HEAVENBREAKER.

i'm not going to be moving him to my multi, shouta's going to stay in his own space so that if i ever do feel a calling to pick him back up, he'll be right there waiting for me. and likely i will have little bouts where i want to write him here and there.

as of right now, you can find me most often over here, at rcguish. silver's got a bnha verse + a multitude of others, so he's not entirely locked to the pokemon fandom, but he's definitely my main muse for the last few months. where all the budget goes.

make me choose

AND ORION'S EYE GLOWS WITH IT, that singular, needlepoint focus as he watches shouta react to the praise. it's a unique reaction — a rarity, given how much orion has seen simply by casting lingering sidelong looks, though perhaps not so rare now that both of them have become different people. in the evolution of one person into another, a slate slowly written on ( and scratched out, and overwritten, and sometimes shattered — ), so too does the face evolve. some people lose their spark, some mask their pain. many pick up the expressions, laughs, speech patterns of those they are close to. shouta's face speaks an entirely different language now than it did during school, and yet, it is exactly the same.

it's the blush that has orion's mouth quirking up into a devilish little smile. this is the language of his face: a smile that is uniquely his, absolutely unheard of on seph's face given her depressing lack of whimsy and proclivity for scowling. yet, despite the inherent confidence of such a cheshire grin, orion's eye — and his tremor, though slighter now — betrays the nerves still wracking his body below the surface.

but as shou whispers his shame, the smile falls, softens. ❝ don't. you didn't know. ❞ and thank god for that, he thinks. if only shou knew how much he didn't know. his grief is already complicated enough.

in his line of work, it's safer to ask when the other shoe is going to drop rather than if. every risk you take feels like a suicide mission; the bad news is never softened by good. it's why the hesitation remains even as shouta speaks. i see you, ri. i feel you.

but?

... but?

and the lack of it, the surefooted silence solidifying the phrase in its own identity, only has orion's heartbeat hammering louder in his ears. god, when did he get so pathetic? he has always been the antagonist when it came to his brief, torrential relationships. he kicked up the wind, made the calls, initiated the intimacy — and he was the first to exit when the look in their eyes began to soften. this? this way of melting into putty at another's hands? since fucking when?

since now, apparently, because when shouta asks can i kiss you, orion does not surge forward and take his lips first. it would be silly to wear armor with shou. he already holds orion's heart in his hands.

instead, he leans his angled face into shouta's palm, allows — with a shaky exhale — the thumb to swipe as gently as a paintbrush over the skin beneath his missing eye. his other, the white ring of his iris eclipse-thin, searches shouta's face for any hint of trepidation. any discomfort, or disappointment, or impending backhand. all he sees is a world-shattering softness.

there's a shadow, a cheshire-like half grin lifting orion's lips, something that might've even reminded him of his own sort in mischief. it's at that where shouta gives a light scoff, a tap of ri's elbow like the motion of a cat giving a claws-sheathed bat. even if the slightest bit of embarrassment only accumulates as blush spurs companion on, it does little in the face of his own genuine smile slipping past usual facial control of neutrality.

this was nice. and even if there is something like expectancy in orion's eyes, something like sitting in the face of suspense, there's pride blossoming from shouta's heart. there's a war so evident inside of his friend, but something seems to sway as a side wins over the other. ri gives his head to his hand, and raven couldn't help his slow blink in an effort to keep the burning at the corners of his eyes from becoming anything more than just a burn. tears at this point would be too much. and yet - it felt like orion had really, truly grown into himself right there in the moment.

they were just kids, all those years ago ; and shouta had been so, so stupid. didn't see what was right in front of him, and ran when it was stolen away. not anymore, not now.

he's always found that there are strings to his heart attaching him to this earth - to shirakumo oboro, to aksha david, to persephone aisa, to yamada hizashi and kayama nemuri. to orion aisa. these strings grew taut with distance and maybe two had been cut, maybe they all had grown frayed and brittle. but these were his people, the ones that had mattered to him above all else, the ones that he would forsake his vow and burn entire cities for without hesitance. the ones that he had left behind.

the ones that had left him behind.

and this string, here and now, held tighter and tighter until he'd decided he'd stalled enough seconds of time in gazing into that eye. lids flutter closed as his second hand lets go of his elbow to cup the other side of orion's face. scarred, callused hands held like he had been created from porcelain, featherlight ; until shouta's leaning far enough in for lips to brush against his. though he pauses, and exhales just barely against flesh as the nerves gather all inside of his throat and release. fade into the new.

tilts his head and seals them both into a kiss.

and like that, an explosion of color behind his eyelids, like fireworks and paint splatters that went in tandem / beat with the sounds of percussion. bass drum, snare, hi-hat, keyboards, a cacophony of sound melding into a rhythm that matched his racing heart. it molds itself to fit within the both of them, fits musical parameters to blend visual and sound into the sheer feeling of electricity in such a deep moment. shouta shifts hand not holding raven's cheek, moves to hold the back of his head.

