’re my friend, Midoriya Izuku, and I am safe when I am with you – because you are strong, and so am I, and we trust each other. Because there is nothing in that forest that is so frightening it would make me let you do this alone.”

Izuku chokes, and looks away from her. Ochako runs her thumb over the back of his hand. “But I - what if you - I don’t have any right…” His words trip over themselves until Ochako lets go of one of his hands to reach up to his face, turning him back to face her as she brushes the tears from his cheeks.

“Do you remember when we were six years old?”

Confusion flits across Izuku’s brow, and his breathing stutters to a halt. “I…Yes? You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Ochako doesn’t smile, but her eyes are warm. “I used to be bullied by some of the children at our school. They called me terrible things, because their parents said terrible things, and they were too small to think any differently.”

Izuku nods, breaths falling deep and even, and Ochako lowers her hand. “I remember. Where are you going with –”

Ochako’s voice is quiet as she continues. “You stood up for me. I didn’t ask you to. And you got hurt, because there were three of them and one of you and you hadn’t found your school of magic yet. Afterwards, you helped me up, and I asked you why you did that.” She smiles at him. “I thought you were going to say, ‘because you’re my friend’, or ‘because they’re stupid’, or something like that. But do you remember what you said?”

Izuku isn’t quite looking at her when he replies, voice growing soft. “I said you looked like you needed help.”

Ochako nods and sits back, smoothing down her skirt. “Now, I may not be Midoriya Izuku.” Next to her, Izuku laughs and blushes, brushing tears from his cheeks with his knuckles. “But I am his best friend. And I wouldn’t be much of a friend to a man like that if I didn’t help him when he was in need.”

Izuku lets out a long, deep breath. Next to him, Ochako bends to pick up her basket. “Thank you, Ochako.” She stands, a little slowly, carefully, and he looks up at her. “There’s no way I’m going to change your mind, is there?”

Ochako’s smile is bright in the dark. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

When Midoriya finally gets back to his mother’s cottage, which is so far out on the edge of town it’s halfway to being in the woods, it’s well past sunset. The cottage stands a little away from the street, surrounded by neatly tended flower beds and a sprawling garden closed in by a loose fence. Midoriya examines the tomato vines climbing up to the window of the cottage with a critical eye as he walks to the door. They look strong, and he expects them to be ripe any day now. He hopes he doesn’t miss them.

With a sigh, Midoriya ducks under the thatch and lifts his hand to the dark oak door. Behind him, stars speckle the horizon. Before he has a chance to knock, the door swings open, spilling light onto the wide flagstones of the path and Midoriya’s body from the chest down. A small, plump woman with long black hair and pretty green eyes hurries out, patting at Midoriya’s clothes.

“Oh, Izuku! Where have you been? This is the second night you’ve come back after sunset and it’s not like I have a problem with that,” Midoriya Inko turns and steps back into the cottage, a ginger tabby curling around her ankles and meowing loudly. Izuku ducks his head under the thatch and steps inside. The cottage is warm. A large fire roars by a small oak table, and half the room is cluttered with counters. A shelf stands by the fire hung with copper pans, and over a sink by the window dried herbs and garlic hang from one of the building’s low beams.

The cat meows again, and Inko stoops to scratch its ears before straightening and moving to a pot kept over the fire, lifting the lid with a gesture and poking at the mixture with a wooden spoon. “Yes, yes Hisashi, I know.” She doesn’t look at Izuku, but he moves past her to get two wooden bowls and spoons out of the cupboard all the same.

Inko takes them, setting them down on the table. “Thank you darling. Anyway, it’s not like I have a problem with you coming home late, you’re twenty-two for goodness sake! But after never having come home after sunset since, oh! It must be spring, the harvest festival, wasn’t it?” Whilst she talks, she spoons steaming hot stew into the bowls, and Izuku takes a seat.

Inko moves the pot to the counter and shakes her head when Izuku goes to stand. “No, no, dear I’ve got it.” She sets down the pot with a heavy thump, then grabs a bowl of dried fish from a shelf and sets it down on the floor next to Hisashi’s water, giving the cat a quick stroke before she moves to the table. Inko sits, and pauses to smile at her son. “Well, I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Izuku ducks his head. “Thanks Mum.” He waits for her to murmur a quick prayer to the All Might before picking up his spoon and dipping it into his stew. “This smells amazing.”

Inko, who’s blowing on her own spoon, waves him off. “You haven’t tried it yet.” She takes a mouthful, and wrinkles her nose. “I think the seasoning’s a bit off.”

Izuku tries some of his own and shakes his head, pausing to swallow. “No, it’s perfect. It’s always perfect. I’m lucky to have such a talented cook for a mother, and a mother kind and generous enough to cook for a son at my age.”

Inko goes pink and shakes her head. “Shush you.” She pauses, and her spoon sits untouched in her still hot stew. Steam rises from the bowl and drifts into the rafters. The whole room smells like food and firewood. “I know how busy you are, with the Council. Ever since the All Might,” she presses her hand to her chest, “may the gods have mercy on their immortal soul. Ever since Toshinori asked you to be his aide, you’ve been rushed off your feet.”

Izuku inhales about half his stew before he speaks. He hadn’t quite realized how hungry he was. When he does, he does so ruefully. “So everybody keeps telling me.”

Inko sighs. “We just worry about you dear.” She eats another mouthful before she speaks again, and when she does her eyes are bright. “I heard you were dancing with someone the other night; at The Oak.”

Izuku’s face falls, and he tries to hide it by pushing the few remaining pieces of meat in his stew around his bowl. He can feel his mother’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look at her. Whilst they sit there, Hisashi finishes with his food and pads over to the table, falling in a heap at Izuku’s feet. It had been Izuku’s idea to name the cat after his father. His logic, at five, had been that if they couldn’t have the real Hisashi then the cat could keep them company.

“What’s wrong?” Inko’s voice is very soft, and very gentle. “Have I got the wrong idea? I’m sorry sweetheart, Ochako said something when I saw her on the way to work this morning and I…”

Izuku’s hand curls on his thigh, and he presses down to stop his leg from jumping. “No, it’s nothing. They’re visitors.” He pauses, and swallows. “Um, Momo and Shouto, they’re travellers from Kasai.” He spreads his fingers over his knee and presses. “They’re, um.” He lifts a shoulder in half a shrug. “They’re nice.”

“But?” Inko presses.

Izuku bites hard on the inside of his cheek, and pushes aside thoughts of bright mismatched eyes under a thatch of dark hair. “Actually, mother, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Inko takes his news about as well as Izuku thought she would. But she doesn’t try to stop him. She’s glad Ochako is going with him, though she nearly starts crying at the idea of her being in danger too. “She’s like a daughter to me, Izuku. You two grew up together. And now, neither of you…” She takes a deep breath, and Izuku silently continues to dry the dishes.

Together, they tidy the kitchen and put out the fire. They climb the stairs single file: it’s a narrow wooden staircase, and it’s dark, but both Izuku and Inko know the half dozen steps like the back of their hands. Inko goes into Izuku’s room and fusses with the blankets on the narrow pallet he keeps as a bed, before pausing and wringing her hands. In the doorway, Izuku walks forward and holds out his arms, and his mother hugs him.

“It’s just, it’s so dangerous.” She says, speaking into his shirt. Hisashi squeezes between their feet, meowing loudly. Izuku gently strokes his mother’s hair, and illuminates the witchlight on his bedside table with a small effort of will.

“I know.”

“It would be bad enough if it were just the mountains. I mean, they say dragons live there Izuku. Dragons! Dragons and fugitives and exiles, not to mention the people of the forest. Not that they’re bad by nature but they don’t think of life the same way we do.” Inko’s shoulders are shaking.

Izuku put his hands on her cheeks, pulling back, and ducks to look her in the eye. “Mum. I’m going to be alright. It’s okay. The Council wouldn’t have charged me with this task if they thought I’d fail.”

Inko’s bottom lip wobbles, and Izuku brushes the tears from her cheek. “You just have to trust me, ok?”

On the floor, Hisashi meows again. Laughing a little, Izuku ducks to pat his head. “Yeah, yeah we know. You want in on the cuddle party too.” When he straightens, Inko has stopped crying, and her brow is smooth.

“Alright, you’re right. I need to trust you. And I do trust you Izuku. It’s just,” she bites her lip, looking down at her hands before she looks back at him. “Just promise me you’ll be kind to yourself. Don’t put yourself through unnecessary suffering. For my sake - do that for me.”

Izuku pauses, eyes drifting to the papers nailed to the far wall of his room as he thinks about his mother’s request. Then he lets out a long, shaking breath. The fire has warmed the house from below, but it’s already starting to get cooler, and it’s best to be in bed and asleep by the time it gets really cold.

“You really are the best mother I could ask for.”

The smile Inko gives him is a little wobbly, but she doesn’t cry. “Is that a promise?”

Izuku steps forward, and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I promise.”

Shouto does not find Izuku on his first day in Silvia, and tries not to let that fact bother him. Momo returns late, and blushing, but when he presses her she reveals with a sigh that nothing has happened between her and the handsome blacksmith. Her smile is wicked when she adds, “yet.”

The next morning, she returns to the forge, and Shouto is happy to let her go. He negotiates calmly with the innkeeper over a fair price for their rooms: since he hasn’t seen Izuku, he doesn’t feel comfortable relying on the favours of a Council with which he is not familiar. He tells himself that he spends the day exploring the town, but the truth of it is that he spends most of it searching for a man with thick black curls and far too many freckles.

By the end of the second day, Shouto isn’t sure whether he’d danced with a man or a folk hero. Everybody in Silvia somehow knows Midoriya. If they don’t know him personally, they know someone who does. Everybody in Silvia has a story to tell about Midoriya Izuku. Almost everybody can talk about a specific occasion on which they personally were helped by Midoriya Izuku. It doesn’t matter if it’s the woman at the market talking about how Midoriya had saved her baby from a burning building, or the farmer on the edge of town telling Shouto about how Midoriya helped him rescue his plough from a ditch. Everybody loves him.

Shouto isn’t entirely sure how he found the time. The man he hears about from the locals is unutterably kind, awe-inspiringly brave, and strong as an ox. He doesn’t stutter, or stumble as he skips through a dance in the middle of the night after four pints of ale. He doesn’t engage in romantic entanglements: apparently Ochako had been his only lover. Which was fine.

Having met Midoriya, Shouto finds himself in the precarious position of both believing everything that everybody tells him and taking it with a pinch of salt. But as his second day in town draws to a close, he believes he knows some things for certain. Midoriya Izuku’s mother, Inko, lives on the edge of town. They share the cottage, which Midoriya maintains whenever possible. Six years ago, after a terrible catastrophe, the town’s All Might had been severely wounded. Following his injuries, he had revealed that he had chosen the then sixteen-year-old Midoriya as his successor. Midoriya had worked as an aide to the Council ever since.

He had also, apparently, done everything else. Shouto is told that Midoriya is a and a fire fighter. He’s a farmer in the summer and a forester in the winter. He’s a trader and he’s a gardener. He provided aid to the sick when fevers and pox caught the town, and he routed bands of mercenaries who thought to loot their stores. In the case of one elderly woman selling apples, he’s the man who had brought groceries to her door every day for a month during an icy winter so she didn’t have to risk another fall. In all of these stories, there is something about Midoriya Izuku that is strangely vague.

Nobody knows his school of magic. They know he has magic: many people can talk about him lifting impossible weights or moving at impossible speeds. Not to mention the regular magic Shouto himself had seen Midoriya use: witch-lights and moving objects, for example. But when pressed, most of the citizens shake their heads, and Shouto can’t tell whether they really don’t know or if they just don’t want to tell a stranger.

Caught by his own curiosity, Shouto starts taking the question with him wherever he goes, until eventually he finds a baker with a grey beard who scratches his head and says, “Well, I think his mother thought that he was without magic when he was a child.” But then the baker laughs, and moves to walk past Shouto and go about his work. “But obviously that was wrong.”

Obviously.

Shouto loses track of how many people he talks to about Midoriya, and by the end of the day finds himself feeling strangely guilty. After all, it wasn’t as if Midoriya could do the same for him. He could know nothing about Shouto other than what Shouto told him. Not to mention, Shouto may have been a little transparent in his efforts to learn more about the enigmatic watch keeper. This may not have occurred to him, had it not been for the woman selling sheepskins who’d elbowed him whilst he made small flurries of snow dance for her triplets.

“You better go give him a kiss, stranger. It’s the talk of the town that you got him dancing. And I wouldn’t want you to break our Midoriya’s heart.” She glares, and with a good three inches on him in both height and breadth, Shouto is suitably intimidated.

He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he nearly doesn’t notice the people standing on the road towards the edge of town. He’d had a vague thought that he’d wander closer to the forest and see whether anybody there was willing to take travellers down some of the easier paths. He figures it would be a good way to get acquainted with it before venturing deeper.

Overhead, the orange sky is scattered with a flock of birds like ash in a fire. Across the road, a dog barks, and Shouto jumps and starts taking in his surroundings. This far to the edge of town, the street is almost empty. If he turns back, he can see the thatched roofs stretching on a slight incline to meet the forest, and the fields beyond them.

He turns back to the road. There, lit by the bright amber of the sunset, is Midoriya Izuku. His black hair is wild and curly, and he’s laughing. He stands tall, broad-shouldered and confident in a way that reflects ease more than a desire to intimidate. Next to him, Uraraka Ochako is engaged deep in conversation with a man with long blonde hair.

Shouto doesn’t try to fight the smile pulling at his mouth. He raises his hand. “Hey, stranger.” He walks closer, close enough to see Midoriya turning to him, and the way his face falls. Uraraka touches his arm, and then jogs a little to meet Shouto halfway with a bright smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“H-hey Shouto, good to see you.” She’s standing between Shouto and Midoriya, as well as the two tall men with whom they’d been talking. Both are staring at him now. A blush rushes down the back of Shouto’s neck.

Shouto clears his throat, and half turns to leave. ”I’m sorry, this is a bad time.”

The road is empty enough to know that Midoriya is not talking to the men. The silence feels heavy on Shouto’s shoulders. He starts to walk away, and Uraraka catches at his shirt, saying his name. Shouto pauses, and focuses on keeping his breathing even. Sparks fall from his fingertips.

“Oh, no.” He turns back to see Uraraka worrying her lip between her teeth. “No it’s not like that it’s just…” She looks askance. Midoriya still hasn’t moved. After everything Shouto has heard, he had not imagined that Midoriya would be cruel, or a coward. But he supposed that was why people called them legends.

“I know when I’m not wanted.” His words come out cold and hard, and Uraraka flinches. Clenching his jaw, Shouto ducks his head. “I apologise. I must go.”

He turns again to leave. This time, Uraraka doesn’t try to stop him. Shouto makes it all of ten feet before something hard hits his kneecaps. On instinct he pivots, pushing a foot back and pulling ice into his open palm as easily as breathing. When he sees his assailant, an older man whose head barely reaches his hip, holding a cane, Shouto sighs and lets the magic go.

The older man chuckles. “Good reflexes.” Then he turns, lifting his cane and shouting with a voice that belied his stature. “Oi, Deku. You’re not gonna make an old man walk all the way over there, are you?”

Midoriya visibly starts, and he begins to walk towards them, accompanied by the two men and Uraraka. Shouto swallows and turns to the old man, dipping his head. “I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. I have no quarrel with you, and I must go now.”

The old man taps his cane on the ground. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve got nowhere to be and we both know it.”

Shouto blinks slowly, as if that would contradict every line of tension in his body. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The old man laughs, and out of the corner of his eye Shouto can see Midoriya bend to hear something that Uraraka has to say. “No, but I know you, Shouto. Grew up in the capital of Kasai with your best friend Yaoyorozu Momo before the pair of you decided to leave when you were…” The old man squints at the blushing sky. “Sixteen, was it? Seventeen?”

Ice coats Shouto’s hand like a glove. “I do not know who you are or how you know these things, but I must ask you to stop. Immediately.”

The old man narrows his eyes. “Do you think you scare me, boy?” He turns so that he’s fully facing Shouto. Shouto slips one of his feet a little further back, and lowers his centre of gravity. The old man barks a laugh. “An elemental witch, and a powerful one, I’ll give you that. But an elemental witch who’s scared of fire? Give me a break.”

Several things happen very quickly. Ice spreads out from the sole of Shouto’s foot like an avalanche. In less time than it takes his heart to beat, the old man is airborne and moving towards him at colossal speed. Shouto barely has time to form the thought that this is going to hurt before something, crackling with green lightning, comes hurtling in between them, catching the old man in mid-air.

Breathless, Midoriya Izuku gently sets the old man down onto his feet. “Torino. That’s not a very nice way to treat our guests.” Torino cackles. Midoriya turns to Shouto, and blushes to the roots of his hair before he looks away again, fiddling with his fingers. “Hey Shouto. Nice to see you.”

Shouto decides that he doesn’t need to answer that, and watches Midoriya coolly until he looks away. The two men Midoriya had been talking to, meanwhile, survey the strip of ice now stretching across the road, prickling with chest-high spikes. The blonde man lets out a low whistle. “Yo, stranger. You gonna clear this up? Or are you expecting me to? Because if it’s the latter I will charge.”

Next to the blonde man, Uraraka makes a frantic motion with her hands. Midoriya scratches the back of his head. “That’s, um. That’s a lot of ice.”

Shouto continues to say nothing, instead raising his left hand and willing heat to fall over the structure. It starts to melt, slowly at first and then faster. A few feet away, the old man puts both of his hands on his cane. “Well, since he’s busy we might as well get started. Izuku, you need to take this man with you.”

Midoriya makes a sound that’s sort of like a sheep with wind. The blonde man laughs. “Right, good one Torino. As if that’s gonna happen.”

Between them, Uraraka brushes at her hair. “Um, actually, I’m with Yamada on this one sir, we don’t…” She looks up at Shouto, a little guiltily. He focuses on melting the ice, which leaves a puddle of mud in its wake. “We don’t really know Shouto that well, see, he only arrived in town the day before yesterday and um.”

“Nonsense. Shouto and Momo will go with you. As will the blacksmith, for some reason.” Torino barks another laugh. “But that’s the stars for you.”

This is strange enough that Shouto stops melting the ice and pauses, paying a little more attention. Midoriya looks like he’s trying to swallow something particularly unwieldy. Uraraka just looks confused.

“We will not entrust this mission to the confidence of strangers, old man. I don’t care what your stars say.” This voice comes from the other man, one with long black hair and a dirty, off-white scarf wrapped like a bandage from his shoulders to his chin.

Torino raises his stick and swings it with blinding speed. The tall man easily sways out of the way. “Old man! You have three hundred and fifty years on me and you know it, Shouta.”

“Yes. For an elf, I’m middle aged. For a human, you are old enough to risk senility.” Shouta’s voice is cold and quiet. Torino sputters something filthy enough to make Shouta’s long ears go red, then takes a deep breath.

Midoriya breaks the silence. “Um, Torino, sir, are you alright?”

Torino hits him with his cane, and Shouto restrains the urge to do something about it. Midoriya, for his part, looks pained but resigned. “Don’t treat me like an old man boy. I’m as sharp as I ever was. Now, Shouta, Hizashi. You listen to me and you listen carefully. If you want this mission of yours to succeed, then you will have the boy take these strangers with him.”

Next to Shouta, the blonde man Uraraka had called Yamada folds his hands behind his head. “Come on, pops, we can’t do that. How in the world are we supposed to trust these people? I’ve never met them.”

Shouto clears his throat. “I’m, um. I’m right here.”

Yamada waves him off. “Yeah, yeah I know kid.” He offers him a quick smile that’s mostly just a flash of teeth. “Wrong place, wrong time. I apologise on behalf of our oracle for his behaviour.”

Torino’s cane hits Yamada hard in the thigh. “Don’t go making apologies for me.” He glares at Shouta. “Do you want Izuku to die or not?”

Next to Midoriya, Uraraka becomes very, very still. Shouta blinks, slowly. Shouto is close enough to see that his eyes are bloodshot and red. He looks tired. “Do you have any reason to believe that he will come to an untimely death?”

Between the two men, Midoriya scratches the back of his head and starts to say something. He’s silenced with a glare from both of them. By the side of the road, what’s left of Shouto’s ice melts slowly in the falling light.

Torino speaks very clearly. “If he travels without these strangers, he will die. Every sign agrees on that. Every sign.”

Yamada squawks something so loud Shouto can’t make out the shape of it, and Uraraka looks at Midoriya, visibly concerned.

Shouto’s heart tries to beat a rhythm out of his ribcage. He focuses on keeping his breathing deep and even. It was rare for a seer to give a clear prophecy, rarer still for more than one of their instruments to agree on its meaning. There was, of course, the possibility that Torino was lying. Somehow, Shouto didn’t get that impression.

“Do you have any reason to believe that they will help the mission succeed?” Shouta’s voice remained quiet, and level. A little further down the street, children came running and laughing, chasing one another on their way back home from the town.

Torino’s shoulders fall. “On that, the signs are unclear. I do not know if he will succeed. And before you ask, they do not guarantee that he will live if these strangers go with him. But I can promise you, Aizawa, on Nana’s grave. If Izuku and Ochako leave without Shouto and Momo, they will die.”

“Who’ll die? This is a pretty intense conversation to be having on a summer evening, you know.” Shouto does not know Jirou Kyouka very well, but he has heard her sing, and he recognises her voice. He turns, and sees the blacksmith wearing a loose shirt stained with ash. Next to her, Momo walks tall, sword swinging at her hip.

“You’re late.” Torino says. Then he smiles. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Jirou puts a hand on her hip. “Late for what?”

Momo takes one look at Shouto and moves to his side, lowering her voice. She smells of metal and ash. “Is everything alright?”

Shouto nods. In front of them, Midoriya shifts from one foot to another.

“Apparently, you need to join Midoriya on a quest into the mountains to fight an old and terrible evil.” Aizawa Shouta says the words without inflection. Next to Momo, Jirou raises her eyebrows, mouth falling open in a silent ‘o’. “Does that take your fancy Kyouka?”

Jirou shrugs, glancing up at Momo before slipping her hands into her pockets. “Um, well. Seems cool and all but I, I mean I have a job? You know, I’m the blacksmith.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of the forge, and Momo covers her smile with her hand.

Aizawa nods. “Great. Hizashi, let’s go. Torino, get some sleep.”

“Torino says Midoriya will die if you don’t.” Uraraka’s voice is high, but loud enough to carry. She ducks her head when everyone’s eyes fall to her. “And, maybe me.”

Momo raises both hands to tie her hair, and the leather armour she’s wearing creaks as she does so. “Wait, I’m sorry. Who dies? What mission? Old and terrible evil?” She turns to Shouto, who shrugs. “What am I missing here?”

Midoriya sighs and steps forward. “So, tomorrow morning Ochako and I are leaving on a mission for the Council that was kind of supposed to mostly be a secret. We’re going to the mountains, beyond the forest. Something has awakened there, and I’ve been charged with the task of meeting it, on behalf of Silvia and the All Might.”

The smell of cooking food drifts down the street. Next to Shouto, Momo nods. “Ok, with you so far. And the dying part?”

Midoriya looks at everyone but Shouto, which has the unfortunate effect of making Shouto feel out of place. Both of them shift uncomfortably. “So, this is Torino, our town oracle. He says that whilst there’s no guarantee my mission will succeed if you come, he can guarantee that I’ll die if you don’t. So.”

“So.” Momo stretches out the syllable. “Do you want us to come with you or not?”

Midoriya fiddles with his sleeve. “Well, it’s not so much a question of that, I need to get permission to take companions with me and I’ve only asked if I can bring Ochako and also I couldn’t possibly impose, I mean you only just got here and I know I said I’d show you the forest but this thing came up and –”

Absently, Shouto wonders if Midoriya breathes between sentences. Aizawa drops a hand onto his shoulder, and he falls silent with an expression that looks like relief. “This is academic. Without the All Might’s blessing, they cannot go.”

“I grant them my blessing.”

Shouto steps back, and Momo does the same. Behind them on the road, standing tall and thin with oversized clothes and a shock of golden hair is the All Might of Silvia. He wears no jewellery, nor ceremonial robes. But his eyes are bright, and he stands tall, and Shouto has been in the presence of enough important people to recognise royalty when he sees it.

He drops to one knee, and next to him Momo does the same. Behind them, Midoriya squeaks something incoherent. The All Might waves them off, and offers the gentlest smile Shouto has ever seen on a nobleman. “No, no there’s no need for that, please. Shouto, Yaoyorozu. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Cautiously, Momo and Shouto stand. The All Might looks past them to Jirou. “Kyouka, it’s been too long. How are Tetsu and Itsuka? I hear you’ve been singing at The Oak recently.”

Jirou, for her part, looks utterly unruffled. “Hey old man. Not bad, and uh, yeah. Couple months now.” The All Might moves forward, and Shouto tries and fails not to stare. Jirou elbows Momo with half a smile and a whisper, “you’re going to catch flies if you leave your mouth open like that.”

“Toshinori. What happened? You never write.” Torino’s anger, now at least, seems to be mostly bluster. He clasps the All Might’s forearm. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

The All Might smiles. “And you.”

“Is this head to the edge of town day or something? I thought we were out here in order to avoid unwanted company.” Yamada’s voice is too loud. Around them, houses are starting to puff smoke into the twilight.

“I had a feeling you’d be out here.” It’s the only explanation the All Might offers. Then he turns to Torino. “Are the signs really so dire?”

Torino sighs, and leans a little more heavily on his stick. “I do not know if they will succeed. And I do not know if they will survive, either way. But I am certain of this: Toshinori, if Momo and Shouto do not travel with them, Izuku and Ochako will suffer the most terrible deaths.”

Yamada forces a laugh. “Most terrible? Aren’t you laying it on a little thick now, Torino? That’s not what you said before.”

Aizawa straightens his spine and gains a good five inches in height. “I’m still against it.” He turns, looking directly at the All Might. His wavy black hair falls forward, exposing the slender points of his ears. “We cannot trust these people, Toshinori. They’re unknown, and from Kasai,” he says the word like it’s a bitter curse, “of all places. They will stab Izuku in the back before he’s past sight of the town.”

Shouto opens his mouth, but Midoriya beats him to the punch. “Actually, Aizawa, I think that’s a little harsh.” He looks at Shouto, and Shouto looks away. “I like them. And they’re powerful.” He huffs a nervous sounding laugh and runs his hands over his rumpled shirt. “Besides, I, uh, don’t really want to face a terrible death if I can avoid it.”

“I mean, it would be nice if we were asked what we wanted.” Shouto mostly mutters the comment under his breath, and Momo elbows him hard, but the All Might turns to him. His expression is clear and guileless. He has kind eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Shouto, wasn’t it? You’re right. I shouldn’t have made the assumption. I’d heard that you wanted to go into the forest so…” Shouto’s confusion must have shown on his face, because the All Might raises his eyebrows. If Shouto hadn’t known any better, he’d have said the All Might blushed. In the dying light it was hard to tell anyway. “W-well, it’s the talk of the town, some kind strangers got our Izuku dancing. And someone said that one of you mentioned something in the market about being interested in the forest.”

Shouto lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just a passing interest.” He glances up at Momo. She looks thoughtful. Next to her, the blacksmith Jirou has folded her arms and cocked her hips. A little further down the street, the windows of the nearest cottages are bright with yellow light. “We should leave soon, anyway.”

Shouto tells himself that he doesn’t care about the way that Midoriya’s face falls when he says that. He’s lying. Next to Momo, Jirou finally lifts her chin. “Well, I’m all for it.” She turns to Momo, and offers her the kind of smile Shouto imagines a thief would give an aristocrat they intended to rob. “Up for an adventure, Yaomomo?”

Shouto blinks, and Momo blushes a deep, dark red, clearing her throat and running a hand up over her face and through her hair. “W-well.” She holds a hand to her chin, dipping her head. Shouto waits, patiently. “It could be very interesting. The research opportunity alone is essentially unparalleled, I mean, that’s one of the things that’s so attractive about Taiyo. And to travel with such esteemed members of the Silvian administration would be an honour. But…” She hesitates, glancing at Shouto. Her dark eyes glitter in the dark.

Shouto sighs. Icy mist falls from his mouth, despite the warmth of the evening. “Fine.” He slips his hands into his pockets. “I’m not against it. It’s not like we’ve got anything to lose.”

“Truly, a winning sign of your character.” Aizawa’s voice is quiet, but it carries. Midoriya forces another laugh.

Shouto ignores both of them, looking instead at the All Might. He bows. “Personal concerns aside, it is an honour to be given your trust, All Might. I will do everything within my power to be worthy of it.”

Next to him, Momo drops a bow of her own. “And I.”

Jirou doesn’t bow. “You know me old geezer.” She flashes another smile that’s bright in the dark. “I’m handy with a knife.”

Midoriya’s chin wobbles, and he clenches his fists, standing tall. “Thank you. You don’t owe this to me, or mine. I am very grateful to you all.” Shouto can’t look at him, so he doesn’t. Next to him, Momo smiles and waves off Midoriya’s thanks.

Torino yawns. “Well, now that’s settled, I’m going to bed.” He turns to leave before any of them have a chance to say goodbye. Jirou jerks her thumb back up the street.

“Me too folks. See you bright and early in the morning, I guess.” She directs her next comment to Momo directly. “Goodnight.” With that, she turns and walks away. This leaves Aizawa, Yamada, Uraraka, Midoriya, Shouto, Momo and the All Might. Above them, the moon is high and bright. Half-full as it is, it casts relatively little light over the town. But this has the side effect of making the stars look brighter, and they sweep in a wash from horizon to horizon.

Yamada makes a show of stretching his arms and yawning, before slinging one around Aizawa’s shoulders. Aizawa bristles, but doesn’t shake him off. “We should be going to bed too, right Shouta?”

“You know as well as I do that elves don’t sleep, Zashi.” Aizawa murmurs. Momo engages Uraraka in a bright conversation about her work in the apothecary, tentatively inquiring as to whether they shared an interest in the composition of substances. Uraraka responds enthusiastically, talking very quickly about minerals and their healing properties.

This leaves Midoriya, Shouto and the All Might. Midoriya lifts his hand as if to reach out to Shouto and then drops it, curling his fingers and biting the inside of his cheek. Shouto sighs, and walks away from him to finish melting the ice. The All Might follows. “That’s an impressive affinity you have there.”

Shouto shrugs. “Thanks.” He doesn’t know if the All Might notices that the heat coming from his hand triples. The All Might steps closer, and Shouto pauses in what he’s doing.

“Say, I hate to pry but, have you and young Midoriya had a falling out? It seems like a bad way to start a journey.” Shouto shifts his gaze to look past the All Might to where Midoriya is getting his hair ruffled by Yamada.

“It’s nothing.” The ice beneath his hands melts like a river onto the dirt road. “Just a misunderstanding.”

The All Might makes a soft sound of comprehension. In one of the houses down the street, a dog starts to bark, and is quieted by its owners. From the forest, the distant sound of a wolf howling echoes on the wind. The trees creak like a ship at sea.

“You think that he is disinterested in your company, because you have not seen him since the day you met. Am I close?”

Shouto stoops to finish melting the ice from the street. This has the incidental effect of helping him hide his blush. He feels like a teenager. “I didn’t say that.”

The All Might’s laugh is a low and rumbling thing, as if it once belonged to a much bigger man. “You didn’t need to, my boy.” Shouto stiffens. “I expect, if I have learnt anything about Midoriya Izuku these past seven years, that he did not want to see you, because knowing that he would leave before he knew you hurt him. He does not like goodbyes.” The All Might chuckles again. “Sometimes I feel that it’s the force of that alone which keeps me alive.”

Shouto straightens a little too quickly. “All Might…”

The All Might shrugs. “It’s nothing to worry about, young man. I’m just getting old. But the point remains. I do not think that Midoriya would maliciously have hurt your feelings.”

Shouto’s mouth twists, and he lets his hair fall to hang over his eyes. “Um, thanks but, I don’t really…”

The All Might puts his hands on his slender hips. His oversized shirt hides exactly how emaciated his figure has become, but this gesture reveals a little of it. Shouto tries not to stare. “Of course you don’t. You’re an adult.” The All Might grins, and his teeth are strong and bright despite his age. He also has about ten thousand laugh lines. “I guess I can’t help but meddle. It’s probably the old man in me. Anyway...” He reaches forward, and then Shouto is being touched by the All Might of Silvia. This, in itself, is notable enough. But with that touch comes a thrum of power so strong Shouto imagines he can feel it striking through his bones and into the earth below. He feels like he’s been hit by lightning.

“Keep him safe, won’t you?” The All Might’s smile has fallen, and his brow is low. It deepens the shadows around his eyes.

Shouto swallows, and the All Might lets go of him. His shoulders fall, and he stumbles back half a step before catching himself. “I...” He swallows again. “I’ll do my best, All Might.”

The All Might’s smile reaches his eyes, and he claps his hands. “Excellent.” Then he turns and moves back across the road. For a second, Shouto stands by the low thatch of the building at the side of the road. Then he moves to join him. “Now then, Izuku, you need to get a good night’s sleep. And you, Ochako.”

The All Might reaches out, and Momo takes his hand. Her whole posture changes, stiffening as if she’s been asked to carry some enormous physical weight. “Momo, you are a brave warrior. I am trusting you to defend this party with your life, if you can.” The All Might lets go of Momo’s hand, and she relaxes, letting out a quick breath before nodding and raising her chin.

“You can count on me, All Might, sir.”

The All Might nods. “Alright. Goodnight, all of you. Prepare well, and carefully. I’ll see you before you leave in the morning.” With that, he walks away, lifting a hand into the air in a quick, careless gesture of farewell.

Shouto turns to Midoriya, and Midoriya meets his eyes, and both of them open their mouths to speak at the same time. Which is when a cold hand lands on Shouto’s shoulder and cuts him off from the magic that connects all life on Earth. Shouto chokes and stumbles, feeling as if he’s lost a limb. Momo draws her sword, and another long pale hand lifts into the air.

“No need for that, young woman. I mean you no harm.” This is Aizawa. Shouto turns to face him, and his stomach rolls. There is no fire. There is no ice. Part of him would have been happy about that, once upon a time, but now he just feels violently off balance. Aizawa’s eyes are bright red, glowing where they had been more of a dull rust before. He stares at Shouto, and Shouto cannot look away.

Behind him, Midoriya raises his voice. “Shouta, this is unnecessary.” The scarf wrapped around Aizawa’s neck lifts as if it has a life of its own, coiling in the air like a serpent. His hair floats free of his pale neck on a breeze that doesn’t exist.

“Midoriya.” Momo’s voice is low and warning. You didn’t need to have known her for sixteen years to understand her meaning. Her sword was still in her hand.

“It’s…It’s fine.” Midoriya doesn’t sound certain. Momo doesn’t lower her sword.

Aizawa blinks, and Shouto feels magic rush back into his body like a tidal wave. Overwhelmed, he falls to his knees, and Momo immediately sheaths her sword. She crouches beside him, but Shouto needs to focus on breathing before he can speak, so that’s what he does. Sparks and snowflakes eddy in spirals around his arms.

Both of them look up at Aizawa, who in turn looks down his nose at them. His clothes are still possessed by whatever magic was moving them, and he looks otherworldly. “If you betray this boy, witch, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

“What have we done to merit your suspicion?” Momo’s voice is raised, and her nose is wrinkled in a snarl. She helps Shouto to his feet, but doesn’t take her eyes off Aizawa. Aizawa’s scarf settles back down onto his shoulders with a whisper.

He doesn’t blink. “You’re human.” Then he turns, moving in the direction Yamada had gone. “Make good on your preparations. We meet at sunrise.”

In a flurry of movement, Midoriya is next to Shouto, turning him to face him and putting both hands on his shoulders, anxiously inspecting his face. He is very close and very warm and he has an inordinate number of freckles. “I’m so sorry about that, are you alright? That thing he does where he cuts you off from your magic, it’s awful, I know.”

“Um, Deku?” Uraraka gently pulls on Midoriya’s elbow to divert his attention and he starts, mid-mutter. “I think you’re making our guest uncomfortable.” Midoriya looks back at Shouto, taking in the way his jaw is tight, and his arms are pressed firmly against his sides. Immediately, he lets go, blushing.

“O-oh, I’m sorry I didn’t.” He pushes a gloved hand up and through his hair. “That was stupid of me.” When he looks at Shouto, his eyes are wide and earnest. “But really, are you alright?” This is not the face of a man who wants nothing to do with him.

On the side of the road a cat hops lightly from one roof to another, tail held high, giving a smoking chimney a wide berth. Momo looks at Shouto with concern written across her brow. Shouto blinks, and shakes his head.

“No, I’m. I’m fine.” Midoriya’s shoulders fall, and he sighs.

“Ok, good. Sorry about Aizawa. He’s just, crazy protective or whatever.”

“More importantly.” Uraraka steps up, between them, though her feet don’t quite touch the earth. “Are you two really ok with this? It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Well, we wanted to go into the forest anyway.” Shouto glances away again. Midoriya’s eyes are on him, and there’s barely a hands’ width between them. Momo touches his shoulder. He relaxes immediately.

“We should head back. We need to make our own preparations with what little time we have.” Above them, an arm of dust scattered with stars bisects the sky.

“Oh, r-right. Obviously. Yeah. We should, um. Go. Too.” Midoriya’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Shouto wonders whether he has freckles on his shoulders. When Midoriya looks at him, he cannot look away. “Sleep well, Shouto.”

Shouto nods. “And you.” He turns to Uraraka. “See you in the morning.” Momo puts both her hands on him, pushing him down the track.

“Yeah yeah, we’ll have plenty of time to talk on the trek to the mountains.” She nods over her shoulder at Midoriya and Uraraka. “Have a good one you two.”

Once they’ve turned the corner, Shouto remembers how to breathe again. “Thanks.”

Momo snorts, standing tall and taking long, easy strides up the slight incline of the road. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” She smirks. “I was a little worried you were

going to start bowing.”  

Shouto quickens his pace to keep up with her. Momo isn’t much taller than him, but in build and athleticism she has an edge on most. “I think I might have done.”

Momo’s laugh is loud enough to startle birds nestled in the eaves of a nearby building. “Thank the gods you have me.”

The next morning they wake with the sun. In the first light of day, Momo and Shouto leave the inn and head for the edge of town, where a small group of people have congregated to see them off. The All Might gives them a blessing, and Midoriya Inko presses Shouto’s hands in hers with the gentle ferocity he’s come to believe is the remit of mothers. Inko is as beautiful as her son, and when at last they turn and begin walking towards the forest, Shouto finds himself wishing that he’d had the chance to exchange more than a few words with her.

Tetsutetsu and Itsuka were there to wave off Jirou, who blushed and accepted their embraces without much resistance. Tetsutetsu started to weep even before they’d turned to leave, and Shouto tried not to stare. Shuzenji, the owner of the apothecary, was there, and Ochako’s parents. Many a Silvian tear is shed as they start their journey, and neither Momo nor Shouto mention it. All the same, Shouto cannot help but wonder whether there is something about Taiyo itself that allows its people to express themselves more freely than he ever saw anyone do in Kasai.

They walk past the scattered fringe of saplings that borders the forest down a dirt track, and the closer they get to the trees the taller they seem to be. It’s a bright, crisp day and Uraraka walks at the front of their group. Her feet barely touch the earth.

Once they’ve made it into the first few twilit metres of the forest proper, Uraraka turns, walking backwards to speak to them. “Alright. Jirou and Deku know this, but just so we’re all on the same page.” She taps her ample thigh. “My legs are not strong. Ever since I was a child, I’ve suffered pains in them that often prevent me from being able to walk. Fortunately, my affinity is levitation, hence this.” She gestures to the way her feet brush the earth. “I can handle it for about ten to fourteen hours on a given day. But if I tell you I need to stop, then we stop. Got it?”

Shouto nods, and a little ahead of him, Momo does the same. “Of course.” She turns, surveying their group with the practiced ease of her former life. “Is there anything else we need to know?”

Jirou, next to Shouto, shrugs and says, “Well, I don’t have an affinity.”

Shouto stares at her, but she doesn’t look at him. Ahead of them, Uraraka is engaging Midoriya in a lively conversation. Both of them are smiling. Shouto resists the urge to increase his pace and hear what they’re saying. Momo looks at Jirou in open surprise.

“Really? I apologise, I suppose I’d come to assume that everyone did these days.”

Jirou tugs at her earlobe. “I mean, most people do.” They’ve barely been walking for twenty minutes, but already the trees around them have climbed three times as high as the tallest building in Silvia. Shouto pulls a little heat into his body to counter the shade, and internally thanks the gods that let him.

“It’s not much of an issue.” Jirou goes on. Her teeth are bright in the shade. “I really am handy with a knife.”

Momo has slowed to join the two of them, and she raises an eyebrow. Shouto glances away from her, fighting a smile. “We should spar some time.”

Jirou stretches her arms over her head, then cracks her knuckles. “I’d be up for that.” Beneath their feet, twigs and leaves scattered across the path crunch like fresh snow.

“I’d beware, Momo was somewhat infamous in Kasai for being unbeatable in a fist fight.” Shouto glances up at Midoriya and Uraraka as he speaks. They’ve gotten a few metres ahead, and he adjusts his pace accordingly before glancing back at Jirou. She’s giving him a lopsided smile.

“Oh really?” Her dark eyes slide up to Momo. “You never told me that.”

“It didn’t seem relevant. Besides, I’m not interested in boasting about past triumphs.” In the lower light of the forest, it’s harder to tell, but Shouto catches the graze of pink across Momo’s cheeks as her hand falls to the hilt of her sword and then away.

He leans closer to Jirou and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s what she’s got me for.”

Jirou barks a quick laugh, and Shouto offers her half a smile in return. Momo huffs. “You’re ridiculous, Shouto.”

Overhead, a bird of prey with a wingspan a metre wide swoops silently above the treetops. Uraraka and Midoriya have paused on the path to wait for them, and Midoriya scratches the back of his head when they catch up. “Sorry, I, kind of forgot that you guys aren’t, uh, you know. Used to the forest.”

Uraraka elbows him. “What Deku means to say is that we’re on a deadline, so you can socialise to your hearts’ content as long as you keep up the pace.”

Midoriya frowns. “That’s not what I was –“

Shouto holds up a hand, and Midoriya pauses mid-sentence. “It’s fine, I understand.” They can’t see the mountains any more, buried as they are in the first few miles of the forest. “Perhaps we should discuss the purpose of this venture in a little more detail?”

Midoriya holds his gaze for a little longer than he needs to, and swallows, and then Uraraka clears her throat and he starts. “R-Right.” They start to walk again, and Midoriya gesticulates while he talks. “So, something is coming down from the mountains. Don’t know what, don’t know when, don’t know why.”

“Always an encouraging start.” Momo sighs, breezily, and her smile softens the sarcasm. Midoriya pulls a face and lifts a hand to rub the back of his head before dropping it again halfway.

“Well, uh, yeah. But the main thing is, the sooner we get there the better. Probably?” His voice lifts, and Shouto raises an eyebrow at him. Around them, bird song bubbles sporadically through the quiet of the trees. Midoriya lifts his chin. “What I do know is that our Council is concerned, and that’s reason enough to be doing this.”

Shouto adjusts the pack on his shoulders, pushing his thumbs beneath the rough, worn leather straps. “About that, actually. I’m not very familiar with the political infrastructure of Silvia. At least not beyond the obvious. Is it true that your Council includes non-human members?”

“And that is my cue to check out of this conversation.” Jirou interrupts, tucking her hands into her pockets. “Hey, ‘Chako, did you hear that crazy story about the prince who disappeared? Tetsu heard it from a merchant, who said…”

Shouto loses track of what Jirou’s saying as she and Uraraka move further ahead. Momo presses a hand to his shoulder before moving to join them, offering him a rueful smile. “It’s not that this isn’t fascinating, but…”

Shouto grins at her. “You’re transparent.”

Momo tosses her head, and his smile widens. “Well, you’re...” She glances at Midoriya and schools her features. “I’m not going to say what you are. It’s not appropriate for polite company.”

Midoriya huffs a laugh, and Momo turns and walks a little faster, needlessly tugging at the bottom of her leather armour. The track isn’t very wide, though it’s big enough for three people to walk abreast. Every now and then, a fork in the road will branch somewhere into the shadows of the forest, but Uraraka seems confident in where they’re going, and Shouto doesn’t see any reason not to trust her.

“How long have you known each other, again?” Midoriya’s gait is that of a man accustomed to travelling long distances by foot, and Shouto matches him easily enough, falling in step beside him.

Wind tugging at the thinner branches of the treetops sends them creaking, and Shouto shivers as the breeze rushes through the forest like the breath of some great beast. “Weren’t you going to explain to me the details of Silvia’s political system?”

“I can do both! Besides, if you intend to stick with us to the mountains, we’re going to need to get to know each other at some point.” Midoriya’s smile is bright and guileless and Shouto has only ever seen that kind of expression on children. Somehow, it doesn’t look out of place.

“Why would you think that we wouldn’t come to the mountains?”

Midoriya shrugs. He’s wearing the same white gloves he’d been wearing before, when they met. Shouto can’t help but wonder whether it has anything to do with the scars that wrap like ivy around his knuckles. He wonders if they bother him.

“Well, it’s dangerous, for one. I really don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into. And I’m more comfortable gambling with my own life than those of others.” He rubs the back of his neck, where his curls are small and press close to his skin. “I guess I just don’t see why you’d risk all this for a prophecy.”

Shouto hums, looking up at the backs of the women in front of them. Uraraka is laughing whilst Jirou grins. Momo towers over both of them, but neither seem to mind. Over the track, a strip of blue sky runs between the treetops like a river.

“I try to avoid letting people die, if I can help it.” He doesn’t look at Midoriya when he speaks, but he feels the other man’s eyes on him.

“Torino didn’t say we wouldn’t die if you came.”

Shouto nods. “But he said you would if I didn’t.” With an effort of will, he turns to meet Midoriya’s eyes. They’re dark and bright and green as the trees. “I wouldn’t just let you die.”

Midoriya looks away first, running his hands over his thighs in a quick, nervous gesture. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “You barely know me, Shouto.”

“I don’t think anyone deserves to die.” It’s not the first time Shouto has said the words, and they don’t feel as heavy any more. He feels Midoriya’s eyes on him, but this time he doesn’t turn to meet them. “Anyway, about this Council of yours?”

It’s a transparent effort to change the subject. Out of the corner of his eye, Shouto sees Midoriya’s shoulders fall. But then he takes a deep breath, and seems to gather himself. In the distance, birds call. “So, we have a representative from each of the major magical kingdoms of Taiyo, which, ah, you’ve probably heard, are actually thriving this side of the border with, um, Kasai.”

Midoriya’s explanation takes most of the afternoon, and by the end of it Shouto is fairly certain that he could repeat all the salient details back to him in about half an hour. He can’t find it in himself to mind. Midoriya’s voice is a rich tenor, and he speaks in a way that rises and falls like water in a brook. It’s not an unpleasant way to spend a journey, and he’s happy for Shouto to interject if he ever needs to clarify something. By the time that Uraraka calls for them to make camp, Midoriya is breathless, and Shouto suggests he have a drink of water with half a smile pulling at his lips.

It doesn’t take them long to find somewhere to set up camp. Uraraka explains that visitors often reach this far with guides. She smiles as she sits down, and Shouto imagines he can see the levitation spell sinking back into her body like a mirage. “Deku and I have been coming out this far since we were children. In a week’s time, I think we’ll start hitting the more difficult territory, but that’s where the foresters are, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Momo has made herself busy finding kindling for them whilst Midoriya excuses himself, and she sets it down beside Uraraka before crouching by a ring of stones and setting up a small pyramid for the fire itself. It’s not yet cold, but it’s getting cooler, and the sky is flushed a faint lilac where it filters through the trees. Jirou diverts Momo’s attention briefly, calling for a hand, and this leaves Shouto and Uraraka with the fire.

Uraraka smiles at him, and her cheeks are pale. “Would you mind? Honestly, I think I’m running a little low on magic.”

Shouto swallows as if that will help his dry throat, and crouches by the fire. He doesn’t have a flint, but that’s because he doesn’t need one. In theory. Ignoring the shaking in his fingers, he lifts his left hand to the kindling. Shouto pulls sparks from his fingertips with the same enthusiasm he’d have for pulling out his own teeth. From where she’s sitting Uraraka can’t see his hand, but after a moment she starts to frown, and Shouto feels sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

He pulls harder, and magic prickles at the skin beneath his fingertips as he coaxes a thumb-sized flame from his index finger. It flickers, licking at the dry sticks closest to him. He focuses on breathing. Then Momo crouches down next to him, dropping a hand to his shoulder and pulling a flint from her pocket. For a second, the flame in Shouto’s hand flares, and then it dies entirely.

Momo smiles at him. “Let me do that.”

Shouto lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and moves away from the fire, making an effort to ignore the look Uraraka gives him as he goes. Jirou points him in the direction of the stream, and he takes Momo’s flask with him as he tramps through the leaves of the forest floor, following the sound of running water when he’s close enough to hear it.

By the stream, Shouto pulls a fist-sized flame into his palm and stares at it whilst he counts his heartbeats. When he gets to fifty, he makes it a little bigger. The stream is clear and dark, barely a metre wide and running fast enough to bubble over the rocks in the riverbed. Shouto crouches in the dirt, and keeps counting until his hand is engulfed in a fire as big as his head. Across the stream, a small brown bird settles on a low branch, chirping before jumping away.

In the water, the fire fractures into a dozen pinprick points like starlight. Experimentally, Shouto pulls the flame into a snake that twists around his arm in a river of copper and gold. The heat ripples over his neck.

“Neat trick.” Shouto startles, hard, and the quick sting of a burn on his wrist is joined not long after by the scent of burned cotton. Jirou holds up both hands, and looks vaguely apologetic. “Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Shouto tries to focus past the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. “You didn’t. I’m fine.” Jirou gives him a look that say she thinks he’s lying, and he stands, ignoring the stiffness in his knees.

“Yeah. Ok. Well, Momo wanted to check that you were alright.”

“I can take care of myself.” Shouto clenches his teeth and shuts his eyes, lifting a hand in the direction of his scar before dropping it and slipping it into his pocket. “Sorry, I just…”

“Don’t need to tell me.” Jirou looks as uncomfortable as he feels, which is something, at least. “Anyway, foods nearly ready, so.” She drags out the last syllable, jerking a thumb in the direction of the camp. “You good to head back?”

Shouto nods, and Jirou nods back, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Sweet. Lets pretend this never happened.”

Shouto exhales. “Sounds good.”

By the time they get back to camp, dusk has fallen a little faster and deeper than it had before, and the others have set up their bedrolls. Shouto busies himself with his whilst Jirou goes for her pack, pulling out a bottle of something that smells strong enough to make his eyes water and a handful of leather cups.

Uraraka wrinkles her nose. “Is that what I think it is?”

Midoriya accepts his cup from Jirou with a grin, and swallows it as if it’s water. Shouto resolutely does not stare at the line of his throat as he does so. Jirou pours a cup for Momo, who eyes it suspiciously whilst Shouto straightens, and moves to sit beside Uraraka on one of the short, stout logs around the fire.

“What is it?”

Jirou smiles. “Forge special, Tetsu’s moonshine.” She pours another cup and pushes it in Shouto’s direction. He takes it, and narrows his eyes at the clear liquid inside. Jirou laughs. “Trust me, it’s perfect for aching muscles after a long day’s hike.”

Momo frowns. “Wouldn’t it be better to save it, then?”

Shouto sniffs at the liquid and tries not to cough as the acid hits the back of his throat. As it is, his eyes water, and he lowers the cup into his lap. Next to him, Uraraka nods sagely. “Wise decision.”

Jirou snorts, sitting on another log beside them. “Come on, you’re just bitter because of that one time –“

Uraraka cuts across her, waving her hands. “And our new friends definitely don’t need that story about me until I’ve at least had the chance to figure out whether or not they snore.” She turns to Shouto, eyes narrowed. “Do you?”

“Um.”

Midoriya laughs, sitting beside Jirou as she pours him another cup of moonshine. “Ochako, leave the poor man alone.” His eyes glitter as he raises his cup to his mouth. “You’ll have your answer soon enough, anyway.”

Momo sits opposite them and pulls out a hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth from her pack. Uraraka starts and sits up a little before waving at Midoriya. “I have some bread in my bag, Deku, could you – ?” She doesn’t need to finish her sentence, Midoriya is already on his feet.

Between them, the fire spits and crackles, and as night falls at last the flames shine over the forest floor like sunlight through water. They eat in companionable silence for a little while, before Shouto tentatively lifts the moonshine to his lips. It’s strong, but it’s not the worst thing he’s had, and it pushes the feeling of warmth through his body like a layer of cotton. He relaxes, and next to him Uraraka sighs, leaving her own drink untouched.

“Was it really that bad?”

Uraraka, who had been staring at the fire, starts when he speaks. The colour has returned to her cheeks by now, and he can feel the magic between them, easy and gentle as a warm day in spring. “Was what that bad?”

Shouto raises his cup. “The last time you drank this. Whatever happened afterwards, was it that bad?” Beside him, Midoriya and Jirou are engaged in either storytelling or a drinking game. Possibly both. On the other side of the fire, Momo is leaning back and watching the flames whilst she sips at her drink.

Uraraka flushes a very pretty pink. “Well, um, it’s not.” She sighs, and scowls at the drink in her hand. “It was silly. Something with Deku, when.” She pauses, and looks at him with an expression he can’t read. “Anyway, it was a long time ago.”

Shouto waits for her to elaborate, and when she doesn’t he looks back at the fire, watching the flames climb over one another to eat at the logs in its heart. “When you were lovers, you mean?”

Uraraka sighs. “If you’re thinking that we’re still - ” She looks at him, and then looks away. “We’re not.” Her smile is easier this time. “He is very dear to me, and he always will be, but…” She touches her cheek, and pushes her hair behind her ear. “I’m not sure how to say this.”

“You don’t need to.” Shouto offers her a smile. In the distance, an owl cries into the night. “I mean, we’ve got some time. You don’t need to unpack it all at once.”

Uraraka’s gaze flickers across his face, and Shouto resists the urge to look away. Then she presses her drink into his hand with a wry smile. “I like you, Shouto. Don’t make me regret that.”

Shouto chuckles, taking the drink and lifting it to his lips. The sip he takes burns his tongue and lingers, sweetly, in the back of his throat. Above them, the stars are obscured by the forest’s canopy. “I’ll do my best.”

Shouto is woken before sunrise by the sound of Uraraka’s voice. She sounds frightened, and she’s calling Midoriya’s name. Adrenaline rushes into his veins like ice water, and Shouto takes stock of his senses as he fights his way past the last few cobwebs of sleep. It’s a cold morning, though his body has done wonders in warming his bedroll. In any other situation, he’d have been inclined to feign sleep for a little while longer.

The smell of ash mixes with that of the earth and leaves, but there’s not much else to notice. Shouto’s mouth feels fuzzy, but he’s fairly certain that’s thanks more to the moonshine than it is to any foul play. He can hear Uraraka, whispering, and Momo’s light snores. Neither of these is an immediate concern.

The hairs on the back of Shouto’s neck prickle, standing on end as he hears something else, too. Something breathing, low and heavy. Something big. Frost creeps down Shouto’s forearm, and with an affected sigh he rolls onto his side, slowly opening his eyes.

That’s a bear.

On all fours, it stands at five and a half feet tall. Its fur is thick and dark, and it moves slowly, huffing as it nudges its muzzle against Uraraka’s pack. Its claws are long, and they leave gouges in the hard dry earth as if it’s wet clay. Uraraka is sat at the other end of her bedroll, reaching for Midoriya, wide eyes fixed on the animal barely an arm’s length away from her.

Shouto starts to sit up, and the bear huffs, lifting its great, shaggy head and looking in his direction. Its nostrils flare. Shouto counts his breaths, and coaxes frost into the earth, pushing it in the direction of the animal and staying very, very still.

“There’s no need for that.”

Midoriya’s voice is blurred by sleep, and as he speaks he yawns. Shouto doesn’t take his eyes off the bear, but the frost stops halfway between them. Momo abruptly stops snoring. Uraraka grabs at Midoriya’s sleeve.

“Deku. You need to wake up, there’s a...”

Her movements are small and slow, but the bear’s ears twitch, and it moves its head in her direction. Midoriya puts his hand over hers, and offers her a smile. “Yes, that certainly is a bear.”

He pushes his blankets down and gets to his feet, touching Uraraka’s shoulder briefly as he does so before moving towards the bear. Its black lips pull back over long yellow teeth as he approaches, and it huffs a loud inhale, nostrils flaring. And then Midoriya gets down on his knees, and bows his head. In front of the bear. In front of the bear which is currently baring its teeth.

Shouto pulls frost forward from his body with an urgency that feels like panic, and the bear moves backward, swinging its heavy head in his direction. But then Midoriya lifts his hand. When he speaks, he does so evenly, in a tone that brooks no room for disagreement. “Shouto, if you don’t mind, I would like to avoid getting my head bitten off if at all possible.” Shouto pulls the ice to a standstill inches away from one of the bear’s paws.

There’s a rustle of fabric as Momo moves to sit up in her bedroll behind him. Elsewhere in the forest, oblivious to the confrontation occurring between them, birds sing to greet the day.

Midoriya speaks again in the same quiet, even voice. “Trust me. Please.”

Shouto tears his eyes away from the bear to stare at the back of Midoriya’s head. His palms are sweating, despite the chill running down the right side of his body. He swallows, and, fighting every instinct in his body, he does nothing. A line of tension he’d barely noticed falls from Midoriya’s shoulders, and then he speaks in a language that is categorically not human.

Immediately, the bear turns to him. Midoriya says something else, and the sounds he makes are halfway between those of stone hitting stone and branches breaking. Shouto can feel the magic in his words, and he has no idea what they mean. After a dozen heartbeats or so, the bear tilts its head to the side, and then presses forward.

In the faint gold light of the morning sun, as it filters down through the trees, Midoriya Izuku presses his forehead to that of a wild brown bear, and lifts a hand to sink his bare fingers into the fur on the side of its head. The bear huffs, and Midoriya smiles, and lets go.

Then the bear turns and walks away. Shouto watches it go, until it’s barely a boulder in the distance, half hidden by the avenues of trees. Behind Midoriya, Uraraka sighs and presses a hand to her chest. “Oh gods, I thought I was going to die.”

Midoriya laughs, sitting back down on her bedroll. “She wouldn’t have killed you.” His mouth pulls down a little. “Well, as long as you didn’t frighten her.” His gaze shifts to Shouto, and Shouto spreads his hands in half a shrug.

“Where I come from, bears aren’t as ready for a diplomatic solution as they seem to be in Taiyo.”

Midoriya rubs the back of his neck. He’d been sleeping in his shirt, and the neck is loose and open, exposing his chest. If Shouto were to make an educated guess based on the way his freckles ran from his neck over his collarbone, he would assume that he did indeed have freckles on his shoulders. He tries not to linger on that thought. “Well, we’ve been blessed by the All Might. That comes with certain privileges.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow, but before he has a chance to ask about the nature of these privileges, Uraraka speaks, tapping her chin. “What was she doing this far south anyway? The last time we had bears come so close to the edge of the forest was during the long drought.”

Midoriya sobers, and he raises his hands to pull at the loose strings at the neck of his shirt, tying them neatly with deft movements despite the ropes of scars around his fingers. “It’s the mountain again. She says it’s an old beast. Something angry.”

“Well that doesn’t sound ominous at all.” Jirou yawns, reaching into her pack to pull out her jacket. Uraraka turns to stare at her.

“Were you awake this whole time?”

Jirou shrugs, getting to her feet and starting to tidy her bedroll. “Well, yeah. Didn’t much fancy being bear food.” She jerks her head at Midoriya. “Thanks Deku.”

“Don’t mention it.” Midoriya flushes, and a smile finds its way onto Shouto’s lips. “It’s really nothing, like I said, since the All Might blessed us…”

“We’re guests of the forest, blah blah blah, right?” Jirou grins at him. “Don’t tell me all those years at the Council have made you believe in that stuff.”

They’ve been hiking for three days by the time they first encounter a threat from the mountains. The journey has been easy until that point, the track is even and barely inclines. The group spend their time in conversation and, after the first day, short stretches of companionable silence, focusing on keeping a pace that Midoriya seems increasingly anxious to observe.

There’s nothing about the track to suggest that they’re in danger. To Shouto’s eyes, it’s just empty and quiet, framed by the great spines of the towering trees which line their path. But ahead of him, both Midoriya and Uraraka pause, tilting their heads, and that’s enough to make him pay closer attention to his surroundings.

Which is just as well, since about three seconds later the earth explodes.

More accurately, about a ton of earth in the road two feet in front of Uraraka bursts upwards like a geyser, and stretches into something liquid and scabbed with dry dirt in a shape wide enough to block the track and the sky beyond it. The thing looks not unlike the ghosts Shouto’s sister used to tease him with. It casts a long shadow over their party, and pushes against the trees on either side of the road, which sway backwards in the fractured ground.

Shouto stares, pulling magic into his fingertips, and the thing strikes fast as a viper. He jumps to the side, barely avoiding a column of clay that punches into the track and breaks it as if it’s made of glass. Shouto hears Momo shout something and sees her draw her sword. She strikes at one of the thing’s many arms, and it melts like candle wax around her blade before solidifying and yanking it out of her hand.

Momo jumps backwards, avoiding being caught by the thing, and Shouto lifts a hand crackling with magic and hesitates. Momo stares at him as if he’s grown a second head.

“Midoriya!”

Midoriya yelps from where, with supernatural strength, he’s leapt twelve feet into the air to avoid another striking limb. Uraraka is standing next to a tree that is working its way free from the earth under her fingertips. Jirou is nowhere to be seen. “Yes! Yes, fight the thing!”

Shouto doesn’t need to be told twice. He exhales mist into the hot midday sun and pushes his hand forward, feeling the strength of his magic push back like a heavy weight. A mountain of ice explodes from his right foot, racing up the path like an avalanche and seizing the creature in a handful of seconds. The thing screams, something awful that sounds like metal on stone, and one of its appendages, something that has holes for eyes and rocks for teeth, writhes halfway up the wall of ice.

But the rest of it is still. The five of them are tense for a moment, breathless, watching it. When the thing does little else but scream, they start to relax. Midoriya looks at Uraraka. “Will you do the honours?”

Uraraka purses her lips, moving forward on feet that barely brush the ground. The tree she had been touching floats above the earth as if suspended by an invisible river. Shouto feels ice creeping over his skin and tries to ignore the way that half of him is shivering. Instead, he watches as Uraraka leaves the ground entirely, floating up into the air to touch the head of the clay thing.

As soon as she touches it, the clay wraps around her hand. Shouto pulls on his magic, but Midoriya stops him with a gesture. Uraraka clenches her jaw, and then she shuts her eyes and says, “sleep.” The word rings with power that tastes like metal in Shouto’s mouth. For a second, the clay keeps coiling around Uraraka’s hand, liquid and powerful as a python. Then it just stops. Uraraka exhales, and she pulls, and the dirt around her hand cracks and shatters, falling in a heavy rain down the slick wall of ice.

Uraraka floats back down to the earth, and when she reaches it her feet connect fully with the ground. She stumbles a little, and Midoriya catches her, helping her to sit by the side of the road. Shouto stares up at the earth still encased in his ice. It’s lifeless now, or seems to be. Jirou steps out of the trees and moves to Uraraka’s side.

“Are you alright?”

