Archive of Our Own

And Only You

If it were anyone else in the world, Shouto would scoff. He’s not one to sugar-coat, never has been, and his honesty is brutal if not unabashedly true. 

But it’s those eyes. The earnest trail of forest green, the way he holds his heart in his palms like it’s written on scraps of parchment. He knows Izuku composed a speech just to invite-- ask him to come, which is like two sides of the same coin. Each with very, very different connotations.

Izuku inviting him would have made him laugh. He doesn’t do social gatherings, even in the mountains; it’s part of his steel reputation. There’s something so much more intimate about Izuku asking him to come, like he’s made his decision and the verbal proof is Shouto convincing himself. It’s that which takes him by surprise and leaves him gaping, gaze unflinching even as Izuku’s expression falters. 

“I mean,” he begins, voice on the wrong side of strangled. There are tears in his eyes, and Shouto panics: did he do that? “There’s no pressure. I just--” Then his hands drop and he scrambles for the parchment, and the first thing Shouto notices is how cold his fingers are without him. “God, what does it--right, uh--the celebration is in… Is tomorrow, I got the date totally wrong, this is an absolute mess--” 

“Izuku.” 

“I’ve done this all backwards, I should have--”

“Izuku.” 

“My mother will be mortified. Ochako is going to tear my balls off, and--” Izuku’s voice cracks when Shouto’s thumb swipes under his eye, catching a tear on the pad. His skin is soft and warm, red from embarrassment, and Shouto’s caught tracing the freckles dotted along his round cheekbones. “Shouto?” 

The honesty in Izuku’s voice is palpable, enough to capture Shouto’s attention in a snap of his eyes. He meets the forest of hazelnut and green, drops of yellow like sunshine between leaves and dewdrops. “You’re being ridiculous.” Izuku’s mouth snaps shut. He can see the cogs spinning inside that maverick mind, and shakes his head. “I’ll go with you.” 

“Oh.” He doesn’t miss Izuku peering awkwardly at the parchment, nor the crease between his brows. “Can I just--” 

Now Shouto drops his gaze, snatching up the scroll from his lap and ignoring Izuku’s yip. He stills him by rubbing his thumb against his cheek, revelling at how quickly Izuku lapses into silence as he scans the sheet and flips it over. He’d known Izuku planned out what he was going to say, but the extent of which he’d done it is--

“You really had speeches for if I said yes or no,” Shouto muses, neither asking nor telling. His voice is flat to hide his amusement. He shoves it into his pocket, watching as Izuku’s mouth opens to protest, then snaps shut again as he thinks better of it. “You don’t need it.”

“I spent hours working on that,” Izuku whines, but the tense line of his shoulders has deflated. “I wanted to make sure it was okay.”

“It’s fine.” Shouto jerks his head towards the forest, then to the small pouch of paraphernalia he’d bought at the market. “ This is fine. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I guess so.” 

The silence stretches between them tightly. It’s uncomfortable with the weight of words, and because they’re too stubborn to be the first to look away. Shouto searches his eyes for an explanation, for an underlying contradiction, but his mouth stays firm, thin, and determined. Eventually, Shouto breaks and looks at Izuku’s scarred fingertips instead, wishing they were in his again.

“I said I’ll go with you, and I meant it.” He hesitates. “But you don’t want the mountain elves.” 

“Huh?” Shouto just knows Izuku’s trying to meet his eyes, and he purposely avoids it. “What do you mean?” 

A lot of things. There’s a reason he keeps Izuku shielded and deflects the curious gazes towards the mountain. His elves are different from the ones that live here: they’re harder, forged from rock and wood ash and smoke; warriors, not townsfolk. His father isn’t the type to run to the market for flowers.

And his father , he’s the most stubborn of all. His age has mellowed him, but being a couple of centuries older doesn’t allow room for change. He’s set in his ways much like most of the elven folk, especially with tradition. Shouto’s hand tenderly brushes the edges of his tattoo. “They’re not like you. We met by chance, and if you were anyone else I wouldn’t have been so pleasant.” 

The silence is heavier this time, emotions thick and unspoken; a heaviness punctuating the air. It’s difficult to breathe.

