Attic in the Forest

Katsuki Bakugo

~ First of all, let this be clear: Bakugo would never, EVER, humiliate or berate his kids for getting scared with a possible Bogeyman tenant living rent-free under their bed.

His bully days are over, he had come into terms with his asshole teen self, and more than all, now a father, he would bite the head-off of any lil’ punk trying to mess with his children. This would include imaginary monsters as well.

Yes, Lord Explosion Murder Dynamight is gonna go all-out onto that motherfucker monster.

Though… not in the way you’d think your explosive partner would usually deal with world menaces and scumbags Villains.

~ Well, to be honest, at first, he would try his intimidating ways on said monster. Going for the confident “if there’s something to be scared of in that bedroom, well that’s me, you fuckin’ Bogeyman!” barked to every corner of his kid’s room, from the classic monster hideout closet, to the under-the-bed’s no man’s land.

Alas, a complete fail it would be.

Bakugo didn’t expect at all his four-years old son throwing a tantrum and yelling back at him, accusing him of enraging his Unwanted  Monster Roommate with his cocky display of strength and bellows…  and he surely was more than shocked to hear his own flesh and blood calling him “Dumbass Dad”.

A much vexed Bakugo would perhaps realize then that cursing out loud near his baby son hadn’t been a wise idea, and that you were right about reprimanding him since the beginning. But he’d be damned if he admitted it to your face. Though the silent yet eloquent quirking of your right brow you shot at him was the irking embodiment of a “Told you so.”

Try not to be too smug about it. At least, not for now.

Anywhoozies.  

~ Cue some pissed-off father and son bickering until you’d end up playing referee. Try not to laugh or coo at the Bakugo Signature Frown your son had inherited and is already mastering to perfection.

Like the good mother you are, you’d shoo your pestering husband out of the room, hug your still sobbing, huffing and puffing angry son, and use your warm, cozy and loving cuddle and all mighty motherly superpowers to make him spill out the tea about the real reason behind his outburst.

Turned out you were right – again.

Your infuriated son finally confessed he didn’t want his daddy to fight Bogeyman Menace because he was terrified of him being hurt or worse, dying.

~ Katsuki, once you broke down the news to him, is under the shock. He couldn’t bear the thought of his lil’ guy already experimenting fear of loss and worrying for his daddy’s safety and life.

Hell, he’s gonna crush his kid’s monster, misbelief and fear, show him that even though his father would give his own life to save him without a second though, Bakugo doesn’t plan to die on him so soon either so to keep protecting him as long as he could.

So Katsuki comes up with an evil Master Plan.

~ A few days after the Incident, Bakugo comes home with a Box. Not a cardboard one you’d get at a famous Swedish furniture store. This one is all made of wood, sturdy, and it even has a front panel that looks like a door, with bolts on the side and a big lock. And it’s quite a huge one too, he even needs the help of Kirishima to carry it inside and install it in his son’s bedroom.

(Indeed it looks like Dracula’s traveling coffin)

His kid is all wide eyed and hyped up, firing up questions, nearly passing out with curiosity and excitement, demanding an explanation in true Bakugo fashion (loud and yelling).  

“Listen up, Munchkin, got my hand on the latest Monster Hunter Device, Bogeyman special Edition! This motherfucker is gonna blast the ass off of whatever damn beast hidden in your room!”

His son is ecstatic at hearing the news and even more thrilled to open the box. Which Katsuki immediately prevents him from doing so with a warning : in order to be effective, the box must be left open one hour before bedtime and with nobody around. Bogeyman Hunter needs full focus and no distracting audience to properly kick monsters’ butts.

His son huffs and puffs a bit, obviously disappointed, but complies.

~ Bakugo makes a point to treat the box’s preps as if handling a critical mission, side by side with his kid who feels absolutely overjoyed to “work together with daddy like a Hero on a mission”.

Cue some endearing father-and-son time that you sneakily capture with your smartphone camera – and send to your husband later.

Bakugo would never admit it but he loves rewatching again and again said video to himself alone with a sappy smile and a softened frown. Needless to say any trespasser witnessing this emotional and vulnerable time would end up blasted to the moon (except you, he’d tolerate your infuriating teasing just because you’re the official provider of such precious, recorded memories).    

~ For the first time in weeks, your son had a full, peaceful night sleep.

The Monster Hunter Device special Bogeyman Edition was a success, and very much bragged about by your little firecracker at school… to the point other parents of anxious and sleep deprived classmates asked you and Bakugo to lend them the Dracula Coffin box.

As a result, your husband popularity took an unexpected leap among parents and teachers and ranked number one, until the next reunion of the parents’ school committee. Which was quite an impressive record.  

~ Little did his kid know that the impressive looking box was empty from the beginning.

~ On a side note, this might come as a surprise, but I do think Katsuki as a kid also went through a “Monster under the Bed” phase.

However, being the lil’ brat bad at feelings we all know he was back then, he was both tremendously scared AND pissed-off of being scared. He was supposed to be the Next Gen Number One Kickass Hero, so why was he acting so wussy, what the Hell?! He wasn’t some dumb, regular kid – which, in Bakugian language, could be translated as “extra”.

~ His mother wasn’t a great help. Aggressive debunking of Bogeyman’s myths isn’t the best way to comfort and convince an anxious (and angry) kid. 

But thankfully, Papa Masaru saw right through his son’s raging tantrum and dealt with the crisis like a pro Hero would do.

Understanding his son would never admit his Bogeyman trauma, he distracted lil’ Katsuki’s anger and fear with new bedtime routines. Storytelling, playtime, secret snacks, anything that would turn the uncanny night time into something to look forward to. Masaru would even fake falling asleep in his son’s bed until his beloved lil’ gremlin would too, providing him the comfort he needed to finally relax and feel safe (without Katsuki feeling humiliated to admit it).

Really, I firmly believe this man is the cement of this mess of a family.

(Needless to say this embarrassing matter was classified as one of the rare secrets Bakugo would have sworn to bury with him in his tomb. Of course, he failed at it the day his mom spilled the tea to you. As a result, you had even more respect towards Masaru as a father, and an endless source of affectionate teasing for your offended husband)

Izuku Midoriya 

~ You can count on your lovely nerd of a husband to take the matter of Mister Bogeyman Underthebed nuisance very much at heart.

The fear in his kid’s eyes and over his tensed, small body each time his parents would call it a day and prep him to sleep, just breaks his heart  and kicks his Father Worry Meter into overly drive (triggering his Hero Mode on the way).

It’s simple : you or his kid are in pain, he will be too. Midoriya is practically a full Empath since he fell in love with you, the mother of his child, and it’s even worse since his kid was born.

So he’s not going to shrug it off with a one-time half-assed peek under his son’s bed, and a command to “suck it up and be a man.”

(Please, do instantly report if he ever acts like said impossible scenario above: that would most likely mean your wonderful, caring Deku had been swapped with said Bogeyman Underthebed.)  

Midoriya is going all out and will “save and win”. For the sake of his child.

And a tiny bit out of sharing some fatherly time with him too.   

~ Oddly enough, though, I don’t see Midoriya as having been plagued by the Monster-under-the-Bed terrors as a child. Not that he had felt himself strong enough at that time to deal with any kind of Lovecraftian creature. However, his resolve to become a Hero had given him the courage to overcome his fear, for the sake of protecting and saving his loving ones more than himself.  

I can imagine him as a kid doing some thorough patrolling all over the apartment, especially under his mom’s bed, just to ensure no creepy fanged and clawed menace would threaten his family and home.

And that’s PRECISELY how pro-hero Deku is going to handle the matter with his frightened kid.       

~ Now, what is the most powerful weapon of choice of our passionate freckled hero…?

Yes. INFO GATHERING. ANALYSIS. OBSERVATION. And lots of note taking.

As soon as his adorable son, the light of his life, would admit with a helpless sob his sleep-deprived nights had been haunted by a lurking monster, he’s on the hunt. For notebooks, pens, and a Strategy.

Expect pro Hero Deku to take in charge this crisis as he’d do with any world-threatening critical mission.

He’ll bring a brand new notebook especially dedicated to it. With big bold capitals on the cover : “TOP SECRET FILE”. And lots of mysterious  acronyms in western alphabet.

His son finds it all super cool.

And when Midoriya adds on a mission codename AND a special Hero monicker for his son, insisting he’d need none other than his kid’s info, efforts and support to succeed in that perilous mission, little guy feels like the most important person in the world : he’s become his pro Hero Daddy’s sidekick !   

The kid’s previous terror at imagining what was waiting in the shadows under his bed, is beginning to recede. They’re gonna kick Mister B. Underthebed’s nightmarish ass together, father and son.

He’s starting to get thrilled. 

~ However, there’s a lot of paperwork before actually getting to the Bogeyman Menace’s ass kicking part.

Cue some hardworking time of notetaking and thorough questionnaire on Mister Underthebed’s habits, behavior, appearance, offenses and crimes, upon his son’s testimony. The result is a deep character profile study that could have featured in a crime scene investigation, and gotten approved by a crew of certified profilers.    

“Know both your ally and your enemy”, that’s one of Midoriya’s motto. After four and a half notebooks filled to the brim, you bet his son is going to fully embrace this philosophy of life as well (and maybe develop some kind of weird obsession for color-coding, post-its and notebooks, too – I firmly believe Midoriya is a stationary-addict freak and I’d die on that hill)

~ Intensive Note taking and Info Dumping : check.

Mini Midoriya’s promotion to his Daddy’s Sidekick : check.

Sidekick’s Hero Monicker ( aka “All Mighty Monster And Bogeyman Menace Avenger” – and yes, Deku would use the full version of said nickname to address his son) : check.

Hero’s costume (featuring Dad Deku in his Pro Hero suit + a handmade version courtesy of his mom for his grandson) : check.

Let the fun times of Patrolling for Mr Bogeyman Underthebed begin!

~ Let me tell you : your house had never been so thoroughly scanned and patrolled and checked as before. You even considered to send your beloved husband and son in a Dust and Dirt Hunt Patrol next new year’s big cleaning. They were too good at finding forgotten spots and overlooked corners.

You took note of these, while playing the role of the Support and Assistance Team cheering on your fav Hero Duo.

Filming each patrolling session is mandatory. Missions need footage testimony, right? You assured your son those sensitive info would be archived in top secret files.

(Aka Midoriya’s and yours private phones and computers, to be watched and rewatched ad infinitum with lots of cooing and goofy smiles)

Lil’ guy would agree, firmly believing it would be sent to Hawks, the Head of the Security Committee. You can decide later on if he’d be in the loop, but if you do, expect the winged Hero to happily play along and congratulate your ecstatic son if he meets him. And don’t forget to record it all : we all know Midoriya lives for such cute and emotional moments from his son.

(I seriously recommend investing on pro camera and recording equipment. Just like Deku’s obsession for stationery, you might end up going down the vlogging rabbit hole)  

~ The Father and Son patrolling is a success. Mr. B. Underthebed had vanished for good. Nights came back to their peaceful rest and dreams full of heroing, for your beloved son.

He might have learned the precious life lesson that a helping hand can help emboldening one to overcome their fear. That, and the almighty powers of note taking.

The sweet, almost musky scent of moist foliage and earth tickled your nose, as you carefully clipped and plucked the ripest tomatoes of your veggies patch. They looked all plump and snug in your palms, heavy with juices, crimson skin still warm from the sun. With a smile, you brushed a thumb over the smooth curves, feeling both lucky and grateful for the harvest, for your little garden haven, and for each seed and sprout that were doing their best to bloom.

Behind you, the soft ruffles of the old cherry tree’s leaves seemed to exhale a content sigh, a refreshing encouragement. You pushed back your cap and closed your eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the impromptu breeze and stir your sore back and neck.

You loved your little secret garden, even though the gardening part often gave your body a hard time, not to mention literal pain in the ass every now and then. You didn’t mind it, though. Because it was a good kind of pain, the one that was worth the effort and brought a comforting feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment – together with the delicious reward of a tasty harvest while enjoying the beautiful display of your very own little nest of greenery and flowers.

You stared pensively at a nearby raspberries bush, palm rubbing your nape. 

To be honest, you also had the secret, petty wish that your sore muscles would somehow annoy Shoto Todoroki. Not that he’d feel any significant pain from it, though, not like you’d do.

Speaking of which, those last few weeks, you could tell pain was coming less often and with much more toned down intensity than before from his side of the Bond. It was as if suddenly, that dreadful faucet had been turned off, a miracle had happened, the curse had been lifted.  

You narrowed your eyes. The line of your lips twisted into a pout of disbelief.

So he really did keep his promise, huh…? Or rather, seems more like he diligently stuffed himself with his stack of painkiller tabs… How nice of him.

This should have brought you some relief, however, it only fueled some more bitter irritation to your long established resent.

A relief…? Really…? 

You huffed a puff of contempt.

As there hadn’t been any announcement about pro Hero Shoto’s retirement, long-term injury or illness, or even death, you just took this miraculous relief as you thought it should be : something temporary, like a part-time patch-and-mend job, that he’d bestow from time to time only to soothe his guilt and prove his disgusting benevolence, playing a little game of hypocritical rewards and heroing forced down on you.      

The hand that was massaging your nape paused.

What a hypocrite.

The last word flared like a stomach burn in your insides.     

Well, never mind his promise, his pity, his benevolence, his guilt. Screw them all. You never needed any of these coming from him, never asked for these.  

You would not change your mind about the way Shoto Todoroki would bring you true relief, the same options you had told him at your Atelier.

And if only just for a little bit, your pain could interfere with his daily life - even an ache akin to a pestering mosquito singing its infuriating serenade without getting caught… If only your pain could disrupt only one day of his life like his already did – and still was doing – with yours…

The little thought felt quite satisfying, albeit it came together with an uneasy aftertaste.  

Your gaze fell from the raspberries bush to the bowl near you, in which you had been collecting the ripest of the small ruby-colored berries. A side of it was chipped, nothing too obvious though it wasn’t suitable anymore to serve guests. You remembered how sorry you were to have accidentally damaged it, keeping it for your own use out of care and affection for it. 

A small lump of rough, rasping emotion tightened your throat.

It wasn’t your habit to harbor such nasty thoughts – wishing for someone’s death or injuries and meaning every word of it. It wasn’t your nature to hold onto resent so fiercely, as if clinging to a lifeline. And you never had anger boil down to furor, to the point of even breaking things – like the tea cup from the set you had put so much time to find, you had been so happy to welcome your guests and clients with. 

You slowly dropped your hand on your lap.   

You weren’t a grudge holder. You weren’t a berserk. You never damaged the things you cared for out of revenge.

Except when it came to the other side of your Bond.

No matter what, Shoto Todoroki seemed to always bring out the worst of you. And you hated it. You hated the person he was forcing you to become in those moments. That… wasn’t you. Right?

Your chest constricted.  

It was truly the first time in your life you were experiencing such intense feeling of animosity. Those rushes of hatred were overwhelming, never bringing any kind of relief in their wake. They were just piling up and crowding your insides, searing emotions like fuel, ready to set ablaze as soon as anything coming from the other side of your Bond would trigger them. At times, the violence of your feelings would even scare you a bit. In those moments, you didn’t recognize yourself.

It wasn’t a normal thing, a normal way to feel. It wasn’t your usual, your normal behavior. It wasn’t you.

You clenched your fists.

All of this was his fault. It was Shoto Todoroki’s fault. Because all of this wasn’t you.  

You hammered those words inside your head, matching them with the pace of your strained breathing.

It was his fault. It wasn’t you.

But despite loathing the fuming, bitter broth of resentful feelings you had been constantly stirring since your Soulmate reveal, five years ago, in that cursed train station… despite the damage it was inflicting to yourself… still, you couldn’t let go of your grudge, your resent. You wouldn’t let go. You didn’t want to. Stubbornly, desperately, stupidly. 

You gritted your teeth.

It’s his fault. His fault.

For wreaking havoc in your life. For damaging you. For hovering like a damn sword of Damocles since your childhood. For turning you into an unrecognizable, unfamiliar yourself filled with dark and unnerving feelings.   

This was your belief. Eyes tightly shut, you repeated it over and over as if holding for dear life. 

Until a sudden rustle shortly ended the battle.

Though it wasn’t really loud, the sound took you by surprise and startled you enough to snap you out of the dangerous turn your musings and emotions were taking. It was coming from somewhere in between the tangled mess of stems, fruits and leaves of the raspberries bush.

You blinked at it, trying to peer through the foliage. Another rustle made you back down on instinct, unfortunately making you fall down on your butt in the process with a quite undignified yelp. There on a twig, stood the culprit of the ruckus : a blackbird with a smug glint in its eyes and a crimson raspberry in its beak.

You gaped at him out of shock. He merely gulped down his treat without a care for you. But you quickly recovered your wits and your mouth opened up again, this time to retaliate.

“Monsieur Merle !”

The blackbird made a show of deliberately ignoring the threat in your voice and swiftly took his leave, swooshing past you so close you could feel the wind from his wings hitting your cheek like a playful slap, before landing right atop the old cherry tree. The twangy trill he sing-sang there at you sounded like a mocking chuckle.

You sighed.     

Batman had Jocker. All Might had All for One. Deku had Shigaraki.

And just like every Hero – fictional or not - who made to History had their fateful Villain, you were graced with your very own antagonist too. A mischievous, smug, cunning blackbird who had decided your garden was his and you were an amusing tenant to tease and toy with.

He’d shamelessly raid your veggie patch, hunt down worms, your precious garden sidekicks, mess with your gardening sessions, sometimes even perch on the kitchen’s windowsill to dig in and steal straight from your bowl of fruits.

(Steal? What stealing? You were the one he’d benevolently let harvest and eat from his garden, right?).    

Your – fruitless - attempts to shoo him away as well as your threats added just a little bit of spice to his fun. You were an entertaining human neighbor. And that little devil bird knew that despite driving you mad with his antics, you found him cute. You even gave him a proper, quite elegant Villain monicker.

In short, Monsieur Merle had you under his charm. And you played along with him.

At least, he’d deal with the small fry that pestered your plants. You thought sharing some fruits and enduring a bit of mischief was a fair price to pay.

And today, you felt especially grateful for your little foe’s surprise attack. He really helped you pull out of your brooding reflections and clear away your anger.

You flashed a smile of gratitude towards the cherry tree, where you knew your little thief enjoyed hiding.

Then you got yourself up, gathering your late afternoon harvest in a wide straw basket with a flat bottom: big beef tomatoes which shapes reminding you of pumpkins, jewel-like cherry tomatoes, vivid green cucumbers and colorful bell-peppers, some tiny, spicy bird peppers, a couple of chubby eggplants, two leafy salads, and an armful of zucchinis you were starting to run out of ideas on how to cook them (and people to gift them to – for most of your neighbors seemed to share the same problem).       

You made your way back to the house, reaching the steps to the engawa porch the exact moment your phone buzzed. You carefully put down your basket on the highest step and took off your gardening gloves and arm covers before getting your phone, secured on a little tray on the floor.

It was a text from Risa, who was shopping nearby in your neighborhood with Natsuo and asking you if they could come by and say hi. Your finger hovered for a few seconds of hesitation, but the tipping that followed was light-hearted and your smile sincere as you replied you’d be happy to see them both. Risa’s answer mirrored her lively self, with a fun emoji and a cheerful comment. You chuckled softly. You were starting to get used to her upbeat personality.

You slipped your phone inside your jeans’ pocket, picked up your harvest and went up the steps to the engawa porch, straight to the kitchen.

Ever since your last meeting at your Atelier, in early June, you had kept in touch with the Haneda couple. You even went in a few coffee dates with Risa. And whenever they took a stroll down your neighborhood, they’d come and greet you. It seemed both you and your quaint, nostalgic little town had their favor.

A pensive smile played on your lips as you put down your basket and bowl on the counter. Slipping your veggies in the strainer awaiting in the sink, you turned on the tap and started a quick yet thorough cleaning of your pickings.

Hopefully, Risa and Natsuo would appreciate some fresh samples from your garden – especially the ever expanding army of zucchinis. You chuckled as you scrubbed a small patch of dirt from said veggie. The cool water felt pleasant over your tired fingers and heated skin. Through the wide-opened window above the sink, the old cherry tree waved and sent you a refreshing little breeze full of chatty rustles. You let out a soft sigh of content.         

Funny how you’d only known each other since last spring but it felt like a natural connection, with how casual and comfortable your chats, texts and reunions with Risa and Natsuo were. You felt the same with Fuyumi, with whom you discovered you both greatly enjoyed to share reviews and fangirling on books and series, though for now her busy agenda only had allowed her for a couple of coffee chats nearby the publishing house she worked for.

For you, who hadn’t got many chances to make good friends while growing up, you were sincerely enjoying the experience of their company.

You weren’t as lonely anymore as in your childhood and teen years though.

Your work as a calligrapher and your letter request service had helped expanding your connections, your interactions, meeting interesting, intriguing people who left their imprint or tied a friendly bond with you. And you felt grateful to live with nice neighbors as well and a loving family. Your parents’ home was just a few streets away from yours, which had helped you ease your apprehension of leaving the safe place of your childhood house. You knew you weren’t left on your own, more so when it came to enduring the pain from the other side of your Bond.          

However, your inner social circle remained quite small; pain hadn’t been the best way to socialize, it had unfortunately tended to isolate you rather than encourage close relationships. You weren’t bullied. Nobody was mean to you. But you weren’t sought after either. Your classmates were acquaintances who’d inquire about your health and share a casual chat, but who’d spend lunchtime and walks to and from school with their gangs. You couldn’t turn them into friends. Your pain was a nuisance you didn’t wish to impose, which translated into a polite distance you imposed to yourself.           

And for many years, you had resigned yourself to accept it despite deeply yearning for friends.  

You turned off the tape. Your gaze trailed outside the window, still lost in thought, until a little something caught up your drifting eyes and drew a smile upon your lips.

A bird house, snuggled up the old cherry tree’s trunk.

Quite an extravagant one, which could have fit in Alice’s Wonderland itself – and now home to a cute couple of robins. A whimsical work of art from Risa’s own hands that she had gifted to you, to thank you for the letter you had written for her soon-to-be-born baby.

