Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The land of the dead is a frigid wasteland of yellowing skulls, mourning souls, and decay. It is illuminated by jagged pockets of light that descend from the world above, for the sun does not dare venture here—lest it gets devoured by the darkness of hell. It is the closest thing to home for Todoroki Shouto, for he was breathed into existence by the god of death Enji himself. Ash, a bleeding heart, and a dusty ribcage—all the components necessary to craft a reaper. As a collector of expired souls, Todoroki is in constant pursuit of dying things. As a traveller of worlds, he is allowed to freely walk the fields of the living, sweeping through towns and villages and cities to pluck souls whose time is up.

Most go willingly, looking back at their withered corpses with an emotion akin to pride. Perhaps for having lived full lives, the tapestry of their souls interwoven with black, white, sweet, and bitter threads. Others refuse to come without a fight, clutching their unbeating hearts with defiance, prayers tumbling off their shriveled lips as though verses can refill their hourglasses anew. Todoroki can't count the number of kings and queens that have fallen on their knees in supplication, offering part of their empires for one last chance. He never bothered telling them that their shining gold castles were worth as much as dust in the void.

Todoroki remembers this one prince with a slash for a smile and bones for a crown. The sole heir to a bustling seaside kingdom, he begged for another chance at Todoroki's feet, clutching at his throat in comical rage as he wept over his limp body, its sharp blue eyes staring unseeingly into his own. Todoroki had been too amused at the sight to immediately harvest his soul. As an act of kindness, he'd allowed the mad prince until sunset to mourn, before dragging his soul into the shadows of the realm below.

Humans are strange, fickle creatures. So unlike the other creatures of the earth who spend their days in a predictable fashion: eat, sleep, and mate. To live must be the ultimate curse. Todoroki wonders what it would be like to cry or bleed, or feel pain and agony and sadness. What it would be like to find his own body picked bone-white by crows and maggots. What it would feel like to fade away into nothingness, leaving behind only remnants of existence.

Most people never stay long  in the underworld, for the Herald is a swift judge; she is truth incarnate and the keeper of all knowledge. Most of the time she assumes the shape of a wizened old crone, and it's what Todoroki sees now. The reaper lingers by a rotting crab apple tree, watching a couple walk hand-in-hand up to the Herald's mist-wreathed throne. There are two doors beyond the throne, one filled with light and the other with fire. Paradise and eternal damnation, just an arm's length away from each other.

"What do we have here?" the Herald cackles. Her pure black eyes fix upon the two. An unfathomable emotion churns in those depthless pits.

A cloying stench drifts into Todoroki's nostrils. It's the damn tree. He dimly wonders how the Herald came to be, if she had existed during the first dawn of this world or if she had been willed into existence. Likely the former, for even the gods are threatened by her, Enji included.

The jaw of the skull positioned at the Herald's shoulder unhinges, letting loose a flickering shadow. It whispers into her ear, the sound colder than ice and sharper than steel. The Herald's eyes flare red. The taller of the two pales.

"You humans have a saying that my shadows keep hearing time and time again," the Herald says, clacking her bony fingers against one another. Click, clack. She has made her decision. "Till death do us part—is that right?" A grin of mossy teeth splits across her face. "It is just too bad that it applies to your case."

With that, both of the doors swing open. Screams and laughter permeate the air, bleeding into each other in a harrowing cacophony. The taller one screams when the Herald's shadow pounces on him, tendrils of darkness wrapping around his ankle. The shadow yanks, lifting the man's body high up in the air.

His significant other falls to her knees, horror frozen on her features as she watches her lover dangle limply.

"He was a terrible person. His hands—they're overflowing with blood." The Herald takes a deep inhale. "So many lives ... Even snapped a child's neck with his bare hands." She tsks, and a vision of the scene materializes in her eyes. Over and over again, an endless loop. "It's a cardinal offense, stealing the lives of the pure."

The woman continues to stare blankly.

"Any last words for him?" Silence. "No? Well, I suppose it really doesn't matter in the end. Not like he'll remember anything where he's going." The shadow rears, preparing to throw the man's body into the awaiting flames, but the woman's voice stops it cold.

"Take me with him," she says, bowing her head. A cascade of gold curls spill onto the dusty ground. "I want to be with him. I-I'll do anything."

Todoroki blinks. While he doesn't know much about the Beyond, he's aware that getting sentenced to the flames is a devastating end. Surely paradise would be the better option, but humans are strange beings. Why would you sacrifice a world of beauty for something so harsh and cruel? Why damn your soul for someone?

And why bargain with the Herald, of all beings?

The Herald lets out a booming laugh. The door to paradise slams shut, a plume of dust rising from the ground. The laughter fades from the cacophony until only the shrieks remain. "I knew you would say that, girl." Another bone-shaking laugh. "Of course, I never said you'd go to paradise in the first place." Her fingers clacked together again. "You were privy to his schemes and didn't do anything about it. Even chose to help him out on some of his missions."

Quivers rack through the woman's body.

"You didn't have much of a choice, though. He would've killed you if you hadn't complied. You still love the bastard regardless, don't you? Too bad." The flames roar, blazing a cerulean blue when the man's body is tossed into it. A scream rips out of the woman's throat, firelight reflecting off of her deep brown skin.

The Herald clicks her tongue. The shadow swirls forward and engulfs the woman whole. When it recedes, all that's left are her locks of golden hair. "She's been reincarnated," the Herald confirms, her gaze sweeping past Todoroki for the briefest millisecond before returning to the woman's tresses. Reincarnation—a second chance, only you may not even be human in that next life. "Ah, love is a powerful thing, is it not? It makes people do such irrational things. Of course, you wouldn't know." Again, her eyes turn back to Todoroki, who has stilled under the intensity of her gaze. She flashes him an all-knowing grin, the gemstone at the apex of her throne glimmering. "Or would you, reaper?"

Todoroki takes a step back, unsure of what to make of her words. A rickety old man steps before the throne. The Herald shifts, and a rumble shudders through the lands, shaking Todoroki to the core.

"You best go now, reaper," says the Herald, flicking her hand to indicate the souls in the lineup. A dismissal. "The world above waits for you."

Relief floods through him as he walks over to a pocket of light. It was about time he left this festering place.

Midoriya Izuku never thought it would end this way. Him bleeding out in a vibrant meadow teeming with flowers, insects, and drifting honeybees. It's quiet and peaceful—though certainly not painless. He would have much preferred a brutal end at the hands of a fire-spewing dragon or a mob of angry knights.

"Iida! Come quick!" Uraraka yells at a figure standing at the periphery of the forest. Tears glimmer in her eyes as her fingers shakily tighten the tourniquet around his torso. "Oh, Deku," she breathes out, chest heaving. "We were—we were too late to catch him. I never thought he'd do something like this." A crack strangles the rest of her words.

Then again, neither did anyone.

Midoriya tries to say "It's okay" but what comes out is a garbled choke, accompanied by a dribble of blood.

"No, no, don't speak!" Uraraka brushes his green curls from his forehead and places a finger to his lips.

The three of them had left their village five months ago in search for not only coin but also adventure. They'd planned to go everywhere, from the shining capital of Yuuei to its mountains and neighbouring territories. So far, they've completed half of their bucket list by working odd jobs and sleeping under starry skies, but their run-in with the mysterious bandit certainly brought the expedition to a halt.

Iida returns at top speed, sweat pouring down his face in rivulets. Bundled in his bloodstained arms is a crush of pungent healweeds. "Is this the right one, Uraraka?" he asks, his voice wavering despite his efforts to keep it steady.

She nods vigorously and snatches the healweeds from his hands. Iida kneels down beside him, his bespectacled face hovering closely to Deku's own. "I have to apologize, Izuku. I've done a great disservice to you by failing to capture the man who gravely wounded you," he says, sorrow lying thick in his words. "He ran off with our supplies. Luckily, he didn't spot our messenger hawk. I've—I've called for aid, but—" Iida furiously wipes at his cheeks with one hand, voice cracking—"I don't know when they'll arrive. I'm sorry, again."