“Where were you?” Momo is breathless, and there’s mud smeared across her cheek. She doesn’t look pleased to see Jirou. Jirou, for her part, takes this on the chin, flicking a knife from her sleeve with the dexterity of a seamstress.

“I’m the knife girl, remember?” She gestures at the wall of ice, which towers twenty-five feet above them. “Not much I can do about living dirt.” She rolls the knife between her fingers before flicking it back down her sleeve. “It doesn’t bleed.”

Momo doesn’t look impressed, and she opens her mouth to say something when they’re interrupted by Midoriya, speaking softly to Uraraka. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I’d thought…Do you need to stop?”

Sweat is running down Uraraka’s temples, and she waves off Midoriya’s anxious gesturing. “No, it’s alright, just give me a moment. I’m not used to that kind of magic.” She frowns down at the track before her feet. “It was…twisted, somehow.” She chews the inside of her cheek, and gives Midoriya a look that Shouto can’t read. “It didn’t want to sleep.”

“What was it?” Shouto directs his question at Midoriya, but all of them stare at him. All except Momo. He shifts his weight under the attention, blowing his hair out of his eyes and wishing he’d cut it back in Silvia. “What?”

Jirou clears her throat. “Uh, it’s just… You’re not even out of breath, wonder boy.” She frowns. “Have you got some kind of secret magical lineage we don’t know about?”

Shouto’s mouth twists, and Momo goes to speak but Midoriya beats her to it. “He’s not breathless, but he’s shivering.” Shouto isn’t sure how comfortable he is with this kind of detail being shared with the group. Midoriya doesn’t seem to notice, reaching for the patch of frost creeping over his sleeve. “Are you alright?”

Shouto pulls his arm away and wills a wave of heat to wash over the right side of his body, melting the ice with a hiss. Uraraka and Jirou stare, and he tries not to fidget under their attention. “I’m fine.” He clears his throat and jerks his chin at the ice wall. “Sorry. I thought we were facing a more formidable opponent.”

Midoriya stares at him. “Don’t apologise!” He grins a little. “It would have been more formidable if we hadn’t had so fearsome an ally.”

Shouto looks anywhere that isn’t bright eyes and freckles. Behind him, Momo clears her throat. “Shouto is brilliant, but he also asked a question. What the hell was that thing? And what’s wrong with Uraraka?”

Uraraka waves her off, but her skin is pale and wet with sweat. “I’m fine.”

Midoriya looks from Uraraka to Momo, and then to the wall of ice with something like awe. “No, it’s. Well, if I were to make an educated guess.” He pauses, fiddling with his sleeve. “And honestly, I think I’m probably well placed to do so.” Jirou clears her throat, loudly, and Midoriya starts. “W-well. It has to do with the thing in the mountains. That thing... It was just, hatred. Hatred given life. And that hatred found a vessel, and that vessel was the earth. Honestly, we were lucky.”

Momo stares pointedly at the mass of earth encased in the ice. “Lucky?”

Shouto moves to start melting her sword from a point on the other side of the track. In the quiet of the afternoon, their conversation carries. Midoriya hums. “Yeah, I mean, this thing was basically mindless, and not that fast.”

Shouto pauses, hand wrapped in a shimmer of heat. “So the closer we get to the foothills, the faster and smarter these things will be?” The ice beneath his fingers starts to bubble as it melts.

Midoriya nods. “Yeah, basically.”

Jirou sighs, sitting down next to Uraraka and getting some dried meat from her bag. She passes a strip to Uraraka before biting down on a chunk herself, talking as she eats. “Well, that’s just fantastic. And how exactly are we going to deal with that? Don’t suppose you could muster up some of that magic bear-whispering for the bone-crushing monsters, could you?”

Midoriya laughs. “Oh, what, the blessing? N-no, that wouldn’t work. These, well, this,” he gestures at the thing in the ice, “it was mindless. The denizens of the forest will grant us passage because they have a will with which to do so. That thing was already possessed by the will of another. It couldn’t have let us pass even if it had the capacity to want to.”

Momo takes her sword from Shouto with a quiet word of thanks, and sets down her pack, pulling out a long rag and beginning to wipe it dry. She crouches as she does so, and her hair falls into her face. “So what now? I’m assuming we’ll see more of these things the further in we go.”

Uraraka looks at Midoriya. “We should probably start charming our camps. Just in case.” Midoriya nods.

“Agreed. I’d like to think these things won’t be a daily challenge, but.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve learnt not to rely on my luck.”

“And what about the non-magical people in the group?” Jirou interjects, raising a hand. Midoriya smiles at her, and the expression is a little more wicked than usual.

“I think it’s time I give you a few lessons in Silvian folklore.” Jirou scowls, then sticks her tongue out at him. From where he’s standing in the middle of the road, melting a door through the ice wall, Shouto laughs. He feels Midoriya’s eyes on him and the ice beneath his fingers starts to steam. By the side of the road, Momo grins.

They don’t walk much further that day, though Uraraka is able to charm herself for another two miles or so. They take their time setting up camp, and Midoriya shows Momo a handful of plants worth foraging whilst Shouto talks to Jirou about the forge. She tells him about how she’d been found, lost in the woods near Silvia, by Itsuka when she was a child. How Itsuka and Tetsutetsu had taken her in. How it felt to be surrounded by magic and not know how to wield it.

When Momo and Midoriya return from the woods, hands heavy with the fruit of their labour, Momo sits as far away from Jirou as the rocks they’ve pushed around the fire will allow. Midoriya is either oblivious to this or chooses to ignore it, sitting between Uraraka and Shouto with a wide, bright smile.

“So! Who wants to hear the story of the All Might?”

Jirou kicks at a pebble in the dirt. “Please, gods no.”

Midoriya laughs. “For a woman who sings so many old stories, you don’t seem to enjoy them all that much.”

Jirou glares at him. “There was a reason those dusty old tales got put to music, Deku, and you know it. It’s because they were too boring to listen to without it.” In the distance a wolf howls, and the night is still. It’s warm enough, and they barely need the fire, though its presence is a comfort all the same.

Shouto holds his hands out in front of it, letting the heat press against his palms, and tries very hard not to think of fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters. Momo reaches out to touch his knee and he starts, staring down at the frost twisting around his fingers. Shouto wills it away before folding his hands in between his legs and taking a deep breath. Then he looks up, and meets Midoriya’s eyes. His brow is furrowed, and he’s looking at Shouto with a kind of tenderness Shouto doesn’t know how to accept.

“You ok?”

His voice is soft. Abruptly, Uraraka engages Jirou in a loud conversation about whether or not she knows that one song about the halfling and the dwarves and the dragon under the mountain. Shouto untangles his fingers and runs a hand over his knee before setting it on the rough, cool stone on which he’s sitting. “I’m fine. I’d like to hear a story about your All Might, if you’re willing to share one.”

Across the fire Jirou groans. “Traitor. I trusted you.” Uraraka punches her lightly in the arm, and Jirou grins at her. Shouto blinks slowly, then looks at Midoriya.

“What did I do?”

Midoriya snorts, and it’s graceless and stupid and Shouto feels blood rushing to his face. He wills a little magic to push it back down. “Nothing, you’re good. Jirou just likes to complain.”

There’s a break in the forest canopy just above where they’ve set up camp, and in it the sky is busy with stars that shine bright under the half-light of the gibbous moon. Insects whistle in the dark.

“I just tell it like it is.” Jirou pushes her short, choppy hair back from her face with a sigh and a grin. “Alright, get it over with.”

The fire pops, and Momo sits forward, resting her chin on her hands and her elbows on her knees. Uraraka reaches down for her flask, and offers Midoriya a soft smile in the firelight. Midoriya grins, slaps his thighs, and gets to his feet. “Well! Since you asked so graciously.”

He moves to stand behind the fire, and all of them watch him. Shouto feels a smile pulling at his lips and doesn’t fight it off. Midoriya gestures up, past the trees to the stars above them, and in the dark his eyes are bright, his smile is wide, and shadows fall dancing like revellers over his cheeks. “It started with the sun and moon, long ago, far before the birth of man. Light and dark, chaos and harmony, creation and destruction. One god that would come to love mankind. Another that would hate them.”

He talks well into the night, long enough for the stars to shift above them, turning like the great weight of the world as it swings through the seasons. Midoriya weaves a tale of gods, and magic, of brothers scorned and charity. He speaks of an old, bitter fight, and a bright, mighty love. He speaks of the kindness of humanity and its cruelty. He speaks of wonder and despair.

As he talks, he brings lights dancing over his fingers in the shapes of figures in his tale. They’re not fire, Shouto knows that much: if anything they’re more like witchlights. But they dance and turn and leap over one another like living ink in a moving picture. By the time Midoriya is finished, Shouto knows he’s not the only one who’s found themselves a little swept away. Momo’s eyes are as bright as they were when she was a child, well before they ran from Kasai. Uraraka looks tired, and fond, and her eyelids keep hazarding somewhere close to fully shut. Jirou has a half-full cup of moonshine in her hand, but she hasn’t bothered to refill it.

“So your All Might is a god?” Shouto asks, in the fragile silence after Midoriya stops. Midoriya smiles widely enough to dimple his cheeks and Shouto chalks the giddiness that rises in him down to fatigue.

“Yes! Well, sort of. He gave up his godhood for Silvia. To keep us safe. Well,” Midoriya scratches the back of his head, and the last whispers of the magic from his story fade into the night. “That’s how the story goes, anyway.”

“S’a good story.” Shouto guesses Jirou’s words are slurred by sleep rather than alcohol, given the way she’d been drinking so easily on their first night together. She blinks slowly at Midoriya, then yawns, raising her cup. “I’ll give you that, Izuku. Even if this is the….twenty-eighteenth time I’ve heard it.” She yawns again. “Yeah, alright, I’m going to sleep.” Jirou stands, tipping the rest of her cup back into the bottle of moonshine and tucking it into her pack. Then she reaches out and shakes Uraraka’s shoulder.

Uraraka starts, and wipes a little saliva from the corner of her mouth before wincing and giving Midoriya an apologetic smile. “Sorry Deku. I think that magic from earlier really wiped me out.” Midoriya laughs, waving her off.

“As if you need to apologise ‘Chako, you’ve heard me telling that story since we learned how to string sentences together.” Midoriya stoops over the bloody embers that are what remains of their fire. No longer distracted by his voice, Shouto shivers in the cold and sends a little heat shooting through his body to his toes and fingertips.

Uraraka laughs, softly, and runs a hand over her forehead as she gets slowly to her feet. “That’s true.” She yawns, covering her mouth. “Well, you’ve gotten good at it, so I don’t really mind hearing it again.” She moves stiffly. Shouto reminds himself that she’ll ask for help if she wants it. Midoriya doesn’t look concerned, instead he pokes at the fire before smothering it with earth.

“I’m surprised that we’ve never heard it before. I suppose Kasai is famous for giving little time to other cultures or their religions, but...” For her part, Momo doesn’t look tired. Even relaxed as she is, she doesn’t slump, and her eyes are wide and bright. “I didn’t think our ignorance was so great. You’d think a bard or two at least would have shared it.”

Midoriya finishes with the fire and sits down next to Shouto again, close enough that their thighs are touching. Shouto has no idea what to do about this, so he does nothing. Instead he looks at Momo. “It was banned, a long time ago. The administration thought that a tale like that gave too much power to Taiyo, even in fiction. Kasai barely features. So the story was put aside in favour of others which cast the kingdom in a more favourable light.”

“You sound like you have the inside line.” Midoriya’s tone is kind, not accusatory. Shouto bristles all the same.

“We were both schooled in the history of the administration during our time in Kasai.” He smirks at Momo. “I just paid more attention in class.”

Momo huffs. “I paid plenty of attention! I just don’t see much point in memorising their propaganda.”

Shouto looks at his left hand, turning it in the dark and imagining he can make out the handful of scars there. “It’s worth knowing which lies you need to navigate.”

“You’re really not a big fan of Kasai, are you?” Midoriya muses, sitting forward and drawing aimless patterns in the dirt with a stick. Shouto shrugs, sitting back.

Momo answers, “It’s not the kingdom. We just….left for personal reasons. It’s not all bad.”

Shouto feels Midoriya’s eyes on him and runs his fingers lightly over the rough skin of his scar and then up through his hair, which is dull and tacky with dye. “The schools aren’t bad.”

Midoriya brightens at this, and Shouto looks at him sidelong. “I heard that! That children are given lessons in science and magic and history.”

“Well, rich children.” Momo interrupts, and Midoriya visibly deflates. Shouto fights a losing battle against another smile. Momo shrugs, “I mean, that’s pretty much the Kasai story. If you’ve got money, things are great. If you don’t, not so much.”

Midoriya frowns. “But don’t your administration do something to address that? I heard Kasai has a formidable political infrastructure. With that kind of coordination they could run schemes to address things like poverty and sickness, to name but a few. Like in Shiketsu.”

“Well I wouldn’t call them our administration. We defected.” Momo taps her chin. “But yes, you’re right, in theory. And sometimes they will do that. Mostly as a publicity stunt, if they feel like they’re losing power or popular favour. But you’ve got to remember that the administration are the rich, and there are few things as formidable as self-interest.”

Midoriya’s frown deepens. He opens his mouth to object, and Shouto knows where this conversation is going and he doesn’t want to be there. So he yawns, loudly, and stretches his arms. “Well, we should sleep.” He gives Momo a look, and she returns it with a quick, wry smile.

“You’re right. We’ll have a long day tomorrow, right Midoriya?”

Midoriya looks confused, but after a moment he nods. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Shouto stands and turns, walking a few feet away from the fire to unfold his bedroll whilst Midoriya activates a charm that glitters green in a circle around their campsite. If Shouto presses his hand to the earth, he can feel the power of it in his fingertips.

As he pulls the rough sheepskin of his bedroll around his body, he watches Midoriya carefully step around Uraraka and then trip on a twig. Shouto smiles a little, watching the broad-shouldered man awkwardly catch himself before beginning to pull off his jacket. For a moment, Shouto keeps watching. Then he turns, and stares instead at the back of Momo’s head and the quiet trees around them.

He hears Midoriya get into his bedroll with a rustle and a whisper of fabric. Uraraka snores quietly between them. Shouto feels the cold creeping down his side from the earth and pushes heat back to meet it. He considers getting either of the remedies Uraraka had sold him nearly a week ago from his pack, but decides against it. The cloth he’s using as a pillow still smells like lavender, and he focuses on that, pressing his palm against the forest floor and seeking the hum of Midoriya’s magic.

Like that, at last, Shouto sleeps.

They’ve not been walking for long on their sixth day when Uraraka drifts back to Shouto’s side and asks, casually, as if she’s commenting on the weather, “So which noble household do you belong to, anyway?”

Shouto nearly falls flat on his face, and is saved by Uraraka’s fingers on his arm and the jarring sensation of floating on nothing at all. He finds his feet again, and Uraraka releases the spell without a word, brown eyes bright in the morning sun. Shouto straightens his clothes and starts walking.

“What would make you think that?”

Uraraka snorts, easily catching up with him, and Shouto tries to ignore the blisters on his feet at the same time as he wrestles with his envy of the way hers barely touch the earth. “I mean, everything? The way you talk, the way you hold your spoon…”

Shouto frowns. “What’s wrong with the way I hold my spoon?”

Uraraka grins. “I mean, the fact that there even is a ‘way’ you hold your spoon kind of speaks for itself.” She puts on a thicker accent than usual, and Shouto can’t tell whether she’s joking. “Us regular folk don’t fuss tha’ much abou’ the way we eat our stew.”

Blood rushes up the back of Shouto’s neck, and he looks up at the sky. Clouds are scattered through the blue today, but it’s still warm, and he’s grateful that they’ve caught the embers of the summer. The path isn’t narrow, yet, but he has no doubt it would be far harder in rain or snow.

“Well, I’m not a noble, however strangely I might hold my spoon.”

Ahead of them, Jirou and Momo are deep in conversation, and a little further on Midoriya is leading the group, whistling. Shouto watches the back of his head for a moment. The sun catches on his curls, which glitter like a raven’s wings. Uraraka elbows him, and Shouto startles.

“Sorry, lover-boy, thought you might start catching flies.” The smile on her face tells him there’s no point in arguing, so he doesn’t bother. “If you’re not a noble, what were you? A merchant of some kind? Ooh! The son a priest? One of the rich ones? They have rich priests in Kasai, don’t they? Never made much sense to me, that. Then again, everyone needs money these days.”

Shouto blinks, and Uraraka catches herself, smiling brightly. “Sorry, I rambled. But really, you’re definitely a rich kid. There’s got to be a story.”

Shouto looks away from her, into the depths of the forest. Past the path, the foliage thickens like a fog and obscures anything more than a hundred feet off the track. “What if I don’t want to share?”

Uraraka hums. “Well, you don’t have to give me all the gory details. But we don’t often meet folk as rich as you. I guess I’m just curious.”

Shouto lifts a hand to his scar, and pauses at the last moment to instead pull his fingers through his hair. He takes a deep breath, and looks up in time to catch Jirou whispering something into Momo’s ear. A smile pulls at he corner of his mouth.

“Momo and I served on the royal guard. I suppose that would instill certain… habits.”

“Oh, really?” Uraraka bounces a little in her excitement, before tapping her chin with her finger. “I didn’t know that was the kind of job you could quit.”

Shouto’s mouth twists, and he kicks a pebble in the path. “It’s not.”

Next to him, Uraraka is quiet for a moment. She has her hands wrapped around the straps of her pack, and she stares ahead as she walks, barely paying attention to the track. “So I guess that makes you a rebel, then?”

Shouto huffs. “Hardly.” He bites the inside of his cheek. Somewhere above them, a bird bursts from the canopy in a hurry with a snap of wings and a splinter of branches. “If anything, you could call me a coward.” The word is dull by now, with time, but it still tastes bitter in his mouth.

Uraraka hums. “Well, you haven’t been a coward yet.” She lifts the pack on her shoulders, and then looks up at him. “I think that’s the kind of thing you choose, from one moment to another.”

Shouto inclines his head, but he looks away from her again. Ahead of them, Jirou is laughing at something Momo’s said, and as he looks Midoriya glances back.

Shouto tells himself that this makes sense, because they’re venturing through dangerous territory and Midoriya is leading them. But he can’t help but think their eyes meet, just for a moment, before Midoriya turns back around.

“Maybe. But some things stick.” He walks a little faster, and Uraraka increases her pace to match him. They’re quiet for a while after that.

A few hours later, Uraraka and Jirou are teasing Momo for the transparency of her noble upbringing. Shouto is walking behind them, and ahead Midoriya is glancing back every now and then to add a comment or interject.

Uraraka is mid-rant, “Yaoyorozu! I mean, come on, have you ever met a working person with that name? If they had it they’d hide it for fear of people thinking they were living under false pretences.”

Momo blushes, and Shouto is starting to laugh, and then an arrow wrapped in something like fire comes flying too fast out of the trees and lands with a sick thump in Midoriya’s shoulder.

Several things happen at once. Momo draws her sword, and with a flick of her wrists Jirou has daggers in either hand. Uraraka rushes to Midoriya’s side as he gives a shout of pain and stumbles, hair standing on end as if he’s been hit by lightning. Shouto pulls ice around his arm and whirls, looking for their assailant.

There’s a whistle, and suddenly a volley of arrows come flying into the path. Shouto has the distinct impression of being caught in a shooting gallery before he throws up two thick sheets of ice. They catch most of the arrows, which bury themselves into the sheets with a thump. Momo catches one of the strays with an impossibly fast swing of her sword, and Jirou stares at her as the broken wood clatters to the earth.

In the brief respite Shouto’s magic gives them, he rushes to Midoriya, who has sunken to one knee. Uraraka is pressing her hands around the arrow sticking out of his shoulder, and her magic glows pink over the blood of the wound itself.

Midoriya’s skin is blackened and bubbling where it’s been burned. Shouto’s stomach turns and he crouches. The arrow hasn’t exited Midoriya’s shoulder on the other side, probably thanks to the leather jerkin he’s wearing. Not that it did much to protect him.

Shouto swears, vehemently, and glances up as the sound of footsteps climbs into the air between them. “Momo.”

She’s already jogging to the end of one of the ice sheets. “I’m on it.”

Shouto meets Uraraka’s eyes over Midoriya’s back, and they’re wide and panicked. “Have you ever dealt with an arrow wound before?” She shakes her head.

“Broken bones, yes, but this - I know the theory but…” She cuts herself off, biting her lip. Between them, Midoriya takes a shuddering breath, curling his hand where it rests on his thigh.

“It’s alright Ochako. I’m ok.”

Shouto resists the urge to hit him, focusing instead on Uraraka. “Alright, just, do as I say. First, please, give him something to dull the pain.” Uraraka nods, and a wave of light falls over Midoriya’s body.

He stops shaking, and Shouto draws a knife from a sheath at his hip, slicing at the shoulder of the jerkin and pulling it free, murmuring a quick apology as he does so before pulling down Midoriya’s shirt beneath it. Were the situation any different, he might have been distracted, but he’s done this a dozen times before for as many people, and his movements are quick and methodical. The arrow hasn’t broken the skin of Midoriya’s back, but it’s red, taut and distended by the blade buried in his muscles. Shouto grits his teeth.

He puts his hand on Midoriya’s good arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a burst of light as Momo engages one of their attackers. With an effort, he ignores her, focusing instead on the man in front of him. They’re close enough that Midoriya’s curls are touching his forehead, and Shouto can see the sweat dripping from his temples. Shouto waits for him to meet his eyes. Midoriya’s pupils are constricted, leaving his eyes a wash of green. Shouto swallows. The smell of blood and sweat is thick in the air between them.

“Midoriya, this is going to hurt.”

Midoriya forces a bark of a laugh and winces when his body moves. “Y-yeah, I figured.” He jerks his chin at his injured shoulder. “Just get it over with, please.”

In the corner of his eye, Shouto notices Momo stop fighting, but he doesn’t have time to wonder why. Instead, he takes a deep breath in an effort to dispel the bile rising in his throat, and wraps his hand around the slender wood of the arrow. It crackles with something that feels like cotton charged with ozone. He looks at Uraraka. “Brace him.”

She nods, and then Shouto shoves the arrow forwards, through Midoriya’s body. Midoriya shouts in pain and Shouto tries to ignore it, snapping the head off the arrow in one quick motion and dropping the thing, slippery as it is with Midoriya’s blood. He pulls the shaft free, and Midoriya shudders. Shouto looks at Uraraka. “Please check for debris.”

Looking worriedly at the back of Midoriya’s head, Uraraka moves her fingers to the bloody hole left by the arrow in his shoulder. Magic glows around her fingertips, and a handful of splinters float free from the wound, dripping red.

Shouto’s stomach flips. Jirou is talking to a man a few feet away. Shouto focuses on Midoriya.

He drops his pack, and tugs a shirt from it, tearing one sleeve and folding it into a wad of fabric before doing the same with the other. He hands one of them to Uraraka, and she immediately moves to try and stop the bleeding on Midoriya’s back whilst Shouto does the same on his chest. Midoriya shivers, and Shouto’s hand hovers over his shirtsleeve before settling on his upper arm.

Midoriya blinks at him. His face is wet with sweat and tears. “You’ve got nice eyes, Shouto.”

Shouto swallows, trying to pull on a smile and resisting the urge to tell him he’s delirious. “Thank you. So do you. Can you feel your fingers?”

Midoriya’s right hand wiggles by Shouto’s side, though he flinches as he moves his fingers. “Y-yeah. Are you a physician?”

Shouto shakes his head. “Nothing of the sort.” Momo and Jirou are moving closer, and there’s a man with them. Shouto looks at Uraraka. “Can you help him heal?”

Uraraka doesn’t look as nervous as before. She nods. “But it’ll take a lot out of him. He’ll probably fall unconscious.”

Shouto glances in the direction of Momo and Jirou. Jirou is smiling, and the man with them is blonde and dressed in rich clothes that are a little too big for him. At the end of the ice walls, a small group of men is standing with bows hanging by their sides. He looks back to Uraraka.

“I can carry him. Do it.”

Between them, Midoriya huffs a faint laugh. “I’m right here, y’know.” Absently, Shouto rubs his thumb over Midoriya’s good arm. Uraraka whispers a spell, and then she leans forward and kisses Midoriya’s cheek.

The effect is almost instantaneous. Midoriya slumps forward, and Shouto catches him. Midoriya makes a soft sound of surprise and then passes out entirely.

Uraraka slumps, too, paling, and Shouto looks at her with concern. “Are you alright?”

She shakes her head, lifting her fingers to her temples. “No, I’m f-fine.” Both of their hands are red with blood. Shouto tries not to think about it, instead carefully turning Midoriya’s body and pulling him into his lap as Jirou and Momo approach. Without thinking about it, he passes a hand over Midoriya’s forehead and into his thick, soft hair. Shouto’s fingers leave a rust-coloured stain in their wake.

Uraraka sits down on the track with a soft thump, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply. Jirou comes to a stop two feet away from Shouto and gestures to the blonde man between her and Momo.

“Shouto, meet Kaminari Denki. He’s an old friend of mine.”

Shouto’s hands curl around Midoriya’s unconscious body. “Remind why I’m not boiling his spleen?”

Kaminari raises his eyebrows. “Woah, nasty.” He cocks his head to the side. “Oh, I get it, you’re an elemental witch right?” His eyes are bright and gold, and Shouto can’t feel any magic but he must be doing something because he knows they’ve never met. “Fire and ice.” Kaminari gives a low whistle. “That’s a rare Affinity. Or, well, combination of Affinities. Nearly as rare as mine.” He lifts a hand, and gold light crackles around his fingers, sparking.

“Lightning.” Shouto’s voice is flat.

Kaminari grins at him. “Wanna go, big boy?”

Fire roars in Shouto’s veins, and he tries with difficulty to stop it from breaking free of his skin. Jirou elbows Kaminari in the side, and the lightning disappears as he buckles. “Ow! Uncalled for.”

Jirou glares at him. “So was the pincushion reception, but here we are.”

Kaminari’s gaze falls to Midoriya, and his mouth twists in something like a smile. “Oh man, sorry about that.”

Shouto ignores him, looking at Momo instead. “Why is this man still breathing?”

Momo shrugs, but she doesn’t look happy. “He’s a friend of Jirou’s. She said she’d fight me if I hurt him.” Shouto turns to Jirou, who holds up her hands in surrender.

“Woah, look, there are like, six of them. Kaminari and me go way back. I’d prefer it if this particular story didn’t end in bloodshed. If it’s all the same to you.”

Kaminari gets between them. “I am also a fan of the not-bloodshed plan.”

“Say the man who shot first.” Shouto doesn’t bother to try and keep the venom from his voice.

“It was an accident! Look, there have been all sorts of creepy things crawling through these woods recently. Why do you think me and my men are heading south? It’s not like Silvia is home of the party this time of year. No offence Kyouka.”

Jirou shrugs. “Whatever.”

On the other side of Kaminari, Momo narrows her eyes. “What kind of ‘creepy things’?”

“I don’t know! Monsters. Weird shit. Weirder than usual, which is saying something when you’re in Taiyo, and on any given day you’ve got a clear forecast with a chance of naiads.”

“I hate to interrupt.” Shouto’s tone is cold, and he speaks through gritted teeth. “But my friend is injured, and you have given me no reason to trust you. So I think what’s going to happen is that I’m going to count to ten, and then I’m going to start deep freezing your body parts.”

The humour falls from Kaminari’s face like rain in a storm. He meets Shouto’s eyes. “I would never willingly hurt Midoriya Izuku. I can swear that on my mother’s grave.” Shouto stares him down, but Kaminari doesn’t blink, and he doesn’t look away.

After a long moment, Shouto slumps forward over Midoriya. “Alright. Fine. Then help us set up camp. We need to keep him warm.”

Kaminari’s face lights up, and he turns to call back to his men. Jirou cheers, and Momo hurries to Midoriya’s side, giving him a quick once over before turning to Uraraka. They don’t go far from the road this time. Momo and Shouto carry Midoriya, wary of jostling his wound. Between his height and his muscle he’s heavier than he looks.

At some point the day before, Kaminari’s men had caught a stag, and he shares with them a feast of game and berries. After a few hours, Uraraka seems well enough to partake in their supper, and when she is she recognises Kaminari. This doesn’t stop her from giving him a long, fierce lecture about shooting at people he can’t see. For his part, Kaminari looks suitably remorseful. Shouto is still angry.

He sits by Midoriya’s side, close to the fire, and checks his forehead every few minutes for a fever he knows not to expect. He’s rarely seen healing magic in action, and the freshly puckered wound where there was once a gaping hole just below Midoriya’s collarbone is still jarring to look at. The burn is little more than an uneven silver scar. He didn’t need to, but he’s tucked his jacket over Midoriya’s blankets, and he picks at the food Momo brings to him without eating it for a good half hour.

It’s cold by the time she prompts him with a gentle nudge. “You’re not going to be any good to him hungry and sleep deprived, Shouto.” Momo sits beside him with a sigh. By another, larger fire, Kaminari is regaling Jirou and Uraraka with what looks like a colourful story. A little beyond them, his men are making camp.

“Are you alright?” Momo’s voice is quiet when she asks the question, as if she’s worried about waking Midoriya. Shouto glances back at him, and feels a little of the tension leave his body when he sees his sleeping face. Midoriya looks peaceful like this. The rich bronze of his skin is a good enough reminder that he’s still alive, and as well as he can be.

Shouto shrugs. “I’m not the one that got shot by lightning.”

“You know what I mean.” Momo’s tone is reproachful. Shouto stabs a hunk of meat with his knife. By the other fire, Jirou laughs loudly and pushes at Kaminari.

“It’s fine. He’s alright.” Shouto shoves the meat into his mouth, and chews and barely tastes it. He swallows. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t realise he meant so much to you.” Momo doesn’t look at him, instead watching as Uraraka throws her head back and laughs at something Jirou says.

Shouto’s mouth twists. “It’s not that. Not exactly. It’s just. I don’t.” He clenches his jaw, and breathes in through his nose, lowering Kaminari’s wooden bowl. “I couldn’t stop it. Again.”

“Neither could I.” Momo’s tone isn’t argumentative, but Shouto bristles nonetheless.

“That’s not the –”

Momo turns to look at him, arching one dark eyebrow. “Isn’t it?” She sighs, looking up at his forehead, over his face and then down at the stiff line of his shoulders. Her brow furrows. “You can’t take the wounds of the world on your shoulders, Shouto. Sometimes it’s just cruel. Sometimes there is no reason.”

Shouto huffs, drawn over his lap. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I know you do.” Momo sighs. “But sometimes I think you’re trying so hard to find reasons to hate yourself that you start thinking chaos happens for a reason. And that the reason is you. You didn’t shoot that arrow. You didn’t…” She hesitates. “You didn’t do a lot of things.”

Shouto lifts a hand to his face, and resists the urge to rub at his scar, tugging his dyed hair instead. “That doesn’t change the fact that he’s hurt.”

“Neither does sulking about it, but that’s not stopping you.” When Shouto looks at Momo, she’s smiling, and she nudges his arm with hers. “Look, I’m angry too. You think I don’t wish I’d done something? I do. Midoriya is…” She glances at Midoriya’s unconscious body. “I think he’s a good man.”

Shouto spears another chunk of meat with his knife. “We barely know any of these people.”

Momo laughs, and runs a hand through her hair. “True. And yet here we are. It’s strange, isn’t it?”

Shouto’s mouth curls into something approximating a smile. He glances back at Midoriya. “We’ve been in stranger situations.”

Momo’s eyes light up. “You mean Aichi?” She laughs, loudly, and by the other campfire Jirou looks up. Momo lifts a hand to cover her mouth whilst Shouto shoves another piece of meat into his mouth. “Oh, that was…Well, that was an adventure.”

Shouto’s smile grows a little warmer. “It had nothing on Shokyo. You kept acting as if I was the only one who could come up with a half decent plan.”

Momo grins, and bends to pick up a flask from the dirt by her feet. “Well, I was young and naïve.”

“You’d known me for fourteen years.” Shouto murmurs, chasing a little more food around his bowl. Momo punches his arm lightly.

“Formative years don’t count!”

By the other fire, Jirou gets to her feet and starts to walk in their direction whilst Kaminari and Uraraka fall into a conversation. Shouto sighs. “Duty calls.”

Momo flushes, and she goes to elbow him. He dodges, grinning, and she chases after him, swearing. Jirou pauses a few feet away from them and they freeze, Shouto with his bowl in the air. “I can come back at another time if you two are, uh, busy?”

Shouto lowers his bowl, and tries to school his features into something approaching the anger he’d been wallowing in earlier. Next to him, Momo tugs at the bottom of her breastplate and pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Oh, no, it’s fine. Someone just thinks it’s fun to laugh at my expense.”

Shouto’s façade breaks into a wide smile like the sun after a long, cold night. “I’m not laughing!”

Jirou raises an eyebrow. “Is this a Kasai thing? Am I missing something?”

Momo moves forward and Shouto ducks, only to get caught in the crook of her arm as she musses his hair. “No, this is a, ‘we grew up together and this annoying rich kid is always going to be my little brother’ thing.”

Jirou nods as if she understands. She doesn’t look like she does. When Momo releases Shouto, his face is red and his hair is a mess. He grins at her. “That’s just rude.”

Above them, the sky is dark and bright with stars. In the distance, somewhere, an owl calls. The campsite is rich with the biting smell of the fire, and the thick scent of cooked meat. A light wind tugs Jirou’s hair across her cheeks and jaw. “I, um, was just wondering if you wanted to join us.” She gestures back at where Kaminari is now talking loudly to two of his men, whilst Uraraka engages a third in conversation. “Over there.”

Momo pauses, and Shouto gestures with his knife. “Go, I’ll be fine.” Jirou points at him. “Now you see, that, that is a wise man right there.”

Momo looks from Shouto to Jirou, then grabs Jirou’s arm, tugging her back in the direction of the bigger fire. “Come on, I don’t want to have to talk him down again.”

Shouto smiles as they walk away, then turns back to Midoriya. The fire casts flickering light around his shadow where it falls over Midoriya’s body. The trees aren’t so close here, and the forest floor is thick with branches and leaves. Shouto finishes eating without much ceremony, then sits down on the earth, leaning his back against the log on which he’d been perched.

Tentatively, he reaches out and sets his hand over Midoriya’s. It’s cold, and Shouto frowns, leaning forward to touch Midoriya’s forehead and check for warmth there. He sighs when he feels it, then gently takes Midoriya’s scarred hand in his left. The scars are thick and raised, taut like ribbons between Midoriya’s callouses. Shouto wills warmth into his palm, and then pushes it over Midoriya’s fingertips.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, watching the steady rise and fall of Midoriya’s chest. But at some point he falls asleep.

When Shouto wakes, it is with Midoriya’s hand in his. Midoriya is sitting up, and in the morning light his eyes are bright and beautiful. He’s barely a hand’s breadth away from Shouto’s face, and this close Shouto’s vision is filled with freckles. He blinks, and wonders whether he’s still dreaming.

“Rise and shine sleepyhead.” Midoriya laughs, softly, and squeezes Shouto’s hand. Shouto’s gaze falls to their fingers, which are intertwined, and on the way his eyes catch the bandages Uraraka had wrapped around Midoriya’s shoulder. They’re thick and white against his skin. He frowns, and Midoriya gives him a haphazard smile.

“You were really worried about me, huh?” Shouto’s frown deepens. “You got shot.”

Midoriya nods. He still hasn’t let go of Shouto’s hand. “That did happen.” “With an arrow.”

“Yep.”

“An arrow enchanted with magic lightning.” “Uh-huh.”

Shouto cannot help but feel that Midoriya is not appropriately concerned. He lifts his free hand to rub at his eyes, then squints at the man sitting before him. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Midoriya laughs. “Well, I mean, sure it does. But I’m ok now. And so is everyone else, so...” He tugs at the curls at the back of his head. “All’s well that ends well?”

Shouto frowns again. “That seems like a highly illogical conclusion.”

Midoriya’s mouth quirks at the corner. His lips are full and chapped and Shouto is trying not to stare at them. “Well, so does sleeping sitting against a log, but here we are.” He squeezes Shouto’s hand again, and then gets to his feet. Shouto lets his hand fall as Midoriya lets go, fingers curling.

Midoriya looks across the campsite whilst Shouto tries, stiffly, to unfold himself from where he’d been hunched and sleeping. His muscles do not take kindly to this decision. Midoriya grins. “Denki’s making porridge.” The smell of hot milk and honey reaches Shouto’s lungs at the same time as Midoriya makes his observation, and with an effort he gets to his feet.

He rolls his shoulders and his back cracks. Midoriya winces in sympathy. Above their heads, birds sing to greet the day, and a squirrel clambers around the girth of a tree trunk. Shouto gives Midoriya a critical look. “Are you alright? Really.”

Midoriya gives him a wide, bright smile. “Never better.” Shouto scowls. “That is objectively untrue.”

Midoriya doesn’t answer, but he laughs.

Once Midoriya is awake, Kaminari becomes ten times as apologetic as he had been before. More than once, Midoriya has to ask him to stop bowing and seeking forgiveness. More than once, Midoriya laughs, at him and with him. Shouto eats his porridge and tries not to sulk.

Uraraka comes to sit beside him, and nudges him when he doesn’t look away from where Midoriya is smiling at a red-faced Kaminari. “You ok?”

Shouto frowns. “People keep asking me that as if I’m the one who got shot.” The wind in the trees above them sounds like a roar.

Uraraka shrugs. “You seemed pretty shaken.” She pauses, and stares at the fire they’ve built to battle the chill of the morning. “I know I was.”

Shouto pushes at his food and doesn’t eat it. The sweet smell of honey makes his mouth water. “Are you alright?”

Uraraka sighs. Jirou seems to be engaged in a raucous conversation with some of Kaminari’s men, and Momo is briefly absent. “I don’t know. I’ve seen injuries before. Hells, I’ve seen Deku injured before. But normally Shuzenji would deal with battle wounds. I didn’t…” She swallows, and stares down at her hands. “I guess I panicked.” She laughs, and the fire spits. “I feel stupid.”

Shouto turns to look at her. There are deep purple bags bruised like thumbprints under Uraraka’s eyes, and her hair is heavy with grease. Shouto holds his bowl loosely in his lap, and the heat of it spreads slowly through the soft, worn wood into his palms.

“Don’t be.” Uraraka looks up from the fire, and Shouto holds her gaze. “I still panic. And I’ve done it before.” Uraraka’s brow pulls up, and she bites her lip. Shouto takes a deep, shaky breath and looks at the kaleidoscope of leaves above their heads.

“Besides, I’ve known Midoriya for a few days. If it’d been Momo…It has been Momo, in the past.” He pauses, running his thumb over the rim of the bowl he’s holding. “I don’t think it’s easy, or that it gets easier, or that it should be easy to deal with the ones you love getting hurt. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.” He purses his lips. “I know…I think I know how you feel. I understand feeling angry and helpless, but I think it’s good that you care. That you’ve found someone worth caring for so deeply.”

Uraraka scrubs at her cheek with her knuckles, then sets her palms on the rough bark of the old log on which they’re sitting, looking away. Shouto stops watching her, and shovels a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. It’s lukewarm, but sweet, creamy and rich. He takes another three bites without thinking.

“What about you, then? I… Thank you for that, I think you’re right. But Midoriya isn’t Momo. Why do you care?”

Shouto shrugs, and watches sparks dance toward the pebbles at the edge of the fire. In the corner of his eye, he sees Midoriya clasp Kaminari’s shoulder, and then sees Kaminari gingerly embrace him. “I don’t like watching people get hurt. Not when there’s something I could’ve done.”

There’s a mighty creak and a crash as a tree comes down a mile or so to the west. Uraraka hums and taps her chin. “I’m not sure whether that’s brave or naïve, given the times we’re living in.” She seems to catch herself, and flushes. “Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to –”

Shouto smirks and pushes back his hair. “It’s fine. I know. We don’t exactly live in the age of the pacifist.” He stares at the fire. “But a man can dream, right?”

They take their leave of Kaminari and his men that morning. Jirou embraces him, as does Midoriya, though Uraraka refuses. Kaminari instead chooses to offer her a bashful smile which she doesn’t return and touches his hat to Momo and Shouto. Both of them remain stony faced, despite Midoriya’s laughing protests. Kaminari waves him off, and he and his men head back down the road to Silvia without ceremony.

As they start to walk again, Midoriya reveals that Kaminari and his men had originally intended to cross over the mountains to Hosu on the other side. When they’d gotten within a few days’ trek of the foothills, however, creatures unlike the denizens of the forest had begun to spawn from the shadows. Recognising that they were both outnumbered and outmatched, Kaminari and his party had decided to turn and head back for Silvia, and then on to Sogen.

“Apparently they saw a dragon!” Midoriya sounds far more excited and far less intimidated than he should be. A little further ahead on the path, Momo looks back to frown at him.

“I thought dragons were a myth?”

On the other side of the track, Jirou laughs. “Haven’t you learnt by now? In Taiyo, all the legends are real.”

At the front of their party, Uraraka turns, feet skidding over the dirt. “That’s not fair. Even here, dragons are almost unheard of. I think only Tokoyami, the All Might, and Aizawa have seen one in their lifetimes.”

Midoriya hums. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Nedzu had as well. But they are rare, and I don’t know what one would be doing so near the mountains when there’s...well, whatever this thing is, coming down from them.”

Shouto lifts the pack on his shoulders and takes his eyes away from the uneven track to look at Midoriya. In profile, shadows fall over the sharp line of his jaw, and Shouto can make out exactly how his curls press like ivy around the shell of his ear. He clears his throat. “Is there a chance this dragon could be the thing coming down from the mountains?”

Midoriya strokes his chin. “I mean, probably not? I guess a dragon would be powerful enough to create things like our clay friend a few days back, but.” His mouth twists, and he frowns. “No. Dragons are powerful and elemental, but they’re not corruptive. Not typically, anyway. Maybe if it was cursed? But that wasn’t how Denki described it, and he’d have mentioned that if he thought it was.”

Overhead, a flock of birds wheel above the treetops through the bright blue sky. Ahead, the path narrows a little, although not by much, forcing them to walk in close pairs or single file. At its edges, it’s bordered by a bank carpeted with weeds and the debris of the forest.

“You’ve known…” Shouto pauses. “You’ve known Kaminari for some time, then?”

Midoriya, who had apparently been lost in thought, starts when he speaks and forces a laugh. “Ah, well, yeah. Denki grew up in Silvia with us, at least for a little while. He was the only child of a merchant family, and they lived in the town for a few years. I’m not sure what he does now. He says he’s still a trader.” Midoriya’s mouth twists in a rueful smile. “Though as you might have noticed, he wasn’t carrying any wares.”

Shouto nods and focuses on the feeling of his feet hitting the earth for a while. Around them, the forest is deep and quiet like still water. “I can’t say I’m impressed by your choice in friends.”

From the front of the group Uraraka calls back a laughing protest, and Shouto apologises before turning to Midoriya. “With some notable exceptions, of course.”

Midoriya smiles and runs a hand through his thick curls. “Yeah, well.” His left arm is still hanging a little stiffly, and he doesn’t try to move it much. He lifts his hand to touch his shoulder before dropping it. “I don’t think he shot me on purpose.”

Shouto frowns. “He still shot you.”

Midoriya snorts. “Yeah, I noticed, thanks.”

Shouto’s fingers curl at his sides, and he makes an effort to unfold them, running them over the fabric of his pants. “Intention becomes less important when you have an arrow in your shoulder.” His voice is quiet and even. Midoriya cocks his head.

“Yeah, I get that. I just…I am alright. Denki didn’t mean to do it. And I understand why he was frightened. That’s…kind of why we’re doing what we’re doing, right? The fallout from a monster coming down the mountain isn’t just the creature itself, it’s the chain reaction it causes. The Council, and therefore the forest, is worried it’ll knock things off balance. Denki just got swept up in the tide.”

Shouto looks into the trees: they get darker the deeper he looks, until their trunks are blurred into a wall of bark and branches. Save for the occasional birdsong, and the women’s conversation at the front of their group, it’s quiet.

“What if he’d shot someone in a group that didn’t have a healer?”

“Then that would have been unfortunate. But fortunately he didn’t, and I’m alright.”

Midoriya’s gloved hand wraps around Shouto’s arm, and Shouto doesn’t flinch. Instead, he pauses. Midoriya’s eyebrows are thick and dark, and his skin is a richer brown in the sun. His eyelashes are long, and his eyes are bright and clever. He gives Shouto a very gentle smile.

“I’m alright, you know. I’m ok.”

Shouto feels blood rising to his face and looks away, pulling his arm out of Midoriya’s grip as an afterthought as he starts to walk again. “I know that. I just think your friend is a reckless idiot who needs to learn not to shoot first and ask questions later.”

Midoriya laughs a little and jogs to catch up with Shouto’s power marching. “On that we can agree. Denki’s kind of always had issues with friendly fire, though. I think, like all elemental magic, his lightning can be hard to control. I mean the closest comparison I can think of is –”

“Please don’t.” Shouto quietly interrupts Midoriya halfway through his train of thought and he stops, mouth open. Shouto sighs and looks up at the path ahead of them. It’s trees and track and sky for as far as he can see, and he’s half amazed that both Uraraka and Midoriya still seem to know which way they’re going. “I prefer not to talk about…fire magic, and its ilk. If it’s all the same to you.”

He can feel Midoriya’s eyes on him and he resists the urge to turn away. As it is, he lets his hair fall over his face and stares resolutely down at the gravel-strewn path in front of his feet. “Yeah, of course.” Midoriya is quiet for a moment, and the sound of their feet beating down the track is all that fills the silence. “But, if you don’t mind my asking, why do you hate fire magic so much?”

Shouto huffs a laugh. Momo is several feet ahead of them, too far to catch the conversation, and he feels like it’d be too obvious to bring her into it now.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Midoriya offers, quietly.

Shouto sighs. “It’s fine.” He lifts a hand and runs his fingers over the rough skin of his scar. “You should probably know something about this anyway, since I can’t promise that you can rely on my fire in a fight.”

Midoriya doesn’t say anything, just watches him and waits patiently. Shouto lowers his hand from his face and breathes deeply, staring at his left hand. He wets his lips. “I’ve…I’ve had some unpleasant experiences with fire witches.” He gestures to his face. “They’re.” He hesitates, swallowing. “My father was a, uh, well, he is, a powerful elemental witch. I was his…” His mouth twists. “His prodigy.” He says the word like it’s a curse. “He was. Well. When I was a child my mother gave me this scar. Said my left side reminded her too much of my father. Said she couldn’t bear to look at it. I didn’t see her after that.” He opens his mouth, shuts it, and tries again. “In all the memories I have of her, I see her crying.”

Distantly, Shouto wonders whether he ought to say anything else, mind filling with old memories of pain and fear, fury and despair. Midoriya’s hand on his arm again brings him back to the present. He asks, softly, “Is that why you left Kasai?”

Shouto lifts a shoulder in a shrug, despite the weight of his pack. “It’s part of it.”

“And why you’re just Shouto?”

Shouto nods. His mouth tastes sour. He runs his hand over his scar and through his hair, looking up at the forest canopy and the patchwork quilt of leaves that shiver there. For a few minutes, both of them are quiet. Midoriya is frowning a little, and his hands are curled around the straps of his pack.

Just when Shouto has come to believe that Midoriya isn’t going to say anything after all, he speaks. “I can’t begin to imagine what your life has been like. I’ve been very fortunate in the family and friends I was given. But.” Midoriya hesitates. “I don’t think it should define you. I don’t think it does. I mean, the man I’ve come to know is kind, and gentle, and clever, and brave.” A faint red blush grazes Midoriya’s cheeks. When he speaks again, he lifts his chin. “And your magic is your own, Shouto. It’s no one else’s.”

Shouto thinks of his mother. “Perhaps.”

Two days later, Jirou sings for them. By this point, they’ve been hiking for just over a week. They’ve yet to encounter another creature like the mud beast that assaulted them a few days into their journey, and they haven’t met any other travellers, either. A quiet falls over their group as they march, swallowed by the silence of the forest, and Shouto knows he’s not alone in experiencing a sense of growing trepidation.

It’s like they’re waiting for a storm to break.

This restlessness is easiest for him to see in Momo, whose hand flutters to and from the hilt of her sword like a bird in a cage. She becomes increasingly quiet as the days wear on, paying less and less attention to Jirou’s efforts to distract her.

For her part, Jirou holds out longer than the rest of them, throwing jokes forward despite the distracted silence she repeatedly gets in response. But eventually she, too, gets quiet, and Shouto has a feeling that she’s not so much fiddling with her sleeves as checking for the knives she has hidden there.

Midoriya’s change is marked. It was always going to be. They hit the 48-hour mark without so much as a monologue and Shouto has to physically resist the urge to ask his new companion whether he’s ill. But there’s something dangerous in the way Midoriya watches the forest, something sharp and clever like the eyes of a predator. It’s difficult to find humour in it, and in turn Midoriya’s caution sets them all on edge.

Uraraka alternates between ceaseless chatter, so fast and bright it could be mistaken for a particularly human sounding brook, and stony silence. Often, she marches ahead of them, only pausing when Midoriya calls for her to wait as they battle inclines and difficult terrain that present no real challenge to her.

By the third day of this, Shouto is just waiting to see who’ll break first. He isn’t surprised that it’s Jirou. Midoriya goes to collect firewood without a word, whilst Uraraka sits and prepares what they’ll need for a simple broth. Jirou comes back from foraging with Momo and throws herself down by the fire with a loud groan. It’s loud enough to startle a raven from its perch on a nearby branch, and all of them jump at the snap of its wings.

“Alright, that’s it. I can’t take this anymore. Seriously. If this ice gets any thicker it’s going to turn into permafrost and I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t fancy getting hypothermia.”

Shouto stares at her from where he’s crouched beside Uraraka, helping her slice and crush the ingredients for their broth. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Next to Jirou, Momo is crouched and building a fire with the first armful of kindling Midoriya had fetched for them. As she speaks, she sprays sparks into the fire from her flint stone with quick, sharp strikes of a knife. “I think what Jirou is trying to say is that our morale seems to have taken a decided turn for the worse.”

“Oh, sure, act like he can only understand fancy talk why don’t you?” Jirou grumbles. Momo doesn’t say anything, but her mouth curves into a smile. Between them, the fire catches.

Uraraka leans over Shouto to sprinkle a handful of spices into their pot and sits back with a sigh. “Alright, it’s good.”

Shouto busies himself with arranging sticks over the fire on which to hang their pot. Whilst he does so, he looks over the growing flames at Jirou. “So what would you suggest?” His mouth quirks in the direction of a smile. “And it doesn’t have to be in ‘fancy talk’. I’m a little insulted that you think it would.”

Jirou glares at him. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up. You know what? Yaomomo’s right, you’re a pain in the ass.”

Shouto grins, sitting back and putting a hand to his heart. “Momo, how could you? I’m wounded. Truly, wounded.”

Momo snorts, and next to him Uraraka chuckles. “Does this mean you’re finally letting your walls down around us, ice man? Because it’s about time you start calling me Ochako.”

Shouto flushes, and across the fire Momo laughs out loud before looking sidelong at Uraraka. “Baby steps, Uraraka, baby steps.”

“That goes for you too!” Uraraka smiles as Momo ducks her head. Jirou lightly punches Momo’s arm.

“Yeah, don’t go acting all high and mighty on Shouto. You still won’t call me Kyouka.” It’s not dark yet, though their fire isn’t quite bright. Shouto can make out the flush falling over Momo’s high cheekbones all the same.

“I just. In Kasai that means…”

“Oh, sure, pretend it’s a Kasai thing. Is this true, Shouto?” Jirou tears her eyes away from Momo for all of twenty seconds to look at him for support.

Shouto lifts a shoulder in a shrug, wondering whether he wants to help Momo out of this one. A few feet away, Midoriya comes back towards them through the woods. His arms are heavy with firewood, but he barely makes a sound as he moves across the forest floor. His broad shoulders and wild hair make him look more like a spirit than a man.

“Come on Shouto, don’t leave us hanging.” Uraraka laughs and gives him a gentle nudge, and Shouto refocuses on Jirou in time to catch her raising both eyebrows at him.

“Say, is Midoriya back by any chance?” She’s smirking, and Shouto feels blood rising to his cheeks. He tries to ignore it.

“It’s not…exclusively an intimate thing, but I think we use given names more rarely in Kasai. With family and lovers it’s expected, but it’s not as often used among friends.” He gestures at Momo. “We’ve known each other since we were children, so it’s a little different.”

Momo mouths a silent thank you at him over the fire, and Shouto grins, waving her off. Midoriya sets down the firewood and comes to sit on Shouto’s other side, whilst Uraraka leans forward to poke at their broth.

“Discussing the nuances of our cultural differences, are we?”

It’s getting darker, and Midoriya’s teeth are bright in the low light. Shouto swallows and turns back to the fire. Jirou answers Midoriya, “Well, we’ve got to do something. I’m starting to feel like I’m part of a funeral procession.”

Uraraka snorts. “We’re not that bad, Kyouka.”

“We might as well be! Seriously.” Jirou puts her hands behind her head and raises her chin. The flames paint watercolours across her pale skin. “We’re all on edge, and there’s no point pretending otherwise. But this whole goddamn suicide mission is going to be miserable as hell if we don’t at least try to cheer up a little.”

“If your intention is to cheer us up, describing this trip as a suicide mission might not be a good place to start.” Shouto suggests quietly. Across the fire, Momo stifles a laugh.

Next to him, Midoriya interlaces his fingers. His thigh leans lightly against Shouto’s. It’s not been a hot day, but Shouto imagines he can feel heat there all the same. “Kyouka’s right, though. If anything, jumping at shadows will just put us in more danger if and when we have to deal with a real threat.”

On Shouto’s other side, Uraraka sighs, a little fond. “Ever the voice of reason, Deku.”

Midoriya laughs and rubs the back of his head, and Shouto doesn’t need to look to know he’s blushing. “W-well, Kyouka’s the one who suggested it.”

“Damn right I am.” Jirou folds her arms, curling forward to get closer to the fire.

“Well, do you, um, have any suggestions?” Midoriya’s voice is quiet, though it hardly needs to be. With the silence of the forest around them it feels as if they’re the only living things for miles. In the lilac sky, a handful of stars have started to glow against the dying light of the day.

Jirou huffs. “Do I have to do everything around here?” She frowns, and it wrinkles her brow like a kitten’s. Shouto sees Momo staring and looks away again, back down at the fire where it licks at the base of Uraraka’s iron pot. After a long moment, in which the only sound between them is the snapping of the fire, Jirou sighs. “Nope. I’ve got nothing.”

Momo tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, actually, I do. I mean, I have something.” Her mouth tilts upward at the corner, and she glances down at the forest floor. “Though I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

Jirou stares up at Momo. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the way her mouth is curling into a smile. “No, hit me. I’m not gonna judge.”

Hesitating, Momo meets her eyes, and Shouto has the distinct feeling that he’s intruding on something. Midoriya clears his throat, and the women break eye contact, blushing. Uraraka whistles something out of tune and stirs the broth.

“Well, could you sing for us?” Momo’s hand moves to her ear, and she stops, as if only just noticing that she’d already tucked her hair behind it. Her fingertips brush the shell of her ear, and she lowers her hand. “I’d like that.”

Midoriya forces a laugh that sounds more like a cough and Shouto tries not to laugh at him. “U-um, well, that’s a good idea, but unfortunately Jirou never –”

“Shut up.” Jirou snaps, and Midoriya catches himself. Shouto glances at him in time to catch the mischief running over his features like stardust. Jirou gets to her feet, and tosses her head, pushing back her thick black, choppy hair. “Of course I do. I can sing.”

Uraraka gives a low whistle, and when Jirou glares at her she hums and gives her a wide, guileless smile. “Broth’s ready!”

Shouto helps her share it out and pass it round, and they leave a little in the pot for Jirou. For her part, Jirou shifts from one foot to the other, and glances back down at Momo. She seems nervous. “Is there, uh, is there anything in particular you’d like me to sing?”

Above them, the sky is bruised a deep, dark blue, and the last rays of the sun have faded from the horizon. The fire casts dancing shadows over the five of them, and between their dark eyes and dark hair, Momo and Jirou look they’ve been cut from the pages of a fairy-tale. Shouto smiles down at his broth and relishes the salt and spice on his tongue. Next to him, Midoriya ducks his head in a futile attempt to hide his smile.

Momo does not apparently seem to notice the fact that the three of them are watching her, though Jirou certainly does, sending them quick, irritated glances. In the dark, the complexities of Momo’s armour blur into something simpler: the sharp, hard outline of a solider. Her sword touches the forest floor.

“I like the one…” Momo pauses, “I don’t know what it’s called.”

Uraraka leans close to Shouto to whisper. “Is the broth alright? I’m worried I overdid the seasoning.”

Shouto smiles at her and nods. “It’s delicious. You’ll have to give me a lesson in Silvian cooking one day.”

“Only if you give me some notes on food from Kasai!”

Shouto nods. “It’s a deal.” Across the fire, Momo is twisting a lock of hair around one of her long, slender fingers. She looks far more like an aristocrat than a traveller like this, sitting with her back straight, looking up at Jirou in her rough, practical clothes.

Jirou seems to have forgotten about them. She stares at Momo, wets her lips, and swallows. The line of her throat is pale in the dark, tickled gold by the firelight. “Do you remember any of the lines? I might know it that way.”

Momo nods, and stops twisting her hair around her finger. She shuts her eyes and clears her throat, then she starts to hum. It’s soft, and a little rough, but it’s not bad. She hums a few bars, and after a few more starts to sing, quietly and not quite on key, “I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with never a fear of drowning. And gladly ride the waves of life…” She pauses and opens her eyes, looking at Jirou. The next words come out half song and half whisper. “If you would marry me.”

Jirou’s cheeks are dusted a pink so pale Shouto can hardly see it in the dark. She swallows again and runs her palms over the rough wool of her tunic. “R-right. I…I know that one.”

She sings well into the night.

Shouto is woken in the dark by the thunder of horse hooves on the earth. With his heart in his throat he rolls out of his bed and into a crouch, pulling ice from his veins like a sword from its sheath. As he stands, he shouts a warning to the rest of the group and searches wildly for the source of the sound, which in the dark seems to be coming from everywhere at once.

Then, he makes out a light in the trees. In the night, they look like the spines of something poisonous, almost liquid and draped in shadows. Between them is something bright and orange, flickering. Shouto narrows his eyes. Behind him, he hears Momo and Uraraka murmur into wakefulness.

Then the figure hits their campsite like an explosion. Midoriya’s charmed barrier shatters in a waterfall of bright green sparks and Shouto can’t bring himself to care. Even in the dark he recognises that face, wreathed in flames and twisted in fury. So when his father swings his broadsword down in Shouto’s direction he doesn’t try to stop it, as he would have done with any other attacker.

He ducks, and he rolls, and he stumbles, and then he runs. The earth beneath his feet is thick with leaves and branches, it sinks like sand, and he can hear his father’s horse’s hooves thundering behind him like the end of days. This cannot be real. Shouto feels Enji swing his sword again, a violent prickling up his spine that has him doubling over to avoid it, and then Enji is on his horse and circling in front of him, stopping his flight.

Shouto stumbles backwards and feels vomit clawing at the back of his throat and his mind is empty, completely empty except for the face of the man in front of him, sitting broad and strong astride his warhorse. Shouto stumbles backwards and pulls up a wall of ice, but it melts so fast the steam burns his cheeks. He chokes on a sob as Enji jumps off his horse, stalking towards him, and he’s still so much bigger than Shouto and Shouto feels so small.

With an effort that feels like it twists his intestines, Shouto chokes, “W-what are you doing here?”

His father’s voice hasn’t changed. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you, Shouto? Did you really think that you could escape me?” He swings his sword again and Shouto flinches violently away, stumbling back and falling onto his ass.

He cowers on the earth as Enji stalks closer. “You humiliated me, you humiliated our family. You useless, pathetic whelp. You’re a coward. You are not my son.” He raises his sword high, and it’s wreathed in flames, and Shouto can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe and this can’t be real.

He tries to pull magic into his fingertips and it sputters and quails like a candle in the wind. Desperately, he looks around himself and hopes that despite his silence some help will come and save him from that from which he cannot save himself. Because this can’t be real, it’s a bad dream. It has to be a bad dream.

Enji’s sword comes swinging down and Shouto rolls to the side, whimpering, and it slices at his arm as he does and he shouts as his skin splits like a ripe fruit. Enji grunts, lifting his sword again, and Shouto clutches at his arm which is spewing blood, hot and bubbling down his sleeve. He looks up and he sees Momo, and she looks terrified.

And oh, god, this is real.

Horror hits him like a sledgehammer, and in response his magic surges with a wave of force and a mountain of ice that shoves back the trees around their campsite. Trunks snap like bones as the ice groans and Shouto tries to get to his feet and his wounded arm buckles beneath him. His father’s sword comes down again and this time it catches the back of Shouto’s shoulder, and it burns and Shouto screams, and fire rips wildly from his skin as he tries to defend himself.

His father keeps coming. “You brought this on yourself, Shouto. This is because of your disobedience, your selfishness. Your cowardice.” He swings his sword and Shouto tries to duck and it hits somewhere around his ribcage, ripping his shirt and biting into his flesh and snapping at his bones. Shouto chokes on a shout, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Momo screaming his name and beating her arms against an invisible wall that spits sparks when she strikes it.

“F-Father, please.” Shouto stumbles backwards, lightheaded and caught somewhere between pain and panic. Enji sheaths his sword, and for one second Shouto can breathe. But then his father cracks his knuckles and his hands are wreathed in fire.

“You’re right. You don’t deserve a quick death. Not after how you dishonoured me.”

Shouto lifts his arm in a useless effort to defend himself and feels the weight of every time he’s done it before come crashing down on him well before his father’s fist hits his gut. Enji’s hands burn, and Shouto’s shirt crumbles to ash where he grabs it, stinging his skin with the embers. Vomit climbs into Shouto’s throat as he stares into his father’s eyes.

“You did this. You’ve made me do this. You could’ve been great, Shouto. You were meant to be great.”

Enji hurls him into the ground and Shouto barely has the wits to curl onto his uninjured side. The impact rattles through his wounds regardless and he sobs, trying to get onto his hands and knees, to get away. His father’s fingers, not burning now, sink into his hair and pull him up. Shouto cries out in pain. As he’s lifted, hands scrabbling at his father’s wrist, he sees Midoriya staring at him.

Behind him, somehow, is the bleeding body of the All Might and Midoriya Inko.

Shame washes through him and Shouto clenches his jaw, ignoring the wounds on his arm and side and grabbing Enji’s wrist, twisting himself out of his grip. Panting and still bleeding heavily, Shouto squares off against his father and tries not to pass out. He hears Midoriya shouting something and can’t process it. Somewhere to his left, Uraraka is crying over more bodies. Jirou is fighting something huge and insectile.

Enji steps forward and Shouto goes to dodge, missing a feint that on anyone else he’d have seen coming from a mile off. Enji’s burning hand collides with his jaw and Shouto chokes, stumbling backwards even as his father’s knee hits his gut and the wound at his side rips further. His voice doesn’t sound like his own when it’s ripped from his throat. Bile rises thick and hot at the back of his mouth. He feels like he’s burning but at the same time he’s so cold, and getting colder. The world spins beneath his feet as his vision blurs and he staggers, falling to his hands and knees. A branch punctures his palm and Shouto barely notices, spitting vomit onto the earth and clutching at his side as blood runs between his fingers.