“Then why are you so pleasant?” There’s an icier undertone at the back of his throat, much colder than he would have expected from Izuku. It shocks Shouto into looking up, meeting the cool, green fire burning brilliantly in his irises. His heart jumps into his throat. 

“I can’t be that different, can I?” Izuku continues, smouldering. “You gave Ochako the time of day. You nodded at people in the market. You were fine , and I can’t believe that none of your elves would be the same.” 

I’m only like this because you made me this way is what Shouto could have said, but doesn’t. He stays quiet. 

Eventually, the fire dims, and Izuku deflates again. He sighs and takes one of Shouto’s hands, flipping it palm-up to trace the ancient scars and creases. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just--we’ve lived separately for so long. I’ve heard rumours of the mountain elves, and I’m sure you’ve heard rumours of the forest elves. We’re so close, so why do we never speak? I know my King isn’t the best socially, but can’t we try? I don’t want to keep you a secret.” 

Something ignites in Shouto’s chest. It takes him a moment to place it as longing; a deep, burning desire that consumes him from the inside out. It’s familiar, like a brand of magic he hasn’t used in years, but he’s not ignorant enough to believe it as that. If the months meeting him have told him anything, it’s that Izuku is selfless to the point of destruction; if he wants it, he’ll get it, even if he has to break all his bones along the way. This is the first time he’s ever been selfish, and even then it’s with Shouto and his people in mind. Is he capable of it?

He studies their hands. Izuku’s fingers are short and stubby, his are slender and wiry. Each has a litter of scars, and Izuku’s skin is darker, but they’re elves; born the same, and will meet the same end. Is there any difference aside from tradition and the tattoo across his face? 

“Okay,” is Shouto’s eventual answer, quiet in the emptiness of dusk. The sun is setting faster as winter solstice approaches, and the wind has a bite to it. “We’ll try.” 

Izuku’s smile is blinding, his excitement radiating in sheets; infectious and bubbly as always.  Shouto’s smile feels forced. “Oh, wow. Wow, we’re doing this. We can reunite them! What’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like they can force us apart. We’re adults, after all. Sure, we have centuries ahead of us--”

“Haven’t you got to be back by evening?” Shouto asks abruptly, remembering an offhand comment from Izuku earlier in the market, and the speed at which it shuts him up tells him he’s right.

Izuku stands and pats around for his pouch, fastening the clip on his cloak and smoothing back his hair with his palm. His eyes are dazzling when they lock with Shouto’s again. “Meet me. Here, this log. Tomorrow evening. Wear nice clothes, but nothing too fancy.” 

“I’ll be here,” he promises. “And I’ll wear nice clothes.”

“Fantastic.” 

Then Izuku is off running down the hill, between the trees with a slenderness that only forest elves have. Mountain elves are stockier and heavy-footed, more Izuku’s frame than Shouto’s. It’s like they were born on the wrong side. 

Neither of them mentioned the overhang of their conversation, the I’m in love with you that Shouto tries to ignore.

“Where are you going?” 

Shouto’s sword slips out of its sheath, bared and sharp before he turns his head. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the sharp contrast of the dark mouth of the tunnel and the early evening, but when he sees a shock of purple and hazy, lazy eyes, he scoffs and slides it back. “Haven’t you got better things to do than stalk me?” 

“Yeah, I do.” Shinsou pushes off the uneven cave wall and squints against the sunlight, scratching the back of his head. The sun is blinding, it has blinded elves that haven’t left the mountain in centuries. “Your old man told me to keep an eye on you.” 

“You’re a Knight, not a bodyguard,” Shouto replies with level dryness, stepping down onto the first rock of the winding staircase, throwing him  a glare over his shoulder. “I have something important to attend to.” 

All Shinsou has to do is sweep his eyes down slowly, taking in the magnificent blue cape around his shoulders and the woven crown of crystals on his head; the royal blue in his shirt and the white shoes and boots. It makes Shouto’s blood boil. “Right. And that’s why you’re wearing clothes you didn’t even wear to your sister’s wedding.”

“Is there a point to all this, or are you here to bother me?”

When Shinsou doesn’t respond, Shouto continues down the stairs, from one polished slab of marble to the next. It’s the only way up to the caverns in the mountainside, meant to impress rare visitors and awe children, just a glimpse of what lay in the mountain beyond. Jewels and stones and riches, things that are so violently different from the modest lives of the forest elves that he finds himself drawn to the contrast. He likes it, and he likes that he doesn’t have to be a Prince there.