"It's not your fault," Midoriya chokes out, reaching out for his hand. He weakly squeezes it in reassurance. "Don't beat yourself up over it." Another mouthful of blood crowds at the back of his throat, and he has to twist over to spit it out.

"Hold still," Uraraka orders him softly yet firmly as she rips out the flowers from the healweeds. A sickly sweet odour wafts from the plucked blooms. "This will hurt quite a bit, but the pain will subside afterwards. I promise." Her bottom lip wobbles as she twists the stems over his chest, blue liquid dripping onto his skin. A hiss slides through his teeth, a burning sensation searing through his veins.

Midoriya's grip tightens so hard that Iida flinches. "Sorry," Midoriya gasps, wincing as the pain in his side doubles. Red blossoms in the tourniquet. "Ah, shit." The wound has reopened; it looks like it will be over sooner than he thinks.

"Oh, no, no, no," Uraraka shrieks, brown eyes wide with grief and panic. Hot, sticky blood fans out from underneath Midoriya's body, staining nearby soil and grass crimson. It's a grotesque sight, death only a hairsbreadth away from life. Cruelly enough, it's a beautiful day. Even from his sedentary position, he can make out the shimmering blue river wending around the grassy knolls a few hundred metres away. A vague outline of the mountains lingers beyond the flower-dotted hills, a few shades darker than the sky.

A hummingbird flits through the air, a blur of brown against the pastel medley of the vast expanse above. Sunlight gilds the trees atop the knolls, the sun half-swathed by puffy clouds. Sunflowers, daisies, larkspurs, and morning glories sway around them, a silent audience. The sheer beauty of it all has Midoriya's breath catching in his throat.

A gentle breeze sweeps by. The fields ripple and sigh. Midoriya's eyes flutter shut at its gentle caress.

"It so wonderful out here," Midoriya whispers, resting his free arm over his forehead. Hot tears drip onto his chest; Uraraka lets out a muffled sob from behind her hands. "What do you think, guys?"

Like she promised, the pain has started to alleviate; now there is only an uncomfortable tingle spread throughout his body, numbing his senses.

"It is. But we will see better sights than this." Iida draws in a shaky breath. "Just hang on tight. Help is on the way. After you recover, we'll—we'll go straight to Vervale. The land of eternal spring. Remember how we all used to dream about it? Only it won't be a fantasy much longer."

"I'd like that," Midoriya murmurs, a smile curving his lips.

Memories flash by in the forefront of his mind, each one clear as crystal and bright as day. His first birthday cake, a gooey mess of melted candle and frosting. The first time he met Uraraka and Iida, his face damp with mud and creek water from having been tossed into a lake by Bakugou. The ornate palace of the capital, a colossal sprawl of marble, glass spires, and dazzling gemstones. The crackling of meat turning over a bonfire. Fireflies drifting by a starlit lake. The gentle lull of rain, and the rainbows and petrichor that followed. His mother's gentle hugs, enfolding him in pure warmth.

"It'll b-be alright, D-Deku," Uraraka warbles out, cupping his face with her hands. Her thumb brushes against his cheekbone as she leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. Her lips are chapped and warm against his skin. "L-like Iida says, Vervale's our priority now. You'll j-just have to wait a little bit longer, okay?"

"Mhm," he hums, tendrils of sleep snaking into his consciousness.

Two fingers press against his wrist. "His pulse rate is slowing," Iida breathes out. There are hot tears all over Midoriya's face now. "Please, stay with us." Uraraka sobs into his shoulder.

"Take my body home, will you?" His mother's beaming face pulls up against the blackness of his vision.  "Tell her—tell her I love her. And that I'm sorry for all the times I've worried her sick." His own voice sounds disembodied, like he's hearing it underwater. "Tell her that I'll always be in her heart."

A beat of silence passes.

"We will." Iida.

Another pause.

"We'll be right here." Uraraka.

His eyes flutter open. Their faces alternate in clarity, going from sharp to blurry and back again.

"Thank you." Midoriya.

The sun rests at Uraraka's shoulder. It's the last thing he sees before it swallows his vision whole in a burst of light.

Chapter Text

The weeping of the dead sings to him the way the tides are attracted to the moon; it's a constant push and pull. Todoroki is perpetually drawn to last exhales and heartbeats, the attraction akin to a magnetic force, but when it comes to hauling spirits away, it's almost an entirely different matter. Regardless of how willing someone is to enter eternity, it's always an uphill battle to drag them down for judgement. It's due to the final tether that grounds them to the earth—a barely present vestige of their fading soul. It isn't enough to keep them roaming the fields of the living, but enough for them to say their goodbyes. Enough for them to be evaluated by the Herald. That vestige is irrevocably tied to the essence of both existence and nothingness. Being a seamless bridge between the two entities, it beckons and repels at the same time.

But of course, a lifetime of performing such tedious work has made it significantly easier to overcome the repulsion. The hard part is getting the souls to accept their fate, to further weaken the said force, but even that isn't a big issue in the grand scheme of things. With or without consent, all men must die and there are no exceptions to the rule.

The place where Todoroki heads to contains a sorrowful ambience. At the end of an isolated cul-de-sac, a quaint little cottage stands, nestled between boughs of fir and pine leaves. The chipping eggshell yellow paint, the weathered door, ink-splattered paintings, and crumbling tomes leave the impression of a life well lived, of a timeless fairytale brought to a natural end. Of a life constantly overflowing with love that it has been molded to resemble the emotion—a variation of it, to be specific. The kind that nurtures and heals and grows a garden.

This is a home that has seen all phases of metamorphosis, save for one—but it's a stage that had been clearly anticipated.

Gathered around the bed of an old woman are her relatives: husband, siblings, children, and grandchildren. Hands clasped together, they murmur a soft prayer, one that has been uttered by so many tongues that it has a worn-out quality to it. A quality of singularity and solidarity. All differences put aside, respecting the dying is one thing that they can agree on.

 This picture makes for a lovely finale, a poignant note to sign off on. These kinds of deaths are Todoroki's favourites, because it makes the idea of living more worthwhile. What's the point of life when you don't have forever to cherish it?

"I'll miss them." Todoroki tilts his head sideways and finds the woman's soul beside him. He does not miss the forlorn expression on her face as she whispers farewell to each and every family member. "I hope they'll be okay."

The reaper holds out a hand to her. "Are you ready to go?"

The skin at the corner of her eyes crinkles. "Why wouldn't I be? Although, I just wish I could see my son one last time." Her words hang heavy in the air, wrought with longing and unshed tears. "He died in war. He was much too young. Hadn't even lived a quarter of his life." She sniffles. "I'd hoped to see him."

Todoroki's gaze drifts to a framed portrait of a gangly man with a mop of unruly black hair. Despite the sharpness of his features, there's an underlying softness—vulnerability, if you will—that betrays his youth. Todoroki finds it in the twinkle of his eyes and the playful quirk of his mouth. Only a mother could have preserved him exactly as he was, as a boy right on the threshold of adulthood.

Todoroki remembers him. Remembers the terror and blood dripping from his gash-riddled body. Remembers what his soul felt like on his hands: all fire and vehemence. It had been a struggle to coax him into leaving; his persistence to live was firmly entrenched in his being, difficult to uproot.

"I'm sorry," Todoroki manages. It's the best he can offer her.

The old woman shakes her head and smiles. "Maybe in the next life, then." She takes his hand, and the reaper leads her down to the land of dying things.  

The Herald barely bats an eye at the woman. With a clack of her fingers, the door to paradise opens, spilling warmth and light onto the rotting ground. As expected, the old woman does not go in right away; she hesitates and asks about her son's fate. And as expected, the Herald gives her a vague answer.

"He is where he deserved to be," the Herald says, smoke swirling in her depthless eyes. After all, she has always maintained that it does not do to know more than you should.

When the door slams shut and laughter bleeds into mourning, Todoroki catches the Herald's gaze and says, "Where did you put him?" An innocuous enough question. Todoroki hadn't stayed behind to watch her pass judgment on the woman's son not too long ago.