Then, suddenly, Midoriya is there. His body is crackling with green electricity, and his eyes are wide with concern. But Shouto can’t pay attention to that because his father is behind him and he’s bleeding and he’s holding on to consciousness by a thread as it is. Enji goes to hit Midoriya and Midoriya turns with an expression that holds the kind of fury people talk about in stories.

Green lightning crackles around his arm like a storm as it crashes into Enji’s gut, and he explodes into a swarm of shadows. Midoriya says something in the same not-language he’d used with the bear, and the shadows burst apart as if struck by a powerful wind. Shouto sways on his feet. His head is swimming, like he’s drowning, and through the noise in his head he hears Midoriya calling his name.

And then, distantly, there’s his mother. He can’t make out what she’s saying. She sounds like she’s crying.

Shouto passes out.

When Shouto wakes, it is to Uraraka Ochako. Her usually smooth brow is wrinkled in thought, and her cheek is marred by three long scratches. There are thick, thumb-print bruises of sleep beneath her eyes. Shouto tries to breathe and chokes, and Uraraka starts, immediately bringing water to his lips. Shouto accepts it gratefully, letting it soothe his dry and aching throat.

He takes in his situation piece by piece. His arm and side are bandaged: he can feel the familiar stiffness of the fabric beneath his shirt. They ache, but it’s nothing to the pain he remembers. His face is sore, but it doesn’t burn as it should. His mouth tastes bitter and sour, not just with sleep but with something pungent and herbal. It’s dark, and he can hear Momo’s voice. Shouto relaxes.

Uraraka offers him a small smile. “We were really worried about you for a while there.”

Shouto frowns, and swallows painfully. “How long was I asleep?”

Uraraka takes back the leather flask of water and watches him carefully. “Only two days.”

Shouto chokes. “Two days? But…The mission.”

Uraraka sighs. “You’re as bad as he is, you know?” She pushes up his shirt and peels back his bandages, inspecting the wound on his side with a critical eye. She doesn’t explain who ‘he’ is. They both know who she means. Shouto’s shoulder aches. “But no, if you were wondering, Midoriya refused to leave you behind.” She nods at a point to his right. Stiffly, Shouto turns.

Midoriya is slumped with one leg bent against a log, barely a foot away from his bedroll. His head is lolling, and he’s drooling a little. His eyes are pressed with the same thumbprint bruises as Uraraka’s. “I think that’s the first time he’s slept since it happened.” Uraraka tsks. “And even then, it’s likely only exhaustion that got him to shut his damn eyes for more than twenty seconds.”

Shouto nods, watching Midoriya. His chest rises and falls in his sleep, and his jacket is open. How he isn’t cold is a mystery. His scarred and calloused hands are half curled, twitching every now and then as he meets some invisible foe. His hair is a mess, and his mouth hangs slightly ajar. He looks vulnerable this way. It feels strangely intimate.

Shouto tears his eyes away from him, and looks instead to Uraraka, tentatively curling the fingers of his wounded arm. “Will I live?”

Uraraka sits back, and he notices that she’s perched on a log beside an array of tubes and vials, full of powders and dry herbs. “Yeah. You’ll be alright. I can’t prevent the scarring…” She pauses, and her eyes drift to his face and she catches herself, gesturing at her own chin where Enji’s punch had landed on him. “W-well, not the one on your face, I was able to get to that one.” She purses her lips and looks away from him. “It probably wasn’t the most urgent thing, but I figured you wouldn’t want another, um…”

She catches herself again and fiddles with her fingers. Shouto lets out a breath he hadn’t quite realised he’d been holding. In the distance, a wolf howls at the moon. “No, I understand. Thank you, Ochako.”

Uraraka gives him a crooked smile. “Are we finally on a first name basis, then?”

Shouto smiles back. “Well, you did just save my life, so…”

“Deku’s going to be so jealous.” Uraraka’s smile dimples her cheeks and she starts to pack away her things. “Do you think you’ll be up to eating anything? You really should if you can. My magic will have drained you. There was…” She pauses, biting her lip. “There was a lot to heal.”

Shouto nods, and his mind is a hurricane of memories. He breathes in and counts to ten, then breathes out, and does it again until his hands stop shaking. “I recall.”

“Oh, I’m, I’m sorry.” Uraraka looks like she just accidentally kicked a puppy, and Shouto waves off her concern.

“It’s alright. Truly, Ochako, I owe you my life.” He gives her a smile. “You’re going to have to try harder than that to insult me.”

Uraraka’s shoulders drop a good three inches as she sighs, and then she gets to her feet. “Well, I’m going to send Momo over with some food. I’m sure she’ll want to check you over herself.”

“Momo respects your skills, it’s just…” Shouto pauses, biting the inside of his cheek. Uraraka shakes her head, and her hair brushes her chin.

“Oh no, I know that. If it’d been Deku I’d be the same.” Her gaze shifts to Midoriya, and she tuts. “He’s going to hurt his neck.”

“Why not wake him, then?” Shouto keeps his voice low. The night air is cool, but still not too cold to bear, and he’s wrapped in blankets that have trapped his body heat in a cocoon of warmth around him.

Uraraka rolls her eyes. “I’d worry when he’d sleep again. Leave him for now, we can wake him later.” Shouto nods, and with that she takes her leave of him. With difficulty, Shouto sits up. He feels like he’s been kicked by a horse, and his arm prickles with pins and needles.

He sees Momo receive the news that he’s awake from Uraraka, and moments later she’s by his side, chastising him for trying to sit by himself. Quickly, she pulls Uraraka’s log closer. Shouto leans back against it with relief, and muscles he’d forgotten about shout at him in protest. Momo doesn’t bother to move out of his personal space, pushing his hair back from his forehead and pressing the back of her hand to his skin.

Shouto watches her with a crooked smile and waits for her face to stop wobbling in his vision. “You know Ochako would have checked for a fever, Mo.”

Momo ignores him, turning instead to his bandages. Shouto lets her inspect his injuries until she’s satisfied, like a child under the ministrations of his mother. Momo swallows, and she pushes her hair back behind her ear. “You could’ve died, Shouto.”

Shouto nods. “It’s not the first time.”

Momo shuts her eyes and sits back beside him. “I wish it was.” They’ve had this conversation a thousand times, so Shouto says nothing, and for a moment they sit in silence. Momo’s hand rests lightly on his, a reassurance. He can feel her touch where it crosses the bandage over his wrist, and he doesn’t move away.

After a handful of heartbeats, Shouto speaks. “It wasn’t real, was it?”

Next to him, Momo lets out a long sigh. Then she passes him a flask of something pungent. Jirou’s moonshine. Shouto raises an eyebrow at her, but Momo just laughs. “I think we’ve both earned a drink, don’t you?”

Shouto tilts his head. “Can’t argue with that.” The alcohol burns his throat on the way down, but there’s something refreshing about its bite, and he feels his senses sharpen a little further. He blinks and passes the drink back to Momo. She drinks too before she answers.

She has one leg bent and is resting her elbow on it. Her other arm rests by Shouto’s. She holds the flask loosely in her lap, and dips her head. Her mass of thick black hair shifts when she moves. She smells of sweat and dirt and fire. “Yeah, it wasn’t real. He wasn’t real.”

Shouto nods and lets that sink in. He imagines he can see Momo’s words filtering through his mind, like herbs in hot water. “I knew that.” His voice is very quiet, and his eyes drift to Midoriya. His curls are pressed in a mess against his cheek where his head tilts towards his shoulder. “I knew it couldn’t be real.”

He feels Momo sigh. “Don’t beat yourself up too hard about it.” She clenches her jaw. “I was fooled too.” She drinks again and wordlessly passes the flask to Shouto.

“So what was it?”

Momo lifts one of her shoulders in a shrug, and the padding of her armour exaggerates the movement. “Some fear demon thing? Not to do with the mountain. Apparently it’s just part of your bog standard Taiyo forest experience.”

“If that was bog standard, I understand why they’re having trouble with their tourist industry.”

Next to him, Momo’s body shakes as she laughs and Shouto ignores the pain in his arm, ducking his head as he smiles. “Well, maybe not bog standard, but to be expected from the deep forest. Something that plays on what you’re afraid of.”

A puzzle piece falls into place in Shouto’s brain. “Hence the bodies.” He drinks and passes the flask back to Momo. He imagines the alcohol spreading heat to his fingertips.

She nods. “Hence the bodies. Actually, that’s what made Midoriya figure it out. Apparently it was ‘impossible’ for his All Might’s dead body to have found its way into the woods.”

Shouto hums. “I didn’t realise they were so close.”

“Nor did I. But the only the other thing he saw was his mother, so…” Momo’s voice trails off, and she lets go of Shouto to rub a hand over her face. “It’s one hell of a way to get to know each other, I guess.” Shouto thinks of her face, twisted in fear as she tried to help him, stopped by an invisible wall and forced to watch. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

Then he bites the inside of his cheek and half imagines a phantom pain in the wounded side of his face. “They saw.” He feels Momo looking at him, and he doesn’t return her gaze. Instead, he stares up at the stars, where they shine in the dark like needle point holes in fabric.

“I think, only Midoriya really…” Momo catches herself. “Ochako and Jirou were distracted.”

Shouto nods, and sighs. His chest aches, and he doesn’t think it’s his wounds. “Just when I think I’ve gotten away…”

Momo holds his hand and squeezes his fingers in hers. Shouto swallows the lump in his throat. “Are you ok?” Momo’s voice is very quiet. By the campfire, Jirou and Uraraka seem to have made the executive decision to leave them to it. Closer by, Midoriya snores lightly against the log.

Shouto shakes his head. “No.” He lifts his right hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and running his fingers over the rough skin of his scar. “I don’t know what...” He stops, swallows, and starts again. “I thought we got away.” He’s distinctly aware of the fact he sounds like a child, and blood rushes up the back of his neck as shame sinks into his gut.

Momo either doesn’t notice or chooses not to point it out. Instead, she turns and holds him, gently, one hand cupping the back of his head the way his mother used to when he was a child. The way Momo used to when they were children and Shouto was freed from ‘sparring’ with his father for the night. The way she had when they were teenagers and they were alone because they couldn’t stay in that place any longer.

Shouto breathes in, and Momo smells of leather and sweat, but he doesn’t care because it’s her, so he buries his face in her shoulder and he lets himself weep until his head aches.

Later, Jirou approaches them cautiously with a bowl of broth and half a joke. “Glad you’re not dead, dude.” The way she waits until she’s seen him eat everything gives away her concern, but Shouto doesn’t plan to mock her for it, so he doesn’t point it out. He and Momo talk for a little while longer, but he starts feeling tired not long after he eats and she helps him lie down.

Shouto frowns at her. “I’m not a child, Momo.”

Momo doesn’t stop pressing his blanket around his shoulders. “Sure do sulk like one, though.” Shouto offers her a half smile that’s interrupted by a yawn. Momo laughs and sits back, leaning against the log beside Midoriya.

“Go on. I’ll keep watch.”

Shouto doesn’t say anything else. The last thing he sees is her hand on the hilt of her sword. Then sleep takes him.

When Shouto wakes up, he’s drowning in fire. It takes him too many too fast heartbeats to tear himself out of his nightmare and into the waking world. It’s still dark, and the moon above them is bright and full and beautiful. Shouto stares it and counts while he breathes, waiting for his chest to stop shuddering.

Cold sweat sticks his shirt to his skin like glue, and he peels it away from his chest when his breathing is back under control. Across the campsite, Jirou is humming to herself whilst she pokes at the fire. Her jacket is draped haphazardly across Momo’s chest.

Shouto smiles a little, and gets quietly to his feet. Jirou jerks, and he gestures in the direction of the stream near their campsite, hoping his gesture is clear enough to convey the urgency of his aching bladder. Jirou pauses halfway across the campsite and whispers loudly in the space between them. “If you’re not back in half an hour, I’m coming looking for you.”

Shouto nods, though he’s not sure she sees it in the dark, and slips his feet into his shoes. They’re sticking out of the top of his pack and are mercifully dry. It doesn’t take him long to reach the stream, which barely merits the name, narrow and dark as sap on a tree trunk. He relieves himself in the woods and splashes water over his hands and face. It stings on his jaw.

An owl calls into the night, and the trees around him shift on a faint breeze as if they’re breathing. Shouto shivers and rubs at his good arm, walking back in the direction of the camp. When he’s close enough, he calls Jirou’s name. “I’m going for a walk.”

She scowls. “Somehow I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Shouto shakes his head. “I won’t go far. If something happens.” He gestures with his left hand, and sparks shower from his fingertips like a waterfall. Jirou stares, squinting in the sudden light. “If you see this, please come help. Otherwise I’ll be fine.”

Jirou crosses her arms. “This is reckless and dangerous and we don’t need another fight with some nocturnal monster.”

Shouto’s shoulders fall, and he runs a hand over his scar and up through his hair, pulling at it hard. “Look, I just. I need to clear my head.”

Jirou hesitates a moment longer, and Shouto feels something heavy fall into his stomach. Then she sighs. “I’m going soft.” She meets his eyes. “You’ve got an hour. If something happens to you then Yaomomo’ll kill me.” Shouto doesn’t argue. She’s right.

“Thank you.”

Jirou turns back to the fire. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” Shouto turns to leave, stooping to pick up a pebble and call a faint witchlight into his palm. Jirou says his name and he stops. “Listen. If you want to…talk or whatever. I hear it helps. So. You know. Even idiots can listen.”

Jirou’s back is not as broad as Momo’s, and she hunches her shoulders as she crouches by the fire. Shouto smiles all the same. “Thank you, Kyouka.” Then he walks into the night.

He follows the stream for the most part, all too aware of his own injuries and the dangers that lay in the forest’s belly. Above him, the stars are still bright, though they’ve spun further than they had when he’d first woken. It doesn’t take him long to find a lake, but there’s something breath-taking about believing that there were only trees for miles and cresting a small hill to see the wide, bright expanse of water under the moon.

Shouto carefully makes his way down the little bank, hand brushing the slender trunks of the trees that grow close to the shore here. A thin beach of dirt and pebbles stretches up to the tree line, and the wind pulls ripples across the lake’s surface like a thread through silk. Shouto stops with his toes at the water’s edge, feeling it lap at his boots as he stares up at the wide, star-filled sky and the bright full moon.

He takes a deep breath. The wind brings goose bumps prickling over his skin, tugging at his hair. He steps forward, and beneath his foot ice spreads across the water. At first it’s thin, but then it hardens, white as marble as he keeps walking. The ice chases the rippling ink of the water, spreading in a great creaking groan across the lake’s surface. Shouto keeps walking until he reaches the centre of the lake, a good sixty feet from the shore. When he’s there, he sits, bringing heat tickling to the surface of his skin but not beyond it.

He crosses his legs, and he stares up at the craters on the moon.

He’s lucky that it’s Midoriya who joins him, because he doesn’t hear him coming. Not until he’s sitting down beside him. Shouto can’t decide whether he’s dreaming, but he doesn’t think it’s a bad dream if he is. Midoriya smiles at him, and his freckled cheeks dimple. “You’re not dreaming.”

He lifts his hand to Shouto’s cheek, and his fingers are red with cold. Midoriya keeps his eyes on Shouto’s as he brushes his fingertips against his cheekbone, light as a feather and cold as snow. “See?”

Shouto swallows, looking away from the moon and stars above them. Around them, the night is quiet and the icy lake sits like an empty stage in the dark. “You’re cold.”

Midoriya shrugs, moving to tuck his hands beneath his armpits, but Shouto stops him. Midoriya lets him pull his hands close, cupping them in his as he wills heat to fall from his palms. Midoriya sighs, and his eyes flutter shut. “That feels nice.”

Shouto’s mouth curls at the corner. “You should be wearing something warmer.”

“Well, it’s not like I was expecting you to go all winter wonderland on me.” Midoriya huffs a laugh, wiggling his fingers, though he doesn’t pull away. Shouto watches him carefully, noting the way the moon dusts silver over his hair, casting shadows in the bold, smooth lines of his face. Midoriya looks up to meet his gaze, and Shouto flushes but doesn’t look away.

“You ok?” Midoriya’s voice is rougher than before, and softer than it needs to be. Shouto watches his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows.

He nods. “Never better.”

Midoriya laughs again, and he jerks his chin at the bandages wrapped around Shouto’s arm before pulling a face. “That is objectively untrue.”

Shouto snorts. “Is that supposed to be an impression of me?” Reluctantly, he lets go of Midoriya’s hands. Midoriya grins at him.

“You’re only annoyed because it’s accurate.” Shouto can feel Midoriya’s eyes on him, but he can’t find the courage to meet them, so he looks up instead at the arm of dust bisecting the sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Midoriya’s voice is quiet. He isn’t looking at the stars. Shouto flushes, and he speaks at the same time as Midoriya does.

“Do you have the same constellations?”

“Is that really what your father’s like?”

Shouto’s mouth runs dry. He lifts his hand to his face, and his fingers are trembling. He tugs his hair and swallows, and he hates how weak he sounds when he says, “we could talk about the stars.”

Midoriya exhales and looks at Shouto, waiting until Shouto meets his eyes. In the dark, he can barely make out the green, though it glitters there like something precious. “If that’s really what you need then we will, but…” Midoriya chews on his bottom lip. “Shouto, I want to know. I want to understand.” He runs a hand through his hair in a quick, jerking movement, and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do,” Midoriya’s eyes shift to the forest, then back to Shouto. “But I feel like you need this and I can’t…I don’t want to…” He swears softly under his breath, ducking his head before looking back up at Shouto. “I want to help.”

Shouto wets his lips. He takes a deep breath. He looks at the stars.

When he speaks, his voice is even and low. “My father is a cruel and violent man.”

They talk far into the night. Long enough for the sky to start bleeding a brighter blue in preparation for the sun, and Jirou to come and check that they were still alive. At some point, Midoriya’s hand finds its way into Shouto’s, and his thumb rubs soft circles over the back of it.

If Midoriya notices Shouto crying, he doesn’t mention it. For his part, Shouto says nothing of the tears dripping down Midoriya’s nose and chin. When they’ve talked until their voices are hoarse, and exhaustion sits heavy in Shouto’s bones like a living thing, Midoriya gets to his feet. Behind him, the stars have started to fade once more from the early morning sky.

Midoriya holds out his hand to Shouto, and Shouto takes it. Midoriya pulls him easily to his feet, and Shouto waits a moment for his blood to find its way to his extremities. When he’s steady on his feet again, he hesitates before letting go of Midoriya’s hand. They’re standing chest to chest, and this close Shouto can feel Midoriya’s breath tickling his chin.

Midoriya swallows, and Shouto looks up from his lips to his eyes. “Thank you, Midoriya.” He thinks he knows what he means.

Midoriya’s smile is very soft, and he squeezes Shouto’s hand, fingers curling around it like he’s something precious. “You should really call me Izuku, you know.”

Shouto wets his lips, and holds Midoriya’s gaze. It’s soft, warm. “Thank you, Izuku.”

A blush rises to Midoriya’s cheeks, rich and berry red, and he lets go of Shouto’s hand. “W-well, y-you’re welcome.”

A smile finds its way onto Shouto’s mouth of its own accord as Midoriya continues to stammer, running his fingers through a tangle in his hair. “I mean it’s n-not like you even need to be thankful really it’s, I mean it’s the least I could do, it’s not like I really did anything and besides…”

Shouto drops his hand and catches Midoriya’s like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Izuku?”

Midoriya’s voice is strangled when he responds. “Y-yes, Shouto?”

Shouto turns to look at him. “Stop talking.”

Midoriya is still laughing as the sun rises.

“So what’s your affinity, anyway?” They haven’t made it far from the camp when Momo drops back to match her pace with Shouto and Midoriya. She directs her question at the latter.

Midoriya starts, forces a laugh, and rubs the back of his neck. The day is bright and crisp, with a clear blue sky and a light breeze. It’s just cool enough to offset the heat of their packs, where they trap the sweat against their shoulders. “Ah, well, actually, funny story. I’ve kind of tried to study, most, affinities?”

Momo raises an eyebrow. “That seems like an extraordinary waste of time and money.”

At the front of the group, Uraraka laughs, turning and walking backwards to call back to them. “Thank you! I’ve been saying that for years.”

Midoriya coughs another laugh, and runs his hands over his vest. “Well, it’s just that, um…”

Jirou, with her thumbs hooked in her pockets, half turns to grin at him. “What happened Deku, cat get your tongue?”

Midoriya scowls, and Uraraka laughs again, drifting easily up a steep incline strewn with gravel. Shouto watches Midoriya attempt to assemble his features into something resembling composure, and tries not to smile. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

Midoriya sighs. “No, it’s not that, it’s just.” He holds out his hand in front of him. He’s wearing his gloves again. They were white suede, though by now they’re brown and grey with dirt. He flexes his fingers, turning his hand over before drawing green lightning into his palm.

Midoriya bites the inside of his cheek. “My, uh, affinity, it’s…kind of anomalous? It didn’t manifest for a really long time. I always had a little bit of magic but not - not like, proper magic, you know?” Midoriya laughs, and the lightning disappears from his hand. “I’m sure there’s a technical term for that.”

“Anomalous is right, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything like that.” Momo muses, quietly, looking across Midoriya to meet Shouto’s eyes before glancing back at the man between them. “Is this more common in Taiyo?”

“Definitely not.” Jirou answers before Midoriya gets the chance to, folding her hands behind her head as she walks. “Normally, if you’re a kid in Silvia and you haven’t found your affinity by the time you’re four, you write yourself off. Someone just refused to give up on it.”

Uraraka stops, letting them catch up with her. “Well, he was right, wasn’t he? He didn’t just have any old affinity, he had something the All Might thought made him a worthy member of the Council.” Her admiration is unrestrained, and Shouto smiles at her. Overhead, birds sing for the late morning.

Midoriya gets a little pink in the tips of his ears, and Shouto resists the urge to stare. “W-well, yeah I mean, I don’t think it was, um. Yeah.”

Momo is grinning at Midoriya when he manages to stammer to a halt, and they start walking again. “So go on then, what schools can you use?”

This, at least, seems to jar Midoriya out of his embarrassment, and he counts off his points on his fingers. “Uh, well, Levitation, for one. Some basic elemental magic although nothing like, um,” Midoriya glances at Shouto, shyly. “Nothing like what you can do, obviously. And actually, I, well my element’s always been earth so. Um, then I can do some healing, some charms, some transfiguration and ah, obviously most kinds of augmentation but you already knew that.”

Midoriya looks at Momo, and his eyes are bright with curiosity. “But I’ve never heard of anything like your power, Momo. Is there any story behind it?”

In front of them, Jirou tosses her head and calls back, “Midoriya, just because you’re curious doesn’t mean you’re entitled to everyone’s life story.”

Momo laughs her off. “No, no it’s fine.” Her sword swings at her hip as she walks, and her dark eyes are bright. Shouto is grinning before she’s even started talking. “Actually it’s a rather romantic story. Once up a time, the original Yaoyorozu, Yaoyorozu Kazue, was travelling in a far off region. The name of that place has been lost to time, but we call it the fairy kingdom because whilst she was there she met the most beautiful creature. That creature was a queen, the queen of her people. Her name was Nozomi. She came to Kazue in disguise at first, as a simple worker, and she was charmed by Kazue’s grace and generosity. Over time, they fell in love, and Nozomi revealed her true nature to her paramour.”

By this point, Momo’s face is flushed, and she is all but bouncing on the balls of her feet. Midoriya and Jirou are utterly enraptured, and Shouto takes it upon himself to keep an eye on the shadows of the forest.

“But the time came for Kazue to return home, and attend to her duties as a Yaoyorozu. Her father passed away during her time in the fairy kingdom, and she needed to make arrangements for his funeral. She asked if Nozomi could come with her, but Nozomi could not leave her kingdom. Powerful magic tied her to the land, and besides, she too had a responsibility to her people. Kazue could not bear to live without her, and so to ease their parting, Nozomi gave Kazue a fairy child, born of her own magic, and blessed with the ability to create whatever it might need. And so, the true power of the Yaoyorozu line was born.”

Momo is breathless when she finishes. Shouto huffs a laugh, and she ignores him. Next to him, Midoriya is beaming. “So it’s fairy magic! That explains a lot, actually.”

A little further ahead, Jirou mutters something about fairy princesses at the road. Shouto smirks. “What was that, Jirou?”

Jirou scowls at him, but she doesn’t turn away fast enough to hide the flush painted across her face. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up. You’re all ridiculous.”

Momo lifts a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend…” Midoriya laughs and answers her before Shouto can.

“No you’re fine.” He smirks at the back of Jirou’s head. “Kyouka’s just a little smitten, that’s all.”

Jirou kicks a pebble into the tree line with more force than is strictly necessary. “I’m ignoring you, Deku.”

“Who’s ignoring who?” A distinctly feminine voice croaks from the shadows in the trees. All of them jump, Momo drawing her sword whilst Shouto and Midoriya bring magic to their fingertips. Jirou flicks daggers into her hands, and Uraraka looks in the direction of the voice.

“Who’s there? We come in peace. We mean you no harm.”

A woman who is distinctly not human comes out of the forest balancing on her hands and the balls of her feet. Once her bare, webbed toes touch the road, she straightens a little, though she remains hunched over. Wide translucent webbed ears press against her long black hair like pearl fans. Scales shimmer in silver patches over her skin and catch the light. Her eyes are huge and dark. She steps closer to Uraraka, but makes no movement to hurt her, instead crouching to stare at her feet.

“You’re floating.” She croaks, pushing a finger, a finger that ends in a sharp green claw, between the dirt and Uraraka’s boot. She straightens, moving close enough to Uraraka’s face that their foreheads are nearly touching, and stares at her with wide eyes. “Are you a spirit?”

Uraraka flushes quickly, bright red, and shakes her head. “Oh, n-no, I’m just a human.”

The not-woman tilts her head to the side, and her hair slips over her bare shoulders like water. “Not ‘just’ human. You have powerful magic. You’re not ‘just’ anything.” Her tone brooks no room for disagreement, and Uraraka’s blush runs down the back of her neck.

Half hopping, the not-woman looks up at Midoriya, and her mouth breaks into a smile that would’ve been far more charming had it not been full of razor sharp teeth. “You’re Mizushima’s friend! Deku, yes?”

Midoriya lets the lightning fall from his fingers. “Um, yes. Do I know you?”

The not-woman gives him a closed mouth smile and shakes her head. Her ears twitch in the breeze. “Not me. You know Mizushima.”

Her eyes move to Shouto, and they’re deep and dark like still water. He feels like he’s drowning in them. She frowns. “You froze my lake.”

Shouto flushes, and breaks her gaze with an effort that has cold sweat running down his spine. He bows, deeply. “I apologise. I did not mean to cause you any trouble.”

The not-woman laughs, sweetly, and when Shouto looks up she’s covering her mouth. Her hands are covered in scales, and there’s webbing between her fingers. She has laugh lines around the corners of her eyes. “It’s forgiven. The lake does not freeze often.”

Shouto doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing at all. Momo clears her throat. “Um, may I ask, what should we call you?”

The not-woman tilts her head to the side. Her long black hair drips over her shoulders and down to her waist. It’s woven with weeds and flowers. She blinks, slowly. “Fae-woman.” She steps closer, circling Momo, who stands uncomfortably still. “Soldier.” She gets on tiptoes to look up at Momo’s chin. “Where is your family?”

Momo shifts uncomfortably, and Midoriya steps forward, reaching out and resting a hand on the not-woman’s elbow. She’s wearing something light and diaphanous, it hardly looks like fabric, and wraps around her like white water in a stream. “I’m sorry, stranger, but may we know what to call you? I am Midoriya. That is Momo, this is Shouto. That woman there is Jirou, and the one who floats is Uraraka.”

The not-woman blinks and stares at Midoriya with her huge, dark eyes. The scales on her forehead glitter like ice in the sun. “Call me Tsuyu. I am here to take you to my Lady Kayama’s court.”

Jirou clears her throat, slipping her knives back into her sleeves. “Do we get a choice?”

Tsuyu shakes her head. “You must meet with my Lady.” She turns to Midoriya. “She means you no harm.” Then she moves back towards Uraraka, and takes her arm. “It is not far.”

“Um, Midoriya?” Momo’s hand rests lightly on the hilt of her sword. Tsuyu and Uraraka have already started to move away, off the path and into the treeline. Uraraka is blushing whilst Tsuyu openly stares at her. Jirou stands at the edge of the path and waits for Midoriya to speak.

Midoriya sighs. “Well, the good news is, Kayama isn’t the worst Lady of the forest. The bad news is that she’s kind of sadistic.” He rubs the back of his neck and pulls a face. Shouto shudders. “But uh, yeah, we probably don’t have a choice. We’re too far into the forest to have a real chance of getting away. Might as well co-operate. At least for now.”

Both Momo and Shouto nod, and all of them move to follow Tsuyu and Uraraka into the trees. Jirou shoves her hands into her pockets and sighs. “See Deku, this is why we don’t hang out. You always take me to the nicest places.”

Away from the track, the silence of the forest feels less like emptiness and more like something huge, sleeping. The hairs on the back of Shouto’s neck are standing on end, and every step he takes feels like an explosion in the silence. Now more than ever, he envies Midoriya’s ability to tread lightly. By Jirou, he imagines Momo is thinking the same thing.

He can’t make out what Tsuyu and Uraraka are talking about, but they seem to have been in conversation since Tsuyu found them, and Uraraka looks like she’s relaxed a little. They’ve been walking for a good half hour and the forest around Shouto looks no different than it had when they’d first walked into it. Young and old trees crowd the forest floor, sometimes grouped by species, sometimes not.

Low branches occasionally present fences and barriers to their passing that are easily crossed, though Midoriya’s hand stays his when he goes to snap one. “Don’t break the living things here. They won’t take kindly to that.”

Midoriya looks serious, and ahead of them even Jirou is being careful to curl around twigs and saplings on the forest floor instead of pushing through them. The trees are busier with life this far from the road, though Shouto largely only notices it when it’s leaving: squirrels and birds startled out of their daily activities by their passing.

“Do you know this Lady Kayama?” He keeps his voice low. He cannot shake the feeling that they’re being followed, though he can see nothing but trees and shadows in the space around them.

“No, but Tosh-well, the All Might does.” Midoriya ducks under a branch, and the twigs catch in his hair. Shouto moves to untangle them without thinking. His curls are thick and soft under Shouto’s fingers, and when he’s free he turns to give Shouto a smile and gets so close their noses touch. Shouto blinks, nearly cross eyed, and then Midoriya ducks away.

After a moment, Shouto follows, clearing his throat. “So what’s the All Might’s opinion of her?”

Midoriya laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, and walks a little faster. Somehow he avoids every branch on the forest floor that Shouto can’t even see. “Well, yeah. He doesn’t have a problem with her? But he says she can be fickle. And, uh, violent. So…” Midoriya’s voice trails off. Ahead of them, Uraraka and Tsuyu have stopped by a wide ring of mushrooms that stretch in a circle around a great, towering oak.

Shouto stops walking. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Midoriya looks back at him and smiles, holding out his hand. “When in Taiyo…”

After a moment, Shouto takes it. Midoriya’s glove is rough against his skin, and his grip is firm. Hand in hand, they walk closer. Shouto can taste the magic in the air here, like metal on his tongue. He looks to Momo, whose hand is resting lightly on her sword. She raises her eyebrows at him, but her eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed with something like excitement.

Jirou shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, craning her neck to watch the trees above and around them. It’s very quiet.

Tsuyu squeezes Uraraka’s arm. “I’ll announce you.” She lets go, and hops over the ring. There’s a heavy shimmer in the air, like fabric snapping in a strong breeze, and she disappears. The magic that rings out from the spot of her vanishing hits Shouto hard enough to make him stagger, and he sees Jirou, Momo and Uraraka stumble too.

“What now?” Jirou’s voice breaks the silence, though she’s quieter than usual. Midoriya is watching the centre of the circle carefully, and he doesn’t take his eyes away from it when he speaks to her.

“Wait for it.”

They do. Shouto counts the seconds in his mind, and Midoriya squeezes his hand.

Tsuyu re-appears in a gust of wind and another clap of magic. She smiles, baring her sharp teeth at them, and holds her webbed hand out to Uraraka. “The Lady will see you now.” Uraraka looks at Midoriya, who gives her a small nod. She takes a deep breath, and drifts up and over the mushrooms, into the ring.

In a matter of heartbeats, she disappears. Jirou looks at Momo, and holds out her hand. “Well. Ready, princess?”

Momo takes her hand, and together they jump into the ring and disappear. This leaves Shouto and Midoriya, with their boots nearly touching the thick white stalks of the mushrooms. Midoriya looks at Shouto, and smiles. His face is a wash of freckles. “Do you trust me?”

Shouto nods. “Yes.”

Midoriya grips his hand tightly, and together they step into the ring. For one second, Shouto is bathed in more concentrated magic than he has ever experienced in his life. Then a wave of force hits him like a sledgehammer, and everything goes black.

The court of the Lady Kayama is magnificent. A wide avenue of trees stands between their group and the raised hill where she sits, lazily, on a throne carved into a still-living oak tree. Beside them, the trees are broad and red and at least three hundred feet tall. They seem to touch the bright blue sky above them.

Closer to the earth, vines and flowers wrap around their huge trunks like rich fabrics or strings of beads, glowing preternaturally bright with unseasonal life. Shouto doesn’t know much about plants, but he’s certain that many of these things should not be flowering at the same time. And yet, thick carpets of wild flowers stretch away in either direction, and crowds of inhuman creatures populate the trees, leaning against them and crouching in their branches. Some look human, with faint wings or tails or strange skin colours. Others are utterly otherworldly.

Midoriya lets go of Shouto’s hand, and starts to walk down the wide path towards the hill on which Lady Kayama sits. The avenue is carpeted with autumn leaves that burn as bright as fire and rustle as they walk. Tsuyu hops on ahead of them, to join the line of strange, strangely dressed creatures that stand as a retinue beside Lady Kayama’s throne. Some of them wear light silver mail shirts, carrying spears or strangely curved swords that hang at their hips. Others wear little more than the light white fabric in which Tsuyu is dressed, draped loosely around their bodies and baring their strangely speckled skin.

On her throne, Lady Kayama looks far larger than life. A clean white robe flows over her body, pooling in her lap and around her bare feet. Her shoulders are pale and naked in the midday sun, and her hair is long and thick and black as a raven’s wings. When they’re close enough, Shouto can see that her eyes are a bright, clear blue, and that there’s a mole on her cheek.

Midoriya drops to one knee in front of the hill on which Lady Kayama’s throne grows. From here, Shouto can see the dozens upon dozens of carvings that appear to have grown into the gnarled wood of the oak tree. They depict unreal scenes: blessings and knighthoods and coronations punctuated by creatures with wings and tails and fins. Shouto feels one of the Lady’s retinue watching him, a creature that looks like a man with branches and twigs growing through his bright lilac hair. He ducks his head and drops to one knee.

Beside him, the rest of their group do the same. The Lady Kayama smiles. She doesn’t raise her voice when she speaks, but it rings through the quiet like a bell in a temple. “It’s so rare to meet humans with manners.” She lifts a finger, and Midoriya stands, as though compelled to do so by some invisible force. “Midoriya Izuku. Are not you a member of the Silvian Council?”

Midoriya’s chin is lifted at an angle a little too high to be comfortable, baring the line of his throat when he swallows. Shouto watches him out of the corner of his eye. Midoriya runs his gloved hands over his thighs. “I am but a lowly Aide to the Council, though I am here by their request.”

Lady Kayama hums, and it is a lovely sound. She lowers her finger to the vine wrapped wood of her throne, and Midoriya drops his chin, breathing fast. “I am familiar with your position. Yu speaks of you fondly.” Lady Kayama smiles. “You will be safe here.”

Midoriya’s shoulders lower, and he bows, deeply. “Thank you, my Lady.”

Lady Kayama waves him off, and her bright, sharp gaze moves to Uraraka. “And who are these with whom you travel? Asui seems quite fond of this one already.” She gestures at Uraraka, who moves stiffly to her feet, and winces when she does.

“I-I’m, my name is Uraraka, your ladyship.”

Lady Kayama smiles in a way that bares her perfect teeth. “A witch! Delightful. And one clever enough not to give me her full name.” A chill runs down Shouto’s spine. Uraraka’s feet leave the earth, and she relaxes.

“It is an honour to meet you.”

The Lady Kayama looks amused. Around them, the crowds of spirits and creatures are utterly silent, watching with wide, strange eyes. “I’m sure. And you?” Her gaze moves to Jirou, who swallows and stands, dropping a bow.

“My name is Jirou, your ladyship.”

Jirou’s hands curl loosely in fists at her sides as she speaks, but it doesn’t quite stop them from shaking. Lady Kayama taps her chin and hums, softly. The sound sends power drifting into the air like mist in the wind. “No magic, but…” Her eyes brighten. “A singer! How wonderful. It’s been some time since we’ve heard the songs of the humans. They so rarely find their way to my court.”

Before Jirou can say anything else, the Lady’s gaze moves to Momo, and she speaks even before Momo stands. “A child of Nozomi! Oh, well, this is a pleasure. And I thought they were all trapped in that awful, oh, what is it the mortals call it…?” Next to her, the man with branches in his hair leans forward and whispers something. Lady Kayama snaps her fingers. “Kasai! Thank you, Shinsou.” She tilts her head at Momo. “What are you doing so far from home, Yaoyorozu?”

Momo opens her mouth to speak, but Lady Kayama’s gaze has already shifted to Shouto. The atmosphere changes like the crack of a whip. Next to her throne, the Lady’s retinue draw their weapons, and in the forest the spirits crowd forward, hissing and baring their teeth. The sky grows dark, though there are no clouds. The Lady Kayama stands, and magic ripples down the hill from where her feet touch the earth. She is easily seven feet tall.

Shouto feels cold sweat running down his spine, and his stomach flips. When the Lady Kayama speaks, her voice is deep and old as the mountains. “What is that thing doing here?”

Shouto tries to stand, and finds himself trapped by an invisible force that closes around his bones like a fist. The Lady Kayama walks down the hill towards him, and flowers burst from the earth and shrivel in her wake. Her eyes are burning, spitting magic. “What is the meaning of this?”

She raises her fist, and Shouto is lifted into the air, five feet above the ground. He tries to lift his hands to his throat because he can’t breathe, but it’s useless. Fire and ice flicker and sputter over his skin in his panic and grow no further. Lady Kayama turns on Midoriya, and he takes a step back under the force of her gaze. “Did you bring this abomination here? Where did you find it? Why is the monster still breathing?”

Momo’s hand moves to her sword, and the Lady Kayama flicks her wrist and there’s a crack and Momo shouts in pain. Shouto kicks at the empty air. A wind has picked up from nowhere, and it howls through the trees as a man with the tail of a monkey brings a sword to Momo’s throat. “Please stay still.” He says it quietly. Next to him, Jirou moves to draw her daggers and his tail snaps in a blur of motion to wrap around her wrists.

Jirou swears, trying to pull herself free, and the monkey-spirit’s tail slams her hands into the ground. Uraraka’s eyes are wide and panicked, and Tsuyu hops to her side, putting one large webbed hand on her upper back.

Midoriya lifts his chin, and green lightning crackles around his body. The man with branches in his hair cocks his head to the side and stares at Midoriya as he speaks. “My Lady Kayama, what is the meaning of this?”

Lady Kayama clenches her fist, and Shouto’s bones grind against one another, and he shouts in pain. “You dare to question me?” Her eyes are blue-white and glowing with power now, and her face is a mask of fury. Midoriya steps between her and Shouto and sets his shoulders, and when he speaks his voice rings with a power that makes Shouto’s ear’s ache.

“Yes. As chosen successor of the All Might I stand here in his care, and by extension so do my companions. If you wish to lose his favour then by all means, kill him. But I must ask: how many times do you think you could defeat him? I must confess, I doubt that you want to fight that war.” For a second, the two of them stand silent, staring each other down and crackling with power. With the unnatural dark and the tang of ozone in the air, neither looks human.

The wind tugs Midoriya’s curls across the back of his neck and plays with his shirt. After another long moment, Lady Kayama shuts her eyes, and the light in them fades to a more natural blue. She releases her fist, and Shouto falls through the air. With impossible speed, Midoriya catches him. “Thank you, my lady.”

Kayama waves her hand, and the hill opens like a shell, spilling a pool of amber warmth and the smell of honeysuckle into the midday twilight. “This is not the end of this, Midoriya Izuku. That… creature is not something worth your protection.” She pauses, hand resting on the thick grass of the hill beneath her throne as though it were a doorframe. “Shinsou. Asui. See that our guests are accommodated. Tonight we feast.” Then she snaps her fingers, and the hill closes behind her.

Midoriya looks down at Shouto. His arms around Shouto’s back and under his legs are warm and strong. His chest is broad and firm against Shouto’s arm. “Are you alright?” His curls hang around his head like a halo. Above them, the sky brightens once more.

Shouto nods, ignoring the way his body aches. “I’m fine.” Gently, Midoriya sets him on his feet, and steadies him when Shouto stumbles with a hand on his shoulder.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry if I overreacted, I just…”

Shouto shakes his head and waits for the dizziness to pass. Then he looks up at Midoriya. “I’m quite certain you saved my life. Again. Thank you, Izuku.”

Midoriya flushes. To their right, the monkey spirit releases Jirou’s hands with a murmured apology and crouches, gently taking Momo’s wrist and incanting a healing spell.

Behind them, someone gives a low whistle, and Shouto turns to see the man with branches in his hair. He’s giving Midoriya an appreciative smile. “I don’t remember the last time I saw someone stand up to Lady Kayama. It looks like your All Might has finally found a worthy successor.” He sticks out a hand strewn with twigs and branches that peel back seamlessly from where his veins would be if he were human.

“You heard already, but I’m Shinsou. It’s good to meet you, Midoriya.”

Red-faced, Midoriya takes Shinsou’s hand, and Shinsou smiles. With eyes as purple as wildflowers, and thick, wild hair, Shinsou is an objectively beautiful creature. He’s wearing a dark leather breastplate adorned with spirals and patterns over a light white tunic. He’s barefoot. Midoriya stares at him in something like awe.

“I…My apologies if this is rude but…are you a dryad?”

Shinsou is still holding his hand, and his mouth quirks at the corner in a lazy smile. He lets go of Midoriya to gesture at his head, and the branches that twist there, growing green needles and red berries. “What gave me away?”

Midoriya laughs, ducking his head. “Sorry, I just, I’ve never met a dryad before.”

Shinsou lifts a shoulder in half a shrug. “We don’t usually travel far from the heart of the forest. For obvious reasons.”

Making the executive decision that he’s not going to divert either of their attention any time soon, Shouto moves to Momo’s side. As he gets closer, both Tsuyu and the monkey-spirit step back. Shouto pushes down his discomfort and tries to give them a smile.

“I mean you no harm.”

He drops to crouch by Momo, and reaches for her wrist. Jirou has her arm around her back and is watching the monkey-spirit suspiciously. “Are you alright?”

Shouto speaks quietly; taking in the way that Momo’s clenching her jaw, and the light sheen of sweat on her brow. She nods, wiggling her fingers against his hand. Her wrist looks fine now, but he knows he heard it crack. “I’m fine.” She sounds tired, and looks up to meet his eyes. “It was just a powerful healing spell, that’s all. You?”

Shouto nods, and continues to ignore the pain in his muscles, which ache as they haven’t since he was a child and pushed past his limit by his father’s ‘training’. “I’m alright.”

Jirou ducks her head to get closer to them, and looks at Shouto with something like anger and something like concern. “Any idea what the hell that was all about?”

Shouto swallows and shakes his head. “Honestly, no.” His eyes drift to Momo, and she shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I’ve got nothing. But whatever it is…” She hesitates, dark eyes settling on Shouto and Jirou in turn. “I’d say we shouldn’t get too comfortable.”

Jirou nods, and squeezes Momo’s upper arm. “No shit.”

Shouto sighs. “Yeah.” He pauses, swallowing. “Look, I’m…” Momo’s hand on his arm stops him.

“Don’t.” She gives him a small smile. “Whatever this is, it wasn’t your fault. And you’d have done the same for me.” Shouto smiles back at her, and squeezes her hand.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Momo laughs, and together Shouto and Jirou help her stand. “One of life’s great mysteries, I think.” Jirou grins. Overhead, birds sing.

As it turns out, Shinsou is the Court’s keeper of tales. This seems to be the best thing Midoriya has heard all year. Shouto tries not to be put out by it. Once Jirou has established that the monkey spirit, whose name is Ojiro, has no intention of attacking her again, she relaxes. Then she takes in their surroundings, and her jaw drops.

Staircases grow in spirals around trees with silver bark that tower far into the distance above their heads. Fountains run between moss covered boulders and over decaying logs carpeted with fungi. Blossoms and leaves fall like curtains intermittently throughout the clearing, thick and soft and lush with life. Children with wings jump laughing through the forest, chasing dragonflies as big as their heads.

Overhead, the sky is a light, clear pink. Shouto can’t see the sun through the canopy, but he hardly needs to. The forest seems to glow with light and life, and fireflies spin like starlings between the branches. Ojiro offers them all a smile and bows, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome to our court.”

Next to Shouto, Momo has pressed both hands to her mouth. Her cheeks are round with her smile, and her eyes are bright.

Uraraka speaks softly. “It’s beautiful.”

Next to her, Tsuyu smiles a wide, close-lipped smile. “Let me show you around.”

She takes Uraraka’s hand in hers, and Uraraka pauses, turning to Midoriya. He hesitates, chewing his lip, and Tsuyu stares at him with her wide, dark eyes. “I will not hurt her. You are a friend of Mizushima.” She blinks, a little slower than a human would. “You are a friend of the sprites.”

Midoriya’s shoulders drop, and he sighs. “Alright.” He looks at Uraraka. “Be back by sunrise?”

Uraraka’s mouth curls into a smile, and she reaches back to clasp his forearm. “Of course.” Then she lets Tsuyu lead her away, feet drifting over egg-shaped pebbles and thick, bright carpets of moss. Midoriya watches her go, and Shinsou watches him. Shouto tries not to stare and doesn’t entirely succeed.

“Is she your lover?”

Midoriya startles, and Shinsou’s mouth curls into a quick smile as he blushes. “I, what? N-no. No, she’s my friend. My…She’s a dear friend.”

Jirou snorts, stretching her arms above her head. “She’s his ex.”

Shinsou’s brow furrows, and he cocks his head to the side. “I’m sorry?”

Ojiro clarifies, whilst Jirou playfully waves a hand in front of Momo’s face, and dodges the swat she gets for it. “They once were lovers.” He gives Shinsou a wry smile. “Mortals have a far more…restrictive sense of partnership than we do, as I understand it.”

Shinsou raises an eyebrow, a sharp smile not unlike a cat’s curling around his mouth. “And you would know this how?”

Ojiro blushes. Shouto wonders how exactly that works, physically speaking, for a spirit. Somewhere, someone plays a set of pipes, and the music twists through the late summer breeze. “Tooru has taken her share of lovers, mortal and otherwise.” He gestures with his thumb to a scar just under his eye. “Not all of them take kindly to our…” He pauses. “Our sense of sharing.”

“That’s terrible.” Midoriya’s voice is earnest, and his brow is furrowed in concern. Shinsou stares at him. “On behalf of my people, I’m so sorry.”

Ojiro blinks, and his tail curls behind his back. Then he forces a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “You can hardly apologise for the sins of humanity. Besides, I don’t think this one would appreciate your doing so.” He pauses, and his eyes are a light chestnut that catch the glow of evening. “But thank you, all the same.”

Midoriya smiles warmly at him, and Ojiro smiles back, and the smell of honeysuckle hangs thick in the air. Then Shinsou claps his hands, and all of them startle. “Anyway, don’t you have a watch to be getting to, Ojiro?” Ojiro laughs and nods, waving them a quick farewell before turning and going on his way. Shinsou looks over the remainder of their party with something like disdain, and he barely looks at Shouto at all.

“Trust Asui to leave me with the majority of the group. Well, the main thing is making sure you know where you’ll be sleeping and where not to go.” He pauses, and looks at Momo when he adds, “and I’m assuming that you know to be careful about what you eat.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, turning and making his way down a gentle incline towards a great red tree, broad and shaggy with moss. Across its mighty girth hangs a curtain of ivy, which Shinsou brushes aside to reveal something not unlike a town hall. There are furs and flowers strewn across the earth and a staircase curling around a whittled down echo of the tree trunk, which is again layered with intricate friezes of impossible histories. Shinsou nods to a woman inside with a body that looks like it’s made of water, and raises a hand in greeting to another with bright pink skin and the antennae of a moth.

“So, wait, no food? That’s kind of a bummer.” Jirou murmurs, leaning in close to Midoriya as they follow Shinsou up the beautifully carved staircase.

Midoriya shakes his head, and whispers back. “Not none, Lady Kayama is throwing us a feast, and it’d be rude not to partake. But be careful about what you eat. Don’t accept treats from strangers. Fairy food traps you in the fairy realm.”

Jirou raises an eyebrow, and gestures as they leave the lowest level of the tree and come out into a sprawling village of rope and silk structures woven through its enormous branches. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”

“It is.” Momo’s voice is grave. Shinsou still hasn’t bothered to look back at them, continuing to climb around the tree trunk and higher into its branches. “Even my ancestors wouldn’t dare. The fair folk can be very kind, but they can also be very cruel.” She glances at Shouto, and he looks away from her, down at the sprites and creatures on the forest floor below them through a mist of green leaves.

“Besides, we have a mission to complete. Remember?” Shouto’s voice is very quiet, but Shinsou pauses on the stairs, and when he turns he looks directly at him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that, actually.” Shinsou’s bright violet eyes move from Shouto to Midoriya. “What is it that brought you so far into the forest?”

Midoriya clears his throat, and runs his hand over the back of his neck. Shouto slips his hands into his pockets as they start walking again. “It’s, um, well, I mean no disrespect but I’m afraid it’s not something I’m at liberty to disclaim.”

Shinsou clicks his tongue, and needles from the branches in his hair fall to the staircase like snow before growing anew. “Damn. But all of them know?” He gestures to Momo, Jirou and Shouto. Midoriya swallows.

“Um, yes.”

Shinsou shrugs. “Alright.” He huffs a soft, mirthless laugh. “Well, I feel a little out of the loop, but I guess there’s nothing to be done about that.” He comes to a stop on the staircase, and steps off it onto a branch that’s easily two feet wide, gesturing to a string of fabric structures that look like cocoons. “This is where you’ll be sleeping tonight.” His mouth curls at the corner. “Unless you choose different bedfellows.”

Momo and Midoriya both go a very bright pink. Jirou and Shouto’s eyes meet behind their backs. Shouto shrugs. Jirou smirks. In front of them, Shinsou clears his throat. “You can leave anything you’re not too attached to here. Although I will warn you that the children are like magpies. They’ll grab anything shiny.”

As if to prove his point, a tiny girl with one horn protruding from her forehead grabs at Momo’s sword with her small, soft hands. Momo jumps, and turns to crouch, gently pushing her hands away. “Oh, no, no that’s not for you, little one.”

The girl frowns, and Shouto notices with something like distant horror that her eyes are as red as fresh blood. “I’m older than you. Stupid human.” Behind Momo, Shinsou laughs, and then covers his mouth with his hand and steps forward, gently pushing past Momo to muss the girls’ bright white hair.

“Now now Eri, that’s no way to treat Lady Kayama’s guests, is it?”

Eri blinks at them, and her red eyes get very wide, and she stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the branch. A bubble of magic catches her and pushes her back onto her feet. Shinsou smiles. “Run along now.”

Eri nods, and turns, and jumps off the branch, floating like a dandelion seed slowly towards the forest floor. Momo stands and clears her throat, rolling her shoulders. “I could stand to put down my pack. Are you sure it won’t have disappeared by daybreak?”

Again, Shinsou’s mouth curls at the corner. Shouto can’t decide whether he’s laughing with them or laughing at them. “I am sure that if it has, we will be able to find the culprit.”

Next to Momo, Jirou shrugs and hops up onto the branch, making her way towards the open tent. “Good enough for me.” Momo follows her, and Shouto goes to do the same, pausing when Midoriya stays where he is.

Midoriya is staring at Shinsou. He wets his lips. “Actually, I was wondering…”

“Yes?” Shinsou’s voice is low, and warm. He looks at Deku with half a smile on his lips and berries growing in his hair. Midoriya runs his gloved hands over his thighs.

“Well, I’d just…I’d be really interested to learn a little more about the myths of the forest, and maybe to see – well, to see how much, if any of it, lines up with what we know, or think we know, in Silvia. If, if you’d be so kind? Please?”

Shinsou stares, and Midoriya shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. “It’s no trouble if not, I understand that these things aren’t usually…”

Shinsou cuts him off with a laugh, and a wave of his branch-strewn hand. “No, no it’s just… Even here, people don’t often want to hear about the old stories.” He purses his lips, though it doesn’t stop his smile. “I’m told they’re an acquired taste.”

Midoriya stares at Shinsou, and Shinsou stares at Midoriya. “Alright then.” Midoriya’s face is pink. Shinsou’s mouth curls into a grin.

“Alright then.”

Next to Midoriya, Shouto clears his throat, and Shinsou tears his eyes away from Midoriya to give him an expression that suggests he’s surprised that he’s still standing there. Shouto looks from Shinsou to Midoriya and points at the tent, before awkwardly manoeuvring his way in between them. “I’ll just. Um. Yes.”

He’s barely reached the tent door by the time Midoriya starts talking again, fast and loud and excited. Shouto takes one more chance to glance at the bright pink sky, and then ducks through the silk door and into the relief of the shade beyond, lifting a hand to his face.

“I’m an idiot.”

From where she’s lying on a, really very comfortable looking, plump white bedroll, Jirou stares at him. “Yeah, we know. Why this time?”

Shouto ignores her, examining the spell sewn into the fabric of the tent. He looks back outside to see thickly woven rope nets connecting the branches either side of them together. By the tree trunk, Midoriya and Shinsou have already started to make their way back down towards the forest floor.

With a sigh, he walks inside. Momo has set down her pack, and is busy unbuckling her armour. When she pulls it off with a huff, it tugs her shirt up above her waist, revealing the roll of her stomach and the lines of her hips. Jirou stares, and Shouto clears his throat, raising both eyebrows at her. She flips him off behind Momo’s back.

Momo looks from Jirou to Shouto as she drops her breastplate onto the bed and cracks her neck. “Am I missing something?”

“Nope.” Jirou says, loudly, and Shouto smirks at his bedroll, trying to get used to the strange feeling of the floor giving way beneath his feet.

“Midoriya seems awfully taken with that dryad, doesn’t he?” Momo says it quietly, digging into her pack for a clean shirt. Jirou sits and picks at her nails with a dagger. Shouto shrugs, taking off his jacket.

“I don’t see that it’s any of our business.”

Across the tent, Jirou snorts, and Momo glares at her. “Alright, alright, sorry. Besides, Deku’s not half as excited about Shinsou as Ochako was about that naiad. I’d say it was a Silvian thing, but as you can see, I remain un-smitten.”

Momo hums, pulling off her filthy shirt, and Jirou drops her knife with a curse. Shouto bites his lip to fight his grin, turning away as he takes off his own shirt and quickly exchanges it for another, wondering whether they might be able to find somewhere to bathe nearby. He’d have to be careful about his hair, but it seemed worth the risk.

Behind his back, Momo unties her hair and runs a comb through it with quick, brisk movements. She’s exchanged her shirt and leather breastplate for something with shorter sleeves and a low cut neck that exposes both her collarbone and her biceps. Jirou looks like she’s about to spontaneously combust.

“Do you think she’ll be alright?” Shouto isn’t sure which of them Momo directs the question at, but he’s fairly certain Jirou is in no position to answer.

He stoops, and gets his flask from his bag, taking a long drink before he answers. “Ochako?”

Momo nods, running her fingers through her hair. Jirou abruptly gets to her feet. “I’m, I’ve, got to, um. Gonna go.” With that, she makes a hasty exit. Shouto smiles as he watches her go, and Momo throws her filthy shirt at him.

He laughs and throws it back at her. “What was that for?”

“You scared her off!”

Shouto raises both eyebrows at his best friend. “No, I’m pretty sure you did that.”

Momo looks like he’s just told her that he has designs on her mother. Which was ridiculous for a number of reasons. “What did I do?”

“Remember when Tenya had that crush on you?”

Momo’s brow wrinkles. “Yes, though I fail to see how that’s relevant here.”

Shouto tucks his flask back into his pack, and takes out a small earthenware jar. “And then you were sparring - it was summer - and you were hot so you stripped down to your vest? He got a concussion. He was in bed for a week.”

Momo rolls her eyes at him and ties her hair up with a leather thong. “Jirou isn’t exactly Tenya. She’s…” Momo pauses, searching for the right word whilst Shouto watches her. “She’s worldly. I doubt that me wearing one less layer of clothing would have had much of an effect on her.”

Shouto shrugs. “Sure. I’m going to go find somewhere to bathe. The gods know I need it.”

As he steps closer to Momo, her nose wrinkles, and she pushes him away. “The gods and me. Were you raised in a barn?” Shouto laughs, and pushes her back before making his way out of the door, tossing his reply over his shoulder.

“You know the answer to that.”

It doesn’t take them as long as it should have done to reach Tsuyu’s lake. Uraraka has a suspicion that the Lady Kayama’s court has a flexible relationship with distance, at least as far as the forest is concerned. She feels like they’ve barely moved past the echoes of laughter from the sprites at the forest’s heart before they’re climbing a small bank to reach the narrow beach of a wide, frozen lake.

Tsuyu hops ahead of her, briefly letting go of her hand, and Uraraka’s fingers curl in her absence. Tsuyu crouches on her hands and the balls of her feet, and the wide fans of her ears twitch against her long black hair. It slips over her shoulders as she ducks her head, splaying her fingers against the ice.

Uraraka moves a little closer, feeling the pull on her magic as she does, to look over Tsuyu’s head and see what she’s doing. As it turns out, she hardly needs to. From where Tsuyu’s fingertips touch the ice, a ripple of force as green as summer flashes outwards across the lake, racing towards the other bank. There’s a great, groaning creak, and Tsuyu turns to look up at her with an unreadable expression.

“You might want to move back.”

Uraraka does, and the ice shatters, sending water spraying over the edges of the lake and into the treeline. Uraraka laughs and shakes herself, feeling the cold water seep through her clothes and trickle down her chest. As she watches, time seems to speed up. In a matter of moments the ice melts entirely, leaving a wide, dark, deep green lake in its wake.

Uraraka stares. “That’s a powerful spell.”

Tsuyu smiles at her like there’s a joke she’s missing. “Not so powerful. It’s my lake.” Behind her, the water laps forward on a nonexistent breeze, curling at her heels like a puppy. Uraraka smiles, and looks over Tsuyu’s flower-strewn head at the lake beyond.

“It’s beautiful.”

It really is. Dark as an emerald and wide, the lake pushes against the treeline, hidden by a bank that rises like a lip all the way around its edge. It’s nearly a hundred feet wide, and as many long. Uraraka suspects that it’s deeper than it looks, but near the water’s edge it’s shallow, and clear enough for her to see the pebbles in it turned gold by the light. Overhead, the sky is blazing a dark, rich pink heralding the sunset.

It’s quiet, here. The occasional birdsong is the only thing that breaks the silence. It’s as if the two of them are completely alone.

Tsuyu lifts one clawed hand to her own shoulder, and slips the white diaphanous fabric of her dress down her arm. Uraraka feels blood rushing up the back of her neck and into her cheeks. “W-w-what are you doing?”

Tsuyu laughs, and when she does she closes her eyes. Laugh lines spray over her cheeks. Then she steps out of her dress, revealing a simple piece of fabric wrapped around her breasts and another tied across her hips and between her legs. Silver fish-like scales run iridescent over her belly and around her pale thighs.

Uraraka tries to swallow the pebble trying to work its way out of her throat. Tsuyu steps back, and the water wraps around her ankles as if it’s drawn to her, like a magnet. She holds out her hand, and Uraraka stares at it.

“Can you swim?”

Uraraka blinks, and shakes her head, and tugs at her hair. “I, well, yes. I mean, yes I can swim pretty girl – good, pretty good. I can swim pretty good.” Tsuyu cocks her head to the side. Her long hair falls over her arms like ink on a blank page.

Uraraka swallows, and moves to pull off her shirt with shaking hands. In the warmth of the evening, it’s a relief. Tsuyu stares at her all the while, head still tilted. “Do mortals normally swim with their clothes on?”

Uraraka is so surprised she laughs, and that’s enough of a distraction for her to unlace her pants without much ado and push them over her thighs. She’s still wearing light cotton undergarments and a vest. Compared to Tsuyu, she may as well be fully dressed. She feels exposed all the same, running a hand over the goosebumps on her arm.

“No. No, not typically.”

Tsuyu keeps staring at her, and then she crouches. The water splashes against her ankles. “You seem frightened. Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Uraraka glances behind her, into the dark depths of the forest, as she folds her clothes and sets them down by the shore of the lake. She speaks to them instead of looking at Tsuyu directly. “No, no, it’s not that. You’re not doing anything. It’s just…” She bites her lip, and the balls of her feet touch the earth. “I feel a little exposed, is all.”

Tsuyu blinks, slowly. Then she turns, pressing her hand into the water, and a shiver of magic ripples outward from her fingertips, lifting up and into the trees like a gust of wind, shaking their branches. “There is nobody here.” Tsuyu blinks again. “Except me.” She frowns, and it looks out of place somehow on her wide, smooth features. “I can turn away, if you want?”

Uraraka shakes her head, then pushes her hair back behind her ears and pats down her clothes, moving back towards the water’s edge. “No, it’s fine. That’d be…That’s not necessary.”

Tsuyu watches her with eyes that are wide and dark as a starless night. “Alright.”

Tsuyu moves backwards, and the water envelops her calves and then her knees. Under the water, her scales are opalescent, shimmering in the reflected light. Uraraka hesitates, and Tsuyu holds out her hand. Uraraka stares at it: it’s wide, and pale, and ridged with claws as green as algae. Between her fingers stretches webbing, thin and translucent. Uraraka takes a deep breath. The smell of pine and earth and fresh water fills her lungs.

She takes Tsuyu’s hand, and magic rushes into her body like a shower of cold water on a hot day. Reflexively, Uraraka squeeze’s Tsuyu’s fingers, and Tsuyu squeezes back, offering her a small smile. Uraraka steps into the water. It’s cool, but not too cold. As she walks in, Tsuyu walks back, until she’s up to her waist in dark water. Uraraka stares at her and thinks vaguely that every fairy-tale she’s ever heard has told her never to go swimming with a naiad.

Above them, the sky deepens to indigo as the sun sets over an invisible horizon. Tsuyu moves a little further backwards, so the water is touching her belly button. Uraraka wonders exactly how it is that a naiad would even come to have a belly button. She keeps holding her hand. Tsuyu’s fingers are cool in hers, and the water wraps like silk around her aching legs.

When the water is draped around Tsuyu’s shoulders like a cloak, her hair spreads out around her, the flowers and weeds in it drifting on the surface like offerings at a festival. Uraraka stops casting the levitation spell she’s been using all day with a bone-deep sense of relief, and lets the water carry her. Tsuyu blinks.

“Why do you float?”

Uraraka shrugs, paddling lightly as Tsuyu continues to lead her into the heart of the lake. Her feet have long since left the lakebed, and now they drift lightly against nothing at all. “My legs aren’t as strong as I need them to be.”

Tsuyu frowns, and ducks beneath the water, and Uraraka tries not to squirm under her gaze. She does jump when Tsuyu rests a hand on her thigh, tugging her back upwards with a laugh. “Ok, ok, please ask the human before manhandling her. Or womanhandling her. Or, well, whatever. You get the point.”

