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“It’s time for your lesson, your highness,” Izuku said, bowing at the waist.
“Thank you, Captain,” Shouto said absently, eyes still drifting out the window. Izuku’s chest constricted at the sight.
He’d made more of an effort to be a dutiful knight these past few weeks. Holding Shouto in his arms while the prince slept was so much. Too much. Though he never denied the prince’s kisses when they were alone, he did cut them short and stepped back into duty. That night, that conversation— What would happen to Momo and Mirio if they ran away? Who would rule? Could this ever…? —better to draw back now, before it was too late.
As if it weren’t already too late.
Day by day, the prince’s mismatched eyes flickered with hurt that pierced Izuku’s chest no matter how much armor he wore. Shouto knew why he kept his distance, why he played it safe these days. He leaned into Izuku less and brushed his lips against his less, and it was a punishment that Izuku hated and had brought upon himself.
“Your highness” he repeated softly, the same voice he used to use when it was just them. The same voice he used to soothe the prince at night when he thrashed in his sleep, alone in his bed.
“Don’t call me that,” Shouto said, still in his chair by the window, book still in his hands. He turned the page, even though his attention was clearly elsewhere. “I hate that title when you call me by it, Midoriya.”
Midoriya . A taste of his own medicine, then. Izuku had grown too used to his given name in Shouto’s low voice. The formality was cruel.
“It’s what a proper knight calls the crown prince,” Izuku said. He crossed the library in long strides and knelt at the armrest of Shouto’s chair. The prince’s profile was dark against the backdrop of sunlight beaming through the window, but Izuku forced his eyes to stay open. “Your h…” Shouto’s fingers twisted in the corner of another page, mangling the print. “Shouto,” he whispered. The prince’s look could melt a man into a pathetic little puddle. “You know why I can’t fall into the habit of calling you by name.”
“I know.” Shouto’s voice glistened with ice.
“Then—”
“I asked you to stay with me,” the prince grit out. Color rose to his cheeks, and he looked away again. Izuku’s brain scrambled to make the jump in topic. “You held me like a child who needed a teddy bear to sleep.”
Izuku faltered. The image of Shouto sleeping peacefully in his arms, cheek against Izuku’s chest, remained his most treasured memory. “I...I thought I helped.”
“You—you did, but I...” Shouto exhaled. “I wanted to be held like a lover, not a child.” His thin voice strangled the admission, and Izuku’s face flooded.
Without hesitation, Izuku laid his hand over the prince’s, the soft piano fingers disappearing under the weight of his gauntlet. “I do love you. Always, your highness.” Shouto closed his eyes and sighed. Izuku swallowed, searching his brain for some other title. Something, anything, that could slip out safely in front of servants and guards and Shouto’s siblings and not send him to the dungeon for treason. “My prince,” he decided.
Shouto’s eyes flew open at that and whipped around to face Izuku. “Your…” he managed. Izuku smiled at the sudden shyness that crept into the prince’s expression. He didn’t dislike this title.
“My prince,” he repeated, daring while they were alone in the study to lift Shouto’s hand to his lips and kiss his knuckles. “You are. You’re my prince. You’re the one I belong to.”
Shouto’s fingers tightened around the curve of his gauntlet. “You’re mine.” It was almost a question, soft and sweet, in a voice the prince used only for Izuku. The Captain of the Guard pressed another kiss to the prince’s hand in answer. Shouto continued, in a voice much surer, “And I’m yours.”
Izuku swallowed. “Your lesson,” he reminded again.
“Right.”
“...My prince.”
*
My prince was perfectly acceptable around the castle. Izuku tested it in front of servants and other knights and even the princess, Shouto’s sister, and none so much as batted an eye at the title. He used it when he and Shouto were alone, to make up for the kisses he was wary of delivering with the king’s eyes and ears around every corner. Close enough for his breath to tickle Shouto’s nape, “My prince,” and standing guard at the back of his armchair in the library while he read, “my prince,” and when escorting him back to his room to retire for the night, “my prince.” In public, it was duty, and when they were alone, it simmered into something else entirely.
One afternoon, as Izuku escorted Shouto to the king’s chambers for a meeting with his father and siblings, he could feel the stress rolling off the prince in waves. Even now, with all his righteous fury, Shouto tensed and flinched in the king’s presence. Izuku’s fingers were always twitching into fists hidden in his gauntlets, his rage bubbling just below the surface. One day, it would be over. If he could spirit Shouto away from this place, or if the king stepped down and—and if Fuyumi or Natsuo could ascend the throne.