"What do you think, reaper?" A grin breaks out across her dazzling face. Now, the Herald has assumed the form of a raven-haired beauty, seduction personified. She crosses a moon-white leg over the other, propping her chin on her palm.

For a moment, the woman's son appears before Todoroki, drowning in a sea of carcass and bone. Expression half-deranged, he demands to return for another shot at glory. For a chance to be immortalized in song and legend—even if the price is blood. It's hard to reconcile the true image of this man, this boy, with his mother's impression of him.

Todoroki begins moving towards the exit, and the Herald cackles. "Excited, aren't we, my impatient little reaper?" Her lips form a pout. "Are you perhaps looking for someone?" With that, her face begins to transform. Her inky black eyes shift, the scleras turning white and the irises a striking green. A tan blooms on her pale face, freckles appearing over her cheeks. Her hair—

Todoroki tears his gaze away. "I don't know what you're talking about." It's never a good thing when the Herald makes you the butt of her games. He has a job to do, and that's that.

Once he's near a pocket of light, the Herald calls out, "Don't have too much fun!"

Todoroki hurries into the light.

Midoriya gasps awake. A burst of white-hot light greets his sight. He winces. The sting soon subsides, and he rolls his head around, only to find grass staring back at him. Midoriya frowns, overcome with confusion. Where the hell is he?

Squinting, he rubs at his face with one hand and uses the other to assess at the wound in his side. The last time he checked, he'd been bleeding to death, but the bleeding has miraculously stopped. His fingers run over bumpy skin, the stitches rough to the touch. Cautiously, he prods it. No ache follows. Strange. Not only are the convulsions of pain completely gone, but he also feels ... better. Like waking up from a bad dream, or recovering from a nasty bout of flu.

Midoriya inhales a ragged breath. The world still has that much too bright tint that makes it almost artificial, like an overly saturated duplicate of the planet.  

Once his vision has adjusted, Midoriya heaves himself up into a sitting position and takes in his surroundings. He's still in the meadow, only this time he isn't dying and his friends have seemingly abandoned him. But he spots a cherry blossom tree that wasn't there before, leaving him wondering if he's in the exact same place. Above, the sky has deepened into a bruised grape colour, softened by dabs of yellow and orange. A pinprick of light hangs low above the horizon, ringed by an iridescent flare.

It's twilight, Midoriya realizes. An ethereal time of the day when the world halts into a standstill, merging with the otherworldly, and suddenly everything seems possible. Just as he toys with the idea of himself having slipped into another dimension, a thought strikes him, as quick as lightning and about as painful. The impact has him reeling; it knocks all the air from his lungs and twists a dagger in his heart. His fingers curl at his chest. Trembling, he lifts his index finger to his neck. There's no pulse. Midoriya's eyes widen, his throat running dry. Iciness sinks its claws deep into his gut. This can't be—it just can't. He slumps forward, digging his palms into the nauseatingly fragrant soil. The grass tickles his chin, and he screws his eyes shut to suppress the threat of tears.

 It's stupid, utterly stupid, to mourn over his condition. He expected this after all, hadn't he? After what he said to Uraraka and Iida ... he knew he would never come back. He'd said his goodbyes, and that was that. He accepted his fate, ready to move on. But now that he's trapped in this afterlife that doesn't seem like an afterlife and more of a place where one can mope about their crushed ambitions, all he feels is hollow. Incomplete, not just in the metaphorical sense.

Midoriya slowly gets to his feet and staggers forward. There are questions that need answering, and staying in one place is hardly a logical solution. A part of him denies the idea of his own death, despite the evidence. Perhaps he's only hallucinating, but he feels that his soul can't rest until he hears the truth from someone else. The orb in the sky glows brighter. A faint tug stirs in his chest—towards what, he is unaware. Another step has him tumbling down a shallow incline, limbs scraping against soil and grass. Midoriya rolls to a stop, his cheek scraping against the ground. His mouth full of dirt, he pulls himself up and rubs the nape of his neck out of reflex and not out of actual pain.

Around him, the ground erupts in a burst of snow-white lilies. Wind hitches in Midoriya's throat. As he reaches for a flower petal, the tug yanks at him again, and it feels as if his senses have been fine-tuned to optimal quality. The skin at the nape of his neck prickles, and it's like the world is holding in a deep breath. A phantom gaze drills into his skull, and Midoriya is terrified to look back, terrified about the presence that has graced the meadow.

The petal curls into dust underneath his touch. The world exhales. The dust scatters, joining a swirl of cherry blossom petals eddying into the purple dusk.

It curdles his blood in a way it never has before: an overwhelming lurch that fends him off like a tidal wave crashing into the shore. Cities, oceans, deserts, and jungles blur past him in a single broad stroke as he travels in a whirl of shadow, fighting against the push and already hating what's to come. It will probably be an heir or heiress of some grand destiny, trying to outrun death itself, and Todoroki braces himself for the worst; he has never experienced repulsion this potent. The shadows nearly stumble as the push’s strength increases for every continent he clears, and an ache settles along his core.

When the shadows disperse, Todoroki expects gilded halls, scintillating chandeliers, a throne or two, perhaps even the blood of a dynasty brought to an unfortunate end, but it's none of the above. Instead, he finds himself in a meadow infused in twilight. All of sudden, the repulsion flickers out, replaced by a pull that nearly makes him double over. The force—it's gravitational, as if the god of the sky has reached down and nudged him forward.

Utterly bewildered, Todoroki cranes his head around for the soul, but then a flurry of pink petals swarms his vision. Cherry blossoms.

Slowly, Todoroki rotates on his heel, having located the soul. The force eagerly pulls at his gut, smiling against his core, and then Todoroki sees him, washed a dreamlike purple by the endless twilight.

The centre of gravity shifts over to the boy, and it feels as if the world is collapsing in on itself, narrowing down to him and only him. The rest of the universe fades into monochrome, and Todoroki is left highly disoriented at this turn of events. The boy, surrounded by a ring of withering lilies, cautiously turns around. Their gazes meet. The boy's mouth falls limply. The force snaps taut, and then suddenly Todoroki's inhabiting the boy's body, his entire life story splayed in front of him.

Before, Todoroki just knew everything about someone. The information had always been as clear as crystal, bright as day, but now it's like he's looking through muddy glass. Fragments slip in and out through the apertures of his mind, each one brief and incomplete. The boy's memories melt into present time, and Todoroki is looking at himself through the boy's startling green eyes: red-and-white hair, a burn mark over his left eye, pretty-faced, intimidating, who is he, what's he doing, is he ... dead like me? With that, Todoroki returns to his own body, and the universe expands once more.

Todoroki moves forward. The boy tenses, like a fawn trapped in brambles.

"Who are you?" he asks.

The words stick to his throat. Something is off about this whole situation. "I'm here to take you away," Todoroki answers a second later.

He waits for the breakdown. Waits for the boy to rage. Waits for him to attempt a bargain, a shining gold castle in exchange for his life.

Instead, resignation blooms on his freckled face. The boy's shoulders slump, as though defeated. "Oh," he says, absently plucking a petal from his hair. "I see."

Surprise washes over him. Nevertheless, Todoroki holds out his hand. "Shall we?"

The boy hesitates. The orb in the sky dims. Finally, he bridges the stretch of dusk between them, his palm slipping into Todoroki's own. Warmth engulfs him, and Todoroki is struck with an urge to never let go.

Dusk soon bleeds into night. The reaper prepares to lead the boy away into the world of coldness, but the shadows don't come. It's like they've been stifled by the boy's warmth. Todoroki wills them to appear again. Still nothing. Could this be the Herald's doing? No, Todoroki doubts it; as powerful as she is, her influence can only go so far. This realm is mostly out of her reach. If anything, it might be Enji, though it's just as unlikely. The god surely has much more important matters on his plate.

He glances down at the boy, whose face is glowing like a star despite his obvious misery.

"I don't think it's your time yet," Todoroki confesses. It's the only conclusion he can draw.