Usually, for your letter service, you’d only charge for the writing materials such as special paper, stamps or inks. Most of your clients nonetheless tended to offer you gifts as well, to mark their gratefulness, how meaningful having their request fulfilled was to them. You accepted these equally as moved as them. Being able to lend a helpful hand had always been the true purpose of your peculiar letter service.

Looking at the little bird house, you remembered the day the Haneda couple surprised you with their gift, Risa’s booming laughter at your reaction, how Natsuo had kindly hung it for you under his wife’s playfully bossy supervision. Your smile warmed up.   

You weren’t sure if you could already call Risa, Natsuo and Fuyumi “friends”, and was even more at a loss when it came to what you were to them. But you decided what mattered the most, right now, was that you liked their company and looked forward to it. Hoping the feeling was shared as well, and intent to not let the pain turn you into a nuisance.  

Your smile wavered slightly. Your grip on the strainer’s handles tightened.

There was one thing though that you couldn’t help but being concerned with : the unsolved request lingering between you and the Haneda couple – the yearly letters’ project to their soon-to-be-born baby. A request you still haven’t given a proper reply to. It was so frustrating, so upsetting, not being able to have a clear, honest answer to give, being held back by your grudge towards Shoto.

As if enticed by an unspoken prompt akin to a cursed spinning wheel in a fairy tale, an enchanted ring of power, your gaze was lured towards a certain drawer on the right corner of your counter.

Every household, no matter the size, owned this kind of drawer. The “I don’t know what to do with this stuff and I don’t wanna have to deal with this right now” drawer.

Just a little wasteland place for what you elegantly described as “miscellaneous items”, aka orphaned pieces from houseware knicks-knacks you weren’t sure what to do with but didn’t want to discard because “you’ll never know if you’ll ever need them”. There were also “almost-dying” pens, wired strings that came with freezer bags, spare nails and hardware items from assembled furniture you couldn’t remember where they came from and what they were meant to be used for – in short, mostly a jungle of junk.    

And amidst this happy mess, tucked away inside a tied cloth, lied the remains of the broken tea cup – the one you had smashed, Shoto Todoroki’s. Wrapped in a complicated mix of guilt, anger, frustration.

You couldn’t resign yourself to simply throwing it in a trash bin and shrug it off, no. You still cared for it, for all the effort and happiness, the memories of past letter request sessions it gave you that were still embedded in the shattered frame.

But somehow, you couldn’t help thinking the cup also had ended up being “tainted” by Shoto Todoroki, with him having used it, having triggered such violent response of your anger afterwards.

A small part of you could tell it was childish and stupid. But your grudge was too stubborn to be reasoned and your resent to be tamed.   

You let out a dry, sarcastic little laugh.

Truly, this drawer was the perfect place to bury down your dilemma… well it would have been if you hadn’t been from time to time unpleasantly self-conscious about it. Whenever you prepared for a letter request session, you reached for cups for your clients, you rummaged through said drawer. The unsolved feelings and broken pieces would deliver a sharp pang and make you back off, as if burned by spattered oil from a searing pan, as if finding an unexpected venomous snake curled among the drawer’s bits and bobs.

And dealing with it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

You tore your eyes away from the drawer and gave a ferocious shake to your strainer. Droplets of water burst out and splashed over your arms and face, leaving tiny darker spots of humidity over your t-shirt.

You weren’t going to let this all get back at you.

You were going to spend a lovely, cozy time with Risa and Natsuo.

And you’d remain absolutely unfazed whenever they’d mention Shoto Todoroki – the price to pay for their company.

You set the strainer on the counter with a determined clatter.

As if to mock your inner vows, Monsieur Merle chirped a snickering trill from up above the cherry tree. You ignored him and busied yourself with your final preps, finishing just in time to hear the doorbell sharp call.

On your days off, you usually closed the door to your Atelier and used the private entry to your house. Albeit located just nearby the double sliding doors to the shop, this second one was less noticeable, probably because it looked like any other regular front door. Except for your neighbors and relatives, people tended to think it belonged to another house.

To be honest, you couldn’t blame the misunderstanding : you didn’t have time to design and hang your new house name plate since moving in your little business last spring. You only managed to finally fully move in in early June – right before the second letter session with the Haneda and Todoroki siblings at your Atelier. You had been busy with both calligraphy and letter requests (which you felt grateful for) as well as a short yet brutal cold in the beginning of July (although the thought of equally ruining Shoto Todoroki’s week with your symptoms made it slightly more bearable).

Still, you were a bit embarrassed for not having taken care of the “House Name Plate Matter” yet. However, you had deemed your shop's sign would suffice for now. You wanted to calligraphy your very own plate, just as you did with your Atelier sign. It felt important and meaningful to you. A symbolic way to make this house your own.

For the time being, your mundane, almost unnoticeable private door would be like a Narnian portal : only the happy few, chosen ones would get to know about it and go through it. And Natsuo, Risa and Fuyumi were part of the secret cast.

Somehow, you liked that idea.

You welcomed in your impromptu guests – at least, one of them.

Risa stepped inside like a ray of sunshine without the summer scorch to it and a warmful hug, before following you to the Engawa porch.

“Don’t worry about Natsu, he’ll join us soon.” She breezily waved off your concerned inquiry. “He’s in his Full Nerd Mode, hunting down some missing volumes from his oldies manga series at the second hand bookshop. This man is a true detection dog on a mission whenever there’s a chance for him to complete his collections and according to him, this bookshop’s owner knows its stuff…”  

Despite the summer heat, her heavy belly and an afternoon spent shopping, there was a spring to her steps, a liveliness in her voice. You marveled at her energy. Risa definitely didn’t look like she was almost in her seventh month of pregnancy.  

“Well, maybe I can lend him a few series as well, though I doubt I can challenge him with his dedication and the many titles he must own.” You prompted with an amused smile.

“Then you’re gonna make two boys ecstatic and indulging even more in their obsession!” Risa laughed. “Shoto isn’t as nerdy as Natsu, but he’s got quite a collection. I think he was even kinda like the official manga librarian of his class back in his UA days. Manga, comics, graphic novels, fiction and non-fiction books… he’s got quite an appetite for reading. And for movies and series too.”

You held back a frown, bit back a grimace, upset at your own mistake.

You had absolutely no idea Shoto enjoyed reading, furthermore, reading manga along with his brother. While you’d happily lend your books to Fuyumi and your mangas to Natsuo, the mere idea of their younger brother laying his hands and eyes on your belongings triggered the same revulsion and rush of resent his cup had caused to you.

You inwardly facepalmed. Well done. Your well-intended offer had just backfired at you.

Risa sighed.

“I hope Natsu will find him some good reads. Poor boy has been on desk work for weeks, he’s probably bored to death with a splitting headache.”

 Nope, he’s all fine and dandy, you thought bitterly. At least for now.

Then it struck you.

He’s been on desk work… for weeks…?

Well, that’d explain why the pain from Shoto’s side of the Bond had significantly diminished.

Your eyes briefly narrowed. A silent, inward scoff. 

No miracle, no lifted curse nor early retirement or sudden death indeed. Of course.

As for why a top Hero would end up stuck in desk work, that wasn’t a question you wished to dwell upon. You didn’t care.

Judging from your first and last interaction with Shoto, his obnoxious determination to go on with his career as if nothing had happened and how he didn’t give a damn about your pain, you could safely presume this was a temporary situation that had nothing to do with you – only proving your previous thoughts on the subject were right, how big of a hypocrite he was.

But you didn’t let this ruin your mood. You focused on Risa’s reaction instead, as you both reached the Engawa terrace.      

“Ooh, looks like we’re gonna get spoiled again!” Risa exclaimed with a note of delight as she eyed the little display you had arranged on the outdoor porch.

Two rustic yet cozy ratan armchairs with plushy cushions were set around a small pedestal table. There were two round, ushiwa-shaped flat fans on it and three glasses waiting for a fill from the nearby jug of cold tea, a gentle invitation to a refreshing pause while taking a seat.

“I thought you and Natsuo-san would feel more comfortable this way than inside, seated on the tatami floor.” You explained, giving a last puffing to a cushion.   

"You're sweet, you're spoiling us, and I'm definitely not gonna complain about it! Risa winked at you before sinking with a content sigh in her seat.

The young woman took a moment to appreciate the pause and the scenery, falling in a quiet, peaceful contemplation.

Breath relaxing, matching the lazy rhythm of the old cherry tree’s rustling leaves, tired and burning bare feet cooling down on the smooth, shaded wooden floor, sweaty cheeks and forehead soothed by the gentle breeze. Her hand lifted and laid upon her swollen belly. She caressed the soft curve with a fond smile, a happy hum.

“Ah… Feels so nice in here… How come every time I come here I feel so healed, so at peace…? Must be your Dryad magic.” Risa wondered aloud, half joking, but feelings sincere.

She lightly patted her belly, chuckling.

“Even this mischievous lil’ bean seems to calm down too! You have no idea how many kicks, tosses and turns they’d perform in a daily basis. Sometimes I even wonder if I’m expecting a swarm of hyped kittens instead of a single human baby!”

The idea tickled a merry giggle out of you.

“I’m glad you’re feeling at home.” You beamed, pouring a glass of cold tea from the jug. You added on softly. “And I’m always happy to have you and Natsuo-san pop by or hang around.”

Risa’s grin widened at your little confession.

“Same for us!”

She gratefully accepted the drink you handed to her. Her hands curled around the cooled glass, cold condensation dampening her fingers. She took a long sip, followed by another satisfied sigh.  

“Really, I could spend all of my summer holidays at your house. And my free time. And my maternal leave too.”

Risa suddenly straightened up, as if struck by a brilliant idea.

“Hey, can I move in with you? You won’t even notice me. I make the best coffee in town, I’d take care of all your neck, back and whatever limbs’ aches thanks to my osteopathist super powers, and I’m game on for any culinary experiments – got a steel stomach and a spice-proof palate.”

You chuckled as you arranged a floor cushion nearby on the wooden floor for you to sit down.   

“I’d love to have a roommate but what about your husband…?”

Risa waved it off breezily as if a mere nothing to get concerned with.

“He’ll move in too. You know those big, impressive dogs that you’d never imagine fitting in a tiny studio? Well they truly do, got a friend who owns one and he’s such a huge sweetheart, never messed with their place, always stays calm and settled. That’s Natsu for you. He’ll fit neatly. You’ll have your very own home doctor, and you can feel free to use him as a trusty ladder or stool, with how ridiculously tall he is.”

She continued, sounding like a pro sales representative offering the best of bargains:

“Last but not least, I can make good use of my Quirk if you ever need to lift a heavy piece of furniture, a car, or even carry you around Princess Style. Done it quite a lot.”

You raised an eyebrow, both curious and entertained, as you poured yourself a glass of cold tea.

“All of these?” you asked.   

You knew Risa’s Quirk was Heightened Strength and from what you gathered, she needed an intake of food with high iron content to fuel her energy – aka, as Risa liked to joke about “downing cans after cans of spinach like a famous pre-Quirk bald sailor cartoon chara”.

Despite the highly “heroesque” potential of her Quirk, the young woman had never considered making use of it on the Hero field. She’d always seen it as a helping, practical feature for her daily life, her work as an osteopathic, and a revenge on the worn-out cliché of “opening pasta sauce cans is a man-job-only”.

Risa was the official, proud can opener for her family, in-laws, friends, relatives, colleagues, and whole neighborhood. You already had her opening a few cans for you as well.     

“Yup, all of these.” Risa grinned. “Lifted cars, pianos, injured patients, my lovely husband, you name it.” Then, she lowered her voice and her head towards you, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You know the traditional “Bridal Carry” newlyweds usually perform when entering their new home…? Well, I did the “Groom Carry version”.”

You plopped down on the floor cushion with a laugh.

You had no trouble imagining how weird and hilarious Risa carrying her beloved – and tall - newlywed husband Bridal Style must have looked back then.

Risa picked one of the flat rounded fans you had provided and started to softly fan herself.

With a pensive look, she continued:    

“We couldn’t host a proper wedding ceremony at that time but we still managed to have fun with our families at my mother-in-law’s house. Natsu didn’t want us to stir some unwanted attention from the medias that might have ruined the day, some journalists and haters were still on the hunt for some good Endeavor’s family bashing.”  

That was the first time you were given a glimpse of Natsuo and Risa’s wedding “behind the scenes” that weren’t light-hearted anecdotes. For a moment, you could sense all the trouble the couple must have gone through with the Post-War aftermath and the Todoroki family’s drama still brewing upon them.

As much as you hated Shoto, you had never rejoiced on the sick, nasty rumors and attention over the whole Todoroki family scandal.   

You had always found disgusting the way medias would intrude and wreak havoc just for the sake of juicy gossips – not to mention you deeply despised the people who enjoyed it and relayed on their socials every tiny bits of rumor, like feeding rotten meat to a bunch of hyenas. “Gutter” press couldn’t have been better named, indeed. 

However Risa’s mood didn’t sink nor soured at all from her confession. Her voice was light-hearted as she said: 

“I didn’t want Natsu to feel stressed or frustrated about it, so I agreed. He wished for a peaceful, happy day, and I was determined to give that day to him, to us, and to all of our loving ones.” Her smile slid to a smirk. “But just between you and me… I wouldn’t have minded kicking some nosy, gutter press rats’ butts with my lovely stilettos.”

“That could have added a nice twist to the traditional “Bouquet Tossing”, for sure.” You nodded with an amused smile.

Risa laughed, playfully lamenting she didn’t come up with that awesome idea back then. When she spoke up again, there was a serene, confident strength in her voice, her gaze.        

“It’s been eight years since we first met, Natsu and I, and I’ve never regretted every single minute we spent together since then. With him and with his family.” She chuckled, adding on. “Even if our first meeting was anything but romantic.”

You remembered Natsuo and Risa telling you about their Soulmate reveal, last spring, when working on their letter’s request.

Their Soulmate Bond had shown during a college conference in their first year. It didn’t prevent Risa from yelling at her future boyfriend and husband for blocking her view and threatening him to chop off half of his height if he didn’t move seats.

The memory of it nowadays brought laughter and fondness to the couple.

It had reminded you how awful yours had been. You couldn’t deny you envied them, but your envy was a longing, not jealousy.  

“Well, you’d think it’s a normal thing for Soulmates to be a perfect fit, right…?” Risa shrugged.  

No. Absolutely not.

You tightened your grip on your glass, quietly holding back your words entangled in frustration, wistfulness and anger.

“But honestly, I’ve never bought that cliché. I’ve never really romanticized Soulmates or the Bond.” Risa stated.

An inner startle. You stared at her, bitter broodings on hold.    

“I’d never have forced myself into a relationship on that pretext.” She went on. “I’d never have my feelings entitled to a Soulmate just because they were destined to be my fateful partner, no. Soulmate or not, it didn’t matter to me. But taking time to get acquainted with someone, observing and learning what they’re made of - all the meaningful and mundane bits and bobs, good, bad, embarrassing, weird, endearing, maddening – as well as building up trust on each other’s side, finding if we share the same values or values that I can respect… well, that’s what matters the most, to me. And I’m glad Natsu thinks the same.”  

You felt your heart clenching at her words, how they resonated with your own reflections. Lots of people had their mind stubbornly set on the "Perfect partner = Soulmate" obsession. It was nice to hear some honest, pragmatic thoughts on the subject.

Somehow, it validated even more your rejection towards the other side of your cursed Bond. You were right, you had the right to resent it, to resent Shoto.

You didn’t have time to voice your opinion on the topic though. The doorbell rang, signaling the third member of your little gang had arrived, and you welcomed him in.

Unlike his wife, Natsuo was drenched in sweat and dragging his feet. But he perked up a bit as soon as he entered the shaded, cool Engawa porch and took his seat, as if coming back to his senses and life after a hellish journey through burning wastelands.

“Sorry… Never really been a big Summer fan…” he mumbled before downing half of the cold tea glass you offered him in one go.

The hot, humid summer season truly was Natsuo’s Kryptonite. His mother and sister weren’t faring better, according to him.

Risa fanned him with her fan, snickering.

“See, (y/n)? I’ve married an authentic Polar bear. Forget about a Paris trip, we’ll be going up North to the ice floe next holyday.”

“I’d rather have Shoto freeze half of our apartment into a Winter Wonderland. I need a good, freezing cold Arctic winter right now.” Natsuo sighed longingly before finishing off the remaining half of his glass.

You stood up from your floor cushion and filled his empty glass with more cold tea. The ice cubes sloshed and clinked like merry little icicles.

“I thought your Cold Quirk would come quite handy, to fight off a bit of the summer heat.” You said.

Natsuo stretched his long legs, idly wriggling his bare toes to the soft oncoming breeze from the garden.  

“I can manage to cool down an injury on an emergency situation or play this spoiled girl’s personal AC.” he pointedly ignored the offended comment of his wife with a smirk. “But I wasn’t trained to use my Quirk with pinpoint accuracy and efficiency as Shoto… not to mention I didn’t even have enough potential to be trained, to begin with. So I keep it to little, harmless stuff.”

You noted the slight frown, the pointed harshness of his tone on the words “trained” and “enough”. It wasn’t jealousy though. It was a splinter of a grudge – the one you guessed he still held against his father.

But just as you were becoming concerned with Natsuo’s mood, the young man brushed it off with an unexpected grin and a lively voice.

"It's okay. We've all got our special moves, and mine is making the best ice for shaved ice treats. Too bad we didn't bring any syrups, but next time we meet, I'm gonna whip up some nice shaved ice party!"

Now it was your time to perk up.

“Actually… we can have some right now!”

You hastily excused yourself and hurried to the kitchen. The couple only had time to exchange a curious look, raise a surprised brow, and you were back again, a large tray in your hands. There were three piled up bowls, each ornated with a delicate feature of the summer season – fireflies, fireworks and cute goldfishes – spoons, a large metal bowl and a colorful array of glass bottles adorned with old-fashioned labels and your calligraphy.

“Here, we can use these.”

“Wait… are these homemade syrups? Did you make those?” Natsuo blinked at the bottles.

You nodded with a smile.

“There’s a small summer festival in my neighborhood for Tanabata, in the town’s shrine. The old lady who owned this house, Hibari-san, used to run a shaved ice stall with her homemade syrups each year until her retirement.”

You carefully set down the tray on the pedestal table, smiling fondly at these memories.

“Everyone always looked forward for her treats. I wanted to follow the tradition, even asked for her recipes. I kinda overdid it a bit and made too many syrups, as you can see. But just when everything was ready, I fell sick with a cold on the D-day and couldn’t participate…”

You sighed, still feeling frustrated at this unexpected turn of events.

“Luckily, we could find someone else to run the stall. But still… it wasn’t the same.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up, there’s been a nasty wave of colds since summer began.” Natsuo tried to cheer you up.  

“Even Shoto got sick, it must have been around the same time as you.” Risa nodded.

Natsuo playfully rolled his eyes before commenting on how quick yet intense his younger brother’s colds could get, with spectacular side-effects as well due to his Quirks. Namely, fever that would literally burn his pillow (and could fry eggs on his forefront, according to Risa), sneezes that would turn frozen snot into lethal weapon, when not sticking his cheek to the bedding, and a groggy clinginess akin to a very affectionate, giant Maine Coon cat.

“It’s both hilarious and hell.” Natsuo summed up with an amused huff.

All you could think of was that your cold had impacted Shoto. You were sure it had.

After all he had put you through, it was only fair he’d get a taste of his own medicine. For once, your pain had taken over and it delighted you. It felt like giving a highly satisfying pat to your grudge. Though rejoicing over it also left a faint, uneasy aftertaste in its wake… again. The same one you had experienced earlier, when realizing how much you hated the nasty turn and violence your emotions would get when it came to the other side of your Bond.  

But you pushed the feeling away, hastily, like a pestering, disgusting bug, and focused instead on the preps for the shaved ice treats.

You couldn’t deny you were quite curious to see Natsuo using his Quirk. While his younger brother’s ice attacks were impressive, you avoided watching his performances on TV. This was the chance to closely observe how a Cold Quirk would work.   

Standing cautiously on the sideline, as much for concern of not distracting him as maybe to protect yourself from ending with a frozen limb, you watched Natsuo with a mix of childish excitement and a bit of apprehension. Even Risa, who must have been already used to it, seemed highly entertained as well.    

Using the big metal bowl, the young man extended his right hand over it. He tightened his lips, face scrunched into a focused frown. You unconsciously held back your breath. A quick, sharp cracking sound, almost crystalline, and there it was, transparent, glimmering chunks of ice filling the bowl to the brim. You blinked at it, mouth gaping a bit. It happened so fast you couldn’t actually see the ice forming. You could only catch the noise produced from it.

“Amazing…”

You slowly lifted the bowl. It was heavy and cold, humid chill tickling your fingers.   

“Natsuo-san… you said you didn’t have the level of accuracy of your brother, but I think you’re pretty skilled with your Quirk. That was awesome!”

“Yeah, well, it’s only a few bits of ice, nothing to fuss about… but thanks.” 

“Sometimes, smaller scales can demand as much focus and energy than producing giant icicles.” You patted the bowl’s side with a bent smile. “And I’d rather have a bowl of shaved ice than a set of massive ice pillars sticking all over my precious garden.”

Natsuo sheepishly scratched his cheek with a chuckle, but the grin he flashed you showed how much your genuine praise and admiration had pleased him.

“That’s exactly the reason why any competition over ice making between this guy and his brother had been strictly forbidden.” Risa chimed in with a laugh, playfully nudging her huffing husband. “You should have seen the mess they made with their mom’s garden. Never seen Fuyumi so mad, she almost froze the two of them right on the spot!”

You hoped your laugh didn’t sound forced.

Shoto was taking too much space for your liking in the conversation. He was like an unwelcomed fourth guest, a pestering ghost haunting every now and then your interactions with Natsuo and Risa.  

However, there was nothing you could do to prevent him from being mentioned, thought of, reminded of. Throughout the years and trials, the Todoroki’s family bonds, once so flimsy and uncertain, had grown strong vines and firm roots between each members, old or new. There was always something that triggered the connection to one or other sibling.