Water drips over Tsuyu’s eyelashes and down her nose, and she smiles in a way that crinkles the corners of her eyes, swimming closer. “No? What is the point? You do not want to be touched?”

She lets go of Uraraka’s hand, and Uraraka is shaking her head even before she’s moved away, reaching out for her. Smiling, Tsuyu offers her hand again and Uraraka takes it. “No, just…some places are more sensitive than others.”

Tsuyu is almost close enough for their chests to be touching. She lowers her eyes. “You mean intimacy?” She looks back up at Uraraka and smiles, all sharp teeth and mischief, before splashing her in the face. Uraraka yelps and splashes back, letting go of her hand, and Tsuyu laughs, something musical and light. “Mortals are strange.”

A fish brushes Uraraka’s heel and she jumps a little, cursing when she does at the crack of pain that runs through her calf. Immediately, Tsuyu is by her side, ducking below the water and pressing her hand to Uraraka’s leg. The pain fades, but Uraraka’s energy doesn’t. She frowns.

“How did you do that? Aren’t you tired?”

Tsuyu’s mouth pulls up at the corner. “It’s my lake.” She shakes her head. “Silly human.” She spreads her arms wide, pressing her palms to the surface of the water, and light ripples outwards like tension across the skin of a drum. Power wraps tingling around Uraraka’s body, a thick blanket of magic that makes her breathless. When Tsuyu looks at her, the green light of her magic is reflected in her deep, black eyes. “This is the source of my magic. Spells will not tire me here.”

Uraraka sighs, and leans her head back, letting the cold water cradle the back of her skull and seep through her hair. “I wish I had something like that.”

Tsuyu laughs again. “But you’re human!” She swims a little closer, and her movements are fluid and graceful as a dancer’s. When she speaks, she looks serious. “My power is conditional. The further I am from my lake, the weaker I am. Whereas your power is based on the strength of your heart.” Tsuyu taps her chest, lightly, as if to emphasise her point.

Uraraka’s eyes fall from the shimmering scales beneath her collarbone to the damp bandage around her chest. She looks quickly away. Tsuyu smiles at her.

“It’s a much stronger power. To be able to take your magic with you, wherever you wish…” Tsuyu leans back, paddling lightly and staring up at the darkening night sky. Her hand finds Uraraka’s. Absently, Uraraka runs her thumb over Tsuyu’s hand, feeling the change of texture between skin and scale.

“You sound a little envious. Would you like to see the world?”

“Of course!” Tsuyu’s voice is quiet, but fervent all the same. “So many people, and creatures, and beautiful things. The river sprites like Mizushima are lucky, they travel to the oceans and the ports and see the traders there. Sailors, and people travelling from strange lands. But travellers rarely find their way here, and if they do, they do not stop to visit me.”

Uraraka bites her lip. “That sounds lonely.” She moves so that she’s upright in the water again, and looks down at Tsuyu, still lying on her back. Her belly and thighs crest the surface like little islands, scattered with silver. “I’m sorry.”

Tsuyu’s eyes move to hers. There are scales along her brow and at the corners of her eyelids. They look like jewels, or the paints that rich women would wear to decorate their faces. She’s beautiful. “You don’t need to be sorry, Uraraka.” Tsuyu smiles, and her teeth are sharp and clear. “You’re here now! I have so much to show you.”

Uraraka’s stomach does a somersault, and she glances back at the treeline. Her clothes seem awfully far away. Every ghost story she’s ever heard about children disappearing in haunted lakes comes crowding at the back of her mind. “Oh, well, um, I should be getting back…” She cuts herself off when Tsuyu’s hand rests, cold and damp on her forearm.

Tsuyu waits for her to meet her eyes. “I mean you no harm, Uraraka. Friend of the All Might and friend of Mizushima. You are safe here. I swear.” She lets go of Uraraka’s arm, and offers her open palm. Magic shimmers around her skin like a silver glove.

Uraraka takes her hand, and seals the spell. She smiles a little. “Alright. Thank you.” She bites her lip and ducks her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt you, it’s just…”

Tsuyu waves her off with a dripping webbed hand. “No, no it’s wise. Most of my cousins partake in human flesh.” Uraraka’s blood runs cold, and Tsuyu flashes her a grin.

“Wait, are you…are you teasing me?” Uraraka fights to appear appropriately angry, splashing Tsuyu with a shower of water. Tsuyu, for her part, cackles, baring her teeth and splashing back.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, it was too tempting. We are not monsters, you know.” She smiles.“We’re just…different people.”

Uraraka thinks it’s possible she’s forgotten how to breathe. She reaches out, and tentatively rests her hand on the side of Tsuyu’s face. Tsuyu leans into her touch. Uraraka flushes, and draws her hand back. “Y-you’re cold.”

Tsuyu smiles, widely. “No, you’re warm. Now, do you want to see my lake or not?”

Uraraka frowns a little, staring around them at the shifting water, which in the lowering light is black as obsidian. “Aren’t we already in your lake?”

“Silly human.” Tsuyu laughs, and clicks her tongue. “Most of the lake is beneath the surface.”

Uraraka stares, and Tsuyu holds out her hand. Uraraka takes it, and magic wraps around her like a blanket. “Do you trust me?”

Uraraka searches her mind for the right answer to that question. Overhead, clouds scud across the sky and the stars start to prickle into their constellations. Somewhere in the distance, an early owl hoots to greet the evening. Uraraka bites her lip, and shakes her head, and squeezes Tsuyu’s hand.

Because somehow, impossibly, against all reason…

“Yes.”

Tsuyu smiles, and pulls her under.

Lady Kayama’s idea of a feast is a wonder to behold, though she declines to grace them with her presence. Shouto tries to ignore the growing unease rolling in his stomach, but he can’t get her words out of his head. Abomination. Monster. Thing.

For their part, Jirou, Momo and Midoriya seem unconcerned. They feast happily and well, and when a group of spirits ferry away their platters for the night they allow themselves to be pulled into the celebrations. Jirou disappears not long after their dinner, and Uraraka has yet to be back. But Midoriya is relaxed, and that alone sets Shouto at ease. With a heavy flagon full of mead, he finds himself a corner from which to watch the festivities.

Music rings through the night and mixes in the air with the sweet scents of milk and honey. It provides a counterpoint to the smoke of the fire and the salty tang of sweat as Kayama’s court dances.

Shouto watches with mild amusement as Momo declines the moth spirit, whose name he learned at dinner was Mina, for the fourth time that night. Instead, she picks her way through the revellers towards the moss-covered log on which he sits.

“I never picked you for a heartbreaker.” He grins as she sits beside him. She looks at him sidelong, taking a hefty gulp from her flagon.

“Nor I you for a wallflower.”

Shouto jerks his chin towards the space before him, which has been kept carefully empty in a five-foot radius for the past three hours. “I don’t think I’m very popular. I’m beginning to suspect there’s something wrong with my face.” Anyone else might have looked aghast, but Momo is Momo and she knows him better.

She laughs, and Shouto chuckles with her. “Maybe they’re just shy because of your stunning good looks.”

Shouto’s chuckles turn into outright laughter, and he raises his flask to hers, knocking them together hard enough to splash their knuckles with golden wine. “Good one.” Sitting back a little, he feels Momo relax beside him. “Where’s Uraraka?” He still can’t see her among the revellers.

He catches Momo smirk out of the corner of his eye. “She’s not back yet.” Momo strokes her chin, looking pensive. “Ten gold pieces says Ochako is getting wet in more ways than one right about now.”

Shouto chokes on his drink, and Momo laughs when he does. Wiping his mouth clean and glancing ruefully away from a few offended looking sprites who were subject to his spray, he turns to his friend in mock horror.

“Yaoyorozu Momo, since when did you get such a filthy mouth?”

Momo grins. “Sometime between joining the royal guard and becoming a wandering mercenary, I think. The real question is how we still haven’t removed that stick from your ass.”

“I’ll have you know that stick does wonders for my posture.”

Momo laughs again, loud and freely, and Shouto laughs with her, peering out at the crowd before them. He’ll give her this, abomination or no, Lady Kayama knows how to throw a party. The moon falls down into this particular clearing like sunlight through shallow water, and they barely need the fires for light or warmth on such a clear evening. Above them, the canopy is just spare enough to reveal the stars, and below the creatures dancing put on a show to match, with sparkling eyes and gleaming teeth and shimmers of magic that glimmer like dew at sunrise.

He’s so caught up in the spectacle that he nearly misses who he was looking for in the first place. Midoriya is sitting with the dryad, Shinsou, eyes wide as he stares down at the small book Shinsou is holding. For his part, Shinsou is wearing an expression half way between astonishment and delight. Shouto is beginning to suspect that this is just part of Midoriya’s natural effect on people.

Leaning a little awkwardly against the boughs of an oak, Shinsou glances carefully between the book he’s holding and the expression of the human beside him, occasionally opening his mouth to interject or correct what Shouto is guessing is a constant stream of mumbling coming from Midoriya.

“You’re staring.” Momo’s tone is kind, not reproachful.

Shouto starts, and takes a long, fortifying drink from his flagon. The mead is sweet and warm, and it slides a little too smoothly down his throat. He can’t bring himself to regret it in time for the morning. “Where’s Jirou, anyway?”

It’s Momo’s turn to drink, which she does, heartily. “I saw her going off to speak to Ojiro’s lover. You know, the water sprite, Tooru? The one who likes to share.” Shouto turns to look at his friend. She’s staring with a stoic sort of resolve into the fire, and the flames reflecting in her eyes make them look like embers.

She is beautiful. Shouto has always known this. He nudges her arm. “Well, if her head can be turned from Yaoyorozu Momo by some water sprite, then she wasn’t worth your time anyway.”

There’s a loud gasp as a water sprite, though thankfully not the sprite in question, overhears their conversation and stomps away, spitting curses. Shouto pinches the bridge of his nose. “I cannot seem to make a good impression.”

Momo pats his back. “You never have. But it hasn’t stopped you so far, and I’m sure it won’t stop you now.”

“Not that I don’t love my insecurities, but weren’t we discussing your troubles of the heart?” Shouto fiddles with his sleeve.

“Actually, I think we were starting with how you’re jealous of a tree.”

Shouto splutters, tearing his eyes away once more from the look that Shinsou’s giving Midoriya. He knows that look. He’s worn it himself often enough. “I am not – he’s not a tree, he’s a dryad.”

“Who lives for hundreds of years and is, what, not asexual – what’s that one where they reproduce with themselves? I mean he is literally mostly plant. I wonder how he would even think of bedding a human? To him it must be like…bestiality or something.”

Shouto chokes and Momo thumps his back. “Wash that mouth.”

Momo grins. “Now why on earth would I do that?”

Shouto can’t shake his grin, no matter how hard he tries. “It’s obscene.”

“Well, yes. But so is this whole evening, if you ask me.” Momo lowers her voice as a troupe of naiads come dancing past. They wear little more than their scales and thin, translucent robes draped over their chests and hung loosely around their hips. She blushes, and Shouto smirks at her.

“Enjoying the view?”

“At least I’m not being obvious about it.” She mutters. Shouto elbows her, and she elbows him back, and somehow this turns into a tussle that means they miss Jirou’s approach.

Tooru had, apparently, managed to strip her of her form-fitting breeches and her loose, filthy tunic and jacket. Instead, Jirou was draped in a shirt made of the same vague spiderweb-thin fabric that the naiads wore, adorned with silver glamours that glimmered like real jewellery around her wrists and ears. Dark suede pants wrap tightly around her legs beneath the loose hem of her shirt, which shifts as she moves. Her feet are bare, but it doesn’t matter much in this clearing, padded as it is with moss and wildflowers.

Momo turns an interesting shade of maroon and Shouto clumsily tries to hide his laughter with a cough. Jirou blushes a faint pink that’s dusty in the moonlight and shifts awkwardly from one foot to another. Shouto tries to move a little further down the log, away from the pair of them, although Tooru remains with her translucent hands wrapped around Jirou’s elbow.

“It’s, uh,” Jirou clears her throat. “It’s not exactly my, um. My style. But I asked Tooru if she. You know, the…Sprites here are so pretty and, um...”

From where he’s trying to bury himself into the side of a tree trunk, even Shouto can hear the unspoken end of her sentence. And I wanted to be pretty, for you.

Momo recovers enough to try to speak, but with a squeeze from Tooru, Jirou continues. “So, I, um. Here.” She sticks her hand out with all the aplomb of a sledgehammer through a stained glass window. Held gently between her thumb and forefinger is a tiny, bright snowdrop that gleams like a pearl in the firelight.

Momo looks at it, and then up at Jirou, who is resolutely not meeting her gaze. Shouto is creeping around the edge of the tree trunk now, so he misses what happens next, but Jirou doesn’t.

Momo’s eyes go soft the way the night grows gentle before the morning, and she takes the flower. Tooru squeals something incoherent and, with one last squeeze of Jirou’s arm, dances away. Momo stands and tucks the flower into Jirou’s hair, and Jirou blushes still deeper, the flush spreading down her chest and over the tops of her bare arms.

Momo says, “Kyouka,” she tucks Jirou’s hair behind her ear with her left hand, takes her hand with her right, and lifts it to her lips. Then she brushes a kiss over Jirou’s knuckles. “Would you do me the honour of this dance?”

Kyouka laughs and murmurs something about Momo not having to make such a big deal of it, but she also brushes away something damp and bright from the corner of her eye with the heel of her palm and nods, yes.

Momo leads her into the crowd toward the fire, and the spirits there welcome them gleefully, twisting and leaping around them in a mad dance as Momo slips her hand onto Kyouka’s waist. With an easy confidence that counters the way her hands are shaking, just a little, Momo guides Kyouka’s wrist to her shoulder. Then, despite the mad beat of the drums and the frenzy of the strings, Momo begins to lead Kyouka in a slow, intimate waltz under the moon.

Around them, the spirits laugh and coo, hooting and wolf whistling but not moving closer. For their part, Momo and Kyouka don’t seem to notice, lost in a world of their own as they step carefully back and forth in a rhythm as even and steady and strong as the beat of a human heart.

For a moment, Shouto stares, struck by the picture they cut against the forest and the fire and the sky. Then he brushes his cheek, and smiles a little to himself, and wanders back to his log.

It’s a beautiful evening.

When Midoriya and Shinsou finally make their way over to Shouto’s log, he’s fairly certain he’s had too much to drink. Leaving aside the fact that Lady Kayama’s brew seems undoubtedly to be mystically potent, Shouto didn’t often drink heavily, he was too wary of losing control to do so freely.

But as he’d watched, Midoriya and Shinsou’s heads had grown closer and closer together, until Shinsou’s dusty lilac hair was mingling with Midoriya’s like branches in a canopy. Shinsou’s carefully furtive glances had become bolder as the evening wore on, leading him to shift inch by inch closer to his new human companion. Whilst the pair had become more intimately acquainted, Jirou and Momo had danced until Shouto’s feet felt sore on their behalf. Then they’d left, laughing and spinning in each other’s arms and stealing kisses from one another’s lips as they ventured into the glade’s darker depths.

During this time, the only sprite who’d so much as attempted to strike up a conversation with Shouto was Mina, who’d danced over to him on the balls of her feet to ask after Momo. When Shouto had explained, ruefully, that she’d already left with Jirou, he felt that he didn’t entirely deserve the pouting with which he was confronted. Not that he could say he was enormously surprised, he imagined creatures as beautiful as these rarely got no for an answer.

So when Midoriya approaches and Shouto clambers clumsily to his feet, he’s far past the point of feeling self conscious about the way he staggers. Apparently oblivious, Midoriya launches immediately into a detailed verbal essay about the myths of the forest which Shinsou had been sharing with him, and the ways in which they both collided and separated with those of the people who had spent so many centuries calling Silvia their home.

It was only thanks to hours of practice spent hiking through mile after mile of the forest that Shouto could keep up, even in his inebriated state. As it was, his attention was focused far more directly on Shinsou, and more importantly, the look of open tenderness with which he regarded Midoriya.

“And then when you think about it, their myths of the twin brothers of light and shadow, harmony and chaos, they easily align with the way in which we like to think about our All Might and I was thinking that that actually makes a really fascinating comparison with that one parable about the time that the All Might –“

Midoriya peters off. At some point in his speech, Shinsou had noticed Shouto’s eyes on him and looked up to meet them with the same casual irritation with which he’d introduced himself to their group. Now they were neck deep in a stare-off that Shouto had sort of clumsily initiated. Midoriya looks first to Shinsou and then to Shouto, before blinking and letting his shoulders fall.

Immediately, both of them turn to him.

Shinsou says, “What’s wrong?”

Shouto says, “I was listening, but I’m not familiar with the parable.”

Midoriya perks up a little at that, and Shinsou blinks slowly at Shouto, which he supposes isn’t surprising. He’s half amazed that Shinsou speaks at the same pace as a normal human, he keeps expecting his speech to be some kind of groaning, elongated, glacier-esque rumble.

Shinsou raises both eyebrows at him. “I’m not actually a tree, you know.”

And Shouto said that out loud, apparently. Midoriya looks rueful. “How much have you had to drink?”

Shouto gestures vaguely with his empty flagon. “People only approach me when this thing’s empty.”

At that, Shinsou cocks his head to the side. Then he lowers his shoulders and casually proffers a branch-strewn hand. “I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve been rude. Can we start over? I didn’t catch your name.”

Shouto bites back his reaction and takes the hand that’s offered, shaking it firmly. Midoriya positively beams at Shinsou, who looks somewhat taken aback. Shouto’s sense of jealousy is taken over by an overwhelming sense of pity for the dryad, and cautiously he rests a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. “Careful, Izuku, you’ll blind the man.”

Shinsou doesn’t take his eyes away from Midoriya, but his mouth curves a little at the corners. “Actually, we grow in the sun.”

Shouto blinks, and Midoriya blushes bright pink, rubbing the back of his neck and turning to Shouto, who shrugs. “So, um, that parable, it’s actually a really cool one, it’s all about how, like…You can be really wealthy and give a lot, but that doesn’t matter as much as if you have little and give all you have, and the point is that it’s like, well, charity shouldn’t be done for the sake of performance, it should be done for its own sake, and Shinsou,” Midoriya looks to the dryad now, “that reminded me of what you were telling me, about how trees will help saplings find their way to the light.”

As he speaks, Midoriya gingerly thumbs through the ancient book that has somehow migrated from Shinsou’s grasp into his hands, pointing to curving symbols which gleam like gold in a hoard. Shinsou hums, attention diverted as he interjects, “but in the forest, a tree will only protect their own – saplings from their mother.”

Shouto blinks, and despite himself steps a little closer, so that the three of them are huddled around the tiny book, painted with beautiful illustrations that swallow its pages and curl gracefully around its letters. Midoriya nods. “And ok, yes, but that’s not true of all of them, right?” He points to a delicate ink portrait of a faun’s body lying on the forest floor draped in wildflowers.

“Like the faun which eats berries from the Yew tree.” Here he glances shyly at Shinsou, who offers him another ghost of a smile in return. “It’s a tragedy for which the forest mourns, but it also helps keep the forest floor and, in turn, all the trees alive – including the saplings that would otherwise have been eaten by the deer, whether or not they belong to the Yew.”

“So whilst it has the capacity to destroy those weaker than itself, it will also protect them?” Shouto says, softly, and then hiccoughs. Midoriya laughs softly and nudges him with his elbow, and Shouto flushes cold then hot.

Shinsou nods. “I think that’s a fair reading. But,” his mouth twists, “I fail to see how this comes back to your parable.”

Shouto smiles. “That’s a relief, I was worried I was the only one.”

Between them, Midoriya blushes and starts to murmur. “Well, I mean, I definitely need to flesh it out further, and honestly I should makes notes on this before we leave for further study, because Aizawa at the very least would be fascinated and I think even the All Might might not have heard of all of these and hang on, dammit, did I even bring my inkwell…”

As Midoriya begins to pat himself down, Shinsou meets Shouto’s eyes above his head. “Does he do this often?”

Shouto nods. “Endearing, isn’t it?”

Shinsou blinks, then hums, and both of them ignore Midoriya sputtering. “He reminds me of the goldfinches at dawn. They’re pretty, talkative little wanderers too.”

Shouto’s not sure when he started smiling, but his grin widens enough to make his cheeks hurt and he doesn’t care. They’re standing close enough to the fire now for his right side to grow cool in aversion to it. He likes the way it casts shadows on Midoriya’s face.

Having retrieved his inkwell, quill and journal from the depths of his pack, Midoriya drops down cross-legged with his back to the fire. Shinsou carefully surveys the tired revellers around them, who are increasingly draped over the trees and one another, lazily whispering and humming to themselves. Then he sits too, keeping his bright eyes on the fire. Shouto supposes that shouldn’t be surprising, considering the branches curling up through the dryad’s hair and from his spine, but this thought sobers him more than anything else has so far.

He realises with something like surprise that he’s never actually seen Midoriya writing in his journal. Shouto leans close, closer than he might have done if he was sober, to read over his shoulder. Midoriya’s handwriting is sharp and staccato as chicken-scratch, and he can barely make out which language it’s written in. But next to his scrawls are quick, loose, beautiful illustrations of people and symbols that seem to jump off the page.

Midoriya is murmuring to himself as he writes, and Shouto’s eyes move from the page to his profile. His freckled nose in wrinkled in his concentration, and he sticks his quill into his hair when he reaches up to scratch his forehead. His long eyelashes cast dancing shadows over his dark cheeks, and in profile his lips are plump and full. Something warm curls in Shouto’s gut, and he blinks, glancing up and away from Midoriya only to meet Shinsou’s gaze again.

For a second, he’s caught in the dryad’s eyes, which are as bright and grey in the dark as a winter morning. Then Shinsou offers him half a smile and gets to his feet. Midoriya looks up from his page, quill resting over his scarred hand. “You’re leaving?”

Shinsou shrugs and rolls his shoulders. “I know this might surprise you, but dryads sleep too. And I’m too old to want a crick in my neck.”

He doesn’t quite meet Midoriya’s eyes. “Good night, you two.” He hooks his thumb into his pocket, sighs, and half-turns back to them. “It really was a pleasure to meet you.” Then he turns and walks away into the dark.

Midoriya watches him go, rolling his quill between thumb and forefinger. Then he seems to take in their surroundings: the sprites sleeping in piles like puppies or some other small animal, the growing dark of the night and the dying fire. He frowns and turns to Shouto.

They’re so close that Midoriya’s back is pressed against Shouto’s shoulder, but he doesn’t try to move away. “Where are Momo and Kyouka? Did they go to bed already?”

Shouto’s mouth curls into a smile of its own accord. “After a fashion.”

Midoriya blinks, then stares, looking delighted. “Wait, you mean…?”

Shouto nods solemnly, and Midoriya beams at him. His smile is bright in the growing dark. “I do mean.”

Midoriya laughs, softly, and scratches his head, looking around the glade as if he’ll be able to spot their errant companions. “Man, I can’t believe I missed that. About damn time, though.” He catches the expression on Shouto’s face, and raises an eyebrow. “I mean, Kyouka’s been head over heels for her since the day they met. You knew that, right?”

Shouto lifts a shoulder in a shrug. Between the fire and Midoriya, he feels very, very warm. Sleep suddenly settles into his bones like the embrace of an old friend, and he yawns. Midoriya watches him with half a smile on his lips. “I mean, I knew it went that way for Momo. I didn’t know for sure about Jirou. Though I had my suspicions.”

Midoriya hums, tapping his quill against his lips. The white feather bends and curls over his skin, and Shouto finds himself struggling to look away. “Yeah, that’s fair. I guess that was what I thought about Momo. Though she’s kind of obvious.”

Shouto huffs a laugh. “Momo’s just honest. I don’t think she sees the point in lying.” His stomach rolls, and he tugs his freshly dyed black hair. He looks away from Midoriya, into the darkness of the forest, and shifts his weight, sitting up a little.

“That seems admirable.” Midoriya’s voice is quiet. Next to them, the fire snaps and crackles. Around them, the spirits snore and whistle softly into the night. Midoriya’s fingers rest over Shouto’s and Shouto startles. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Shouto lifts a shoulder in half a shrug. “You didn’t.” Midoriya’s fingers wind through his and Shouto lets them, though again he looks away from his face. He feels everything he hasn’t said sitting heavy between them.

I’m lying to you. Shouto swallows, and clears his throat. Midoriya tilts his head to the side. “Are you alright?” His voice gets a little lower, softer. “You seem nervous.”

Shouto bites the inside of his cheek. He still can’t look at Midoriya, so he doesn’t try to. “I’m fine. I just…have a lot on my mind.”

A light, cold wind dances through the glade, pulling Midoriya’s curls across his cheeks like clouds in a storm. Shouto feels the wind prickle against his neck. Next to them, the fire grows dim.

Midoriya squeezes his fingers, and with an effort Shouto turns to look at him. He’s looking down at their hands. It’s hard to tell in the firelight, but Shouto thinks he can see a faint flush sketched across his cheeks. He tells himself it’s the heat, or the alcohol. “I’m glad that you’re here.” Midoriya smiles, and lifts his free hand to press his thumb to Shouto’s brow, smoothing away the frown there. “I thought, maybe, after what Kayama said, and did…I thought you might think that we, that I didn’t want you here. And that’s not true. I do.”

In the low light, Midoriya’s eyes are dark. His gaze moves from Shouto’s eyes to his mouth, and he wets his lips. Shouto swallows. “Shouto, I…” Midoriya leans forward, head tilted to the side. In the firelight he’s beautiful, a sketch of bronze and shadows. But…

Shouto clears his throat, getting to his feet. The alcohol that had been soaking through his bones feels like little more than an inconvenience now, throwing him off balance like a weight on his shoulder. He sees something resembling hurt, or disappointment, flit across Midoriya’s face, and looks away. “I should, um. I should go to bed.” He gestures with his thumb, and turns to leave without waiting for a response.

Shouto feels Midoriya’s eyes on his back as he walks away, and clenches his jaw. His fingers curl at his sides, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. Overhead the moon is bright and full. Owls cry through the forest, but Shouto can barely hear them over the thoughts raging through his head.

What a fucking coward.

“Tsuyu’s coming with us!”

“No, she isn’t.”

“Yes she is!”

Of all the things Shouto had expected to find when he finally made his way down from the tent in the tree, it was not Uraraka and Jirou in an argument. As it turned out, he and Midoriya had been the only ones to actually sleep in their tent during the night, and this was the first time he’d seen Uraraka since she’d left with Tsuyu the day before.

By the campfire, Midoriya is crouched in conversation with Shinsou, scarred hands wrapped around a wooden bowl of porridge. He glances up when Shouto enters the clearing and waves, but doesn’t move to come closer. Shouto ignores the way his heart plummets to somewhere in the region of his stomach. He’d not slept much. Half an hour after he’d left Midoriya in the night and gotten miserably to bed, Midoriya had made his way quietly inside and lain down as far away from Shouto as he could manage. Shouto had spent most of the night staring at the tent wall and listening to Midoriya’s breathing deepen and ease into the soft snores he’d gotten used to on their journey.  He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke the sun was shining through the white walls of the tent and Midoriya was gone. Which was fine.

Shouto moves closer to the women, yawning, and makes a futile attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes. Momo, at least, looks happy. Her hair is not tied this morning, instead it rests in loose waves around her face and down her neck. She has her arms wrapped loosely around Jirou’s belly, and is resting her chin on Jirou’s head. This somewhat lessens the effect of Jirou’s glare as she scowls at Uraraka.

“We are not taking a complete stranger with us on our life or death mission from which we may or may not return.”

“We took them, didn’t we?” Uraraka points at Shouto and Momo. Next to her, Tsuyu stands watching the exchange with an unreadable expression.

Shouto lowers his voice and whispers to Momo. “Rude.” Momo laughs, softly, and presses a kiss to the back of Jirou’s head. Jirou’s hands rest lightly on hers around her waist, thumbs running over her knuckles.

“How’d you sleep?”

Shouto shrugs. “Fine.” Momo raises an eyebrow at him.

“That badly, huh? Say, you didn’t do anything to Midoriya, did you? Just he’s been acting like someone left rotten fish in his breakfast all morning.”

Shouto’s mouth twists, and Momo stares. “Oh, you did do something.” Her voice drops. “What happened?”

Shouto’s gaze moves to Jirou, who’s still talking to Uraraka, and he shakes his head. Momo bites her lip. “Alright.”

Whilst they’re talking, Uraraka stomps away towards the campfire and grabs Midoriya, pulling him back towards them by his elbow. Momo’s eyes follow her, and she sighs. Jirou half turns to look at her, gaze full of as much tenderness as Shouto’s ever seen her wear, and he glances away. “You alright, Yaomomo?”

Momo smiles, and nods, and Jirou presses a quick kiss to her cheek, blushing a dusty pink as she does so. Momo tilts her head to catch her lips, and Shouto clears his throat, moving away from them. “So, I’m going to… Go be elsewhere.”

Momo calls after him as he walks toward the group of sprites huddled around what had served as their banquet table the night before. “They have coffee, by the way!”

Shouto brightens considerably, and his pace quickens. “Lead with that next time.”

He hears Momo laughing, but he doesn’t stop. Coffee was one of the many luxuries he’d given up when he’d left his home in Kasai, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss it. Mina presses a cup into his hands with a rueful smile and a quick apology for her rudeness the night before. Behind her, Ojiro sips a cup of tea, the image of innocence. Shouto throws him a grateful smile all the same.

Mug pressed between his hands, Shouto lets his magic lie still, and relishes the heat of the thing against his palms. In the trees around them, birds sing to greet the day. He walks back towards the group, though he stands by Momo instead of Midoriya and ignores the look Midoriya gives him when he does so.

“Look, I packed for myself and a couple emergency rations. Even if it wasn’t totally insane to bring, may I remind you, a complete stranger with us on this stupid quest, we don’t have the supplies. Right Deku?” Momo has moved so that she’s standing beside Jirou. Their fingers are loosely entwined, and now that she’s not pressed around her lover, Shouto can easily see the faint red hickey on her neck.

He raises his eyebrows at her and Momo flushes whilst he presses his mug to his lips. The sound he makes as the coffee hits his tongue is probably not very dignified. He can feel Midoriya staring at him. But Shouto hasn’t tasted coffee in months, and he tries not to let it bother him. When he finally looks up, he catches Midoriya still watching him, cheeks flushed a faint pink. Shouto’s stomach flips uneasily, and he moves his gaze to Uraraka.

“I never said that she was going to use our supplies. Tsuyu is perfectly capable of bringing her own, right?” Uraraka’s hair whips around her cheeks as she turns to Tsuyu, who for her part looks utterly unperturbed.

She nods, and croaks a yes. Uraraka turns back to Jirou. “If supplies are your issue then this isn’t a problem.”

Jirou’s eye twitches, and she lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Supplies aren’t my problem. Trust is. We don’t know her. Momo and Shouto are with us because the old geezer said they had to be. He didn’t mention a goddamn naiad.”

“The fact she wasn’t in the prophecy only means that she’s not going to get any of us killed, which as far as I’m concerned is a good thing.” Uraraka is red in the face. Momo and Shouto stand uncomfortably to the side and say nothing.

Midoriya, who has a measurably less functional self-preservation instinct, gets between Jirou and Uraraka. Both of them turn on him at the same time, “What, Deku?”

Momo winces in sympathy, and Shouto sips his coffee. It’s glorious and bitter on his tongue. Midoriya forces a laugh and lowers his hands. “Ooookay. Alright. So just to make sure I’ve understood this correctly – Ochako, you want Tsuyu to come with us. And presumably Tsuyu does too. Is that right?” He turns to the naiad in question, who nods.

Then he looks at Jirou. “But you don’t want her to come with us, because she’s a stranger?”

Jirou lets go of Momo’s hand to fold her arms and nods. “Yes. Obviously.”

Midoriya sighs, and runs a hand up over his face and through his hair. Shouto looks away from him, into the forest, where the sunlight falls over the trees in columns of gold. “Ok. Look, sorry Ochako, but I’m with Jirou on this one. We can’t bring more people with us. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Momo makes a soft sound of sympathy, and Uraraka flushes. Jirou huffs, unfolding her arms and reaching to interlink her fingers with Momo’s. “Finally, the man makes sense.”

Tsuyu raises one large, clawed hand, and blinks slowly. “I have an affinity with healing magic, if that changes anything?”

Midoriya stares, and Jirou swears under her breath before stomping towards the banquet table across the forest floor. Giving Shouto a quick, rueful smile, Momo goes to follow her. Midoriya laughs, and rubs the back of his neck, then sticks out his hand. “Well, um, alright then. Actually, that would be helpful. Welcome to the team.”

Tsuyu stares at his hand, and after a moment Midoriya drops it. Uraraka grins, and jumps forward to throw her arms around him in a hug that startles a laugh out of him. “Thank you, Deku! Thank you.” After a moment, Midoriya sighs and wraps his arms around her, shutting his eyes as he presses his face into her hair.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it.”

For a second, Shouto watches them, a smile playing around his lips. Then Midoriya opens his eyes and looks at him, and Shouto takes another swig of his coffee, turning and marching back to the tree where their tent was. Behind him, he hears Uraraka say something, loud and bright, and Midoriya’s subdued response.

He tells himself it doesn’t bother him. It does.

Lady Kayama refuses to see them leave. Shinsou passes on a message for her: that she wishes them well, but suggests again that their party leave the abomination behind as soon as possible. Better yet, kill it. Her missive ends with a warning: should they enter her court again with the abomination in tow, she would consider all of their lives to be forfeit, blessing of the All Might or not. She had a duty to protect her people, and the thing was poison that would bring death and destruction with it wherever it went.

Shinsou, for his part, offers Shouto an apologetic smile once he’s finished delivering the message. Shouto tries to ignore the bile in the back of his throat and the way his scar itches. Midoriya thanks Shinsou for the message, and asks him to thank Kayama for her hospitality. He looks distracted as he does so, though Shouto thinks he’s the only one who notices. They go to leave, following Tsuyu toward the ring that had brought them there. Shinsou stops them when they do, and pulls Midoriya to one side.

Shouto doesn’t hear what he says, but he sees Midoriya blush, and berries and leaves bursts forth from the branches growing up through Shinsou’s hair. Then Momo grabs his arm, distracting him with something light and senseless. Shouto doesn’t say much, but he lets her talk and it helps. When Midoriya catches up with them, he falls in step beside Tsuyu and Uraraka, engaging Tsuyu in a bright line of questioning about the magical anatomy of naiads.

They’ve not been walking for long: about half a day, when they crest a hill and suddenly see the mountains. It’s breathtaking how much closer and how much greater they are now. They swallow the breadth of the horizon, and the trees that climb their foothills look like little more than childrens’ toys. Momo gives a low whistle.

“That’s one hell of a storm.”

It is. What from Silvia had looked like a smudge on the sky: the result of a large wildfire possibly, or a particularly persistent thunderstorm, now spreads like ink around the mountain peaks. Clouds cover the mountains in a thick smog of dark purple, black and grey that sets Shouto’s teeth on edge. Around the clouds is a yellow stain like infection in a wound. It fades after the first few miles of trees. The forest around here is quiet: every day it seems to get quieter. Shouto had read that before great natural disasters, animals would flee from the site of destruction, as if they somehow knew what was coming. The theory said that it was something to do with the latent magic in all living things: that every creature, no matter how small, had the innate ability to sense the advent of an inescapable death.

It doesn’t do much to lift his mood.

“This is probably obvious, but that is not a natural storm.” Tsuyu croaks from where she’s crouched beside Uraraka, who’s sitting on a log. Midoriya seems to have forgotten about the awkwardness that has plagued him all morning: he stands tall with his chin raised, and stares at the storm head on. Shouto thinks he can almost see the movement of his thoughts as they fly through his mind. After a moment Midoriya nods.

“Yeah. If there was any doubt in our minds then I think this is. Well.” Midoriya pauses, and sets his pack down onto the grass. “I guess what I want to know is if we can learn any more about what this thing is.”

Momo, who’s sitting beside Jirou and drinking from her flask, leans forward a little to see what Midoriya’s doing as he rummages in his pack. “What are you looking for?”

“I’ll show you.” Midoriya says, pulling out a rolled up shirt and his journal and setting them on the ground. “Give me a second.”

Standing at a point equidistant between Jirou and Uraraka, Shouto shifts his weight from one foot to the other and distracts himself by letting fire play over his fingertips. Since his conversation with Midoriya, after the attack, he’d been working a little more on his fire magic. He wouldn’t have said he was anywhere near the proficiency he’d obtained with his ice over the years, but he could light a campfire without wanting to throw up now, and that was something.

“You’re getting good at that.” Momo leans behind Jirou to call over to him, one hand resting lightly on Jirou’s thigh. Immediately, the flames in Shouto’s hand sputter and die, and Momo offers him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to distract you.”

Shouto shrugs, and slips his hand into his pocket. “It’s fine.”

A few feet away from him, Midoriya makes a triumphant sound and pulls a small suede sack from the bottom of his bag. Jirou snorts at the pile of effects he’s dumped beside it in his efforts. “Dude, don’t you have any kind of system to that?”

Midoriya laughs, and rubs the back of his neck. “Well yes, I just...If I’m honest I wasn’t really expecting to use these.” He loosens the drawstring on his bag, and pours a handful of small, off-white objects into his open palm.

Momo raises her eyebrows. “Wait, are those –”

“Scrying bones.” Tsuyu has already found her way to Midoriya, and pushes down his palm to look at the objects, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the way he flushes. She looks up at him, and her dark eyes seem to swallow the hazy light of the day. “These are the knuckles of a griffin. Powerful, old magic. Where did you get them?”

“A griffin?” Momo’s voice is loud in her surprise, and she turns to Jirou with an incredulous expression. “Don’t tell me griffins are real too.”

Jirou’s mouth twists, and she scratches the back of her head. “Honestly, if you’d asked me an hour ago I would’ve said no. But uh, wet and scaly here doesn’t really seem like the type to lie for no reason.”

Uraraka rolls her eyes. “She has a name, you know.”

Tsuyu’s gaze moves from the bones in Midoriya’s palm to Jirou, and then she turns to Uraraka, setting one large hand on the soft curve of her upper arm. “It’s fine.” She looks back at Jirou. “Should I call you pink and dry?”

Jirou snorts. “You can call me whatever you want, Tsuyu . Just don’t stab us in the back.”

“Okay.” Midoriya interrupts, and Shouto takes a swig from his flask. “So, lets start simple.” He cups the bones in both of his hands, and blows on them. A puff of golden magic settles over his palms like mist. “Is that storm natural?”

He shakes the bones, and they rattle like dice. He throws them into the air, and for a second they seem to hang suspended, like water in a fountain against the grey-blue sky. Then they fall, and he catches them. All of them lean in to see what the bones have said, and Midoriya notices, offering them his cupped hands so they can see the smooth white of the bones’ reverse.

“So that’s a no. Which, honestly, we didn’t need to scry that. Right, next question. Is something making that storm?” Again, he blows on the bones, shakes and throws them. Shouto feels the magic of the thing shiver through the air, lifting the hairs on his forearms.

Again, Midoriya shows them the result. This time, the dark stains of runes engraved into the bones and painted with ink stare back at them. Midoriya takes a deep breath. “Ok. Is the thing making that storm mortal?”

He tosses the bones. Shouto isn’t sure, but he feels like they fall faster this time, as if whatever forces are at work upon them are more certain of this answer. Midoriya cracks open his hands like an eggshell, and lets out a quick sigh. “Ok, I could have guessed that.” He shows them. “Not mortal. Right. Is it a dragon?”

Again, the bones fall. No. “Is it a spirit?” No. “Is it a magical creature?” No.

“Is it anything we’ve seen or heard of?” This time, the result is mixed: some of the bones are turned on their backs, smooth and off-white. Others are face up, bearing the scars of their engraving. Midoriya bites the inside of his cheek.

“Ok, last question. Is it a god?”

This time he doesn’t get the chance to throw the bones: they rattle in his hands like the last breaths of something dying, and he lets them go as if he’s been burned. They fall into the grass, and where they touch the earth it blackens in a circle as if it’s been stamped with tar. Every bone is face up, bearing its rune, and the runes burn red. Midoriya brushes his hands together, then crouches and reaches out for the bones, waving his hands over them to check their temperature before picking them up and putting them away. Sweat trickles down his forehead.

Next to Momo, Jirou clears her throat. “Is that, uh, is that supposed to happen?”

Tsuyu shakes her head. Her skin is ashen against the bright iridescence of her scales. “No.” She looks at Midoriya, who is frowning and murmuring under his breath as he packs his things back into his bag. The suede bag of scrying bones sits innocuous and small by his foot. Tsuyu elaborates. “Divination is passive magic. Like putting your hand in water to feel whether it’s cold. That’s why you ask yes or no questions.”

“Not to question your expertise, but that didn’t look super passive from where I was sitting.” Jirou clears her throat, and Momo looks at her with concern. “Actually that just looked really fucking creepy.”

Tsuyu nods, and reaches out to hold Uraraka’s hand. “The only time I’ve heard of things like this has been when…”

“Something wanted to give us a message.” Midoriya stands, shouldering his pack, and slips the bag of scrying bones into a pocket on the side. “It’s not easy, but it’s doable if you’ve got enough power. If I were to take a wild guess…” He looks up at the mountains, and a muscle jumps at the corner of his jaw. “I’d say that something wants us to know it’s here. That it’s listening. It wants us to know that it knows we’re looking for it, that we’re coming. And it’s waiting for us.”

Momo gets to her feet. “Well. Brilliant. It’s not like I needed to sleep for the rest of this journey anyway.”

Midoriya pulls a face, but he doesn’t smile. “Yeah, sorry.” He turns to Uraraka. “Are you good to keep going?” Uraraka nods and gets to her feet, the balls of her feet only barely brushing the earth. Midoriya looks at each of them in turn, though his gaze skids quickly over Shouto and he doesn’t try to meet his eyes. “I suggest that you all be on your guard. We’re moving into this thing’s territory now.” He huffs a laugh, and adjusts the pack on his shoulders. “Here be dragons.”

He turns, moving to follow Uraraka and Tsuyu down the hill as Jirou buckles her pack and gets ready to follow. She calls after him as he starts walking down the grassy knoll. “Say, Deku? Anyone ever tell you that you have a real flare for the dramatic?” Her tone is annoyed, but her voice is a little higher than usual, and when Momo offers her hand she takes it.

Alone at the back of the group, Shouto slips his flask into his pack and steps carefully around the charred earth left by the scrying bones. He pauses, and looks back at the way they’ve come, and the forest that stretches for miles around them. There’s no real evidence of their passing: nothing to say that they or any other living thing have been this way in months, even years. A shiver crawls down his spine, despite the warmth of the day.

He can’t see anything in the trees, and the forest is quiet. But as he walks down the hill and onto the winding track beyond it, he can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Later, they won’t know how it happened exactly. The road they follow after the hill is narrower than that on which they’ve been hiking so far: it takes more turns and the trees frequently cut off their view of the track even twenty feet ahead. Still, all of them remember pressing as close together as they had since they’d started in Silvia. Momo thinks that maybe she’d been distracted by something Jirou had said, and missed Midoriya turning a corner. But she absolutely remembered seeing him seconds before that.

Jirou refuses to admit that she ever lost sight of Uraraka, even with her being distracted by Momo. Shouto, for his part, feels like it happened between one second and the next. One second, he was watching the swing of Momo’s ponytail, and listening to the steady, low murmur of her conversation with Jirou.

Then he was alone. For a few minutes Shouto keeps walking, eyes on a bend on the track, sure despite the sinking feeling in his stomach and the sudden quiet around him that he’ll see the rest of the group again as soon as he turns the corner. Then he turns that corner, and he can see a good hundred feet ahead of him down the sandy brown of the dry dirt track. Uraraka, Tsuyu, Jirou, Momo and Midoriya are nowhere to be seen.

Shouto’s heart makes a sudden and vicious effort to jump out of his throat. He swallows, hard, and brings ice to his fingertips. After a few more seconds, he lets sparks roll around his left hand, turning in a slow circle and looking into the vast empty space between the trees all around him.

He raises his voice. “Yaoyorozu!” The wind rushes through a nearby treetop, making it creak and shudder. Nothing else happens. He calls again. “Yaoyorozu! Momo!” Mentally, he wonders how long it’s been since they left the hill, and whether it’s worth heading back the way they came.

He is suddenly, painfully aware that without Uraraka or Midoriya, he has no idea where he’s going. The shadows seem to shiver.

“Yaoyorozu! Jirou! Uraraka! Tsuyu!” Shouto’s shouts bounce off the tree trunks and into the dark of the forest, sinking into it like sugar in cream until the silence swells back again. Shouto is not normally bothered by silence. He hates it now. Cursing under his breath, he tries to regulate the beating of his heart and fails.

“Midoriya! … Izuku ! Where are you?”

The sky above him is still and clear and hazy with the heat of late summer. No one answers. Ice creeps over Shouto’s forearm and through the fabric of his shirt. Flame flickers like a glove around his left hand.

He starts walking down the track, and then his walking turns into a jog. He keeps shouting the names of his companions, eyes searching the dark of the forest. It doesn’t feel like it takes him long at all to reach the next bend in the track, and Shouto tries to ignore the way his stomach curdles when again he’s faced with nothing but empty road.

He clenches his fists, and shouts louder. “Yaoyorozu! Momo! Where are you?”

He looks up helplessly at the sky. Which is when he sees it: a quick, bright, burning burst of green lightning. Shouto doesn’t think, he runs.

He’d explained his and Momo’s fireworks system to Midoriya not long after they’d started their journey. Midoriya had seemed surprised that he’d be willing to use his fire so freely, and Shouto had explained that it was fine as long as it wasn’t used against anyone. He and Momo had been using this system since they were teenagers: she’d create a firework and set it off, or he’d send flames into the sky. It meant that one of them needed backup. That one of them was in a fight they didn’t think they could win. That they needed help.

Momo had picked up the thread of the conversation, recalling a time when they’d been in Hosu and Shouto had run afoul of some pirates at a tavern by the docks. She’d been with a woman at the time, a stall-holder called Shiozaki who’d invited her for dinner. Momo’s impression of the scandalised look on Shiozaki’s face when she’d gone running for that part of town was enough to make both Midoriya and Jirou laugh. Needless to say, she had not been invited back.

Shouto doesn’t hesitate as his feet leave the track, and he dives into the woods, ignoring the way the branches whip at his arms and legs and cheeks as he runs. He thinks he can hear something now: the crack and thunder of powerful magic.

When Momo had finished telling them her story, Midoriya had tapped his chin, pensive for a moment before snapping his fingers and sending an arc of green lightning into the sky. “Something like this, then?” Momo had laughed, obviously impressed by such a casual display of magic.

“That’ll work.”

In the present, another spear of lightning flies into the sky, and this time Shouto’s close enough to see it through the trees, sending lurid shadows dancing across their trunks. His breath burns through his lungs as he runs, feet thudding hard into the forest floor, sometimes slipping on pine cones or stray branches.

He hears Midoriya’s voice, screaming. “Stop!”

Fire roars to life down Shouto’s left shoulder and he clears the trees, blinking the sweat from his eyes. He sees several things very quickly: there’s a man lying in the road. He’s wearing a suit of armour and he’s bleeding. Standing over him is something that could be a man, but might not be, with a dirty bandage around its eyes and a long red scarf wrapped around its neck. It’s holding an old sword over the knight’s head, ready to strike.

Some way behind the knight and the figure is Midoriya. He’s on his hands and knees, and his muscles are trembling as if he’s being held down by some invisible force. His eyes are fixed on the sword above the knight’s head.

Shouto doesn’t think, he just acts, hurling a tornado of flame at the thing standing over the knight’s body and praying he hasn’t made a terrible mistake. The thing flies backwards with incredible speed and stares at him with eyes that burn red. It licks its lips, and its tongue is long and covered in bumps like an animal’s. Shouto focuses on catching his breath, keeping his eyes on the thing that is crouched a few feet away from Midoriya.

Midoriya stares at him like he’s walked off the pages of a storybook. “Sh-Shouto? What are you doing here?”

Shouto feels the fire wrapped around his arm and shoulder like the warmth of an old friend, and doesn’t give himself time to worry about it. Instead he lowers his centre of gravity, pushing a foot back into a fighting stance. With a snap of his fingers he sends a shower of sparks into the sky.

“What are you doing here? That’s my line.”

The creature, which now he’s had a half second to look at it, is bristling with old knives, swords and daggers strapped around its chest and hips, starts running towards him. Shouto moves his left foot, and with an effort of magic sends ice chasing forwards across the earth, lifting the knight and Midoriya a few feet above the ground before he throws another handful of fire at the creature.

“Don’t let it touch your blood! That’s how it got me. If it ingests any of your blood, it can immobilize you. I think it’s some kind of curse.” Midoriya’s voice is hoarse. Shouto doesn’t stop to let himself think about how long he’s been here.

“Alright. I can keep my distance.” He glances down at his left hand, where the flames over his skin are dancing wildly in his panic. The creature hisses, and throws a dagger so fast that when Shouto flinches it’s too late to dodge. The knife slices into his cheek like hot metal through butter and Shouto grits his teeth against the pain.

Something primal in the base of his spine screams at him before his mind has a chance to think, and a shield of ice bursts upward from the earth. A sword goes flying as it hits the ice where Shouto’s chest had been a millisecond before and Shouto stares. He hadn’t even seen the thing throw it. He’s so distracted by his shock that he doesn’t move when the thing wraps its long, clawed fingers in his shirt, dragging him closer with impossible force.

The thing’s putrid breath fills his lungs with the smell of rotting meat and fresh blood as it sticks out its long tongue, dripping with saliva. It tilts its head, trying to lick at his cheek. Bile jumps into the back of Shouto’s throat and his body moves on autopilot as he flings his arm up and throws fire that burns white-hot in his panic. The creature jumps backwards and Shouto follows his fire with a bristling avenue of ice, creating a field of obstacles between himself and the thing he’s fighting.

Like it’s slicing through paper, the creature cuts down the ice field in seconds. Shouto doesn’t give himself time to panic, he just throws ice again, stumbling backwards. Beside the path, suddenly, the knight speaks.

“Please, just run! Run for your lives!”

Shouto knows that voice. The creature senses an opening and leaps forward. Shouto pushes it back with more fire. He can feel his magic bubbling beneath his skin, straining to break free like a dog on a leash. He’s never used this much fire before, certainly not in a fight, and fire was never the most predictable of elements.

Swallowing the lump in his throat and trying to ignore the racing of his heart. Shouto stoops, pulling a mountain of ice up and out of the earth and feeling his muscles and his magic strain as he does so. The creature leaps into the air, climbing Shouto’s mountain of ice like a rat up a wall.

“Not very clever, little human, hiding your view of your enemy. Stupid. Such a weak strategy against such a mighty opponent.” The thing’s voice is rough and growling and it grinds through the air like meat in a churn. Shouto calls fire to his skin and steps back, getting ready for the thing to leap down towards him.

“I wonder about that.” He’s so intent on seeing where the creature comes from that he doesn’t notice the daggers that its sent flying until it’s too late. One after the other they sink into the flesh of his forearm and Shouto shouts in pain.

Half-hidden by the ice, Midoriya hears him and calls his name. “Shouto!”

The creature doesn’t follow up its strike, however, moving instead towards the knight. Shouto’s gaze follows it a second too soon, and he tries to call fire again. It sputters and dies over his bloody skin.

Then, like a miracle, Midoriya comes flying through the air wreathed in green light, kicking the creature solidly in the ribs. Shouto grins, wild and breathless, gritting his teeth as he pulls the daggers from his arm and drops them onto the earth. “Izuku!”

The creature twists, swinging one of its long legs and knocking Midoriya off balance. He falls to the earth and the creature draws its sword, flying towards his undefended back. Shouto shouts Midoriya’s name again and stamps down hard on the earth, sending a curving wall between the creature and Midoriya that knocks Midoriya back towards him.

The force of the magic rings through his bones, and Shouto clutches at his left arm where his blood is running hot and fast down his skin and over his knuckles. His wound throbs with a sickening ache that hurts with every small movement he makes.

Midoriya rolls onto his feet, coughing and turning immediately to face the creature where it’s stalking them at the side of the road. Shouto spares a second to look up and down the track. “We’re not going to be able to find the others. This thing is too fast. We need to fight.”

Midoriya nods, wiping the sweat from his lips with the back of his hand, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Shouto squeezes the wounds on his forearm in a futile effort to stop the bleeding. “You’ve already lost too much blood. I’ll get in close, support me from behind.”

Shouto clenches his jaw. “That’s a risky strategy.” His eyes move toward the knight, still lying prone on the earth. “But alright. Together, we’ll protect him.”

Midoriya nods, and straightens, eyes fixed on the creature. When it sees him looking at it, it smiles, slow and wide in a way that bares its sharp, yellow teeth. Shouto doesn’t see Midoriya’s feet leave the ground. He feels the wind of his passing though, it nearly knocks him over. Midoriya is a blur of green light that cracks from tree to tree, on either side of the road, sending them swaying and knocking loose leaves to the earth like snow.

The creature watches him from the ground, hunkered over like a cornered animal, waiting. Shouto waits too. Suddenly Midoriya materialises feet first behind the creature, going to kick it. The creature jumps like a spider, attaching itself to a nearby tree as it draws one of the swords strapped to its back and swings it at Midoriya’s neck.

Shouto throws up a six-foot wall of ice between them and follows it with a tornado of fire that wraps hot and thick around his bleeding arm. The creature manages to cut Midoriya’s arm anyway and he falls. It goes to follow, and Shouto throws fire again, desperate, shouting. “Look at me!”

By the side of the road, the knight, still prone, speaks quietly. “Why? Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me!”

The creature brings one of its rusting swords to its mouth, one still dripping red with Midoriya’s blood. Shouto’s stomach rolls as it licks the blade, and Midoriya freezes, paralysed with his back to a tree. “Shouto! I’m sorry.”

The creature grins, wide and mad, and leaps toward Shouto like a flea, jumping over the icy rubble in the road between them. Shouto ignores his screaming body and throws up another wall of ice with a hiss of magic. The creature’s sword slices through the ice again as if it’s tissue paper and Shouto stumbles backwards, calling fire back down his arm.

He throws a handful of flames at the creature which growls and jumps backwards. He can smell burnt flesh thick in the air over the salty tang of blood. He throws fire again, and Midoriya shouts, “On your right!”

Shouto turns and sees the creature charging towards him with two swords in either hand. Panic scratches at his spine and he hurls a whirlwind of flame in the thing’s direction, following it with a field of ice so huge and so fast it makes him dizzy. “You rely too much on your magic, little human.”

The creature cuts down the ice as if it’s nothing and Shouto drags at his rapidly emptying reserve of magic, throwing fire again that barely makes it three feet away from his body. And then the creature gets so close he can feel its breath on his neck and he sees the glitter of its sword like a fish in water and he can hear Midoriya screaming his name. Shouto knows, suddenly, as every hair on his body stands on end and the sword screams towards his bare neck in a vicious arc, that this is how he dies.

Against all hope Shouto cranes his head back, bending his spine in an arch in an effort to escape the creature’s blade. Then something metal slams hard into the creature’s flesh and something crunches and suddenly, the knight is on his feet and the creature is ten feet away, winded. The creatures’ sword falls to the earth with a clatter that breaks Shouto out of his daze, and he stares at the knight, whose black hair is plastered to his forehead.

“I cannot allow men as brave yourselves to die for me. I will protect you, with everything I have.” His voice is unmistakably familiar, and Shouto recognises those blue eyes.

Despite everything he grins. “Tenya?”

Iida Tenya stares at him, and he sees recognition dawn on his face, and then out of the corner of his eye there’s movement and Shouto grabs Iida’s shoulder. His fingers slip on the blood of his wound but he pushes him back, throwing fire in the direction of the creature.

“We should really try to run from this, Shouto.” Iida’s voice is low and serious as he watches the creature prowling across the road in front of them.

Shouto nods, and sweat runs over his brow and into his eyes. “If you see an opening, be my guest.”

The creature runs and jumps into the air, throwing one of its swords. Iida hurls himself in front of Shouto, raising his arm, and the blade sinks into it like an arrow, quivering where it lands. Iida chokes, crumpling with the pain. “Tenya!” Shouto shouts, hurling a wall of fire up and between them.

Then, out of nowhere, there’s a deafening boom that shakes Shouto’s skull, and something huge and fast and hot comes flying in the direction of the creature. Through the cotton in his brain Shouto wraps his arms around Iida’s waist, diving to the side of the road as the cannonball explodes. Blood and bone go flying through the trees like shrapnel.

For a moment, Shouto just lies on the ground whilst he waits for his hearing to return. By now his forearm is cold and numb with blood loss. Iida seems similarly stunned; he doesn’t try to move or say anything. Instead he stares up at the empty canopy of trees above them and a shattered piece of bone embedded in a tree trunk, dripping with blood like a pulled tooth.

Shouto is aware, in the back of his mind, of someone walking towards them. Sluggish, he tries to turn and face them, calling fire into his grasp. Sparks roll slowly around his skin, and then Midoriya’s there. His eyes are wide and full of fear as he falls to his knees, and his hands move over Shouto’s body like a startled bird. He’s saying something, but Shouto can’t hear what it is, and then Midoriya’s pulling him into his arms and folding him into a crushing embrace, pressing his face into his shoulder. Midoriya’s chest shudders, and then starts to shake, and Shouto can feel his shirt getting wet.

His hearing returns in time for him to hear Jirou’s voice a few feet away. “I think maybe you overdid it.”

Momo says something, and at her voice Shouto remembers how to breathe. Suddenly, he’s shaking, the adrenalin running from his body like water over a cliff face. Weakly, he sits up and wraps his arms around Midoriya, and Midoriya’s grip tightens for a moment, and Shouto chokes on something. He tries to speak, and he can’t, so he just presses his face into the damp warmth of Midoriya’s neck and feels his racing heartbeat and breathes in the smell of him and waits until his heart slows.

He hears Jirou and Momo get closer to them, and then Momo is running to Tenya. As if from a great distance, he hears them talking to each other: hears Momo’s confusion and Jirou’s occasional, low comments. He waits until he stops shaking, and then he pulls back a little to look at Midoriya’s face. His eyes are red and puffy, and his eyelashes are dark and wet with tears. His nose is running, and he scrubs at it and his mouth with his sleeve, eyes falling to Shouto’s shirt. “S-Sorry.”

Shouto stares at him, and then he starts to laugh, and it’s half shock and half incredulity and mostly just giddy, intoxicating relief. Midoriya’s mouth jumps at the corner, pulling into a smile. “What?” He seems to be trying to sound annoyed, but Shouto can feel the warmth in his tone and he just doesn’t care.

Gingerly, he reaches up to Midoriya’s cheek. His hand is sticky with dried blood, but Midoriya doesn’t seem to mind. He leans into his touch with a deep, shaking breath, and as Shouto wipes away a tear more follow, hot and fat and fast. Midoriya shuts his eyes. “I thought you were going to…”

“I know.” Shouto keeps holding Midoriya’s face, fingers curled around his ear and palm pressed to the soft warmth of his cheek. His thumb is wet with tears, and he leans forward so their foreheads are touching and takes a minute to breathe. “Look at me.” He waits until Midoriya’s eyes, bright and green and shining with unshed tears, move to look at him. Shouto meets his gaze, steadily, and rubs his thumb over his cheek. “I’m alive. We’re alive. It’s ok.”

Midoriya chokes, and then suddenly he’s surging forwards, one of his hands fisting in Shouto’s shirt as the other cups the side of his face. And then he’s kissing him.

His lips are warm and wet with tears and snot, and his cheek is stained with blood, and Shouto thinks he might still be crying but he doesn’t care because he’s so alive, and he’s there, and he’s his. Shouto winds his fingers into Midoriya’s hair and chases his lips like a drowning man seeking air and Midoriya presses into him, warm and soft and giving. He pulls him so close his hand is pressed between their chests and he keeps pulling, his grip on Shouto’s shirt an insistent demand to be closer still.

Shouto lifts his other hand to cradle his face, and winces when the wound there throbs angrily, and Midoriya hiccoughs against his lips and pulls back to breathe, forehead still pressed against Shouto’s. Their noses knock against each other, and their breath mixes in the space between their lips. Midoriya tries for a smile, and it falters, and his hand tightens in Shouto’s shirt. He uses the hand still cupped around Shouto’s cheek to tilt his head and make him meet his eyes. He bites his lip. “Don’t.” He sniffs. “Don’t ever do that again, alright?”

Shouto laughs, softly, and moves his hand to cup the back of Midoriya’s head, pulling him into an embrace and lifting the dead weight of his injured arm to let it rest over his back. “I’ll do my best, Izuku.”

“I’ll do my best.”

When they’d established that the creature wasn’t coming back, the five of them took a minute to regroup. Midoriya seemed to be having trouble getting over the cannon Momo had created to save them. Jirou sided with him in his amazement. This, it could be argued, was because they were natives of Taiyo and therefore not familiar in the latest advancements in Kasai’s weaponry. Shouto suspected, however, that it was more to do with the fact that up until this point neither of them had quite understood a crucial detail of Momo’s character.

“I mean, if you were able to make that then you could have easily made a crossbow. Or some kind of knock-out gas!” Jirou is spluttering, and turning over and over in her hands a strip of white fabric that Shouto thinks might previously have been Momo’s shirt. The one she’s wearing now does look suspiciously new.

Momo, for her part, scratches the back of her head. “I suppose I could have done. But then I didn’t know if a crossbow bolt would work, or knockout gas for that matter.”

“So you made a cannon?” There’s laughter in Midoriya’s voice as he asks the question. He’s crouched next to Shouto, wrapping a stiff bandage tightly around his arm with quick, deft movements despite the scarring on his hands.

“It’s good to know you haven’t changed, Yaoyorozu.”

Iida’s voice is warm, though his skin is pale and slick with sweat. He’s lost a lot of blood. Midoriya and Momo together had taken off the top half of his armour and the thick shirt beneath it, cleaning the grisly wound in the top of his shoulder as best they could before they bandaged it. He’s still sitting by the side of the road. Shouto doesn’t blame him.

For his part, his injured arm still feels numb, and his fingers prickle with pins and needles when he tries to move them. Midoriya squeezes his shoulder, and Shouto offers him a faint smile, before frowning and turning to the track. “Where are Uraraka and Tsuyu?”

As if on cue, the women turn a corner at the end of the road. Jirou brightens immediately. “Ochako!” Her voice is thick with relief, and she drops what remains of Momo’s shirt, running down the road towards the pair. Uraraka, for her part, has Tsuyu’s arm slung around her shoulder. The naiad has a makeshift bandage wrapped around her waist that’s rusty with blood.

Without hesitation, Jirou ducks and lifts Tsuyu’s arm around her shoulder, helping Uraraka carry her the rest of the way. Midoriya gets to his feet and helps Jirou and Uraraka set Tsuyu down beside Iida. Midoriya looks at Uraraka, hands hovering as he checks her over. Uraraka waves him off, though she sinks to sit on the ground beside Tsuyu. “I’m fine, Izuku. It’s Tsuyu you should be worried about.”

Shouto catches the hesitation on Midoriya’s face, but he moves to Tsuyu, gingerly peeling back her bandage to look at her wound. Momo follows, clasping Uraraka’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alright. What happened?”

Uraraka gives Momo a smile. Jirou fidgets for a moment, then runs back to her pack, pulling out her flask and bringing it to Uraraka. Uraraka takes it with a murmur of thanks. “You know we got separated?”

