Chapter Text
There existed a pair of lovers, some time ago. Two beings so opposed that Fate should have never intertwined them. In spite of that, the two created a love so powerful that it rattled the world.
This story is about them. About their love. Whether it's a happy ending or a tragedy is up to you. I am only here to tell it. As many times as it takes.
Winters were unforgiving and ruthless. Nothing grew and fire offered little reprieve. Winters carried with them a sense of mourning. Gray stormclouds brought forth blistering snowstorms, the tears of the god of clouds longing for a glimpse of his daughter. For half of the year, the nights were long, the earth was barren, and mortals learned to survive to see another summer.
Among these mortals lived a young man with two younger siblings. They had no parents, having lost them years before to disease. The young man, Rody, did not know a simple childhood. He never knew the sensation of a full belly. Had never seen the colors of spring or fall.
He knew sacrifice and grit, he knew the cold and the heat. He knew that fellow mortals were not always kind, much less to wandering children with sunken cheeks covered in grime. He learned to scavenge for food, how to make a hard loaf of bread last several days, how to cut trees for firewood. He knew the songs the wind sung before it turned feral, before it stole the fire and with it what little warmth in their bodies.
Rody knew the extent people went to survive, even at the expense of others. He knew it because he faced it. And through the way the world hardened this lonely boy, there was still a part of him that remained soft for the two children in his care. The calluses, the hunger, the cold, none of it was ever enough for him to abandon them. Even if he went hungry another day, his younger brother and sister received what he could provide.
Among the mortals there also lived a young man without siblings. He only had his mother, who had loved him dearly. He, like many mortals, knew the pangs of hunger and the bitterness of winter. But this young man found warmth and solace in the gifts granted to him by the gods. It was said he inherited the blessing from his father, a possible god of hearths or music or wonderment.
Izuku had never seen the colors of spring or fall either. But he painted them with his words and melodies. He had visions of the world as it had once been and worked tirelessly to create a song that would bring those visions to life. His voice held hope and possibility. When this young man sang, the earth itself listened closely. The earth itself longed to return to what it used to be.
The young man knew the follies of fellow mortals, the trials and the pains. He knew the things they were capable of. But Izuku believed with all his might, that in every person existed softness, goodness, and hope. He saw it in them when he sang, the people they had once been, the people they could become.
This young man worked tirelessly at an inn, welcoming travelers from all over.
One day, Rody and his siblings wandered in, drawn to the light, the warmth, the music, and the steady chatter eminating from the inn. Rody kept the children near, one of their hands in each of his, held tightly.
They could smell meat being cooked, the sharp tang of ale and the sweet notes of wine. The innkeeper must have stashed a supply to last through the winter until the young goddess of flowers returned to them. The crowds of people in different stages of joyful inebriation and the fire crackling near the bar created a warmth that seeped into the siblings' bones, like a gentle caress from the sun, a blanket welcoming them to momentary safety.
The singer saw them first. He noted their disheveled state as they shook the snow from their clothing. He watched the eldest brother lick his thumb to wipe away some grime from the little girl's cheek, watched him gently run his fingers through the younger brother's hair to tame the wild strands. He watched hardened, shrouded eyes skim the area, alert and a touch feral as he led the children to a table.
He saw a light in all three of them, but the brightest came from the eldest. In spite of jutting bones and hollow cheeks, tattered clothes and tousled hair, the stranger held a beauty that Izuku had never seen in anyone before. He exuded strength, resilience, fierce and unconditional love, an unbelievable resolve to survive. Even among the dozens of faces that currently filled the inn, none were anywhere near as alluring as this captivating stranger.
Izuku watched with wonder and a touch of admonishment as the stranger walked toward the bar, bumping into someone and offering an apology before a pouch of coins revealed itself in his hands as he turned away. He inspected its contents and spoke to the bartender, placing the coins in her hand.
Curiously, Izuku began to move toward the young man, but another patron called for him, drawing his attention away. In the time he took to answer how his mother had been doing, the young thief had returned to his siblings with mugs and a loaf of bread.
Unaware of the worker's attention, Rody sat with his brother and sister, affection warm in his chest when their little faces lit up at the sight of the food. They shoved pieces of bread in their mouths, running the torn pieces along their teeth as if it would prolong the taste. Their mugs were filled with warm honeyed milk, soothing as it went down and chasing away the remaining hints of cold as they settled.
"Aren't you going to eat too, Rody?" the sister, Lala, asked.
"In a bit," he said.
The little girl frowned and tore off a piece of the loaf, quickly diminishing in size. She held it out to her brother insistently, and he conceded with a warm grin. He nibbled at it slower so it would seem more filling than it was as his siblings devoured the rest of the bread eagerly. His mug was filled with sweet, tart wine. It would keep him warm once they left the inn, make him unaware of the way the wind would bite at his skin as he shielded the younger two while they slept.
