The fire moved, it seemed, with a will of its own.
It ran through the grass, it sprinted through the tents, it spat on the banners, it snarled at the animals.
It consumed people. Unrestrained in its beauty, cruel in its inevitability, it came to the centre of the camp and stopped.
It did not find what it came to burn.
Of its path, of its goal. Of its source.
The camp near Kamino Ward burned blue.
Dabi is on his way to the United Alliance capital to kill the king of Hellfire and the heir to its throne. Todoroki Touya is on his way to the final reckoning.
The capital was in disarray.
It’s been five days since Kamino. People packed everything they had and moved north, to the capital, to be behind stone walls, surrounded by water.
The council insisted that the crown prince stay in his guarded quarters in the well-fortified palace and wait for his brother’s challenge. The prince, very amenable to doing what he’s told, went to the streets to see his people accommodated.
“Your highness,” The firm, friendly voice called from the back, followed by hesitant footsteps.
Shouto turned, to the sound of the familiar, comforting voice, to his friend.
“Tenya,”
“We should really go inside.”
“I wanted to make sure people are…”
“They are. “
“We need to secure more space in the east wing. And I know a portion of the stables is already clear, but I think we can spare just a bit more space. Do you believe the blankets are warm enough?”
“Everything’s been set. We’ve been through every corner of the city, “Tenya said, tired but not unkind. “The food and water are provided for. The injured are, as you asked, settled at the east wing with the possibility of receiving more. The healers are ready. So are the guards. It’s been five days. You need to rest.”
“You need to rest as well. I think the whole guard didn’t run as much as you did.”
“I am just doing what I must.”
“You’re doing so much for everyone here. Thank you.”
Tenya nodded and added, “Let’s rest a bit. Your people need you to be well. Your quarters are the safest place in the kingdom now. Come.”
Shouto followed his friend to his quarters to rest.
The rest didn’t come easy.
There is a point on your body, said the court physicians, found on your inner arm near your wrist, that, if you press it firmly but gently, you should prevent nausea.
Ever since the news of his brother burning the Fifth brigade’s camp broke, Shouto’s been holding his hand on his wrist then on his stomach and then on his other hand to help alleviate the pressure that just keeps building.
He tried to use his fire magic to warm his hand a bit and ice magic to cool it. He also tried to quickly change one hand to the other to press more firmly or more gently. And he tried breathing slowly with your hands on your stomach.
Be to no avail.
The bile took root in his stomach, and he found no peace in his own hands.
His hands seemed too warm or too cold, too big and clumsy to provide comfort.
They should be a bit smaller.
With wide palms and knobbly fingers.
Used to reach out and help.
Rougher, littered with scars. Warm.
Happiness followed by an endless stream of words. The most beautiful noise.
No use thinking about that.
Because, there was a letter.
Full of love and sorrow. But short, sure.
The message of the impending danger that followed and how important it was that Shouto is safe. Idiotic premise, if you ask him.
He’s never been safer, but with Izuku at his side. With all of his friends.
Did he think it was not enough? That they would interfere with his plans? Did he not want them at his side? Did he not want Shouto at his side? Did he not-
A sound interrupts his thoughts. Like a knock. On the farthest window in the room.
But it persisted. Is it a knock?
Must be some bird, or some other creature.
It started to rain, and the wind picked up.
Maybe the animal is injured?
Shouto got up and walked to the farthest corner of his quarters, ready to let the poor creature in so it could get a bit of warmth.
There was no bird at the window.
There’s a man. In full armour, with a hare-like mask on his face.
He’s patient. He waves almost shyly.
And he’s hanging upside down on a black rope.
With a heart in his throat and shaking hands, Shouto unlocks his window.
The wind and the rain enter the room.
A man jumps with a lot of grace and no sound, having wrapped a black rope into himself.
After a moment or two in complete silence, he lifts his hands to remove the hare-like headpiece and puts it carefully at his feet.
It’s him. Izuku. He’s here. He’s pale, his freckles more pronounced. He’s here. His face is a bit gaunt, dark circles under his eyes.
He’s here. His big, round green eyes.
Two months after that damn letter.
The wind and the rain are the only ones making any sound.
Shouto takes his first real breath after so long. As he exhales, Izuku starts to speak. He sways a bit.
“I am sorry to enter like this. I think I left a bit of mud on the window. Are you well?” His voice is slightly raspy, maybe from misuse. “Are Fuyumi, Natsuo and Rei safe?”
He seems unreal. Shouto takes a step, raises his hand, still shaking, and puts it on Izuku’s shoulder.
“Are you well?” Izuku repeats softly, “I am sorry if I bothered you at night. You did so well with the city’s defence and the guards. You need to rest as well. How are you?”
Shouto moves his hand, slowly and carefully, to Izuku’s face. Still not trusting himself to speak.
His face fits perfectly into Shouto’s hand. His skin warm and a bit sweaty, his green curls a mess. Shouto’s hand finally stopped shaking. Izuku tilts his head to lean his cheek into Shouto’s palm. Closes his eyes, quickly removes one of his gloves and puts his hand around Shouto’s wrist, his thumb on Shouto’s pulse and moves it slowly.
Shouto supposed that is a proper physician's technique, as his stomach finally feels settled.
“You managed to evade the guards, the mages, and scale the palace to the very top? Good thing I did an amazing job with the city’s defence.”
His nerve to look sheepish.
“It was actually very difficult. It’s set very well.”
“I really was! You did an amazing job. You’re ready for the siege; the east wing is a fantastic idea for the injured. Only, you could clear more space…
Izuku smiles.
“Are you well?”
He opens his mouth to dismiss the question, but it seems that something in Shouto’s face made him pause.
“I am tired. Are you well?”
He is nothing if not persistent. “Tired as well. Worried, scared, and sad. But well, I think.”
Tired isn’t truly a word for bone-deep exhaustion that seems to follow Shouto through these months. But it somehow seems he will be well.
There is so much to be said, but one important question needs to be asked and answered immediately.
“Stay. At least for the night. Bathe. Rest.”
Shouto says, and puts his other hand to Izuku’s face and pulls him to himself.
Izuku looks at him, revered and relieved, tears welling.
He puts his arms around Shouto’s waist, buries his face in his chest and exhales shakily.
“I am sorry for leaving so abruptly. I am sorry that…” the words are coming up wobbly and quietly.
“It does not matter. Stay.”