Momo nods. “I’ve been wondering about that.”

Midoriya hums, gently patting Tsuyu’s bandages back over her wound before reaching into his pack for the same salve he’d applied to Shouto and Iida’s wounds. “Me too.”

“I think we were with the thing that did it. It was some kind of wraith. But it was cleverer than a regular will-o-the-wisp. Like, it had a mind. It called itself Kurogiri.”

Jirou, hunkered down beside Uraraka, jerks her chin at Tsuyu’s wound. “Did it do that?” Midoriya gingerly applies his salve and the naiad hisses through her long, sharp teeth.

Uraraka nods. “Yeah. But…we were able to dispel it. Barely, but still.”

“If it was anything like the thing we fought then it’s a wonder you’re alive.” Midoriya’s voice is tight with worry, and he swallows, eyes moving to Uraraka. “Of course, I’d expect nothing less.”

Uraraka gives him a weak smile, eyelids fluttering. She looks at Tsuyu, whose head is tilted back and resting against the tree. “Is she…gonna be alright?”

Shouto watches Midoriya clench his teeth. Then he takes a deep breath, and passes his hand over Tsuyu’s wound. Green magic spreads like spring over her wound, and Tsuyu’s breathing eases into something deep and even. Midoriya slumps backwards, and Jirou catches him. As she does she growls under her breath, “you’re gonna be the death of me. Self-sacrificing, stupid…”

Midoriya laughs, waving Jirou off as he sits heavily on the track. He smiles at Ochako, and reaches out to hold her hand. Shouto watches him push his magic towards her in a wave of green mist. “It’ll be ok, Kyouka. Ochako, get some sleep.”

Ochako shuts her eyes, falling into a deep, healing sleep, and Midoriya slumps. Shouto sits up, ignoring the stinging ache in his arm when he does. “You’re overexerting yourself.”

Midoriya waves him off, but his forehead gleams with sweat and when he looks at Shouto he looks at a point just over his shoulder. “No, no I’m f-fine ‘nd dandy…dand…” He slumps and Jirou catches him, swearing. Shouto moves and flinches when in his urgency he rests his weight on his injured arm. Momo catches him, pushing him back by his good shoulder. Shouto tries to push against her, but even when he wasn’t weakened by over-exertion and blood loss, he couldn’t beat her in a strength contest. Scowling, he slumps back and Momo smiles at him.

“All of you have overexerted yourselves. You should get some sleep, Shouto. Jirou and I will make camp.”

“Listen to the pretty lady.” Jirou mutters, pulling Midoriya so that he’s lying next to Shouto and setting his head in Shouto’s lap. She ignores the way Shouto blushes when she does so. “Look, just, look after Deku, alright? Don’t let him die on me.”

Shouto nods, and presses the back of his hand to Midoriya’s forehead. He’s still warm, which Shouto takes as a good sign. Coaxing any magic out of his drained reserves aches like a bruise, but he does it anyway, warming the left side of his body. The pull on his energy drags him like an anchor towards unconsciousness, and the last thing he sees is Momo and Jirou, holding hands and pressing their foreheads together against the bright sky.

Then he sleeps.

When Shouto wakes again, it’s dark. They’re still on the road, and there’s a campfire not far away from him. Uraraka is awake, and running her fingers through Tsuyu’s long hair. Tsuyu herself is still sleeping. Shouto moves to touch Midoriya’s head, and starts when he realises that he isn’t there. By the campfire, Momo and Jirou are talking, quietly.

Midoriya briefly blocks the light, walking over to him with a wide smile and something that smells rich and spicy. Shouto’s stomach gurgles, and Midoriya laughs softly, crouching beside him and offering the bowl. Shouto goes to move and his back aches when he does. He scowls. “You’ve got to stop letting me fall asleep like that.”

Midoriya huffs another laugh, and Shouto takes the bowl from him with a smile and a quiet word of thanks. “I will note that for whenever I’m not unconscious before you are.”

Shouto nods, dipping his spoon into the thick, steaming broth that Midoriya’s given him. “That seems reasonable.” Midoriya sits down on the track beside him as Shouto starts to eat. He recognises Momo’s cooking: this is a meal she’s made for them dozens of times before and it feels like home. Something tightens in his chest.

“How are the others?” Shouto asks the question quietly, and Midoriya leans closer to hear him, so close that his hair brushes Shouto’s cheek.

“Oh, they’re alright. Um, your friend? Iida is still sleeping. So’s Tsuyu, though that’s kind of to be expected. But Uraraka and I are ok, and I think you’re going to be alright, too.” As he says it, Shouto realises that his wounded arm is aching significantly less than it was before. He nods.

Midoriya reaches up to touch his cheek, then pauses. Shouto looks at him and doesn’t move away. Midoriya smiles and closes the distance. His hand is warm and rough and calloused against Shouto’s skin, and Shouto leans into it, food briefly forgotten as he shuts his eyes. After a moment, Midoriya clears his throat, and he runs his hand over Shouto’s face and through his hair. His dyed hair. Shouto’s stomach flips, and he sets the bowl down.

Midoriya is looking at him like he holds the keys to the universe. “I’m really glad you’re ok.” His voice is rough, and lower than it needs to be. The smell of smoke wraps around them like an old friend, and the fire snaps.

Shouto clears his throat, reaching up to hold Midoriya’s hand. “And I you.” He turns and kisses the heel of Midoriya’s palm. Midoriya’s blush is bright enough to be obvious even in the low light. Overhead, the stars shine in a clear sky.

Midoriya draws his hand back slowly, reluctant. Shouto follows it, slipping his fingers through Midoriya’s. The bumps of his scars press against his knuckles, and the earth beneath their palms is rough and cool. Shouto swallows. “He is a friend of mine.”

Midoriya tilts his head, confusion running a wrinkle over his brow, and Shouto clarifies. “Iida. Tenya, he’s an old friend. From back when I lived in Kasai.” He hesitates, and Midoriya squeezes his hand. In the dark, his eyes glitter like a vein of emeralds.

“For what it’s worth, I know you’re hiding things from me.”

Shouto stiffens, and his body aches as he does so. He goes to pull his hand away from Midoriya, but Midoriya’s grip tightens around him. “I’m not saying that because I’m angry with you, Shouto. I understand. Obviously, there’s something that you need to hide, for some reason.” Midoriya’s mouth twists into something approximating a smile, though it looks sad. “Something that’s making you dye your hair.”

Sweat trickles down Shouto’s spine, and it has nothing to do with the warmth of the evening. He tugs his hand away again, and this time Midoriya lets him go. “Look, I don’t know your reasons, or your history. I mean, I know parts of it, but I don’t know the full picture. I don’t know why you’re keeping secrets from me.” Shouto swallows, opening his mouth to speak. Midoriya shifts and cuts him off. “No, but, wait. Listen, even if I can’t understand what you’ve been through. I do understand if you need to take your time. Or even if you need to keep this, whatever it is, a secret. I trust you, Shouto. I trust the man you are now.” Midoriya looks down, and his eyelashes brush the freckles on his cheeks. He toys with his hands. “I…well, I.” He takes a deep breath, and looks up, sticking out his chin like he’s expecting a rebuke. “I care, very, um. I care very deeply for you, Shouto, secrets or not.”

Shouto’s mouth is dry and he swallows. His fingers curl at his sides. His mind is loud with what he wants to say, but what he says instead is, “some would say that was naïve.”

Midoriya shrugs, and traces patterns in the dirt with his fingertips before turning to look at the fire. It paints gold over the dark line of his neck. “Yeah, maybe. But I don’t know. I guess it’s not…I’m not doing this out of ignorance. I’ve known my share of liars, and cheats. But I choose to be optimistic. I choose to trust. I mean I figure doing otherwise would be kind of like letting them win.” He turns back to Shouto, and his expression is fierce. “I choose to trust you, Shouto.”

Shouto’s face is hot, and he’s not sitting close enough to the fire to blame it on that. He clenches his jaw, and breathes through his nose, and when he speaks his voice breaks anyway. “Thank you, Izuku.” He huffs a laugh that sounds a little damper than he wants it to, and lifts a hand to scrub at his eye with the heel of his palm, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t…You’ve done so much for me, and you didn’t need to do any of it. I can’t find the words to express my gratitude for that.” He leans his head back, letting the roughness of the tree trunk pressing against his scalp pull him back down to earth. “Sometimes I think I’ll be forever in your debt.”

Midoriya huffs, and moves closer to him, blocking his view of the campfire and the stars beyond. He smiles. “You say that like you’ve given me nothing in return.”

Shouto thinks, what could I possibly give you? But he says nothing. Midoriya keeps smiling. “You’ve given me more than you know.”

Shouto sighs. “Don’t tell me mind-reading is one of your many interests?”

Midoriya laughs, and his breath huffs over Shouto’s lips, and something hot pools in his gut. “No. You’re just not as discreet as you think you are.”

Shouto moves to object, but Midoriya steals the words from his lips with a kiss. Shouto falls into him, feeling Midoriya’s rough hands cup his face and wind through his hair whilst his mouth gives beneath him. He’s wet and soft and warm and then he’s sinking his teeth into Shouto’s bottom lip and Shouto shudders, leaning forward and cupping the back of Midoriya’s head, pushing his fingers up and into his thick, dark hair, fisting in his curls.

Midoriya sighs and pulls away for just a second to look up into Shouto’s eyes. Shouto, for once, speaks without thinking. “I care for you, too. Deeply, I mean.” He blushes and clears his throat, and Midoriya bites his lip, teeth sinking into the soft pink flesh like the giving skin of a peach. Shouto swallows and Midoriya smiles at him, lifting his head to kiss the tip of Shouto’s nose.

“Yeah, I know.” He huffs a laugh. “You’re kind of an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

Shouto laughs, and pulls him close. “So I’ve been told.”

They spend the rest of the night in one another’s arms. Neither has the energy to make love, but it doesn’t matter much. They kiss and they embrace and they run their fingers over one another’s bodies, tracing the shape of them. By the fire, Jirou and Momo make no move to interrupt, and after hours of quiet conversation punctuated by kisses, Shouto and Midoriya fall asleep wrapped around one another like vines in a tree.

When Shouto wakes, it is to Midoriya’s face, inches from his own. He’s slack jawed and drooling a little. As Shouto watches he snores, softly. His eyelids twitch with the movement of a dream. His hair is a tangle of curls around his head that Shouto is fairly certain he played no small part in. Midoriya’s leg is heavy and hot between his own, and their ankles are pressed together. Midoriya’s arm is wrapped around Shouto’s waist, and it’s warm against the small of his back where his shirt has ridden up in the night.

For a while, Shouto just watches him. He can hear the movement of the others, though he isn’t sure who he hears. Footsteps champ across the forest floor, occasionally interrupted by low voices and the rustle of fabric. Shouto isn’t sure how much time passes, but after a while he reaches out to touch Midoriya’s cheek, brushing away a stray eyelash.

Immediately, Midoriya frowns, blinking slowly into wakefulness. Shouto watches and waits, quietly, hand still resting lightly on his cheek. When Midoriya sees him, he smiles, wide and guileless, and it’s like the sun has risen for the second time that day. Shouto feels a grin coming on and doesn’t try to fight it, and Midoriya pulls him close with a casual use of strength that sends Shouto’s mind wandering to everything they haven’t done already.

“Morning.” Midoriya’s voice is rough and soft with sleep, and he tilts his chin up, presenting his mouth. Shouto laughs, softly, but gives him a kiss anyway. Midoriya smiles against his lips as his hand runs up the small of Shouto’s back, over the ridges and planes of his scars. “This is nice.”

Shouto shivers, though he isn’t cold, and Midoriya traces small circles over his spine with the rough pad of his fingertip. He starts to shut his eyes, and Midoriya presses a little closer to kiss his cheek: or more accurately, his burn. Shouto stiffens, and Midoriya pauses. “Does it hurt?”

Shouto shakes his head, keeping his eyes shut, and Midoriya kisses him again, this time by his eyebrow. There’s a rustle of fabric as he frees his arm from his body, and then his fingers are in Shouto’s hair and he’s kissing the side of his face, just below his ear. His kisses are firm and slow and deliberate, and even in the dull scar tissue of his cheek, Shouto can feel his touch. “I think you’re beautiful, Shouto. Every inch of you.”

Shouto frowns away his discomfort and opens his eyes. “You’re a sap.”

Midoriya gives him a wide, cheesy grin. “Guilty as charged.” Shouto wants to kiss that smile, and then he remembers that he can, and he does, and Midoriya sighs happily under his touch.

“Alright lovebirds, we know you’re awake. Come get some breakfast before it goes cold.” Jirou’s voice interrupts them, and Shouto growls whilst Midoriya laughs, pressing a kiss to Shouto’s forehead and another to his lips before getting up.

“Ok, alright, you caught me.”

By the campfire, Jirou rolls her eyes. “Consider yourself lucky that you had a near-death experience. I’m going easy on you.”

It doesn’t take them long to put on some clean clothes, and Shouto is relieved to find that his arm has healed even further than it had the night before. In theory he understood that healing magic worked over time by speeding up the body’s natural recovery, but it was still jarring to watch it happen.

By now, both Tsuyu and Iida are awake, though Tsuyu still looks pale. She leans heavily against Uraraka, who continues to run her fingers through her hair. Shouto isn’t sure exactly what happened between them on the night of the feast, but he thinks he’d know if Uraraka was enchanted. Probably. Midoriya definitely would.

The man in question comes to sit beside him with a wide smile, and when he sits beside Shouto he knocks their knees together, leaning into his shoulder and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. On the other side of the fire, Jirou stabs at her oatmeal. “Alright you two. I know you’ve been waiting to do this since like, the day you met or whatever, but if we could keep meal times child friendly it’d be appreciated.”

Momo laughs, and musses Jirou’s hair, stooping to kiss her cheek. Shouto doesn’t need to say anything, he just raises an eyebrow. Jirou goes bright red and glares at the fire.

Between them all, Iida clears his throat. He’s no longer wearing his armour, and the bandage around his shoulder is stained brown with dried blood. He looks at Shouto. “Well, I have to say I’m pleased for you and, ah, Midoriya, was it?”

Midoriya nods and brightens. “Yes! Actually, sorry, I feel like we never got a chance to be properly introduced. You’re Iida? A friend of Shouto’s?”

Iida’s gaze flickers to Shouto and then away again, and he clears his throat. “No need to apologise, after all you saved my life.” He smiles a little. “But yes, I am a friend of…Shouto’s.” On his other side, Momo clears her throat. Midoriya looks from Momo to Shouto and his smile falters a little, though Shouto watches him make the decision to pull it back up.

“That’s great! You know each other from Kasai, right?”

Again, Iida looks to Shouto and then to Momo. He hesitates and Jirou sighs, leaning back. “What Deku is trying to get at is what the hell are you doing out here?”

Immediately, Iida sits up straight, though he winces with the movement of his shoulder. He speaks directly to Shouto. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

Next to Momo, Jirou frowns and sits forward, glancing at Momo and then at Shouto. “How the hell did you know where they were?”

Iida clears his throat. “Well, I knew that Shouto and Momo were heading to Silvia. Once I got to the town a, ah, particularly angry elf? And his husband informed me of your mission.”

Midoriya raises his eyebrows. “Aizawa would not have volunteered that information. How’d you get it out of him?”

Momo huffs a laugh as Iida shrugs. “Well, I, ah. I have been known to be persistent.”

Jirou snorts. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“But you must have had a reason. Tenya, what’s going on?” It’s Momo who speaks this time, and she does so urgently. Iida’s expression becomes grave, and he looks from her to Shouto.

“It’s King Todoroki. He’s heard about the god in the mountains, and he’s sending his army to stop it before it reaches Kasai.”

For a moment, silence sits heavily between them. Shouto sets his spoon down and glares at the fire. Momo swears. Beside her, Jirou frowns. “Wait, I’m failing to see the downside here. Aren’t reinforcements a good thing?”

“What about Silvia?” Midoriya’s voice is low, and serious. Iida sighs.

“The King has ordered his general to evacuate the town. The army are under instructions to raze the forest of Taiyo in an effort to discourage the god before it leaves the foothills.”

“They can’t do that!” It’s the first time Uraraka’s spoken all morning, and her voice is loud. Her hands are squeezed tightly around Tsuyu’s shoulders, who blinks slowly.

“The courts of the forest will kill any humans that try to destroy them. It will be a bloodbath.” There is no doubt in Tsuyu’s voice, which is a low rasping croak, and Iida pales.

He curls the fingers of his good hand into a fist on his knee and works his jaw before saying, quietly but fervently, “I suggest that you do not underestimate the armies of Kasai. General Togata is a formidable foe.”

Midoriya hums. “So I’ve heard.” He takes a deep breath. Shouto thinks he can almost hear the thoughts whirring through his mind. “And if the Silvians refuse to evacuate?”

“Then the general will have no choice but to make them do so by force. The King has ruled that the continued safety of Kasai and the lands beyond it is more important than that of a single province.”

“Fuck your King.” Jirou growls, and spits into the fire. Iida takes a deep breath.

“I don’t disagree with you.” He looks at Shouto. “Our King is a cruel and violent man. But in the absence of the crown prince, he refuses to cede the throne to the princess. And no one has seen the other princes since they were very young.” Shouto swallows something hard in his throat and shuts his eyes. “Politically speaking, no one can challenge Todoroki in Kasai without risking civil war. And people are scared of this god in the mountains.” He nods in the vague direction of the storm, though they can no longer see it for the trees.

“How did you even hear about it? The…the god, I mean.” Uraraka’s voice is softer now, and she’s watching Midoriya, though she glances at Iida when she asks the question.

Iida shrugs with his good shoulder. “The same way any regent does, the King has his seers. They say the god will start with Kasai when it rains its destruction upon the earth. They don’t know why, but all agree the devastation will be absolute. None will survive.”

Iida’s proclamation sits heavily between them. Momo and Shouto share a look. Jirou shreds a twig in her hands with quick, vicious movements. Uraraka holds on tightly to Tsuyu, who stares at Iida unblinking with her wide black eyes. Midoriya bites the inside of his cheek and looks into the fire as if he’ll find answers there.

After a long moment, Uraraka speaks. “What are we going to do?”

All of them look at Midoriya. He frowns at the fire, and then he sits up and looks at Iida, giving him a smile. “Thank you for telling us this, Iida. I’m sure that if it wasn’t directly against the king’s edict, it was certainly a flexible reading of his desires.” Iida tilts his head. Midoriya looks at Tsuyu. “Have you got any way to contact the sprites?”

Tsuyu nods. “We need a river.”

“Alright, that’s doable.” Midoriya takes a deep breath. “The sprites will tell the courts. How they’ll react…” He hesitates and looks at Iida. “Well, I’m afraid that’s your King’s business now. As for us – did you tell the Silvians what was coming?” There’s a hard edge to Midoriya’s voice that Shouto’s barely heard before. Jirou and Uraraka look at Iida with the same intensity, and Shouto can’t help feeling a faint twinge of sympathy for the knight.

Iida clenches his jaw. “I told the elf, Aizawa? And his husband, Yamada. I believe they’re members of your Council.”

Tension falls from Midoriya’s shoulders like rain in a storm. “Yes. Good. Thank you.” His words are fervent with relief. Iida flushes. “Alright.” He swallows, and looks at each of them in turn. “I’m not going to make you stay here against your wishes. I don’t know the best decision to make here. And I know that some of us have family in Silvia. If you want to turn back now, then I won’t hold that against you.” He pauses and waits, meeting Jirou and Uraraka’s eyes.

Uraraka shakes her head. “I told you, I’m not letting you get yourself killed, Deku.” Her smile trembles, but it’s a smile all the same.

Jirou jerks her thumb at Uraraka. “Yeah, I’m with the miraculous flying lady. Besides, there’s nothing to say that Tetsu and Itsuka will be any better off with this god than that army.” She sits up straight, and brushes her hair away from her face. “If there’s something I can do to help stop it, then I’m damn well going to do it.”

Midoriya smiles at her. “Thank you. Tsuyu? I know you must have family in the forest.” Tsuyu nods.

“I do. But they are not much safer with me than they are without me. On the other hand, if you get yourselves killed, all hope is lost.” The blood drains from Shouto’s face to sit somewhere around his toes. Midoriya stares at Tsuyu.

“O-okay, thank you for your honesty. Momo, Shouto?”

Momo looks at Shouto, and waits for him to speak. Shouto takes a deep breath and runs his hand up over his scar and through his hair. He can feel Iida’s eyes on him. “Your, ah. The seer said you’d die without us.” Shouto looks at Midoriya, really looks at him sitting there in the light of the morning. His bright eyes are clever, and his hair is a mess. His shirt is stained with the dirt of their journey, but he sits tall. His scarred hands rest either side of him on the log on which they sit. He’s brave, and kind, and beautiful, and for once there’s no doubt in Shouto’s mind about what he wants to do.

“I’m not going to let you die if I can help it.” He hesitates, and glances at Momo. “I can’t speak for Momo, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Momo stares at him. Shouto feels like she can see right through him, and he tries not to flinch away. Then Momo huffs a laugh and breaks eye contact. “Yeah, I’m not dealing with Shouto’s heartbreak if you get yourself killed, Izuku.”

Midoriya blinks, surprised at her use of his first name. Momo grins at him, and the expression is soft and a little tired. “You heard me. If we’re going to die together we might as well be on a first name basis.” Midoriya smiles a little, and Shouto sees his lip quiver and reaches out without thinking to hold his hand. As soon as he does, Midoriya squeezes his fingers tightly.

Iida clears his throat. “So I…suppose there’s nothing I can say to change your mind, then?”

Shouto smiles at him and shakes his head. On the other side of the fire, Momo shifts closer to him and puts a hand on his knee. “Thank you for finding us Tenya.”

Iida lets out a deep, shaking breath. “Well, I mean, of course, it’s only natural, I mean we…” He hesitates, and his eyes move to Shouto’s dyed black hair. “We’ve known each other for a long time.” He hesitates, and looks into Momo’s eyes, and his brow twists. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can say? I don’t…Fighting a god isn’t the most rational plan I’ve ever heard of.”

Momo moves to squeeze his shoulder and gives him a smile that’s wide and brash and a little too big to be wholly honest. “When have you ever known me to be rational?” She waits until he looks at her, and her smile softens. “We’ll be alright, Tenya.”

Iida huffs a hollow laugh. “I’m holding you to that, Yaoyorozu.”

She snorts. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Momo?”

When they’re ready to leave, they make the decision that Iida will go back to Silvia, to pass on news of their progress and provide whatever aid he can in arresting the progress of General Togata and his army. Iida explains to the Silvians the nature of his affinity: fleet-footedness. Like most of the noble households in Kasai, it’s a rare magic given to mankind by magical creatures. It allows him to cross miles in minutes, and gives him the ability to get back to Silvia in a day and a half at most. It’s a skill too great to waste on bringing him with them, though Iida protests all the same.

Before he leaves, he embraces Momo and Shouto in turn, making them swear not only to make it out alive but to take the time to visit him at some point in the future of their, ‘undoubtedly long and happy lives’. Momo and Shouto laugh, and all three of them pretend not to notice the tear tracks on one another’s cheeks.

Then Iida is gone. Tsuyu leaves their party briefly to find a river and send a message to the other creatures of the forest. She promises them that she’ll find them again, pressing an ornate silver flask into Uraraka’s hands and explaining to the others that it’s part of her lake water. She stares, unblinking, at Midoriya as she says this. “It is what allows me to travel with you. If it is lost, I will not be able to return.”

Uraraka had tucked the flask into the breast pocket of her jacket without a word, and Tsuyu had kissed her hand before she departed. Together, they set off again towards the mountains.

They don’t speak much now: all of them have far too much to think about. A growing sense of urgency has fallen over the group, between the mountains before them and the army behind. Not to mention the monsters that wait in the forest’s depths, brought to life by the hatred and fury of an angry god.

Midoriya leads them now, walking at Uraraka’s side. Though Shouto can see no green lightning, he can feel Midoriya’s magic around them like a cloak, or mist. He and Momo keep the rear, and Momo’s hand rarely strays far from her sword hilt. In the centre of the party, Jirou hums a soft tune that twists around them and does something to ease their rattled nerves.

When Tsuyu rejoins them, she does so from the front so that they can see her coming. She’s hopping, though she favours her uninjured side. Her long, black hair is wet, and when Midoriya asks her whether she succeeded she says that she has. She falls back to half-walk beside Jirou, and after half a mile says quietly. “We’re getting close now. The forest is poisoned.”

She doesn’t say anything else for hours.

The forest has been deathly quiet for days, and this does not change whilst they hike. It feels like walking into an open grave, and Shouto’s skin crawls with the sensation of it. So when they hear a tree falling from a mile or so away, it sounds like a gunshot in the silence.

Momo draws her sword, and Midoriya and Shouto pull magic to their fingertips. All of them come to a halt, hearts pounding. After a long moment, Tsuyu hops to the front of their group. “There’s nothing here. Should I go on ahead?”

“I’ll do it.” Jirou’s voice is rough, and she tugs on her jacket, marching to the front of the group. She slips a dagger out of her sleeve with the flick of her wrist, and looks at Midoriya, lifting her chin. “I’m good at subtlety.”

Midoriya hesitates, and Momo lifts her shirt a little to pull a firework from the soft flesh of her belly. She hands it to Jirou. “If something happens, set this off.” She presses her flint stone into Jirou’s hand as Jirou slips the firework into the inside pocket of her jacket. Jirou nods, then looks at Midoriya, reaching forward to clasp his upper arm.

“Trust me, Deku.”

Midoriya pauses, then sighs. “Alright.” Jirou doesn’t wait for him to say anything else, she turns and starts jogging down the track, then melts into the forest. They can barely hear her footsteps as they recede into the distance.

“Now what?” Shouto asks the question softly. The silence feels heavy on his ears.

Midoriya sets his shoulders. “We keep going. Slowly.”

They set off again, this time at a slower pace. None of them say a word to each other, and all of them keep looking at the sky, waiting for any sign of fireworks. It feels like both forever and no time at all when the sound of horse hooves and a creaking wooden wagon fills the silence. All of them come to a stop and watch as a horse-drawn cart turns the corner of the road ahead of them.

There’s a man on the cart: he’s wearing a huge, fur trimmed cloak, and his hair is shaved close to his scalp. Shouto would recognise him anywhere. Vaguely, he wonders what part of walking into one of the most uninhabited parts of the known world was a bad plan when it came to avoiding people who might know him.

Next to Yoarashi Inasa is Jirou. She’s sitting beside him on his bench, laughing at something he’s saying and looking utterly unharmed. When they get close enough, she waves at him. Momo recognises Inasa too, and she jogs forward to meet them, ignoring Midoriya and Uraraka’s confused shouts.

Inasa brings his horses to a halt: they’re two fine black mares, shire horses that stand huge and well groomed and docile. Inasa is smiling, and he jumps down from his cart in one fluid movement, sweeping Momo into a hug as Uraraka, Midoriya, Tsuyu and Shouto close the distance between them.

Momo is laughing. “What the hell are you doing here, Yoarashi?”

Inasa cackles, pulling back to look at her. He’s one of the few people who are as tall as Momo, and they look like giants next to Jirou as she makes her way down and off the cart. “I could ask you the same question! You look well.”

Momo huffs a laugh. “And you, friend.”

Midoriya clears his throat, and Inasa turns to them. His smile stays until his gaze falls on Shouto, at which point it drops abruptly. Momo follows it, and then grabs Inasa’s arm, tapping a quick, erratic rhythm that they’d used since they were children. Inasa lets her, but when she’s done he shrugs her off. Then he ignores Shouto entirely, sticking his hand out to Midoriya.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, but I’ve heard of you. Midoriya Izuku, right? From the Silvian Council?”

Midoriya takes his hand and shakes it, and Inasa’s smile grows into something a little more genuine. “Yes, that’s right. And, ah, you are?”

Inasa throws his head back and laughs. Jirou moves to Momo’s side with a rueful smile. “Who am I? Yoarashi Inasa, forester and exile.” Inasa sweeps his cloak behind him as he bows. “At your service.”

“This human is very loud.” Tsuyu croaks next to Uraraka. Shouto snorts.

Midoriya, meanwhile, is distracted by Inasa’s cart - or more accurately the mountain of trees on it. He raises both eyebrows. “Did you cut these down yourself?”

Uraraka claps her hands. “Is your affinity Levitation?”

Inasa puts his hands on his hips. He’s as strong and fine now as he ever was and Shouto can’t really stand to look at him. “No, no, I’m an elemental. Like…” He glances at Shouto, and his expression sours. “Well. Anyway, my magic is elemental. My affinity is air.”

Uraraka beams. “Mine too! I mean, my affinity is Levitation, but air is definitely my element. It’s nice to meet a kindred spirit.”

Inasa grins: his teeth are neat and strong and bright. “Indeed it is. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

Uraraka sticks her hand out, and Inasa takes it, shaking it firmly. “Uraraka Ochako. And this is Tsuyu, my…” Uraraka’s cheeks go pink. “My, um, friend.”

Tsuyu blinks at her, then slowly proffers a clawed hand in Inasa’s direction. Inasa takes it and shakes it firmly. Tsuyu lets him, then pulls her hand back. “Why are you working so close to the mountains? Have you not encountered the creatures that lurk here?”

All of them turn to Inasa, and he shifts under their gaze, clearing his throat. “Well, of course I have but...” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I’ve not yet met anything I couldn’t deal with. If I do, by all means I’ll go south, but until that time comes I plan to finish my work before I leave the forest again.”

Tsuyu tilts her head to the side. She doesn’t say anything, but Shouto can feel her scepticism. Next to Inasa, Momo clears her throat and punches him lightly on the arm. “Come Yoarashi, have you forgotten your manners in your exile? Don’t you have some cottage in which we can rest our weary feet?”

Inasa smiles at her. “Of course.” He raises an eyebrow at the rest of them, and the corner of his mouth jumps into a grin Shouto recognises. Shouto sighs. “Though there isn’t room for all of you at the front. I hope you don’t mind splinters.”

With all of them but Midoriya and Momo riding in the back of the cart, beside the long stripped logs that Inasa had amassed that day, they head back down the track in the direction of the mountains. They’re close enough now that the mountains swallow the sky, and Inasa explains that they’re about a day’s trek from the foothills.

His cottage is small and squat. It’s built of large, rough-hewn stone and bears a heavy, thatched roof. Once Inasa’s lit the large fire inside, its stone chimney spits smoke into the sky. Leading up to the simple wooden door is a stone path, and around the cottage’s front is a wooden balcony. There’s a pile of firewood beside the cottage as tall as the building, and a small, sparse herb garden at the back. Grass is sketched across the dirt in the small gap between the cottage and the forest proper, and on it is a weather worn table and two benches.

There’s a stable a little way to the right of the cottage, and Inasa busies himself with his horses, dressing them down and feeding them before returning to his cart and lifting the logs off the cart using his magic. Uraraka helps him despite his protestations, and when she lifts one with the touch of a finger, Inasa is openly impressed. Midoriya mucks in too, with green lightning crackling around his arms as he lifts the logs from the cart with his bare hands.

Shouto stays out of their way, and busies himself with lighting a fire pit with a snap of his fingers in a spot already made by a ring of rough pebbles. Once Inasa, Uraraka and Midoriya are done, Inasa goes inside and comes back out with an armful of flagons of ale and a rich loaf of fresh bread. All of them sit around the table outside beside the fire. The bread is soft and rich and sweet, and Inasa’s ale is moreish and savoury. After the stress of the past few days, it feels a little bit like paradise, and Inasa presides over them as the image of a gracious host.

The forest is still eerily empty, but the group of them, Inasa’s laughter, and the soft sounds of his horses in their stables helps to break the ice. Inasa makes them a huge pot of stew that’s rich with herbs and game, and he and Midoriya exchange stories about the forest. Occasionally, even Jirou chips in with what she knows from songs. Eventually, Inasa clears their plates, and Momo and Uraraka help him clean them whilst Midoriya and Shouto set up a pile of bedding inside Inasa’s cottage. There’s not a lot of space: just enough for his bed, a fireplace, a table and a kitchen counter. But it’ll be warmer than they’ve had in weeks, and Inasa is willing to share.

Tsuyu doesn’t help, still recovering from her injury. Instead she sits outside and keeps a slow, unblinking watch on the silent forest beyond them.

It’s a pleasant evening, and Uraraka, Midoriya and Jirou are easily charmed by Inasa’s quick wit and warm spirit. This isn’t surprising to Shouto: Inasa had always made friends fast and easily. It was one of the things he’d liked about him.

Eventually, their conversation moves to Iida’s message. Midoriya brings it up, as they sit around the table nursing their beer. Above them, the sky is dark and clear and the stars are bright. By the mountains they disappear, like candles blown out in the wind.

Inasa drinks deeply after Midoriya’s proclamation, then huffs a mirthless laugh. “Hm. I suppose that’s only to be expected.”

Catching Uraraka’s confusion, Inasa clarifies with the expression of a man eating something sour, “Todoroki Enji is not a merciful man.”

Midoriya hums, softly, and doesn’t look at Shouto. “So we keep hearing.”

Next to Shouto, Momo clears her throat. “There was a reason we left. Right, Shouto?”

Shouto nods, and stares into the disappearing foam of his pint. He can feel Inasa’s eyes on him, and he tries not to let it bother him. When Inasa speaks, he directs his words at Shouto. “Of course, that’s what the Crown Prince did too.” He says the word prince like it’s a curse. “And left the rest of the kingdom to clean up his mess. So I’m not sure I’d advocate running in every situation.”

“Didn’t you run?” Tsuyu croaks from the end of the table.

Inasa bristles and sets down his flagon. “I’d call it more of a voluntary exile. A protest. I met the King once, see.” Uraraka makes a soft sound of surprise. Inasa glares at the table. “He was one hell of a man. Eyes full of hatred. I used to serve on the royal guard, and after that I just. Well, I just couldn’t. Especially not after the prince…” His gaze flickers to Shouto, and his mouth twists. “Left.”

“Right, Enji’s an asshole, on that we can all agree.” Momo’s voice is a little too loud and too bright for the evening at hand. Shouto drains his flagon and stands.

“I’m going to piss.”

He walks away from the table without another word. He feels someone watch him go, but he doesn’t bother to see whether it’s Midoriya or Inasa. His skin is prickling hot and cold, and mostly he just tries to remember how to breathe.

When he gets back, the group has split. Jirou and Momo sit on the porch, deep in conversation, hands clasped and legs loosely tucked into one other like pieces in a puzzle. Shouto isn’t sure where Midoriya, Uraraka and Tsuyu have gone. He can’t see them, so he assumes they’re inside. As quietly as he can, he makes his way around the back of the cottage, by the herb garden where it faces the forest and the mountains.  

The moon is gibbous again, not quite full, but between it and the fire there’s enough light for him to make his way. He turns around the cottage, lungs filling with the scent of mint and rosemary, and comes to a stop. Inasa is sitting on a chair behind his cottage, staring up at the mountains. Swallowing, Shouto turns to go back the way he’s come.

Inasa’s voice stops him. “We need to talk, Shouto.”

Shouto grits his teeth. “I have nothing to say to you.” He doesn’t move. Neither does Inasa.

“Too bad. We need to talk.”

For a second Shouto looks at the fire in the front garden, and listens to the soft voices of Jirou and Momo talking to one another. He looks at the trees, and the way their branches ripple in the breeze that gets stronger higher up. He thinks of running.

Then he uncurls his fingers, sighs, and turns, walking towards Inasa. “What do you want?”

Inasa shrugs, and lifts a chair beside him with one arm, setting it down on the porch and gesturing for Shouto to sit. Shouto does, stiffly. For a while, Inasa stares up at the mountain before them. There’s a lantern hanging off the corner of his roof here, and it provides a pale yellow glow against the silver of the moonlight.

“Are you spying on these people for the king?”

Shouto stares at Inasa. Inasa keeps looking at the mountains. The fur around his collar sways in the light wind. Shouto opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again. “What – how could you –”

Inasa cuts him off, and his voice rises a little when he does as he turns to face him. “How could I, Shouto? That doesn’t sound like a no. How could you – these are innocent people, they have done nothing to you.”

Fire prickles along Shouto’s skin. He doesn’t shout, but he wants to. “I am not spying on them. I bear no loyalty to my father. How could you think that I did?”

Inasa’s mouth twists his face into something ugly. “Yeah, right. We both know you’ve idolised that man since we were children.”

Shouto thinks he’s going to be sick. “I-idolised him? You think I…” He chokes, half laughs. “You think I idolised him?”

“You’re claiming that you don’t? Remember when we were seventeen, and you told me –”

“That has nothing to do with this!” Shouto’s face is hot. “We were barely more than children.”

“ You sent me away! ” The accusation is naked with betrayal. Shouto stares at Inasa, and Inasa glares back at him. “You sent me away because I insulted your father. Once. You’re right, we were children. I was an idiot. And you never let me forget it.”

Shouto runs a shaking hand up over his scar and through his hair. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper, and cold as the ice that runs in his veins. “If I recall correctly, Inasa, you said, ‘imagine the King’s face if he saw us like this’ whilst we were in bed together. Like it was a joke.”

“It was a joke! Shouto, I was a boy!”

“Don’t call me that.” Shouto can’t shake the poison in his voice and he sees it burn Inasa; he wants to apologise and resists the urge to do so.

Inasa clenches his teeth. “What would you prefer? Todoroki? Your highness?”

Shouto feels like the ground is falling away from beneath his feet and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He shuts his eyes and tries to breathe.

“Look at me, Todoroki.” Inasa’s words are half command and half plea and Shouto feels as dizzy as if he were drowning. He shakes his head and tries to breathe, counting in his head as he holds onto the chair on which he sits. Inasa rests a hand on his shoulder and Shouto flinches, violently. Immediately, Inasa withdraws.

When he speaks, his voice is rough and low. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t think…I didn’t mean to. Shit, I don’t know. Are you alright?”

Shouto waits until his heart slows to something like twice its normal pace and opens his eyes. His thoughts fall slowly into place. He looks at Inasa, and Inasa looks at him. He’s as handsome as he ever was, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. There’s a small scar on his cheek that Shouto doesn’t remember, but it’s been six years. He sighs. “You thought I…you thought I stopped seeing you because you insulted my father?”

Confusion flickers across Inasa’s face like clouds in a stormy sky. “Well, I mean…”

Shouto laughs, and it’s light and a little hysterical. He gets to his feet, and stumbles, and Inasa catches him. Shouto shakes off his hands, and walks off the porch in the direction of the forest. “Come with me.”

“What? Where are you going?”

Shouto huffs a laugh, and doesn’t check to see whether Inasa is following him. After a moment, he hears his footsteps. “I want some privacy. I’ll show you exactly how much I idolise my father.”

They don’t go far into the treeline. Just far enough that their view of the cottage is obscured. Shouto stops and turns to Inasa and feels the hum of his magic. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Inasa doesn’t relax his guard. “I’ve only got your word for that, Todoroki.” He says the name like it’s poison. Shouto swallows.

“Actually, if it’s Shouto or…that. Please call me Shouto.”

Inasa scowls. “Fickle, aren’t you? So get on with it. What is it you want to show me.”

Shouto’s hands move to the base of his shirt, tugging it up over his stomach, and Inasa rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on Shouto, you know I’m not…”

Shouto huffs a laugh, pulling his shirt over his head and rolling it into a ball in his hands. “Relax, Inasa. I have no intention of making love to you.” Inasa, for his part, seems to be doing his best to look everywhere except Shouto’s bare chest. The wind on Shouto’s skin is cold, and the shadows around them are deep as velvet.

“Please tell me you haven’t gone completely insane since the last time I saw you.” Inasa says to a tree trunk.

Shouto laughs again, though it’s without much humour. “No more than I was before, I think.”

“So what’s your point?”

Shouto walks closer to Inasa, so there’s barely an arm’s width between them. He speaks quietly. “Look at me, Inasa.” After a moment, Inasa looks down at him. His brown eyes are soft and full of questions. Shouto swallows his discomfort and tries for a smile. Then he turns around.

He hears Inasa catch his breath: a quick hiss of air through his teeth. Shouto’s skin prickles where he can feel Inasa’s eyes on him, and the hair on his arms stands on end in the cold. “You didn’t have those the last time I saw you.”

Inasa’s voice is low, and rough. After a moment he reaches out, his warm fingers running lightly over the lattice of scars tattooed across Shouto’s upper back. Long, wide burns ripple around his sides, pink and red and silver, curving over his spine.

He’d had the burns before. Inasa had asked him about them once, and Shouto hadn’t answered. He hadn’t known what to say. He was fairly certain Inasa had assumed that they were a result of his own magic: unhappy accidents playing with a power that was difficult to control. Accidents that had made him afraid of his own magic. Inasa had assumed a lot of things. But then again, Shouto let him.

Shouto thinks of Midoriya touching his spine, gently running his fingers over the scars of his flogging. Inasa’s touch is lighter, his fingers are cooler, but he’s still gentle. Shouto doesn’t move away. He presses his shirt to his bare chest and stares at the trees. “My father gave these to me a few months after I broke off our…arrangement. I don’t think he knew about it. He was just angry. The rest. I don’t think I ever told you, but the rest...” Shouto touches a wide burn a few inches above his hip that curls around his back. “They’re also...from when I was younger. The individual occasions are...hard to distinguish now. But I still feel his hand, sometimes. Still feel it burning.”

Inasa lowers his hand, and Shouto lets out a long shaking breath and doesn’t turn to look at him. He pulls his shirt back over his head in quick, detached movements. “I had this idea that, ah, as I got older he would get more gentle? Treat me less like a child. But I was wrong. We graduated from punches to whips. But. It was always burns. Always fire, for as long as I can remember.” Shouto’s voice breaks. He runs a hand over his scar and up through his hair. “Bruises would fade. Bones heal. But when the…” He finds he can barely say the words. “The whipping started.” He swallows. “I didn’t want to stay. And Momo couldn’t keep watching it happen. I would come to her in the night, I was…dizzy, tired. And she’d try to, to clean the wounds. To help.” Shouto takes a long, shuddering breath. “She was falling apart. My blood was on her hands, every night, and I…and she…So we just. We just ran. Tenya helped, lied for us, and I didn’t look back because I just.” Something thick is sitting at the back of his throat and Shouto tries to swallow it down, pressing his hand to his face and covering his eyes.

“Fuck, Inasa, I know it was selfish. I know I’m a coward. I know I left you behind. But I just, I just couldn’t take it anymore I couldn’t…”

Suddenly, Inasa’s strong, warm arms are wrapped around his chest. Shouto freezes. Then he lifts a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle his sobs as tears run hot and fast down his cheeks. Inasa holds him tightly as he shakes. Together, they stand in the shadows of the forest.

After a long moment, Inasa clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Shouto.”

Shouto turns to face him and catches him rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “For what?”

Inasa’s mouth quivers. “I should have known. I should have done something. I knew you. I should have known there was more going on than I…”

Shouto shakes his head, and reaches up to rest a hand on his upper arm. “It’s fine.” He huffs a laugh. “Idiot. It’s fine. It’s in the past.” He glances away from him, into the trees. “Besides I didn’t…It was good, to be close to someone who didn’t…Tenya is my brother. But the way he looked at me, I. I didn’t want that from you.”

Inasa nods, and scrubs at his nose. “So, uh, you’re not a spy then?”

Shouto barks a quick, startled laugh. “No. No, I assure you I am not.”

Inasa takes a deep breath, and his broad shoulders tremble. He sticks out his chin and clenches his jaw. “Good, that’s good.” He claps Shouto’s shoulder, and his hand is heavy and warm. “Good talk.”

Then he walks back through the forest toward the cottage. After a moment, Shouto follows him.

They sleep well that night.

In the morning, Inasa brings them fish he’s caught from a nearby river. They eat it with toasted bread, and Tsuyu’s attitude towards Inasa improves considerably, though she insists on eating her fish raw. Jirou and Shouto watch her with something like mild horror.

Momo, apparently noticing the absence of tension between Shouto and Inasa, is even warmer towards him than she was on the day before, grabbing him in a headlock and scrubbing at his fuzz of hair. When it comes time for them to leave, they do so reluctantly. Momo and Inasa embrace. After a long moment, Inasa holds his hand out to Shouto and Shouto takes it. Inasa uses it to pull him into a quick, tight hug. “Don’t go getting yourself killed, alright? I owe you a beer when all this is over.”

Shouto huffs a laugh, and Momo elbows him, and Midoriya watches them with a smile. He hugs Inasa, and pauses, holding his arm when they break apart. “I suggest you head south. I don’t know if we will succeed, and if we don’t, it seems like the world would be a little darker without you in it.”

Inasa stares at him, then clears his throat. “Yeah, well, I mean. I have a responsibility to the horses. And uh, you know. I’ve got enough for the winter.”

Midoriya smiles at him, and squeezes his arm. “Be safe, friend.”

Uraraka kisses Inasa’s cheek and laughs when he blushes. Jirou holds out her fist for a bump and turns on her heel with a dismissive, “later dude.” Tsuyu stares at Inasa for a long moment, then lifts one large hand in farewell.

Together, they make their way back into the woods. They’re much closer to the mountains now: craggy and monstrous, they tower through the sky, lined with wrinkles like sleeping giants. Over their peaks curls the storm, fat as a blister and purple as a bruise.

Midoriya falls into step beside Shouto at the back of the group, whilst Momo and Uraraka take the lead. “It’s kind of funny that you keep bumping into people you knew from Kasai, isn’t it?”

Shouto focuses on the road in front of him and keeps his hands tucked into his pockets. “I suppose.”

Midoriya hums and looks up at the sky. It’s split evenly now between a hazy blue and the black of the storm. “Sort of makes you think that you were meant to be here or something, you know?”

Shouto shrugs and doesn’t look at him. “Or something. I don’t really believe in fate, I’m afraid.”

Midoriya huffs a laugh and runs a hand up over his face and through his hair. “In a world of magic and prophecies that seems a little,” he pauses, searching for the right word. “Stubborn?” He softens the word with a smile.

Shouto laughs, softly. “Maybe.” He glances to their left, into the quiet depths of the trees. “But if fate does exist, it’s very cruel.”

Midoriya slips his hands into his pockets. “Perhaps. Though it brought you to me.”

Shouto rolls his eyes in an effort to distract himself from his own blush. “You’re a romantic.”

“You’re a cynic.” Midoriya laughs, nudging him with his elbow. Shouto nudges him back.

“Daydreamer.” Midoriya grins and pushes a little harder, startling a laugh out of Shouto as he catches himself.

“Skeptic.”

“Gullible.”

“Pessimist.”

“Naïve.”

“Frigid.” Shouto grins as Midoriya succeeds in pushing him a little to the side of the track.

“Ouch. What are you trying to say?” He brings frost to his fingertips to emphasise his point and Midoriya watches him, enchanted. Then he dances forward and presses a quick kiss to Shouto’s lips, eyes bright.

“No hard feelings?” He bounces away, and Shouto watches him go, lifting a hand to his lips as he groans.

“This is useless. I’m a lost cause. I can deny you nothing.” Midoriya snorts, and Shouto smiles a little, quickening his pace to catch up with him. Ahead of them, Jirou pretends to retch and calls something about saving it for the honeymoon.

Midoriya laughs her off, though he flushes as he does so. Shouto smiles, and bends a little to kiss his cheek. It’s warm with his blush, and Midoriya startles. Shouto takes his hand as they keep walking.

“So you’re the lost prince of Kasai then?” Midoriya asks the question casually, looking into the forest as he does so. Their fingers hang loosely intertwined between them. Shouto forgets how to breathe.

“W-what, why would –”

Midoriya sighs, and squeezes his hand, giving him a look that’s half fond and half exasperated. “For someone who’s been on the run for six years, you’re a terrible liar Shouto.”

Shouto pulls his hand away from Midoriya’s and ignores the look on Midoriya’s face when he does so. “I don’t know why you think I’m…”

“Look, we don’t have to talk about it.” Midoriya interrupts him. “But I figured I should tell you, since between Iida and Yoarashi and the fact you keep dying your hair it was kind of obvious. I mean, I get that you could just be a noble, or someone who worked in the royal guard, or a kid like the hundreds of others that got named after the crown prince. But that combined with the rumours about Kasai’s Todoroki Shouto? The boy that looks like he’s split in two - with white and red hair and blue and brown eyes? A man who commands both ice and fire, a rare elemental affinity for anyone?” Midoriya’s mouth pulls into a smile. “Give me more credit than that.”

Shouto swallows. He’d faltered when Midoriya had made his announcement, and the women are several feet ahead of them now. He has no idea how much they’ve heard, and he tries not to let it bother him. Momo is still smiling, and he takes that as some reassurance. He can’t look at Midoriya.

“So my secret’s out. You know exactly what kind of man I am. What do you think?”

He gestures to himself, and lifts his chin, waiting for Midoriya’s judgement. Around them, the trees are tall and still and quiet. Midoriya smiles at him. “You’re still kind of an idiot.”

Shouto blinks. “What?”

Midoriya laughs, and steps forward, taking Shouto’s hands in his. Gently, he runs his thumb over the knuckles of Shouto’s right hand. “Do I wish you’d told me sooner? I mean, I guess so. But I don’t think it would’ve made much difference. And I understand, I mean, that’s not the kind of thing you tell someone you’ve just met.” Midoriya looks up at him, and smiles. Shouto stares at him like he’s a sunset, painted red and gold.

“But it doesn’t change how I feel about you. I’m probably going to say this a thousand times but I really can’t know what you’ve been through. I can’t know where you’ve come from. I understand why you ran from your father, and the fact that he’s a king doesn’t change that. Everyone has a right to live a life free from harm.” Midoriya squeezes his hands, then lifts Shouto’s left to his lips, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “Even princes.”

Shouto clears his throat. “I seem to be weeping far more on this trip than I had originally planned.” Midoriya huffs a soft laugh. By now the women have noticed their stopping, and they’re waiting on the track ahead of them. Shouto holds Midoriya’s hands tightly and ducks his head. “Thank you, Izuku.”

Midoriya smiles at him, and lets go of his right hand to touch his cheek, bending his head as he gets on tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Shouto shuts his eyes. Midoriya presses another quick, chaste kiss to his lips before settling back down onto the earth. “Don’t mention it.”

They make good time that day. By the time they stop for lunch, they’re well within the umbrella of the storm, and it casts a strange kind of twilight over the trees. Midoriya picks up a handful of pebbles and enchants them, handing the witchlights out to each of them in turn. Uraraka and Jirou share out the bread and cheese that Inasa had insisted on giving to them.

Jirou watches the sky, and Shouto isn’t sure if it’s just the low light, but she looks pale. “I don’t like this. Even the air is toxic.”

Midoriya nods. “We’d do well to be on our guard. Its eyes are on us.”

Uraraka lifts her chin. “Let it watch. It’s not going to scare us away with a storm.”

Midoriya smiles at her. “No, it won’t.”

They eat quickly and quietly, and start walking again before long. The terrain gets steep and difficult as they enter they first stretch of the foothills, and the trees here are more sparse. Sometimes the path is so narrow that they have to go single file. The grass is bare and brown against the earth, thin like the hair on a sick animal.

Momo’s hand rests on her sword as they go, and Tsuyu’s dark eyes do not blink as she watches the hills and trees around them. They’ve been walking for about two hours when they hear a great, crashing rumble.

Midoriya holds up a hand and they come to a halt. They’re on a small, dry hill. The trees here are black, perhaps because of the low light, but it gives them an eerie feeling. They stick into the earth like weapons after a battle, bristling with needles and sparse branches. There’s another great crash that makes the trees quiver, and then a burst of fire that’s eye-wateringly bright in the grey light.

“What the hell is that?” Jirou asks, quietly. Midoriya shakes his head.

“I have no idea.”

There’s a creaking groan and a great series of snaps like the bones of a monster splintering. About half a mile ahead of them, a handful of trees topple slowly backwards into the forest. Smoke rises from the earth, thick and white against the dark grey sky. Midoriya starts heading towards it.

“Deku! What are you doing?” Uraraka’s worry is tempered by the fact that she follows him without hesitation. Tsuyu is slower to do so.

Jirou raises an eyebrow at her. “You ok, fish lady?”

Tsuyu croaks, and points one long clawed finger toward the sounds of battle. As she does, another column of flame roars above the treeline, copper and gold. Shouto squints as he looks at it. The acrid smell of smoke runs thickly over the wind towards them. “There is something dangerous there. An old magic.”

“Like, the old magic?” Jirou asks, watching Midoriya and Uraraka as they reach the bottom of the hill and head for the tree line. Shouto shifts his weight from one foot to another, itching to join them. Tsuyu shakes her head.

“No. But still powerful.”

“Alright then.” Momo claps her hands, and moves to the front of their group. “Well, we can’t let them go and get themselves killed now, can we?” With that, she draws her sword and jogs down the hill after Midoriya and Uraraka, who are small with the distance between them.

Shouto follows her without hesitation. After a moment, Jirou does the same, flicking her daggers into her hands, grumbling. “The things I do for love.”

Tsuyu crosses half the distance between the hill and Uraraka in one easy leap, and then catches up with her, pausing to glance back at Shouto, Momo and Jirou jogging behind them.

Both Midoriya and Uraraka slow, letting the others catch up as they walk into the treeline again. Here the trees echo with the sounds of battle, and the sounds are strange. There’s the splinter and creak and snap of branches, but there’s also a great stomping. There’s screaming in a hoarse voice and roars, but there’s also a thick hiss that sounds like sand being poured from a bowl. The smoke spreads between the trees here like fog, thick and grey.

It stings at their eyes and gets into their lungs. Momo pulls a string of scarves from her forearm like a magician pulling kerchiefs from her sleeves and hands them to each of them. They tie the scarves over their mouths and noses as they walk closer. Uraraka, Midoriya and Jirou lead the way, footfalls almost silent in the woods and certainly impossible to detect above the sounds of battle as they approach.

Shouto sees and hears and feels something heavy crashing onto the earth. The ground beneath his feet trembles as a great dark shadow falls between the trees. There’s another scream: he thinks it might be a man’s voice but it’s hard to tell. There’s the sound of hissing, and with a scream a tall pine tree falls forwards in the direction of the great beast.

Jirou is the first to see it. “Holy shit.”

Standing at least as tall as the tallest trees around them is a dragon. Its scales are a bright, crimson red and it has two long, curving horns as tall as a man protruding from its head. Its claws are long and black and gouge deep trenches into the earth, and its eyes burn yellow with long, cat-like slits for pupils. It is a leviathan of sinew, burning so hot a mirage of heat shimmers around its body. Its scales glitter like polished metal and ripple like the body of a snake.

When it opens its mouth to roar, they see its teeth, ten times as long as a bear’s and twice as sharp. Its roar rings through the forest and makes the trees shake and all of them dive to the ground, hands over their ears. The dragon’s tail whips to the side and crashes into a tree, sending it creaking to its downfall.

They’re so distracted by the dragon that they barely notice the creature against which it’s facing off. That thing, however, notices them. Shouto has a second to register the way his gut plummets, and then he’s wrapping his arm around Midoriya’s waist and throwing him out of the way.

The thing - which looks humanoid, with long, dirty blue-grey hair - falls against a tree trunk with its hand outstretched in the absence of Midoriya’s body. The tree dissolves into dust where it touches in a matter of seconds, even as the thing pulls back. Shouto registers with a distant kind of horror that its arms and face are covered in disembodied hands which cling to it like molluscs.

Without a trunk to support it, the top of the tree starts to fall into the canopy directly above them, sending leaves and branches flying in a hailstorm of debris. Shouto hears Momo shout his name and curls around Midoriya’s body, and totally misses the creature dancing forward, through the storm, with its arm outstretched and reaching for the nape of his neck.

Which is when a wall of flame so hot Shouto can feel it against the skin of his back comes blasting over their heads with the explosive force of a hurricane. The shockwave presses Shouto and Midoriya hard into the earth and forces Momo and Jirou to dive for cover.

A man with a thick mess of dirty blonde hair and a pile of bead and bone necklaces instead of a shirt jumps off the dragon’s back, as if that’s a thing people do, and stalks towards them, sending another blast of exploding flame in the direction of the thing covered in hands. “Get out of the fucking way!”

Shouto doesn’t need to be told twice. He helps Midoriya to his feet, and the two of them stumble backwards as the man stalks forwards. He has red curling earrings and a fur-trimmed cloak. He’s wearing ripped black pants that Shouto thinks are made of animal skins. His chest is lacerated with scars. Dark blue tattoos wrap around his upper arms, and leather bracers are strapped to his forearms. He has more magical energy than any human Shouto has ever met, with the possible exception of Midoriya. The jury was still out on the Silvian All Might. As the man walks, he reaches out and lays his hand on the dragon’s scales. The dragon lowers its mighty head, wide webbed ears twitching in the wind.

The man tosses his head as the creature covered in hands comes running forwards, as fast as the thing called Stain that had attacked them in the woods, if not faster. He crouches, bending his arms and calling explosive fire into his open palms, baring his teeth like a wolf.

“Let’s finish this!”

The dragon opens its mouth, and its head is as tall as the man. Shouto sees white light spilling from its jaws and throws up his arm to shield Midoriya whilst the stranger cackles. The creature covered in hands lowers its fingers to the earth, which crumbles where it touches it. The man roars and throws his hands forwards as the dragon breathes a column of white-hot flame down the path before it. The man’s magic mixes with the dragon’s in a bone shaking, blistering display of sheer force that rattles the trees and knocks Shouto and Midoriya onto the ground.

The creature covered in hands screams, and Shouto covers his ringing ears, squeezing his eyes shut as it melts into ash. The smell of burning hangs thick and stinging in the air. Even after the fire has died, Shouto keeps his hands pressed to his ears, waiting for them to stop ringing. He can feel the echoes of the magic in his bones, and his body is burning. His clothes are singed, and ash falls to the earth like hot snow, thick and smoking.

Suddenly, a voice makes its way into the tattered remnants of his hearing. “You better not be fucking dead you fucking weaklings what the fuck are you doing this far into the forest don’t you have a single fucking self preservation instinct.” A large, strong hand grabs his shirt and pulls him to his feet as if it’s nothing, and Shouto suddenly finds himself being shaken like a kitten in the face of the man with the blonde hair.

The man’s eyes, he notices with something like distant amazement, are as red as the body of the dragon beside which he’d fought. He has dark thumbprint bruises of sleep under them and a light scar running down his cheek. He shakes Shouto again. “Are you alive?”

Shouto shakes his head in an effort to make it stop swimming and nods. “Yes.”

Apparently satisfied with this answer, the man drops him and moves to pick up Midoriya, giving him the same treatment. Midoriya blinks, and stares at him, and stammers out a yes. A few feet away, Tsuyu uncurls from where she’s wrapped around Uraraka, and Jirou and Momo get to their feet, brushing themselves off.

Apparently satisfied that they’re unharmed, the stranger turns and heads back towards his dragon. With quick, practiced movements he climbs up its leg, over its shoulder and onto its back. Once he’s there, the dragon dips its head at them and turns, tail curled around its body like a giant cat’s.

For a second, all of them stare at the man’s retreating back. His red cloak blows in the wind, tattered and charred. There’s nothing left of the creature covered in hands but a pile of ash on the road. Midoriya raises his voice and calls after him. “Wait! Who are you?”

The dragon stops walking, and the man on its back half turns to face them. “Bakugou Katsuki. Now get the hell out of my forest.”

Once they’ve established that everyone is unharmed, and miraculously, they are, the group turns to the great deep trenches in the earth left behind by the dragon and its rider. Shouto looks at Midoriya, and sighs when he sees his expression. “You want to follow him.” It’s not a question.

Midoriya offers him a rueful smile and scratches the back of his head. “Well, I mean, I’m kind of surprised that I hadn’t already heard of him. Someone who could do this …” He turns in a circle, gesturing to the blasted earth and shattered trees. “Word of that should have reached Silvia by now.”

“Unless he was killing anyone who found him.” Jirou says, flatly, picking at her nails with a knife. When they turn to look at her, she shrugs. “What? I’m just saying he didn’t seem awfully concerned about collateral damage.”

“He checked that we were alive. Actually, I think he saved our lives.” Midoriya argues, and Jirou scowls.

“Why am I always the voice of reason? Momo?”

Momo, who had been crouched and passing a spell over the ashes of the creature Bakugou had killed, startles and pushes her hair out of her face. “Me?”

Jirou slips her dagger back into its sheath and folds her arms. “Yes, you. Do you think this is a good idea?”

Momo frowns, brushing ash from her trousers as she gets to her feet. “Following the guy with the dragon? No. Not good. He’s a man on a mission and we don’t know what that mission is, but we do know he could give us a run for our money in a fight. Besides, I thought the whole point of this venture was subtlety. Best to make our way quietly past him, if you ask me.”

Shouto nods. “I agree with Momo and Jirou. This stranger is unpredictable. We don’t know why he wanted us alive this time, but he may as easily kill us.”

Midoriya’s mouth twists. “Ok, yes, but , he could also be a massive asset. And he didn’t really seem to be surprised by…whatever that was, which means he might have seen these creatures before. He could have crucial information that we need.”

Shouto shrugs. Whatever they decide, it’ll make little difference to him. His plan hasn’t changed. He’ll follow Midoriya to this mountain and back, and do what he can to keep him alive. Jirou looks at Uraraka. “Ochako? Don’t tell me you want to get up close and personal with Mr Explosion?”

Uraraka laughs, and rubs the back of her neck. “Well, actually…”

Jirou frowns. “No. No way.”

“I just, I agree with Deku! He could be useful. He might know something we don’t. And honestly, I wouldn’t be against some extra fire power before we go and fight a god.”

Momo sighs. “Alright. Well, that’s nearly everyone, and it’s 3 to 2, Tsuyu? What do you think we should do?”

Tsuyu taps a long finger against her lips.  “We should visit the dragon rider.”

Jirou groans out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why. Why are we doing this. This journey is dangerous enough as it is without the magical flying pyromaniac!”

Tsuyu waits for Jirou to stop, and then quietly continues, looking at Midoriya. “The dragon was not corrupted. It was with him by choice. Anyone who can win the loyalty of the dragons is a creature we want on our side.” She tilts her head, and smiles. “I am also curious to speak to this dragon. We may not see another in our lifetimes. Even in mine.”

“So.” Jirou takes a deep breath. “It’s a tie. How do we decide this?”

Shouto steps forward and raises a hand. “I’ve changed my mind. If Tsuyu and Ochako think it’s a good idea as well, we should give it a shot.” Midoriya beams at him, and Shouto flushes a little under the intensity of it. Jirou swears.

“Traitor. Just because you want to Deku to –” Momo puts a hand over Jirou’s mouth before she can get any further with a breezy smile, ignoring her protests as she does so.

“And that’s enough of that. So, do you want to follow him today or wait until the morning?”

Midoriya looks up at the sky. It’s hard to tell the time of day thanks to the storm, which rolls silent and angry down the slopes of the mountains. He chews his bottom lip, and absently rolls magic between his fingers. It glitters in the dark. “Today. We don’t have much time.”

Shouto nods. “Well then.” He turns, and starts to make his way down the track in the direction that Bakugou and the dragon had headed. After a moment, the others follow.

After the first three hours, the deep trenches in the earth left by the dragon’s feet and tail abruptly disappear. By this point it’s started to rain, in thick heavy sheets that make it hard to see too far ahead of them. Jirou glares up at the heavens. “Oh, come on. A dragon doesn’t just disappear.”

Tsuyu, on the other hand, does not look concerned. Instead she hops forward, inspecting the tracks in the dirt ahead of the trenches even as the rain washes them away. When she turns back to them, she’s smiling, webbed ears spread wide. “This way.”