You hated this but it was the frustrating, upsetting price to pay for enjoying his siblings’ company and friendship.

It took you a very convenient trip to the kitchen to shave Natsuo’s ice to steady yourself again and muzzle your grudge. You wanted more than ever not to let Shoto ruin the day.   

Once Natsuo’s ice duly shaved, the couple indulged in your homemade syrups. There was enough ice for them to sample various flavors.

Risa went for yuzu, green melon and verbena – which she deemed as her new favorite. Natsuo chose raspberry, peach, and mint – and couldn’t decide which he liked the best. Generous drizzles of condensed milk were sprinkled as well on the treats.

The Haneda highly enjoyed their meal, humming approvingly and sharing delighted praises that filled you with warmth and happiness. Somehow, it balanced a bit the upsetting “Shoto interferences” that were spoiling your reunion.  

There were even more enthusiastic comments when you told them some of the fruits and herbs used for your syrups came from your garden – as well as from your neighbors’ and family’s own harvests.

You swiftly replaced the emptied bowls with a plate of the veggies you had plucked earlier on – cucumbers, cherry tomatoes and raspberries, all fresh, plump and juicy – and brought more cold tea.  

For a while, the conversation went on, cozy and casual.

The afternoon was lazily drawing to an end, heat softening, heady scents of warmed earth and flowers wafting all over the garden. The rustle of leaves intertwined with the chitter-chatter of birds and children, the calling of mothers, the smell of fried food and the faint lull of an old song on a neighbor’s radio.

It was already time for your guests to leave.

Risa stood up and excused herself to go to the bathroom. While waiting for her, Natsuo gazed at the old cherry tree, mouth filled with the tangy sweetness of a raspberry, a quiet longing in his eyes.

"Your neighborhood is really cool." He sighed. "Must have been great, growing up in such a nice, wholesome place."

You didn’t miss the slight melancholic note tinging Natsuo’s words. A regret and a yearning akin to a child’s wish written on a colored strip of paper before hanging it up on bamboo, on a Tanabata night.   

You smiled a small, pensive curve, eyes drifting to your glass. There was a thin puddle of melted ice and tea, a distant chill still lingering between your palms.

“I guess so.” You softly said.

There were downsides to this charming picture Natsuo wouldn’t have imagined unless you told him so – and you weren’t planning to. The crushing pain you endured. Having been labelled as a sick child with a chronic illness as a result – a convenient excuse you still provided only when necessary.   

However, you could say you were lucky enough to live in a warm, welcoming place. Even if you didn’t have friends of your age, you were known and cared for in this neighborhood, even more since your calligrapher debut and the start of your letter writing service.

Your willpower to change and grow out of the pain had also been nurtured thanks to the support of the people from your hometown.

“But it’s also thanks to the good people who live here. That’s what makes a place truly wholesome, special.” You added on.  

Natsuo picked up the remaining fan, twirling the bamboo handle between his fingers.

“Yeah. I can totally agree with that.” He paused, lifting his head up to the sky. The bamboo handle between his fingers went still. “And it goes the same way round. Bad people can make a place, a relationship, toxic. Even to their own family.”

His eyes went back to the garden. But there was a frown to his face and his gaze was wistful and distant, as if wandering down a bumpy memory lane.   

“You know… The house where I grew up had a wonderful garden, but most of it was off-limits to us kids. Beautiful flowers we couldn’t pick, cool trees we couldn’t climb up or relax under, paths we couldn’t stroll, grass we couldn’t sit on to enjoy a picnic or a nap. No veggies patch. We had a designated spot for “outdoor activities” and that was it for the garden, to us kids.”

He sighed, a small puff filled with irony.

“Can’t even remember what our neighbors were like. I don’t think we have exchanged more than a couple of small talk sentences the whole time we lived there.”

Natsuo let out a dry, humorless chuckle. His frown deepened.

“Same for the house itself. Elegant, old, traditional, lots of dark wood and tasteful Japanese craftsmanship furniture and decor. Meals were savory. Never lacked clothes, toys, all the stuff kids usually begged for. However, we could never enjoy it as a home. We could never enjoy being a family together.”  

There was a painful strain to its voice. Whether it was from keeping a rein to old yet still aching emotions, hurtful shards of a grudge, or overwhelming memories of his past trauma, you couldn’t tell, however, you could relate with him being in pain. So you listened with sincerity and full attention.

“There wasn’t any family at all, to begin with. Just a schemed, heartless and convenient union. Just a training ground and a battlefield for a sick obsession, that robbed us of two brothers. If it hadn’t been for Fuyumi’s unwavering stubbornness to take care of us through this wreckage, and Shoto’s determination to end all that hell…”

Natsuo caught your serious expression and didn’t go further, rubbing a sheepish hand on his nape, suddenly self-aware of those insights about his past and family, of imposing them to you.    

“Sorry, didn’t want to ruin the mood… I swear I wasn’t planning to whine about the tragic Todoroki household background.” He brought back his hand on his lap. “I suppose you already heard enough about our family drama.”

You shrugged. 

“I don’t usually give credit to gossips or rumors. I’d rather hear a person’s truth through their own mouth and only if they wish to do so. Then I’d gladly listen to them.” You said. “No matter the time and place. So please, don’t apologize, Natsuo-san.” 

Natsuo’s frown relaxed a bit. He slightly bent forward.

“Still, I didn’t want it to sound like I’m being envious of you and your place too. I really like it here. Your house and your garden, your neighborhood, they’re everything I’m looking forward and trying to build with Risa as a home. It’s a place full of life, warm, welcoming and healing.” Again, he let out the same bitter little laugh. “In short, everything that my parents’ home and relationship lacked.”

Natsuo gave another quick, little twirl to the bamboo handle as he glanced back at you.

“Wanna know the saddest, most frustrating and enraging part of this all? Our parents were Soulmates.”

Your quiet surprise drew another sarcastic chuckle from Natsuo. It was a piece of info you didn’t recall having been relayed in medias. Which proved how much trust Natsuo was putting on you, and this moved you.

On the other hand though, you weren’t that shocked upon the news, given the basic knowledge you could safely rely on about Natsuo’s family background and what he just had shared with you.

It mirrored your own harsh, merciless opinion about Soulmates. More so, about your Soulmate.       

“I know right?” Natsuo went on. “You’d think Soulmates would always act nice to each other, without any second thought or shady, cruel schemes. That they’d never hurt their partner, always love and cherish each other…”

“I don’t think so!”

Something within you snapped.

The opinion you had wanted to speak out when Risa talked about Soulmates a while earlier suddenly struggled free, took a leap and was cried out loud.

Natsuo blinked at you, a bit startled. You were as taken aback. But you quickly apologized for your outburst.

“I’m sorry… I-I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m not mad at you, not at all. It’s just that…”

You briefly paused to recollect yourself.

“We had a talk about Soulmates with Risa-san before you arrived, and I do agree with her vision of it all. I don’t think “being Soulmates” would be enough to make a relationship work, let alone magically spark some love or affection just because it has to, just because it’s destiny. Being Soulmates shouldn’t be an excuse, the sole reason to bring partners together. In fact, I do believe the Soulmate concept can become a forced relationship device that some people would use and abuse.”

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before continuing.    

“My parents aren’t Soulmates. It didn’t prevent them to fall in love, to have affection, to care and respect each other. In a way, I grew up with this belief as well, that finding a good partner shouldn’t depend on being Soulmates. I don’t want any fated Bond to decide for myself, to tie me in an unwanted relationship.”

Your eyes fell to your glass, to the puddle of diluted ice and tea now lukewarm between your palms.

“This Bond… It can even become torture, a cruel chain, depending on the shape of it, of what kind of emotion would link each of the sides.”

You gripped your glass, eyes narrowing.  

“Truth is, not every Bond is shaped with a pleasant, romantic, helpful, meaningful emotion. And then, what if this emotion is cruel, painful, or scary…? What if this shape was Fear or Pain…?”

Your voice was a strained whisper of clawing emotions, chafing your insides. It bared on its wake a painful vulnerability.  

You didn’t want to spell out loud the truth about your Soulmate Bond, never planned to.

Shoto Todoroki had been your reluctant, painful, unwanted secret since your Soulmate reveal five years ago. You didn’t tell anyone, not even your parents, about his identity. Apart from your closest family members, you kept quiet about the shape of your Bond.

You had kept everything to yourself, carried this secret all alone for so long. Unspoken words and begrudging feelings becoming a piling up weight.

And suddenly, for the first time, you clearly, physically felt the toll of this weight in your bones, your lungs, your shoulders, your heart.   

In this sudden, tiny second of clarity, you realized you were yearning for a relief. And it wasn’t only from being bonded to Shoto, from his pain.

But you didn’t let this realization unfold, didn’t let it fully reach out to you.

You recoiled, hastily backing away from it as if dodging a rabid snake attack, out of instinct, of a Pavloff reflex. You briefly felt the same uneasy tangle of feelings Shoto’s broken cup triggered. And just like you usually did with it, you shut the drawer, shut yourself to anything that wasn’t your grudge.  

“I’m sorry. Seems like this time, I’m the one apologizing for ruining the mood…” You bit your lip.

There was a furrow of concern in Natsuo’s look but a quiet pondering as well. You hurriedly continued, worried he might have figured out more than you wished to share about yourself:     

“Please, don’t mind what I said. These were just some random examples. And it’s not like I’m berating and getting mad at all Soulmates’ relationships. It’s just that…”

“I got it. Don’t worry.”

Natsuo simply nodded.

“Cause it turns out Risa and I, the shape of our Bond is Doubt. Not exactly the most romantic emotion to fantasize with, heh. And to top it up, let’s say it wasn’t really well balanced between each of our side.”

You blinked at him, slightly startled.

Although bond shapes weren’t a taboo or a secret, it wasn’t uncommon for some people to keep discreet about theirs – like you did. You had never tried to pry this info from the Haneda, assuming they wished for it to stay private.

But to think Natsuo and Risa were bonded through Doubt… you would never have guessed so. They were such close, confident and caring partners to each other.   

Natsuo leaned against his armchair’s cushions, his eyes on Risa’s bird house. 

“Risa had always been confident, unwavering, with strong and honest opinions, while I kept struggling with self-confidence issues while growing up. It seemed like she never doubted. Well… I thought so.”

He chuckled before adding on softly.

“Turned out she was human too and had her moments of hesitation. Luckily for me, it wasn’t when I proposed to her! But the few times I sensed doubt coming from her side of our Bond… it made me happy. Not that I was rejoicing over her struggles! It’s more like… I was able to help her and support her, to reach a deeper level of trust between us. Her doubt made me stronger, in a way.”

There was both a fondness and a steady strength in his look, in his voice, a he continued:

“The shape of our Bond could have turned into something nasty, but I chose, we chose, to accept it as a helping hand to understand each other better.”

Natsuo turned his head to you.

“So I think it all depends on the way you want to envision it. Sure, there are some harsh emotions that could damage pretty badly a life, a person, as a Bond. I can’t even imagine how enduring, crushing it might be, for example, to be bonded through Pain.” He paused with a brief frown. “But as someone who had experimented and seen people in pain and going through painful situations… Rather than “this person is inflicting me their pain” I’d try to think “this person is in pain” instead.”

You didn’t move, didn’t say a thing.

Those words were beautiful and sincere. Inspiring and full of empathy. Helpful and meaningful.

However, you couldn’t hear them. You wouldn’t hear them.

Your chest constricted. Your throat tightened. Every part of you that could clench was clasped and locked in an iron grip. Your whole body bracing itself, defending itself, fiercely resisting.  

You would not acknowledge those words, this new mindset. You would not let these change you, your belief, your Bond. You would not let this tiny seed grow roots and connection.  

Never.  

You lowered your head.

“I see…” you finally managed to whisper.

You weren’t mad at Natsuo, though. For this reason, you knew you had to play it off, quick. To calm down again. To pretend you had acknowledged his words, that everything was fine. But suddenly you were running out of excuses, left with an unusual, heavy weariness to do so.

You swallowed thickly, a bit dismayed. This had never happened before.  

Luckily, two heroes came to your rescue, perfectly on sync.

Risa, who came back with a lively “Sorry for the wait! So, ready to pack up camp?”, and Monsieur Merle, who launched a surprise attack on the remaining veggies on the table.  

The brief moment of confusion that ensued made you come back to your senses and helped recede your uneasy, begrudging thoughts and feelings.  

“What was that?!” Natsuo and Risa cried in unison, flabbergasted.

The couple was so comically in shock, Monsieur Merle’s guest appearance was so well-timed, the scene looked like it was pulled from a comedy movie. For a second, you were at a loss for an appropriate answer.  

Then, a chuckle escaped you.

Just a tiny tickle that puffed out of your mouth before flowing out in a laughed crescendo. Shaking your shoulders, heaving your breath, bringing a tear to the corner of your eyes. Uncontrolled, irresistible. Echoing the giggles your past child self would revel in, so freely, so easily and sincerely.  

You laughed out loud as if shooing demons away on the New Year festivities, cleaning all of the remaining tension inside and out of your body, releasing it from its iron grip.  

“Sorry…” you sniffled, trying to catch your breath again, rubbing your wet eyes. “I wasn’t making fun of you, I swear.”

You cleared your throat.

“May I present you Monsieur Merle, my garden Villain.”

A small smirk played on your lips.

And my unexpected Hero for the second time of the day, you thought.

Natsuo’s exclamation and Risa’s boisterous laugh scared off a flock of sparrows that were cozily dozing off on the top of your garden wall.

To their delight, you told them about your garden foe and his mischiefs. As if sensing he was the hot topic of your talk, said archenemy didn't resist the urge to show off once more, like the smug Villain he was, just when the couple was taking their leave.

A piercing, boisterous trill, a black flash in between the cherry tree foliage, round, shiny mocking eyes, a cheeky yellow beak : it was enough for Risa to recover some memory from her one and only semester of French lessons and exclaim “A Blackbird! It’s Mister Blackbird!”.

“We have to tell Shoto about him!” Risa said cheerfully as Natsuo and her followed you to the entrance hall. “A smug, birdie garden Villain… He’s gonna love it!”

She clapped her hands with a confident nod.

You slightly tensed.

You knew that by getting involved with the Todoroki siblings, your chats and personal anecdotes would somehow end up being shared with Shoto as well. That was another price to pay to become friends with Natsuo, Fuyumi and Risa. But still, you couldn’t help feeling frustrated and mad to have bits of you exposed to Shoto. Not that he’d give a damn about it. However, it gave you a bit of a “standing naked in front of your classroom” nightmare vibe.

You nevertheless chose to internally shrug it off, intent on not ending overwhelmed again.

“Yeah, definitely!” Natsuo grinned. “And if you ever need some help with your Villain, we’ll send you Shoto to deal with him.”

You remained collected under the threat and slipped on the pair of casual wooden clogs you kept in the genkan space of your entry, before turning back to the Haneda.     

“Thanks but I already have another Hero in mind.” You smiled.

The couple briefly paused, shoes half on.

“Really…? Oh!” Natsuo suddenly perked up. “Could that be Shoto’s former classmate?” He turned to Risa, snapping his fingers while trying to remember his name. “You know, that one…?”

Risa waggled an enthusiastic index and nodded.

“Right, right! Isn’t it Anima, the one who can talk to animals…? I love his Quirk, wish I could talk to cats with it!”

But you just hummed and playfully dismissed their guess.

“Hum… I don’t think you’d know him. He’s quite popular here, but he doesn’t really care about fame or ranking. And he keeps his patrolling to our neighborhood.” You ended with a wink. “Maybe you’ll cross path with him on your next visit…?”

“Heh?! Now I wanna meet him even more!” Risa pouted. “I’ll ask Shoto about him, then… what’s his Hero monicker?”

“I highly doubt he’d know him.” You couldn’t help the smug satisfaction these few words brought to you. “But to answer your question… Well, it depends. To some people, he’s Tora, or Tama, and many other monickers. But to me, he’s Guro-sama.”  

“Alright, you just pulled my Detective Conan trigger. I’m gonna come back as many times as necessary until I meet this mysterious, multi-nicknamed Hero!” Risa crossed her arms and vowed with a determined nod.  

“Yeah, yeah.” Natsuo sighed and comically rolled his eyes at his wife’s antics. “Let’s go, otherwise I have the feeling this girl’s gonna camp in your garden until she’d solve that mystery.”

“Perfect, so I’d get to know Monsieur Merle better. I’m sure we’ll end up being good friends.”

“You mean, good partners in crime.” Natsuo smirked. “I’m sure (y/n) would love living with two troublemakers instead of one.”

Risa huffed and playfully nudged her husband with her elbow. You giggled at their little banter as you opened the door.  

Before taking their final leave, they heartily thanked you for your hospitality. Taking your hands into hers, Risa gently squeezed them, a warm smile brightening her face.

“Your neighborhood is lovely, but the best moments are seeing you and spending time together, (y/n). And cherry on top, you pamper us so much!”

Natsuo approved with a grin, holding out the bag full of your garden veggies (and thank god, a batch of zucchinis as well) and a few of your homemade syrups.

“Thanks a lot, (y/n)! We’ll enjoy every bits of these with our families. And I’m gonna practice my ice making for our future ice shaving festa! Cause next time, you’re the one visiting us.”

The warmth, the sincere friendliness and care of the Haneda embraced you. You felt moved and happy beyond words for having found such wonderful friends. Your past lonely self, who had grown up wit no expectation although unable to stop yearning for friends, felt healed and grateful.

“I’d love to!” you beamed at them.

You wanted to bring Natsuo, Risa and Fuyumi too as many moments of joy, comfort and fun they did for you.  

However, along with happiness, a hurtful pang of guilt hit you.

Guilt for the Haneda’s letter request still unsolved.

All of this because of him, of Shoto, you bitterly thought.

He was the one preventing you from participating on an exciting project that would bring so much joy to the Haneda. He was such an obnoxious, tiring, frustrating obstacle in your life.

And suddenly, you were fed up with it.

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt. Reminding you of that moment, five years ago, after that cursed meeting with Shoto on that train station, the moment that you had decided to not let despair and hopelessness take over you and chose to get back your life again and live it as you wished.

You took a deep breath.

“Natsuo-san, Risa-san.”

The couple paused on the threshold. You faced them with a firm voice and stare. 

“If you’re still in for your yearly letter request for your baby, I’d love to help you with it.”

Natsuo’s eyes widened while Risa’s mouth gaped in a gasp. They exchanged a brief glance at each other, silent yet overflowing with delight, surprise, excitement. The next second, you were hugged tight by a giggling Risa and one of your hands was madly shaken by an enthusiastic Natsuo.

“Yes! Yes, we’re still in! And we wouldn’t have wanted anyone else but you to do it for us!” The young woman eagerly said.

“You sure you want to do it? You’re gonna have to cope with us for the next twenty years cause once we’re in, we’re gonna stick around for good…” Natsuo warned, half-joking, half concerned.

You nodded solemnly.  

“Absolutely. And if after that time, you wish to do it again for your future grandkids…” your serious face cracked into a smile, amused but sincere. “… I’ll happily re-up for the next twenty years again.”

The laughter that ensued probably shook your house to their foundations. But it didn’t matter to the old building, which welcomed the merry outburst like a benevolent grandpa with a bunch of boisterous grandchildren. The more lively display of happiness and mirth in between its walls, the better.

You parted ways with the Haneda with the promise of a shortly upcoming visit to them, the news that Risa was expecting a baby boy, and an autumn season busy with reunions for their letter project and Risa’s childbirth.

You also insisted on mentioning that their families would be welcome to participate as well in the project, just like they did for the previous session.   

Your steps felt much lighter as you collected dishes and tidied up the Engawa porch.

No, you didn’t make a crazy 180 and decided to kick away your grudge, had your resent magically soothed down. You didn’t make an inch of a change in your opinion, your belief, your rejection of the other side of your Bond. 

You simply decided to fight for your right to live the life you wanted, to make a choice without having to rely on Shoto’s hypocritical “benevolence”, and to not let your cursed Bond make you give up on all the things and persons that were important to you.

Again, just like five years ago.  

Somehow, since your meeting at the Atelier in June, this willpower that had sustained and boosted you those five last years had been perturbed and wavering. But you were back on tracks now.   

Sure, there was a risk for Shoto to partcipate in the letter project. You couldn't - wouldn't - trust his promise of not interfering. But you weren't raging and anxious anymore. It was upsetting but you'd survive it, you had already managed to do so back in that last session at your Atelier.

You piled the dishes in the kitchen sink and opened the tap. The sunlight was dimming, heat akin now to a cozy warmth. A honey hue was lazily spreading over the window’s wooden frame and your bare arms.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of the drawer. You tightened your lips. The water ran over your frozen hands and the bowl you were still holding. The image of the broken cup waiting in the dark and Natsuo’s words about pain echoed in your mind. A brief shudder. Then you frowned.

There was no chance at all that you’d acknowledge Shoto’s pain over yours and connect with him thanks to it.

There was no way for pain to become a meaningful, a helpful connection.

You and him would never be together, neither as acquaintances, nor as friends, and even less as lovers.

Never.  

*******

What the hell was going on with him…?

A question diffusing in his mind like an aspirin tab in a glass of water as Shoto stared at the ceiling of the infirmary.

A recurring inquiry that seemed to hang on most of his relatives’, closest friends’ and teammates’ tongues and eyes, when not spoken out of worry or lashed at him in a ruder way.

Probably the best words to qualify those last few weeks if they ever had to be summarized or given a theme as in a seasonal vibe or a mood board.

Shoto felt irritation stirring in a huff. This time though, he managed to keep the reins.

Never mind them. This was his very own business, his personal decision, his unbreakable promise, and he was determined to keep his answer to that question to himself.   

He gave a tentative stir to his sore limbs, testing the pain. Both medicine and a competent healer had already dulled the thrumming ache of his injuries – one of the perks of working at one of the best Hero agencies of Japan. He cautiously lifted himself in a sitting position.