"This is no place for those tykes," he heard a shrill, sharp voice say. He shifted his gaze to a table near his where three women sat, watching everything with clouded, unfocused eyes.
"You would think the boy would know better. Bringing them to a place like this," one of the others said.
"Reckless," the last one agreed.
Rody ignored it. He never cared much for the thoughts or judgement of others. It was so easy to point fingers, but the people pointing never knew the extent of things. Perhaps an inn full of drunks in the dead of night held its dangers, but here his siblings had food, here they were warm. They weren't seeking shelter among the trees, curled up against the cold, ears perked for wild animals that might hurt them.
"Rody, I think I drank my milk too fast," Lala said, squirming in her seat and looking at him with reddened cheeks.
Their mugs were empty, the bread gone. Rody downed the last gulp of wine then ushered the children out of their seats to go find an outhouse to take her to. The inn was a little fuller, a little louder with singing drunks. He kept the kids close, as they walked, his eyes scanning the crowd out of habit.
Across the way, near the bar, he caught a pair of bright green eyes settled on him. He looked like one of the servers. Rody wasn't sure if he should bother being suspicious of the attention considering the look on his face. Wide-eyed with flushed cheeks and an awkward little smile. He seemed friendly enough. Still, Rody remained wary.
As he disappeared through the back door, Izuku felt his smile fall. A rag was waved in front of his face, reeking of fermented barley, and Izuku turned to the culprit.
Katsuki, his oldest friend and one of the bartenders, narrowed his poppy red eyes at him. "Who are you making that ridiculous expression at?"
Izuku yanked the rag and turned the attack onto his friend who only scowled and snatched it right back. "There was a boy. I feel like…." Like he needed to get near him. Like he knew him. Like….
"You gonna talk to him or just stare?" Katsuki asked, looking over his shoulder to the direction Izuku was staring.
"He's not there anymore," Izuku said.
Katsuki hummed and turned back to Izuku. "How's that song coming along?"
"I'm stuck," Izuku answered with a frown. "I'm missing something and I can't pinpoint what it is." He found himself glancing at the doorway the stranger had gone through, waiting, hoping he would come back.
"Maybe you should get out of your head for a bit. Find some inspiration. A muse," Katsuki suggested. Though clearly his poet friend was not paying attention at the moment.
Izuku gasped, cheeks tinting pink when the back door opened once more and the stranger returned. Katsuki turned to look, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips.
"Quit staring like that, you'll scare him off." Katsuki's words had Izuku tearing his gaze away, cheeks burning. "Just go talk to him."
"What would I even say?"
"Just say hello! You're not asking him to marry you."
Izuku grimaced, glancing over at the boy again. He was making his way through the crowd, but the two children were hopping around to the music, imitating the others while staying in the older one's line of vision.
"What are we staring at?" another familiar voice asked. Still, Izuku startled before looking at his friend Shouto. He was the son of the owner of the inn, and was charged with supervising the workers.
"A skittish boy has caught Izuku's eye," Katsuki said, wiping down the counter. He pointed to show Shouto who he meant.
"I don't think I've seen him before. Not even in town."
"Me either," Izuku said, grabbing a napkin and folding it over and over until it began to resemble a flower… sort of. "I'm sure I would have remembered."
"If you’re planning to talk to him, you might want to hurry. I think someone is about to beat you to it," Shouto said with a light frown.
Izuku looked up again, stomach swooping as he saw someone leading Rody out of the inn, the children right behind him.
"Go, you idiot!" Katsuki said sharply, shoving him and making Izuku stumble over his feet.
He followed the momentum, not letting himself think too hard as he gripped the paper flower tightly in his hands.
"Don't come on too strong!" Shouto called after him.
It was a simple hello. He just had to say hello.
The cold outside the inn was fierce and unforgiving. Izuku curled into himself, glancing around. The boy was there, the children at his side, another man in front of them.
"I don't think I'm making this decision that difficult," the man said with a smile that turned Izuku's stomach. "A nice, hearty meal for you and the little ones. A warm bed, safe from the cold. I even have warm water for a bath." The man reached out, tucking the older one's hair back behind his ear. "All I ask is… that you keep me company," he said, stretching the word out.
The boy's hardened gaze began to contort into something like defeat. The children didn't seem to understand what the man meant, their little faces excited at the idea of food and warmth. Tired eyes came up to the man's face, a sort of steely resolve in them.
Izuku felt panic surge in his chest and moved before he could think better of it, kicking snow up as he hurried forward drawing their attention to him.