Uraraka doesn’t question her, she just drifts forward to follow. After a moment, the rest of them do the same. In the rain, the track rapidly turns to mud. Puddles form like little ponds in every pockmark of the road, and they can’t avoid all of them. Momo and Tsuyu enjoy it: laughing and jumping over the bigger pools, splashing each other sometimes for the hell of it. Jirou keeps her hands shoved deep into her pockets and scowls at the road, stomping through the puddles as if they’ve personally offended her.

The first time they come to a puddle that crosses the whole road in one fast-running channel under the rain, Shouto considers using his magic. But then Midoriya turns and holds his hand out to him. He’s not wearing his gloves, and rainwater is dripping over his fingertips. His hair is damp and clinging to his cheeks, and water drips over his eyelashes. His shirt, where it isn’t covered by his vest, clings to his shoulders and arms. Shouto stares at him, and Midoriya smiles.

After a moment, Shouto takes Midoriya’s hand, and Midoriya holds him firmly as he jumps over the puddle, steadying him on the other side with a laugh. Shouto’s hair sticks to his forehead and drips into his eyes, and he pushes it back, ignoring the cold. When they start walking again, Midoriya keeps holding his hand.

It takes them five hours in all to reach a cottage at the bottom of the mountains. By this time night has well and truly fallen, and this close to the mountains the rain has turned to hail. In the growing cold, Tsuyu’s attitude changes. Her movements become slow, and sluggish, and she wraps her arms around herself, repeating the same words again and again. “I’m cold.”

Worried, Uraraka throws a jacket around her. Shouto joins them. Quietly, he asks for permission from Tsuyu, but she just keeps repeating that she’s cold. Shouto turns instead to Uraraka, whose concern speaks for itself. Without another word he wraps his left arm around the naiad, coaxing heat around her like a cocoon. Tsuyu relaxes a little when he does this, pressing against him, and Shouto pushes down his own worry and focuses on maintaining the temperature against the growing storm.

Momo, Jirou and Midoriya go on ahead, now wrapped up in heavy coats they’d brought with them specifically for this part of the journey. There’s still no sign of the dragon, and they’re deep into the foothills now. The cottage stands at the base of a rock and gravel slope. Above it, great slabs of stone stand like broken bones. Further up, the mountain disappears into the clouds and the storm and the night and its own immensity.

Shouto, holding Tsuyu, tries to keep his eyes on Uraraka against the stinging hail. Ahead he thinks he can see the witchlights Jirou, Midoriya and Momo are holding, but it’s hard to tell. Momo knocks on the door of the cottage hard and loud against the storm, and Shouto can barely make it out over the howling of the wind.

She keeps knocking as Shouto, Uraraka and Tsuyu get closer, until finally the door swings open, hurling light into the stormy landscape like a fire in the dark. The man, Bakugou, takes up most of the door, broad shouldered and tall as he is. He says something to Momo, and Momo frowns and says something back, and then his eyes move to Shouto and Tsuyu. Something like concern flickers across his face, and Shouto hears what he says next.

“Why the fuck have you brought a fucking naiad out into this fucking storm are you all fucking morons do you want her to fucking die ?”

Then he marches outside, wearing nothing but a loose linen shirt and cotton trousers, and puts his arm around Tsuyu’s other side, helping Shouto bring her in. The warmth of Bakugou’s cottage hits Shouto hard, prickling down his fingers, and he realises belatedly that he’d been so focused on keeping Tsuyu warm he’d forgotten his right side, which is red and numb with cold.

Bakugou helps him bring Tsuyu close to the fire, setting her down to sit on the rug and then grabbing a blanket from his bed, which is pressed against one wall. As he walks, he sees the others outside, and growls a curse before waving them in. “Well don’t fucking freeze to death.” They don’t need to be told twice. All of them make their way inside, Uraraka immediately heading for Tsuyu whilst Momo shuts and bolts the door.

Which is when they notice someone else inside the cottage: a handsome young man with a shock of red hair, tanned skin and red horns protruding from his forehead. He smiles at them, and his teeth are jagged and sharp. Red scales run in patches over his arms. “Hey! Welcome. It’s one hell of a storm out there, isn’t it?”

The man with red scales continues to smile, despite their collective stunned silence and the howling of the storm outside. Bakugou keeps up a string of curses under his breath as he fills a pot with water and tosses some sticks into it before hanging it over the fire on an iron hook.

“My name’s Kirishima. What’re your names?”

As he speaks, Kirishima moves past Bakugou with a quick touch to his shoulder and comes to crouch by Tsuyu and Shouto. Shouto still has his left arm around Tsuyu, and is pushing himself to exude what little heat he can muster. His magic strains under his will like an aching muscle. Tsuyu’s lips and ears are tinged with an ugly grey-blue pallor. She looks more human than she has since they met her.

Shouto tries very hard to stay calm and keep breathing.

Then a hand: hot, and calloused, and large, falls onto his shoulder and he startles. Kirishima gives him a very kind smile. “Mind if I take over?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, gently pulling Shouto away from Tsuyu with a casual strength that Shouto would find intimidating if he weren’t so distracted. Calmly, Kirishima sits on the rug by the fire next to Tsuyu and puts his arm around her. A mirage of heat is draped around his body like a cloak.

Shouto sits back on his knees and feels suddenly lost. Uraraka smiles at him. She’s holding Tsuyu’s hands, which are limp and still. Over the fire, the pot of water Bakugou had hung starts to boil, spilling the scent of sweet, stewing herbs into the room. Uraraka blinks, then peers into the pot and sniffs. “Is that cinnamon?”

Shouto leans forward to look for himself, and as he does his damp sleeve is pulled up his right arm. Kirishima hisses, and Shouto stops halfway between where he’d been sitting and the fire, looking at the man in alarm. Kirishima, for his part, is staring at Shouto’s arm with open concern.

Surprised, Shouto follows his gaze, and his stomach drops at the sight of his own mottled grey and purple skin. His right side is deathly white with cold and covered in furry patches of frost. Behind them, Momo and Midoriya are talking to Bakugou in hushed voices. They don’t seem to have noticed.

Kirishima grabs Shouto’s arm and pulls him closer, ignoring Shouto’s soft sound of protest. “Did you forget to warm yourself against that storm?”

Kirishima’s question piques Uraraka’s curiosity, and she gasps when Kirishima pushes up Shouto’s sleeve, again – despite his protests, to reveal how far the frostbite goes. “Shouto! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Shouto shakes his head, uncomfortable with this many eyes on him in an unfamiliar place. He tries to push his sleeve back down. Kirishima’s grip on his arm is firm but not bruising, and hot in a way that stings against his frozen veins. “I’m fine.”

Kirishima snorts and pulls him closer, wrapping his arm around Shouto’s chest in an awkward, one-armed hug. “No you’re not, witch.” Warmth washes over Shouto like a waterfall, and he shudders. Kirishima squeezes his arm, gently. “It was awful kind, what you did for this naiad. But you’re no good to anyone dead.”

This catches Midoriya’s attention. “Dead?” He crosses the cottage and crouches beside Shouto and Kirishima’s awkward embrace with one eyebrow quirked. Shouto watches amusement and concern battle over his brow. Then he looks down, gaze settling somewhere around Shouto’s collarbone, and concern wins out.

Shouto tries not to flinch at the expression Midoriya gives him. “What happened?”

Kirishima huffs a laugh and answers before Shouto can. “I think your witch-friend over-exerted himself. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.” Kirishima cranes his head to look back at Midoriya, and gives him a wink. “I’m an expert at warming things up.”

Midoriya blinks. At a wooden counter in the corner of the room, Bakugou groans. “You have a terrible fucking sense of humour, Kiri.”

Kirishima smiles, wide and sweet. “It’s why you love me.”

Bakugou snorts, but he doesn’t dispute it. Midoriya, still crouched in front of Shouto, looks between Kirishima and Bakugou. Kirishima’s heat reaches Shouto’s numb thighs, and despite himself he presses a little closer to him. Midoriya looks down at the movement, and offers Shouto a small smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to his damp forehead before moving to sit beside Uraraka.

“So, have you known each other long?”

He directs his question at Kirishima, but Bakugou answers it, pushing between them to pick up the burning pot with his bare hands. It should have burned his skin away, but it doesn’t. Bakugou doesn’t even act like it’s hot. “Is it any of your fucking business?”

“Bakugou.” Kirishima chastises, before offering Midoriya a quick, apologetic smile. “We’re very private people.”

Midoriya looks a little like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights. “R-right. I’m, sorry for intruding?”

“It’s not like you have to fucking apologise, it’s a natural question, I just don’t want to fucking answer it.” Bakugou growls as he carefully pours a cup of cinnamon tea into a lovingly moulded clay mug. Midoriya stares at him.

“I’m. Ok. Um.” He stops, looking lost, and Kirishima interrupts before he can stammer any further down his sentence.

“We don’t get a lot of visitors.”

“Because anyone with half a fucking brain knows not to come anywhere near these fucking mountains. Was the storm not a big enough fucking sign for you or are you just really that fucking stupid?” Bakugou crouches with one hand on the mug, which has a surface on the bottom as rough as a boulder, and is glazed green and smooth as silk around the lip. Very gently, he puts his hand over Uraraka’s where she’s holding Tsuyu. He gives her a quick, almost apologetic glance. “’Scuse me.”

Reluctantly, Uraraka pulls her hands back. As if he’s dealing with glass flowers, Bakugou lifts Tsuyu’s hands and curls them around the mug. He waits for a moment, pressing them there and looking into her face. She doesn’t move, staring into the middle distance like a sleepwalker.

But when Bakugou lets go of Tsuyu, she doesn’t drop the mug. Something like the echo of a smile touches the corner of Bakugou’s lips, and he puts his hand on Tsuyu’s shoulder. “Drink that, when you can. If you want it heated up, just ask Kiri.”

Tsuyu doesn’t say anything. Uraraka bites her lip. Then Bakugou clears his throat, slapping his thighs before standing and turning to pour another mug of tea and offering it to Shouto.

He presses it into Shouto’s hands with considerably less ceremony, glancing away from him towards the strings of dried herbs and meat hanging from the wooden beams supporting the cottage’s roof. “Drink that.” Bakugou pauses before he stands, red eyes flickering over the mottled grey of Shouto’s skin on the right side of his body. “Listen. It’s good that you tried to save the naiad. We can leave what the hell you were doing out in that fucking storm where you had no business to be in the morning. But.” Bakugou works his jaw as if he’s chewing on something particularly tough. “Being a masochist doesn’t fucking help anyone. You’re obviously an asset to this group of idiots so you better fucking stay alive alright? Don’t get yourself killed over something as stupid as not giving a shit about yourself.”

Then he rubs his nose with the back of his hand and stands up. Midoriya watches him as if he’s a language for which there is no translation.

Shouto looks down at his tea. Next to him, smelling richly of sweat and leather, Kirishima sniffs. Shouto looks at him, and raises an eyebrow when he sees the way the man is staring at Bakugou’s broad shoulders. Kirishima catches him watching and shakes his head. “Sorry, I just… He’s come so far.” He ends the sentence on something a little less sincere and a little more melodramatic, and waggles his eyebrows at Shouto to emphasise the joke. Shouto stares.

Opposite the three of them, Uraraka raises both eyebrows. She and Midoriya exchange a look. Bakugou passes tea to the rest of them without much ceremony. To Momo he offers the brief explanation, when prompted, that cinnamon is good for cold.

Then he’s finished, and he leans against one of the counters by the wall with his arms folded and glares at Momo and Jirou until they take the two wooden seats by the kitchen table that punctuates one side of the room. The sound of the fire fills the space between them. Midoriya swallows, opens his mouth, and catches himself.

After a moment more, Jirou clears her throat, tapping the side of her mug. “Sooooooo.”

“Do you have a fucking question?” Bakugou snaps, a little too loudly to be using what Shouto’s mother would have called his ‘inside voice’. Jirou, for her part, doesn’t look concerned. Shouto focuses on that instead of the stinging ache that’s spreading through the right side of his body as Kirishima’s warmth penetrates the cold that had settled there.

Jirou leans back in her chair, until the front two legs are slightly raised off the ground. She sips her tea, and drawls, “alright. Who are you? And what the hell are you doing all the way out here?”

Kirishima winces even before Bakugou replies, leaning forward as he does so. “What am I doing here? You know what, that’s a great question. An excellent fucking question. What would anyone with half a brain and an ounce of magic be doing in the middle of fucking nowhere under the most supernaturally ominous storm to be found in this or any of the seven kingdoms? Well?” Bakugou’s voice has risen to a roar by the time he’s finished. Jirou carefully lifts her mug to her mouth and takes another sip.

Midoriya interrupts. “W-we understand if you have questions, and it, it’s the least we could do to thank you for – ”

“Yes! I have fucking questions! You fucking idiots nearly got yourselves fucking killed twice in one day do I look like a fucking babysitter to you?” Bakugou sounds somewhere between exasperated and apoplectic. Midoriya flinches.

“May I suggest,” Momo interjects, firmly, “that we save the interrogation for the morning? We are all tired, and in some cases injured. None of us, I’m sure, are in our right minds.” Distracted by his own exhaustion, Shouto distantly thinks that she was always better at this court stuff than he was. Momo continues in a voice so even it could balance a builder’s spirit level. “Bakugou, if you wouldn’t mind allowing us to sleep here, then we would all, I’m sure, be deeply thankful.”

Bakugou falls back against the counter in a sigh of linen like a sail when the wind drops. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. I was going to suggest that anyway.”

“A wise decision.” Momo replies. Jirou snorts, and Shouto catches the quick movement of Momo’s hand as she lightly punches her arm. “Where would you like us to sleep?”

Uraraka, who has been biting the inside of her cheek and staring into Tsuyu’s distant eyes, speaks up. “I’d like to stay here, with Tsuyu.” She doesn’t wait for permission.

Bakugou huffs, then jerks his chin at the rough, old looking wooden bed in the corner of the room, piled high with blankets and furs. “Two of you should take the bed.”

“What about you?” Midoriya asks, concerned.

Bakugou gives him a look that could kill. “You think I’m going to sleep with seven strangers in my cottage? Do I look like an infant to you?”

Midoriya frowns, caught off guard. “Uh, no?”

“Funny. Since you seem to think that I was born yesterday.”

Jirou sputters, choking on her tea as she laughs. Her chair comes crashing back down onto all four legs as she sits forward and thumps her chest, red faced. Midoriya shoots her a look of outright betrayal and she shrugs. “I’m sorry man. He has a point.”

“I’ll stay up as well. I don’t need as much sleep as humans, and I think your friend will need to stay warm.” Kirishima’s voice is low and gentle, and Bakugou’s shoulders lower like a dog’s hackles.

“Well, now that we’ve got the meaningless protest out of the way, I’m calling dibs on the bed.” All of them look at Jirou, and she stares back. “What? That looks like a damn comfortable bed! I don’t know where you’ve been for the last three weeks but I’ve been sleeping on dirt.”

Momo’s hand on Jirou’s shoulder stops her from continuing. Bakugou takes a sip of his tea with the demeanour of a man stabbing a small animal. “We can share the bed, if that’s alright?” She glances at Kirishima, who gives her a wide smile. Bakugou beats him to replying.

“Take it. It’s not a big fucking deal.” Then he looks at Shouto and Midoriya. Midoriya gives Bakugou a nervous sort of smile, as if he’s approaching a rabid animal. Shouto feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He thinks of the creature they’d seen today, screaming as it turned to ash, and his stomach turns.

Next to him, Kirishima’s chest rumbles with a soft laugh, and he pats Shouto’s numb right arm. “Don’t worry, Katsuki’s a big softie really.”

Shouto stares at him. “Are we talking about the same person?” His voice has no inflection, but Kirishima laughs loudly anyway. Despite himself, Shouto smiles a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m hilarious.” Bakugou growls over his shoulder as he moves to the corner of the room, pulling out an old ladder and brushing some cobwebs from its rungs. He props the thing against the wall and climbs it easily, before thumping the wooden roof of the cottage with the flat of his forearm. On the second hit, a wide wooden panel kicks upwards with a cloud of dust and Bakugou ducks to avoid it, before straightening and pushing the wooden panel to the side. There’s the skittering sound of a mouse, or mice, on the floorboards. Bakugou jerks his thumb at the black patch of void he’s opened in the ceiling. “Guest bedroom.”

Midoriya meets Shouto’s eyes. “How…considerate?”

Bakugou grins a smile that is all teeth. “Yeah, I like to fucking think so.”

It takes another hour for warmth to return to Shouto’s extremities, and even then Uraraka insists on checking him over before she’ll let him go to bed. Shouto gets the distinct impression that she’s re-directing no small amount of her worry for Tsuyu towards him as she makes him take off his shoes and socks so she can check his toes for frostbite.

But when tears rise in Uraraka’s eyes and she throws her arms around him, cursing him for being an idiot, he can’t help but feel that he’s underestimated her. Carefully, Shouto lifts his arms and pats her back, waiting until she’s finished and pulled back to apologise. Uraraka sniffs and scrubs at her nose with the back of her hand, waving off his apology.

“I mean, I understand, and I’m sure you saved her life, and I care about Tsuyu, I do, but. Shouto.” She sniffs, and her brow wobbles. Shouto feels a little bit like a man watching a shipwreck: helpless and dismayed. “Your life is just as important as everyone else’s. I don’t ever want you to endanger yourself like this again. You’re, you’ve become a f-friend, and you should’ve said something.” Uraraka stops herself, looking as if she’s worried that she’s crossed a line.

By the table, Momo looks up from where she’s playing cards with Jirou. “No, no, please continue. The gods know I’ve been saying this for long enough. Maybe someone else’s voice will make it stick.” Shouto scowls at her, and she offers him a smile on which butter wouldn’t melt. Then Jirou slaps down her hand with a shit-eating grin and Momo swears, viciously. “Another round?” Jirou is already shuffling, though as she does so she tilts her cheek at Momo. Rolling her eyes, Momo kisses her.

By the fire, Kirishima yawns, then peers down at Tsuyu. Some faint colour has returned to her cheeks, though she still doesn’t look good. He nudges Shouto with his elbow. “You should get some sleep. Humans don’t do well on fatigue, you know.”

“He does.” Uraraka bites her lip, then looks at Shouto. “Listen, you matter. Your life matters. Alright?” Shouto struggles to meet her gaze, but after a moment he sighs, and nods, and she smiles at him.

Midoriya, who has been sitting by the fire, stands with a huff of a laugh and rests one scarred hand on the soft curve of Uraraka’s shoulder. “Alright ‘Chako, that’s enough of the Nth degree. I’ve got a masochist to bed.” As soon as he’s said it, Midoriya flushes a deep berry red. Uraraka snorts, and at the table Jirou laughs, loudly. Shouto can feels his own blush grazing his cheek and racing down his neck. “I mean, to get to bed - I mean, just.” Midoryia grasps for words, fails, and finishes with a huff, still red faced. “That was obviously not what I meant and you’re all children.” He hides his face in his hands, then looks through his fingers at Shouto. “I’m so sorry.”

Shouto shakes his head, waving him off. “I’ve had worse.” He gets to his feet and tries to ignore the prickle and ache in his thawing nerves as he does so. Midoriya drops his hands, though he’s still a little pink.

“Just keep it classy, alright boys?” Jirou says from the table, rearranging the cards in her hand. Momo hushes her, and Jirou sticks her tongue out. Shouto follows Midoriya to the ladder in the corner of the room.

Bakugou’s eyes are shut, and flickering with dreams. He’s still standing against the table, and there are deep bags under his eyes. Midoriya tiptoes around him as if he’s a sleeping lion, then gestures to the ladder and whispers to Shouto. “After you.”

Shouto fishes a witchlight out of his pocket and lets a whisper of magic fall into the stone, ignoring the way his body aches when he does so. He’d overused his magic, and he supposed he’d have to regret that later, but right now all he feels is tired. The ladder isn’t very tall, and Shouto climbs into the attic on his hands and knees. There’s a thick layer of dust that tickles his fingers as he moves a little further inside, urging more light from the pebble in his hand.

There isn’t much to see, just the peaked roof of the cottage and the bristling thatch stuffed between its wooden beams. At its highest point, Shouto wouldn’t be able to stand without stooping, but it’s not impossibly small. He sets down the witchlight on the wooden boards and moves away from the opening so that Midoriya can climb up. The small square of yellow light in the floor looks like a door to another world.

Midoriya stops to call a quick good night down to the others, and then gets up and into the attic space with his own witch light in hand. He looks at Shouto, and his face is wrapped in shadows, illuminated from below by the blue-white light of the stone in his hand. It makes him look ethereal. “Should we shut it?” His eyes are almost black in the dark.

Shouto looks around the dimly lit, empty space between them and nods, before realising Midoriya might not be able to see it and clearing his throat. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Midoriya lifts the wooden door easily, setting it back into place with a soft thump. Muffled by the ceiling, Shouto still catches Jirou’s wolf whistle. His blush prickles at the base of his neck and pools over his chest. Midoriya sits back and pulls a handful of pebbles from his bag, brushing light into them as if he’s finger painting. The stones illuminate the dark like stars. Shouto watches him move: watches the concentration on his face as he performs such small feats of magic, and the way his curly hair bristles with frizz from the damp.

Izuku’s lips are chapped and he is the most beautiful thing Shouto has ever seen.

Izuku looks up, and Shouto swallows, turning away from him and instead to his pack. It’s not hard to locate his sleeping roll. He’s made camp in the dark before, and the space isn’t so dark with Izuku’s witch lights. He busies himself unfolding his blankets, and tries not to think about their neighbours on the floor below.

On the other side of the attic space, the silence tells him that Izuku is not doing the same. After a few moments, Shouto stops what he’s doing to turn and look at him. Izuku is sitting with his back to one of the wooden walls and his legs bent. His head is pressed against the thatch, and he’s looking up into the cobwebbed rafters. His expression is almost entirely neutral.

Shouto runs his palms over his thighs in a quick, brisk movement. “Not sleeping?” His voice feels too loud in the quiet. Over the thick smell of dust there’s a tinge of smoke and wood and herbs from the cottage below that’s not unpleasant. Izuku keeps looking up. With his chin raised, the line of his throat is exposed, and the witchlight looks like stardust on his skin.

“We might die tomorrow.” Izuku says it quietly. Shouto waits. After a moment, Izuku continues. “I don’t know if we can beat this thing. I don’t know if I can beat it.”

“We might not meet it tomorrow.” Shouto’s voice is a murmur in the dark.

Izuku shakes his head, and his curls cast snarling shadows in the dust. “We will. I can feel it.”

The part of Shouto that had been trying to ignore this particular part of their journey for the best part of three weeks congeals and sinks into his stomach like a stone. He believes in Izuku’s strength, he truly does. But he has never had the luxury of naivety, and they cannot fight a god. Shouto doesn’t think his expression changes, but Izuku must see something, because he interrupts his train of thought.

“You could leave, you know.”

Shouto stares at him, and Izuku finally lowers his head to look him in the eyes, offering him a sad sort of smile that wraps itself around something in Shouto’s chest and squeezes. “No one would blame you. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Shouto’s voice is not as even as he wants it to be. Izuku’s mouth pulls into something like a grimace.

“Shouto –”

“I said it’s not going to happen.” Despite himself, Shouto raises his voice, and it feels too loud in the space between them. “The old man…Torino…said you’d die without us. It’s the whole reason I’m here. I’m not going to leave you now.”

“Why did you come?” Izuku isn’t looking at him again. He swallows, and Shouto watches the line of his throat as he does so. “You barely know me.”

Shouto moves forward, crossing some of the space between them to reach out and lightly touch Izuku’s knee. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t respond either. Shouto takes a deep breath. “I barely knew you, Izuku.” He waits until Izuku looks at him again, a little more reluctant than before. “Do you really think I’d let you die, now that I do?”

Izuku’s lip quivers, and he grits his teeth. When he looks up at the roof again his eyes are shining. “This isn’t your burden to bear.”

Shouto shuffles closer. His hips are bumping Izuku’s knees, and he has to duck to avoid the beams of the roof. Stooped like this, he curls around Izuku’s body, reaching forward to cup Izuku’s cheek in his left hand. His fingertips brush the base of his ear as he winds his fingers into Izuku’s hair, and gently pulls his head to face him. “No one expects you to die for them, Izuku.”

Izuku bites his lip. “Yes they do.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and Shouto doesn’t pull away, despite the way his neck is aching. “Yes they do, and I can’t run away, because if I don’t do this then nobody else is going to, because nobody can. And I don’t mind, I really don’t, it’s an honour and I know that but it’s just. I’m just. I’m so.” Izuku takes a quick, gulping breath, and glances at Shouto before looking away and shutting his eyes. “I’m scared, Shouto. I’m so scared.”

The air rushes from Shouto’s chest with the force of a punch to the gut, and then he’s pressing closer to Izuku and wrapping his arms around him and cradling the back of his head as he pulls him into his shoulder the way he distantly remembers his mother doing when he was a very small child. Izuku clings to his shirt tightly, fists curled in the fabric and pulling it taut against Shouto’s back as he cries into his chest.

Shouto runs his hand over Izuku’s hair and holds him, murmuring soft assurances into the quiet. After a while, Izuku sits back with a wet sniff and rubs his hand against his nose. He’s a red-faced mess of snot and tears and Shouto is so in love with him. Smiling a little, he reaches back for his pack and pulls out a cloth, gently wiping the tears away from Izuku’s cheeks and letting him scrub the snot from his nose. When he’s done, Izuku offers him a shaky kind of smile. “You must think I’m a coward.”

Shouto shakes his head. “I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

Izuku hiccoughs, and Shouto leans forward to touch his face again, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye with the pad of his thumb. “This is frightening. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I understand why you’re doing this. But you’re not going to do it alone.” Shouto waits for Izuku to meet his eyes, and gets up onto his knees, cradling his face in both of his hands. “Do you understand, Izuku? You don’t have to do this alone.”

When Izuku surges up to kiss him Shouto meets him halfway, holding him tightly as he drinks in the taste of him like he’ll never touch another man again. Izuku reaches up to cup the back of Shouto’s neck, and moves his hand to cradle the base of his skull when they break apart briefly for air, foreheads and noses touching. Izuku looks up at him and gives him a wry smile. “How did I find you?”

Shouto brushes his thumb across Izuku’s cheek, and up over the line of his brow, before pressing a kiss to the freckles at the corner of his eye. “It was a miracle, I think.” Izuku huffs a laugh, and Shouto leans down to catch it on his lips. Izuku arches into him and Shouto holds him tightly and he’s warm in his arms.

Then Izuku pushes back. Shouto stops kissing him to give him a quick, questioning look and Izuku keeps pushing, until Shouto’s on his back against the wooden floor. He’s half lying on his bedroll and half not and it’s vaguely uncomfortable but he’s distracted by the way Izuku is climbing up his body and carefully straddling his hips.

Izuku props himself up with one arm and leans down and kisses him, and Shouto forgets how to breathe. As they kiss, Izuku’s hand trails down Shouto’s cheek, onto his neck and then down his body, slipping up under his shirt to run over his stomach and wrap around his hip. Shouto shivers, though he isn’t cold, and Izuku pulls back for a moment, kissing his nose and touching their foreheads. He gives him something like a smile. “Is this ok? It’s just…Well. If this is our last night on earth …”

Shouto huffs a laugh and reaches up to wind his fingers in Izuku’s shirt and pull him down as he sits up and kisses him, deeply, pressing into the warmth of his mouth with a hunger that rolls hot and aching in his stomach. Izuku sighs into him, and sinks his teeth into Shouto’s lip, and Shouto makes a sound that’s not entirely deliberate, sitting up a little further to wind his fingers into Izuku’s hair and pull it, lightly.

The sound Izuku makes could bring a grown man to his knees. He slips his right hand under Shouto’s shirt and up the line of his back and his touch leaves a line of fire that prickles soft and warm along his spine. When he pulls back, Izuku is flushed red, and his hair is a mess. Shouto intends to make it messier by morning. Shouto’s heart thumps hard against his chest, and Izuku’s pupils are wide and dark. He shuts his mouth, and swallows. Shouto watches him and bites his lip.

“So…was that a yes?”

Shouto grins, and without difficulty turns them, pushing Izuku onto his back. With his knees on either side of Izuku’s hips, he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it by his pack. Self-consciousness crosses his mind, but then he sees the way Izuku’s looking at him, and his doubts melt away. Instead, he leans down, framing his head with his hands. Shouto smiles at him, wide and uninhibited and foolish and in love. “Obviously, yes.”

Shouto kisses Izuku as if he could stop the stars from turning.

An hour later, they lie sweating and bare in one another’s arms. The salt smell of sex hangs thickly between them. Shouto doesn’t care. Izuku’s arm and leg are flung heavy and hot over his, and his cheek is pressed against his chest. Staring at the rafters, Shouto runs his fingers through Izuku’s hair.

He thinks, at least, that if he dies tomorrow he’ll do so as a happy man.

The next morning they wake with the sun, more out of habit than anything else. No light peeks between the thatch, and it’s dark and warm in the attic space. Shouto pulls himself from the clinging embrace of sleep slowly, taking stock of his position. Izuku is still lying across him, somewhat haphazardly, hot and heavy and bare. He sighs when Shouto opens his eyes.

“It might not be morning yet. We could sleep a little longer.”

Shouto looks down at the top of his mess of curls and smiles, ducking to kiss him. Izuku wraps his arms around Shouto’s chest and squeezes tightly. “No, that means you’re going to say something sensible.” He pouts like a child, and Shouto huffs a soft laugh, pushing back a handful of curls over Izuku’s forehead to look into his eyes.

From the floor below, they can hear the faint sound of metal pans, water, and voices speaking quietly. Shouto decides not to think about what that means their companions could have heard in the night. “We can’t hide forever, love.”

Izuku scowls, but he starts to sit up, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hands. “I wasn’t saying forever , just a few minutes longer and…” He breaks off, opening his eyes and staring. Shouto raises an eyebrow, sitting up a little and blowing some of his hair out of his face.

“What?”

Izuku shakes his head and swallows, a faint blush creeping over his cheeks. “Um.” He keeps staring, then abruptly shuts his mouth and looks away. “You, uh. It’s a. Good. Look. You…” Naked as he is, Shouto can see the full effect of Izuku’s blush racing down his neck and over his shoulders and upper arms. He half-heartedly fights a smile, running his eyes over the long, strong lines of Izuku’s body.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Izuku makes a sound that Shouto doesn’t think is a word and gets darker, and Shouto sits up, crawling forward to cross the space between them. He runs his hands over Izuku’s warm body, tracing the ridges and canyons of muscle and scar tissue as they rise and fall over his arms and chest. Shouto lets his fingers slip down the broad line of Izuku’s thigh, brushing over the dark, coarse hair of his legs, before pulling his hand back up again. He runs his fingers along the dip of muscle on the side of Izuku’s leg, and then up over his abdomen. He feels Izuku take a quick, deep breath and looks up at him.

Izuku is staring at him. Shouto smiles, sits up, and kisses him. Izuku kisses him back, bringing his hands up to cradle Shouto’s face and pull him closer. His callouses are rough against Shouto’s cheeks, and they tickle the sensitive skin around the edge of his scar. Shouto doesn’t care. Izuku breathes him in and Shouto never wants to stop falling.

Then Izuku pulls back and looks into Shouto’s eyes, and his thumb brushes over the burned skin around his eye. “You are so beautiful.” Shouto feels a flush running hot down the back of his neck and tries to look away, but Izuku holds him, thumbs gently stroking the sides of his face. “Really, Shouto. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

Shouto huffs a soft laugh, and looks up at Izuku with a small smile. “You obviously haven’t looked in a mirror recently.” Izuku laughs. Shouto holds Izuku’s wrist, and tilts his head to kiss the heel of his palm. Izuku kisses his forehead and lets him go.

“We really should get dressed.” Izuku says, a little ruefully. Shouto can feel his eyes on his back, and turns to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Enjoying the view?”

Izuku waggles his eyebrows, leaning back on his hands. “Have you got a problem with that?”

Shouto huffs a laugh, bending almost double to stand in the cramped space and pull his clothes out of his pack. Wordlessly, Izuku passes a hand over the witchlights, coaxing more light out of them. “I think you know the answer to that question, Izuku.” He pulls his socks on, and then a shirt over his head, stopping when he notices Izuku staring. “What?”

Izuku scratches the back of his head and gives him an unapologetic grin. “Nice legs. You should, uh, charge for that, you know.”

Shouto looks down at himself, and his relative state of undress. Then he throws his dirty underwear in Izuku’s direction and pulls on a clean pair whilst he’s distracted, before tugging his pants on in quick, brisk movements. Izuku drops Shouto’s underwear next to his pack and frowns at him. “You fight dirty.”

Shouto smirks. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

Izuku blushes again and turns to his bag. Shouto watches as the linen of his shirt falls over the broad, tanned, freckled line of his shoulders. Izuku huffs and doesn’t turn around. “Now who’s staring?”

Shouto holds up his hands, though he knows Izuku can’t see him, and reaches into his pack for the earthenware jar Uraraka had sold him so many weeks ago. He suspects it’s a combination of the weather and the relative lack of treatment he’s been giving it, but his scar itches in a way that’s distracting him the more he wakes up.

He turns away from Izuku as he opens the jar and pushes his hair back from his face, brushing at the rough skin with an ease that came only with years of practice.

Izuku’s bare feet on the wooden floor don’t make much sound, and Shouto swipes the cream across his face a little more quickly when he crouches down in front of him. There’s something soft in his eyes. He motions to Shouto’s hand, still covered in the thick, sweet smelling cream. “May I…?”

Shouto stares at him and swallows, still holding his hair from his face with one hand. Carefully, Izuku scoops the cream from his fingers and gets onto his knees, helping Shouto hold his hair back as he dabs the cream around his scar. He’s careful to reach up along his forehead, and to dab the patches of burnt skin over his chin and neck, too. When he’s done with the first layer, he stops and glances at Shouto. “Tell me if it hurts, ok?”

Shouto nods. Very gently, Izuku massages the cream into the rough, itching skin around Shouto’s scar, moving methodically along its surface until there’s nothing left of the ointment but a faint sheen. Izuku taps the side of Shouto’s eye lightly and smiles at him. “Done.”

Shouto tries to speak and finds he can’t. He tries again, and his voice comes out rough and hoarse. “Thank you.”

Izuku smiles at him, winds his fingers in his hair, and kisses his forehead. “You’re beautiful, Shouto.”

Then he crosses the room and finishes getting dressed.

The first thing Jirou does when they get downstairs is ask whether they got scared in their sleep. Izuku and Shouto exchange a quick, uncomfortable look, and she clarifies with a smirk, “you know – of things that go bump in the night ?”

Izuku turns a very bright shade of red and crosses the room a little too quickly to join Uraraka and Tsuyu. Tsuyu’s eyes are brighter now, and there’s some colour back in her pale skin. Neither Bakugou nor Kirishima are anywhere to be seen.

For his part, Shouto tries and fails to turn his laugh into a cough, and Jirou grins at him. Momo presses a mug of something hot and dark into his hands and Shouto lightly holds her arm when she does so, which is about as close as he usually gets to expressing his undying love for his friends in public. She grins, and he takes a sip of his coffee with a heartfelt sigh.

Then Bakugou kicks the door open. Instinctively, Shouto freezes the drink in his hand to stop it from spilling when he flinches. When he sees who it is, he scowls and sets about reheating it.

Jirou stares at Bakugou. “What was that for? It’s your house.”

Bakugou heaves an armful of roughly chopped firewood past her and dumps it into a basket by the fire, brushing his arms clean of dirt and splinters. “Yes, you’re right, it is my house. And not a fucking honeymoon destination, despite all appearances to the fucking contrary. Do none of you know how to keep it in your fucking pants?”

“Fucking pants?” Momo asks, mildly. Jirou chokes on her coffee.

Kirishima follows Bakugou inside with an armful of logs under one arm and an axe in the other, which he props beside the door. Then he puts a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder and kisses his cheek. “Can I request inside voices before midday, please?”

Shouto, who has finally finished heating his coffee, looks pointedly at the blush on Bakugou’s cheeks. Jirou nods. “Pot, kettle.”

Bakugou snarls. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

Jirou puts down her mug, surging forwards and stopping only when Momo puts a hand on her shoulder. Shouto blinks at the daggers glittering in her palms. Bakugou lifts his chin and sniffs. “Neat trick.”

Jirou flicks the daggers back into her sleeves with a deft twist of her fingers and leans back against Momo’s chest. Momo runs her fingers through her hair and her shoulders drop. “Yeah, whatever.”

Izuku, who had engaged Uraraka and Tsuyu in quiet conversation almost immediately after he’d come downstairs, puts a hand on Tsuyu’s shoulder and looks up. “We won’t be a problem much longer, Bakugou. We need to leave today anyway, although if you could please look after our friend until we get back, I will do whatever I can to repay you. Neither of us think that she’ll be able to manage the cold on the mountain.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Bakugou is roaring forwards with one hand raised and crackling with fire. “You’re planning to do what?”

Shouto doesn’t think. His expression doesn’t change. But before a spark has so much as touched a hair on Izuku’s head, half of Bakugou’s body is encased in a wall of ice that spread as fast as lightning from Shouto’s right foot.

Izuku blinks, and Bakugou, whose face is untouched, growls something low and guttural before spitting. “What the fuck is this? Is this how you repay me for my fucking hospitality?”

Shouto sets down his mug carefully and walks forward. He doesn’t take his eyes away from Bakugou’s face. “I really wouldn’t touch him, if I were you.”

Jirou lets out a low whistle. Kirishima forces a soft laugh and steps between Bakugou and Shouto with his hands raised. “Ooookay, okay, simmer down everyone. Uh, Shouto, right?” Shouto gives half a nod and keeps watching Bakugou. He’s trying to generate enough fire to melt the ice around his hand. Shouto makes the shell thicker. “Great, ok, so – we’re not really used to company? But I promise neither of us actually want to harm any of you. So if you could, um, if you could unfreeze my – uh, if you could unfreeze Katsuki, that’d be swell, because otherwise I’m going to have to get involved, and honestly none of us want that.”

“I don’t need your fucking help, Eijirou.” Bakugou snarls through gritted teeth.

Kirishima sighs. “Yes, love, I know.” Then he cocks his head at Shouto and offers him a winning smile. “Deal?”

Shouto shrugs, and musters a wall of heat that melts the ice around Bakugou in seconds, leaving a puddle of hot water on the broad flagstones of the floor. Izuku gets to his feet with an awkward kind of smile. “I’ll get that.”

Before Shouto has a chance to stop him, he’s squeezed past him and towards the counter, grabbing for a towel. Kirishima relaxes. “Thank you.”

Shouto stands between Bakugou and Izuku and watches him warily. “Try to burn him again and I’ll stop you.” By the fire, with Tsuyu, Uraraka makes a soft sound of understanding. Bakugou meets his eyes for half a second, and then he looks away, tsk-ing under his breath.

“Yeah, whatever two-tone.”

Kirishima claps his hands. “Ok. Anyone hungry for breakfast?”

By the fire, Tsuyu brightens. “Fish?” Kirishima laughs, and his eyes are bright and kind.

“I think that can be arranged.”

Sitting around Bakugou’s simple wooden kitchen table, with Izuku on one side and Bakugou on the other, Shouto is reminded distinctly of a childhood spent at awkward dinners with his family. Kirishima’s quiet murmuring and courtesy, handing out food and engaging everyone in conversation in an attempt to broach the silence, has all the echoes of Fuyumi. For a long moment, Shouto’s chest aches. Sometimes he forgets how much he misses his sister. Other times, he remembers.

Izuku repeats himself, a little more loudly, and brushes Shouto’s forearm, jarring him out of his thoughts. “I said we should probably be leaving soon. Are you alright?”

Shouto blinks, offers Izuku a small smile, and nods. “Of course.” Izuku’s answering smile is wide and toothy, and Shouto has the sudden urge to kiss him and resists it with difficulty.

Across the table, Kirishima grins too, mouth full of sharp teeth. “You guys make a great couple.”

Immediately, Shouto and Izuku recoil from one another, flushing. Uraraka rolls her eyes. Jirou snorts. “W-we’re not a couple.” Izuku stammers. Shouto touches his knee under the table, and he relaxes.

Bakugou bites into his bread with a ferocity that isn’t entirely necessary and swallows before growling, “but you’re in love, right? What you call it doesn’t fucking matter.”

Izuku looks at Bakugou like he’s speaking a different language. Uraraka hums. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Anyway, you’re not going up the fucking mountain, and that’s the end of that.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow, and Izuku puts down his cutlery. “Actually, we are.”

Bakugou sits up a little straighter and tries to stare him down. Shouto glares back.

“No you’re fucking not because I’m not going to let you go and get yourselves killed, and that’s the end of that. You’re going to go back fucking home and leave me and Kiri in fucking peace and we’re all going to fucking forget about this fucking disaster and that’s it. Understood?”

Izuku rubs the back of his neck. “Um, listen, I promise I’m not arguing with you because I want to, but I really need to go up that mountain. It’s very, very important, and I’m afraid I’m not going to let you stop me.”

“ Let me . What the fuck makes you think that you have the power to fucking let me do anything? You’re not climbing the fucking mountain.”

Izuku takes a deep breath. “Yes, I am.”

Bakugou springs to his feet. Kirishima catches his mug before it falls off the table with the ease of habit. “Out of wild curiosity, what in the seven hells do you think I’ve been fucking doing here for the past twenty-three fucking years?”

Izuku blinks. “Actually, I…I have no idea. What have you been doing?”

“Stopping morons like you getting killed by the essence of pure fucking evil that lives up there.” Bakugou jerks his thumb at the mountain. “This storm? I’ll grant you that part’s fucking new, but this thing has been trying to get to the forest for just over twenty fucking years. My parents stopped it, and then they got fucking killed, and now I stop it.”

Kirishima clears his throat, and Bakugou corrects himself. “Me and Kiri stop it. How many of those things did you encounter on your way out here? Those puppets? One? Two?”

Momo sits forward. “Three.”

Bakugou nods, and scratches his cheek. “Right, three. Four if you include the fucker me and Kiri were fighting when you idiots walked in. Still too fucking many. But believe me when I say that if we weren’t here it would have been hundreds. Fucking hundreds. All day, every day, I get up, and I patrol, and then we fucking fight, and keep this fucking forest safe because it’s fucking important.

“So am I going to let you climb up that fucking mountain and get fucking eviscerated or possessed or whatever that fucking thing does to its food? No fucking way. No one deserves to die like that. Not even a bunch of stupid fucking love-struck tourists. You understand? No one climbs that mountain. Not on my watch. There be dragons.”

“Hey.” Kirishima interrupts, softly, and momentarily the fire puffs out of Bakugou.

“Right, sorry. There be…fuck.” His jaw works for a moment. “There be evil fucking gods fuelled by chaos and malice and resentment and whatever the fuck else makes things come to life driven by hate and destruction.” Bakugou swears under his breath. “No fucking entry. I should make a fucking sign.”

He throws himself back into his chair, breathless, and Kirishima pats his arm. “Much better. Poetic, even.”

Bakugou growls. “I don’t need your fucking approval.” He leans into Kirishima’s touch all the same, and when Kirishima kisses his cheek he doesn’t pull away.

For a moment, all of them are quiet. Tsuyu is watching Bakugou as if he’s a particularly interesting new species of amphibian. Jirou has been holding her mug to her mouth for three minutes at least and Shouto is sure at this point that it’s an excuse not to talk. Momo and Uraraka seem thoughtful.

Izuku sighs. “We know.”

A vein pulses in Bakugou’s forehead. Shouto watches it warily. Izuku continues. “That’s why we’re here. I’ve been asked by the Silvian Council, the All Might, the giants, the sprites, the trolls and the forest god Nedzu to negotiate with this new entity. And if our negotiations are unsuccessful then I am to stop it, at all costs.”

Izuku lifts his chin and looks calmly at Bakugou. Kirishima has one hand on Bakugou’s forearm. Shouto gets the distinct impression that if he didn’t the man would’ve jumped over the table already.

“I am fully aware that I may die. In point of fact, I expect to do so. I have accepted this risk. I haven’t got a choice. And I will not be stopped.” Izuku pauses, and his brow crumples. “You spoke of keeping this forest safe. I cannot imagine what your life has been like. It sounds as if you have been fighting a war. And it sounds as if you have been alone for a very long time. I won’t say I’m sorry for you, because I doubt you want my pity. But I will say this: if what you say is true, then you must understand something of duty. You have yours, and I have mine. Let me go and do what I must.” Izuku clenches his jaw. “Someone has to.”

Bakugou stares at Izuku. Outside of the cottage, the forest is eerily silent, and there is no wind. The wooden shutters of the windows are open, and they reveal above the thin snow on the earth and the bare brown trees a grey sky dark as a bruise. Bakugou doesn’t relax. “Whatever.”

Then he gets up, shoving his chair back with a screech of wood on stone, marching outside into the cold morning. The door slams against the wooden counter with a crack. A little cold air falls over the table. Kirishima watches Bakugou go, but he doesn’t move to stop him.

Izuku folds as if he’d been carrying an extraordinary weight, and Jirou lifts her mug at him. “You’re a braver man than me, Deku.”

Izuku huffs a laugh. Uraraka looks at the open door and then at Kirishima. “Is that true? Have you been here alone, fighting all this time?”

Kirishima shrugs, getting up and starting to collect their plates, which are dark blue and glazed with a chipped patina. “Well, I met Katsuki about, uh, four or five years ago? So we’ve had each other, as far as company’s concerned. But yes.” His smile falls a little as he walks to the sink and starts to scrub at the plates. “Yes. As far as I understand it, it was just him and his parents out here. And then it was just him.”

Momo gets up and takes the plates from Kirishima as he washes them. “Let me help.” She scrubs at them with a towel, stacking them neatly once they’re dry.

At the table, Tsuyu blinks a long, slow blink. “That can’t have been easy.”

Kirishima keeps washing the dishes. “No, I don’t think it was.” He pauses, turning to look at Izuku, who’s almost directly behind him. “Is there really nothing we can say to change your mind?”

Izuku smiles, but the expression looks sad. “I’m afraid not.”

Kirishima nods, and turns back to the dishes. “Ok. That’s a shame. But, ok. ”

Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever been as frightened as he is at this moment. He puts his hands on Ochako’s soft, warm shoulders and looks at her, trying to ignore the tears that are stinging and hot in his eyes. She smiles at him, and her mouth quivers, and then she’s flinging her arms around him and crying into his shoulder and he’s crying into hers and holding her as tightly as he can.

Into his shoulder, Ochako weeps. “I’m so sorry, Izuku. I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Izuku chokes, and holds her tighter. Her feet barely touch the ground. “It’s ok. It’s ok, I understand. It’s ok.”

Ochako isn’t coming with them.

They’d talked about it that morning. Obviously, Tsuyu wasn’t built to deal with the cold, and even this low down the mountain was thick with snow. They could leave her alone with Bakugou and Kirishima, but they still didn’t know either of them very well. Plus, there was no guarantee that all of them would make it back down alive or uninjured. If they didn’t, having someone who was able to heal kept out of the line of fire, and therefore able and to come and get them, was likely a good plan.

As long as they didn’t die.

Ochako holds onto the back of Izuku’s shirt like she had when they were children, and her parents had first started getting into real debt. “I kn-know that it makes s-sense, but it doesn’t feel right not going with you. I don’t want you to face this alone.”

Izuku runs his hand over the back of her head. Her hair is soft. “I’m not going to be alone, ‘Chako. It’s going to be ok.”

Ochako pulls back and looks up at him, and her face is pink and wet with tears and snot. “Don’t die on me, Midoriya Izuku. Don’t you dare.”

Izuku laughs softly, pushes her hair out of her face, and kisses her forehead. “Uraraka Ochako, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She chokes and starts to cry again, and a soft hand lightly touches Izuku’s shoulder. He turns and sees Shouto looking at him from underneath a thatch of black hair. His eyes are gentle. “We need to go.”

Ochako turns to Shouto and glares at him, which is somewhat less effective for all the tears. “You know the plan, right?”

Shouto nods. “Fireworks.”

“I’m relying on you, Shouto. You bring him back to me, you understand? You bring him back.” Ochako’s voice breaks, and Izuku moves his hand to her arm, and then Shouto steps closer.

He puts his hands on Ochako’s shoulders and looks into her eyes. “I will keep him safe, Ochako. You have my word.”

Ochako chokes and Shouto suddenly looks lost, and Izuku smiles at him and gently moves him aside before hugging Ochako again. It wasn’t difficult to convince Kirishima to go along with their plan, and Bakugou was nowhere to be seen. Kirishima explained that he was likely on patrol, and with an apologetic smile confessed that he wasn’t sure when he’d be back.

“But I’ll help keep your friends safe!” He smiles, and his smile is all sharp teeth, and Izuku is reassured.

Together, they make their final preparations. Izuku makes a half-hearted effort to convince Jirou and Momo not to come with them. Momo is unflinching, nodding at Shouto. “Wherever he goes, I go. And since he’s going, I am too.”

Jirou lets his protests roll off her shoulders like water on a duck’s back, smirking as she tightens the laces on her boots. “Yeah, Deku, not happening. Even if tall, strong, and beautiful wasn’t going up there.” Here she nods at Momo, who blushes a little. “Since ‘Chako isn’t coming, you need someone to stop you from doing something stupid. And that just so happens to be my specialty.”

She straightens and tosses her head, and puts a calloused hand on his shoulder. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Izuku finds himself blinking back tears all over again, and Jirou groans, lightly punching his shoulder with a smile. “Alright, alright. Enough of the waterworks already!”

Half a mile up the mountain, the storm picks up. Snow whips through the air as fast as lightning, blurring the rocky landscape and pushing at them so hard they have to lean into it to keep going.

After four hours, they’re a mile up, and Bakugou’s cottage is a vague and distant memory. Shouto does what he can to give them heat, but he can feel his magic failing in the face of the sheer power of the storm. Their coats keep out most of the moisture, but the cold itself creeps down into their bones. The snow is deep, and this high up the rocks are slippery with ice beneath the powder.

The sky is blinding and white, and without the sun to guide them it’s almost impossible to see depressions in the earth. More than once, one of them makes a false step and a bank of snow crumbles beneath their feet. More than once, Shouto finds himself wishing for Uraraka.

As it is, their progress is slow and gruelling. Most of the rocks are blanketed by snow up here, but the occasional slab of granite bursts up out of the thick layer of snow, dark and huge as a breaching whale and dusted with powder like ocean spray. Not long into their climb, Momo had pulled a length of thick rope from her arm, and they’d tied themselves together. Izuku leads the way, and Momo takes the rear.

The storm is loud, and fierce. When something dark and fast with a long hooked beak comes flickering out of the fog, none of them notice. None of them except for Momo, who turns so fast and so hard it tugs on the rope between them, drawing her sword and raising it high to block a clawed, pitch black hand sweeping through the air towards her.

The claw hits her sword hard and recoils for only a second before swiping forwards again. Momo lifts her sword to block it, and this time as it hits her sword shivers with the force of the strike. Jirou swears, loudly, and shouts something that gets stolen by the wind. Then she’s slicing through the rope between them with her daggers.

Shouto and Izuku call magic into their hands as the thing strikes a third time. Jirou shouts, raising her arms to stop her, but she’s too late. Momo blocks the thing and her sword shivers and then, with a crack like breaking glass, it shatters. Momo flinches, staring for a second at the broken bone that’s left of her sword, and then she drops it and ducks as the thing darts forward again.

Shouto and Izuku break the rope between them, running back down the hill to help her. The creature that’s attacking them is fast, almost too fast to follow, and hidden by the storm. Shouto catches flashes of it as it tries, again and again, to hit Momo. She pulls a shield from her belly and raises it high whilst her shirt and coat stitch themselves back together. Jirou is nowhere to be seen.

The thing has black, messy hair, and a long leathery looking beak. It’s humanoid in its torso, but its arms are stretched and sharp and black as tar, more like burned branches than human hands. It darts forward again, and Shouto throws up a wall of ice. It isn’t hard in this landscape: the cold that normally lingers beneath the earth is thick and plentiful and all around him. All he has to do with his magic is manipulate it.

But in the split second it takes the wall to rise, the thing has jumped out of the way again, and instead it hits Momo, who swears and rolls back onto her feet, lifting her shield as the thing comes dancing back in with its long clawed fingers outstretched.

It touches Momo’s shield with a fingertip, and the shield dissolves, turned into a cloud of ash. For a second, Momo stares, and then she’s rolling away as the thing reaches down for her head. She pulls a spear out of her calf, hurling it forwards. The spear connects with the thing’s shoulder, and it flies backwards. Breathing heavily, Momo pulls a mace out of her thigh before her pant leg starts to stitch itself back together.

With a crackle of green lightning, Izuku moves so fast it looks as if he disappears, re-appearing behind the thing with the beak. But the thing sees him and jumps out of his way as he kicks at it, heading for Momo. Momo swings her mace hard, and it connects solidly with the thing’s beak, which cracks, oozing blood as it screeches.

Shouto pulls up a wall of ice between them, and Momo drops her rapidly disintegrating mace, tugging another shield out of her stomach. The thing lifts a clawed hand to its beak and hisses, then crouches in the snow and jumps, clearing the wall in one impossible leap. Momo raises her shield, and the thing lands on top of her. She pushes it off and pulls a knife out of her forearm, throwing it at the thing’s neck. It hits, and the thing stumbles before hissing and darting forwards.

Izuku appears by Shouto’s side in a puff of powder and watches the fight, burning with green light, looking for an opening. The thing raises its claws and Momo blocks it with her shield, and then her shield is disintegrating again. She stumbles backwards and thrusts out her palm. A wave of sheer magical force ripples outwards, slamming into the thing and pushing it half a foot back. Momo pulls a sword from her thigh. The storm howls around them, and Shouto can see her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

The thing springs forward, and Momo lifts her sword to block it, and its long clawed fingers wrap around Momo’s wrist. Momo shouts in pain. Beneath the creature’s touch her wrist and forearm, and then her upper arm, suddenly crumble and dissolve into nothing more than black ash, leaving a gaping bloody wound just under her shoulder. Momo staggers, hand moving to clutch at the stump where her arm used to be.

Time seems to slow. Shouto hears himself scream, and then an avalanche of snow and ice explode between them as he runs forward to catch Momo, slamming the thing backwards into a nearby rock face.

Shouto crumples to his knees with Momo in his arms. A short stump is all that remains of her left arm, and she’s bleeding heavily. Working half on adrenaline and half on instinct, Shouto rips open his coat, tearing off a strip of his shirt and pressing it hard against the bleeding. Momo keens, face pale and streaked with snow and tears.  Shouto’s stomach flips, and he pulls warmth around them like a blanket, awkwardly lifting her into his lap and holding her tightly. “It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.”

Izuku has disappeared again, and Shouto can’t see much past the jagged wall of ice in his panic. He focuses on keeping Momo calm. Blood runs over his fingers as it seeps through the cloth he’s pressing to her wound. He swears, dropping it, trying to hold Momo in his lap as he rips off another strip of his shirt and ties a clumsy tourniquet around what’s left of her upper arm.

In his lap, Momo passes out, going limp and still. Shouto chokes on a sob and picks up the bloody cloth, pressing it to her wound again and throwing more heat around them, rocking her gently. “No, no, no, you need to wake up. Momo I need you to wake up.”

The bleeding might be starting to stop, but with the snow and the already dripping cloth, it’s hard for him to tell. Shouto just keeps applying pressure and tries to remember how to breathe.

Which is when something dark and fast flickers into the corner of his vision. Several things happen very quickly. In the other direction, Shouto sees Izuku, crackling with green light. He also understands that Izuku will not be fast enough to stop the creature. He starts to reach into the snow around him with his magic, trying to pull up a wall, and in his grief and his panic it comes too slowly. It’s not going to be enough. He’s defenceless. The thing cackles, leaping through the storm, long clawed hands outstretched.

Which is when Jirou jumps onto its back, snarling, with a dagger clenched between her teeth and one in either hand. “If you’ve got eyes then you’ve got a brain. And that means I can kill you.” Then she twists the daggers in her hands and stabs them, backwards, into the thing’s eye sockets. Blood bursts bright and crimson into the snow, splattering across Jirou’s face as it stumbles, screaming.

Jirou doesn’t flinch. She lets go of the daggers, whips the knife out of her mouth with one hand and grabs the thing’s hair with the other. In one decisive movement, she brings her blade across its throat. Its screaming turns into a wet splutter, and it crumples to its knees. Jirou jumps off its back and into the snow, and watches as the life leaves its body. Then she turns, face red with blood, and marches towards where Shouto and Momo are lying.

“Is she alive?” Her voice is cold and hard. Shouto tries to speak, and can’t, and Jirou softens immediately, falling to her knees before him and pressing two bloody fingers to Momo’s neck. The whipping snow starts to clean the blood dripping from her face. After a long moment, Jirou relaxes, shutting her eyes. “She’s alive.” Gently, she pries Shouto hand away from the stump of Momo’s arm, inspecting the wound. It’s sticky, and dark with congealing blood. “The bleeding’s slowed. She’s going to be ok.”

Jirou swallows, and swears, and suddenly her hands start to shake. She shoves them beneath her armpits and looks up at Shouto, teeth chattering. Shouto pushes his warmth forwards to envelop her. Around them the snow is turning to water under the heat. Jirou relaxes a little further, and looks at him. “She’s going to be ok, Shouto. She’s going to be ok.” Shouto doesn’t know if it’s tears or snow on her cheeks. It’s hard to tell with all the blood.

A few feet away from them, the thing Jirou had killed crumbles into ash. Next to it, Izuku relaxes, and the green lightning fades from his body. Then he reaches one arm up into the air, and sends fireworks into the sky.

“That’s the signal!”

“Yeah, and you’re not going up there moon face.”

“ Moon face ? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re not going to stop me!”

Uraraka marches past Bakugou for the third time since they’d seen Izuku’s lightning, and for the third time, he stops her with a snarl. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Uraraka crackles with magical energy, and speaks through gritted teeth. “You’re not going to stop me.” Around her, the ground starts to break, and lumps of snow covered earth float into the air. Bakugou bares his teeth, letting go of Uraraka’s shoulder as fire bursts into his open palms.

Tsuyu hops forwards. “I’m not going to let you hurt her, Bakugou.”

Uraraka tosses her head. “He couldn’t hurt me if he wanted to.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Wanna bet, moony? I’m not above knocking you out to keep your dumb ass alive.”

“Ok, ok.” Kirishima steps in between them. “Alright, can we please hold off on the fighting? Just for five seconds?” Neither Bakugou nor Uraraka let down their guard. Bakugou’s fire flickers against Kirishima’s arm and does nothing.

“Katsuki, I told them that we would help them. If we don’t go now, then someone really will die.”

“They said that was a risk they were willing to take.” Bakugou snarls.

“They’re not suicidal!” Uraraka shouts, furious. As she does, the rocks in the air swing forward in unison, tilting in Bakugou’s direction like so many knives. Kirishima stares at them warily, and Bakugou grins. “That’s why I’m here. So that I can go help them if they need me. And they need me now.”

“Yeah? Seems to me like a real friend would already be up that fucking mountain.”

The rocks fly forward without a sound. In a split second, a leathery red wing bursts from Kirishima’s back, curling in front of he and Bakugou. The rocks hit it like so much hail, falling to the ground, and Uraraka brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry Kirishima, I didn’t mean to.”

The red wing folds back, and Kirishima smiles at her, giving her a thumbs up and thumping Bakugou on the back. “It’s ok, we’re fine! That was a horrible thing to say, and Katsuki knows it. Don’t you?” Kirishima glares at Bakugou, and the wing folds back between his shoulder blades as if it had never been there. Tsuyu stares.

“Yeah fine I’m fucking sorry or whatever.”

Uraraka relaxes a little. “Apology accepted. Please can we go now? I don’t know what’s happening up there, and they might not have much time.”

Bakugou hesitates, looking at the cottage and then at the forest beyond it. Kirishima puts a hand on his shoulder. “For twenty-three years I’ve held the line. If something gets down here whilst we’re up there then…” He grinds his teeth. Tsuyu stands up a little straighter.

“I’ll protect this cottage for you, Bakugou. In return, you should protect Ochako.” She bares her teeth, and they’re sharp and thin as needles. “I am strong too.”

“It’s going to take us an hour, max.” Kirishima’s voice is soft, and warm. Bakugou hesitates, and looks into his eyes. Kirishima nods. Bakugou heaves a heavy sigh.

“Alright. Fine. Fucking fine. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Kirishima hoots, and Uraraka beams. Bakugou rolls his eyes, and steps away from Kirishima, gently pushing Uraraka backwards. “Yeah yeah, lets not throw a party just yet, there are still lives on the line. “ Then, as an afterthought, he adds. “You’re going to want stand back for this.”

Kirishima falls forward onto his hands and knees. As he does, the scales which ripple in patches over his body spread, flickering like fire. His limbs and face elongate and contort, and wings, ten times as big as the one he’d used to block the rocks, burst from his shoulders. A long tail grows from the base of his spine. Claws curl forwards from his hands and toes.

In moments, Kirishima is gone, and in his place is a huge red dragon. It swings its head towards them, and makes a low rumbling sound in its throat when it looks at Uraraka. Bakugou laughs, reaching up to put his hand on Kirishima’s muzzle.

“You’re such a fucking show off Eijirou.” He walks to the dragon’s foreleg, and stops when Uraraka doesn’t move, turning to look back at her. “Are you coming or what?”

Kirishima’s body is warm, and strong, and the ridged fins on his spine provide easy handholds. All the same, Uraraka clings tightly to Bakugou’s chest as Kirishima crouches like a big cat and leaps into the air, spreading his huge wings wide. He easily dwarves the cottage, and climbs hundreds of feet in seconds. Up here, the trees look tiny and the air is thin and cold. Uraraka holds onto Bakugou with the distinct impression that her life depends on it, though she doesn’t believe that Kirishima would let her fall.

It’s hard to see anything on the mountain from this height, but then Bakugou leans forward, patting the bright red scales over Kirishima’s right shoulder, and shouts into the wind. “Can you see them Eijirou?”

Kirishima’s head lifts, and he flies forward and up past the foothills of the mountains. It doesn’t take long for them to fly into the storm, and Kirishima keeps low to avoid the clouds themselves, so low his clawed feet and tail nearly brush the thick snow. With the speed at which they’re flying, Uraraka needs to keep her eyes closed, and she focuses on the feeling of Bakugou’s body and the warmth of Kirishima’s scales.

Suddenly, Kirishima growls something so loud it rumbles through Uraraka’s body, and then they’re plummeting and her stomach is dropping to somewhere around her feet. Bakugou shouts, “Brace yourself!” She does, and they land in the snow with a crash, sending tides of powder flying into the air. The force rattles Uraraka’s teeth, and Bakugou laughs.

“Nice landing.” On the ground, the storm is still bad but nothing compared to what it was in the air. Slowly, Uraraka opens her eyes and tries to make out the landscape in front of her. At first, it’s all white. Then she sees a wide swathe of blood, bright red in the snow and smudged in the shape of a tattered flag. She moves without thinking, jumping off Kirishima’s back and cushioning her landing with a spell, flying over the surface of the powder whilst Bakugou crunches through the snow behind her.

She takes in the scene before her in pieces: Shouto is kneeling on the ground. Izuku has his arm around him, and seems to be trying to comfort him. Jirou is in front of him, curled over Shouto’s lap. She can see someone’s feet in the snow. Uraraka feels panic rising hard and bitter at the back of her throat and moves faster.