Clipboard in one hand, the medic listed the damages with an elegant, barytone voice. As it was the case with most of the veterans of Best Jeanist’s agency, people would never have guessed that behind the sophisticated look of the head healer Ono-san (who shared a bit of a resemblance with a particular host from one of the most famous pre-Quirk era Fashion TV show), was one of the best former apprentices of Recovery Girl.      

“Let me recap this all. This time, we have one dislocated left shoulder, two broken ribs together with a right wrist, a sprained ankle, various hematomas on the back and hips areas, some minor cuts on the right cheek and neck.”

A competent healer indeed, with a powerful Regeneration Quirk and a tendency to spell recaps similar to a gourmet, starred-restaurant’s posh waiter taking an order. A running joke Shoto had been familiar with since his trainee’s days here. Right now, though, he wasn’t in the mood for little banters, nor pointing at the evidence of the omitted bruise on his chin to the list.   

He hissed a curse.

Shit, the wrist.

He wasn’t sure if you were right or left handed, but judging from the way he recalled you handling dishes and tea cups, your dominant hand should be the right one… Sure, there were his other injuries and these should be tended to as quickly as possible for they might take a toll on you as well, but right now, the wrist – your wrist – would be his top priority. Without your hand, you couldn’t work properly.

Suddenly, he was uneasily reminded of his “Hand crusher” days – the nickname he had graced himself with following the events of the Sports Festival and the Stain incident back in his first year, at UA, and had led him to believe anyone involved with him would end up with hand injuries. Unfortunately, there were no Iida nor Midoriya to laugh his weird old paranoia off, this time around.

Shoto stared at his wrist, a feeling of urgency gathering and coiling inside him.

He cut short the healer’s conclusion on his treatment details.

“The wrist, how long will it take to heal completely?” Shoto quipped abruptly.

There were no bandages nor cast around his hand, so the damages on his bones must have been light enough to fix without any need for healing support items.

Ono-san pressed his lips in a thin, annoyed line before resuming to his list, deliberately ignoring the interruption.

"Like I said, I've fixed your broken ribs and dislocated shoulder. The sprained ankle should be fine by the end of the day - but go easy on it until then. As for the wrist..." Ono-san paused a few seconds to give his stubborn patient a pointed look "... it should take a couple of days. Hematomas and cuts will be fully healed and gone by the next..."    

“That’s too vague.” Shoto interrupted again, looking as displeased as the medic - though both had different reasons to be. “Is it two days, three days and a half, one week? Can’t you be more precise? Recovery Girl always managed to give clear answers, can’t you just do the same, is that so difficult ? Aren’t you her former apprentice?”

On any other day, with any other impatient, irked pro-Hero lashing at him, the healer wouldn’t have let this slip away so easily. He was tolerant, yes, but to a certain extent. Pain and injuries, or any personal drama, shouldn’t excuse all.

However, Ono-san merely narrowed his eyes at his patient’s frown and words, giving him a few seconds of thoughtful staring, silent yet eloquent reflection,  before going mildly sarcastic.   

“Is there a special event your wrist must attend to at all costs?” he retorted.

Shoto’s frown and mood went sour. Somewhere in-between the sarcasm and the healer’s quiet, unspoken inspection, there was that damn question on hold again – what the hell was going on with him. And it was both concerned and stern. And it was getting on his nerves.

He yanked the bed sheets off of him, swung his legs out of the bed.

“Know what? Forget it.” He stood up, forcing his feet back to his boots (remembering just in time to go easy on his ankle), grabbing his equipment. “I’ll just have a check-in with my brother. Just give me some more pain killers and… wait, no, I’ll take care of that too myself.”

Ono-san watched with a seemingly unfazed look his patient snatch his utility belt and clipping it back around his waist. Shoto’s shoulders were tensed, his fingers rough, impatient. 

The healer could safely say he was used to all sorts of shenanigans and bratty behaviors from injured pro Heroes. He even called the most difficult specimens “Troublesome Material”.

But even though Shoto’s blunt side could still at times slip to rude, so far, he had always been an easily manageable patient – quiet and patient (indeed) in enduring treatments, never complaining. And he barely requested pain killers nor used his own stack for himself.    

At least, until a few weeks ago. 

Ono-san wasn’t one to pry nor to extort confessions, even less to play the occasional shrink. But he was good at pinpointing subtle troubles and changes that could become problematic. In Shoto’s case, problems were already starting to spread out. Today’s mission had been a more than enough proof of it.

Well, time for his boss and old friend to take over. Best Jeanist always enjoyed challenges, taming brats and “lost causes kids”, though he wouldn’t say the young Todoroki Hero fitted any of these categories. And that was precisely what was worrying him a bit, and most likely as well his boss.

Ono-san briefly glanced at his patient’s scrunched face.

Judging from the agitated, irked mood Shoto had been displaying, the debriefing talk that was awaiting him upstairs would probably not ease the situation. To be honest, Ono-san doubted it would even succeed into exposing the true answer to the “What the hell is going on with you, Shoto Todoroki” question, that was probably going to rank as the agency’s number one gossip for the next few days after what had happened today. The young man wasn’t the secretive type but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep some secrets on his own.

Thank God there were no journalists nor high school interns this time around.   

The medic sighed then waved a casual hand towards the door to his office.

“Do as you wish. You’re fixed enough, the door is open, I won’t stop you. But as for this…”

He poked with the corner of his clipboard at the purple bruise on Shoto’s chin, who immediately snapped his face away with a groan.

“… I’m going to leave it as it is, just like I did with Dynamight’s matching one.”

“Fine. I don’t care.” Shoto snapped back. 

“Good. Because I wasn’t hired to patch up bruises from silly preschoolers’ arguments.”

Shoto scowled even deeper at the reminder and the disapproving tone that came together with it.

The last thing he needed was to endure a pre-lecture before the one that was surely currently brewing upstairs, in Best Jeanist’s office. Even if he had to admit it was deserved – but not entirely his fault, he hadn’t been the one to land the first blow… although he had done nothing to contain himself either after it.

Shoto knew his wrongs.

He knew he would probably receive a sanction - afterall, he had nearly fucked up the mission and lost his temper. He was ready for it, be it a month of deadly boring desk work, salary cut, intensive patrolling with nosy, chatty interns, dealing with the posh, pricey, diva coffee machine that seemed to always find a reason to throw a tantrum and its hellish customer service, fill in the stand-by hours/days that everyone feverously tried to avoid at all costs… Shoto would do it, any of it or all together without complaining. He’d even accept being temporarily suspended from duty.  

But he would not give away his reasons, his answer to the question hanging on everyone’s mouth, eyes, and even punch.  

Hell, no.     

Without a word or a nod, he went for the door.

“Oh. And go easy on the pain killers. Too many of these won’t do you any good. Doctor Haneda also agrees with me.” Ono-san added on to Shoto’s back, as the young man stepped out of the infirmary. “Also, refills amount are the same for everyone, and I’m not planning on changing the set limit. Same for your brother.”

Shoto spun around, a flash of anger glaring in his eyes.

“What do you mean? So just because I want some pain relief, now I’m a criminal? Are you gonna lock and guard the pain killers’ cabinet if I need one? Snitch to my brother again? Put me under arrest? Seems like you’re the one making some silly preschoolers’ drama out of it all, to me, huh!” he bit back. “For fuck’s sake, Ono-san, I’m not some kinda desperate junkie. I know what I’m doing. And you and my brother aren’t the only medics in this town, dammit!”

He stormed out of the room, disgruntled steps echoing through the corridor.

Ono-san sighed again then pinched the bridge of his nose.

People who considered Shoto Todoroki as a cold, emotionless, stoic man akin to a robot, a museum statue, or a block of ice, couldn’t be more stupidly wrong.

Years of tending to him, whether within the confine of his infirmary territory or out in the battlefield, as well as getting some insights on him from Best Jeanist and Recovery Girl, his brother Natsuo and even Bakugo, had taught the perceptive Ono-san quite a lot about Shoto.   

Though not a rule-breaker – at least most of the time -, he liked having his independency and freedom of action. It wasn’t a habit, however, the boy already had in the past and would still at times lose his temper. He knew how to curse too. Oh, and he was passionate as well and pig-headed as Hell.   

Only, his ways of manifesting his emotions, his passion, weren’t as loud and high as other pro Heroes – like a certain Dynamight, not to mention him. Shoto’s feeling and internal fire were weaved with intensity, unseen piles that messily stacked, and brewed, and boiled until bursting out in blunt words, heated shards of speech, and passionate purpose.

Maybe he was a bit of a Troublesome Material, on second thought.

Ono-san detached Shoto’s treatment sheet and injuries recap from his clipboard and secured all in the young man’s personal file.

***

To Shoto’s opinion, Best Jeanist’s office perfectly mirrored the pro Hero image. Neat, classy with a touch of edginess, a practical space arranged with taste that showed no cheap futility – a bit like his denims. There was no treacherous, dark corner, nothing and nowhere to hide beneath the wide panel windows. Everything was in sight.

Not exactly Shoto’s favorite style. But he wasn’t here to judge, nor play “Happy Home Designer” just as in that old pre-Quirk game his sister-in-law was all crazy about – for now, he was satisfied with having a few of his knick-knacks scattered over his desk or inside his drawers and locker, in the office space he was sharing with Bakugo.  

The reason why Shoto had been summoned here was to give a full report and apologies to his actions, hear the well-deserved lecture from his boss, receive the appropriate sanction, make amends, then strive to get himself back together and onto his Hero duties again.

That was the usual protocol. What he came prepared for.   

He wasn’t surprised to not find Bakugo on his way, nor in Best Jeanist’s office. Given what had happened, both of them must have been called separately – just like they had been tended to in different rooms at the infirmary. As much as his ex-classmate and friend had toned down his explosive temper, he was still pretty much similar to some famous volcanoes in activity, ready to erupt some magma-like tantrum from time to time. Even if those were less often and usually driven by a purposeful intention. Or just him being fed up with some “shitty” attitude.

Just like what had happened.     

However, what Shoto did not expect was the sanction he received, or rather, the way Best Jeanist sanctioned him.

“Wait… What do you mean?”

The young man stared back at the pro Hero, brows furrowed, voice wary. Best Jeanist leaned his elbows against his desk, intertwined his slender fingers and calmly held his sidekick puzzled look. 

“It seems perfectly clear to me. You’ll be on desk work until you’ll feel ready to take on your duties again.” The pro Hero repeated.

Shoto’s eyes narrowed, pulling the rest of his face into an exasperated frown.

First Ono-san with his “in a couple of days”, now his boss with some more intentional vagueness…

Seriously, was “being elusive” the new trend? Did they send the word to each other? Was it part of his sanction? Or another running joke? Just how hard was it to give a clear, simple count of days, or weeks, or even month…?  

He huffed.

No, it was still part of the “What the hell is going on with you” drama. Shoto had found it odd enough his boss never once confronted him to that matter nor asked the damn question since he set foot in his office. On top of being observant, Best Jeanist wasn’t one to usually keep his perceptive deductions to himself.

That was tactics, most likely driven by concern – not only for the agency, but for his young sidekick too. A patient and helping hand that was stretched out to him, Best Jeanist’s way to act subtly and perhaps meaningfully too, because the pro Hero knew him a little too well and had acknowledged the fact that Shoto would keep to him his reasons and answer, just like a stubborn mussel would fiercely cling to its rock.

Shoto could somehow see it, understand it.      

However, right now, he chose to feel it like being treated as some kind of overheated pressure cooker that needed to be set aside, on a safe, secluded kitchen corner to chill down until harmless again.

He had much preferred Bakugo’s honest punch on his chin and yells, even if that reaction had made him lose his temper, on the first place. And he would not deny the fact his own response to it had also been out of angry retaliation – not for his fist hurting him, but for a pissed-off blow delivered on a fit of exasperation and not for battle sake, and that had hurt you in the process.  

But he’d keep that explanation to himself. He’d keep everything related to you to himself. That was part of his private vow to take care of you through your shared Bond.

Best Jeanist guessed right, if he thought preferable to not expect for an answer or his reasons.

As for his sanction…     

“Ono-san said I’d be good to go in a couple of days. And as for me, I’m ready to get back on tracks. I know there’s gonna be some talking and gossiping. So I’ll keep it low for two weeks then go back on the field.” Shoto insisted. “I want to. I’m ready to”.

He had nothing against desk duty. And yes, he did fully understand and agree he had to be sanctioned. But not to end up stuck in some kind of indefinite, liminal space and time.  

He wasn’t a dysfunctional household appliance, dammit. He was willing to prove he could be relied on, just like before. He’d do his best, put his life on the line to protect and rescue, just like he had always done, just like he’d always do.

And he’d keep his promise to you as well.

He would not get overwhelmed and lose control again.

He was capable of handling both his hero duties and the Bond. He was determined to fulfill both his promises to himself and to you. He was more than ready to.

Right?

Behind the determined look on his face, he gritted his teeth, tightened his resolve. 

Right…?

“Nevermind gossips and talking. Those are just cheap, unfashionable attitudes. They’ll be out of season as quickly as one of the countless collections of a fast-fashion brand. What really matters here is can you go back to your Hero duties, Todoroki-kun.”

Best Jeanist hadn’t moved an inch, still peering at him with his sharp eyes framed by the hem of his Hero suit jacket. His voice and question were firm and they strangely, suddenly, reminded Shoto of the hard surface of a mirror. He couldn’t tell whether they were reflecting his boss’s thoughts on him or his very own reflections about himself. But there was some uneasy aftertaste to it, the tingles of an unwelcomed trigger being pulled. A questioning on his abilities and on his resolve, his vow.

And it bristled him.

His body stiffened.   

“Yes.” Shoto promptly replied. A little bit too loud, a little bit too harsh, features scrunching.  

A direct answer, short and rough, to push away the disturbing feeling, show his resolve, renew his vows, prove this had been a mishap but never to happen again. 

Right…?

Shoto clenched every outline of his body, as if bracing for impact. However it wasn’t enough to short circuit the trigger and the three words that broke free in its wake.  

Three little words that weren’t a secret to him.   

Three little words that had been slowly worming their way inside his mind, his body, his days and nights, his thoughts and his actions, his dreams and concerns.  

Three little words that were becoming more and more tangible and threatening, with each passing day, each patrolling and mission.

Three little words that nearly wreaked havoc, real danger, to today’s mission.  

Guilt, worry, hesitation.

His mouth went dry. Shoto swallowed thickly.

“Look.” He went on, trying to sound collected, to ease a bit of the tension in his voice, in the line of his shoulders. “I really didn’t mean for all that mess, for endangering any of my teammates nor citizens. It… wasn’t supposed to go like this. And I didn’t want to overreact, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Shoto ran a hand through his hair, as if hoping to tear the three little words out and away from him, rip them from his head, his body, his life.

But he knew it was too late. He knew it was useless.

Right now, he was those three little words. Or rather, he had been them since the day he had met you again, at your atelier – maybe even before, maybe even since the day your Soulmate Bond had shown itself to you both, in that train station, five years ago.

For the past weeks, he had seen himself hesitating more and more, felt the worry brewing and the weight of the guilt cramming into the aching spaces inside of him.

Whenever he fought Villains, he couldn’t help thinking he was now harming the both of you as he endured and inflicted damages to the real criminals. His injuries weren’t his own anymore. Every blow, every drop of his spilled blood had the sickening taste of guilt.   

Worry started to crawl under his skin each time he was patrolling or was sent out on mission – caution turning into hesitation, which slowly but increasingly toned down his usual forwardness, confidence in his skills and experience and even towards his colleagues, limiting his efficiency.

And all the while, his mind had been filling with anxious thoughts and ponderings about your Bond and your shared pain.  

Shoto couldn’t stop going through all the memories of his past sufferings and how they must have impacted your life and yourself.  

He couldn’t help worrying about how much his present actions and pain were influencing your days and would weigh on your future.

And after the reveal at your Atelier, guilt bit back hard at him also over the years he had remained – what were your words again? - “blissfully ignorant” of your Bond’s shape, over the fact he had never questioned it even after your first meeting. Just because he had never sensed any foreign, unfamiliar feeling did not mean you weren’t feeling something from him on your side of the Bond. Yet, he had simply assumed it might have been an emotion both of you had never experienced.

He had been such a fool – a true dumbass - to cling onto his misbeliefs. Or maybe at that time, it felt convenient too. His mind and body were already so crowded with his family’s chaos and pain. There was no space left for anything more, anyone else.    

The Bond’s shape wasn’t his fault nor yours though. That Shoto knew. He had been – was still – so scared of turning like his father that all those years, he had opted for ignoring what was on the other side of the Bond, believing this would truly keep his Soulmate safe.

Now he realized how naïve he had been, what a childish tactic it was. Flawed and pitiful. Easy and selfish.  

As simple as a Soulmate Bond sounded, “two fated partners linked to each other through a shared emotion”… it was far from being simplistic nor easy to manage, to figure out. To dispose of.

Now he was able to see the responsibility that came deeply tied to it.  

Ignoring you didn’t severe nor erase your Bond. Leaving you alone didn’t protect you from damages. You were hurt, you suffered too. And from damages he had been the one to inflict too – even if it wasn’t intentional.

How fucking ironic.

He had been so obsessed with not ending up like a carbon copy of his father and yet… his own hands hurt you.   

He couldn’t keep away from getting hurt, couldn’t help getting yourself hurt. It was a vicious, desperate, unnerving circle.  

And it also dawned upon him he hadn’t really taken into account, nor much reflected on how his decision to both keep his promise to you and stay true to his Hero duties and values were impacting himself, his own present life and future as well.   

Today had been a more than enough proof: his hesitation had been more obvious, more deliberate, more dangerous, following a series of wavering moves on decisions he would normally never have trouble to take before, on his missions.

Indeed, those few weeks had been a brutal epiphany to Shoto.

“You sure do want to go perform your Hero duties. I won’t argue with that.” Best Jeanist nodded. “However, there’s a slight yet substantial difference between “want” and “can”. Just like sewing perfectly neat stitches won’t do any good if not using a trusty, sturdy thread to begin with. Strong-willed, dedicated Heroes are hard to keep away from their duties. Even when they cannot perform their tasks safely, they still want to fully commit to them. But can they really do so…? Can you, Todoroki-kun?”

Again, the pro-Hero’s voice, words, like a mirror held in front of his thoughts, his feelings. 

Shoto slowly blinked. His chest constricted.

He was right.

His words clicked into place - missing parts, unwilling pieces and reluctant realization showing the final picture of the jigsaw. He already knew the shape of it. It wasn’t a secret to him, though he didn’t want to admit it.

What was going on with you, Shoto Todoroki…?    

Part of the answer was the realization of his own limits. The looming of his failure.

And his dread.

What he had been dreading for finally happened: his promise to you clashing with his Hero duties, interfering like small yet painful, dangerous jolts, paralyzing his line of thinking, messing with his internal compass, leaving him disoriented and prone to mistakes, while still trapping you in the same cursed tangle of pain.  

Thinking ahead, foreseeing multiple scenarios and outcomes while being capable of elaborating the best, suitable strategy to each of them: those had been among the most valuable lessons Shoto had been taught in UA, as well as during his Hero apprenticeship. It had been a deeply ingrained teaching, routine. Therefore, he should have known how to handle this situation.  

And yet… 

He was failing to handle both the promise to you and the vow he had made to himself when he had decided what Hero and person he was aiming to become. 

The realization, his quiet conclusion, were brutal, merciless, painful.

To answer Best Jeanist’s inquiry… No, right now, he couldn’t safely commit to any of his Hero duties. And he was even less able to fulfill his promise to you.

And it felt crushing to acknowledge it.  

“I understand.” Shoto finally spoke up – an admission to both his reflections and his boss’s comments.

The look on his face, the clench of his jaw, the strain in his voice, told a silent tale of frustration, of all the blame he was putting on himself.

But he didn’t blame you, nor considered the other side of the Bond as a nuisance, an obstacle that would ruin his plans. Not at all.

He felt mad, frustrated, heartbroken, for not having been able to bring help, comfort and relief to you – even though you had clearly stated to reject any kind of support coming from him.

He wished the shape of your Bond wasn’t such a destructive, cruel feeling. At least, he wished you wouldn’t have been connected to someone like him, born and raised through forced, unwanted pain, and pain that was and would be part of his life as a pro Hero but that he willingly shouldered and accepted.    

Shoto turned his face away, all those feelings balled into an aching weight into his chest, like a second heart pulsing and heaving.

His gaze landed on the elegant potted greenery that stood beside Best Jeanist’s desk. The smooth, calm sheen of the leaves instantly brought him back to your Atelier, to the lush and refreshing scenery of your small, secret garden. The leafy whispers of the old cherry tree, the rich, earthy scents of the after rain lingering between the moist bushes. The charming, welcoming wooden sign. The old yet carefully tended shop. The warming, sincere care you had put into helping his brother and his sister-in-law with their request. The joy your letter had brought to his family.

Shoto slowly blinked.   

Despite everything, despite the pain and the Bond, you hadn’t given up – on your life, your dreams, your future, and your present too.

The sight of you from that day, at your atelier, clutching your arm with a quiet, strained and helpless wince, had been haunting him since then – more so, thinking this might have been a common occurrence in your daily life. It had fed his dread, brewed his guilt, his worry and hesitation.

But it also told him you had never given up. That you were determined not to.

And it reminded him why he had felt that strong-willed impulse to reach for you, that day.

Being his Soulmate wasn’t the one and only reason, no.  

You had built something good out of all the pain and challenges – just like himself, working hard to better himself, achieve his goals and keep his promises. And he wanted to support your efforts, your determination, whole heartedly. Even if you’d hate him and despise him for a lifetime.

You were a good person – honest, diligent, caring. And a hard-working spirit, together with a strong will, sincerity and thoughtfulness, were qualities Shoto admired and respected.

There was a slight shift in his eyes, in the line of his shoulders. A fist of tension slowly letting go. The pulsing weight in his chest calmed down, heaving no more.

Now, there was room again – for hope, for strength, for his promise and his vow both to you and himself.

He would not go back on his words, to you and to himself.