Is what he’s wearing too high class in that case? He hesitates, looking down at his reflection in the marble and catching sight of the tattoo curled around his eye in spiralling red, enough time for Shinsou to bound past him.

“You look fine,” he says as he passes. “But you’re going to be late for the celebration if you don’t hurry up.”

Shouto’s head snaps up, and he runs after him instinctively. “How do you know about that?”

“I’m not an idiot, and neither are the other people who see you creep out to meet that forest elf.” 

“Who knows?” Shouto all but wheezes, his heart in his throat. If this gets back to his father, if this gets back to anyone with a high standing, this would be over. Izuku would be a dream out of reach, stuck in the past. He’d be locked in his room until he dies. “Who knows about this, Shinsou?” 

“Calm down,” he grunts, throwing him a glance as Shouto catches up and hurries alongside him. “Your siblings and I. I’m your Knight, if you remember, and your sister and brothers aren’t blind.” 

“What do they think about this?” 

“If they wanted me to stop you, I wouldn’t be walking down the stairs.” Something indescribable bubbles in Shouto’s chest and settles at the back of his throat. He doesn’t know whether to shout or vomit, to laugh or cry. His demeanour is stiff as a board and his mind is thrown into a whirlwind, but Shinsou is calm as ever. When he glances at Shouto again, he looks amused. “They want this as much as you do. I’m here to make sure you don’t fuck up what chance we have.” 

And it’s that that renders Shouto speechless until they reach the bottom. All this time, all these nights of sleeplessness worrying that he’ll be caught out, had he really been fretting over nothing? Did the King know? No, that would be the end of it, he’s sure. The alliance would have to go through Shouto, and suddenly it all makes sense. “So I’m standing in for the King as the heir to the throne, making the deal under his nose, and then announcing it to the Kingdom when it’s all done?”

Shinsou grunts, and Shouto takes that as confirmation.

The sun is a pinprick on the horizon when he finds the meeting ground, where the log and the small pond sit in shades of orange and yellow. Shouto almost doesn’t spot Izuku because he’s blended in with the foliage: hair fluffy and curled, cape a gorgeous emerald green, boots brown and earthy. His back is to them, looking out over the sparkling water and the koi dotted about the pond, and Shouto’s throat closes up.

“That’s him, huh,” Shinsou says, more a statement than anything else.

Shouto nods curtly. “I swear to the Gods, if any of the Kingdom tries to attack--”

“You’re overthinking things,” comes the reply, just as bitter. “The old elves are dying. Elves like you and I want change.”

His mouth clamps shut. A part of him still can’t quite believe it, but the visceral need to protect Izuku wins. He heads into the clearing, eyes on the maelstrom of green in front of him, and his heart takes a running leap into the pond when Izuku turns to him and smiles. “Shouto! Oh, you look--”

“Izuku,” he begins, strangled, “This is--” But when he turns his head to gesture behind him, Shinsou is gone. His gaze snaps to the trees, to the space beyond the clearing, the mountain, the sky; he’s disappeared. Shouto’s stomach flips.

“This is…?” Comes Izuku’s tentative voice, laced with an emotion that Shouto never wants to hear again. He looks to him, takes in the brown-green shirt beneath the cape and the dark trousers.

“Nothing. You look stunning.”

“ I look stunning?” He laughs, and prods Shouto’s shirt. “Have you seen yourself? You’re wearing a crown.”

“So are you,” Shouto argues, gesturing to the woven vines and flowers nestled in his hair. “It suits you.” 

A deep flush creeps over Izuku’s cheeks, smattered beneath the freckles like constellations, smile radiant as the sun. “You’re too kind.” A hesitation. “You know, it’s not too late to turn back. You don’t have to come.”

“I’m coming.” His decision has been made for him. Even if he had doubts, even if his nerves are clawing at him from the inside out, he has to do this. For his family, for change; for Izuku. The boy with the bright eyes and brighter smile who’s kindness changed him from the inside out. For the first time in a long time, Shouto genuinely smiles back. “I want to celebrate with you.”

He stares in wonder as Izuku’s eyes fill with tears, but then he sniffles, drags a hand over his face, and nods. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.” 

