Chapter Text
The crown was heavier than it looked.
Izuku had known this since he was seven years old, when his father first let him hold it—a ceremonial piece, all gleaming gold and emeralds that caught the light like captured stars. Even then, too large for his small head, he'd understood the weight wasn't just metal and jewels.
Twenty years later, standing before the gilt-edged mirror in his private chambers, he still didn't wear it. That honor belonged to his father, the King, whose health had been declining for the better part of a year. Soon, everyone whispered. Soon the omega prince would have to prove he could bear that weight.
"You're brooding again."
Izuku didn't startle at the voice. He'd long since grown accustomed to Katsuki's ability to enter a room like smoke—silent, inevitable, dangerous to those who didn't expect him.
"I'm thinking," Izuku corrected, meeting crimson eyes in the reflection. "There's a difference."
Katsuki Bakugou stood at attention near the door, hand resting on the pommel of his sword with the casual confidence of someone who'd earned his position through skill rather than birthright. The deep blue of his knight's uniform brought out the sharp angles of his face, the perpetual scowl that had been there since childhood softened only slightly by time and trust.
"The council meeting ran long," Katsuki observed, moving closer with measured steps. Even now, he maintained that careful distance—close enough to protect, far enough to remain proper. "Duke Endeavor pushing his agenda again?"
"When isn't he?" Izuku turned from the mirror, exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Three hours of listening to him explain why my engagement to his son would 'stabilize the kingdom' and 'ensure proper succession.'"
Something flickered across Katsuki's expression—too quick for Izuku to name, too familiar for him to ignore.
"And what did you say?"
"What I always say. That I appreciate the Duke's concern for the realm's future, and that any decisions regarding marriage will be made with the kingdom's best interests at heart." Izuku moved to the window, gazing out over the capital city sprawling below the palace. Lights were beginning to flicker on as dusk settled over the streets. "The same diplomatic nothing I've been saying for months."
"They're getting impatient."
"I know."
Silence stretched between them—the kind that held years of unspoken words, of moments almost-but-not-quite, of boundaries neither dared cross despite how desperately they both wanted to.
"Your heat suppressants," Katsuki said finally, his tone carefully neutral. "Dr. Recovery said they're working, but—"
"But taking them indefinitely isn't healthy, yes, I'm aware." Izuku's fingers curled against the windowsill. The suppressants were another weight, another compromise. Omegas in the royal line were expected to bond, to produce heirs. The medication bought him time, but it wouldn't last forever. "I'm managing."
"Izuku—"
"Sir Bakugou." The formal address tasted like ash on his tongue, but Izuku forced it out anyway. During the day, in public, he was always careful. Always proper. "Was there something else you needed to report?"
He watched Katsuki's jaw tighten in the window's reflection, watched the way those broad shoulders tensed beneath the uniform. An alpha being ordered to stand down by an omega would have been unthinkable two generations ago. Even now, it went against every instinct.
But Katsuki had never been like other alphas.
"The night patrol routes are set," he said, voice clipped and professional. "Extra guards on the east wing, as you requested. I'll be stationed outside your quarters as usual."
"That's not necessary—"
"It's my job."
Izuku turned to face him properly, searching that familiar face for the boy he'd grown up with, the teenager who'd sworn an oath of fealty on his eighteenth birthday, the man who'd spent the last seven years standing between Izuku and every threat the world could throw at him.
"Katsuki," he said softly, dropping formality for just a moment. "You barely sleep as it is."
"Neither do you, Prince." The title landed between them like a blade. "At least I don't have to sit through three-hour council meetings about selling myself to the highest bidder."
"That's not—" Izuku stopped, sighed. "It's more complicated than that."
"Yeah." Katsuki's expression shuttered. "It always is."
The bells in the tower began to chime—seven clear notes marking the evening hour. Somewhere in the palace, his mother would be preparing for dinner. His father would be resting under doctor's orders. The court would be gossiping about his meeting with Duke Endeavor, speculating on whether the omega prince would finally accept a suitable match.
And Katsuki would stand guard outside his door, as he had every night for seven years, close enough to hear Izuku breathe but separated by wood and duty and the impossible distance between a prince and his knight.
"I should dress for dinner," Izuku said.
"I'll check the corridor."
Katsuki moved toward the door, and Izuku felt the familiar ache of watching him leave—the same one that lived in his chest like a second heartbeat, constant and yearning and utterly forbidden.
"Katsuki?"
The knight paused, hand on the door, not quite looking back.
"Thank you. For... everything."
A beat of silence. Then: "Always, nerd."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Izuku alone with the mirror, the crown he didn't yet wear, and the weight of every choice he hadn't made.