The boy blinks rapidly. "Really?" he breathes out. "But I know I died. I couldn't possibly be —" he trails off, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"I'm just as confused as you are." Todoroki glances around. The cherry blossom tree is nowhere in sight. A scattering of dust has replaced the lilies. His mind returns to the tug he felt earlier on, and he thinks he almost has it figured out. Todoroki lightly pulls at the boy's hand. "We should go and see your body," he says. "That way, I'll know why."

A blush spreads across the boy's cheeks. He looks away, running his free fingers through his hair. "Wait, w-what do you mean by body?" he stammers. "Are you referring to—"

"I mean your actual body. Your true physical form," Todoroki says.

The boy shoots him a look, his blush deepening. "Oh, right, I - I knew that." Something in the tone of his voice implies otherwise.

Todoroki curls his other hand into a fist. A gaping black fissure rips into the air. "We'll find the answer soon enough. Ready?" He tilts his head towards the portal.

Trepidation steals across the boy's face. He swallows, throat bobbing. "Ready as I'll ever be," he manages weakly.

Before they enter, the boy says, "I'm Midoriya, by the way. Just - just thought you should know."

"I do know," Todoroki says. He does not miss the surprise on the boy's face as they disappear into the fissure, darkness swallowing them both whole.

Midoriya has always loved his home. During the months he was away, he missed the teeming trellises in the little backyard, the faint scent of sandalwood and citrus in the living room, even the loose floorboard that squeaked whenever the slightest bit of pressure was applied. Of course, he missed his mother most of all, his hero memorabilia a close runner-up. It was the ultimate safe haven to him back when Bakugou and his cronies tormented him, and it still is. It's the first place he'd run to in any crisis, his mother's welcoming arms and freshly cooked meals being the main reasons for it.

A lot can happen in a few months, and old Midoriya would have never thought his home could undergo such drastic changes. For all the years he's lived there, the only discernible alternations that have been made are a shift of furniture and a touch-up of paint. So this is why Midoriya feels like he's crash-landed into foreign territory, the feeling only exacerbated by the reaper behind him.

His bedroom might as well be hosting a funeral service. All the cheerfulness has been stripped away, leaving it bare and hollow, and reeking of antiseptic and gloom. Tears prick at the back of his eyes as he sees them. His mother, draped over an armchair pushed close to his slumbering body. Uraraka and Iida, sprawled at the foot of his bed, Iida's knee dangerously close to Uraraka's mouth. A sob claws its way up his windpipe, threatening to spill over in a relentless wave.

"This is your family, right?" The reaper soundlessly falls into step beside him. Midoriya nods, though he suspects the reaper knows everything there is to know about him. He'd known his name, after all.

"They are," he whispers, casting his friends a wistful gaze. He's already said his goodbyes to them, and he doesn't want to prolong his agony a second further. Even his time hasn't come yet, encouraging his hope to blossom would be a dangerous thing.

Midoriya makes his way over to his mother. Every step is an effort, sending white-hot knives digging into his sides. His mother, normally the epitome of good health, has transformed into someone he can barely recognize. There's a ghostly pallor to her complexion, and two dark crescent moons underline her eyes. Even in sleep, her features are crusted with tiredness.

"Mom," he croaks out, his legs giving way underneath him. A lump forms in his throat. After all she had done for him, after all that she had sacrificed for him ... A multitude of apologies crowd on his tongue, but none of them will ever be good enough to convey his regrets, so he says nothing at all. His fingers brush against her face, but it's like grasping at water. And that's when the tears come pouring, hot and heavy.

Midoriya spends the night explaining where he was, what he did, and how he ended up this way. The explanation that escapes him burns his mouth. His mother hardly moves, almost as motionless as a corpse. Midoriya has barely spared his own unmoving body a glance; the thought of doing so threatens to dredge up a whole universe of the pain. The reaper takes a second to examine his body, his mismatched eyes sweeping over without any flicker of emotion.

Soon enough, dawn breaks out across the sky in a burst of muted orange. Pale golden slivers creep into the room, gradually eating away at the darkness.

"... and yeah, that's how it happened," Midoriya finishes, sniffling. A soft thud sounds from behind; his friends might rouse any time soon. He has to leave—now. Midoriya leans and gives his mother a kiss. His lips brush against ice.

Midoriya hastily dabs at his eyes and turns to the reaper. "Can we go?" It's too painful to stay here.

The reaper raises his eyebrows but doesn't question him. "Sure," he says, blinking. Once they're out of the house, he asks, "Where to?"

Where to? He's not going to limbo or wherever? His reply baffles Midoriya, but he decides to save his inquiries for another time. "Somewhere far away, I suppose ..." he trails off, tired.

The reaper nods. Offers his hand again. If not for the unnatural aura, Midoriya might have mistaken him for a teenage boy, quiet and beautiful. Midoriya accepts, expecting coldness like last time but finding warmth instead. How did the reaper end up like this? Has he always been this way, immortalized in youth?

The sun casts a soft glow over their clasped hands. There's something strangely human about the reaper, even if all logic points otherwise.

"What's your name?" The question slips past Midoriya's slips before he has a chance to think it through.

"I'm Todoroki," the reaper says, his voice a gentle melody. In this moment, he is not so much a harvester of lives as a boy.

Heat rises up Midoriya's neck. The whole situation seems strangely intimate, Todoroki's gaze making him feel shy. "I like it," he says, trying not to stammer.

The sun rises higher and higher.

"You know, no one's ever asked me about my name before." Todoroki is looking at him in a completely different light—a lost wanderer hearing music for the first time.

Midoriya manages a small smile, despite his weariness. "They should have."

Todoroki's gaze turns to the horizon, and Midoriya's face turns cold again. "They're going to wake up soon," he says.

Without another word, the two of them set off into the heavy dawn, Midoriya never looking back once.

Chapter Text

Time moves differently in the world of the living. Here, seconds quickly melt into hours, hours into days, and days into weeks. It is linear and non-stopping, there being no power strong enough to rewrite history. Without access to his abilities, Todoroki begins to somewhat understand why every second is a treasure. Before, he never spent more than a few hours with a single soul. But time has never been a real issue. During his harvests, he can theoretically spend as much time with a soul, because time works differently for reapers. Reapers have the power to jump to an instance in the past—provided that they have a soul to gather. The power is limited, however, in that it can't rewind to an event too far back in history, nor can any changes be made to the earth's narrative. It has something to do with the strings of fate and all. The gods can't risk tangled threads.

Aside from soul-reaping, the power doesn't hold much use for a reaper. Reapers don't have the luxury of experimenting with time-travelling; the pull of the underworld starts working its magic the moment they've reached their quota, calling them back to the land underneath.

Unable to return to the underworld, Todoroki stays in the realm of life, curiously watching the boy he is tethered to. Perched on a low branch, Midoriya stares into the distance, legs dangling, features dappled by the light streaming through the emerald leaves. The bark of the tree decays in his presence, but does not disintegrate, life hanging in the balance. Limbo is a strange place to be stuck in.

Midoriya is not dead yet. But he isn't alive, either. Todoroki discovered two substances in his bloodstream, a perfect equilibrium. Medicine and poison, each having the precise dosage to neutralize instead of overcome. Though Midoriya's heart continues to beat, it's not enough to sustain any semblance of consciousness. A sort of coma, Todoroki thinks, but it's really not. There's a different system at work here—the one thing Todoroki can't figure out. Midoriya's condition is a concept he's never encountered in all his years of collecting. He's like a fresh breath of air to his stale existence.

Todoroki has only been with the boy for around a day, but he feels that something has started to change within him.

Midoriya drops down from the branch. He lands with a soft thud, rippling the grass. Shriveled blooms sprout at his feet, curling around his ankles. A weary chuckle parts his lips as he pulls his legs free. "I've never been to Vervale before," he says, gazing past the rolling hills and glistening trees of every colour imaginable. His tanned skin glows in the afternoon light, his freckles becoming more pronounced. "This is exactly what I dreamed it would be. It's so different from Yuuei." Then his face falls, and he says, "Of course, you knew that already, right?"

"No," Todoroki admits, shaking his head. Midoriya is an enigma of the likes he has never dealt with before, frustrating and exhilarating him at the same time. "You're not like the others. I can't figure you out. The memories ... they're in fragments instead of one unbroken sheet. It's because of your condition, I think."