The king’s eyes only flickered to the captain of his son’s guard, but Izuku knew he wasn’t liked. From the first exchange he’d ever had with the king, Izuku was well aware that he was being watched. He’d made too clear his loyalty to Shouto over the king, a truth he’d struggled to conceal ever since for the risk it posed to his staying with the prince.
“You’re dismissed,” the king told Izuku sharply once Shouto sat down beside his siblings. Izuku bowed stiffly to the king and to Shouto’s siblings, then once more to Shouto himself.
“My prince,” Izuku said. When he looked up, though Shouto’s lips didn’t so much as twitch, and though his shoulders remained straight, his eyes were bright. A smile hid there, in gray and blue. My prince, right under the king’s nose.
*
“Midoriya,” Momo said one afternoon as Izuku met her to trade guard shifts. Shouto was still with his tutor. Izuku hovered by the door with Momo. “Has the prince seemed tired to you?”
“Yes,” Izuku answered right away, and though the concern didn’t leave Momo’s face, her shoulders relaxed at his validation.
“I don’t think he ever fully recovered from that virus,” Momo said, crossing her arms. Sharply, she added, “That foolish tour, right on the heels of his recovery.” Momo was the bravest knight in the kingdom, Izuku wasn’t ashamed to say. “He’s always going back to his room from fatigue.” Her grey eyes cut to Izuku knowingly. “Even when Togata and I are on duty.”
Izuku flushed. Shouto notoriously claimed to need rest when the captain of his guard was on duty alone, and they’d steal away to his wing where the prince would immediately fall into his arms. He’d thought Momo and Mirio might suspect—they both knew well Izuku’s feelings, and that Shouto returned them—but neither of them had ever said anything to Izuku before, and it had been months.
“The king is concerned,” Momo continued, her voice even lower. Izuku stiffened. “The queen was often fatigued in her youth as well, and prone to illness. Prince Touya was the same before he abdicated.”
Izuku’s stomach turned cold. He’d noticed Shouto’s resting more, but the family history of fatigue had never crossed his mind. Shouto rarely mentioned his mother, and Izuku never pushed. What he knew about the queen was mostly town gossip: an arranged marriage, rare sightings of her outside of presenting new heirs to the kingdom, and, of course, the rampant rumors that the king had terminated Toshinori Yagi’s position as Captain of the Queensguard out of jealousy. Yagi mentored and trained Izuku from the time he was a child; he was too good and honorable a man ever to court a married woman, and Izuku had always discredited those rumors. Yet now that he was a guard captain himself, the rumors resurfaced in his mind. He loved Shouto more than anyone or anything and would die for him if the job called for it. When Shouto was ill, he wouldn’t leave his side; when he hurt, Izuku comforted him; and every time the king entered a room, Izuku had to remind himself to keep his sword in its sheath. He wondered if Yagi had ever struggled with the same emotions.
Fleetingly, he wondered if the king knew that he was Yagi’s protégé.
*
When a servant came to Izuku’s room to summon him to the king’s chambers, Izuku thought his heart might stop. He knows. The thought echoed in his mind as Izuku dressed and assembled his armor, walking down the long corridor to the king’s chamber. Momo was on duty, but Mirio was there as well. Shouto sat up in an armchair by the window, early morning light just trickling in, and the king sat in the armchair opposite his son in a blaze of glory.
“Good, you’re finally here,” the king said to Izuku without looking at him. Izuku bit down his annoyance. His fears didn’t appear to be coming true. “Shouto.” The prince’s eyes found Izuku as he came through the door and reluctantly shifted to his father. “You haven’t been yourself in a long time. This entire year, I should think.” The king looked out the window at the leaves fluttering down from the trees just outside the prince’s balcony. It seemed forever ago and only a day since Izuku had stood out there with Shouto, watching the snow fall, discussing his unveiling tour of the kingdom. Izuku promised on that balcony that no one would ever keep him from Shouto’s side, a hint of the declaration to come.
“Perhaps I’m experiencing puberty at last,” Shouto said blankly. His father scowled at him.
“Are you capable of having a conversation without a smart remark, or do you insist on remaining a spoiled child?” the king asked. Shouto’s fingers dug into the arms of his chair. “Now, listen. Before the snow flies, I want you well. You need to start carrying your weight as my child and taking on more royal duties. You can’t do that if you’re weak. These spells of fatigue are unacceptable.” His eyes flashed. “I’ve sent a messenger to Lord Takami. You will spend the autumn in his vacation home by the sea. I expect the fresh air to fix whatever is wrong. Then you will return to the palace ready to do your duty when winter comes.”