"Come home with me!" he blurted, nearly biting his own tongue once he realized what he said. Belatedly, he glanced down at the paper flower in his hands and awkwardly extended his arm to offer it to the boy.
Stormcloud gray eyes stared back at him, the gaze sharp and cold as it flickered down to the offered flower before returning to meet Izuku's eyes. The children giggled, and Izuku felt his cheeks flare.
"Hey, kid, we're in the middle of something," the man said.
Izuku narrowed his eyes at the man. "You might want to leave before I tell Mr. Enji what you tried to do."
The man paled slightly, fixing his coat over himself before spitting on the ground and turning away. Izuku turned his attention to the young man again.
The winter was a hard, bitter time. But this boy looked radiant in the midst of it. His hair caught the reflection of the firelight, shining in reds and golds and chestnut brown. His eyes sparkled like moondust. Izuku peeled away the frailness of hunger, the grime that stained his face, the light cuts and bruises. Beneath it all, he saw the glow from before. The strength. The ferocity. The resilience. He could see something youthful even in his hardened, weary expression. Something soft.
He was beautiful.
He was a stranger, but there was also something so familiar about him. Izuku knew nothing about him, but standing there before him in the winter night, he could perfectly envision a future with him. Words swirled in his head, words he didn't know how to reach just yet. They were promises of songs, songs meant for this guarded boy staring so intently at him.
"What did you say?" the boy asked. His voice carried a slight rasp, maybe due to the cold.
Izuku swallowed, holding his arm up a bit more to hold out the paper flower. "Come home with me," he repeated. "I mean nothing untoward, I just…. I live with my mom. We have space if you need a place to sleep. We have food. And you'll be safe."
The boy narrowed his eyes. "Who are you…?"
"I'm… a lot of things," he said. "I'm a waiter. I'm a singer. I'm a poet. A friend. Maybe… someone you might fall in love with."
The boy let out a sharp laugh. "Are you always this presumptuous?"
Izuku smiled, finally pulling his arm back, the paper flower pressed to his own chest. "My name is Izuku. I don't mean to presume anything, but… one day I'm gonna marry you."
"That is the very definition of presuming. You don't even know me."
"Well, I'm a singer," Izuku said. The boy arched an eyebrow and glanced at the two children beside him, unimpressed. "My songs are special. They show me possibilities. The very sight of you feels like a symphony. I'll write you all the songs you want so you could see what I do."
"Your songs show you possibilites," the boy repeated flatly. "What exactly does that mean?"
See, Rody was quite familiar with saccharine words and empty promises. He'd heard plenty of lies and received underhanded offers. It was something people liked to do when they knew they might have power over someone. It was how they hoped to control a person. It was a taste of power they could never find elsewhere, leaving Rody and by extent his siblings as simple pawns in petty games.
But the things this boy, this Izuku was saying? He'd never heard anything like it. Part of him wanted to be angry at the declarations he made, but there was such a welcoming, gentle look in his eyes that Rody felt the singer truly believed the things he said. He offered sweet words, but it wasn't like the others who were quick to bite and sting. They were much like the paper flower in his hand— offerings that Rody could take or reject.
"Let me show you," he said. He closed his eyes, startling eyes the color of summer meadows in the early hours of the morning.
He began to hum. A soft and gentle tune similiar to a lullaby. It sent warmth through Rody. He felt his siblings hold his hands tighter. Izuku's mouth opened, allowing the melody a clearer, open sound, his voice swelling and softening, playing with notes with an ethereal type of ease that should have been impossible for a human.
And as his voice filled the night, Rody saw the world morph before his eyes. The barren trees sprouted luscious green leaves and colorful flowers, the snow on the ground melted away to make room for dew-touched grass and dandelions, the night sky itself brightened to a beautiful, clear blue like it was the middle of the day, the bitter wind became a gentle breeze.
Based on the awed gasps from Roro and Lala, he wasn't the only one seeing the world bend to the singer's will.
Rody stared at Izuku, unable to believe what he saw. The singer's voice began to fade, falling back into a hum, taking with it the breathtaking sights. The winter night, the snow, the jagged bare branches of the trees were all back.
And still, in Izuku's palm, the paper flower was gone. In its place was a beautiful little flower with five pink petals, the hue getting darker towards the center, where several delicate little stems protruded. A real flower in the dead of winter.
"How did you do that?" Rody whispered, eyes locked on the frail thing in this stranger's scarred hands.
Surprisingly, Izuku answered, "I don't know." The sheer honesty of it made Rody laugh, which seemed to please Izuku. "I'm still working on it. I'm hoping to bring back Spring and Fall. I'm still trying to figure out how to make it stay." He moved slowly, tucking the flower into the worn pocket of the frayed, thin coat Rody wore. Then he pulled his hands away, interlocking them behind his back. "As clearly as you saw that, I saw a future with you. A future where spring flowers bloom and the trees change colors before they fall, and you… you're beside me through it all."