Without another word, he grabs Shouto’s hand and pulls him to the village.

The town looks significantly different from yesterday. Shouto’s certain that some form of magic is involved, as the previous day held none of this. No lights, no decorations, not even music.

But now , it’s like nothing he’s ever seen. It’s not so much a festival of love but of light; lanterns and strings on every surface, attached to roofs and between fences, the sounds of a lyre and tin whistle floating through the air. There are elves everywhere, decorated in clothes similar to Izuku’s in earthy greens, browns, and greys. It’s like the forest has come to life between the thatched houses and wooden walls, and Shouto’s swept off his feet. 

And yet none of it compares to Izuku. In the lights his eyes blaze, in the sun his smile dulls the lanterns. His whole being is full of that radiance, and he wonders why no one else has seen it, why no one else stares.

Well, they do stare, but not at Izuku. They stare at him and his outlandish clothes, whispering behind hands and looking him up and down. They aren’t used to such garish jewels and colours, and it’s very clear they aren’t used to someone outside the village here. If this were anyone else, in any other situation, Shouto would turn on his heel and head right back to the mountains, but all Izuku has to do is smile over his shoulder and hold his hand tighter, and he’s lost.

The height of the celebration is in the centre of the village, around a gigantic graphite statue of a deer. Vendors stand around the outskirts in wooden structures, wares of necklaces and oak pendants on every surface, with sellers of fruits and nuts to accompany the party. That’s what this is; a big party.

“What do you think?” Izuku asks in his ear, breathy and excited. “Is it too much?”

“It’s perfect,” is all Shouto can reply, because it is. Save for the staring and the occasional comment, this is… Everything the mountain didn’t have. They had halls of drinking and warrior cries, of bloodshed and cattle, but this? It’s so gentle and intimate that it takes his breath in a way nothing ever has before. 

They mill about the stalls for some time, and it’s there that Izuku buys him a wooden pendant. It’s a deer, handcrafted from driftwood, that Shouto keeps running his thumb over in awe. He told Izuku that it wasn’t needed, but the determination on Izuku’s face had rendered him as speechless as the lights did, and so he takes it. It goes into his pocket, but his hand doesn’t leave it unless it’s holding Izuku’s own. 

It’s nearing midnight when Ochako appears at his elbow, all but throwing her hands around his waist in excitement. Shouto’s hand goes to his belt automatically, until he lifts his arm and sees whose cheek it is squashed against his waist. “Ah, hello.”

“I didn’t think you’d come!” She rockets upright again and takes his hands in her own, swinging them to and fro in an excitement that has a kindling burning happily in Shouto’s chest. “I’m happy to see you here! Izuku has been talking about it for so long--”

“Ochako!” Izuku sputters, and Shouto doesn’t miss the pleading look he shoots her. “We’re just looking through the stalls! The dance is at midnight, so I figured we’d get some time to look around.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think it’s great,” Shouto replies, realising afterwards how unenthusiastic it sounds, and clears his throat. “Genuinely. Thank you for letting me be here.”

The warm, brandy-wine brown of Ochako’s eyes gleams with the same eagerness mirrored in Izuku, and he feels a smirk work at his lips. “Did you buy anything?”

“No, I--” Then he remembers the pendant in his pocket, and takes it out. He rubs his thumb over the deer. “Izuku bought this for me.”

He watches Ochako’s smile fade. Her eyes are harder in a second, and she looks at Izuku with such a severity he flinches. “Izuku bought it for you?” 

Shouto isn’t sure whether to answer. The look on Ochako’s face tells him to stay quiet whilst her and Izuku battle it out through expressions, then she turns to him with a smile so forced her eyes crinkle. “Let me borrow Izuku for a moment.”

He’s left standing by a vendor on the cobblestone as Ochako pulls Izuku into the crowd, and all he manages is a flash of a silent  apology in the midst of those emerald green eyes. Then he’s gone. Without that warm hand in his, and now potentially having gotten Izuku in trouble, Shouto’s blood begins to race. The eyes on him burn. Although his composure is straight and neutral his chest is screaming. He’s very, very alone, and very, very much an outsider. Everything here only hammers it into him more.

Gods, how is he going to convince an alliance when the forest elves seem as reluctant as the mountain elves? Where does he even start? 