He would not weigh and compare your pain – his pain – and the stakes of his missions, and declare his duties should take precedence over you, nor let the shape of your Bond control both of your lives and goals either.

He would not choose one over the other. He wanted to embrace both goals equally.

As if waiting for that breach that showed in his young sidekick’s features, a subtle telltale of a deeper, meaningful realization, Best Jeanist added on:  

“Don’t get me wrong, Heroes aren’t superhumans. And mistakes are bound to happen. That’s why instead of blaming or punishing, I’d rather give time. Nothing beats an aged, qualitative denim that took its time to mature.”  

This time, Shoto heard him and acknowledged his words and intent.

“I understand.” he repeated.

And this time, his voice was firm, intensity akin to a vow’s renewal, eyes holding his boss’s stare with a calm yet powerful determination.

Best Jeanist knew there was more to it, something that Shoto was intent on keeping to him, no, protect and defend and let no one approach it. However, he was satisfied enough with the young man’s answer to trust him and the process.

Shoto left the pro Hero’s office soon after with a much needed refreshed mind and coming back to his senses.

Albeit he knew well enough his dread and its symptoms – guilt, worry and hesitation – couldn’t be swept away as easily as dust under a carpet, he didn’t feel lost and despaired anymore. No, he was ready to fight and win. He would not deny his wrongs, but he would not end up defeated, helpless either, anymore. 

The rain and a cat were the first to greet Shoto as he stepped out of his car.

It was just a quick hide-and-seek game between soaked clouds and sun, though. Nothing unusual for June’s rainy season and its moody downpours. He glanced back at the folded umbrella his sister had insisted to shove on the backseat earlier this morning with a warning to use it, arguing she would not have her little brother spending one of his rare days-off sick with a cold, in bed (and testing her patience), sneezing shards of ice all over the room while setting fire to his pillow. 

People still wouldn’t acknowledge the fact that possessing ice and fire Quirks didn’t make pro-Hero Shoto cold proof. And at times, he seemed to be as dense and oblivious to that too.

He sighed.

Fine, fine.  

He grabbed the umbrella, opened it and locked the car.

Perched on the branch of a nearby tree, conveniently sheltered from the rain thanks to the lush foliage, the cat watched him fix his cap with mild interest and a lazily swinging tail. His tabby fur was thick and well-cared, his laid-back, slightly smug expression told he was the true ruler of the neighborhood.

As he passed by the tree on his way out of the small parking lot, Shoto nodded a greeting to the feline – although he wasn’t a crazy cat lover as his former classmate Shinso, he enjoyed crossing paths with strays on his Patrols or day-off strolls. The tabby yawned and ignored him. Apparently, the unexpected presence of Shoto Todoroki in his territory left him unfazed. It stirred a small, brief smile from the pro Hero.

It wouldn’t be bad, from time to time, to get as peacefully ignored, he thought.  

The smile recoiled. His serious, stoic expression was back.  

Especially on this day-off and the special occasion he was heading off to.

A cautious, well-trained scanning of the surroundings while walking, another thorough pull of his cap over his too recognizable signature features. With the correct angle, a nice shadowing, and the added help of his umbrella, Shoto could fool passers-by, though he had to move swiftly and it worked better from a little bit of a distance.

Caps had become part of his “off-duty pro Hero arsenal”. There were wigs and contacts too but he rarely used them, rather adapting to the place and situation. He seldom applied concealer to hide his scar either, the unnatural layer of make-up over his marred skin triggered an icky, eerie mixed feeling of uneasiness and unwanted memories. Days-off weren’t critical, undercover missions, and he could handle a bit of attention.

Even if, to be honest, he was still a bit struggling with his social skills and sometimes longed for places and walks where he’d simply cross paths with people as a stranger, maybe exchanging polite, greeting nods with each other before going back to everyone’s own businesses. Just like he did with stray cats.

It didn’t mean he was complaining or regretting his life choices, though.

Five years from his graduation and into pro Hero life had confirmed his successes and growth into a capable Hero. Yet, they also mirrored a popularity Shoto wasn’t always sure to want nor knew how to deal with.

It wasn’t like he disliked being recognized or approached. Hearing grateful words and sincere praises always felt comforting, they were proofs he was doing his job right, growing the way he was wishing for as “Shoto”, both pro-Hero and man, without any dividing line between them. He tried to do his best at treating his fans with respect despite his still socially awkward self. According to his friends, those interactions were always funny and endearing to watch – though Shoto would usually feel overly focused and stressed about messing it up, which he often did, but it only added to his charm.

Most of the time, people were nice to him.

However it wasn’t always the case. It still wasn’t always the case.

Sometimes, fans and haters looked all alike with their intensity, their obsession. His blunt honesty, social awkwardness and poker face were both cooed over and lashed at on forums.

Interviews could occasionally compare to a battlefield full of treacherous spots and traps, with some journalists trying to corner him with an amiable façade hiding almost Villain-like intents. The good ol’ “Todoroki’s family drama” topic was still a favorite among people and media – Tv sets suddenly turning into a public therapist session, an attempt to pull some intimate, emotional confessions from his stoic self… and possibly get some juicy gossip as well.

But Shoto had already learned and acknowledged this lesson from his UA years, and post-Last War. One cannot please everyone.  

And while he didn’t mind talking about what type of soba he preferred or adding some comments to a teammate’s anecdote he shared an interview with, he also drew a strict line to protect everything related to his siblings and mom. He didn’t possess the misdirection abilities of some of his former classmates, nor the compelling talk of his friend Midoriya or the calculated repelling gruffness of Bakugo. But he knew how to manifest himself as a metaphorical block of ice, thick, unmovable, unpierceable, and cold as hell when he needed to.     

It usually worked pretty well on nosy journalists.

But there were also the times when the assault on his private, family life wasn’t enough and would redirect at his intimate, love life.

His Soulmate, and all the speculations, crazy rumors and fake news around his “still unknown, mysterious fated partner”.

And Shoto hated it all.

The joking around of the journalists, their sick curiosity, taking opportunity to try and obtain from him personal opinions on “what his ideal someone would be like, what was his type, did he already date before”, inquiries getting nastier and nastier, and once again, drooling over some possible past or present relationships he would be in. The speculations on the forums and those pretending to be his destined someone.          

And Shoto dreaded it all.

Because, as much as he could deal with and would willingly shoulder all the overbearing, unwanted attention from his family drama… the word “Soulmate” would yank him back to that train platform, five years ago, to the other side of his Bond, and show him again the despair on your face, your eyes, and the wild struggle of your body rejecting him.

And pain would hit him again.

A pain triggering still aching memories of his childhood, with his mother, damages that he firmly believed to have rendered him inapt – and undeserving - to a close, loving and trustful relationship.

A pain that the following aftermath and years slowly had mixed with worried questioning and agitated overthinking sessions about your reasons for rejecting him and your response to this encounter.  

Even if Shoto had vowed to leave the other side of his Bond alone, in peace, to never seek nor interact, to not even think about it, wishing for both ending sides to forget about each other, about that day…

Despite all of his efforts, this memory of you was still haunting him.

He just couldn’t help it.  

And no matter how much he ended up pondering over and over again on your reasons, how much he would rake his brain for hours, searching for evidence or explanation, he wasn’t able to come up with a valid, satisfying answer. How could he? He didn’t know a thing about you, about your circumstances, not even your name, while he was a too well recognizable public figure.

Thinking about it, it was a bit unfair.

However there was something with him that had triggered that incredibly intense rejection, and while having undergone through similar reactions towards him in the past, those reasons could have been figured out quite clearly and easily, and the issues could have been solved. And now, he was finding himself at a loss because you were the only one able to provide this answer and you were impossibly out of reach. 

And God, it was leaving him more and more upset, worried and so fucking frustrated.

Shoto didn’t like underlying, uneasy, untold subtexts, actions and words unclear, as well as misled beliefs : he wanted honesty even if it would hurt, honesty of your reasons and feelings, honesty he’d not hesitate to spill out to fix any distorted statement that could have wrongly influenced you. He wanted to understand.

He knew oh so well the impact of misbeliefs could have on a person. And he too had been down this road.

It wasn’t like he was trying to hope for a connection. Right?

He just aimed for clearing any possible misunderstanding. He didn’t want to force any emotion on you, even less wishing for a relationship, hell no – you had the right to keep your resent, disgust, and still reject him.

Even though your face bearing the same expression of rejection as his mother had become a usual, uninvited guest in his already established nightmares.       

Yet, Shoto was feeling so damn conflicted about the mere idea of meeting you again.

Worried to mess things up and worsen the situation. Worried to trigger an even more painful response from you. He was blunt and straightforward, though he was trying his best at being considerate, and never meant to be mean. And though he didn’t really show it, his emotions could quickly get all over the place inside him whenever he felt too involved or overwhelmed, sometimes triggering impulsive reactions.  He needed time and calm to figure them out.

It probably wasn’t a good idea at all to toy with the thought of another fateful meeting.

Shoto had accepted a long time ago to not claim his Soulmate Bond, even before meeting you, that no fated relationship should be treated as a given, and that he would never bring something good to your other side of the Bond. He had accepted your rejection, right? – although he wanted to know why, for there was nothing wrong in wishing for explanations, right?… But just like you didn’t owe any to him as well.    

God, it all felt so damn nerve-wracking, so complicated !

And it didn’t help Natsuo and Risa’s relationship proved Soulmates could love, respect and care for each other in a sincere and healthy way, without feeling forced at all.

And Shoto couldn’t help but envying them a bit, secretly. It wasn’t jealousy, no, not that icky feeling wrapped in resent. He was truly happy for his brother, for him to both experiment and bring to their chaotic havoc of a family, at last, some warming normalcy and goodness.

But somehow… a small, unexpected, disturbing longing was born from it. A frail and shapeless feeling that Shoto didn’t dare dwell upon nor name it, lest acknowledge it. And it contributed to make his inner struggles with his Bond even more exasperating and confusing.

Ignoring wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. However, he was still determined to not break his vow.          

Indeed, Shoto was living the life he had aspired for, both as a pro-Hero and the man he was aiming to become. It wasn’t an easy road but he was fully committed to his goal, working hard day and night to help, rescue and protect, no matter the danger or the pain – he knew how to endure it so well, right?

But truth was pain had never really left Shoto’s life. Whether as a physical side effect from his pro-Hero job, his family issues, and his Soulmate Bond.

That was why moments like this special day-off were so important, why he was so in need for these. They were a respite, a reminder of his meaningful goals, things and persons. They pulled him out of his head, out of the pain and frustration, and had him ready to defeat and surpass any challenge ahead.

Today, he wanted to firmly believe everything was going to be alright and push anything else in the back of his brain.   

As he walked through the streets, he noticed the area seemed calm and cleared from crowds. Was it the choice of the day, in the middle of the week, the morning hour, start of work already over but not nearing lunch rush yet…? The streets looked peaceful as Shoto made his way following the simple and precise directions his sister had provided him with – an emergency errand from her boss having prevented her to join him, although she promised to meet with everyone on the due rendezvous time.

After so many brainstorming around all of their hellish schedules, all the siblings plus their sister-in-law were eager and determined to make that special event happen.

Today, the letter to Natsuo and Risa’s soon-to-be-born baby was to be delivered.

Though at first, Shoto had to admit this peculiar writing service and the couple’s request had much puzzled him when the topic had been discussed among them at a Sunday family lunch, at his mother’s home.  

Honestly, back then, he had been kinda wary about it.

Could they really trust this person? What if it was a fraud? Or some evil intent to pry into his family’s privacy?  

The news of Natsuo and Risa having a child had made Shoto happy, and all he wanted was to be sure nothing and no one was trying to hurt them. Call it “professional habit”, he was still nevertheless a pro Hero.

Fuyumi had been quick to certify there was nothing to be worried about. According to her boss, the calligrapher who provided that letter writing service was a trusty person they personally knew and had worked with for years.

This helped to only partly ease down his worries though. And he hadn’t been entirely satisfied until asking a double-checking from Hawks - who had access to Civilians’ Security files and antecedents thanks for being the head of the Public Security Commission – and hearing from him the reassuring same confirmation. Shoto trusted him enough to not even ask for a look at the files or profile picture that came with. 

From then on, Shoto’s curiosity had been piqued.

As much as trends and social mundanities still tended to fly over his head, even him could say this letter service wasn’t very common, especially in their modern Quirk era. It reminded a bit of the public writers from the ancient times.   

As for his brother and sister-in-law’s request…

Shoto wasn’t unfamiliar with letter writing, having corresponded with his mom in his high school years as a way to rekindle their family connection. However, the whole concept of this special letter seemed kinda weird to him, a bit confusing to grasp, though he didn’t mean to hurt nor criticize the couple’s choice.

After all, he was a firm believer of “actions over words”, or at least, that words should be paired with actions otherwise they would fail to properly convey their message or reach out for people. 

“What’s the point of writing a letter to a baby? They wouldn’t get one single word out of it. You’d have to wait until they could properly read it. Unless… well, you wish to write some kind of testament letter…? But isn’t it a bit depressing?” he had wondered aloud with his usual bluntness. “Also, wouldn’t it feel more sincere to write it yourselves…?”

But it wasn’t until hearing Natsuo and Risa talk about the reasons behind their request that some realization dawned upon him, that something resonated within himself.

The wish to connect.    

It had him thinking back on his letters, how the ink, words and paper had provided the space, time and material he had needed to build up that bridge to his mom. He had always felt more comfortable at writing his emotions than speaking them out. In a way, all those years apart and piled up layers of pain and guilt had converted mother and son into strangers, and their letters had brought back the feeling of closeness they had been deprived of. There had been both reflection and action through those letters.

Of course, Natsuo and Risa’s situation was far different from his at that time. Their child was wanted and was very much awaited for by all of them, not to fulfill a scheme but simply out of love. Not yet born but already treasured and loved.

And it was their visit to the calligrapher which truly clicked everything into place.  

 “…just like pen pals, you still haven’t met, and you’re eager and curious, thrilled and nervous to know each other… right?”

Not that he ever had some experience with pen pals, but… it was as if the calligrapher’s words had helped him feel the meaning of such interaction, and how important it was for Natsuo and Risa.

“Weird but accurate.” had been Shoto’s comment upon hearing the quoted phrase from Natsuo’s thorough and enthusiastic recap of the visit.

Those were the exact feelings that wished to be conveyed and remembered for a lifetime. The calligrapher’s comment had perfectly nailed it with a heartwarming simplicity and honesty that proved she had carefully reflected upon it, that she was taking seriously their request. He liked how dedicated she seemed to be with her job.

And Shoto’s interest kept growing as his brother and Risa shared more and more details about their meeting.  

Never his brother had opened up so quickly to a stranger. The ever straightforward and perceptive Risa, far from being a people’s pleaser and never hesitating on her opinions, likes and dislikes, had been conquered. All of this in the span of an afternoon.    

Shoto had to admit he was quite taken aback.  

Their excitement, praises and matching grins sketched a meaningful session with a welcoming, thoughtful, caring person.

And there was still a bit of that emotion Natsuo had felt back then, when he quoted again the calligrapher’s reply to his painful regrets for not having reached to and valued his siblings earlier:

“Maybe when it comes to relationships, what matters the most is what you can do here and now. Isn’t it what you’re trying your best to do? Your brother and sister wishing to be by your side today, and your enthusiasm at the thought of getting everyone together here, next time we’ll meet, is a proof of how close you are and how much you care for each other.”

Words and feelings converting into action, connection.   

Shoto wasn’t expecting it but he felt pleasantly warmed and comforted. Strangely connected. Maybe a bit moved too.

He was still a bit mixed about how the sincerity of Natsuo and Risa’s message and feelings would be preserved and transmitted through another person’s filter… however, he was willing to let the calligrapher has her chance to perform it, and curious – maybe a bit excited - to see the results. 

He really wanted to see what kind of letter would be crafted out of it all, what the old dagashiya shop looked like, what type of traditional Japanese confectionary and tea would be served, and the matching scenery of the “secret garden” in the beginning of summer.

He wanted to visit the second-hand bookshop his brother had bragged about, maybe find some interesting novel or pre-Quirk era manga title, hop to the old confectionary shop and get some tasty traditional and seasonal sweet for his mom.  

And he wanted to meet the person who owned such peculiar, intriguing, comforting haven and could deliver such thoughtful and accurate insights.  

A quick peek at his phone, to check the directions to the shop. Just a few more streets ahead.

The raindrops grew briefly heavier, drumming hard all over his plastic umbrella, blurring the transparent fabric with ragged, liquid trails. The concrete darkened, ephemeral puddles filling the cracks and potholes of the uneven ground.

People would usually entitle rain to a weatherly hindrance, melancholia, gloom, and many depressing emotions. But right now, Shoto didn’t mind the unexpected downpour, nor felt like it was disrupting his plans.  While keeping an eye on his watch, he was taking time to note and appreciate the old buildings and quaint streets he passed by.

Albeit having lived his whole life in traditional Japanese homes, it was far from comparing with a town that seemed coming out of a pre-Quirk era history book or period drama. Most of the shops radiated the sturdy, hardwork confidence and competence of a specialty patiently brewed, mastered and proudly transmitted throughout decades and centuries. Shoto was baffled at how well preserved and authentic the neighborhood looked.

It felt nostalgic, even if he had never experienced those old times.

He was glad none of the Last War battles had ruined the area.

It must feel nice, living peacefully here, he thought.

Somehow, it seemed to him it fitted the calligrapher and her letter writing service.

A sudden burst of enthusiastic voices snapped him from his musings.

“Ah! Look who’s coming!”  

“Over here, over here!”

Standing on the sidewalk, two women were calling out for attention. Judging from their attire, Shoto assumed they might be employees of the nearby traditional confectionary shop. Maybe the same shop which sold the dangos Risa had been bragging about…?  

He sighed. So long for his cover and his peaceful stroll. But just as he resigned himself to an impromptu fan meeting session, he felt something swiftly brush past him.

The tabby cat from the parking lot.

“There you are, Tama-chan!”

“You must be hungry, here, eat up, eat up!”

The two women gathered around the cat under the shop’s awning, cooing and plating a large portion of canned tuna. The purring feline accepted it as a due offering from his humans’ worshippers.

Left to the side, Shoto blinked then stifled a quiet chuckle.

So you’re kind of a local celebrity, huh…? he thought, resuming to his walk. Like the neighborhood number one pro-Hero… Seems like you’ve outranked me, then.       

He was already picturing his family’s and friends’ reaction to this anecdote, pro-Hero Shoto ghosted for a cat. Fuyumi and their mom would find it adorable, while Natsuo would probably tease the hell out of him and Risa’d end up hiccupping from too much laughing. As for his friends, he could foresee lots of running jokes and cats memes spamming his phone – on second thought, maybe he wouldn’t tell all of them.

A final check of directions with lighthearted steps. Just one more street and a corner to turn.

Shoto hurried forward. An indigo colored noren of a soba restaurant caught up his eyes and tentatively slowed his pace though. The kind of place only locals and gourmets would go, in a mutual vow of keeping it a special and mass preserved spot. Just as he wondered where the menu was being displayed and when the shop would open for lunch, the front door slid open and a short old man stepped outside, a bowl in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. His working attire was the same color as the noren. His sharp, severe face lit up.

“ Right on time, heh, you lil’ brat!”

This time, Shoto could tell the gruff welcoming wasn’t addressed to him. The tabby had materialized again like a Cheshire cat, smug smile and waiting to be served. The old man grunted a laugh at the diligent way the feline honored the bowl’s contents as soon as he set it down, under the shelter of the shop’s front porch.  

Shoto marveled at the cat’s appetite, who just had downed a whole can of tuna not even five minutes before.

As if sensing his puzzlement, the old man turned to him and retorted, while tapping the piece of paper on the shop’s paneled door:

“That lil’ devil tours the whole neighborhood every day, just to get pampered and some nice tasty food, right, Tora?”

The old man’s eyes and smile crinkled even more wrinkles over his face, affectionate and proud. 

“Ya really got us human lot whipped for you, ha!”

Well, this proved Shoto’s theory: the tabby was indeed the local celebrity, deity, a bit of a mafia boss too, perhaps…? He wondered if Tama-Tora had as many names as he counted of human admirers.

That kind of attention and care was both funny and endearing to watch.

“But don’t expect him to let his tummy being scratched, ha!” the old man playfully scolded the unimpressed cat. “ You won’t let anyone pet you, heh? Anyone but (y/n)-san, ya smug lil’ punk! She got ya whipped for her, he he!”

Shoto immediately perked up. This was the calligrapher’s name.

The cat turned away from the emptied bowl as if pouting and glared an irked “hell no” – a bit bakugo-esque, Shoto noticed, amused - before making his leave as swiftly as he came, sauntering through the rain towards another treat human provider. Shoto’s gaze followed the tabby to the corner of the street. Maybe he’d get to see him again in the calligrapher’s garden…?

He nodded a polite goodbye to the old man and was ready to resume to his walk when he heard him calling him back.

“Lunch starts at noon ‘til we serve the last bite of today’s dishes. Today, we have cold soba served with shrimp and vegetable tempuras, Sobagaki with homemade dashi flavored soy sauce, and Juwari soba with a walnut dipping sauce.”

All of these sounded equally tempting for the “crazy soba worshipper” Shoto was. He bowed a thank you to the old man, who added a half serious, half playful warning:

“First arrived, first served. No reserving and no jumping the queue. And “Enjoy your meal”, that’s my restaurant’s number one rule. So don’t worry, no one here’s gonna pester ya, Shoto-san.”

A brief moment of blinking eyes before his features relaxed. Not that he felt surprised or annoyed at being recognized, no. But it felt good to be acknowledged without making a fuss over it, with words both casual and thoughtful.

The old man grinned a “maybe see ya later!” and stepped back inside the shop. Shoto inhaled the salty waft of seasoned, grilled meat and the fragrant tickle of spices coming from the slightly left ajar door panel.

Yeah, it must really feel nice, living peacefully here, he couldn’t help thinking again, as he moved away and turned around the street corner.  