Rody couldn't help the amused, if a bit flustered, smirk that tugged at his lips. "You're crazy," he murmured. "That's a lot to put on a song."
"Maybe," Izuku agreed. "Could I start with your name?"
Rody looked at his siblings, both waiting quietly to take their cues from him. Their cheeks still held a slight flush from the warmth Izuku had offered, however briefly. Maybe believing that this boy would marry him was outlandish, but even Rody couldn't help but think he meant well. Perhaps a friendship wasn't entirely out of the question.
"My name is Rody," he said quietly. "This is Roro, and this is Lala. Say hello."
"Hello, Mr. Izuku," Roro said.
"I like how you sing," Lala added, hiding shyly into Rody's sleeve.
Izuku smiled at them. "It's lovely to meet you. Come back to the inn. I'll talk to the owner's son about getting you some stew. Once I finish working, I'll show you where I live if you'd like to stay a while."
Rody hesitated. "We have no money," he clarified. "What… what would you have me do to pay you back?"
Sadness tinted Izuku's gaze. "Have you come across a lot of people like that man from before?"
Narrowing his eyes and keeping his siblings close to him, Rody said, "No one offers kindness without wanting something in return." That gentle, solemn gaze hardened just a bit, leaving Rody to feel naked and judged. "Starve for five days, living off burnt bread that's been thrown out and tell me you wouldn't do whatever it took to get a proper meal. Especially when I have to think—"
"I understand," Izuku said gently, eyes blinking in confusion. "I just hate that you've lived it." He sighed, hunching his shoulders against the cold. "I don't need anything in return. If you choose to leave in the morning, I'd understand. But for one night, let me show you something different from what you've known." He smiled, something tender and a bit foreign within the curve of his mouth. "Come in, it's cold."
Rody only moved when his brother and sister pulled forward, both of them drawn to that softness within Izuku which made their elder brother so wary. They returned to the inn, only to be stopped by a deep voice calling Izuku's name.
Rody looked over to see an older man, tall but thin and gaunt. In spite of his haggard appearance, the sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and hunched posture, the man's eyes were gentle, his smile genuine. Izuku lit up and walked over to greet him.
"Toshinori! When did you get here? Has Kacchan brought you something to drink?"
"I only just got here. I heard you singing. That melody… where did you get it from?"
"Oh. I'm not sure. It's a song I've been working on. The melody was easy, it was like an old memory. The words are eluding me though."
"An old memory," the old man repeated. "You might be right. And it might not even be your memory."
"What do you mean?"
The old man smiled and gestured to Rody. "Who are your friends?"
Though confusion lingered in his gaze, Izuku smiled. "This is Rody, Roro, and Lala. I believe they're travelers, right?"
"Something like that," Rody said.
"This is Toshinori. He's my mentor. He taught me to play guitar." Izuku gestured for them to sit at the table with him. "I'll be right back, okay?"
He hurried off, leaving Rody to stare uncertainly at the man. He seemed so calm. He seemed to sense that Rody was apprehensive without Izuku around, and stayed quiet, though it never felt unwelcoming.
When Izuku returned, it was with a mug of ale, mugs of cider, and three bowls of what smelled like hearty meat stew with vegetables. Rody couldn't even pretend to be cautious of it. He couldn't remember the last time such an incredible smelling meal had been put before him. He did, at least, have the sense to mind his manners, even if all he wanted was to scarf everything down using his hands like his siblings were doing.
After a few satisfying bites, Rody looked at the man. "How would Izuku have someone else's memory?"
"Those touched by the gods often do," Toshinori said. "The memories of their ancestors often reside in them. Memories of the gods themselves."
Before Rody could scoff at the idea, Izuku asked, "Have you heard the melody before?"
"Of course," Toshinori said, drawing Izuku's attention to him. "The melody belongs to the gods. The god of the dead and the god of the sky. It's said they created a song for their daughter. You know the tale, don't you?"
As Izuku nodded, Lala spoke past a mouthful of food, "How do the gods of the dead and sky have a daughter?"
Despite the mess around Lala's mouth and the rude interruption that might have had anyone else chastizing her, Izuku only laughed softly and cleaned her mouth with his apron. The sight of it made something warm hum in Rody's chest, similar to the sensation he'd had when Izuku sang outside.
"Do you know the story Shota and Oboro?" Izuku asked. She shook her head, stuffing a piece of potato in her mouth. "Hmm. I don't have my guitar—"
"Use mine, my boy," Toshinori said, reaching beside him to hand over a well-loved guitar.