Izuku trained his expression to neutrality, his insides churning. Shouto was being sent away? For months? The prince seemed just as surprised.
“Lord Takami’s house by the sea…” he murmured. “We took Mom there.”
“Yes,” the king said. “I’ve already instructed your servants to pack your bags. You leave tonight.”
Shouto startled. “I-I leave?” he repeated.
“Your guards go with you,” the king said, gesturing to Izuku, Momo, and Mirio. Relief like Izuku had never known washed over him. “Lord Takami has his own servants there to attend you. You three,” he addressed the guards, “pack immediately. Your every priority is my Shouto’s health. He returns to this palace a prince ready to serve or not at all.”
*
The farther they got from the palace, the more Shouto relaxed. Izuku swore that color he’d nearly forgotten returned to the prince’s face, his eyes soft as their carriage rolled along the road out of the capital. As the palace shrunk and disappeared behind them and the mountains ahead grew larger, the setting sun winking in and out of the trees they passed, Shouto leaned into Izuku’s side. His beloved’s familiar weight against him and the growing distance from the king ached wonderfully in Izuku’s chest.
Momo had the decency to look out the window at the setting sun, and Mirio did, too, after a few showy winks and smiles, and while the two of them turned a generous blind eye, Izuku slipped his hand down between himself and Shouto and took the prince’s hand. Shouto’s breath puffed contentedly against Izuku’s neck.
The guards took shifts in the night, Izuku’s first. He turned the guard over to Momo long after Shouto fell asleep against his shoulder, and in no time at all, he drifted off with his cheek pressed into the prince’s silky white hair. Mirio woke him again at first light. They stopped to get out and stretch in the country, eating breakfast servants packed for them ahead of time. For three days and nights, their carriage transported them across the span of the kingdom, from the palace in the center of their map, to the seaside.
When Mirio nudged Izuku awake on the fourth morning, they’d made it all the way through the mountain path. Their carriage was on a cliffside path overlooking trees and sand and—
The ocean. Izuku had never seen it in person before. It was almost as blue as Shouto’s left eye, sparkling in the sun. Gently shaking the prince awake, Izuku pointed out the window.
“My prince,” he urged. Shouto’s lashes fluttered at the title, and he obliged, looking out the window at the ocean. A faint smile crossed his face.
“Almost there,” he yawned.
The cliffside path continued along on a curve, and soon enough, a magnificent estate appeared amid the trees. Izuku struggled not to gawk; Lord Takami’s vacation home was about half the size of the palace, the center of the entire kingdom and home of the king’s family. The building was beautiful, its stained-glass windows catching sunlight even at this distance, its stone walls gleaming like a mermaid’s scales.
Shouto exhaled one of his short laughs, and Izuku felt the prince’s cool fingertips under his chin, teasingly pushing his jaw up until his teeth clicked together. “Don’t admire it so openly,” Shouto advised. “Lord Takami will never let you live it down.”
Whatever old, established, comrade-of-the-king noble Izuku pictured on the trip proved incorrect. Lord Takami was a young man, perhaps the age of Shouto’s older siblings, with tousled hair and a devil-may-care smile.
“Shouto!” he said brightly when the prince approached. In turn, Shouto smiled a tiny smile and allowed the noble to embrace him. “When did you get so tall?”
Lord Takami gave them a personal tour of what he called “the villa,” a mansion bigger than all the homes in Izuku’s village combined.
“I was here for a few months, once the snow melted,” Lord Takami said, “and was actually going to leave last week, but I opted to extend my stay so that I could greet you properly. When the king sent his messenger, it made me really happy to be able to do this for him. I hope you feel better soon, Shouto.”
The prince looked away and mumbled his thanks, and Lord Takami laughed.
Eventually they reached the chambers where Lord Takami said Shouto should stay. He threw open the doors with a flourish and stepped back for the prince. Izuku could have gaped easily, if not for Shouto’s warning, and he kept the lord in his peripheral vision. Shouto’s vacation quarters were every bit as opulent as his wing in the palace, but with an enormous balcony overlooking the sea. The ocean twinkled at Izuku through the sets of glass doors at the opposite end of the room.
Shouto also made a beeline for the doors and opened them without hesitation. Lord Takami laughed as the prince strode out onto the balcony, Izuku hurrying behind him.