A soft, wordless longing, for living in this nostalgic, endearing neighborhood. Not really a serious vow, like him setting immediately into house hunting, no – right now, he was putting money aside to start his own Hero agency while providing for his mother and helping his siblings. But maybe, once he’d look for his own place, he’d put on his list this neighborhood…

And perhaps he’d even end up as one of Tama-Tora’s humans fans and treat provider. Shoto kinda liked this idea. 

The rain softened, from a boisterous drumming session to a feather like bounce on his umbrella. When he finally arrived at destination, the puddles and wet sidewalk were glistening and warming under the sun light.

He closed his umbrella and stared at the building. Quietly gazing at the old yet sturdy and trusty structure, the dark wood panels framing impeccable glass and light curtains inside, the old-fashioned but spotless awning, the rustic bench nestled in-between lush potted greenery and the shop’s wooden sign.

Unconsciously, Shoto took a deep, refreshing breath.

The ancient, almost two centuries-old building as amiable and casual as a friendly elderly sitting outside and enjoying the sun. Simple and welcoming. Perfectly preserved but willingly embracing and fitting inside his long history the changes of his most recent owner.

He glanced at the shop’s sign.

The words “Atelier Plume” had been handwritten in western style. He found them charming, because the lettering didn’t look cute or calculated or even perfect, but it felt warm and inviting, honest and graceful.

Again, it made Shoto think how much a handwriting was both filled with and reflected feelings.

And if those were the feelings the calligrapher had wished to convey to open the shop’s door, then, he’d more than willingly oblige.

He carefully shook off the umbrella’s last drops of lingering rain. Then slid open the wooden panel.

***      

You heard the call, a polite “Sorry to intrude” in a deep voice, from the back kitchen.

You quickly gathered on your tray the last piece of the Mizu Yokan treat you had purchased earlier, this morning, from the neighborhood’s old confectionary shop and were planning on serving as a welcoming snack, secured the whole in a firm grasp, then made your way across the engawa porch connecting the back rooms to the shop’s front room with hasty, light-hearted steps.

You were a bit nervous but also excited and eager for today’s main event. Today, you were going to deliver to the Haneda the letter to their soon-to-be-born baby you had written. And you wanted to ensure everything – your hard work, preps, place, tea time, atmosphere – would bring happiness and satisfaction to your guests. You were also looking forward meeting with Natsuo’s siblings.

Before stepping through the open double doors to the shop, you sneaked a last, swift peek at the garden, at the contents of your tray. The moist, vivid green of the bushes and foliage, the bright touches of color from the flowers, sketched an enticing, refreshing palette that would have pleased an Impressionist painter. The translucent plum-colored little squares of Mizu Yokan – five of them – each disposed on a shiso leaf on top of a white plate, looked plump and delicious. There was cold green tea you had brewed beforehand and a hot version too waiting to be served. The tea cups were already disposed on the low table.  

A light nod to yourself. Preparations were complete.

A smile on your lips, you entered the room, both happy and eager for this meeting.

“Welcome! Sorry for the wait. Please, do…”

Your greeting words died right in the middle of your sentence as abruptly as a heart attack. You froze on the threshold.

No.  

Your breath caught in your throat.

No.

Your feet instinctively backed a retreat. Out of shock, of dismay, of panic.

No, no, no.

Yanked again on that cursed train car, five years ago, forced to look, to acknowledge the other side of your Bond in an unwanted fateful meeting. The Universe pulling the same moves in a wicked, cruel little plot twist.

Shoto Todoroki standing in the entrance of your shop, the beloved, safe place you had worked so hard, while enduring his pain, to build up.

Out of how many billions of chances this detestable scenario could have happened? And worse of all, happening now, just when you were about to hold that special session that had taken so much time to plan, that everyone was so much looking forward, included yourself.

NO!

A rush of protectiveness, of anger, like an inner gush of fiery wind coursed through your body.

How dare he!

You tightened your grip on the tray.

You had no idea why Shoto Todoroki had ended up in your shop – lest some dirty trick from your Soulmate Bond – but suddenly, you felt the urge to protect this place and your meeting with the Haneda and Natsuo’s siblings, at all costs.

And maybe, there was also a buried, bitter need to retaliate. But you held back that seething, squirming feeling inside yourself with a firm hold. Lashing at a visitor, more so a popular pro Hero, wasn’t the image you wanted to convey of yourself and your shop.

You hated him even more for putting you in such a tricky situation, feeling another rush of irritation when you noticed with reluctance his usually stoic face was going through some emotional reaction. As if he had recognized yourself from that cursed day.

Your stomach churned, briefly queasy.

However, you chose to straighten up and step inside as if that faltering moment had never happened. Decided to regain your territory.  

To say Shoto was surprised at this unexpected plot twist would have been a serious understatement.

He was shocked and stunned, absolutely thunderstruck. And for once, his bewilderment was showing on his face.

The last thing he was expecting was having his conflicted, unsure wish of another fateful meeting being granted to him right here, right now…  and through such an ironic plot twist. He could almost hear the Universe snickering at him like a mean, perverse middle school bully.

Even though it had been for a very short moment, at that time, on that train platform, even after five years, he was nonetheless perfectly able to tell.

You. It was you.   

The image of you, five years ago, wildly struggling and desperate to tear away from your shared Bond… The vision of the calligrapher his brother and sister-in-law had sketched to him, so appealing and heartwarming…

And the sight of you, right now, holding your tray and a grudge against him from the way your amiable features had alarmed then hardened, the way your body had reacted as if instinctively repulsed by backing away, just two tiny steps but the proof was here, you were still rejecting him just like five years ago - no, it had even worsened, for there was resent now, added to your past emotions.

That sight of you hurt. Shoto felt the frustration building up again.

It was a mess of miss-matched pieces from different jigsaws, a brutal epiphany lacking explanations or meanings, you, your reaction, his emotions, confusing, overwhelming, craving for a damn answer. All of these gathering into a wild chaos, pulling away from his control and pushing out loud, crammed inside the same three little words also pulsing in his mind:

“It’s you.” he blurted, unable to tell if he was accusing, demanding, explaining, stating, trying for a connection.    

You froze again. He watched your surprised features briefly scrunch into an irked, sour frown as if he had just slapped your face. The next moment though, it was all gone, as you proceeded to kneel and set down your tray on the low table and finally address him:

“I’m sorry sir, but the shop is currently closed for a special event.”

Your voice was polite but impossibly distant, all sharp, snarling emotions dulled, probably contained. You didn’t look at him.

The building up frustration within him strained Shoto’s breath, narrowed his eyes. He didn’t avert them from you though.     

Even saying it out loud, to your face, even when both of you had let escape proofs of having recognized each other as the other side of your shared Bond…

You would not acknowledge it.

He was right in front of you and you deliberately ignored him.  

In the quiet of the room, the discreet clinking of the little plates holding a sweet treat nonetheless sounded clear and sharp, as you carefully disposed each in front of a tea cup. It felt as final as a last sentence to an unwanted conversation with a despised someone.

You were absolutely, impossibly out of reach.

Shoto bit his lip.

He should just accept it. He had already made up his mind many years ago about it, about you, right? Just accept it, your resent, the unwanted Bond, maybe he should just withdraw, text Fuyumi and Natsuo he couldn’t make it, had to leave. And never ever see you again, now that he knew who you were.

The last thing Shoto wanted was to inflict pain. More so to the other side of his Bond.

For a flashing second, he wondered how Midoriya, Iida or Bakugo would handle such situation.

Or maybe he didn’t want to give up still.

Then he just acted out of impulse again, out of an urge he couldn’t explain nor control, born out of all those years of questioning, anxious overthinking, pent up frustration. His vow of letting in peace his other side of the Bond, of not forcing any acknowledgement upon you, clashing with his own stubbornness, a fierce need to understand, to make you see him.      

“I know.”

He stared right at your face, took in your light startle while still obstinately evading him.  

That’s why I’m here for, the words he was about to spill out next, maybe together with a blunt inquiry about your reasons for hating him so intently, want it or not, but a loud, cheerful cry interrupted him from behind.

“Already there? Can’t believe your brother made it first, Natsu!”

Risa’s lively voice innocently hitting you with a brutal introduction and realization.

Brother…?

Heartbeat and lungs on hold. You raised your head.

Feeling aghast, word on repeat inside your mind until its meaning finally sunk in. You slowly blinked.

Fragments of Natsuo’s confessions about his family flashing inside your mind. 

An “always busy” father…

A mother with health issues…

The shape of Natsuo’s pain, siblings he regretted growing up apart from…

The Todoroki family’s drama crudely exposed through their oldest son’s footage, just before the start of the Last War. Albeit at that time you had stayed away from it all, not caring to memorize passing by pictures revealing names and faces of the Todoroki family members…

Natsuo’s last name obviously coming from his wife…

You slowly released in a tremble the breath you were unconsciously holding.

Oh God. You had been so naïve. So stupidly oblivious.

Sure, all of these hints couldn’t have clicked right away, back to your first meeting. But still, you couldn’t help but feeling like an idiot, couldn’t help feeling like someone had just pushed you off of a cliff, out of the blue. Helpless. Betrayed. Hurt.     

Still kneeling at the low table, once again, you couldn’t move, unable to greet the people you were so eager to meet with – that is to say, until Shoto Todoroki set foot inside your shop and wreaked havoc in tow. Thinking everything was ruined, now, he had ruined everything, just like his pain did with your life. The bitterness, unfairness of it all balling inside your throat, a menace of an outburst you desperately kept contained.

Though your shocked musings only took a brief instant, your lingering silence triggered an uneasy, worried exchange of glances between Natsuo and Risa.

However, Natsuo was quick to react, not wanting to let any tension settle down.     

“This might come as a bit of a surprise, cause I actually took my wife’s last name, but… yeah, Shoto is my brother.”

His honesty didn’t beat around the bush. And so did the following apology to you. The hand he brought to his nape was a bit sheepish. However, his gray eyes were serious and his stare didn’t sway.  

“Sorry for not telling you about it. There’s still some pretty annoying drama about the family, and… I guess that seeing you so welcoming and nice, and caring for our project, well, it felt like this could disturb the vibe and even have you cancelling it all. That was selfish of me. And dishonest too. So if you want us to leave…”

“Ah, no! Not at all!” you cried, tearing from your inner bitter crisis, raising yourself up upon the impulse Natsuo’s words inspired to you.

The thought he had been worrying about the effects of his family name might have impacted your decision to help the couple, and furthermore, the complicated feelings he was still carrying from it, had both guilt and sorrow squeeze your heart. You had gotten to witness and understand a bit of the shape of the pain that had escaped him on your previous meeting.

It helped clearing up your emotional turmoil and had you grounded again.  

“I don’t feel hurt or mad. I… was a bit taken aback, it’s true, but please, don’t apologize, you don’t have anything to blame yourselves for! There is nothing wrong with it, with any of you.”

Your eyes and your voice were firm again, earnest to reassure.

You couldn’t let Natsuo and Risa think they were the cause of your current, inner turmoil. The true culprit was still standing beside them, though, silent yet watching you intently. But you decided to ignore him with all of your might, focusing on the couple instead.

You reminded yourself again this was your territory, and you were going to regain it back.   

“I’ve already said it before and I will not change my mind, Natsuo-san, Risa-san, I want to fully fulfill your request. And I’m glad you’ve entrusted me with it.”

You would not let them down.

You stepped down the elevated floor and approached them.

“The letter to your baby is ready to be delivered, and so it will be. So please, welcome, and do come in.”

With a smile and a graceful gesture of your hand, you motioned them to step in.

The presence of Shoto Todoroki was an irking, loathsome nuisance. However, you chose to do your best to endure it for the sake of Natsuo and Risa. The couple’s looks of gratitude and relief were rewarding enough to motivate you.

“You have no idea how much we were looking forward for that letter and meeting you again!” Risa beamed while following you up the elevated tatami floor.

You noticed Natsuo’s hands were even more careful and protective over his wife’s silhouette, as they settled on the same spots from last time the floor cushions marked, and that Risa’s stomach bump was rounder than the last time you saw them. That sight and the enthusiasm from her voice endeared your smile.

“So do I.” you replied.

You heard a shuffling on your left side, just Shoto quietly sitting down at the table’s corner. The nearness of you both briefly tensed you, you hadn’t been so close to your side of the Bond ever and you had to fight the urge to back off again. 

You realized there was still one person missing and was about to inquire on it when the front door to your shop slid open and gave you the answer in the shape of a slightly out of breath young woman.

“Ah! Sorry for the delay! Is it already started? Am I interrupting…?”

The woman pushed back in place her glasses, up her nose. She had the same white hair as Natsuo, tied in a updo. On a second look, you noted touches of red speckling her locks. She hurriedly smoothed a few messy strands.

“Not at all. Welcome. Please, do come in.” you immediately stood up and went to her.

A couple of small patches of burned skin marred her face. It didn’t disturb the amiable beauty of her features.

“I’m Fuyumi Todoroki.” She bowed. “Please, no need for formalities, you can call me Fuyumi.”

You nodded and introduced yourself. Her gray eyes lit up, her smile widened.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you. Morino-san speaks highly of you.” she went on, mentioning her boss. “And the way you calligraphed the title of the latest re-edition of The Secret Garden and The house of the Lost in the cape… it was beautiful and meaningful. I couldn’t help thinking both authors would have loved it as well.”

You weren’t prepared for her praise, nevertheless, you welcomed it with an embarrassed yet pleased smile and the little mannerism you absent-mindedly performed whenever flustered, a graceful tucking of a lock of hair behind your ear. 

Despite the Universe’s sick, wicked plot twist, you felt as pleased as her to meet each other. No matter her last name, Fuyumi was the person who read your sincere reasons through your calligraphy of the books’ titles you did, and the one who connected you all and contributed to make this event happen.

You were even more motivated to make this session a meaningful one, even with the unwanted presence of Shoto Todoroki. You were determined to not let him ruin it.

“Ah! Sorry! I got carried away, please don’t mind my fangirling…” Fuyumi apologized with a chuckle.

You assured her the feeling was shared before bowing and thanking her for her role in having connected you all and bringing everyone together. She was flustered, in a pleasant way though. Her steps were light-hearted as she followed you to the tatami display and settled down on the table corner, at your right side.

More cheerful and lively comments and praises ensued, as Fuyumi admired the lovely scenery of your garden in tow with her sister-in-law.

Shoto gave in to a lingering gaze at it as well. The lasting smell of after rain and wet earth was fragrant and refreshing. The old cherry tree was all leafy and whispery foliage. For a few seconds, he felt soothed and welcomed.     

“I think we must celebrate the fact this family finally got to reunite without any last minute disrupting hellish schedule.” Risa claimed, clapping her hands together before giving a pointed look to her brother-in-law. “Shoto, you’d better have your phone turned off. Today, any world menace is strictly prohibited.” She lightly nudged her snickering husband and warned him too. “Same goes for you, Natsu. Today, no one is allowed to die, break a bone, or whatever injury else.”

“Fine, fine. Risa-sama’s words are today’s Universe rule.” Natsuo playfully huffed.

“And shall bend every Laws of Physics and repel Villains away.” Fuyumi played along as well.

“Exactly.” Risa nodded, with a smug expression.

In any other situation – away from his Soulmate Bond, from your grudge, and all the pent up ache and frustration you were stirring within him – Shoto would have participated in that little family banter.

But he merely nodded and hummed, uncomfortably aware of his unwelcomed presence to you, despite you showing a serene, friendly demeanor… at least, to anyone else here but him.

You watched the siblings shenanigans with Risa, letting out a light chuckle, before gently moving on with the session, offering first some tea. Without much of a surprise, the three Todoroki siblings chose the cold version, while you and Risa settled for the hot one.

As hoped, the treat you had prepared made its little impression.

“Oh! It’s Mizu Yokan, right?” Risa already sounded enthusiastic about savoring it. “Feels like summer’s already here… Is it from the same dango shop from last time?”

You nodded and smiled.

“I thought you would perhaps enjoy a light, seasonal specialty again.”

“Yeah, but the challenge is tough, cause this girl here spent the last month only bragging about dangos.” Natsuo smirked.

His wife shrugged with a pout and attacked the snack, the siblings following her lead.

The first bite of the translucent, red bean flavored jelly perked up their face, lit up their eyes and echoed surprised and pleased approvals and praises. The treat melted on the tongue, leaving a refreshing aftertaste with no overbearing sweetness. The Kyobancha green tea you had served paired well, with its elegant, roasted flavor.

Everything was perfectly balanced.

For a moment, Shoto even forgot the tensed situation he was in, just enjoying the taste, the texture and the shape of his little square of Mizu Yokan. The memories from his stroll around the neighborhood, from earlier, came back to his mind, he wondered if these had been bought at the confectionary shop he passed by.

A place, a neighborhood he couldn’t think about settling in anymore, not even enjoying as a day-off stroll.

The little thought was sudden and stung. It spoiled in a second the last bite of the treat. He almost missed his brother calling him.

“Heh… seems like you’re enjoying your meal. I’ve never seen you so focused on any other food apart soba.” Natsuo teased him.

“I think this Mizu Yokan was the best version I’ve ever had, even the one from our cook Kaya-san wasn’t as good. Don’t you think so, Shoto?” Fuyumi beamed.

Shoto felt cornered as in one of these tricky interviews he hated the most.

He carefully glanced at you.

Again, if only this situation, the situation of the both of you had been different – the vague, disturbing longing feeling briefly squirmed within him, uninvited, before he almost immediately shoved it away.

But this was the reality of your Bond.

“It was good.” he replied in his monochord tone.

His siblings sighed in unison. Risa snorted.

“Thank god you never applied for a gourmet critique job.” Natsuo jokingly lamented.

Shoto watched you address a polite nod and smile at his laconic praise. However, your smile didn’t reach your eyes. And your gaze slid across his features like water over a duck’s feathers.

Then you turned your attention back to his siblings and Risa, and he noted the change in your smile, how it sincerely warmed up to them.          

In a way, it was even worse than being ignored. Shoto could almost feel in his throat the weight and texture of the words demanding an explanation to your rejection, crowding, pressuring to be released in his blunt way. He clenched his jaws though. He wouldn’t ruin his brother and Risa’s special moment. And he realized you were doing just the same as him. As weirdly as it seemed, the fact you were intent on keeping your resent aside for the sake of them, truly treating them as nicely and thoughtfully as welcomed guests, proved to him you were a serious, good person. He was the one forcing you into this painful set of bitter emotions. Just like he did to his mother.

Shoto blinked, immediately snapping himself out of the dangerous musings that were cradling like storm clouds inside his head.

This was no good.

Not now. Not here. 

He took a sip of his tea. The rugged flanks of the cup fitting his hand and the delicate coolness of the Kyobansha tea helped calming him down.

Fortunately, it seemed the time had come to finally have the long-awaited letter delivered. You had cleared up the table of the emptied little plates, only leaving the tea cups. And the envelope you were holding in your hands had everyone around the table perk up and intently focused.

“Natsuo-san, Risa-san, if you please.”

You gently laid the envelope on the table and slid it towards the couple. There was a quick eye exchange between the two, filled with overflowing expectation, a bit of excitement. A silent understanding seemed to happen as well between Fuyumi and Shoto, who both remained awaiting: this first read belonged to Natsuo and Risa.

Risa carefully took the envelope and opened it – it wasn’t sealed, for this was a letter meant to be immediately read and shared before secured away.

There were two sheets inside. And as the couple started their quiet reading, you thought back of all the decisions and efforts you had put on that special message. The choice of the paper, the ink and the pen, the size of the envelope and the best material to protect its content over the years and manipulations. The intents, the feelings, how you could properly convey two voices through your hand.

Hidden under the table, your fingers in your lap nervously twisted a small inch of your skirt fabric.

You did your best. You hoped so.

And to your relief, Natsuo and Risa’s earnest reactions told you their request had been successfully fulfilled, as promised.

The emotions openly played over their faces while reading, eyes crinkling with amusement, lips tightening in a shaky line, shared lively grins as in “that’s it, that’s exactly what I meant to say!”, a tear drop rolling down Risa’s cheek, bouncy chuckles, Natsuo’s hand squeezing hers while he tried to casually blink away his watery eyes – and completely failed.

A second reading, pointing out their already favorites parts, enjoying the feelings, theirs and those the words unfolded and were going to be preserved.

With a lively invite, they beckoned the two other siblings to join in. They swiftly gathered, and for a second, you were reminded of the past winters you had spent in this room when it was still the old lady’s dagashiya shop, when you and your friends grouped around the old steaming stove: they looked the same, like a flock of sparrows warming up together.

For a very short moment, you forgot Shoto Todoroki was in that endearing gathering as well. But it didn’t last, your grudge was quickly back.

Eyes fixed on the letter, Shoto’s reading was thorough and quiet. Yet, his internal reaction was as intense and emotional as his other family members.

He was in awe.

At how the words’ heartwarming simplicity went straight to the heart and connected the readers, at how beautifully, sincerely Natsuo and Risa’s both separate and shared feelings, intents, stories, were conveyed, respecting each other voices and at the same time, weaving them together in the already undivided love they held for their soon-to-be-born baby.

And there was the same care, reflection and purpose in the handwriting: those hiraganas and kanjis weren’t an imitation of the couple’s style, but rather, what their voices would feel like on the paper.

This was truly a teamwork you all had done together.     

You had shaped, crafted and relayed what was needed, wished and longed for.

The specks of doubts Shoto had had beforehand about your ability to do so vanished for good.

He felt happy at the thought his future nephew or niece would one day read such meaningful and loving words.

He wished someone would have gifted him those words, instead of an unwanted legacy of toxic ambition and pain.   

And the more he read and mused upon the letter, the more he wanted to tell you about his thoughts on it, wanted to praise you in his awkward, blunt yet earnest way.

But he couldn’t. You wouldn’t accept it, wouldn’t accept him.  

God, how it hurt. How all of this, all of you, of him, felt so damn frustrating and painful altogether. As though this was the cursed shape of your Bond.

Beside him, Fuyumi, Risa and Natsuo were all enthusiastic and moved.

Between heartfelt praises and comments, you expressed your relief and happiness to have satisfied their request.