Izuku took it with a revering touch before settling and strumming idly.
"There exists a power greater than that of the gods. Even the kings above and below bend the knee. It gave them the strength to beat the odds. Theirs is a love from the beginning of time. From the creation of earth and its seasons. Theirs is a love with no rhythm or rhyme.
"The gods fell in love in spite of the distance, sending messages across the sky and earth, fleeting moments gone in an instant. One day, rain fell relentlessly upon the ground, leaving fields and houses flooded, a cry of sorrow from the god of clouds. What is it that ails you, my love? asked the god of the Underworld, What pains you in the world above? The sky god replied to his lover, They've hurt a child mercilessly, a girl pure of heart like no other. She is closer to you than she is to me. Can you save her still? Give her a chance to be happy and free?
"But the king of the dead could not change the girl's fate. Not in the world of mortals, at least. When he met her, it was far too late. Still, in death, the god could offer one thing— immortality for the pure-hearted soul. And so she became the goddess of spring. For half of the year she walks the earth, beneath the shade of her father's clouds. The other half of this new birth, she spends underground. Her very existence is proof of their love, for she is all one has of the other, and she blesses the world up above with the touch of summer flowers. From the green earth to the coal mines, her fathers hated to say goodbye, so they sent her off with a reminder of love within a lullabye."
"And how did the lullabye go?" Roro whispered.
A serene smile settled on Izuku's face before he opened his mouth again, singing the melody he'd sung outside with haunting ease.
The world didn't change that time. If it did, Rody didn't notice. His attention was locked on the singer, this kind stranger who made promises of forever that part of Rody might believe. He had met many people, most of them predictable, most of them quite similar. But this boy— waiter, poet, singer, friend— he was different. Rody couldn't begin to explain how or why, but he knew that much. And it terrified him. He didn't know what to do with softness.
When the song ended, there was a surge of applause around the inn, and Rody blinked himself back to awareness to find that everyone in the inn had stopped talking, eating, dancing, all to listen to Izuku.
At the very least, Rody didn't have much time to think about what all of it meant or what he should think because Izuku did still have to work. A sour-faced bartender barked out his name and sent him around with a tray of drinks. Toshinori stayed with them, but he didn't push Rody for conversation. Still, his presence was a bit of a comfort. And every now and then, Izuku stopped at their table to be sure they didn't need anything before moving on.
At the end of the night, Izuku left the inn, a guitar slung over his back, and the siblings following behind him. He'd look back now and then to be sure they didn't fall behind or stumble across the terrain, guiding them to his home which glowed warmly in the distance.
They entered quietly, seeing as Izuku's mom must have been asleep already. Izuku warmed up some water and put it in a bin for a bath, along with a bar of soap. Rody stared at it in awe.
"My mom makes them," he said. "She made plenty during the summer to sell. Please, use it as much as you'd like. I'll bring something for you and the children to wear to bed. You can use my bed. It'll be a bit small, but it's soft."
"Thank you," Rody murmured. While Izuku prepared the bed for guests, Rody bathed his siblings, scrubbing them down gently and smiling at the relaxed expression on their faces. He'd thought they would have to find a cave or a large tree to sleep, had fully expected to use his own body to cover theirs throughout the night. He'd expected to be half-aware of his surroundings as some pathetic man used his body all for the sake of his siblings being protected by four walls.
Instead, he found himself tucking the children into a soft bed, both clean and smelling of lavender, bellies full of food, safe from the wind and nocturnal animals.
Rody bathed himself a bit more quickly, nervous about leaving the kids unattended. When he was dressed, he found Izuku sitting at a wooden table in the kitchen with salves and bandages spread out. He didn't speak, only gestured for Rody to sit across from him, then carefully wiped at the scrapes and cuts that littered Rody's face. He was careful not to touch him, only allowing the medical supplies to touch his skin, and seemingly unoffended by Rody's skittishness.
"Sleep well, Rody," Izuku whispered once he'd been sure to wipe down all the injuries.
"Where are you sleeping?" Rody asked.
"With my mom. I'm sure she won't mind for a night. If you decide to stay longer, I'll work on getting more bedding."
Rody looked away. "Goodnight. And thank you."
The next morning, Izuku woke up to his mom cooking in the kitchen, humming softly. He'd told her about Rody and his siblings the night before, waking her to let her know he was home and why he needed to share her bed for the night. She was making enough food for them, curiosity clear in her gaze, though she didn't question Izuku much. She knew her son, knew what he was capable of, how he saw the world. She knew what he could see in people. She knew this boy and his siblings must be special.