*
Once Lord Takami left, it was only Shouto, his guards, and a handful of servants left in the villa. Though there was magnificent art, architecture, and two libraries to explore, Shouto only ever wanted to be outside. He wore light clothing, cotton tunics and soft pants that he rolled up over his calves to walk barefoot along Lord Takami’s private beach. His guards followed in full armor, though Shouto tried to convince them to take their shoes off. Mirio once relented, to Momo’s displeasure, but Shouto smiled to see his guard’s bare feet following after him.
For a week, their stay at the villa was sunshine with intermittent rest, the guards and servants making sure that Shouto got out of the sun and stayed fed and hydrated. Every evening, Izuku stood dutifully behind Shouto as he sat on a blanket in the sand and watched the sun sink below the horizon.
“We brought Mom here when she was sick,” Shouto said one night. Izuku turned to him, but his eyes were faraway, somewhere beyond where the sun had disappeared. “We’d play in the sun and watch the sunset, just like this…”
That night, when Izuku escorted Shouto back to his room, the prince’s fingers found purchase in the sleeve of his shirt. “Will you stay with me?” he asked.
Izuku swallowed. He’d returned to proper guard protocol given that they were in Lord Takami’s home, and he wasn’t familiar with the schedules of the servants here. When Shouto pulled himself to Izuku’s chest, though, and rested his cheek on his shoulder, it was impossible to deny him.
Their conversation about the last time they’d shared a bed, so long ago now, rang in Izuku’s ears, but he didn’t do anything differently. He removed his boots to keep from getting sand or dirt on the prince’s fine linens, but otherwise, he sat up in the bed and held Shouto carefully. If the prince were upset at this arrangement, he didn’t indicate it; Shouto curled into his side and fell asleep almost immediately.
A guard should always be wary, even in a remote vacation house so few knew of, and the Captain of the Guard should know better, but Izuku obeyed the unspoken request. Not because it was the prince and he had to, but because it was Shouto, and he wanted to.
*
The sea agreed with Shouto. Every day, he looked stronger. As a month passed, and then two, Izuku’s heart filled to see the prince’s porcelain skin warmed with the sun’s adoring touch, the arms and legs that had looked too fragile when he was ill in bed strengthened walking through soft sand and easy waves.
Izuku had stayed in Shouto’s room every night since that first request, feeling the slow rise and fall of the prince’s chest against him, the tickle of silky red-and-white hair tucked under his chin. For a few nights, Shouto asked him to stay, and Izuku agreed both dutifully and readily. His arms felt useless until they curled around Shouto’s torso and pulled his back to Izuku’s chest. The first night Shouto hadn’t extended an invitation, Izuku didn’t push and headed for the door, only to find the prince’s irritated voice at his back: Where are you going?
A smile crept to Izuku’s lips now, the fond memory in his mind as he watched Shouto slowly come to. Sunshine was creeping through the windows, and Izuku knew now that one of the maids would be coming to draw the curtains back properly and announce breakfast shortly. He’d only just managed to get his boots on and assume his post at the door the first time he’d spent the night in the prince’s bed.
“My prince,” he whispered, a kiss without touch, and the lines in Shouto’s forehead smoothed. His lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes. “I have to go.”
“No,” came the sleepy protest, but Shouto knew as well as Izuku that they had to be extra vigilant about not getting caught while they were in Lord Takami’s home. His arms loosened around Izuku’s arms as he allowed him to slide out of the bed. Izuku leaned over to grab his boots and set about putting them back on. When he’d lowered his head to fasten them into place, piano fingers skated over his back, burning his skin through the fabric that separated them. “I don’t want to go back.”
Izuku sucked in a quick breath. “It’s beautiful here,” he said like an agreement, knowing that wasn’t what Shouto meant and that Shouto knew he was stalling.
“This wasn’t the plan,” Shouto said softly. Boots on, Izuku straightened and looked over his shoulder. “Touya was supposed to be king, and we were all going to be married off to various provinces. I even thought…” He looked around his opulent room. “I thought this would be mine,” he admitted quietly, looking away as if ashamed of the admission. Izuku startled. Shouto hadn’t often shown embarrassment about the privileges of his royal life. “That was before Lord Takami’s triumph in the northern territory.” Izuku remembered the fanfare of the prodigious general, the youngest the kingdom had ever seen, forging a treaty with the neighboring kingdom that had never taken kindly to the king’s usual methods of force. The villa must have been his reward.
“Maybe it could still be,” Izuku pointed out. Shouto gave him an indulgent smile and tipped his chin up. Recognizing the cue, Izuku got up and took his post at the door across the room. Not a moment after he’d put himself in place, the maid knocked and came in to ‘wake’ the prince.