And then, as if your Soulmate Bond took upon Shoto’s unspoken words and decided it was time to reveal what connected the both of you to each other…

Risa’s hand bumped with her cup, which you just had filled up again, knocking it over, hot, steaming tea spilling towards her. It didn’t touch her though, for both Natsuo and Shoto instantly reacted, her husband pulling her away while her brother-in-law blocked the liquid with his forearm. He didn’t use his freezing Quirk – Risa was too near him and he wouldn’t take the risk of harming both her and the baby albeit he did master his Quirk abilities. Hot tea was a mere burn he could perfectly endure without even thinking about it. Shoto had experienced much, much worser.

A muffled, discreet gasp.

Shoto could have easily missed it if it hadn’t been for years of past training his hearing upon forecasting his father’s imminent, impromptu arrivals, coming for him and another excruciating “teaching” session.  

He immediately turned his head towards the little noise.

The brief sight of you holding your forearm with a surprised, painful wince.

Your bare forearm bearing no trace of bruise, blood, burn. Yet, the hand you had wrapped around it tightening, knuckles turning white.

Shoto frowned.

Your unharmed forearm. Your face scrunching in a painful expression you immediately tried to fight off.

One missed heartbeat as if Shoto had trip down a step, falling, crashing to the ground.

You, holding the same side as his when he had blocked the hot tea from spilling over Risa.  

Both of you catching each other’s eyes. Panic in yours, just like that day, five years ago, before letting go of your arm with a jolt, pulling yourself away from his stunned, wide eyed stare, as you stood up and inquired about Risa as if nothing had happened to you.  

“Ah… I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry!” she assured. “Baby’s good too. We’re a tough bunch, right? Especially with a pro-Hero uncle as guardian angel.”

“Hey! What about me?” Natsuo pouted.

“You’re a very efficient sidekick.” Risa pinched his cheek and smirked to his vexed huff.

“Shoto, are you o…” Fuyumi asked.

She didn’t get to end her sentence though.

In one swift motion, Shoto was up and next to you, reaching out not with his hands but with a strangled, anxious voice and eyes full of mingled alarm and concern.  

“Are you okay?”

You almost jump scared at his reaction, once again backing off from his closeness.

“Me? Why are you asking? I’m perfectly fine.”

You blinked, playing surprise. Pretending your forearm didn’t ache. Rejecting his concern, rejecting his realization, rejecting anything coming from him.

“No, you’re not.”

Shoto’s blank face, monochord tone, all gone. There wasn’t simple worry in those words, nor pro-Hero acting upon protecting instincts. Not at all. There was exasperation and stubbornness, pain and despair, cold shock and searing guilt.

Lies, he thought, upon hearing your false reassurance.

“You must be mistaken. Really, I’m all fine and dandy.” you insisted, your politeness slightly tensing. 

Lies, lies, lies.

Shoto gritted his teeth, wanting to shake his head at each of your fake words. You, who just had proved how sincerely you could write, convey and preserve other ones’ feelings and messages.

How could you be alright, how could you be fine, with his pain on your body, inside and out? How could… how could you even had endured, oh God, oh God…

That thought.

Shoto felt a queasy dizziness, in the pit of his stomach, in the back of his mind, his surroundings, room, people, voices, suppressed, world’s sounds and images suddenly reduced to a silent replaying of his past pains.

No. No, no, no.

That thought, of you enduring his pain. Each blow, each bruise, each burn. Broken or sprained limbs, dislocated bones, muscles strained beyond their limits. Countless headaches, nausea, collateral damage injuries. From his father, then from his UA days, and now, from his pro-Hero job.

And the pain from that day, the day his mother burned him, gave him this scar.

Shoto felt sick.

Now he had his answer. To your panic, your despair, your animosity, your rejection.

Of course, you’d be mad, of course, you’d be filled with resent, rancor, hate, fear, towards him. You had every reasons to reject him.  

Since the very beginning, he had been right. He would only bring Hell and pain to his other side of the Bond. Because that was the true shape of it.

You evaded him, to go fetch a cloth in the kitchen to clean up the mess. Cutting short any other attempt of interaction between the two of you. Shoto slowly sunk back to his seat, under the shock. Stoic look on his face again, crushed, aching self in the inside.   

From there on, the rest of the session came in a blur to him.

Following his outburst, you had been quick to reassure everyone’s inquiries on you.  

There had been a moment of panic, when Risa and Natsuo found out the letter had been drenched with the spilled tea. However, you promptly saved the day, mentioning the paper and ink had been specifically selected to endure and last through such incidents.

“This paper comes from an old, traditional paper-making workshop. However, instead of coming from vegetal, the fibers used here are secreted by a Spider Quirk user. As a result, the paper is incredibly strong and almost all fluids repellent and can endure fire as well.” you explained, adding you had chosen an archival ink for possessing nearly the same proprieties. “So no matter what, don’t worry, this letter should be time-proof.” you smiled.

And indeed, to Natsuo and Risa’s relief, the letter quickly dried and returned to its previous, spotless state, as if no incident had happened.

You acted the same. Just as if Shoto Todoroki hadn’t finally come to realize the true nature of your Bond and almost made a fuss over it. You held everything back, as you were heartily thanked by Natsuo and Risa and praised by Fuyumi, and as the session came to its end and you walked the family to the entrance of your shop. 

You were doing so well. Just a little bit more.  

Until Risa’s impromptu demand.

“How about making this a tradition? I mean…” She glanced at her husband, who lifted an inquiring eyebrow, before turning back to you again. “… just like we did now, how about writing a letter to our kid, every year until their majority…? This time, with the whole family, with Fuyumi, Shoto, Rei, my parents. Would you be okay to do it again?”

Both you and Natsuo were taken aback by the request, though perhaps not for the same reasons.

The young man frowned and protested.

“Risa… That’s some bigger, kinda life-time project you’re talking about.” he huffed. “And a lot more people involved in it too. We can’t force it on (y/n)-san. Besides, don’t you think we must discuss it first between us?”

But Risa was very much driven by some internal certainty, thus insisting. 

“But you liked the letter, right?”

“Well yeah, but…”

“So the question here is…” she faced you with her straightforward stare and voice. “… is it possible to do it, and would you be in with us to do it.”

Now it was your turn to feel cornered.

As much as you found this new project exciting, inspiring, and would have loved to be a part of it… Yet, you couldn’t bear the idea of having to share it as well with Shoto Todoroki.

You swallowed hard, throat suddenly tightening.

No, you couldn’t, wouldn’t bear it at all. And it enraged you, deep inside. For you were growing fond of the Haneda couple, and you had truly enjoyed working on their letter, and you wished to befriend with Fuyumi too.

Slowly, as if gathering your voice like a twine you assembled in a ball, you tried to ease your refusal.

“I had never been tasked with such request before, so I can’t say it’s not doable. However…”

Their eyes. You could tell even Natsuo had a glint of hope, outweighing his protests. Their faces on hold, filled with expectation – except you couldn’t tell for Shoto’s, who you still firmly avoided to look at.

Your words faltered. You faltered.

“However… I might need a bit of time to think about it. Will it be okay if I give you my reply later?”

You knew you were only delaying your “no, can’t do”. But you couldn’t bring yourself to plainly refuse right here, right now, standing on the threshold of your shop’s entrance, you believed it would have felt cold and disrespectful.

Had them sensed it or not? Risa’s smile and Natsuo’s gratefulness were still nonetheless genuine, as the couple assured you to take your time thinking about it. Fuyumi insisted upon exchanging business cards with you, expressing her wish to meet you again.

Shoto remained to himself, to the side. You couldn’t care less, feeling more than resentful about the person who had ruined your day and your future interactions with lovely people.    

You parted ways on your hidden, mixed, bitter feelings.

***

But not for long, though.

It only took Shoto a few steps along the street, trailing behind the lively chatting group of his family, to come into a conclusion, a decision, and to act upon it.

“I’m going back.” he declared before turning heels and retreating back to the shop.

To the surprised inquiries, he shouted back a laconic “forgot something, don’t wait for me.”

The siblings and Risa shared a curious glance, then shrugged it off. Rendezvous had been taken while chatting between them to have lunch at that soba restaurant in the next street. Shoto would meet them there.

***

The door to your shop slid open on your back, slightly startling you.

Standing still in the middle of the room, your gaze had been fixed on the old cherry tree without seeing it. Your mind achingly pulsing with the gathering raw emotions, throbbing rancor and resent this meeting left you as a bitter aftertaste, bordering a splitting headache.  

Right now, you just wanted to collapse in a corner and cry out all of your pent up anger, pain, despair.

But you forgot to hang up the little “closed” sign as you normally did after each request session. So you were doomed with enduring this unexpected customer with a smile.

Taking a hasty, deep breath, you turned around.

“Welcome…”

“Listen.” Shoto cut you off, wasting no time on language subtilities, time consuming formalities, revelations that had been more than plainly obvious to the both of you, and intent on keeping up the pace his impulse had settled for him.

You were still rejecting him, even more deeply than five years ago. And after having finally found out why, Shoto could only agree to your reasons. To be honest, he was still undergoing the aftershock tremors of this all. And right now, processing it felt to him confusing and damn overwhelming, like a hand squeezing his throat in a steel-like grip.

But at the same time…

There was that urge, something deep inside of him that wouldn’t have him give up yet.

He was going to reach out for you.

Even if he had to squeeze out his words, to rip them from his awkward throat, even if this was probably going to be a total mess… He would speak up his honest thoughts and feelings. He had to. He wanted to. He needed to.  

“Listen.” he repeated to your hardened features, the sour look in your eyes, the tight line of your lips and your balled fists. “I don’t want to bring you anymore pain in your life. And I’m sorry you had to endure it for so long. You… you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one pouring my own pain on you. But you must understand I didn’t know this was the shape of our Bond. I… wasn’t even sure there was an other side to it. There was only me and nothing else, nothing different to be felt, to be noticed, from your side.”

Shoto paused, gauging your reaction, looking back at his words, did he choose them right, did he hurt you, what if there was unfixable misunderstanding, but he had to be honest, but he didn’t want to ruin that frail chance to reach out for you either…

His quick, anxious overthinking moment left a brief, tiny breach for your snort, cold, harsh, devoid of any humor.       

“I doubt you would ever feel any kind of pain coming from my side, Todoroki-san. Just like a rhino wouldn’t notice the sting of a mosquito on its butt. Would you like me to apologize as well, for the lack of painful response, for not pestering you with my daily little mundane scratches and twinges?”

The sarcasm was laced with clear despise and rancor.

Shoto frowned. Sarcasms used to fly right over his head as a teen, however, he was now better at reading them. He had to admit the rhino metaphor was quite fitting… and heartbreaking too. It proved how much his pain had overwritten your own emotional responses, had truly taken over your life, your own pain.  

“That wasn’t what I was meaning.”

“Then please, do tell me what exactly your true purpose is, Todoroki-san. Because your impromptu little speech blurted from the heart, on a whim, make it hard to figure it out. Is it to apologize? To make excuses for yourself? To show off how much guilty you’re feeling? To ease out your guilt? To display concern? Or maybe, is it an emotional introduction to a list of redeeming actions from yourself to make it up for all those past painful years…?”

There was a threatening tension edging your calm voice, a flashing glare to your eyes.  

Just because you weren’t the “raging fit” type of person didn’t mean you weren’t enraging inside or that couldn’t bare snarling fangs either.   

To your uttermost irritation, Shoto stood his ground.

“Then I’m gonna make myself clear.”

His piercing eyes locked with your reluctant ones.

“I had no control at all over the pain, my life, my future as a child. So I can’t say I’m feeling guilty over it. This… has been my father’s doing, his fault. This pain was his doing. And thinking it had impacted your life as well…” A brief faltering. Shoto lowered his head. “… it hurts. I’m really sorry.”

Had you been a little less blinded with anger and enraged inner turmoil, maybe you could have admitted this sounded logical.

But you didn’t accept it. You would not, would never accept it.

No matter how many times this hateful Bond would try to connect you both to each other, you would never, ever accept it. You would always reject Shoto Todoroki with all your body, mind and soul.  

Your nostrils flared around a searing, barely contained irked exhale. You didn’t try to interrupt him, didn’t quip either, though.

“However,” Shoto continued, lifting his head again. “the pain that happened once I started UA, up to now, on my current Hero career, those were my doing. My fault. I didn’t hold back, I still don’t, whether on training or missions. That’s how I had decided to envision myself, my work, as the person I want to be. So I can’t say I’m sorry about it.  But I wish I could have known about the shape of our Bond, and I feel guilty about the pain I had forced upon you. That was… that was unfair, brutal, violent.”

Just like the blows he had to endure from his father.

The realization hit Shoto hard as he spelled it out. Another quake to add to his aftershock tremors. But he didn’t let it take over him. Right here, right now, wasn’t the time to brood over it or collapse.

He huffed, briefly shaking his head, before speaking up again.       

“This is not about redemption. It’s all about you.” His honesty was mingling with a curious intensity he deemed issuing from his determination to not give up. “I want to help you. I want to make sure from now on that my pain would not disrupt your life, would not hurt you anymore.”

“Is that so?”

Your quiet voice seemed almost casual, almost unconcerned. For a second, your lack of emotion had Shoto slightly puzzled.

“Then, will you resign? Quit your pro-Hero activities?”

The question took Shoto aback.

“I can’t.” he narrowed his eyes, his answer shooting out of instinct and strong resolve. “I won’t.”

You shrugged. Eyes half lidded with disdain, the line of your lips twisting in a sarcastic pout. 

“As expected from you.”

Shoto immediately bounced back, like he would have in the middle of a fight, a mission. Keen on still not letting go an inch of his goal, on not giving up.

“I can’t promise you I’ll go easy as a pro-Hero. But I promise you I will tend to my pain and injuries as quickly and effectively as possible. And I will be careful when I’m off-duty too. Also… I won’t take part on Natsuo and Risa’s letters project. You don’t have to worry. They… were so excited for that first letter, and you took care of it, of them, so nicely. So please, give it a good thinking.”

The glare you shot at him upon hearing those last words was of pure hatred. It didn’t last more than a second though, but it left Shoto uneasy, confused and questioning over his words and actions again.

What did he do wrong…?  

“Are you done?”

He snapped out of his worried musings, blinking. You took it as your cue to follow through.

“Good. Now listen to me.”

For this time and only, you sought for his gaze, planted your eyes in his, and locked you both in that connection.

“Todoroki-san. I don’t need any of your conflicted, selfish concerns and apologies, and even less your to-do list of promises and the background story of your struggles and sufferings. I didn’t ask for your pity, your excuses, your apologies, your explanations, a complete essay on your life and your character analysis, your petty solutions, and your obnoxious honesty.”

Your voice was calm and steady, but your words weren’t planning to go easy on Shoto, rather, you wanted it all to hurt, to crush and crumble, to backfire at him every ounce of his disgusting, loathsome concern, apology, honesty.

“I built everything that I am, everything that I own – this shop, my work, my life, who I am – out of myself, out of every time I collapsed and had to scramble back up again, out of all the meaningful support of the people I truly care for, all of this despite of that cursed Bond, your cursed side and your blissful ignorance. I have never expected, never counted on your help. And I expect it to remain the same as it is. I don’t need anything coming from you. I don’t need you. So please, keep on sticking to your successful life and heroing principles, and don’t bother anymore with my side of the Bond. Your pain will not bring me down, nor have me begging for you diligently take your pain killer tabs after each fight.”

In tow with your last word, you pulled your eyes away from Shoto’s. Not caring to witness the aftermath of your speech over his face, definitely not wishing to hear anything more coming from him and even less endure his presence for another minute, you reached for the door to your shop, slid open the panel he had closed when he entered, and concluded:

“Now, if you please, I have business to attend to and another request session to prepare.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Face deliberately turned away from him, you couldn’t tell if Shoto was debating on protesting and insisting again with that infuriating bluntness of him.

Then at last, you heard the shuffling of his feet, caught the color of his shirt as he passed by you and stepped outside of the shop.

Gripping the side of the door panel, you delivered your last blow.   

“You might be a Hero, but I’ve never asked to be saved, never asked for you to save me. Unless you die, I don’t see any other effective way to bring me peace and respite.”

You slid closed the wooden panel and locked it.

It was over.

You took a few backing steps, eyes on the door. Slowly, a small tremor started to climb up your limbs, gather through your insides.

You bit your lip.

That obnoxious, self-conceited bastard…

Fragments of Shoto’s speech darted at you. You gripped your blouse, gritted your teeth in a mute, enraged snarl.

Thinking he could make himself important, needed, indispensable, in my life…    

Thinking I need to be patched up and fixed to feel better, with a few pain killer tabs from his side, for everything to be forgiven and forgotten…

Your chest constricted. Your breath trembled and heaved.

To think he had the damn nerves to not assume his responsibility on going all out for his training and missions, and planning to continue on doing so even after knowing about the shape of the Bond…

Well I hope he’ll break his neck while breaking through a building!

Your furious gaze fell upon the leftover cups on the table. An instant burst of lava-like burn jolted through you.

To think he tried to convince me to reconsider Natsuo-san and Risa-san’s new request, as if he was granting me some kinda benevolent permission through his “selfless” decision to not participate…

That thought.

You weren’t the kind of person to yell, go mad or blow a fuse out of your emotions. Furthermore, outbursts would usually increase pain, a lesson you had quickly learned early on. 

But right now, that thought tipped you over the edge of your anger.

Because, if you agreed to that request, it would be out of Shoto Todoroki’s promise to not interfere, and if you were to refuse, then you’d feel guilty and mad as hell because that’d be out of petty revenge on him and feeling like lashing out on good people you estimated.

Your eyes glared at Shoto’s cup.

Without thinking further, only propelled by an overwhelming rage, you reached for it, stormed out through the engawa porch to the kitchen, and with a ferocious impulse, you smashed the dish into the sink.

The clattering sound dispersed like shrieking birds, loud, dissonant. It felt far from satisfying or relieving. It was frustrating, nasty, and heart-breaking, it made you sink down on the floor and sob, face buried in your knees and shoulders quaking.

In the back of your nape, a splitting headache was crawling and pulsing his way. You hoped with all your guts that for once your pain would reach for Shoto Todoroki and wreck his day.

***

Everything was over.

Shote stared at the closed panel, quiet and still. Inside, your words were wreaking havoc.

Despite all of his efforts, despite not giving up… he realized you didn’t, you wouldn’t give up either on your rejection. You were absolutely, deeply ingrained in your resent, out of reach. You misread and threw back at him each of his attempts at clearing the situation, at baring his feelings and thoughts on it, at providing help to you. Whether it was deliberate or out of your own misbeliefs or anger, he couldn’t tell.

One thing he was sure, this was a complete, utmost fail. Exactly what he had been dreading whenever the idea of another fated meeting with you crossed his mind.

He had fucked it all up.

Even if it wasn’t a first, that there were still times where Shoto would be confronted with failure, in a mission, while training, in his interactions… him, failing on you, was painful in a way he hadn’t experimented yet before.          

A small, almost easy to miss detail hit him. You didn’t use “our” when speaking about your shared Bond, not even once. And somehow, this little word difference suddenly confirmed to him that the damage to your Bond was beyond any repair.

Everything was really, truly over.

Insisting, not giving up, felt to Shoto as an aggression to yourself, like his father forcing out on him his Quirks, forcing out on his mother a life that nearly drew her insane, forcing out on his siblings traumas.

Your last words before parting echoed in his mind. They reminded him of his mother’s reaction, when she threw the boiling water on his face.

A brutal rush of angst, a bitter, nasty aftertaste. Shoto pulled away from his spot, turned his back to your shop.   

He would not have you going through the same terrible, toxic path. You deserved a happy, peaceful life. And although you had rejected any help from him, despite your resent, he was intent on keeping his promise. He would do his best to soothe and treat every shard of pain that would be passed through your Bond to you.

He took one last look to your shop, to the sign and the name that had him charmed and welcomed when he first arrived. Strangely enough, though not so surprisingly, he found the feelings were still intact. Then, he set off. Sending a text to Natsuo apologizing for not joining them to lunch. He tried to spot a glimpse of Tora-Tama, but the tabby seemed as invisible as the Cheshire cat.    

While making his way back to his car through your peaceful, nostalgic neighborhood, Shoto vowed again to never interfere in your life, never seek for a fateful meeting with you again, while quietly taking care of you through himself, from his other side of your Bond.

He didn’t realize he really did have forgotten something behind.

The umbrella he had left to dry outside of your shop, carefully leaned between the bench and one of the lush potted plant.

Funny how life would sometimes drop some tiny hints of foretelling so casually, almost unnoticed amidst daily mundanities. 

Pieces that would click to place only once you’d set down into hunting for a culprit, for a reason, for a meaning to all of the chaos and shit you’d be undergoing.

Your prediction came into the shape of an old, pre-Quirk era music video that randomly popped in your playlist favorites, on your phone, while having your breakfast.

A girl riding a bike, yellow dress and long hair freely floating behind her, cruising through lovely summer landscape of forests and fields, enjoying every bits of her singing and pedaling to a catchy, cheerful music. A refreshing little scenario that had you thinking back on your school days when you commuted by bike – you wondered if your parents had still kept it, perhaps somewhere in their garage.

It took you another visioning to actually hear the lyrics and realize this was a song about a break up.     

Well, that was a surprising, totally unexpected take on the topic. You weren’t sure though that happily riding a bike while undergoing some serious heartbreak crisis was part of the usual “Breakup Protocol Checklist” – but maybe could be fitted in-between “yelling some good ol’ insanities to your cheating partner” and just before “gonna take some action like burning their clothes/key their car/bring havoc to the bitch they cheated you with”.  

You had chuckled a bit, before moving to the lunch preps for the bento box you were planning to surprise your boyfriend with later today, breezily humming the song all the while.    

“Don’t save me, I’ll save you the hassle, our little castle is a house of cards... It’s empty, heartache is pending, this is us ending…”    

However, you couldn’t shake off of your mind the addictive chorus, the haunting lyrics that nailed so perfectly a relationship coming to its end. They were still playing in your head while stepping into Bakugo’s office, waiting to surprise him with the bento box in your hands. 