There’s a hand on his arm in an iron grip. He barely registers it before he’s pulled into an adjoining street, where the lights can’t reach between the narrow houses. Shouto’s hand goes to his sword, but his eyes adjust much faster in the dark, and the purple in Shinsou’s eyes, tattoo, and mess of hair relaxes him instantly.

“I will stab you if you continue to do that,” Shouto snaps, ignoring the furious pounding of his heart. “What is it? What are you doing here?”

“I came with you,” Shinsou replies dryly, arms folded, leaning against the damp wood of the house behind him. “I don’t want to be seen. One mountain elf isn’t bad, but two are suspicious.”

Shouto looks to the street, where people are laughing and racing past. Yes, they’d looked at him with contempt, but not an ounce of fear. Would they fear two of them? Outsiders? He decides it’s safer to agree.

“What is it?” He repeats, shorter of patience. 

“The dancing starts at midnight, right? The King should be there. That’s your chance to work on an alliance.”

Shouto stares at him. “You want me, Prince of the mountain elves, to talk to the King of the forest elves.”

“That’s right.” Shinsou cocks an eyebrow. “You really think he’s going to listen to a Knight? I’m here to make sure he doesn’t slaughter you.”

“And I’m here for a celebration, not negotiations.”

“You said it’s what your elf wants too, isn’t it?” His eyes flicker to the alleyway entrance, and Shouto sees the glare of green through the crowd. “I hate doing this, I’d rather be in bed, but it’s what your siblings want. It’s what your elf wants, and he obviously has you wrapped so tightly around his little finger that you want it too.” Before Shouto can snap back an equally witty reply, Shinsou turns that piercing gaze to him. “This is our only chance, Shouto. It could mean you don’t lose your elf if your old man finds out. Understand?” 

Shouto’s mouth snaps shut. He detests being ordered around, but even he can see the truth behind Shinsou’s words. This is their only chance, in a celebration that’s full of love and patience and forgiveness. Who’s to say he’d be welcomed here again?

He watches the green move through the crowd until those freckles come into sight, Izuku’s expression turning from confused to worried in a matter of seconds. He obviously has you wrapped so tightly around his little finger that you want it too. The longer he looks at him, the longer his heart throbs and his stomach flips, Shouto realises that it may not be so far from the truth.

“Fine,” he spits, eyes full of ice when he glares at Shinsou. “But this is the last time I’m being used as a pawn.” He doesn’t give him a chance to respond, clearing the alleyway entrance and picking his way through a crowd that parts when he brushes past. Shouto can pinpoint the second Izuku sees him because his eyes brighten spectacularly, smile as wide as ever.

“Shouto!” He calls, waving him over frantically. “Where did you go? The dance is about to begin!”

The King is a man with dark, raven-like hair and piercing eyes, a scar etched into one cheek and his eyebrows low. Shouto had heard rumours of the forest King, about his fierce loyalty and hidden kindness, but the sheer starkness in his appearance from the other forest elves sets him apart in a way that Shouto wouldn’t call royalty.

He’s dressed in robes of green and gold, like the sun setting over the treetops, and moves between the crowd easily with a blond Knight by his side, a crown of thick leaves and vines and a sparkling emerald atop his head. It’s modest. Humbler than his father, at the very least. It seems to be a trend within the forest elves. 

Shouto, Izuku, and Ochako are hidden, plastered to one of the walls by a vendor selling roasted almonds, and he’s glad of it. He knows that, if the King should look his way, he’d be picked out immediately. If his clothes didn’t give him away, his tattoo would; the traditions of a mountain elf. A warrior’s pattern, they called it. 

He knows he must speak to the King. Shinsou made it clear, but he wonders if that’s what Izuku was thinking when he told Shouto about his plans. Did he intend to speak to him, or is his idea to introduce the mountain elves slowly and hope no one minded? Izuku’s smart, sharp, but the raw excitement on his face has Shouto second-guessing himself. Is this really what he wants?

“That’s King Shouta!” Izuku chatters idly, “You can’t see her, but Princess Eri must be with him too! He’s an excellent King, really, I don’t know what we’d do without him, and he may look scary but he’s not that bad. He’s just strict.”