Momo is lying between the three of them. She’s lost her left arm.

Uraraka falls to her knees next to Jirou and immediately starts to inspect the wound. She barely registers the fact that she’s started to talk as she does so. “Where’s her arm? Is it nearby? How long ago did this happen? There’s a possibility…”

Izuku interrupts her. “No, Ochako, it’s gone.”

Uraraka leans forward, gently pulling on Momo’s shoulder so she can get a better look at the injury. Shouto’s grip tightens around Momo’s body. Uraraka suddenly realises that the space between them is warm, far warmer than their bodies could muster naturally. She looks at Shouto, but his expression is frozen. He seems numb. Izuku’s façade crumbles a little. “Shouto. Shouto, she needs to help her.”

Shouto doesn’t react. Uraraka peels away the cloth he’d been pressing to Momo’s arms, and moves his stiff fingers as gently as she can. Bakugou comes up behind them, boots loud in the snow, and swears when he sees what’s happened. Uraraka ignores all of them.

“How much blood has she lost? Is…” She hesitates, looking sidelong at the wide patches of blood in the snow. “Is all of that hers?” Next to her, Jirou shakes her head. Dark brown streaks of something Uraraka had first thought to be mud stick to her cheeks and neck.

“No. It’s not.” Jirou doesn’t offer an explanation. Uraraka doesn’t ask for one.

“I need to treat her properly. Is anyone else hurt?” Izuku and Jirou shake their heads. After a moment, with a nudge from Izuku, Shouto does as well. Behind them, Bakugou shifts uneasily from one foot to another and keeps a sharp eye on the mountain and the storm.

Uraraka nods, and stands without putting any real weight on her legs, focusing on using the muscles in her stomach and thighs and a little magic. “Ok. I’m going to take her back down the mountain now. Shouto. Shouto?” She waits until he looks at her, and puts her hands over his. They’re cold, despite the wall of warmth around him. “I’m going to need you to pick her up now, ok?” After a very long moment, Shouto nods.

Bakugou moves forwards. “I can help.”

Uraraka stops him, touching Momo lightly with one hand. “We’ve got this.” Momo’s body floats a few inches into the air. Shouto stands, keeping his arms around her. Uraraka puts one hand on his elbow and the other on Momo’s shoulder, above her injury. As a group, they walk back across the mountain towards Kirishima, following the tracks left by Bakugou to avoid the more treacherous snow.

When Kirishima sees Momo, he makes a low whining sound. Bakugou reaches out and runs a hand over his muzzle. “It’s ok. Round face says she’s going to be alright.”

Kirishima nods, and then crouches even lower, extending his wing as a kind of ramp. Ochako sighs. “Thank you, Kirishima.” Then she turns to Shouto. “I need you to let go of her now, alright?”

Shouto stares at her and doesn’t move. Behind him, Izuku puts one hand on his shoulder. “Shouto.” His voice is low and soft. Despite the storm, the smell of blood is thick and metallic between them. Shouto’s coat and pants are covered with it, as are his hands.

Shouto looks at Uraraka, and his eyes are distant and clouded. “Keep her safe.” His voice is hoarse. Uraraka bites her lip, and gently pulls Momo out of his arms.

“You have my word.” With Momo’s weightless body in her arms, she drifts up Kirishima’s wing and settles on his back. On the ground, Jirou and Bakugou hesitate.

Jirou looks at Momo, and then back at Izuku. “I…”

Izuku smiles at her, and waves her off.  “Go. I’ll be alright.”

Jirou doesn’t need to be told twice. She looks at Kirishima’s head, and asks quickly, “May I?” When he nods, she climbs up his body in an instant, sitting in front of Uraraka and pushing Momo’s hair out of her face.

In the snow, Bakugou grits his teeth. “That’s half your party gone.”

Izuku sighs. “Yes, I can do basic mathematics.”

“You’re going to be a lot weaker now.”

Izuku runs a hand over his face. “Listen, I don’t want to be rude, but do you have a point? Because it’s been a long day and I’m on a suicide mission and honestly my patience is wearing thin.”

Bakugou nods. “Yeah. I’m coming with you.”

Izuku startles. “What?”

Bakugou tosses his head. “Can’t let you have all the glory now, can I?” He nods his head at Shouto. “Is he going to be alright?”

Izuku opens his mouth to reply, but Shouto blinks, and his eyes clear. “I’ll be fine.”

Bakugou nods. “Alright.” He turns, and marches through the snow towards Kirishima, whose head is cocked to one side. “You can get them down safely, yeah?” Kirishima nods, and makes a purring sort of growl. Bakugou grins at him. “I’ll be fine. Hold the fort for me.” He pauses, and then leans forward, shutting his eyes as he presses his forehead to Kirishima’s.

For a moment they stand like that, man and dragon, veiled by the driving snow.

Then Bakugou turns around; “Alright, now we’ve got the sappy part over with, let’s go fight a fucking god.”

For the next two hours, they climb the mountain in silence. The storm doesn’t really facilitate conversation, and with the freezing air getting thinner after every step, it’s hard for them to catch their breath. So they go quietly, for over a mile, into the thick white wall of the blizzard.

Rocks burst from the snow in unexpected places, dark and towering above them. In places, the top layer of loose powder hides thin ice and ankle-narrow crevasses. Izuku nearly falls into one of these. He’s caught by Bakugou, who yanks him back whilst Shouto freezes the crack shut. Izuku stutters over a word of thanks, but Bakugou just tosses his head and growls something about keeping up the pace.

They’re into their third hour when they reach the cave. Bakugou stops, catching his breath, and both Shouto and Izuku pull their damp, freezing scarves away from their noses and mouths. Together, all three of them stand in the relative shelter of the cave’s mouth. It stands twice as tall as Shouto, the tallest of the three of them. The stone is so dark it looks black, and the arch above them is dripping icicles like three-foot teeth.

Izuku curls and flexes his fingers. Shouto watches them, and then looks up to meet his eyes. Izuku bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s here.”

Outside the cave, the storm howls. The wind dies down where it breaks against the cave mouth. Flurries of snow drift inside in billowing waves like curtains in a breeze, an image that is disconcertingly mild compared to what they’re about to face. Bakugou spits outside into the snow and wipes his mouth, grabbing a flask from the small bag on his back and taking a swig. “Remind me again why we’re not regrouping and doing this tomorrow, instead of acting like fucking idiots?”

Izuku swallows. His dark skin is ashen and pimpled with cold. Shouto coaxes heat from the air around them, and Izuku throws him a grateful smile. “It has to be today. This thing…” Izuku looks to his right, into the cave: the bright white of the snow illuminates the first twenty feet or so, but after that it’s dark as a moonless night. “It’s ready. If we don’t go to it, then it’ll come to us.”

“Well that’s ominous as shit.” Bakugou spits again. Shouto wrinkles his nose. “Still, how d’you know? You working for it or something?” Sparks dance around Bakugou’s calloused fingers.

Izuku frowns. “What? No.” The smell of damp fur fills the air between them. “No, but I am close to the All Might. I have a feeling…”

“A feeling? We’re risking our fucking lives on a feeling?”

Shouto grits his teeth. “Could you watch your attitude for half a second?”

Bakugou snarls, turning on him, and Izuku gets in between them with both hands raised. “Ok, ok, ok. We do not need to be fighting right now.”

“I beg to differ.” Bakugou bares his teeth. Shouto glares at him. Izuku clears his throat.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Izuku reaches out with a hand wreathed in green electricity, and touches Bakugou’s shoulder. “Listen, I’m the All Might’s successor. It’s more than just a feeling. It’s like…that sense you get before a storm? When the rain’s about to break from the clouds? Like that.”

Bakguou shrugs off Izuku’s hand, but he relaxes a little. Shouto does too. “All the laws of nature say you run the fuck away from something that makes you feel like that.”

Izuku huffs a laugh, and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

Shouto puts a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. He has to squeeze hard to actually touch his body through the thick material of his coat, but after a moment Izuku looks up at him. His hair is damp and clinging to his forehead, and his pupils are small in the bright light of the snow, leaving his eyes a wash of green. Shouto offers him a smile. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Izuku reaches up and puts his hand over Shouto’s on his shoulder, smiling back. His fingers are cold, but Shouto doesn’t move. A few feet away from them, Bakugou clears his throat.

“Not that the honeymoon isn’t touching - it is, really, but I’ve got a fucking dragon not to let down and I made him a promise that I wouldn’t do anything stupid like get myself killed so, if you’re done, then that would be fucking fantastic.”

Shouto ignores him, reaching up to push some of Izuku’s wet curls away from his face and press a kiss to his forehead. When he pulls back, he keeps his hand on Izuku’s cheek. “We’re doing this together.”

Izuku smiles, just a little: it’s only a soft curve of his lips. He runs his thumb over Shouto’s knuckles, and then he turns his head and kisses the heel of Shouto’s palm. “Together.”

Bakugou makes a retching sound. Izuku laughs, and pulls away from Shouto, who slips his hand into his pocket. Bakugou doesn’t actually look at him when he growls his next question. “So what’s the plan of attack, lover boy?”

Izuku sets down his bag and pulls out his scrying bones. Carefully, he tips them into his palm. They rattle in the wide, empty space of the cave. Bakugou frowns at them. “Are those griffin bones?”

Shouto raises his eyebrows. “How did you know that?”

Bakugou bares his teeth. “I’m not just a pretty face, half and half.” Izuku shakes the scrying bones, and they rattle in his hands like dice. He shuts his eyes.

“Is the one we seek within these caves?”

He opens his hands, and throws the bones, and they freeze in the air, caught by some strange red magic that burns around them like fire or blood. Every marked surface is facing towards them, but they hardly need to be: the bones themselves spell the word “YES”, floating six feet above the ground. Izuku, crouched on the cave floor, stares up at them, illuminated by the bloody light. Then he swallows, and reaches out for the bones.

For one second, they remain where they are. Then they rattle, burn the searing gold of molten iron, and turn to dust. Izuku swears, looking down at the pile of ash riddled with red sparks that is all that remains of his scrying bones. “Those were a gift…Torino is going to kill me.”

“No idea who the hell that is, but I’m guessing this thing might beat them to it.” Bakugou’s voice is quiet, and low. Shouto looks over the cave warily, and then out into the storm, trying to discern any kind of movement. When he can’t, he reaches out with his magic instead. As sudden as a thunderclap, a wall of something rotten hits his senses. The cave is soaked in it: an old, twisted magic. Half of his soul recoils on instinct with the magical equivalent of revulsion. The other half is drawn in, like a moth to a flame. Shouto shudders, and Izuku gets to his feet, brushing off his pants.

Shouto clears his throat. “Izuku.” He doesn’t say anything else. Izuku nods and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a witch light.

“Yeah, I feel it too.”

“If you’re talking about the fucked up magic in here and not whatever the fuck is going on between you two then yeah, I’m feeling it as well.” Bakugou yanks a short club wrapped in fabric from the side of his pack, and lights it with a small explosion of flame. He raises the torch high, and the orange light flickers over the black stone of the cave.

Shouto pulls a witchlight from his pocket, and meets Izuku’s eyes. “Ready when you are.”

After half an hour of walking, the cave has narrowed into a tunnel, and the three of them are walking single file. The roof is still about a foot above Shouto’s head, but after the vast ceilings of the first chamber, it feels cramped. At the back of the group, Bakugou spits a curse and kicks a pebble. “Have I mentioned how much this fucking sucks? Because this fucking sucks.”

“The notion may have crossed your lips, yes. Why, do you think repeating yourself will improve the situation?” Shouto keeps his eyes on Izuku as he replies, letting his irritation mask his own fear. For his part, Izuku has been nearly silent since they started walking, only talking when he needs to give them a direction.

“If you weren’t one third of the group keeping me alive, two-tone, I’d have roasted your ass six ways to Sunday.”

Shouto rolls his eyes. “Kinky.”

Behind him, Bakugou splutters. Either side of them, the walls of the cave are dark and rough and dry. Their coats are an extra layer narrowing the gap between their sides and the walls, but Shouto is grateful for them. It’s cold, even this far into the tunnels, and he doesn’t want to spend too much magic keeping them warm. He fears he’s used up too much already.

“Mind your step.” Izuku’s voice is quiet and barely carries. Shouto passes the instruction back to Bakugou, and carefully jumps over a crack in the floor of the cave. He realises, with a sudden sense of vertigo, that they are both beneath the earth and above it, and that there might be dozens upon dozens of tunnels below them.

“This fucking sucks.” Bakugou murmurs, fervently. Shouto says nothing. He agrees.

It doesn’t help that the further they go into the tunnel, the stronger the feeling of rotten magic becomes. By now, it’s thick enough in the air that Shouto can imagine it sticking to his skin and staining his clothes. All of the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck are standing on end. They have been since he first entered these narrower tunnels. And the other part of him: the part being drawn in seems to get stronger the deeper they go. It’s becoming a craving, a dangerous instinct that he tries to ignore. Doing so leaves him feeling hollow: incomplete, somehow.

Shouto pushes the feeling aside, focusing on the smell of burning wood coming from behind him as he tries to ignore it. In front of him, in the dim glow of the witch light, he can see the goosebumps on Izuku’s skin.

Then the walls start talking.

“Oh, this is delicious. It’s been so long since I had guests. And such illustrious visitors, too.” The voice sounds like the kind of voice Shouto imagined a mountain would have: old and rasping and deep. It rolls into his bones and sets his teeth on edge like fingernails scraping metal.

“Watch out!” Izuku grabs him and pulls, hard, and Shouto’s feet briefly leave the ground with the force of it as he’s thrown from the tunnel into another wider chamber. Behind him, he watches the roof of the tunnel crumple like paper. Bakugou spits a string of curses and throws explosions at the stone, diving out of the tunnel into a roll as it collapses behind them with a crash.

Dust bursts upwards from the rubble like mud in a pond, and the sound of the commotion echoes in loops in the chamber around them. This one is much bigger than the first: Shouto can barely see the walls or the roof. Not far from the tunnel they exited is a black hole, a little taller than he is, and then another, and another. The stone looks as if it’s been infested by giant termites.

“Well, shit.” Bakugou mutters. “Is there another way out?”

Izuku shakes his head, running a hand over his face and up through his hair. “I don’t know.”

“Fucking fantastic. What the hell was that thing, anyway?”

“Now now, is that any way to talk about a god?” The voice rings loudly through the space of the chamber, seeming to swell to fit the space. Bakugou glares blindly up into the darkness, and fire crackles in his hands.

“You’re no god of mine.”

Shouto grits his teeth. “Could we please try not to antagonise the angry god?”

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it already seems pretty damn antagonised two-tone.”

“Am I antagonised? That’s a good question. You have certainly been a thorn in my side for some time, little barbarian.” The floor beneath Bakugou’s feet crumbles like quicksand. He shouts, and Shouto grabs him and tries to pull, even as the stone breaks apart and reforms into thick vines that curl around his ankles. “It’s about time I put an end to that. Just like I put an end to those silly little parents of yours.” There’s a rumbling, humming sound, that it takes Shouto a moment to realise is supposed to be a laugh.

Shouto has both hands on one of Bakugou’s arms and is pulling him as hard as he can. Meanwhile, Bakugou is throwing explosions in the direction of his feet. Izuku stops looking up into the dark and jumps to help them, crackling with green lightning. Together, with one mighty heave, he and Shouto pull Bakugou free. Bakugou’s pants rip around his shins as they do so, and his legs bleed freely from a handful of deep gouges in his skin left by the broken stone.

“Humans. You just can’t be house trained, can you? You never learn.” More of the ground starts to splinter and fracture, running fast as lightning towards their feet. Shouto and Izuku don’t say a word, they each grab one of Bakugou’s arms and pull him with them towards the nearest tunnel, running from the breaking stone. Breathless, they leap into it and away from the cavern’s broken floor.

“Answer me this. Why is it that you think you’re safer in here?” The tunnel mouth shuts behind them with a bang. Izuku’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, holding his witchlight high. The stone of the walls around them ripples like water. “Silly humans. Run.”

The end of the tunnel races towards them with the speed of a galloping horse and the force of an elephant. Shouto doesn’t think, he grabs Bakugou’s arm and starts running, feet skidding on the dusty, uneven floor of the cave. The green lightning around Izuku’s body flickers as he runs too, leaving dancing shadows on the walls behind them. The stone at their heels screeches against the rock as it thunders towards them. The walls ripple, and then there’s an opening, and they’re diving through it, into another chamber.

Bakugou stumbles as they stop, blood still running down his legs. Izuku steadies him. “Are you alright?”

“I am the least of your concerns right now, freckles.”

Shouto whirls, following Bakugou’s gaze, and sees the forty foot high wall of the cave crumpling and splintering, like an avalanche about to come crashing down on top of them. He doesn’t think. He pulls, and a wall of ice cascades upwards from his body, sealing the wall of the cave in a blue-white shell of magic. The rock stops moving. Shouto doesn’t move. He stares, and waits. Nothing happens. He keeps waiting. When nothing has happened after thirty seconds, he starts to breathe again.

“It’s playing with us.” Shouto swallows. Neither Izuku nor Bakugou contradict him. He wasn’t expecting them to. The smell of Bakugou’s blood is salty and metallic in the air.

“I don’t think diplomacy is going to work.” Izuku says, quietly.

“Whyever not? Do I not strike you as approachable?” The walls of the cave snap and roll like a sail in a strong breeze. “As a kind, generous and merciful god?”

Without warning, the floor crumbles, and then the three of them are falling. Shouto reaches for Izuku, and Izuku grabs Bakugou, and they crash into the cave below surrounded by a hail of rubble, barely slowed by Izuku’s magic. “No, you’re right. That’s my brother.”

Shouto gets to his hands and knees, coughing. Next to him, Izuku clambers to his feet, brushing away a smear of blood where a piece of broken stone had cut his cheek. On his back, Bakugou groans. Izuku lifts his chin, and raises his voice. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? Oh, silly little human. I want nothing you can give me.”

“Then why haven’t you killed us already?” Shouto’s voice doesn’t break, despite the cold sweat running down his spine.

Bakugou sits up. “Now who’s doing the antagonising?”

“Wait.” Around them, the walls ripple. All three of them tense. “I recognise this magic. Oh. Oh no. Oh, that’s too good.” The god laughs, and Shouto’s stomach flips. The strange craving that he’s been feeling since they entered the cave intensifies, suddenly. It burns. Shouto grits his teeth.

Bakugou gets to his feet, lowering his centre of gravity and calling bursts of fire into his hands. Shouto lets frost creep down his right side, and sparks dance around his left. Izuku swallows. With green lightning dancing in endless circles around his body, he looks like a hero from an old story. Or he would, if he didn’t look so afraid. Shouto wonders whether those heroes got scared too, facing unimaginable odds with nothing but their wits to protect them.

“What are you talking about?” Izuku lifts his chin and he looks like a king and Shouto thinks, if that were true, he’d follow him anywhere.

The sound of the rock cracking is like that of bones breaking. Shouto tenses, letting ice spread from where his foot touches the surface of the cavern.

“You’re the All Might’s new vessel, aren’t you? His little successor. His protégée.”

Izuku swallows, and nods, walking carefully forwards. There’s a wide pool of water to one side of the room. It’s as black as ink in the dark. “Yes I am. I’m here to negotiate with you, on behalf of the Silvian Council.”

“Don’t be boring.” It’s all the warning they get before the far wall explodes into a thousand dagger sharp splinters of rock that come hurtling towards them. Shouto throws up a thick wall of ice, and Bakugou obliterates the shrapnel flying at him with a wave of fire. Izuku flips in midair with impossible speed, then swings his fist. With Izuku’s punch comes a tornado, cold and powerful. It slams into the far wall, twisting the broken stone into its body like a whirlpool and flinging it back.

Breathless, Izuku speaks again. “Should I assume that this means you are unwilling to negotiate?”

“Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a young prince. He was ambitious, and clever, and he had heard rumours of an old, forgotten god on a mountain, in a small, otherwise unremarkable province to the west of his kingdom.”

Bakugou scowls, chest heaving. “Did I miss the part where someone asked for a history lesson?”

“Now now, it’s rude to interrupt.” A lance of stone bursts from the floor with frightening speed, and Bakugou jumps to the side with a shout, barely avoiding being impaled. As it is, the stone spire slices cleanly through the thick fur of his coat. Bakugou stares, and swallows, tearing himself free. Fire crackles in his palms.

Shouto grits his teeth, glancing down at the crumbling stone around the spike. “The floor is lava.” Izuku huffs a soft laugh, and Shouto throws him a smile. He’s sweating now: the strange burning craving is pulling at him from the inside out. He tries to concentrate.

“I can’t help but feel that you’re not paying attention.” In a hum of magic, the far wall of the cave ripples, burning with red light. On it is a ten-foot tall, crude sketch of a young man wearing a crown, climbing a mountain. The bloody light fills the chamber, bouncing off the black stone. “As I was saying. There was a prince: an ambitious prince, who sought a favour from a god.”

The scene changes, and suddenly the prince is standing before a mask. Half of its face is smiling, and half is frowning. The prince has his arms raised in the air, as if in praise, or surrender. “This prince wanted a child. A child that could defeat his enemies.”

Shouto’s blood runs cold.

“Of course, the god sought something in return. So magnificent a gift could not be given freely, the universe would not abide such an imbalance. If nothing was lost, then nothing could be gained, and the prince sought a great prize indeed. This was not a child. This was a weapon.

“So the god made a simple request: when the prince’s son came of age, and began to conquer his enemies, and bring all seven kingdoms under his control – then and only then…”

The scene on the wall changes. It sketches out in bloody lines the path left by a monstrous army, burning villages and crops and livestock, slaughtering travellers and families and enemy troops alike. In the centre of the wall, a pile of bodies appears and begins to grow, higher and higher, until it’s at least twenty feet tall. Shouto can see soldiers in that pile, but he can also see children. Babies.

“The god asked the prince for half of his son’s victims. The prince would receive half a god: more than enough to defeat any mortal man, and in exchange, half of his son’s conquests would be dedicated to the god that made them happen. It was a simple request. An easy request. The prince’s son would slaughter thousands anyway. All he had to do was give half of his kills to the god who made him.”

The pile of bodies disappears in a ripple of red flame, and the walls of the cave shudder, sending dust falling in cascades from the ceiling. “Can you guess what happened next, Shouto?”

Shouto can’t move. The image of burning bodies is tattooed to the back of his eyelids. He can see them every time he blinks. A few feet away from him, Izuku pauses. “Shouto? What’s this about?”

Shouto’s mouth is dry. He wets his lips, and tries to swallow against the lump in the back of his throat. He can feel his fire itching beneath his skin. He shakes his head. “I didn’t… I never… I…”

“No. You didn’t, did you? Twenty-two years and not a single human life. NOT ONE!”

The voice bellows so loudly it makes Shouto’s ears hurt, rattling his bones. He sees Bakugou and Izuku bring their hands to their ears as the walls of the cave ripple like scales on a snake. The floor shakes, and Shouto loses his footing, stumbling over the uneven stone.

Then it stops.

The voice sighs, and gives another rumbling hum of a laugh. “Still. No use lingering on the past. After all, you’re here, aren’t you? I could never have dreamed that you would be stupid enough to come to me.” Sweat trickles down the back of Shouto’s neck. He can feel Izuku looking at him, and he can’t meet his eyes. “Years I’ve spent here, planning my vengeance on you and your ungrateful father. I knew that I would kill you for your impertinence, and burn that kingdom too. But this? This is delicious. This is perfect. Not only do I have my wasted weapon back, but my idiot child of a brother sent his precious student straight into my waiting arms.”

The god laughs, and the roof of the cave crumbles, dropping chunks of rock onto the floor. Bakugou shouts a curse and flings his arms upwards with an explosion of fire, turning the rubble into so much powder that falls over his head and shoulders in a thick, sandy cloud. Shouto tries to move, and can’t. He’s frozen in place. He looks down, but he can see nothing holding him. He tries to move again. It doesn’t work.

“What better way for me to see the true potential of the weapon I forged? Little Izuku holds a fraction of my brother’s soul inside of him. And you, Shouto, hold a piece of mine.” Shouto’s skin burns. His arm starts to move of its own accord. He tries to speak, and he can’t. The god laughs. “Lets see what you’re made of. ”

Shouto raises his arm and throws a wall of fire at Izuku.

Izuku shouts, jumping out of the way a fraction of a second too late. His sleeve smokes where the fire catches it, and the stink of burnt flesh fills the air. Izuku clutches at his arm and stares wide eyed at Shouto. Shouto is not in control of his body. His foot moves forward of its own accord, and he throws another tornado of flame in Izuku’s direction. This time, Izuku is expecting it, and he jumps to the side with a crackle of green lightning. Shouto follows him, throwing more fire.

“Sh-Shouto? What’s going on? What are you doing?”

Suddenly, an explosion hits the small of Shouto’s back, sending him stumbling forwards. But he doesn’t catch himself: something else does, something that sits thick and heavy and cold in his bones. “Don’t know if you’re really that dense or just slow on the uptake freckles, but it looks like you’ve been double crossed.”

Bakugou stalks forwards, and Shouto’s right arm moves by itself, pulling a razor thin wall of ice up and between them. He sees pain flicker across Izuku’s face. “No. No, he wouldn’t.”

Shouto’s mouth opens, and it’s not him. “Wouldn’t I?” He stomps, and a bristling field of ice bursts upwards from the cave floor, racing towards Izuku, who barely dodges out of the way. “How much do you really know about me, Izuku?” He throws fire at Izuku, and Izuku yelps, ducking and flinging his arms over his head. The fire burns his forearms, turning his sleeves black with ash.

“You didn’t know about this , did you? What else don’t you know about me?”

Another wall of ice slams forward, and Izuku lifts a hand, obliterating it with a flick of his finger that releases a gust so strong it sends Shouto staggering backwards. Breathless, Izuku stares at him. “I know you wouldn’t do this. I know you wouldn’t do this to me.”

“That god’s been awful quiet, hasn’t it?” Shouto doesn’t hear Bakugou coming up behind him, but he does feel his foot connecting solidly with his ribs. His bones ache, and he falls to the side, barely catching himself. Bakugou follows up his kick with a fist full of fire, and Shouto pulls a shield of ice from the rock between them. Bakugou narrows his eyes. “Oi, fuck face. No chance you decided to take two-tone for a walkabout, is there?”

“So irritating.” The floor crumbles beneath Bakugou and he falls, catching himself at the last second with a slap of his hand on the cave floor. The rubble around him takes seconds to hit the floor below: long enough to suggest a deadly fall. Bakugou spits a curse as the rock under his fingers crumbles like pastry. Izuku is at his side in a flash of green light, pulling him out of the hole with ease.

Shouto throws fire at both of them, and Izuku shouts, lifting his arms, which are already red and blistered with burns. Shouto wants to be sick. “Well, I was never good at multitasking. What can I say? Contrary to popular belief, gods have flaws.”

Shouto crouches and jumps, and as he does so ice bursts from the floor beneath his feet, propelling him higher. He crosses the distance between he and Izuku in half a heartbeat, but it’s long enough for Izuku to disappear in a blur of motion, flickering to the other side of the cavern with Bakugou in tow. As soon as they stop moving, Bakugou shakes Izuku off his arm and pulls fire into his hands, grinning. “Alright then half and half, if it’s a fight you want then you’ll get it.”

He takes one step forward and claws burst from the wall behind him. There are four fingers on each hand, and the claws themselves are five feet long and made of stone. They grab Bakugou and slam him backwards, into the side of the cave. Izuku shouts, moving to help him, and Shouto throws a wall of ice in his direction. Izuku jumps to avoid it, away from Bakugou.

“Stay out of my way. ”

Shouto’s fist curls, and the claws on the wall press into Bakugou’s body, slicing through his clothes. He chokes and swears, and fire spits from his hands. Stony vines curl upwards from the floor and wrap around Bakugou’s ankles.

“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s me you want.” Izuku has come to a stop in the middle of the chamber. Shouto’s body turns to face him. “So why not just fight me? Why use Shouto?” Izuku is scowling, his mouth twisted in a grimace. The part of Shouto that is still him thinks that he’s so rarely seen Izuku look angry. It looks strange. But he’s angry now.  “Are you scared?”

The god’s rumbling laugh echoes through the cave. “Scared? Of a little thing like you? Spare me.” Shouto’s body starts to run forwards, and as it does he throws ice and fire at Izuku’s head. Izuku dodges the fire but hits the ice, hard. Blood trickles from his temple. “I am not so easily goaded, little human. ”

Breathless, Izuku steps backwards, circling Shouto and crackling with green lightning. “No? Then what’s this?”

“Sport. ”

Fire bursts forward from Shouto’s arm, but this time it’s not just one line. This time it billows outwards in a cloud of heat, enveloping Izuku’s body. He cries out in pain and jumps backwards, face and neck red, coat singed and blackened. Shouto follows him, a field of icy spears bursting forwards from his feet. Izuku jumps out of the way, and Shouto throws more fire at him. When Izuku jumps to the side, Shouto catches him with a wall of ice that slams into his side. Izuku’s ribs crack on impact, and the crunch is loud in the relative quiet of the cave. Izuku lands on his feet and stumbles, chest heaving, one hand clutching his side. Sweat drips down his face and neck, but he doesn’t take his coat off.

“You’re going to lose this fight, little human. ”

Ice ripples outwards from Shouto’s feet, covering the cavern floor in a glittering white shell. Izuku huffs, and his breath comes out white and misty in the sudden cold. Shouto punches fire in his direction, and Izuku jumps away, breathing hard. “What makes you say that?”

“You don’t want to hurt him.” Shouto’s body sprints forward, and then he’s punching Izuku, hard, with a hand wreathed in flames. Izuku blocks and dodges him as best he can, but he doesn’t hit back. Shouto watches it all, screaming in his mind and unable to speak. He can’t get the image out of his head: his burning hand, crashing into Izuku’s broken ribs. It’s every nightmare he’s ever had and if he had control of his body he’d have thrown up by now.

Instead, he raises his hand again. When the flame around Shouto’s fist flickers and grows, Izuku jumps backwards and away, tripping when he lands and falling onto his knees. Izuku huffs a laugh, chest heaving as he gets onto all fours, gritting his teeth. Sweat drips from his forehead onto the icy cavern floor. He’s losing this fight. He’s losing because he doesn’t want to hurt Shouto. “Yeah, well. I’m sentimental.”

“I wonder what he thinks about that. ”

All at once, Shouto can speak again. “Izuku, you need to kill me.” Izuku goes very, very still. Shouto’s body is still not his own: it feels heavy and dead, like an oversized jacket. But he’s not moving. And he can talk. “Please, Izuku, please kill me. Whatever this thing is, it made me to hurt people. To hurt you. I don’t want to be a weapon. I don’t want to do this. Please don’t let me hurt you.” Shouto thinks distantly that he’s babbling. He doesn’t care. Everything that he’s been trying to say since he lost control of his body is bursting from his lips like a river through a dam, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Izuku is staring at him. Shouto tries to smile. “It’s ok. I forgive you. I forgive you, and, Izuku I know this is a stupid time to say it, but I love you. So please. Please just kill me.”

Izuku is pale, and it highlights the red of the burns on his cheeks. He gets to his feet. “Shouto.” He moves closer, and Shouto feels panic burn in him like ice water.

“N-no, be careful. Izuku you can’t, I can’t control my body, I can’t stop. You need to kill me now, whilst you have the chance.” Shouto trips over his words in his haste, and Izuku keeps walking towards him. He has one hand raised, and there’s no magic in it. It’s just Izuku: dark and freckled and calloused with work.

“Shouto. I’m not going to…I can’t.” Izuku swallows. “I’m not going to kill you, Shouto. You’re not a weapon. You’re not going to hurt me.”

Shouto looks at the burns on Izuku’s forearms, at the dried blood on his temple, at the livid red skin on his neck and cheeks. At the way he’s limping, bent around his broken ribs. His voice is thick when he speaks. “I already have.” Shouto’s breaths are coming too fast and too shallow. He’s starting to shake. Izuku is barely a foot away from him now. The smell of blood and sweat and burnt skin is heavy in the air between them.

Izuku reaches out and touches Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto’s body sets itself on fire. Izuku swears, pulling his hand back, but not fast enough to save his fingers from getting burned. Shouto’s heart hammers in his chest. Izuku jumps up and away from him in a flash of green light and Shouto’s body follows. But he can still speak.

“Izuku, I can’t control this. You need to stop me. It’s ok.” His left arm swings forward and punches Izuku, wreathed in flame. Izuku chokes. Shouto has had this nightmare. Ice bursts upward from the floor, wrapping around Izuku’s ankles. “Izuku, hit me. I can’t stop. Please. Izuku, please.”

A lance of ice forms around Shouto’s forearm, long and thick and deadly. “No!” He lunges, and watches with horror as the blade plunges towards Izuku’s belly. Faster than thought, Izuku punches back with an explosion of force that sends Shouto flying backwards across the cave. Behind them, Bakugou screams something that’s muffled by a rope of stone.

Shouto crashes into the far wall hard, his ice crumbling in front of him and behind as he does. He pushes away the heavy slab he’d used to shield himself from Izuku, and stares at his hands. The god hadn’t made him do that. It was him. He was scared, scared of Izuku, and he’d reacted on instinct. Shouto stares at his hands. Ice and fire roll around his fingers like snakes in a pit. Shame surges hot and fast up his spine.

Izuku comes closer, and Shouto’s arm moves of its own accord, punching a field of bristling spikes in his direction. It’s the god this time: he recognises the feeling of numbness, the loss of control. Izuku crushes his ice with one fast movement of his hand and a sudden surge of wind. Shouto stumbles backwards, even as his left hand moves, throwing fire. Izuku dodges to the side and the flames lick at his hair. A razor sharp wedge of ice bursts from the stone beside him, angled at his side. Izuku jumps away, directly into a path of flame that licks at his shoulder. He cries out, and Shouto wants to run away, as far and fast as he can.

Distantly, he’s aware that he’s speaking. Izuku jumps backwards in a movement so powerful it breaks the rock beneath his feet. Shouto follows. His vision is blurring. He’s crying, he realises, with a sudden kind of shock. His words are thick and slurred and spoken too fast. He sounds like a child. “No, no, no, no, no.” His mind is screaming at him: throwing hours spent ‘sparring’ with his father up in front of him, hitting him with memories of his father attacking his mother. Visions of fire. So much fire. Shouto chokes, and flames burst forwards from his palm.

Izuku bends double to miss them, and swings his fist, and it connects with Shouto’s side with crushing force. He coughs as the wind is forced from his chest, flying backwards, and the ice he uses to catch himself is almost irrelevant against Izuku’s sheer power. Shouto’s mind rings with every time his father has ever done this to him, and he looks at Izuku, and he weeps. His body moves of its own accord, and he gets to his feet. Izuku: burned and bleeding, looks at him with open concern.

“Shouto, it’s ok. This isn’t your fault. It’s ok, Shouto, you can fight this. You can do it.”

Shouto’s body moves, and ice cannons forward from where his foot touches the earth, connecting hard with Izuku’s stomach. He chokes, falling backwards, and Shouto can’t breathe.  He’s losing control, panicking as he hasn’t since he and Momo had first run away, and the reality of his life up until that point had come crashing down on his shoulders. The cavern blurs and shifts with his tears, like something seen through clouded glass. Shouto’s heart is pounding, and his hands are shaking. “I can’t. Izuku, I can’t. I can’t stop - I don’t, I can’t control it. I can’t.”

Izuku comes flying at him with terrifying speed, burning in green light, and Shouto flinches without thinking. But then Izuku’s arms are on his shoulders, and he’s looking into his eyes. Shouto’s ice wraps around Izuku’s legs, racing up his thighs. Shouto’s left side ignites, and Izuku’s magic wraps around his hand and forearm, keeping him from burning. The flames singe his clothes and hair. Shouto’s body writhes under Izuku’s grip, but Izuku holds him still with bruising force.

“Look at me.” His voice is low, and calm, and firm. “Shouto, look at me.”

Shouto tries to ignore the hurricane that is his mind: the hurricane that’s screaming about hands holding him still and fire and burning and pain. Instead, he wrestles with the heavy weight over his limbs that’s been propelling him through the room like a puppet. It feels cold and dead and wrong inside him. He thinks numbly that he had never wanted to belong to anyone. He never wanted to hurt people. He didn’t ask to be used. Shouto’s ice keeps creeping up Izuku’s body: wrapping around his hips and racing up his chest. Izuku doesn’t move.

Shouto meets Izuku’s eyes. Izuku smiles at him. His eyes are bright and dark in the low light, flickering with the copper reflection of Shouto’s fire. Izuku speaks slowly and deliberately. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Shouto’s chest heaves. “Izuku you need to, you can’t let me kill you, you bastard, you ass, I can’t, I don’t want to, I can’t – ”

“Shhh. Shhh, it’s ok.” Izuku’s calloused, unharmed fingers find their way to Shouto’s lips, and then his hand moves to hold Shouto’s face. Shouto’s ice has encased his body from his feet almost all the way to his shoulders by now. Shouto watches it and feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Izuku squeezes his cheek, and he meets his eyes. “You can do this. It’s your magic, not his. You’re not a weapon.” Izuku laughs, and his voice hitches and breaks. “Shouto. My Shouto. You are not a weapon, and you would never hurt me.”

Ice races up Izuku’s neck, creeping over his arms as Shouto watches in horror. Izuku doesn’t even shiver. Instead he smiles, and leans forward, and kisses him. Just before their lips touch, with ice racing along his jawline, he whispers, “I love you, too.”

Then Izuku is frozen solid. Shouto stares, lips cold and dripping wet where the ice melted a little at his touch. Izuku’s eyes are shut. His mess of hair is frozen still. His body is grey-white as a corpse, and a mist of cold is wrapped around his limbs, still reaching out to embrace him. He’s not breathing.

Shouto’s stomach goes into freefall. He doesn’t think about reclaiming his limbs, he just does it. Shaking violently, he grabs either side of Izuku’s neck and pulls warmth from his body like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, tugging it over Izuku’s head and shoulders. The ice starts to recede, but the skin beneath it is too white and deadly cold. Shouto doesn’t give himself time to think, he keeps pushing warmth over Izuku, so fast that there’s a mirage of heat around the two of them and the hot air makes his cheeks sting.

The ice melts: slowly at first, creeping inch by inch down Izuku’s arms. Then it starts to go faster, dripping in a puddle onto the damp rock at their feet. The ice on the floor has long since melted around them. Shouto doesn’t stop, he watches the ice melt from Izuku’s hair, which hangs heavy and flat with the damp, clinging to his ears and neck. He watches the ice leave his eyelids, and his nose, and his lips. He watches the ice race back down his chest, and over his hips and his thighs and his calves. He watches Izuku’s face, and Izuku doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. Shouto’s hands won’t stop shaking. He’s never felt so cold in his life.

Shouto runs his thumb over Izuku’s lips, and winds his hand in Izuku’s damp curls, pulling too hard and unable to care because his hands are stiff with cold and fear. He’s strong and clumsy with it as desperation starts to rise inside of him, clawing at his guts like a living thing. Shouto moves his hand to Izuku’s shoulder and shakes him, gently at first, and then harder.

“Izuku. Izuku.” Shouto’s face is wet. He doesn’t care. The cave is huge and quiet and dark. The god says nothing. Neither does Bakugou. Izuku starts to fall forwards, and Shouto catches him, putting his hands on Izuku’s shoulders. “Izuku, wake up. Wake up.” Shouto grits his teeth, and presses his forehead to Izuku’s. Izuku’s skin is wet and clammy under his touch. Shouto shuts his eyes, and squeezes Izuku’s shoulders. “You can’t. You can’t. Please, no, you can’t do this to me.”

In Shouto’s shaking arms, Izuku’s body is heavy. Carefully, he lowers him to the ground, falling to his knees beside him and pulling him into his lap. Shouto pushes Izuku’s curls back from where they’re plastered to his forehead, and keeps pulling heat around them, until their clothes are steaming with it. On his knees, Shouto starts to rock, slowly, back and forth. He holds Izuku tightly in his arms as tears drip down his nose and cheeks, falling from his chin onto Izuku’s neck and collarbone.

When he speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “Izuku, please . Please don’t go. Please.” Shouto strokes Izuku’s cheek, and Izuku is cold. He bites his lip, and his shoulders shake, and he curls over Izuku’s body, pressing his forehead to Izuku’s. Then he kisses him, and he tastes his tears on Izuku’s cold lips. Izuku’s nose is icy where it touches his. Shouto can’t open his eyes, trying to hide in the darkness as he winds his shaking hands through Izuku’s wet hair. With his eyes squeezed shut, Shouto pulls Izuku’s limp body close, until all that’s left between them is warmth and shadow.

“Come back. Please, please. Come back.”

Green lightning flickers over Izuku’s arms. It wraps in flickering tendrils around his chest like ivy. Shouto doesn’t notice at first, with his eyes shut, the light passes through his body as if it isn’t there at all. Bakugou, limp in the stone claws of the god, tries to shout a warning past the stone gag pressed against his mouth that Shouto doesn’t hear. Green sparks dance in Izuku’s hair. The light starts to twist, faster and faster, glowing brighter as it does until it’s burning in white-hot arcs of power wrapped around Izuku’s body. Shouto notices, finally, and pulls back with a start. The green light flickers across Izuku’s face, slipping into his mouth. For a moment, nothing happens.

Then Izuku gasps, and his chest convulses, and the green light disappears with a shock that leaves the smell of ozone, biting and metallic in the air. Izuku rolls onto his side, coughing up ice water on his hands and knees, and green sparks dance across his clothes and through his hair. Shouto hovers over him, frozen for half a second before he’s moving forwards, hesitantly patting Izuku’s back as he chokes. Then Izuku sits up, and wipes his mouth. His eyes are burning a green as bright as the sun, and Shouto can barely look at him directly. He doesn’t care.

“You’re alive.” It’s all that Shouto says before he’s falling forwards, wrapping his arms around Izuku and pulling him into a tight embrace, ignoring the way Izuku huffs a sound that’s half a laugh and half a groan of pain. Shouto pulls back, and his eyes water at the light in Izuku’s eyes, and he doesn’t care. He surges forward and kisses him, and Izuku kisses him back. When Shouto pulls away, the light is still dancing in spots behind his eyelids, but Izuku’s eyes are back to their more normal, deep forest green.

He cracks a crooked smile. “Did you miss me?”

Shouto swears and holds Izuku’s face in his hands, and kisses his forehead, and his cheeks, and his nose, and his chin, and his lips. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Don’t you dare.”

Izuku laughs, breathless and hoarse. “I’ll do my best.” He reaches up, and runs a thumb under Shouto’s red-rimmed eyes. “I really scared you, didn’t I?”

Shouto huffs. “No shit.” Then the dam breaks, and he’s shaking so hard he thinks he’s going to fall apart, and Izuku pulls him into his arms and holds him tight, running his hands through his hair like his mother did when he was a child. Shouto ignores the tang of blood and burning and breathes in the smell of Izuku: sweaty and damp, but alive.

“Well, isn’t this touching. ”

There’s a crack, and a bang, and then a series of smaller explosions, followed by the sound of rubble falling to the floor. “Who pissed in your coffee, fuck face?”

Shouto coughs on a laugh and pulls back from Izuku to look across the room at Bakugou. The stone that had been gagging him is in pieces on the floor. With an effort, Shouto gets to his feet, and holds a hand out to Izuku. Izuku takes it.

“About time you two got off the fucking honeymoon.” Bakugou snarls, but there’s no real anger in it.

Izuku grins and elbows Shouto. “I think that means he cares.”

Bakugou flushes and spits a string of curses and Shouto laughs again. His throat is hoarse and his head aches and he doesn’t care. Then the walls ripple.

“Are you quite finished?” The claws around Bakugou’s body tighten, slicing into his flesh, and he grunts in pain as blood runs fast and thick over the stone. “ Don’t worry, little barbarian. I’ll deal with you in due course. Perhaps I’ll slice you to ribbons, like I did to your parents? They screamed so sweetly. I’m sure you enjoyed finding what was left of them.” Bakugou growls a curse, and the claws dig deeper into his flesh. Blood sprays from his wounds.

“As for you, little weapon.” Suddenly, Shouto can’t move. Izuku turns to look at him. Shouto tries to speak and can’t. “You’re a disappointment, to yourself and to me. To think I put a piece of myself inside a human child. I must have been mad.” The cave rumbles with the god’s laughter. “No matter. I can as easily take it back.”

Shouto is cold. It’s not the kind of cold that comes with storms, or deep water, or fear. It’s more like when all the blood has run from his extremities, and they’re numb and senseless. Something tugs, hard, at the base of his spine. It feels as if somebody is pulling the veins from his body. He screams. Orange light twists around him, bright and burning.

In his pain and his confusion, Shouto barely sees what happens next. A pillar of green-white light appears where Izuku had been standing moments before. The cave rumbles. Stalactites come crashing to the floor. There’s a ringing sound that turns into a high-pitched whine in Shouto’s ears. The cave wall, which stands easily at forty feet tall, suddenly bends inwards. Then something huge, made of sharp angles and stone, steps out of the wall and into the chamber. Izuku says something, and Shouto doesn’t hear what it is.

A slit of blinding light appears in the cave, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Shouto can’t look at it directly. It’s like a tear in reality. The great stone giant steps through it, and the green-white light follows. Then the slit disappears. Suddenly, whatever had been tugging Shouto’s soul – his magic - from his body stops. He falls to his hands and knees, breathless, and the base of his spine burns. He chokes and tries to breathe, chest heaving as he gulps in air and tries to ignore the blistering pain of his throat. When the world has stopped shaking and Shouto’s vision is no longer tinged with red, he tries to wipe the snot and sweat and tears away from his face.

At the side of the room, Bakugou lies on his side in a pool of his own blood, breathing shallow and uneven. Izuku is nowhere to be seen. Shouto sits up, and ignores the way his body screams when he does so. He looks around. The room is dark, and all the light from moments before is burning on the back of his eyelids. He blinks rapidly, squinting into the shadows. Then he lifts his arm. Fire flickers, slowly, from his elbow to his wrist. Shouto doesn’t give it a second thought.

He gets to his feet and stumbles. His legs feel as weak as a newborn calf’s. With his burning arm raised high, he trips across the room, feet sliding on the ice and uneven rock. Izuku isn’t there. Shouto tries to breathe. “Izuku?” He keeps walking until he reaches the other side of the cavern. He reaches out and touches it with his right hand. The rock is cool and dry beneath his sweating palm. “Izuku!”

Shouto turns around, and raises his voice. Fire billows around his arm. “IZUKU!” His voice cracks. The cave shivers and throws echoes back at him. But Izuku isn’t there. Slowly, staggering, Shouto makes his way back across the cave to Bakugou’s side. When he gets there, he falls to his knees, letting the fire around his arm die down to a dull ember. Bakugou blinks slowly up at him. His pupils are uneven.

“He’s gone.” Bakugou coughs, and blood touches his lips. “I’m sorry, two-tone. He’s gone.” Then Bakugou passes out.

Shouto kneels next to his body in the dark of the cave, and he stares at the long red lines of the wounds wrapping around his chest. He thinks, distantly, that he has no idea where they are. Then he begins to try and stop the bleeding.

Shouto has no idea how Kirishima finds them. He doesn’t know how much time passes, between the light and Izuku’s disappearance and Kirishima’s arrival. One minute, he’s slumped against the cave wall beside an unconscious Bakugou. Then Kirishima is breaking through the wall with his bare hands: hands that are covered in livid red scales. He has Uraraka and Jirou in tow with him, and together they carry Bakugou out of the mountain. Shouto is distantly aware of Jirou helping him to his feet, but he doesn’t hear what she says. He feels as if he’s underwater, and everything is happening somewhere else, far away.

When they exit the caves, in a different place to where they entered, the first thing that Shouto notices is that it’s night. The second thing is that the storm has stopped. It’s cold, still, but there’s no blizzard. He looks up. The clouds that had been staining the horizon are twisted, thick and grey around the mountain peak like algae in a pond. Occasionally, bright white flashes of light arc upwards from the earth. Thundering crashes rumble down the mountain, sending landslides and snow banks collapsing into the foothills.

Shouto stares. It looks like a thunderstorm, but in it, if he squints, he can make out two hulking humanoid shapes. They tower into the sky, one made of burning light, the other of twisted shadow, throwing fire and blows at one another with movements made slow by their size and force. Shouto swallows. “Izuku is up there.” It’s not a question, and his voice is quiet. Jirou squeezes his shoulder.

“Yeah, we think so.”

Shouto doesn’t make a conscious decision to start moving. It just happens. One moment he’s standing with the others, and then he’s marching forwards, further up the mountain. Uraraka catches him, and he stares at her and doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are bright, and the wind pulls her hair across her cheeks. “We have to trust him, Shouto. There’s nothing we can do now.”

Something that sounds like thunder claps into the air, and all of them jump. Shouto stares up at the mountain peak. The white figure is so bright that it almost looks like an absence, as if someone has cut a piece of the universe away to reveal the shape in negative. It staggers, and the shadow looms over it, and then the clouds wrap around them again, obscuring the battle.

Kirishima is standing with Bakugou cradled in his arms, and he watches the battle on the mountain peak nervously. “It’s not safe to be this close. We should leave.” As he says the words, he very gently hands Bakugou to Uraraka, dropping a kiss onto his head almost absentmindedly. Bakugou doesn’t move, and Uraraka barely shifts under his weight, using her affinity and holding him down instead of lifting him up. Kirishima stares at Bakugou for a moment, and his expression is pinched with worry. “I’ll give you a lift.”

Kirishima starts to transform. Shouto is still staring up the mountain. He thinks that this is the kind of thing people write songs about. Gods battling on mountain peaks in the middle of the night under a new moon.

He thinks he doesn’t care about that as long as Izuku comes back to him. The clouds around the mountain peak shift and pulse as if they’re a living thing, tearing open to reveal white arcs of lightning and shockwaves of green mist. Red fire runs like blood down the stone around the mountain peak. The rock splinters and cracks. The fight is loud, louder than Shouto thought it could be, even this far down.

Kirishima shrugs into his other skin as easily as breathing, red scales rippling like water over his shoulders as wings and a tail sprout from his spine. Uraraka carefully sets Bakugou between the ridges on his back and drifts up Kirishima’s shoulder to hold him there. Shouto doesn’t move. Around them, above the cave, the snow is untouched by any living thing. It’s as frozen and pristine as the surface of the moon. He can smell smoke and the metal tang of ozone in the air.

Jirou puts a hand on his shoulder and says something. When he doesn’t reply, she shakes him lightly and raises her voice. Shouto looks at her. She seems calm. Sad, but calm. “Shouto, there’s nothing we can do now.” She cracks a smile that reveals the pointed tip of a canine. “Izuku will kill me if I let you become collateral damage.” Shouto doesn’t say anything. Jirou’s smile falters a little, and she puts her other hand on Shouto’s other shoulder and shakes him again, still gently. “Shouto. Look at me. Listen to me. Do you trust Midoriya Izuku?”

“Yes.” Shouto doesn’t need to think about it. Jirou smiles. Besides them on the mountain, Kirishima makes a low growl, and paws the snow with his great clawed feet.

“Ok, then trust him. He’s got this.”

Shouto nods, and Jirou’s smile widens, and when she pulls him towards Kirishima, he doesn’t resist her. Jirou clambers up Kirishima’s leg and shoulder and onto his back. Shouto follows her, finding easy purchase on Kirishima’s scales. His body is warm, and softer than Shouto had thought it would be. He’s barely settled between the ridged spines on Kirishima’s back before the dragon leaps into the air, spreading his wings wide with a snap of leather.

Shouto clutches Kirishima’s spine on instinct as he dives, keeping low and close to the mountain. In front of him, Jirou wraps her arms around Uraraka’s waist. The night is dark, and this high up Shouto can’t see Bakugou’s cottage. Instead he turns and cranes his neck to look back up the mountain. The wind whips at his clothes and brings water to his eyes. Kirishima drops and his stomach falls with him, but Shouto keeps looking: back up the mountain at the impossible leviathans as they fight well into the night. Light cracks upward into the sky like lightning thrown backwards. The clouds rush and spread like waves on a beach. Above them, the new moon glimmers, thin and indifferent.

When Kirishima lands with a thump onto the earth beside Bakugou’s cottage, Shouto is shivering. Jirou stares at him, openly concerned, but Shouto waves off her worries. He can’t help but feel, with a pang of guilt, that in terms of physical wounds he got off easiest. Uraraka carefully lifts Bakugou from Kirishima’s back; he’s still unconscious, and as soon as the balls of her feet touch the ground, Kirishima shapeshifts in a ripple of sinew. Kirishima doesn’t say anything, he just takes Bakugou out of Uraraka’s arms, holding him close as he marches towards the cottage.

Uraraka follows Kirishima inside. Tsuyu smiles when she sees them, though her smile falls when she sees Bakugou’s wounds. They set Bakugou’s unconscious body down next to Momo’s. Shouto moves to her side as if in a dream, pushing back her hair from her forehead, which is pale and damp with sweat. Her arm has been bandaged and dressed, but it’s still jarring to look at her shoulder and not see the rest of the limb. Shouto bites the inside of his cheek and doesn’t make much of an effort to fight the self-recriminations that rise in him like a tide.

Whilst Uraraka carefully peels off Bakugou’s shirt and sets about dressing his wounds, Jirou grabs another chair from by the kitchen table, and sets it down next to the one into which Shouto has fallen. Then she heats up some water, dumping a spoonful of Bakugou’s tea into it. A few minutes later, she presses a warm mug of something sweet and spicy into Shouto’s hands. Shouto wraps his fingers around it and doesn’t drink. Momo’s lips are bloodless and pale. She barely moves.

Jirou sits down beside him and sighs. “Yeah. ‘Chako says the blood loss and the shock were the real dangers. She also says she’s gonna be ok, but I know it doesn’t look that way right now. Hopefully she’ll look a little better by morning.” Jirou leans forward, pulling up the patchwork blanket over Momo’s body and pressing it beneath her good shoulder. She looks at Shouto, and then away. Kirishima is kneeling beside Bakugou, holding his hand, whilst Tsuyu helps Uraraka clean and sew his wounds shut.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Jirou says, quietly. Shouto says nothing. Outside, he can hear the distant sounds of thunder, and he knows there is no storm.

An hour later, Uraraka finishes her surgery, carefully wiping Bakugou’s body clean with a cloth and drying him off before touching Kirishima’s shoulder. “Just be careful not to jostle him too much, alright?” Kirishima nods and thanks her, fervently. He’s still on the floor by Bakugou’s side, and he makes no move to change that. Uraraka smiles at him, yawns, and pats his head. Kirishima offers her a small, distracted smile.

Uraraka pulls a blanket up over Bakugou’s body and moves to the fire. Her feet touch the ground fully, and she limps a little. Tsuyu moves beside her without a word, and Uraraka puts an arm around her shoulders, leaning on her as she does so. Uraraka stokes the fire, and Tsuyu pulls up a chair for her to sit in. A few minutes after Uraraka has sat down, she falls asleep.

Tsuyu smiles at her, and pushes her hair out of her face, and presses a quick kiss to her temple. Then she sits on the floor, cross-legged beside her. “Don’t worry Kirishima. I’ll hold the line.”

Kirishima grins at her, and his smile is a little too wide and too bright to be honest. “No need. I’ll be awake anyway.” Tsuyu nods. When Kirishima falls asleep half an hour later, cheek pressed into the side of the mattress, she doesn’t look surprised.

Shouto watches them, and tries very hard to think of nothing at all. He and Jirou sit by Momo’s bedside until morning. At one point, Jirou falls asleep in her chair. Shouto doesn’t try to wake her. He sips his tea; it’s rich with cinnamon and honey. He watches the fire die down to bloody embers, and then he watches Tsuyu fall asleep too, hours after the rest of them. He listens to the thunder. His hands shake a little around his mug, but he holds it long after he’s finished his drink.

He drifts in and out of awareness. At times, his mind is loud with memories: his father, and his mother, and his own hand, burning. At others, it’s quiet, and he’s barely aware of his body at all. He feels as if he’s floating, and looking down at his companions from above. At Momo, hair clinging to her neck, too still in her slumber. At Bakugou, still ashen from his wounds. At Uraraka, exhausted and slumped in her chair by the fire. Shouto watches over them, and listens to the thunder, and waits for the dawn.

Shouto doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes with a start to the sound of birdsong. It’s early still: early enough that the light filtering through the cracks in Bakugou’s wooden shutters is grey and pale. It falls over the wooden counters of his kitchen like a ghost. Shouto stares around the room: the fire has almost gone out, but everyone else is still asleep. Uraraka is snoring lightly in her chair, and Tsuyu’s head is in her lap, long black hair splayed over her ample thighs. Kirishima is drooling on the mattress next to Bakugou’s shoulder, and he still has Bakugou’s hand held limply in his.

Jirou is making a low whistling sound in her sleep that Shouto is ready to tease her for when he feels less like he’s going to die. Both Momo and Bakugou look better: not well, exactly, but there’s colour in their cheeks again, and their breathing is deeper and more even. Shouto reaches out to touch Momo’s forearm, and she’s warm under his fingertips. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and squeezes her hand.

Then he gets up and goes outside. He can’t hear thunder any more.

The morning is cold and damp. The snow is wet, a little melted in the early morning. The forest shivers in a light breeze. Birds flit from branch to branch in the grey light of a day just before sunrise. The morning smells of wet wood, and snow, and smoke. Shouto takes a deep breath, folding his arms across his chest, and walks away from Bakugou’s cottage. When he’s far enough, he turns to look back up the mountain. The sky above it is clear. There is no storm.

Shouto swallows, and shivers, and wraps his arms more tightly around himself. He tries pulling a little heat from his bones, but his magic aches and he lets it go. His teeth start to chatter. He can’t make out evidence of their trek the day before from this distance; it’s hard to believe it’s only been twenty-four hours. He can’t even find the caves, they’re too high up to see from the ground.

Shouto doesn’t see the sun rising. He’s facing the wrong way, looking up at the broad shoulder of the mountain as the snow turns to white fire in the rising light. Sunshine creeps over the dark rocks that break the powder slowly, staining the ice with gold and copper. To the side of the mountain, the sky is bright blue and clear. Geese fly in formation to the next valley. Shouto stops noticing the cold.

“Hey, stranger. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

Shouto stiffens so sharply that it pulls something in his neck, and he swears as he turns and sees Midoriya Izuku standing before him, just beyond the treeline, backlit by the rising sun. Izuku looks tired. His hair is a mess, and his clothes are rumpled and torn. Shouto couldn’t care less.

One moment he’s standing, frozen, with his back to the cottage and the mountain. Then he’s throwing his arms around Izuku’s body, and pressing his face into the warmth of his neck, and shutting his eyes and holding him tight and running his hands through his hair because he’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

Izuku laughs, standing stiff and tilted back for a moment like a blade of grass. Then his arms are coming up and wrapping around Shouto, holding him just as tightly, and Izuku is kissing his neck, and his cheek, and his ear, and his temple. In the dawn light, birds sing a chorus to the sky.

Izuku holds Shouto, and kisses him, and murmurs between kisses quiet, easy reassurances. “It’s ok. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m alive. It’s ok. Shouto, it’s alright.” Izuku’s skin prickles where Shouto touches it, as if it’s charged with static from the storm. Shouto doesn’t move away. He breathes: Izuku smells of sweat, and dirt, and blood, and snow. He kisses Izuku’s cheek, and it’s salty with dried tears. Izuku’s hair is heavy and greasy under his fingers. When Shouto feels less like his heart is going to pull him skyward, he pulls back by a fraction of an inch and looks into Izuku’s eyes.

His eyes are the green of a forest. They are not just dark. They are flecked with lighter greens, and golds, and a little grey. His eyelashes are thick and long, his jawline is strong and sharp. His skin is dark, and has far too many freckles. His lips are pink, and chapped, and full. Shouto takes a deep breath, and holds Izuku’s face in his hands. His index fingers reach up into his curls, and his thumbs brush the line of his jaw.

“Don’t leave me again.”

Izuku smiles a little, and lifts one scarred, calloused palm to press Shouto’s hand to his cheek. The other he wraps loosely around Shouto’s wrist. He kisses the heel of Shouto’s palm, and looks down, and the morning light dances gold over his eyelashes. Then he meets Shouto’s eyes, and takes a deep breath. “No. Never.”

Shouto kisses him, deeply.

Izuku laughs against his mouth, but moves his hands to push them into Shouto’s hair and pull him closer, as if they could somehow fall into one another. Their foreheads touch, and their noses knock, and Izuku’s breath is hot against Shouto’s chin. Shouto shuts his eyes, and the ground falls away, with the forest, and the mountains, and the cottage.

And then all that’s left is sunlight, and warmth, and Izuku.

Three days later, Kirishima shapeshifts in midair as he lands outside the cottage, coming to a running stop whilst his wide red wings fold back into his spine. Izuku, carrying his body weight in firewood, cranes his neck around the stack in his hands and smiles. “Hey Kiri! How was your watch?”

Shouto tuts as he gets up from where he’d been sitting with Momo and Jirou, taking half the stack away from Izuku with a quiet, “let me”. All he receives in return from Izuku is a roll of his eyes. On the porch, sitting at the foot of Momo’s chair, Jirou snorts. In her chair, wrapped in a thick blanket and still a little pale, Momo smiles.

“Not awesome, actually.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Hey Kiri, nice to see you back!” Uraraka and Tsuyu are walking back together from the direction of the river. A wicker basket heavy with silver fish floats in the air between them. Tsuyu hops instead of standing straight, and Uraraka’s feet barely touch the earth. Kirishima throws them a quick smile full of sharp teeth.

“Hey! Looks like you were successful.” He leans over and snags a fish, barbecuing it with a blast of flame from his open palm before chucking it into his mouth. Jirou raises an eyebrow at him.

“I can’t decide whether I’m impressed or appalled.”

Uraraka rubs the back of her neck and laughs, a light blush grazing her full cheeks as she replies to Kirishima. “Well, it was Tsuyu’s doing mostly. Turns out being a naiad has some pretty cool perks when it comes to catching fish.”

Tsuyu bares her transparent, needle sharp teeth. Her scales glitter silver in the afternoon light. Shouto and Izuku come back outside after depositing their firewood inside the cottage itself. Shouto puts his arm around Izuku’s shoulders. Izuku leans into him with a sigh, brushing his palms on his already dirty pants. “So what’s the problem Kiri?”

The smile falls from Kirishima’s face, and he jumps up the steps of the veranda two at a time. “Hang on. Katsuki needs to hear this.” Exchanging a series of worried looks, the rest of them follow him inside. On her way past Momo and Jirou, Uraraka taps Momo’s chair. The chair, and Momo inside it, lift an inch or so off the ground. Both Momo and Jirou throw her a grateful smile, and Uraraka’s cheeks dimple.

“Don’t mention it.” She walks inside as Jirou gets to her feet, carefully pushing Momo’s chair in front of her and leaning down to press a kiss to Momo’s temple .

“That’s funny, I could have sworn we didn’t.” Momo laughs, quietly, and holds the armrest of the chair tightly with her good arm to stop herself from swaying. Izuku shuts the door behind them. Inside the cottage, the fire is roaring, and a large pot of stew is simmering above it. The smell of fish and spices fills the air, tinged with smoke.

In his bed, Bakugou is sitting up and scowling at a pile of clothes that he’s attempting to sew back together. When they come back inside, he scoffs. “Oh, so the merry band of fucking idiots returns, do they? Don’t mind me, make yourselves at fucking home, it’s not like you’ve outstayed your fucking welcome or anything.” Bakugou’s voice is a little quieter than usual, and he doesn’t look at them. His hands shake around the fabric he’s holding.

