A series of unsent letters to Shiro throughout their time in space.

Hitoka glanced up, drawn by the faintest of thumps and chimes, higher and softer than the metal and wooden chimes she'd hung on her porch. Her hands stilled in the dough she'd been kneading as she glanced out the kitchen window and froze instantly. 

“So you… you’re gonna rescue us?” he whispered, as a tiny flicker of hope dared to flare and burn a little brighter. And perhaps Farlan would be the one to cup his hands around the flame and breathe on it, coax it until it expanded into something that would sear a way out for them.

“We can always move back to the desert-”

“No,” Hunk cried, “I won’t survive! All that cholla? The scorpions? The heat?”

“If you see a sunspot, if you see Lunarians, do not engage if at all possible. Fetch me."

Now it was a “two for all”, Shouto and Deku against the evils of the world.

Packing the cars had taken a little too long, and everyone had double-checked their bags one last time before they’d left. Despite that, Goshiki had still managed to forget his brush and a blanket, which had made Shirabu shake his head while Tendou tossed his head back in laughter—until he realized he’d forgotten his hair gel. But despite the slow and  slightly  rocky start to the trip, it was good, though waking up to having the tent flap jerked open was not. 

He's been chasing it for as long as he can remember -- that flash of red against the gray seas and skies, prefaced by a red, red thread.