Chapter Text
Prologue
Once upon a time, on the north shore of Long Island, thirty miles from New York, lived a small boy on a very large estate. The estate itself, was so large in fact, that it was left to the care of a great many servants. There were servants for the kitchens, servants for the gardens and a tree surgeon on retainer. On the far shore of the vast expanse of property lived a boatman who, of course, took care of the boats. He put them out into the water in the spring and scraped their bottoms when the weather once again became cold.
The groundskeeper there managed a number of specialists under his care; one for the outdoor basketball court, and one for the indoor basketball court.
One for the outdoor swimming pool, and the indoor swimming pool.
There was also a kind man, of no particular title at all, who took care of the small garden pool for a curious and colorful koi fish named George.
Also attached to this lavish estate, was a chauffeur by the name of Midoriya, who had been imported some years ago from overseas along with a brand-new Rolls Royce. Midoriya was a chauffeur of considerable polish, as bright and as shining as the dozen or so cars in his care, and he had a son by the name of:
Izuku.
Izuku was small in stature, with an unruly mop of bouncing emerald curls that lay atop a porcelain freckled face. His face was round, too round, and he looked quite young for his age. He was soon to be eighteen and a man for all intents and purposes. Yet, the boyish air of his crinkled eyes and star-patterned cheeks defined him. It was not unusual to see him in too baggy of clothes, splattered in paint mumbling to himself with a brush tucked behind one ear. His mother called him ‘her sunshine’ and after her passing, every servant on the estate had helped to mold him into the kind and caring lad he was, his easy laughter lifting every spirit and trilling merrily along the breeze to echo in the large hollow confines of the considerable estate.
His mother had worked as the cook for the lavish estate for many happy years before she had passed away from illness and the owners of the shiny property had made sure that the Midoriya men were kept comfortable in her absence. Inko, as the viridian eyed matron was called, had loved and cared for the proprietors so much so, that their own beating hearts were torn asunder by her loss. So, they mourned her in a way that only the truly affluent could, by lavishing frivolity on her next of kin, designed to fill the void where mother and wife had once been with materialistic trifles.
As if fancy food and clothing would somehow lessen the pain.
But, when you are rich, you truly begin to believe that money solves everything.
Hisashi Midoriya was a proud man and had always worked hard for his living but he gratefully accepted one, and only one, of the kindnesses that was extended to his now smaller family: The finest tutors Long Island money could buy for his fragile 8-year-old son. So, while his father spit and polished all day, driving around the older patron of their residence, Izuku sat calmly inside the kitchen at a small breakfast nook learning History and Latin, Mathematics and quadratic function, physics and chemistry. All the while being loved and cared for by the household staff that had quickly become his family.
A special tutor was retained to nurture his love of art, and soon the student had surpassed his master. For while Aizawa insisted that Izuku was a problem child as he stumbled into class with scratches on his cheeks and muddy knees from inspecting the rose bushes too closely for their lesson that day, Shouta Aizawa took great pride in knowing that he could call someone so inspiring his pupil. Izuku Midoriya was beloved by all who met him, you see, his worth hidden from no one but himself. With each brushstroke, pink tongue darting out to become trapped between small white teeth, his talent became clear to everyone. His paintings seem to glow with an ethereal light all their own, casting out darkness and doubt in the beholder despite their station. Soon his works adorned the great halls of the house where his patrons resided, their many guests lavishing expressive comments as to their style and excellent use of color.
So, Izuku Midoriya spent his childhood in a constant state of colorful expression, bringing joy and vibrancy to the dull aristocratic world he found himself hidden away in. He found a family who loved him, and though he found his patrons to be quite intimidating with their loud vernacular and proud, pointed faces he knew that in most regards he could consider himself to be happy.
The only area of his life where Izuku did not feel lucky in life, was in terms of love; true love. The kind his literature teacher insisted that he read and study, causing a great longing for it within his mighty heart. He remembered the tender way his father tucked his mother’s hair behind her ears as she was working, how despite their long marriage she would giggle and blush with each pass of Hisashi’s lips upon her cheek. Deep down in his core, a coldness had crept in, telling him that he would never find his partner trapped and locked away in his high tower above the garage.
Until, that is, the summer of his fourteenth birthday when the youngest adopted son of the Bakugous, his father’s employers and benefactors, would return home from boarding school.
It was then that Izuku felt the great stirrings of first love in his heart. The boy was pretty, so beautiful, with golden hair that glistened in the sunlight, a light-hearted smile on his face and a joke ready at his lips. Izuku watched from his window in the kitchen as his father opened the back door to the white Rolls Royce and his destiny strolled out into the bright sunshine. He was followed of course by his scowling older brother Katsuki, the man’s fierce red eyes narrowed in annoyance at the younger’s antics as he pranced about in the driveway, kissing the pavement in thanks for finally being stateside once more.
Katsuki Bakugou, was the only blood child, and the heir to the M&M Fashion empire his parents, Masaru and Mitsuki, had built so many years ago. What began as a simple clothing line had evolved into magazines, runway shows, modeling and even a sponsorship deal with an American luxury car company. Katsuki, or Kacchan, as Izuku had called him since he was young, was 25 years old and had graduated with an MBA in business from Yale before taking over as CEO of his parents’ company so they could retire. He always wore dark tailored suits cut to perfection to show off his tiny waist and broad muscular shoulders. His hair was an ashen blonde with a stylish undercut leading up to meticulously groomed spikes that looked feather light and soft to the touch. The afternoon sun haloed behind his head, making the fine blond strands look almost white. His ties were always a bold color of red that matched the almond eyes highlighted by perfect skin and he would have been beautiful if not for the perpetual scowl and frown that always graced his face.