The scent of food pulled the siblings out of their slumber and to the kitchen where Inko and Izuku were serving a few platters. They had set food aside during the summer to ration for winter, and even with a few more mouths to feed, there was enough to share. The portions would be a bit smaller, but still filling.
They stood uncertainly, the children half covered by Rody's frame. His cheeks were colored, his brows furrowed— he looked angry, much to Izuku's confusion.
"Thank you. For letting us stay here. We don't mean to burden you further."
Ah, the poet thought, not angry, but ashamed.
"Oh, it's no burden at all. Izuku's friends visit too. We have the space, we have the food. We're happy to share it," Izuku's mother assured. "Come, sit and eat while it's hot."
The children looked to Rody for confirmation first. He nodded, and they moved ahead of him to sit, wide grins on their faces.
"Did you sleep well?"
Rody moved slowly, uncertainly. He nodded.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, with Rody seemingly lost in thought and the children too busy eating to make conversation. Izuku didn't want to push. When they were done, Rody and his siblings dutifully began to clean up, waving away Izuku and his mother's protests.
It was later, when Inko began to braid Lala's hair and Roro was watching the fire with a mystified look, that Rody stood beside Izuku, arms crossed, and quietly said, "I don't know what to do with any of this."
Izuku arched an eyebrow at him.
"It doesn't make sense, you doing any of this for us. Is it only because you think you're in love with me?"
Izuku smiled sadly. "I'd like to think I would help you regardless. I don't want you to feel as if you're indebted to me. Like I told you last night, you're welcome to stay, but I won't stop you if you choose to go. And should you decide to stay, I know you aren't accepting my feelings." Those stormy eyes tore away from his little sister and to Izuku, wary, hesitant. "I know how I sound to people. I tell them I want to bring the seasons back, and they laugh, even those who know what my music can do. I know you've been hurt and alone. I can't expect you to believe or trust me so quickly." Izuku turned to face Rody, tilting his head to look at him a little better, but still keeping his hands to himself. "If you would give me the chance, I'd like to prove myself to you. You can decide if you trust me in the end. For now, please know it would ease my worries to have you here. I don't think my mom and I would feel at all comfortable with the idea of you three out in the cold. Perhaps you could give me until the end of winter?"
Rody stared at him in silence for a long while, his starry eyes seemingly scanning every part of Izuku's face like he might uncover a lie or a trick. Izuku tried to leave himself as open as possible, welcoming the swarm of out-of-reach words that teased the corners of his mind.
When Rody seemed satisfied, he looked away with a huff. "I still think you're crazy."
Izuku only laughed.
Rody insisted on earning his keep. Throughout the winter, he joined Izuku at the inn, working alongside him. His siblings helped Inko around the house, cleaning and cooking and keeping her company. Izuku knew having them in the house made her happy, helped her feel less lonely. After a few months, Izuku learned that Rody could sing too, and he occasionally joined Izuku in his singing at the inn, their voices melding together harmoniously. He came to know Katsuki and Shouto as well, comfortable enough to joke and drink with them, but Izuku noticed he never called them friends.
Finally came the day the clouds in the sky began to clear, allowing the sun to shine and warm the earth. The whole town was eager, ready to celebrate as they gathered near the thawing river by the inn.
"What is everyone celebrating?" Rody asked when he saw Izuku pack crates of empty mugs.
"The arrival of the flower goddess," Izuku said. "She'll be here any moment now, and everyone loves to welcome her. The celebrations last for days when she comes back to us."
"She brings the summer with her," Rody mused, looking out at the dirt road before them. "Why not the spring or fall?"
"That's contingent on the god of clouds," Izuku explained. "When she leaves, he's so distraught and it's always so sudden, that there's no grace period to become accustomed to the change. His longing and grief are quick to settle over us. The same goes for her arrival. The gods have tumutluous emotions, and we bear the effects," Izuku said. "You've never seen the goddess arrive?"
Rody shook his head. "The summer only means staying near rivers for water and hunting for food. We've never celebrated."
"I think you'll enjoy it," he answered with a smile. He nearly reached for Rody's hand before thinking better of it and simply gesturing. "Let's go, my mom said she'd meet us there with the kids."
They walked together, joining the crowd of people. Lala and Roro were playing with the last of the melting snow.
Suddenly, the ground trembled and the dirt cracked, but no one cried out in alarm. Izuku kept Rody and his siblings behind him, steady where he stood. The sunlight shone down, and grass sprouted where the ground split and caved in on itself. And like a flower herself, the goddess sprouted, pale arms outstretched to the sky, white hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back, soft as petals, a hint of dew against her cheeks as she looked up at the sky. She smiled and sighed at the sensation of the sun's warmth on her face, at the shape of the clouds welcoming her back.