Surprise flits across Midoriya's face. "Oh," he says, fiddling with his thumbs. His gaze lowers to his feet, and, against all logic, Todoroki finds himself cataloguing his oddities.

Todoroki told him about the state of his soul the minute they arrived at Vervale. Midoriya took the information in stride, nodding and never asking any questions about whether there was even the slightest possibility of living. Todoroki was glad he didn't; for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to stomp down on any flicker of hope. There's something about the boy that draws a side out of him that he never thought existed. Someone who isn't completely unfamiliar with humans and their fluctuating moods.

Midoriya moves over to stand beside him, curiosity stamped across his features. His forest-green eyes rove over to Todoroki's face, a plethora of questions poised on the tip of his tongue. His gaze settles on Todoroki's left side.

"Have you always been like this?" Midoriya's throat bobs.

"Been what?" Todoroki says, watching his locks get ruffled by the wind.

Midoriya chews on the inside of his cheek. "A reaper," he says.

Todoroki stares at him. Another question no one has ever asked him before. Hell, it's something he has never actively thought about. All he knows is the god of war created him to serve one purpose: to harvest the deceased.

Midoriya blinks, and then shakes his head, reddening slightly. "You know what, it's okay if you don't want to tell me. I - I was just wondering," he breathes out. 

"No, I don't mind," Todoroki reassures, dimly aware of a pinching sensation in his chest. He prods the area with this thumb, unsure of what it is. His mind goes back to his earliest memories, sifting through the threads in pursuit of a suitable answer. Coming up empty, he says, "Actually, it's all I've ever known. I don't know the process of how I came to be, or what I truly am." He doesn't think that the Herald would ever tell him even if he asked. She's a brick wall when it comes down to wheedling her for longer explanations than necessary. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

Midoriya tugs at a loose curl, looping it around his scarred finger. "Do you ever wonder if you were someone else?" The dusty pink colour still stains his cheeks, but the hesitance has disappeared, replaced by insatiable interest.

Todoroki shifts. "This is who I am. Nothing more, nothing less."

"But you have a name," Midoriya points out. He tilts his head to one side. "And you look ... human. Almost."

"Almost, not quite." Todoroki continues to hold his gaze, spellbound. It's foolish, utterly foolish of him; attachments to souls are dangerous and distracting. It's why he's eager to leave them with the Herald, why communication on his part is always scarce and straightforward. Who knows how much time Midoriya has left?

A glazed, wistful expression steals across Midoriya's face. Perhaps he's thinking of the life he'd been forced to leave behind, of the world he'll soon leave. "When will I go?" he whispers, confirming Todoroki's guess. Mortals disappear far too quickly, far too easily. A single breath can extinguish the flames of their existence, and once that happens their time is up. Todoroki thinks of this one girl, whose tapestry ended in singed threads. There had been very little colour to the fabric, hardly any variation. A life brought to an abrupt halt by one of the most painful ways imaginable. She had choked on her own acrid words, lungs scorched into ash by the fire that engulfed her.

Mortals are fragile beings. Eternity doesn't exist for them.

 "Soon," Todoroki says.

Midoriya takes a step forward. A plant emerges from the deep-brown soil. It wilts as soon as he touches it. A pang of dejection sends his bottom lip wobbling. His knees settle on the grass as his fingers dig into the soil, the muscles along his arms tensing up. His chest starts heaving, and tears start streaming down his face, and Todoroki watches him, helpless, unable to offer any words that would assuage the situation. A sinking feeling strikes him, and it renders him shocked, because reapers are meant to be hollow beings incapable of most emotions, so he most definitely should not be feeling the way that he does in this very moment.

Silent sobs wrack Midoriya's body.

"I'm sorry you have to stand this," Midoriya sniffles, furiously wiping his face. Smudges of dirt appear on his cheeks. He lets out a ragged exhale, steadying his frayed nerves. "It's just that I thought I fully accepted what happened to me, but - but I don't." His voice cracks. "I had my whole life ahead of me. There was so much I wanted to do, see, experience. I'm not ready for this, but it doesn't matter, because what's done is done. It's just that I wish I had more time for it all." He clenches his fists bone-white, trembling. "I wanted to be a hero, growing up. I had always hoped that I'd become one someday. I never thought it would end this way." His words come out soft and defeated. "I miss them so much."

Todoroki places a hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to say. If anything, he should be the one sorry that he hasn't any time to lend. "You're frustrated," he observes quietly. "The young ones always are."

Midoriya gives off a watery chuckle. "I guess you can say that." His sobs cease, and a calm, earthy silence falls between them. Flowers continue growing around them in vibrant clusters. A heady fragrance tickles Todoroki's nose, and a stream of memories flash by. A little girl passing away in a silent garden, daisy-wreathed hair splayed around her face. A fine-boned violinist lying among rose petals and the splinters of his crushed instrument, echoes of the music lingering in the air long after he'd been bludgeoned to death. They're portraits of savage and unholy beauty, tales that belong in dusty mouths and ancient bedsides. Tales that have been sung in so many tongues, interpreted across a million continents that their essence has been spun into the threads of infinity, ever-reaching and all-encompassing.

Todoroki thinks of fables and legends and myths, and thinks of how the boy in front of him is almost a tragedy personified. A would-be hero robbed of potential by a nameless villain, slain before he even got past the threshold of development. A dreamer's worst nightmare, an artist's holy grail. It's pathos, after all, that moves man and fuels creativity. For a composition to be considered ultimate, it's the heart that has to be reduced into tears. Men lament tragedy but devour it all the same.

Midoriya curls up against the tree, knees tucked underneath his chin. Life in a garden of dying things. "Do you ever get lonely?" he murmurs, watching a lone butterfly flit among the wilting roses.

An uncomfortable sensation blossoms in Todoroki's chest. Unquantifiable, indefinable. "I'm not supposed to feel those things," he says after some time has elapsed, but it doesn't look as if Midoriya heard him; the boy has drifted off, a smear of green against a backdrop of withered plants.

Midoriya looks even younger in sleep, his face smooth and youthful. Todoroki settles down beside him, eyes wandering the planes and ridges of his features. They're soft with an edge of hardness along his jawline. A smattering of freckles dust the bridge of his nose, extending to his cheeks. Todoroki tilts his head forward, counting each individual freckle. There's a whole galaxy of constellations on his face.

The sun has started to set, bathing the world in an orange glow. Midoriya barely stirs, nose twitching when bits of pollen drift by. An odd, swooping feeling stirs in Todoroki's gut. He absently presses on his ribcage, and for the first time ever he feels a sense of completion and none of the emptiness that perpetually plagues him. Midoriya turns around, mumbling, his hand reaching out towards a phantom object. His fingers latch onto Todoroki's wrist. Midoriya's palm is rough, calloused, and scarred, but his touch sends a flood of warmth through him. Somehow, the action even manages to halt Todoroki's breath, which should be physically impossible, because he's a reaper, technically not a living, breathing being—but today is a day of mysterious discoveries.

Todoroki finds himself leaning towards Midoriya's touch—a heliotrope craving alms from the sun. Gravity starts shifting again, and Todoroki thinks that he would be content to stay like this for all of eternity, Midoriya never letting go, caution be damned.

It's only when the sun breaks out over the sky again that Todoroki recognizes the feeling he had before Midoriya fell asleep: absolute loneliness.

A week passes by, and the underworld's pull remains dormant. According to the memories Todoroki gleaned from Midoriya, the boy is usually a chatterbox but this half-life has subdued him. Midoriya spends most of his days keeping to himself, gazing out into the horizon in perfect silence. Barely a word is exchanged between them, but Midoriya can convey sentences with gesture alone. An upward tilt of his mouth indicates amusement. The slight widening of his eyes enchantment. The wringing of his hands thoughtfulness. He's as easy to read as a book; all his expressions are straightforward, no second meaning concealed behind them.