IT'S JUST THIS. THE ENTIRE WORLD outside, screaming. there — someone just died. and another. someone just passed their driving test. someone just confessed their love and was rejected, and maybe they'll cry themselves to sleep tonight or maybe they'll write a new song to process it all. everything is happening all at once, but none of it exists — it's just this. orion and shouta and the contact of bodies, sparking like exposed wires.

where shouta sees a battlefield, each blow set to the rhythm of a war drum, orion sees an explosion of color and shape. he feels the vibrations of the earth under his feet, he senses the flow of energy through matter and the potential, the pure and immense potential, of the matter itself. because of his quirk, his senses bleed into each other, a kaleidoscope of synesthesia that only he is capable of understanding. he looks at a coffee table and thinks of the way that red and blue and black mix to create that exact shade. how he might replicate the look of the scratches and water stains. he can look at a nondescript alleyway and think of a piece centered around its brick, its concrete, that thin tendril of ivy winding up from the ground.

he can look at a person and deconstruct their face into line, proportion, depth. but he cannot deconstruct or fully understand their beauty.

and that is what keeps him coming back to the world with renewed awe. beauty is not a mathematical proportion or an empirical fact. it is something that one stumbles into, that happens like a crush or a great idea. orion once asked seph if she thought shouta was pretty. they said, i dunno. never thought about it. and how, how could you not?

his art is a constant push to create that feeling, over and over again. that resonance, that widening of the eyes, like puzzle pieces clicking into place, when you see something truly beautiful. he feels that resonance every time he looks at shouta and for so long, he tried to figure out what it was about him that made orion feel that way. where did the beauty come from, where was it hiding. eventually, he realized that no element of shou standing on its own was quite enough. because it wasn't him.

yanked back to the present by shouta's words, terror flashes behind his eyes, and his face screws up into an expression of pure embarrassment. ❝ aah, uh — guess i should've figured you'd notice. it's not my fault you have a fascinating face. ❞ the frantic look in his eyes softens, though, when he feels the brush of a hand on his elbow — the touch is awkward, uncertain, just as much as he is. where is the line? what is crossing it, what is unsafe, how do you ask?

god, they're both terrible at... he doesn't even know what to call this.

it's not my fault you have a fascinating face. shouta almost blanches at that, a still to his movements and falter in his expression as a moment passes where he feels physically winded. like the breath was stolen right from his throat and chest. a heartbeat of contemplation brings the question, has his face ever been thought of as 'fascinating' in any capacity before? he'd always thought of himself as plain, run-down, and wild - a ragged look about him that akkie and hizashi both have made a few comments on here and there. they've always been one to fall on ignorant ears, a roll of his eyes or a scoff. but when a compliment of that type came from orion, it was ... this felt different. and hero decides it's a good kind of different, no matter how alien it was to him.

though he's brought out of his mind when it feels like a sudden change, his hand being guided orion's to chest. there's a question present in dark eyes and a twitch of an eyebrow, locking stare with companion just as it settles in. he feels that thump under his palm begin to register, a somewhat distant sensation that an even more faraway part of his mind wonders what would feel like with less barriers in between.

shouta's sure there's atleast two extra shades of color added to his face with the warmth he feels in his cheeks. there's something so intimate, so dear, and so special about this moment and this gesture that he almost doesn't know what to make of it. there's something deliberately being unspoken here that he's quick to receive and even quicker in efforts to try to quell that flame of hope inside of his own chest. that same bird that beat its wings underneath his fingertips threatened to thaw the decades-long freeze over his own aching machine for a heart, and that was a dangerous ground to tread.

he runs tongue alongside teeth absentmindedly, and when shouta speaks it's hushed enough to be erring on the side of a whisper. " i'm sorry i wasn't there. "

he remembers a promise he made to seph and something solidifies in his mind right in that moment.

there were so many reasons this shouldn't happen. so many reasons for hero to pack it all up and to leave, but he doesn't care about a single one of them. he was a fucking hero, and he'd failed to save the people that mattered the most to him all those years ago. it didn't matter what orion could've been 'classified' as now, shouta knew well enough that the still-unknown past was dark and unforgiving and impossibly heavy. that past that weighed on artist's shoulders, that past that had stolen so much from him both physical and mental. eraserhead failed before, he would not fail again.