“Firm but fair,” Ochako adds, arms curled around Izuku’s bicep excitedly. “He’s the best King we’ve had in centuries, not since King Toshinori stepped down.”

King Toshinori. That’s a name he hasn’t heard in a long time. Do they know that the rivalry between King Enji and King Toshinori is the reason they stay so far apart? To avoid war in a way that two Kingdoms could? Enji is the only remaining elf of that period, of so many centuries past, and anxiety bubbles in his chest again. How is he supposed to convince a King of his rival--his enemy--to reunite them? 

“Shouto?” His head whips around and he stares into the lights dancing between the trees in Izuku’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Izuku.” It’s now or never, he supposes. If he dies, at least his hands will be warm in Izuku’s own. “I’m going to talk to the King.”

“What?” But before he can protest, Shouto’s closing his eyes and pushing his way through the crowd, Izuku in tow. 

The crowd divides like the sea between land as Shouto passes and, although Izuku isn’t struggling, he can feel the nerves radiating off him in waves. The kindling in Shouto’s chest dims with every step, but it’s too late to stop now. Not when he reaches the clear path through the crowd that the King followed, and suddenly every pair of eyes in the square are on them.

Ahead, the little girl by the King’s side glances back and meets Shouto’s eyes in vibrant red. She blinks, stops, and it’s her curiosity that makes the King hesitate too. He looks over his shoulder, and Shouto’s heart stops when their eyes meet and Shouta’s widen in recognition. That damned tattoo.

He turns the rest of the way and regards him. Silence. The crowd is watching with  a quietness that has tears burning behind Shouto’s eyes, but he holds the King’s gaze firmly, tightening his hand around Izuku’s. The remnants of courage come from the squeeze that’s returned.

“King Shouta,” he begins, surprised at how even his voice is. “My name is Shouto Todoroki, son of King Enji Todoroki of the mountain elves. I’ve come on this day of celebration to negotiate peace between our Kingdoms.”

The silence is broken by gasps that echo like thunder. There’s the rise of a murmur, expressions and words that are white noise Shouto can’t make out. His gaze is fixed on Shouta’s, hand firm in Izuku’s, and now it’s something he can’t take back. 

It stretches for an eternity before Shouta sighs, patting the Princess’s head as he passes, golden cloak fluttering in a breeze that blows in the winter chill. He stops a few paces from Shouto, Knight by his side, and raises his eyebrows, not at him but at Izuku. 

“The son of King Toshinori helping his greatest rival’s son? Is this something you’ve been planning, Izuku?” 

Shouto blanches. His gaze goes to Izuku’s in a fluster, only to find Izuku staring at his feet. The hand in his is colder, and Shouto’s mind rushes with a series of thoughts, of doubts-- is this why Izuku kept talking to him? Because he wanted them to reunite? That couldn’t be true, could it? It’s like everything has begun to spin: the lights, the people, Izuku, the deer statue--

Then Izuku’s hand slips from his and he stands in front of Shouta. He can’t see his expression, but something in it sends Shouta’s eyebrows higher. “I think it’s time. I know what my father said and what he did, but this isn’t the same. This is me. I want to reunite the Kingdoms, and Shouto wants it too, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“How do you plan to reunite them?” 

Izuku’s hand extends behind him, palm up, and it takes Shouto a moment to realise that he’s asking for the pendent. He rummages in his pocket and hands it to him without a second thought, and the crowd gasps a second time when he extends it to the King. “I gave this to him.”

Shouta’s expression returns to neutrality, and Shouto can’t read it no matter how hard he tries. It’s like reading a book in another language, but he swears he can see the faintest smile on his lips. “If you of all people think it’s time, then I agree.” He looks at Shouto with a sharpness that makes his heart pound. “I accept your offer, if your King does. Prove to me this is what you want by leading us in the first celebration dance.”

… Do what?

Izuku whips around so fast that Shouto startles, and there’s a brightness in his gaze that he’s never seen before. It’s full of hope, promise, and Shouto’s heart takes a tumble again. “Follow my lead.”

“What?” 

Somebody claps and the crowd parts again, moving to the sides by the vendors and leaving the two of them in the centre of a crude circle, right by deer statue. The same deer on his pendant, the one Izuku’s slipping back into his pocket as he pulls him forward and wraps his arms around his neck. There’s another clap and the music begins; a slow, melodious waltz. He thinks about telling Izuku he’s a horrific dancer, but Izuku is so close to him that he’s more distracted by his eyes and the movements of his lips. 