Denki Kaminari Bakugou, however, was the opposite in every way. His frame was thin and lithe as he twirled about on the dark asphalt of his childhood home. While Katsuki was bronze and built of chiseled muscle, Denki was soft and fair. He wore dark jeans and a pink polo shirt, a baby blue sweater tied about delicate shoulders. His hair was gilded, as were his eyes, and he was always smiling brightly. He wore his hair long and dancing down to his shoulders, as loose and carefree as his soul. He emanated pure joy and Izuku found his light intoxicating. He was everything Izuku never knew existed in the world- and for a brief and shining moment Izuku forgot that he lived above the garage, that he was a lowly chauffeur’s son covered in paint, he forgot even that he was plain. Instead, he found himself entranced and illuminated by cascading waves of gold, his heart suddenly alight with the promise of happily ever after and prince charming.
But…that was so many years ago.
Now, on the cusp of Izuku’s eighteenth birthday, the Bakugous were hosting an extravagant party to celebrate the thirty meter yacht race that Katsuki had won every year since he was seventeen. It was always the social event of the year and everyone from models to actors to politicians were in attendance. Izuku had hidden in his favorite maple tree every year, sketch pad and charcoals in hand since he was 12 years old and sketched the gala. It was a wonderful study in anatomy and movement as the elite swayed in time to the music and made idle chit chat while downing champagne. Mitsuki floated across the elaborate dance floor, graciously smiling and welcoming her guests while Masaru hid indoors puffing on a cigar in his leather wingback chair. Katsuki, stood in stark contrast to the white glow of the fairy lights, always wearing a suit of all black in luxury materials draped over his elegant frame.
It was one of the few nights where he smirked more than he scowled, surrounded by the few friends he seemed to keep over the years: his secretary Mina and her spouse, Kirishima and a dark haired man named Sero. Together they called themselves the’ Bakuquad’, which never ceased to make the fiery man curse, and Izuku had volumes dedicated to this particular cast of colorful characters. When Kirishima and Mina had married, Katsuki had commissioned him for a portrait of the two lovebirds, since the red-haired man was his greatest friend and business associate, and Izuku had offered him instead a plethora of sketches from over the years that chronicled their love from the tender age of twenty-three to twenty-seven. It was the first time he ever saw Katsuki Bakugou smile, and it stole his breath. The stoic man could never compare to his beloved Denki who radiated mirth and pure joy, but there was no denying that he was stunningly beautiful when he smiled.
On this night however, Izuku had no heart to draw or sketch the night away as he sat perched in his favorite tree. His dark green hair blended in perfectly with the summer foliage, a light breeze cooling the sweat that trickled down his skin. He would be leaving soon, too soon, and he would not see his beloved again for many months- maybe even years. So, he sat on the largest, low hanging limb, knees tucked to his chest, silent tears glistening on his cheeks as he watched Denki twirling some girl whose name he couldn’t get right around the dance floor while the band played on.
He watched as she let loose an airy giggle, insufferable and giddy, as Denki whispered lowly in her ear. It was a dance that Izuku had watched playout so many times before. Denki would trail a hand gently down their back, resting lightly over the firm roundness of their bottom, place featherlight kisses along their jaw, then whisper softly against their skin. He would tease their lips with ghosted promises of future kisses before turning away with a wink while his date that night sauntered quickly away glancing longingly back over their shoulder. Denki would then ask the band to play “Isn’t it Romantic?”, grab a bottle of champagne and two glasses which he stashed in his back pockets before whisking himself away to meet the man or woman at the indoor basketball court where they would dance and drink before finally consummating their love in startled moonlight streaming over their perfect skin. And Izuku? He would blush and turn away, sometimes staring just long enough to watch the brilliant white tuxedo jacket slide off Denki’s shoulders.
Tonight, however, settled differently in Izuku’s chest. He would be a man at midnight, eighteen and officially an adult. Finally old enough to reach towards the glorious night-time alabaster star that was Denki Kaminari Bakugou, only to find that his father had used his connection to the Bakugous to secure Izuku a spot in a coveted art school overseas in Paris. For anyone else, the opportunity to study abroad with all his expenses paid for by generous benefactors would be a dream come true, but not for Izuku. The only dream he coveted was the one being so cruelly taken away.
As Denki finally led the girl away, Izuku wiped his tears and made up his mind. He would be a tortured artist, he would teeter on the edge of the black abyss and let it swarm his soul. He would become the Sylvia Plath of painters, coming so close to death again and again that it defined his art. He had no need to use the large oven in the kitchens however, no, he had an entire garage full of high-end vehicles at his disposal.
So as silently as possible, he quickly shimmied down from his perch and crossed through the wet, dew laden grass. Relishing in the squelch of his sodden sneakers as he then trudged through the puddles on the pavement that led to the garage. Going in through each driver’s door, turning each key and then leaving through the passenger side he listened with proud contentment as the engines roared to life, the expansive space quickly filling with exhaust. He laid down lazily on the ground, coughing only lightly, as he welcomed the cold hard ground, icy and chilling beneath his cheek.
Upstairs the floorboards rattle and Hisashi Midoriya snorts in his sleep before rolling over peacefully, continuing to dream. In the big house, the help chatters merrily in the kitchen as they snack on leftover hors d’oeuvres, laughing as they clean. Masaru leans heavily on his wife with a silly smile while she chastises him for smelling of cigar smoke as they slowly climb the grand staircase to their room. At the indoor basketball court Denki twirls his guest straight out of her slip dress, delighting in the way it slivers seductively to the ground. In the driveway, Katsuki watches the fading taillights of his friends' vehicle before his ears catch the distant rumble coming from the garage. He loudly curses and stomps across the grounds, not knowing he would find an almost sleeping Izuku, trying desperately to hide from him under an antique model T.