" i see you, ri, i feel you. " searches endlessly in the dark and light of his eye.

and really, shouta thinks, maybe this could be it - this could be the revelation, the world view he needed. the art, the paint stroke, to match the music that he made. even if they once made music together as a group all those years ago, there is beauty and unison in their own specialties when it came to just the both of them.

a silence, like he also adored, a language they had built up. there was an unidentifiable emotion in his chest to see they could still communicate wordlessly, an exhilaration to see how far it could go. something in him slips. free hand rises and he cups the side of orion's face, just barely moves his thumb to caress skin under the eye patch.

"Then you can drop the kid," Izuku blurts out before he can think any better of it. Then he realizes and pauses mid-movement, one arm extended towards the clothes rack where he aimed to hang his jacket.

"Shit. Sorry."

Maybe it didn't come out as bad as it sounded. Hopefully. Probably not, but then again, that thing they say about hope...

"I, uh, I couldn't sleep," Izuku adds quickly, deciding to steer the conversation onto safer tracks. "I got stressed, so I thought I might as well just get here early." Somewhere along the way as he speaks, the young man beelines towards the free chair to the other teacher's right.

there is a slight delay in processing as his eye unfocuses, refocuses - he needed another round of eyedrops. but the sudden halt in movement and apology indicated he should've been paying attention. the words catch up to him. and at that, a wide smile, all teeth, slowly blooms across shouta's face and meets his eye. he almost laughs, almost, and even with a scoff erring on the side of an amused chuckle he still shakes his head.

" no, i don't think i will. well met, though. " gives a grunt in response to the topic change, cheshire grin dissipating into a smaller sort of smile, something almost twinged with fondness. always thinking two steps ahead, midoriya. always seeking advice to be better. raven does find himself slightly nodding in his approval, and in turn walking around the array of desks to stand closer. to atleast meet him halfway in that regard.

' i know. ' it's gentle, soft. he's not sure what he'd do if something happened to his voice. granted, shouta hasn't lost the use of all of his quirk, but even still. he knows how serious this is.

a part of him wants to scream out, wants to release all this pent up emotion that's rooted itself firmly in his chest and gut. shouta doesn't want to take it all out on the other man, hizashi isn't his punching bag - but just the act of release, of catharsis, an idea that becomes so intoxicating that he feels every thread of his self-discipline grow taut. the physical scream lodges itself like a stone right in his chest and he's grateful in that moment for the years of purposeful emotional numbing, the practice of shutting it all away for later.

he settles for a swallow, settles to look at the ceiling. but the lights are too bright, the ceiling's too little and too much, the walls are too white and everything's too much and not enough. with a gradually intensifying and continuous shake of his head, shouta sits upright and swings himself around to drape leg over the side of the bed. to look at his friend with his whole body, his lifelong friend that remained here with him, like he was the one lifeline still left here. like he had all the answers in the world that would solve it all, or finally give him the push over that edge into hysteria.

" it's not over, yamada. none of this is over, it's just beginning. the worst has yet to come and we failed. " it bubbles and bubbles, that urge to devolve into pained shouts and that burning at the back of his eyes but he continues to hold it in. continues to let mellifluous and rough voice only increase the slightest bit in volume, lest he lost that fragile control.

⠀⠀ It’s like fucking clockwork. First message she sees when she gets off work – and she knows @dryeyed is high when he sends it, because it’s the witching hours back home and Shota is allergic to a healthy circadian rhythm. Maybe that’s unfair – Shota struggles with insomnia and nightmares just like she does. But God help her, she’s sent unshrimping reminders every day and still the man just doesn’t listen.

“Mannikavum Akkā, ”⠀she mutters, and stops.⠀( It’s reflexive, almost unconscious and entirely too much to deal with right now. Aksha doesn’t have the bandwidth to think about the grey hairs she’s caused her sister from worry. She doesn’t have the space or time to wrestle with the open wound that is their slowly healing relationship, or recall the countless nights spent awake – bitter words and heartache preceding it. She just doesn’t. ) ⠀Aksha inhales deeply. Counts to ten. Exhales all the love she can’t bear to share and the itch to put her fist through the wall. Dial’s Shota’s number instead.

⠀⠀ He picks up on the fifth ring, which, honestly, it’s impressive. She figured he might’ve fumbled his phone off the balcony.

“ Sho-chan, ”⠀she sighs, and earns a tinny, groaned, hai, hai, shitte imasu. Though with how slurred his words are, it sounds more like he’s thrown a bunch of random nouns⠀( teeth, body and mass, in that order )⠀at her which –⠀“ Yeah, buddy, sounds like an exciting night. ”⠀She’s smiling, though. More than she was before she called, at least.