You should have seen it coming. But you brushed the sign off. And the other ones before as well.

But there was a sickly naïve, dumb optimistic idiot inside of you.

The kind of inner voice made up of sappy feel-good spiel and overworn, cliché-like pep talk that reeked of books on self-esteem.   

Two years ago, you would never have let yourself being so tightly blindfolded. 

Two years ago, you would never even have contemplated giving credit to a crush on Katsuki Bakugo, to begin with. The small flicker of interest he had elicited then should have been classified and left to rot in a metaphorical file box, somewhere deep in the no man’s land of your “silly, impossible to realize, just get real, girl” brain dump.

He was so out of your league. Forget it.

You usually had no trouble about giving up.

But this time, your pathetic little inner idiot had perked up and decided to takeover. That useless, embarrassing part of you, which should have quietly, submissively, remained recoiled in a dark corner, turned itself against you and took the reins.

I can love him. I can make him fall for me.   

Crushing on him. Falling in love with him. Dating him. Moving in his apartment and living together.  

You’d be lying if you weren’t seriously shocked at how you succeeded in piquing Bakugo’s interest and catching his affections. It looked like an unachievable dream coming true, an unexpected wish being bestowed. Even though, of course, there was also a price to pay, the road together promised a difficult, bumpy ride.

There was first and foremost Bakugo’s temper, moods, personal history and secrets to manage and deal with. His trust and privacy were akin to an indefeasible fortress. The only way in was for him to willingly open the front doors to you.

I can change him.  

That dense, stupid inner idiot in all its smug, enraging obliviousness and innocence glory, firmly believed in that timeless misbelief.   

In the end, you didn’t get to change Katsuki Bakugo at all.

You were the one to undergo a transformation. To the point you couldn’t tell anymore who was the girl peeking back at you from the other side of his bathroom mirror.

You see, to fit this dream, you had to adjust some bits of you from here and there, right? Trimming a rough edge of mood, sewing your lips to restrain petty arguments and frustrated feelings, padding your personality with cheerful, outgoing and sassy fillings, weaving intricate patterns of behaviors on how to properly read and react to him, securing all with a shiny thread of confidence.

You had to adjust to fit into Bakugo’s tastes and life for him to like you.

Affectionate but not too clingy. Giving space instead of giving in to quarrelling. Independent, as in having your own life, your own friends, your own job, your own car to commute and ran errands, minding your own business and activities though sharing with him his favorites hobbies. Cooking skills. Let him do whatever he pleased in bed with you. Always being there for him but never pushing yourself on him. Praising him. Understanding him, and for God’s sake, no whining and complaining on his schedule/Hero work/failed or forgotten dates/nasty talk. Keep your own miseries and struggles to yourself.  

Who are you…?   

The girl in the mirror looked burned out.

You didn’t pity her though.

You had lost two years of your life and maimed your identity to become her.    

And as you stepped out of Dynamight’s agency, undelivered bento box still in your hands, you shoved your inner idiot’s imaginary face onto the ugly, nasty epiphany you just had ten minutes ago, hiding under your boyfriend’s desk while he was swapping saliva with his ex-pro Hero girlfriend. The one he had never truly cut out of his life, his heart, the only person he would willingly open his fortress’s gates to.  

Pro Heroes are the worst people to date with as a Civilian. Especially when they can’t get over their ex.   

Civilians should never ever date, fall in love and share a life with pro Heroes.

That wicked, lovesick little idiot inside of you was kicking and wailing, sticky snot all over the face, hiccupping stuttering, disgusting hopes on bringing the cheater back and fixing this relationship. But rather than confronting Bakugo and begging and yelling at him, or even challenging his ex to a battle that you had already lost since day one…  you watched silently, with an almost sadistic, self-deprecative satisfaction your inner idiot crack and crumble into pieces.

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t going to work right from the beginning. Behind the beautiful tapestry you had weaved of yourself, there were constant shadows filled with visions of breakup, of relationship hanging by a flimsy thread.  

But you’d be lying if you hadn’t also enjoyed being admired and sought, being fooled into becoming Bakugo’s – no, Katsuki’s girl. Your inner idiot had tricked you to these misbeliefs, but you had grown your own feelings from these lies too and had fallen for it.

Maybe there was some kind of mixed, bitter feelings in you, after all. And you didn’t like it.

The weight of the bento box in your hands suddenly became irksome and gross. As you walked over the trash bin located around the agency’s corner, you came across one of the Patrols coming back from their shift. Not your boyfriend’s, his had set off earlier ago, just after the unexpected though unsurprising cheating scene you had secretly witnessed.

Kirishima’s grin and Sero’s friendly call of your name greeted you.

A plastered smile, a quickly made-up lie about you wishing to surprise Bakugo with an impromptu lunch but unfortunately missing him due to his Patrol schedule.

Well at least, the first part of it had been true. Until you dived under his desk, acting on an eerie hunch as soon as you heard your boyfriend’s voice in tow with his ex’s giggles from the corridor leading to his office.

“When are you going to tell her…?”

In-between the slimy sound of hasty, hungry kisses, her voice had panted.

“Soon.”

His reply, a single word rasping with determination and eagerness.

As if you were an item that on second thought revealed not necessary, not worth keeping, so needed to be casually disposed of.

The untouched bento box in your hands, you cheerfully declined Kirishima’s and Sero’s offer to join them and Mina for lunch, coming up with another lie about a friend who happened to work nearby and had asked you to come and meet with.

You made sure to walk two extra stations ahead before taking the subway back to home.

Not Bakugo’s appartment.

Your family’s house.

As you entered using your own key and were welcomed by the quiet of the place, your parents still at work, it felt like coming back after a too long journey from a harsh, exhausting bitter country.

You did often pay visits to your family, though mostly on a solo basis - another important rule that had shaped the girl in the mirror: never impose your relatives nor mandatory time with them upon Bakugo. You could say you had barely spent time with his parents, as thought he had followed the same principle with yourself too.

Or simply he didn’t want to.

From the little info you had gathered, his ex was a regular to his house since their UA days together up until their breakup. Bakugo’s family house was her territory, their territory. So were his parents.

Not that Mitsuki and Masaru mistreated you. They were kind and affable to you on your sporadic visits. As kind and affable as with a guest, not a serious, possible lifetime partner of their son.

And that had been exactly Bakugo’s thoughts on you, right from the beginning. You were never meant for a serious relationship. That calculated “space” you were maintaining in hopes of not becoming “overbearing – boring – then dumped”, did nothing to influence him. For Bakugo too, had already built his own calculated space. And it was called “distance”.

He had never planned to open his fortress to you. Why would he? The one and only key to it had always been and would always be his ex.

You left the bento box on the kitchen counter, dropped your bag on one of the dining chairs.  

You could have seen it all through so easily if it hadn’t been for your pathetic, disgusting inner idiot’s blindfolding words and misbeliefs.

The never ending shifts, piling up missions – he’s working hard to have his merits acknowledged, to worm his way to the number one Hero title. 

The dates getting shorter and more scarce – understandable, since he had applied to stay in stand-by for Emergencies, and emergencies would always happen anytime, right?

The growing space between you and him, walking side by side, in your conversations, in-between your eyes, inside a hug, in a half-hearted intimacy – nothing unusual, whenever tired or worried, he always gets inside his head, that’s his way to deal with it, he’ll open up whenever he’ll feel ready for it.

The distance that was already there, lurking and brewing with the longing for his ex, since the very beginning.

You. Should. Have. Known. It.  

Truly, really, you should never ever have pursued Katsuki Bakugo’s affections.

You should have ripped your heart – for that was the true shape of your stupid, pathetic inner idiot - out of your chest and thrown it into an incinerator instead.   

And you regretted it.

And you knew you should have been mad, so fucking enraged, right, because he had been cheating on you, and most likely since his ex’s return to Japan, a few months ago, and the two of them had been planning upon a much awaited and relieving breakup.

Then why the fuck didn’t they manifest it right away?                     

Hadn’t you shown how mature and adult the girl in the mirror would have taken it all ? Hadn’t you crafted her that way?

And why the Hell weren’t you matching any of the “Breakup Protocol” emotional havoc check list?

You didn’t feel desperately out of oxygen, there was no seething rage, no stabbing ache of betrayal, no dramatic self-pitying, no urge for a revenge to-do list. You didn’t feel like making him pay for it, you didn’t want to pull his ex’s hair. You weren’t in the mood for getting drunk over it, nor gathering a full support committee of friends – yours, not his - to cuss the night away at “this bastard”. Your eyes were dry and your mind quite cleared up, to be honest. 

A sudden, short chuckle shook you like an aftershock tremor.

Seems like you were ready for some bike riding.

As expected, your parents had kept it tucked away in a corner of their garage, in-between piled up plastic containers and some gardening shelves. The rubber ends of the handlebar felt a bit sticky under your palms, the once vivid paint had dulled and scratched, a thick layer of dust blanketed the worn-out saddle, curtains of spider webs all over the wheels’ spokes. A realistic image of what Sleeping Beauty would truly look like after her century slumber.

But the tires were still good to go, and once removed dust and webs, and wheeled the bike out of the garage, you were able to take off.

The first meters were shaky, your tentative pedaling threatening to crash you into your neighbors’ garden walls, a couple of street lamps and some angry Pomeranian-like pooch. It hadn’t been that much of time since you last used your bike, hadn’t been that long since high school and college, for God’s sake.

But gradually, the embarrassing display of your rusty-self seemed to revert back to your school days’ smooth and easy ride. Soon, there was a wind lifting and playing with your hair, a steady pace to your pedaling.

Too bad you didn’t have any yellow dress.

You summoned the memory of your casual and cozy college attire and pretended wearing it, instead of the outfit you had carefully selected to fit your boyfriend’s tastes.

A bit better.

You turned to the next street corner and let your impulse wheel you effortlessly for the next few meters.  

At that time, your heart hadn’t yet taken over and forced its infatuation with Katsuki Bakugo on you. He was just pro-Hero Dynamight and your interest was a quiet admiration framed with sense. You knew your place, and that crushing on him was a waste of time and efforts. You liked most of your degree’s classes, the coffee shops’ study sessions with your college classmates, the moments during party nights when you seated outside with a few friends and chatted, putting the world with them, a bit tipsy. You were dreaming of a first job that would bring you independence and a little studio you’d shape at your image. Maybe a sweet someone to grow close to without any hurry – but still not Katsuki Bakugo, no.

A grandma with a toddler on one hand and a plastic bag from the nearby konbini on the other greeted you with a smile and a “chan” to your name. Your parent’s most ancient neighbor. You greeted her back and rang the bicycle bell to the child’s delight. Surprisingly, the sound was still as clear and pure as in your high school days. It summoned the memory of your old uniform.

At that time, you enjoyed the early morning commuting and the seasonal feelings those rides would convey, brisk chill of winter against your flushed cheeks, tickling, spicy autumn scents in your nostrils, your very private refreshing wind produced by your efforts at pedaling, in summer, the lush rustling of new-born leaves in the trees in spring. Your mind was filled to the brim, with revision notes and school gossips, thrill for the next release of your weekly favorites manga series, harmless teen drama and wholesome best friends’ dates and chats. You weren’t much of a romantic dreamer and didn’t see the point to change your core identity to fit into a relationship. You didn’t see your heart as a reliable asset to trust in either.

You stood up, pushing harder on the pedals. You zoomed past an elementary school, a ringing bell and shrill, excited cries announcing the awaited recess. You could almost feel the memory of your pigtails grazing your face as vividly as back then. 

At that time, you loved riding your bike for bringing you a powerful feeling of independence, it seemed like you could go anywhere, anytime, do anything you wanted, upon your very own decision – at least, you pretended you could if it hadn’t been for your parents’ limitations, of course. You loved the book series and movie adaptation of “Kiki’s delivery service”, coming back home from school embraced by the sunset light with your friends and sneaking for a forbidden snack in the nearby konbini, you loved the warmth of your family home and parents affections, your tiger plushie and the shiny turquoise marble you had won in a harsh battle against an older kid at the park. You knew you had to grow up, but it didn’t look so scary nor complicated, no, you were looking forward to it.

Grow up, marry, have a family of your own.   

You grinned your first, genuine smile since a while. It wasn’t cheerful, it had quivers of nostalgia and regrets, a yearning and mourning for all the things, for all the previous “yourselves” you had experienced and would never get back. But for the first time in a very – too – long while, you freely grinned a smile that wasn’t aimed at a perfect timing for pleasing your boyfriend or fitting the girl in the mirror’s roleplay.

And it felt freeing.

You stopped the bike, leaned a foot on the ground.

From the other side of the bridge you were standing by, started another neighborhood. Now that you were still, you could notice the light breeze that had been by your side the whole time. The transparent layers of your memories were as thin and delicate as thoughts threaded into a silky scarf, they enclosed your body as a welcoming back embrace.

Tears. You blinked through them. Not trying to brush them off, nor pushing more of them out either.

Right now, you were full to the point of overflowing. But it wasn’t to empty yourself, to get rid of something. It was just something that was trying to reach out to you, a message that needed to be delivered.

You closed your eyes and saw the broken pieces of your heart, your inner little idiot. For a moment, you considered finish it off, stomping it with your feet, throwing it into a back burner, or simply leaving it as it was, to rot away.

And then, unexpected, a small hesitation.

You were unable to tell if it was out of pity, remorse, or guilt. Maybe a mixed, uneasy “on second thought”…? Like the unwanted stuff that you couldn’t decide what to do with, both fed up to the point of wishing to discard it and a tired “I’ll do it later”. Postponing. Shoving it to a corner, inside a drawer you’d nickname “Wasteland and Co” and leave the mess to be sorted out on the 32nd of Never Month.

You turned your back and the bike to the bridge. A quick aligning of the pedals. A kick. You set off again, this time, in the opposite way. Wheeling past your old elementary school and the park you had won your cherished marble, the konbini that still sold the same magazine that had weekly published your favorite manga series, past one of the coffee shops you had written countless essays and chatted with friends.

The hands of your past yourselves picking up the debris of your heart before burying it in the deepest, quietest place inside of you.

Let it rest, let it rot. Let it heal or even grow underground roots. It didn’t matter to you. It wasn’t a place you wanted to visit or a rehab you wished to support. However, you felt strangely glad those pieces had a “Wasteland and Co” drawer to be tucked in and forgotten.

You arrived at your parents’ house just as the afternoon was drawing to an end. You left your old bike in his dedicated corner in the garage but not without bidding it a promise to come again and have some more rides together. Maybe not in a yellow dress, but a pretty one that you’d have chosen, not the girl in the mirror.

Sunset was nearing twilight when you entered Bakugo’s apartment.

Funny how you never labelled it as “our place” or “my home”. And as you immediately set to work, pulling and opening the suitcase you had brought with you the day you had moved in there, with him, and browsing through the rooms to retrieve and erase every little traces of you, you realized you had always been more a guest, something temporary ready to pack and leave, than a girlfriend.

Everything that you had fitted into that one and only suitcase. Almost all of it were clothes and toiletries. You didn’t bring nor buy anything else at that time to make his apartment a shared one. There never had been much of you in this place. Everything else had been borrowed from him. There were no hinting of you in the shape of mugs, interior decoration, funny slippers, happy mess of leftover stuff of yours. Not even books, forcing yourself to use a tablet so to not take over the space. You hated reading with that device.

There were a few items Bakugo had gifted you. Outfits, a couple of jewelry. A hoodie and two-three shirts of him : these, you put into the washing machine together with your pillow case. You wanted to erase every little token of your stay. You packed the rest, together with the clothes you had bought to fit the girl in the mirror’s tastes, intending to drop it in the donation container that the building provided before leaving.

You worked hard, silent and fast. And you made sure to rearrange every corner of the once occupied space as if you had never come to live here, never spent the last year and a half there. Reverting the apartment back to Bakugo’s previous single status.

The washing machine beeped the end of the session. You folded the dried clothes and pillow case and stored them to their dedicated spots in the closet.

Suitcase ready by the door, you had one last thing to do before calling it a day, the end of your relationship.

You wrote down on the notepad Bakugo always kept on the kitchen counter the chorus of the song that had both followed and lead you here. The words written down on the simple, mundane paper looked as casual and familiar as a groceries list, a quick note to wish a good day while reminding to pick a forgotten or urgent item.

Their meaning would perhaps only hit on a second reading. Just like the song they quoted.

As a final touch, you laid down the set of spare keys on top of the note. You made sure to strip the cute accessory off the key ring before doing so. There was no way you’d use it again, so you dumped it in the awaiting trash bag that you’d drop in the condo’s dedicated area before leaving. You never were much of a cutesy stuff lover – but that image had seemed to fit Bakugo’s vision of the girl in the mirror.

You almost forgot it but remembered just in time to add the untouched bento box – his – on the side of the note. After a slight hesitation you decided to leave it as it was, with its cold, wasted contents. After all, he had acted like a coward and a bastard, with delaying this predictable breakup. You had your pride too.

You gave a last once over.  

The keys, the song, the bento box. Small metaphors spelling out loud the consequences of Bakugo’s actions, albeit you’d keep your reasons to yourself. You simply assumed he wouldn’t care, judging by the urge in both his voice and kisses with his ex.   

Now was the time to go.

You didn’t look back at the room. Instead, you took a peek at the mirror hanging near the entrance. The square frame reflected your face, tired, burned out, still puffy eyes, but serene, finally back. Maybe there was a small residue of bitterness in the right corner of your lips, in the shadow your eyelashes casted over your eyes. But at least, there was no more girl in the mirror. Those were your own features.

One last time, you opened the front door and closed it behind you. Deep down in you, a small, frail tremor agitated what remained of your heart. But it was brief, and soon, you were out of the condo, out in the street, out of this life, driving your car back to your parents’ home.

Already planning to get a job transfer, find a studio that you’d shape with your tastes, maybe bring with you your old bike as well.

Tomorrow, you’d change your phone number. Not that you expected to be chased nor begged an explanation. You simply wanted to erase every memory and reminder of this wasted time. Start all over again where you had left things, two years ago. Pretend this time together but already apart had never existed.

Waiting at a red light, you glanced up at the night sky. Stars were high but didn’t feel distant at all.  

Suddenly, you were craving something soft, filling and salted, without any spice disturbance. You gently pocked your index against the steering wheel and smiled. A hotpot with silky smooth tofu and miso flavors. You nodded at your own suggestion. Maybe you could hop by your old konbini on your way back home.

The light turned to green. You set off forward.

***

At first, he didn’t notice the note. Or rather, he saw it but deemed it wasn’t important – probably some kind of reminder, list or good night welcoming words. It was half past two when he finally reasoned himself to go back home and he expected to find you asleep.

With a sigh, Bakugo took off shoes and socks and padded to the bathroom for a quick freshen up. He had already showered at his agency – twice, once right after patrolling, and once after having sex with his ex-girlfriend.

He gave a contemplative look at his reflection on the bathroom mirror, face still dampened by a quick splash of water. A frown. Maybe he’d go sleep on the couch, tonight. He went back to the living room without a glance at the closed bedroom door.

He should have been feeling guilty, right? Cheating on you like he has been doing for the past few months. Only giving you a half-hearted acting of a boyfriend even before betraying you. You had always been a good partner to him, since the very beginning. So understanding, caring, supportive, positive, as if reading his emotions and providing for every needs and whims of him, enduring him without any complain, acting so mature. You were perfect. Almost tailor-fitted like. Even in your flaws.

He should have been guilty, he should be feeling so bad.

And yet, Bakugo did not.

Deep down, he had always been craving for his ex and his imperfect relationship. The bumpy, rocky road together through their UA years and pro-Hero debuts, the yells, the arguments, the passionate making up, the feeling of being reckless mutuals, the deep conversations and heated debates, the raw and rough emotions and love.

Truth was the different taste your relationship with him left lingering in his palate, although surprisingly nice and soothing, hadn’t been satisfying, hadn’t been enough. Quite a bit dull, lacking spice.

You were a fantasy. He wanted some bones and meat and fire too.

With a huff, Bakugo circled the kitchen counter to grab a mug and make himself some decaffeinated coffee.

He’d have to tell you. Tomorrow. Or maybe next weekend. He had to. But fatigue was creeping in his bones and muscles, from Hero work and exhilarating lovemaking. For now, he’d just go to sleep.

The bento box next to the note caught his eyes.

Oh, right. Kirishima did mention you had come by to surprise him with a homemade lunch – luckily you had missed him and a bad-timed chance to find out about his cheating, he still wished to spill out the truth but in a private space. But leaving the box in the middle of the kitchen counter… that wasn’t like you at all. Bakugo quirked an eyebrow. It almost seemed like you were upset at him, like a pouty, unexpected childish act. You had never ever complained nor argued about all the missed dates or planned surprises he had to interrupt or cancel, before.

Setting the empty mug aside, Bakugo turned the little note towards him and read it. Twice. Then one more time.  

A sudden snap of his head, towards the corridor, the closed bedroom door. He hurried there, opened the door to an empty room, perfectly smoothed and untouched bed sheets. Inside the closet, his clothes were aligned in neat piles with no leftover spaces. The bathroom told the same story, of a place and spaces that seemed to have never been shared.

His whole apartment reverting back as it was, one year and a half ago. Bakugo could have dreamed this time with you.

Again, he faced the little note on the kitchen counter. Lifting the bento box lid, getting another confirmation. The set of spare keys looked surprisingly small without the messy array of cute props they were usually clipped to.

His smartphone vibrated in the back pocket of his jeans. He reached for it. On the other side of the line, a brief inquiry.

“No, she’s not here.” he replied.

A brief silence. Gathering the little note in his free palm, Bakugo let his tiniest, tamest spark lit up and burn in a single swoop the flimsy paper. There were no ashes left.

“How about you move in next Friday?” he prompted.

He knew he should be feeling guilty, ashamed, a complete bastard. Maybe the best he could offer would be feeling bad for not feeling bad. And give you a call, though later, perhaps in a few days. But he didn’t dwell further upon it, for right now, relief, eagerness and excitement outweighed any other token of remorse.