Shouto ate breakfast alone, making very little eye contact or conversation. He did offer quiet thanks to every servant who brought him something or removed a dish from in front of him, and Izuku didn’t miss the soft eyes and warm smiles. Unless this staff had some particular loyalty to Lord Takami, he could imagine their staying on as Shouto’s staff if he took over the villa as his royal post.
Momo’s shift was first, and then Mirio’s. It wasn’t until late afternoon that Izuku was by the prince’s side again. Shouto picked up their conversation immediately, right where they’d left it.
“Dad didn’t see Touya’s abdicating coming at all, but we all knew it by then,” he said. “Mom had gotten so sick...Touya was so angry…” He hesitated, and Izuku didn’t push. “Natsuo will abdicate, too, I think.”
Izuku’s stomach twisted. “He...wouldn’t he want to be king? He and your father…” Didn’t get along, to put it lightly. “Wouldn’t it be important to him to be king?”
“Natsuo’s had a dream beyond the palace for a long time,” Shouto said. He sighed, his gait changing along the coastline to something of a trudge. Izuku followed him dutifully, one hand on the sword sheathed at his hip. “When he thought it would be Touya, Natsuo started thinking about what he would be, and what he’d do in the world. He wants to be a doctor.” Shouto paused and looked back over his shoulder, and the watery smile on his face broke Izuku’s heart. “He’ll be a good doctor.”
Izuku swallowed. So Natsuo would leave, too. That left Fuyumi as the only barrier between Shouto and the throne.
“The old man has always had plans for an advantageous marriage for Fuyumi,” Shouto said, as if he’d read Izuku’s mind. “But that might change if Natsuo abdicates, too.”
“How so?”
“A political marriage works well for an alliance, but it gets trickier if Fuyumi ascends the throne. The old man would probably match her with a high-ranking lord within the kingdom instead. Someone loyal to the crown, a match that would show the strength of our own kingdom. That’s what he would do with his sons, if he could control it.” A terrible silence followed.
“Maybe he’d match her with Lord Takami,” Izuku said, trying to lighten the downward spiral of their conversation. “And then you’d come here.”
Shouto exhaled a laugh through his nose, but it wasn’t a kind sound. “Maybe.”
They continued down the beach, until the villa looked like a normal-sized house in the distance instead of a miniature palace. Izuku listened for the shallowing of Shouto’s breath, and the first he heard of it, he suggested they turn back. Shouto didn’t argue. He passed Izuku going the other way, and Izuku followed him as a guard should.
“Perhaps I could affect change as king,” Shouto said. His voice was so soft, carried only on the salty sea breeze, that Izuku almost thought he’d misheard. “Maybe this is my path.” Defeat weighed down his words.
Hastening his gait, Izuku walked up closer to Shouto, too close for appropriate protocol, but he was willing to chance it out here on the beach, far from prying eyes. “If you wanted to be king, you would be an amazing one,” he said. “But if your heart isn’t in it, you could abdicate, too.”
Shouto nodded slowly, as if he weren’t really listening.
“I’ll be by your side no matter what, Shouto,” Izuku whispered. His given name caught his attention, and Shouto looked up at him. “Even if you abdicate, I will be there.”
“What would I even do if I abdicated?” Shouto’s eyes turned out to the ocean. “Politics is all I’ve ever known, all I've ever studied. I have no practical skills.”
“You would learn,” Izuku said. “Whatever you choose, I’ll be with you. My prince, my king, my Shouto. It doesn’t matter what your title is. You’re the love of my life.”
Shouto stopped altogether at that, his eyes still on the ocean. “The days are getting shorter,” he said, voice barely a breath. Izuku followed his gaze to the sunset, indeed earlier than it had been weeks ago. “It’s getting colder.” Though he dreaded what came next, Izuku wasn’t surprised when Shouto said, “It’s almost winter.”
“We’ll come back to the villa,” Izuku promised. Shouto’s head tilted down, still turned away from him. “Or just back to the ocean. One day. No matter what.”
“I love you, too,” Shouto said, finally looking at him. Izuku’s chest squeezed. “I wish...I want more time.”
“We have our whole lives,” Izuku said. Then, “My life is yours for as long as you’ll have it.”
At least this promise he could keep.
*
The last night came too soon.
“Izuku.” Shouto’s voice softened, unsure in a way Izuku had never heard before. When he looked up at the prince’s back, he saw Shouto tugging at the cuffs of his pajama sleeves, fingers trembling against the fine material. The curves of the backs of his ears and his neck flushed.