Todoroki does not mind. He likes the way Midoriya's gaze lingers on him when there is a thought he wants to express. He likes the way Midoriya smiles at him and never shies away from him. Most of all, he likes the way Midoriya makes him feel: a symphony of emotions he has never experienced before. He has no name for most of them, but now he thinks that he truly understands why mortals crave them. It's a high unlike any other, and Todoroki might just drown from the sheer warmth coursing throughout his body.

They're sitting at the edge of a cliff overlooking a glittering city. Up here, the clamour can't reach them but the liveliness can. It pulses through the brick buildings, the paved cobblestones, the shining spires half-hidden among the clouds. Todoroki senses the thrum of vitality and whisper of death, both deeply interwoven in the ancientness of the area. A capital founded on blood and bone—nothing new.

Midoriya turns his head to him, wonder stamped across his face. There's something different about him today. He's bursting at the seams, and it seems that the boy he was is about to return. "I've only been here once," he says, "but I've always had a connection to this place since then. There's something magical about it. Like, I could be just walking on the streets and suddenly I'd be struck by inspiration. To become whatever I want." His voice takes on a dreamy fervour. Midoriya shifts closer to Todoroki, their knees almost touching. "Tell me what it's like in the other cities, other continents," he whispers, face only ten inches away.

The familiar warmth heats up into an almost dizzying level. Todoroki wonders what would happen if he closed the gap between them. Moments of intimacy aren't foreign to him, per se; rather, it's the context he's in right now that's unknown to him. "We could go to them together," Todoroki offers. It appears Midoriya isn't going anytime soon, after all.

Midoriya lights up. "Really?" he gasps.

The corners of Todoroki's lips pull up. "Really."

The shock remains on Midoriya's face. He taps his own mouth and says, "Did you just—you—you smiled at me."

Todoroki thinks it's the first time he's ever done that. "So did I," he says, smiling again.

Midoriya is easy to please. Everything, from the arid deserts of the south to the frozen tundras in the north, is a marvel to him. Todoroki doesn't particularly care for any of the sights; he's seen them an uncountable number of times. But somehow, being with Midoriya has changed his perspective. All the beauty he once overlooked has slipped into focus, the clarity sharpened by Midoriya's wonderstruck remarks.

There's a steady emotion that has taken root inside his chest, expanding as the days roll by. It burns every time Midoriya does anything like smile at him or talk to him or accidentally brush against him. During those moments, he finds it a little hard to breathe and it drives him absolutely crazy that he's intoxicated with feeling this way. He shouldn't want this; it's dangerous and distracting, but he does and he doesn't care, and if this feeling is what he thinks it is, he understands why mortals dedicate paeans, empires, and wars to it.

He almost wants it to destroy him.

The eastern ocean is calm during this time of the year. Gentle waves roll across the surface, crashing onto the shore in a frothy splash. Constellations twinkle in the night sky above, and a salty breeze whips past. Midoriya steps into the cool ocean. Water laps at his ankles. Bathed in moonlight, Midoriya appears as otherworldly as they come.

"When I was little, I used to think that if I grew tall enough, I'd be able to reach the moon," Midoriya says, extending an arm skywards. A piece of information Todoroki didn't know. His fingers curl in the air, as though holding an object. "Have you ever been there?" A playful twinkle dances in his eyes.

"I've never had reason to do so," Todoroki says, the muscles in his face twitching. A smile breaks out. "I don't even think it's possible." Besides, the god of the sky wouldn't be too pleased about it.

"It would be so cool, though," he says. "Who knows, maybe there are people who live there."

"I doubt it." Todoroki eases into the water. A spray of water hits him square in the face.

Midoriya lets out a chuckle. "Your bangs are wet," he says, moving closer. His fingers push Todoroki's sopping hair to the side. Heat rushes up Todoroki's neck. "Much better," Midoriya says shyly, reddening.

Todoroki finds that he somehow can't breathe again. Midoriya blinks rapidly, his blush deepening. His forest-green eyes hold a reflection of the inky expanse above, stars flaring. The freckles on his cheeks glow in the moonlight, and Todoroki wants to run his thumb along his skin, connecting the dots. Midoriya's gaze zeroes in on the left side of his face. His hand drifts downwards, and he stutters, "May I?"

Todoroki nods, slowly. As if stroking a petal, Midoriya's touch turns gentler. His palm cups the side of his face, thumb lightly brushing across Todoroki's scarred skin.

"How did you get it?" Midoriya breathes out.

His words hang heavy in the space between them. Todoroki waits for the coldness to settle along his bones but it never comes. The warmth has chased it all away. "I don't even know," he says. "It's always been a part of me." The lull of the sea fades into the dull hum of the underworld, and Enji looms before him, coiled in ropes of flame. A wrathful god clutching a bleeding mass of sinew and bone. The first memory he has of being alive. Then the image of Enji disperses as Midoriya's face comes into focus. "They say I'm better off not knowing. Whatever that means." The god of death and the Herald would never say a word about it.

"Do you ever wonder?"

"No. It doesn't matter." It's the truth. He doesn't care about some tragic hidden past he might have. But the low twist in his gut says otherwise. Todoroki ignores it. Shoves it to the backburners of his mind.

Midoriya nods and asks no further inquiries about his scar. Instead, he continues to hold Todoroki's gaze, galaxies dancing in his eyes.

"I think it's beautiful," he says.

A starburst of warmth explodes in Todoroki's chest. Midoriya's mouth parts, and his teeth catch on his bottom lip a little nervously. His hand falls to his side, and the heat on Todoroki's face disappears.

"I want to give you something," Midoriya says, looking away. He fidgets slightly, high colour blooming on his cheeks. His blush looks silver in the moonlight.

Todoroki's chest constricts, another flood of heat engulfing him again. "What is it?" His voice sounds disembodied over the pounding in his ears.

The ocean stills. Midoriya takes a step forward, the movement creating ripples over the glass surface. "This." He rests his chin on Todoroki's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his torso. Todoroki freezes for a moment, taken aback by the flutters that have blossomed in his stomach. The residual hollowness clinging to his insides has disintegrated, and it's like he's been made whole. It's like he's finally found something he's been missing his entire life, a lost puzzle piece that has finally snapped into place. He melts into Midoriya's embrace, breathing in his salt-and-sun-scented hair.

"Found you," Todoroki whispers. Something wet rolls down his face.

Midoriya pulls away, and Todoroki immediately wants to hug him again and never let go. "You're crying," Midoriya says, gently cupping Todoroki's face with both of his hands.

"I didn't know I could do that." Todoroki's fingers wrap around the insides of Midoriya's wrists. Soft—they're so soft. Tears continue to flow, and Todoroki would gladly fall to his knees for this boy, fly him to the moon and back, let himself get destroyed by this hope, this warmth.

"Did I - did I do something?" he says, stumbling over his words.

Todoroki shakes his head, a small laugh escaping him.

Midoriya's face is so close that he can feel his hot breath tickle his cheeks. He presses a kiss to Todoroki's eyelids. "Does - does this make you feel better?" he whispers.

"Yes," he whispers back.

Midoriya's lips brush down to his jawline, then move to the corner of his mouth. Shudders blaze through Todoroki, leaving trails of white-hot fire. Midoriya draws away by a distance wide enough that he can say, "I want to give you another thing." Then Midoriya closes the gap between them again, this time covering Todoroki's mouth with his own.

The kiss sears through him. It's sweet and warm and tender—a language he has never known until now. He'll drown in Midoriya's warmth and he'll do it gladly—over and over again. As many times as he wants. Something thuds in his chest, eager and fervent, and he realizes that his heart has started to beat. It throws his world off-kilter but he welcomes the change, deepening the kiss until he's truly lost in the moment. Wildfire courses through his veins, hot and unstoppable.

Time moves differently when you're utterly enraptured. Midoriya is the first to break away, chest heaving. His mouth is red and swollen, and his face flushed a deep silver. Flowers spill over Midoriya's shoulders, vines curling around his arms. But instead of wilting they thrive, glowing in the light of the moon. Beautiful.

"Can I kiss you again?" Midoriya's palms remain on his face.

He doesn't need to ask. Todoroki would give up forever for this boy, and that's when he recognizes the emotion that has made a home in his heart: love.