The dance is easy to follow, even for someone as awkward as Shouto. It’s a series of patterns and steps repeated over, and soon he’s lost in the throws of watching Izuku laugh as he twirls and lifts his palm against Shouto’s.

He’s gorgeous like this, even more gorgeous than by the pond. The lights frame his face and hair in an angelic glow, smile white and pleased beneath so many stares, and it’s easy to forget where he is and what he’s doing. It still hasn’t hit him yet that the negotiations were successful, that this is the first step in reuniting the Kingdoms, that he’d done as he promised--

All he can focus on, all he wants to focus on, is Izuku Midoriya. There’s just one thing that’s nestled at the back of his mind, bugging him.

“Were you ever going to tell me who your father is?” He asks as they spin again, Izuku leaning into his arms a heartbeat later. Izuku laughs nervously.

“Um… Not until it was needed. I didn’t want you to think I was using you because of your father.” One of the worries in Shouto’s chest extinguishes. There’s something about the pure honesty in his voice that leaves no room for doubt. He believes him wholeheartedly. “I’m sorry about the white lying. It’s all because of you, you know. I used to believe that the Kingdoms would never be united, but then we started meeting and--well. I knew I couldn’t lose you.”

Shouto’s heart jumps in his throat again. Izuku’s next twirl has him even closer, face just a breath away as they move in tandem to a beat Shouto’s beginning to know well. Izuku grins. “I told my mother to stay home until the dancing because something was going to happen. She might have had a heart attack if she saw us.”

Before he can ask why, the pendant weighing down his pocket hits his thigh in a silent answer. He’s reminded of the way they’d stare at him, the gasps, Ochako’s expression. “What does the pendant mean? Why is it such a huge deal?”

Izuku’s smile falters, and Shouto wishes he’d never said anything. He chews his words for a long moment before deciding on what to say, sucking in a low breath. “They’re symbolic. The deer is the crest of King Toshinori, he’s the one who erected the statue. When you give someone your crest it’s meant to--” he chokes, avoiding his eyes. “It’s--it’s meant to symbolise longevity and--and marriage. You give it to someone you love.” 

I’m in love with you, Shouto, and I want other people to know that too. 

Several things erupt in Shouto’s chest, and some spill into his expression in a rare crack of his mask. One is confusion, another is wonder, the next is terrified, but the one that overarches them all is warmth. A liquid heat that seeps through his veins and slides into his heart in a way that makes it beat harder, faster. It’s a good feeling. 

It’s then that he catches sight of purple, just past Izuku’s shoulder at the very back of the crowd. He meets Shinsou’s eyes and watches a thin, crooked smile spread on his lips, then a nod. It could mean a hundred things, but to Shouto it’s only one.

And it’s that one he chooses.

Izuku yelps as he’s lifted up by the back of his thighs, a head above Shouto. He’s heavier than Shouto expected, likely due to compact muscle, but he holds him there easily. Core strength is one of the only good things he received from his father.

He’s quiet, and Shouto knows Izuku’s watching his mouth carefully only because he’s doing the same. The moment Izuku leans down, he meets him halfway.

His lips are dry but soft, sweet as they move against his and Izuku’s arms encircle his neck again. There’s that white noise in the background again, but Shouto pays it no mind, because the feeling that kissing Izuku gives him takes his breath away. It’s like he’s set off his own lantern, filled with Shouto’s heart setting aflame, lifting higher and higher until it’s floating. It’s a feeling he can’t describe. One he’s never had, but one he recognises from fairy tales and stories. Something he used to scoff at after seeing the loveless marriage between his parents--

But this is different. This is so much more.

When they pull apart, Izuku’s fingers are running through his hair tenderly, the sweetest, softest smile he’s ever seen on his lips. Now that the white noise is blending to coherency, Shouto realises the crowd is cheering .

“I’m in love with you too, Izuku,” he says, voice rough with nerves. Shouto finds himself smiling that genuine smile all over again. “And I want people to know that, same as you. I’ll accept your crest if you accept mine, and my hand in marriage to unite the two Kingdoms.”

Izuku just laughs and kisses him again.