With her presence came a wave of heat. She spread her arms out to the people in greeting, and the movement sent across a ripple, bringing dark green leaves back to the trees and bushes. The river ran its normal course, glittering in the sunlight, flowers bloomed and ripened fruit grew.
Everyone cheered their lovely goddess and shed their winter coats and cloaks.
Her ruby-red eyes scanned the crowd, a soft, welcoming smile on her face as she greeted everyone.
"Eri!" Izuku called.
Her attention turned to him, wide eyes brightening as she hurried to make her way to him. She collided against him, her laughter a lovely melody. "Hi, Izuku!" she greeted, her voice a soft caress.
"I have some people I'd like you to meet," he said. He gestured to Rody, Roro and Lala, introducing them each.
"You're so pretty," Lala said in wonder.
"As are you, little flowerbud," the goddess said.
The myths all said that when Eri's mortal life ended, she was no older than Lala. But in her immortal form, she had taken on the appearance of a young lady, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old. She was sweet, kind, and gentle. And she loved hearing Izuku sing. Izuku often welcomed her with countless ballads throughout the celebration, allowing her to dance across the earth as it came to life.
"How was the Underworld?" Izuku asked her.
Her smile fell, her whole body wilting with it. "It was terrible! Dreary and cold and lifeless. It's always such a bore down there. But let's not fret about it, my friend. I'm finally back and it's time to enjoy! Bring the wine, the harvest, the bouquets!" she called.
Throughout the festivities, Rody remained close to Izuku, a fact he savored while he could. He played his guitar and sang the goddess praises, and everyone danced and drank. Except Rody.
Rody only watched him, with eyes the color of river stones, unreadable and alluring. It made Izuku nervous and ecstatic all at once to be the object of his attentions. Eventually, when Izuku's voice tired and Toshinori took up his guitar, Izuku turned to Rody and offered his hand for a dance.
He didn't think it would be accepted, seeing as Rody was very hesitant about physical touch. It was with a sense of elated joy and wonder that Izuku smiled when Rody carefully put his hand in his palm. He pulled him into the dance, relishing the sweat that slowly slid down his temple and soaked into his shirt. He welcomed the heat, the vibrant colors of summer, the buzzing insects flitting about. And he lost himself in the dance, lost himself in the melodious breathless laughter that fell from Rody's lips as they wove between townspeople.
It was Izuku's favorite day of the year. Hope ran rampant when Eri returned to them, joy washed over them in droves. It was the day when he felt it was easiest to show people the world the way he saw it, the possibilities it held. Everyone shared food and drink and planned for the next several bountiful months.
Even so, there was a sense of melancholy in his veins. He had never been one to hide what he felt.
Rody sat beside him by the river as Izuku plucked a softer, lonely sound from his guitar. Izuku paused to look at him, his smile worn.
"I thought it was a time to celebrate," Rody said, offering him a glass of sweet, tart wine. "So why do you look so sad?"
Izuku hummed and took a sip before looking at the river running its course. "The winter was hard," he said, "but it brought me you. Now that summer is here, you'll resume your travels."
It was quiet for a moment, which had Izuku slowly bringing his gaze to Rody.
He shrugged, looking away when he said, "It might not be so bad to stay longer," he murmured. "It'd be… nice to offer Roro and Lala a home. Something more permanent."
Izuku's heart beat rapidly in his chest, and music swelled in his head, a symphony of sounds full of hope. "Do you mean it? You'll stay?"
"I do. I will," Rody said. "If you'll have me. I know we take up a lot of space—"
"Of course," Izuku said. "How could you question it? The songs my heart sings only multiply each day I have you near. You must know that." Rody stared back at him, eyebrows drawn up. It was different from the look he gave Izuku that first day they'd met.
Back then there was apprehension and disbelief, something cold and bitter. Now, he seemed more fascinated and tentatively curious. Izuku longed to hold him, but feared pushing him away again.
He was hesitant with his next question. "Does this mean… you'll have me as a husband?"
The words caused Rody's flushed cheeks to darken. But again, it was different from before. There was soemthing inviting in the shy smile Rody gave. "The heat has gone to your head," he said. "Where would we even get our wedding bands? The sun has warmed the earth and brought it back to life, but that doesn't mean we have the means for a wedding." He stood up, that smile still on his face as he looked down at Izuku. "Honestly, you're quite the dreamer."
While it was a rejection, Izuku couldn't help but notice that his reasoning didn't lie in lack of feelings, but rather in whether Izuku could provide.