Chapter Text

Picture this: a boy and a reaper in a sun-kissed fold in time. A world of living and dying things, seeds and skeletons, inhales and exhales. A neverending twilight, half-gilded by sun, half-dimmed by darkness. A quiet sea of static nothingness, rolling out to infinity. A fading pulse and a thriving heart, both locked in a fragile halt.

"Do you think that I could stay with you?" the boy asks the reaper.

A pause. There's a gentle shift in the wind, and a slight lengthening of shadows. The reaper glances down at their clasped hands, the momentary fusion of two realms. Life and death, death and life, welcomes and goodbyes. "Forever?" the reaper says.

The word echoes across the sea, swallowed by the sky.

"Forever," the boy whispers, nodding.

A crack of thunder splits the edge of the sky. Storm clouds gather, arced with lightning. The sky is dark and bright at the same time, slowly diverging into two extremes: day and night.

The reaper smiles—a hollow, broken thing. "You would not want that."

"But you would." The sun rises, so does the moon, coexisting in a way it could never before. Sunshine on one side of the sky, darkness on the other. The fusion of their hands have now become a boundary point, separating the two worlds. "You've been lonely for so long."

"An eon is nothing to me." The reaper's eyes flicker with glimpses of the universe. Deep sea, deep earth, deep sky. A kingdom's first breath, an empire's last smile. "I have seen too many."

"Then? What is stopping you?" The boy takes a step closer. The ground shudders, day melting into night.

The reaper looks away. Looks at the slowly fracturing standstill. "Forever is an awfully long time," he says. An empty answer, lingering in the space between them.

The turbulence comes, slow, unwanted. The boy's gaze remains on the reaper, disappointed. He almost would have preferred a lie.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The end is coming. Todoroki has known this fact from the very beginning, because it's what happens all the time. Sooner or later it's over, and Todoroki will scour the earth again to repeat the cycle anew. It is why reapers do not ever love, but somehow he did, and now there's a price to pay. He might as well be an angel cast down from heaven, made mortal by the fall. In place of eternal coldness lie worldly passions, half-formed and too new, entirely out of place in a body not meant to accommodate them. They're ravenous, these very desires, much too all-consuming and eager. Dangerous. Long ago, he might have wondered why bite the forbidden fruit when you have enough, but now he knows that its lure is sweeter than the garden, its taste the closest thing he'll ever come to reaching paradise.

Midoriya kneels in a field of what had been green once, staring at the shrivelled, unlovely things around him. The flowers do not come anymore, a shame because they had been so beautiful before. Todoroki suddenly feels weary, the burden of his duty growing much too heavy for his shoulders.

"How much time is left?" Midoriya's voice is calm, steady, unwavering. Expectant, even.

"Not long," Todoroki says, the weight in his chest turning into pain.

"Would you leave if you could?" Midoriya rises. The dead grass ripples. Todoroki shuts his eyes. A maybe he had never once considered; there hadn't been any reason to. When he opens his eyes, Midoriya is right in front of him, all kinds of beautiful. His hands move up to cradle his face, the texture calloused and warm.

"I do not know." Midoriya's gaze is tender, though it twists Todoroki's heart all the same. "This is all I've ever known, as I've said to you before."

"Then let me shoulder part of your troubles." Midoriya's hands lift the circlet resting on Todoroki's head. It's a wreath of finely carved bone inlaid with gems, tapering off into a starburst of light cradled by whorls of darkness. "Let us pretend that we are not ourselves for this moment. Not a mortal, not a reaper. Just you and me, against the world."

The onyx gemstones along the curve of his circlet dim. The true answer roars to life among the storm of his thoughts, burning white-hot. For you, I would leave. "You asked me before if you wanted to stay with me," Todoroki says. The weariness in his heart lightens—though not by much.

"I meant it." A smile blooms on Midoriya's lips, sweet, bright. He places the circlet among his green curls, and rests his palm on Todoroki's cheek. "I would not lie to you."

I know. "I have a question for you." The storm grows in his head, loud, grey. "Do you want to stay here?" Todoroki raises his hand to cover Midoriya's one, face tingling with a pleasant burn.

The smile falters, turning hesitant at the edges. Midoriya briefly looks around, at the world he will soon have to leave. Something flickers in his eyes—wistfulness, perhaps. He had only been a boy, after all, when he died—vibrant threads come to an abrupt end, blank in the places where they should have been coloured. There had been a full life in front of him, now untouched, forever preserved. Wasted potential. "Yes," Midoriya says, voice raw and tight.

"Do you love me?" The storm turns into a tempest, blotting out all warmth.

Midoriya's expression fades, hands falling to his sides. The weight turns crushing again, grinding Todoroki's heart into a pulp. The circlet glows, a halo of white crowning Midoriya's head. His gaze sharpens, prickling against Todoroki's flesh like a critter crawling through undergrowth. Then, he leans forward, pressing his lips to Todoroki's in a fiery kiss. The tempest recedes, shuddering back into nonexistence, and all Todoroki can think about is the thrill burning his veins, boiling away blood. "I do," Midoriya says upon pulling back, a note of finality in his tone.

Todoroki smiles. Kisses the starburst of light on the circlet. He tilts up Midoriya's chin with a finger and brings his mouth to Midoriya's ear. "For you, I would leave," he whispers. Then he draws away and takes Midoriya's hand. Traces the scar on his skin, a slightly raised bump. A fistfight accident, the summer of his twelfth year, dry, dusty, and bloody.

"I love you," Midoriya says, fire burning in his eyes.

This mortal, this hope, this love—all worth giving up a crown for. Todoroki pulls his hand, tilts his head towards the waiting horizon. "Then let's have this dance."

"What's your first name?"

Todoroki looks down at the cherry blossom in his hand, its wilted petals slowly disintegrating into dust. He closes his fingers over it. They're floating over the lake of sunsets, Midoriya's hand gliding through its rose-glass surface. The cloud beneath them sputters, tendrils of mist swirling into the orange haze. "Why do you want to know?

"You already know mine."

Todoroki's fist unclenches. "It's Shouto." A wry smile.

"Shouto," Midoriya echoes, the name a prayer in his mouth.

Cherry blossom stardust billows into the air, a shower of glitter. Todoroki flicks his hand. The cloud stirs, resuming its glide.

"Back so soon?" A twisted grin splits the Herald's face as Todoroki freezes in front of her monstrous throne.

Midoriya's features are staring back at him: golden skin, green eyes, curly hair. Only they're a cold, crude imitation, all shadows and no sunshine, serrated edges and cruel corners. The ultimate mockery, that's what this is, another of her petty games.

"Did you summon me?" Todoroki says, the gloom of the underworld a gust of arctic air.

The Herald cackles, a dark version of Midoriya's tinkling laugh. "It's wonderful to see you, too," she says, paying no heed to the lineup of souls. She rests her chin on her palm, fingers clacking against the ebony armrest. "I called to collect my due. It's a terrible case, as you already know." A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Todoroki says nothing, focusing instead on the skull at her shoulder. The coldness of this place is intensifying by the second.

"No?" The Herald sighs, shaking her head. "My, my, what happened? You don't mean to tell me that—no." She gasps, mirth roiling in her depthless eyes. "You did?" Todoroki glares at the worn and ancient grooves in the bone.  "Well, it was only a matter of time. I'm more surprised that it took you this long, godling."

Todoroki's gaze snaps to the Herald, his insides freezing all over. The coldness in his gut snaps taut, rendering the world a dizzying blur. "What did you just say?" he says in a low voice, fists clenched.

The Herald bares her teeth. "Did you really think you were always like this?"

Todoroki freezes, her words buzzing in his ears.

The Herald lifts up three fingers. "Ash. A bleeding heart. A dusty ribcage," she rattles off, eyes narrowing. "Those three components—they all came from you, have you ever wondered that?" She interlaces her hands together, mouth twisting. "Same as the others, yet different at the same time."

Todoroki has grown much too tired of this game, his patience spread dangerously thin. "Just tell me," he says, the weight in his heart pressing down, down, down. "I have never cared for your cryptic truths."