Kirishima doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes the objects out of his hands and presses a quick kiss to the top of Bakugou’s head. “Sorry for taking so long.”

Bakugou scowls. “It’s fine. It’s not like I was fucking worried.”

Uraraka comes to Bakugou’s bedside next, a worn mug of hot tea pressed between her hands. Bakugou takes it with a muttered word of thanks and she smiles at him. “How are you feeling today?”

Bakugou looks up, past her shoulders at the crowd standing by his bed and in his kitchen. “Not that I don’t love the daily interrogation, moon face, but could we save this for later?”

Uraraka’s smile softens, and she touches his bandaged shoulder, ignoring the way he bristles when she does so. “Yeah, sure.”

“What did you have to tell us, Kirishima? It sounded urgent.” Shouto’s voice is low, and his expression is impassive as he leans against one the kitchen counters by the door. Kirishima laughs: a quick, high thing, and Bakugou’s eyes narrow.

“Eijirou. What happened.” It’s not a question.

Kirishima looks up, and meets Bakugou’s eyes. He swallows. “There’s an army on its way towards us.”

Several things happen at once. Momo and Shouto meet one another’s eyes as they swear, fervently. Jirou blinks and raises an eyebrow, and then she swears too. Uraraka lifts a hand to her mouth. Izuku grimaces and says, “oh dear.”

On his bed, Bakugou hunches forward with a snarl. “There’s a WHAT? ”

Kirishima comes to his bedside. His hands flutter like nervous birds, moving from his own arms to his neck to his head and over his thighs. “An army. I think it’s from Kasai. As far as I can tell it hasn’t hit the forest yet, but it’s nearly reached Silvia.”

Bakugou squints, and he grabs Kirishima’s hand before he can use it to circumnavigate his body again. “And how did you notice something that far off if you were following our normal patrol route?”

Kirishima lifts one broad shoulder in a shrug. “I mean - I have really good eyesight. I noticed a great big black smudge moving on the horizon, so I figured I’d, um, investigate.” Kirishima averts his eyes. Bakugou scowls.

“I knew it. You left the patrol route. Eijirou you know why we keep that route.”

“Yeah, but Izuku did…whatever the hell it was he did, and we don’t need to worry about the god any more!”

“No. But what do you think those fucking humans will do to you if they see a fucking dragon? They’re fucking barbarians, mindless greedy fucking parasites, Eijirou, you know better.” For all that Bakugou raises his voice, he doesn’t let go of Kirishima’s hand, and Kirishima makes no effort to pull away.

At the table next to Momo, Jirou clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Aren’t you a, uh, ‘fucking human’, Bakugou?”

Momo frowns. “Kyouka.”

Bakugou glares at Jirou. Shouto takes a sip of the tea Izuku had given to him whilst they’d been talking, and murmurs, “your funeral.” Jirou flips him off, and he smirks.

“Ok, ok.” Kirishima raises his hand, and runs it through his shock of red hair, beside the curve of one of his horns. “Fun as prodding the injured bear is, it’s also a little cruel and we have bigger problems to deal with. Like the army from Kasai on the horizon.”

Over the fire, the pot of fish stew bubbles, spilling steam into the air. Tsuyu pokes at the logs with an iron stick, and peers into the pot itself. Outside, far off, there’s the tell tale crack and creak of a tree falling. Izuku takes a deep breath. “Yeah, about that…”

Bakugou clenches his jaw. “Do me a favour, freckles, and tell me that you didn’t know about this fucking army already because if you fucking did and you just so happened to fucking forget to fucking mention it then so help me by the power of every god I can name I will squeeze the life out of you with my bare hands, internal bleeding be damned.”

Izuku shuts his mouth and looks at Shouto. Shouto sighs. “I can freeze him solid, if that helps?” Izuku gives him a look of open betrayal whilst Jirou snorts into her tea. Momo rolls her eyes and mouths ‘childish’ in Shouto’s direction. Shouto smiles at her.

“So, you don’t seem to be taking this impending army threat very seriously.” Kirishima’s voice is still a little high, and Bakugou is sitting ramrod straight and stiff in his bed. Uraraka drifts across the kitchen floor to Tsuyu, and puts a hand almost absently on her shoulder. Tsuyu lifts a clawed hand to hold Uraraka’s.

“Well, Shouto’s the prince of Kasai, so I’m pretty sure he can just ask them to stand down? Right?” Uraraka looks at Shouto as she speaks.

The tea in Shouto’s mug freezes so fast that the ceramic cracks.

Momo’s voice breaks the quiet, and she speaks more loudly and more steadily than she has all morning. “I’m sorry, what?” Her voice is cold. Jirou blinks, looking between her and Uraraka. Uraraka stares at Shouto, brown eyes wide.

“Oh, I’m, I didn’t mean…” She frowns, and she lifts her hands in a helpless kind of shrug. “I thought it was obvious? Wasn’t it?”

Jirou’s mouth twists in a rueful smile, and she drains the rest of her tea, setting down her mug as if it had held hard liquor. “Well, not to me. Deku?” Izuku turns a very bright shade of red. Jirou raises both eyebrows. “Wow. Just me then. Ok. Well, way to make a woman feel like she isn’t one of the cool kids, guys. Seriously. I’m wounded.”

“You’re not alone, Jirou. I had no idea.” Kirishima interjects before Momo can say anything else. Shouto carefully sets down the block of ice that is his mug and slips his shaking hands into his pockets. Next to him, Izuku presses a hand into his pocket too, winding their fingers together and squeezing his hand. Kirishima continues. “I’m guessing Katsuki didn’t either, right?”

Bakugou sighs, a weary thing that brings creases into the bandages stretched over his shoulders and chest. “No. I had…an idea. Though I haven’t really had the fucking time to wonder what that meant about whether two-face over there was who he said he was.”

“Can people…learn to speak like you? Is it some kind of art? I’m asking for a friend.” Momo elbows Jirou, but she doesn’t succeed in smothering her smile. Jirou grins at her, then leans back to kiss her cheek. Bakugou splutters, red faced on his bed. Kirishima sets a hand on his shoulder that looks gentle. The muscles and tendons in his arm stand out against his dark skin.

“Shouto.” It’s Izuku who speaks this time, softly. Shouto looks at him. “No one is asking you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Izuku takes a deep breath, and squeezes Shouto’s hand. “That said, it would be foolish for us to ignore this option. If you’re not comfortable, then that’s ok, we’ll figure something out. But, could you…”

Shouto shakes his head, and Izuku catches his expression as it falls, turning it into a soft smile. Shouto smiles back at him. “No, it’s alright. I can do it.”

“I’ll go with you.” Momo’s voice carries across the room, the way her family’s voices have carried through throne rooms for centuries. She grins, and it’s wide and brash and beautiful. “We got into this mess together. Might as well get out of it the same way.”

Momo’s new arm is beautiful. It’s made of oak and runs in smooth, honey gold lines from her shoulder to her new, wooden, articulated hand. She and Jirou had stayed up most of the night planning it, and she’d made the thing itself at dawn, saying her magic was strongest then. The fingers of her new hand are slender and strong, slipping into supple dips that almost imitate flesh. On Bakugou’s kitchen table, an intricate cage of steel twisting with vines and leaves lies open and unhinged.

Jirou sits in front of Momo. Their knees are touching. Kirishima and Bakugou are asleep in their bed, as are Tsuyu and Ochako, on a pile of blankets by the fire. Shouto and Midoriya are still in the attic, and haven’t made a sound since midnight. Outside, the morning light is orange with the sunrise. The snow is melting, and ice water runs in little rivers over the earth. Birds sing to greet the new day.

Jirou carefully covers the rough cloth in her hand with beeswax. Kirishima had dug out the jar for her the night before when she’d mentioned how well kept the furniture was in Bakugou’s cottage. It smells nutty, and sweet. Momo sets the elbow of her wooden arm on the table with a soft thump. Her fine, proud features stiffen as she tries to mask a wince of pain. Jirou reaches out and touches her knee.

Momo meets her eyes and Jirou smiles, resting the cloth in her lap. “Hey.” Her voice is quiet and soft. “Are you alright?”

Momo lifts her chin and looks outside. The light of the day plays across her face, dancing in the reflection of her dark eyes. She looks back at Jirou and smiles. It’s a smile that’s pretty, and easy, and polite. “I’m fine. Are you? You must be exhausted.”

Jirou huffs. “Don’t give me that, princess.” She shuffles closer, slipping her thigh between Momo’s legs. Momo’s chest lifts and falls in a quick breath. Jirou bites her lip and drags her gaze away from the base of Momo’s throat. “I know when you’re lying to me.”

Momo shifts in her seat, but she makes no move to pull away. “I know you think you do.”

Jirou grins, and presses a quick kiss to the base of her jaw, and tries to memorise the faint hitch of Momo’s breath as she does so. “Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect.” She pulls back a little to meet Momo’s eyes. “Does it hurt?” She glances at the point where Momo’s arm is attached to her shoulder, with a leather brace and no small amount of magic. Momo shrugs with her good shoulder.

“It doesn’t hurt more than I thought it would.”

Jirou grits her teeth, and forces a soft laugh. Momo tenses. “What?”

Jirou pushes her hand through her hair. It’s a little heavy with grease. She really needs to bathe. “Just you rich people and your ways of trying to pretend that you’re not human. It’s ok if it hurts, Mo. You can tell me. I’m not going to…fuck. I’m not going to judge you, or anything like that. You know that, right?”

Momo’s hand slips over Jirou’s, in her lap. Her fingers are cool, and her hand is bigger than Jirou’s, calloused with years of swordsmanship. She laces their fingers together and purses her lips. Her eyelashes flutter, and she looks down at the floor and then back up into Jirou’s face. “I know, Kyouka.” She sighs, and her mouth tilts upward at the corner, and she looks back out of the window. She lets go of Jirou, moving to touch her shoulder where the leather holds her new arm. She hesitates at the last second, dropping her hand into her lap.

Jirou takes her hand. Momo’s smile is still small, but it’s a little fuller when she looks at her. “It’s just hard, that’s all.” She looks down, and her hair falls forward, slipping over her shoulder. “I’m used to being the strong one.”

Jirou leans forward, and waits until Momo looks up and meets her eyes. “That hasn’t changed, Yaoyorozu. You are still the strongest person I’ve ever met.” A faint pink blush grazes Momo’s cheeks, and she glances away, her eyelashes sketching shadows over her skin. Jirou grins at her. “Feeling pain, getting hurt: those things don’t make you weak. And neither does taking time to heal. Doing what you need to do is one of the bravest things you can do. So, if it’s too soon…” She trails off, nodding at the arm.

Momo takes a deep breath. She looks outside. She sits up, straightening her broad shoulders. She flexes her wooden arm, turning it and flexing its wooden fingers. They don’t make a sound: she and Jirou had oiled the joints themselves. Jirou looks at Momo. She’s wearing a loose cotton shirt with split sleeves. They’ve unbuttoned her left so the fabric falls along her side like a white curtain. It’s more casual than Jirou is used to, and it exposes the strong line of Momo’s collarbone and her long, slender neck. It’s not a bad look.

“I’m ready.”

Jirou smiles, and leans forward, and kisses her. Momo tastes like sweat, and cinnamon and sweet tea. Jirou thinks she could drown in the way she feels and she wouldn’t care. Then Momo speaks softly against her lips, smiling. “Not that I don’t love this, but shouldn’t we finish what we started before we get distracted?”

Jirou bites her bottom lip, gently, and Momo’s breath hitches. She slips her free hand up to sink into Momo’s long, silky hair, brushing over the shell of her ear and slipping down to rest on the nape of her neck. She dips into Momo’s warmth like an explorer looking for land, and pulls back to knock their noses together and press another kiss to the corner of Momo’s mouth. She lets her hand trail down the side of Momo’s neck, brushing her thumb over Momo’s collarbone before pulling away. Momo is pink, and her eyes are wide and dark. Her lips are wet and parted. Jirou runs her thumb along her own bottom lip. “Right. No distractions. Got it.” She cocks a two-fingered salute. “Your wish, my command. All that.”

Momo rolls her eyes, and punches her lightly with her good arm. Jirou laughs, gently punching her back. Momo snorts. “You have a terrible bedside manner.”

“No, I just have uppity patients.” Jirou ducks as Momo’s hand comes swinging at her again. “See?”

Momo sighs, and carefully sets her arm on the table. The wood shifts along its length to move a little against her shoulder. Her flinch comes and goes as fast as lightning. “A bad doctor blames her patients.”

Jirou smirks and sits forward, carefully taking Momo’s wooden hand in hers. The fingers are almost like the ones she used to have. They’re soft and elegant and smooth already. But they’re cool, not warm, and they don’t give beneath her touch. Jirou runs her thumb over Momo’s wooden palm: it’s wrinkled as if it’s made of flesh and bone. Momo’s magic continues to be something out of a storybook to her. Carefully, Jirou wraps the little finger of Momo’s wooden hand with the cloth, and runs wax along its length, rubbing it in with slow circles.

Momo breathes out, long and slow, and Jirou pauses, glancing up at her. “Everything ok?”

Momo nods. She’s shut her eyes. “Y-yeah. It…feels nice.”

Jirou frowns, moving on to the next finger. “You can feel this?” Her thumbs move in slow circles, slipping around the smooth curves of the wood.

Momo tilts her head to the side. Her eyelids flutter. “After a fashion. It’s like…a pull. Maybe it’s just my imagination.”

Jirou moves on to the next finger, holding the back of Momo’s hand loosely in hers. Her hair falls across her face as she works. At the side of the room, Ochako and Tsuyu snore by the embers of the fire. “Well, if it’s a good thing, I say go with it. Reality is overrated anyway.” She finishes with Momo’s fingers, and moves onto her palm, spreading out her fingers to rub the wax in with slow, smooth circles. The smell of it is thick in the air between them.

Jirou dips the cloth back in the pot of beeswax: it’s smooth and gives under her fingers, leaving a slick trail of white cream over the cloth. Jirou swallows, and moves to Momo’s wrist, lightly lifting it from the table to wrap her fingers around it. She looks up, and sees Momo watching her. Jirou bites her lip, and runs the wax up and down Momo’s forearm, over the curve of it just before her elbow.

She gets more wax, and moves to Momo’s upper arm, pausing to grin. “Wait. You gave yourself biceps?”

Momo arches an eyebrow at her, and flexes her right arm. Jirou’s hand stills as she briefly forgets how to breathe. “I have biceps.” Momo grins at her, then relaxes, and looks over at the fire. Tsuyu and Ochako are half on top of each other, with Tsuyu curled around the sweeping curve of Ochako’s shoulders, long limbs splayed over her body. Momo blushes a little. “I didn’t want to be…lopsided.” Her flush gets deeper.

Jirou makes a show of squinting at the curve of Momo’s upper arm as she runs her cloth over it, rubbing wax into the wood. “Hmmm. Well, I’m still not sure it’s quite even. Maybe you were thinking of someone else?” She passes the cloth from her left to her right hand, flexing her own muscles and cocking an eyebrow at Momo. Momo laughs. Her teeth are almost all even, except for a chip in her left canine. It’s Jirou’s favourite.

“You wish, blacksmith.”

Jirou scowls, but she doesn’t stop rubbing wax into Momo’s new arm. “Yeah yeah, you’re just jealous that mine are bigger than yours.”

Momo grins, and hums, and nods. The morning light dances through her hair like sun on a raven’s wings. “That must be it.”

Jirou reaches the top of Momo’s arm, and gently pulls it away from her body to run the cloth along the underside of the wood. Momo shivers, and Jirou drops a kiss onto her shoulder, an inch or so away from where the leather keeps her new arm attached to her body. “Ok, all done. You happy?” Jirou moves to press another kiss to the soft skin of Momo’s cheek before pulling back to let her look at her arm.

It’s dark and damp and smells sweetly of the wax. Momo turns her hand over, and flexes her new wooden fingers. She takes a deep breath. In the bed, Kirishima is curled around Bakugou and flushed red with scales as he snores. Bakugou, for once, is still and quiet. Their blankets are twisted around their hips.

Momo smiles at Jirou. “Yes, thank you, Kyouka.”

Jirou shrugs and ducks her head. “Yeah, no biggie.” She picks up the steel cage. It’s split into three sections, and slips over Momo’s hand and up her arm like a sleeve. The first and smallest section is like a fingerless glove, which curves against the wood of Momo’s palm. The second section loops upwards in a parabola, perfectly matching the line of Momo’s forearm. Jirou presses the cage together, fastening it with a soft click. The final section fits around Momo’s upper arm, just touching the lip of leather near Momo’s shoulder. Jirou presses it shut.

Momo’s arm is beautiful. Wrapped by a steel cage decorated with such detail it looks almost alive, the wood of the arm beneath it is dark and whorled. Momo flexes her fingers. The light of the morning glitters over the metal, making it look like liquid silver. Momo hesitates, and then, slowly, she lifts her hand to touch Jirou’s face. The metal is cool against Jirou’s cheek, and the fingers are stiff. Jirou leans into the touch, and shuts her eyes. Momo’s hand moves carefully over the top of Jirou’s ear. Jirou’s hair catches in the metal and slips free. Momo runs her new fingertips down the line of Jirou’s neck, and then her shoulder.

Jirou opens her eyes, lungs full of the smell of beeswax and steel. Momo reaches up, and cups her face between her hands: one warm and soft and calloused, the other cool and hard and smooth as silk. Momo’s gaze is rich and gentle with everything she isn’t saying. Jirou grins at her, and reaches up to rest her hand lightly over Momo’s new wrist, pressing her hand to her cheek.

“So, about that distraction you spoke of…?”

Momo laughs, and kisses her.

It’s a cold morning when Shouto makes his way down to the river. There’s a light mist in the air that kisses damp over his skin. He’s not wearing much more than a shirt, pants and boots. The air turns to steam around him as he pulls a little fire from deep within himself. In his hand, he has an earthen pot: it tingles with the enchantment Ochako has cast on it.

He’s by himself. As he gets closer to the river, Shouto can hear the sound of running water singing softly in the dawn. Birds jump from the trees as he passes them, picking his way down a narrow, muddy track lined with brown grass, suffocated by the snow. Overhead, the sky is a bright blue-grey.

There’s someone at the river when he gets there. Shouto slows until he’s almost stopped as he approaches, conscious that he hasn’t been noticed yet. Izuku is humming to himself as he bathes, working his hands through his thick curls and wrinkling his nose when soap bubbles drip into his eyes. His pack and his clothes are set neatly in a pile on the riverbank.

Shouto hesitates by the bare, dark trees. Izuku’s skin is dark and laced with scars that run from pink to white. Some are long and narrow, lashing around his chest. Others bloom in flowers of discolouration across his back. Freckles crowd around his shoulders and fall down his upper arms like seeds waiting to grow. Shouto touches the tree closest to him: its bark is damp and rough. He takes a deep breath.

Izuku turns and sees him. He grins. “What took you so long?”

Shouto shakes his head, smiles at his feet and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

He joins Izuku in the river, stripping off his pants and shirt with quick, easy movements and stepping into the cold water. Goosebumps race over his skin, and on instinct Shouto warms the water around them. Izuku shudders, but then he frowns. “Is that any good for this river, Shouto?”

Shouto shrugs, resisting the urge to curl in on his own scarred body. “It’s good for me.”

Izuku snorts, and turns to the riverbank, bending to reach for Uraraka’s pot. Shouto watches the curve of his dark, tanned back and the way his shoulders move. “Yeah, well, you’re not the one who has to explain to Mizushima why the sprites are annoyed again.” Izuku mutters this comment mostly to himself, but Shouto lets the water grow cold again anyway. Something tugs on the back of his mind, on the edge of his magical awareness. It feels like approval.

He turns around, but if there had been a sprite there, he can’t see them now. Izuku laughs again, watching him look. “You’re not going to find a sprite in their river if they don’t want you to.” The ‘obviously’ is left unsaid, because Izuku’s polite like that. Shouto shrugs off his embarrassment and tries not to shiver.

“I can’t say I like the idea of an audience.”

Izuku huffs, and tosses his head. It does nothing to dislodge the wet curls clinging to his face. “I’d tell you if we had one. Are you ready?” He lifts his hand: the green-grey soap Ochako had enchanted for Shouto is thick and creamy on Izuku’s fingers. Shouto glances at it, and his stomach flips. He tugs at his dyed black hair. He hesitates. Izuku lowers his hand and steps closer to him. The water ripples around their thighs.

“It’s never too late to say no. You know that, right?” Izuku’s voice is soft and earnest. Shouto looks into the forest: it’s dark and deep and quiet. He runs a hand up over his scar and through his hair.

“A little hypocritical don’t you think, All Might?”

Something like sunlight glitters in Izuku’s eyes, and he raises an eyebrow. “Don’t try and change the subject, Shouto. Do you want to do this or not?”

Shouto takes a deep breath. Nausea rises in his chest like a tide and falls again. He curls his hands into his fists, and then relaxes them as he breathes out. “I do.”

Izuku smiles and steps forward, touching Shouto’s arm with his free hand. He presses a kiss to his cheek. “Ok.” He looks up at Shouto’s hair and frowns. “First, you’re going to need to get your hair wet.” Shouto nods, and crouches, ducking his head under the water. It’s shockingly cold, cold enough to make him catch his breath in his chest. The riverbed is sandy between his toes. He stands, and Izuku snorts softly, reaching forward to push his hair out of his eyes.

Izuku reaches up with the soap, and frowns halfway there, noting the difference in their height. “Could you…?” He doesn’t need to finish the question. Shouto folds, getting to his knees in the river before him and ducking his head. He rests his hands on his thighs. The water laps at his chest. Izuku catches his breath, then wades through the water until he’s standing behind Shouto. Slowly, he starts to work the soap into Shouto’s hair, massaging small circles across his scalp. Shouto shuts his eyes, and focuses on the feeling of Izuku’s fingers and the stringent smell of herbs. Ochako’s enchantment tingles as it dances across his head.

Shouto doesn’t know how much time passes, but after a while, Izuku sighs and says, “Ok. Rinse it off.” Shouto keeps his eyes shut, and takes a deep breath, and plunges his head beneath the water. He reaches up and works his fingers through his hair, feeling the soap and dye slip free to be carried away by the gentle current. When he’s almost out of breath, he comes back up for air. By now, the cold of the water has made the air feel warm. He pushes his damp hair out of his eyes, and runs his hands over his face, tracing the rough, puckered skin of his scar.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to find the courage to open his eyes. When he does, he stares at his reflection in the river water as it shivers. Water drops fall from his hair onto his shoulders. The man staring back at him is a person he barely recognises. Dark red and white hair clings to his cheeks and neck, heavy with the water and a little long, these days. But not as long as it once was. Shivering, but not for the cold, Shouto reaches out to touch his reflection.

Then the water ripples as Izuku wades back to stand in front of him and folds to kneel in the river. Shouto stares at him and waits for condemnation, or horror, or disgust. Izuku’s lips quirk into a smile, and he reaches up to roll a strand of Shouto’s red hair between his thumb and forefinger. “It suits you.” Then he leans forward, and presses a kiss to Shouto’s forehead, sitting back and holding Shouto’s face between his hands. They’re cold with the river, wet and rough. Izuku meets his eyes. “You’re beautiful, Shouto.”

Shouto lets out a shuddering breath, and then he’s leaning forwards and kissing Izuku, and Izuku’s grinning against his lips and winding his fingers into his hair and kissing him back. Shouto slips one hand along the side of Izuku’s neck, and with the other pulls him closer by his hips. Izuku laughs as his knees slip in the riverbed and Shouto smiles, wrapping his arms around him as he kisses him.

One of Izuku’s rough, calloused hands slides down Shouto’s side, pulling it closer to his waist before curling around his back to press into the dip of his spine, pushing him so close their thighs are touching. Izuku nudges his knee between Shouto’s, and Shouto catches his breath. He pauses, pulling back to look at Izuku: at the heat in his eyes and his mouth red with kisses and the way he’s starting to grin. Then Shouto laughs, and lets himself fall into Izuku’s embrace.

Some time later, they return to the cottage, Izuku’s hand linked loosely with Shouto’s. Their hair is still damp, and their clothes cling to their bodies. Jirou and Momo have set up a fire outside, and Tsuyu and Ochako are roasting fish on sticks. Momo raises one eyebrow when she sees the state of them (a little mussed, a little flushed), but she presses a flask of cider into Shouto’s hands all the same, and clasps his upper arm.

“I’m proud of you.” Momo smiles when she meets Shouto’s eyes. He flushes, and Jirou unfolds from where she’d been sitting cross-legged by the fire to come stand beside them, looping her arm through Momo’s prosthetic as if it was something she’d done a thousand times before.

“Damn, Shouto. Red suits you. Does that run in the family?”

Shouto shrugs, and squeezes Momo’s forearm before she pulls away. “After a fashion.”

Momo taps her chin. “Fuyumi’s the closest, but the two-tone thing is a little weird.”

“Since it turns out I was the unholy child of man and a god of chaos, I feel like the two-tone thing is the least weird thing about me.” Shouto blinks at Jirou and Izuku’s horrified looks, maintaining his calm for a fraction of a second before it breaks and he grins, lifting his cider to his mouth in an effort to hide it. “I guess it’s just part of my monstrous aesthetic.”

Jirou rolls her eyes. “Oh, gods, the man thinks he’s funny now.”

Ochako waves at Izuku, and Izuku presses a quick kiss to Shouto’s cheek before going to join her. Shouto raises an eyebrow at Jirou. “Think? I know I am.”

Jirou snorts, and together the three of them move closer to the fire. “Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming your highness.”

Shouto starts a little at the title, but Jirou doesn’t notice, and then Izuku is shoving a fish blackened by the fire and sprinkled with salt and herbs into his hands, talking quickly about the change in the forest’s ecology as it sought to regain balance following the downfall of the old god. Izuku calls the god All For One, and says something about it being the All Might’s brother. Shouto barely keeps up, but he’s not worried. They have time.

Bakugou and Kirishima get back an hour or so later, Bakugou beating off Kirishima’s worried ministrations as he walks stiffly towards the fire, bandages still wrapped tightly around his chest. Shouto, running his hands through Izuku’s hair as he lies in his lap, doesn’t try to move. Bakugou stares at the six of them, curled up around the fire.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Shouto blinks, slowly. “You are now.”

Behind Bakugou, Kirishima barks a startled laugh, and catches it when Bakugou whirls on him with a mumbled apology. Bakugou huffs, and picks up one of the fish by the fire, biting into it. Uraraka stirs a little from where she’d been leaning next to Tsuyu. “Oh, hey! We saved some for you.”

At this, Kirishima springs forwards, picking up a stick of his own. “Thanks!”

Momo sits a little straighter. Next to her, Jirou traces patterns over the metal cage around her new arm. “What did you see?”

Shouto stiffens. Bakugou swallows, and chucks his stick into the fire, where the little fat on it spits and crackles. Next to him, Kirishima sobers. “They’re nearly at the border. If we want to stop them before they get to Silvia, we need to go now.” Momo and Shouto exchange a look across the fire, and then they both get to their feet.

Bakugou kicks at the earth. “Also?” Momo and Shouto pause on their way back up the path to the cottage whilst the others get to their feet. Bakugou glares at the fire. “Kiri and I can give you a lift to the edge of forest, but we’re not going further.” He grits his teeth. “I don’t know what your army will do if they see a dragon, but I don’t much feel like finding out.”

Shouto nods. Izuku moves towards Bakugou, lifting a hand as if to touch his shoulder, and thinking better of it when Bakugou throws a glare his way. “It’s ok, Bakugou, we understand.” Bakugou scowls.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking understanding, Deku. That’s how it is. End of story.”

Jirou throws him a mock salute as she moves around the fire to head inside. “Aye, captain.”

Tsuyu hops around the fire to Kirishima’s side. “Is it safe for you to come so close to the edge of the forest?”

Kirishima huffs a laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Probably not.” Izuku’s expression twists, and Kirishima lifts his hands in a quick, appeasing gesture, pulling on a bright smile. “But, uh, I don’t see any other dragons around, so…It’ll be fine. I don’t actually have a death wish. Promise.”

Tsuyu stares at him for a long moment, her eyes dark and unblinking. Then she nods, and reaches up to touch Kirishima’s arm. “You are very brave.”

Kirishima flushes. Bakugou clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, we’re big damn heroes. Lets get this show on the road.”

They land about a mile from the Silvian gates with Bakugou spitting curses about being too damn close to civilization. Once they’ve gotten down to the ground, Kirishima shakes off his transformation and claps a hand onto Bakugou’s shoulder. He grins, and his teeth are sharp, red scales glittering in the sun. “They’re a lot less likely to catch me like this.”

Mollified, Bakugou shrugs off Kirishima’s hand and pulls sparks into his palms. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Jirou folds her arms and leans back against a tree trunk as if this isn’t the first time they’ve left the forest in weeks. “Hopefully you won’t have to. Isn’t that sort of the point?” Bakugou snarls a curse, and Ochako jumps in between them before they can get too distracted, holding up her hands in a universal gesture of appeasement.

Izuku looks at Shouto. He’s running his hands over the clean white shirt Momo had made for him the night before. His palms are clammy with sweat. “You ok?”

Shouto shrugs, looking up the slight hill of freshly ploughed earth littered with hay bales, and ahead to the horizon. The approaching army rumbles like distant thunder, blotting out a dark stain against the bright blue sky. Shadows from the trees dance around them, playing with the sunlight. Shouto works his jaw. “Fine.” He swallows and fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Izuku raises his eyebrows. “Apart from the fact you’re planning to confront an army on foot and reveal the identity you’ve been hiding from for over five years?”

Shouto huffs, muttering, “When you put it like that…”

Izuku’s hand is warm around his elbow, and his grip is firm. “Shouto, look at me.”

Shouto does. Izuku’s eyes are green, and bright, and his cheeks are sprayed with freckles. “What do you do if things go south?”

Shouto chokes on a laugh. “Pray?”

Izuku squeezes his arm. “No, I’m serious. What’s the plan?”

Shouto lifts his hand, lowers it, and eventually slips it into his pocket. He can’t shake the nervous energy running through his veins.“Fireworks.”

Izuku nods, and takes a deep breath, spreading his hand over Shouto’s chest as he smooths his shirt. “Good. Just call, and I’ll be there.” Shouto can feel a faint tickle of static electricity where Izuku touches him, and it’s that more than anything that makes him take Izuku’s hand.

“You’re nervous.”

Izuku huffs a soft laugh and doesn’t look at him. “Of course I am. My lover is planning to confront an army. On foot. Unarmed.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “Is there nothing I can say that will…”

Shouto shakes his head before Izuku finishes, squeezing his fingers. “No. You know why. Mirio should recognise us. I can’t say the same for you, and the last thing we want is for them to think that we’re playing tricks.”

Izuku sighs, and Shouto steps forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Izuku shuts his eyes, and Shouto cups his cheek in his hand. “I’ll be alright. I’ve got someone to come back to, haven’t I?” Izuku sighs, and Momo walks up behind them.

“That hurts.” Her tone is  artificially light, masking her nerves. In a full suit of light armour, she looks magnificent, glittering in the sun. A new sword swings at her hip. She and Jirou had been working on it intermittently whilst Momo recovered, and it looks beautiful and deadly.  Momo’s hand rests on the pommel. The army are a dark swarm on the horizon.

They aren’t far now.

“I still maintain that I could sneak up on them.” Jirou mumbles, spinning a dagger on her forefinger. “Provide you with a little extra back up.” Momo sighs and smiles, and turns to her, taking her free hand as Jirou nimbly flicks the dagger back into her sleeve.

“No, Kyouka. We’ve got to do this. We’ll be alright. Hadou is like a sister to me. She’ll hear us out.”

Ochako emerges from the woods and gives Izuku a small smile. “I’ve got to say I’m on Jirou’s side, are you sure about this?”

Shouto blinks, looking over her shoulder. “Where’s Tsuyu?”

Ochako’s shoulders fall. “She’s gone to be with the sprites. In case...” She looks away from him, and takes a deep breath, and lifts her chin. “Just in case.”

Izuku nods, looking west, down the line of the forest to where Silvia’s gates stand tall and proud like jagged teeth. He bites the inside of his cheek. Bakugou spits. “You should make a fucking move, if you’re gonna make it back to your town by the time these two get to that army.”

Izuku’s shoulders lift and fall. He squeezes Shouto’s hand, and nods. “He’s right. Jirou, Ochako?” The women make soft sounds of agreement, and Bakugou folds his arms, leaning against a nearby tree.

“Damn straight I’m right.”

Jirou goes to let go of Momo’s hand, and Momo stops her, pulling her back and close as she kisses her, deeply. When they break apart, Jirou’s breathless and Ochako, behind them, is blushing. Jirou grins at Momo, and gets on her tiptoes to kiss her cheek. “Don’t get yourself killed, princess.” The sound of the army is like an earthquake in the distance.

Shouto looks at Izuku, and tries to find the words he needs for everything he wants to say. Izuku meets his eyes, reaching up to touch his cheek and run his thumb over the rough edges of Shouto’s scar. He smiles, and kisses him, softly. His voice is rough and quiet when he steps away. “See you on the other side.” Izuku lifts Shouto’s hand to his lips, and brushes a kiss over his knuckles.

Shouto manages to speak. “See you on the other side.” He wishes he could say more. Then Izuku, Jirou and Ochako hoist their packs over their shoulders, and they start walking along the forest edge in the direction of Silvia. Momo and Shouto look at one another. By the trees, Kirishima sits down and crosses his legs, fishing a piece of wood and a knife from his pocket and beginning to work at it absently. Bakugou lifts his chin.

“Don’t let us fucking stop you.”

Shouto takes a deep breath, and then he and Momo climb over the hedge in front of them and into the field beyond it. They smile at one another, not bothering with words.

It doesn’t take Shouto and Momo long to find the road. It’s easy, dusty but well trodden. To either side of them, the fields roll for miles, now harvested and lying ready for the next season’s crop. Behind them, Silvia is quiet and still. No smoke trails from the town’s chimneys: it has long since been evacuated, and now only a skeleton guard remain. Among them, of course, is the town Council, and Midoriya Inko, who even the All Might could not convince to leave. Whilst Silvia’s population camps outside Sogen, the King of Kasai’s army marches for the forest.

Their minds are full of stories: stories of monsters coming down from the mountain, of the forests’ fearsome courts, even of the Silvian All Might themselves, said to be a god in their own right. Above it all looms the threat of the old god, a god of chaos and strife that King Enji had called only by its title, All For One. A god heralded by a mysterious storm on the horizon around the mountains, a storm that had disappeared without warning some days ago.

A bird caws as it flies above Shouto and Momo’s heads, apparently oblivious to the drama taking place on the earth below. Momo’s armour clangs softly as she walks, but it’s nothing compared to the great, clattering cacophony of the army as they approach it. The army has not bothered to keep to the road by and large: instead it sprawls across the horizon, making short work of the rolling terrain. The smell of sweat and metal and horse shit hangs thickly in the air.

Momo and Shouto crest a hill, and they see at the head of the army a man on a white horse in a red cloak, with hair as fair as the wheat fields. Above him, a creature with huge, curling black claws on its feet and great, wide tawny wings hovers like a kite. It’s hard to see faces in the mass behind them: it’s one great shifting troupe on horseback, pressed close enough together that they look like a solid wall. The army isn’t moving fast, but that doesn’t do much to make it look less formidable.

Shouto looks at Momo. “What do you think? Now?”

Momo stops and plants her feet. Her hand rests on the pommel of her sword. She nods, and her black hair is bright in the sun. “Now.”

Shouto pulls a wooden stick from his pack and unfolds the great white flag wrapped neatly around it. Swallowing his fear, he lifts the flag high and begins to wave it. For a few minutes, the army keeps coming. Then there’s a series of shouts, and the man in the red cloak raises his hand, and a woman with long, silvery hair blows a great horn. The sound echoes across the hills, startling a group of crows. The army comes to a great thundering halt, and as it does the dust kicked up by its horses begins to settle.

Momo shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, that’s step one.”

Shouto nods, adjusting his grip on the flag as the two of them start walking forward again. There’s a dip between them and the army now, and the two shallow hills makes it feel as if they stand on opposite cliffs, facing one another across a great ravine. Shouto tries to ignore the way his head and neck prickle as they get to the bottom of the incline. With the army standing largely still above them, though still moving and stamping and rustling and breathing like some great monster, he can’t help but feel like a fish in a barrel.

Sweat drips down his neck as he and Momo scale the shallow slope back up towards the army and the general sitting on horseback at its head. The great monstrous thing with tawny wings lands beside the general with a mighty flap, its long talons digging deep furrows into the earth. The general’s horse startles, but the general himself remains calm.

Finally, Shouto and Momo come to a stop, eight feet or so away from General Mirio Togata. Behind him, soldiers bearing the standards of Kasai shift and murmur to one another. Their red flags snap in the wind, rippling with the golden shield of the Todoroki family, a phoenix rising from the flames. The smell of the army this close is almost suffocating: leather and metal and sweat and excrement mix thickly in the heat of the day. Mirio adjusts his grip on the reins of his horse, a great white mare.  A few feet to his side, Nejire Hadou, captain of the Royal Guard, tilts her head at Momo. Her long, silvery hair slips over the polished metal of her armour. She sits on a dappled grey horse, which stands calm and still.

Next to Mirio is what looks like a man, wearing a bright white cloak emblazoned with gold. A scorpion’s tail at least six feet long curls up from his spine, beneath his heavy, tawny wings. Between one moment and the next, they flicker into nothingness. The man’s claws curl in the dirt, slicing into it like a hot knife through butter. As Shouto watches, the man’s arms flicker and distend, shifting into the hard, grey-green carapace of a crab.

Mirio’s horse stamps at the earth. The army murmurs. Shouto takes a deep breath and lifts his hand in greeting. “General Togata. We’ve come to talk.”

A smile breaks across Mirio’s face like a sunrise, and he jumps from his horse in one easy movement, belying the heavy armour he’s wearing, which thumps as he lands on the ground. The man with the feet of an eagle and the tail of a scorpion shifts. His crab claw arms ripple with iridescent light and melt into long, dark tentacles. Shouto tries not to stare.

Mirio crosses the space between them. “Todoroki Shouto. It is you. Unless this is some kind of trick.” He laughs. It’s a deep and hearty thing. Shouto struggles to see what’s funny about their predicament. Mirio’s flat blue-black eyes move to Momo. “And Yaoyorozu! Honestly, colour me surprised. What are you two doing all the way out here?”

Shouto opens his mouth to respond, and finds himself at a loss for words. Momo steps forward. “We need to talk, General Togata.”

Mirio rubs his hand over the back of his neck. His cape ripples with the movement, bright as fresh blood. Behind him, the thing that isn’t a man flickers, and its tentacles are replaced with vicious claws. Shouto swallows. Mirio coughs, and Shouto moves his gaze back to the tall, broad shouldered man in front of him. Stubble grazes across his chin and cheeks like badly cut hay. “I’m a little busy at the moment, actually.” Mirio strokes his chin and narrows his eyes at the forest. “Something about an old god of chaos, or so they tell me.”

The not-a-man’s tail flickers into that of a rattlesnake and rattles, a hissing thing that’s loud in the relative quiet. Mirio turns back a little to look at the creature, and then smiles at Momo and Shouto. His smile is as disarming as it has ever been. “This is Tamaki, by the way. My second in command. I don’t think you met.”

Shouto shakes his head. The sun beats down on the back of his neck. Momo lifts her chin. “General Togata, we’re here to talk to you about that god. We have information that we think you need to know.”

Mirio works his jaw. “That doesn’t sound unreasonable. Well, if you don’t mind riding with someone, you can come with us. We make camp in Silvia tonight, and I’d rather not be delayed.” He says it in the way other people deliver commands. Momo stands firm.

“I’m afraid we cannot allow that, sir.”

“Allow? What makes you think you’re in a position to allow anything, Momo?” Hadou’s voice is light and sweet, and she hops off her horse easily, striding across the distance between them. “Why are you here, really?”

Shouto finds his words. “The god is dead.” Both Mirio and Hadou flinch, taken aback.

Behind them, Tamaki unfolds his arms and speaks to his feet. “That’s not possible.” Mirio frowns, looking back at Tamaki.

Shouto swallows. “It is. The Silvian All Might defeated him.”

Hadou lifts a finger into the air. “Defeated is not the same as killed.”

Momo purses her lips. “It is to all intents and purposes. We’ve been informed that it will be centuries before All for One can surface again.”

Behind Hadou and Mirio, Tamaki shakes his head. His tail, once again a scorpion’s, thrashes through the air. The soldiers around him step back. “Not possible. The Silvian All Might grows weak. All races know this.”

“He’s chosen a successor.” Shouto’s voice is louder than he means it to be, and it carries to the closest soldiers, who murmur to one another.

Mirio taps his chin. “Why should we trust you?” The hurt that sinks heavily into his gut surprises Shouto. He blinks, and Mirio tilts his head with half a smile. “No offence, your highness, but you abandoned your position five years ago and no one’s heard from you since. We’ve got no reason to believe a word you say. If you’re not a Silvian impersonating our prince, which you could very well be, then how would we know that you were still acting in the best interests of Kasai? At the moment it’s your word versus the King’s, and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t count for much.”

“The storm on the horizon is gone.” Momo’s voice is even. Barely. “And we have witnesses, including the All Might’s successor.”

Hadou tilts her head, looking past them at the empty road. “Where are they?”

“Waiting for our signal.” Momo grits out through her teeth.

Tamaki frowns, and his arms flicker, boasting a sudden field of bright purple spines that glitter in the sun. “That sounds like a trap.”

Shouto bites the inside of his cheek. His hands are sweaty, and he re-adjusts his grip on their white flag. He feels impossibly small. “It’s not. I swear.” He takes a deep breath. “Mirio.” Bracing himself, Shouto looks up into the general’s blue-black eyes. He doesn’t flinch. “If you ever loved me, served me, trusted me, or considered me a friend. If that was ever true then please, I beg you, trust me now. I’m telling the truth.”

Mirio hesitates. Behind him, Tamaki shifts on the great, furry, clawed feet of a bear. In front of Momo, Hadou blinks. Her eyes are cold. Shouto doesn’t back down.

Mirio sighs, and his great, broad shoulders fall as he huffs a soft laugh. “Well, call me tender hearted. Hadou, make the announcement. We camp here tonight.” He turns, and calls back to a slender man on a black stallion. “Sero, make sure our guests are provided for. I’m sure you remember Prince Todoroki and Lady Yaoyorozu.”

Shouto opens his mouth, meaning to say thank you, but Mirio waves a hand. When he looks at him, he seems nervous. “Don’t thank me yet, Todoroki. We still need that evidence.”

Then Mirio turns and walks away. Almost immediately, Tamaki begins to talk him in quiet, hurried words. After a long moment, Hadou turns on her heel and follows them. When Sero reaches them he looks like he’s seen a ghost. “I thought you were dead.” A series of horn blasts gives the army their orders, and the sound of it rises as the soldiers get ready to make camp. Shouto focuses on Sero, in front of him. He hasn’t changed much, and there’s something about that fact that’s comforting.

Shouto takes Sero’s hand, and they clasp one another’s forearms, firmly. He offers the man a small smile. “Not yet.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Momo murmurs, quietly, and then she claps her hand on Sero’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Hanta. Notwithstanding the circumstances.” Sero smiles at her, widely, though his smile flickers when he notices her other, wooden arm, hanging stiffly at her side. Momo follows his gaze and keeps smiling. “Long story. Maybe I’ll tell you some time.”

Sero relaxes a little. “I look forward to it.”

By the time the Silvian Council make their way to the camp, night has fallen.

Both of the Silvian All Mights are dressed in full regalia: long blue cloaks decorated with geometric patterns in red thread. The sleeves and hems of these cloaks glitter with gold, a heavy brocade that swings in time with their measured steps. Both Izuku and the older All Might wear gold crowns hammered into the shape of laurel leaves. In the torchlight, the precious metal glitters like the sun.

Shouto barely recognises the All Might he’d met so many weeks ago: he stands tall, with his chin raised high. Despite his emaciated figure, he looks like a man who could start a war. He also looks like a man who very much does not want to.

Behind Izuku and the All Might is a strange creature with glittering white fur. It stands on its hind legs at about four feet tall. It has black eyes, and a long scar running down its face. It’s wearing a blue robe trimmed in silver. Magic eddies around its body like a mirage on a hot day.

Further back still are the rest of the council. Aizawa is there, though his scarf is absent. He’s wearing long black robes, and his hair has been neatly braided. His red eyes are dull, and he looks almost bored. Next to him marches Yamada, wearing the brown and gold cloak of a Silvian mayor. Shouto didn’t remember him being so tall. Beside Aizawa and Yamada are four more Council members Shouto doesn’t recognise. One, as tall as Yamada, has mottled grey and pink skin, speckled with moss and lichen. Their eyes are the dark grey of wet pebbles. A troll, Shouto’s brain supplies, though he’s never seen one up close.

Next to the troll walks what must be half a giant: she stands at only 10 feet tall, although she easily dwarfs her companions. Honey blonde hair falls in ringlets over her shoulders. She wears light leather armour, and a sword as tall as Shouto swings at her hip. Beside her, moving with the grace of a light breeze, is a man with thick brown hair and webbed hands. His skin is faintly patterned with light blue scales. He wears the same diaphanous white linen that the members of Lady Kayama’s court had worn. Finally, there’s a tall man with ash blonde hair. He wears a long, silvery tunic trimmed in gold and a simple silver tiara.

Tamaki starts when he sees this last one, and the man in turn narrows his eyes, lifting his chin and raising his voice. “Amajiki. I had not expected to see you here.”

Tamaki flinches, and next to him Mirio rests his hand lightly on the hilt of his sword, even as he pulls on a smile. “What an honour! A member of the Silvian court recognises one of us. A good sign, surely.”

The Silvian All Might, Toshinori Yagi, comes to a stop in front of Mirio. Izuku stands just behind him, and the rest of the Council stand further back still. The army and its torches looks like a galaxy in the dark fields at night. A great, heavy red tent stands behind Mirio, large enough to accommodate their guests and warmed by a large fire. Momo and Shouto stand to one side, with Sero. In the centre of the entrance, Mirio is flanked by Hadou and Tamaki. They are all still wearing their armour.

Mirio bows to the All Might, and Izuku and Yagi reciprocate. “All Might, it is my privilege to receive you.”

Yagi cracks a smile. “The privilege is ours.” He looks at the tent, filled with steaming food and blankets, tended to by lower ranked soldiers. “Is this for us?”

Mirio nods. “Of course. Am I to understand that you have brought with you the Silvian Council?”

Yagi dips his head, and looks like nothing so much as a king. “I have.” He smiles again, and it creases the tanned, weather worn lines of his face. “I have also brought my successor, Midoriya Izuku.” He gestures at Izuku, behind him. Izuku steps forward, into the torchlight. “So technically, today you receive two All Mights.” Yagi’s laugh is a low, rumbling, infectious thing. Mirio’s lips twitch toward another smile. “And trust me, that is not something that happens often.”

Mirio bows his head to Izuku, and Izuku returns the gesture. “I believe it. Well, All Mights, and assembled Council members, please. Come in.”

The Council take their seats around the fire, with Mirio, Hadou and Tamaki sitting at what could be called the head of the room. Next to them sit Izuku, Yagi and the strange creature which called itself Nedzu: a god of the forest. Momo, Shouto and Sero sit further back, there only to observe the proceedings and provide evidence if called upon. Shouto isn’t sure how to feel about his loss of rank, he certainly wasn’t being treated like a prince. As the meeting begins, and food is passed carefully around the gathered politicians, he decides that he doesn’t dislike it.

The tent is rich with the smell of firewood and sweet spices. Outside, in the night, the sound of the army sitting down to its supper rattles and murmurs into the dark. The heavy flaps at the front of the tent hang shut, leaving them in firelight and shadow as Izuku begins his report of their journey to the mountains.

As Izuku talks, standing in the centre of the room with his head held high, broad shoulders carrying the heavy cloak of his station with ease, he uses magic to illustrate his story. Glittering green apparitions dance through the dark, making Hadou gasp. Tamaki sits with his arms folded, shifting from one creature to another. He looks uncomfortable. Occasionally, members of the Council interject to support Izuku’s story: Mizushima, representative of the sprites, tells the room about Tsuyu’s involvement with their party. Nedzu speaks of their accommodation by the Lady Kayama.

Aizawa recalls, staring steadily at Izuku, the mighty battle on the mountain, that could be seen even in Silvia. The All Might, Yagi, explains a little of Silvian folklore: that he, the All Might, represented the God of Harmony, Peace, and Life. His twin on the mountain, known as All For One, was Chaos, Destruction and Death. The very earth had come to life with the old god’s fury, but it would sleep now for centuries. Izuku, with the power vested in him by his station, had defeated it. For all intents and purposes, it was no more.

Izuku carefully leaves out any mention of Kirishima, though he does talk at length about Bakugou, and the fight he’d fought alone at the bottom of the mountain for decades. This seems to be in large part for the sake of his All Might and Yamada, both of whom look stunned to learn of Bakugou’s existence. Shouto decides to consider the consequences of that later.

When Izuku finishes, for a while there’s silence. It was an impossible story, the kind of thing written in old tales and sung late into the night, of gods and monsters and forest courts. Finally, Mirio sets down the drinking horn of mead that had rested lightly in his lap throughout the evening, and leans forward. “I’m still not clear on one thing.”

The All Might, Yagi, tilts his head. “Yes?”

“Why was it coming down from the mountain? A god of chaos, yes, but all I’ve heard of All For One is that it hates humans. I don’t see why it would be heading for Kasai.”

Izuku hesitates. Shouto takes a deep breath. “Because of me.”

Hadou blinks and tilts her head. Silvery braids slip over the gleaming steel of her arm. Momo gives Shouto a warning look, but she doesn’t move. Shouto, who had been kneeling on the rough hemp floor of the tent, gets to his feet. “My father, the King, made a deal with it. And in return, it made me. I was meant to conquer, and sacrifice my victims to this god. It wanted chaos. I was born to deliver it.” All eyes in the tent are on him. Shouto thinks he’s going to be sick. He keeps talking. “When I... When I left. I had no idea. About any of this, and I think, well.” He shuts his eyes and tries to get his thoughts in order. They’re too loud in his head.

Izuku picks up the thread. “All For One was insulted by King Enji’s failure to uphold his side of their bargain. Prince Todoroki killed no one, so the god sought to take his payment by force. In his quest for power, the King endangered the lives of his kingdom and ours, as well as many, many more.”

Nedzu combs his sharp black claws through his fur. “It goes almost without saying that the spirits of the forest have not taken kindly to this information. What you do with it, General Togata, is for you to decide.”

“Shouldn’t we kill him?” Everyone in the room stares at Hadou. She barely reacts.

“Hadou.” Mirio’s tone is warning. “That’s treason.”

Hadou frowns, and shakes her head. “No, not the King. Shouto. If he’s the reason this happened, shouldn’t we, you know, stop it from happening again?” Shouto forgets how to breathe. Tamaki watches him, and his eyes are dark and unreadable.

Mirio looks at Shouto. He’s pale. Then he turns to Izuku and the All Might. “What’s your judgement, All Might? Will the prince’s death appease this god?”

Yagi doesn’t look at Izuku. Instead, he looks at his hands, creased and papery with age, traced by scars. Nedzu watches him, unblinking. The fire spits and hisses.

After a long moment, Yagi shakes his head. “No. All for One wants chaos, not justice. If it started a war, perhaps.” He sighs, and it’s a weary thing. When he looks at Mirio, his expression is gentle. “But is that a price you’re willing to pay, General?” The room turns its gaze to Mirio. Shouto feels like he’s barely there.

Mirio glances at Tamaki. Tamaki doesn’t move. As far as Shouto can tell, his expression doesn’t change. But when Mirio looks back at the rest of them, he’s smiling. “Well. I think I’d like a word with the King. But I see no reason to hurt the prince. After all, nobody’s seen him in years.” Mirio winks at Shouto. Shouto falls back into his body like an avalanche, with his heartbeat thundering in his ears and sweat tickling his spine.

Izuku beams, and his smile is bright and beautiful. The All Might, Yagi, laughs and claps Mirio on the back as if he were his grandson and not the general of a foreign army. “Excellent. Now, we feast!”

So they did, late into the night, under the wide starlit sky.

It takes two weeks for the people of Silvia to return to their homes, and another for General Togata to bring his army back to Kasai. When Jirou returns to her forge, Tetsutetsu cries and lifts her at least three feet off the ground in a bone-crushing hug. Itsuka pretends not to cry, but she does grab Jirou in a headlock and muss her hair, which is essentially the same thing. When Jirou introduces her lover and asks whether it’s possible for Momo to stay, please, Tetsu and Itsuka stare for all of thirty seconds before Tetsu starts crying again. Itsuka says of course, and then she marvels over Momo’s arm and gives both women a list of tips for improving it.

Ochako returns to her relieved parents travel-worn but safe, and tells them tales of her journey long into the night. In the morning, from the forest, Tsuyu comes to visit them. Once they’ve overcome their initial shock, Ochako’s parents listen patiently to her request to leave them once more. She will return, but first she wants to see the world and what it has in store for her. Tsuyu has long since made her arrangements with the sprites, and her flask of lake-water is secure in Ochako’s pack. Ochako’s mother cries, and her father grins, and they gift her an oak staff for her travels.

Later that day, Ochako finds Izuku. Shouto and Tsuyu leave them to talk, which they do, for hours. In the evening, they find Tsuyu, and Izuku wishes them well with a minor blessing that glitters green over their skin before it fades into the twilight.

Bakugou and Kirishima had left without saying goodbye the day they’d made their peace with Togata’s army. But later that year, just before the Silvian star festival, they receive a letter signed by the All Might, Midoriya. They are invited as guests of honour to the event, and for all Bakugou’s loud protests, they attend. Children and the elderly crowd around the dragon man and his brave companion. Bakugou says he hates it, but from that year on, he never misses it.

Bakugou and Kirishima are not the only strangers at the festival. Having made a request of the Lady Kayama, the dryad Shinsou comes too, accompanied by the spirits Ojiro and Mina. Torino prophecies a new age of peace between Silvia and the forest. For once, Aizawa doesn’t disagree with him.

In the months that pass after their return, Shouto stays with Izuku and his mother. He finds that he enjoys her company, and does what he can to make her life easier whilst Izuku busies himself with the chores of the town. Occasionally, he visits Momo, who splits her time between Jirou’s forge and the watch. Both of them form a friendship with Tokoyami, though Shouto refuses his invitation to help train the young guards. He’s done enough of that, he thinks, for a lifetime.

A month after the army returns to Kasai, Shouto receives a letter from Mirio inviting him to take his place on the throne. By the vote of his councillors, Enji had been deemed unfit to rule following his careless and selfish endangerment of his people, not to mention his jeopardising of their existing treaties with neighbouring states. As evidence of his poor and violent character, his treatment of his wife and absent son had been used in court. The Princess Fuyumi had testified to the claims’ veracity. Shouto reads Mirio’s letter in Jirou’s forge, and spends the next week in thought.

A fortnight later, Mirio got his reply:

“Mirio.

I am grateful for your offer, however I must decline. May I suggest, in my stead, my sister? She is far better equipped to rule, and would be a wise and gentle Queen.

Yours,

Todoroki Shouto.”

Mirio reads the letter twice, then grins and takes it to the royal council. A month after that, Fuyumi is crowned Queen of Kasai. Her first action as Head of State is to release her mother from solitary confinement. Mirio, at Tamaki’s request, retires with him to the fairy hills. In his place, Hadou is promoted as General of Fuyumi’s army. A few weeks later, Yoarashi Inasa returns from his long, self-imposed exile. Iida Tenya, who had been acting Captain of the Royal Guard, promotes Inasa in his place, explaining a preference for a different kind of peacemaking. Tenya sustains a long and friendly correspondence with the Silvian All Might, Midoriya, and eventually is given the formal role of Ambassador to Taiyo by the Queen. He visits often.

Inasa, for his part, is a brave and loyal Captain, and he serves the Queen well for the rest of his life.

Six months after their return to Silvia, Izuku is called to the Town Hall. He goes alone. Toshinori Yagi is waiting for him, and his wolfhounds sleep by the fires. Sato smiles when he sees him.

Toshinori takes a moment to look at Izuku. Then he smiles and spreads his arms wide. Izuku hugs him, and Toshinori holds him tightly. After a long moment, in which the fire crackles and outside chickens cluck in the town square, Izuku speaks. “All Might, may I ask why you’ve called me here?”

Toshinori sighs, and stands back, putting his hands on Izuku’s shoulders. Izuku is a tall and broad-shouldered young man, but anyone next to Toshinori looks small. He still feels like a child when he’s with him. “You have made me so proud.”

Izuku blinks. “I…thank you?”

Toshinori smiles, and the expression is a little sad. “It has come to my attention that I have made some errors.” Izuku frowns, but Toshinori continues before he has a chance to interrupt. “No, please, let me finish. The pressure I have put upon you in these past few years has been far too much for any child to bear. And I know you are no longer a child, but that does not mean that you do not deserve your freedom. You worry about me, and I am grateful for your kindness. But I will be the All Might of Silvia for some time yet. So I am asking you, Izuku, please. Take a break. Go and explore the world. Return in two years, with stories of your travels, ready to take up the mantle of leadership. I’ll hold the fort.” Toshinori winks, and Izuku opens his mouth and shuts it again.

“I…I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” A thousand thoughts run through his head.

Toshinori pats his shoulder. “Then don’t say anything. Go. Be young. Be free. The time for responsibility will come, but it doesn’t have to be now. Trust me, as you always have, and live a life full of adventure.”

Izuku feels the world fall away from beneath his feet. By the fire, the wolfhound Nana whines and nudges another dog with her nose. Toshinori watches him, and waits. After a long, long moment, Izuku catches his breath. “Ok. Alright.” He looks at Toshinori, and his eyes are shining. “Thank you.”

Toshinori laughs, puts both hands on Izuku’s shoulders, and pulls him close to press a kiss to his forehead that prickles with the magic of a blessing. “No, my boy. It is I who should thank you. I could not hope for a more worthy heir.”

Izuku shares the All Might’s request with Shouto and his mother that night. Through her tears, Inko expresses her encouragement. Shouto finds his mind full of daydreams rich with stars and the ocean. When Izuku asks him to come with him, Shouto doesn’t hesitate to say yes. The next day, Shouto visits Momo, and lets her lecture him at length on basics of self-defence that they’ve both known since they were children. As night falls, she embraces him, and he hugs her back, tightly. It’ll be the first time they’ve been apart since they were teenagers. Shouto hugs Jirou without waiting for her to make the first move, and after a moment of surprise she hugs him back, giving him a mock salute when he lets her go. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on the princess.”

Three days later, Shouto and Izuku are on the road to Sogen. Half of Silvia seems to have turned out to say goodbye to them: including Aizawa and Yamada. Yamada’s crying, though Shouto isn’t entirely sure why. Aizawa gives them both palm-sized witch-lights engraved with an elven blessing and doesn’t bother to explain why.

On the anniversary of the day they met, Shouto and Izuku sit by a campfire with a group of travellers. They’ve huddled together for warmth and safety, mostly, attracted by the large fire and a troupe of actors and musicians playing for their share of bread and stew. Above them, an arm of dust and closely clustered stars bisects the sky. Around them, the trees are green and thick with needles. Not far off, they can hear the sound of the sea.

The head of the troupe, a merry, portly man with a mess of blonde hair and a wide smile, staggers to a halt and lifts his flagon high. “Any requests?” A few of the travellers call out suggestions whilst the man, who calls himself Fat, pretends to consider them. Shouto bumps Izuku’s knee and sips his ale. It’s rich and bitter.

Izuku gets to his feet. Half a world away, Jirou grins as she takes her place at the front of an inn in Silvia. On her ring finger she wears a simple golden band.

Izuku says, “I’ve got one.”

In Silvia, Itsuka strikes the first chords on her violin.

Fat raises an eyebrow, and the firelight dances copper and gold over the map of laugh lines that wrinkle around his eyes. “Oh?”

In Silvia, Jirou lifts her arm, and Momo gets to her feet. By the sea, Izuku clears his throat, and turns to Shouto, who sets down his flagon of ale. Izuku’s voice is loud and not quite in key, but Fat recognises the song, as do his players. A woman with auburn hair starts to play a violin.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning.” Izuku lifts his arm, and Shouto stands as he continues, trying to contain his smile. “ And gladly ride the waves of life, if you would marry me .” Shouto touches his arm, and they start to walk in a slow circle. The fire beats warmth over their bodies like waves on the seashore. Fat laughs and starts to clap, and the other travellers get to their feet. Shouto and Izuku switch arms, turning in the other direction. Izuku holds Shouto’s gaze as he continues. “No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey. If you will promise me your heart, and love…” In the forest, owls call into the night.

Half a world away, a tavern holds its breath. Momo smiles, wide and easy. “And love me for eternity.” The inn cheers.

At the base of different mountains, Ochako brings a bowl of hot soup to Tsuyu and presses a quick kiss to her lips. The same stars glitter far above them.

By the sea, Shouto laughs. “My dearest one, my darling dear, your mighty words astound me.” He takes Izuku’s hands, and they’re warm and calloused. “But I’ve no need of mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me.”

In Taiyo, Kirishima lies on his back next to Bakugou in the foothills of the mountains whilst Bakugou tells him stories about the constellations. The forest is quiet and peaceful, and the grass in which they lie is tall and green.

Izuku grins, wide and carefree. “But I would bring you rings of gold, I’d even sing you poetry.” Shouto laughs as Izuku gets to one knee, lifting his arm as Shouto dances around him. The troupe plays on tambourines and horns to accompany their violinist, and the sound rises loudly into the night. Izuku gets to his feet, and he Shouto steps close together, so close their chests are nearly touching. “And I would keep you from all harm if you would stay beside me. ”

Shouto grins and shuts his eyes, and the cool wind pulls at his hair. “I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry.” He opens his eyes, and he turns back to Izuku, holding his hand tightly. “I only want your hand to hold, I only want you near me.”

In Silvia, Yamada Hizashi sets down a wooden plate of steaming vegetables. Aizawa half stands to kiss him before he sits. By their fireplace, his cat yawns.

By the sea, the travellers and the players join Shouto and Izuku as they sing, dancing around the fire. “To love and kiss, to sweetly hold, for the dancing and the dreaming.” Shouto and Izuku start to spin, grinning at each other. “Through all life’s sorrows and delights, I’ll keep your laugh inside me.”

Shouto and Izuku dance so close they’re nearly stepping on each other’s toes, and the fire crackles and pops beside them. The silver sound of tambourines jumps over the hum of strings, and the wind grows a little stronger, bringing with it the crash of bigger waves by the shore. The trees bend and dance with them, sighing as they do, and their companions shout and laugh, breathless as they move ever faster. Their voices carry far into the night, over the empty fields and quiet roads.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning. I’ll gladly ride the waves so white, and you will marry me!” Izuku finishes with a shout, red-faced and sweating. He laughs, doubling over and still holding Shouto tightly as he does. Shouto laughs with him, thoughtless and carefree. Their wedding rings bump each other’s knuckles.

Shouto catches his breath just before Izuku does, and he takes the chance to look at him. Izuku’s face is gold and bronze in the firelight, and kissed with a thousand freckles. His eyes are dark and bright, and his cheeks dimple where he smiles. Shouto squeezes his hand. “Happy anniversary, Izuku.”

Then he bends, and kisses him.

The End