“My prince?” Izuku replied when Shouto made no move. The prince startled and looked over his shoulder at last. His sea-storm eyes caught Izuku’s and held them. The familiarity of the scene trickled into Izuku’s memory.
“...Will you stay with me?” Shouto asked, his voice barely carrying across the room. He hadn’t asked in weeks. Months. Shouto’s eyes searched Izuku’s face.
“Of—” Oh. Izuku swallowed. “Of course.”
The window was cracked open just enough to let the salty sea air whisper in. The soothing metronome of waves crashing over the sand lifted up to their ears on the wind. Izuku blew out the candlelight, leaving the room’s only illumination the moonlight and twinkling stars peeking in through the curtains. Following the patterns of starlight streaming through the grid of the windowpane, Izuku fumbled his way to the bed. A tiny exhale of a laugh greeted him as his armored legs met the edge of the mattress. While Izuku blinked his eyes into adjustment, the prince’s hands carded through his hair.
Izuku knelt down, Shouto’s piano fingers slipping through his curls, to unbuckle the armor on his calves and thighs and unlace his boots. As soon as he straightened, Shouto’s hands traced his chestplate in the dark in search of clasps. Gave up, wandered, peeled away his gauntlets. Scraped fingernails against body armor until Izuku acquiesced and undid the hooks and belts.
The mattress dipped beneath his knee as he climbed up closer to Shouto. Izuku’s eyes had adjusted, and the first thing he did when he could see was to meet the prince’s lips with his own. Shouto sighed into his mouth and melted against him. Izuku’s calloused fingers trembled against the prince’s porcelain cheek, shivers running down his spine as Shouto’s arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down.
Izuku meant to do as he always did and lie by the prince’s side while Shouto curled against him and drifted off to sleep. He meant to, before Shouto breathed his given name against his bottom lip, and when the prince tugged insistently at him, instead of resisting, Izuku obeyed. He held his weight up on his forearms, his elbows burning into the mattress on either side of the prince’s body. Shouto pushed up to kiss him, and Izuku had to draw on every minute of his knight’s training to keep his body strong, to keep his arms from going out from under him, to keep his weight from coming down onto the prince.
“Sho…” he managed, voice cracking. Shouto blinked up at him slowly, his pupils looking as if they had drunk up all the moonlight streaming in through the window. Izuku huffed a shaky breath. “Sh…”
Shouto’s thumb traced his lips, his palms brushing Izuku’s cheeks, fingers twining their way into his curls to guide his mouth down. Izuku knew he was shaking, knew that the prince could feel every tremor and hoped that Shouto knew it wasn’t fear. They kissed, the waves still crashing over the sand, the seabirds still calling out to one another across the salty spray, and Shouto’s hand curved up over Izuku’s shoulders, fingers splaying on his back, to pull him closer. Izuku broke the kiss to catch his breath.
“My prince,” he managed. His voice was impossibly breathless, sounding every bit as overwhelmed as he felt, and Izuku realized with a jolt that Shouto was trembling beneath him, too.
The prince’s lips ghosted their way along his jawline. “My captain,” he murmured back.
Exhaling in a deep whoosh of breath, Izuku pitched forward, burying his face in the crook of Shouto’s neck. Holding himself up with one unsteady arm, he grasped blindly behind his head for Shouto’s hand, and, when he found it, he interlaced their fingers and tried to steady his breathing. Shouto's breath stuttered, a sound so gentle and vulnerable that tears pricked at the corners of Izuku’s eyes, and brought his other hand back down to where Izuku’s forearm was barely holding him up anymore. Shouto’s fingers skated over his wrist and knuckles and palm until they found his fingers and slipped between them. With the prince’s blessing, a breathy little laugh, Izuku lowered his weight against Shouto’s chest, their tangle of hands falling into the pillows.
“I love you,” Izuku whispered, lips brushing Shouto’s skin. “I have since…” Since he was a little boy, more than a decade ago, stumbling upon the royal garden.
“I know,” Shouto replied into his curls. “I love you, too, and I have since…”
Izuku raised his head up to kiss Shouto again. His fingers tightened, interlocked with the prince’s. They might never be alone like this again. If Izuku couldn’t find a way to whisk Shouto away. If Shouto were forced into the throne. If the king ever heard even a whisper about the Captain of the Princeguard’s feelings for his son.
“Always,” Izuku said, an answer and a promise all at once. Shouto sighed against him. “I’m with you. Always, Shouto.”