For the next week, Izuku found himself at the river every morning, hunched over with a pan. One morning, while Rody hung up some clothes to dry, he caught sight of Izuku working tirelessly along the riverbed.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Izuku grinned. "You asked where we would get our wedding bands. The river will give them to us. Kacchan will help me melt the gold down and fashion the rings for us." He tilted his head up to look at Rody's stunned expression, his mouth slightly agape and speechless. "Will you marry me, Rody?"
Rody looked away and cleared his throat, brows furrowed. "We can't have a banquet of gold. What would we serve to eat? There's so much to think about, you know?" He began to step away and paused to look over his shoulder. "You should be careful hunched over like that. Come back home for breakfast."
Over the course of that following week, Izuku spent his evenings between work shifts parsing through the bushes and trees, singing so their bounty would bloom, visiting neighbors and trading for the fruits and vegetables they grew. Until he was able to present Rody with five baskets full of fruits and vegetables and edible plants. Apples, berries, nuts, wildflowers, squash, and countless others.
Rody stared at the baskets full of food, all carefully set across the table. He looked to Izuku for an explanation.
"For our wedding table," he said. "My song will bring us food. We could celebrate for days and have enough to eat." He stepped forward slowly, one hand clutching his chest. "So will you marry me?"
Again, Rody looked away bashfully, his gaze skittish. "Be patient, Izuku," he said. "We wouldn't even have a room of our own. We don't have the space for another bed. Will our sleeping arrangements remain as they are after we're wed?" He shook his head and stepped past him. "I need to bring the kids in for dinner. Will you get your mom?"
In the next month, Izuku labored away, gathering bricks and stones to add another room along the side of the house, working in the sweltering heat before heading to the inn. Rody had asked him what he was doing, but Izuku assured him he didn't need to worry. He gathered feathers on his walks, stashing them away until he had enough to sew into a bed and two pillows.
One day, after dinner, once his mom had gone to bed, and the kids had washed up and settled down in their bed, Izuku held out his hand and led Rody to the new room. It had a fireplace, the bed along the floor with soft blankets, two windows, and was decorated with the cherry blossom flowers that Rody seemed to like. Izuku had also crafted a desk to work on his songs. Candlelight lit it up alongside the moonlight from the windows.
"I made you a wedding bed. A room for the two of us." His hold on Rody's hand tightened. "Whatever you ask for, I'll find a way to give it to you, Rody. I'll cook your favorite foods, write you countless songs, carve toys for Roro and Lala. I'll bring back spring and fall for you." He moved to step in front of Rody, his eyes shining with unshed tears as his gaze settled on Izuku. "What would you have me do now? What else will our wedding need?"
Rody stared at him, shaking his head. "I don't know how to want this, Izuku," he whispered.
"What do you mean?"
"This. You. All my life, I've been on my own. I was used to it that way. I was convinced I was fine with it. I could raise my siblings and figure it out and brace the cold. The kindness you've shown me, the warmth you've provided…. It means everything to me, but I don't know how… I don't know what to do with it. I was fine on my own, I didn't need you. I still don't need you." Rody wiped at his face with his free hand. "But I want you. I want you to be around. I want to… touch you and hold you and let myself want you."
Izuku took a step forward, but Rody had stiffened his arm, keeping him from getting closer. Even so, his hand maintained its tight hold on Izuku's hand. Not letting him any closer, not letting him pull away.
"I've never enjoyed a winter the way I did with you. The summer had never been so vibrant before. But I'm not sure if I can let myself risk it… risk wanting you at my side."
Izuku nodded slowly. "I can wait. As long as you need me to. I'll be here," he promised. "With your wedding bands, your banquet, our bed. With songs to ease your soul. With kisses to chase away the fear. It's all waiting for you whenever you're ready. However many winters it takes."
Rody took a sharp breath, and Izuku could feel him shaking. He felt a twitch in the hand he held close, but instead of pulling away, Rody pulled Izuku closer. He freed his hand, but only to cup Izuku's face and kiss him fiercely, desperately.
And suddenly, the world was bright and colorful, no single melody could encompass the beauty of it. Suddenly, Izuku understood everything. Fear and want, longing and love, pain and happiness. He held it all in his arms in that moment, and it took his breath away.
"Promise me," Rody rasped out. "Promise me that no matter what happens, this won't change. That you'll love me, that my siblings will be safe, that you'll be at my side. Promise me, but only if you mean it. Only if you truly plan to face the winters and the summers with me forever."
"I swear it," Izuku whispered, his fingers tucking Rody's hair back. "I swear I'll never let you go. I'll keep you safe. I'll give you everything I can."
Rody placed another, softer kiss on Izuku's lips. "Ask me again."
Izuku swallowed. "Will you marry me, Rody?"
The smile that graced Rody's lips was everything. Sad and hopeful and nervous and happy. He began to nod slowly.
"I will."