In the years Todoroki has known the Herald, she has never been straightforward, always preferring to beat around the bush. An unnecessary evil, but that's what she's known for, after all. No god or immortal has ever dared challenge this rule.

But the Herald, it seems, has had a change of heart. "Well, if you insist," she accedes wryly, rising from her throne. The souls stir, restless, but the Herald merely shoots them an utterly disinterested look. The noise disappears. The Herald stops before Todoroki, still wearing Midoriya's body. "Give me your hand," she orders.

Todoroki stares, hesitant. Then, he extends his arm. Quicker than the god of wind, the Herald strikes, slicing his wrist. Blood spurts from the wound, pouring hot and heavy and golden. Todoroki flinches, mildly stunned by the shimmering liquid pooling at his feet.

"Ichor, the blood of gods," the Herald confirms, eyes blazing. "You were half and half, boy, both man and god, born to be the best of the best. The slaughterer of demons and monsters and men. There was this priestess, once long ago, who had prophesized that you would be the emperor of a continent, the founder of a thousand-year bloodline, the most powerful demigod in all of history. Your father had been ecstatic over the news, of course. Finally, a child he could be proud of.

"Alas, it was not to be." A splatter of Todoroki's blood drips from her chin. "Your death was an accident, many claimed. A clean shot through the neck, painless, quiet. Your father tried everything, but you couldn't be saved. A true irony, the god of death attempting to bring someone to life."

Todoroki sees it. Mad king, mad queen, dead heir, dead promises. Like many others after him. He sees Enji, wrathful and scorned by fate. His god, his creator, his father—a harsh and bitter thought. He sees himself, a true portrait of tragedy, spun into an unrecognizable truth.

"You can guess what happened," the Herald continues. "It did not turn out to his favour, but he could not cast you aside. So here you stand with no memory of your past, a slave to the dead for all of eternity."

Todoroki glances at his wrist. The wound has healed completely, and the liquid at his feet has turned black as night.

"Your heart was never dead, godling. Ichor runs strong in your veins." The Herald clicks her tongue. "What a shame," she sighs. "You could have been the greatest of the great, boy."

"But I am nothing now," Todoroki says.

The Herald stares at him, her piercing gaze unspooling him inch by inch, mile by mile. The two of them trapped in a timeless dance, a deathless keeper and a lifeless half-god. "It is too late," she agrees, an amused darkness brewing in her eyes.

Todoroki smiles, and it's a curious thing, vacant and brittle. "It took you millennia to tell me this."

"It wouldn't have been any fun otherwise." The Herald's expression falters. "It didn't matter until now."

A pause. The underworld seems larger than it ever did before, an endless field of nothing.

"You love him, don't you, reaper—or should I say, godling?" the Herald says.

There's a steady ache in his chest. Todoroki's hand drifts to his sternum, finger tracing the curve of bone.

The Herald taps her chin. "He will be gone soon."

"I know."

"All things must end. You must know this more than anyone," the Herald says. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. She takes a step closer to him. Her eyes, they're primordial, twin guardians of the past, present, and the future. "But there's also the matter of when they do." The Herald places a hand over his chest. For a moment they are the same, both monsters in each and every tale.

"You will have no one," Todoroki says, suddenly pitying this lonely creature.

The Herald shakes her head. "I had you," she says. "It was enough."

The gentle beating of a heart fills the space between them, the end near and very much in sight.

"I do not know what will happen," the Herald confesses, smoke clouding her scleras black. "It is beyond my knowledge." Her head droops slightly, the closest thing to an apology.

"I am not afraid."

The Herald removes her hand. Lifts the circlet from his head. The starburst winks out, swallowed by shadow. "It's settled, then," she says. "Go." There's a wistful smile on her lips. Goodbye.

The land of the dead turns colder when he leaves.

"Shouto." Half-god, half-mortal, now no one and nothing.

Their hands meet in the fading twilight.

"Izuku." A name already half-forgotten.

"Hold me. Please."

Todoroki does, and it is the most alive he's felt.

Picture this again: a boy, a reaper, and, this time, a shadowy fold in time. It should be the night of storms, yet all is calm in the world: gentle seas, warm air, and a twinkling galaxy. The boy stands on the shoreline, illuminated a pale blue by the light of the moon. Beautiful, lovely, achingly so.

"I had this dream once," the boy says, stars dancing in his eyes. A cherry blossom sits in his hand, the petals soft and pink.

"What was it about?" The reaper tilts his head up. The heavens stare down at him.

"I—I do not remember." A crease appears on the boy's forehead. "But I know it was important." He shifts, water rushing to his ankles. "Maybe if I'd had more time." The boy turns to the reaper, offers the flower. Life to death. The reaper accepts. The flower wilts, stardust in his hold.

"You said you wanted to stay," the reaper says.

The boy cups his face, his touch a tender thing. "Does it even matter?" he whispers.

The reaper holds his gaze. "Do you love me?" he asks.

The gap between their lips disappears. Slow, sweet, and passionate, the kiss threatens to burn the night away. The stardust scatters, blue, white, red—a rainbow. "Does this answer your question?" the boy whispers against the reaper's lips.

"So this is truly love, then."

 Their foreheads touch. The moon rises, up, up, up.

"It is." The boy kisses him again, and it's full of urgency and need. Time—if only there was more time.

"Then let me give you this," the reaper says. "A future." Fragments drift in the air: a mother's relieved embrace, a friend's booming laugh, battle leather worn soft, glory in the form of song, and a name spoken in not one but many tongues.

The boy freezes. "Why—what is this—"

"Do not be afraid," the reaper says. In his hands rests a heart, bruised, red, bloody. "For you, my love." A life for the price of forever.

"No," the boy says, shaking his head. "I will not stay without you."

Still a storm does not come, the calm as unyielding as a mountain.

"I am no one. I will not let you be the same. All I ask is in return is for you to live well."

"What is the point of this if I cannot have you?" A choked whisper, followed by a sob. The tears fall, a sorrowful sight.

"Everything. You will have it all." The reaper's eyes glisten. "It was a privilege to be loved by you."

The boy's chest glows. Death to life. A sacrifice, a gift. "But I will never see you again," he weeps, wrapping his arms around the reaper.

The moon disappears, night bleeding into day. The sun rises—a blue beginning.

"I will never leave you. I'll be in your heart," the reaper says, his voice fading.

"It's your heart," the boy says, the tears pouring harder and harder.

"Not anymore." The ghost of the reaper's lips brush against the boy's forehead.

"Stay." A fragile plea.                                                     

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. "Maybe in the next life."

The boy wakes, alive but hopelessly alone. The morning of his recovery is the coldest in living memory.

epilogue

It has been many years, and time has managed to dull the pain to an echo. The man has made good on the promise he never uttered. He has become a hero, a figure of admiration. Someone, not nothing. This life offers plenty of distractions. It's a road of healing all on its own.

Yet the man still dreams of him—or what used to be him, a boy he never knew.

Hands cradling fire and ice. A kingdom by the sea. A figure huddling in the dark. Crowns, jewels, and swords. Mismatched eyes made soft by firelight. A boy darting through the woods, a creature of war.

At the end of these dreams, the boy always says something to him, but the words have never once registered. The man always tries to reach out for him, but he never does manage to catch up. But it will be different tonight. The man feels it in his heart; after all this time, he finally remembers what he had forgotten so long ago.

In this new dream, the man and the boy are running in a forest, barefoot and laughing—only the man is sixteen again, carefree, effervescent. Shouto is in front of him, his laughter ringing in the sighing wind. In this moment, they are just two boys in a world of their own making, madly and hopelessly in love.

"Shouto, I remember now!" Izuku calls out in a voice decades younger, heart lighter than air.

Shouto looks over his shoulder, his eyes lighting up, a grin breaking out across his face—absolutely beautiful.

"I dreamt you, once upon a time!" Izuku shouts, returning his grin full-force.

Izuku holds out his hand. Shouto grabs it, and they run side-by-side, chasing the sun.

Shouto's lips part and the words Izuku has never managed to hear before spills out, echoing throughout the entire forest.

"Still here."